Richard Savage's Blog: The Anniversary, page 2
December 5, 2020
Whiskey Lullaby
Whiskey Lullaby
By Keren Hughes
ISBN 978-1-912768-98-1
https://amzn.to/3laZqgC
Prologue
Once upon a time a girl met a boy, looked at him and BAM! She instantly fell in love. Isn’t that how all fairy tales start? Well not mine. Let me tell you my story. It goes a little like this…
I’m sitting in the airport, and because of my obsessive need to be early for just about everything I am far too early to board my flight. I’m obviously less obsessive about my need to charge my Kindle because that darn thing won’t turn on, so I know I’ll have to wait a long-ass time to finish reading my deliciously dirty new obsession.
I am so bored it’s untrue. I’d go to the gift shop and look for a book, but if the weight of my luggage is anything to judge by, it would only take one tiny book to make me incur excess-weight charges. No thank you. I paid enough for this darn flight as it is. I’m not paying one penny more. Especially not for a cheap book.
My mum always tells me I’m too tight. Her favourite thing to do is tell me I have short arms and long pockets, aka I’m a penny pincher. But I have to be on the meagre wages I earn as part-time barmaid. That’s one of the reasons I flew here in the first place—I’ve had an interview for a new job. Lord knows whether it went well or not. I’ll just have to hope.
Anyway, I digress. Back to my unending boredom.
I pick up my phone to look at my social media, and as I do, Tinder sits there looking at me, daring me to finally swipe right.
I open the app and swipe left so many times I fear I might actually get RSI. Suddenly a voice pipes up from behind me.
“Ouch. That’s a hard no for that guy then?!”
I don’t answer right away, so he speaks again, sending shivers through me with the sound of his gravelly voice.
“Seriously, what was it about that dude that made you swipe left so hard?”
“Nothing in particular, I just—”
And that’s when I turn around to get a good look at who I’m talking to.
My heart feels like it’s going to fall out of my ass. I didn’t take a very good look at the guy on the screen, but now I’m staring at the guy behind me, I just know it’s the same guy I just swiped past.
“I-I … I just don’t swipe right,” I finish awkwardly.
I feel my skin flush profusely. I don’t know what else to say, so I’m sure I look like a goldfish as my mouth opens and closes.
“Then may I inquire as to the point of being on such a dating site?” he asks, a puzzled look crossing his face.
“Oh, umm … well … my mother. She constantly moans at me about finding a nice guy. But I hate internet dating. It doesn’t give you much of an impression of the guys. They umm … well, they mostly just want to hook up and I’m not that kind of girl.”
I’m babbling and I know it, but he’s got me flustered and that expression on his face tells me he knows as much.
Suddenly the tannoy booms with a boarding call for a flight. I have no idea where it’s going, but wherever it is, that’s where I’m going too.
“Oh, umm … if you’ll excuse me, that’s my flight,” I say as I hastily grab my bag and slide my phone into my pocket.
“No worries,” he says with a smile.
My palms are sweaty as I race to get away from him. The annoying click-clack of my heels rings in my ears as I rush towards the door of the ladies’ room.
Once I’m in the stall, I close the door and sit on the lid of the toilet. Normally I would hesitate to use public toilets—just the thought of them normally makes me shudder—but right now, I need somewhere to hide.
I pull my phone out and close the dating app. Pulling up my best friend’s number, I hit call and wait for her to pick up. At the message on her answerphone, I hang up and shoot her a text instead, telling her I was only calling to say I’d made the journey to the airport safely and would call her when I get home.
Looking at the time on my phone, I see I still have over ninety minutes left to wait until I can board my plane. The question is what to do in the meantime. I can’t very well walk back out and risk him still being there. Instead I decide not to move an inch. I just sit up straighter and pull up the Kindle app on my phone, which is what I should have done in the first place. If I had just done that, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
When I finish the book, I check the time again. Thank goodness I didn’t miss my flight due to the highly combustible book I was engrossed in. Seriously, any hotter and it would have melted my phone.
Walking out of the ladies’ room with my head held high, I race to the lounge. Thankfully, there’s no sign of Mr. Tinder.
Breathing easily, I take a seat and wait for the tannoy to announce it’s time to board.
Chapter One
Caleigh
I can’t believe my rotten bloody luck. I’m stuck in a window seat. That’s what you get for waiting until last minute to book a ticket. You get the shitty seat next to the guy with overpowering body odour. But at least there’s nobody sitting next to me yet, so I inhale the clean smelling air while I can.
I really wish I could ask the flight attendant for a whiskey to calm my nerves. I hate flying. I hate being shoved into ridiculously tight spaces like I am crammed into right now. And it’s only set to get a lot worse when someone sits down next to me.
There’s never enough room in these seats.
I close the blind on the window, not wanting to look out when we eventually take off. I know, statistically speaking, I’m actually safer on a plane than in a car, but right now I’d give anything to be in my little red Miata, or better yet, home in bed. The job, if I get it, isn’t even far from home, but their headquarters is a couple of hours away by plane, longer by car. Though I did almost convince myself to drive instead of being stuck in a flying tin can. The only reason I didn’t is because I hate long journeys in the car. I feel almost claustrophobic. That might sound silly to others, but I’ve always been a person who needs space and fresh air.
Flying was the lesser of two evils only because it was faster. So here I am, like it or not.
We’ve been waiting what seems like forever for all the passengers to get on board, but in reality, it’s probably only been minutes. I keep looking at my watch, but you know what they say about a watched pot never boiling. So, I sit back and try to get comfortable. I pull my sleep mask out of my bag, wriggle it over my eyes and focus on my breathing. In for three seconds, out for three seconds, just like I was taught to try and combat my anxiety. When that doesn’t work, I try tapping it out. It doesn’t work for everybody, but it seems to do the trick for me. However, I’m not at the point of needing that. Not right now.
“Your seat is just there, sir,” the bubbly flight attendant says from somewhere close.
I almost take my mask off to take a peek, but I can’t find the energy. I’m trying my best to be chilled here, after all.
“Excuse me, miss,” a voice says. “Your bag seems to be on my seat.”
Wait one gosh-darned minute. I know that gravelly voice.
No, no, no. A thousand times no. It can’t be him. It just can’t.
Pulling my mask off, I move to grab my bag from the seat next to me and look up right into the chocolate brown eyes of Mr. Tinder. Well, knock me down with a feather. What in the ever-loving fuck is he doing on my flight?
“Oh,” he says as he stares at me. “It’s you. I thought you caught a flight to Barcelona?”
A mischievous smile lights up his features. Features that I am now noticing to be rather handsome. Why did I swipe left on him again? I can’t fathom how I’d do that to someone with such enticing eyes and that chiselled jaw covered with a scruffy but sexy beard.
“I … umm … I …” I can’t think of a convincing lie.
Someone shoot me. Shoot me now. Please, someone have mercy on me. I can’t think what to say, and he knows he has me cornered. His eyes twinkle with mirth as he takes his seat next to me.
Oh my god, he’s so close. And to think I was worried about a man with overpowering body odour. I should have been worried about a man with come-to-bed eyes and a delicious smell of rich aftershave. Something woodsy. I can’t put my finger on what.
“Go on,” he urges with a playful smile.
“Well … look, I-I won’t lie. Well, not again, anyway.” I try to stifle a giggle as he laughs at me, knowingly. “I just … Oh, I’m not making much sense.”
“Would you like to start again?”
“Yeah, okay. Umm … truth is, I was just flustered earlier. I shouldn’t have lied, but you caught me swiping left on you. What else was I supposed to do? I’m sorry. I actually should have just told you the truth. But the truth is, I just don’t know what I would have said.”
“I meant would you like to start again as in start over from meeting, like, you know, start a clean slate. But thanks for the apology.”
“Oh.”
My voice squeaks out high-pitched and almost painful.
Mr. Tinder bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but join in with him.
***
The rest of the journey is spent making idle chit-chat. He introduces himself as Rhett. Yes, after Rhett Butler in Gone with The Wind. It was his mum’s favourite film, and their surname is Butler, so he has—in his opinion—a rather clichéd name.
He tells me about his siblings—two brothers and a sister. He says Eliza has always been like his shadow, always choosing to follow her eldest brother around as a kid. It makes me laugh when he says that she’s a feisty young thing, which in his opinion is just like me.
I know I’m feisty. I won’t lie. But I guess I’ve had to be. I’ve grown up fighting my own battles. No siblings to protect me. I had to grow a thick skin and wear it as my armour every time someone had a problem with me. Which in high school was pretty often.
I guess I come off as feisty to people that don’t know me very well, much like Rhett, because I have long pink hair, tattoos on my arms and multiple piercings, including the most recent addition of something called an Ashley—a piercing in the middle of my lower lip. I look … different to most people, always choosing to have my own style rather than being a sheep who follows the latest trends. I’m not a goth, but a lot of my wardrobe is black. I dress for comfort over style.
People that spend time with me know that I’m a big softie at heart. I think I keep most people at arm’s length and act like a bitch because that way I don’t get used.
I’ve always been the type to wear my heart on my sleeve, but all that’s ever earned me is heartache and pain. So I’ve learned to disguise that about myself.
Rhett keeps me entertained with stories of his siblings and what it was like to grow up being the eldest of four. He seems sweet and genuine. I realise somewhere along the way that I shouldn’t have swiped left on him, but his Tinder pic and bio didn’t give much insight into who he is. I wasn’t to know he was actually pretty cute under that rugged beard, as well as funny and down to earth. Just goes to show my mother was right when she said never to judge a book by its cover.
He buys me a much-needed whiskey and I relish the slow burn as it travels down my throat. It also calms my nerves about flying. Or is that more to do with Rhett himself?
As I hail a taxi outside the airport, Rhett helps me wheel my bags and loads them into the boot of the car. Who said chivalry was dead? It almost has me swooning. Almost. I’m not some dewy-eyed teenager after all.
My taxi pulls away from the kerb and I’m left wondering who Rhett is and what he’s doing in River’s Edge. It’s a quiet little town, not some suburban concrete jungle, the likes of which I imagine he’s used to. When I say little, I mean remote and with not much to do.
We have a population of only a couple of hundred people. There’s a post office, a small school and a corner shop. For food, we have to either survive on what the shop has in stock or go further afield for a supermarket. There’s also a pub, Da Vinci’s Lock. Or as the locals call it, The Lock. It was so named because Leonardo Da Vinci invented the locks we see on rivers and canals today. That ends my knowledge on the subject. I only know that much because I work there part-time. Then there’s the bed and breakfast and that’s about it really.
I love it here. The people are friendly and the rent is reasonable. Yes, everyone knows everyone’s business, but it’s not like we’re a bunch of gossips or anything. It’s just hard not to know everything about everyone when you’re so tight knit.
I ponder what Rhett could be here for. A holiday? Maybe, but we’re hardly a tourist trap.
As we pull up outside my little cottage, the front door opens, and Hardin runs down the garden path and pulls my door open. I smile as my baby hugs me so tightly you’d think I’d been gone for a month, not a couple of days.
Managing to move to the boot of the car with a small human being clinging to me is a feat in itself. I grab my bags and pay the driver before wheeling my case up the path to the front door where my mum is waiting for me.
“Caleigh, darling, you’re home,” she says with a pearly white grin. “Did you have a good flight?”
“As good as flying in a tin can gets, I suppose.”
I choose not to tell her about Rhett. She’d only read too much into it.
“It’s so good to see you, Mummy. Did you get me a present?”
I look down into the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen and feel a genuine smile grace my face.
“Oooh, I can’t remember,” I lie as I rub a hand over my chin, pretending to be lost in thought. “Did I buy a present for the most gorgeous person in the world? Hmm.”
“You did, Mummy, you did. You promised me you would, and you never break a promise.”
I open my carry-on bag and pull out the gift-wrapped parcel. Hardin’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas. I hand it to him, and he runs into the house to open it.
“Here darling, let me help you with those,” my mum says as she grabs my bag.
I wheel my case in behind her and crane my head around to look at Hardin as he pulls the last of the gift-wrap off his present.
My little angel is five and he’s due to start school this autumn. I can’t believe where the time has gone. One minute he’s swaddled in a blanket, held tightly against me, smelling the way only a new baby does, and the next he’s starting school.
It’s hard being a single mum, but my mum and dad have been a godsend in that respect. Sadly, Hardin’s father passed away when he was only two years old, leaving me a widow at the age of thirty-one, and Hardin had to grow up without him. We have pictures on the mantel and pretty much every wall in the house. He knows how much his daddy loved him until he took his last breath. I often tell him bedtime stories about Angelo, about the things we got up to and who he was. He was a good man, taken way too soon. But that’s something we have to live with.
“Mummy, you told me that this game hadn’t even come out yet,” he pipes up as I walk into the living room.
I don’t often buy him video games. I prefer to take walks with him, go on day trips, pack a picnic and go to the beach—even if it’s an hour’s train journey away. A lot of children spend too much time with gadgets these days. That’s something I never did as a child and I had a happy childhood, so I want the same for my boy.
“I know, baby. Mummy wanted to surprise you.”
He runs up and tackle hugs me, which in turn ends up in a tickle fight that has me landing on my ass with a hard bump.
There’s nothing more I like than being a mum. Hardin has made me a better person these last five years. Being a mother can do that to you
By Keren Hughes
ISBN 978-1-912768-98-1
https://amzn.to/3laZqgC
Prologue
Once upon a time a girl met a boy, looked at him and BAM! She instantly fell in love. Isn’t that how all fairy tales start? Well not mine. Let me tell you my story. It goes a little like this…
I’m sitting in the airport, and because of my obsessive need to be early for just about everything I am far too early to board my flight. I’m obviously less obsessive about my need to charge my Kindle because that darn thing won’t turn on, so I know I’ll have to wait a long-ass time to finish reading my deliciously dirty new obsession.
I am so bored it’s untrue. I’d go to the gift shop and look for a book, but if the weight of my luggage is anything to judge by, it would only take one tiny book to make me incur excess-weight charges. No thank you. I paid enough for this darn flight as it is. I’m not paying one penny more. Especially not for a cheap book.
My mum always tells me I’m too tight. Her favourite thing to do is tell me I have short arms and long pockets, aka I’m a penny pincher. But I have to be on the meagre wages I earn as part-time barmaid. That’s one of the reasons I flew here in the first place—I’ve had an interview for a new job. Lord knows whether it went well or not. I’ll just have to hope.
Anyway, I digress. Back to my unending boredom.
I pick up my phone to look at my social media, and as I do, Tinder sits there looking at me, daring me to finally swipe right.
I open the app and swipe left so many times I fear I might actually get RSI. Suddenly a voice pipes up from behind me.
“Ouch. That’s a hard no for that guy then?!”
I don’t answer right away, so he speaks again, sending shivers through me with the sound of his gravelly voice.
“Seriously, what was it about that dude that made you swipe left so hard?”
“Nothing in particular, I just—”
And that’s when I turn around to get a good look at who I’m talking to.
My heart feels like it’s going to fall out of my ass. I didn’t take a very good look at the guy on the screen, but now I’m staring at the guy behind me, I just know it’s the same guy I just swiped past.
“I-I … I just don’t swipe right,” I finish awkwardly.
I feel my skin flush profusely. I don’t know what else to say, so I’m sure I look like a goldfish as my mouth opens and closes.
“Then may I inquire as to the point of being on such a dating site?” he asks, a puzzled look crossing his face.
“Oh, umm … well … my mother. She constantly moans at me about finding a nice guy. But I hate internet dating. It doesn’t give you much of an impression of the guys. They umm … well, they mostly just want to hook up and I’m not that kind of girl.”
I’m babbling and I know it, but he’s got me flustered and that expression on his face tells me he knows as much.
Suddenly the tannoy booms with a boarding call for a flight. I have no idea where it’s going, but wherever it is, that’s where I’m going too.
“Oh, umm … if you’ll excuse me, that’s my flight,” I say as I hastily grab my bag and slide my phone into my pocket.
“No worries,” he says with a smile.
My palms are sweaty as I race to get away from him. The annoying click-clack of my heels rings in my ears as I rush towards the door of the ladies’ room.
Once I’m in the stall, I close the door and sit on the lid of the toilet. Normally I would hesitate to use public toilets—just the thought of them normally makes me shudder—but right now, I need somewhere to hide.
I pull my phone out and close the dating app. Pulling up my best friend’s number, I hit call and wait for her to pick up. At the message on her answerphone, I hang up and shoot her a text instead, telling her I was only calling to say I’d made the journey to the airport safely and would call her when I get home.
Looking at the time on my phone, I see I still have over ninety minutes left to wait until I can board my plane. The question is what to do in the meantime. I can’t very well walk back out and risk him still being there. Instead I decide not to move an inch. I just sit up straighter and pull up the Kindle app on my phone, which is what I should have done in the first place. If I had just done that, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
When I finish the book, I check the time again. Thank goodness I didn’t miss my flight due to the highly combustible book I was engrossed in. Seriously, any hotter and it would have melted my phone.
Walking out of the ladies’ room with my head held high, I race to the lounge. Thankfully, there’s no sign of Mr. Tinder.
Breathing easily, I take a seat and wait for the tannoy to announce it’s time to board.
Chapter One
Caleigh
I can’t believe my rotten bloody luck. I’m stuck in a window seat. That’s what you get for waiting until last minute to book a ticket. You get the shitty seat next to the guy with overpowering body odour. But at least there’s nobody sitting next to me yet, so I inhale the clean smelling air while I can.
I really wish I could ask the flight attendant for a whiskey to calm my nerves. I hate flying. I hate being shoved into ridiculously tight spaces like I am crammed into right now. And it’s only set to get a lot worse when someone sits down next to me.
There’s never enough room in these seats.
I close the blind on the window, not wanting to look out when we eventually take off. I know, statistically speaking, I’m actually safer on a plane than in a car, but right now I’d give anything to be in my little red Miata, or better yet, home in bed. The job, if I get it, isn’t even far from home, but their headquarters is a couple of hours away by plane, longer by car. Though I did almost convince myself to drive instead of being stuck in a flying tin can. The only reason I didn’t is because I hate long journeys in the car. I feel almost claustrophobic. That might sound silly to others, but I’ve always been a person who needs space and fresh air.
Flying was the lesser of two evils only because it was faster. So here I am, like it or not.
We’ve been waiting what seems like forever for all the passengers to get on board, but in reality, it’s probably only been minutes. I keep looking at my watch, but you know what they say about a watched pot never boiling. So, I sit back and try to get comfortable. I pull my sleep mask out of my bag, wriggle it over my eyes and focus on my breathing. In for three seconds, out for three seconds, just like I was taught to try and combat my anxiety. When that doesn’t work, I try tapping it out. It doesn’t work for everybody, but it seems to do the trick for me. However, I’m not at the point of needing that. Not right now.
“Your seat is just there, sir,” the bubbly flight attendant says from somewhere close.
I almost take my mask off to take a peek, but I can’t find the energy. I’m trying my best to be chilled here, after all.
“Excuse me, miss,” a voice says. “Your bag seems to be on my seat.”
Wait one gosh-darned minute. I know that gravelly voice.
No, no, no. A thousand times no. It can’t be him. It just can’t.
Pulling my mask off, I move to grab my bag from the seat next to me and look up right into the chocolate brown eyes of Mr. Tinder. Well, knock me down with a feather. What in the ever-loving fuck is he doing on my flight?
“Oh,” he says as he stares at me. “It’s you. I thought you caught a flight to Barcelona?”
A mischievous smile lights up his features. Features that I am now noticing to be rather handsome. Why did I swipe left on him again? I can’t fathom how I’d do that to someone with such enticing eyes and that chiselled jaw covered with a scruffy but sexy beard.
“I … umm … I …” I can’t think of a convincing lie.
Someone shoot me. Shoot me now. Please, someone have mercy on me. I can’t think what to say, and he knows he has me cornered. His eyes twinkle with mirth as he takes his seat next to me.
Oh my god, he’s so close. And to think I was worried about a man with overpowering body odour. I should have been worried about a man with come-to-bed eyes and a delicious smell of rich aftershave. Something woodsy. I can’t put my finger on what.
“Go on,” he urges with a playful smile.
“Well … look, I-I won’t lie. Well, not again, anyway.” I try to stifle a giggle as he laughs at me, knowingly. “I just … Oh, I’m not making much sense.”
“Would you like to start again?”
“Yeah, okay. Umm … truth is, I was just flustered earlier. I shouldn’t have lied, but you caught me swiping left on you. What else was I supposed to do? I’m sorry. I actually should have just told you the truth. But the truth is, I just don’t know what I would have said.”
“I meant would you like to start again as in start over from meeting, like, you know, start a clean slate. But thanks for the apology.”
“Oh.”
My voice squeaks out high-pitched and almost painful.
Mr. Tinder bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but join in with him.
***
The rest of the journey is spent making idle chit-chat. He introduces himself as Rhett. Yes, after Rhett Butler in Gone with The Wind. It was his mum’s favourite film, and their surname is Butler, so he has—in his opinion—a rather clichéd name.
He tells me about his siblings—two brothers and a sister. He says Eliza has always been like his shadow, always choosing to follow her eldest brother around as a kid. It makes me laugh when he says that she’s a feisty young thing, which in his opinion is just like me.
I know I’m feisty. I won’t lie. But I guess I’ve had to be. I’ve grown up fighting my own battles. No siblings to protect me. I had to grow a thick skin and wear it as my armour every time someone had a problem with me. Which in high school was pretty often.
I guess I come off as feisty to people that don’t know me very well, much like Rhett, because I have long pink hair, tattoos on my arms and multiple piercings, including the most recent addition of something called an Ashley—a piercing in the middle of my lower lip. I look … different to most people, always choosing to have my own style rather than being a sheep who follows the latest trends. I’m not a goth, but a lot of my wardrobe is black. I dress for comfort over style.
People that spend time with me know that I’m a big softie at heart. I think I keep most people at arm’s length and act like a bitch because that way I don’t get used.
I’ve always been the type to wear my heart on my sleeve, but all that’s ever earned me is heartache and pain. So I’ve learned to disguise that about myself.
Rhett keeps me entertained with stories of his siblings and what it was like to grow up being the eldest of four. He seems sweet and genuine. I realise somewhere along the way that I shouldn’t have swiped left on him, but his Tinder pic and bio didn’t give much insight into who he is. I wasn’t to know he was actually pretty cute under that rugged beard, as well as funny and down to earth. Just goes to show my mother was right when she said never to judge a book by its cover.
He buys me a much-needed whiskey and I relish the slow burn as it travels down my throat. It also calms my nerves about flying. Or is that more to do with Rhett himself?
As I hail a taxi outside the airport, Rhett helps me wheel my bags and loads them into the boot of the car. Who said chivalry was dead? It almost has me swooning. Almost. I’m not some dewy-eyed teenager after all.
My taxi pulls away from the kerb and I’m left wondering who Rhett is and what he’s doing in River’s Edge. It’s a quiet little town, not some suburban concrete jungle, the likes of which I imagine he’s used to. When I say little, I mean remote and with not much to do.
We have a population of only a couple of hundred people. There’s a post office, a small school and a corner shop. For food, we have to either survive on what the shop has in stock or go further afield for a supermarket. There’s also a pub, Da Vinci’s Lock. Or as the locals call it, The Lock. It was so named because Leonardo Da Vinci invented the locks we see on rivers and canals today. That ends my knowledge on the subject. I only know that much because I work there part-time. Then there’s the bed and breakfast and that’s about it really.
I love it here. The people are friendly and the rent is reasonable. Yes, everyone knows everyone’s business, but it’s not like we’re a bunch of gossips or anything. It’s just hard not to know everything about everyone when you’re so tight knit.
I ponder what Rhett could be here for. A holiday? Maybe, but we’re hardly a tourist trap.
As we pull up outside my little cottage, the front door opens, and Hardin runs down the garden path and pulls my door open. I smile as my baby hugs me so tightly you’d think I’d been gone for a month, not a couple of days.
Managing to move to the boot of the car with a small human being clinging to me is a feat in itself. I grab my bags and pay the driver before wheeling my case up the path to the front door where my mum is waiting for me.
“Caleigh, darling, you’re home,” she says with a pearly white grin. “Did you have a good flight?”
“As good as flying in a tin can gets, I suppose.”
I choose not to tell her about Rhett. She’d only read too much into it.
“It’s so good to see you, Mummy. Did you get me a present?”
I look down into the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen and feel a genuine smile grace my face.
“Oooh, I can’t remember,” I lie as I rub a hand over my chin, pretending to be lost in thought. “Did I buy a present for the most gorgeous person in the world? Hmm.”
“You did, Mummy, you did. You promised me you would, and you never break a promise.”
I open my carry-on bag and pull out the gift-wrapped parcel. Hardin’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas. I hand it to him, and he runs into the house to open it.
“Here darling, let me help you with those,” my mum says as she grabs my bag.
I wheel my case in behind her and crane my head around to look at Hardin as he pulls the last of the gift-wrap off his present.
My little angel is five and he’s due to start school this autumn. I can’t believe where the time has gone. One minute he’s swaddled in a blanket, held tightly against me, smelling the way only a new baby does, and the next he’s starting school.
It’s hard being a single mum, but my mum and dad have been a godsend in that respect. Sadly, Hardin’s father passed away when he was only two years old, leaving me a widow at the age of thirty-one, and Hardin had to grow up without him. We have pictures on the mantel and pretty much every wall in the house. He knows how much his daddy loved him until he took his last breath. I often tell him bedtime stories about Angelo, about the things we got up to and who he was. He was a good man, taken way too soon. But that’s something we have to live with.
“Mummy, you told me that this game hadn’t even come out yet,” he pipes up as I walk into the living room.
I don’t often buy him video games. I prefer to take walks with him, go on day trips, pack a picnic and go to the beach—even if it’s an hour’s train journey away. A lot of children spend too much time with gadgets these days. That’s something I never did as a child and I had a happy childhood, so I want the same for my boy.
“I know, baby. Mummy wanted to surprise you.”
He runs up and tackle hugs me, which in turn ends up in a tickle fight that has me landing on my ass with a hard bump.
There’s nothing more I like than being a mum. Hardin has made me a better person these last five years. Being a mother can do that to you
November 3, 2020
Joshua
Joshua (Risking Love Book5)
Callie Carmen
ASIN: B08M6GGLNZ
https://books2read.com/u/bxjYko
Chapter One
Bella
Five Months Earlier
I’d longed to see Joshua for the past few months. He was finally back from his business trip to Britain and I was desperate for some alone time with him. I hadn’t seen him since our first date, when he took me to Chicago for the day. I was dying to find out if the kiss goodnight that he had given me had been full of passionate sparks like I remembered, or whether I’d built it up in my head since he’d been gone these past few months.
All my friends were married or getting married, and I was starting to feel like a third wheel when we got together. Unfortunately, I had no prospects for even a steady relationship with someone.
Over the past year, I had wasted my time on a relationship that had gone absolutely nowhere. I was beginning to worry that true love was not in the cards for me, and that I could eventually get left behind by my friends who frequently double-dated as couples. Just last week, Patrick and Jaq had gone to a concert with Nicolas and Carlie. More often Patrick and Jaq, and Nicolas and Carlie, went to soccer and football games with Joseph and Violet.
While Joshua had been away on business in the United Kingdom, I hadn’t sat at home pining over a man that I might never see again. I’d been on a few dates with Marcus, a sexy cocktail bar owner. My friend Carlie would be Marcus’s cousin after she married Nicolas.
I’d even slept with Marcus on our last date, and in one night of passion he had more than made up for the dry spell in the bedroom I’d been under for a full year with my ex-boyfriend. Marcus was a lot of fun, but the man had a reputation as a player. In my book, that most likely meant he couldn’t be trusted, and I didn’t want to get involved with another relationship that went nowhere, or worse, in one where I might get cheated on. So even though I was attracted to him, and he’d shown a good deal of interest in me, I’d kept a distance between us. I only saw him now and then.
Today I planned to learn more about Josh. Hopefully, I’d find out that the spark I’d felt with him on our first date had been worth fantasizing about.
I was in the front seat of his truck enjoying the view as I looked over at Josh, who was driving us to my lake house. He had looked stunning in a suit the night I’d met him at my friend’s wedding, but now, in a black t-shirt and jeans, he looked hot. “I’m so glad you were available to spend the day with me at my family’s cottage. It looks like we will have perfect weather for some fun on the lake.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Bella. Will your family be there, or do we have the place to ourselves?”
“No, we’ll be alone for the day. My family’s going to a wedding.”
I was dying to know if Josh had ever been married. I mean, the man was gorgeous. How was he still single? I knew it was forward to ask if he’d been married, but it wasn’t like the topic of weddings hadn’t come up. I’d said I planned to learn more about him today, and I meant it.
“If you don’t mind my asking, have you ever been married?”
He shook his head. “If you climb in the saddle, be ready for the ride.”
I giggled. “Is that a Kentucky horse rancher saying?”
“Darling, that’s one of my father’s many teaching tools,” he said, with an edge in his tone.
I wondered what that was about but decided not to push the issue.
“I haven’t found the one to get me on the saddle yet. I’ve been busy working my way up the ladder in the auto industry. I’ve been traveling a lot for work. I have to take off for Essex again on Sunday. I’m afraid it’ll be a while before we get to see each other again.”
“Porca miseria!” I couldn’t get a break. He was leaving, and I had hoped that he would be the one that would steal my heart. How could he do that if I couldn’t get more than an occasional date? My chest tightened.
He laughed. “You know, I was in Britain for over a year and spent plenty of time visiting one of our company suppliers in Italy. I learned all of their colorful words, so what’s the ‘dammit’ for?”
I felt heat rush up my body. Shoot, I’d have to control my outbursts. Fat chance of that.
“I think that means you’ll miss me?” He winked, and I shivered.
“Maybe.” I smiled.
“Really? We will see about that.” His eyes caressed my body with invisible fingers that ran from my thighs to my breasts. The fire in his gaze connected with my gaze before turning back to the road.
In that moment, every inch of me burned to be possessed by him. I wanted him to ravish my body. I could envision him standing behind me, tying a blindfold over my eyes, and could almost feel his warm breath on my neck making me shiver. The touch of his lips, and fingertips would bring heightened sensations, because each one would be a surprise if I were blindfolded and unable to see. I squeezed my thighs together to help stop the throbbing between my legs, but it didn’t work. I almost missed the turn to my cottage.
“Whoa, turn right here,” I screeched.
Josh slammed on the breaks of his Ford F-150 truck, and even though I had my seatbelt on, he swung his right arm across my chest, pushing me back against my seat as the force of the stop thrust me forward. I found his protectiveness old-fashioned and sexy. He took the turn onto Kunkle Point Road, and the dust swished up around his black truck.
“Darlin’, remind me not to take any road trips with you if you’re the one giving out the directions.” He chuckled. Then he slid his arm away from my chest, accidently brushing my nipples.
I gave a soft gasp of surprise and pleasure. “Sorry about that. I was daydreaming.”
“That must have been some daydream.”
Blood pumped through my veins at a quickened pace. There was no way I was telling him what I had been thinking about. Josh oozed a blatant sexuality that I was drawn to. It had me wanting to do things with him I’d only daydreamed about in my fantasies. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to wait long to find out how sensual and perhaps experimental he could be.
“So, I’ve rendered you speechless,” he quipped.
He was having too much control over my body. I needed to turn the tables on him. “No. I’m just busy thinking about all the things I’m planning to do with you today.”
He made a low rumble and quickly changed the subject. “Bella, it really is beautiful here.”
I agreed with him. The flat dirt road led to the top of a steep hill and ran all the way to a dead end, where there was the most breathtaking view of the lake and a few of the islands. The road was lined with giant pine trees on both sides. We’d passed a lovely stone cottage on the left, and then there would be a clearing that allowed us to see down to the lake in front of the cottage. It was breathtaking.
“A child couldn’t ask for a better place to spend their summers with their family,” he said.
“You are so right. My best memories of childhood all happened here. It’s my favorite place to come.” I looked out the window and daydreamed about sailing, fishing, water-skiing, and so much more.
“Whoa,” was all I got out before Josh slammed on the breaks again, protecting me with his arm across my chest. I could get used to his protectiveness. I giggled to myself and I chanced a glance his way, only to be greeted by a big, fat, smirk that seemed to say Yes, I almost missed our turn again. Get over it. Geesh.
But he just shook his head. “I assume we’ve reached our destination?”
“Yes, and I suggest you back down the driveway. As you can see, it’s at a twenty-five-degree angle, so it is much easier to get back up if you’re facing forward when you leave. When you reach the bottom, you’ll see that the drive divides into two. Pull into the left side. The other leads to Ms. Lovelace’s cottage.” I was grateful to see that her car was not in the driveway. She was a very nice neighbor, but way too friendly. She had an unwelcome habit of entering our home without knocking first, and I wanted nothing to impede what little time I had to spend with Josh.
As he parked the truck, his phone rang. I picked it up from his cup holder to hand it to him, and I saw a picture of a blonde, blue-eyed beauty. Angry heat rushed through my body. I was mad at myself, because I hadn’t asked him if he was in a serious relationship. No matter how much I was into this guy, I didn’t need the drama of a man who was seeing someone else. I listened.
“Hey, little darlin’. How are you?”
I couldn’t hear her response, which was driving me crazy.
He laughed. “Now you know better than that. I want nothing to do with my father, and he wants nothing to do with me. That’s just my mother talking.” He grunted. “Tell me, are you still driving me to the airport on Sunday and house-sitting for me while I’m away?”
Silence again, except for the thumping pulse in my head.
“That’s my girl. I knew I could count on you,” he said with a smile.
His girl. Was he kidding me? It was one thing to be seeing another woman, after all, I was seeing Marcus, but it was another to flaunt her right in front of me. My Italian blood was boiling.
Chapter Two
Joshua
It had been a godsend when, after college, Ava Kinkaid moved from her family’s ranch in Kentucky to an apartment twenty minutes from my house in the north. She was my only tie to Kentucky where we had grown up together, other than my monthly call to my mother.
Her family owned the horse ranch that butted up against my family’s land. She had followed me around the farm from the time she was five years old. If I was fishing, she tagged along. If I was doing chores, she’d be nearby singing songs. When she’d gotten old enough to ride, we’d exercised our family’s horses together and had ridden through the many trails on our two properties.
At first, I’d thought of her as a pest. After all, she was five years younger than me. But the older she’d gotten, the more things she’d been able to do on her own. And I had begun to welcome her company. When I left for college at eighteen, she was twelve years old, and she had shown up to send me off. I still remember the tears that had run down her cheeks as she’d waved goodbye. It had crushed my heart. The poor kid had lost her best friend and had been stuck with a father just as pigheaded and old-fashioned as mine, while I got to go off on a new adventure.
When she’d moved to Michigan, we picked up right where we had left off, as good friends. A few months back I’d mentioned that I was off to Essex for work, and she had offered to house-sit for me. She had enjoyed staying in my place rather than her apartment so much that I’d asked her if she wanted to do it again this time.
I parked my truck and grabbed the groceries and my duffle bag from the back seat. Bella got out of my truck and slammed the passenger door. I raised a brow in annoyance, After all, she could have shattered the window by slamming it so hard. She was so petite that I couldn’t see her over the top of the truck, so I rounded the truck to where she stood.
She huffed out air at the sight of me and folded her arms across her chest. Her olive skin had a flushed pink tint, and I would have sworn that she was pissed at me.
Had I missed something? Had she wanted me to open her door? She didn’t seem the type that would like that kind of thing on such a casual type of date. I would have opened the door for her if we’d gone out to a nice restaurant, of course. But not here on the dirt driveway, with broken clamshells spread round.
“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me for not opening your door? Or what?”
She plopped her fisted hands onto her hips and stared at me. She looked so adorable in that stance, with her eyes shooting fire, that I wanted to grab her and kiss those plump duck lips. But the next thing out of her mouth was.
“Stai scherzando?”
If memory served, she had just asked, “Are you kidding me?”
Geez, was Bella going to be a high maintenance girl? I didn’t need a drama queen for a girlfriend. I was at a point where I was looking for the love of my life. Someone I had a strong connection with that matched both my passion and my intellect. I had thought that could be Bella, but now I wasn’t so sure, since she’d gotten her little panties in a wad over something so small.
As I was about to say something I was sure I’d regret, she held her hand straight up and said, “Don’t talk to me.”
I wanted to take her over my knee to teach her a lesson. She was acting like a child. Then I remembered my mother’s favorite saying: Silence is sometimes the best answer.
Right then, I felt something hit me in the head and drip onto my forehead. I looked at Bella. Her eyes were huge, and her mouth had dropped open. I swooshed my hand across my forehead and looked at it. There was a blob of bird shit.
Bella burst out laughing.
Figuring there was more than one way to deal with her bad attitude, I pretended like I was going to wipe my hand on her. She screeched and hightailed it down the path to the cottage. She laughed all the way there.
I’d be damned, I roared along with her. Maybe this would work out. I followed her but kept enough distance between us that she could have fun thinking she had kept away from me.
I stopped on the top step leading down to the back door to look at the environment, while she dug in her purse for the keys. The beautiful two-story cottage was surrounded on three sides by giant pine trees that made me feel relaxed and happy inside.
She saw me admiring the landscape and said, “Many years ago my father had the lower branches cut from the trees at the front of our home, so we had a clear view of the lake. I’ll show you that in a bit.” She unlocked the back door, which took us right into the large family kitchen.
I put the groceries on the counter and went straight to the kitchen sink and washed up. Then I took a look around. There was a giant antique table with claw feet that had been painted light blue. Each of the ten chairs surrounding it were painted in different colors. It made my heart smile. Someone in this family had a colorful personality like my mother, who painted in her spare time.
Bella led me into the family room which was filled with an oversized comfy sofa and chairs that faced a giant stone fireplace.
“Holy smokes, that is one heck of a fireplace.”
“Thank you. My mother, brother, and I carried every one of those large stones up from the beach to my father, who built it as we delivered the rocks. It was hard work, but definitely worth the effort.”
Well, I’ll be damned, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. A down-to-earth kind of woman. I loved knowing that about her. It made me feel warm inside. She reminded me of the women that worked around our horse ranch. I had always admired them. There was plenty of hard, physical work to be done on the farm, and the women there were all about pitching in to help.
“You surprise me at every turn.” I dropped my bag, and put my arm around her, and pulled her in for a sweet kiss. “Your father must be one hell of a man to have built this beauty. I’m impressed.”
“You think this is good; he also built the one next door. It used to belong to my aunt and uncle, but they sold it after their daughter died. She was only fourteen, and it kind of took the wind out of their sails. This was their daughter’s favorite place to come. They couldn’t bear coming here without her.
“Mrs. Lovelace lives there now. She’s a nice lady, but she comes into our cabin without knocking. It can be a little awkward, seeing how Dad likes to walk around in his boxers in the evening.”
“I feel for him. That’s what I usually wear when I’m home alone.”
I watched as her eyes undressed me. She quivered, and my muscles tightened in raw need. Her response to my words had me wanting to carry her to the couch to make love. But we had just walked in the door and I didn’t want her to think that was the reason I’d said yes to coming to her cottage. I wanted to get to know her better, because so far, I liked everything about her. She was damn smart. Between her kisses and her outbursts, I could tell she was full of passion. At the same time, she filled me with lust, and I wanted to tie her hands to the bedpost and make love to every inch of her body until she screamed that she couldn’t take anymore.
Before I could comment, she said, “Come on, I’ll show you where to put your bag. Then I want to show you the view from the front porch.”
She took me into the bedroom at the bottom of the stairs and I placed my bag on the bed. Then she took my hand and led me to the large enclosed porch that overlooked the lake, with trees intermittently spread out across the three-tiered lawn in such a way that they allowed a full view.
“Bella, your father is a genius. This view is magnificent.”
“My dad is brilliant, and he only had an eighth-grade education. He purchased the two lots that were located right at the beginning of the bay.”
“I’d like to meet your father someday. It sounds like he could give a few of my engineers a run for their money.” I winked at her.
“I bet he could.” She beamed. “We had the advantage of being able to take off from our dock at full speed for water-skiing. Every cottage before ours can only go ten miles per hour. They have to ride out past our homes before they could get up the speed to ski. It made things quiet here. Nothing more than gentle waves rocked our docks as a boat drove slowly by.” She grinned. “My uncle used to sit on his dock with rocks. If anyone went by going fast, he would yell and throw a stone at them. I was young, and remember being mortified, but now I think it’s funny.”
“I would have loved to have seen that.”
“I think what you’d like to see is the neighbor two doors down. She lies on her dock sunbathing topless.” She gave me a sly smile.
“I’d rather see you doing the same thing, but only if I’m sitting with you and we are alone.” I felt molten sexuality surge through me. I shared that feeling with her with a smoldering stare.
She took a strand of hair that had blown onto her cheek and twirled it around her finger. Her grin was playful and inviting.
I traced the delicate silkiness of her lower lip with my finger. She gave a whispered gasp which fed my hunger to taste her. I cupped her head and kissed her lips. She gave a breathy little moan, making me want more of her. I pressed harder and parted her lips with my tongue. She groaned into my mouth and leaned into the kiss. Electricity sparked through me as her breasts pressed against my chest and I felt her erect nipples. I yearned to roll the pebbled tips between my fingers. Our breaths mingled in soft pants when I pulled back and kissed her forehead.
She felt so good in my arms, but I needed to slow down. I was leaving for the UK again soon. I wanted us to spend time today getting to know each other better, and then I’d feel better about taking this burning passion I felt for her to the next level.
I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw were two brightly colored antique rockers. I gave her a squeeze, released her, and took that moment to calm my racing pulse. I looked up and down the porch that ran the length of her family’s summer home. There were another six large wooden rocking chairs each painted a different color, just like the antique kitchen chairs. I chuckled inside. “Tell me. Who has the artist’s soul in the family?”
“What do you mean?”
“After looking at the kitchen table and chairs, and now at these rockers, it’s clear someone in your family is definitely into art.”
She gave me a broad grin. “It’s my mother. You should have been here a year ago. She had the outside of our cottage painted pink. It was bright. She’s a positive, happy person, and it comes out in the crafts she makes, from furniture to quilts.”
“I like it. This is a place to let all your workweek stress turn into relaxation, and a happy place to feed the soul.”
She looked up at me with twinkling eyes.
“What?” I asked, wondering what I’d said to cause that twinkle.
“You sound like my mother. She’s always saying, ‘Not to worry. Be happy.’”
Her mother sounded more and more like my mother, whom I adored. The thing that broke my heart the most was that I no longer got to go home to visit her since my father and I’d had our falling out.
Bella looked at me with a raised brow. I must have shown the melancholy that came over me when I thought of not being able to go home to see Mom.
“I think I’d like your mother,” I said. “In my position in the auto industry, the stress levels at times are so elevated that I get headaches and have trouble falling asleep. Those things usually happen when some of my programs are being held up by technical complications at the supplier. Sometimes they give us a date for delivery and it ends up being a few weeks after that deadline, which forces us to find ways to make up that time so we don’t shut down the production line. Sometimes I have to take your mom’s advice and find a way not to worry and to be happy. Otherwise, I’d have an ulcer or worse.”
Bella
I wished I could be there for him. I’d help relieve some of that stress with home-cooked meals and conversation about his day, so he could get it off his chest, and later we could make love. Fat chance of that happening with him flying off overseas. “That sounds terrible. Why do you stay in the auto industry?”
“I’ve always thrived on hard work, which I guess I get from my father. The man pushes himself and the rest of his staff to be the best horse breeders in the state of Kentucky. And he is damn good at it.”
Hmm, his words sounded like he was proud of his father, but there was still an edge of coolness to his tone when he talked about the man. It sounded like they didn’t get along. I hoped that wasn’t the case. I loved that I was close to my parents and that I could talk with them about almost anything. I hoped for his sake that he had that special bond with his parents too.
“Cars and trucks always thrilled me,” he said. “I love everything about them. But I’ve recently decided that I’ve had it with overseas expat assignments. Luckily, I only have a few months left of the one I’m on now in Britain. I want to find the love of my life, settle down, and eventually start a family. And there is no way I can do that if I’m out of the country for a couple of years. That isn’t my idea of a happy relationship. I want to be there for my wife and children.”
My insides turned to mush hearing that he wanted a relationship like I had always wished I’d be lucky enough to have in my life. One like my parents had with each other. They were still madly in love after thirty-five years of marriage.
“I’d like to coach my kids’ baseball or softball team or be their 4-H or Scout leader. My father never had time for what he called that nonsense. He never made it to my games.”
I was beginning to understand the tension I heard when he mentioned his father. It seemed that his dad had been a distant parent. Poor Josh.
“I’ve seen too many guys in my position end up divorced. Some fooled around on their spouses. Or their spouse back home got lonely and cheated. That will not happen to me. I’ve had enough traveling for business. After this trip, I’m telling them I’m done with it.”
I felt like I was floating after that news. A happy marriage and being a good father were more important to him than the career that had been his focus for the past several years. Maybe I’d fit into his world after all, and perhaps we would fall in love.
“How sad for your colleagues. I’m so happy that you’re planning a different course for yourself.”
He gave me a brilliant smile that caused a swarm of butterflies to lift off in my stomach.
I picked up my beach bag. “Why don’t you get your suit on and we’ll sail to one of the small islands? I’ll get changed in the bathroom, while you change in the bedroom.”
He glanced towards the bedroom, looked back at me, and our eyes met. The heat in his gaze filled me with desire and warmed my body. It felt like a silent request for me to join him in the bedroom. I moaned inside.
I wanted that too, but there would be plenty of time for that later, and if I took him to one of the smaller islands, we might fool around there. I trembled at the possibility of making love in the sunshine. I wondered if he’d be up for that. Hah, up for that. That was a good one.
The wind was usually perfect for sailing this time of day. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity for some exhilarating gliding. I grabbed my beach bag and headed for the bathroom. I felt his eyes on me until I shut the bathroom door.
A few minutes later, I walked out into the family room in a yellow bikini that clipped between my breasts. The bottom was held together with a bow on each hip. Two little pulls and one little pop of the clip was all that kept me from being naked. I felt sexy in this suit, and I hoped that Josh would feel the same when he saw me.
The bedroom door was open, so I peeked in and saw he had put his clothes into his duffle bag, which was on top of the dresser. I walked out to the porch and looked down at the dock, and there was Josh setting up the sail. I was pleased that he was being so helpful without my asking. I could see that he already had the dagger in, and it looked like he knew what he was doing. But I’d need to make sure the dagger was put in the right direction.
I went to the kitchen and made us lunch. Then headed down to the lake with an oversized beach towel in one hand and a large Ziploc bag containing our lunch in the other.
When Josh heard the creak of the dock, he looked up from putting the pin into the rudder hole to lock it in place. “Holy smokes. Are you trying to kill me wearing that sweet little bikini? Darlin’, you look hot,” he said as he stepped out of the boat.
Tingles sparked across my body. I had gotten the reaction that I had hoped for, so I added extra sway to my step. Unfortunately, with my eyes on him, I hadn’t noticed the handle of the small paddle inching out from under his towel. I tripped on it and lost my balance. He reached out and put his hands on my hips just in time to stop me from falling into the water. Feeling his fingers over the bows holding my swimsuit on sent fire through me and I became wet. I prayed the wetness didn’t show when I sat down in the boat with him.
He pulled me into his arms. “Are you alright? You’re flushed. Did that give you a scare?” He bent down and kissed my shoulder, neck, and earlobe, and I trembled.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.” He released my hips, took hold of my butt cheeks and pressed me tight against his body. I felt his erection against my navel. He didn’t have a shirt on, and being pressed up against all that hard, sweaty heat almost made my knees collapse.
He cupped my chin and lifted it so I could gaze into his eyes. I swore I saw sparks of lust in them as he took my lips to his mouth in a deep sensual kiss that curled my toes.
Oh my God. Every time he kissed me it felt like heaven. I thought it would lessen each time, only it made the tingles in my body more intense. I wasn’t complaining; I was just surprised by the control he seemed to have over my body. I could get used to this powerful feeling of hunger that he effected in me.
He released me as I gasped for air.
“Ready to go?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
Yeah, right back up to the cottage to make love.
I cleared my throat. “Absolutely. We have to go while the wind is strong.” Porca miseria.
Callie Carmen
ASIN: B08M6GGLNZ
https://books2read.com/u/bxjYko
Chapter One
Bella
Five Months Earlier
I’d longed to see Joshua for the past few months. He was finally back from his business trip to Britain and I was desperate for some alone time with him. I hadn’t seen him since our first date, when he took me to Chicago for the day. I was dying to find out if the kiss goodnight that he had given me had been full of passionate sparks like I remembered, or whether I’d built it up in my head since he’d been gone these past few months.
All my friends were married or getting married, and I was starting to feel like a third wheel when we got together. Unfortunately, I had no prospects for even a steady relationship with someone.
Over the past year, I had wasted my time on a relationship that had gone absolutely nowhere. I was beginning to worry that true love was not in the cards for me, and that I could eventually get left behind by my friends who frequently double-dated as couples. Just last week, Patrick and Jaq had gone to a concert with Nicolas and Carlie. More often Patrick and Jaq, and Nicolas and Carlie, went to soccer and football games with Joseph and Violet.
While Joshua had been away on business in the United Kingdom, I hadn’t sat at home pining over a man that I might never see again. I’d been on a few dates with Marcus, a sexy cocktail bar owner. My friend Carlie would be Marcus’s cousin after she married Nicolas.
I’d even slept with Marcus on our last date, and in one night of passion he had more than made up for the dry spell in the bedroom I’d been under for a full year with my ex-boyfriend. Marcus was a lot of fun, but the man had a reputation as a player. In my book, that most likely meant he couldn’t be trusted, and I didn’t want to get involved with another relationship that went nowhere, or worse, in one where I might get cheated on. So even though I was attracted to him, and he’d shown a good deal of interest in me, I’d kept a distance between us. I only saw him now and then.
