Kristie Cook: Purpose

This is truly the hardest part of a book to write. There are so many people who made this book a reality, including you, the reader.

Thank you to my publishing team at Ang’dora Productions for your dedication and support. Chrissi Jackson, you have been my lifeline to reality, keeping me on track through all the insanity. Thank you for everything you’ve done…especially for the word “dictate.” Thank you, Lisa Adams, for your positive energy, beautiful spirit, keen eyes and willingness to enter and support the chaos. You are both real gifts from the Angels.

Thank you to my writing buddies who helped me build and polish this story into what it is today. Meredith S. Wood, I appreciate your challenges and camaraderie. Judy Spelbring, thank you for being real in your critiques, for pointing out my weaknesses and for helping me move beyond “it.” Michelle Gregory, I so love that you are as invested in my characters as in your own, helping me to see where I have not done them justice. Thank you, as well, for being my indie partner-in-crime. I appreciate all of you and what you’ve done for the story.

Of course, none of this would have happened without the patience, support and love of my family. Thank you to my boys – Zakary, Austin and Nathan – for being so freaking awesome that I sometimes can’t breathe because I’m so proud of you. You’ve really been amazing throughout this process and I can’t thank you enough. Thank you, Shawn, for your continued encouragement and commitment. Thank you, Mom, Dad, Keena and Terry, for all that you’ve done, past, present and future. And thank you, Grandma Yvonne, for passing down the love of words, reading and writing.

Finally, once again, thank you, the reader, for your love of Alexis and Tristan and their story. I sincerely appreciate your reviews, advocacy and support. You’ve motivated me to keep going, when I really just wanted to sleep. I appreciate your devotion and patience and I hope you enjoy this next part of the tale of the ultimate warrior and the fierce protector.

Living with half a soul is like living forever in the hour before dawn, when the sky is no longer black, but a dark, charcoal gray, waiting for the light. It’s like clinging to the hope of a new day lingering just beyond the horizon. The new day that never comes. The light that never brightens the world.

I live in varying shades of darkness and with each shade, I feel like a different person entirely…but always only half a person. Always half empty. Except when I’m with my son, when I feel the most like the real me, the old me. When I am Almost Alexis. Dorian pushes the darkness away and brightens my life. With him, I actually feel half full.

But then there’s Swirly Alexis, who disorients my thoughts to the point where I don’t know what is real and what is fiction, swirling my world into confusion.

And Psycho Alexis is blind to everything but rage, lashing out with a heart and soul black as ink.

Foggy Alexis, however, rules most of the time, allowing me to live in a dense fog, with no clear edges to my life, my thoughts, my feelings. She numbs the pain so I can survive without screaming.

The only sure thing I know is the rope of hope I hold so tightly to—the hope that Tristan still lives. That he will come back. Just as he promised.

Over time, however, the rope has thinned and now begins to fray. I have tried to strengthen it by making a promise of my own. That I will rescue him from his hell after I go through the Ang’dora—a promise he may never know but I will nonetheless keep. If the Ang’dora arrives before it’s too late. As time passes, I don’t know if I can continue hanging on. What remains of the rope is now just a thin thread. If it breaks, I will plunge into an abyss of complete darkness.

For now, the thread still remains intact. And as long as it does, I will hold on. I will hold onto that hope. Even if doing so means living in darkness. Even if it means living with just half a soul, as half a person. Because I am reminded nightly that I need to, that our souls are worth it.

For a short time every night, I allow myself to remember, if only in my subconscious. And then I know again what it feels like to have a whole soul. To feel loved. To be complete. To live in a world of beautiful color and light. To know that he lives. And so does the Real Alexis. Somewhere, we cling to each other, our souls still united. Somewhere, we live together in the light.

But then the sun rises and life goes dark again….

March, Present Day

We sat side-by-side on white sand, gentle waves sliding onto the beach with just a whisper and the sun low, about to tuck itself behind the horizon. Pink, purple and gold streaked the sky and reflected on the water. The mixed smell of salt and cocoa butter wafted on the warm air. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to pull the whole scene in so it would become a part of me. His tangy-sweet scent filled my senses. Fresh mangos and papayas mixed with lime and sage and just a hint of man. I would never forget that smell.

I opened my eyes to find his exquisite face only inches from mine. My heart skipped a beat—or three or four. The gold flecks in his hazel eyes sparkled brightly. His full lips lifted at the corners in an enticing smile. He lifted his hand to stroke my cheek. His fingers lingered, his palm gently cupping my face. He leaned forward, still holding my eyes. He hesitated. My heart stopped beating. My breathing ceased, too. And the rest of the world melted away as his lips met mine and he kissed me for the first time.

In a heartbeat, we rode his motorcycle along the causeway to Gasparilla Island. The engine rumbled underneath me, the sound loud but comforting. I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist and pressed myself into his powerful body. We stopped at our favorite place on the beach and just sat on the bike, watching the dolphins. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his. His lovely voice murmured, “I love you, ma lykita.”

When I opened my eyes again, we were at our beach house in the Florida Keys, the one he built for my wedding present. The white leather bodice of my dress fell to the floor. Then he lifted me to the bed. And we made love for the first time. Then we were in the shower. Then the motel shower in North Carolina. It was our last time. Ever.

I closed my eyes, wanting to hold onto him because I knew what came next. When I opened them again, we were at the safe house and I begged him not to leave. Then he led Stefan, Owen and Solomon out the front door and into the battle. Scenes flashed quickly—shooting lights, mangled body parts, spurting blood. They were suddenly somewhere else, another field, the safe house nowhere in sight. Daemoni attacked the powerful warrior, once theirs. He fought, but there were too many. Dozens of dog-like creatures. Hundreds of them. Their fangs sank into his flesh. The scene changed again, now to a foreign place. A desert valley or some kind of cavern, stone mountains or walls reaching to the sky. He could no longer fight back, but writhed on the ground, his beautiful face contorted in agony. And then he went still.

“NOOOO!” I screamed.

My eyes flew open and I gasped for air. I looked around wildly as my eyes adjusted to the abrupt change. Darkness surrounded me. My fists clamped the bed sheet to my chest. The duvet hung off the edge of the bed, kicked to the side. I forced myself to pull in a long, controlled breath, and then let the air out just as slowly. My breaths eventually became even and my heart finally settled. I looked at the clock, already knowing it was around 3:45 a.m. The blue lights glowed 3:51.