A Soulmark Series Read online

  A Soulmark Series

  Books 1-3

  Rebecca Main

  www.RebeccaMain.com

  © 2017 Rebecca Main. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Coven

  Midnight Scoundrel

  Wardens of Starlight

  Coven

  Coven | Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Connect with Rebecca

  Acknowledgements

  – Chapter 1 –

  Begin Again

  “Congratulations!” I’m swept up into a hug before I can react, though my smile widens nonetheless at Ben’s enthusiasm. My laughter joins his as he sets me down and kisses me sweetly on the lips.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, tucking away a stray curl of dark chocolate hair. It springs back into its wayward place almost immediately, earning a quick chuckle from my boyfriend.

  “My superstar graduate!” he exclaims loudly, drawing amused looks from the other families congregated around us.

  “Ben!” I try for something akin to a scold but find another giggle escaping instead, as he places another kiss on my lips. This one borders on PG-13.

  “Now, now,” comes a much sterner voice, “none of that nonsense.” I pull back sheepishly, a blush heating me from neck to cheeks as I turn to face Gran. Her silver hair is kept neatly in its natural state, creating a halo around her face. “My baby,” she coos, her arms opening to welcome me into her embrace. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers fiercely into my ear, pulling back and gazing at me with her all-knowing gaze. “Family is watching down on you right this very moment, Zoelle Renee Baudelaire. You haven’t just made me proud. You’ve made them proud. I can feel it in the air. Their spirits are surrounding us. Their love reaching out to touch you—feel it, Zoelle. Close your eyes and feel their love, darling.”

  So I do, and for the most wonderful second, I think I do feel it. Three light pressures were reaching out to touch me and fill me with warmth and love. It’s gone all too soon, but tears deign to come regardless of the fleeting feeling. Normally I don’t agree with Gran and her notions, our bickering and teasing over our beliefs having softened in the most recent years, but today… today, it means something.

  “How long has it been again, Zoey?” Ben asks politely, his tone gentle as he navigates his way into the conversation. I let out the breath I’ve been holding and dab none too discreetly at my eyes with a weak laugh.

  “Fourteen years?”

  “Fourteen years.” Gran nods resolutely. “But enough of this talk. They’re happy for you, and so am I!” she exclaims, instantly brightening the mood as she raises her hands with a lavish wave, her many bracelets tinkling happily along. “My granddaughter, a college graduate of the culinary arts! You’ve worked so hard for this day. I'm so proud of you.”

  Her nostalgic look almost has me tearing up again. “Gran.” I warn with a laugh and let Ben tug me into his side. Pride shines through her eyes, and I stand a bit taller under her regard. Today I feel unbeatable, and beautiful to boot. Underneath my maroon graduation robe is a delicate white-lace dress that falls just above my knees. One I know will turn Ben’s head with its open back and the way it pops against my deep brown skin. Like Gran, I wear my hair in its natural state. The springy curls have an extra bounce today from the black three-inch heels I sport.

  “So, what’s the game plan? How are we going to celebrate? It’s not every day you get to celebrate a summer graduation and enjoy this kind of weather.”

  “You two,” Gran says, her tone once again nonnegotiable, “go out. Have fun.”

  “But—”

  “No buts! Go out and have fun I said. Tomorrow I’ll give you your gift.” I share a knowing smile with Gran. I’m a sucker for her presents. Well, presents in general.

  “All right.”

  “All right,” Ben suggestively whispers as he places a kiss on my temple.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gran.” She raises her eyebrow to my burning cheeks, but a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips regardless.

  “Tomorrow.”

  +++

  The thing about Ben is… well, the thing about Ben and me is—that is to say; the thing with me is that I don’t know how to love him.

  A fact I acknowledge is both odd and pathetic. Though, it doesn’t change it. Ben is my safe spot. He’s my comfort zone. Yet, I can’t seem to plunge past hesitations and fears and doubts. Even if Ben is more than eager for me to do so. He doesn’t push me knowing my last relationship ended on a sour note.

  Initially, I resisted Ben’s courtship. I wasn’t willing to put my heart back on the market. Yet, Ben's genuine interest in me thawed my cold-shoulder treatment. His pursuit was laughable most of the time, but the cute coffee dates and study sessions were endearing. In the end, it was his understanding of my feelings and patience that stole past my defenses. Ben seems to know inherently what I need. Someone steady and reliable in my life. Someone I don’t have to worry about leaving me.

