by Cate Masters
“Don’t touch anything.” The dark man shook his head in warning. “Lord Plouton will see you in a moment.”
“Who?” Was he British or something? She didn’t dress to meet royalty, but then again, he’d provided no notice before whisking her away.
He flicked lint off her shoulder. “My employer.”
“Why does your boss want to see me?” This couldn’t be good.
“Pay attention this time.” His nostrils flared as he heaved a sigh. “To discuss the progress of your case.”
From his tone, he meant the lack of it. Well, what had they given her so far?
He whispered, “Stand straight. Here he comes.”
“Where?” Was there a door in the room? The candles in the wall sconces did little to light it. The corners faded into a black so thick, the darkness itself might have been the wall.
“Shhh.” He nodded toward the fireplace.
A figure approached through the midst of the flames and walked out unscathed.
If her contact guy gave her the creeps, this Lord Plouton was downright spooky, like something out of a Halloween flick. Ghoulish, yet somehow classy. His skin was like ebony over gold. Sheer and shiny too. As he scrutinized her, his eyes appeared to blaze brighter beneath his furrowed brows.
She curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, Your Grace.”
He threw back his head in laughter. To his employee, he asked, “Is she putting me on?”
The other man shrugged. “I don’t think so, sir.”
Lord Plouton’s ebony eyes fixed on her. “Tell me, Sheree. Are you a woman of your word?”
“Yes.” What did he mean, she’d lied? Knight or not, she wouldn’t put up with such an accusation.
His smile turned to a scowl. “Then why, after months of waiting, have you not fulfilled our agreement?”
She could say the same thing. “I—”
Lord Plouton strutted like Mick Jagger, zig-zagging closer. “Are you not dating Eric, as we promised?”
Not the way she’d hoped. “Yes, but—”
Halting, he held up a finger, and cut off her air supply. Grabbing her throat, she gagged, so numb she couldn’t tell if her feet still touched the ground.
“What’s the problem?”
Trying to speak, she only managed a gurgling sound.
“Even with an accomplice, you have failed to give us what we need.” The lord continued, a sharpness to his voice. “What you agreed to supply. Am I not correct?”
The edges of the room closed in. With the little strength she had left, she nodded.
Lowering his finger, she gasped, filling her lungs.
Narrowing his eyes, he practically hissed, “Do you need help?”
Still unable to speak, she nodded again.
To the other man, Lord Plouton said, “See to it.” He strode back through the fireplace.
In a snap, Sheree appeared in her kitchen. She caught herself before toppling over.
The dark man sat on her kitchen counter, ankles crossed. “You understand this will increase your debt?”
Incredulous, her jaw dropped. “My debt?” He had to be kidding. She owed them nothing.
He clucked his tongue. “Shall I take it up with Lord Plouton again?”
Her blood sizzled with fury. “No.” She never wanted to see the guy again.
Jumping off the counter, he alighted on the linoleum floor with no sound. “All right then. Hm, my employer was correct. You do lack a certain something.” He snapped his fingers. “There. I’ve amped up your feminine wiles. You’re welcome.”
She rolled her eyes. “Uh, thank you?” What the hell for?
“And I’ll allow you certain powers. You will use them to get us what we need.”
“Powers?” This sounded promising. She’d love to have such control. Instead of people bossing her around, they’d do whatever she wanted. Oh yeah. She could get used to that.
Rolling his eyes, he disappeared.
“I don’t understand,” she called to the air.
Nothing. It figured. From the beginning, it felt like a setup. She could never give them what they wanted. “I wish I could see what went on at the inn.”
Her television sputtered to life.
“What the…” She tromped to the sofa. The picture onscreen flashed from a long-range view of a kitchen to a foyer. It looked familiar. Like…the inn.
Perching on the edge of the sofa, she laughed. “Cool.” Now she’d keep an eye on things. If only she could spy on Eric too.
The image flashed white.
“No, wait.” Her desperation faded when the title “Coming Attractions” zoomed in, and then Eric appeared onscreen. Trudging into his bedroom, he unbuttoned his shirt and flung it into the laundry basket.
