Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

Including many women, and a few too many beers.
    It hadn’t even been his fault he’d been killed. At least the killer hadn’t been after him, just using him as tool of vengeance against Tern. Boy, had that worked. He’d had his head so far up his ass he hadn’t seen that knife before it was too late. But the knife that had ended his life hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the blade of truth slicing through him now.
    The muscles in his arms burned and bunched as he struggled to free climb, searching for tiny edges and footholds in his ascent to the top.
    He couldn’t ask Gemma to be his. It was unfair to her. His life was over, hers still in progress. She had a chance to find happiness. Be with a man who could hold her, love her, give her children. Be with her the way a man and a woman were supposed to be together. Not in the spirit of the sense. How could he provide like a man should provide for the woman he loved? It wasn’t as if a spirit, ghost—or hell— Dreamweaver could get a fucking job.
    By all appearances, Gemma would be alone for the rest of her life if she choose to share her life with him. She had Siri and Rosie and many friends, including Tern, but they would pass on or moved on with their lives and she would have no one tangible.
    It was the ultimate act of selfishness to ask of her.
    He struggled to reach the top of the cliff, his fingers slipping before he clasped the thin cracks within the smooth face of granite. He heaved himself up, his legs shaky, and looked over the wide cosmic landscape below him, his spirit in tatters.
    Filling his lungs, he threw his head back, clenched his fists at his sides, and howled out his heartache until his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees. His heartache echoed back at him, the sound distorted by the rocky precipice into a cruel, mocking laugh.
    He bowed his head to his chest, drained. There was only one choice he could make.

Chapter Eighteen

    Her biggest fear had finally been realized. Call her certifiable. Gemma was beyond questioning what was real and what was myth. The facts were she was in love with a Dreamweaver. Truly believed he’d died prematurely and that they had been destined. They’d shared themselves with each other last night, and it had been deeper than any other physical coupling she’d experienced. Her soul was linked with his and her heart freely given.
    After Tern had left, she’d decided to call off her date with Cub. But hadn’t figured out exactly how she was going to do that without damaging his spirit. Allowing him to think there could be something between them wasn’t fair either. She’d tried to connect with Lucky, swearing she’d felt him hovering in the store, but the snow had thickened, and she figured he hadn’t been able to break through. Later tonight he would. The skies were supposed to clear up. And the thought of being with him again, no matter the capacity, had her heart skipping.
    She’d left the store for Callista and Amie to manage and headed to her mother’s. There were some things she needed to know. No longer was she a disbeliever.
    Hallelujah and all that jazz, she believed!
    Somehow Siri was connected to the world Gemma had visited. She needed to know how, and what were the implications of what she’d actually done last night, and how to make them everlasting.
    There was a sense of rightness, freeing actually. Like she’d finally let go of the fear. After all, her biggest fear had been that she’d turn out as bat-shit crazy as her mother. Guess what, crazy wasn’t so bad. In fact, it felt downright liberating in a strip-off-your-clothes-and-celebrate-the-equinox kind of way.
    Holy balls.
    Snow spitting sideways, slowed her progress. The roads had turned dangerously icy. It was a relief to finally park her car in front of her mother’s.
    Hell, she’d never had that thought before.
    Gemma let herself into the house, dusting s now off her hair and shoulders.
    “She’s been waiting and seems pretty lucid,” Rosie said, taking Gemma’s coat. “I was able to get her medication into her, but you know how it is. Are you sure you want to do this?”
    “I have to know.”
    Rosie nodded and stepped aside. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She kissed Gemma’s cheek. “Listen with an open heart.” Then she disappeared into the back of the house.
    Siri sat on the low cushion, in front of the carved table, shuffling the Tarot deck in front of her. Dressed in a caftan of silk saris, she was the