  A tightness develops in my throat. Feelings I’ve tried to escape dredging up.

  Somewhere along the way as our relationship grew, so did my feelings for the beautiful man. And man, is Ben beautiful. He keeps his thick, warm-brown hair short. It’s just enough for a girl to run her hands through while looking into his misty hazel eyes. A dreamy sigh escapes me. His fair skin is a lovely contrast to my chocolate brown. At least I think it is. Ben is… perfect. A little too perfect sometimes.

  But I’m not interested in getting hurt anymore. I’m not willing to risk it all on anything less than a sure thing. Not yet anyway. Maybe not ever.

  There’s not a thing wrong with Ben. He’s handsome, kind, and has a wry sense of humor. And he respects the odd distance I try to keep between us. Though I suspect he’s been holding off a more full-hearted pursuit until I finished school. A thought, I admit, that makes my stomach curl unpleasantly.

  I gaze at Ben from across the table. His soft smile soothes my nonsensical train of thought. He’s taken me to a nice Italian restaurant for our private celebration. An empty bottle of champagne and breadcrumbs spot the table, the rest having been cleared to prepare for our dessert. My lips tilt upward in reciprocation, and I reach for my champagne flute. I’m unprepared for Ben’s cool hand to capture mine midtask. My eyes widen as I stare at him in silent wonder.

  “I love you,” Ben tells me earnestly, squeezing my hand for effect. My stomach drops.

  “Oh!”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh.” I give a gentle smile in return. “Ben...” The words fall flat on my tongue as I try to regain my equilibrium. I feel my lips quiver uncertainly as they hold their shape.

  He ducks his head and releases me to rub at the back of his neck. “Well, that isn't the reaction a guy hopes for,” he says with a forced laugh, his eyes darting upward to capture my reaction.

  “Yo
u’re wonderful, Ben,” I say, daring to meet his eyes, which are both hopeful and restrained. “It’s just….”

  “I know,” he says with a slight cringe, sitting back in his chair and fiddling with his napkin. “Between what happened with Jamie and all the history with your family.”

  The thing with Jamie being that after three years of being together, I found out the last eight months of our “relationship” he had cheated on me. The thing with my family being that they are dead. They’ve been dead for the past fourteen years. I lost both parents and my older sister to an awful car accident when I was ten. I was the sole survivor.

  Talk about trust and abandonment issues, I think with bitter humor.

  “Yes,” I finally say, trying to hide the uncertainty and sadness I feel. “I just—I don’t want to rush anything. I hadn’t planned on being with anyone for a while and then—”

  “I swept you off your feet?” Ben’s charm comes back in full force, his dimples winking at me, his hazel eyes shining. “Dazzled you with my wit and intellect?”

  “By sweeping me off my feet do you mean…?” Ben groans, head tilting back as he shakes his head with exasperation.

  “I knock into you one time—”

  “And knock me flat on my ass in the process.”

  “I’ll never live it down.” I shake my head, giggling as he leans forward across the table to steal a kiss, all awkwardness swept to the wayside. “Fine,” he says, sitting back as a slice of chocolate cake is set between us along with a fork and spoon. We stare at the utensils and then at one another, the moment lingering a tad too long before our hands collide as we each reach for the fork. Laughter erupts between us, even as Ben holds the fork triumphantly.

  “Ha!”

  “That’s not fair!” I say with a pout, “I’m the graduate, I should get the fork.”

  Ben rolls his eyes but relinquishes the fork to me and takes the spoon reluctantly, eyeing it with distrust. “Aw man, it’s dirty. What kind of service is this anyway?” He looks cross, and rightly so, but the cake won’t eat itself.

  My fork breaks through the dessert with little effort. I can immediately tell it will be incredible. Something to savor and enjoy. I close my eyes as my lips wrap around the morsel, letting the flavor of it sink into my taste buds. The thin layer of fudge is what grabs my notice first, melting quickly against my tongue before the rest follows. I chew slowly, letting the bittersweet chocolate overwhelm my mouth. It’s still warm, and so delicate and perfectly moist.

  “Oh my God,” I murmur, lazily peeking one eye open to see Ben staring at me with a mixture of frustration and amusement running across his face. “It’s so good.”

  “I couldn’t tell,” he says dryly, frantically searching for the missing waitress. I take another piece, cutting the cake quickly and holding out the fork to Ben who looks at me in pure excitement.