Today I planned to learn more about Josh. Hopefully, I’d find out that the spark I’d felt with him on our first date had been worth fantasizing about.
I was in the front seat of his truck enjoying the view as I looked over at Josh, who was driving us to my lake house. He had looked stunning in a suit the night I’d met him at my friend’s wedding, but now, in a black t-shirt and jeans, he looked hot. “I’m so glad you were available to spend the day with me at my family’s cottage. It looks like we will have perfect weather for some fun on the lake.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Bella. Will your family be there, or do we have the place to ourselves?”
“No, we’ll be alone for the day. My family’s going to a wedding.”
I was dying to know if Josh had ever been married. I mean, the man was gorgeous. How was he still single? I knew it was forward to ask if he’d been married, but it wasn’t like the topic of weddings hadn’t come up. I’d said I planned to learn more about him today, and I meant it.
“If you don’t mind my asking, have you ever been married?”
He shook his head. “If you climb in the saddle, be ready for the ride.”
I giggled. “Is that a Kentucky horse rancher saying?”
“Darling, that’s one of my father’s many teaching tools,” he said, with an edge in his tone.
I wondered what that was about but decided not to push the issue.
“I haven’t found the one to get me on the saddle yet. I’ve been busy working my way up the ladder in the auto industry. I’ve been traveling a lot for work. I have to take off for Essex again on Sunday. I’m afraid it’ll be a while before we get to see each other again.”
“Porca miseria!” I couldn’t get a break. He was leaving, and I had hoped that he would be the one that would steal my heart. How could he do that if I couldn’t get more than an occasional date? My chest tightened.
He laughed. “You know, I was in Britain for over a year and spent plenty of time visiting one of our company suppliers in Italy. I learned all of their colorful words, so what’s the ‘dammit’ for?”
I felt heat rush up my body. Shoot, I’d have to control my outbursts. Fat chance of that.
“I think that means you’ll miss me?” He winked, and I shivered.
“Maybe.” I smiled.
“Really? We will see about that.” His eyes caressed my body with invisible fingers that ran from my thighs to my breasts. The fire in his gaze connected with my gaze before turning back to the road.
In that moment, every inch of me burned to be possessed by him. I wanted him to ravish my body. I could envision him standing behind me, tying a blindfold over my eyes, and could almost feel his warm breath on my neck making me shiver. The touch of his lips, and fingertips would bring heightened sensations, because each one would be a surprise if I were blindfolded and unable to see. I squeezed my thighs together to help stop the throbbing between my legs, but it didn’t work. I almost missed the turn to my cottage.
“Whoa, turn right here,” I screeched.
Josh slammed on the breaks of his Ford F-150 truck, and even though I had my seatbelt on, he swung his right arm across my chest, pushing me back against my seat as the force of the stop thrust me forward. I found his protectiveness old-fashioned and sexy. He took the turn onto Kunkle Point Road, and the dust swished up around his black truck.
“Darlin’, remind me not to take any road trips with you if you’re the one giving out the directions.” He chuckled. Then he slid his arm away from my chest, accidently brushing my nipples.
I gave a soft gasp of surprise and pleasure. “Sorry about that. I was daydreaming.”
“That must have been some daydream.”
Blood pumped through my veins at a quickened pace. There was no way I was telling him what I had been thinking about. Josh oozed a blatant sexuality that I was drawn to. It had me wanting to do things with him I’d only daydreamed about in my fantasies. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to wait long to find out how sensual and perhaps experimental he could be.
“So, I’ve rendered you speechless,” he quipped.
He was having too much control over my body. I needed to turn the tables on him. “No. I’m just busy thinking about all the things I’m planning to do with you today.”
He made a low rumble and quickly changed the subject. “Bella, it really is beautiful here.”
I agreed with him. The flat dirt road led to the top of a steep hill and ran all the way to a dead end, where there was the most breathtaking view of the lake and a few of the islands. The road was lined with giant pine trees on both sides. We’d passed a lovely stone cottage on the left, and then there would be a clearing that allowed us to see down to the lake in front of the cottage. It was breathtaking.
“A child couldn’t ask for a better place to spend their summers with their family,” he said.
“You are so right. My best memories of childhood all happened here. It’s my favorite place to come.” I looked out the window and daydreamed about sailing, fishing, water-skiing, and so much more.
“Whoa,” was all I got out before Josh slammed on the breaks again, protecting me with his arm across my chest. I could get used to his protectiveness. I giggled to myself and I chanced a glance his way, only to be greeted by a big, fat, smirk that seemed to say Yes, I almost missed our turn again. Get over it. Geesh.
But he just shook his head. “I assume we’ve reached our destination?”
“Yes, and I suggest you back down the driveway. As you can see, it’s at a twenty-five-degree angle, so it is much easier to get back up if you’re facing forward when you leave. When you reach the bottom, you’ll see that the drive divides into two. Pull into the left side. The other leads to Ms. Lovelace’s cottage.” I was grateful to see that her car was not in the driveway. She was a very nice neighbor, but way too friendly. She had an unwelcome habit of entering our home without knocking first, and I wanted nothing to impede what little time I had to spend with Josh.
As he parked the truck, his phone rang. I picked it up from his cup holder to hand it to him, and I saw a picture of a blonde, blue-eyed beauty. Angry heat rushed through my body. I was mad at myself, because I hadn’t asked him if he was in a serious relationship. No matter how much I was into this guy, I didn’t need the drama of a man who was seeing someone else. I listened.
“Hey, little darlin’. How are you?”
I couldn’t hear her response, which was driving me crazy.
He laughed. “Now you know better than that. I want nothing to do with my father, and he wants nothing to do with me. That’s just my mother talking.” He grunted. “Tell me, are you still driving me to the airport on Sunday and house-sitting for me while I’m away?”
Silence again, except for the thumping pulse in my head.
“That’s my girl. I knew I could count on you,” he said with a smile.
His girl. Was he kidding me? It was one thing to be seeing another woman, after all, I was seeing Marcus, but it was another to flaunt her right in front of me. My Italian blood was boiling.
Chapter Two
Joshua
It had been a godsend when, after college, Ava Kinkaid moved from her family’s ranch in Kentucky to an apartment twenty minutes from my house in the north. She was my only tie to Kentucky where we had grown up together, other than my monthly call to my mother.
Her family owned the horse ranch that butted up against my family’s land. She had followed me around the farm from the time she was five years old. If I was fishing, she tagged along. If I was doing chores, she’d be nearby singing songs. When she’d gotten old enough to ride, we’d exercised our family’s horses together and had ridden through the many trails on our two properties.
At first, I’d thought of her as a pest. After all, she was five years younger than me. But the older she’d gotten, the more things she’d been able to do on her own. And I had begun to welcome her company. When I left for college at eighteen, she was twelve years old, and she had shown up to send me off. I still remember the tears that had run down her cheeks as she’d waved goodbye. It had crushed my heart. The poor kid had lost her best friend and had been stuck with a father just as pigheaded and old-fashioned as mine, while I got to go off on a new adventure.
When she’d moved to Michigan, we picked up right where we had left off, as good friends. A few months back I’d mentioned that I was off to Essex for work, and she had offered to house-sit for me. She had enjoyed staying in my place rather than her apartment so much that I’d asked her if she wanted to do it again this time.
I parked my truck and grabbed the groceries and my duffle bag from the back seat. Bella got out of my truck and slammed the passenger door. I raised a brow in annoyance, After all, she could have shattered the window by slamming it so hard. She was so petite that I couldn’t see her over the top of the truck, so I rounded the truck to where she stood.
She huffed out air at the sight of me and folded her arms across her chest. Her olive skin had a flushed pink tint, and I would have sworn that she was pissed at me.
Had I missed something? Had she wanted me to open her door? She didn’t seem the type that would like that kind of thing on such a casual type of date. I would have opened the door for her if we’d gone out to a nice restaurant, of course. But not here on the dirt driveway, with broken clamshells spread round.
“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me for not opening your door? Or what?”
She plopped her fisted hands onto her hips and stared at me. She looked so adorable in that stance, with her eyes shooting fire, that I wanted to grab her and kiss those plump duck lips. But the next thing out of her mouth was.
“Stai scherzando?”
If memory served, she had just asked, “Are you kidding me?”
Geez, was Bella going to be a high maintenance girl? I didn’t need a drama queen for a girlfriend. I was at a point where I was looking for the love of my life. Someone I had a strong connection with that matched both my passion and my intellect. I had thought that could be Bella, but now I wasn’t so sure, since she’d gotten her little panties in a wad over something so small.
As I was about to say something I was sure I’d regret, she held her hand straight up and said, “Don’t talk to me.”
I wanted to take her over my knee to teach her a lesson. She was acting like a child. Then I remembered my mother’s favorite saying: Silence is sometimes the best answer.
Right then, I felt something hit me in the head and drip onto my forehead. I looked at Bella. Her eyes were huge, and her mouth had dropped open. I swooshed my hand across my forehead and looked at it. There was a blob of bird shit.
Bella burst out laughing.
Figuring there was more than one way to deal with her bad attitude, I pretended like I was going to wipe my hand on her. She screeched and hightailed it down the path to the cottage. She laughed all the way there.
I’d be damned, I roared along with her. Maybe this would work out. I followed her but kept enough distance between us that she could have fun thinking she had kept away from me.
I stopped on the top step leading down to the back door to look at the environment, while she dug in her purse for the keys. The beautiful two-story cottage was surrounded on three sides by giant pine trees that made me feel relaxed and happy inside.
She saw me admiring the landscape and said, “Many years ago my father had the lower branches cut from the trees at the front of our home, so we had a clear view of the lake. I’ll show you that in a bit.” She unlocked the back door, which took us right into the large family kitchen.
I put the groceries on the counter and went straight to the kitchen sink and washed up. Then I took a look around. There was a giant antique table with claw feet that had been painted light blue. Each of the ten chairs surrounding it were painted in different colors. It made my heart smile. Someone in this family had a colorful personality like my mother, who painted in her spare time.
Bella led me into the family room which was filled with an oversized comfy sofa and chairs that faced a giant stone fireplace.
“Holy smokes, that is one heck of a fireplace.”
“Thank you. My mother, brother, and I carried every one of those large stones up from the beach to my father, who built it as we delivered the rocks. It was hard work, but definitely worth the effort.”
Well, I’ll be damned, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. A down-to-earth kind of woman. I loved knowing that about her. It made me feel warm inside. She reminded me of the women that worked around our horse ranch. I had always admired them. There was plenty of hard, physical work to be done on the farm, and the women there were all about pitching in to help.
“You surprise me at every turn.” I dropped my bag, and put my arm around her, and pulled her in for a sweet kiss. “Your father must be one hell of a man to have built this beauty. I’m impressed.”
“You think this is good; he also built the one next door. It used to belong to my aunt and uncle, but they sold it after their daughter died. She was only fourteen, and it kind of took the wind out of their sails. This was their daughter’s favorite place to come. They couldn’t bear coming here without her.
“Mrs. Lovelace lives there now. She’s a nice lady, but she comes into our cabin without knocking. It can be a little awkward, seeing how Dad likes to walk around in his boxers in the evening.”
“I feel for him. That’s what I usually wear when I’m home alone.”
I watched as her eyes undressed me. She quivered, and my muscles tightened in raw need. Her response to my words had me wanting to carry her to the couch to make love. But we had just walked in the door and I didn’t want her to think that was the reason I’d said yes to coming to her cottage. I wanted to get to know her better, because so far, I liked everything about her. She was damn smart. Between her kisses and her outbursts, I could tell she was full of passion. At the same time, she filled me with lust, and I wanted to tie her hands to the bedpost and make love to every inch of her body until she screamed that she couldn’t take anymore.
Before I could comment, she said, “Come on, I’ll show you where to put your bag. Then I want to show you the view from the front porch.”
She took me into the bedroom at the bottom of the stairs and I placed my bag on the bed. Then she took my hand and led me to the large enclosed porch that overlooked the lake, with trees intermittently spread out across the three-tiered lawn in such a way that they allowed a full view.
“Bella, your father is a genius. This view is magnificent.”
“My dad is brilliant, and he only had an eighth-grade education. He purchased the two lots that were located right at the beginning of the bay.”
“I’d like to meet your father someday. It sounds like he could give a few of my engineers a run for their money.” I winked at her.
“I bet he could.” She beamed. “We had the advantage of being able to take off from our dock at full speed for water-skiing. Every cottage before ours can only go ten miles per hour. They have to ride out past our homes before they could get up the speed to ski. It made things quiet here. Nothing more than gentle waves rocked our docks as a boat drove slowly by.” She grinned. “My uncle used to sit on his dock with rocks. If anyone went by going fast, he would yell and throw a stone at them. I was young, and remember being mortified, but now I think it’s funny.”
“I would have loved to have seen that.”
“I think what you’d like to see is the neighbor two doors down. She lies on her dock sunbathing topless.” She gave me a sly smile.
“I’d rather see you doing the same thing, but only if I’m sitting with you and we are alone.” I felt molten sexuality surge through me. I shared that feeling with her with a smoldering stare.
She took a strand of hair that had blown onto her cheek and twirled it around her finger. Her grin was playful and inviting.
I traced the delicate silkiness of her lower lip with my finger. She gave a whispered gasp which fed my hunger to taste her. I cupped her head and kissed her lips. She gave a breathy little moan, making me want more of her. I pressed harder and parted her lips with my tongue. She groaned into my mouth and leaned into the kiss. Electricity sparked through me as her breasts pressed against my chest and I felt her erect nipples. I yearned to roll the pebbled tips between my fingers. Our breaths mingled in soft pants when I pulled back and kissed her forehead.
She felt so good in my arms, but I needed to slow down. I was leaving for the UK again soon. I wanted us to spend time today getting to know each other better, and then I’d feel better about taking this burning passion I felt for her to the next level.
I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw were two brightly colored antique rockers. I gave her a squeeze, released her, and took that moment to calm my racing pulse. I looked up and down the porch that ran the length of her family’s summer home. There were another six large wooden rocking chairs each painted a different color, just like the antique kitchen chairs. I chuckled inside. “Tell me. Who has the artist’s soul in the family?”
“What do you mean?”
“After looking at the kitchen table and chairs, and now at these rockers, it’s clear someone in your family is definitely into art.”
She gave me a broad grin. “It’s my mother. You should have been here a year ago. She had the outside of our cottage painted pink. It was bright. She’s a positive, happy person, and it comes out in the crafts she makes, from furniture to quilts.”
“I like it. This is a place to let all your workweek stress turn into relaxation, and a happy place to feed the soul.”
She looked up at me with twinkling eyes.
“What?” I asked, wondering what I’d said to cause that twinkle.
“You sound like my mother. She’s always saying, ‘Not to worry. Be happy.’”
Her mother sounded more and more like my mother, whom I adored. The thing that broke my heart the most was that I no longer got to go home to visit her since my father and I’d had our falling out.
Bella looked at me with a raised brow. I must have shown the melancholy that came over me when I thought of not being able to go home to see Mom.
“I think I’d like your mother,” I said. “In my position in the auto industry, the stress levels at times are so elevated that I get headaches and have trouble falling asleep. Those things usually happen when some of my programs are being held up by technical complications at the supplier. Sometimes they give us a date for delivery and it ends up being a few weeks after that deadline, which forces us to find ways to make up that time so we don’t shut down the production line. Sometimes I have to take your mom’s advice and find a way not to worry and to be happy. Otherwise, I’d have an ulcer or worse.”
Bella
I wished I could be there for him. I’d help relieve some of that stress with home-cooked meals and conversation about his day, so he could get it off his chest, and later we could make love. Fat chance of that happening with him flying off overseas. “That sounds terrible. Why do you stay in the auto industry?”
“I’ve always thrived on hard work, which I guess I get from my father. The man pushes himself and the rest of his staff to be the best horse breeders in the state of Kentucky. And he is damn good at it.”
Hmm, his words sounded like he was proud of his father, but there was still an edge of coolness to his tone when he talked about the man. It sounded like they didn’t get along. I hoped that wasn’t the case. I loved that I was close to my parents and that I could talk with them about almost anything. I hoped for his sake that he had that special bond with his parents too.
“Cars and trucks always thrilled me,” he said. “I love everything about them. But I’ve recently decided that I’ve had it with overseas expat assignments. Luckily, I only have a few months left of the one I’m on now in Britain. I want to find the love of my life, settle down, and eventually start a family. And there is no way I can do that if I’m out of the country for a couple of years. That isn’t my idea of a happy relationship. I want to be there for my wife and children.”
My insides turned to mush hearing that he wanted a relationship like I had always wished I’d be lucky enough to have in my life. One like my parents had with each other. They were still madly in love after thirty-five years of marriage.
“I’d like to coach my kids’ baseball or softball team or be their 4-H or Scout leader. My father never had time for what he called that nonsense. He never made it to my games.”
I was beginning to understand the tension I heard when he mentioned his father. It seemed that his dad had been a distant parent. Poor Josh.
“I’ve seen too many guys in my position end up divorced. Some fooled around on their spouses. Or their spouse back home got lonely and cheated. That will not happen to me. I’ve had enough traveling for business. After this trip, I’m telling them I’m done with it.”
I felt like I was floating after that news. A happy marriage and being a good father were more important to him than the career that had been his focus for the past several years. Maybe I’d fit into his world after all, and perhaps we would fall in love.
“How sad for your colleagues. I’m so happy that you’re planning a different course for yourself.”
He gave me a brilliant smile that caused a swarm of butterflies to lift off in my stomach.
I picked up my beach bag. “Why don’t you get your suit on and we’ll sail to one of the small islands? I’ll get changed in the bathroom, while you change in the bedroom.”
He glanced towards the bedroom, looked back at me, and our eyes met. The heat in his gaze filled me with desire and warmed my body. It felt like a silent request for me to join him in the bedroom. I moaned inside.
I wanted that too, but there would be plenty of time for that later, and if I took him to one of the smaller islands, we might fool around there. I trembled at the possibility of making love in the sunshine. I wondered if he’d be up for that. Hah, up for that. That was a good one.
The wind was usually perfect for sailing this time of day. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity for some exhilarating gliding. I grabbed my beach bag and headed for the bathroom. I felt his eyes on me until I shut the bathroom door.
A few minutes later, I walked out into the family room in a yellow bikini that clipped between my breasts. The bottom was held together with a bow on each hip. Two little pulls and one little pop of the clip was all that kept me from being naked. I felt sexy in this suit, and I hoped that Josh would feel the same when he saw me.
The bedroom door was open, so I peeked in and saw he had put his clothes into his duffle bag, which was on top of the dresser. I walked out to the porch and looked down at the dock, and there was Josh setting up the sail. I was pleased that he was being so helpful without my asking. I could see that he already had the dagger in, and it looked like he knew what he was doing. But I’d need to make sure the dagger was put in the right direction.
I went to the kitchen and made us lunch. Then headed down to the lake with an oversized beach towel in one hand and a large Ziploc bag containing our lunch in the other.
When Josh heard the creak of the dock, he looked up from putting the pin into the rudder hole to lock it in place. “Holy smokes. Are you trying to kill me wearing that sweet little bikini? Darlin’, you look hot,” he said as he stepped out of the boat.
Tingles sparked across my body. I had gotten the reaction that I had hoped for, so I added extra sway to my step. Unfortunately, with my eyes on him, I hadn’t noticed the handle of the small paddle inching out from under his towel. I tripped on it and lost my balance. He reached out and put his hands on my hips just in time to stop me from falling into the water. Feeling his fingers over the bows holding my swimsuit on sent fire through me and I became wet. I prayed the wetness didn’t show when I sat down in the boat with him.
He pulled me into his arms. “Are you alright? You’re flushed. Did that give you a scare?” He bent down and kissed my shoulder, neck, and earlobe, and I trembled.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.” He released my hips, took hold of my butt cheeks and pressed me tight against his body. I felt his erection against my navel. He didn’t have a shirt on, and being pressed up against all that hard, sweaty heat almost made my knees collapse.
He cupped my chin and lifted it so I could gaze into his eyes. I swore I saw sparks of lust in them as he took my lips to his mouth in a deep sensual kiss that curled my toes.
Oh my God. Every time he kissed me it felt like heaven. I thought it would lessen each time, only it made the tingles in my body more intense. I wasn’t complaining; I was just surprised by the control he seemed to have over my body. I could get used to this powerful feeling of hunger that he effected in me.
He released me as I gasped for air.
“Ready to go?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
Yeah, right back up to the cottage to make love.
I cleared my throat. “Absolutely. We have to go while the wind is strong.” Porca miseria.
October 13, 2020
Holy Matchmaker
Holy Matchmaker
Nancy Golinski
ISBN 978-1-912768-96-7
https://amzn.to/30OdogO
Chapter One
Emma double-checked the bag before pulling into traffic. A lot was riding on this appointment, and she said a quick prayer it would go well. When she hit the country roads, she immediately slowed down. This was Amish country, after all, and she needed to keep an eye out for buggies. Emma took a deep breath to steady her nerves and cautiously navigated the hilly roads. Fortunately, she had given herself plenty of time.
***
Rosemary was pacing. She hated all things medical and much preferred to treat her pain on her own. But it had gotten bad, and she couldn’t do a lot of her chores anymore. John had convinced her to give therapy a try, and now she was waiting for the Englischer to arrive.
While she waited, John and Jakob walked in through the back door. They washed their hands in the utility sink and sat down at the large wooden table. Rosemary poured them each some kaffi and nervously spilled some. She wiped it up with a dish towel and then twisted the cloth between her hands.
John watched his wife with amusement.
Rosemary caught the look and glared at him. “I know I’m overreacting, John Fisher, but what if it’s a man?”
John calmly took a sip of his kaffi. “If it’s a man, then we will send him away.”
Just then Samuel walked in through the back door. He took his hat off and sat down next to Jakob at the table. There was a twinkle in his eye as he looked at his dechder. “Calm down, Rosie. It’s never as bad as you think.”
Jakob’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but he didn’t say anything. He took after his vadder and was quiet. They all knew the therapist would be a woman, as they had clearly requested it on the form. He didn’t say anything, though. His mudder was a worrier and would not be at ease until the Englischer arrived.
Meanwhile, Emma had just pulled in. She parked the car and looked around. There were two houses side by side that shared a circular driveway. Both houses were set back from the road with a large garden plot in front of each one. The plot on the left was full of autumn vegetables, but the one on the right was overgrown with weeds and had not been tilled. Behind the houses she could see a large red barn. There was a buggy parked in front of it, and a pasture to the left where a horse was grazing. Emma grinned as she grabbed her bag and got out of the car.
When they heard the knock, Rosemary sighed and took a seat at the table. Jakob went to greet the therapist. He patted his mudder’s hand as he walked past her.
Jakob opened the door and stared into the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. They were large, rimmed with dark lashes, and had gold flecks in them. Then he looked down and noticed the therapist’s outfit. She was wearing a long black skirt, black tee-shirt, gray hoodie with the hospital logo on it, and her hair was pinned up and hidden by a gray scarf.
Emma smiled up at him and stretched out her hand. “Hi. Is this the Fisher residence? I’m Emma Shultz, the therapist from the hospital.”
Jakob took her tiny hand in his. He struggled to find his voice. “Jah, it is. I’m Jakob Fisher. Please come in. My mother is in the kitchen.”
He led her back to a room streaming with light from a window above the sink. The walls were pale green and lined with oak cupboards, a fridge, and a wood burning stove. The center of the room had a long wooden table with a kerosene lamp hanging above. There were three people sitting at the table.
Jakob made the introductions. He started with Samuel and introduced him as his daadi. Emma shook the older man’s hand and noted the smile. She was then introduced to John, who also shook her hand but kept his expression neutral. Finally, Jakob introduced her to Rosemary. The middle-aged woman was looking nervous, and her left arm was hanging down as if in pain.
Emma tilted her head to one side as she shook Rosemary’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I can tell just by looking your arm is hurting.” Then she sat down at the table and pulled the paperwork from her bag.
Samuel teased her. “You don’t look old enough to be out of school, let alone a therapist for a hospital.”
Emma grinned at him. “I’m almost twenty-one.” She went on to explain how she had completed her physical therapy assistant degree a year ago and now worked at the hospital. Then she turned to Rosemary and said, “I’ve already looked over the notes from the doctor and the therapist. What I need to know is what you hope to accomplish from our sessions.”
Rosemary readily replied. “That’s easy. I want to be able to do things again without pain. Now when I work, I feel this shooting pain in my arm and elbow.”
Emma nodded. “I can imagine it’s pretty bad if you were willing to have me come out.”
The Fishers glanced at each other but said nothing.
Emma asked Rosemary about her typical day. The woman gave her a puzzled look, so Emma explained, “I like to get a feel for a person and learn about their repetitive movements. That way I can see what might have caused the problem in the first place and come up with ways to fix it.”
Rosemary nodded and explained her daily chores. As she spoke, Emma took notes and occasionally threw in a question. She even had the older woman show her the movements she made when doing specific chores. In no time at all the paperwork was complete.
Emma then discussed how the therapy worked. “My first goal is to get your muscles to relax. We’ll do that by using heat, massage, and gentle stretches.” She pulled out a purple gel pack from the bag and gave it a snap. Then she squeezed the pack in her hands before placing it on the older woman’s arm.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Rosemary.
Emma grinned. “I know, right? I have no idea how that works, but it’s a lovely heat. Best of all, you can boil it and reuse it over and over again.”
They all smiled as she continued. “Once we have your pain under control, then we’ll work on strengthening the muscles and correcting any mechanical issues. I only do what you’re comfortable with, and we take it at your pace.” She paused. “Is it okay for me to check your arm now?”
Rosemary reluctantly agreed.
Emma continued. “I always like to start with a quick prayer.” When they nodded, she bowed her head while the Fishers looked on. Then she gently reached over to probe Rosemary’s arm. She could feel the tendons were super tight, and there were pea-sized knots all along the forearm and elbow. She began to lightly massage the area. “You tell me if this gets to be too painful.”
As she worked, Emma chatted to distract Rosemary from the pain. She explained she was from Minnesota and had moved with her grandmother a year ago to work at the hospital. She joked about how difficult it was to convince her father to let her go. Then she laughed about adjusting to the “hot weather” in Ohio.
John commiserated with her father. “It’s tough having children so far away. Why couldn’t you find work closer to home?”
Emma explained she was a conservative Mennonite and was not permitted to work on any male patients. It had been difficult to find an employer willing to accommodate those needs. But Ohio had a large female Amish population she could work on, and the local hospital had been more than willing to work with her.
Emma continued to chat as she worked, and her sweet and outgoing nature slowly drew them in. She was teasing the men about helping out in the kitchen as she massaged Rosemary’s neck and shoulder area. There were knots everywhere, and she realized the poor woman had been suffering a long time.
Finally, Emma stopped and pointed out the lovely “sunburn” on Rosemary’s arm. She explained this was a good sign and pulled out some cooling spray to soothe the area. Then she taught Rosemary some easy stretches and showed her how to massage the tight areas on her own with the outer edge of her opposite hand.
Emma’s instructions were simple. “I want you to do those stretches three times a day. Drink plenty of water, and don’t lift anything heavy.”
Rosemary was happy. “Thank you, Emma. My arm feels better already.”
Emma beamed. “I’m so happy to hear that. Would you like me to come back again? I would recommend two visits a week for two weeks until those muscles loosen up. After that we can start strengthening the arm.”
Rosemary hesitated.
“Don’t forget this is a free program from the hospital,” said Emma. “You can stop it whenever you like, but it’s going to take more than one session to get that pain under control.”
“I think you should continue with the therapy,” said John.
Samuel interjected, “At least give it a few weeks, Rosie.”
Jakob didn’t say anything. He had been impressed by the session and even more impressed by Emma. He was hoping his mudder would say yes.
When she did, they all breathed a sigh of relief. Emma quickly scheduled the next appointment and wished them all a blessed day.
Jakob saw her to the door and watched her get in the car and drive away. Then he returned to the kitchen and grinned at his eldre.
“She is so sweet,” commented Rosemary.
“And schee,” added Samuel. “I told you not to worry, Rosie. Gott always gives us what we need.”
Chapter Two
Emma drove back to the office with the music blasting. It had gone better than she had hoped. She was already envisioning a packed schedule of Amish clients as she parked the car and headed into the building.
Her coworker, Garvin, was sitting at his desk entering clinical notes on the computer. He laughed when he saw her. “I would ask how it went, but it’s written all over your face. That good, eh?”
Emma clapped her hands together and replied, “So good.” She jabbered on in excitement about the appointment.
Garvin listened and smiled in amusement. He was happy for her but still cautioned, “The Amish are a tough community. Don’t be offended if she suddenly cancels on you at the door.”
Emma rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Oh, Garvin. You’re such a gloomy Gus.”
He laughed and countered, “And you are an eternal optimist.”
Emma snorted. “I’ll take that over your pessimism any day.” She sat down at the computer and typed up her notes, and Garvin left her to it.
As Emma was getting ready to leave for the day, Anthony poked his head in the door. He was her supervisor and was checking in to see how it went. She told him it had gone better than expected.
“Wonderful. Be sure to ask for referrals. We need more female Amish clients. That grant money is not being used, Emma. If we don’t jump on it soon, the hospital will take it away from us.”
She gave him a reassuring look. “I know. I think this client liked me, so hopefully she spreads the word. I will ask for referrals the next time I’m there.” She gathered her things to leave and gave him one last smile. “Good night. See you tomorrow.”
Anthony nodded and watched her leave. He noticed her lovely figure hidden under the plain clothing she was wearing. Not for the first time he marveled at her faith. He didn’t understand it, but he had to respect her conviction.
Emma was still excited as she drove home. She couldn’t wait to tell Gram about her visit.
As she walked into the apartment, Moses met her at the door and planted a wet slobbery kiss on her face. Moses was her one hundred pound Labrador. Emma had found him on the side of the road on an overpass. He had been a shivery, wet mess of a puppy at the time, and she couldn’t resist bringing him home. Gram had protested, but Emma had assured her he wouldn’t get too big. Of course, Emma had been wrong. By the time they realized it, though, the dog had wiggled his way into both their hearts.
Emma reached down and gave him some head rubs. Then she threw his ball before heading into the kitchen. She found her grandmother at the stove stirring a pot of stew.
“It smells amazing in here.”
Gram looked up from the pot and smiled. Then she walked over and hugged her only grandchild. “How was your day?”
“Pretty awesome. How was yours?”
Gram chuckled. “Not nearly as exciting as yours. Now go change. Supper is ready, and I want to hear all about it.”
Emma hurried to her room to change. The two then sat down for a simple meal of chicken stew and biscuits. They chatted about their days, and the highlight of the conversation was the Amish visit. Emma told her about the Fisher family, how bad Rosemary’s arm had been, and how the woman had agreed to more therapy sessions.
“That’s wonderful, child. Did I not say your personality would win her over? And I’m sure you will make that arm of hers feel better. I’m so proud of you.”
“Oh, Gram. You always say that.”
“Because it’s true. Now finish up. You’ll want to get those dishes done before your father calls.”
Emma nodded. Her dad called every Wednesday and Sunday night to check in. She thought about what she would tell him and knew she needed to choose her words carefully. Mr Shultz was over-protective of his daughter, and he had not been happy when she moved to Ohio. The only reason he allowed it was because Gram had gone with her. Then when he learned she would be doing home visits he had been quite upset. She had to reassure him over and over again of her safety.
As Emma was drying the last of the dishes, she heard her cell phone ring. It took some digging to find it at the bottom of her purse. She clicked on just in time. “Hi, Daddy, how are you?”
“Good. And how’s my favorite child?”
“Your only child is doing just fine. I made my first home visit today.”
Mr Shultz replied, “Oh, and how did it go? Did you take your mace?”
“Yes, Daddy. I had the mace in my pocket. But this was a sweet Amish family, so there was no danger.”
“There’s danger everywhere, kiddo. The Amish have their issues just like everyone else.”
Emma sighed. “I know. I was careful, though, and the visit went fine. I think I can really help this woman, and that’s important to me.”
Mr Shultz thought about what she said. “I want you to be happy, Emma Jane, but I also want you to be safe. You know how much I worry. You’re young and pretty, and some men will try to prey on that. Just promise me you’ll stay alert of your surroundings and be careful.”
“I will. I always pay attention.”
“Good. Now what else is going on?”
They talked some more about Gram and the cases her dad was working on, and then they hung up.
That night, as Emma was getting ready for bed, she thought about their conversation. She loved how caring her father was, but sometimes he went overboard with his worry. She was thankful he had let her move to Ohio to pursue her dream, though, and she said a quick prayer of gratitude.
Emma’s thoughts moved on to the Fishers as she brushed out her long hair. She had loved Samuel’s humor and John’s pragmatism. Rosemary had been a good patient, albeit an anxious one, and Emma was sure she could help the woman. Then her thoughts moved on to Jakob and lingered there. He had to be about her age, and she wondered why he wasn’t married yet. He was tall, broad shouldered, had blond hair and blue eyes, and was quite handsome. Emma blushed at the thought. Jakob had been quiet while she was there, but his intelligent eyes had followed her around the room with interest. She fell asleep dreaming of those eyes.
Nancy Golinski
ISBN 978-1-912768-96-7
https://amzn.to/30OdogO
Chapter One
Emma double-checked the bag before pulling into traffic. A lot was riding on this appointment, and she said a quick prayer it would go well. When she hit the country roads, she immediately slowed down. This was Amish country, after all, and she needed to keep an eye out for buggies. Emma took a deep breath to steady her nerves and cautiously navigated the hilly roads. Fortunately, she had given herself plenty of time.
***
Rosemary was pacing. She hated all things medical and much preferred to treat her pain on her own. But it had gotten bad, and she couldn’t do a lot of her chores anymore. John had convinced her to give therapy a try, and now she was waiting for the Englischer to arrive.
While she waited, John and Jakob walked in through the back door. They washed their hands in the utility sink and sat down at the large wooden table. Rosemary poured them each some kaffi and nervously spilled some. She wiped it up with a dish towel and then twisted the cloth between her hands.
John watched his wife with amusement.
Rosemary caught the look and glared at him. “I know I’m overreacting, John Fisher, but what if it’s a man?”
John calmly took a sip of his kaffi. “If it’s a man, then we will send him away.”
Just then Samuel walked in through the back door. He took his hat off and sat down next to Jakob at the table. There was a twinkle in his eye as he looked at his dechder. “Calm down, Rosie. It’s never as bad as you think.”
Jakob’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but he didn’t say anything. He took after his vadder and was quiet. They all knew the therapist would be a woman, as they had clearly requested it on the form. He didn’t say anything, though. His mudder was a worrier and would not be at ease until the Englischer arrived.
Meanwhile, Emma had just pulled in. She parked the car and looked around. There were two houses side by side that shared a circular driveway. Both houses were set back from the road with a large garden plot in front of each one. The plot on the left was full of autumn vegetables, but the one on the right was overgrown with weeds and had not been tilled. Behind the houses she could see a large red barn. There was a buggy parked in front of it, and a pasture to the left where a horse was grazing. Emma grinned as she grabbed her bag and got out of the car.
When they heard the knock, Rosemary sighed and took a seat at the table. Jakob went to greet the therapist. He patted his mudder’s hand as he walked past her.
Jakob opened the door and stared into the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. They were large, rimmed with dark lashes, and had gold flecks in them. Then he looked down and noticed the therapist’s outfit. She was wearing a long black skirt, black tee-shirt, gray hoodie with the hospital logo on it, and her hair was pinned up and hidden by a gray scarf.
Emma smiled up at him and stretched out her hand. “Hi. Is this the Fisher residence? I’m Emma Shultz, the therapist from the hospital.”
Jakob took her tiny hand in his. He struggled to find his voice. “Jah, it is. I’m Jakob Fisher. Please come in. My mother is in the kitchen.”
He led her back to a room streaming with light from a window above the sink. The walls were pale green and lined with oak cupboards, a fridge, and a wood burning stove. The center of the room had a long wooden table with a kerosene lamp hanging above. There were three people sitting at the table.
Jakob made the introductions. He started with Samuel and introduced him as his daadi. Emma shook the older man’s hand and noted the smile. She was then introduced to John, who also shook her hand but kept his expression neutral. Finally, Jakob introduced her to Rosemary. The middle-aged woman was looking nervous, and her left arm was hanging down as if in pain.
Emma tilted her head to one side as she shook Rosemary’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I can tell just by looking your arm is hurting.” Then she sat down at the table and pulled the paperwork from her bag.
Samuel teased her. “You don’t look old enough to be out of school, let alone a therapist for a hospital.”
Emma grinned at him. “I’m almost twenty-one.” She went on to explain how she had completed her physical therapy assistant degree a year ago and now worked at the hospital. Then she turned to Rosemary and said, “I’ve already looked over the notes from the doctor and the therapist. What I need to know is what you hope to accomplish from our sessions.”
Rosemary readily replied. “That’s easy. I want to be able to do things again without pain. Now when I work, I feel this shooting pain in my arm and elbow.”
Emma nodded. “I can imagine it’s pretty bad if you were willing to have me come out.”
The Fishers glanced at each other but said nothing.
Emma asked Rosemary about her typical day. The woman gave her a puzzled look, so Emma explained, “I like to get a feel for a person and learn about their repetitive movements. That way I can see what might have caused the problem in the first place and come up with ways to fix it.”
Rosemary nodded and explained her daily chores. As she spoke, Emma took notes and occasionally threw in a question. She even had the older woman show her the movements she made when doing specific chores. In no time at all the paperwork was complete.
Emma then discussed how the therapy worked. “My first goal is to get your muscles to relax. We’ll do that by using heat, massage, and gentle stretches.” She pulled out a purple gel pack from the bag and gave it a snap. Then she squeezed the pack in her hands before placing it on the older woman’s arm.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Rosemary.
Emma grinned. “I know, right? I have no idea how that works, but it’s a lovely heat. Best of all, you can boil it and reuse it over and over again.”
They all smiled as she continued. “Once we have your pain under control, then we’ll work on strengthening the muscles and correcting any mechanical issues. I only do what you’re comfortable with, and we take it at your pace.” She paused. “Is it okay for me to check your arm now?”
Rosemary reluctantly agreed.
Emma continued. “I always like to start with a quick prayer.” When they nodded, she bowed her head while the Fishers looked on. Then she gently reached over to probe Rosemary’s arm. She could feel the tendons were super tight, and there were pea-sized knots all along the forearm and elbow. She began to lightly massage the area. “You tell me if this gets to be too painful.”
As she worked, Emma chatted to distract Rosemary from the pain. She explained she was from Minnesota and had moved with her grandmother a year ago to work at the hospital. She joked about how difficult it was to convince her father to let her go. Then she laughed about adjusting to the “hot weather” in Ohio.
John commiserated with her father. “It’s tough having children so far away. Why couldn’t you find work closer to home?”
Emma explained she was a conservative Mennonite and was not permitted to work on any male patients. It had been difficult to find an employer willing to accommodate those needs. But Ohio had a large female Amish population she could work on, and the local hospital had been more than willing to work with her.
Emma continued to chat as she worked, and her sweet and outgoing nature slowly drew them in. She was teasing the men about helping out in the kitchen as she massaged Rosemary’s neck and shoulder area. There were knots everywhere, and she realized the poor woman had been suffering a long time.
Finally, Emma stopped and pointed out the lovely “sunburn” on Rosemary’s arm. She explained this was a good sign and pulled out some cooling spray to soothe the area. Then she taught Rosemary some easy stretches and showed her how to massage the tight areas on her own with the outer edge of her opposite hand.
Emma’s instructions were simple. “I want you to do those stretches three times a day. Drink plenty of water, and don’t lift anything heavy.”
Rosemary was happy. “Thank you, Emma. My arm feels better already.”
Emma beamed. “I’m so happy to hear that. Would you like me to come back again? I would recommend two visits a week for two weeks until those muscles loosen up. After that we can start strengthening the arm.”
Rosemary hesitated.
“Don’t forget this is a free program from the hospital,” said Emma. “You can stop it whenever you like, but it’s going to take more than one session to get that pain under control.”
“I think you should continue with the therapy,” said John.
Samuel interjected, “At least give it a few weeks, Rosie.”
Jakob didn’t say anything. He had been impressed by the session and even more impressed by Emma. He was hoping his mudder would say yes.
When she did, they all breathed a sigh of relief. Emma quickly scheduled the next appointment and wished them all a blessed day.
Jakob saw her to the door and watched her get in the car and drive away. Then he returned to the kitchen and grinned at his eldre.
“She is so sweet,” commented Rosemary.
“And schee,” added Samuel. “I told you not to worry, Rosie. Gott always gives us what we need.”
Chapter Two
Emma drove back to the office with the music blasting. It had gone better than she had hoped. She was already envisioning a packed schedule of Amish clients as she parked the car and headed into the building.
Her coworker, Garvin, was sitting at his desk entering clinical notes on the computer. He laughed when he saw her. “I would ask how it went, but it’s written all over your face. That good, eh?”
Emma clapped her hands together and replied, “So good.” She jabbered on in excitement about the appointment.
Garvin listened and smiled in amusement. He was happy for her but still cautioned, “The Amish are a tough community. Don’t be offended if she suddenly cancels on you at the door.”
Emma rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Oh, Garvin. You’re such a gloomy Gus.”
He laughed and countered, “And you are an eternal optimist.”
Emma snorted. “I’ll take that over your pessimism any day.” She sat down at the computer and typed up her notes, and Garvin left her to it.
As Emma was getting ready to leave for the day, Anthony poked his head in the door. He was her supervisor and was checking in to see how it went. She told him it had gone better than expected.
“Wonderful. Be sure to ask for referrals. We need more female Amish clients. That grant money is not being used, Emma. If we don’t jump on it soon, the hospital will take it away from us.”
She gave him a reassuring look. “I know. I think this client liked me, so hopefully she spreads the word. I will ask for referrals the next time I’m there.” She gathered her things to leave and gave him one last smile. “Good night. See you tomorrow.”
Anthony nodded and watched her leave. He noticed her lovely figure hidden under the plain clothing she was wearing. Not for the first time he marveled at her faith. He didn’t understand it, but he had to respect her conviction.
Emma was still excited as she drove home. She couldn’t wait to tell Gram about her visit.
As she walked into the apartment, Moses met her at the door and planted a wet slobbery kiss on her face. Moses was her one hundred pound Labrador. Emma had found him on the side of the road on an overpass. He had been a shivery, wet mess of a puppy at the time, and she couldn’t resist bringing him home. Gram had protested, but Emma had assured her he wouldn’t get too big. Of course, Emma had been wrong. By the time they realized it, though, the dog had wiggled his way into both their hearts.
Emma reached down and gave him some head rubs. Then she threw his ball before heading into the kitchen. She found her grandmother at the stove stirring a pot of stew.
“It smells amazing in here.”
Gram looked up from the pot and smiled. Then she walked over and hugged her only grandchild. “How was your day?”
“Pretty awesome. How was yours?”
Gram chuckled. “Not nearly as exciting as yours. Now go change. Supper is ready, and I want to hear all about it.”
Emma hurried to her room to change. The two then sat down for a simple meal of chicken stew and biscuits. They chatted about their days, and the highlight of the conversation was the Amish visit. Emma told her about the Fisher family, how bad Rosemary’s arm had been, and how the woman had agreed to more therapy sessions.
“That’s wonderful, child. Did I not say your personality would win her over? And I’m sure you will make that arm of hers feel better. I’m so proud of you.”
“Oh, Gram. You always say that.”
“Because it’s true. Now finish up. You’ll want to get those dishes done before your father calls.”
Emma nodded. Her dad called every Wednesday and Sunday night to check in. She thought about what she would tell him and knew she needed to choose her words carefully. Mr Shultz was over-protective of his daughter, and he had not been happy when she moved to Ohio. The only reason he allowed it was because Gram had gone with her. Then when he learned she would be doing home visits he had been quite upset. She had to reassure him over and over again of her safety.
As Emma was drying the last of the dishes, she heard her cell phone ring. It took some digging to find it at the bottom of her purse. She clicked on just in time. “Hi, Daddy, how are you?”
“Good. And how’s my favorite child?”
“Your only child is doing just fine. I made my first home visit today.”
Mr Shultz replied, “Oh, and how did it go? Did you take your mace?”
“Yes, Daddy. I had the mace in my pocket. But this was a sweet Amish family, so there was no danger.”
“There’s danger everywhere, kiddo. The Amish have their issues just like everyone else.”
Emma sighed. “I know. I was careful, though, and the visit went fine. I think I can really help this woman, and that’s important to me.”
Mr Shultz thought about what she said. “I want you to be happy, Emma Jane, but I also want you to be safe. You know how much I worry. You’re young and pretty, and some men will try to prey on that. Just promise me you’ll stay alert of your surroundings and be careful.”
“I will. I always pay attention.”
“Good. Now what else is going on?”
They talked some more about Gram and the cases her dad was working on, and then they hung up.
That night, as Emma was getting ready for bed, she thought about their conversation. She loved how caring her father was, but sometimes he went overboard with his worry. She was thankful he had let her move to Ohio to pursue her dream, though, and she said a quick prayer of gratitude.
Emma’s thoughts moved on to the Fishers as she brushed out her long hair. She had loved Samuel’s humor and John’s pragmatism. Rosemary had been a good patient, albeit an anxious one, and Emma was sure she could help the woman. Then her thoughts moved on to Jakob and lingered there. He had to be about her age, and she wondered why he wasn’t married yet. He was tall, broad shouldered, had blond hair and blue eyes, and was quite handsome. Emma blushed at the thought. Jakob had been quiet while she was there, but his intelligent eyes had followed her around the room with interest. She fell asleep dreaming of those eyes.
September 11, 2020
Desire Me Again
Desire Me Again
Annabel Allan, Patricia Elliott, R.M. Olivia, Carol Schoenig, Virginia Wallace, Gibby Campbell, Dee S. Knight, Alice Renuad, Jan Selbourne, Zia Westfield
https://amzn.to/34NstC7
Lost and Found- A Soldier’s Return – R.M. Olivia
When Isiah Johnson returns home after being M.I.A for two years, his wife Kasey doesn’t know just what to expect. After a night of lovemaking, she is feeling satisfied that they are being offered a second chance to correct all that was wrong in their marriage. But is that reality?
Isiah is the walking wounded after witnessing his best friend getting killed. In the midst of his devastation, he decides to take his own life. Luckily, the gun barrel is empty and he survives. Mrs. Johnson, Isiah’s mother has been living with Kasey and the twins while her son was away. Kasey appreciates her mother-in-law’s help; she also resents her intrusive manner.
Her husband may now be with them physically yet emotionally he is gone. With the change in his circumstances, he is no longer battling an outside enemy. He is battling himself. Can his wife help him find the man he once was?
The Holiday Mermaid - Alice Renaud
Adam fell for surfer girl Rowena the second he saw her. But just as their summer fling was becoming serious, she left him without any explanation. Now, with Christmas just a few days away, she’s back… and Adam discovers that she’s a shape-shifting mermaid, from a Clan that hates humans. Can he love her as she is? Can she brave her family to be with Adam for good, not just for Christmas?
Second Chance - Dee S. Knight
Sandy Henderson had been a sweet, wholesome girl in her first year of college, sure of herself and totally in love with her high school sweetheart, Tom Pritchard. Then something happened that shattered her dreams, her confidence, her will to live. When she meets Tom again many years later, she resists taking a chance on love because of her secret, but Tom won’t give up on her. On them. Or will he, once she tells him about her past?
Temperance – Gibby Campbell
Doms aren’t perfect. Sometimes they screw up. When it’s true love, though, they deserve a second chance. Even the tarot cards think so in this erotic short story.
The Handcuff Proposal – Patricia Elliott
Cora Kegan's day doesn't end well, and she finds herself fired from her waitressing job. When she returns home, she learns that her roommate ate the last drumstick, which makes her day even worse. Who doesn't like to drown their sorrows with ice cream?
Especially when that sorrow includes still having the hots for your ex-boyfriend, who just so happens to be your roommate...
What kind of trouble does she find when she visits a strip club to get his attention?
Xposé – Annabel Allan
Arianna Pierson is an up-and-coming journalist with the Toronto Star. Being a newbie, she mainly writes fluff pieces, like baby or bridal showers. Then she gets wind of a story that could break her into the mainstream—the recent disappearance of three girls from the sex club Xposed.
Arianna takes it upon herself to investigate, going undercover as a regular at the club. While there, she runs into Koran Conley, her first kiss and first love from high school. She tries to keep her focus on the story rather than her growing obsession for a man she had thought walked out of her life so long ago. Her lust is a wonderful distraction…until it becomes her life on the line.
Together at Last – Carol Schoenig
Grace Burrows and Ian Hobbs were high school sweethearts. After three years together, they parted with broken dreams and little hope for the future.
Years later Grace visits the lake where she and Ian had spent many a day. It was to say a final good-bye to her lost dreams before moving on with her life. Lost in the memories, she turns to watch a barking dog running toward her. She loses her balance and falls in the lake. A turn of events brings her face to face with Ian. Is it a reunion filled with hope or is it dead in the water?
Flight to the Stars – Zia Westfield
Nine years ago, Talon LaRue left Vega Cosmos without a word. Now he's back in her life with an offer she can't refuse. Help him find a stolen database of supernatural beings and she'll not only establish her business, she'll also be protecting her family. But Vega discovers there's much more at stake. Talon's life hangs in the balance. Is she willing to let go of old hurts to grasp a second chance at love?
