Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1)

by Carmen Caine

  “She has only one foot in the Earthly world. The other is in the spirit,” a rasping voice accused out of the darkness.

  I had no doubt that she meant me.

  Lucian remained silent.

  At the far end of the room, a door hitherto hidden cracked open enough to reveal a faint light glowing from within.

  “Enter,” the rasping voice commanded.

  Crooking a beckoning finger for me to follow, Lucian headed for the door.

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. With my knives still faithfully hidden within my boots, I figured I could defend myself. Whatever these creatures were, judging by the mana they yielded, they were clearly alive. And that meant a blade could deter them, if the need arose.

  Close on Lucian’s heels, I entered a room identical but smaller than the last. It was definitely brighter, though. I could actually see the Night Terrors this time, standing in the archways dotting the walls as if they were a honeycomb. The creatures were uncommonly tall, painfully skinny, thin-haired, and with sagging jowls. Their skin glowed from within, white, like alabaster, and their eyes lit with an inner-brilliance unseen on Earth.

  A table with a large gray stone stood in the center of the room. The stone was unusual, vying for my attention as if it were alive, calling for me to touch its rough, unpolished surface.

  The sound of a creaking door diverted my attention to the arrival of another Night Terror. He was just like the others. Sallow. Thin. Wearing a cowled homespun robe and holding a lantern in his hand. His glowing eyes were gold and extra bright.

  “Greetings, Lucian Rowle,” the Night Terror intoned ominously, his sagging cheeks jiggling a little.

  “Keeper of the Old Wisdom,” Lucian addressed him with a respectful bow.

  The Keeper held his lantern aloft, allowing the light to fall over my face. “And who is this?” he asked in a deep voice.

  “My spell-finder,” Lucian replied as he looked at me with his fine brows furrowed. “Cassidy. Cassidy Edwards.”

  The Keeper glided to hover before me and extended his hand as if to touch my forehead with his palm, but I wanted none of it. Instinctively, my hand shot up to knock his away.

  “No,” I said.

  It wasn’t going to happen. Be he a Night Terror or not.

  Slowly, the Night Terror smiled. “Join us,” he whispered, his voice holding a promise. “You could become a Night Terror like the world has never seen.”

  I blinked at the unexpected invitation.

  “Pretty certain I already am one,” I answered dryly, thinking of my few lame attempts at relationships in the past. One of my hands on their chest too long, and they’d run screaming from me as fast as they could. Who could blame them?

  The Keeper merely smiled. “There is still time to decide,” he promised. “Much time.”

  He turned to Lucian then, and moving to one side of the table, they put their heads together and began to whisper. I could hear scattered fragments of their conversation: Dorian. Chosen Ones. Digging. Only a few hours left.

  I glanced up at the archways studding the walls, each with a Night Terror standing in the threshold. With their cowled hoods pulled back, they looked like big glow sticks in the dark.

  Bored, I sidled closer to the stone on the table. It was some kind of stone pillar, almost two feet tall and about a foot in circumference. At the head, I could see a series of intricate Celtic circles, but they were faded. The stone seemed very old.

  I reached out to touch it, and my hand was only a couple of inches away when I felt the mana. It was incredible. Pure. Somehow, it was bathing the stone. I simply had to touch it. But as my finger brushed the small pillar with the lightest of touches, the stone fell back with a loud crash.

  Quickly, I tipped it upright again, surprised to discover it weighed no more than a feather. How had the dang thing made such a racket?

  I knit my brows into a frown.

  “The stone is heavy for some and light for others,” the Keeper’s voice whispered by my side.

  He stood next to me then, his thin face split into an eerie grin. Behind him, Lucian watched me with his feet splayed wide apart and his arms crossed. I couldn’t interpret the expression in his piercing eyes.

  The Keeper waved his hand in front of my face to capture my attention. “Put your ear to the stone, Cassidy,” he invited, pointing to the Celtic carvings with his long, skinny finger. “Listen.”

  I didn’t hesitate. Curiosity propelled me forward. Bending down, I placed my ear against the stone’s rough surface. But no sooner had my ear touched it then I had to jerk away.

