Page 393 of Phobia
“Are you certain?”
She couldn’t stop laughing, doubled over at the waist. Her reaction was more than bizarre, especially coming from the sweet, reserved girl I had known all this time.
“He’s alive,” she announced. Then she grabbed onto me. “You can contact him. You said you saw him. I need to talk to him.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.” If Bastien was a spirit who was roaming, it would be dangerous to channel him. Spirits with unfinished business were usually trouble and wanted nothing more than to disrupt the balance between the living and the dead.
“Please, Madame Laurent. You have to. I love him. I won’t be able to live without him. I need to speak to him.” The crazed look in her eye was unsettling. I was scared to say no to her for fear of what she would do if I rejected her.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
She kissed my cheek. “Thank you, thank you!”
I knelt over the stone and placed my hands on the cool material. Rosalie sat on the ground beside me.
Placing the horn necklace next to me, I cleared my lungs, exhaling a deep breath out. Fresh air streamed into my nostrils, skimming the back of my throat on the way down. I closed my eyes and focused on the heat transferring from my hands to the stone. Years of practice allowed me to clear my thoughts completely, freeing my body to receive spirits that wanted to play. The trick really was in remaining open and not getting distracted by the sounds of leaves rustling around me or Rosalie’s rapid, anticipatory breaths. My hack was picturing the color black—as if I were staring into a solid black painting with no outlines or colors.
Slowly, the heat from my palms radiated up my forearms like warm blood rising. The sensation spread up to my shoulders and gushed through my torso and all the way down to my toes. My whole body became infused with warmth and sweat soon dripped down my spine.
Then it came. The moment I had been waiting for. The rush of lights, coursing through the black scene before me like rainbow lightning bolts aiming right for my forehead.
The taste of smoke and alcohol coated my tongue and my body stiffened.
My gaze flashed to an expectant Rosalie to find her mouth gaping open.
I felt the corners of my mouth stretch into a wide, face-splitting grin. “Missed Daddy much, little songbird?”
Chapter 11
Shit, she was so damn beautiful, especially with them tears streaking down her face—more like an angel than a human with her golden hair and luminescent skin. So pure that she deserved a seat right next to the old man in the sky. It was too bad for him that I had already marked her as my own, defiling her innocence and plunging her into my madness.
I was a greedy fuck, and everyone up there knew it. It was the reason I worked down on Earth, watching over the graves. Sacrifice and piety weren’t my thing, and all that abstainin’ from fucking baffled the hell outta me. All o’ it sounded like a terrible time and yeh wouldn’t catch me up there willingly.
My girl missed me. Watching the way her fiery eyes latched onto me, or rather my female vessel, as if she were about to scream just for the hell of it just solidified the fact that I had chosen well. I got off on turnin’ good things bad, and boy, had I succeeded with my little songbird.
“Bastien, is that you?” she asked, her fingernails digging into the arms of my vessel. I barely sensed it since my senses were numbed when I possessed humans, but this unlucky vessel would certainly feel the burn when she came to after I left her body.
“The one and only, my sweet girl.”
Rosalie let out an incredulous chuckle through choked tears. Her emotions had already heightened, just as expected after spending so much time with a crazy fuck like me. What could I say? I had that effect on people.
My little songbird was better than me at getting under skin. Look at what she had done to me—turnin’ me into a romantic and fantasizing about eternity with her.
I had always considered myself an entrepreneur, a go-getter. And as with most hustlers, I’d heartbreak because of my eagerness. No, really. It was true. Cross my heart—or at least the bits that the metal bullet hadn’t ripped to shreds. I wouldn’t go into details about thehowsandwhys, but let’s just say that some people didn’t take too well to being charged double interest on their loans.
So, when it had been my time to take that long and final trip to the “bad place,” I’d offered the pretty little lady God had sent an offer she couldn’t refuse. No, not my fat cock, yeh perverted minx! Although, I’d bet yeh would be more entertained by a story like that because y’er just as depraved as I was.
I had offered to work. My attention to detail and newly cleared schedule had made me the perfect candidate to oversee things in the cemetery. None ofthe otherswanted to be stuck on Earth. It wasn’t as glamorous as flittin’ around and delivering decrees written by the big man. And I wasn’t technically an angel, so maybe that was why I’d found this job more excitin’ than their power-hungry, peach-shaped asses did.
Night after night, I had roamed these grounds, making sure the spirits passing in and out behaved themselves. On occasion, I’d have a conversation with the residents, but they’d soon be on their way to do whatever unfinished business they had left behind. My priority was making sure no one fucked with the bodies while the spirits were away. The graveyard was a safe space, and I would see to it that it stayed that way.
The nature of the job was lonely, but I had never taken too well to company anyway. Another reason why I didn’t want to go to the bad place—it was a clusterfuck of cryin’ and screamin’. Sometimes, a guy needed some peace to enjoy a good cigar and a bottle of rum.
I had been content being alone, even preferred it. Until she had shown up--my sweet little songbird, skin radiant like pearls and eyes always seeking something she hadn’t yet found.
I had to admit that, at first, I’d thought she was one of the angels comin’ down to tell me that the big man wanted to rescind his job offer, but then she had spoken. I had marveled at the way she’d asked questions without a filter, like a child, uninhibited and unashamed. The rest of her wasn’t childlike whatsoever, and my eyes appreciated it. A figure like hers could only belong to a woman.
Her swollen eyes searched for mine in the vessel. My gaze dipped lower, to her chest, remembering how her plump tits felt in my hands. And her smooth belly that served as a supple pathway down to her petite hips. Perhaps my favorite part of her physique was the inviting V between her legs. Her pussy had looked harmless at first glance, but once I’d gotten inside of it, she had eaten my cock up with her vice grip. It was savage, like a wild she-cat out for blood.