Delighted, Sheree rocked in glee. “Oh yeah. Gimme more, baby.”
He did the same with his jeans. In his underwear, he stretched to the floor and began push-ups, his muscles rippling beneath his taut skin.
Leaning closer, she nearly fell off the sofa. “Enough, already. Isn’t it time for a shower?” Drool dripped from her mouth when he peeled off his sweaty T-shirt. “Now this is more like it.” Maybe even worth a turn in Hell.
* * * *
“Good morning, sweetie. You’re in a good mood today.” Joss set her coffee mug on the kitchen counter and bent to nuzzle into Taz’s long, soft fur, and rubbed his back.
As quickly as he’d jumped up, the dog bounded out the back door and through the yard, across the stone bridge through the lavender field, toward the road.
“Taz, no.” She ran after him, but halted at seeing Eric. The man vexed her, as surely as if someone cast a spell over her, and Joss wouldn’t put it past Lydia to dabble in the dark arts. No one would be safe then.
Worse, her strong emotional response roiled the energy beneath into an uncontrollable storm. Yet even if she learned to make it yield to her will, rather than react to her every subconscious whim, Eric wouldn’t be safe around her. An uncanny notion haunted her of someone watching.
Shielding her eyes from the morning sun, she strolled closer. Strange, she couldn’t get a read of his emotions, like a barrier stood between them. One he seemed to struggle against.
“Did you forget something?” Why was he simply standing there, instead of continuing past the inn on his morning run, like usual? Damn, how could anyone look more handsome with rumpled, damp hair? His chest rose and fell with his breaths, heavy from running.
He glanced away. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“No reason. You normally don’t stop, so I thought…” Or hadn’t thought, or she wouldn’t have started this conversation. He appeared anxious to continue on.
Sweat dampened his forehead, and his gray T-shirt clung to his contours. His musky scent mixed with lavender in a heady way, and intoxicated her. Lazy tingles traveled through her toes and up her calves.
“Taz ran toward the road.” He spoke in panting breaths. “You should teach him to stay away from it so he doesn’t get hurt.”
She shifted her feet as the tingling sensation coiled inside her thighs. “He wanted to see you, I think. He’s such a people person.” What was she saying? He’d think her an idiot.
Eric’s grin was lopsided. “Your dog is a people person?”
“He’s extremely sociable, yes.” Too much so. Like now, nuzzling the vet’s hand.
The silence grew awkward. If she didn’t get away soon, the vibrations would shake not only her, but the very earth.
“I should let you go.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re busy.” He turned.
She hastened to add, “No, I meant you must be. You’re on such a strict schedule.”
“Am I?” His surprise sounded genuine.
“Aren’t you?” Now she was confused. He ran at the same time every morning. Certainly had appointments all day, either at his office or on farms.
“I guess you’re right. Ha
ve a good day.” The words came out in a mechanical way, as if rehearsed.
Uncertainly, she said, “You too.”
He waited for her response before turning with a deep breath, and set off at an even pace.
Taz barked once, his fringed tail waving.
“Come on, sweetie. And no more road for you.” And no more interfering in Eric’s business for her. He seemed so relieved to get away.
The dog scampered across the field, making Joss laugh.
With a final glance at the retreating figure, Joss strolled through the budding flowers, brushing her palms across their tops. Strange, not even the lavender calmed her lately. A first. Maybe she’d grown immune.
Or maybe whatever bothered her was stronger than the healing properties of the flower.
* * * *
On Friday afternoon, Eric saw the last patient of the day. Seven o’clock, and he had absolutely nothing to do. He cringed at the thought of dinner with Sheree again. Maybe he could claim sickness. Something no one else needed to know about, nothing contagious. Food poisoning.
One date had led to another. Dinner, once a movie, then he’d headed home, after barely being able to kiss her good night. He didn’t know why he had agreed to see her in the first place. Every time he said goodbye, he meant it to be the last. Yet he found himself agreeing to see her whenever she suggested. He was a grown man. Maybe he’d lost control of his faculties.