  Screams. Weeping, hideous screams.

  “Lost souls,” the Night Terror drew his lips into a chilling smile. “Only true Night Terrors can hear the cries encapsulated in the Hell Stone.”

  “Hell Stone?” I repeated. Sending the stone a wary look, I hastily stepped away.

  “There are places where darkness rules,” the Keeper intoned. And then turning to the Night Terrors still standing in their archways, he added, “And we mustn’t allow additional darkness to ascend. We must assist this warlock. Come down, my brethren. We must leave, immediately.”

  I moved to join Lucian as the cloaked figures lit lanterns and floated down from above. It was creepy; they seemed weightless.

  Lucian wasn’t as fascinated by the whole scene as I was. Pivoting on his heel, he strode out of the chamber with an obvious purpose as the Night Terrors followed, chanting strange words.

  I trailed behind, distracted by the lanterns drifting before me through the chambers toward the exit. In just a few short minutes, there must have been over a hundred of the cloaked figures filing up the steps after Lucian.

  I trailed behind them, wondering what they had planned. What would the tourists think upon seeing a hundred dark-cowled Night Terrors carrying lanterns in the streets of Venice? It wasn’t Carnival, and it wasn’t exactly flying under the radar.

  I’d lost track of Lucian. I guessed he’d already ascended up the stone stairs, and as I placed my foot upon the first step, the Night Terrors suddenly stopped.

  I didn’t wait to see if I was in danger. I just acted. With knife in hand, I dashed past the strange creatures and up the stairs with vampirical speed, slipping past the waiting Night Terrors in such a rush that their robes flurried about their long, skinny legs and their lanterns flickered.

  I arrived at the top to see Lucian standing on the top step.

  There had been no cause for alarm. The Night Terrors were simply waiting their turn. They shuffled past Lucian, each one pausing in front of the warlock to hand him an amulet from their pocket, from a chain around their neck, or in a ring.

  Lucian fixed his attention on each amulet and touched it to his forehead before returning it to its owner.

  One moment, a cloaked Night Terror stood there. The next, a stout policeman. A grizzled archeologist. Two dewy-faced schoolgirls. A boisterous tourist with a Louis Vuitton handbag.

  Spelled.

  I saw it in action.

  Somehow, Lucian used the mana trapped in their amulet to cast a spell to hide them. No wonder humans had no awareness of the Charmed amongst them—they were simply cast into obscurity.

  Relieved, I slid my knife back into my boot and inserted myself into the line.

  “And your amulet?” Lucian asked with an air of professionalism as I arrived.

  I gave an inward scoff. Oh yeah—the Goldfish cracker-sized snack of mana. Was he joking with me?

  “I don’t really need a disguise,” I asserted with a playful wink. “Been doing just fine without one so far, haven’t I?” I waved a hand over myself suggestively.

  He tilted his head to the side and lifted a brow. And then to my surprise, he gripped my arm and pulled me close to him.

  “You’re hiding something from me, Cass.” He breathed on my lips. A muscle ticked on his jaw.

  I couldn’t stop the shiver raging through me. I knew he felt it, too. Something entered his eyes, a kind
of hunger.

  Cripes. I was going to have to find his weak spot soon. If I didn’t, I would lose this game to him.

  Mustering every ounce of strength I possessed, I pushed myself away from the warlock and lifted my chin. “Everyone is hiding something, Lucian,” I retorted with a nonchalant shrug. “And you, more than most.”

  And with that, I headed after the loud tourist with the overpriced handbag.

  The Devil’s Lips

  It didn’t take the Night Terrors very long. I didn’t know exactly what Night Terrors did for a living, but they were sure handy with pickaxes. They descended on the plague gravesite like a swarm of bees, and in minutes, skeletons were lifted from the ground—bricked and staked skeletons, clad in tattered medieval clothing.

  Chosen Ones.

  I couldn’t suppress a shudder and cast an anxious eye at the house behind the wall. I knew Dorian was in there. I could sense him standing in the attic, well away from any direct sunlight. I felt his eyes shift to me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  “What’s wrong?” Heath asked from my side as he picked up a freshly excavated shoe and gave it a once-over with his nose. Frowning, he tossed the shoe over his shoulder.

