Wild Passion
Published by Lori Brighton at Smashwords
www.LoriBrighton.com
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Other Books by Lori Brighton
The Wild Series:
Wild Heart (Book 1)
Wild Desire (Book 2)
Wild Passion (Short Story, Book 3)
The Night Series:
A Night of Secrets (Book 1)
A Night of Redemption (Coming Soon!)
The Seduction Series:
To Seduce an Earl (Book 1)
The Hunter Series:
The Ghost Hunter (Book 1)
The Demon Hunter (Coming Soon!)
Young Adult Books:
The Mind Readers
Wild Passion
By
Lori Brighton
Prologue
Off The West Coast of India, Summer, 1857
Adelaide darted under an outcropping of rock, the tunnel so tight she was forced to press her belly close to the ground, ignoring the sting of pebbles that bit into her elbows and knees. A painful crawl into the dark pit of hell, but something that must be done. Sweat trailed down her forehead, dripping into her eyes and stinging, but she couldn’t afford to pause. She must time the dive perfectly.
Merde, how the hell had she gotten into this mess?
The tunnel opened into a small, dimly lit cave and she was finally able to breathe with some normalcy. Overwrought with emotions she didn’t dare contemplate, she leaned back against the damp, stone wall and drew her knees close. The men’s trousers she wore stretched uncomfortably across her rounded hips. Her hands were shaking, fear bitter on her tongue.
Waiting, waiting for her breath to return to normal. Waiting for the fighting above to cease. Waiting for her life to resume. Light reflected off the small pool of water not five feet from her, sending dancing waves upon the ceiling of her small tomb. A pool of water that would lead to the ocean when the time was right.
This was not her fight, it never had been. But somehow the man named Demyan, the evil man with the glowing eyes, had found her and had known about her ability. He’d forced her from France, to India, willing to use her for his own gain even if it meant she must betray her half-brother, Colin.
Not that Colin knew he was her brother. No, he was completely oblivious and she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit their relation. He’d want to do something honorable, like support her and Maman. She had other plans, plans that didn’t involve a family she barely knew. And so, when she’d met him for the first time just moments ago, she’d kept her mouth shut about their shared blood, and merely pointed him in the direction of Demyan. And when she’d seen her father for the first time in over fourteen years and he hadn’t recognized her, she had ignored the sting.
He’d had no interest in her, only his treasures. Good against evil and all for a ridiculous statue. The moment Colin and her father left, she’d darted out of the temple and had crawled under the rock. They might think they were getting the treasure, but she knew the truth.
Now here she was, waiting. How much longer dare she sit here? She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to see the future, but nothing came. Adelaide slammed her fists to the stone floor. “Mon dieu!”
Her heart hammered too badly, her nerves too frayed. Try as she might, the visions worked of their own accord. And so there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for the statue to drop from the sky. Wait for her images to flash. Damn her powers to hell!
When the first scream came, Adelaide jumped, startled although she knew the battle above was coming. The blast of gunfire had her cringing. Sounds of terror, of pain, of heartache. They were fighting for the very statue she would claim as her own in moments. The urge to run overwhelmed her. She could jump in that boat and leave. Return to France and her normal life, as pathetic as it had been. Even better, she could help the couple above; her half-brother and his wife, Bea, a woman she’d come to respect.
Or… She could wait a few more moments …
She couldn’t return without the statue. That statue would bring money she so desperately needed. And so Adelaide waited. For five more minutes, she waited, crouched low, tucked in the stone cavern that had been hollowed out from the pound of the high tide. Waited until the waves rolled in, wetting her feet, then rolled out. The tide was coming in. She had to time her dive perfectly or she might drown. But what if she had seen things wrong? What if her visions had changed, as was known to happen from time to time?
She pressed her hands to the rough stone, centuries older than the temple built above it. Older than time itself. She had never claimed to be a mystic, but she swore she could practically feel the power radiating from the temple that rose above and enclosed her in its cold tomb.
Outside the screams had quieted. The only sound was the soft drip of condensation and the mad pound of her heart. Had they left as she’d seen they would do? Headed back to the mainland. Left her here, on this island? She pushed aside the fear of being alone here forever. Her fingers curled against the rough stone. She sat tight and waited…waited for the right moment.
Needing the reassurance her powers brought with, Adelaide closed her eyes again, squeezing them shut. Now that the fighting was over, she was able to relax some. She breathed deeply, soaking in the power radiating around her. The magic made her ability stronger and the moment her lashes lowered, the image flashed to mind.
Brilliant colored pictures that flashed so quickly, she had to grab them fast, before they were gone. But she was used to her powers; she’d been born with them, and was easily able to focus on what she wanted.
