Impassion (Mystic) by B. C. Burgess Read Free Book Online

attack, but feared she was on the brink of one now. “I’m trying. Just get it over with.”
    He sighed. Then he opened the door and took a step back.
    Golden mist drifted into the foyer, and Layla took two stumbling steps to the couch, bracing herself on the backrest.
    Rhosewen’s parents were the first to enter, and despite Layla’s emotional turmoil, she absorbed several details with a sweeping glance. She was amazed by their bonded lights, which were far more impressive in person than in memory and could be felt across the room—a heart-swelling sense of love and security. Layla was also stunned by the fact that twenty-one years had barely aged them. Caitrin’s straight hair remained golden as it swept across his muscular neck, and Morrigan’s caramel curls still flowed to the middle of her slender back. Their fair skin of slightly different shades remained smooth and unwrinkled, and their bodies were straight and sturdy.
    Layla looked up, focusing on their faces, and her lungs emptied. Seeing them in the memories had been like seeing extras in a movie. They’d been present, but never prominent. Now their features were lucid and illuminating, leaving Layla breathless.
    Rhosewen had clearly inherited Caitrin’s eyes—the aqua color, round shape, long lashes and defined lids—and she’d gotten his high cheekbones, but the rest of her facial features were found in Morrigan, in the brows arching over peach eyes, and in the small nose crowning pouty lips.
    Because Rhosewen’s features were so easily found in Caitrin’s and Morrigan’s faces, Layla found herself in there, too—in her grandfather’s round eyes and prominent cheeks, and in her grandmother’s nose, lips and curls.
    The golden mist flooding the entryway thickened, and Layla looked over, watching her paternal grandparents move into view.
    They, too, were unmarked by time. Daleen’s hair still flowed to her waist like an ebony waterfall, and Serafin’s wavy hair remained dark brown and medium in length. They both had smooth olive-toned skin and green eyes, but Daleen’s eyes were pastel green while Serafin’s were the vivid emerald Layla knew so well.
    Standing in a row, the four of them stared with wide eyes, clutching each other as tightly as Layla clutched the couch, which was pretty damn tight. She was squeezing the cushions so hard her fingernails hurt.
    She tried to swallow a lump while standing up straight, but the lump barely budged and her upper body swayed. The gracious act of moving toward her guests crossed her mind, but her feet were glued to the floor. Just as well; her knees were too wobbly to take her anywhere.
    Steadying herself, she attempted a polite smile, but her lips were numb. “Hi,” was all she could say, and it squeaked out. It was all wrong, so she tried again. “Sorry… so inappropriate.” Her cheeks grew hot as she dropped her gaze, finding herself once again clutching the couch.
    “It was perfect,” a woman replied, and Layla looked up, watching Daleen approach. “Hi,” she greeted, reaching for Layla, but she didn’t touch her. She just curled her fingers into the air around her. “We’ve been missing you.”
    Layla trembled as the dam cracked, flooding her lashes with moisture. “I don’t know what to say,” she confessed, struggling with insufficient lungs as she searched Daleen’s face. It was beautiful and sincere and like her son’s in so many painful ways.
    “You don’t have to say anything,” Daleen assured. “We owe you the world just for letting us get a look at you.”
    A sob broke through Layla’s clogged throat, and she dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut on a swell of tears. “I’m sorry.”
    She heard the front door close and sobbed again, angry at herself for being too tender-hearted to face the people who sacrificed so much for her.
    She shivered as a hand slid down her hair. Then a woman spoke in a voice so kind and familiar it rocked Layla onto her heels.
    “Would you