  I jerked a little, surprised I hadn’t noticed he was there. I still wasn’t used to the fact that I couldn’t smell his mana.

  Reluctance—or maybe something more—prevented me from announcing that Lucian’s nemesis watched our doings from just yards away. Yeah, I didn’t want to reveal the extent of my mana-smelling ability, but it was more than that. It almost felt akin to a betrayal, even though I owed this Dorian nothing.

  “Are you sensing something?” Heath pressed, picking up the tattered remains of a wimple this time.

  “No. It’s nothing,” I lied, shaking my head.

  Apparently, my discovery of the Chosen Ones lurking right under his werewolf nose had given Heath a newfound respect for my abilities. “He’s in the house, isn’t he,” he said, following my perplexed gaze to the grime-covered window. After sniffing the wimple and shaking his head solemnly, he laid it down with care upon the disturbed stones of the crypt.

  I didn’t answer. I guess I didn’t need to. Heath instantly shifted into his wolf form and with a low growl, disappeared over the garden wall.

  Ah well. It looked like Dorian had been discovered, after all.

  I shrugged. Re-staked again soon, no doubt.

  A distinctly deep, male laugh flitted across my mind followed by a low voice holding a distinct Scottish burr. “Hardly, lass.”

  I drew back sharply.

  There was no doubting the source. Dorian. And it was the last straw; I’d had enough for one day. I wasn’t about to stand there and let him taunt me via telepathy or anything else.

  Piqued, I pushed through the line of Night Terrors carrying the bones of the Chosen Ones over to where Lucian waited in one of the white tents. They walked with the greatest of care, clearly not wanting to dislodge the stakes or the bricks. I wondered what Lucian planned to do with all the remains, but weariness was winning over my curiosity.

  I only had desire now for a bath and then a soft comfortable bed.

  Tabitha caught up with me before I managed to exit the dig. Apparently, she’d been assigned to babysit me.

  “Yes, let’s go back to the villa,” she encouraged. “They’re almost finished here anyway, and I need to change.” She pointed to her dirt-smudged cloak.

  I hesitated, remembering Lucian had warned me not to be alone with her. I wondered if she’d made up her firedrake mind about me yet.

  She sensed my unspoken concern, I think, because she smiled. “You did well today,” she said. “Impressive.”

  I wondered if that meant acceptance, but decided it was good enough.

  With a noncommittal nod, I stepped out with her into the narrow alley. My boots rang on the cobblestones, mixing awkwardly with the clicks of her stiletto heels. When we reached the end of the alley, I asked, “So, what’s Lucian going to do with all of those skeletons?”

  I knew she probably wouldn’t tell me, and she didn’t. In fact, her nostrils flared a little and that was it.

  We walked in silence the entire way back to the villa, and when we finally entered the front door, I couldn’t resist muttering despite myself, “It was certainly nice chatting with you, Tabitha,” before stalking up the gracefully curving stairway.

  I had no idea where I was going, but I didn’t want Tabitha to know that. I swept up the stairs and chose a door at random.

  As luck would have it, the room I chose was a bedroom. A nice one. A huge four-poster bed. Modern black bedspread. Silk sheets. Bookcases with leather-bound books. A comfortable armchair. A low, marble-topped table, and a floor-length mirror tucked in the corner. All in all, an inviting atmosphere after a weird and exhausting day.

  Deciding the place looked uninhabited—and the bed just a tad too appealing to resist—I stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind me.

  I made a beeline for the bed—well, almost a beeline. I did detour to pause in front of the mirror to inspect my bedraggled reflection. I looked exhausted. Dark circles under my eyes. Full mouth tired, turned down. Hair hanging limp.

  It was definitely time to rest.

  Yawning in anticipation of a good night’s sleep, I plopped down onto the bed, boots and all. I’d barely settled into the comfortable nest of goose-down pillows before I was out like a light.

  As I mentioned before, I’m a deep sleeper. Very deep.

