Moonlight Mist: A Limited Edition Collection of Fantasy & Paranormal)

by Nicole Morgan

  She had to keep going. Any minute a farmhouse would pop up. Out of thin air. Her mind rolled along with the same indiscriminate nonsense aimed at keeping her afloat and not focused on her aching feet, pounding headache, and the numbing cold.

  Lightning flashed, followed by an ominous rumble of thunder. Damn it. Clouds rolled over the moon, blocking the light she depended on to navigate her way through this unknown landscape. Wasn’t much to see, just grass and asphalt everywhere she looked. Better than darkness though.

  Aurora moved to the center of the road and picked up her pace. There would be plenty of time to move out of the way if a car appeared. She trudged forward, the night thickening around her, along with a sudden silence. Where were the crickets she heard chirping when she exited the car? And the crows? Where had they gone?

  Her chest tightened and her heart gave a strange flutter as her quick pace turned into a hobbled Valentino jog.

  She stumbled. The hem of the gown caught on her heel and the gown ripped up the length of her leg as she tripped. One hand braced for the fall. The other clutched the pendant. At the last second, she twisted and took the brunt of the impact on her shoulder and side. She expected hard, bruising asphalt, instead dirt cushioned her.

  Where did the road go? Confused, she patted the soft earth. Where was her clutch? The small evening purse had been tucked under her arm. She couldn’t lose her keys and wallet. Maybe she’d dropped it on the road. Groaning, she maneuvered to her hands and knees. Crawling along, she felt her way back to the road. That was the plan, only there wasn’t any road. Had she’d fallen into the ditch?

  Panting.

  She heard panting.

  Someone. Something. Was with her. A scream crept up her throat. She yanked off her heels and brought them up as weapons.

  Aurora climbed to her feet and braced for an attack. She’d taken a self-defense course. Single female, living in the city, it was the cautious thing to do. Right now, she couldn’t remember anything her instructor had instilled in the four-week course.

  Straining to see through the varying shades of gray and black revealed nothing. Still, she waited and soon realized the panting came from her. She’d stopped the scream yet couldn’t stop a broken laugh from escaping. “Stupid imagination.”

  Her toes brushed her clutch. She tucked it under her arm, draped her wrap around her shoulders again, and opted to keep her shoes in her hands. Her poor arches had suffered enough and the dirt felt good moving between her toes.

  She started forward again. Well, her notion of forward. Direction didn’t mean a thing in the dark. She moved along at a steady pace, aware of the temperature dropping and the grass transitioning from crunching beneath her soles, to brushing her calf, to her fighting her way through a waist high growth. Maybe she’d stumbled into a farmer’s corn field?

  A fat drop of rain smacked her forehead and tangled in her eyelashes. She looked up at the dark, unseen sky. “Really!”

  Another drop smacked her, followed by one million more. Sheets of rain beat down. She used part of the wrap to cover her head, sacrificing most of her bare back to the elements.

  Crying in a rainstorm doesn’t count. Your face is already wet.

  Good solid reasoning. Aurora didn’t count her sobs as she plodded along in mud. The grass, wheat, whatever, now clung to her wet body. The growth twined around her legs and hips like vines climbing a trellis, impeding her every movement.

  Suddenly, the rain stopped. Aurora took a deep breath and opened her mouth to say thank you, when a large chunk of ice pelted her shoulder.

  “Was that…hail?” No. Couldn’t be.

  Something brushed her cheek and bounced off the front of her dress.

  Hail preceded tornadoes, and it was that time of year when spring transitioned into summer. Rain, she could handle. Hail—

  Lightning flashed and revealed a landscape of tall grass, a massive, writhing cloud in the preliminary stages of forming a funnel…and a speck of a house way off in the distance.

  Chapter Two

  Aurora held her wrap over her head and ran. A moving target posed no problem for Mother Nature. The hail fell from the sky with purpose, as if aiming directly for her. The tall grass, the sharp hail on the soles of her bare feet, slowed her, and conspired to leave her bloody. Not today, she chanted in her head.

