Chapter Three

Five years later…

"Savannah! I know you're in there! Open up!"

"It's open!" Savannah grinned and shook her head at her best friend's antics. Rachel was what their circle of friends called "exit impaired." She was forever pushing when she should have pulled, and vice versa. She swore the eight-by-three sections of wood and steel were simply out to get her.

"Oh, well, I thought it was locked," Rachel huffed as she breezed into the small living room of Savannah's rental house.

"That door has been sticking," Savannah admitted. "It must be all this heat causing it to swell. I can't remember such a hot summer."

"Then you haven't been here long enough, dear. Georgia heat can be pretty intense. We've just been lucky these past few years. So, are you ready?"

"Almost. I just want to finish this real quick." She gestured to the computer situated on her lap.

"All right, I can wait. What are you reading?"

"Just some research—"

"The Incubus?" Rachel read aloud over her friend's shoulder. "What's an incubus? Wait, do I want to know?"

"Probably not," Savannah replied. "The incubus was—is—believed to be a demon who appears in the night and, ah, has its way with unsuspecting victims…"

"Has its way? Oh, you mean…?"

"Yes."

"Does it buy them dinner first?" Rachel asked, inspecting her fingernails.

"What?"

"Does it—"

"I heard you," Savannah choked. "Rachel, my God. Is that all you think about?"

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you actually buy into all that nonsense."

"No, of course not, but most legend is rooted in fact. It's interesting."

"Maybe." Rachel yawned and flopped onto Savannah's pullout sofa. "Although," she cast a sideways glance at the computer screen, "I'm tempted to say maybe you need to get some new hobbies. I'm taking a nap. Wake me up when you're ready, and we'll hit the beach."

"Twenty minutes," she promised. Savannah leaned back with a sigh and closed the laptop.

She didn't tell her best friend and old college roommate what was really on her mind. She didn't tell her about a five-year-old dream. A night that had stood the test of time, because she had never forgotten "her angel."

No matter what she did, he seemed to be an ever-present force in the back of her mind. His voice, his touch, his intensity was branded into her until it was a part of her, until he was a part of her.

Telling herself that he wasn't real served little purpose. She knew that he was nothing more than a figment of her imagination. He was an image she'd conjured up in a dream to combat a lifetime of lonely nights. She wouldn't have thought one night could make a difference, but it had. For the most part, she supposed, there was no harm in a fantasy. She'd had no family, no money, and very little options back then. But things were different now.

Maybe that was the difference. The more she accomplished, the less she thought of him. Yet he was always there, in the distant corners of her mind … and her heart.

She sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, she was very much afraid that "he" was the reason she'd been having such a hard time getting close to Anthony.

Savannah smiled ruefully as she pictured her boyfriend of eight months. They'd met in college. A mutual friend of Rachel and a few other people they knew, he was everything a girl could want and then some. He was handsome, came from a good family, and was well educated and sweet. Anthony knew almost as much about her past as Rachel, and he never failed to treat her with respect. Yet, despite all that, she found it hard—scratch that, impossible—to be intimate with him. Kissing and occasional necking was the extent of their physical relationship.

She just couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that reared its ugly head when she was in his arms, which was ridiculous. It wasn't possible to betray someone she'd conjured up in a dream during a weak moment and all-around low point in her life.

Tonight, though, would be different. Tonight, she turned twenty-three, and although Rachel had been playing it cool all week, Savannah knew her friend had organized a surprise party on the beach. Was it still a surprise if it happened every year? Savannah laughed. Still, she loved Rachel and never failed to act surprised.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Rachel." She sent her a warm look and reached down to pull her to her feet. "You ready for that day at the beach?"

"A day at the beach—are you kidding me? I'm always ready. Just you, me, and a cooler full of pina coladas. What more could a person want?"

"My thoughts exactly."

* * *

"Surprise!" The deafening cheer went up from the crowd.

"Oh, for me?" Savannah gasped, pressing a hand to her heart. "Rachel, you shouldn't have!"

"Anything for you, Vannah." Rachel grinned and twisted the cap off a bottle before pressing it into Savannah's hand. "Now get out there and mingle."

"You don't have to tell me twice." She winked at her friend, ran down the beach, struck a pose, and dramatically bowed low for her friends.

Choruses of "happy birthday" and "congratulations" rang out and warmed her heart. How far she'd come from the isolated creature who'd grown up in the shadow of an indifferent family on an Iowa farm. Her heart swelled as she looked around at the large group gathered on the beach. How very far…

"Savannah." The voice sounded beside her ear, and she turned into a pair of smoothly muscled, tanned arms.

"Anthony, you made it."

"Don't I always?" He held her close and kissed her with warmth and abandon amid the cheers of their friends. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Yes, it certainly is." She laughed, digging her heels into the warm sand and kissing him back.

"You want to go for a walk or a swim?"

"Hmm … swim. Race you!" She took off, laughing, bottle still in hand.

The party lasted well into the evening hours, and Savannah's skin was pink from the sun when she finally climbed the stairs to her rental house well after midnight. She was giddy from the drinks and excitement and the attention that her friends had showered upon her—and only a little disappointed that Anthony had ended up begging out of coming home with her. He had been wrangled into helping his father with some work bright and early in the morning.

Savannah let herself into the house and went straight to the bathroom to soak the sand from her hair and cool her sun-kissed skin. It was three in the morning when she finally fell into bed, blissfully exhausted.

She was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. In her dreams she was back on the beach, running through the sugary sand as she had been only hours earlier, happy and carefree. But all too soon the dream switched and the beach was gone. The next thing she knew, she was standing in front of a house that rose high into the distance. Cerulean mist, soft as a cloud, danced around her legs; shadows gathered in the distance.