Chloe's World

One

 

 

I focused on the quiet, let it flow through my skin and settle in my bones as I moved through my yoga practice. Inhaling and exhaling. Steady and even. Until I uncurled from my final forward bend and relaxed into Corpse Pose. A momentary release into the emptiness of absolutely everything. Death.

Appropriate.

Ending in death.

It hangs heavy, dark and mysterious, a threat to fragile human existence. A tantalizing secret just beyond our grasp. A final whisper, death, but not really. All through life we get a taste here, a sample there—the mini deaths we experience every day, the ones that come with change. And then there’s the philosophical concept of death that opens to life everlasting. And it would be remiss to overlook la petite mort, the blissful death of an amazing orgasm.

And then there’s me.

Things haven’t been the same since I died.

Twice.

It was interesting to be out-of-body, to watch the doctors and nurses work to bring me back, and absolutely amazing to experience the power of non-corporeal energy. Now that was a treat I wouldn’t mind having access to on a regular basis. But not the coming back. That part wasn’t any fun at all. I’m among the living again, albeit a new member of the unique subset of society who can claim a near death experience. Or two.

I’ll pass on any repeat performances.

For the past six weeks I’ve focused on healing from the physical and emotional scars that lingered after a fire destroyed Soma Herbal, my business, and the upstairs living space I used to call home.

A timer dinged softly in the background signaling the end of my relaxation time. I rolled to my side and eased onto my feet, stretching tall as I glanced out the picture window that overlooked the forest surrounding my sister’s cabin. My breath caught as I watched a pale grey fog swallow the mountains. A chill rippled down my spine, and I consciously drew in a deep breath to fend off the sensation of being smothered. The morning fog had been doing that lately, closing in around me, heavy with the weight of my inner demons.

I snagged a jacket from the hook by the back door, and worked my arms through the sleeves as the cool wisp of a shiver crept along my skin. The fog, heavy with moisture, followed the meandering path of the wind swirling in and out of complex patterns without focus or destination. A little like me, the fog. Scary thought. I shook off the melancholy and pushed my arms through the sleeves of the borrowed jacket. As I stuffed my hands deep into the pockets, my fingers curled around an acai bracelet and I fingered the seeds like prayer beads. 

My boots crunched against the forest floor releasing the scent of pine as I began a walking meditation. I slowly and consciously became one with the elements. Ethereal footsteps clouded my mind, echoed behind me with each repetition of the numeric sequence I counted on my acai bracelet.

I slowed my steps.

No point in trying to outrun destiny.

My pace faded to stillness. I braced my back against an oversized Douglas Fir, closed my eyes and focused on the sensation of the miniscule drops of fog coating my face.

“It’s time to go home.” The ancient voice whispered through my mind and my eyes fluttered open. No one was there, of course. Well, no warm, breathing, human body, but the presence was strong enough that it held me tightly to the fir tree. We’d done this dance every day for the past week or so—destiny and me, weaving through the intricate footsteps of avoidance and acceptance. So far I was ahead, but I’m guessing only by a figment of my imagination. Destiny always wins in the end.

I straightened my spine, pushing my shoulder blades tight against the tree. Maybe destiny had my future all planned out, but I wasn’t ready to fall into step quite yet. It hadn’t been two full months since my life burned to the ground. The fire took a fair portion of my skin from my back, and left enough scars that I avoided three-way mirrors with conscious intent. I was healing. But not enough to let destiny have its way.

And then there was Dominic. We met on the trails, hikers in passing, only we hadn’t passed. We’d both stopped, nature fading into the background as we connected body and soul. My mind had yet to catch up. In its logical way, as minds are wont to do, mine shied away from the dark mystery that coated his aura.

I’ll probably never know if my thoughts call him to me, or if he has some raw, mystical ability that tells him when I need him. I’d bet on the raw, mystical ability, but then I’ve always sided with the ethereal. I inhaled deeply and caught the scent of exotic spice and seductive musk as it mingled with the dampness in the air. The inhalation was meant to be calming, to chase destiny away, but his scent stopped my heart and then sent it stuttering rapidly against my ribs. 

