Graceful Intentions

By Mel Berry

Despite having grown up in a loving family, seventeen-year-old Grace always felt different. When a car accident causes her to hear a voice filled with love and longing, she embarks on a journey of discovering how different she really is. Even before she meets him in person, Grace is inexplicablybut irresistiblydrawn to Luke, a new guy in town who is somehow able to communicate with not only her thoughts but her heart.

Just as she is recovering from the accident and getting to know Luke better, Graces parents reveal the real circumstances of her birth, causing Grace to question everything about her life. More revelations come to light when Luke explains that the two of them have been Tutelary Guides in previous lives. Tutelary Guides are given to some humans; some are good, while others are evil. Although Grace has always been a good guide, Luke has had to struggle to overcome his wicked nature. Despite their differences, Grace and Luke fell in love while assigned to the same human four hundred years ago. They were discovered and granted human liveslives in which they have reunited, only to be destroyed by Darcia, Lukes former leader.

Reunited once again, this time against the dramatically beautiful landscape of Montana, Grace and Luke must work together to defeat Darcia and the forces she has sent to destroy them as part of her plan to take over the world. But can Luke stay strong enough not to revert to his former nature, and is their love solid enough to overcome evil?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Aug 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452506326

Mel Berry

Mel Berry is a happily married mother of five children who began writing as a form of therapy, but found that it quickly developed into a passion. She currently lives in Australia.

Book preview

            Graceful

Intentions

Mel Berry

BalboaLogoBCDARKBW.ai

Copyright © 2012 Mel Berry

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com.au

1-[phone]

ISBN: 978-1-4525-0629-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-0632-6 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Balboa Press rev. date: 07/30/2012

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Acknowledgements

Firstly I would like to thank my husband who without his support and love I would not have gotten this far. Secondly I would like to thank The First Draft ladies, without your constant encouragement and pushing Graceful Intentions would be a file stuck on my laptop. I would like to thank my four young children for putting up with my inattentiveness when I have been so wrapped up in my book you have to shout at me to get my attention. Finally I would like to thank My Baby Girl, without you my life would not be what it is today I love being your wicked step-monster!!! To the rest of my family and friends I love you to forever and beyond!!! xxxooo

Chapter 1

Gracie! Don’t! he pleaded softly, cautiously.

He was so close to me. It was almost like his voice was coming from inside of me, as if he were a part of me. I was positive I had never heard this voice before, but it sounded safe, stunning, and somehow familiar. The awareness of it left me mystified. The love and anguish in his voice caressed my mind and soul. It consumed me in those two little words. It was demanding, devouring, and the anguish in his voice dazed me.

Gracie!

He was in full panic now. I instantly buckled under the weight of the fear that radiated from him. It startled me out of the haze I had been lost in. I looked in front of me and then down—down past the jagged rocks that would surely cut me into diced, bite-sized pieces for the wildlife to consume. I looked down past the razor-sharp bushes that would inevitably be decorated with my bones. I looked down to the rushing rapids that, should I survive the rocks, bushes, and the hundred-metre drop, would engulf me in an ever-churning white water. They would continually persist until I was well and truly deceased. I was being pulled in both directions. Half of me felt like I needed to jump, not caring about what would happen afterwards; not caring that it would be painful for my family or friends; and not caring that it would no doubt be an agonizing and prolonged death. Something was tempting me to jump, and I could not understand why. I had never been suicidal before; I loved my life and my family. But this feeling was unrelenting and hard to fight.

Gracie! Please!

The whisper was there again—so near, so real, so desperate. His voice was aching in such a way that I felt his pain shoot through every fibre of my being. The other half of me (his half) was screaming, almost begging me to move back and to step away from impending death. Was I going crazy? The pull towards the cliff’s edge grabbed hold of me again, and I was perplexed. It was overpowering. As the dark emotions crept forward in my mind and I was about to take that fatal step, his voice caressed me again.

Gracie, I need you! his begging pierced me. The veracity that I shared his emotions stunned and bewildered me. I felt every sentiment along with him. They burned within. I couldn’t explain it—the longing, the yearning, the hunger, all of it, and so much more. There were no words to describe it. The magnitude of reactions flashed through me. I felt an adoration and an innate desire, sadness, and regret, but most of all, I felt pain. There was a devastating agony in his voice that caused a sob to break out from deep inside my chest. I was overwhelmed, and it suppressed my urge to jump. I took a breath and held on to it to focus on my options and their consequences. The pain would be worse than losing him. Losing me would destroy him.