There it was… the very image that had brought her to this little cavern…
A golden statue falling…falling through the sky. Splash! Entering the light blue ocean, sinking slowly through the water before landing gently on the sandy bottom.
Supposedly lost forever. Lost to those who would use its power for evil. But not lost to her.
She waited a heartbeat, nerves getting the better of her. Her visions had told her there would be a buyer in Pairs. A man who would pay handsomely, so much money, Maman could live in relative splendor for the rest of her life. Yes, she must do this for her mother.
She scooted to the edge of the pool and stared into the water… water so clean… so pure… so dangerous. It lapped at her thighs, soaking her trousers.
“C’est la vie,” she whispered.
She did not know if she would come out alive, and that was the ridiculousness of her powers… she couldn’t see her own future. But she had no choice but to try.
She lowered herself into the warm water, the lapping waves caressing her body and giving a false sense of comfort. There was no time to think twice. Taking in a deep breath, she dove downwards. The wat
er surrounded her, welcomed her within its depths...pulling her deeper…deeper.
She blinked her eyes wide, becoming accustomed to the burn of saltwater. She had entered another tunnel, but this one shorter, leading to the expansive ocean which glowed brightly ahead. With her hands above, scraping the top of the stone cavern, she followed the ceiling until she entered the Sea. In the open ocean, she felt better, away from her stone tomb. But she would run out of air soon. She needed to find the statue and return to the surface before she drowned.
Hovering in the water, she turned, her long, dark hair floating around her like dead seaweed. Something glinted below, cradled near a crop of orange coral. Kicking, she dove toward the statue. Yellow fish darted away, startled by her presence. Her lungs began to burn. She could hear her heart beat in her ears. Panic taunted the edges of her brain.
She could leave it there, return to the surface for air. She could leave this island for good. Even now she could sense the statue’s power thrumming through the waves. She knew men would kill for this work of art. She could leave it here in its watery tomb where no one would find it. One less treasure for humans to kill for.
But if she left it here, her mother would die in poverty. She could not let her mother die.
Determined, she reached for the statue. The Indian God smiled up at her, his golden face beaming. She wrapped her arm around the statue’s belly and let her legs drift downward. Looking up at the shimmering surface, her panic flared. So far away. She pushed off the bottom, her feet sinking into soft sand. The statue was heavier than she’d expected and her legs burned as she kicked toward the surface.
The water sparkled above, a glittering temptation. Her lungs burned…burned. She needed air as quickly as possible. But the statue was heavy… so much heavier than she’d thought. She closed her eyes, trying to see her future as she continued to kick. It was no use. There was nothing.
Nothing because she couldn’t see her own future, or nothing because she would die?
Her head pounded… her throat ached. She could drop the statue and save herself.
But the surface was close…so close and her mother was counting on her.
Chapter 1
Paris, France
Autumn
She knew she was being followed.
Not that she heard the man’s footsteps, or even the harsh breathing of someone rushing up behind her. No, he was a professional thief. He was quiet as a mouse. And when she glanced over her shoulder, unable to stop herself, she didn’t see him. Not that she’d expected to. He stuck to the shadows of the night, staying far enough back that she wouldn’t see him. He was certainly putting a damper on her plans. Damn it all, her visions had shifted, the future had changed because someone, the man, had switched his plans. It was known to happen; people were fickle and the future was not set in stone.
The knapsack that hung across her right shoulder pulled heavily and the men’s clothing she wore itched something fierce. She certainly didn’t need something else to add to an already uncomfortable situation. If she had time, she would pause, close her eyes and see what the future held. Not yet. She couldn’t stop in the middle of the street in the middle of the night. Instead, she merely hurried her steps.
Adelaide’s boots thumped across damp cobbled streets. Too late for whores, too early for fish mongers, she was alone in Paris. Well, as alone as she could be with someone following. She lifted the collar of her jacket, hiding her face against the chill breeze. Winter would soon arrive and with winter there would be cold drafts that would make her mother’s cough worse. But not this year, God willing. This year Maman would know a comfortable bed and a warm fireplace.
She pulled her cap lower as she turned a corner and the small homes gave way to walled gardens. Chin tilted high, she feigned a confidence she sure as hell could never feel. Not that she was in a bad neighborhood. No, it was worse. The townhomes that lined the cobbled streets held Lords and Ladies. If she was caught about at this time, they would think she was a thief, or worse. She didn’t dare shiver although the streets of Paris were bitterly cold. To shiver would be to show weakness and if she showed weakness, the cutthroats and ruffians awaiting a weary Lord, would pounce. And so she pretended she belonged here.
