Faith (Soul Savers Book 7) by Kristie Cook Page A

blinked as I stared at the
ceiling, taking in the familiar sight of gossamer fabric draped
between the tops of four stone pillars at each corner of the bed.
After a moment, my brain associated the view with our suite at the
matriarch’s mansion on Amadis Island, and my heart finally
returned from my throat to its normal place and speed. I blew out a
big breath of relief to know it really had been a dream. I couldn’t
remember the last time I’d been able to sleep so hard and long.
My body must have needed the lengthy regeneration, because it’d
never felt as strong and powerful as it did now.
    Once my muscles
uncoiled from the abrupt return to consciousness, I rolled over the
thick mattress that lay atop the stone dais of our bed, and onto my
side, facing my husband. He lay on his back, the silky sheet pulled
up to just below his hip bones, his bare abs, chest, shoulders, and
arms a sight to behold. I wanted to explore every mountain and valley
of his body, preferably with my mouth, but his beautiful face was so
peaceful, his long lashes resting against his cheekbones and his full
lips slightly parted. I decided not to wake him. Yet. Just to be sure
he was indeed asleep, I brushed my thumb over his scruffy jawbone and
then across his bottom lip. I lifted myself up on an elbow and leaned
in to kiss him. His breath came soft on my lips, but he otherwise
didn’t so much as twitch. He’d been dealing with my
nightmares for so long, he must have needed the deep rest as much as
I had.
    So I slipped out of the
covers and treaded softly to the en suite bathroom, where I found my
fighting leathers—a corset and pants—clean and folded on
the stone counter, waiting for me. The pool-size tub always called to
me, but I couldn’t remember what we had planned for the day, so
didn’t know if I had time for the luxury of a bubble bath. So I
took a quick shower and dressed.
    When I came out and
passed through the bedroom to the front room of our suite, the sheer
curtain hanging in the doorway to the balcony caught my attention.
Something about it wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t
pinpoint the problem. I shrugged and slipped through the door,
closing it quietly behind me. Before leaving the suite, I reached out
with my mind to identify who was in the mansion and where.
    There was nobody.
    No, I had to take that
back. I couldn’t tell if there was nobody because something
felt odd in my mind as it tried to reach out. As though something
blocked me. Had Tristan asked Owen to muffle our suite again so we
could make love last night? Had we made love last night? I
hadn’t noticed any bruises on my skin when I showered. And
surely I’d remember! But I honestly couldn’t remember a
thing about last night or yesterday or … My brow furrowed as I
tried to recall my last memory, because my mind kept bringing forth
events from my nightmare.
    “I seriously need
coffee,” I muttered aloud as I left the suite.
    I stopped at Dorian’s
room, but there were no signs of him or Sasha, so I made my way
downstairs. Ophelia, the mansion’s head of staff and bringer of
breakfast, was nowhere to be found either. I sat in the fancy dining
room where everyone staying in the mansion usually gathered for
breakfast and dinner and waited until the sound of my own fingers
drumming on the tablecloth drove me crazy. A mental search for her
found nothing in the entire building. However, when I entered the
gourmet kitchen, I discovered a hot pot of coffee waiting for me.
    As I leaned against the
granite counter and sipped my nectar of the gods, I stared hard at
the rack of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling over the giant
kitchen island. I could have sworn Ophelia used black-as-night,
cast-iron pots, but these were the kind I preferred, covered in
ceramic that was painted burgundy. Had she finally acquired new
cookware? Seemed unlikely at her age, especially when hers had been
so beautifully seasoned over the years. Then again, I couldn’t
recall at