Oracle Dreams Trilogy
Page 1
www.teribarnett.com
Published Internationally by Teri Barnett
Indianapolis, Indiana, USA
Copyright © 2020 Teri Barnett
teribarnett.com
Lucky Crow Press
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Interior design by Tamara Cribley www.deliberatepage.com
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author, Teri Barnett, is an infringement of the copyright law.
These novels are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Also Available
Book 1: Through the Mists of Time
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Book 2: Shadow Dreams
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Book 3: Pagan Fire
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
About the Author
www.teribarnett.com
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Indiana Writers’ Workshop, for your critiques, encouragement, and continuing examples of professionalism. This book wouldn’t have been possible without all of you and I’m forever grateful to be counted among your members. A special thank you to Pat Watson Grande, for taking me under your writerly wing and drawing me into the fold. You are missed.
“Teri Barnett is at the top of her game with ‘Through the Mists of Time.’ With a delightful mix of some of the best-loved genres in Romance, this sensual novel is a treasure trove of originality, an honest-to-goodness must-have!”
—K.L. Nappier, author of Voyagers, Full Wolf Moon, and Bitten
To my brother, Frank Barnett Jr. (1949-1981), who introduced me to the world of books and instilled in me a love of history.
“If you were the one
suffering the fires of love,
you would be in
more of a hurry
to see Venus.
I love a young
and handsome boy;
I beg you,
spur on your mules.
You’ve finished your drink,
let’s go;
take up the reins
and shake them.
Take me to Pompeii
where my sweet love
is waiting.”
— graffiti discovered during the excavation of Pompeii.
Prologue
Pompeii, Italy
79 A.D.
The soft breeze entered through the bedchamber window and moved like a lover over Christos’s naked body. A low moan escaped his lips as he turned onto his stomach. The breeze continued upward, over his thighs, and across his shoulders, stopping to tease the thick black hair curled at the nape of his neck.
Christos stirred, kicking away his rumpled bedding. He turned his face toward the window. Could it be? Was she here again? He opened his eyes drowsily. Ah, yes. She was here.
The finely woven linen curtains flanking the window danced around her where she stood, casting an ethereal quality to her form. How she came to be in his room, night after night, he had no idea, but she continued to appear before him just the same. Always when he was asleep, always when he was alone.
Long dark hair, the color of roasted chestnuts, cascaded to her hips. The luscious waves covered her naked form, tempting his gaze to travel farther down to the darker curls shielding her womanhood. Ah, but he was hard-pressed to tear his gaze from the delicate beauty of her face. Her bright green eyes reflected the glow of a large, teardrop emerald, nestled between her moonlit breasts. Smaller emeralds dangled from her ears, sparkling through the dark, silky strands of hair.
Her own gaze gleamed in the moonlight, teasing him, daring him—to come closer.
He ached with desire as he marveled at her beauty. He would have reached for her, but it would have done no good. When he tried to embrace her on previous nocturnal visits, she always flitted away from him.
Christos’s eyes drifted closed for a mom
ent and the breeze tickled his skin again. When he opened them, he realized it wasn’t the breeze, but the woman’s fingers moving over him.
She drew closer, hovering above him, her hair brushing against his skin as she delicately ran her nails down his chest and thighs. Oh, but she was a treasure, this woman of the night. He sighed, savoring the delicious feel of her touch. He’d stopped asking long ago from whence she came and now simply enjoyed her nearness.
Once more she drifted away from him. Knowing it would be futile, he still reached for the beautiful spirit who’d been haunting him for weeks. But all he caught was the night air as she floated toward the window. What was this game she played?
“Please—wait!” he whispered. “You must tell me this time. Who are you?”
She turned to him and smiled. His chest tightened at the tenderness in those emerald eyes, now darkened by the shadows of the room. “I am yours,” she answered simply. Her voice echoed the sound of garden chimes in summer, soothing the feverish yearning inside him.