Unease raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. The man following was edging closer. She glanced through her lashes at the numbered buildings, urging her legs to move faster. 19, 20, 21. She paused, there at the iron gate of townhome number 21. The brick building was well kept and clean. The man who resided here was a lover of antiquities. He knew nothing about the powers of the statue and she hoped it would stay that way. The fact that he was oblivious eased her guilt. She knew if he bought the piece, he would cherish it until he died… and that would be a week from now. After, the statue would be boxed up and placed in some attic until the myth of its power would be forgotten.
She rested her hand on the cold iron fence, her breath a foggy cloud that hung suspended in the night. And as she paused, she felt the man following also pause. Downstairs, the front room was lit, indicating the buyer was waiting for her…waiting for his treasure. Silly old man who valued objects more than life. But who was she to judge. God would do that a week from now.
Keeping her calm, she shifted the knapsack she held and closed her eyes, quieting her mind, using the soft night, void of life, for her backdrop. A picture flashed to mind…
A dark shadow stepping forward, a pistol in hand. The man taking her knapsack, taking the statue.
Outrage coursed through her being. Damn him! He would ruin everything! As quickly as her anger had come, she squashed the feeling. There was nothing to be done. She couldn’t outrun the thief, especially not with the weight of the statue in her knapsack. She could only go forward and let the future unwind as it would.
She pushed the iron fence wide, hinges squeaking, and slowly made her way up the brick path to the wide, shallow steps. It was here where she’d try to sell the statue. And it was here where he’d steal it from her. Merde, how she despised him, a man she didn’t know. A man who would ruin her future. Of course her life had never been easy, she didn’t know why this should be. But then again she had something on her side he didn’t…the gift.
With a grin, she lifted her fist and knocked only once. The sound echoed down the streets, so loud in the quiet night. Adelaide glanced up at the full moon. The sun would peek its brilliant head above the horizon in only an hour or two; she’d best be home before the city came to life. The door opened slowly, beady eyes in a weathered, narrow face stared warily at her.
“You got it?” the man asked.
“Oui, it’s here.”
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze almost swallowed under his bushy white eyebrows. “Let me see.”
She clucked her tongue, not in the least intimidated. She’d been through hell and back, nothing frightened her anymore. Well, nothing but the thought of losing the damn statue. “Now, now, money first.” She resisted the urge to look behind her, wondering how close the thief was. Hurry, old man! She wanted to shout.
The old man’s lips lifted into a growl, his yellowed teeth revolting. “You listen…” His gaze shifted to the area beyond her.
Adelaide felt the intruder’s presence like a whispered warning from the heavens. Her fingers shifted around her knapsack, her stomach clenching with fear and anger. There was nothing to do now but play along. The old man in front of her had gone pale and for a moment she worried he would faint.
“Drop it,” a deep male voice demanded from behind her. An Englishman? It figured.
The old man slammed the door shut. The distinct sound of a bolt being thrown hissed through the night. She glared at the closed door. The man would leave her to the wolves.
“I don’t want any trouble,” she said in her best male accent.
“Then hand over the statue.” He was so close his warm breath whispered across the back of her neck, sending shivers over her skin. So close, he was, that his hips pressed to her
bottom. He smelled like mint and spice, not unwashed body as most thieves.
“Of course.” She shifted the weight of the object and started to turn. At the same time she reached for her own pistol tucked in the waistband of her trousers. Before she could even wrap her fingers around the weapon, she suddenly found herself slammed up against the door.
“I thought you were going to play nice?”
She dared to look up into the face of the man who very well might ruin her life. Stern, dark eyes, a square jaw shadowed with scruff. He shifted, his hard body pressed indecently to hers, holding her pinned to the door. Lord, she could feel every inch of him, from that chest, to his hips. Adelaide sucked in a sharp breath, too stunned to move. Gorgeous. Simply put. He looked like the statue of David come to life. She hadn’t known…she hadn’t expected to be stunned speechless.
The knapsack was jerked from her hands, and she could only stand there, barely breathing for fear the movements of her lungs would send her body closer to his.
He grinned, and her heart did an odd little jump. “Thank you kindly.”
Before she could blink, before she could even realize his intentions, he pressed his lips to hers. Firm lips molding to her mouth in a quick kiss that did odd things to the inside of her body. The kiss was over as soon as it had begun. He stepped back, jerking the cap from her head. Her long, dark braid fell down her back. He winked and spun around, darting down the footpath.
Adelaide pressed her fingers to her tingling lips. Lord, how could she be so stupid! He’d known all along she was a woman. Anger spurred her forward. She stumbled down the steps and raced after him, her pistol gripped tightly in her trembling hand. Following his shadow, she skittered around the corner. The street lay empty. She froze, listening. The only sound was her own harsh breath. He was gone.
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