Maybe he did it to take his mind off Joss. Every day, she worked in the field in plain, unavoidable sight. She must have rigged lights outside, too. From his bed, the twinkling damn near kept him up till midnight. He imagined a celebration taking place, a party. She couldn’t possibly have a party every night, could she?
How would you know? You know almost nothing about her. The words, clear as if spoken but by an unfamiliar voice, pinged through his loneliness like a pinball gone wild.
Finishing off his Thai takeout in front of the television, he scanned through the channels and settled on an old movie. Next week, he should go out somewhere. Anywhere. No more sitting at home alone. No more dates with women who couldn’t hold his interest.
As if from a distance, he saw himself sitting in the chair, legs sprawled out like an old man, an elbow propped against the arm, head cradled in one palm. The lights in the field glimmered more brightly and captured his attention. The tiny orbs climbed higher and swam through the air as if carried on a current. They grew larger. Bobbing along toward him.
His mouth dropped open. Damn if it didn’t look like they were right outside the window scratching to get in. Watching him. They reminded him of tiny fireworks. Sparklers swirled by invisible hands. Mesmerizing. The movement lulled him, and his jaw went slack. He slumped in the chair, his mind clear, only concentrating on the swirl of lights. When they passed through the window to surround his chair, he abstractly thought it odd, but nothing to become upset about. So beautiful, they were. Friendly.
With a flash and a chorus of screeches, the tiny lights blended into one searing white landscape. It faded to darkness so thick, it roiled with voiceless laughter. A whisper called his name. The familiar face of a woman with platinum blond hair, ruby lips, and almond eyes emerged. Hard eyes, gleaming. From their depths, a laser light pierced his irises, penetrating his brain. More insistently, the voice called, “Eric.” Two voices—one sweet, the other deep as an abyss.
He knew those voices. And didn’t like them one bit. Sheree. “No.”
The ruby lips curled at the ends, more a grimace than a smile. “Oh, yes.”
A wispy outline of a woman’s figure thickened as if with smoke. Hard nipples protruded through her sheer black robe and the lace of a scarlet demi-bra beneath.
He clutched the arms of the chair, the only thing in the room solid and dependable. “What are you doing here?” What had the waitress done to the lights? He wanted to be in their welcoming presence, not her malevolent one.
Floating nearer, Sheree hovered in front of him, her black robe as see-through as her. Her impressive cleavage was at eye level, impossible to ignore. Sucking air through her teeth, she ran her shiny, blood-red nails across her breasts, tugging the bra down to fully expose them. Cupping one in her hand, she ran her thumb across the pebbled hardness of her nipple.
His brain screamed in warning. He couldn’t avert his gaze, or command his erection to go flaccid. With a will of its own, it stretched against his jeans, reaching for her.
Arching her back, her sighs and coos and whispers urged him on.
His fingers itched to touch her, to explore every part of her. He clutched the cushion, the effort so great he stifled a whimper.
A low laugh rumbled through her flat abdomen, and inflamed his desire. He wanted nothing more than to ram himself inside her, lose himself in her depths. So deeply, he’d never find the way out.
“Yes,” she urged, her fingers tracing his engorged erection, though the zipper of his jeans stood intact.
Bile rose in his throat. “No.” His protest faded, swallowed by darkness.
With one hand, she clutched his neck tight. Her sharp nails pricked his skin. With the other, she grasped his balls and squeezed gently, though at the same time tight as a vise. Such intense pleasure, bordering on insanity. Need burned white hot and parched his skin. His mind simultaneously screamed, no! while a deeper voice rumbled, screw her!
“Yes, do it,” her dual voices commanded. She gazed down at him through hooded lids. The gleam in her eyes glowed red as her lipstick.
Fear iced his muscles, rendered them useless for an eternal moment. A hasty, panic-filled moan escaped. He inched lower in the chair, thinking he’d slip out beneath her.
