Vision in Faith (Legends of the North Book 3) (6 page)

God, just thinking about it was getting him hard again. The memory of Vicky pressing herself against him. The feel of her breasts pushing against his chest.
 

He grabbed the shower gel and squirted a generous amount into his hand, lathering himself up as he remembered the feel of her arms coming up around his neck, her hips pressing against his hard-on.

His hand scrubbed over his pecs, down over the ridges of his tensed abs and around his erection. He slid his hand down to the base and stroked back up, squeezing tighter as he did.
 

He imagined it was Vicky's hand. Vicky on her knees in front of him right then. That the heat of the shower was the heat of her mouth instead as she swallowed him.
 

God, it had been far too long since he'd been with a woman. It wasn't even that year.

He groaned at the image of Vicky on her knees and stroked himself faster, harder. Pictured her face, eyes wide, as she tried to take all of his length in her mouth, her other hand caressing his balls as they tightened. He groaned again as he felt a tingle at the base of his spine and his hips started to jerk. With one last hard stroke, he tensed and let out a long, drawn-out groan.

Resting his forehead against the wall for a moment, he just enjoyed the release. He felt better, but not as good as if Vicky had actually been there. If he'd really buried himself inside her.
 

Quickly rinsing off the shower gel, he switched off the water and wrapped a towel around his hips. Padding barefoot across the bathroom, he grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket on the floor and headed for the bedroom.
 

Typing a text, he sent it to Vicky before he could change his mind. Yeah, he'd saved her number from the details she'd filled out for the shop rental. He knew he shouldn't have, but he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. Dropping his phone onto the bedside table and the towel on the floor, he climbed under the covers and stretched out, drifting off to thoughts of Vicky on his mind.

He could see her through the open doorway, by the light cast from the candle she held. Her hair hid her face from his view, and he took a step towards her, then stopped because what was the point? She always disappeared when he tried to get near her, to see her. Instead, he studied her for the first time. She had on an old-fashioned dress with short puffy sleeves and folds and folds of skirt hanging from her hips. Her pale arms were the only part of her he could see.

"Vicky?"

Her hand came up to tuck her hair behind her ear, and he could clearly see her face then. Disappointment flooded him when he realised it wasn't Vicky, but he didn't know why. He didn't have a clue who this woman was, but she stared straight into his eyes and said, "Sacrifice yourself! Her fire will consume you to help you rise again as a better version of yourself."

James stared at the woman in disbelief.
What the hell? A better version of myself? What's wrong with the version I already am? Whose fire?

Suddenly, the woman laughed, and he wondered if he'd spoken the words out loud. The laugh echoed around the room before flames erupted from beneath her skirt, engulfing it. He stepped towards her but froze when the laugh changed. The woman standing before him, surrounded by flames, he recognised.

 
Vicky.
 

He lunged towards her as the flames reached her hair and she screamed.

He heard the scream and sat upright before realising it had come from him. Dragging a hand through his hair, he fell back against the headboard.
Just a dream.
But shit, what a dream.
 

A shiver ran across him as the cold air of the bedroom cooled his clammy skin. Who had the woman been? And why was it Vicky who had been consumed by the flames?
 

Pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he headed downstairs, too awake to sleep after that. He couldn't make sense of it. But it was just a dream; they weren't supposed to make sense. Were they?

***

Vicky closed the door behind her and Teazle jumped up at her. She hadn't wanted James to leave. She'd wanted another kiss like that. Damn, she'd wanted a hell of a lot more. Which was why the words,
"Do you want to come in?"
had slipped from her mouth before she'd given them any thought.

If she
had
thought about it, his response of,
"No. Thanks, but I should get home."
wouldn't have been at the top of her list. James had seemed as keen as her.
 

Bending over, she picked the dog up and held her to her chest as she leaned against the closed door.
Well, that wasn't mortifying.
She shut her eyes.
 

