Ruby's Ghost (10 page)
Authors: Shona Husk
“Good morning. What’s your name?”
He closed his eyes. The light was giving him a headache and cutting through his thoughts. At least he had thoughts—that was a good sign wasn’t it?
“Tate.” His jaw was stiff as he forced his own name out. He flexed his fingers and tried to sit up. He wanted to move, to see what still worked.
“Ah, take it easy. We had to wake you up a bit early. You were having problems with the anesthesia.” Her voice glided over him and the words got muddled.
“What?” He tried harder to concentrate and stay alert.
“Have a rest. We’ll talk later.”
He drifted off, but it was different this time. Noises intruded, he was aware of people moving around even if he couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes. The next time he woke up someone was holding his hand. The grip was rough and strong. He forced himself to rouse, and it was like swimming up through mud. “Dad?”
His father was there in his uniform. Was he going to work or had he just finished? He seemed to have aged a decade.
“You gave your old man a scare.” Dad leaned over and hugged him.
Tate returned the embrace with one hand. The other was firmly tied against his chest. Then he realized he could feel his father’s touch. His eyes burned. He was alive and awake and in his body.
“Sorry, Dad.”
“You’re okay, that’s all that matters. Your mother’s here, she’s been with you while I was at work.” His father sat back down.
His mother was back. He must have been very close to death. “How long have I been out?”
“Three days. We nearly lost you twice.” His father’s face was lined and grim. He’d cut too many people out of car wrecks. He would’ve been expecting the worst.
Three days. Only three days and his whole life had changed.
“So what’s wrong with me?” He looked at his dad and knew he’d get a straight answer. If he waited for his mother she’d be vague and tell him not to worry as if he were still a ten-year-old in need of protecting.
“Swelling of the brain, fractured shoulder, de-gloving.”
None of that sounded too bad. The swelling explained the headache. The shoulder he’d suspected from the way his arm had hung.
“And?” he asked because his father was still looking too worried.
“They’d like to do another operation; a graft to put skin on your arm.”
Tate’s stomach rolled in on itself and he wished he hadn’t asked. The idea of going back to the misty place turned his blood to ice. Maybe it wouldn’t happen this time since he was no longer adrift.
His father paused as if debating what to say.
“Just tell me, Dad.” He’d find out eventually, and if it was going to affect the decision, he should know.
“You’ve lost a lot of skin on your arm—you’ll heal better with a graft, but you’ve been struggling with the anesthesia. You nearly died last night. And your heart stopped when they put the plates in your shoulder.”
“Yet I need the surgery.”
His father nodded. “The doctor is recommending it. The risk of infection is high, and the scarring will be worse. I’ll let you decide, you can speak to the doc yourself, but it’s been pretty hairy.”
Tate nodded. He knew why his heart had stopped. Ruby had been responsible both times, but how could he explain that to his dad? He couldn’t. “I’ll be okay. I couldn’t make Mum come all this way and not say hello.”
He hadn’t seen his mother in nearly three years when he’d gone to Germany over the school holidays before starting college. Ruby had come with him, because she hadn’t wanted him to go without her. She’d hated every minute of it and didn’t make any effort to learn even a little German.
His father managed a smile that faded fast. “The police will also want to speak to you… I’m sorry, son. Ruby didn’t make it.”
Tate closed his eyes. He knew she was gone, but hearing it hurt like she was trying to rip out his soul again. She’d been part of his life since he was fifteen. He’d never expected her to not be part of his life.
His father patted his hand. “I know it wasn’t your fault. The police know too. They’re hoping you can remember something about the other vehicle.”
“I do.” The white SUV had come to the scene to check out the damage. Or he thought it had, the memories were fading. Had he really been wandering or just dreaming?
“Well, I should get down to the station and let you get some rest. Your mother was getting coffee. She’ll be glad to see you awake.”
Tate nodded. He was looking forward to seeing her. It had been too long.
“I’ll be back this evening.” He father gave his hand a squeeze.