Her knees jammed against his sides. She tightened her hold on his balls. When he cried out, she let out a laugh suitable for graveyards on moonless nights.
She parted the flowing robe. “What’s the matter, Eric? You don’t like?” Her vagina glowed bright as lava. It sucked at him like a vacuum, one with acid lining its hot metal cylinder.
Baring her canine teeth, she leaned in, so close he gagged at her rancid breath.
“You’re going to give me what I need,” she hissed.
“What is it?” he choked out, hoping she wouldn’t respond.
The deeper voice answered. The voice, he now knew, belonged to the thing dominating her.
“If I can’t have your heart…” The orange-red glow in her eyes intensified. “I’m taking your soul.”
Then he’d be screwed for eternity. “No.” He’d never believed in soul mates, yet he knew damn sure she didn’t fit the bill. Fear caused some shrinkage. Before he could slip his erection from her grasp, she clamped on it again. Pain shot through his groin, and the groan escaping him sounded like a dying beast. His energy ebbed. He struggled to keep hold of it. It was like trying to grab a shadow.
Cradling her breast, she touched one metal-hard nipple to his ribs, a flame-heated iron poker that seared deep within. Despite the excruciating pain, it didn’t puncture his skin. The burn’s deepening path left a trail of carnage, a scar no x-ray would reveal. Invisible to the human eye, its meaning would mystify those schooled in medical arts. No, it had nothing to do with medicine, and everything to do with her threat. She sought his soul, and left her mark on it. A claim ticket for her to retrieve later.
No way could he let her.
Shoving at her shoulders proved useless. When she repeated her maniacal laugh, he twisted his hips and managed to slip lower beneath her. Or it. Whatever. An all-encompassing desire urged him to get away, far, far away.
Another laugh emitted a breath so fiery hot it singed his face. She dug her nails into his neck. The room fell away into blackness. Her legs wrapped behind his, and he couldn’t extract himself from her clutches. She clung as they tumbled backward into a void so terrifying, he held back a scream.
Her screeching laughter echoed endlessly.
Then abruptly, it ended.
The ti
ny lights appeared around them, their soft glow reassuring.
Her grip faltered. She hissed. “Go away.”
“No. Help me.” They couldn’t leave. They’d come to save him.
The sparkling figures flitted between him and Sheree. In an expanding whirlwind, they multiplied.
Now a madwoman, her eyes widened. Her head jerked from side to side as if in agony. Shrieking, she surrendered her hold, and leapt into the void.
Relief swept over him. Then panic. Sheree had been his only anchor. He’d fall to his death unless his downward tumble never ended. Maybe it was to be his personal Hell.
The twinkling figures swirled around him. Wrapped him in their cushion of light. They slowed his fall until he descended featherlike through the black emptiness. He floated down, down into a familiar seat.
His eyes popped open. He was home, in his chair. No one else in sight.
Patting his fully buttoned and zipped clothes, he heaved a breath, part laugh, part exhale of relief. None of it had happened. He must have dreamed it. A crazy, too-real dream, but nonetheless, a dream.
Glancing up, he froze. Immediately outside his window, the orbs hovered. One by one, their steady lights broke away to swarm into the distance. He rushed to the window to watch them bob away toward the field, where they swam through the night like luminous fish.
“If they were here, then what…” He turned and stared at the chair. Nothing in the room was out of place. It hadn’t happened. Not really.
Yet it was too realistic to have been a mere dream.
What, then? A premonition?
Rubbing his neck, his fingers ran across slight bumps. He ran to the mirror, expecting to see indentations of fingernails. Blood red fingernails.
No marks on his neck. Of course not. How stupid.
It had been more than a premonition. It had to be a warning.
* * * *
Heaving a sigh, Sheree stretched her limbs to the corners of her satin-sheeted bed and writhed in imagined pleasure. The astral projection of herself worked way better than she’d hoped. Her fingertips had tingled when she’d dragged her nails down Eric’s sculpted chest. Oh, he’d looked amazing.
