Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1), Carissa Andrews [read my book .txt] 📗

Dizziness tickles at my temples, but I ignore its commands and instead, lean into Blake. He wraps his arms around me and places his cheek against the top of my head.

We both release a strange, blissful sigh of contentment.

“Alright—looks like I have a phone call to make. I’ll be right back, okay?” he says, not actually moving.

Sighing one last time, I nod.

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

Blake leans down, brushing my lips gently before sauntering out. I stand back, watching his perfect ass move in a whole different light—a far dirtier one, for sure.

Shuddering to myself, I pull out my flashlight again and flip it on. I’m gonna have to make this excursion quick—or it’s gonna freak him the hell out.

Clambering over the rocky outcroppings, I follow my inner guidance and cling to the remnants of the vision for where to go. I don’t feel like it’s all that far, but I need to see for myself if the place in my vision was real. If it is, then maybe it will help me unlock more of my memories.

My insides claw at one another, the further away I get—I shouldn’t be doing this. I should have backup, or at the very least, I should have told Blake I was going to check something out. I should have at given him that much. Another part of me is feeling totally guilty I’m searching for my own stuff while there are girls in this cave who need to be saved. Another strange part doesn’t give a rats ass if I’m being a bit selfish—because my God, this is all I’ve ever wanted my whole miserable, multi-millennia existence.

Racing down one rocky tunnel, then another, I’m acutely aware I’m not being cautious enough. I should probably be mentally mapping where I’m going so I can find my way back out—but I feel like I’m being divinely guided somehow. I’m not even afraid of the darkness. Perhaps it’s cellular memory. Whatever it is, I trust it and just go with it, hoping it will be enough to get me back out.

The hunch pays off.

As I turn the final bend, clambering through a small opening barely large enough for my body to squeeze through, my mouth drops open as I shine the flashlight along the rocky surface of the walls.

There, etched into the cavern face is an enormous rendition of the symbol from my vision—the same symbol from Blake’s dreams. In fact, this entire location and everything about it is very reminiscent of his drawings.

Goosebumps flash across my skin and I know there’s so much more to this I have yet to uncover. Blake is somehow intrinsically linked to me—to all of this, but I just don’t quite understand how. How can he be?

Walking up slowly to the wall, I take in the sights and sounds as I try to invoke the memories in my buried past.

What is this symbol for? What was this all about?

Reaching out, my fingertips graze the etchings.

“Hello, Pythia. Have you returned to accept your fate?”

The words are in inside my head and in ancient Greek—yet my mind translates them easily.

I take a step back from the cavern wall, my hand still raised to the level of the symbol. The flashlight trembles in my other hand, making the space feel ominous.

I never thought—never anticipated after all this time coming here to help on this case would lead me to this—to everything I’ve been hunting for. I’m so close to finally having some answers.

My mind strays to Blake and our last exchange…

It’s even led me to a few things I didn’t know I was searching for.

Instantly, guilt tremors through my body. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be worrying about myself or hunting for answers to my own mystery. There’s plenty of time for this later. I should be focused on saving the girls. I should be honest with Blake.

And yet—a few glimpses of insight wouldn’t hurt. Would it? Blake is trying to get Interpol involved, after all. I’m sure the call will take a bit of time to explain things.

There’s time.

Taking a deep breath to instill a sense of calm, I step forward and return my hand to the symbol. Closing my eyes, I let the images and feelings inundate my senses.

No longer seeing things from outside myself, I get a first-hand glimpse at a memory through my own eyes.

I run through these cavern tunnels; uncontrollable sobs heave in my chest and make it feel as though my ribcage may crack apart.

My tunic is splattered in blood and pulls awkwardly at my hips as I try to rush to this place of power—the vortex of Mnemosyne. The space is lit, but in my memory, I can’t tell how—it simply glows in a soft light.

Pulling the dagger from my belt, I raise it to the cavern wall and begin my incantation without a moment’s hesitation. My fingers tighten around the hilt and my knuckles turn white as I etch the symbol into the rock. The blade’s tip digs in, grinding at the stone and casting away debris as if it were wiping away grains of sand. The act begins to charge the air—invoking Mnemosyne’s power. The power to forget—the power to wipe from my mind all of which can no longer be carried.

My hands work quickly—assuredly, despite not being able to see through my raging tears. My heart and body ache—as though I may never be whole again.

How can the universe be so cruel? How can it take him from me? How could she take him from me?

Images of my husband, the man I married upon the approval of Apollo himself, lying limp in my arms—it will not escape my mind. They circle my every thought, my every breath—every uneven thump of my heart.

He was meant to stay by my side for all time. We were going to be together forever. A promise was made to us by the daughters of the God himself. But now—now all