J. Geissinger: Edge of Oblivion

Very realistic.”

She laughed and sobbed at the same time, then pressed the back of a shaking hand against her mouth. She hitched up her dress and sat beside him, and for the first time he realized he was on a bed.

In a room. No—a cabin? The sky shone deepest azure through a round porthole edged in brass set high in the wood-paneled wall; the ceiling was painted aqua and populated with dolphins and seaweed and eels slinking through coral. The spoked ship’s wheel clock on the dresser beside the bed read 4:17 p.m.

“It’s not a dream,” she said, “and here, I’ll prove it to you.”

Then his beautiful ghost leaned over and pressed her lips against his. When she drew back, they were both out of breath.

“Well,” said Xander. “I did say it was realistic. Perhaps a little more proof is in order.” He pulled her down to him, ignoring the sudden pain between his shoulder blades, and kissed her hard and deep with his hands pressed against her face, his fingers threading through her hair.

She broke away first—again—and quietly laughed. “You’re feeling better.”

“I thought you were a fiend.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Did you now?”

“And this was hell. I thought I was dead. How am I not dead?”

Her eyes grew soft. She brushed back his hair from his forehead and smiled. “Well...I sort of saved your life. Again.”

Xander took a breath. “Oh. Not very manly of me, needing to be rescued so much, is it?”

“It is an awful lot of work,” she agreed, somberly nodding. Then she lifted a shoulder and dropped her gaze to the knitted azure blanket across his chest. She picked at the material, chewed on her lower lip. Her voice lowered. “Someone has to look after you, though. And since I’m so...fond of you, well, I suppose it might as well be me.”

As his heart swelled inside his chest, Xander had to work very hard not to smile. He reached for her hand. “We can save each other,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

She bit her lip, and that moisture welling in her eyes finally overflowed. Tears tracked down her cheeks. She buried her face in his chest.

“You found me,” she said, muffled, into the blanket. “You came for me, Xander, you found me

—”

“I’ll always come for you, amada ,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Don’t you know that?

You’re my heart. You’re my soul. I’m not going to let a little thing like you being kidnapped by a madman and held in his secret underground dungeon keep me from my heart and soul. You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

She sobbed into the blanket.

“Hush now, sweet girl.” He gathered her into his arms and held her against him until she quieted and all her tears were spent. “Tell me what happened.”

She sighed, snuggled closer to him, and began to talk. She told him how the males of the catacombs had helped her, how they’d cared for him in their infirmary, how close he’d come to death.

She told him how they’d quashed the rebellion that had stirred when the other members of the colony learned of the King’s death, how they’d installed the one named Celian as the new leader, how the King’s daughter had fled the colony with her brother and a handful of others and had not yet been found.

“But the best part is,” she said quietly in conclusion, “now that I did what I was sent to Rome to do, I’ve been given a full pardon. And the Queen has honored her promise to me.” She lifted her eyes and gazed at him. Light from the window caught in her hair, warmed the tips of her lashes. “I can go wherever I want. Live wherever I want. I’m free.”

He stared at her blankly. “I don’t understand.”

“Dominus. He was the head of the Expurgari. We found him, so...”

“The head of the Expurgari,” Xander repeated slowly.

She shook her head. “I’ll explain it all later. Right now you should rest. You look a little pale.”

He caught her wrist and held it, pulling her closer to him. He sat up in bed and ignored the searing pain along his spine. “You mean—we’re not fugitives? This trip—this boat—”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “No! God, no, we’re not fugitives. All five of us have been completely cleared.”

He stared at her. “All five of us.”

At that exact moment, heavy footsteps pounded over the roof above his head. A smile flitted over Morgan’s lips as she watched him follow the sound with his eyes as it moved overhead, growing softer then louder, thumping down what sounded like a flight of stairs. A dark head popped in the high, round window, then disappeared; someone had jumped up to look in.

A heavy hand knocked on the door.

Then to Morgan’s amused “Come in,” Tomás and Mateo burst through the door.

“Hey, asshole,” Mateo said, smiling. “You look like death warmed over.”

Tomás nodded a greeting and leaned his huge frame against the wall. “Fuckface.”

“Bartleby is on deck, making dinner,” Morgan said gently, seeing Xander’s open-mouthed astonishment. “Your friends here are quite the fishermen.”

“So far I’ve caught blue marlin, yellowfin tuna, wahoo, even sailfish ,” Tomás bragged.

“Kadavu is amazing!”

“Kadavu,” Xander repeated, finding it hard to know where to look. His brain wasn’t translating information properly. He had to be hearing this wrong.

“Fiji,” said Mateo with an eye roll, as if it should have been obvious. “Seventy-five miles of pristine barrier reef with water so clear you can see the bottom of the ocean from the boat. Jungle-

covered volcanic hills, mangrove bays, snow-white beaches...what?”

He trailed off because Xander had closed his eyes. He was sure he was deathly pale.

Morgan leaned close to his ear. “I told you I always wanted to see a sunrise in Fiji,” she murmured, her hand on his arm. “So now I’ll get to see one. Or...” she giggled, and it made his blood sing, “...maybe two or three.”

He opened his eyes and saw her devilish grin and began to laugh, a hoarse, shaky sound that hitched in his chest and caught in his throat and made Morgan’s grin falter. His laughter died, and he roughly pulled her against him and buried his face in her hair.

“Jesus, woman,” he said, ragged, all restraint gone, “do you have any idea how much I love you?”

She pulled back and gazed down at him, eyes alight. “Probably not as much as I love you,” she whispered, then bent to kiss his lips.

“Jeez, get a room,” grumbled Tomás, but Xander hardly heard it. Against her protests, he hauled Morgan on top of him and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the ache between his shoulder blades and in his chest, caution at last thrown to the wind. He heard the cabin door close softly and the sound of footsteps receding.

“Marry me,” he said between breathless kisses, struggling to rid her of her dress.

“I doubt there’s a priest on this island,” she replied with a low laugh, then sat up and pulled the dress over her head. It was discarded to the floor, and she lay back against him, her skin warm against his. “There are just beaches and coves and coconut trees. And anyway, you’re in no shape to stand at an altar, my love.”

He took that as a challenge and pulled her close. “Allow me to demonstrate exactly the shape I’m in.” He took her hand and maneuvered it beneath the covers, to the straining hardness between his legs.

She laughed again, and it was like honey to his ears, sweet and dark and delicious. “Oh, how I do admire an ambitious man. But you’re still healing. A few more days and then—”

“And then you will be sore for a week,” he growled, nipping at her neck.