A Convict’s Prayer – Jan Selbourne
Famine, disease, poverty and crime dominates 19th century Ireland, and Eleanor Craddock is just one of the thousands convicted of stealing to survive. However, it is her brother Thomas’s treachery that sentences her to transportation to Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania, Australia) for fourteen years. The only thing that keeps Eleanor going is her prayer that one day she will earn her ticket of leave, because only then can she apply for her two children to join her on the free emigration scheme. This prayer is sorely tested during the long 13,000-mile journey on the convict ship Hope, the brutal Hobart Cascades Female Factory and her years as an assigned servant to the wealthy Ian Franks. Richard Barnett, horse trainer for Franks finds it almost impossible to break through Eleanor’s hard defensive wall until a theft of important documents. This is a true story of two people finding love again.
Renewing Forever – Virginia Wallace
Most of us wander blissfully throughout our daily lives. We pass in and out of crowds on a daily basis, willfully oblivious to those around us. Anonymity is comforting; it simplifies life. But anonymity is a double-edged sword because it can also provide a mask for monsters, allowing them to walk un-detected among us.
But even monsters often seek a sense of normalcy. They run errands, hold down ordinary jobs, and sometimes they even get married. It is in marriage that the difference between plebeian and monster disappears, for all marriages suffer friction. Conflicts can be caused by issues such as children, money, careers, and cultural differences.
David Wollstonecroft has always tried to be a good husband to his wife, Jillian. Jillian was born into a world of shadows, and secrets; she comes from a society quite different from David’s, and thus their marriage occasionally falters. Lately, it almost seems destined to fail.
David, however, is determined to repair the damage…
Because if he can’t, Jillian might literally tear him to pieces.
Annabel Allan, Patricia Elliott, R.M. Olivia, Carol Schoenig, Virginia Wallace, Gibby Campbell, Dee S. Knight, Alice Renuad, Jan Selbourne, Zia Westfield
https://amzn.to/34NstC7
Lost and Found- A Soldier’s Return – R.M. Olivia
When Isiah Johnson returns home after being M.I.A for two years, his wife Kasey doesn’t know just what to expect. After a night of lovemaking, she is feeling satisfied that they are being offered a second chance to correct all that was wrong in their marriage. But is that reality?
Isiah is the walking wounded after witnessing his best friend getting killed. In the midst of his devastation, he decides to take his own life. Luckily, the gun barrel is empty and he survives. Mrs. Johnson, Isiah’s mother has been living with Kasey and the twins while her son was away. Kasey appreciates her mother-in-law’s help; she also resents her intrusive manner.
Her husband may now be with them physically yet emotionally he is gone. With the change in his circumstances, he is no longer battling an outside enemy. He is battling himself. Can his wife help him find the man he once was?
The Holiday Mermaid - Alice Renaud
Adam fell for surfer girl Rowena the second he saw her. But just as their summer fling was becoming serious, she left him without any explanation. Now, with Christmas just a few days away, she’s back… and Adam discovers that she’s a shape-shifting mermaid, from a Clan that hates humans. Can he love her as she is? Can she brave her family to be with Adam for good, not just for Christmas?
Second Chance - Dee S. Knight
Sandy Henderson had been a sweet, wholesome girl in her first year of college, sure of herself and totally in love with her high school sweetheart, Tom Pritchard. Then something happened that shattered her dreams, her confidence, her will to live. When she meets Tom again many years later, she resists taking a chance on love because of her secret, but Tom won’t give up on her. On them. Or will he, once she tells him about her past?
Temperance – Gibby Campbell
Doms aren’t perfect. Sometimes they screw up. When it’s true love, though, they deserve a second chance. Even the tarot cards think so in this erotic short story.
The Handcuff Proposal – Patricia Elliott
Cora Kegan's day doesn't end well, and she finds herself fired from her waitressing job. When she returns home, she learns that her roommate ate the last drumstick, which makes her day even worse. Who doesn't like to drown their sorrows with ice cream?
Especially when that sorrow includes still having the hots for your ex-boyfriend, who just so happens to be your roommate...
What kind of trouble does she find when she visits a strip club to get his attention?
Xposé – Annabel Allan
Arianna Pierson is an up-and-coming journalist with the Toronto Star. Being a newbie, she mainly writes fluff pieces, like baby or bridal showers. Then she gets wind of a story that could break her into the mainstream—the recent disappearance of three girls from the sex club Xposed.
Arianna takes it upon herself to investigate, going undercover as a regular at the club. While there, she runs into Koran Conley, her first kiss and first love from high school. She tries to keep her focus on the story rather than her growing obsession for a man she had thought walked out of her life so long ago. Her lust is a wonderful distraction…until it becomes her life on the line.
Together at Last – Carol Schoenig
Grace Burrows and Ian Hobbs were high school sweethearts. After three years together, they parted with broken dreams and little hope for the future.
Years later Grace visits the lake where she and Ian had spent many a day. It was to say a final good-bye to her lost dreams before moving on with her life. Lost in the memories, she turns to watch a barking dog running toward her. She loses her balance and falls in the lake. A turn of events brings her face to face with Ian. Is it a reunion filled with hope or is it dead in the water?
Flight to the Stars – Zia Westfield
Nine years ago, Talon LaRue left Vega Cosmos without a word. Now he's back in her life with an offer she can't refuse. Help him find a stolen database of supernatural beings and she'll not only establish her business, she'll also be protecting her family. But Vega discovers there's much more at stake. Talon's life hangs in the balance. Is she willing to let go of old hurts to grasp a second chance at love?
A Convict’s Prayer – Jan Selbourne
Famine, disease, poverty and crime dominates 19th century Ireland, and Eleanor Craddock is just one of the thousands convicted of stealing to survive. However, it is her brother Thomas’s treachery that sentences her to transportation to Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania, Australia) for fourteen years. The only thing that keeps Eleanor going is her prayer that one day she will earn her ticket of leave, because only then can she apply for her two children to join her on the free emigration scheme. This prayer is sorely tested during the long 13,000-mile journey on the convict ship Hope, the brutal Hobart Cascades Female Factory and her years as an assigned servant to the wealthy Ian Franks. Richard Barnett, horse trainer for Franks finds it almost impossible to break through Eleanor’s hard defensive wall until a theft of important documents. This is a true story of two people finding love again.
Renewing Forever – Virginia Wallace
Most of us wander blissfully throughout our daily lives. We pass in and out of crowds on a daily basis, willfully oblivious to those around us. Anonymity is comforting; it simplifies life. But anonymity is a double-edged sword because it can also provide a mask for monsters, allowing them to walk un-detected among us.
But even monsters often seek a sense of normalcy. They run errands, hold down ordinary jobs, and sometimes they even get married. It is in marriage that the difference between plebeian and monster disappears, for all marriages suffer friction. Conflicts can be caused by issues such as children, money, careers, and cultural differences.
David Wollstonecroft has always tried to be a good husband to his wife, Jillian. Jillian was born into a world of shadows, and secrets; she comes from a society quite different from David’s, and thus their marriage occasionally falters. Lately, it almost seems destined to fail.
David, however, is determined to repair the damage…
Because if he can’t, Jillian might literally tear him to pieces.
September 10, 2020
Mermaids Marry in Green
Mermaids Marry in Green
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08FCQQ75P
Chapter One
The afanc swam out of his hole. The river here was all wrong. Stone imprisoned it on all sides, and it smelled of sewage and slimy things. He turned into a side stream and bumped against a hard surface. The pain reverberated through his head and he let out a groan. The water, responding to his discomfort, rose until it almost reached the top of the stone bank. Good. Maybe the river would burst its banks and flow freely through the plain as it once had. The afanc extended his paw and touched the strange, cold wall. It was made of metal.
He knew about metal. Long ago, before he’d fallen into a long dreamless slumber, the humans had thrown swords and cups into the water. He would gladly have carried on sleeping, he was old and tired, but the strange women in red had woken him with their screaming and their spells. He wrinkled his snout in disgust. They had looked good but smelled foul, like things left to rot in a dark corner. He’d escaped them, fortunately, but now he couldn’t go back to sleep. The world was full of noises that he didn’t recognise or understand.
Anxiety churned in his belly, almost making him throw up. Where was he? He ran his paws along the cold surface. This was more metal than he had ever seen. The humans had been busy while he’d been asleep. A lot of things had gone wrong. He would have to put them right, starting with the river.
Footsteps echoed in the gloom above him. He stretched his neck to see. A man, alone. He hesitated. Should he flee? He never used to be afraid of humans, but he didn’t know them anymore. They might hurt him, or even try to kill him.
The man saw him and gasped in surprise. He spoke, but the afanc didn’t understand his language. If only he could talk to this man … make him see that he was an intelligent creature like him. Then perhaps the man wouldn’t hurt him. He dug in his memory for words from a human tongue. Once, long ago, he’d had a friend. A woman. She’d had golden flowers in her hair and eyes the colour of spring leaves. She had played with him and sung him songs. She had been able to change shape. In her aquatic form she had looked a little bit like a dolphin. What had she been called?
The name rose from the depths of his brain. Morwenna. Would the man understand that word? It was worth a try. Hope and fear played tug of war in the afanc’s stomach. He stretched his neck towards the stranger and spoke, as clearly as he could.
“Morwenna!”
The man gaped at him, mouth open in shock. “Morwenna?” the man repeated. He crouched, getting as close to the water as he could. The afanc was pleased that he had managed to speak. Maybe the humans wouldn’t hurt him now that he could communicate with them.
But the man was silent now, and he was frowning. Perhaps he hadn’t understood the word. The afanc searched for something else to say. The soldiers who had come later, who had built the roads and bridges, had spoken a different language. They used to leave offerings for him—coins and cakes, and the bright yellow flowers that grew in the marshes. They’d had a name for the flowers, such a lovely name. With luck, perhaps the man would recognise it. The afanc opened his snout and put all his hope into the word.
“Caltha.”
“Caltha,” the man said. But instead of continuing the conversation, he got up and walked away. Disappointment crushed the afanc’s hope, and he sighed. He’d slept for too long. The humans didn’t remember him.
The water reacted to his distress and sloshed over the stone bank. An idea struck the afanc. If he caused a little bit of flooding, just enough to attract the humans’ attention, then surely they would come back and talk to him. Perhaps they would find someone who could understand him. Comforted by the thought, he paddled along the bank, singing to the river so it would rise further.
Two weeks later
Caltha stretched out on her back and let the current bear her downstream. Black water flowed over her, hushing the worries that had been buzzing in her mind all day. Alone in the velvety darkness, she allowed herself to relax.
The underground river widened into a pool as it flowed into the cave. Pale moonlight drifted through the entrance. Caltha turned her face towards the pearly shimmer. This was her favourite spot in the whole of Dooran Island. She’d splashed in these waters with her father when she was a little mermaid, as he’d told her stories about other watery beings, long ago and far away. She’d sat on the polished stone ledge as her mother had taught her some of the many things she’d need to know once she was leader of the Dooran Clan.
Neither of them could have guessed how soon that day would come. A wave of grief rose and lapped at the edges of Caltha’s mind. She waited for it to subside. If only she’d had a few more years with her mum. She still had so much to learn.
She rolled onto her belly and ducked her head into the river. It was so dark and peaceful under the surface. If only the Benetynn and Regor Clans could learn to be at peace. They were worse than merchildren, the way they squabbled nonstop about every little thing.
She emerged and blew a stream of water out of her nostril. Three years ago, her friend Yann Benetynn had come up with a plan to solve that problem. He had set up a council to rule the Morvann Islands, so that each Clan would govern in turn. It was a good idea. Unfortunately the Benetynns refused to see a Regor at the head of the council, and the Regors wouldn’t accept a Benetynn. Result? Caltha had been leader of the council for two years now, and she had all the Clans to look after, instead of just her own. The familiar hum of worry surfaced again. Thank the Lady of the Sea, the ancestral spirit of mermen, the autumn fishing had gone OK. Not great, but OK. Enough to see everyone through the winter. But next year?
She climbed out of the pool and stood still, letting the cool sea breeze caress her thick grey skin. The mermen population was growing. A good thing, of course, but it meant more mouths to feed. They needed to expand their range, go further into the Atlantic. But that would bring them into contact with human fishing vessels. They couldn’t take the risk of humans seeing them in their aquatic shape; yet in human shape, her people were vulnerable.
Another wave of grief washed over her. Her father had died in a fishing accident when she was still very young. He’d been in human form. Human fishermen had been around and might have seen him shift, so he hadn’t been able to change to his aquatic form which could have saved his life. And five years ago her mum had perished in a storm at sea while trying to follow a shoal of fish that would have kept the Clan from going hungry. An undertow of guilt tugged at Caltha. If only she’d gone with her mum that day, she might have been able to save her.
She shook herself dry, wishing the sadness could glide off her like the droplets of water. Sorrow and regret sapped her energy, and she had so much to do.
“Lady Caltha?”
The male voice made her jump. Someone stood at the entrance of the cave, a tall black silhouette against the moonlit sky. The buzz of concern in her mind grew louder. If a merman sought her out in the middle of the night, it could only mean trouble. She didn’t recognise the voice, so he probably wasn’t one of her Clan.
“Yes, I’m right here!” she called out. “Who are you? Benetynn? Regor?”
“Neither.” The man moved his hand, and a thin beam of torchlight appeared, illuminating a striking, chiselled face which she’d never seen before. If he wasn’t a Regor, a Benetynn or a Dooran, then he was no merman! The anxious buzz turned into a shrill alarm, and she shrank back from him. Damn it, she’d left her knife with her clothes outside the cave.
“Don’t be scared.” The man shone the torch on his hand. “Look, I’m unarmed. I come in peace.”
Scared? Indignation displaced her fear and she drew herself to her full height.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
She sounded firmer than she felt. She was in her aquatic shape. She’d been standing in the shadows, but what if he’d seen her? Sure, a few humans knew about the mermen, but they lived on the Morvann Islands and could be trusted to keep their mouths shut. She didn’t know this man, and she could tell by his accent that he wasn’t a local. She couldn’t allow him to discover the Clans’ secret.
“Can you switch that torch off?”
“I’m sorry, Lady Dooran.” The beam of light disappeared. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
His apology took the edge off her agitation. Whoever he was, he didn’t sound like a threat. “Stay where you are,” she commanded, and began to shift.
“As you wish, Lady, but don’t worry if you’re in your aquatic shape. I know about the mermen, and I’d never betray your secret.”
The man’s voice was polite and reasonable, but his words still hit Caltha like a gale-force wind. Cold panic invaded her throat, choking her. If humans outside the islands had discovered their secret, how could she keep her people safe? His promise meant nothing. One stranger in the know was one stranger too many.
What would her mother do? She’d get a grip, for sure. Caltha breathed in and exhaled, hoping she could expel the fear as she’d expelled the water earlier. Her people needed her to be calm and think.
“You can trust me,” the man said. At least he didn’t make any attempt to come closer.
Caltha tried to round up her scattered thoughts and put them in order. Who could he be? Some humans were drawn to the old legends of the islands that hinted at mysterious marine creatures—remnants of old folk memories, from the times when humans and mermen lived side by side. Perhaps the stranger had come to find out more. Perhaps he was bluffing … perhaps he didn’t really know about the mermen, but pretended that he did, so she’d reveal herself to him.
The idea calmed her a little. Maybe nothing was lost. She just needed to return to human shape as quickly as possible. If only the damn shifting process didn’t take so long. She had to keep the man talking, to distract him, so he wouldn’t be tempted to come deeper into the cave.
“Who are you, and how do you know my name?”
“Jonathan Wakeford, at your service, Lady. My friends call me Jonty.” In the greyish glow she saw him bow, an old-fashioned gesture to accompany the old-fashioned words. “May Seaborne gave me your name and told me where I could find you.”
Anguish released its grip on Caltha’s throat, and she gulped some air. This changed things. May Seaborne was a powerful sea witch on the mainland, and she was a friend of the mermen. Witches and warlocks were not like other humans. They were allies. If this man was friendly with the old witch, perhaps he wasn’t a threat.
“How do you know May Seaborne?”
Jonty answered without hesitation. “Through the man I work for. Ariel Wolfsbane, leader of the London warlocks.”
The remnants of Caltha’s fear evaporated. “I’ve heard of Ariel and his brothers. So, you’re a warlock, like them?” She stopped shifting, heady with relief. She no longer needed to hide.
Jonty cleared his throat. “I was. I mean, I am, but I no longer actively practise magic.”
A warlock who had given up sorcery? Caltha had never heard of such a thing. Curiosity pricked her, and she marched up to him.
“Switch your torch back on. I want to see your face.”
Yellow light surged. He turned the beam on himself. Now she could see all of him. His muscular frame wrapped in black leathers, his cropped blond hair, his cheekbones. And the deep scar beneath the stubble on his cheek.
He met her gaze. If it hadn’t been for the scar, and the slightly haunted look in his ice-blue eyes, he’d have been as hot as the movie stars she used to watch in the only cinema on Newrock Island. She had sometimes sneaked in there after school, in the days before her mother had died and the weight of leadership had descended on her seventeen-year-old shoulders.
She gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t afford to let the memories overwhelm her. This warlock, or ex-warlock, could be bringing news of a threat, even if he were no threat himself.
“How could you stop doing magic? It must be like trying to stop breathing.”
“For you, maybe.” Jonty gave her a rueful smile. “For us humans, magic is something we can give up. Sometimes it’s better for us. And for those we love.”
The sadness in his voice touched her, and a tendril of compassion shot up in response. Something bad had happened, something that had turned him away from his magic. But she wasn’t in the business of dispensing tea and sympathy to strangers, no matter how hot they looked. She planted her hands on her hips.
“OK, Jonty. You’re a warlock who doesn’t do sorcery. But why are you here?”
He didn’t answer straight away. Instead, his glacier-blue eyes roamed over her, and she became conscious of her weird appearance. She’d interrupted her shift, so her arms and most of her legs were human, but the rest of her body retained the sleek, aquatic shape, including her foot-long, flexible tail. She must look like one of the half-human, half-animal demons in her father’s bedtime stories. Well, never mind. She didn’t care what Jonty thought of her, and at least in the marine shape, her breasts and secret parts were hidden from view, tucked behind the thick grey skin. Demonic and decent was better than normal and naked.
Jonty slid a hand under his leather jacket, and she tensed, but he only pulled out a mobile phone.
“I have come to ask for your help. London is in danger.” He held the phone out to her. “Look at these pictures.”
He had fine, strong hands, but an angry, red, semi-circular scar stood out at the base of his thumb. Something had bitten him—hard, and not long ago. She tore her eyes away from his fingers and concentrated on the photograph. He shone the torch on it so she could see better. It showed a London Underground train station, the red-and-blue logo instantly recognizable. It was flooded. Water reached almost to the platform, and debris floated on the surface.
“What happened? A storm?”
Jonty shook his head. His gaze was fixed on the picture, his expression sombre. “No storm. No burst water main. No explanation. There are rivers buried under London. For the past two weeks, they’ve been rising and flooding the city at random intervals. The waters subside after a few hours, but then it happens again. The authorities can’t figure out why. And neither could we, the London witches and warlocks, until I managed to take this picture. Look closely at this.”
He tapped the screen with his index finger. Caltha peered at the black shape in the water that she’d assumed was wreckage.
“Is that … a head? And a … paw?”
“Yes.” Jonty’s breath caressed her brow. He was standing very close to her. One more step and she’d brush against his long, muscular legs, showcased in his black leather trousers. She yanked her mind away from the inappropriate thought. She’d never allowed any male to distract her from her duties, and this male for sure wouldn’t have any interest in her as a female. He must see her as a monster, a fantastical creature.
She refocused on the image. “Is it some sort of animal?”
Jonty swiped the screen, and another image appeared. This time the creature’s head and paws were clearly visible in the pool of yellow light. The head was like that of a crocodile, but the furry paws looked like a beaver’s. Astonishment swept out all other emotions.
“By the Lady! It looks like an afanc!”
“A what? You’ve seen a creature like this before?” Jonty’s voice vibrated with excitement.
Caltha’s brain lit up with intense curiosity. “No, but my father used to tell me stories about them. He called them afancs—water monsters. He said that they lived long ago, in rivers and lakes. I thought it was just another one of his tall tales.”
Caltha bent over the phone until her face almost touched the photograph. “But this one looks one hundred percent real. Does he live in the river Thames?”
“When I caught up with it, it was near the sewers.” Jonty’s tone was grave. “Since then, several warlocks and witches have seen it, and every time it was during a flood. They think that it has power over the underground rivers and is making them rise and overflow. If we don’t find a way to stop it, it’s only a matter of time before people get hurt. Or die.”
Caltha raised her head and saw anxiety in Jonty’s eyes. Of course, he was desperate to protect his people, just as she would be if she were in his boots. “So that’s why you need the mermen’s help?”
He nodded. “Yes. We’ve tried to communicate with this … afanc, as you call it, but without success. We’re hoping that you will be able to talk to it and convince it to stop harming London.”
Caltha looked from his face to the half-crocodile, half-beaver monster that was wreaking havoc on the human world. Her father’s stories proved that her people had interacted with such creatures in the past.
“A merman or mermaid may be able to connect with this afanc. From one water monster to another…”
Jonty’s mouth curled up in a half-smile. “I would never call you a monster.”
His eyes glided up and down over her body, and an unfamiliar sensation crept along Caltha’s spine, as if butterflies were tap-dancing on her back. Suddenly she was glad she’d remained in her aquatic shape. Not because she wouldn’t have liked Jonty to look at her naked human form, but because she would have liked it a little too much.
She shoved the thought away. Jonty was just being polite. Of course, he was flattering her—he needed her help. She’d be stupid to let his charm affect her. He probably spoke like that to all the women he met. He’d recoil in horror if he had any idea that she was attracted to him.
She made herself sound brisk and businesslike when she said, “I might be able to spare a good, reliable warrior of my Clan to accompany you to London.”
Jonty shook his head. “We think it has to be you, Lady Caltha.”
“Me?” The thought of going to London, with him, sent a current of excitement through her. If her father’s stories were true, if magical aquatic creatures were still roaming the earth, not just the small corner of Wales she was confined to, then she wanted to meet them. When she was little, she’d often wished that the afancs and the other monsters existed for real. Now it seemed that they did.
But the corner of her mind that was always watchful, always wary, whispered to her that it could be a trap. Sure, she trusted old May Seaborne, but she didn’t know any of the witches and warlocks of London. What if they had a hidden agenda? What if they were planning to kidnap her, to get something they wanted from the mermen? Or just to gain power over them? Witches and warlocks had always coveted power. Even the nice ones. She searched Jonty’s face for signs of duplicity.
“Why does it have to be me?”
Jonty dragged a hand through his blond hair. “You may find this hard to believe, but when I encountered the creature in the Thames, it spoke two words—Morwenna and Caltha.”
The dark suspicions in her mind shrank before the blue intensity of his gaze. He sounded so sincere. She had a feeling that he was telling the truth. And after all, she could handle herself. She had nothing to fear from a warlock, especially one who had given up magic. Her body was brimming with a new, wild energy that made her pulse race.
“Morwenna means mermaid. The mermaid Caltha. How could the afanc know my name?”
Jonty’s handsome features were suffused with an animation that mirrored hers. “I’ve no idea. Perhaps it heard of you somehow? Or perhaps it was thinking about another mermaid, one he’d met in the past, who was also called Caltha. Is it a common name among your people?”
“Hmm.” Caltha’s hand went to her hair to play with it, then she realized that her head was still in aquatic shape, and she had no curls to pull on. She let her hand fall back to her side. “Caltha is the Latin name for a flower, the marsh marigold. Mermaids in my Clan, the Dooran Clan, are often named after flowers. There’s no other mermaid in the islands with that name right now, but there probably were in the past. We don’t know how old this creature is, right?”
“But with you, we could find out.” Jonty switched the phone off and put it back in his jacket. “Ariel Wolfsbane and May Seaborne were right to send me to you. You can help us save London.”
His words painted such a seductive picture. She would be a heroine, like the mythical mermaids and princesses in her father’s stories. She’d finally get to have real adventures, not just fantasize about them while sitting in boring Clan meetings or reading reports about fishing.
Then the rational part of her brain reached out and snuffed out the dream. The excitement dried up, leaving her empty and sad. What was she thinking? She didn’t do holidays. She had three Clans to lead.
“I’m sorry. I can’t go with you. I have responsibilities here.”
“I know.” Jonty didn’t seem fazed. Clearly, he’d anticipated her reaction. “But we do believe you are the best person to contact this afanc. Allow me to present my case to the mermen Clans, and maybe together we can find a solution.”
“Ha.” Bitterness surged and coated Caltha’s tongue like rotting seaweed. “That lot couldn’t agree that the sky was blue. They’ll argue just for the hell of it. The Regors are the worst.”
“And proud of it.”
The voice came from behind Jonty, beyond the mouth of the cave. Caltha knew that voice all too well. It seemed to roll towards her, filling the cave with damp shadows. Her hand went to her side, and she swore when she remembered that she didn’t have her knife.
“Shit. OK, come in, Rhys.”
The leader of the Regor Clan walked in, in his aquatic shape. His webbed feet slapped the stone floor as he came right up to Jonty and poked him in the chest.
“I saw you come in on your boat. You’re not from round here. What the hell are you doing here, boyo?”
Jonty didn’t flinch. Admiration surged through Caltha’s unease. He had balls of steel. Rhys in a bad mood would strike fear into the heart of a fully armed merman, let alone a human.
“My name is Jonathan Wakeford.” Jonty’s tone was calm and courteous. “I have come to ask the Lady Caltha for her help to deal with a water monster, an afanc. In London.”
Rhys threw back his black noseless head and laughed. “You’ve got some nerve, boyo. The Lady Caltha has sworn to help her Clan first, the other mermen second, and sea creatures third. Humans don’t make the list.” He tugged at Jonty’s leather jacket. “What are you? Some biker?”
Jonty looked him in the eye. “I’m a hunter.”
Rhys’s hand gripped the jacket harder. “And what do you hunt, boyo?”
This time Jonty’s smile had more than a hint of steel. “Monsters.”
“That’s enough!” Caltha walked up to Rhys. A bright, fierce protectiveness had taken hold of her. Jonty was her guest. She wouldn’t let anyone intimidate him. She grabbed the Regor leader’s arm. “Let him go. He’s a warlock.”
Jonty opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a glare. “Let me do the talking, Jonty.” Now was not the time for him to explain he didn’t do magic anymore. Rhys would respect a warlock. But not an ordinary human.
The Regor leader took a step back and shook off her hand. He studied Jonty with a sceptical smirk. “You’re a sorcerer?”
Jonty hesitated, then gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
Rhys’s black lips parted, revealing a row of needle-sharp teeth. “Prove it.”
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08FCQQ75P
Chapter One
The afanc swam out of his hole. The river here was all wrong. Stone imprisoned it on all sides, and it smelled of sewage and slimy things. He turned into a side stream and bumped against a hard surface. The pain reverberated through his head and he let out a groan. The water, responding to his discomfort, rose until it almost reached the top of the stone bank. Good. Maybe the river would burst its banks and flow freely through the plain as it once had. The afanc extended his paw and touched the strange, cold wall. It was made of metal.
He knew about metal. Long ago, before he’d fallen into a long dreamless slumber, the humans had thrown swords and cups into the water. He would gladly have carried on sleeping, he was old and tired, but the strange women in red had woken him with their screaming and their spells. He wrinkled his snout in disgust. They had looked good but smelled foul, like things left to rot in a dark corner. He’d escaped them, fortunately, but now he couldn’t go back to sleep. The world was full of noises that he didn’t recognise or understand.
Anxiety churned in his belly, almost making him throw up. Where was he? He ran his paws along the cold surface. This was more metal than he had ever seen. The humans had been busy while he’d been asleep. A lot of things had gone wrong. He would have to put them right, starting with the river.
Footsteps echoed in the gloom above him. He stretched his neck to see. A man, alone. He hesitated. Should he flee? He never used to be afraid of humans, but he didn’t know them anymore. They might hurt him, or even try to kill him.
The man saw him and gasped in surprise. He spoke, but the afanc didn’t understand his language. If only he could talk to this man … make him see that he was an intelligent creature like him. Then perhaps the man wouldn’t hurt him. He dug in his memory for words from a human tongue. Once, long ago, he’d had a friend. A woman. She’d had golden flowers in her hair and eyes the colour of spring leaves. She had played with him and sung him songs. She had been able to change shape. In her aquatic form she had looked a little bit like a dolphin. What had she been called?
The name rose from the depths of his brain. Morwenna. Would the man understand that word? It was worth a try. Hope and fear played tug of war in the afanc’s stomach. He stretched his neck towards the stranger and spoke, as clearly as he could.
“Morwenna!”
The man gaped at him, mouth open in shock. “Morwenna?” the man repeated. He crouched, getting as close to the water as he could. The afanc was pleased that he had managed to speak. Maybe the humans wouldn’t hurt him now that he could communicate with them.
But the man was silent now, and he was frowning. Perhaps he hadn’t understood the word. The afanc searched for something else to say. The soldiers who had come later, who had built the roads and bridges, had spoken a different language. They used to leave offerings for him—coins and cakes, and the bright yellow flowers that grew in the marshes. They’d had a name for the flowers, such a lovely name. With luck, perhaps the man would recognise it. The afanc opened his snout and put all his hope into the word.
“Caltha.”
“Caltha,” the man said. But instead of continuing the conversation, he got up and walked away. Disappointment crushed the afanc’s hope, and he sighed. He’d slept for too long. The humans didn’t remember him.
The water reacted to his distress and sloshed over the stone bank. An idea struck the afanc. If he caused a little bit of flooding, just enough to attract the humans’ attention, then surely they would come back and talk to him. Perhaps they would find someone who could understand him. Comforted by the thought, he paddled along the bank, singing to the river so it would rise further.
Two weeks later
Caltha stretched out on her back and let the current bear her downstream. Black water flowed over her, hushing the worries that had been buzzing in her mind all day. Alone in the velvety darkness, she allowed herself to relax.
The underground river widened into a pool as it flowed into the cave. Pale moonlight drifted through the entrance. Caltha turned her face towards the pearly shimmer. This was her favourite spot in the whole of Dooran Island. She’d splashed in these waters with her father when she was a little mermaid, as he’d told her stories about other watery beings, long ago and far away. She’d sat on the polished stone ledge as her mother had taught her some of the many things she’d need to know once she was leader of the Dooran Clan.
Neither of them could have guessed how soon that day would come. A wave of grief rose and lapped at the edges of Caltha’s mind. She waited for it to subside. If only she’d had a few more years with her mum. She still had so much to learn.
She rolled onto her belly and ducked her head into the river. It was so dark and peaceful under the surface. If only the Benetynn and Regor Clans could learn to be at peace. They were worse than merchildren, the way they squabbled nonstop about every little thing.
She emerged and blew a stream of water out of her nostril. Three years ago, her friend Yann Benetynn had come up with a plan to solve that problem. He had set up a council to rule the Morvann Islands, so that each Clan would govern in turn. It was a good idea. Unfortunately the Benetynns refused to see a Regor at the head of the council, and the Regors wouldn’t accept a Benetynn. Result? Caltha had been leader of the council for two years now, and she had all the Clans to look after, instead of just her own. The familiar hum of worry surfaced again. Thank the Lady of the Sea, the ancestral spirit of mermen, the autumn fishing had gone OK. Not great, but OK. Enough to see everyone through the winter. But next year?
She climbed out of the pool and stood still, letting the cool sea breeze caress her thick grey skin. The mermen population was growing. A good thing, of course, but it meant more mouths to feed. They needed to expand their range, go further into the Atlantic. But that would bring them into contact with human fishing vessels. They couldn’t take the risk of humans seeing them in their aquatic shape; yet in human shape, her people were vulnerable.
Another wave of grief washed over her. Her father had died in a fishing accident when she was still very young. He’d been in human form. Human fishermen had been around and might have seen him shift, so he hadn’t been able to change to his aquatic form which could have saved his life. And five years ago her mum had perished in a storm at sea while trying to follow a shoal of fish that would have kept the Clan from going hungry. An undertow of guilt tugged at Caltha. If only she’d gone with her mum that day, she might have been able to save her.
She shook herself dry, wishing the sadness could glide off her like the droplets of water. Sorrow and regret sapped her energy, and she had so much to do.
“Lady Caltha?”
The male voice made her jump. Someone stood at the entrance of the cave, a tall black silhouette against the moonlit sky. The buzz of concern in her mind grew louder. If a merman sought her out in the middle of the night, it could only mean trouble. She didn’t recognise the voice, so he probably wasn’t one of her Clan.
“Yes, I’m right here!” she called out. “Who are you? Benetynn? Regor?”
“Neither.” The man moved his hand, and a thin beam of torchlight appeared, illuminating a striking, chiselled face which she’d never seen before. If he wasn’t a Regor, a Benetynn or a Dooran, then he was no merman! The anxious buzz turned into a shrill alarm, and she shrank back from him. Damn it, she’d left her knife with her clothes outside the cave.
“Don’t be scared.” The man shone the torch on his hand. “Look, I’m unarmed. I come in peace.”
Scared? Indignation displaced her fear and she drew herself to her full height.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
She sounded firmer than she felt. She was in her aquatic shape. She’d been standing in the shadows, but what if he’d seen her? Sure, a few humans knew about the mermen, but they lived on the Morvann Islands and could be trusted to keep their mouths shut. She didn’t know this man, and she could tell by his accent that he wasn’t a local. She couldn’t allow him to discover the Clans’ secret.
“Can you switch that torch off?”
“I’m sorry, Lady Dooran.” The beam of light disappeared. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
His apology took the edge off her agitation. Whoever he was, he didn’t sound like a threat. “Stay where you are,” she commanded, and began to shift.
“As you wish, Lady, but don’t worry if you’re in your aquatic shape. I know about the mermen, and I’d never betray your secret.”
The man’s voice was polite and reasonable, but his words still hit Caltha like a gale-force wind. Cold panic invaded her throat, choking her. If humans outside the islands had discovered their secret, how could she keep her people safe? His promise meant nothing. One stranger in the know was one stranger too many.
What would her mother do? She’d get a grip, for sure. Caltha breathed in and exhaled, hoping she could expel the fear as she’d expelled the water earlier. Her people needed her to be calm and think.
“You can trust me,” the man said. At least he didn’t make any attempt to come closer.
Caltha tried to round up her scattered thoughts and put them in order. Who could he be? Some humans were drawn to the old legends of the islands that hinted at mysterious marine creatures—remnants of old folk memories, from the times when humans and mermen lived side by side. Perhaps the stranger had come to find out more. Perhaps he was bluffing … perhaps he didn’t really know about the mermen, but pretended that he did, so she’d reveal herself to him.
The idea calmed her a little. Maybe nothing was lost. She just needed to return to human shape as quickly as possible. If only the damn shifting process didn’t take so long. She had to keep the man talking, to distract him, so he wouldn’t be tempted to come deeper into the cave.
“Who are you, and how do you know my name?”
“Jonathan Wakeford, at your service, Lady. My friends call me Jonty.” In the greyish glow she saw him bow, an old-fashioned gesture to accompany the old-fashioned words. “May Seaborne gave me your name and told me where I could find you.”
Anguish released its grip on Caltha’s throat, and she gulped some air. This changed things. May Seaborne was a powerful sea witch on the mainland, and she was a friend of the mermen. Witches and warlocks were not like other humans. They were allies. If this man was friendly with the old witch, perhaps he wasn’t a threat.
“How do you know May Seaborne?”
Jonty answered without hesitation. “Through the man I work for. Ariel Wolfsbane, leader of the London warlocks.”
The remnants of Caltha’s fear evaporated. “I’ve heard of Ariel and his brothers. So, you’re a warlock, like them?” She stopped shifting, heady with relief. She no longer needed to hide.
Jonty cleared his throat. “I was. I mean, I am, but I no longer actively practise magic.”
A warlock who had given up sorcery? Caltha had never heard of such a thing. Curiosity pricked her, and she marched up to him.
“Switch your torch back on. I want to see your face.”
Yellow light surged. He turned the beam on himself. Now she could see all of him. His muscular frame wrapped in black leathers, his cropped blond hair, his cheekbones. And the deep scar beneath the stubble on his cheek.
He met her gaze. If it hadn’t been for the scar, and the slightly haunted look in his ice-blue eyes, he’d have been as hot as the movie stars she used to watch in the only cinema on Newrock Island. She had sometimes sneaked in there after school, in the days before her mother had died and the weight of leadership had descended on her seventeen-year-old shoulders.
She gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t afford to let the memories overwhelm her. This warlock, or ex-warlock, could be bringing news of a threat, even if he were no threat himself.
“How could you stop doing magic? It must be like trying to stop breathing.”
“For you, maybe.” Jonty gave her a rueful smile. “For us humans, magic is something we can give up. Sometimes it’s better for us. And for those we love.”
The sadness in his voice touched her, and a tendril of compassion shot up in response. Something bad had happened, something that had turned him away from his magic. But she wasn’t in the business of dispensing tea and sympathy to strangers, no matter how hot they looked. She planted her hands on her hips.
“OK, Jonty. You’re a warlock who doesn’t do sorcery. But why are you here?”
He didn’t answer straight away. Instead, his glacier-blue eyes roamed over her, and she became conscious of her weird appearance. She’d interrupted her shift, so her arms and most of her legs were human, but the rest of her body retained the sleek, aquatic shape, including her foot-long, flexible tail. She must look like one of the half-human, half-animal demons in her father’s bedtime stories. Well, never mind. She didn’t care what Jonty thought of her, and at least in the marine shape, her breasts and secret parts were hidden from view, tucked behind the thick grey skin. Demonic and decent was better than normal and naked.
Jonty slid a hand under his leather jacket, and she tensed, but he only pulled out a mobile phone.
“I have come to ask for your help. London is in danger.” He held the phone out to her. “Look at these pictures.”
He had fine, strong hands, but an angry, red, semi-circular scar stood out at the base of his thumb. Something had bitten him—hard, and not long ago. She tore her eyes away from his fingers and concentrated on the photograph. He shone the torch on it so she could see better. It showed a London Underground train station, the red-and-blue logo instantly recognizable. It was flooded. Water reached almost to the platform, and debris floated on the surface.
“What happened? A storm?”
Jonty shook his head. His gaze was fixed on the picture, his expression sombre. “No storm. No burst water main. No explanation. There are rivers buried under London. For the past two weeks, they’ve been rising and flooding the city at random intervals. The waters subside after a few hours, but then it happens again. The authorities can’t figure out why. And neither could we, the London witches and warlocks, until I managed to take this picture. Look closely at this.”
He tapped the screen with his index finger. Caltha peered at the black shape in the water that she’d assumed was wreckage.
“Is that … a head? And a … paw?”
“Yes.” Jonty’s breath caressed her brow. He was standing very close to her. One more step and she’d brush against his long, muscular legs, showcased in his black leather trousers. She yanked her mind away from the inappropriate thought. She’d never allowed any male to distract her from her duties, and this male for sure wouldn’t have any interest in her as a female. He must see her as a monster, a fantastical creature.
She refocused on the image. “Is it some sort of animal?”
Jonty swiped the screen, and another image appeared. This time the creature’s head and paws were clearly visible in the pool of yellow light. The head was like that of a crocodile, but the furry paws looked like a beaver’s. Astonishment swept out all other emotions.
“By the Lady! It looks like an afanc!”
“A what? You’ve seen a creature like this before?” Jonty’s voice vibrated with excitement.
Caltha’s brain lit up with intense curiosity. “No, but my father used to tell me stories about them. He called them afancs—water monsters. He said that they lived long ago, in rivers and lakes. I thought it was just another one of his tall tales.”
Caltha bent over the phone until her face almost touched the photograph. “But this one looks one hundred percent real. Does he live in the river Thames?”
“When I caught up with it, it was near the sewers.” Jonty’s tone was grave. “Since then, several warlocks and witches have seen it, and every time it was during a flood. They think that it has power over the underground rivers and is making them rise and overflow. If we don’t find a way to stop it, it’s only a matter of time before people get hurt. Or die.”
Caltha raised her head and saw anxiety in Jonty’s eyes. Of course, he was desperate to protect his people, just as she would be if she were in his boots. “So that’s why you need the mermen’s help?”
He nodded. “Yes. We’ve tried to communicate with this … afanc, as you call it, but without success. We’re hoping that you will be able to talk to it and convince it to stop harming London.”
Caltha looked from his face to the half-crocodile, half-beaver monster that was wreaking havoc on the human world. Her father’s stories proved that her people had interacted with such creatures in the past.
“A merman or mermaid may be able to connect with this afanc. From one water monster to another…”
Jonty’s mouth curled up in a half-smile. “I would never call you a monster.”
His eyes glided up and down over her body, and an unfamiliar sensation crept along Caltha’s spine, as if butterflies were tap-dancing on her back. Suddenly she was glad she’d remained in her aquatic shape. Not because she wouldn’t have liked Jonty to look at her naked human form, but because she would have liked it a little too much.
She shoved the thought away. Jonty was just being polite. Of course, he was flattering her—he needed her help. She’d be stupid to let his charm affect her. He probably spoke like that to all the women he met. He’d recoil in horror if he had any idea that she was attracted to him.
She made herself sound brisk and businesslike when she said, “I might be able to spare a good, reliable warrior of my Clan to accompany you to London.”
Jonty shook his head. “We think it has to be you, Lady Caltha.”
“Me?” The thought of going to London, with him, sent a current of excitement through her. If her father’s stories were true, if magical aquatic creatures were still roaming the earth, not just the small corner of Wales she was confined to, then she wanted to meet them. When she was little, she’d often wished that the afancs and the other monsters existed for real. Now it seemed that they did.
But the corner of her mind that was always watchful, always wary, whispered to her that it could be a trap. Sure, she trusted old May Seaborne, but she didn’t know any of the witches and warlocks of London. What if they had a hidden agenda? What if they were planning to kidnap her, to get something they wanted from the mermen? Or just to gain power over them? Witches and warlocks had always coveted power. Even the nice ones. She searched Jonty’s face for signs of duplicity.
“Why does it have to be me?”
Jonty dragged a hand through his blond hair. “You may find this hard to believe, but when I encountered the creature in the Thames, it spoke two words—Morwenna and Caltha.”
The dark suspicions in her mind shrank before the blue intensity of his gaze. He sounded so sincere. She had a feeling that he was telling the truth. And after all, she could handle herself. She had nothing to fear from a warlock, especially one who had given up magic. Her body was brimming with a new, wild energy that made her pulse race.
“Morwenna means mermaid. The mermaid Caltha. How could the afanc know my name?”
Jonty’s handsome features were suffused with an animation that mirrored hers. “I’ve no idea. Perhaps it heard of you somehow? Or perhaps it was thinking about another mermaid, one he’d met in the past, who was also called Caltha. Is it a common name among your people?”
“Hmm.” Caltha’s hand went to her hair to play with it, then she realized that her head was still in aquatic shape, and she had no curls to pull on. She let her hand fall back to her side. “Caltha is the Latin name for a flower, the marsh marigold. Mermaids in my Clan, the Dooran Clan, are often named after flowers. There’s no other mermaid in the islands with that name right now, but there probably were in the past. We don’t know how old this creature is, right?”
“But with you, we could find out.” Jonty switched the phone off and put it back in his jacket. “Ariel Wolfsbane and May Seaborne were right to send me to you. You can help us save London.”
His words painted such a seductive picture. She would be a heroine, like the mythical mermaids and princesses in her father’s stories. She’d finally get to have real adventures, not just fantasize about them while sitting in boring Clan meetings or reading reports about fishing.
Then the rational part of her brain reached out and snuffed out the dream. The excitement dried up, leaving her empty and sad. What was she thinking? She didn’t do holidays. She had three Clans to lead.
“I’m sorry. I can’t go with you. I have responsibilities here.”
“I know.” Jonty didn’t seem fazed. Clearly, he’d anticipated her reaction. “But we do believe you are the best person to contact this afanc. Allow me to present my case to the mermen Clans, and maybe together we can find a solution.”
“Ha.” Bitterness surged and coated Caltha’s tongue like rotting seaweed. “That lot couldn’t agree that the sky was blue. They’ll argue just for the hell of it. The Regors are the worst.”
“And proud of it.”
The voice came from behind Jonty, beyond the mouth of the cave. Caltha knew that voice all too well. It seemed to roll towards her, filling the cave with damp shadows. Her hand went to her side, and she swore when she remembered that she didn’t have her knife.
“Shit. OK, come in, Rhys.”
The leader of the Regor Clan walked in, in his aquatic shape. His webbed feet slapped the stone floor as he came right up to Jonty and poked him in the chest.
“I saw you come in on your boat. You’re not from round here. What the hell are you doing here, boyo?”
Jonty didn’t flinch. Admiration surged through Caltha’s unease. He had balls of steel. Rhys in a bad mood would strike fear into the heart of a fully armed merman, let alone a human.
“My name is Jonathan Wakeford.” Jonty’s tone was calm and courteous. “I have come to ask the Lady Caltha for her help to deal with a water monster, an afanc. In London.”
Rhys threw back his black noseless head and laughed. “You’ve got some nerve, boyo. The Lady Caltha has sworn to help her Clan first, the other mermen second, and sea creatures third. Humans don’t make the list.” He tugged at Jonty’s leather jacket. “What are you? Some biker?”
Jonty looked him in the eye. “I’m a hunter.”
Rhys’s hand gripped the jacket harder. “And what do you hunt, boyo?”
This time Jonty’s smile had more than a hint of steel. “Monsters.”
“That’s enough!” Caltha walked up to Rhys. A bright, fierce protectiveness had taken hold of her. Jonty was her guest. She wouldn’t let anyone intimidate him. She grabbed the Regor leader’s arm. “Let him go. He’s a warlock.”
Jonty opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a glare. “Let me do the talking, Jonty.” Now was not the time for him to explain he didn’t do magic anymore. Rhys would respect a warlock. But not an ordinary human.
The Regor leader took a step back and shook off her hand. He studied Jonty with a sceptical smirk. “You’re a sorcerer?”
Jonty hesitated, then gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
Rhys’s black lips parted, revealing a row of needle-sharp teeth. “Prove it.”
August 12, 2020
Shadow Visions
Shadow Visions
Gabriella Hewitt
ISBN 978-1-936556-87-8
https://amzn.to/3ahNjuc
https://books2read.com/u/4AKoKK
Chapter One
Ixa kicked at the sheets tangling about her legs and snapped her eyes open. Unnatural humidity suffocated her. She gasped for air. Her body trembled and her gut threatened to heave. Years of being plagued by visions didn’t make them any easier to stomach.
She still tasted the desperation of the woman on the cold slab. She shook her head to dispel the nightmare. Useless. Hopeless. She couldn’t control or change the vision. She hated herself for it. Like a fly on the wall, she was a pathetic bystander. Pockets of her vision flashed in her mind. A woman’s upper arm. The tiny wings of a hummingbird fluttering, then faltering. A man in a mask of bones and tattered fur. A knife. Blood, so much blood. She couldn’t get it out of her head, rivulets of it staining everything in its path. And a beating heart held up high as triumphant laughter drowned out the screams in her head.
“No!”
Quickly, she turned on her bedside lamp. The clock read midnight. Beads of sweat trickled down her body, sticking the thin cotton T-shirt to her skin. This vision had been stronger than the last. More detailed. More frightening. She recalled vividly the cold touch of a knife on her flesh. She looked down the length of her body, relieved to see she was in one piece—no knife wounds, no blood. She was fine. The body she had dreamed of had been shorter, smaller, completely naked…and mutilated.
Despite the light in the room, Ixa felt the darkness of her vision creeping along the edge of her mind.
Her door opened and her grandfather stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“I heard you cry out,” he said as he hobbled into the room.
Ixa willed her heart rate under control. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“You are never a bother, mi brisita.” When he’d first started calling her his little breeze as a child, she’d embraced the nickname. Now it only dredged up memories better left buried, but no matter how many times she asked her abuelo to stop, he’d apologize and say he’d forgotten himself. And maybe he had, she thought, as he sat down gingerly on the bed, using his ever-present walking stick to lower himself. At eighty-seven, he seemed frailer than ever and it worried her.
“Did you have another dream?” he asked and ran a tender hand over her head. As a grown woman of thirty, the babying should have seemed odd, but ever since her parents’ deaths when she was a little girl, her abuelo had been the one watching out for her, doting on her like a mother hen over its chick. Now the roles were reversed, though he’d deny it. She worried too much about him to leave him on his own. They had only each other, so instead of getting a place of her own, she chose to stay and watch over him.
“You mean another nightmare?” She sighed and forced down the bitterness she felt. “Yes. I saw another woman sacrificed. This makes two.” Her fingers dug into her sheets as if to tie her to reality. “Why does this keep happening to me?”
Her abuelo covered her hand with his. “Look at me, niña. You have been given the gift of Sight. The gods have chosen you for some purpose.”
“Abuelo, I am not a child. Ancient Aztec gods aren’t real. And even if they were, my visions are not a gift. They are more like a curse. If the gods are as powerful as you say, why didn’t they save Xena and my parents?” Years later and she still couldn’t drown out the screams of her parents or of her little sister. She remembered clearly the night Galante shot her father in cold blood and his laughter as he lit the match that consumed her sister and mother. All the while, she’d prayed for gods that never came.
Ruthlessly, Ixa closed the door on her memories. She’d clawed her way out of the past. She’d made a place for herself in the present.
“It is not our place to question the gods.”
“Abuelo, I called upon them for help. I didn’t abandon them—they abandoned me. Besides, I got Galante using old-fashioned detective work. He can’t hurt me or anyone else anymore.” She’d vowed over the ashes of her family that she’d see Galante pay. He’d been sentenced to life, and as good as it felt to have scum like him put behind bars, it didn’t bring her parents or little sister back.
