Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (24 page)

Sometimes she fantasized about how differently her life might have turned out if she’d reported the assault to the police. But she knew—had always known—that it would have been her word against Rick’s. Speaking up would have catapulted her into another nightmare: living with constant fear that he’d make good on his threats. She’d been scared of what he would do if he found out about the baby. No, more than scared. Terrified he’d force her to have a second-trimester abortion, or… or… sue for custody after the baby was born.

But he’d never tried to contact her—not even when the story about Jordan Cast’s shock decision to walk away from her promising modeling career hit the news. Doubtless he’d been pleased she’d taken off—made getting on with his life a whole lot neater and tidier.

Bastard. She clenched her fists until her nails gouged her palms. The thought of Sera being raised by a man like Rick Windsor turned her stomach. If there was a God, and He was looking out for Sera, Rick would never find out he had a daughter. Never. Especially now he was bucking for mayor in his home town of Dallas.

Calm down. Just breathe. Don’t think about what he could have done—and could still do. Just breathe. In… and out. In… and out. Keep telling yourself he only ever knew you as Jordan Cast. He would never connect you with
Opal Stewart
, a single mom who cleaned rich folks’ houses to make ends meet. And if you passed him in the street tomorrow he wouldn’t look twice at you.

Acting on an impulse she couldn’t ignore, Opal threw back the comforter and crept from the room into the hall. She eased open the door of Sera’s bedroom and ghosted inside to stand at the foot of the bed, waiting for her eyesight to adjust.

A smile crept to her lips. Her baby girl was fast asleep, hair spread over the pillow, nose to nose with her fuzzy toy fox. And whenever she looked at the miracle that was her daughter, Opal couldn’t regret falling pregnant. Nor could she regret Sera’s thick red hair, a legacy from the man Opal tried so hard to forget. She might loathe Rick Windsor with every fiber of her being but all she’d ever felt for her child had been love and a fierce desire to protect her.

She tiptoed over to Sera and bent to kiss her cheek. Sera stirred and murmured, “Mommy?”

“S-S-Sweet d-d-dreams, baby.”

“You, too, Mommy.” Sera snuggled deeper beneath her comforter and Opal padded from the room.

No point trying to sleep when she was like this. She had to relive it all, right through to the end, or her mind would just keep looping through the same events over and over. She wandered into the kitchen to make a herbal tea, and while the kettle boiled, forced her mind back to the past.

Her agency’s bigwigs hadn’t been thrilled to learn their golden girl had developed a debilitating stutter, was pregnant, intended on keeping the baby, and wanted out of her contract. But with the modeling industry already under fire over healthy bodyweights and eating disorders and the like, the last thing they’d wanted was a media furor over a pregnant teenage model they’d encouraged to become an emancipated minor. Opal had walked away with a cancelled contract, and assurances news of her pregnancy wouldn’t leave the room.

With that confrontation out of the way, leaving her life in New York behind had proven surprisingly easy. She’d grabbed some cash from an ATM, headed back to her apartment to pack a suitcase, left an envelope for her roommates containing cash to cover the utilities, and walked out without a backward glance. The remaining cash she’d had on her bought her a bus ticket to Philadelphia and the sanctuary of a cheap motel room for a few days.

She hadn’t intended to stay in Philly. She’d planned on catching her breath, sorting a few things out in her head, and then working her way further down the East Coast to Florida—a place she’d always fancied visiting. But something about Philly had resonated with her. And whether it had been the nesting instinct kicking in über-early, or some other reason she couldn’t define, as the days passed she found herself reluctant to leave. Besides, no one recognized her here. Without the attention of professional hair and makeup artists, and lacking designer clothes, she was another passably pretty young teen. And when she’d found an affordable property in an unremarkable Philly suburb that Rick Windsor had doubtless never heard of, she’d decided to stay.

For all intents and purposes Jordan Cast had been no more. And an unlisted phone number had insured it would be even more difficult for anyone to track her down if they felt so inclined. Now, nearly a decade on, Opal would be surprised if anyone remembered the name of that girl who’d once had the media buzzing with her potential to be the next big thing in the modeling world.

She carried her mug out onto the stoop and perched on the front steps, sipping her tea and wishing she’d added a little honey to the brew. She could do with a little more sweetness in her life right now.