Christos let his breath out slowly. “You say you are mine, and yet you are leaving me again.” He pushed a damp lock of black hair off his forehead and sighed. “Will you ever stay, or will you forever pass through my chambers on your nightly journeys?”
“The next time you see me will be in the flesh,” she murmured. “You have my word.”
He watched in silence as she turned to face the window. Her body, bathed in the silvery moonlight, glowed for a moment, then vanished into the darkness—
Christos’s eyes flew open. “By the gods,” he cursed under his breath, the tension tight in his belly. How long would he continue to dream of her, this beautiful, nameless being who followed him into the arms of Morpheus? Was it possible to desire a ghost?
“How soon ‘til you return to me, my sweet one?” He closed his eyes, his words a soft prayer. “How soon?”
Chapter 1
London, England
April 1865
“Why dost thou cry?”
Her tears clung to her long dark lashes for a brief moment before spilling down her soft cheeks. “I cry because there is no love in my world.”
He cupped her chin, forcing her to look into his deep brown eyes. “Nay. ‘Tis not so. One as gentle and beautiful as thee, will always be loved.”
“And who shall love me?” Even as she asked the question, she knew she was being much too bold, much too daring. Her heart threatened to break under the burden of her sorrow.
He smiled warmly. “Can thou sayest with all honesty that thou dost not know?”
“I must hear the words aloud, so my heart will know ‘tis not a lie.”
“Then thou must listen carefully, for there shall be no misunderstandings between us.” He traced the outline of her lips with his eyes. “I love thee, Caroline, and will spend the remainder of my days making thee happy.”
Caroline caught her breath as he pulled her close, his strong arms locking around her. “And I love thee, Damon,” she whispered against his lips as they pressed their bodies together.
Valerie Sherwood Brooks fell back against the soft goose down pillows, sighing as they enveloped her within their soothing embrace. She held the book up in the air, just above her face, and reread the last line again and again until she could close her eyes and see the words pictured in her mind.
“And I love thee, Damon.”
Valerie closed the novel and hugged it against her chest as if it would steady the rapid beating of her heart. Oh, but these new romantic novels were just marvelous with their tales of love and passion. A woman would be truly blessed to be loved by such a man.
She lifted the gold watch suspended from a delicate chain around her neck. Noting the time, she sighed. It was getting late. Valerie leaned over the side of her bed and with one last, longing look at the novel, tucked it between the bed frame and thick feather mattress. She pushed the book as far as she could, past the seam of the snowy white linens folded around the striped ticking. She was careful not to bend its red chipboard cover or wrinkle its heavy pages.
For an instant, guilt grabbed at Valerie’s conscience. If Mama should find out what she was reading she’d be in trouble for certain. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. No, she wouldn’t let herself even consider the consequences. After all, she was nineteen and more than old enough to know of the private things between a man and a woman. She straightened her shoulders. Old enough to already be married with a child of her own, for heaven’s sake!
The last thought clutched at her stomach and her shoulders slumped. Valerie took a deep breath, forcing the melancholy back to the hidden depths of her mind. Never mind Mama or marriage. Tonight, she would not allow such thoughts to upset her good humor. She’d just finished reading a perfectly marvelous romantic story and she would take the lovers’ reunion into her dreams.
Rising up on her elbow, Valerie lifted the globe from the clear glass hurricane lamp on her night table. Being careful to shield the flame with her left hand, she blew out the fire and replaced the globe with a quiet clink and scrape of metal against glass. She settled back onto the pillows and pulled the creamy satin comforter up around her neck, shifting about until she was comfortable.
A voice bellowed from the street below, breaking the stillness of the night. Valerie realized too late she had left the window ajar. She tossed back the covers and pushed herself to the edge of the bed, first one foot, and then the other, hit the thick needlepoint wool rug with a muffled thump. She reached for the dark English oak cane, propped against the rose velvet side chair and grasped it with her left hand, the top well-worn and comfortable in her grip. Valerie took a step with her right foot, then dragged the lame left foot behind her, leaning on the cane for support. Reaching the window, she leaned the cane against the wall. She grasped the lip of the window frame with both hands and pulled it down, shutting out the night sounds from the street below.