God, he'd tell Matt she'd practically thrown herself at him, and he would tell Emma. She let out a groan and pushed herself off the door. He'd started the kiss though. Did he regret it? An impulse he should have ignored?

Dropping Teazle gently to the floor, she let her outside into the backyard as she slipped off her shoes. When Teazle scratched at the door, she let her back inside and locked up. Slowly, she climbed the stairs, her mind racing. What had she been thinking? This was James. James
Altenbury
. Her
landlord
. A guy she hadn't even liked a few days ago.

That's right. She hadn't been thinking! She'd looked into his striking eyes and lost herself in his taste, the feel of his lips. Groaning, she shook her head, trying to stop the thoughts.
 

It had just been too long since she'd been with a man that was all. It wasn't as though there was a line of them queuing at her door. There had been John a few months ago, but while he was kind of cute he just didn't do anything for her, so what was the point? She wasn't looking for a relationship anyway. She had her salon to set up.
 

She climbed into bed and set the alarm on her phone. As she set it back down, it beeped at her and vibrated across the bedside table. Opening the text, she wondered who it was from; there was no name, and she didn't recognise the number.

I look forward to continuing our fresh start. Sweet dreams.

Oh, my God.
Sweet dreams!
She stared at the message, reading it a second time. That had to be from James, and he didn't sound like he regretted their kiss. She wanted to reply with something witty or flirty. No, not flirty. She wasn't even sure what was going on between the two of them. In the end, she wrote,

Sweet dreams to you too.

She placed her phone back on the bedside table and stared at the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep, but the image of James saying no kept flashing through her mind. Was he playing games?
 

Eventually, she fell asleep, her mind filled with thoughts of James.

Vicky glanced down at the table in front of her, laid with enough food for a feast. A whole pig was the centrepiece, she clutched her stomach at the sight and as the smell of cooked fat hit her.
 

Candles threw shadows over the food, making it look alive still. Pots of steamed vegetables and the smell of charred meat surrounded her. Glancing around the table, she realised she wasn't alone.

Two men sat opposite her, and to her right was a woman, none of whom she recognised. Casting her gaze to her left, she gasped when she saw who was sitting there—James.
What is he doing here? What am
I
doing here?

"Don't just stand there. Make yourself useful."

Turning at the woman's voice, Vicky took the jug that was offered to her. The woman had a kindly face, a sharp contrast to the harshness of her voice and words, much like the way her grey hair was pulled back tight from her soft face.

"Well, pour then. It won't serve itself."

Vicky stepped forward, pouring the liquid from the jug into the wine glasses on the table. Her gaze met James's when she poured a glass for him, but he looked straight through her, as though she didn't exist. Stepping back from the table, Vicky placed the jug on the shelf and stood next to the woman, waiting for her to bark more orders at her.

As she waited, she watched from the corner of her eye as James gnawed on a chicken leg. When he'd finished it, he threw the bone into the fire and the pretty blond-haired woman sitting at the table laughed at him.

"Bet I can guess what you asked for."

James wiped his hands on a cloth before answering. "Not difficult to after the news you just gave me."

Vicky saw the woman's hands drop to her stomach, and she had to cover her mouth with her hands to stop the gasp escaping her mouth. James smiled at the woman like she was the answer to his every wish.
 

"Of course, I hope our firstborn is a son, darling. He needs to carry on the great Altenbury name. A good heir for the family."

Vicky's stomach clenched at his words. The irony wasn't lost on her as she realised she was nothing more than a servant to James and his wife. The sharp nudge to Vicky's side brought her back to the room as the woman glared at her.

"I said you can start clearing now."

Vicky nodded and moved to the table to pick up the plates. As she turned to leave, her foot caught in the heavy skirts draped around her legs. She staggered forward, the plate slipping from her hands, smashing against the stone floor. Shards of crockery scattered around her as she threw her hands out in front of her, landing on the hearth in front of the fire.
 