Abuelo patted her leg. “Your father would be proud. You are a good police officer, just like him. But he believed in the gods and he would want you to believe too.”
Disappointment and sorrow clouded his features. She steeled herself against the need to comfort him, to take back what she’d said. She would not buy into her abuelo’s myths and legends. Doing so would take her down a path she refused to travel. She’d lost everything she held dear because of so-called gifts she’d never asked for, nor wanted. If she didn’t acknowledge them, they couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. She had to keep her abuelo safe. He was all she had left. So now she kept her feet planted firmly in the modern world. As a police detective, she dealt in facts and reality, and despite her abuelo’s attempts and her latest visions, she would not be sucked up into a world of Aztec gods, demons, and warriors. She’d built a life for herself, brick by brick, and it kept her sane and her abuelo alive.
“You cannot continue to deny your path,” he insisted.
“The only path I have is that of a cop. We’ve been over this, Abuelo. I can’t be what you expect. You have to accept that.”
He shook his head, his expression sad. She hated seeing him that way, but it was the only way she could move forward in life.
“I understand that you are afraid of your gifts. Eventually, you will have to conquer your fears and accept yourself as you are. If I can’t make you believe, the gods will find a way to convince you.”
Again with the gods. She bit back the retort on her lips. “It’s late, Abuelo.
You need to get some sleep.”
“So must you, mi brisita. We will talk of this matter again soon.” His tone brooked no argument.
Ixa sighed and nodded. She watched him leave, wishing she could give him what he wanted, but she didn’t dare. She lay back against her headboard, unwilling to turn off the light and call up another nightmare. The minutes ticked into hours and she tried to go back to sleep, but the images were too fresh in her head.
Dawn had already broken over the horizon when her cell phone rang, setting her heart racing. She eyed it warily, knowing she should pick it up, yet loath to do so. Finally, she reached out and snatched it off the bedstand. “Hello.”
“Ixa, we’ve got another one,” her partner’s voice came over the line. “It’s bad. I swear it looks like a blood sacrifice.”
Blood, so much blood.
***
She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to erase the image. “I’m on my way, Boyle.” She didn’t know how to deal with myths and legends, but she knew very well how to track a killer.
She’d seen death before. Vile and savage. This one was no different. The young woman lay strapped to a metal slab inside a vacant warehouse, miles from where anyone could have heard her scream. Her lifeless eyes held the horror of her last moments. Blood congealed on her body and smeared over the table and floor. A large, ragged hole in her chest obscenely proclaimed where a madman had ripped out her heart.
It was the Latina from her vision. “Mierda.” Shit was definitely the word.
The shock should have hit Ixa like a punch to the gut, only it didn’t. This vision was her second. The last had come true and now this one had too. Some gift, she thought bitterly. This was a present she wished she could return. What good were visions when she couldn’t stop the violence before it happened?
She shook off the thought and peered closer at the wound. Her badge with her identification, Detective Ixa Reyes, Homicide, hung loosely around her neck. She carefully tucked it back into her jacket. Her partner, Detective Frank Boyle, returned with his notepad in hand.
“Second one in the city and again there are no witnesses. Just another anonymous tip called into the precinct. I swear someone is playing a game with us.” Boyle scrubbed his hand over tired eyes. A veteran of twenty years, he had seen and done it all, yet he treated Ixa as an equal. They made an odd team, but they’d developed a smooth working relationship, and they treated one another with respect. The only differences between them came down to their looks. Frank Boyle stood six feet tall, two hundred and forty pounds with thinning blond hair wisped around his pudgy face, and weary blue-gray eyes masked by thick glasses two sizes too large. She could have been his teenage daughter, petite, with a tan, rounded moon face and full lips accompanied by a mass of straight black hair that hit below her shoulders, currently tied back in a no-nonsense braid.
Sometimes her Mexican-American looks worked in her favor—like the time she had to deal with the locals to track down a powerful drug lord who had been terrorizing the neighborhood. She had caught him and put him behind bars, but it had sealed her as a traitor to her own people. In the eyes of her colleagues, she had earned respect. Even so, every day felt like she had to constantly prove her worth among the boys. She straddled both worlds, yet belonged fully to neither.
Ixa had learned a long time ago to suppress her heritage and assimilate. It was best to play by the rules, follow the book and never deviate from protocol. Anything less only ended up in heartbreak, which was why she pushed aside the fresh image of her nightmare vision and focused back on the case.
“What time did the call come in?”
Boyle checked his notes. “Six in the morning.”
She nodded. “Sunrise. Same as the last victim. So how’d you arrive on the scene so fast?”
For the first time, her partner looked a little sheepish. He sighed. “Dana and the kids are away. Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get in early and go over everything we got on this case. I was on my way when the call came in.” He glanced down at the body and his lips tightened. “Saw right away we had another one on our hands and called you.”
Boyle drew her attention to a knife wound. “This victim has a hummingbird tattoo on her upper arm, similar to the last woman.”
Ixa really didn’t need to look. The dainty painted hummingbird tattoo was seared into the backs of her eyelids. Unconsciously, she stroked her hand over her sleeve. Below the fabric, she could feel her own hummingbird tattoo tingling. The sensation grew hotter, burning her bicep. She didn’t know the woman, yet they all sported the same tattoo.
Ixa bit her bottom lip. Her hummingbird tattoo had always been a part of her. Always. As a child, it had been a strawberry mark. Over time it had shaped and formed into the delicate bird—unusual and eerie, an understatement for sure. She had distanced herself from her Aztec roots, determined to make her way in a modern world, but her tattoo reminded her that she could never sever the connection completely. And this case seemed to be making the same point in a more frightening and horrific way.
“Looks like we may have a serial killer on our hands.” Although, as she said the words, deep down she sensed something far more sinister at work.
Without thought, she squeezed her arm. The tattoo radiated heat. She winced at the pain.
Boyle eyed her with acute perception. “Something wrong?”
“No. Just need some fresh air.” Ixa jammed her hands into the pockets of her slacks and exited the cavernous building.
The warehouse sat in an industrial park located between the San Diego Freeway and the Cesar E. Chavez Parkway. She’d have to check ownership of the property when she got back to the office. Slowly, she turned, taking in the dirty white exterior of the building, worn from years of salt air and erosion. From the description given by the patrolman, she knew three similarly shaped buildings occupied the property. A search of the other buildings had turned up nothing, not even cargo in the warehouse holds. Had the killer known these buildings were empty or had he simply gotten lucky?
The nightmare swam before her. She saw the knife plunge downward and winced, willing the image away.
She inhaled deeply, needing to banish the smell of death that coated her nose, throat, and tongue. A combination of sea and fumes laced the misty morning air…and another odor, an incongruent smell. She inhaled again.
Memories of her abuelo and his Aztec stories came to mind. The scent was familiar. Incense.
She sniffed delicately, intent on tracking it, when an eagle cried overhead. She glanced skyward, searching for the bird, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of the bird of prey. “Aren’t you far from home, big guy?” She spoke softly, mesmerized by the beauty of the eagle.
Shaking off her fascination, she rounded the building and pulled up short. A second warehouse paralleled the first one, and up on the west corner of the building, the eagle came in for a landing. She could have sworn the wings should be brown, but this eagle’s wings seemed spun of gold. The bird cocked its head as if looking directly at her.
The bird screeched again. The magnificent eagle tugged at her, made her want to forget her responsibilities and simply fly up to the heavens. Ixa blew out a breath and dragged her gaze back to the ground, back to reality and to a killer who seemed fixated on women with hummingbird tattoos.
She shivered despite the heat generating from the hummingbird mark she bore.
Chain-link fence surrounded the property, which meant there was only one way in and out unless the killer scaled the fence. But then there was no way to drag a victim over a ten-foot-tall fence with barbed wire at the top. So how did they get in? She followed the pavement that led to the back of the warehouse, aware of the tiny weeds sprouting up in cracks and the numerous tread marks smudging up the cement from trucks bearing heavy loads.
The eagle let out a screech, spread its mighty wings and took flight, leaving her alone in the tight alleyway, with only dumpsters taking up space. She paused, letting her senses attune themselves to the environment. This part of the lot couldn’t be seen from the front entrance. Ixa halted and swept her gaze over the area. Why had the killer chosen this location? What connection did he have to it?
The shadow of the eagle passed over the ground. She spotted rust-colored droplets near her foot. They looked like blood.
Ixa pulled out her cell phone and punched in her partner’s number. Static greeted her. “Come on, I need Boyle and Forensics out here,” she muttered as she swept the area with her eyes, aware of the bird circling above.
Frowning, she cut the connection and tried again. Same result. “Piece-of-shit technology.” She jammed the phone into her pocket.
The whisper of the wind warned her first. The hummingbird on her skin burned fiercely and pulled to get free. Pain stabbed her bicep. She gritted her teeth, determined to stay focused. Her senses heightened and she became aware that she no longer stood alone. She unholstered her weapon and gripped it, comfortable with the familiar weight in her hand.
Ixa spun around, her weapon braced in front of her. “Police. Put your hands up.”
From between the dumpsters, a man slowly emerged, his head covered by the hood of a tattered sweatshirt. He seemed at one with the shadows, and when he faced her, she’d swear serpent eyes glowed from underneath the hood.
“Keep your hands where I can see them. Take two steps forward. Do it now!”
He stepped forward and the sunlight hit him full on the face, causing Ixa to gasp in recognition. At one time, the face would have been considered moderately good-looking, but with half the skin peeled back from his brow to his jaw, he was every child’s nightmare come to life.
“Salvatore Galante. There’s no way you can be out. I locked you up for life.” Half man, half skeleton, he looked like the walking dead. What the hell had happened to him?
“So nice to see you again, Ixa.” When he said her name, a chill ran up her spine. Memories from the past blew through her mind in a flurry of images. A man twenty years younger with the same smug expression on his face, wearing the colors of his gang, aiming a gun right at her father’s heart.
Which was exactly where she was pointing her gun, except this time the tables were turned on him.
“You think your bars could hold me?” He laughed. The sinister sound echoed between the two warehouses. “Just like you, I made a pact with a god— one far more powerful than yours.”
She heard his words clearly but refused to accept his meaning. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Of course you do.” He sneered with half his face. “I know what I saw that night; a child who blew me away. Literally. That was some trick.” He put his hands in front of his face and blew out a gush of air over his fingers. “And poof, an instant hurricane.”
Ixa hated to remember, hated giving credence to his words, even though she knew exactly what he meant. She had been so frightened. She had just wanted the flames to go away, to make the bad man stop hurting her family. It was the first time she had felt her power over the wind rise, and she had no control over it. The wind should have blown out the flames but instead, it had fed the fire and made it grow bigger, hotter and higher. The screams of her sister and mother tore at her soul. She squeezed the gun, never taking her eyes off the killer in front of her.
“You’re not going to play your mind games with me. You’ve been messing with the product. Too much meth turns you into a dumb shit.” To think otherwise would drag her back into a world she wanted no part of. “Hands behind your head, pendejo! Get down on your knees. Do it, Galante.” The man was a vicious drug lord who’d left a trail of bodies behind him. She didn’t know how he’d gotten out of prison, but he was going back.
He laughed hard and harsh. “Nothing can stop me! Metztli will reign supreme and I’m going to rule this town again. But first, I’m going to take you out. Something I should have done a long time ago, when I capped your old man.”
“Don’t you mention my father. You have no right!” Deep inside, something shifted. She actually felt the instant her elemental power released and expanded. The feeling grew, pushing upward, a pressure she knew intimately but hadn’t experienced in years. Her anxiety increased tenfold. All around her the wind kicked up. Debris in the alley smacked up against their bodies.
Galante raised his hands to the wind. “Just like old times. You freaked me out then, but not now. I’ve got my own power.”
Galante rushed at her in a blur of speed before she could even get one round off. He slammed into her hard, knocking her flat on her back. Her gun flew out of her hand and skidded under the dumpster.
Ixa swung for his jaw, but he pinned her arms down, his superior strength immobilizing her. He had to be hopped up on meth. She clutched at the explanation, conveniently ignoring everything else. She twisted and heaved with all her might, trying to knock him off her, and shouted for help at the same time.
Where the hell were the other cops?
Galante stared down at her, a cruel smile on his lips. His eyes appeared flat as if his very soul had been sucked out of his body. His skeletal face pressed closer. He opened his mouth and green goo oozed down the side of his chin.
Anxiety rose and adrenaline kicked in. She couldn’t afford to panic, but she couldn’t fight her growing apprehension. He would kill her. She knew it.
Ixa feared the man on top of her, but she feared her destructive wind power more. It was unpredictable and she had no control over it. The wind swirled in the alley, creating a mini tornado.
From high above, the eagle screeched. Galante’s head whipped up. Beyond him, Ixa saw a large shape diving toward them, riding on the wind she had inadvertently summoned.
Sharp talons aimed right for the two of them.
***
With the precision of an advanced weapon, Manuel tucked his wings in at his sides and bulleted toward the pair on the ground. His eagle spirit eyed the target and let out a sharp cry, anticipating sinking its talons into the demon.
He felt the hunger consuming his spirit, the need to devour the demon. More and more with each hunt and each kill, Manuel watched his humanity slip away, his animal spirit fighting him for control. It was the price he paid for his immortality and service to his god. Manuel knew he had little time left before he succumbed to his beast. As a tribe leader, he had picked and chosen his battles, and as an eternal warrior of Huitzilopochtli, he did the same. He never took on a mission just for the hunt. He chose the ones that posed the most risk.
Like the demon below.
At the last moment, he pulled up and reversed. His talons stretched towards the evil abomination pinning the woman to the ground. The demon lifted its arm up to protect its head. Manuel never paused. He plucked the demon off the woman and launched skyward.
The demon hissed and cursed and then spewed a stream of fire.
Manuel dropped the creature, taking satisfaction in the loud thud when the demon hit the asphalt and lay in a stunned heap.
He flew up high before plunging once again towards the ground, his target always in sight.
He thought of the two dead women, each of them bearing a hummingbird tattoo. Each of them a possible spirit mate to a shadow warrior.
Shadow warriors had long given up hope of finding a woman marked with the sign of Huitzilopochtli. But Tomás, another shadow warrior, recently found Carolina, a guardian marked with the tattoo. She nearly died at the hands of a demon trying to kill the water goddess. Together Tomás and Carolina fought off the serpent god bent on destroying the Earth. For their love and bravery, the sun god made them spirit mates for all eternity. With their union, Tomás regained his humanity, never to fear losing himself to his beast.
Either of the dead women could have been a spirit mate, the one woman with the ability to save a shadow warrior from losing his humanity completely.
Manuel had arrived too late to save them. He’d failed.
The eagle didn’t care about spirit mates or Manuel’s battle to hang on to his humanity. It was hungry. The demon was a meal he intended to drag back to the netherworld and devour.
At the last second, Manuel veered to the left and landed close by, shifting to human form. Bones crunched and reshaped until he stood straight on human legs. He clothed himself in traditional Aztec dress, a white cotton loincloth embroidered with gold, as befitted his elite status; a former tribal chief. Feathers adorned his hair and hung like a mantle over his chest and back. In his hand, he carried his atlatl, a tool which enabled him to throw his spear and darts great distances.
Manuel spared a glance for the woman still on the ground. She stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth open. Even disheveled and bruised, he could not deny her beauty. Dark strands of hair whipped around her face. Almond eyes rimmed in dark lashes framed equally dark irises that seemed fathomless and full of secrets. For a moment, he forgot the demon. He stepped toward her, wanting to reach out and brush aside her hair to get a deeper look into her eyes. The eagle inside pressed outward to grab his attention, but he pushed the beast back down. Briefly, they battled for control and Manuel doubled over in pain. The eagle would not be denied its meal. His animal spirit screeched in his head, making its thoughts clear—if it could not have the demon it would satiate its hunger with the flesh of the wounded cihuatl.
Manuel stood up and raged back against his beast. “You will not touch the woman!” His primal scream made the eagle back down. It also made the cihuatl scoot back from him. Fear shone brightly in her eyes.
His angry reaction caught him by surprise. It had been centuries since he had felt human emotions. He looked at the woman on the ground, studying her with greater interest. She stirred emotions when he thought he had none left. He stepped towards her, the need to find out if she was his spirit mate driving him.
Behind him, the demon growled.
His need for the woman would have to wait. The demon was back on his feet.
Manuel let out a warrior’s cry and raced forward to battle.
Chapter Two
Ixa stared in disbelief at the powerful man looming over the scene. He looked like some kind of ancient warrior from another civilization. Hard muscles stretched over bone and sinew, every sharp angle of him chiseled perfection. A shot of desire tore right through her. Gorgeous and wild, he carried himself with an air of arrogance. But what caught her attention the most were his eyes and the way he looked at her, as if he saw through to her very soul.
Her tattoo flared, reminding her of the danger she was in.
She crab-crawled backward from both men, then flipped over and forced herself up on her feet. Where was her weapon? She had to find it fast. With a quick look over her shoulder, she experienced relief that neither man seemed to be paying attention to her. Her mind couldn’t stop thinking about the eagle becoming a man. It was right out of the stories her abuelo had told, ones she’d barely listened to because she refused to believe in gods that would destroy a child’s world and leave her to deal with the crippling guilt. Only she couldn’t deny or ignore what she was seeing. It was all too real, but she would find a way to deal with it all later. Much later. Right now she needed to get the situation under control.
She spied her gun under the dumpster and stretched out her hand for it. Her fingers closed over the cold steel and she pulled her Sig 229 out, fitting it into a two-handed grip. The two men were locked in struggle, oblivious to her.
“Freeze!”
The warrior broke free and paused at her command, but not Galante. He smashed past the feathered man and made a beeline straight for her.
“Police! Freeze!” Ixa fired, hitting the criminal high in the shoulder. He kept on coming, his steps never slowing. Ixa fired a second round straight into his stomach. The bullet blew a hole in his center but it didn’t faze him. A few feet in front of her, his neck lengthened as if he were freaking Gumby and he shot a stream of ooze out of his mouth. The shot hit her high in the chest.
The liquid burned through her windbreaker and cotton shirt. It sizzled and crackled as it melted the material. Smoke rose up. “Acid!” She stripped off her jacket, juggling her gun in the process—all the while trying to keep an eye on Galante—and then yanked her shirt off, leaving her in the Kevlar vest she’d donned before answering the earlier call. She didn’t always wear body armor under her clothes, but lately, her instincts had been riding her to be prepared. Good thing she’d listened.
Her arms remained bare, exposing her hummingbird tattoo. A bright light flared from her bicep. Her tattoo glowed brighter than the sun, slicing through the early morning mist, peeling back every single shadow.
Galante shielded his eyes and shrieked.
Even Ixa found the light blinding. She tried to keep her pistol trained on the drug lord but had to squeeze her eyes against the glare.
She heard the feathered man shout in a strange language. Forcing her eyes open, she saw he held a dart in his hand. She didn’t need to understand what he said—she clearly got the message. She immediately jumped out of the way. He flicked his wrist and the dart flew through the air, piercing between Galante’s shoulder blades. Black ooze exploded from his back.
“Metztli!” Galante shouted, and in a puff of smoke, he was gone.
“Where’d he go?” Ixa turned her head left and right, certain Galante had to be somewhere. She kept her gun up and tracked the area, expecting the drug lord to reappear at any moment. Nothing stirred. Just her and a tall, gorgeous, sweaty man with his heaving chest and bulging muscles remained.
The light from her tattoo winked out, though the mark still tingled. The warrior moved. Ixa aimed her weapon at his heart. She wasn’t taking any more chances, and instinctively she believed this man the more dangerous of the two.
“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot.” Her gun shook in her hands as if she were a damn rookie. She fought to control her emotions but they swirled inside her. If she didn’t pull it together another tornado would manifest, and that frightened her more than the half-naked man with the eagle eyes in front of her.
“Not another step,” she ordered, but he continued to stalk towards her.
She held her stance. Her finger trembled on the trigger.
He reached her. His chest pressed to the muzzle. He easily towered over her. She stared up into his golden eyes. No fear. Instead, she read another emotion in his eyes.
Desire.
She should have felt threatened, and she did, but not because she believed he meant to hurt her; it was much more fundamental than that. Her whole body seemed to come alive in his presence. Her breath shortened and she felt a flush stealing up underneath her tanned cheeks.
She lowered her gaze and let her weapon fall to her side. Keeping her fingers tightly wrapped around the grip reminded her to remain grounded. Her reaction to him was so totally unlike her.
Up close, she found herself staring at a broad chest covered with a mantle of feathers. The man was made of solid muscle. Without volition, her gaze traveled upward, noting the powerful shoulders, the hard jaw, the firm lips and the stern expression he wore.
“You’re very brave, but your gun won’t help you against the tzitzimime.”
Ixa swallowed, searching for her voice. “Who are you? What are you?”
His hand came up. Gently, he traced the image of the hummingbird tattooed on her right bicep. Her muscle quivered under his touch. “Just as I thought; you bear the mark,” he murmured.
In the distance, she heard the confused shouts of her fellow officers. “They’ll be here soon.” They would have heard the shots. They’d be searching for her.
“I distorted the sound so they check in a different area. They will not be upon us yet.”
“You can do that?” It didn’t seem possible, except she didn’t have an explanation for anything that had happened. Her brain seemed to be functioning in first gear, unable to catch up to anything that required substantial thought.
“I can do many things, you will find.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her head. His golden eyes came closer until his head blotted out the sky and everything around her. Helpless, she waited for his lips to touch hers.
His lips brushed hers, once, twice. She let out a sigh. He pressed down a third time and she leaned into him, but before she could deepen the kiss, he released her and stepped back.
Her entire body zinged with energy. She stared up at him, bemused.
He chuckled, which snapped her out of her daze. Had she lost her mind?
“Don’t ever do that again.”
He smiled an incredibly sexy smile that made her nerve endings sing with need. Before she could lash out at him again, he raised his arms up. A breeze passed around them, ruffling the feathers adorning his chest. His image wavered and bent. She heard bones cracking, reshaping. Wave after wave of feathers burst forth in a soft, rippled covering. Where a warrior once stood, now a large eagle spread its wings and gave a loud cry. The eagle flapped its wings and took to the skies.
Ixa gasped. The gods will find a way to convince you. Her abuelo’s words echoed in her mind.
Footsteps pounded the ground behind her. Ixa turned and raised her weapon.
From around the corner of the building, she heard her partner’s voice. “Ixa, you okay?”
“All clear, Boyle.” She lowered her weapon.
Boyle turned the corner of the building, weapon in hand, his eyes scanning the area. Two patrol officers backed him up, their guns out and ready. “We heard gunshots. Could’ve sworn they came from the other side of the lot.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, what happened?”
“There were two suspects here.”
Boyle looked back and forth. The alley was clear. “We didn’t see anyone running away. Did they climb the fence? We might get some evidence if they did.”
Ixa bit her lip. How could she explain any of this? “I really didn’t see which way they went.” Even to her ears, it sounded lame, and she wasn’t surprised at Boyle’s odd expression.
She focused on the spent casing on the ground instead. It only proved she’d shot at something, not that anyone had been here, but for her, it was enough. What she’d seen had been real. “They were here,” she insisted quietly. “Two of them.”
Boyle holstered his weapon and strode over to Ixa, his expression grim. He stooped down and picked up her cotton shirt. His finger poked through the hole in the material. She remembered that she only had her Kevlar vest on over a plain white cotton bra. One of the cops smirked. She glared at him until he coughed and switched his gaze to the ground.
“You two search the area,” Boyle ordered the pair.
She sighed in relief. Alone with her partner, she could let her guard down. “You believe me, don’t you?” He stared at the ragged hole in her police-issue vest.
He nodded. Then he caught sight of her arm. Instinctively she covered the tattoo with her hand.
“Did you get a good look at the perps?”
“Yes.” She held back the dread that ran up her spine. “One was Galante. He wants revenge and I don’t think he’s going to give up until I’m dead.”
***
“Galante had to be stoned. He must’ve gotten hooked on the merchandise. It’s the only explanation,” Ixa argued as she tossed her pencil onto her desk in disgust. As much as she wanted to pretend Galante was flying high on chemicals, her mind knew what she’d seen and it was nothing man could make.
“What the hell is Metztli?” Ixa looked at Boyle. “You ever hear this word?”
“Probably some new shit on the market. Could be anything. Got so many drugs coming in over the border, who the hell knows?” He shrugged his rounded shoulders and gave her a sympathetic look. “You said you shot him. Word has gone out to all hospitals and clinics. If he goes for medical attention, we’re on him.” The lenses of Boyle’s glasses glinted from the overhead fluorescent lighting.
Ixa doubted Galante would hit a hospital. With his connections, he’d find a way to be treated that didn’t require paperwork. Mierda! The man had looked like walking death and yet he’d attacked her with amazing speed and force. She touched her tattoo—it still felt feverish.
She’d been jumpy ever since they’d left the crime scene. Her partner had asked lots of questions and she’d had very few answers. Then the questions suddenly stopped and no one else seemed to be following up. Too weird, though she wasn’t complaining.
An officer came in and handed Boyle a fax. Ixa waited impatiently for her partner to read it.
“Galante escaped three days ago. His cellmate babbled about a humpbacked man with a dead rabbit on his face and Galante disappearing in a puff of smoke. They’ve sedated the cellmate and moved him to the Psych ward.”
Where she’d end up too if she wasn’t careful. No way could she say she’d seen an eagle that turned into a man, or a criminal with green guck coming out of his mouth. She’d be in psych evaluation in a blink of an eye. “And the pendejos only got around to notifying us today?”
“An oversight,” Boyle said as he perused the sheet.
Damn, she hated that her partner could be so rational. She shoved back her chair on its rollers and stood, needing to release the restless energy inside. “Let’s just focus on the case. The first murder occurred twenty-four hours before the second. Does that mean we will have another victim in twenty-four hours?”
“Best the medical examiner can guess, the death happened around six o’clock this morning. So that gives us less than twenty-four hours,” Boyle interjected.
“All right. What about the ritualistic aspect?” Ixa paced behind her chair.
“Everything about the case so far points to an Aztec connection.”
“How so?” Boyle looked to her for clarification. “Why not Mayan? All the nut jobs are coming out of the woodwork, still spouting the hype that swirled around the Winter Solstice 2012 prophecy.”
“I won’t dismiss it, but Salvatore Galante was once a boss for the Barrio Aztecas. He is deep into his Mexican-Aztec roots. And something about these murders reminds me of stories from my childhood. The victims had their hearts torn out with a knife. Sacrifice was something the Aztec people did to appease a god, whether it was to bring rain or have good crops—not unlike the Mayans. It seems ludicrous in this day and age, but we can’t rule it out.” The modern woman in her, the rational detective, wanted to reject the conclusion. The vision flashed again of the man in the mask, the knife sinking into the woman’s flesh. She rubbed her temple, wanting to erase the scene. But instead, her mind turned to the man with the mesmerizing eagle eyes.
“Ixa, you okay?”
She dropped her hand. The vision disappeared and with it the image of her handsome rescuer. She turned and smiled at Boyle. “I’m fine. It’s just the case getting to me.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Is the case hitting a little too close to home?”
“Yeah. It just feels like I have spent my whole life chasing this man. I thought when we put him away for life that he would rot behind bars. And now Galante’s back out on the street killing innocent people again. I feel like I failed my father.”
Boyle put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you can’t let this bastard into your head. Your dad was one of our best cops. Galante got the drop on him. He’s pure evil. You were just a kid—you couldn’t have stopped him.” He turned Ixa and made her look at him. “We got him once and we’re going to do it again.”
Dread spread through her gut. “Sure.”
“You don’t sound so convinced.”
Ixa didn’t know what to say to Boyle. Two years ago, when she had wrapped up an airtight case and sent Galante away on a one-way ticket to jail, he had been an ordinary murdering thug. Now he was a thug hopped up on ancient Aztec god juice.
In her experience, people, especially cops, had a hard time accepting the supernatural. Even she had a hard time accepting her own freakish abilities. Ixa had learned to stick to the book, play by the rules and do her job. At least here in the real world, she had some control.
Control that had become very shaky since the events of the morning.
She picked up a file folder containing interviews the patrol officers had collected from the area. It was pretty thin. With no witnesses and few leads, the case was going nowhere fast. How was Galante linked to these ritualistic killings and why? “Has NCIC yielded any hits?”
“It’s run by the feds. Who knows when the database will kick anything back to us? Look, if we’re lucky, we’ll hear back soon. Right now, let’s focus on putting Galante behind bars.” His desk phone rang and he picked it up.
Ixa watched her partner’s face. His brow creased into furrowed lines. His mouth pressed into a tight-lipped grimace. He hung up and cleared his throat. “Ixa, grab your stuff and hop to it.”
“What’s going on? Do they have a lead?”
“Uh, no.” He shook his head. “That was Sergeant Cisco. He said the lieutenant wants to see us.”
Her stomach churned. “What for?”
“FBI walked in the building.” Boyle glanced at his watch and hurriedly stood. “Need to be in on the meeting in five minutes.” He grabbed a legal pad and a pen off his desk, frowning as he did so. Apparently, he wasn’t any keener about getting up close and personal with the Feds than she was.
Her tattoo tingled. She didn’t like the sensation. Nothing good ever came of it. They headed down the corridor for the elevator that would take them upstairs to the conference room. Sergeant Cisco with his long legs and deep scowl strode up beside them. He gave them a gruff greeting. A few detectives glanced their way, but a scowl from the Sergeant sent them scurrying back to work.
The conference room was nothing more than a rectangular box with windows on two sides. A long brown table covered with scratches and marks dominated the space, surrounded by chairs of worn black vinyl. Ixa flopped down into one and drummed her fingers against the tabletop. Boyle took a seat beside her, while the Sergeant settled himself on the opposite side. Sweat on Cisco’s face told her that things were about to get a lot hotter.
A throat cleared. Ixa glanced to her left and shot out of her chair. “You!”
***
Ixa Reyes. Manuel rolled the name over his tongue, savoring the sound. She amused him, standing before him like a bird with all her feathers ruffled. He studied the emotion. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been amused. The eagle in him lived for the hunt. With each demon kill, his humanity had been pushed aside, his emotions slowly seeping away. He had held on for so long, fighting the beast within him. The push and pull of wills was a painful battle within his body. Seeing Ixa and feeling her energy flow over him made the fight and the long wait worth it. This woman made him feel his humanity once again, and he rejoiced. After all these years, he had found her. His spirit mate. Manuel wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. Ever since he’d touched her and felt the connection, he had been consumed by thoughts of her.
“I don’t know who you are, but I want an explanation, mister,” she squawked, her eyes flashing sparks.
“Oh, good, you are all here.” Lieutenant Carson closed the door behind him. “Team, this is Special Agent Manuel Del Sol from the FBI field office. He’s going to be heading up this investigation.”
“Now, wait one minute, Lieutenant,” Ixa interrupted.
Carson held up a hand, halting the flow of her speech. “You know the drill. This case ties into other murders across the United States. I want you to cooperate fully with the FBI.”
Before he could say more, his cell phone rang. The lieutenant fumbled with his cell phone and finally managed to answer it. A crease marred his forehead. “The Commissioner? All right, put him through.” Carson’s voice sounded resigned.
Manuel continued to stand, as did Ixa. She glowered at him and her entire body vibrated with tension. He resisted the urge to smile.
Until recently, the talk of spirit mates had been thought to be a myth put out to keep the shadow warriors going. They all understood they would eventually succumb to the spirit of their beast. Huitzilopochtli had spoken to them one day about a vision in which he saw each warrior matched with a spirit mate, a woman who would give him the strength to control his animal spirit. For a while all warriors had hope, but over time when no such mate was found, the hope faded away.
Then Tomás had found his spirit mate. News had traveled fast amongst the warriors. For the first time, Manuel considered what his woman might be like. He’d envisioned someone bold, a warrior who could stand on her own. Yet reality proved so much sweeter. Ixa was as strong as he could wish, and a fighter, a woman who could stand by his side.
Here in the same room with her, he could feel her energy swirling around him, beckoning him. Earlier, he’d kissed her on impulse. She’d tasted spicy and sweet, and he’d wanted to lose himself in her. His eagle had brought him to his senses. It was too dangerous to lose himself to passion when the enemy remained loose. Reluctantly, he’d broken off the kiss. But he vowed to himself he would taste her again soon. This close and unable to touch Ixa had his body wound tight, but he was a patient man. He could wait; business first, pleasure after.
His gaze slid along her delicate, firm jaw, and then over to that luscious mouth—the memory of its taste stirred his blood. His eyes lingered on her lips. She colored as if she could read his thoughts.
Manuel recognized that he had a difficult road ahead. Ixa had to choose him willingly. So, instead of her playing on his stomping grounds, he needed to play on hers. He had been the leader of his tribe, a man of persuasion and charm. Unlike most of the other shadow warriors who chose to stay rooted to the past, Manuel had moved with the times and learned to blend into each new civilization, mastering their technology and their political, legal and belief systems. It didn’t take much for him to get people to do his will without offense. He used his power of suggestion over the weak-willed humans. For his current mission, he’d had a profile created for himself in the system to get him assigned to this case. The rest of the details his god, Huitzilopochtli, had taken care of. Sometimes working for an all-powerful Aztec god had its perks.
Ixa, on the other hand, was very strong-willed. His charm wasn’t going to be enough to cut it with her. He would have to use every trick at his disposal to woo her and capture her heart because, if he failed, his battle with his eagle would be over and he would be left flying the skies eternally alone.
Gabriella Hewitt
ISBN 978-1-936556-87-8
https://amzn.to/3ahNjuc
https://books2read.com/u/4AKoKK
Chapter One
Ixa kicked at the sheets tangling about her legs and snapped her eyes open. Unnatural humidity suffocated her. She gasped for air. Her body trembled and her gut threatened to heave. Years of being plagued by visions didn’t make them any easier to stomach.
She still tasted the desperation of the woman on the cold slab. She shook her head to dispel the nightmare. Useless. Hopeless. She couldn’t control or change the vision. She hated herself for it. Like a fly on the wall, she was a pathetic bystander. Pockets of her vision flashed in her mind. A woman’s upper arm. The tiny wings of a hummingbird fluttering, then faltering. A man in a mask of bones and tattered fur. A knife. Blood, so much blood. She couldn’t get it out of her head, rivulets of it staining everything in its path. And a beating heart held up high as triumphant laughter drowned out the screams in her head.
“No!”
Quickly, she turned on her bedside lamp. The clock read midnight. Beads of sweat trickled down her body, sticking the thin cotton T-shirt to her skin. This vision had been stronger than the last. More detailed. More frightening. She recalled vividly the cold touch of a knife on her flesh. She looked down the length of her body, relieved to see she was in one piece—no knife wounds, no blood. She was fine. The body she had dreamed of had been shorter, smaller, completely naked…and mutilated.
Despite the light in the room, Ixa felt the darkness of her vision creeping along the edge of her mind.
Her door opened and her grandfather stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“I heard you cry out,” he said as he hobbled into the room.
Ixa willed her heart rate under control. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“You are never a bother, mi brisita.” When he’d first started calling her his little breeze as a child, she’d embraced the nickname. Now it only dredged up memories better left buried, but no matter how many times she asked her abuelo to stop, he’d apologize and say he’d forgotten himself. And maybe he had, she thought, as he sat down gingerly on the bed, using his ever-present walking stick to lower himself. At eighty-seven, he seemed frailer than ever and it worried her.
“Did you have another dream?” he asked and ran a tender hand over her head. As a grown woman of thirty, the babying should have seemed odd, but ever since her parents’ deaths when she was a little girl, her abuelo had been the one watching out for her, doting on her like a mother hen over its chick. Now the roles were reversed, though he’d deny it. She worried too much about him to leave him on his own. They had only each other, so instead of getting a place of her own, she chose to stay and watch over him.
“You mean another nightmare?” She sighed and forced down the bitterness she felt. “Yes. I saw another woman sacrificed. This makes two.” Her fingers dug into her sheets as if to tie her to reality. “Why does this keep happening to me?”
Her abuelo covered her hand with his. “Look at me, niña. You have been given the gift of Sight. The gods have chosen you for some purpose.”
“Abuelo, I am not a child. Ancient Aztec gods aren’t real. And even if they were, my visions are not a gift. They are more like a curse. If the gods are as powerful as you say, why didn’t they save Xena and my parents?” Years later and she still couldn’t drown out the screams of her parents or of her little sister. She remembered clearly the night Galante shot her father in cold blood and his laughter as he lit the match that consumed her sister and mother. All the while, she’d prayed for gods that never came.
Ruthlessly, Ixa closed the door on her memories. She’d clawed her way out of the past. She’d made a place for herself in the present.
“It is not our place to question the gods.”
“Abuelo, I called upon them for help. I didn’t abandon them—they abandoned me. Besides, I got Galante using old-fashioned detective work. He can’t hurt me or anyone else anymore.” She’d vowed over the ashes of her family that she’d see Galante pay. He’d been sentenced to life, and as good as it felt to have scum like him put behind bars, it didn’t bring her parents or little sister back.
Abuelo patted her leg. “Your father would be proud. You are a good police officer, just like him. But he believed in the gods and he would want you to believe too.”
Disappointment and sorrow clouded his features. She steeled herself against the need to comfort him, to take back what she’d said. She would not buy into her abuelo’s myths and legends. Doing so would take her down a path she refused to travel. She’d lost everything she held dear because of so-called gifts she’d never asked for, nor wanted. If she didn’t acknowledge them, they couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. She had to keep her abuelo safe. He was all she had left. So now she kept her feet planted firmly in the modern world. As a police detective, she dealt in facts and reality, and despite her abuelo’s attempts and her latest visions, she would not be sucked up into a world of Aztec gods, demons, and warriors. She’d built a life for herself, brick by brick, and it kept her sane and her abuelo alive.
“You cannot continue to deny your path,” he insisted.
“The only path I have is that of a cop. We’ve been over this, Abuelo. I can’t be what you expect. You have to accept that.”
He shook his head, his expression sad. She hated seeing him that way, but it was the only way she could move forward in life.
“I understand that you are afraid of your gifts. Eventually, you will have to conquer your fears and accept yourself as you are. If I can’t make you believe, the gods will find a way to convince you.”
Again with the gods. She bit back the retort on her lips. “It’s late, Abuelo.
You need to get some sleep.”
“So must you, mi brisita. We will talk of this matter again soon.” His tone brooked no argument.
Ixa sighed and nodded. She watched him leave, wishing she could give him what he wanted, but she didn’t dare. She lay back against her headboard, unwilling to turn off the light and call up another nightmare. The minutes ticked into hours and she tried to go back to sleep, but the images were too fresh in her head.
Dawn had already broken over the horizon when her cell phone rang, setting her heart racing. She eyed it warily, knowing she should pick it up, yet loath to do so. Finally, she reached out and snatched it off the bedstand. “Hello.”
“Ixa, we’ve got another one,” her partner’s voice came over the line. “It’s bad. I swear it looks like a blood sacrifice.”
Blood, so much blood.
***
She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to erase the image. “I’m on my way, Boyle.” She didn’t know how to deal with myths and legends, but she knew very well how to track a killer.
She’d seen death before. Vile and savage. This one was no different. The young woman lay strapped to a metal slab inside a vacant warehouse, miles from where anyone could have heard her scream. Her lifeless eyes held the horror of her last moments. Blood congealed on her body and smeared over the table and floor. A large, ragged hole in her chest obscenely proclaimed where a madman had ripped out her heart.
It was the Latina from her vision. “Mierda.” Shit was definitely the word.
The shock should have hit Ixa like a punch to the gut, only it didn’t. This vision was her second. The last had come true and now this one had too. Some gift, she thought bitterly. This was a present she wished she could return. What good were visions when she couldn’t stop the violence before it happened?
She shook off the thought and peered closer at the wound. Her badge with her identification, Detective Ixa Reyes, Homicide, hung loosely around her neck. She carefully tucked it back into her jacket. Her partner, Detective Frank Boyle, returned with his notepad in hand.
“Second one in the city and again there are no witnesses. Just another anonymous tip called into the precinct. I swear someone is playing a game with us.” Boyle scrubbed his hand over tired eyes. A veteran of twenty years, he had seen and done it all, yet he treated Ixa as an equal. They made an odd team, but they’d developed a smooth working relationship, and they treated one another with respect. The only differences between them came down to their looks. Frank Boyle stood six feet tall, two hundred and forty pounds with thinning blond hair wisped around his pudgy face, and weary blue-gray eyes masked by thick glasses two sizes too large. She could have been his teenage daughter, petite, with a tan, rounded moon face and full lips accompanied by a mass of straight black hair that hit below her shoulders, currently tied back in a no-nonsense braid.
Sometimes her Mexican-American looks worked in her favor—like the time she had to deal with the locals to track down a powerful drug lord who had been terrorizing the neighborhood. She had caught him and put him behind bars, but it had sealed her as a traitor to her own people. In the eyes of her colleagues, she had earned respect. Even so, every day felt like she had to constantly prove her worth among the boys. She straddled both worlds, yet belonged fully to neither.
Ixa had learned a long time ago to suppress her heritage and assimilate. It was best to play by the rules, follow the book and never deviate from protocol. Anything less only ended up in heartbreak, which was why she pushed aside the fresh image of her nightmare vision and focused back on the case.
“What time did the call come in?”
Boyle checked his notes. “Six in the morning.”
She nodded. “Sunrise. Same as the last victim. So how’d you arrive on the scene so fast?”
For the first time, her partner looked a little sheepish. He sighed. “Dana and the kids are away. Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get in early and go over everything we got on this case. I was on my way when the call came in.” He glanced down at the body and his lips tightened. “Saw right away we had another one on our hands and called you.”
Boyle drew her attention to a knife wound. “This victim has a hummingbird tattoo on her upper arm, similar to the last woman.”
Ixa really didn’t need to look. The dainty painted hummingbird tattoo was seared into the backs of her eyelids. Unconsciously, she stroked her hand over her sleeve. Below the fabric, she could feel her own hummingbird tattoo tingling. The sensation grew hotter, burning her bicep. She didn’t know the woman, yet they all sported the same tattoo.
Ixa bit her bottom lip. Her hummingbird tattoo had always been a part of her. Always. As a child, it had been a strawberry mark. Over time it had shaped and formed into the delicate bird—unusual and eerie, an understatement for sure. She had distanced herself from her Aztec roots, determined to make her way in a modern world, but her tattoo reminded her that she could never sever the connection completely. And this case seemed to be making the same point in a more frightening and horrific way.
“Looks like we may have a serial killer on our hands.” Although, as she said the words, deep down she sensed something far more sinister at work.
Without thought, she squeezed her arm. The tattoo radiated heat. She winced at the pain.
Boyle eyed her with acute perception. “Something wrong?”
“No. Just need some fresh air.” Ixa jammed her hands into the pockets of her slacks and exited the cavernous building.
The warehouse sat in an industrial park located between the San Diego Freeway and the Cesar E. Chavez Parkway. She’d have to check ownership of the property when she got back to the office. Slowly, she turned, taking in the dirty white exterior of the building, worn from years of salt air and erosion. From the description given by the patrolman, she knew three similarly shaped buildings occupied the property. A search of the other buildings had turned up nothing, not even cargo in the warehouse holds. Had the killer known these buildings were empty or had he simply gotten lucky?
The nightmare swam before her. She saw the knife plunge downward and winced, willing the image away.
She inhaled deeply, needing to banish the smell of death that coated her nose, throat, and tongue. A combination of sea and fumes laced the misty morning air…and another odor, an incongruent smell. She inhaled again.
Memories of her abuelo and his Aztec stories came to mind. The scent was familiar. Incense.
She sniffed delicately, intent on tracking it, when an eagle cried overhead. She glanced skyward, searching for the bird, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of the bird of prey. “Aren’t you far from home, big guy?” She spoke softly, mesmerized by the beauty of the eagle.
Shaking off her fascination, she rounded the building and pulled up short. A second warehouse paralleled the first one, and up on the west corner of the building, the eagle came in for a landing. She could have sworn the wings should be brown, but this eagle’s wings seemed spun of gold. The bird cocked its head as if looking directly at her.
The bird screeched again. The magnificent eagle tugged at her, made her want to forget her responsibilities and simply fly up to the heavens. Ixa blew out a breath and dragged her gaze back to the ground, back to reality and to a killer who seemed fixated on women with hummingbird tattoos.
She shivered despite the heat generating from the hummingbird mark she bore.
Chain-link fence surrounded the property, which meant there was only one way in and out unless the killer scaled the fence. But then there was no way to drag a victim over a ten-foot-tall fence with barbed wire at the top. So how did they get in? She followed the pavement that led to the back of the warehouse, aware of the tiny weeds sprouting up in cracks and the numerous tread marks smudging up the cement from trucks bearing heavy loads.
The eagle let out a screech, spread its mighty wings and took flight, leaving her alone in the tight alleyway, with only dumpsters taking up space. She paused, letting her senses attune themselves to the environment. This part of the lot couldn’t be seen from the front entrance. Ixa halted and swept her gaze over the area. Why had the killer chosen this location? What connection did he have to it?
The shadow of the eagle passed over the ground. She spotted rust-colored droplets near her foot. They looked like blood.
Ixa pulled out her cell phone and punched in her partner’s number. Static greeted her. “Come on, I need Boyle and Forensics out here,” she muttered as she swept the area with her eyes, aware of the bird circling above.
Frowning, she cut the connection and tried again. Same result. “Piece-of-shit technology.” She jammed the phone into her pocket.
The whisper of the wind warned her first. The hummingbird on her skin burned fiercely and pulled to get free. Pain stabbed her bicep. She gritted her teeth, determined to stay focused. Her senses heightened and she became aware that she no longer stood alone. She unholstered her weapon and gripped it, comfortable with the familiar weight in her hand.
Ixa spun around, her weapon braced in front of her. “Police. Put your hands up.”
From between the dumpsters, a man slowly emerged, his head covered by the hood of a tattered sweatshirt. He seemed at one with the shadows, and when he faced her, she’d swear serpent eyes glowed from underneath the hood.
“Keep your hands where I can see them. Take two steps forward. Do it now!”
He stepped forward and the sunlight hit him full on the face, causing Ixa to gasp in recognition. At one time, the face would have been considered moderately good-looking, but with half the skin peeled back from his brow to his jaw, he was every child’s nightmare come to life.
“Salvatore Galante. There’s no way you can be out. I locked you up for life.” Half man, half skeleton, he looked like the walking dead. What the hell had happened to him?
“So nice to see you again, Ixa.” When he said her name, a chill ran up her spine. Memories from the past blew through her mind in a flurry of images. A man twenty years younger with the same smug expression on his face, wearing the colors of his gang, aiming a gun right at her father’s heart.
Which was exactly where she was pointing her gun, except this time the tables were turned on him.
“You think your bars could hold me?” He laughed. The sinister sound echoed between the two warehouses. “Just like you, I made a pact with a god— one far more powerful than yours.”
She heard his words clearly but refused to accept his meaning. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Of course you do.” He sneered with half his face. “I know what I saw that night; a child who blew me away. Literally. That was some trick.” He put his hands in front of his face and blew out a gush of air over his fingers. “And poof, an instant hurricane.”
Ixa hated to remember, hated giving credence to his words, even though she knew exactly what he meant. She had been so frightened. She had just wanted the flames to go away, to make the bad man stop hurting her family. It was the first time she had felt her power over the wind rise, and she had no control over it. The wind should have blown out the flames but instead, it had fed the fire and made it grow bigger, hotter and higher. The screams of her sister and mother tore at her soul. She squeezed the gun, never taking her eyes off the killer in front of her.
“You’re not going to play your mind games with me. You’ve been messing with the product. Too much meth turns you into a dumb shit.” To think otherwise would drag her back into a world she wanted no part of. “Hands behind your head, pendejo! Get down on your knees. Do it, Galante.” The man was a vicious drug lord who’d left a trail of bodies behind him. She didn’t know how he’d gotten out of prison, but he was going back.
He laughed hard and harsh. “Nothing can stop me! Metztli will reign supreme and I’m going to rule this town again. But first, I’m going to take you out. Something I should have done a long time ago, when I capped your old man.”
“Don’t you mention my father. You have no right!” Deep inside, something shifted. She actually felt the instant her elemental power released and expanded. The feeling grew, pushing upward, a pressure she knew intimately but hadn’t experienced in years. Her anxiety increased tenfold. All around her the wind kicked up. Debris in the alley smacked up against their bodies.
Galante raised his hands to the wind. “Just like old times. You freaked me out then, but not now. I’ve got my own power.”
Galante rushed at her in a blur of speed before she could even get one round off. He slammed into her hard, knocking her flat on her back. Her gun flew out of her hand and skidded under the dumpster.
Ixa swung for his jaw, but he pinned her arms down, his superior strength immobilizing her. He had to be hopped up on meth. She clutched at the explanation, conveniently ignoring everything else. She twisted and heaved with all her might, trying to knock him off her, and shouted for help at the same time.
Where the hell were the other cops?
Galante stared down at her, a cruel smile on his lips. His eyes appeared flat as if his very soul had been sucked out of his body. His skeletal face pressed closer. He opened his mouth and green goo oozed down the side of his chin.
Anxiety rose and adrenaline kicked in. She couldn’t afford to panic, but she couldn’t fight her growing apprehension. He would kill her. She knew it.
Ixa feared the man on top of her, but she feared her destructive wind power more. It was unpredictable and she had no control over it. The wind swirled in the alley, creating a mini tornado.
From high above, the eagle screeched. Galante’s head whipped up. Beyond him, Ixa saw a large shape diving toward them, riding on the wind she had inadvertently summoned.
Sharp talons aimed right for the two of them.