Once back in bed, Valerie again placed the cane against the chair and let her body sink into the mattress. She snuggled as far down as she could under the covers and closed her eyes. As her breathing grew steady, Valerie drifted into a deep sleep, images of a man with curly black hair and ebony eyes filling her dreams.
“Valerie! Valerie!”
The high-pitched screech broke the heavy veil of sleep and rang in her ears. Valerie cracked her eyes open only to find her little brother standing beside her bed, his face so close she could see where the sleep still clung to his dark lashes.
“What in heaven’s name do you want?” she grumbled.
“Mama said it’s time for you to get up. She said you’re a sleepy head and I should come and get you for breakfast,” he declared.
“Please, Reggie. I’m not ready to wake up just yet. Tell Mama I don’t want any breakfast this morning.” Valerie rolled over to face the wall, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders.
A soft thud sounded followed by a delighted gasp.
“Oho!” Reggie opened the book and began to read aloud. “‘Damon, my love, when will I see you again?’” He slammed the tome shut. “Papa’s going to beat you for certain!”
The book! It must have fallen out.
Valerie flung back the covers and whirled around. “Give that to me!” she demanded, grabbing for him. But he was too fast for her and darted toward the door, stopping just short of exiting her bedroom.
Her eyes focused on Reggie. Flustered, Valerie fumbled for her cane. “I said give that back to me, you little lizard! You have no right coming into my room and taking my things!”
“What’s going on here?” Jacqueline Brooks, their mother, stepped into Valerie’s room. “What have you got there, Reg?” she asked, ruffling his dark red hair. Victorious, Reggie handed the book to his mother. He wrinkled his freckled nose and stuck his tongue out at Valerie.
Valerie glared at her brother as she stepped carefully ov
er the pile of tossed bedding. “It’s nothing, Mama. Just a book.” She reached for it, but Jacqueline already had the book open. Valerie sighed, rolling her eyes.
This isn’t going to be easy.
“I can see that. But what sort of book would have you calling your brother names?” Jacqueline flipped through the pages, her eyes widening. She shut the book and handed it back to Valerie. “Really, dear, you shouldn’t be wasting your time reading such nonsense.”
“Yes, Val, you shouldn’t be wasting your time reading such nonsense.” Reggie mimicked his mother, in a decidedly haughtier tone.
Both women turned to the boy and glared at him. He took a step backward. “I—um, I think I’ll go get dressed now.” Reggie turned and scampered down the hallway, his white cotton nightshirt flapping behind him.
Valerie shared a smile with her mother. “The little lizard.” She walked back to her bed and sat on the edge. Jacqueline sat beside her.
“You should be concentrating on your studies,” her mother gently chided, patting Valerie’s hand. “Now that you’ve decided to get your teaching certificate, you need to be sharp for your entrance exam to Queen’s College.”
Valerie stood and went to the window, pulling back the heavy burgundy velvet curtains. She fingered the long single braid that hung over her shoulder.
Staring at the street below, she noted the early morning rush of merchants setting up their wares for the day and the patrons already lining up to make their purchases. How quickly they moved, compared to her. Valerie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Please, Mama, reading romantic novels will not interfere with my school work in any way. It’s just… I know I won’t ever marry—” Valerie glanced over her shoulder at her mother’s gasp. “I’m not blind, Mama. I know people stare at me. How men look at me. Truth is, I’ve thought about little else for quite some time now. And I believe I’ve made peace with it.” She hugged her arms about her. “But it’s lovely to dream a little.”
Her mother stood and went to Valerie, wrapping her arms around her. “Well, then, you have my permission, as long as your studies don’t falter,” she said in a husky voice.
Valerie smiled. “They won’t. I promise.”