  But Mother Nature didn’t back down. She picked up the gauntlet thrown at her proverbial feet and ran with it. The wind shifted and became a physical barrier preventing her from reaching safety. The grass lashed out, whipped by an invisible master. Hail pelted her back, a hundred pinpricks she couldn’t escape. Her pace slowed to a crawl, each footstep a small victory. “Keep going” became her mantra. Horizontal lightning illuminated the clouds, allowing her to see the gray stone edifice of a two-story colonial house reaching toward the sky.

  The wheat ended and she stumbled onto a barren lawn with a lone tree fifty yards from the house. Though she cursed the wheat, it had shielded her from the full fury of the storm. Now she had nothing but her designer gown and wrap.

  “Halt.”

  The order whipped around her and got lost in the wind. Did someone speak or was that the wind playing tricks on her? Her focus had to remain locked on her objective: Getting to the house!

  Slipping and sliding, she made it to the tree and paused under one of the thick branches. Bad place to be, but she just needed a moment to gather herself. She ignored the stitch in her side and pain lancing up from her feet. Breathing deeply, she inhaled air laced heavily with ozone.

  Don’t stop. The tree was a bullseye. One strike and she’d be dead.

  Lightning crackled. Aurora ducked as the landscape turned into a day-glow horror scene with the house a decrepit, malevolent entity—and a man standing in front guarding the structure. She jumped, surprised by the clap of thunder and the figure on the porch.

  More lightning showed he watched her. The heat of his gaze reached between the hail and seized her. Assessed and judged her. She closed her eyes and shook her head to clear the absurd, delusional thought. Then she opened her eyes and gasped.

  He stood in front of her, hair slicked to his skull, eyes reflecting the lightning in their inky depths. Her gasp abruptly ended with an “oomph” when he tossed her over his shoulder. For a few seconds her diaphragm pressed against his broad shoulder, preventing her from gathering enough air to scream as he cleared the four steps of the wraparound porch in a single jarring leap.

  Dumped back onto her feet, she swung at him. “Don’t you touch me!” Casual as a soft shrug, he leaned out of the way and strolled out of the range of her fists.

  Unsteady, she tracked his movement, circling him as he did the same to her. Her fists raised as she panted and studied him. Six foot three, maybe four, with a stocky build. Yet from the pecs and abs defined by the fitted tee and jeans molded to his muscular thighs, not an ounce of fat coated his body.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” She backed up to the other side of the porch, putting a bit more distance between them. Hopefully enough room for a running start.

  His head cocked to the side. “You’re on my property. I ask the questions.”

  He had a subtle accent she couldn’t pinpoint, which added a hint of eroticism to his voice. Not that he needed more with his arrogant jaw, Romanesque nose, and deep almost pitted eyes, hooded due to his lowered brow set in a wary scowl. His hair slicked to his scalp looked black, but she had a hunch, when dry, it would be brown. The color of caramel.

  “I-I broke down a couple miles down the road.” She wished she hadn’t lost her wrap when he tossed her over his shoulder. The way he stared made her feel exposed, like a raw wound left to air. “If I… Can I use your phone to call AAA?” Lightning illuminated everything except the gloom clinging to the porch. And him.

  “How did you come to be here?” His voice mimicked the thunder rolling overhead.

  “My GPS stopped working. I got off the highway looking for a gas station to ask directions,
but there wasn’t one. I turned around to go back on the highway and my car died, just sputtered and died. No car. No phone. I started walking and here I am.” She forced herself to smile.

  His gaze strolled from her face, down her shivering body, to her muddy, bloody feet. “No shoes?”

  “You try dodging hail in heels.” She forced herself to laugh.

  A microscopic smile tugged at his grim lips and he extended his hand with her mud caked purse. She took it, surprised that he’d found it. Reassured by the weight, she clasped the satin clutch tight with both hands. It was all she had.

  The hail hadn’t ceased but strengthened its assault on the house. Pinging incessantly. Some bounced onto the porch and cartwheeled between them. “I saw a tornado forming. We should get below ground. You do have a storm shelter, right?”