***
With the precision of an advanced weapon, Manuel tucked his wings in at his sides and bulleted toward the pair on the ground. His eagle spirit eyed the target and let out a sharp cry, anticipating sinking its talons into the demon.
He felt the hunger consuming his spirit, the need to devour the demon. More and more with each hunt and each kill, Manuel watched his humanity slip away, his animal spirit fighting him for control. It was the price he paid for his immortality and service to his god. Manuel knew he had little time left before he succumbed to his beast. As a tribe leader, he had picked and chosen his battles, and as an eternal warrior of Huitzilopochtli, he did the same. He never took on a mission just for the hunt. He chose the ones that posed the most risk.
Like the demon below.
At the last moment, he pulled up and reversed. His talons stretched towards the evil abomination pinning the woman to the ground. The demon lifted its arm up to protect its head. Manuel never paused. He plucked the demon off the woman and launched skyward.
The demon hissed and cursed and then spewed a stream of fire.
Manuel dropped the creature, taking satisfaction in the loud thud when the demon hit the asphalt and lay in a stunned heap.
He flew up high before plunging once again towards the ground, his target always in sight.
He thought of the two dead women, each of them bearing a hummingbird tattoo. Each of them a possible spirit mate to a shadow warrior.
Shadow warriors had long given up hope of finding a woman marked with the sign of Huitzilopochtli. But Tomás, another shadow warrior, recently found Carolina, a guardian marked with the tattoo. She nearly died at the hands of a demon trying to kill the water goddess. Together Tomás and Carolina fought off the serpent god bent on destroying the Earth. For their love and bravery, the sun god made them spirit mates for all eternity. With their union, Tomás regained his humanity, never to fear losing himself to his beast.
Either of the dead women could have been a spirit mate, the one woman with the ability to save a shadow warrior from losing his humanity completely.
Manuel had arrived too late to save them. He’d failed.
The eagle didn’t care about spirit mates or Manuel’s battle to hang on to his humanity. It was hungry. The demon was a meal he intended to drag back to the netherworld and devour.
At the last second, Manuel veered to the left and landed close by, shifting to human form. Bones crunched and reshaped until he stood straight on human legs. He clothed himself in traditional Aztec dress, a white cotton loincloth embroidered with gold, as befitted his elite status; a former tribal chief. Feathers adorned his hair and hung like a mantle over his chest and back. In his hand, he carried his atlatl, a tool which enabled him to throw his spear and darts great distances.
Manuel spared a glance for the woman still on the ground. She stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth open. Even disheveled and bruised, he could not deny her beauty. Dark strands of hair whipped around her face. Almond eyes rimmed in dark lashes framed equally dark irises that seemed fathomless and full of secrets. For a moment, he forgot the demon. He stepped toward her, wanting to reach out and brush aside her hair to get a deeper look into her eyes. The eagle inside pressed outward to grab his attention, but he pushed the beast back down. Briefly, they battled for control and Manuel doubled over in pain. The eagle would not be denied its meal. His animal spirit screeched in his head, making its thoughts clear—if it could not have the demon it would satiate its hunger with the flesh of the wounded cihuatl.
Manuel stood up and raged back against his beast. “You will not touch the woman!” His primal scream made the eagle back down. It also made the cihuatl scoot back from him. Fear shone brightly in her eyes.
His angry reaction caught him by surprise. It had been centuries since he had felt human emotions. He looked at the woman on the ground, studying her with greater interest. She stirred emotions when he thought he had none left. He stepped towards her, the need to find out if she was his spirit mate driving him.
Behind him, the demon growled.
His need for the woman would have to wait. The demon was back on his feet.
Manuel let out a warrior’s cry and raced forward to battle.
Chapter Two
Ixa stared in disbelief at the powerful man looming over the scene. He looked like some kind of ancient warrior from another civilization. Hard muscles stretched over bone and sinew, every sharp angle of him chiseled perfection. A shot of desire tore right through her. Gorgeous and wild, he carried himself with an air of arrogance. But what caught her attention the most were his eyes and the way he looked at her, as if he saw through to her very soul.
Her tattoo flared, reminding her of the danger she was in.
She crab-crawled backward from both men, then flipped over and forced herself up on her feet. Where was her weapon? She had to find it fast. With a quick look over her shoulder, she experienced relief that neither man seemed to be paying attention to her. Her mind couldn’t stop thinking about the eagle becoming a man. It was right out of the stories her abuelo had told, ones she’d barely listened to because she refused to believe in gods that would destroy a child’s world and leave her to deal with the crippling guilt. Only she couldn’t deny or ignore what she was seeing. It was all too real, but she would find a way to deal with it all later. Much later. Right now she needed to get the situation under control.
She spied her gun under the dumpster and stretched out her hand for it. Her fingers closed over the cold steel and she pulled her Sig 229 out, fitting it into a two-handed grip. The two men were locked in struggle, oblivious to her.
“Freeze!”
The warrior broke free and paused at her command, but not Galante. He smashed past the feathered man and made a beeline straight for her.
“Police! Freeze!” Ixa fired, hitting the criminal high in the shoulder. He kept on coming, his steps never slowing. Ixa fired a second round straight into his stomach. The bullet blew a hole in his center but it didn’t faze him. A few feet in front of her, his neck lengthened as if he were freaking Gumby and he shot a stream of ooze out of his mouth. The shot hit her high in the chest.
The liquid burned through her windbreaker and cotton shirt. It sizzled and crackled as it melted the material. Smoke rose up. “Acid!” She stripped off her jacket, juggling her gun in the process—all the while trying to keep an eye on Galante—and then yanked her shirt off, leaving her in the Kevlar vest she’d donned before answering the earlier call. She didn’t always wear body armor under her clothes, but lately, her instincts had been riding her to be prepared. Good thing she’d listened.
Her arms remained bare, exposing her hummingbird tattoo. A bright light flared from her bicep. Her tattoo glowed brighter than the sun, slicing through the early morning mist, peeling back every single shadow.
Galante shielded his eyes and shrieked.
Even Ixa found the light blinding. She tried to keep her pistol trained on the drug lord but had to squeeze her eyes against the glare.
She heard the feathered man shout in a strange language. Forcing her eyes open, she saw he held a dart in his hand. She didn’t need to understand what he said—she clearly got the message. She immediately jumped out of the way. He flicked his wrist and the dart flew through the air, piercing between Galante’s shoulder blades. Black ooze exploded from his back.
“Metztli!” Galante shouted, and in a puff of smoke, he was gone.
“Where’d he go?” Ixa turned her head left and right, certain Galante had to be somewhere. She kept her gun up and tracked the area, expecting the drug lord to reappear at any moment. Nothing stirred. Just her and a tall, gorgeous, sweaty man with his heaving chest and bulging muscles remained.
The light from her tattoo winked out, though the mark still tingled. The warrior moved. Ixa aimed her weapon at his heart. She wasn’t taking any more chances, and instinctively she believed this man the more dangerous of the two.
“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot.” Her gun shook in her hands as if she were a damn rookie. She fought to control her emotions but they swirled inside her. If she didn’t pull it together another tornado would manifest, and that frightened her more than the half-naked man with the eagle eyes in front of her.
“Not another step,” she ordered, but he continued to stalk towards her.
She held her stance. Her finger trembled on the trigger.
He reached her. His chest pressed to the muzzle. He easily towered over her. She stared up into his golden eyes. No fear. Instead, she read another emotion in his eyes.
Desire.
She should have felt threatened, and she did, but not because she believed he meant to hurt her; it was much more fundamental than that. Her whole body seemed to come alive in his presence. Her breath shortened and she felt a flush stealing up underneath her tanned cheeks.
She lowered her gaze and let her weapon fall to her side. Keeping her fingers tightly wrapped around the grip reminded her to remain grounded. Her reaction to him was so totally unlike her.
Up close, she found herself staring at a broad chest covered with a mantle of feathers. The man was made of solid muscle. Without volition, her gaze traveled upward, noting the powerful shoulders, the hard jaw, the firm lips and the stern expression he wore.
“You’re very brave, but your gun won’t help you against the tzitzimime.”
Ixa swallowed, searching for her voice. “Who are you? What are you?”
His hand came up. Gently, he traced the image of the hummingbird tattooed on her right bicep. Her muscle quivered under his touch. “Just as I thought; you bear the mark,” he murmured.
In the distance, she heard the confused shouts of her fellow officers. “They’ll be here soon.” They would have heard the shots. They’d be searching for her.
“I distorted the sound so they check in a different area. They will not be upon us yet.”
“You can do that?” It didn’t seem possible, except she didn’t have an explanation for anything that had happened. Her brain seemed to be functioning in first gear, unable to catch up to anything that required substantial thought.
“I can do many things, you will find.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her head. His golden eyes came closer until his head blotted out the sky and everything around her. Helpless, she waited for his lips to touch hers.
His lips brushed hers, once, twice. She let out a sigh. He pressed down a third time and she leaned into him, but before she could deepen the kiss, he released her and stepped back.
Her entire body zinged with energy. She stared up at him, bemused.
He chuckled, which snapped her out of her daze. Had she lost her mind?
“Don’t ever do that again.”
He smiled an incredibly sexy smile that made her nerve endings sing with need. Before she could lash out at him again, he raised his arms up. A breeze passed around them, ruffling the feathers adorning his chest. His image wavered and bent. She heard bones cracking, reshaping. Wave after wave of feathers burst forth in a soft, rippled covering. Where a warrior once stood, now a large eagle spread its wings and gave a loud cry. The eagle flapped its wings and took to the skies.
Ixa gasped. The gods will find a way to convince you. Her abuelo’s words echoed in her mind.
Footsteps pounded the ground behind her. Ixa turned and raised her weapon.
From around the corner of the building, she heard her partner’s voice. “Ixa, you okay?”
“All clear, Boyle.” She lowered her weapon.
Boyle turned the corner of the building, weapon in hand, his eyes scanning the area. Two patrol officers backed him up, their guns out and ready. “We heard gunshots. Could’ve sworn they came from the other side of the lot.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, what happened?”
“There were two suspects here.”
Boyle looked back and forth. The alley was clear. “We didn’t see anyone running away. Did they climb the fence? We might get some evidence if they did.”
Ixa bit her lip. How could she explain any of this? “I really didn’t see which way they went.” Even to her ears, it sounded lame, and she wasn’t surprised at Boyle’s odd expression.
She focused on the spent casing on the ground instead. It only proved she’d shot at something, not that anyone had been here, but for her, it was enough. What she’d seen had been real. “They were here,” she insisted quietly. “Two of them.”
Boyle holstered his weapon and strode over to Ixa, his expression grim. He stooped down and picked up her cotton shirt. His finger poked through the hole in the material. She remembered that she only had her Kevlar vest on over a plain white cotton bra. One of the cops smirked. She glared at him until he coughed and switched his gaze to the ground.
“You two search the area,” Boyle ordered the pair.
She sighed in relief. Alone with her partner, she could let her guard down. “You believe me, don’t you?” He stared at the ragged hole in her police-issue vest.
He nodded. Then he caught sight of her arm. Instinctively she covered the tattoo with her hand.
“Did you get a good look at the perps?”
“Yes.” She held back the dread that ran up her spine. “One was Galante. He wants revenge and I don’t think he’s going to give up until I’m dead.”
***
“Galante had to be stoned. He must’ve gotten hooked on the merchandise. It’s the only explanation,” Ixa argued as she tossed her pencil onto her desk in disgust. As much as she wanted to pretend Galante was flying high on chemicals, her mind knew what she’d seen and it was nothing man could make.
“What the hell is Metztli?” Ixa looked at Boyle. “You ever hear this word?”
“Probably some new shit on the market. Could be anything. Got so many drugs coming in over the border, who the hell knows?” He shrugged his rounded shoulders and gave her a sympathetic look. “You said you shot him. Word has gone out to all hospitals and clinics. If he goes for medical attention, we’re on him.” The lenses of Boyle’s glasses glinted from the overhead fluorescent lighting.
Ixa doubted Galante would hit a hospital. With his connections, he’d find a way to be treated that didn’t require paperwork. Mierda! The man had looked like walking death and yet he’d attacked her with amazing speed and force. She touched her tattoo—it still felt feverish.
She’d been jumpy ever since they’d left the crime scene. Her partner had asked lots of questions and she’d had very few answers. Then the questions suddenly stopped and no one else seemed to be following up. Too weird, though she wasn’t complaining.
An officer came in and handed Boyle a fax. Ixa waited impatiently for her partner to read it.
“Galante escaped three days ago. His cellmate babbled about a humpbacked man with a dead rabbit on his face and Galante disappearing in a puff of smoke. They’ve sedated the cellmate and moved him to the Psych ward.”
Where she’d end up too if she wasn’t careful. No way could she say she’d seen an eagle that turned into a man, or a criminal with green guck coming out of his mouth. She’d be in psych evaluation in a blink of an eye. “And the pendejos only got around to notifying us today?”
“An oversight,” Boyle said as he perused the sheet.
Damn, she hated that her partner could be so rational. She shoved back her chair on its rollers and stood, needing to release the restless energy inside. “Let’s just focus on the case. The first murder occurred twenty-four hours before the second. Does that mean we will have another victim in twenty-four hours?”
“Best the medical examiner can guess, the death happened around six o’clock this morning. So that gives us less than twenty-four hours,” Boyle interjected.
“All right. What about the ritualistic aspect?” Ixa paced behind her chair.
“Everything about the case so far points to an Aztec connection.”
“How so?” Boyle looked to her for clarification. “Why not Mayan? All the nut jobs are coming out of the woodwork, still spouting the hype that swirled around the Winter Solstice 2012 prophecy.”
“I won’t dismiss it, but Salvatore Galante was once a boss for the Barrio Aztecas. He is deep into his Mexican-Aztec roots. And something about these murders reminds me of stories from my childhood. The victims had their hearts torn out with a knife. Sacrifice was something the Aztec people did to appease a god, whether it was to bring rain or have good crops—not unlike the Mayans. It seems ludicrous in this day and age, but we can’t rule it out.” The modern woman in her, the rational detective, wanted to reject the conclusion. The vision flashed again of the man in the mask, the knife sinking into the woman’s flesh. She rubbed her temple, wanting to erase the scene. But instead, her mind turned to the man with the mesmerizing eagle eyes.
“Ixa, you okay?”
She dropped her hand. The vision disappeared and with it the image of her handsome rescuer. She turned and smiled at Boyle. “I’m fine. It’s just the case getting to me.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Is the case hitting a little too close to home?”
“Yeah. It just feels like I have spent my whole life chasing this man. I thought when we put him away for life that he would rot behind bars. And now Galante’s back out on the street killing innocent people again. I feel like I failed my father.”
Boyle put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you can’t let this bastard into your head. Your dad was one of our best cops. Galante got the drop on him. He’s pure evil. You were just a kid—you couldn’t have stopped him.” He turned Ixa and made her look at him. “We got him once and we’re going to do it again.”
Dread spread through her gut. “Sure.”
“You don’t sound so convinced.”
Ixa didn’t know what to say to Boyle. Two years ago, when she had wrapped up an airtight case and sent Galante away on a one-way ticket to jail, he had been an ordinary murdering thug. Now he was a thug hopped up on ancient Aztec god juice.
In her experience, people, especially cops, had a hard time accepting the supernatural. Even she had a hard time accepting her own freakish abilities. Ixa had learned to stick to the book, play by the rules and do her job. At least here in the real world, she had some control.
Control that had become very shaky since the events of the morning.
She picked up a file folder containing interviews the patrol officers had collected from the area. It was pretty thin. With no witnesses and few leads, the case was going nowhere fast. How was Galante linked to these ritualistic killings and why? “Has NCIC yielded any hits?”
“It’s run by the feds. Who knows when the database will kick anything back to us? Look, if we’re lucky, we’ll hear back soon. Right now, let’s focus on putting Galante behind bars.” His desk phone rang and he picked it up.
Ixa watched her partner’s face. His brow creased into furrowed lines. His mouth pressed into a tight-lipped grimace. He hung up and cleared his throat. “Ixa, grab your stuff and hop to it.”
“What’s going on? Do they have a lead?”
“Uh, no.” He shook his head. “That was Sergeant Cisco. He said the lieutenant wants to see us.”
Her stomach churned. “What for?”
“FBI walked in the building.” Boyle glanced at his watch and hurriedly stood. “Need to be in on the meeting in five minutes.” He grabbed a legal pad and a pen off his desk, frowning as he did so. Apparently, he wasn’t any keener about getting up close and personal with the Feds than she was.
Her tattoo tingled. She didn’t like the sensation. Nothing good ever came of it. They headed down the corridor for the elevator that would take them upstairs to the conference room. Sergeant Cisco with his long legs and deep scowl strode up beside them. He gave them a gruff greeting. A few detectives glanced their way, but a scowl from the Sergeant sent them scurrying back to work.
The conference room was nothing more than a rectangular box with windows on two sides. A long brown table covered with scratches and marks dominated the space, surrounded by chairs of worn black vinyl. Ixa flopped down into one and drummed her fingers against the tabletop. Boyle took a seat beside her, while the Sergeant settled himself on the opposite side. Sweat on Cisco’s face told her that things were about to get a lot hotter.
A throat cleared. Ixa glanced to her left and shot out of her chair. “You!”
***
Ixa Reyes. Manuel rolled the name over his tongue, savoring the sound. She amused him, standing before him like a bird with all her feathers ruffled. He studied the emotion. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been amused. The eagle in him lived for the hunt. With each demon kill, his humanity had been pushed aside, his emotions slowly seeping away. He had held on for so long, fighting the beast within him. The push and pull of wills was a painful battle within his body. Seeing Ixa and feeling her energy flow over him made the fight and the long wait worth it. This woman made him feel his humanity once again, and he rejoiced. After all these years, he had found her. His spirit mate. Manuel wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. Ever since he’d touched her and felt the connection, he had been consumed by thoughts of her.
“I don’t know who you are, but I want an explanation, mister,” she squawked, her eyes flashing sparks.
“Oh, good, you are all here.” Lieutenant Carson closed the door behind him. “Team, this is Special Agent Manuel Del Sol from the FBI field office. He’s going to be heading up this investigation.”
“Now, wait one minute, Lieutenant,” Ixa interrupted.
Carson held up a hand, halting the flow of her speech. “You know the drill. This case ties into other murders across the United States. I want you to cooperate fully with the FBI.”
Before he could say more, his cell phone rang. The lieutenant fumbled with his cell phone and finally managed to answer it. A crease marred his forehead. “The Commissioner? All right, put him through.” Carson’s voice sounded resigned.
Manuel continued to stand, as did Ixa. She glowered at him and her entire body vibrated with tension. He resisted the urge to smile.
Until recently, the talk of spirit mates had been thought to be a myth put out to keep the shadow warriors going. They all understood they would eventually succumb to the spirit of their beast. Huitzilopochtli had spoken to them one day about a vision in which he saw each warrior matched with a spirit mate, a woman who would give him the strength to control his animal spirit. For a while all warriors had hope, but over time when no such mate was found, the hope faded away.
Then Tomás had found his spirit mate. News had traveled fast amongst the warriors. For the first time, Manuel considered what his woman might be like. He’d envisioned someone bold, a warrior who could stand on her own. Yet reality proved so much sweeter. Ixa was as strong as he could wish, and a fighter, a woman who could stand by his side.
Here in the same room with her, he could feel her energy swirling around him, beckoning him. Earlier, he’d kissed her on impulse. She’d tasted spicy and sweet, and he’d wanted to lose himself in her. His eagle had brought him to his senses. It was too dangerous to lose himself to passion when the enemy remained loose. Reluctantly, he’d broken off the kiss. But he vowed to himself he would taste her again soon. This close and unable to touch Ixa had his body wound tight, but he was a patient man. He could wait; business first, pleasure after.
His gaze slid along her delicate, firm jaw, and then over to that luscious mouth—the memory of its taste stirred his blood. His eyes lingered on her lips. She colored as if she could read his thoughts.
Manuel recognized that he had a difficult road ahead. Ixa had to choose him willingly. So, instead of her playing on his stomping grounds, he needed to play on hers. He had been the leader of his tribe, a man of persuasion and charm. Unlike most of the other shadow warriors who chose to stay rooted to the past, Manuel had moved with the times and learned to blend into each new civilization, mastering their technology and their political, legal and belief systems. It didn’t take much for him to get people to do his will without offense. He used his power of suggestion over the weak-willed humans. For his current mission, he’d had a profile created for himself in the system to get him assigned to this case. The rest of the details his god, Huitzilopochtli, had taken care of. Sometimes working for an all-powerful Aztec god had its perks.
Ixa, on the other hand, was very strong-willed. His charm wasn’t going to be enough to cut it with her. He would have to use every trick at his disposal to woo her and capture her heart because, if he failed, his battle with his eagle would be over and he would be left flying the skies eternally alone.
July 12, 2020
Rigged
Rigged
The third book in the Goode Pain series
Annabel Allan
https://books2read.com/u/bxnJdJ
ISBN 978-1-912768-89-9
Chapter One
I wouldn’t say I’m a lightweight when it comes to ropes and knowing my way through some Shibari. It’s a beautiful, intricate art, using ropes to bind your lover. I took a few classes, but I’m no professional. I just knew how to tie up my two slaves, Gabriel Burton and Reichen Shepherd.
But, myself? I’d never really been tied up, rigged in an inescapable position. I did have a Dom of my own, but that was years ago. That was when I was a BDSM newbie, looking for a thrill. I loved to be bad and that still applies today.
I went from submissive, to I don’t know, to I’m a motherfucking Domme. Really, it was my boss, Julius, that picked me up when I was broken and turned me into the Dominatrix that I am today, with not one, but two slaves.
Gabe is my boyfriend, and Reichen … well, he’s more of just a lover. Sometimes we fuck; sometimes we don’t. But there’s no real emotional connection. It’s just raw sex between us—something I share with Gabe as well, but I love him. I see myself getting married and having babies with Gabe. What? You think a Dominatrix can’t be a soccer mom as well? They can.
But this isn’t about Gabe or Reichen. This is about another man that entered my life and changed it in a swift second. Enter Gideon Shaw.
Gideon Shaw is a six-foot five inch Dom and rigger with big hands and a deep, sexy voice. For over a month I was spurning his advances, which were really just comments. But, just like Gabe and Reichen, Gideon got under my skin.
I will be the first to admit, he would have me squirming in my seat while he was doing his demos, which became a weekly thing down in the dungeon at Xposed. Shibari 101. It was a small, intimate show, but the subs as well as their Dominants loved it. And, of course, with every swat to his little sub’s ass, he gave me a heated look. It was an “if only it were you” type of look.
So far, I hadn’t taken the leap.
I had many reasons, one of which was Gabe. Sure, he was okay with me and Reichen, but it was a bumpy road to get him there. What if I added another to the bunch? I didn’t know what I would do or what Gabe would think. I was honestly hoping I wouldn’t have to find out. But the temptation was there, and it was fierce.
It was a Sunday, and my usual cuckold couple was ready in the room, which had a bed in it. Big T, a sexy buff Black guy, was the Bull for the evening. Heather and Aiden were your usual couple, so in love, but in reality Heather was a solid ten, while Aiden … well, he was cute but lacked the perfect ten status.
Heather was a statuesque model type, with beautiful honey-blonde hair, which she had loose that evening. Her eyes were a striking green, which made me believe that it was a salon that gave her the blonde. Hey, no hate, as I went to a salon to get mine pure platinum. I’m a natural blonde, though, with blue eyes.
Aiden, well, he was kind of the opposite of her. He was skinny, shorter, and his cock wasn’t too impressive. He was really the perfect cuckold. He loved to be Dominated by me in front of her while she was being fucked by another, more well-endowed man. It was their preferred situation, rather than her going out and cheating on him, which she was more against than him. This way it was a controlled situation and she got a thrill from doing it right in front of him.
Heather was naked, excitement obvious in those green eyes. She loved the nights that Big T was available. He was a pretty popular Bull, but all I had to do was call him up and he would make the time. I noticed it was that way with a lot of people in the industry. When Ava Goode needed a favor, people made adjustments and accommodations.
Big T was in his black silky robe, which wasn’t far off from his skin tone. His skin glistened, it was so perfectly ebony. He had his hair in cornrows, the ends tickling at his neck. His brown eyes were on me, a little smirk on his lips.
“All right, why don’t you two get started?” I said, pulling a condom out of the box by the table. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what to do.”
“Not at all, Mistress Ava,” Big T said with a little smirk.
“Very good,” I said, handing him the condom.
I left the room, giving them time to warm up. I knew that Big T liked to go down, give a woman a clitoral orgasm first, as it was more likely she would come from penetration if she’d already orgasmed. So, I waited until I heard Heather calling out in ecstasy. That was my cue.
I fetched Aiden, who had been instructed to get naked and wait for me in one of the other rooms in the club. I grabbed a leash from the table and attached it to the collar around his neck.
“On your knees,” I ordered.
He did as I asked, no questions on his part. He got off on humiliation, so I knew that I would need to ramp it up to eleven to get him off. Him getting off was as important as Heather getting hers.
I brought Aiden in on all fours with the end of the lead in my hand. I walked him throughout most of the club like that, again for the humiliation. His face was red and his forehead wet with sweat as he pattered his way through to the room. He was relieved when I closed the door, but then he looked up to see Big T and Heather fucking, and his face went a violent scarlet.
I walked to the end of the bed with him. He tried to look away, but I jerked the collar and grabbed his face harshly, pointing it up to watch as Heather rode Big T. She was facing us, so their feet were technically at the head of the bed. Big T had his huge hands on her tiny waist, and her face was red and glowing from pleasure as her breasts bounced with her movements.
“You watch! You pathetic worm,” I said. “How does it make you feel, hmm? Knowing that it takes another man to please your woman?”
He swallowed hard, watching them. “I-I try, Mistress.”
I giggled, letting go of his face. “Obviously not hard enough! How good is it, Heather?”
“Ooh, so good,” she said, tossing her hair and grinding her hips into Big T.
“Doing what you obviously can’t do,” I said. “You and that pathetic cock.”
I turned, grabbed some rope and tied him to the end of the bed, as there were posts for such things, specifically. He was standing, his arms spread out, holding the rope, which gave him no slack; he was forced to watch them, just as I wanted it.
He was bent over a little bit, so I first kicked his legs out further before getting down and grabbing his cock and balls, squeezing them hard.
“These pathetic things. Disgusting. You can’t even use it. I think those who cannot use their cock properly shouldn’t be allowed to have one. You just try and try, but always fall short,” I said, tapping with my two fingers on his balls, hard.
He squirmed, trying to get away from me.
“Don’t you move away from me,” I said, letting go of his balls abruptly before slapping his ass. “I think we need to redden this ass for doing such a thing.”
I grabbed my red flogger, walked back over and gave him a few lashings. He called out, as I wasn’t gentle.
“Ooh, did that hurt?” I asked. I rubbed my hand through his hair before I grabbed it and pulled. “Too bad! You deserve this and so much more! Making your woman seek out another cock. Tsk, tsk.”
I began swatting his ass again with the flogger, which he took pretty decently, hanging his head low. I grabbed his hair again, pulling his head back up.
“You watch! This is your doing, you know that. You watch and you enjoy the show,” I said with another giggle.
It was a two-hour session, and I was sure that Heather came at least six times. Then, when I finally had Big T come, I had Aiden take off the condom then lick Heather until she climaxed again! It was delightful, and I was pleased with myself when it was done. Heather and Aiden gave me a hug when it was over then went to go and get changed.
Big T was putting on his robe when I walked up to him, handing him one hundred dollars in twenties. It was technically a tip from Heather, but I didn’t really need the cash, so I gave it to Big T. He did most of the grunt work, anyways.
“Thanks, Ava,” he said with a smile. “Good session.”
I giggled. “You got off, so of course it was, at least for you.”
I walked out, leaving him to get changed in peace. As I walked out of the room, someone grabbed me by the waist and pushed me against the wall. I was ready to say some pretty harsh words, when I saw it was Reichen. His blue eyes met with mine, the curls in his blond hair picking up the light from the floor behind us, as we were in a pretty dark corner.
I frowned, slapping his hands away from my waist. “You overstep your bounds, slave.”
He gave his sexy, sensual smile, leaned down to me and smelled my hair. “You’re too tempting for me,” he said. His English accent, which admittedly made me weak in the knees, licked off of his words. “When do I get a turn?”
“When I say so,” I replied, pushing him away. It was difficult for me to do, as the heat between us was almost unbearable. I wanted him so badly my insides ached. It didn’t help that the scene I had done with Heather, Big T, and Aiden was pretty damn hot too. But I was at work. I had to keep a professional attitude, and fucking Reichen while I was on the clock was a no-no.
He wasn’t too impressed, especially since he was naked and his cock was harder than steel. “It’s been almost a week and a half since you let me come. You’ve edged me multiple times. When am I going to get to come?”
I grabbed his ear, getting him to his knees. It was my best method to get Reichen back into his place. “When I say so.”
I let go of his ear, which he cradled as he nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Now, I’m going to watch Gideon’s demo,” I said, tossing my hair off my shoulders.
Reichen didn’t move but gave me that sexy smile again. “Ooh, so that’s what it is.”
My brow furrowed. “What?”
“Gideon,” he said, almost laughing. “You’d think that both Gabriel and I would be enough for you, Mistress.”
I frowned. “I like watching him work.”
“But you also dream of fucking him and letting him Dominate you,” he said, standing before me.
I rose a brow. “Dominate me? No. I don’t do submissive.”
“You say that, but you have to admit, your one experience with being Dominated was with someone who was inadequate,” Reichen said, crossing his arms. “Maybe you should try it with someone who knows what they’re doing and has their head in the right space. So to speak.”
I frowned again, shaking my head. “I’m good. I’ll pass.”
He shrugged. “All right. I’m going to get ready and head back to the dungeon. You coming there, or going home to Gabriel?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “Which reminds me, why aren’t you wearing your cage? Gabe’s been in his for three days now.”
“It was chafing,” he said.
“You put more lube on then. You don’t take it off. I guess I’m going to have to relinquish your key privileges.”
His smile faded at that thought. “I don’t touch myself, as per your instructions. You can trust me.”
“Hmm, that is yet to be decided,” I said. I patted his cheek hard before stroking down his chest to his cock, which I grabbed harshly. “This is mine. Don’t you ever forget it.”
He grunted. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Very good. You are dismissed,” I said, letting go of his cock. “I’m going to watch the demo.”
I saw him smirk again as I walked away. It made me a little angry, as I knew what he was thinking. What I hated was that he was right. I wanted Gideon Shaw bad. Was it plainly obvious? I hated myself if it was, but I wasn’t sure if it really was just Reichen teasing me and being a dick.
I strutted over to the spot where the demo was being held. All the submissives and their Dominants, as well as a few solos, started to scatter. I walked up to see Gideon’s girl for the evening, Ruby, packing up his stuff.
I was confused. Then a gruff, sexy voice came from behind me. “You missed it tonight.”
I turned to see Gideon, who was clean-shaven, like usual. The grey spots in his short-clipped hair were a little more obvious in the lighting, but it was a sexy grey. I knew he was forty, but that seemed a little young for grey hair. It didn’t matter. It made me think of him as an animal, a wolf; he was definitely wild and unknown to me.
“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my cool, though I could feel the warmth spreading in my thighs as I thought of being his willing submissive. “I guess there’s always next week.”
“I could do a private show for you,” he said with a shrug.
“Oh, that would be nice, but I don’t think I could afford you,” I said with a laugh. It wasn’t true. I could afford it. I just didn’t want that private show … well, not true. I wanted it pretty bad.
“Free of charge,” he said.
“Oh … ”
He eyed me with his smoky blue eyes. “Can’t think of a way out of that one, huh?”
I frowned. “Gideon—”
“Why not give me a chance to show you your submissive side, Ava?” he asked.
“Because I don’t have one,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You know it as well as I do. It’s there, under the surface. Let me awaken you.”
He stepped closer, his cologne circling around me. I could feel my heart pick up speed, my breathing intensify. The smell of his cologne made me feel dizzy. It was woodsy, strong, and pure male. He was so close, but he hadn’t touched me, though my body craved him. It was intense, the heat from the closeness of his body making my knees weak.
“I’ll admit I’m curious, but I don’t think I can handle it,” I said, pushing him back gently.
“Let me try,” he said, taking my hand—our first real touch. It was electric and made me almost swoon. “You’ll have a safe word. I’ll honor your safe word.”
“I have a boyfriend though,” I said, pulling my hand away as I realized the effect he had on me.
“But also a secondary slave,” he said. “Your boyfriend obviously has no problem with him. You’re making excuses. What are you afraid of?”
I thought about it, getting angry, but the anger melted away when I looked into his soft blue eyes. “I guess losing myself,” I said, finding myself being incredibly honest.
“Or maybe you’re more frightened of what you’ll find,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said with a nod. I took a deep breath. “I can’t. It’s not me.”
“You don’t know that,” he said passionately. “You could be so much more. Don’t you want to experience subspace? I know you haven’t experienced the euphoria of Dominating someone.”
My brow furrowed. “How would you know?”
“Because you do your job well, Ava, but you’re missing a piece of yourself. I promise that if you let me train you, let me be your Dom, I can bring you both to subspace and top space.”
I pursed my lips together, unsure of what to say or do. I shook my head. “I’ll—I’ll think about it.”
He nodded. “That’s all I can ask.”
He then turned and walked up to Julius, who was waiting to speak to him. I stared after Gideon. His naked back was perfectly sculpted, and his ass was hugged by his leather pants, the chains on them hanging down.
“You should listen to him, you know,” a voice said from behind me.
I turned to see Ruby, his submissive for the evening. She was a petite twenty-something, only reaching about five foot four, with a tiny waist and B-cups. She had beautiful natural red hair, which was more of a rusty color, hanging down her back, nearly to her waist. She was naked, so I could see her bush, which was fiery as her hair.
“Excuse me?” I asked. “You speak out of turn, slave.”
She frowned, stepping forward. “I apologize, Mistress Ava. I just know Sir, and he has it bad for you. He also has your best interests in mind.”
“I have a boyfriend and another slave,” I said, defensively.
“Then talk to them about it,” she said with a shrug and a little smile. “I’m sure that Reichen would be all for it. Not too sure about Gabriel.”
“You know them both?” I asked, surprised.
She nodded. “I met Gabriel when you brought him last week. Reichen has been lurking in the shadows, watching me. Not too sure what his deal is.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just being Reichen.”
She giggled a little. “Probably. I’m sorry I spoke out of turn. I’m still adjusting to being out in the lifestyle. Where I was brought up, this kind of stuff just didn’t happen.”
“Ruby,” Gideon called.
“Yes, Sir?” she replied, standing at attention.
“Please finish your duties,” he said, pointing to the ropes that needed to be wrapped up.
“Yes, Sir,” she said. She looked at me. “Hope we can talk again soon.”
She then headed back over to the demo set to put everything away. I looked at Gideon, who was still talking to Julius, my boss and the owner of Xposed. I considered sticking around, specifically to talk to Julius, but decided against it and headed out.
Chapter Two
I woke up Monday morning to see Gabe getting into his suit for the day at the office. I turned on my side, watching as he pulled on his slacks. He looked at me, smiling lightly.
“Hey you,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied in a raspy morning voice.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, I woke up on my own. Work already?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed beside me. “And then rehab tonight for my shoulder. You were quiet last night when you came in. Anything wrong?”
I tried to look away but found myself drawn back to him. “Well … yeah.”
“What is it?” he asked, adjusting himself on the bed and fixing his tie.
“Well … Gideon made some comments,” I said. “He offered to do a private show for us, on Shibari.”
“A private show … using me or Reichen?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Ruby?” he asked.
I shook my head once again. “Me.”
His brow rose. “You mean he wants you to be his submissive?”
I nodded, turning on my back. “It’s crazy. I’m a Dominant.”
“And being a Switch would be a bad thing?” he asked.
“It’s just not me,” I said, feeling like a broken record.
“I may be crazy, but how do you know that? I mean, I thought I wasn’t a submissive until you came along,” he said. “Sometimes you need to be … I don’t know, awakened.”
I shot him a look, hearing the same word that Gideon used. Awaken. I let it sink into my very skin, wondering what it would be like to truly submit to someone, especially someone like Gideon, who I admitted was a bit of a mystery to me. The kink community knew of him. He was famous in it in the city, but he kept his personal life pretty hush-hush. I would need to open myself to him, but would Gideon open himself to me?
“Ava?”
I focused on Gabe. His hair was reasonably clipped, as he had just got it cut last week. It still curled around his ears, the shade a dark brown, so silky and perfect. His eyes were the purest chocolate brown I had ever seen. It was what I loved most about him. His eyes were expressive and honest.
“Gideon said something similar,” I said, looking down at my hands on my stomach.
“Are you attracted to him?”
I looked at him, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I’m attracted to the thought of being his submissive.”
“Would it help?” he asked. “Like, with the sleeping problems and stuff? Like it did for me.”
“I don’t know, Gabe,” I said with a sigh. I will admit I was uncomfortable with the thought that I was having problems sleeping and even having nightmares when I finally got to sleep. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
He took my hand in his, holding it gently. “If you need to try, I’ll give you a hall pass.”
I looked up to him again. “What? Really?”
“But there must be a Dungeon Monitor there,” he said, waving his finger. “I want you to be safe and not pushed too far past your limits. After all, what do we know about Gideon?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, make some time at the club tomorrow on your day off. Use one of the rooms, get a DM and then let Gideon do his thing,” he said.
“You’re okay with that?” I asked. “You wanted to leave me when I started sleeping with Reichen.”
“I’ve realized that there are different kinds of love, Ava. Different kinds of lust, too. You’re mine, I’m yours. Nothing will change that.”
I smiled a little. “I love you. You know that, right?”
He smiled too. “Yeah, I know. You know I love you, right?”
“Right,” I said, nodding.
“Do this, Ava,” he said. “Try it, and if you can’t submit, you can’t submit. Then things go back to the way they were, and you’ll be more sure of yourself.”
“What if I open up Pandora’s Box?” I asked.
“Well, we’ll deal with that when we get there, if we get there,” he said, pulling my hand up and kissing the back of it. “Now, I have to get to work. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay,” I said, sitting up and kissing him deeply. Our tongues lapped together, my hand going to his face and holding him for just a second to breathe him in. Sometimes you can feel the love when you’re kissing the person you love. It was definitely one of those moments.
***
I walked confidently into the club and grabbed my sheet for the night from our new receptionist, Leslie, a cross-dresser. She was a little buffer than our usual receptionist, but still super sweet and had a killer smile. Leslie was also white with blond hair, the opposite of Sarah, my ebony angel, as I called her.
I peeked my head into Marten’s office.
“Where’s Gideon?” I asked.
“He’s in Julius’s office,” he said, barely looking up from his papers, his glasses in his hands. His English accent was really cockney, not smooth like Reichen’s.
“Great,” I said.
“No Gabriel tonight?” he asked, glancing up a little.
“Big presentation,” I said as I turned.
“Life in the fast lane,” he said.
I strutted to the change room and found my locker with the A.G. on it in black writing inside a gold star. I put my coat away, revealing my skintight PVC skirt and corset, which cinched me tight. It was sexy; I felt sexy in it.
I closed my locker and headed down to the dungeon with my sheet. I weaved my way through to Julius’s office, where the door was closed. It was obviously a private meeting, and I wondered if it was appropriate to knock.
I took a deep breath, licking my lips. I knocked. It only took three seconds, but Julius came to the door and smiled at me.
“Ava,” he said. “Anything wrong?”
“Uh, no,” I said with a forced smile. “I just want to talk to Master Shaw when he’s available.”
I looked at Gideon, who had a barely-there smile as he stood up from his chair. Oh, he knew. He knew why I wanted to talk to him. There was no doubt about it.
“Oh, I think we’re done. You can take him off my hands,” Julius said, smiling as he pointed to him.
Gideon walked forward, towering over both Julius and me, since we were the same height, around five foot nine. He walked smoothly past me and stopped out in the hall. I smiled at Julius once more before turning to Gideon.
“All right,” I said, crossing my arms as the door was closed behind us. “You know why I want to talk to you, so stop with the smirk.”
He held his hands up submissively. “I didn’t say a word.”
“No, you don’t need to,” I said. I pointed to the room across the hall. “Let’s talk.”
I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I led the way into the room, walked to the center of it and crossed my arms. He closed the door, locking it before he turned to me. He was like a lion stalking his prey. No, that’s not right. A wolf. Always a wolf. His smoky blue eyes were on me, his gruff voice filling every pore of my body.
“All right,” he said. “So?”
“You know what this is about,” I said confidently, keeping my chin raised.
“And what’s that?” he asked, staring into me heatedly.
I shifted from one foot to the other. “I want to be your submissive. But there are rules. Number one, a Dungeon Monitor must be present. Number two, it has to happen here at the club.”
He nodded. “All right. Anything else?”
I laced my fingers together, thinking. “Safe word. I believe we should decide now what that will be.”
“Lady’s choice,” he said, pointing at me.
I wanted to go with the word Gabe and I used, vanilla, but that was a sacred word between us. It felt wrong to use it. I took a moment, thinking before I looked at him confidently.
“Elephant,” I said. It was my old safe word. I figured if I was doing this to get over past demons, I might as well actually face them. My old Dom and my old safe word were two of them.
He raised a brow and nodded. “All right. Elephant. You can call it at any time, and I will honor it and your wishes to stop or take a break.”
“Fine,” I said, swinging my hands down to my sides. “I’m going to reserve room six for us tomorrow night. It will be a two-hour session.”
“Sounds fair,” he said. “What are your boundaries?”
“The usual—no scat, no needle play, no water sports. I would say, because we will be starting fresh and need to establish trust, we start with light impact play.”
“What about sex?” he asked.
“It’s on the table,” I said.
His brow rose. “Your boyfriend doesn’t mind?”
“I have a hall pass,” I said, unimpressed. “And since I’m not paying you, there are no lines to cross or worry about.”
“I wasn’t planning on charging you anyways,” he said. “Is it all right if Ruby assists me?”
I nodded, mainly because I was relieved that it wouldn’t just be us and the DM. “Of course.”
“Great. You will be in room six, naked, on your knees, head bowed, waiting for me. Until tomorrow night, Mistress,” he said. He smiled once more before turning and leaving the room.
I took a moment, letting out a deep breath, which I hadn’t even been aware I had taken. I then felt kind of shaky, like I had had too much coffee. My stomach even felt a little queasy. I shook my head, focusing myself. I had work to do. I wasn’t going to let Gideon affect me like that anymore. No way. But the thought of waiting naked for him … it had me torn between fear and lust.
I took a moment to regroup. I licked my teeth, straightening myself out before I marched out of the room. I was on my way to set up for my first session of the night, when Julius walked out of his office, smiling at me.
“Ava,” he said.
I smiled back. “Hey, Julius.”
“How are things tonight?” he asked.
“It’s all right,” I said.
“You seem … rattled,” he said. If anyone could read me, it was Julius. There was no being aloof with him or hiding the truth. “Do you want to talk?”
I thought about it, feeling a sudden urge to vent. I shook my head though. “No, I’m okay. Just more personal issues. I won’t let them get in the way of work, like last time.”
“Last time was an unusual circumstance. Besides, Reichen has been doing well, especially as your slave. Keeping out of trouble.”
“Oh, this isn’t Reichen … I kind of wish it was,” I said.
He looked down the hall and towards the floor. “Master Shaw?”
I swallowed hard, feeling as if I’d been caught doing something horrible. “I, um … well, we made an arrangement.”
His brow rose. “An arrangement?”
“Yes, he … well, I’m going to sub for him,” I said, trying to lift my chin. I felt heat spread on my face, knowing I was blushing hard.
He was surprised, and his eyes widened. “You? A submissive?”
“Yes,” I said. He seemed a little unnerved by it. “What’s wrong?”
“You know that I am always for you exploring your submissive side, but I think it would be a mistake to get caught up with Master Shaw.”
I saw he was concerned. “Why?”
“He has his secrets, Ava. I am not in the right place to divulge them, and I am unsure if you get caught up in a romance with him that he will reveal those secrets,” he said.
“What kind of secrets?” I asked.
“Again, it is not my place,” he said, shaking his head. “I just feel that I need to warn you. I care for you. You know that, right?”
I nodded with a little smile. “I know. But really, there will be no romance. I’m just giving him permission to Dominate me. Ruby and a Dungeon Monitor will be there.”
He frowned but nodded. “All right. I trust you. I am sure you know what you are doing. I just worry for you. I do not want you to get in too deep with him.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I promise. This is more for me to sort myself out.”
“Submission is a good way to get in touch with hidden aspects of yourself. Much the same as Domination,” he said. “I hope you find what you are looking for.”
“Me too,” I said.
The third book in the Goode Pain series
Annabel Allan
https://books2read.com/u/bxnJdJ
ISBN 978-1-912768-89-9
Chapter One
I wouldn’t say I’m a lightweight when it comes to ropes and knowing my way through some Shibari. It’s a beautiful, intricate art, using ropes to bind your lover. I took a few classes, but I’m no professional. I just knew how to tie up my two slaves, Gabriel Burton and Reichen Shepherd.
But, myself? I’d never really been tied up, rigged in an inescapable position. I did have a Dom of my own, but that was years ago. That was when I was a BDSM newbie, looking for a thrill. I loved to be bad and that still applies today.
I went from submissive, to I don’t know, to I’m a motherfucking Domme. Really, it was my boss, Julius, that picked me up when I was broken and turned me into the Dominatrix that I am today, with not one, but two slaves.
Gabe is my boyfriend, and Reichen … well, he’s more of just a lover. Sometimes we fuck; sometimes we don’t. But there’s no real emotional connection. It’s just raw sex between us—something I share with Gabe as well, but I love him. I see myself getting married and having babies with Gabe. What? You think a Dominatrix can’t be a soccer mom as well? They can.
But this isn’t about Gabe or Reichen. This is about another man that entered my life and changed it in a swift second. Enter Gideon Shaw.
Gideon Shaw is a six-foot five inch Dom and rigger with big hands and a deep, sexy voice. For over a month I was spurning his advances, which were really just comments. But, just like Gabe and Reichen, Gideon got under my skin.
I will be the first to admit, he would have me squirming in my seat while he was doing his demos, which became a weekly thing down in the dungeon at Xposed. Shibari 101. It was a small, intimate show, but the subs as well as their Dominants loved it. And, of course, with every swat to his little sub’s ass, he gave me a heated look. It was an “if only it were you” type of look.
So far, I hadn’t taken the leap.
I had many reasons, one of which was Gabe. Sure, he was okay with me and Reichen, but it was a bumpy road to get him there. What if I added another to the bunch? I didn’t know what I would do or what Gabe would think. I was honestly hoping I wouldn’t have to find out. But the temptation was there, and it was fierce.
It was a Sunday, and my usual cuckold couple was ready in the room, which had a bed in it. Big T, a sexy buff Black guy, was the Bull for the evening. Heather and Aiden were your usual couple, so in love, but in reality Heather was a solid ten, while Aiden … well, he was cute but lacked the perfect ten status.
Heather was a statuesque model type, with beautiful honey-blonde hair, which she had loose that evening. Her eyes were a striking green, which made me believe that it was a salon that gave her the blonde. Hey, no hate, as I went to a salon to get mine pure platinum. I’m a natural blonde, though, with blue eyes.
Aiden, well, he was kind of the opposite of her. He was skinny, shorter, and his cock wasn’t too impressive. He was really the perfect cuckold. He loved to be Dominated by me in front of her while she was being fucked by another, more well-endowed man. It was their preferred situation, rather than her going out and cheating on him, which she was more against than him. This way it was a controlled situation and she got a thrill from doing it right in front of him.
Heather was naked, excitement obvious in those green eyes. She loved the nights that Big T was available. He was a pretty popular Bull, but all I had to do was call him up and he would make the time. I noticed it was that way with a lot of people in the industry. When Ava Goode needed a favor, people made adjustments and accommodations.
Big T was in his black silky robe, which wasn’t far off from his skin tone. His skin glistened, it was so perfectly ebony. He had his hair in cornrows, the ends tickling at his neck. His brown eyes were on me, a little smirk on his lips.
“All right, why don’t you two get started?” I said, pulling a condom out of the box by the table. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what to do.”
“Not at all, Mistress Ava,” Big T said with a little smirk.
“Very good,” I said, handing him the condom.
I left the room, giving them time to warm up. I knew that Big T liked to go down, give a woman a clitoral orgasm first, as it was more likely she would come from penetration if she’d already orgasmed. So, I waited until I heard Heather calling out in ecstasy. That was my cue.
I fetched Aiden, who had been instructed to get naked and wait for me in one of the other rooms in the club. I grabbed a leash from the table and attached it to the collar around his neck.
“On your knees,” I ordered.
He did as I asked, no questions on his part. He got off on humiliation, so I knew that I would need to ramp it up to eleven to get him off. Him getting off was as important as Heather getting hers.
I brought Aiden in on all fours with the end of the lead in my hand. I walked him throughout most of the club like that, again for the humiliation. His face was red and his forehead wet with sweat as he pattered his way through to the room. He was relieved when I closed the door, but then he looked up to see Big T and Heather fucking, and his face went a violent scarlet.
I walked to the end of the bed with him. He tried to look away, but I jerked the collar and grabbed his face harshly, pointing it up to watch as Heather rode Big T. She was facing us, so their feet were technically at the head of the bed. Big T had his huge hands on her tiny waist, and her face was red and glowing from pleasure as her breasts bounced with her movements.
“You watch! You pathetic worm,” I said. “How does it make you feel, hmm? Knowing that it takes another man to please your woman?”
He swallowed hard, watching them. “I-I try, Mistress.”
I giggled, letting go of his face. “Obviously not hard enough! How good is it, Heather?”