  “You’re welcome. This is heaven. I am presenting you with one of the best bites of cake ever, and I expect your full appreciation later.” He leans forward, mouth open and ready. “Seriously,” I tell him, “you are about to enter the most serene state of mind as this chocolate hits you.” He glares and opens his mouth wider. “Seriously,” I repeat. My lip twitches upward.

  “Zoey.” Gone is his amusement as he sends me a hard glare. I smile brightly in response. “Feed. Me.”

  “Say please,” I tease, inching ever forward.

  “Ple—oh my God.” His face scrunches and pulls in delight as he chews. I can’t help but laugh and scoop another piece into my mouth quickly. “I don’t know how you do that,” he says, stealing the fork before I can protest.

  “Do what?”

  He takes a bite, fingering the fork thoughtfully. “You say some of the most bizarre things about food sometimes, how it tastes, how it makes you feel. Just now, before I even ate my food, everything you said perfectly described what I tasted and felt. I was fucking Zen that first bite.” He takes another helping, passing me back the fork with a smirk.

  “What can I say?” I spare Ben a dainty shrug while taking my turn.

  “Whenever you decide to open up your restaurant—”

  “Patisserie,” I correct quickly.

  “Patisserie,” he amends, “I will gain at least 50 pounds.” We laugh. I’m all too grateful for the break in our previous conversation and the delicious dessert before us. Ben, ever the gracious one, allows me the last couple of bites, his eyes focusing on me with a building heat. By the time I finish off the last bite, he can see the eagerness in my eyes.

  “Check!”

  +++

  Ben drops me off with a kiss and wave in front of Gran’s house, persuading me to leave the box of donuts we picked up along the way with him for his drive back to Missoula. The drive is roughly an hour from Deer Lodge where Gran and I reside. Even though it’s still early in the morning, I’ll need a considerable amount of luck to sneak past Gran to change out of yesterday’s dress.

  I take a moment before I enter our little home, closing my eyes to enjoy the breeze as it brushes against my calves and the back of my neck. The scent of lilacs is in the air. With a sigh, I feel my entire body relax at the soothing and familiar scent.

  I did it. I’m a proud University of Montana graduate.

  Even with starting a year late at nineteen, it’s taken me six years to graduate as a half-time student. No more papers or tests. No more chopping and dicing my way to As. No more cramming study sessions between jobs. Only the terrifying prospect of trying to find a job.

  “Child, get inside!” Gran calls from somewhere in the house, breaking my reverie. With a wry grin, I enter. The door gives its telltale creak as soon as it swings inward. My boxes litter the front room, and I cringe in apprehension at the task of unpacking my things. Living in a shack of an apartment for the better part of the last six years, I’m surprised I accumulated so much. Yet, proof stands before me, blocking my way.

  “Hi, Gran,” I call as I hurry to my room to change. When I find her minutes later in the kitchen, she is preoccupied with a batch of french toast.

  “Come on, this food won’t eat itself,” she tells me, one brow raised in a superior manner. I hesitate in the kitchen’s entryway, surprised to see even more boxes fill the room. “I didn’t realize I had this much,” I say with some unease.

  “Oh, these aren’t yours, sweetheart,” she tells me with a snort, passing back a look to me. “Go on and eat. You don’t want that food getting too cold on you.”

  “We ate on the drive over,” I tell her, even as my hands move of their own accord to fill the empty plate in front of me. Bacon, eggs, and of course, one of Gran’s mini blueberry muffins. She’s working the pan to finish the french toast as I continue to dissect the room. When Gran takes a seat across from me, I level her with my most probing glare.

  “Gran…?” She hums in response, avoiding my look effortlessly. As usual, I think with exasperation. “Gran,” I say more sternly, sliding the plate that holds the bacon out of her reach. She gives me a dry look in return. “Gran!”

  “Oh, what?”

  “What’s with these boxes?” I ask in exasperation. “If they aren’t mine, whose are they? Are they yours?”

  “Of course they’re mine. If they aren’t yours, sweetheart, whose do you think they would be?” she responds tartly, snatching the plate of bacon back into her possession.

  “Yours?”

  “Yes. Mine,” she tells me with a pointed look. “I’m moving.”

  “You're what!” In my surprise, I falter, somehow knocking my glass of juice down across the generous spread of food. Gran and I both let out surprised squeaks before groaning in despair.