  He crossed to the front door, muscles rippling beneath his soaked clothing, and opened it. “Nothing will harm this house.” He stepped aside for her to enter.

  Could be a serial killer. She clutched her purse tighter.

  The wind howled like a freight train on speed and branches from the tree that sheltered her whizzed past. All the scene needed was flying monkeys and a witch on a broom.

  Tornado vs. serial killer. What a choice. Aurora picked her way to die and rushed into the house. And stopped short. The ground floor was partially gutted, all exposed brick and peeling plaster with holes venting the walls. At the end of the spacious room, a large, cold brick fireplace with flickering candles on the mantle barely held the night at bay. Darkness outside, darkness inside.

  “No electricity?”

  “No.”

  His voice came from inside the house. Somehow, within the last seconds, he’d closed the front door—probably locked it—and coasted by her without notice. Fear snaked down her spine.

  “Can you light…more candles, please?” she croaked.

  All at once, candles flared to life. A dozen or more on the windowsills, a dusty coffee table, and mismatched end tables. More were stacked in the corners of the room and on a single, circular table blocking her path. Wax dribbled off the ends and cooled into an irregular mass on the wooden floor.

  He stood in the middle of the room, hands loose at his sides. Light curved away from him, as if afraid of his presence. “Cool magic trick,” she mumbled.

  “What are you called?” he asked.

  Strange way of asking for her name. “Aurora.”

  His eyes closed, and his chest slowly expanded. “Natural phenomenon in the sky. Bringer of light. Aurora. It is beautiful,” he whispered.

  The way he said her name, with desire, longing, left her breath hitching in her chest. “And yours?”

  “Warrant.”

  Huh? “Like an arrest warrant?” His lips tightened, and she said, “Um, that’s…unique.” Who names their kid Warrant? As if the parents knew from birth he’d come to no good.

  She moved to the nearest candle and warmed her fingers over the flame. A spark hissed and by the time she turned, a fire crackled in the fireplace. Drawn to the heat, she ignored her host to rush forward and kneel on the hearth. She leaned forward, greedily absorbing the warmth. She’d never been so cold. The house may not have electricity yet somehow the fireplace worked. Except flames licked at a log.

  Something soft brushed her shoulders. She jerked around, set to flee, and saw Warrant holding a blanket. “I have no dry clothing to offer that would fit, but you’re welcome to this.”

  He gripped the blanket tightly, as if reluctant to share, or prepared for her rejection. Maybe if she weren’t freezing she’d have the balls to refuse. “Thanks.” She took it from his hands and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was warm and dry and so damn wonderful. She huddled into the softness and brought the blanket to her nose. It smelled of wind, rain, and…a hint of amaretto. Peace unfurled her knotted insides. False security aimed at lowering her guard. She shoved the sensation away. “Can I have your phone? I’ll call for a tow truck and be out of your way.”

  “No phone.” He pointed to the only chair. Beside it, a pail and strips of cloth. “Sit while I attend to your feet,” he ordered. His domineering tone made her shoulders rear back and all of her stiffen. No one told her what to do.

  He tipped his head and murmured, “Please.”

  That softened her spine and she limped over to the chair. She plopped into the cushioned seat and placed her purse on her lap. “How do you move so fast?”

  “It’s just my way.” He kneeled in front of her.

  “I can take care of myself. I don’t need—”

  Her left foot was in his strong hand, hovering over the pail. He scooped up a handful of water and let it trickle over her toes. She couldn’t say which surprised her the most, the warm water or his gentleness. He submerged her foot and reached for the other with no protest from her. Covertly, she studied the subtle ripple of muscles beneath his tee as his hands stroked up her calves and scrubbed the mud from her skin. A tremble started in her limbs. She willed it to stop, demanded it, but her body had a mind of its own.

  His wet hands moved up to her knees, paused to let his fingers clean the bruises there, and then moved back down her legs. Over and over, he repeated the process until her limbs stopped shaking under his soothing caress. All of her loosened—and immediately tensed. This was not happening.

  She grabbed his hands on the upsweep. “Your cell phone, then.”

