Vision (10 page)

Sarah and Wilbur now stood toe to toe – her
arms crossed, defiantly glaring into his heartless eyes. He grabbed
her arm, dragging her toward the waiting circle formed by the other
sweaty males waiting for the spectacle to start. He pulled her by
the hair, and the men parted to let them into the center of the
ring. I dreaded what was coming, and didn’t want to watch.

Slamming Sarah into the muddy ground, she
glared hard at Wilbur without a trace of expression or feeling, and
then her eyes went elsewhere, and she never looked at him again.
This purposeful gesture would spawn his rage. He made attempts to
provoke her to no avail while the others looked on. Her face
remained unmoving, as if carved from stone, as if she had already
died inside.

The crowd stood in silence while Wilbur
stomped around the inside of the formation. Hostility, intolerance
and hate led by Wilbur MacDonald. Even the men who had tried to
convince Wilbur to leave Sarah alone were now fully vested in the
violent mongering – the Hitler effect.

Someone handed Wilbur a torch, and with the
pride of a true killer he smiled like a demon, slowly moving the
searing flame down to touch Sarah’s dress fabric. My nightmares
were not fabrications of my imagination, but mirror images of the
past. The bottom tip of the cloth accepted the flame. She tried to
get up but Wilbur shoved her back down. That evil bastard wanted
her to burn alive in front of his eyes. I wanted to kill him myself
– it wouldn’t have been a problem.

Attempting to rise again, he met her with
another lunge, but with unnatural lightening speed she jumped to
her feet in one motion landing like a tigress while the flames
licked her skirt. With a swift, brutal kick to his groin she was
able to break free, running toward the ocean where destiny waited.
Wilbur was doubled over in pain, cursing and groaning –
telegraphing the revenge on his mind. For the first time I saw her
physical strength and courage. Perhaps she was a victim of destiny,
but she was not a victim.

Jonathan burst from the house, groggy at
first then launching into a high speed run toward the action. “What
did you do you filthy maggots?” Sobs mixed with grief made my heart
drop as I watched Jonathan run toward Sarah, as if he could still
stop the inevitable. I wondered why, if he was some sort of
guardian, why he was just arriving. He ran toward her but she was
burning quickly, and within seconds had launched out over the sea,
an angel in flight.

He dropped to his knees overcome with pain,
arms covering his head as he rolled from side to side, unable to
contain his dying heart. “God oh god I failed her…” His voice
trickled away as grief enveloped him.

Wilbur had recovered enough from Sarah’s kick
to charge at him wielding a sword. Jonathan was curled into a ball,
hysterical, repeating her name, promising to join her soon in
eternal love. “I’ll come with you love, I’ll follow you now,” he
whispered. Hearing him speak reminded me of someone – it took a few
seconds to make the association, but he looked and sounded like
Stuart. Warmth and cold collided simultaneously in my limbs, coils
formed in my belly.

Wilbur stopped where Jonathan now crouched on
the ground, devastated, defeated. “Jonathan MacPhie, ya witch
lover. I am going to kill ya too!”

Jonathan looked up, eyes glazed with
indifference responded in a low whisper. “Do you think I care about
dying now ya swine?”

Wilbur grinned deviously. “She loved me ya
know.”

Jonathan broke into hysterical laughter,
literally holding his sides. “Wilbur – you are – so – Sarah loathed
the sight of you! I’ll die here knowing I was the one who brought
her joy.” Standing up, he faced Wilbur, straight faced and somber.
He was tall and slender, where Wilbur was large and wide. There was
probably no competition in body strength.

Still, Jonathan used words to fight his final
battle on earth, and he was not done speaking his mind – there was
nothing more to loose. “She found you utterly disgusting, vile,
called ye a monster. Well, she was right as always. So please, kill
me. There is no longer life here. You’ll only be doin’ me a favor.”
He stood still in his words, expecting no less than death by
sword.

And with that, Wilbur complied, releasing a
primordial yell as he plunged the blade through Jonathan’s heart, a
place that could no longer feel life anyway. His limp body
collapsed to the ground. Wilbur stood over him, panting heavily, a
bloody night’s work completed.