  I didn’t hear him come in. I certainly didn’t hear him shower.

  Sometime later, I woke up to see Lucian stalking across the dimly lit room with his dark hair wet, loose, and wild about his shoulders. He was bare-chested, wearing only black sweatpants, and in the shadowy light, his abs were even more incredibly outlined.

  In short, he was a wickedly handsome man.

  I watched him with a not-so-guilty pleasure as he paused by the leather chair and picked up a maroon suitcase. Tossing it down onto the marble-topped table, he ran his finger along the brass clasps in an absentminded gesture. After a moment, he popped the suitcase lid open. It sprang back on well-oiled hinges.

  Dolls. The suitcase was filled to the brim with them. Marionettes. Small ones. Barbie-sized. All dressed in rich medieval clothing.

  I caught my breath, startled.

  Lucian’s broad shoulders tensed immediately. Turning his head to one side, he froze, listening. The next moment, he was beside me and lifting me out of my pillow nest with a single, well-muscled arm.

  “You’re not allowed upstairs,” he growled deep in his throat. “And especially not in my room.”

  I scarcely heard what he said. I was simply too distracted.

  I’d spent my entire life steering clear of entanglements. But this man … well, there was no denying his raw animal magnetism. I couldn’t help it. My eyes dipped to rove over his sculpted form, from his washboard abs, lean shoulders, up to his lips, which held a promise to be able to send most any young woman to the wild heights of abandonment.

  My distraction hung in the air between us for several long moments before—just like on the plane—control slipped away. From us both. I knew it the moment his eyes raked me with a sensual, smoldering gaze.

  “If you seek to play like a cat plays with a mouse, then beware,” he warned in a voice, low and raw.

  “Beware?” I repeated in a tone that accentuated the scratchy quality of my voice.

  My gaze flicked over his jawline and neck. I’d like to play with him, but not in a way that required caution. Maybe.

  From the intensity of his expression, it was clear that he’d followed my thoughts. It wouldn’t take much to coax us both beyond the point of no return. The wild, almost hungry look on his handsome face threatened to unleash a passion that I’d never experienced before. I could feel it in my bones.

  But then a sudden realization came over me like a bucketful of ice water, and the spell broke—the attraction
between us was too strong to be real. I scarcely knew the man!

  Severing his gaze, I wrenched free from his grasp and sprang to my feet. “What are you doing?” I accused harshly, shoving him back. “Are you trying to use some kind of magic on me? A curse or something?”

  Lucian’s eyes hardened as his face grew dark. In a flash, he’d twirled me around in front of him so that I then faced the door, his hands firmly on my shoulders. “Oh, there’s nothing to fear, my dear,” he whispered coldly into my ear from behind. “I never cast spells that can be suspected … and certainly never ones that can fail. And I never start what I don’t plan to finish.”

  And before I knew it, he was roughly shepherding me out into the hallway and slamming the door so hard that it jarred my teeth.

  I stood there, insulted, and most definitely annoyed, before collecting myself enough to storm down the hall.

  I didn’t know what game Lord Lucian Rowle was playing any longer.

  He’d changed all the rules.

  I Just Might Keep Ricky, After All

  My irritation didn’t last long. Behaving like a moonstruck fool just wasn’t in my makeup. And I was used to brushing people off. Lucian was certainly no exception.

  I descended the stairs and nearly collided into Heath on the bottom step.

  “I put your suitcase in your room for you. It’s just down the hallway, first door on the right,” he offered with an amiable grin.

  He looked just like a dog expecting a pat on the head. Yeah, I knew he could turn into a massively muscled beast—I’d seen it. But a strain of puppy personality was alive and well. I’d never thought werewolves could be so … Golden Retrieverish.

  I watched him trot off towards the kitchen, shaking my head. He was clearly up to something. It was late. Dark outside. I could see the full moon shining through a nearby window—the classic werewolf setting.

  Curious, I stood there for a bit, listening and waiting in anticipation, but the only sound that filled the villa was that of the distant ticking of a clock. Finally, I gave up with a shrug. Most likely, Heath had just gone to the kitchen for a late-night snack.