He’d been coming to me for ten days. Meeting me in the woods. Walking me home to bed—not for sex. Not yet. Then he’d disappear into the silence of the forest. To where, I don’t know. Interesting how I welcomed this part of destiny’s plan, and so completely ignored the insistent message that it was time to go back home, back to Honolulu.

The rough bark of the tree scraped my palms, a touch of reality. I waited, keeping my eyes closed while my other senses focused on his essence as it circled around me. Awareness played with my mind, much more interesting than the sharp bite of fear warning me away from him.

Dominic’s warm hands framed my face, chasing away the fear. He brushed his lips against mine. Not a kiss. It was a greeting. A recognition. A second out of time when the communication between us was soul deep.

A wave of pleasure washed through me, breaking into the magic of soul-talk and my eyes opened, met his—pale grey with a dark ring of midnight blue circling the edge. The only other time I’d seen eyes like his I was face-to-face with a canine of Malamute—and a touch of wolf—extraction. They carried a lot of the same energy, Dominic and my sister’s pet.

He offered his hand to me. My palm hovered over his for just an instant before he threaded his fingers with mine. Heat melted into my body warming the chill and sending a single zing of red-hot to my heart. The fear I’d been holding at bay caught up with me, and I pulled my coat tightly around my body. Our relationship was more intimate than sex and beyond frustrating for the lack of it.

“You’re pensive this morning.” His voice, deep and soft cozied around my heart like a fleece blanket.

“Must be the fog.” I ran my fingers along his wrist appreciating the strong combination of healthy bone and muscle while secretly searching for his pulse. I couldn’t stop the searching, the wondering if I affected his heart, his emotions the same way he affected mine. 

Not that it mattered. Our lives weren’t meant to become one. He belonged here, in the mountains. I had to go back to Honolulu and face the evil that tried to steal my life. But not now. Not today.

I tugged on his hand. “Race you home.”

He tossed me over his shoulder and took off in a smooth lope. Disconcerting. I closed my eyes to block out the ground speeding by from such an odd angle, and then decided it was better to keep them open. Gave me a clear view of his perfect backside.

The quarter mile to the cabin disappeared beneath his feet and in moments he bounded up the steps, set me on the porch and pulled me into a fierce, but careful hug. Laughter bubbled from my toes and coated the air with happiness—a virtual thumbing of my nose at destiny.

He wove his hands through my hair. “It’s getting longer. Suits you, Ms. Chloe Channing.”

I pushed the door open and backed into the living room while I shrugged out of my jacket, let it drop to the floor and toed out of my shoes. My fingers found the hard wall of his chest and inched between the buttons on his shirt. The vibrant warmth of his skin tingled against my fingertips and sent a flush of heat racing along my skin. His low growl caught against my lips as he kissed me, and kept kissing me while his coat and shoes landed in a tangled mess on the floor with mine.  

He kicked the door closed and his smile chased the feral from his eyes replacing it with frank appraisal and a touch of lust. Dominic accepted me—no questions. He took my hand as we headed for the bedroom. “You’re moving more easily. Even with the damp, you’re not as cautious as you were last week, or even yesterday.”

I slid my hand away from him and stripped off my sweater as I moved down the hall. I hadn’t worn a bra or camisole since I’d been burned. At first my skin was too sensitive to have anything tight against it. Now, I simply liked the sensation of freedom.

Sunlight broke through the fog and streamed into the bedroom illuminating everything in a hazy glow—including the scars on my back. I cringed but couldn’t, wouldn’t hide from Dominic.

He caught up to me, turned me into him. His gaze never dipped below my face and he was always careful not to touch my bare breasts. He ran his index finger along the arch and hollow of my cheek. His other hand caressed my back, exploring the texture of my skin, the knots and slick places that were stretched taut from the scarring. “Cat’s eyes. Caught-in-headlights wary,” he murmured. “They capture my imagination.”