Vicky looked over her shoulder, and the last thing she saw was James, head thrown back in laughter which echoed around the room.

Vicky jerked herself upright and glanced around. No James, no fireplace. She was safe in her bed, not on the floor on her knees.
It was just a dream.
 

She was alone. In bed and alone. Reaching across, she turned on the bedside lamp and scooted up the bed to lean against the headboard. Her gaze dropped as she wrapped her arms around her knees, and there, dark across the white sheets was a black streak. Unlinking her shaking fingers from around her legs, she lifted them towards her face. As she turned them over, she saw they were covered in black ash.
 

If that was just a dream, then where had that come from?
From the fireplace.
She tried to ignore the little voice in her head, but she couldn't deny its logic. Wrapping her arms back around her knees, she laid her head on top of them. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and she let them, not bothering to wipe them away.

What's happening to me?

Chapter 7

Vicky woke the next morning still propped up against the headboard, with scratchy eyes and a stiff back. Hauling herself out of bed, she grimaced at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy with dark circles underneath. She'd look great if it was Halloween and she was dressing up as the living dead.

After a quick shower, she did her best to hide the effects of the night with makeup and tried not to think about it. Instead, she made sure she was ten minutes early to work and immersed herself, so she didn't have a spare moment to think.

And it worked. At least until she got home. Needing a distraction, she decided to visit her parents and walked Teazle to their house. It wasn't a long walk across the fields from her flat, but it was long enough for thoughts of the previous night to crowd in. Was it a premonition that she shouldn't trust James? A reminder that she was only good enough to serve the likes of the Altenburys?
 

Or—and, if she were honest, the question she didn't want to think about—was she losing her mind? How could she explain it without sounding crazy? She didn't believe it could be true, so why would anybody else?

Letting Teazle off her lead, Vicky pushed open the kitchen door of her parents' house to be hit by the smell of baking. Her mouth watered at the aroma of cinnamon and sugar.

"Hello, love. I wasn't expecting you. Could you smell the cake from your house?" Her mum laughed and walked towards Vicky, wrapping her in a hug before holding her at arm's length. "You look tired. Have you been working too hard again? You know Margaret won't appreciate it."

Her mum released her and Vicky took a seat at the dining table. "I just had a bad night's sleep, that's all."

"I was just making a cup of tea, love. Do you want one?"

"Please." Vicky watched her mum bustle around the kitchen. She might have inherited her mum's looks, but she hadn't got her skills in the kitchen. Vicky didn't think she'd baked a cake since her school days.
 

Her mum sat next to her, placing a steaming cup in front of each of them. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Vicky smiled; she should have known she couldn't keep anything from her mum. Leaning an arm over the back of the chair, she swivelled to face her. "Do you ever hear God?" She couldn't believe she was asking this.

Her mum patted her hand gently. "All the time, dear. It's nothing to be worried about. Certainly not something to lose sleep over. Did you hear him?"

Vicky let out the breath she'd been holding. "I honestly don't know, Mum."

"It doesn't matter if you do or not." Her mum lifted a hand, pointing to the ceiling. "He does. Just try to listen to what he's saying to you, to how he's trying to guide you."

Vicky jumped as the timer on the oven went off. Her mum grabbed a towel and opened the oven door, sliding a cake onto a trivet before she closed the door with her foot. Vicky knew her parents would love for her to "find God." They'd never pushed her about her beliefs, and they rarely spoke about it with her, but she knew they still went to church every Sunday. Did she really believe God had something to do with what happened? Had something to do with her dream? It seemed like a better reason than she was losing her marbles.

Her mum put a slice of carrot cake in front of her, and she decided to move the conversation to an easier topic.
 

"Wait until it's cooled down before you eat it."

"Yes, Mum," she said, as Teazle's head popped up between them before she laid it on her mum's lap. Vicky shook her head as her mum fed Teazle a few crumbs of cake. "What do you know about the Altenbury's mum?"