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she finally saw
his hands stained crimson, covered in blood, holding the heart up toward her,
the bloody organ pulsing, moving, beating in time with her own.
    Minerva collapsed.

Chapter Two
    Bram
     
    What had she seen?
    The spirit hovered several feet above Minerva’s silent body,
cursing his impotence. From his place between the world of the dead and the
living, he was aware of the commotion around him. Cameras flashed. Rachel
sprinted to Minerva’s side, her blonde bun weaving through the crowd. A grip
dropped a camera, swearing. The dark-haired man who had spooked Minerva simply
walked away unnoticed. Only the spirit saw and recognized the man. Victor
Grayson.
    Three security guards surrounded the TV star, their uniforms
lending authority, and asked the audience to remain seated. Chatter filled the
air, echoing off the walls like a thousand ping-pong balls. What happened?
Is this part of the show? Is she okay? Grab a video for YouTube!
    The spirit ignored them, his ghostly vision fixed on his
wife. Even unconscious she sparkled, lights reflecting off the sequins on her
dress, the red in her curls lapping up attention like flames. He wanted to
reach down and touch that hair, breathe air into her mouth, but he no longer
had hands or lungs.
    His wife was a brave woman. What could she have seen that
had caused her to faint?
    He knew the dark-haired man. It had been seven years, but
Bram would recognize him anywhere. The sunken cheekbones and dark, empty eyes
brought back a rush of memories. The shock of steel sliding beneath his ribs, a
cold invader thrusting deep into his viscera. Shooting pain echoing from his
stomach up through his nerves to his brain. Hearing himself scream. The copper
stink of his own blood. Terror, regret, longing. The heaviness of his limbs as
life slipped away from him.
    And then the agony, indescribable agony, as the man had cut
Bram’s heart from his chest while he still lived.
    But Minerva, surely, had never even seen a photo of her
husband’s murderer. The police had no leads.
    To her, the man standing at the edge of the stage, his
empty, pale hands reaching up toward her, was a stranger. Harmless. Why had her
gorgeous green eyes fixated on his hands as they had? Grayson couldn’t have
reached her from there. She had to have known that.
    Had she sensed danger? Bram knew it couldn’t be a
coincidence that Grayson was there. Was he planning to harm Minerva? At the
thought, rage filled him and static electricity in the air shuddered around the
ghost’s non-corporeal form.
    The anger made him lose concentration and the scene around
him blurred and shifted. He forced it back into a proper semblance of vision.
Bram had worked for seven years on his senses to get closer to his wife,
refusing the white light calling him to the afterlife. At first the world had
been a blank canvass, darkness in tones of gray, except that he could sense her
near, her warmth and life holding him steady.
    Over seven years he’d focused his soul and become aware of
the sound of her voice, smoky but soothing, full of charisma, and the scent of
her, morphing over the years from a girlish rose to mature sandalwood.
    When last winter his vision had coalesced, he’d spent months
of his afterlife just staring at her. She was the woman he loved, but she had
changed—her breasts were fuller now and her hips and ass had curves he’d never
known. More than anything, he wanted hands and the ability to reach out and
touch her, tangling his fingers in the silky curls of her hair, his palms caressing
her smooth skin. He wanted to pull the sequined dress above her waist and tear
her panties to the side, plunging his fingers into her warmth.
    Though he watched her every minute of every day, he missed
her more than life itself. Bram knew he would never move on, not until he’d had
to chance to speak to her, to hold her. To apologize for how badly he’d fucked
up.
    It had broken his heart watching her act out an apology from
an