“Ooh, so good,” she said, tossing her hair and grinding her hips into Big T.
“Doing what you obviously can’t do,” I said. “You and that pathetic cock.”
I turned, grabbed some rope and tied him to the end of the bed, as there were posts for such things, specifically. He was standing, his arms spread out, holding the rope, which gave him no slack; he was forced to watch them, just as I wanted it.
He was bent over a little bit, so I first kicked his legs out further before getting down and grabbing his cock and balls, squeezing them hard.
“These pathetic things. Disgusting. You can’t even use it. I think those who cannot use their cock properly shouldn’t be allowed to have one. You just try and try, but always fall short,” I said, tapping with my two fingers on his balls, hard.
He squirmed, trying to get away from me.
“Don’t you move away from me,” I said, letting go of his balls abruptly before slapping his ass. “I think we need to redden this ass for doing such a thing.”
I grabbed my red flogger, walked back over and gave him a few lashings. He called out, as I wasn’t gentle.
“Ooh, did that hurt?” I asked. I rubbed my hand through his hair before I grabbed it and pulled. “Too bad! You deserve this and so much more! Making your woman seek out another cock. Tsk, tsk.”
I began swatting his ass again with the flogger, which he took pretty decently, hanging his head low. I grabbed his hair again, pulling his head back up.
“You watch! This is your doing, you know that. You watch and you enjoy the show,” I said with another giggle.
It was a two-hour session, and I was sure that Heather came at least six times. Then, when I finally had Big T come, I had Aiden take off the condom then lick Heather until she climaxed again! It was delightful, and I was pleased with myself when it was done. Heather and Aiden gave me a hug when it was over then went to go and get changed.
Big T was putting on his robe when I walked up to him, handing him one hundred dollars in twenties. It was technically a tip from Heather, but I didn’t really need the cash, so I gave it to Big T. He did most of the grunt work, anyways.
“Thanks, Ava,” he said with a smile. “Good session.”
I giggled. “You got off, so of course it was, at least for you.”
I walked out, leaving him to get changed in peace. As I walked out of the room, someone grabbed me by the waist and pushed me against the wall. I was ready to say some pretty harsh words, when I saw it was Reichen. His blue eyes met with mine, the curls in his blond hair picking up the light from the floor behind us, as we were in a pretty dark corner.
I frowned, slapping his hands away from my waist. “You overstep your bounds, slave.”
He gave his sexy, sensual smile, leaned down to me and smelled my hair. “You’re too tempting for me,” he said. His English accent, which admittedly made me weak in the knees, licked off of his words. “When do I get a turn?”
“When I say so,” I replied, pushing him away. It was difficult for me to do, as the heat between us was almost unbearable. I wanted him so badly my insides ached. It didn’t help that the scene I had done with Heather, Big T, and Aiden was pretty damn hot too. But I was at work. I had to keep a professional attitude, and fucking Reichen while I was on the clock was a no-no.
He wasn’t too impressed, especially since he was naked and his cock was harder than steel. “It’s been almost a week and a half since you let me come. You’ve edged me multiple times. When am I going to get to come?”
I grabbed his ear, getting him to his knees. It was my best method to get Reichen back into his place. “When I say so.”
I let go of his ear, which he cradled as he nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Now, I’m going to watch Gideon’s demo,” I said, tossing my hair off my shoulders.
Reichen didn’t move but gave me that sexy smile again. “Ooh, so that’s what it is.”
My brow furrowed. “What?”
“Gideon,” he said, almost laughing. “You’d think that both Gabriel and I would be enough for you, Mistress.”
I frowned. “I like watching him work.”
“But you also dream of fucking him and letting him Dominate you,” he said, standing before me.
I rose a brow. “Dominate me? No. I don’t do submissive.”
“You say that, but you have to admit, your one experience with being Dominated was with someone who was inadequate,” Reichen said, crossing his arms. “Maybe you should try it with someone who knows what they’re doing and has their head in the right space. So to speak.”
I frowned again, shaking my head. “I’m good. I’ll pass.”
He shrugged. “All right. I’m going to get ready and head back to the dungeon. You coming there, or going home to Gabriel?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “Which reminds me, why aren’t you wearing your cage? Gabe’s been in his for three days now.”
“It was chafing,” he said.
“You put more lube on then. You don’t take it off. I guess I’m going to have to relinquish your key privileges.”
His smile faded at that thought. “I don’t touch myself, as per your instructions. You can trust me.”
“Hmm, that is yet to be decided,” I said. I patted his cheek hard before stroking down his chest to his cock, which I grabbed harshly. “This is mine. Don’t you ever forget it.”
He grunted. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Very good. You are dismissed,” I said, letting go of his cock. “I’m going to watch the demo.”
I saw him smirk again as I walked away. It made me a little angry, as I knew what he was thinking. What I hated was that he was right. I wanted Gideon Shaw bad. Was it plainly obvious? I hated myself if it was, but I wasn’t sure if it really was just Reichen teasing me and being a dick.
I strutted over to the spot where the demo was being held. All the submissives and their Dominants, as well as a few solos, started to scatter. I walked up to see Gideon’s girl for the evening, Ruby, packing up his stuff.
I was confused. Then a gruff, sexy voice came from behind me. “You missed it tonight.”
I turned to see Gideon, who was clean-shaven, like usual. The grey spots in his short-clipped hair were a little more obvious in the lighting, but it was a sexy grey. I knew he was forty, but that seemed a little young for grey hair. It didn’t matter. It made me think of him as an animal, a wolf; he was definitely wild and unknown to me.
“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my cool, though I could feel the warmth spreading in my thighs as I thought of being his willing submissive. “I guess there’s always next week.”
“I could do a private show for you,” he said with a shrug.
“Oh, that would be nice, but I don’t think I could afford you,” I said with a laugh. It wasn’t true. I could afford it. I just didn’t want that private show … well, not true. I wanted it pretty bad.
“Free of charge,” he said.
“Oh … ”
He eyed me with his smoky blue eyes. “Can’t think of a way out of that one, huh?”
I frowned. “Gideon—”
“Why not give me a chance to show you your submissive side, Ava?” he asked.
“Because I don’t have one,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You know it as well as I do. It’s there, under the surface. Let me awaken you.”
He stepped closer, his cologne circling around me. I could feel my heart pick up speed, my breathing intensify. The smell of his cologne made me feel dizzy. It was woodsy, strong, and pure male. He was so close, but he hadn’t touched me, though my body craved him. It was intense, the heat from the closeness of his body making my knees weak.
“I’ll admit I’m curious, but I don’t think I can handle it,” I said, pushing him back gently.
“Let me try,” he said, taking my hand—our first real touch. It was electric and made me almost swoon. “You’ll have a safe word. I’ll honor your safe word.”
“I have a boyfriend though,” I said, pulling my hand away as I realized the effect he had on me.
“But also a secondary slave,” he said. “Your boyfriend obviously has no problem with him. You’re making excuses. What are you afraid of?”
I thought about it, getting angry, but the anger melted away when I looked into his soft blue eyes. “I guess losing myself,” I said, finding myself being incredibly honest.
“Or maybe you’re more frightened of what you’ll find,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said with a nod. I took a deep breath. “I can’t. It’s not me.”
“You don’t know that,” he said passionately. “You could be so much more. Don’t you want to experience subspace? I know you haven’t experienced the euphoria of Dominating someone.”
My brow furrowed. “How would you know?”
“Because you do your job well, Ava, but you’re missing a piece of yourself. I promise that if you let me train you, let me be your Dom, I can bring you both to subspace and top space.”
I pursed my lips together, unsure of what to say or do. I shook my head. “I’ll—I’ll think about it.”
He nodded. “That’s all I can ask.”
He then turned and walked up to Julius, who was waiting to speak to him. I stared after Gideon. His naked back was perfectly sculpted, and his ass was hugged by his leather pants, the chains on them hanging down.
“You should listen to him, you know,” a voice said from behind me.
I turned to see Ruby, his submissive for the evening. She was a petite twenty-something, only reaching about five foot four, with a tiny waist and B-cups. She had beautiful natural red hair, which was more of a rusty color, hanging down her back, nearly to her waist. She was naked, so I could see her bush, which was fiery as her hair.
“Excuse me?” I asked. “You speak out of turn, slave.”
She frowned, stepping forward. “I apologize, Mistress Ava. I just know Sir, and he has it bad for you. He also has your best interests in mind.”
“I have a boyfriend and another slave,” I said, defensively.
“Then talk to them about it,” she said with a shrug and a little smile. “I’m sure that Reichen would be all for it. Not too sure about Gabriel.”
“You know them both?” I asked, surprised.
She nodded. “I met Gabriel when you brought him last week. Reichen has been lurking in the shadows, watching me. Not too sure what his deal is.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just being Reichen.”
She giggled a little. “Probably. I’m sorry I spoke out of turn. I’m still adjusting to being out in the lifestyle. Where I was brought up, this kind of stuff just didn’t happen.”
“Ruby,” Gideon called.
“Yes, Sir?” she replied, standing at attention.
“Please finish your duties,” he said, pointing to the ropes that needed to be wrapped up.
“Yes, Sir,” she said. She looked at me. “Hope we can talk again soon.”
She then headed back over to the demo set to put everything away. I looked at Gideon, who was still talking to Julius, my boss and the owner of Xposed. I considered sticking around, specifically to talk to Julius, but decided against it and headed out.
Chapter Two
I woke up Monday morning to see Gabe getting into his suit for the day at the office. I turned on my side, watching as he pulled on his slacks. He looked at me, smiling lightly.
“Hey you,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied in a raspy morning voice.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, I woke up on my own. Work already?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed beside me. “And then rehab tonight for my shoulder. You were quiet last night when you came in. Anything wrong?”
I tried to look away but found myself drawn back to him. “Well … yeah.”
“What is it?” he asked, adjusting himself on the bed and fixing his tie.
“Well … Gideon made some comments,” I said. “He offered to do a private show for us, on Shibari.”
“A private show … using me or Reichen?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Ruby?” he asked.
I shook my head once again. “Me.”
His brow rose. “You mean he wants you to be his submissive?”
I nodded, turning on my back. “It’s crazy. I’m a Dominant.”
“And being a Switch would be a bad thing?” he asked.
“It’s just not me,” I said, feeling like a broken record.
“I may be crazy, but how do you know that? I mean, I thought I wasn’t a submissive until you came along,” he said. “Sometimes you need to be … I don’t know, awakened.”
I shot him a look, hearing the same word that Gideon used. Awaken. I let it sink into my very skin, wondering what it would be like to truly submit to someone, especially someone like Gideon, who I admitted was a bit of a mystery to me. The kink community knew of him. He was famous in it in the city, but he kept his personal life pretty hush-hush. I would need to open myself to him, but would Gideon open himself to me?
“Ava?”
I focused on Gabe. His hair was reasonably clipped, as he had just got it cut last week. It still curled around his ears, the shade a dark brown, so silky and perfect. His eyes were the purest chocolate brown I had ever seen. It was what I loved most about him. His eyes were expressive and honest.
“Gideon said something similar,” I said, looking down at my hands on my stomach.
“Are you attracted to him?”
I looked at him, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I’m attracted to the thought of being his submissive.”
“Would it help?” he asked. “Like, with the sleeping problems and stuff? Like it did for me.”
“I don’t know, Gabe,” I said with a sigh. I will admit I was uncomfortable with the thought that I was having problems sleeping and even having nightmares when I finally got to sleep. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
He took my hand in his, holding it gently. “If you need to try, I’ll give you a hall pass.”
I looked up to him again. “What? Really?”
“But there must be a Dungeon Monitor there,” he said, waving his finger. “I want you to be safe and not pushed too far past your limits. After all, what do we know about Gideon?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, make some time at the club tomorrow on your day off. Use one of the rooms, get a DM and then let Gideon do his thing,” he said.
“You’re okay with that?” I asked. “You wanted to leave me when I started sleeping with Reichen.”
“I’ve realized that there are different kinds of love, Ava. Different kinds of lust, too. You’re mine, I’m yours. Nothing will change that.”
I smiled a little. “I love you. You know that, right?”
He smiled too. “Yeah, I know. You know I love you, right?”
“Right,” I said, nodding.
“Do this, Ava,” he said. “Try it, and if you can’t submit, you can’t submit. Then things go back to the way they were, and you’ll be more sure of yourself.”
“What if I open up Pandora’s Box?” I asked.
“Well, we’ll deal with that when we get there, if we get there,” he said, pulling my hand up and kissing the back of it. “Now, I have to get to work. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay,” I said, sitting up and kissing him deeply. Our tongues lapped together, my hand going to his face and holding him for just a second to breathe him in. Sometimes you can feel the love when you’re kissing the person you love. It was definitely one of those moments.
***
I walked confidently into the club and grabbed my sheet for the night from our new receptionist, Leslie, a cross-dresser. She was a little buffer than our usual receptionist, but still super sweet and had a killer smile. Leslie was also white with blond hair, the opposite of Sarah, my ebony angel, as I called her.
I peeked my head into Marten’s office.
“Where’s Gideon?” I asked.
“He’s in Julius’s office,” he said, barely looking up from his papers, his glasses in his hands. His English accent was really cockney, not smooth like Reichen’s.
“Great,” I said.
“No Gabriel tonight?” he asked, glancing up a little.
“Big presentation,” I said as I turned.
“Life in the fast lane,” he said.
I strutted to the change room and found my locker with the A.G. on it in black writing inside a gold star. I put my coat away, revealing my skintight PVC skirt and corset, which cinched me tight. It was sexy; I felt sexy in it.
I closed my locker and headed down to the dungeon with my sheet. I weaved my way through to Julius’s office, where the door was closed. It was obviously a private meeting, and I wondered if it was appropriate to knock.
I took a deep breath, licking my lips. I knocked. It only took three seconds, but Julius came to the door and smiled at me.
“Ava,” he said. “Anything wrong?”
“Uh, no,” I said with a forced smile. “I just want to talk to Master Shaw when he’s available.”
I looked at Gideon, who had a barely-there smile as he stood up from his chair. Oh, he knew. He knew why I wanted to talk to him. There was no doubt about it.
“Oh, I think we’re done. You can take him off my hands,” Julius said, smiling as he pointed to him.
Gideon walked forward, towering over both Julius and me, since we were the same height, around five foot nine. He walked smoothly past me and stopped out in the hall. I smiled at Julius once more before turning to Gideon.
“All right,” I said, crossing my arms as the door was closed behind us. “You know why I want to talk to you, so stop with the smirk.”
He held his hands up submissively. “I didn’t say a word.”
“No, you don’t need to,” I said. I pointed to the room across the hall. “Let’s talk.”
I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I led the way into the room, walked to the center of it and crossed my arms. He closed the door, locking it before he turned to me. He was like a lion stalking his prey. No, that’s not right. A wolf. Always a wolf. His smoky blue eyes were on me, his gruff voice filling every pore of my body.
“All right,” he said. “So?”
“You know what this is about,” I said confidently, keeping my chin raised.
“And what’s that?” he asked, staring into me heatedly.
I shifted from one foot to the other. “I want to be your submissive. But there are rules. Number one, a Dungeon Monitor must be present. Number two, it has to happen here at the club.”
He nodded. “All right. Anything else?”
I laced my fingers together, thinking. “Safe word. I believe we should decide now what that will be.”
“Lady’s choice,” he said, pointing at me.
I wanted to go with the word Gabe and I used, vanilla, but that was a sacred word between us. It felt wrong to use it. I took a moment, thinking before I looked at him confidently.
“Elephant,” I said. It was my old safe word. I figured if I was doing this to get over past demons, I might as well actually face them. My old Dom and my old safe word were two of them.
He raised a brow and nodded. “All right. Elephant. You can call it at any time, and I will honor it and your wishes to stop or take a break.”
“Fine,” I said, swinging my hands down to my sides. “I’m going to reserve room six for us tomorrow night. It will be a two-hour session.”
“Sounds fair,” he said. “What are your boundaries?”
“The usual—no scat, no needle play, no water sports. I would say, because we will be starting fresh and need to establish trust, we start with light impact play.”
“What about sex?” he asked.
“It’s on the table,” I said.
His brow rose. “Your boyfriend doesn’t mind?”
“I have a hall pass,” I said, unimpressed. “And since I’m not paying you, there are no lines to cross or worry about.”
“I wasn’t planning on charging you anyways,” he said. “Is it all right if Ruby assists me?”
I nodded, mainly because I was relieved that it wouldn’t just be us and the DM. “Of course.”
“Great. You will be in room six, naked, on your knees, head bowed, waiting for me. Until tomorrow night, Mistress,” he said. He smiled once more before turning and leaving the room.
I took a moment, letting out a deep breath, which I hadn’t even been aware I had taken. I then felt kind of shaky, like I had had too much coffee. My stomach even felt a little queasy. I shook my head, focusing myself. I had work to do. I wasn’t going to let Gideon affect me like that anymore. No way. But the thought of waiting naked for him … it had me torn between fear and lust.
I took a moment to regroup. I licked my teeth, straightening myself out before I marched out of the room. I was on my way to set up for my first session of the night, when Julius walked out of his office, smiling at me.
“Ava,” he said.
I smiled back. “Hey, Julius.”
“How are things tonight?” he asked.
“It’s all right,” I said.
“You seem … rattled,” he said. If anyone could read me, it was Julius. There was no being aloof with him or hiding the truth. “Do you want to talk?”
I thought about it, feeling a sudden urge to vent. I shook my head though. “No, I’m okay. Just more personal issues. I won’t let them get in the way of work, like last time.”
“Last time was an unusual circumstance. Besides, Reichen has been doing well, especially as your slave. Keeping out of trouble.”
“Oh, this isn’t Reichen … I kind of wish it was,” I said.
He looked down the hall and towards the floor. “Master Shaw?”
I swallowed hard, feeling as if I’d been caught doing something horrible. “I, um … well, we made an arrangement.”
His brow rose. “An arrangement?”
“Yes, he … well, I’m going to sub for him,” I said, trying to lift my chin. I felt heat spread on my face, knowing I was blushing hard.
He was surprised, and his eyes widened. “You? A submissive?”
“Yes,” I said. He seemed a little unnerved by it. “What’s wrong?”
“You know that I am always for you exploring your submissive side, but I think it would be a mistake to get caught up with Master Shaw.”
I saw he was concerned. “Why?”
“He has his secrets, Ava. I am not in the right place to divulge them, and I am unsure if you get caught up in a romance with him that he will reveal those secrets,” he said.
“What kind of secrets?” I asked.
“Again, it is not my place,” he said, shaking his head. “I just feel that I need to warn you. I care for you. You know that, right?”
I nodded with a little smile. “I know. But really, there will be no romance. I’m just giving him permission to Dominate me. Ruby and a Dungeon Monitor will be there.”
He frowned but nodded. “All right. I trust you. I am sure you know what you are doing. I just worry for you. I do not want you to get in too deep with him.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I promise. This is more for me to sort myself out.”
“Submission is a good way to get in touch with hidden aspects of yourself. Much the same as Domination,” he said. “I hope you find what you are looking for.”
“Me too,” I said.
June 24, 2020
Lessons on Seduction
Lessons on Seduction
E. Pettersen
ISBN 978-1-912768-87-5
https://amzn.to/2Ng8YbD
https://books2read.com/u/47XXGj
Chapter One
Welcome to my Playground
Julian
First semester at Montville State University, August
“Baby, come back to bed,” she purred, grabbing my arm.
“I need to get to class. There’s no time to sleep in.” I sat on the edge of the bed, gently loosened her grip, and kissed her forehead.
“Oh, honey, please, just one more time.”
“There’s a coffee machine on the kitchen bench. Help yourself to it on the way out.”
“But—”
“You were good, sugar.” I leaned forward and ran my hand along her smooth, tan, inner thighs. I slid my index and middle fingers inside her wet slit, pulled out, then licked them to taste her scent.
Melina Montes, or Mindy, was a college student in her prime.
Her flavor? Spicy and aromatic.
***
She was a sexy hellcat whose tits were popping out of her low-cut tank top when I recognized her across the room at a party last night. Dark hair: check. Dark eyes: check. Tiny waist and a fucking banging body: check, check.
She and I had had casual sex before, so it didn’t take long for the familiar flirtation to turn into a make-out session, which resulted in business in the bedroom in my apartment, where she was a star.
Mindy was a little minx who knew how to satisfy a man. Her naked body was a piece of caramel cake, with small droplets of brown candy on the peaks of her breasts, and a smooth pussy that flowed cream so tasty and hot.
She fucked like a pro and knew how to handle my cock with her mouth. She started on the head, tasting it with her tongue, before using her suction technique, which was spot-on perfect.
Sixty-nine was my favorite number, so while she worked her magic on my cock with her lips, I snacked on her exquisite pussy. That pussy had a landing strip of short, dark hair, which I inhaled to take in her aroma. She was musky, sensual, and pleading to be licked.
My tongue landed on her landing strip, giving it gentle licks. Then my mouth dove into her core, nipping, sucking, and circling the ripe center with my wicked tongue. Her whimpers and mewling grew louder as I continued eating her while pinching her perfectly plump nipples with my fingers and thumbs to stimulate a little more pleasure. Those nipples were divine—they were territory that I’d visited from time to time before, nibbling, licking, and devouring them until they were sore.
“Oh my God, oh my God.” Mindy’s filthy mouth broke away from my cock and prayed to a divine deity.
I continued to roll her nipples between my fingers while feasting on her clit, wanting more of that pussy cream. Her body quivered as I continued with the motions, bringing her to a state of euphoria.
“Fuck, Julian, I’m going to come!” Mindy screamed.
I broke my kiss, positioned myself on top of her, and grabbed a condom. Once I had it on, I slid my hard, throbbing cock inside her, pounding into her sweet, wet pussy at a paced speed, until she screamed unfiltered pleasure peppered with obscenities. We both came hard and fast before I collapsed onto her body, catching up on my breathing. A minute later, we lay in silence, and Mindy’s head rested on my chest. She played with the contours of my chest and stomach, tracing her fingers from my sternum to just above my love trail.
“Your abs. They’re so fucking rock hard,” she whispered, before falling asleep.
I’d just had the fuck of my life with Mindy. I’d known her for years, and she would come onto me like a cat in heat. We were amicable, but I wouldn’t call her a friend, so it was a case of acquaintances with benefits. You see, I met her through my sister, Vera, years ago—they both went to high school together and studied law in college. We hooked up from time to time, but that’s all it was.
After a night of little sleep, I woke up at seven, showered, and got ready for class. The mirror reflected a clear image of a man with mahogany hair and light bags under his dark, burnished eyes. I stared at the man, who was six feet tall with broad shoulders and a muscular build, thanks to my daily routine at Evolve Gym. The exercise initially helped me with a few back problems and eventually became a habit of taking care of myself. I lathered my square, unshaven jaw and started shaving for a fresh, clean look.
There’s a faint scar, just above my right eyebrow, which serves as a reminder of my youth, when a little shit by the name of Wilson Cole shoved a swing bench into my forehead. It’s a memento to remind me that the world is full of shitheads, and probably only twenty percent of the population are decent people worth having a conversation with.
I didn’t mind the heavy nights of sex, but there was one problem—I had morning classes to teach and needed at least a double shot of coffee on the way to the archaeology department. Being a teacher’s assistant/tutor while completing my PhD in archaeology at Montville State University meant I had to be alert and upbeat in front of the class. Based in the coastal city of Lester Harbor, in the state of Montville, the university had a leading archaeology research center.
As for Mindy, I didn’t have time for anything more than a flirtationship. She managed to find her way out of my apartment later that day and left her black, lacy thong, which I threw in the bathroom bin. My name isn’t Julian Carpenter Richland, the thong-collector. My middle name is my mother’s maiden name, by the way.
I saw college girls like Mindy all the time. In class, at the gym, in the library, and in bed. She was no exception to the rule, and she wasn’t the woman of my life, but she sure knew how to fuck.
I wasn’t going to waste my time in meaningless, empty relationships, let alone listen to shallow conversations and empty giggles. Nah, it wasn’t my style. Plus, I had an ongoing arrangement with Saira Quinn, a woman whose business was pleasure and pain.
Chapter Two
Goodbye, Cameron
Sapphire
Mid-September
“Cameron?”
An icy silence infiltrated the clean air in the sterile, sunlit room. The only thing that broke the peaceful ambiance was the sound of my voice.
“We go back a long way, you and me. I’ll never forget when we first met in junior high. I was new in Lester Harbor, and you said I was the prettiest girl you had ever seen. Oh, we were just kids.” I threw my head back and laughed at the bygone days.
“You were the lovable Cameron Oliver. We sat in church together and held hands during the sermons. Oh, my goodness, you had such a beautiful voice when you sang Amazing Grace. You were like an angel.”
I sighed, toying with a strand of long, cocoa-brown hair that fell over my left shoulder.
“Then, when we started our first day of college together, you combed your hair, which really brought out your beautiful green eyes.”
Those evergreen eyes were shut behind a veil of unconsciousness.
“For years, I’ve loved you, but our worlds are growing apart.”
I’ve got this. Everything will be okay.
“Was it worth it when you cheated on me? I thought we would wait for each other. That our first time would be together when we married. Instead, you threw me away for a night with someone you barely knew.”
I was so fucking stupid. Now in my last year of college, I realized that I’d wasted years loving someone who shitted on my life.
Live and learn, Saph. Live and learn.
I stared at the unconscious man on the hospital bed. The photo of us on his bedside table, placed there by his mother, showed a broad-shouldered and athletic guy who had everything going for him. He practically threw his life away a week ago, shortly after I found out he was fucking another girl. We fought about it, and then he left me so he could drown his sorrows at a boozy party.
That was the night he chose to drive home drunk afterward. He nearly killed himself by driving at a ridiculously high speed off a quiet highway at around two in the morning, veering off the road and crashing into a tree. Fucking idiot.
So here he was, battered, bruised, broken, and unconscious in a hospital bed. His right arm was in a cast, and so was his right leg. People said it was a miracle that he was still alive, and the medical staff believed he would slowly recover.
“Cameron, I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” I whispered.
He couldn’t hear me, but I wasn’t doing this for him. I was doing this for me. I had no idea when he would wake up from his coma, but I wasn’t going to put my life on hold for him. It hurt to think of those bitter memories with Cam, so I had to cut my losses. It was now or never.
“Cameron, I cannot do this.”
I removed the sapphire and gold ring he’d given me and placed it on his bedside.
“Are you okay?” a feminine voice asked, as I felt a soft hand gently clasp my shoulder.
I turned around to my new friend, Vera Richland. We’d met at a book club on campus early in the semester a few weeks back, and she became my rock of support amid the drama. She’d driven me to Saint Andrew’s Hospital to visit Cameron that afternoon.
I felt a shiver run down my spine and rubbed my arms.
“Saph?”
“Right now, I’m not okay. However, I will eventually be fine. Just not right now,” I confessed.
“I’m really sorry, Saph. I think you’re doing the right thing, and I’m here for you.”
Vera’s comforting hug, which reminded me of soft velvet, engulfed my slender frame. A feeling of warmth began to flood my empty heart, and I felt a tsunami of relief.
“I’ve learned something, Vera,” I said, slowly breaking away from the hug.
“What have you learned, sweetie?” Vera asked.
“The world sees Sapphire Blake as a conservative woman who is too afraid to dare. However, that’s not who I am anymore. God, I was such a fucking people pleaser,” I drawled, rolling my eyes.
“So, what are you going to do about it, hon?” Vera’s dark eyes looked into mine.
“I’m not going to give a shit anymore.” I smiled sweetly.
“That’s what I kept saying from the moment we met,” Vera responded, lightly touching my arm.
I turned away from Vera and moved one step closer to Cameron. I placed his limp hand in between my palms, caressing it gently.
“Cameron, I am saying goodbye to you. When you wake up, I won’t be here. I’m doing something I should have done a long time ago. I am moving on.”
Friday, a week later
“Toss or keep?” I asked Vera, holding up a pink cardigan with frills at the cuffs.
We were in the middle of updating my wardrobe, and it was in dire need of a makeover. Our mission was to free my closet of démodé outfits, which would be donated to a secondhand clothing store.
I enjoyed watching Vera’s mouth twitch when she eyed the frills of the old cardigan.
“Definitely toss!” She laughed, picked up the garment, and threw it into a large, black plastic bag, which was filling up fast.
“How about this one?” I questioned, dangling an oversized, black turtleneck jumper.
“Honey, nobody would wear that, even if you paid them.” Vera’s bluntness was one of the reasons why we’d got along ever since we met. It was a blossoming friendship, and we bonded like a house on fire.
“What about the top I’m wearing?” I dared to ask.
“Lose it. It’s fugly.”
I pulled my top off, revealing an old, faded, light-blue bra.
“Get rid of that bra too,” Vera commanded, as she made herself comfortable on my bed.
She was gorgeous, with caramel locks, dark eyes, and a toned body, reminding me of a hot fitness instructor I once saw on television. I was attracted to her forthrightness, her boldness, and her brilliant mind. She was in her final year of law school, and I believed she would make a terrific lawyer one day.
“Do it for me,” she encouraged, tantalizing me with her raised eyebrow and coy smile.
“You first,” I challenged.
“Alright, then.”
Vera removed her tank top and bra, revealing a pair of bouncy breasts. Her nipples were perfectly round, dark, and looked deliciously edible. I sucked the air in and levitated into a state of heightened arousal. As I slowly removed my bra, I felt my nipples harden and tighten. My B-cup breasts were not large, but they were round and perky.
“Now, take off the rest.” Vera’s right finger directed me to remove my jeans and my panties.
“You too,” I said with a lopsided smile, cocking my head slightly to one side. I took off my blue-rimmed glasses and placed them on my writing desk.
Vera removed her shorts and thong, revealing a neatly trimmed pussy, which elicited a shock wave of excitement.
“Come. Rest here with me.” She patted a space by her side, and I obeyed her.
As I lay by her side, she stroked my hair and placed her luscious, full lips on mine. Her kisses were different from a man’s kiss. They were soft, yet seductive. Playful, yet not forceful. She was stunning and intoxicating.
“Touch me,” I begged her, as I started molding her breasts with my hands. It was the first time I’d played with another woman, and it was a naturally arousing experience.
We continued touching, kissing, and caressing each other for the next few minutes until Vera’s phone buzzed.
“I have to take this call,” she stated as she glanced at the screen.
“Sure,” I coolly replied, leaning on my side.
“Mindy? What’s up?” Vera slowly got up from the bed when she took the call.
I put my clothes back on, while watching a naked, nubile goddess pace back and forth in my room, with her cellphone to her ear.
“Whoa, slow down hon. Don’t cry—it won’t do you any good. I told you before, and I’ll say it again. He’s not the kind of guy you want to fall for. Trust me, I know him.” Vera looked up at the ceiling as if she had heard this conversation before.
“If you can’t handle it, then you shouldn’t get involved with him.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.
I began tidying my desk and put my glasses on while waiting for Vera’s phone conversation to end.
“Don’t. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be right over. Okay, bye.” She ended the call, threw the phone on my bed, and picked up her clothes.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“It’s a friend of mine. She’s involved with my brother again, and now she’s an emotional wreck.”
“Sounds like a messy situation,” I commented.
“Oh, you have no idea. I’ll see you at the book club on Monday.”
“What about this weekend?”
“Look, Saph. I hope you don’t get the wrong idea, but I’m not after a relationship right now.” Vera walked up to me and gently kissed my forehead.
“Don’t worry, neither am I,” I assured her.
“Good then. This doesn’t change our friendship, right?” Vera asked, putting her clothes back on.
“Vera, we’re good,” I chuckled, flashing her a satisfied smile.
As I watched Vera walk out of my room, I thought about how my world was changing. It was time to open my mind as if it were a map to a world of undiscovered territory.
E. Pettersen
ISBN 978-1-912768-87-5
https://amzn.to/2Ng8YbD
https://books2read.com/u/47XXGj
Chapter One
Welcome to my Playground
Julian
First semester at Montville State University, August
“Baby, come back to bed,” she purred, grabbing my arm.
“I need to get to class. There’s no time to sleep in.” I sat on the edge of the bed, gently loosened her grip, and kissed her forehead.
“Oh, honey, please, just one more time.”
“There’s a coffee machine on the kitchen bench. Help yourself to it on the way out.”
“But—”
“You were good, sugar.” I leaned forward and ran my hand along her smooth, tan, inner thighs. I slid my index and middle fingers inside her wet slit, pulled out, then licked them to taste her scent.
Melina Montes, or Mindy, was a college student in her prime.
Her flavor? Spicy and aromatic.
***
She was a sexy hellcat whose tits were popping out of her low-cut tank top when I recognized her across the room at a party last night. Dark hair: check. Dark eyes: check. Tiny waist and a fucking banging body: check, check.
She and I had had casual sex before, so it didn’t take long for the familiar flirtation to turn into a make-out session, which resulted in business in the bedroom in my apartment, where she was a star.
Mindy was a little minx who knew how to satisfy a man. Her naked body was a piece of caramel cake, with small droplets of brown candy on the peaks of her breasts, and a smooth pussy that flowed cream so tasty and hot.
She fucked like a pro and knew how to handle my cock with her mouth. She started on the head, tasting it with her tongue, before using her suction technique, which was spot-on perfect.
Sixty-nine was my favorite number, so while she worked her magic on my cock with her lips, I snacked on her exquisite pussy. That pussy had a landing strip of short, dark hair, which I inhaled to take in her aroma. She was musky, sensual, and pleading to be licked.
My tongue landed on her landing strip, giving it gentle licks. Then my mouth dove into her core, nipping, sucking, and circling the ripe center with my wicked tongue. Her whimpers and mewling grew louder as I continued eating her while pinching her perfectly plump nipples with my fingers and thumbs to stimulate a little more pleasure. Those nipples were divine—they were territory that I’d visited from time to time before, nibbling, licking, and devouring them until they were sore.
“Oh my God, oh my God.” Mindy’s filthy mouth broke away from my cock and prayed to a divine deity.
I continued to roll her nipples between my fingers while feasting on her clit, wanting more of that pussy cream. Her body quivered as I continued with the motions, bringing her to a state of euphoria.
“Fuck, Julian, I’m going to come!” Mindy screamed.
I broke my kiss, positioned myself on top of her, and grabbed a condom. Once I had it on, I slid my hard, throbbing cock inside her, pounding into her sweet, wet pussy at a paced speed, until she screamed unfiltered pleasure peppered with obscenities. We both came hard and fast before I collapsed onto her body, catching up on my breathing. A minute later, we lay in silence, and Mindy’s head rested on my chest. She played with the contours of my chest and stomach, tracing her fingers from my sternum to just above my love trail.
“Your abs. They’re so fucking rock hard,” she whispered, before falling asleep.
I’d just had the fuck of my life with Mindy. I’d known her for years, and she would come onto me like a cat in heat. We were amicable, but I wouldn’t call her a friend, so it was a case of acquaintances with benefits. You see, I met her through my sister, Vera, years ago—they both went to high school together and studied law in college. We hooked up from time to time, but that’s all it was.
After a night of little sleep, I woke up at seven, showered, and got ready for class. The mirror reflected a clear image of a man with mahogany hair and light bags under his dark, burnished eyes. I stared at the man, who was six feet tall with broad shoulders and a muscular build, thanks to my daily routine at Evolve Gym. The exercise initially helped me with a few back problems and eventually became a habit of taking care of myself. I lathered my square, unshaven jaw and started shaving for a fresh, clean look.
There’s a faint scar, just above my right eyebrow, which serves as a reminder of my youth, when a little shit by the name of Wilson Cole shoved a swing bench into my forehead. It’s a memento to remind me that the world is full of shitheads, and probably only twenty percent of the population are decent people worth having a conversation with.
I didn’t mind the heavy nights of sex, but there was one problem—I had morning classes to teach and needed at least a double shot of coffee on the way to the archaeology department. Being a teacher’s assistant/tutor while completing my PhD in archaeology at Montville State University meant I had to be alert and upbeat in front of the class. Based in the coastal city of Lester Harbor, in the state of Montville, the university had a leading archaeology research center.
As for Mindy, I didn’t have time for anything more than a flirtationship. She managed to find her way out of my apartment later that day and left her black, lacy thong, which I threw in the bathroom bin. My name isn’t Julian Carpenter Richland, the thong-collector. My middle name is my mother’s maiden name, by the way.
I saw college girls like Mindy all the time. In class, at the gym, in the library, and in bed. She was no exception to the rule, and she wasn’t the woman of my life, but she sure knew how to fuck.
I wasn’t going to waste my time in meaningless, empty relationships, let alone listen to shallow conversations and empty giggles. Nah, it wasn’t my style. Plus, I had an ongoing arrangement with Saira Quinn, a woman whose business was pleasure and pain.
Chapter Two
Goodbye, Cameron
Sapphire
Mid-September
“Cameron?”
An icy silence infiltrated the clean air in the sterile, sunlit room. The only thing that broke the peaceful ambiance was the sound of my voice.
“We go back a long way, you and me. I’ll never forget when we first met in junior high. I was new in Lester Harbor, and you said I was the prettiest girl you had ever seen. Oh, we were just kids.” I threw my head back and laughed at the bygone days.
“You were the lovable Cameron Oliver. We sat in church together and held hands during the sermons. Oh, my goodness, you had such a beautiful voice when you sang Amazing Grace. You were like an angel.”
I sighed, toying with a strand of long, cocoa-brown hair that fell over my left shoulder.
“Then, when we started our first day of college together, you combed your hair, which really brought out your beautiful green eyes.”
Those evergreen eyes were shut behind a veil of unconsciousness.
“For years, I’ve loved you, but our worlds are growing apart.”
I’ve got this. Everything will be okay.
“Was it worth it when you cheated on me? I thought we would wait for each other. That our first time would be together when we married. Instead, you threw me away for a night with someone you barely knew.”
I was so fucking stupid. Now in my last year of college, I realized that I’d wasted years loving someone who shitted on my life.
Live and learn, Saph. Live and learn.
I stared at the unconscious man on the hospital bed. The photo of us on his bedside table, placed there by his mother, showed a broad-shouldered and athletic guy who had everything going for him. He practically threw his life away a week ago, shortly after I found out he was fucking another girl. We fought about it, and then he left me so he could drown his sorrows at a boozy party.
That was the night he chose to drive home drunk afterward. He nearly killed himself by driving at a ridiculously high speed off a quiet highway at around two in the morning, veering off the road and crashing into a tree. Fucking idiot.
So here he was, battered, bruised, broken, and unconscious in a hospital bed. His right arm was in a cast, and so was his right leg. People said it was a miracle that he was still alive, and the medical staff believed he would slowly recover.
“Cameron, I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” I whispered.
He couldn’t hear me, but I wasn’t doing this for him. I was doing this for me. I had no idea when he would wake up from his coma, but I wasn’t going to put my life on hold for him. It hurt to think of those bitter memories with Cam, so I had to cut my losses. It was now or never.
“Cameron, I cannot do this.”
I removed the sapphire and gold ring he’d given me and placed it on his bedside.
“Are you okay?” a feminine voice asked, as I felt a soft hand gently clasp my shoulder.
I turned around to my new friend, Vera Richland. We’d met at a book club on campus early in the semester a few weeks back, and she became my rock of support amid the drama. She’d driven me to Saint Andrew’s Hospital to visit Cameron that afternoon.
I felt a shiver run down my spine and rubbed my arms.
“Saph?”
“Right now, I’m not okay. However, I will eventually be fine. Just not right now,” I confessed.
“I’m really sorry, Saph. I think you’re doing the right thing, and I’m here for you.”
Vera’s comforting hug, which reminded me of soft velvet, engulfed my slender frame. A feeling of warmth began to flood my empty heart, and I felt a tsunami of relief.
“I’ve learned something, Vera,” I said, slowly breaking away from the hug.
“What have you learned, sweetie?” Vera asked.
“The world sees Sapphire Blake as a conservative woman who is too afraid to dare. However, that’s not who I am anymore. God, I was such a fucking people pleaser,” I drawled, rolling my eyes.
“So, what are you going to do about it, hon?” Vera’s dark eyes looked into mine.
“I’m not going to give a shit anymore.” I smiled sweetly.
“That’s what I kept saying from the moment we met,” Vera responded, lightly touching my arm.
I turned away from Vera and moved one step closer to Cameron. I placed his limp hand in between my palms, caressing it gently.
“Cameron, I am saying goodbye to you. When you wake up, I won’t be here. I’m doing something I should have done a long time ago. I am moving on.”
Friday, a week later
“Toss or keep?” I asked Vera, holding up a pink cardigan with frills at the cuffs.
We were in the middle of updating my wardrobe, and it was in dire need of a makeover. Our mission was to free my closet of démodé outfits, which would be donated to a secondhand clothing store.
I enjoyed watching Vera’s mouth twitch when she eyed the frills of the old cardigan.
“Definitely toss!” She laughed, picked up the garment, and threw it into a large, black plastic bag, which was filling up fast.
“How about this one?” I questioned, dangling an oversized, black turtleneck jumper.
“Honey, nobody would wear that, even if you paid them.” Vera’s bluntness was one of the reasons why we’d got along ever since we met. It was a blossoming friendship, and we bonded like a house on fire.
“What about the top I’m wearing?” I dared to ask.
“Lose it. It’s fugly.”
I pulled my top off, revealing an old, faded, light-blue bra.
“Get rid of that bra too,” Vera commanded, as she made herself comfortable on my bed.
She was gorgeous, with caramel locks, dark eyes, and a toned body, reminding me of a hot fitness instructor I once saw on television. I was attracted to her forthrightness, her boldness, and her brilliant mind. She was in her final year of law school, and I believed she would make a terrific lawyer one day.
“Do it for me,” she encouraged, tantalizing me with her raised eyebrow and coy smile.
“You first,” I challenged.
“Alright, then.”
Vera removed her tank top and bra, revealing a pair of bouncy breasts. Her nipples were perfectly round, dark, and looked deliciously edible. I sucked the air in and levitated into a state of heightened arousal. As I slowly removed my bra, I felt my nipples harden and tighten. My B-cup breasts were not large, but they were round and perky.
“Now, take off the rest.” Vera’s right finger directed me to remove my jeans and my panties.
“You too,” I said with a lopsided smile, cocking my head slightly to one side. I took off my blue-rimmed glasses and placed them on my writing desk.
Vera removed her shorts and thong, revealing a neatly trimmed pussy, which elicited a shock wave of excitement.
“Come. Rest here with me.” She patted a space by her side, and I obeyed her.
As I lay by her side, she stroked my hair and placed her luscious, full lips on mine. Her kisses were different from a man’s kiss. They were soft, yet seductive. Playful, yet not forceful. She was stunning and intoxicating.
“Touch me,” I begged her, as I started molding her breasts with my hands. It was the first time I’d played with another woman, and it was a naturally arousing experience.
We continued touching, kissing, and caressing each other for the next few minutes until Vera’s phone buzzed.
“I have to take this call,” she stated as she glanced at the screen.
“Sure,” I coolly replied, leaning on my side.
“Mindy? What’s up?” Vera slowly got up from the bed when she took the call.
I put my clothes back on, while watching a naked, nubile goddess pace back and forth in my room, with her cellphone to her ear.
“Whoa, slow down hon. Don’t cry—it won’t do you any good. I told you before, and I’ll say it again. He’s not the kind of guy you want to fall for. Trust me, I know him.” Vera looked up at the ceiling as if she had heard this conversation before.
“If you can’t handle it, then you shouldn’t get involved with him.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.
I began tidying my desk and put my glasses on while waiting for Vera’s phone conversation to end.
“Don’t. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be right over. Okay, bye.” She ended the call, threw the phone on my bed, and picked up her clothes.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“It’s a friend of mine. She’s involved with my brother again, and now she’s an emotional wreck.”
“Sounds like a messy situation,” I commented.
“Oh, you have no idea. I’ll see you at the book club on Monday.”
“What about this weekend?”
“Look, Saph. I hope you don’t get the wrong idea, but I’m not after a relationship right now.” Vera walked up to me and gently kissed my forehead.
“Don’t worry, neither am I,” I assured her.
“Good then. This doesn’t change our friendship, right?” Vera asked, putting her clothes back on.
“Vera, we’re good,” I chuckled, flashing her a satisfied smile.
As I watched Vera walk out of my room, I thought about how my world was changing. It was time to open my mind as if it were a map to a world of undiscovered territory.
June 18, 2020
More Than Words
More Than Words
Keren Hughes and Jodie Harrold
978-1-912768-84-4
https://amzn.to/2zvoMnC
https://books2read.com/u/mdlLDl
Prologue
I try to calm my shaking hands as adrenaline rapidly travels through my body and up my arms, until my whole body is nearly convulsing in shock. Gasping, I try to take in deep breaths to be able to distinguish what I am seeing and hearing. It takes all my concentration. After gaining the control to slowly take in the blurring lines on the piece of paper before me, I am finally able to form words.
“They left me everything? As in everything? Even their house?” I ask in shock as I stare at the solicitor sitting before me. “What about my parents? Did they not leave anything to them?”
I continue my frantic attempt to absorb the knowledge before me as the solicitor sighs in frustration. Having asked him the same question multiple times in a row, I can understand why he’s frustrated. I am too.
“No. As you can see, it is written in this will that their sole beneficiary is their grandchild—you. They left you everything for you to do whatever you please.”
He pauses as he shuffles through some papers stacked on his desk, looking for something.
“There is a letter addressed to you, which is my reason for asking you to meet me today. Their only request was for you to read it before you make a decision.”
He slides the envelope towards me as he talks. I stare at it in fascination. Realising I have been silent for so long, he clears his throat to get my attention.
“I will leave and give you some time to digest what has been brought to your attention. I will be back in five minutes.”
After staring at the envelope for what feels like hours—but in reality, is only a couple of seconds—I tear into it. I’m taken aback as a flurry of photos falls over my lap and to the ground.
Bending to pick them up, I gasp in shock as I see all the photos of me with my grandparents as I grew up and some more recent ones.
One stands out the most; there I am with a large grin on my face. My grandad John stands behind me looking worried, and I’m holding a revolting looking cake to my grandma who’s behind the camera.
Inside the envelope is also a letter. I begin to shake as I see my name in cursive writing, knowing it to be my grandmother’s.
To our dearest Evie,
If you’re reading this, we know you’re going to be upset and confused. We wanted everything to be left to you, for you to have a future. We remember the joy in your eyes when you used to play in the park as a child, and then how that joy turned to inquisitiveness as you blossomed into a teenager. But then it slowly faded away after university. We wished that there was anything we could do to bring that little girl back, when you were so full of life and weren’t afraid to do anything.
Do you remember when we used to bake together? You would get flour everywhere! However, you enjoyed it so much that I didn’t mind finding flour in all the nooks and crannies for months on end.
I remember the day you and Grandad tried to make that surprise chocolate cake while I was in town with the girls, buying more ingredients for a special recipe I had found. When I came home, all we could smell was burnt cake, as you had left it in the oven for too long. But the way that your eyes filled with pride as you presented that cake to me, with Grandad trailing behind you looking worried. Oh, the look on his face was priceless! Even though it was burnt, we ate it. We knew how much it meant to you, and over the years you perfected the art and became an amazing baker. You managed to take my recipes and make them better. I hope you keep that passion, that it will live on after me and you. I hope you take that box of recipes and produce some amazing treats with them, and eventually pass them down to your children, with your recipes added in there.
We are proud to be able to call you ours. You were ours, just as much as you were your parents’. Which is the reason why we decided to leave everything to you.
We knew you may need help one day. At first, we didn’t know what it was for—I just called it intuition—but as time went past, we had our suspicions. We hope that you can live the life that you are meant to live, without restraints holding you back. We want you to be free.
We love you with all our hearts,
Grandma and Grandad.
I shuffle to wipe the tears spilling down my cheeks as they hit the paper before me, not wanting to ruin the last remains of my grandma’s handwriting. I stare in disbelief as I scan the letter repeatedly, trying to make sense of what she meant. I kept what had happened between me and Greg quiet, not wanting anybody to step in and possibly make things worse.
I know immediately that I am going to leave my hometown; I need to get away from my past as quickly as possible. Saying goodbye to my family is going to be the hardest thing, but I need to leave. They may not understand why, but I feel the urge to create distance between me and my past. This money gives me the freedom to do what I could have only dreamed of before—to create a future for myself. I need to take what my grandparents have given me and leave. I smile at the thought of making a new home for myself, of having a place that I can call my own. Where I can leave dishes in the sink for more than five minutes, place my shoes wherever I want them to be, and lounge around the house doing nothing for a day. A life where I can dress how I want, instead of having an outfit laid out for me by Greg. Where I can make friends with other men and not be reprimanded for speaking to someone of the opposite sex. In fact, a life where I can actually have friends full stop.
The opening of the office door pulls me from my thoughts, and I quickly wipe my tears and face the solicitor. He smiles as he makes his way to the desk and shifts paperwork again. The mess that has ensued makes me want to go over and file it all, rather than having stacks of paperwork on top of each other.
“All of your grandparents’ assets will be transferred in your name by the end of the week. You will then be free to sell the house and do what you wish.”
He extends his arm towards me and shakes my hand as though he’s just done a business deal. I wonder if he can hear how hard my heart is beating.
As I make my way out the door, I quickly turn.
“Thank you for having me here and giving me that envelope.”
I smile as I briskly walk out the doors to accept my fate.
***
I stare at the numerous pregnancy tests before me as I’m slumped on the toilet seat. It’s not possible. I thought the first couple were just defective—is it even possible to get a false positive the way you can get a false negative?—but after the fifth test, I’ve realised my fate.