“Okay.” He watched his father walk to the door. He had to know if the young woman he met was real or a dream. “Dad?”
His father turned.
“Do you remember who bought our old house?” He was hoping the last three days hadn’t been a dream. Eloise had to be more than a figment of his desperate mind designed to give him hope and a reason to live.
“Yeah, a nice young family with a little girl.”
A little girl called Eloise who was now all grown up. His mouth curved as he thought of her. She was real.
“Why?”
How did he explain any of what happened to his father? “I dreamed of it,” he said simply, but it had been much more than a dream. He remembered the warmth of her skin even though he couldn’t touch her and her kindness even though she’d known nothing about him.
“You always liked that house.”
Because he’d always been at home there. It had been their family home before the divorce. Now, Eloise was waiting for him when he got out of hospital.
Two weeks later, with the new skin on Tate’s arm healing, he was allowed to leave hospital. He’d missed Ruby’s funeral. And while he’d said his goodbye to her, he should’ve been there, even though he was sure her parents wouldn’t have appreciated his presence. He forced out a breath. He was moving forward—hoping to move forward.
He rubbed his palm over his jeans-covered thigh. His left hand was still cuffed and held against his chest to keep it still. He would need physical therapy to get his arm working properly, and it would be weeks until he could drive again, so he was on the bus.
He hadn’t been on a bus in years, not since he’d got his license. He hadn’t been back to the old house in a decade, not in the flesh. He’d ridden past it but never stopped. It held too many happy memories that he’d lost when his mother had left.
The bus stopped and Tate got out and walked down the street. The same street he’d walked down as a kid to get to school. He paused in the front yard and looked up at the house he’d grown up in. He’d thought about calling Eloise after he’d woken up, but she had exams, and he didn’t want to be a distraction. But exams were over and he was out of hospital.
The front door opened and Eloise and the massive rottweiler came out.
Eloise saw him and stopped. Her face caught between a smile and disbelief. “Are you real this time?”
“I’m real.”
She ran down the path, the dog at her side, then threw her arms around him. He grunted as her weight banged his arm, but he wrapped his good arm around her, just glad to be able to feel her body against his.
He kissed her forehead, and she tipped her head so their lips clashed. The almost-clumsy first kiss as they learned the feel of each other. The sweet longing to know more without wanting to rush. Eloise drew back and grinned.
“You came back.” Her fingers made tiny circles on the back of his neck.
“I had to see you. I’ve been thinking about kissing you since I woke up.” He kissed her again with more certainty. For the first time in years, Tate knew where he wanted to be.
With Eloise.
About the Author
Shona Husk lives in Western Australia at the edge of the Indian Ocean. Blessed with a lively imagination, she spent most of her childhood making up stories. As an adult she discovered romance novels and hasn’t looked back. Drawing on history and myth, she weaves new worlds and writes heroes who aren’t afraid to get hurt while falling in love.
You can find out more at
www.shonahusk.com
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Brightwater Blood
To survive, they’ll have to think outside the circle.
Brightwater Blood
© 2012 Shona Husk
Were-lion Lachlan Garvey is closing in on the Brightwater women, the last of a Shamanic line that the Council wants eradicated for their murderous use of magic. One minute he’s in his animal form, examining a dead body in a patch of charred grass. The next, he wakes up human—naked, shot and lying in a circle of his own blood.
Dayna Brightwater is sure the man she’s bound with a blood spell is the one who just murdered her twin sister. Yet even if she did have the stomach for revenge killing, she doesn’t have the power. But what to do with him now? If she lets him go, he’ll kill her, too.
Trapped in the path of a deadly magical fire, Lachlan has to think fast—and talk faster—to convince the beautiful Shaman he’s innocent. As the roaring flames creep closer, Dayna must choose. Trust Lachlan and use magic to save them both…or flee. And live with the knowledge she caused his death, proving that no Brightwater is capable of love.