Her gaze drifted across her front garden—which to be honest was more weeds than garden, despite her efforts to please Sera by planting bulbs, pansies and marigolds. Gardens needed to be lavished with care and time and effort. Opal didn’t have any of those to spare. Case in point the lawn, which needed mowing. Again. Unlike Peter’s.

She threw an envious glance at her neighbor’s townhome, picturing its neatly clipped lawn and bordered gardens. Peter must have a mowing service for she’d never once seen him out with a mower.

She set down her mug, leaned back and closed her eyes, breathing in the still, cool night air. And then she heard it, the low moan of a creature in pain.

She froze, focusing all her attention on detecting a repeat of that heart-rending sound. And when all was silent save the buzz of traffic and the whine of a flying insect, she relaxed, telling herself she’d only imagined—

There it was again. Her chin snapped around as she sought the source of the sound.

Another moan, this one loud enough for her to identify it as human rather than animal. And that it came from next door.

She was running up Peter’s path before she was consciously aware she’d moved. And as she scanned the darkness, she spotted a shadow that appeared more substantial than the rest. A man-shaped shadow. Too large and bulky to be Peter, thank God. Meaning the old man hadn’t fallen and injured himself. No. The figure slumped on stairs leading from Peter’s small concrete porch was….

Danbur.

OhGodohGodohGod. What was wrong with him? A flurry of worst-case scenarios flit through her mind. She recalled something about stomach pains—appendicitis? What if his appendix had burst? She needed to get him help right away.

She flew up the steps and dropped to her knees beside him. He must have sensed someone was there because he abruptly opened his eyes, and his expression was so desolate that she almost recoiled.

She grasped his hand, but before she could reassure him she was only leaving to head inside and phone for help, he shook her off with a hoarse, “No!” His eyes were wide and terrified but unfocused, as though he’d retreated deep inside himself.

Another tortured moan escaped his lips and, peering closely at him, she finally understood.

A nightmare. One that had manifested so strongly and vividly it had supplanted reality. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t realize she was there. And Opal knew, intimately, how terrifying and debilitating a nightmare could be.

“Sweet Mother of all Gods, have mercy,” he whispered. “Release me, please. I cannot abide it anymore—the darkness, the… the… nothingness. Have I not suffered enough? What more do you want from me? Do you not understand I have nothing left to give?”

Prickles of mingled shock and comprehension goosed her skin. He must have been trapped somewhere, and the trauma of it still haunted him.

A memory pricked her—a fantastical tale of… of… Danbur being cursed and trapped in a crystal. Yes. How could she have forgotten that? Of course she didn’t believe it for an instant—who in their right mind would? But she couldn’t deny some incident in his past had caused him to suffer terribly. And if his coping mechanism involved fabricating elaborate tales to explain his trauma, who was she to argue? Except the only trouble with suppressing the truth was it tended to manifest in the subconscious. Hence flashbacks or nightmares—the kind that could cause a person to lash out and hurt anyone who tried to help them.

She’d experienced that firsthand, too, when her nightmares had gotten the best of her and she’d woken Sera with her cries. The worst episode had been when Sera was three, and had crawled onto the bed to try and wake Mommy. Opal had thrashed about so violently she’d swiped Sera off the bed onto the floor. Sera had been scared but unhurt, thank the Lord, but Opal had been dreaming of battering Rick’s face with her fists. And if she’d hit Sera believing she was hitting Rick….

She scrubbed the chilled skin of her arms with her knuckles. It didn’t bear thinking about. And it made her wary of abruptly waking Danbur. If a big man like him instinctively lashed out while believing himself trapped and endangered, he could cause her serious injury. But nor could she leave him like this, fighting unnamed horrors and believing himself alone and helpless.

She had to free him from his nightmares, somehow let him know he was safe. She inched as close to him as she dared, and cupped his face gently in her palms. “Danbur,” she whispered. “It’s me, Opal.”

His lips peeled back from his teeth. “Damn you for a soulless bastard,” he snarled, staring at her—through her—like she didn’t exist. “Enough of your games, Crystal Guardian. Simply kill me and be done with it!”

A sob clogged her throat and she pressed her thumbs into the hollows beneath Danbur’s cheekbones, hoping to get through to him with her touch if words failed. “Danbur. It’s Opal. You’re not trapped any longer. You’re safe with me.”