They are all positive. The thought of bringing up a child in this type of hostile environment terrifies me. I may be stupid for putting myself through this, but could I do that to another human being? My child. I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t—do that. Greg would either beat me the moment he found out or make me abort the unborn baby. Abortion is out of the question; I couldn’t do that to a living being. I’m not against it for other people, they have their reasons, but it isn’t a possibility for me. I just know that I could give this baby a life, I could bring this baby up. It would be my salvation.
I need to leave. I jump up as quickly as I can, ignoring the excruciating pain that travels up my side from the movement. I run through the house to get the binbags out of the kitchen, and I throw as many belongings as I can into them, only wanting a few tops and the jewellery that my grandma Heather gave me.
Looking at the time, I know I’ve only got an hour to get out of the house before he returns. I pack as quickly as I can and am about to make my way to my parents’ house, but first I turn and race back into the bathroom to grab all the pregnancy tests and boxes. I don’t want Greg to have any inclination of what is going on.
After I’ve locked the door to the apartment, I race down the stairs, jump into my car and reverse out of the parking space. I drive down the road as fast as I dare, not wanting to be pulled over for a speeding ticket at this time. As I make my way onto the motorway, I dial my mother’s number.
“Hello, sweetheart. Are you okay?” I hear the muffled voice of my mother through the car speakers.
“Umm … Yeah. I-is it okay if I stay at yours for the night? It’s an emergency.”
I hear my mum go silent on the other end. I can imagine that she’s sitting there scratching her head.
“Of course you can. Are you sure you’re okay? Is this about Greg?” I hear her say over a muffled reply from my father.
“I’m fine; I just need to get away. I’ll be half an hour. I’ll explain everything when I get there. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
I quickly end the call before my mother gives my father the phone, knowing he won’t let me get away with only half answers.
I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to figure it out. I had tried to hide it as best as I could. But I couldn’t prevent it.
***
Curled on the sofa, I wait for my mother to come back into the room with a coffee. I wince as I shuffle, trying to get comfortable. I suddenly feel my mother’s warm hands gently grasp my side where my top has risen. She pulls it all the way up and gasps at the sight.
“Who did this to you?”
“It’s nothing, Mother. Don’t worry. I fell down the stairs the other day; you know how clumsy I am.” I fake a laugh, trying to make her believe the lie.
“I’m not stupid, honey. I’ve seen plenty of those. Was it Greg?” She looks me in the eyes.
I nod my head ever so slightly. I don’t want to actually admit what happened, and I don’t want her to have a tainted view of me or think that I deserved it.
I look up, waiting for a response, and she leans over and hugs me as gently as she can, smoothing my hair as she whispers soothing words, and that’s all it takes for me to break down.
***
I shake my head, clearing it so I can focus on my goal. I turn my phone off as I want to make sure that Greg can’t get ahold of me—I’ll need to change my number soon, so I don’t have to be afraid each time the phone rings. It will only take him an hour, maybe two tops, before he figures out that I’m not coming back. He knows that today is usually shopping day, and I always forget to charge my phone, so thankfully, luck is on my side for the time being.
Having known that I’m pregnant for just an hour, the protectiveness that I feel for this unborn baby shouldn’t be natural. I’m not the maternal type. After being with Greg for the last four and a half years, I knew I didn’t want to bring a baby into this type of life. I did everything I could to prevent it; I secretly had the contraceptive injection so I wouldn’t fall pregnant. But he found out and decided to get his payback, trying everything to get me pregnant. Even if it was against my will. Looks like he succeeded, I thought. I shake my head, wanting to get rid of that thought before it fully festers in my mind. I won’t allow my child to grow up thinking he or she was a mistake or not wanted.
The driver’s side door opening startles me. I jump and turn, ready to kick and scream, before I realise it’s my father. As I visibly relax, his sharp eyes take in everything; I notice his eyes narrow, then soften. He reaches in and gently grabs me in his arms, cradling me to his chest as if I were a child. The full force of what has happened makes my body shake as I sob into his chest. He whispers soothing words into my ear as he helps me from the car and guides me into the house. I notice my mother standing in the foyer with a hand over her mouth, unshed tears brimming in her eyes.
How I managed to pull into my parents’ driveway without realising makes me feel unnerved. I can’t have been completely aware of my surroundings like I usually am.
As my dad turns into the living room, I see my uncle sitting there in his police uniform. I start to shake and try to get away, but my father’s arms clamp tighter around me.
“You need to finally make him suffer for what he’s done to you,” he whispers in my ear. “No more hiding.”
Reporting Greg to the police has never been an option before. He warned me that if I ever did, he would hurt me so much worse than he ever had before—and that pain didn’t have to come as physical beatings or mental abuse; it could mean hurting my parents. So, I never went to hospital with my injuries in case they saw signs of abuse and reported it to the police, as they are duty-bound to do. I never dialled 999. I always dressed to cover myself from head to toe, sometimes using makeup to cover bruises—something I became an expert at doing.
I instantly feel overwhelmed. Do I really want to report him? What if it goes to court and I don’t have any physical evidence of what he did to me? He’d get off and then come after me ten times as hard as before.
My heart races in my chest, feeling like it’s trying to burst free of its constraints. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat as I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes.
I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this. For myself, but more importantly for the innocent life inside me. My child deserves the best start in life, and that can’t happen with Greg walking free. He has to pay for what he’s done.
I can’t live my life constantly looking over my shoulder, in fear of every street corner, every dark alley …
The blows he dealt me over the years made me feel weak. But I know now that I’m not weak. I am strong. I am willing to fight back. For my life and for my child to grow up without him.
If he isn’t behind bars when my baby comes into this world, I dread to think what he would do if he found out. He’s not a real man, so he could never be a real father. But he’d want access, and he’d fight me for it. It would go to court, and if they found in his favour, I’d have to allow my child to see that piece of shit on a regular basis.
Over my dead body.
I sit on the sofa and am instantly squashed with my mother and father on either side of me. My mother’s hand reaches into my lap and takes hold of my hand. As I look up at her, she gives me a reassuring smile.
I can do this. I know it will hurt my parents to hear my story, but they need to know the truth. I need to stop lying and covering up for that bastard. He’s the one to blame in all of this and it’s about time I stopped blaming myself for making him hurt me.
That’s one thing he always said, “You know I’m only giving you what you deserve. You brought this on yourself. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice. You make me hurt you.”
I’m sick of being petrified of my own shadow and I won’t let my child—my innocent, pure child—be tainted by a life with that man in it.
Steeling myself for what’s to come, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, drawing it in through my mouth and out through my nose.
Opening my eyes, I face my uncle sitting opposite me with a tender smile on his face. I open my mouth and suddenly, the dam breaks and everything comes pouring out. I can taste the salty tears on my lips as I tell him the truth, but I don’t care. For once, I’m going to cry it out and let it wash over me, taking my pain with it.
My life as a victim is over. This is the first day of the rest of my life as a survivor.
Chapter One
Evie
6 years later
“Mummy, wake up,” I hear Maya say as she squeezes my arm.
Trying to conceal my grin, I wrap my arms around her and pull her into the bed, yanking the covers over us in the process. I make her giggle and thrash around as I tickle her.
“Morning sweetheart.” I yawn as I hug her.
“Are we making cupcakes and pies today, Mummy?” Maya says, staring at me with her large grey doe eyes, “because I really want some Rose specials.”
They’re Maya’s favourite. A concoction I made up when I was pregnant and craving something sweet, I had eaten that much that she has been addicted to this day. As it’s a chocolate and vanilla swirl cake with mint and orange ganache on it, I don’t blame her. It’s basically a fancier version of a chocolate orange.
“Of course; it’s Sunday.” It’s become our tradition to bake on a Sunday, typically because I would always bake with my grandma on a Sunday, and I want to keep that little bit of tradition running through the family.
“We’ll go to the bakery after we eat breakfast, but try not to get flour everywhere this time. We trod it in the house last week.” I look her in the eyes and start to tickle her again, so she knows I’m just playing. She insists on measuring the flour every time we go on a Sunday, so we usually end up wearing more then we put into the recipe.
Pulling the duvet from over the top off our heads, I pull us both up. With Maya in my lap, I sit there and welcome the comfort that she brings. Then I put her down, and we make our way down the stairs and into the kitchen. I place her on the worktop. Immediately, she opens the cupboard and pulls out her cereal of choice. I laugh at her hair, which closely resembles a mane this early in the morning. With her long wavy brown hair and grey eyes, we look very much like mother and daughter. Thankfully she took after me in that department.
“Mummy, I need a bowl,” she says impatiently as she shakes the cereal box in front of my face.
I pull her down from the work surface, and she makes her way to the table in the corner of the kitchen-dining area. I follow her and place the bowl and milk next to each other.
“Remember not to make a mess this time. Pour the milk carefully,” I warn as I eye her picking the milk up.
I make my way to the coffee machine and turn it on. I can’t function throughout the day without a coffee. I think that was one of the main reasons I added a small coffee shop into the bakery—everyone needs a coffee with a cake or tart. Queen of Tarts is probably one of my greatest accomplishments, after my daughter of course.
***
I laugh as I watch Maya dump icing sugar into the standing mixer and a plume of sugar-smoke, as Maya calls it, hits her in the face.
Giggling as she inhales the sweet smell, she exclaims, “Look, Mummy! Look at how high that went!”
“That one did, sweetie. Let’s be careful, though.” I eye the mess on the floor, a mix of flour and different types of sugar. “We still need to ice these cupcakes before we go home.”
I take the tarts and large cakes into the walk-in freezer and place them so they’re easily accessible to be put in the display case tomorrow morning. As I walk back into the decorating room, I see Maya adding the last ingredients into the icing. I have always been impressed with how she knows the recipe for the icing; she never gets it wrong. It brings me comfort that she will be able to keep the bakery going when I can’t anymore.
“Okay, let’s ice the cupcakes then.” I pull a separate rack for Maya to decorate.
I always let her decorate her own. She usually takes them to school to give to her friends and teachers, but with it being the Easter holiday, we’re going to take them home and gorge on them. I continue decorating the cakes that I make for the Easter season and add little chocolate eggs to the top, making them look like little nests.
Just as I finish putting the cupcakes for tomorrow away, I see that Maya has finished hers.
“Wow, sweetheart. They look delicious, I can’t wait to have some later.” As I look into her eyes, I see them brighten and pride take over her face.
“Thank you, Mummy. I can’t either! Are we going home now? I’m hungry.”
“Of course. Are you going to help me make spaghetti and meatballs tonight?” I grab her and place her down on the floor.
Maya holds the box of cupcakes in her arms, and we make our way out of the shop. I always try and make simple things for tea, so she can help me, usually just by stirring the sauce or pasta.
She nods her head as we make our way home, too absorbed in watching the birds fly around the sky.
***
Just as I finish placing the icing on the last tier of a wedding cake for Mr and Soon-To-Be¬-Mrs Smith, my friend and employee, Ryan, bursts through the door.
“Oh! My! God! That hot hunk of a man just came in. Oh how he makes me swoon,” he says, over-exaggerating every word as he plonks himself down in a chair. “Sadly, he doesn’t bat for this team. You really should get to know him.”
Rolling my eyes at his usual tactic to get me with any man in this town, I close the door to the freezer just as Maya walks in.
“Mummy, look at the drawing I’ve just finished in my colouring book!” Enthusiastically, she shows me a colouring of a giraffe.
“Wow, sweetheart! You’re getting so good.” I watch as Ryan quickly nods his head in agreement. “I hope you have been good for Ryan at the till.” I raise my eyebrows at her.
“I haves been good! Just ask Uncle Ry!” She skips towards him and flings herself into his awaiting arms.
“Of course. You have been amazing, my little fairy!” He stares at me in mock annoyance, then starts playing a hand game with her to keep her distracted.
I always have Maya with me at the bakery in the holidays; she alternates sitting back here with me, or sitting at the till while Ry is here, colouring in one of her new colouring books.
As I start to get the decorations ready to place onto the cake, I hear Ry take Maya out, muttering something about leaving me in the zone. I make quick work of stacking the tiers for the Smiths and adding the sugar flowers that I made late last week. Thankfully, I didn’t need to come in on the weekend to finish the cake, as they are having a late wedding.
Once that is finished and has been picked up for delivery, I make my way to the front part of the shop. I love that the front of the bakery is set up almost like a restaurant, so customers can stay in and have a cup of coffee or a cake, but still have the choice to take things away. The back is reserved for baking or making a cake if I have an order for an event through my website. I notice that Maya is in her usual spot, with Ry standing next to her, talking to the last customers of the day and, as usual, being a flirt to anybody who listens. Chuckling, I go and stand behind Maya.
I watch as Ryan locks the front door after everybody has left. “Want me to put all the things from the till into the safe?” he asks.
“Yes, please. I’m going to move all the cakes from the display cases and put them back in the freezer. I’ll be making fresh ones tomorrow anyway, so they can go out while they’re baking.”
“Can I help with the cakes tomorrow, Mummy?” Maya asks as I’m making my way to the display cases.
I turn and see her looking at me with hope in her eyes. “Of course. I need my little helper.” I grin as I give her a cupcake from the display case. “This is a treat for being so good today.”
She smiles, and just as she goes to take a bite Ry runs in and jokingly cries out “Where is mine? I have been good today too, haven’t I, Mummy?” He pretends to fall on the floor and cry as he keeps up this façade.
Maya sits there and bursts out laughing at his acting. “Yeah, Mummy. Uncle Ry has been good too! It’s mean not to give him a treat.”
I play along, as it is our usual routine. “Well, looks like we’ll have to have Ryan over then and cook him dinner, huh?” I say, looking at Maya.
Ryan stands up and, with the biggest grin, gives me a hug. “I think tea is the perfect treat.”
Maya shakes her head as we make our way out of the shop and towards home.
***
Curled on the sofa, with a glass of wine in my hand, I wait for Ryan to come back downstairs. After we’d eaten our takeaway—I was too lazy to cook—and after watching Snow White, Maya demanded that her uncle Ry took her to bed and read her a bedtime story. With the length of time he’s been up there, I guess he’s been roped into reading more than one, but then the thump of feet on the stairs brings me to the conclusion that he has managed to get away.
***
Thumping travels throughout the flat, shaking the bathroom, as Greg tries to get into the room. He’s been on one of his drinking weekends again, he always comes back either extremely happy, or like this, wanting to do anything to frighten me. I shouldn’t have provoked him really. I should have just cleaned the dishes last night. But I thought I had more time; he wasn’t meant to be back until late tonight. Not at nine in the morning.
“You can’t lock me out forever, Evelyn! You’ll let me in eventually.” The pounding on the door ensues.
Panic consumes my whole body as I hear the door creak and groan, about to give way. I try and find a more substantial barricade to place in front of the door separating us, but there’s nothing. Only the bending door separating me and him. Finally, I feel the door give way, and I jump back to prevent myself from getting crushed. I see Greg’s red face, reminding me of …
***
“Hun, where’d you go?” I’m snatched out of my memory by Ryan crouching before me, shaking my shoulders with a concerned look on his face.
Only then do I realise the tears streaming down my face, some landing in my empty wine glass.
“Oh, nowhere. I’m fine.” I shrug off his hands and try to act nonchalant.
I’ve only given small bits of information about my past to Ryan, and he knows not to push me. Instead, he sits next to me and pulls me into his arms, giving me the comfort he knows I need.
“I think it’s time you move on darlin’, try and make a life for yourself, instead of living in this shell that you’ve created. It’s obviously not helping you. I know you struggle to sleep; I see the bags under your eyes at work.” The more Ryan talks, the thicker his voice gets with emotion.
“I have made a life for myself! I have Maya. I have you. I have a business that’s successful! I don’t understand how that’s not living,” I ramble, as quickly as my lungs will allow.
“I don’t mean that; don’t get upset.” He looks into my eyes with sorrow. “You haven’t given anybody a second glance since you’ve been here, and trust me, I tried to test you. I thought you just weren’t interested in men, but even women didn’t catch your attention. And I’ve seen some women flirt with you who are so hot they could make me straight, if that was possible.”
Giggling, I lean back and lean into Ryan.
“You know that I love you, right?” I ask as I snuggle in closer, enjoying his warmth.
“I love you too, you sap. I just think maybe trying to go back into the dating scene might be a way for you to finally heal.” Suddenly, he gets this glint in his eye. “Like that hot hunk of a man earlier!”
Confused, I try to shuffle through the events of today in my brain.
“The one you came in the back raving about?”
“Yes! You’d go perfectly together, plus he lives for your pies.”
Winking at me, he pulls me up and leads me into the kitchen.
Leaning against the work surface, I watch as Ryan pulls two cups out from the cupboard and fills them from the coffee machine.
Turning to me and handing me my cup, he cocks his head as he asks, “Why are you so afraid to date?”
“I hate answering that question,” I reply, mumbling into my coffee. “You obviously know some of what happened.” I look at Ryan and he solemnly nods his head. “I’m afraid that it will happen again. I’m not ready to be hurt like that again, to go through that again.”
“But how do you know that you’ll be hurt again if you don’t just try? You’ll never know what the future holds, but you can never let the past hold you back. You can’t stay hostage to something that happened years ago; you need to let go and live.”
He looks at me with his eyebrows raised.
I huff, knowing he’s right.
“But how will I know I won’t be hurt again?” I whisper as I try to keep the tears at bay. It’s a futile attempt, because a few slip out anyway.
“You won’t know if you don’t try.” Ryan turns on his heel. “Come on, you’ve got to be up early for tomorrow. Mind if I stay tonight?”
Looking at the time, I gasp in shock.
“It’s midnight? How did that happen? Yeah, of course, it’s alright. The spare room is made up for you as usual.”
Ryan walks towards me and smiles, giving me a kiss on the top of the head, before making his way to the spare room. I’m grateful for having a friend like him; he knows when I’ve drained myself mentally. Turning in the opposite direction, I head towards my bedroom.
I stare at my large queen-sized bed as I walk in and notice for the first time in years how lonely it feels. How lonely it is to go to bed by myself and not have someone to keep me warm and safe for the night, for somebody to love me—truly love me—and only me.
Keren Hughes and Jodie Harrold
978-1-912768-84-4
https://amzn.to/2zvoMnC
https://books2read.com/u/mdlLDl
Prologue
I try to calm my shaking hands as adrenaline rapidly travels through my body and up my arms, until my whole body is nearly convulsing in shock. Gasping, I try to take in deep breaths to be able to distinguish what I am seeing and hearing. It takes all my concentration. After gaining the control to slowly take in the blurring lines on the piece of paper before me, I am finally able to form words.
“They left me everything? As in everything? Even their house?” I ask in shock as I stare at the solicitor sitting before me. “What about my parents? Did they not leave anything to them?”
I continue my frantic attempt to absorb the knowledge before me as the solicitor sighs in frustration. Having asked him the same question multiple times in a row, I can understand why he’s frustrated. I am too.
“No. As you can see, it is written in this will that their sole beneficiary is their grandchild—you. They left you everything for you to do whatever you please.”
He pauses as he shuffles through some papers stacked on his desk, looking for something.
“There is a letter addressed to you, which is my reason for asking you to meet me today. Their only request was for you to read it before you make a decision.”
He slides the envelope towards me as he talks. I stare at it in fascination. Realising I have been silent for so long, he clears his throat to get my attention.
“I will leave and give you some time to digest what has been brought to your attention. I will be back in five minutes.”
After staring at the envelope for what feels like hours—but in reality, is only a couple of seconds—I tear into it. I’m taken aback as a flurry of photos falls over my lap and to the ground.
Bending to pick them up, I gasp in shock as I see all the photos of me with my grandparents as I grew up and some more recent ones.
One stands out the most; there I am with a large grin on my face. My grandad John stands behind me looking worried, and I’m holding a revolting looking cake to my grandma who’s behind the camera.
Inside the envelope is also a letter. I begin to shake as I see my name in cursive writing, knowing it to be my grandmother’s.
To our dearest Evie,
If you’re reading this, we know you’re going to be upset and confused. We wanted everything to be left to you, for you to have a future. We remember the joy in your eyes when you used to play in the park as a child, and then how that joy turned to inquisitiveness as you blossomed into a teenager. But then it slowly faded away after university. We wished that there was anything we could do to bring that little girl back, when you were so full of life and weren’t afraid to do anything.
Do you remember when we used to bake together? You would get flour everywhere! However, you enjoyed it so much that I didn’t mind finding flour in all the nooks and crannies for months on end.
I remember the day you and Grandad tried to make that surprise chocolate cake while I was in town with the girls, buying more ingredients for a special recipe I had found. When I came home, all we could smell was burnt cake, as you had left it in the oven for too long. But the way that your eyes filled with pride as you presented that cake to me, with Grandad trailing behind you looking worried. Oh, the look on his face was priceless! Even though it was burnt, we ate it. We knew how much it meant to you, and over the years you perfected the art and became an amazing baker. You managed to take my recipes and make them better. I hope you keep that passion, that it will live on after me and you. I hope you take that box of recipes and produce some amazing treats with them, and eventually pass them down to your children, with your recipes added in there.
We are proud to be able to call you ours. You were ours, just as much as you were your parents’. Which is the reason why we decided to leave everything to you.
We knew you may need help one day. At first, we didn’t know what it was for—I just called it intuition—but as time went past, we had our suspicions. We hope that you can live the life that you are meant to live, without restraints holding you back. We want you to be free.
We love you with all our hearts,
Grandma and Grandad.
I shuffle to wipe the tears spilling down my cheeks as they hit the paper before me, not wanting to ruin the last remains of my grandma’s handwriting. I stare in disbelief as I scan the letter repeatedly, trying to make sense of what she meant. I kept what had happened between me and Greg quiet, not wanting anybody to step in and possibly make things worse.
I know immediately that I am going to leave my hometown; I need to get away from my past as quickly as possible. Saying goodbye to my family is going to be the hardest thing, but I need to leave. They may not understand why, but I feel the urge to create distance between me and my past. This money gives me the freedom to do what I could have only dreamed of before—to create a future for myself. I need to take what my grandparents have given me and leave. I smile at the thought of making a new home for myself, of having a place that I can call my own. Where I can leave dishes in the sink for more than five minutes, place my shoes wherever I want them to be, and lounge around the house doing nothing for a day. A life where I can dress how I want, instead of having an outfit laid out for me by Greg. Where I can make friends with other men and not be reprimanded for speaking to someone of the opposite sex. In fact, a life where I can actually have friends full stop.
The opening of the office door pulls me from my thoughts, and I quickly wipe my tears and face the solicitor. He smiles as he makes his way to the desk and shifts paperwork again. The mess that has ensued makes me want to go over and file it all, rather than having stacks of paperwork on top of each other.
“All of your grandparents’ assets will be transferred in your name by the end of the week. You will then be free to sell the house and do what you wish.”
He extends his arm towards me and shakes my hand as though he’s just done a business deal. I wonder if he can hear how hard my heart is beating.
As I make my way out the door, I quickly turn.
“Thank you for having me here and giving me that envelope.”
I smile as I briskly walk out the doors to accept my fate.
***
I stare at the numerous pregnancy tests before me as I’m slumped on the toilet seat. It’s not possible. I thought the first couple were just defective—is it even possible to get a false positive the way you can get a false negative?—but after the fifth test, I’ve realised my fate.
They are all positive. The thought of bringing up a child in this type of hostile environment terrifies me. I may be stupid for putting myself through this, but could I do that to another human being? My child. I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t—do that. Greg would either beat me the moment he found out or make me abort the unborn baby. Abortion is out of the question; I couldn’t do that to a living being. I’m not against it for other people, they have their reasons, but it isn’t a possibility for me. I just know that I could give this baby a life, I could bring this baby up. It would be my salvation.
I need to leave. I jump up as quickly as I can, ignoring the excruciating pain that travels up my side from the movement. I run through the house to get the binbags out of the kitchen, and I throw as many belongings as I can into them, only wanting a few tops and the jewellery that my grandma Heather gave me.
Looking at the time, I know I’ve only got an hour to get out of the house before he returns. I pack as quickly as I can and am about to make my way to my parents’ house, but first I turn and race back into the bathroom to grab all the pregnancy tests and boxes. I don’t want Greg to have any inclination of what is going on.
After I’ve locked the door to the apartment, I race down the stairs, jump into my car and reverse out of the parking space. I drive down the road as fast as I dare, not wanting to be pulled over for a speeding ticket at this time. As I make my way onto the motorway, I dial my mother’s number.
“Hello, sweetheart. Are you okay?” I hear the muffled voice of my mother through the car speakers.
“Umm … Yeah. I-is it okay if I stay at yours for the night? It’s an emergency.”
I hear my mum go silent on the other end. I can imagine that she’s sitting there scratching her head.
“Of course you can. Are you sure you’re okay? Is this about Greg?” I hear her say over a muffled reply from my father.
“I’m fine; I just need to get away. I’ll be half an hour. I’ll explain everything when I get there. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
I quickly end the call before my mother gives my father the phone, knowing he won’t let me get away with only half answers.
I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to figure it out. I had tried to hide it as best as I could. But I couldn’t prevent it.
***
Curled on the sofa, I wait for my mother to come back into the room with a coffee. I wince as I shuffle, trying to get comfortable. I suddenly feel my mother’s warm hands gently grasp my side where my top has risen. She pulls it all the way up and gasps at the sight.
“Who did this to you?”
“It’s nothing, Mother. Don’t worry. I fell down the stairs the other day; you know how clumsy I am.” I fake a laugh, trying to make her believe the lie.
“I’m not stupid, honey. I’ve seen plenty of those. Was it Greg?” She looks me in the eyes.
I nod my head ever so slightly. I don’t want to actually admit what happened, and I don’t want her to have a tainted view of me or think that I deserved it.
I look up, waiting for a response, and she leans over and hugs me as gently as she can, smoothing my hair as she whispers soothing words, and that’s all it takes for me to break down.
***
I shake my head, clearing it so I can focus on my goal. I turn my phone off as I want to make sure that Greg can’t get ahold of me—I’ll need to change my number soon, so I don’t have to be afraid each time the phone rings. It will only take him an hour, maybe two tops, before he figures out that I’m not coming back. He knows that today is usually shopping day, and I always forget to charge my phone, so thankfully, luck is on my side for the time being.
Having known that I’m pregnant for just an hour, the protectiveness that I feel for this unborn baby shouldn’t be natural. I’m not the maternal type. After being with Greg for the last four and a half years, I knew I didn’t want to bring a baby into this type of life. I did everything I could to prevent it; I secretly had the contraceptive injection so I wouldn’t fall pregnant. But he found out and decided to get his payback, trying everything to get me pregnant. Even if it was against my will. Looks like he succeeded, I thought. I shake my head, wanting to get rid of that thought before it fully festers in my mind. I won’t allow my child to grow up thinking he or she was a mistake or not wanted.
The driver’s side door opening startles me. I jump and turn, ready to kick and scream, before I realise it’s my father. As I visibly relax, his sharp eyes take in everything; I notice his eyes narrow, then soften. He reaches in and gently grabs me in his arms, cradling me to his chest as if I were a child. The full force of what has happened makes my body shake as I sob into his chest. He whispers soothing words into my ear as he helps me from the car and guides me into the house. I notice my mother standing in the foyer with a hand over her mouth, unshed tears brimming in her eyes.
How I managed to pull into my parents’ driveway without realising makes me feel unnerved. I can’t have been completely aware of my surroundings like I usually am.
As my dad turns into the living room, I see my uncle sitting there in his police uniform. I start to shake and try to get away, but my father’s arms clamp tighter around me.
“You need to finally make him suffer for what he’s done to you,” he whispers in my ear. “No more hiding.”
Reporting Greg to the police has never been an option before. He warned me that if I ever did, he would hurt me so much worse than he ever had before—and that pain didn’t have to come as physical beatings or mental abuse; it could mean hurting my parents. So, I never went to hospital with my injuries in case they saw signs of abuse and reported it to the police, as they are duty-bound to do. I never dialled 999. I always dressed to cover myself from head to toe, sometimes using makeup to cover bruises—something I became an expert at doing.
I instantly feel overwhelmed. Do I really want to report him? What if it goes to court and I don’t have any physical evidence of what he did to me? He’d get off and then come after me ten times as hard as before.
My heart races in my chest, feeling like it’s trying to burst free of its constraints. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat as I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes.
I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this. For myself, but more importantly for the innocent life inside me. My child deserves the best start in life, and that can’t happen with Greg walking free. He has to pay for what he’s done.
I can’t live my life constantly looking over my shoulder, in fear of every street corner, every dark alley …
The blows he dealt me over the years made me feel weak. But I know now that I’m not weak. I am strong. I am willing to fight back. For my life and for my child to grow up without him.
If he isn’t behind bars when my baby comes into this world, I dread to think what he would do if he found out. He’s not a real man, so he could never be a real father. But he’d want access, and he’d fight me for it. It would go to court, and if they found in his favour, I’d have to allow my child to see that piece of shit on a regular basis.
Over my dead body.
I sit on the sofa and am instantly squashed with my mother and father on either side of me. My mother’s hand reaches into my lap and takes hold of my hand. As I look up at her, she gives me a reassuring smile.
I can do this. I know it will hurt my parents to hear my story, but they need to know the truth. I need to stop lying and covering up for that bastard. He’s the one to blame in all of this and it’s about time I stopped blaming myself for making him hurt me.
That’s one thing he always said, “You know I’m only giving you what you deserve. You brought this on yourself. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice. You make me hurt you.”
I’m sick of being petrified of my own shadow and I won’t let my child—my innocent, pure child—be tainted by a life with that man in it.
Steeling myself for what’s to come, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, drawing it in through my mouth and out through my nose.
Opening my eyes, I face my uncle sitting opposite me with a tender smile on his face. I open my mouth and suddenly, the dam breaks and everything comes pouring out. I can taste the salty tears on my lips as I tell him the truth, but I don’t care. For once, I’m going to cry it out and let it wash over me, taking my pain with it.
My life as a victim is over. This is the first day of the rest of my life as a survivor.
Chapter One
Evie
6 years later
“Mummy, wake up,” I hear Maya say as she squeezes my arm.
Trying to conceal my grin, I wrap my arms around her and pull her into the bed, yanking the covers over us in the process. I make her giggle and thrash around as I tickle her.
“Morning sweetheart.” I yawn as I hug her.
“Are we making cupcakes and pies today, Mummy?” Maya says, staring at me with her large grey doe eyes, “because I really want some Rose specials.”
They’re Maya’s favourite. A concoction I made up when I was pregnant and craving something sweet, I had eaten that much that she has been addicted to this day. As it’s a chocolate and vanilla swirl cake with mint and orange ganache on it, I don’t blame her. It’s basically a fancier version of a chocolate orange.
“Of course; it’s Sunday.” It’s become our tradition to bake on a Sunday, typically because I would always bake with my grandma on a Sunday, and I want to keep that little bit of tradition running through the family.
“We’ll go to the bakery after we eat breakfast, but try not to get flour everywhere this time. We trod it in the house last week.” I look her in the eyes and start to tickle her again, so she knows I’m just playing. She insists on measuring the flour every time we go on a Sunday, so we usually end up wearing more then we put into the recipe.
Pulling the duvet from over the top off our heads, I pull us both up. With Maya in my lap, I sit there and welcome the comfort that she brings. Then I put her down, and we make our way down the stairs and into the kitchen. I place her on the worktop. Immediately, she opens the cupboard and pulls out her cereal of choice. I laugh at her hair, which closely resembles a mane this early in the morning. With her long wavy brown hair and grey eyes, we look very much like mother and daughter. Thankfully she took after me in that department.
“Mummy, I need a bowl,” she says impatiently as she shakes the cereal box in front of my face.
I pull her down from the work surface, and she makes her way to the table in the corner of the kitchen-dining area. I follow her and place the bowl and milk next to each other.
“Remember not to make a mess this time. Pour the milk carefully,” I warn as I eye her picking the milk up.
I make my way to the coffee machine and turn it on. I can’t function throughout the day without a coffee. I think that was one of the main reasons I added a small coffee shop into the bakery—everyone needs a coffee with a cake or tart. Queen of Tarts is probably one of my greatest accomplishments, after my daughter of course.
***
I laugh as I watch Maya dump icing sugar into the standing mixer and a plume of sugar-smoke, as Maya calls it, hits her in the face.
Giggling as she inhales the sweet smell, she exclaims, “Look, Mummy! Look at how high that went!”
“That one did, sweetie. Let’s be careful, though.” I eye the mess on the floor, a mix of flour and different types of sugar. “We still need to ice these cupcakes before we go home.”
I take the tarts and large cakes into the walk-in freezer and place them so they’re easily accessible to be put in the display case tomorrow morning. As I walk back into the decorating room, I see Maya adding the last ingredients into the icing. I have always been impressed with how she knows the recipe for the icing; she never gets it wrong. It brings me comfort that she will be able to keep the bakery going when I can’t anymore.
“Okay, let’s ice the cupcakes then.” I pull a separate rack for Maya to decorate.
I always let her decorate her own. She usually takes them to school to give to her friends and teachers, but with it being the Easter holiday, we’re going to take them home and gorge on them. I continue decorating the cakes that I make for the Easter season and add little chocolate eggs to the top, making them look like little nests.
Just as I finish putting the cupcakes for tomorrow away, I see that Maya has finished hers.
“Wow, sweetheart. They look delicious, I can’t wait to have some later.” As I look into her eyes, I see them brighten and pride take over her face.
“Thank you, Mummy. I can’t either! Are we going home now? I’m hungry.”
“Of course. Are you going to help me make spaghetti and meatballs tonight?” I grab her and place her down on the floor.
Maya holds the box of cupcakes in her arms, and we make our way out of the shop. I always try and make simple things for tea, so she can help me, usually just by stirring the sauce or pasta.
She nods her head as we make our way home, too absorbed in watching the birds fly around the sky.
***
Just as I finish placing the icing on the last tier of a wedding cake for Mr and Soon-To-Be¬-Mrs Smith, my friend and employee, Ryan, bursts through the door.
“Oh! My! God! That hot hunk of a man just came in. Oh how he makes me swoon,” he says, over-exaggerating every word as he plonks himself down in a chair. “Sadly, he doesn’t bat for this team. You really should get to know him.”
Rolling my eyes at his usual tactic to get me with any man in this town, I close the door to the freezer just as Maya walks in.
“Mummy, look at the drawing I’ve just finished in my colouring book!” Enthusiastically, she shows me a colouring of a giraffe.
“Wow, sweetheart! You’re getting so good.” I watch as Ryan quickly nods his head in agreement. “I hope you have been good for Ryan at the till.” I raise my eyebrows at her.
“I haves been good! Just ask Uncle Ry!” She skips towards him and flings herself into his awaiting arms.
“Of course. You have been amazing, my little fairy!” He stares at me in mock annoyance, then starts playing a hand game with her to keep her distracted.
I always have Maya with me at the bakery in the holidays; she alternates sitting back here with me, or sitting at the till while Ry is here, colouring in one of her new colouring books.
As I start to get the decorations ready to place onto the cake, I hear Ry take Maya out, muttering something about leaving me in the zone. I make quick work of stacking the tiers for the Smiths and adding the sugar flowers that I made late last week. Thankfully, I didn’t need to come in on the weekend to finish the cake, as they are having a late wedding.
Once that is finished and has been picked up for delivery, I make my way to the front part of the shop. I love that the front of the bakery is set up almost like a restaurant, so customers can stay in and have a cup of coffee or a cake, but still have the choice to take things away. The back is reserved for baking or making a cake if I have an order for an event through my website. I notice that Maya is in her usual spot, with Ry standing next to her, talking to the last customers of the day and, as usual, being a flirt to anybody who listens. Chuckling, I go and stand behind Maya.
I watch as Ryan locks the front door after everybody has left. “Want me to put all the things from the till into the safe?” he asks.
“Yes, please. I’m going to move all the cakes from the display cases and put them back in the freezer. I’ll be making fresh ones tomorrow anyway, so they can go out while they’re baking.”
“Can I help with the cakes tomorrow, Mummy?” Maya asks as I’m making my way to the display cases.
I turn and see her looking at me with hope in her eyes. “Of course. I need my little helper.” I grin as I give her a cupcake from the display case. “This is a treat for being so good today.”
She smiles, and just as she goes to take a bite Ry runs in and jokingly cries out “Where is mine? I have been good today too, haven’t I, Mummy?” He pretends to fall on the floor and cry as he keeps up this façade.
Maya sits there and bursts out laughing at his acting. “Yeah, Mummy. Uncle Ry has been good too! It’s mean not to give him a treat.”
I play along, as it is our usual routine. “Well, looks like we’ll have to have Ryan over then and cook him dinner, huh?” I say, looking at Maya.
Ryan stands up and, with the biggest grin, gives me a hug. “I think tea is the perfect treat.”
Maya shakes her head as we make our way out of the shop and towards home.
***
Curled on the sofa, with a glass of wine in my hand, I wait for Ryan to come back downstairs. After we’d eaten our takeaway—I was too lazy to cook—and after watching Snow White, Maya demanded that her uncle Ry took her to bed and read her a bedtime story. With the length of time he’s been up there, I guess he’s been roped into reading more than one, but then the thump of feet on the stairs brings me to the conclusion that he has managed to get away.
***
Thumping travels throughout the flat, shaking the bathroom, as Greg tries to get into the room. He’s been on one of his drinking weekends again, he always comes back either extremely happy, or like this, wanting to do anything to frighten me. I shouldn’t have provoked him really. I should have just cleaned the dishes last night. But I thought I had more time; he wasn’t meant to be back until late tonight. Not at nine in the morning.
“You can’t lock me out forever, Evelyn! You’ll let me in eventually.” The pounding on the door ensues.
Panic consumes my whole body as I hear the door creak and groan, about to give way. I try and find a more substantial barricade to place in front of the door separating us, but there’s nothing. Only the bending door separating me and him. Finally, I feel the door give way, and I jump back to prevent myself from getting crushed. I see Greg’s red face, reminding me of …
***
“Hun, where’d you go?” I’m snatched out of my memory by Ryan crouching before me, shaking my shoulders with a concerned look on his face.
Only then do I realise the tears streaming down my face, some landing in my empty wine glass.
“Oh, nowhere. I’m fine.” I shrug off his hands and try to act nonchalant.
I’ve only given small bits of information about my past to Ryan, and he knows not to push me. Instead, he sits next to me and pulls me into his arms, giving me the comfort he knows I need.
“I think it’s time you move on darlin’, try and make a life for yourself, instead of living in this shell that you’ve created. It’s obviously not helping you. I know you struggle to sleep; I see the bags under your eyes at work.” The more Ryan talks, the thicker his voice gets with emotion.
“I have made a life for myself! I have Maya. I have you. I have a business that’s successful! I don’t understand how that’s not living,” I ramble, as quickly as my lungs will allow.
“I don’t mean that; don’t get upset.” He looks into my eyes with sorrow. “You haven’t given anybody a second glance since you’ve been here, and trust me, I tried to test you. I thought you just weren’t interested in men, but even women didn’t catch your attention. And I’ve seen some women flirt with you who are so hot they could make me straight, if that was possible.”
Giggling, I lean back and lean into Ryan.
“You know that I love you, right?” I ask as I snuggle in closer, enjoying his warmth.
“I love you too, you sap. I just think maybe trying to go back into the dating scene might be a way for you to finally heal.” Suddenly, he gets this glint in his eye. “Like that hot hunk of a man earlier!”
Confused, I try to shuffle through the events of today in my brain.
“The one you came in the back raving about?”
“Yes! You’d go perfectly together, plus he lives for your pies.”
Winking at me, he pulls me up and leads me into the kitchen.
Leaning against the work surface, I watch as Ryan pulls two cups out from the cupboard and fills them from the coffee machine.
Turning to me and handing me my cup, he cocks his head as he asks, “Why are you so afraid to date?”
“I hate answering that question,” I reply, mumbling into my coffee. “You obviously know some of what happened.” I look at Ryan and he solemnly nods his head. “I’m afraid that it will happen again. I’m not ready to be hurt like that again, to go through that again.”
“But how do you know that you’ll be hurt again if you don’t just try? You’ll never know what the future holds, but you can never let the past hold you back. You can’t stay hostage to something that happened years ago; you need to let go and live.”
He looks at me with his eyebrows raised.
I huff, knowing he’s right.
“But how will I know I won’t be hurt again?” I whisper as I try to keep the tears at bay. It’s a futile attempt, because a few slip out anyway.
“You won’t know if you don’t try.” Ryan turns on his heel. “Come on, you’ve got to be up early for tomorrow. Mind if I stay tonight?”
Looking at the time, I gasp in shock.
“It’s midnight? How did that happen? Yeah, of course, it’s alright. The spare room is made up for you as usual.”
Ryan walks towards me and smiles, giving me a kiss on the top of the head, before making his way to the spare room. I’m grateful for having a friend like him; he knows when I’ve drained myself mentally. Turning in the opposite direction, I head towards my bedroom.
I stare at my large queen-sized bed as I walk in and notice for the first time in years how lonely it feels. How lonely it is to go to bed by myself and not have someone to keep me warm and safe for the night, for somebody to love me—truly love me—and only me.
April 27, 2020
The King’s Spy
The King’s Spy
L. J. Dare
ISBN 978-1-912768-82-0
Chapter One
A guttural cry of “Stop, she’s setting a trap!” lifted from deep within as Lady Eileen Fraser lay beside her cousin Mary atop the large flat rock overlooking the glen. Her heart twisted in protest as she stared at her older sister, Shayla, standing with her arms wrapped around the neck of their neighbor, Baron Donovan Forbes. Once again, Shayla’s promiscuity was about to ruin everything.
Eileen bunched her hands into fists. Narrowing her gaze, she made a snap decision as fierce determination coursed through her. There was only one way to free Novan. “I’m stealing his horse.”
“Purloining his gelding is bound to cause trouble,” her cousin Mary warned quietly. “Stealing is not only a sin; it’s also likely to get you killed.”
Eileen paused as she squinted down at the couple standing beside the copse of pines near the tumbling water of the rapids. A burning sensation filled her chest as she flattened her palms against the rock.
“I’ll take my chances,” she said, making a hasty sign of the cross. If her sister’s fiancé rode down into the glen and found his soon-to-be-wife in the arms of their handsome neighbor, the fast-moving water would be running red with Novan’s blood.
Her breath hitched as she scanned the narrow mountain pass leading into the glen. Seeing no movement, she swung her gaze back to the couple still locked in a tight embrace. “Doesn’t he know ’tis best never to trifle with a betrothed lass?” she asked, a sneer filling her tone. “Especially when she’s contracted for marriage to the braw Lord Newell Ogilvy.”
“Is Ogilvy?” Mary asked in a soft voice.
“Braw?” Eileen hesitated, surprised by her timorous cousin’s question. She glanced over at Mary. Was Ogilvy the one her cousin was interested in? A chuckle tickled Eileen’s throat at the thought that her sister finally had some competition.
“Aye.” Mary nodded, her creamy white skin reddening.
Eileen chuckled. “Are you perchance making a list of all the single men in the area who have broad shoulders and exhibit raw strength, with the hope of convincing your father to allow you to marry one of them?”
She watched Mary dip her head. Although she had tried for the past few months to act as if she knew all about men, she didn’t really know any more about them than Mary. But she had to assume a superior knowledge of everything male just to survive her sister’s taunts. “Shayla brags it’s the only kind of man to pursue.”
“So, what are you going to do about Novan?” Mary asked, gnawing on her lower lip.
“With Donovan?” Eileen paused. “Nothing that will get you in trouble.” She began inching backwards off the rock. “I don’t particularly care to face the Duke and explain to him why I’ve got you in trouble again.”
“Thank you,” Mary muttered, then she gave an audible sigh. “Father can be truly frightening when he’s in a temper and sends for Brother Simeon. That means I’ll have another lesson on the perils of sin.” She shook her head. “But why aren’t you more afraid of your da?”
“Because he knows that I’m usually attempting to avert another family disaster.” Eileen shrugged nonchalantly, hoping to lessen her cousin’s worry. “Especially when I tell him about Shayla’s latest attempt at breaking another betrothal.”
“When your sister learns that you’ve snitched on her, I’d rather not be around,” Mary said, her voice wobbling. “She can be very vindictive.”
“Don’t remind me,” Eileen chuckled as her booted feet touched the rocky ground.
“I suppose you have a plan?” Mary joined her and brushed away the dirt from her velvet tawny-colored cote.
“Always,” Eileen fibbed as she straightened her serviceable brown garment. She wasn’t about to admit to anyone that while she might have all kinds of plans, most of the time they didn’t work for one reason or another. The fault wasn’t in her planning but rather in her execution.
“As usual, I suppose I’m to serve as the decoy?” Mary asked, her hazel eyes darting away.
“Only at the very last minute,” Eileen admitted as they surreptitiously slipped down the knoll hidden from sight in the glen.
***
Baron Donovan Forbes opened his eyes as he nibbled beneath Shayla’s ear. He shifted his gaze to scan the high mountain pass leading into the glen. Shayla Fraser had been the reigning neighborhood beauty for as long as he could remember and she’d brought more than one unwary lad to his knees during her reign. But Novan had no intention of being counted amongst their number. There was only one reason he stood alone in the glen with her and that was to learn if she knew anything about the disappearance of the King’s Messenger, Tom Cowie. As of now, he only knew that Tom’s last known stop had been the Fraser compound and it had been rumored that he left the compound with her brother, Patrick.
As a member of the small elite force known as the King’s Men, one of Novan’s duties was to track down missing people. Living in Edinburgh, his job kept him way too busy to find time to return to his old neighborhood. On the pretext of paying a long overdue visit to his mother, he’d come alone to call on his neighbors, the unpredictable Frasers. It was unfortunate that Shayla’s shallowness and wanton reputation presented the Frasers in such unfavorable light.
Seeing nothing unusual along the pass leading to the glen, he shifted back to nibble his way down Shayla’s neck. Suddenly, the hairs at the nape of his neck prickled. He tilted his head and surveyed the clusters of rocks and yellow-flowering gorse bushes dotting the hillside. He hated it when he got that creeping sensation of being watched. When that happened, he’d discover that something had inevitably gone wrong. An icy chill slithered through him and he found it difficult to breathe. Was he about to find himself caught in a trap? After all, Shayla had said that she was being forced to marry Ogilvy.
He inhaled sharply. Experience had taught him that women often said one thing but frequently meant something else. And with Patrick’s sister, he didn’t put any trust in either her or her actions.
“Um-m, feels w-o-n-derful,” she purred. “Do it again.”
Again? Novan frowned. And to think the Duke of Lanark, the man responsible for the daily operation of the King’s Men, had often said that seduction was one of the easiest ways to gain information. Personally, he would rather be skulking in a back alley and ferreting out secrets than using his body to offer meaningless promises. He knew all about empty promises. His father had been the master of them and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be like that.
But he needed the information Shayla knew to further his investigation. Therefore, he had to continue. He bit his bottom lip as he felt her upper body stiffen when she took a deep breath. Since he couldn’t force himself to continue the seduction, nor could he give in to his instincts and turn tail and run, he would simply have to outmaneuver her. Otherwise, he would be laughed out of the organization for failing to do his duty.
“You are such a virile, braw man,” Shayla whispered. Her smoky voice sent a shower of chills down his spine as she tightened her hold on his neck and brought him flush to her full womanly figure.
A chuckle of distaste tickled the back of his throat. “Aw, dearling, with words like that, a man’s mighty grateful to be a man,” he breathed, hoping he sounded sincerer than he felt. “Is that what chased the King’s Messenger away a fortnight ago?”
“Oh, Novan, my words are reserved for you alone.” Her hot breath coerced goosebumps of aberrance to rise on his arms.
He clenched his jaw, despising not only the necessity of such a suggestive interlude but the ease in which she lied without compunction. “I bet you say that to all the men,” he said, lifting his head away from her.
She flipped a section of her blonde hair over her shoulder, sending the golden waves dancing in the sunlight. Then, fluttering her long lashes, she dipped her head. “Would you be jealous if I said aye?”
“Might be,” he forced himself to say, realizing that the very thought of seducing Shayla turned his stomach into a sour churning mass of disgust.
“Then you’ll help me break free of Ogilvy’s hold over my father?” she asked, raising her head just enough for him to see that although she smiled, her blue eyes resembled blocks of ice he’d often chipped out of the loch on a winter’s day.
He shivered in repugnance at her cold-hearted, unscrupulous intent. Attempting to get his investigation back on track, he hedged. “Let’s do a little horse trading first, like … tell me what you know about Patrick leaving with the King’s messenger.”
Her smile widened like a woman confident she’d found a cache of stolen coins. “You will need to ask my maid, Dora. She’s the one who told me she saw them slipping away before dawn.”
“Aye, I will now that I have your permission to speak with her,” he said. Relief spread through him as he realized he’d gotten what he needed. It would only be a matter of a few more seconds and he could leave and go about his business.
“But, why are you so interested?” she asked, her voice a syrupy purr as she fiddled with the tie holding his linen shirt closed at his neck.
He put his hand over hers, preventing her from untying the garment. “I thought, since I’m visiting my mother for a few days, that Patrick and I might do some fishing. But now that I’ve discovered he’s left I’ll—”
“Oh, pooh!” she exclaimed, wiggling her hand out from beneath his. “Why are we discussing my brother?” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now, get the blanket that’s tied behind my saddle and I’ll show you exactly how much I appreciate a man who helps me break a contract.”
Not about to be caught in her web of deceit, Novan tightened his hold on the female tyrant. There was no doubt in his mind that Shayla’s calculated infidelity would be of interest to Ogilvy. Now that he’d gotten what information he could, maybe his next stop after he left the Frasers ought to be at Oglivy’s and—
“Eeee yowl!” came a whoop close by. Novan jerked away in surprise. Quickly releasing Shayla, he turned. Stunned, he watched Shayla’s younger sister, Eileen, gallop away atop his gelding. Her white thighs flashed for a moment in the sun before she pulled her cote down over her knees.