Warning: Contains a naked hero who’ll do anything to save his life…including saving hers.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Brightwater Blood:
Lachlan lifted his gaze and stared at Dayna. She was part shaman, and she could make a circle; she’d proved that by binding him. They couldn’t outrun it, so they would have to stay until the fire had swept over them.
“Get everything you want to save into the circle.” Talking tore at his dry throat, and he swallowed, but it was more reflex than relief.
“The barrier is down.”
“I know. You’re going to put it back up—with us inside.”
She gave a tight shake of her head. “No, I’ll get the car. We’ll be fine.”
“The fire is on all sides—there is no way through. Get inside the circle,” he said through his teeth. He knew it was only adrenaline keeping him going, when that left him…well. At least he’d be unconscious and out of pain, and that was beginning to sound like a blessing.
Her face paled, and she looked more like a frightened woman than the gun-toting, magic-wielding shaman who’d confronted him earlier. “I can’t put it back up. It takes too much energy.”
“Trust me, Dayna.” If she didn’t, there wouldn’t be much left for the experts to identify. He hoped he was right, and he wasn’t overestimating her power. But they had no other choice. There was no way to escape the fire so they had to hunker down and hope they had the resources to survive. His palm on his leg was slick as his blood ran in rivulets to the ground. They needed more than magic. They needed a miracle.
She held his gaze for a heartbeat. When she moved, Lachlan released the breath he’d been holding. If they did nothing they were dead, and if she couldn’t raise the barrier, they’d get a free cremation.
He coughed to try and clear his throat. “Bring the water.”
If this was his last drink he’d rather be licking salt off her skin and chasing it with tequila and a slice of lemon. He glanced at Dayna and his tongue moved against the back of his teeth. If they got out of this, he’d buy her a drink. Hell, he’d do whatever she wanted.
Dayna tossed him the plastic bottle, and it rolled to a stop near his leg. It looked like water would have to do. Besides, alcohol and fire probably wasn’t the best combination. He reached for the bottle and gulped down several mouthfuls—tequila had never tasted this good, sweet with a burn in his gut that almost made him feel less than half-dead—before making himself stop. Too much and he’d make himself sick. But his mouth felt better and his throat wasn’t so dusty.
He pushed a breath out between his teeth as Dayna sat next to him with the two bags she’d been carrying. She overlapped the ends of the bloodstained cord, then froze with her gaze locked in the distance.
“It’s here,” she whispered like the fire could hear her.
He already knew. It didn’t matter where he looked—the fire was closing in. For a moment he tried to pretend this plan was a good one and that it would work. Around him the air was heating, and the noise of the fire was getting louder with each passing second.
“Put up the circle.” His voice was just loud enough to carry over the noise of the flames as they devoured everything in their path. He glanced at Dayna; her eyes were wide with fear. He touched her shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. “Make it a sphere this time.”
Spheres were strong. They’d be in a magic bubble. This was never going to work. Putting his faith in an invisible magical barrier was like wishing for unicorns, highly dangerous—unless you were a virgin, which he wasn’t. Right now, if given the choice, he’d rather risk death by righteous unicorn than a wall of angry, magic-fueled fire.
“We’re surrounded.” Her words were stilted, as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Yeah. I got that.” Three hundred and sixty degrees of crackling flames. His stomach tightened. He was insane. A bit of rope and a part-shaman’s magic was never going to be able to save their lives. He kept his absolute bone-melting terror of fire confined to his body. His muscles tensed, and the irrational urge to run even though they were surrounded pounded in his head. He fought against the lionish instincts that would get him killed. He had to act like he knew what he was doing or Dayna was going to freak out further, and he needed her to concentrate. “The magic is contracting back to the center.”
She released a shaky breath. “Then what?”
“Then it’s over.” He threw a pinch of dirt at the cord and it sailed right over the threshold. His heart lurched and snagged on his ribs. “If you don’t get that barrier up, we’re dead.” His words came out harsher than he’d expected. He
really
wanted to live.