  His eyes dipped to her cleavage, which gapped when she leaned forward. Her pendant almost slipped free. Aurora jerked back, more interested in protecting the pendant than her modesty. She adjusted the spaghetti straps and the blanket as he said, “I have no phone. Never wanted to talk to anyone.”

  She couldn’t have heard him correctly. No phone meant she was trapped in a strange house, on a strange road with a stranger. She locked her knees to keep them from shaking. “W-what do you mean you don’t have a phone? You live in the middle of nowhere America! You can’t live here without means of communication.” She jerked her feet out of the pail.

  He grabbed both armrests and leaning uncomfortably close, caged her before she could escape. Backlit with firelight, his features were masked in darkness. He could be anyone. Anything. Her skin shrank while her heart leaped. Tornado or not, she had to get out of here.

  “I can, and I do.” Soft, no threat in his voice. “Give me your feet so I can bandage them.” An entreaty, not an order. He eased back and waited, his hand outstretched. Aurora did as requested. One by one, she lifted her feet, and Warrant wrapped strips of a torn tee shirt around her injured feet.

  Task complete, Warrant grabbed the pail and the surplus cloth, and exited the room. He left her without further explanation about the phone or anything else. Her gaze cut to the front door. Outside, the wind kicked up. The front door rattled, shaken by an unseen hand. Going out there was suicide. And staying here… She didn’t have a choice.

  Aurora hobbled to the only window in the room and peeled back the tattered, maroon drapes. Outside was just as dark as inside. Footsteps echoed behind her. She peered over her shoulder at her host.

  “Thanks for the bandages. Now, please drive me to the nearest gas station.”

  “No car.”

  She spun. “Damn it! What do you have?”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest. “A house. A fire. Some food. All a man needs.”

  I’m trapped here…with him. Little puffs of air wheezed past the knot in her throat and she clutched her purse tighter to her side. “P-p-people are waiting for me.”

  His head cocked to the side. “People?”

  “Husband.” The word flew into her head. “My husband is waiting for me in the city at the civic center.”

  He moved closer to the fireplace, and her. “What kind of man allows his wife to travel unaccompanied, at night, to another town?”

  “He was traveling. I’m meeting him there. So, please help me contact him.” Proud of her quick thinking, she stifled her smirk.

  �
�Give me his phone number.” He stepped closer.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Why should I tell you when you don’t have a phone?”

  “I could walk to my closest neighbor and use theirs.” He moved closer still.

  She limped toward the door. “Then I will go with you.”

  “I would never take a female out in this weather.”

  She paused, annoyed at the way he said female, as if it were a condition in need of a cure. “Then as soon as the storm ends we’ll go together.”

  “You lie badly.” His voice was closer, behind her instead of across the room. “Your breath hitches and your heart rate increases because you don’t believe the lie. The falsehoods sit poorly on your lips.”

  He lingered on the last word, caressed it. She faced him. He stood a few feet away, hands loose at his side, non-threatening. “You know nothing about my lips.”

  He bowed his head. “My apologies. It is unseemly to refer to any part of your body.”

  Again with the subtle caress of a word. This time body, which made her aware of the damp gown shrinking as it dried. Even with a blanket around her, she felt exposed. “And what do you know about my heart rate?”

  His hand raised, and he pointed. “There’s a vein in your temple that pops to attention.”

  Really? She touched near the area. Warrant closed in and she froze. He reached out and brushed her left temple with his thumb. The rough pad of his finger sent a zing along her scalp.

  “Your heart rate has jumped again.” He stroked the thin skin twice, chafed it a little, then dropped his hand. He was too close to her, the heat of him suffocating her. Seemed he stole air around her every time he approached.

  But his eyes, even this close to her, their color continued to be a mystery. “I know you said you didn’t have anything that would fit, but I’ll take a shirt. I’m not picky. Just tired of being in this stiff, cold dress.”

  “Certainly.” He stepped aside and motioned for her to follow him. She limped along on her tender feet until they reached the stairs. Adrenaline wearing off, aches and pains assaulted her, she leaned on the post and counted the stairs. There were a lot of them.