On the ground I kneeled, sobbing quietly,
drained and exhausted, missing Stuart and my life. Did I even have
Stuart? I wasn’t sure, but he was absolutely missing.

And for a moment, I thought I was alone.

The night returned to present time, and
someone stood over me, for real this time, staring with death in
his eyes. After I focused, it was clear the face was an older
version of Andre, a red capital ‘A’ encircled tattoo on the neck,
the symbol for anarchy…a piece of trivia I just happen to know. My
breath came out in hard pants, but I couldn’t scream. Our eyes were
locked. I couldn’t read him.

But the danger was palpable.

I remained motionless, waiting for him to
react. Maybe he was looking through me. His eyes followed me when I
slowly stood up.

I think he wanted to kill me, so I ran.

And the chase was on.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I was certain his intention was to corner me
at the cliffs. The heavy breathing loomed inches from my neck and
would either grab or push me if I didn’t jump.

It’s okay. I’ll catch you.

Who are you? Is that you, Stuart?

There’s no time for prattle. Jump, Layla.

So like Sarah, I hurled myself off the cliff
in a leap of blind faith and then realized the voice could have
been imagined – a residual piece of lingering dream. The headlines
would read: Consecutive bad choices finally kill Layla Stone.

But instead of plummeting, my body was caught
and held in a cradle carrying me up and away, across the water to
the adjacent island of Oronsay, where we touched down softly on a
grass clearing lit only with moonlight.

I smelled him first.

“Hello, love,” he whispered.

“Fairchild.” I didn’t hear a response before
I collapsed deeper into his arms.

It was the dark before dawn when I opened my
eyes. We lay side by side wrapped together in his long wool coat
like pretzels. I should have been shaking from the cold, except the
heat exchange was intense. “Hi again. Staying conscience this
time?” He kissed my nose.

I blinked. He was gorgeous. “How long was I
out?”

The sigh was long, filled with fatigue. “Not
long.”

I met his eyes. “Really, please. Are you an
eagle, or Superman? I’ve narrowed it down to those two, so tell me
which one.”

The index finger and thumb from his perfectly
formed hands squeezed his nose bridge. “None of the above.”

“Then I need answers.”

He nodded.

“Good,” I continued. “First question. Was
there a man after me or was it my imagination?”

“Jasper Branson.”

I rose up on one elbow, tilting my head and
pinning his gaze. “Excuse me?”

“Andre’s father – a world class jerk and high
up in the Bane circle.” He nuzzled my neck.

I stifled my moan so he would know I meant
business, but the distraction was still a fight. “Uh, why me,
Fairchild?”

He paused long enough to complete a full
sentence. “Because love…they know you have – powers that could
bring them crashing down.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Yeah, right.
I’m just a struggling student who can’t even get her mother’s
devotion.”

This time he really stopped, looking me dead
in the eye with utter seriousness. “Not to them.”

“How did he know I was here? How did he find
me?”

Stuart shook his head. “No one knows yet,
love.”

I remained confused. “I couldn’t read you. I
wondered if you were…”

“No, I’m not. My guard was up, on purpose.
But you read me before you jumped.” He reminded me reassuringly,
gently brushing hair strands from my eye before brushing his mouth
across my forehead.

I remembered something else. “Did you…send me
something…when we were on the Waterloo Bridge?”

He let out an irresistible, husky laugh.
“Depends. What did you hear?” He smiled the crooked one that made
me weak.

Can you hear me now?
He sent.

I rose further, sitting on my knees,
delighted my head hearing was working at full capacity. “Yes! I can
hear your head!”

He rose to his so we faced each other.
“Happy?”

I nodded. “Delirious. I thought something was
wrong with me.”

He hugged me. “Now you try.”

I gazed at him curiously and then kissed
before responding. “What?”

“Think something,” he said.

“Fairchild, are you a Clear too?”

“No…I’m a…we’re a…” He glanced in the
distance then back to me.

The realization was staggering. I gulped dry
air. What a dunce. “You’re my guardian. You sent the charm.”

He smiled. “Yes, and that’s Guardian with a
capital G. It’s a ‘thing’ apparently.”