“Great Bran!” he exclaimed. He didn’t often call upon the Welsh God, but he knew he needed to apprehend the brat before she could go through the tan bag that was attached to his saddle. Sprinting toward the remaining mount, he tossed the reins over the mare’s head and leaped onto the saddle. Kneeing the mare, he took off after the sneaky thief. One thing for certain, the russet-haired lass could ride, he thought as he flew up the hill and around the knoll after her.
Although he knew he wouldn’t catch his gelding, he pressed the mare onwards. Then, surmising Eileen’s destination was the stables, he cut across the paddock and headed toward the barn. As he spied the entrance, she disappeared down the main corridor. He vaulted from the back of his mount, hit the ground and sprinted after her through the old airless stable. She wouldn’t try that trick ever again, he promised himself. Especially not after he’d caught her and proved to her the inadvisability of stealing a horse.
Breathing hard, he grabbed for her as she was about to round the corner of a stall at the back exit. Gathering her roughly in his arms, he managed to gasp out “Got you,” as the toe of his boot caught and he stumbled.
“Nay,” she grunted as his shoulder ricocheted off the wall.
Struggling to maintain his hold, he regained his balance as she squirmed to get away. He tightened his grasp on her slim waist and exclaimed, “Give up. You won’t get away.” Then he froze as he realized how unbelievably right she felt in his arms as he held her snugly against his body.
“Eeee yowl,” she yelled, stomping on his toe. Slamming her head back against his aching shoulder, she rammed her elbow into his abdomen where he was healing from a recent knife wound.
Stars danced before Novan’s eyes as dizziness overwhelmed him. “Ahhh,” he exclaimed, as he lost his fight to stay upright through the pain. Tightening his grip on her squirming body, he turned and took the full brunt of their fall as they crashed to the hard-packed dirt floor.
Chaff puffed into the air and settled all around them as he landed painfully on his side. “Oooff!” he gasped as he realized that the small pile of fresh straw had offered no cushion for them at all. Rolling to his back, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her atop him. Not about to let her get away until he told her exactly what he thought, he took a deep breath.
Immediately, she began hammering her fists against his chest, her emerald eyes blazing in anger. “Idiot. I just did you a huge favor, and this is the thanks I get?”
“Stealing my horse … isn’t a favor,” he gasped as he released his hold on her. She scurried away on her knees as he struggled to his feet. He drew in a slow breath and flashed her a fake smile as he politely reached his hand toward her. “Now, let’s … settle this.”
She slapped his hand away and stood on her own. “With that demonstration of gratitude, you needn’t worry you’ll be the recipient of my goodwill again,” she hollered, brushing herself off.
He drew in a deep breath and shook out his stinging hand. “If stealing my horse is your idea of a gift, don’t ever bother gracing me with your charity again,” he said as ire stole through him at her angry shout. Fury at her blatant disregard for the law of the land and her own safety seized him. “Stealing is a capital offense, punished by hanging,” he ground out. “For that salient bit of legalese, I will take my own reward,” he said as he grabbed her shoulders.
“A-ack,” she cried, trying to pull away.
Pulling her tightly to him, he pressed his mouth to hers, muffling her objection. It was a brazen method to use to teach her a lesson, and he held nothing of his ire back. But, stunned by the feel of her plump lips pillowing his, shock waves rolled through him as the tinder surrounding his heart ignited into a fiery blaze of desire. Never had he experienced such an incredible jolt of heat at a first kiss. Gentling his lips, he nudged hers apart, seeking her essence. He’d kissed women before, including her sister a few minutes ago, but never had he thought that little Eileen Fraser, the terror of the neighborhood, would light the kindling surrounding his cold heart. Nor would he have thought that he could burst into such an instantaneous conflagration. He heard her soft moan as she looped her arms around his neck.
He froze. Merciful Bran! What was he doing kissing Patrick’s little sister? When Patrick found out, his best friend would geld him for sure.
He tore his lips from hers and gazed into eyes like the wind-tossed waves of the North Sea. They reflected his own confused reaction. Swiftly, he released her and took a step back.
He saw the slap coming but was unprepared for the force behind it. When it hit, it rocked him back on his heels, stinging like a hundred attacking bees. He knew there would be no way of hiding her response. The blow would leave its mark.
By all that was holy, why had he allowed his unmitigated anger to get the best of him, he pondered, as he watched Eileen race out of the stables.
“Um-m-m,” a clearing throat sounded nearby. “That ’twas most interesting.”
Novan squeezed his eyes closed as dread pounded in his chest. Then, opening them, he turned slowly, unsure of what tactic he ought to take to reassure Eileen’s father.
“Do me eyes deceive me, or did ye just buss me youngest daughter on the lips?” Baron Keith Fraser asked, wiping his hands on a cloth as he stepped out of the stall midway down the center aisle.
“She stole my horse!” Novan exclaimed, still dazed that he’d let his anger overrule his good sense.
“So me ears heard,” Fraser said with a chuckle as he slung the cloth over the top rail of a stall, then brushed his graying hair away from his careworn face. “But that’s probably not the best way to thank me youngest lass for returning it to ye,” he said as he closed the stall’s door. “Now, if it was me eldest daughter, that would be a different verse.”
Hearing the Baron not only mention his elder daughter, but of him kissing Eileen, Novan’s throat tightened. “No, sir, I—”
“I like ye, lad. Always have,” Eileen’s father said. Novan watched the man’s square jaw relax into a smile. Then the Baron sobered as a frown wrinkled his forehead. “If your father hadn’t passed a few years ago, then…”
He paused as he shook his head. “Anyway,” he shrugged. “what we need is a good dram of whisky.” He slid his corded arm across Novan’s shoulders. “Come to me office and we’ll put something on that stinging cheek. Got to admit me lass has a fine aim.” He grinned. “Reminds me of her mother before we were married.”
The word “married” seemed to hover in the air for a few seconds before Novan brought the tips of his fingers to rest against his sore cheek. “Think you could send your men out to the glen to give Mary and Shayla a ride back before we have that dram?” he asked, skimming his hand over his cheek to check for damage that might’ve occurred to his jaw.
“Aye,” Fraser agreed. “Did they decide to take a wee stroll?”
“Aye,” Novan mumbled, figuring the truth was bound to come out but hoping he would be long gone before Shayla placed her spin on things.
***
Halting, Eileen glanced over her shoulder, her heart racing in her chest. Relieved that Novan was no longer chasing her, she made her way toward the kitchen. Her knees threatened to buckle as she remembered the kiss they had shared. Mercy, there was no other word she could find that was more appropriate. A sudden giddiness flooded her. She knew she had to shrug off the sensation of that mind-bending kiss.
She didn’t have time to wonder about it now. Instead, she needed to think of an iron-clad explanation to explain her behavior to her mother, because Shayla was bound to color the truth. Thank goodness that with her da, all she needed to do was tell him the truth. But with her mother always making excuses for Shayla’s behavior, she’d learned to keep her words simple and stick somewhat to the truth.
Granted, stealing Novan’s horse hadn’t gone quite as she’d planned it. But she’d not only stopped his tryst with her sister, she’d also kept him safe. Eileen nodded in satisfaction, then shrugged. What more could he want? She’d returned his horse and had left it to be cared for in front of the stables. It wasn’t as if she’d intended on keeping the animal. She paused as her heart slammed against the wall of her chest. Novan had kissed her.
She sighed at the memory. Then disgust took hold as the sight of him and her sister standing in the glen flashed through her mind. He’d had the sheer gall to kiss her after his lips had already been pressed against her sister’s.
“Ohhh,” she fumed, then scrubbed her lips with the back of her hand. If she wasn’t so angry at the nodcock, she’d kick him all the way back to his own property. She paused at the thought, then chuckled. Her slap had turned the trick much better than any kick she could’ve given him.
Grinning at the thought, Eileen hurried into the kitchen. She wouldn’t allow Novan’s stupidity to alter her course. Her mother had given her a long list of things a woman couldn’t do, but stopping a friend from doing something stupid hadn’t been added to that list yet.
She slowed as she ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the mint residue left from his kiss. She had never realized the strength a man’s arms contained. She sighed at the thought, then straightened. She certainly wasn’t about to tell anyone about that discovery. She paused. Did Novan have that heated effect on all women … or just her?
“Ye late again, lass,” the cook said, abruptly bringing her out of her introspection. She gulped back her squeak of surprise as Cook handed her a knife. She stared at the mound of vegetables spread atop the table and shifted her gaze to the apple-cheeked cook, whose blue eyes danced merrily as she smiled. “What do ye think ye mother’s punishment will be this time?”
“Oh, bother,” Eileen said, grabbing a bunch of carrots. “This couldn’t be helped,” she added as she waved the carrots in the air. “Honestly, I couldn’t be rude to a guest, even if it was Baron Forbes’s fault for detaining me in the stables.”
“I wouldn’t be tellin’ ye lady mother about no detainin’,” the cook advised, squeezing her full figure between the table and the vegetable bin. “Not unless ye be wantin’ to join the Lady Shayla in the kirk.”
“No danger of that,” she said, plunging the carrots into a bowl of water to wash off the grime. “But Ogilvy’s not got her to the kirk yet so—”
“We don’t gossip with those we employ.” Eileen winced as her mother stepped into the kitchen. Knowing from her frosty tone that she was about to come under severe chastisement once again, she pressed her lips closed. Defending herself would be a wasted effort, for her mother never believed her. “And I will thank you to kindly remember this lesson, especially when you are in charge of your own household,” the Baroness added as she stopped beside the long prep table where Eileen attempted to school her demeanor into docility.
“Aye, that I will,” Eileen said, softly as she dipped her head in acknowledgment of her mother’s instruction. Lifting her eyes, she studied her mother. She was groomed to perfection, without a golden hair out of place. Eileen knew Shayla would look as faultlessly tidy in another twenty years.
“We have a guest for luncheon,” her mother told the cook, then she gave several audible sniffs. Eileen hardened her jaw as her mother turned toward her, her petite nose wrinkled, her lips pursed in disgust. “Please have a bath prepared for my daughter,” she ordered before she elegantly glided through the door toward the herb garden.
Eileen scrunched her nose as her mother disappeared from the kitchen. She sighed. If she was given an eternity, she would never be as elegant or as mannerly a lady as her mother deemed necessary. She shook her head and sniffed. “Surely I would’ve noticed if I smelled that bad.”
“Ye know the Baroness’s keen sense of smell,” the cook said. “Nothing gets by her.”
“It’s the same as mine, but still…”
“Dinna fault yeself, lass. Dinna ye tell me just last week that it was easier to do what ye lady mother wanted, than to balk at every turn?” the cook asked.
“Aye,” Eileen sighed, “but that was before she forced me to sit with Shayla in the solar and stitch those samplers.”
“Ahh,” the cook chuckled, “but ye samplers make such handy dryin’ cloths.”
“I’m happy you found a use for them,” Eileen mumbled as she fanned the carrots out and began hacking them into bits. “They are good for nothing else.”
“Here, let me do that,” the cook said, removing the knife from her hand. “Now scoot,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I’ll finish this and send the potboy up with ye heated water so ye won’t be late for the midday meal.”
“Thank you,” Eileen breathed in relief. She hurried out of the kitchen, sprinted through the dining hall and raced up the winding stone turret steps to the second level, hoping she would at least please her mother in one thing she tried to do today.
As soon as the soaking tub was filled, she settled herself inside and relaxed. Then, raising her leg, she scrubbed her foot. Who would’ve thought a kiss could curl one’s toes? Straightening, she wiggled her toes and found herself wavering between … fury because Novan had kissed Shayla first … and regret that she’d also allowed him to kiss her.
It had been four years since she’d last seen him. His eyebrows had raised in stunned disbelief after she’d scrambled away from him in the stable. He’d stood there gaping at her, no longer the slender lad she’d teased. Somehow, Novan had become a devilishly handsome man. And, unlike the local men, he had acquired a polished veneer. She sighed and decided that she liked medium-built men with a good set of manly shoulders, because they were easier to kiss when one was as short and as ungainly as her. Added to that, he had hair the color of a rich dark mink pelt, intelligent gray-brown eyes of a hawk, and, heavens, that combination melted her insides like mush.
Whew! she thought, fanning herself. That kiss had been as heated as a blacksmith’s furnace smelting claymores. But her joy fled as she wondered why he would kiss her like that. The more she considered the kiss, the more confused she became.
“Ohh,” she fumed. How could he go so blasé-like from kissing her sister, then turn around and do the same with her?
She took a deep breath and continued to fan herself with the washing cloth as she considered her dilemma. Maybe instead of chasing away all the neighborhood lads, she should’ve kissed them like Shayla had. At least then she would’ve had something to compare her first kiss to.
Scooping out a handful of heather-scented soap from the small jug, Eileen lathered her left arm. Of course, she could always ask her brother, Patrick, what a real kiss felt like. Then she would be able to decide if Novan had kissed her because he wanted her, or if it was to punish her for stealing his horse. She froze at the thought. But if she talked to her brother, Shayla would inevitably learn that Novan had kissed her. And at that point, she would find her life as miserable as some beastie living at the bottom of the cesspit.
Straightening, she realized she’d been attempting to scrub away the red strawberry-shaped birthmark on the inside of her left wrist. She shook her head. She’d learned at the age of six the mark wasn’t something that would disappear, no matter how hard or often she scrubbed at it. And now, Novan’s kiss was as indelibly imprinted on her memory as the mark on her wrist. Grabbing the small washing cloth, she briskly switched and scrubbed her right arm and chest. Rinsing off the soap, she sighed, then determined that she was better off brazening out the situation and discovering the answer about kissing on her own.
Then she heard Shayla’s virulent wail.
“Where is she?”
Hastily, Eileen sat up and grabbed for the bathing sheet. Swiftly standing, she whipped the sheet around her dripping body as the door flew open and ricocheted back toward her sister.
“You are undoubtedly the most interfering bitch anyone could ever be saddled with,” her sister roared as she caught the door and pushed it out of the way as she stormed into the room toward her. Eileen caught her bottom lip with her teeth as she watched her sister wave her arms as if batting away the pigeons roosting beneath the rafters in the stables. “I’m going to kill you,” Shayla screeched. “Smother you in your sleep. Slice you from your gullet to your gut, then throw your body in the cellar and let you rot down there. If you ever … leave me stranded like that again.”
Tightly, Eileen clutched the sheet and held her breath. As she stepped out of the wooden tub, she swallowed back her fear of being locked in the cellar again. Slowly, as she sidled toward her sister, she fixed a watery smile on her face. She realized this had nothing to do with Shayla being stranded in the glen but rather with her sister’s interrupted tête-à-tête with Novan. And she knew a furious Shayla was a dangerous, unpredictable Shayla.
“Obviously you weren’t stranded out there long since you’re here now,” Eileen said as she attempted to keep her voice light and airy. It was always best not to react to her sister’s outlandish taunts.
Scanning the doorway as a likely escape route, she spotted Mary peeking from behind it. “Are you all right?” she asked, then waited for Mary’s nod of affirmation before she slipped behind the privacy screen. Hurriedly, she dried off and quickly donned her undergarments.
“That’s immaterial!” her sister snapped from the other side of the screen. “Your reckless behavior left us without an escort. Anything could’ve happened to us. We were all alone in that deserted glen,” she ranted. Eileen heard the furious swish of her sister’s cote as she tramped back and forth in the front of the screen.
“The point is—it didn’t,” Eileen argued as she tugged her clean cote over her undergarments as quickly as she could.
“But, it could’ve,” Shayla yelled. “And poor Mary was frightened half to death. And I promise you, the Duke will have plenty to say to you when he’s told about your irresponsible actions.”
“Let me guess,” Eileen muttered as she gathered her clean hose and shoes, then stepped out from behind the screen. “You’ll be the first one to tell him.”
“Aaaaah!” Shayla screamed. “You can’t wear that cote—it’s mine! Take it off,” she demanded as she stamped her foot. “I’m telling Mother that—”
“But, she’s the one—” Eileen began in self-defense.
“I handed over your more usable clothing to Eileen,” their unflappable mother said as she stepped into the room. “With your new betrothal and bride clothes completed, I felt Eileen could utilize your garments to her benefit. Was I wrong?” their mother asked in her quiet yet authoritative voice.
“O-of course, not,” Shayla replied, looking as if she’d just swallowed a bucket of ditch water.
“Good,” their mother said. “Then, with this crisis averted, we will adjourn to my solar, where I will address the issue of your failure as a future Countess in exhibiting the appropriate behavior at all times.”
“Why that’s—that’s just—” her sister stammered.
“The way it is?” their mother finished, in her usual serene manner.
Eileen waited until her mother had placed her hand on Shayla’s upper arm and drawn her out into the corridor before walking to where Mary stood half-hidden behind the door. “I’m sorry if you were frightened,” she said. “I truly didn’t mean for—”
“I wasn’t,” Mary inserted as she scooted out from behind the door.
“You weren’t?” Eileen frowned as she noticed a grin lifting the corners of Mary’s mouth. She watched Mary shake her head.
“I was … amused.”
A bark of laughter rose in the back of Eileen’s throat. “You were?” she managed to ask as she swallowed it down, not wanting to embarrass her gentle cousin.
Mary nodded as an impish smile settled on her face. “I have been waiting my entire life to see Shayla get her comeuppance.”
Eileen gaped at her cousin, knowing her mouth hung open. “You have?”
Mary nodded again, seeming to grow in stature. “And you finally did it!”
A lightness flooded through her. “I did, didn’t I?” she acknowledged as warmth spread through her body. Straightening, she paused as she watched Mary’s grin turn upside down.
“But now, I’m worried about how Shayla will retaliate,” her cousin said. “I don’t want you to be shoved down the stairs and locked in the cellar again.”
Eileen shivered, remembering the ordeal. “I’m a bit stronger now, and I always carry my dirk with me,” she said. Just talking about the ordeal brought a cold churning to her stomach. Because she’d wanted to claw out her own throat in that tight, dark, closed-in space, she’d had the blacksmith adjust the door so no one would ever be locked down there again.
“Good,” Mary said. “Any other ideas?”
“Other than let her choke the life out of me?” Eileen grinned, although just the thought of facing another one of Shayla’s nasty vendettas made her grit her teeth.
“Her exact words were ‘smother you in your sleep’,” Mary corrected, her voice an exact imitation of Shayla’s.
“I should’ve guessed,” Eileen said, then she giggled.
“Slice you from your gullet to your gut,” they said together. Finishing, they laughed.
Eileen shook her head. “You sound more like Shayla every time you imitate her.” Mary beamed with a huge grin. Eileen returned the grin, then sobered. “I hope I haven’t got you into trouble with your father. I won’t let you get blamed for something that was entirely my fault.”
“I appreciate the fact that you’ve always protected me,” Mary said, “but—”
“I’m the one who is always getting you into trouble,” Eileen interjected.
“True,” Mary agreed. “But I think you deserve the same allegiance from me.” She straightened her shoulders.
“Really?” Eileen whispered, “You would stand up for me?”
“After all these years of your loyalty and friendship?” Mary nodded. “Of course I will.”
Unable to fully comprehend her cousin’s miraculous change from cowardly to courageous, Eileen asked, “What happened to you on the way back from the glen this morning?”
“As I listened to Shayla’s venomous tirade against you, it was as if she counted me as a nothing. As an inconsequential serf with neither the ability to speak, nor the capacity to think for myself. When your father’s men came along with the two extra mounts, I was no longer subjected to her rant. It was like … I’ve had this invisible trap inside me,” she said, cupping her hands atop each other. “Finally, it snapped.” She separated her hands as if something had slipped from between them and smashed into smithereens. “I realized that I had reached the end of my endurance. I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—allow Shayla to abuse you anymore. You needed a friend, and I decided that’s exactly what I wanted to be.”
“Oh, Mary,” Eileen said, then she hugged her cousin tightly. “You have no idea how much I need you.”
“I think I do,” Mary said, scrubbing away the tears rolling down her cheeks, “because I need you just as much.”
“Then, Cuz”—Eileen grinned as she released her hold on Mary—“our first priority is?”
“Eat,” they said in unison as they joined arms.
Suddenly, Mary stopped. “But what about Novan?”
“Well, pooh,” Eileen said, feigning indifference. “I’m not about to apologize to him for anything I’ve done … no matter what he may demand.” She took a deep breath, her heart thundering in her chest. She hoped she wouldn’t have to add lying to Mary to the list of sins she needed to confess to Brother Simeon at her next confession.
But, honestly, how was she supposed to sit and break bread at the same table with Novan after he’d kissed Shayla first?
L. J. Dare
ISBN 978-1-912768-82-0
Chapter One
A guttural cry of “Stop, she’s setting a trap!” lifted from deep within as Lady Eileen Fraser lay beside her cousin Mary atop the large flat rock overlooking the glen. Her heart twisted in protest as she stared at her older sister, Shayla, standing with her arms wrapped around the neck of their neighbor, Baron Donovan Forbes. Once again, Shayla’s promiscuity was about to ruin everything.
Eileen bunched her hands into fists. Narrowing her gaze, she made a snap decision as fierce determination coursed through her. There was only one way to free Novan. “I’m stealing his horse.”
“Purloining his gelding is bound to cause trouble,” her cousin Mary warned quietly. “Stealing is not only a sin; it’s also likely to get you killed.”
Eileen paused as she squinted down at the couple standing beside the copse of pines near the tumbling water of the rapids. A burning sensation filled her chest as she flattened her palms against the rock.
“I’ll take my chances,” she said, making a hasty sign of the cross. If her sister’s fiancé rode down into the glen and found his soon-to-be-wife in the arms of their handsome neighbor, the fast-moving water would be running red with Novan’s blood.
Her breath hitched as she scanned the narrow mountain pass leading into the glen. Seeing no movement, she swung her gaze back to the couple still locked in a tight embrace. “Doesn’t he know ’tis best never to trifle with a betrothed lass?” she asked, a sneer filling her tone. “Especially when she’s contracted for marriage to the braw Lord Newell Ogilvy.”
“Is Ogilvy?” Mary asked in a soft voice.
“Braw?” Eileen hesitated, surprised by her timorous cousin’s question. She glanced over at Mary. Was Ogilvy the one her cousin was interested in? A chuckle tickled Eileen’s throat at the thought that her sister finally had some competition.
“Aye.” Mary nodded, her creamy white skin reddening.
Eileen chuckled. “Are you perchance making a list of all the single men in the area who have broad shoulders and exhibit raw strength, with the hope of convincing your father to allow you to marry one of them?”
She watched Mary dip her head. Although she had tried for the past few months to act as if she knew all about men, she didn’t really know any more about them than Mary. But she had to assume a superior knowledge of everything male just to survive her sister’s taunts. “Shayla brags it’s the only kind of man to pursue.”
“So, what are you going to do about Novan?” Mary asked, gnawing on her lower lip.
“With Donovan?” Eileen paused. “Nothing that will get you in trouble.” She began inching backwards off the rock. “I don’t particularly care to face the Duke and explain to him why I’ve got you in trouble again.”
“Thank you,” Mary muttered, then she gave an audible sigh. “Father can be truly frightening when he’s in a temper and sends for Brother Simeon. That means I’ll have another lesson on the perils of sin.” She shook her head. “But why aren’t you more afraid of your da?”
“Because he knows that I’m usually attempting to avert another family disaster.” Eileen shrugged nonchalantly, hoping to lessen her cousin’s worry. “Especially when I tell him about Shayla’s latest attempt at breaking another betrothal.”
“When your sister learns that you’ve snitched on her, I’d rather not be around,” Mary said, her voice wobbling. “She can be very vindictive.”
“Don’t remind me,” Eileen chuckled as her booted feet touched the rocky ground.
“I suppose you have a plan?” Mary joined her and brushed away the dirt from her velvet tawny-colored cote.
“Always,” Eileen fibbed as she straightened her serviceable brown garment. She wasn’t about to admit to anyone that while she might have all kinds of plans, most of the time they didn’t work for one reason or another. The fault wasn’t in her planning but rather in her execution.
“As usual, I suppose I’m to serve as the decoy?” Mary asked, her hazel eyes darting away.
“Only at the very last minute,” Eileen admitted as they surreptitiously slipped down the knoll hidden from sight in the glen.
***
Baron Donovan Forbes opened his eyes as he nibbled beneath Shayla’s ear. He shifted his gaze to scan the high mountain pass leading into the glen. Shayla Fraser had been the reigning neighborhood beauty for as long as he could remember and she’d brought more than one unwary lad to his knees during her reign. But Novan had no intention of being counted amongst their number. There was only one reason he stood alone in the glen with her and that was to learn if she knew anything about the disappearance of the King’s Messenger, Tom Cowie. As of now, he only knew that Tom’s last known stop had been the Fraser compound and it had been rumored that he left the compound with her brother, Patrick.
As a member of the small elite force known as the King’s Men, one of Novan’s duties was to track down missing people. Living in Edinburgh, his job kept him way too busy to find time to return to his old neighborhood. On the pretext of paying a long overdue visit to his mother, he’d come alone to call on his neighbors, the unpredictable Frasers. It was unfortunate that Shayla’s shallowness and wanton reputation presented the Frasers in such unfavorable light.
Seeing nothing unusual along the pass leading to the glen, he shifted back to nibble his way down Shayla’s neck. Suddenly, the hairs at the nape of his neck prickled. He tilted his head and surveyed the clusters of rocks and yellow-flowering gorse bushes dotting the hillside. He hated it when he got that creeping sensation of being watched. When that happened, he’d discover that something had inevitably gone wrong. An icy chill slithered through him and he found it difficult to breathe. Was he about to find himself caught in a trap? After all, Shayla had said that she was being forced to marry Ogilvy.
He inhaled sharply. Experience had taught him that women often said one thing but frequently meant something else. And with Patrick’s sister, he didn’t put any trust in either her or her actions.
“Um-m, feels w-o-n-derful,” she purred. “Do it again.”
Again? Novan frowned. And to think the Duke of Lanark, the man responsible for the daily operation of the King’s Men, had often said that seduction was one of the easiest ways to gain information. Personally, he would rather be skulking in a back alley and ferreting out secrets than using his body to offer meaningless promises. He knew all about empty promises. His father had been the master of them and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be like that.
But he needed the information Shayla knew to further his investigation. Therefore, he had to continue. He bit his bottom lip as he felt her upper body stiffen when she took a deep breath. Since he couldn’t force himself to continue the seduction, nor could he give in to his instincts and turn tail and run, he would simply have to outmaneuver her. Otherwise, he would be laughed out of the organization for failing to do his duty.
“You are such a virile, braw man,” Shayla whispered. Her smoky voice sent a shower of chills down his spine as she tightened her hold on his neck and brought him flush to her full womanly figure.
A chuckle of distaste tickled the back of his throat. “Aw, dearling, with words like that, a man’s mighty grateful to be a man,” he breathed, hoping he sounded sincerer than he felt. “Is that what chased the King’s Messenger away a fortnight ago?”
“Oh, Novan, my words are reserved for you alone.” Her hot breath coerced goosebumps of aberrance to rise on his arms.
He clenched his jaw, despising not only the necessity of such a suggestive interlude but the ease in which she lied without compunction. “I bet you say that to all the men,” he said, lifting his head away from her.
She flipped a section of her blonde hair over her shoulder, sending the golden waves dancing in the sunlight. Then, fluttering her long lashes, she dipped her head. “Would you be jealous if I said aye?”
“Might be,” he forced himself to say, realizing that the very thought of seducing Shayla turned his stomach into a sour churning mass of disgust.
“Then you’ll help me break free of Ogilvy’s hold over my father?” she asked, raising her head just enough for him to see that although she smiled, her blue eyes resembled blocks of ice he’d often chipped out of the loch on a winter’s day.
He shivered in repugnance at her cold-hearted, unscrupulous intent. Attempting to get his investigation back on track, he hedged. “Let’s do a little horse trading first, like … tell me what you know about Patrick leaving with the King’s messenger.”
Her smile widened like a woman confident she’d found a cache of stolen coins. “You will need to ask my maid, Dora. She’s the one who told me she saw them slipping away before dawn.”
“Aye, I will now that I have your permission to speak with her,” he said. Relief spread through him as he realized he’d gotten what he needed. It would only be a matter of a few more seconds and he could leave and go about his business.
“But, why are you so interested?” she asked, her voice a syrupy purr as she fiddled with the tie holding his linen shirt closed at his neck.
He put his hand over hers, preventing her from untying the garment. “I thought, since I’m visiting my mother for a few days, that Patrick and I might do some fishing. But now that I’ve discovered he’s left I’ll—”
“Oh, pooh!” she exclaimed, wiggling her hand out from beneath his. “Why are we discussing my brother?” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now, get the blanket that’s tied behind my saddle and I’ll show you exactly how much I appreciate a man who helps me break a contract.”
Not about to be caught in her web of deceit, Novan tightened his hold on the female tyrant. There was no doubt in his mind that Shayla’s calculated infidelity would be of interest to Ogilvy. Now that he’d gotten what information he could, maybe his next stop after he left the Frasers ought to be at Oglivy’s and—
“Eeee yowl!” came a whoop close by. Novan jerked away in surprise. Quickly releasing Shayla, he turned. Stunned, he watched Shayla’s younger sister, Eileen, gallop away atop his gelding. Her white thighs flashed for a moment in the sun before she pulled her cote down over her knees.
“Great Bran!” he exclaimed. He didn’t often call upon the Welsh God, but he knew he needed to apprehend the brat before she could go through the tan bag that was attached to his saddle. Sprinting toward the remaining mount, he tossed the reins over the mare’s head and leaped onto the saddle. Kneeing the mare, he took off after the sneaky thief. One thing for certain, the russet-haired lass could ride, he thought as he flew up the hill and around the knoll after her.
Although he knew he wouldn’t catch his gelding, he pressed the mare onwards. Then, surmising Eileen’s destination was the stables, he cut across the paddock and headed toward the barn. As he spied the entrance, she disappeared down the main corridor. He vaulted from the back of his mount, hit the ground and sprinted after her through the old airless stable. She wouldn’t try that trick ever again, he promised himself. Especially not after he’d caught her and proved to her the inadvisability of stealing a horse.
Breathing hard, he grabbed for her as she was about to round the corner of a stall at the back exit. Gathering her roughly in his arms, he managed to gasp out “Got you,” as the toe of his boot caught and he stumbled.
“Nay,” she grunted as his shoulder ricocheted off the wall.
Struggling to maintain his hold, he regained his balance as she squirmed to get away. He tightened his grasp on her slim waist and exclaimed, “Give up. You won’t get away.” Then he froze as he realized how unbelievably right she felt in his arms as he held her snugly against his body.
“Eeee yowl,” she yelled, stomping on his toe. Slamming her head back against his aching shoulder, she rammed her elbow into his abdomen where he was healing from a recent knife wound.
Stars danced before Novan’s eyes as dizziness overwhelmed him. “Ahhh,” he exclaimed, as he lost his fight to stay upright through the pain. Tightening his grip on her squirming body, he turned and took the full brunt of their fall as they crashed to the hard-packed dirt floor.
Chaff puffed into the air and settled all around them as he landed painfully on his side. “Oooff!” he gasped as he realized that the small pile of fresh straw had offered no cushion for them at all. Rolling to his back, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her atop him. Not about to let her get away until he told her exactly what he thought, he took a deep breath.
Immediately, she began hammering her fists against his chest, her emerald eyes blazing in anger. “Idiot. I just did you a huge favor, and this is the thanks I get?”
“Stealing my horse … isn’t a favor,” he gasped as he released his hold on her. She scurried away on her knees as he struggled to his feet. He drew in a slow breath and flashed her a fake smile as he politely reached his hand toward her. “Now, let’s … settle this.”
She slapped his hand away and stood on her own. “With that demonstration of gratitude, you needn’t worry you’ll be the recipient of my goodwill again,” she hollered, brushing herself off.
He drew in a deep breath and shook out his stinging hand. “If stealing my horse is your idea of a gift, don’t ever bother gracing me with your charity again,” he said as ire stole through him at her angry shout. Fury at her blatant disregard for the law of the land and her own safety seized him. “Stealing is a capital offense, punished by hanging,” he ground out. “For that salient bit of legalese, I will take my own reward,” he said as he grabbed her shoulders.
“A-ack,” she cried, trying to pull away.
Pulling her tightly to him, he pressed his mouth to hers, muffling her objection. It was a brazen method to use to teach her a lesson, and he held nothing of his ire back. But, stunned by the feel of her plump lips pillowing his, shock waves rolled through him as the tinder surrounding his heart ignited into a fiery blaze of desire. Never had he experienced such an incredible jolt of heat at a first kiss. Gentling his lips, he nudged hers apart, seeking her essence. He’d kissed women before, including her sister a few minutes ago, but never had he thought that little Eileen Fraser, the terror of the neighborhood, would light the kindling surrounding his cold heart. Nor would he have thought that he could burst into such an instantaneous conflagration. He heard her soft moan as she looped her arms around his neck.
He froze. Merciful Bran! What was he doing kissing Patrick’s little sister? When Patrick found out, his best friend would geld him for sure.
He tore his lips from hers and gazed into eyes like the wind-tossed waves of the North Sea. They reflected his own confused reaction. Swiftly, he released her and took a step back.
He saw the slap coming but was unprepared for the force behind it. When it hit, it rocked him back on his heels, stinging like a hundred attacking bees. He knew there would be no way of hiding her response. The blow would leave its mark.
By all that was holy, why had he allowed his unmitigated anger to get the best of him, he pondered, as he watched Eileen race out of the stables.
“Um-m-m,” a clearing throat sounded nearby. “That ’twas most interesting.”
Novan squeezed his eyes closed as dread pounded in his chest. Then, opening them, he turned slowly, unsure of what tactic he ought to take to reassure Eileen’s father.
“Do me eyes deceive me, or did ye just buss me youngest daughter on the lips?” Baron Keith Fraser asked, wiping his hands on a cloth as he stepped out of the stall midway down the center aisle.
“She stole my horse!” Novan exclaimed, still dazed that he’d let his anger overrule his good sense.
“So me ears heard,” Fraser said with a chuckle as he slung the cloth over the top rail of a stall, then brushed his graying hair away from his careworn face. “But that’s probably not the best way to thank me youngest lass for returning it to ye,” he said as he closed the stall’s door. “Now, if it was me eldest daughter, that would be a different verse.”
Hearing the Baron not only mention his elder daughter, but of him kissing Eileen, Novan’s throat tightened. “No, sir, I—”
“I like ye, lad. Always have,” Eileen’s father said. Novan watched the man’s square jaw relax into a smile. Then the Baron sobered as a frown wrinkled his forehead. “If your father hadn’t passed a few years ago, then…”
He paused as he shook his head. “Anyway,” he shrugged. “what we need is a good dram of whisky.” He slid his corded arm across Novan’s shoulders. “Come to me office and we’ll put something on that stinging cheek. Got to admit me lass has a fine aim.” He grinned. “Reminds me of her mother before we were married.”
The word “married” seemed to hover in the air for a few seconds before Novan brought the tips of his fingers to rest against his sore cheek. “Think you could send your men out to the glen to give Mary and Shayla a ride back before we have that dram?” he asked, skimming his hand over his cheek to check for damage that might’ve occurred to his jaw.
“Aye,” Fraser agreed. “Did they decide to take a wee stroll?”
“Aye,” Novan mumbled, figuring the truth was bound to come out but hoping he would be long gone before Shayla placed her spin on things.
***
Halting, Eileen glanced over her shoulder, her heart racing in her chest. Relieved that Novan was no longer chasing her, she made her way toward the kitchen. Her knees threatened to buckle as she remembered the kiss they had shared. Mercy, there was no other word she could find that was more appropriate. A sudden giddiness flooded her. She knew she had to shrug off the sensation of that mind-bending kiss.
She didn’t have time to wonder about it now. Instead, she needed to think of an iron-clad explanation to explain her behavior to her mother, because Shayla was bound to color the truth. Thank goodness that with her da, all she needed to do was tell him the truth. But with her mother always making excuses for Shayla’s behavior, she’d learned to keep her words simple and stick somewhat to the truth.
Granted, stealing Novan’s horse hadn’t gone quite as she’d planned it. But she’d not only stopped his tryst with her sister, she’d also kept him safe. Eileen nodded in satisfaction, then shrugged. What more could he want? She’d returned his horse and had left it to be cared for in front of the stables. It wasn’t as if she’d intended on keeping the animal. She paused as her heart slammed against the wall of her chest. Novan had kissed her.
She sighed at the memory. Then disgust took hold as the sight of him and her sister standing in the glen flashed through her mind. He’d had the sheer gall to kiss her after his lips had already been pressed against her sister’s.
“Ohhh,” she fumed, then scrubbed her lips with the back of her hand. If she wasn’t so angry at the nodcock, she’d kick him all the way back to his own property. She paused at the thought, then chuckled. Her slap had turned the trick much better than any kick she could’ve given him.
Grinning at the thought, Eileen hurried into the kitchen. She wouldn’t allow Novan’s stupidity to alter her course. Her mother had given her a long list of things a woman couldn’t do, but stopping a friend from doing something stupid hadn’t been added to that list yet.
She slowed as she ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the mint residue left from his kiss. She had never realized the strength a man’s arms contained. She sighed at the thought, then straightened. She certainly wasn’t about to tell anyone about that discovery. She paused. Did Novan have that heated effect on all women … or just her?
“Ye late again, lass,” the cook said, abruptly bringing her out of her introspection. She gulped back her squeak of surprise as Cook handed her a knife. She stared at the mound of vegetables spread atop the table and shifted her gaze to the apple-cheeked cook, whose blue eyes danced merrily as she smiled. “What do ye think ye mother’s punishment will be this time?”
“Oh, bother,” Eileen said, grabbing a bunch of carrots. “This couldn’t be helped,” she added as she waved the carrots in the air. “Honestly, I couldn’t be rude to a guest, even if it was Baron Forbes’s fault for detaining me in the stables.”
“I wouldn’t be tellin’ ye lady mother about no detainin’,” the cook advised, squeezing her full figure between the table and the vegetable bin. “Not unless ye be wantin’ to join the Lady Shayla in the kirk.”
“No danger of that,” she said, plunging the carrots into a bowl of water to wash off the grime. “But Ogilvy’s not got her to the kirk yet so—”
“We don’t gossip with those we employ.” Eileen winced as her mother stepped into the kitchen. Knowing from her frosty tone that she was about to come under severe chastisement once again, she pressed her lips closed. Defending herself would be a wasted effort, for her mother never believed her. “And I will thank you to kindly remember this lesson, especially when you are in charge of your own household,” the Baroness added as she stopped beside the long prep table where Eileen attempted to school her demeanor into docility.
“Aye, that I will,” Eileen said, softly as she dipped her head in acknowledgment of her mother’s instruction. Lifting her eyes, she studied her mother. She was groomed to perfection, without a golden hair out of place. Eileen knew Shayla would look as faultlessly tidy in another twenty years.
“We have a guest for luncheon,” her mother told the cook, then she gave several audible sniffs. Eileen hardened her jaw as her mother turned toward her, her petite nose wrinkled, her lips pursed in disgust. “Please have a bath prepared for my daughter,” she ordered before she elegantly glided through the door toward the herb garden.
Eileen scrunched her nose as her mother disappeared from the kitchen. She sighed. If she was given an eternity, she would never be as elegant or as mannerly a lady as her mother deemed necessary. She shook her head and sniffed. “Surely I would’ve noticed if I smelled that bad.”
“Ye know the Baroness’s keen sense of smell,” the cook said. “Nothing gets by her.”
“It’s the same as mine, but still…”
“Dinna fault yeself, lass. Dinna ye tell me just last week that it was easier to do what ye lady mother wanted, than to balk at every turn?” the cook asked.
“Aye,” Eileen sighed, “but that was before she forced me to sit with Shayla in the solar and stitch those samplers.”
“Ahh,” the cook chuckled, “but ye samplers make such handy dryin’ cloths.”
“I’m happy you found a use for them,” Eileen mumbled as she fanned the carrots out and began hacking them into bits. “They are good for nothing else.”
“Here, let me do that,” the cook said, removing the knife from her hand. “Now scoot,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I’ll finish this and send the potboy up with ye heated water so ye won’t be late for the midday meal.”
“Thank you,” Eileen breathed in relief. She hurried out of the kitchen, sprinted through the dining hall and raced up the winding stone turret steps to the second level, hoping she would at least please her mother in one thing she tried to do today.
As soon as the soaking tub was filled, she settled herself inside and relaxed. Then, raising her leg, she scrubbed her foot. Who would’ve thought a kiss could curl one’s toes? Straightening, she wiggled her toes and found herself wavering between … fury because Novan had kissed Shayla first … and regret that she’d also allowed him to kiss her.
It had been four years since she’d last seen him. His eyebrows had raised in stunned disbelief after she’d scrambled away from him in the stable. He’d stood there gaping at her, no longer the slender lad she’d teased. Somehow, Novan had become a devilishly handsome man. And, unlike the local men, he had acquired a polished veneer. She sighed and decided that she liked medium-built men with a good set of manly shoulders, because they were easier to kiss when one was as short and as ungainly as her. Added to that, he had hair the color of a rich dark mink pelt, intelligent gray-brown eyes of a hawk, and, heavens, that combination melted her insides like mush.
Whew! she thought, fanning herself. That kiss had been as heated as a blacksmith’s furnace smelting claymores. But her joy fled as she wondered why he would kiss her like that. The more she considered the kiss, the more confused she became.
“Ohh,” she fumed. How could he go so blasé-like from kissing her sister, then turn around and do the same with her?
She took a deep breath and continued to fan herself with the washing cloth as she considered her dilemma. Maybe instead of chasing away all the neighborhood lads, she should’ve kissed them like Shayla had. At least then she would’ve had something to compare her first kiss to.
Scooping out a handful of heather-scented soap from the small jug, Eileen lathered her left arm. Of course, she could always ask her brother, Patrick, what a real kiss felt like. Then she would be able to decide if Novan had kissed her because he wanted her, or if it was to punish her for stealing his horse. She froze at the thought. But if she talked to her brother, Shayla would inevitably learn that Novan had kissed her. And at that point, she would find her life as miserable as some beastie living at the bottom of the cesspit.
Straightening, she realized she’d been attempting to scrub away the red strawberry-shaped birthmark on the inside of her left wrist. She shook her head. She’d learned at the age of six the mark wasn’t something that would disappear, no matter how hard or often she scrubbed at it. And now, Novan’s kiss was as indelibly imprinted on her memory as the mark on her wrist. Grabbing the small washing cloth, she briskly switched and scrubbed her right arm and chest. Rinsing off the soap, she sighed, then determined that she was better off brazening out the situation and discovering the answer about kissing on her own.
Then she heard Shayla’s virulent wail.
“Where is she?”
Hastily, Eileen sat up and grabbed for the bathing sheet. Swiftly standing, she whipped the sheet around her dripping body as the door flew open and ricocheted back toward her sister.
“You are undoubtedly the most interfering bitch anyone could ever be saddled with,” her sister roared as she caught the door and pushed it out of the way as she stormed into the room toward her. Eileen caught her bottom lip with her teeth as she watched her sister wave her arms as if batting away the pigeons roosting beneath the rafters in the stables. “I’m going to kill you,” Shayla screeched. “Smother you in your sleep. Slice you from your gullet to your gut, then throw your body in the cellar and let you rot down there. If you ever … leave me stranded like that again.”
Tightly, Eileen clutched the sheet and held her breath. As she stepped out of the wooden tub, she swallowed back her fear of being locked in the cellar again. Slowly, as she sidled toward her sister, she fixed a watery smile on her face. She realized this had nothing to do with Shayla being stranded in the glen but rather with her sister’s interrupted tête-à-tête with Novan. And she knew a furious Shayla was a dangerous, unpredictable Shayla.
“Obviously you weren’t stranded out there long since you’re here now,” Eileen said as she attempted to keep her voice light and airy. It was always best not to react to her sister’s outlandish taunts.
Scanning the doorway as a likely escape route, she spotted Mary peeking from behind it. “Are you all right?” she asked, then waited for Mary’s nod of affirmation before she slipped behind the privacy screen. Hurriedly, she dried off and quickly donned her undergarments.
“That’s immaterial!” her sister snapped from the other side of the screen. “Your reckless behavior left us without an escort. Anything could’ve happened to us. We were all alone in that deserted glen,” she ranted. Eileen heard the furious swish of her sister’s cote as she tramped back and forth in the front of the screen.
“The point is—it didn’t,” Eileen argued as she tugged her clean cote over her undergarments as quickly as she could.
“But, it could’ve,” Shayla yelled. “And poor Mary was frightened half to death. And I promise you, the Duke will have plenty to say to you when he’s told about your irresponsible actions.”
“Let me guess,” Eileen muttered as she gathered her clean hose and shoes, then stepped out from behind the screen. “You’ll be the first one to tell him.”
“Aaaaah!” Shayla screamed. “You can’t wear that cote—it’s mine! Take it off,” she demanded as she stamped her foot. “I’m telling Mother that—”
“But, she’s the one—” Eileen began in self-defense.
“I handed over your more usable clothing to Eileen,” their unflappable mother said as she stepped into the room. “With your new betrothal and bride clothes completed, I felt Eileen could utilize your garments to her benefit. Was I wrong?” their mother asked in her quiet yet authoritative voice.
“O-of course, not,” Shayla replied, looking as if she’d just swallowed a bucket of ditch water.
“Good,” their mother said. “Then, with this crisis averted, we will adjourn to my solar, where I will address the issue of your failure as a future Countess in exhibiting the appropriate behavior at all times.”
“Why that’s—that’s just—” her sister stammered.
“The way it is?” their mother finished, in her usual serene manner.
Eileen waited until her mother had placed her hand on Shayla’s upper arm and drawn her out into the corridor before walking to where Mary stood half-hidden behind the door. “I’m sorry if you were frightened,” she said. “I truly didn’t mean for—”
“I wasn’t,” Mary inserted as she scooted out from behind the door.
“You weren’t?” Eileen frowned as she noticed a grin lifting the corners of Mary’s mouth. She watched Mary shake her head.
“I was … amused.”
A bark of laughter rose in the back of Eileen’s throat. “You were?” she managed to ask as she swallowed it down, not wanting to embarrass her gentle cousin.
Mary nodded as an impish smile settled on her face. “I have been waiting my entire life to see Shayla get her comeuppance.”
Eileen gaped at her cousin, knowing her mouth hung open. “You have?”
Mary nodded again, seeming to grow in stature. “And you finally did it!”
A lightness flooded through her. “I did, didn’t I?” she acknowledged as warmth spread through her body. Straightening, she paused as she watched Mary’s grin turn upside down.
“But now, I’m worried about how Shayla will retaliate,” her cousin said. “I don’t want you to be shoved down the stairs and locked in the cellar again.”
Eileen shivered, remembering the ordeal. “I’m a bit stronger now, and I always carry my dirk with me,” she said. Just talking about the ordeal brought a cold churning to her stomach. Because she’d wanted to claw out her own throat in that tight, dark, closed-in space, she’d had the blacksmith adjust the door so no one would ever be locked down there again.
“Good,” Mary said. “Any other ideas?”
“Other than let her choke the life out of me?” Eileen grinned, although just the thought of facing another one of Shayla’s nasty vendettas made her grit her teeth.
“Her exact words were ‘smother you in your sleep’,” Mary corrected, her voice an exact imitation of Shayla’s.
“I should’ve guessed,” Eileen said, then she giggled.
“Slice you from your gullet to your gut,” they said together. Finishing, they laughed.
Eileen shook her head. “You sound more like Shayla every time you imitate her.” Mary beamed with a huge grin. Eileen returned the grin, then sobered. “I hope I haven’t got you into trouble with your father. I won’t let you get blamed for something that was entirely my fault.”
“I appreciate the fact that you’ve always protected me,” Mary said, “but—”
“I’m the one who is always getting you into trouble,” Eileen interjected.
“True,” Mary agreed. “But I think you deserve the same allegiance from me.” She straightened her shoulders.
“Really?” Eileen whispered, “You would stand up for me?”
“After all these years of your loyalty and friendship?” Mary nodded. “Of course I will.”
Unable to fully comprehend her cousin’s miraculous change from cowardly to courageous, Eileen asked, “What happened to you on the way back from the glen this morning?”
“As I listened to Shayla’s venomous tirade against you, it was as if she counted me as a nothing. As an inconsequential serf with neither the ability to speak, nor the capacity to think for myself. When your father’s men came along with the two extra mounts, I was no longer subjected to her rant. It was like … I’ve had this invisible trap inside me,” she said, cupping her hands atop each other. “Finally, it snapped.” She separated her hands as if something had slipped from between them and smashed into smithereens. “I realized that I had reached the end of my endurance. I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—allow Shayla to abuse you anymore. You needed a friend, and I decided that’s exactly what I wanted to be.”
“Oh, Mary,” Eileen said, then she hugged her cousin tightly. “You have no idea how much I need you.”
“I think I do,” Mary said, scrubbing away the tears rolling down her cheeks, “because I need you just as much.”
“Then, Cuz”—Eileen grinned as she released her hold on Mary—“our first priority is?”
“Eat,” they said in unison as they joined arms.
Suddenly, Mary stopped. “But what about Novan?”
“Well, pooh,” Eileen said, feigning indifference. “I’m not about to apologize to him for anything I’ve done … no matter what he may demand.” She took a deep breath, her heart thundering in her chest. She hoped she wouldn’t have to add lying to Mary to the list of sins she needed to confess to Brother Simeon at her next confession.
But, honestly, how was she supposed to sit and break bread at the same table with Novan after he’d kissed Shayla first?