“Only because they’re fey green, and reminiscent of a feline. They bring out the wolf in you.” I ran my hands over his chest soaking in the heat that warmed the fabric of his shirt. Thought about skimming the soft cotton from his shoulders as I breathed in the scent of him. But we didn’t do that—an unspoken rule not to push the physical boundary of intimacy.

The outdoors clung to his skin. Pine and damp mingled with the deep undertones of the mysterious spice that was unique to him. “We should bottle your scent. Call it Simply Dominic and sell it for millions.” I shivered, my senses responding to the man, my scars demanding his healing touch.

“I’m not for sale.” The whisper of his words brushed the sensitive spot just below my ear.

I dropped to the bed, obediently rolling to my stomach. “Probably better that way. It would be the death of women everywhere.”

His soft chuckle warmed the room as his fingers trailed along my back, finding the scars, tracing them, testing them. “Not as red today.”

“Later. We can talk about it later.” He needed to stop talking. His voice caressed me with brusque tones of desire, and I ruthlessly blocked my heightened libido to keep it from taking over the healing process.

“You’re beautiful, my Pretera, my wildcat. And the scars, softening and fading.”

Why was he still talking? I’d never calm the galloping pace of my heart and reach a place of meditation if he kept stroking me with his voice.

My hand sought the cool hardness of the rose quartz tucked under my pillow. The stone he brought to me. An image rippled behind my eyes, an ancient fragment of sepia paper, the words coming clear as though I watched them unfold though a prism of knowledge.

Select a piece of quartz rock and wash it in warm, soapy water. Rinse with clear, running water. Hold the crystal in both hands. Close your eyes and envision the being of your intent bathed in white light. Point the energy from the crystal toward the area of malaise, and allow pure white light to bathe the area.

The image evaporated, leaving me bereft. I chased the emptiness away with the memory of Dominic cradling the quartz in his palms, holding his hands just so over my back while he spoke mystical Romany words. Together we envisioned a stream of light flowing from the crystal, bathing my skin in healing energy. I’d kept it under my pillow ever since so my body could soak in the magic while I slept. Or maybe because the only time I felt truly at peace was when the image of the ancient page chased away the reality of the present.

We worked together to create the herbal ointment he massaged into my injured skin—a combination of Romany wisdom, ancient herbal art and modern medicine.

His fingers paused in mid-stroke. “What’s going through that head of yours? This isn’t the time for thinking and your muscles are taut.”

“The fire.”

He sucked in a breath, preparing to blast me for not-conducive-to-healing thoughts. Experience taught me that when Dominic primed himself for lecture mode, his inhalation had a faint rasp that caught in the back of his throat. Besides, we’d run through this scenario before, way too many times for my liking. Self-defense kicked in, and I filled the silence before he got on his soapbox. 

“Not the fire per se. More like curiosity about whether to start again as an herbalist, or maybe try something completely different. A whole new life.”

“It is a new life. You died a couple times—just to be sure the old was left behind, I’m guessing. Am I right on that?”

I sighed in pure contentment as the pads of his fingers found a particularly deep ache. “Yes. But I remember the first life, still live it in a way. I practice yoga every day but I miss teaching. I miss the herbs, selecting, preparing, and finding the perfect combination for my clients. It was a good life.”

He moved to straddle me, to work more deeply on the scar tissue and I finally dropped into a meditation to help my body with the healing process. Dominic was right. Now wasn’t the time for thinking. It was time to find my strength and get on with life.

When he finished, he tucked a blanket around me and ran his fingers through my hair. “Later, Pretera. When you wake from your morning nap.”

Sleep claimed me until my mobile vibrated, rattling against the nightstand. I shook my head, tried to ignore it. Better to deal with destiny before I attempted to face the reality of modern life. Cell phones. Work. Finding a home. Not that I had a clue where home was anymore. Not here. Not in the Pacific Northwest where I’d grown up and come to hide while my body mended and my mind healed. The phone rang again and I blindly reached for it, snapped it open, and mumbled something that faintly resembled “hello.” 

“Boulay here.”

The crisp British accent had my lips curving into a smile. “Here? As in Seattle?”

“Quite. Put on a pot of tea as I’ll be knocking on your door in fifteen.”