This reality flooded through me as I understood that if I were to perish, then he would too. My family would go on, and my friends would forget, but he would not; he would not survive this. And I could not allow that. I could not lose him—not now. The thought of him not living was more painful than dying. I didn’t even know this mystery voice, but the chance that I would lose what I didn’t have was a chance I could not risk. Finally, I felt determination spread through me like the ever-churning rapids of the river below. It would be hard, but together, we would survive. He needed me as much as I needed him.

Like a message from upstairs, the sun suddenly broke through the cloud-drenched sky. The cloud cover was so dark and dense that it gave the illusion of early evening instead of the middle of the day. Only one tiny little sliver of light flooded through and surrounded me like a spotlight—a spotlight full of love, understanding, and warmth. It was a spotlight that seemed to radiate a certainty to fight for everything I desired—with everything I had.

Finally the risks hit me, and I slowly took a step backwards—towards safety. Don’t get me wrong—it was difficult, like swimming against a current—but I forced myself to ignore the urge to move towards death and focused on the pull of the voice and the warmth of his love. After one step, I made another and another until I backed into his body. I allowed his warm frame to support my weight as I slumped down into a ball, curling my legs to my chest and holding them in place as though without the grasp I would rise to my feet and run towards the cliff edge again. And this time, I would not stop. I would throw myself to the gruesome death that was awaiting me. The warmth of the sun slowly faded as my spotlight saviour returned to the heavens. I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t realize I was shaking until his body moved around in front of me, blocking the cliff’s edge. All of a sudden, I was in an unbreakable yet comforting and loving embrace.

Gracie, he whispered gently, his voice full of relief and hope. Hope for what, though? A future? A shiver ran down my spine at the idea. The relief in his voice was sobering. The embrace sent a feeling of fire and unending love throughout my body. I relaxed into his hold and allowed his presence to engulf the remaining need to end my life. It felt safe here. It felt like home—but not the home I shared with my parents and sister. It felt like a new home that would be my forever, my happily ever after.

Gracie, he whispered again. The passion in his voice was intense. I love you.

It was all but a whisper, but there was a certainty about it that made my heart swell. His voice was fading, though the embrace never faltered. I had no image of him in my head. I needed to attach a face to this perfect voice. I lifted my head from my arms and looked into the face of . . .

Chapter 2

Into the face of my father? What the—? He was calling to me gently.

Gracie? he urged. Gracie, can you hear me?

I tried hard to focus on my father’s face, feeling disorientated, confused, and overwhelmed.

My eyes were burning from the bright lights above me. I cringed at the fluorescent beams that stabbed sharp pains through my eyes. The stinging sensation only increased the pounding headache I already felt. I blinked several times, and my eyes watered from the pain and intensity. I was blinded for about half a minute before my eyes adjusted to the brightness. Noises all around pulled me further into consciousness, and I looked into my father’s relieved eyes, both petrified and with questions.

Gracie, my father murmured.

I missed the voice from my dream, but at this moment, I could only mourn for it, ache for it. To experience that love but not know who it was tormented me. My heart was aching, and I couldn’t even put a face to the voice. All I knew was that I loved him—wholly and solely—even now.

It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.

Forcing myself to look into my father’s eyes, I noticed they were full of concern and were red and bloodshot. I’d never seen my father cry—not even when we lost his mother a couple of years ago. The incessant beeping noise in my ear started to increase in momentum as panic began to rise through me. Was I connected to a heart monitor? Why? I was beginning to feel nervous because I had no idea where I was and how I had gotten there. I examined my father more closely now. His face had a few cuts and bruises, and there were more on his arms, which he was using to try to calm me. I tried to sit up to see where I was, feeling extremely unsettled. My father held me down in place.

N-n-n-n-no you don’t, my father said, stuttering and holding my shoulders gently like I was made of the frailest china. Grace, you’re in the hospital. We had an accident, and you’re hurt. You’ll be fine, but you’ve got a lot of injuries.

My father removed his hold and ran his hands through his black hair, looking dishevelled. I looked around. The hospital room was decorated in flowers, balloons, and a couple of teddy bears, all sharing the same message: Get Well Soon. The room itself was an off-white colour and in desperate need of a facelift. A faded (no doubt from those stupid fluorescent lights) picture of a family playing at the beach was pinned up on the wall like it was supposed to make me feel relaxed. Seriously? I wondered which hospital I was in, trying to remember back to any reason that might have put me here. For the moment, my mind was a blank.

So many questions began running through my head, but I could not pick one out to even consider asking. How was my mother? My sister, Lizzie? Why was my father here? Was it because the others didn’t make it? Flashes of my mother and my younger sister danced in my head for a second. I felt sick. How did I get there? Who was the voice in my dream? Was he real? What did it all mean?

The thought of him made my heart flutter again, and the pain of not knowing cut me like a knife. I winced. My father reached and pressed the nurse’s button, assuming my reactions were from physical pain rather than emotional confusion and longing. I needed to focus before the nurse had a chance to come in and force some medication into me.