I laughed.
My head is spinning,
Fairchild.

Passing out again?

Maybe. How did you…what did you…?

I can feel you from far away, sense you,
smell you…and I can sort of swoop and fly when necessary. It’s part
of my ability as your…

When I came to, again, I was inside Abbey’s
laying down on the bed. Dawn was breaking. Stuart had transported
me in a matter of seconds back to the white washed house. He
assured me Jasper was long gone. I tried to pepper him with
questions but he insisted we rest for a while.

But I was restless, and needed something to
drink. Shuffling into the kitchen, I noticed the lights were on as
they had been before the visit. It was as if little time had
passed, except a few hundred years. “Stuart?” Opening the fridge, I
grabbed a bottle of water at the same time he stood behind me, his
warm breath steaming up nearly non-existent space between us.

Closing the door I whirled around. “After the
scary night I had, you really shouldn’t sneak up like that.”

In silence, his hands grazed the length of my
arms barely touching my skin, creating trails of bumps as he moved
down to my hands. My back leaned into the counter and Stuart moved
closer, until the remaining space between us vanished.

His long fingers formed handcuffs around my
wrists. “What are you doing?” I moaned.

“Mmmm?” The vibration in his throat shot
shockwaves of shivers, nearly buckling my knees as his sweet breath
brushed my ear. If he didn’t touch me, really touch me soon I would
explode. Small hurricanes formed in my gut, winds of desire
impossible to contain. “Touch me, Fairchild.”

“No,” he murmured, his mouth buried in my
hair at the nape of my neck, fingers still clasping my wrists in
place.

“Please…I’ll pass out again.” I managed to
mumble a moan of a threat, my neck exposed to encourage full
contact.

Stuart pulled back enough to reveal his
marble black eyes in the low light, swirling with so much desire
and lust I was certain my heart would pound open my chest. With
only a sensation of contact, his lips breezed by mine, causing
delicate waves of aches to spread everywhere.

I opened my mouth for him, and he released my
wrists, moving his hands to my face where he swept his fingers
lightly across my cheeks, raking them through my hair before he
cradled my head.

Our lips met, and the world around me
dissolved until there was nothing but us, Stuart and me, exploring
each other boldly, gasping for breath as we did.

His hands found my waist, my hips, tucking
his fingertips into the waistband of my jeans. I tugged at his
shirt, eager to feel his skin. I moaned uncontained into his mouth
and he loved that, responding by pulling me closer, teasing me
mercilessly with his kisses.

He lifted me onto the counter and I crossed
my ankles around his back. His lips found the groove behind my ear
and other places I never thought about. I wrapped my arms around
his neck as he slid his hands under my blouse, his thumbs brushing
the underside of my breasts.

My dramatic gasp made him chuckle in a
smitten way, satisfied he was driving me to the brink of insanity.
The heat between us intensified, smoldering with each caress.

I managed to eek out a sentence while he
nibbled. “Let’s go to the bed.”

“Nuh uh, not yet.”

Maybe he didn’t understand. “But I want to;
it’s just more comfortable…”

He stopped just after he planted a final kiss
on my chin. I had never felt such intense pleasure, and wanted him
as much as I knew he wanted me. The smile he gave me was both sexy
and reassuring, and I wasn’t sure what was on his mind at that
moment. “I mean not yet, not yet. It’s too soon.”

My heart fell eleven stories straight down.
“But…I thought…didn’t you…?”

A light went off as he backed away from our
encounter, and he understood we were on two different highways. “No
love,” he nearly laughed, “God, I’m not rejecting you. I could
quite easily undress you right now. There’s just more of the story
I want you to know before we take that step.”

I sighed with relief. I suppose having a
boyfriend who doesn’t pressure you to have sex is somewhat
chivalrous, but no less frustrating. “Okay, sure.” I hopped off the
counter and took a long chug of water, offering him the bottle.
“Then you need to cough up the 411 Fairchild and I do mean
everything. Let’s go sit…if I can walk.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“The sun will rise soon. Start talking. By
the way, can you fly us home? How do you do that anyway?” I
snuggled next to him on the sofa, as close as I could get, my arm
through his, head resting on his shoulder.