“You have had your revenge, old man. Now put me out of my misery. Please.” His flare of defiance had died, leaving him broken and begging. Anguish stabbed her chest and twisted, leaving her gasping. Knowing he thought
she
was this “crystal guardian” was painful enough, but knowing this proud, strong, beautiful man had sought death?

Hot tears stung her eyes. Her heart felt like it was ripping in two. If Danbur had given in to the despair she heard in his voice, and given up fighting, he wouldn’t have survived whatever had happened to him. He wouldn’t have lived to rush in and save Sera from that asthma attack… or to turn Opal’s world upside down and make her wish for the things she’d denied herself so long.

She pressed her lips to his, breathing the words into his mouth, willing them to take root and get through to him and help him believe. “Danbur. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

He blinked, focused on her. “O-O-Opal?”

Heartbreaking to hear
him
stuttering instead of her. “Yes. I’m here.” She rested her forehead against his, felt the shudder that shook his body.

“Opal.” He uttered her name softly, his tone wondering. He stroked his palms down her forearms and then gripped her wrists, as though to reassure himself she was truly real and not some phantom.

“I’m real,” she said. “This is real. You and me. Here. Now.”

He closed his eyes. “Gods above and below, please let this not be a dream.”

She understood that it took time to corral the nightmares, to rebuild defenses so you could function again… or work up the courage to seek sleep again. She knew if she closed her eyes too soon the nightmares would be there, waiting to pounce once more. But unlike her, Danbur didn’t have to wrestle his fears alone—not when she was there for him.

“You’re not dreaming, Danbur.” She straddled his thighs and wriggled closer until she was plastered against him, chest to chest. “Open your eyes. Look at me. I’m here. I’m not a dream.”

He refused to obey, and so she kissed him. Hard. Demanding he acknowledge that she was no dream-woman conjured from his fevered imagination.

His eyelids flew open and she was so close she could see dark blue striations amid the lighter sky-blue of his irises. And then sight was overwhelmed by sensation as his hands released her wrists to drift lightly down her sides, leaving tantalizing tingles of warmth that made her shiver and want more. She’d parted her lips to beg that he give her what she wanted, but he’d anticipated that oh-so-daring plea… and one big palm was already splayed across the small of her back with the other positioned lower, cupping her butt. Now his tongue darted across her lips, thrust between her parted lips, enticed her to reciprocate. And if magic were real and she could command it with a thought, she would make her t-shirt and baggy cotton sleep pants vanish into thin air so that Danbur could stroke every needy, wanting, demanding inch of her.

Desire pooled hot and heavy in her belly. Lower. She wanted him inside her so badly she ached. She’d been a virgin before…. Before Rick. And ever since she’d shied away from any man who’d shown an interest, shunning even the possibility of sex.

But now, with Danbur….

Some part of her believed he could lance past memories, drain them of their power to hurt and demean and diminish her. Some part of her hoped he could put them to rest once and for all.

“Opal?”

It was more than a question. He was asking her permission to take the next step. And the next. He was asking permission to possess her intimately. And her answer was to breathe his name in a sensuous purr laced with an invitation that only an idiot could misread. She didn’t care if this was the right time or the right place. He was the right man and she wanted him. Here and now. And if he stopped kissing her—if he stopped—she would kill him.

Thankfully he wasn’t an idiot. Or maybe she’d uttered that last threat aloud, for he bent his knees, wedging her so firmly in his lap that she rode the ridge of his cock beneath his sweatpants. And then he was smoothing her t-shirt up her spine. Higher and higher, until, impatient, she grabbed the hem, ripped it over her head and tossed it aside.

The cool night air crinkled her nipples, a shocking reminder she never wore a bra to bed. Oh God. What if someone saw her half naked? What if Peter woke up and—

Danbur palmed her left breast. He bent his head to mouth the nipple of her other breast, and tease it with his tongue. She arched her back and ohhh, she didn’t care if anyone saw her. She didn’t care about anything except his fingers doing things that sparked pleasure through her body, and the heat of his mouth, and the sensuous lapping of his tongue, and the undeniable evidence notched between her thighs that he wanted her, too—as badly as she wanted him.