Dad, I croaked, moaning not only at the dryness and rough sound of my voice but how insignificant it sounded in comparison to the voice in my dream. Again, I flinched at the thought of him. Why couldn’t I get him out of my mind? Could you get lovesick from just a dream? Clearly, I was going crazy. Maybe I should have suggested they transfer me to the psychiatric ward. My father reacted again.

What is it, Grace? my father asked, concerned. How can I fix this? Why wasn’t it me that got hurt? Maybe I should have let you drive. That way it would have been me that was hit.

Dad, I said a little louder, but he didn’t seem to hear me. Oh for Pete’s sake! Did I really have to yell?

Well, it would have probably been your mother, as I would have been riding shotgun. Actually, we wouldn’t have been there—because of your restricted speed limit—when the truck’s trailer jackknifed into the car. He was rambling, and I knew I needed to get his attention to try to find out what was happening.

Dad, I coughed. Man, that hurt. Maybe some pain meds would be good. Yeah, some nice meds would make me float away and hope to goodness this was only a dream. Bring it on! But in all seriousness, I had to get my message across.

Yes? Grace, what is it? Oh, I feel so guilty. Your mother and sister are fine, not a scratch on them, which is a miracle . . . I let out a sigh, knowing that my family was okay. The action caused my chest to scream in pain, but it enabled me to focus and sort the words in my head into short sentences.

They’re really okay? Was anyone else hurt? I was relieved to hear it was only me that was injured. My family was fine, and I would be fine. The relief was overwhelming, but then I began to feel the extent of my injuries. Pain shot at me from my chest, my right arm and leg, and my head. Oh, my head! It was excruciating.

Yes, they’re fine. No one else was hurt, my father soothed. Although the truck driver may be a different story when I’m finished with him. I looked at my father, a little confused. He had never been aggressive and was always a violence doesn’t solve anything kind of person. Just then, the nurse walked in and smiled brightly.

Oh, so you’re awake, sweetie, she said, following it up with a brighter smile. I’m so gonna hurl! I thought. How can someone be so bright and bubbly when I feel like this? I looked to her name badge. Hi! My name is Becky! it read, with a little smiley face sticker. She was wearing scrubs that were so bright and colourful it made my head feel like it was home to a heavy metal band. Her top was covered in hundreds of different coloured handprints. Great! The pediatric wing. How embarrassing. I groaned. At seventeen years of age, I should not be in the pediatric wing! In my peripheral vision, I could tell that Becky was fiddling with what I could only assume was my IV bag.

Okay, sweetie, here is something to help with the pain. She was still too happy for me. I felt nauseous along with the pain. Maybe it was the drugs. But still. Pull your head in, Grace, I thought. She’s here to do a job. What right do you have to critique her personality? I felt guilty about that for all but a second when I felt a nice warm heaviness melting through my body. I turned to look at my father, determined to get more answers from him. How could anyone beat these drugs? I had no idea.

Through the pain and medication, I could hear my father’s voice, saying, Rest, hon, we can talk later when you’re feeling up to it. It sounded like he was in another room, like I was eavesdropping on a conversation. And then I was under. And I dreamed again.

This time when I woke, it was morning, but instead of being in my room, I was watching myself from the outside, grabbing the last few things I had needed. I understood immediately these were the last memories I’d had before we left the house, before the accident that I couldn’t remember. I tried to stop myself from moving, hoping if I stalled for a minute that the accident wouldn’t happen. But no such luck. I couldn’t get through to me now. I just had to wait and watch the onslaught that was coming. I watched myself grab my iPod and mobile (plus both chargers) and threw them in my bag. I then knelt down, grabbed my diary from under my bed, and stuffed that in too.

Let’s go, girls! my father complained from downstairs. We’re gonna hit traffic.

I had to chuckle to myself. Little did my father know at that stage how literal that comment would be.

I watched myself yell out, I’m coming! just before I took one last glimpse in the mirror and then bounded down the stairs and past my father, pausing to give him a quick kiss as I flew past him and outside.

I stopped briefly, turning to ask, Hey, Dad, can I drive? I watched my father do his usual eye roll and shake his head. I remember thinking at the time, Oh well. Worth a try anyway.

My father, Alex Oxford, was a totally hot man—according to all my friends (eww, he’s my father!)—with a full head of slightly greying black hair. In his late thirties, his broad shoulders match his height perfectly, and his well-toned physique had most of the women in our hometown drooling over him (again, eww!). Not that he needed his good looks—his enticing personality could have won anyone over. His green eyes were the colour of Granny Smith apples, with small flecks of gold that made his eyes constantly sparkle, and he