by CJ Anaya
He placed his hands on my quaking shoulders and had the nerve to look amused at my outright panic. Did nothing ruffle this guy’s biceps?
“I really don’t see what the big deal is. We’re mature adults on separate business trips. So if you don’t mind looking at this situation as if we were harmless roommates sharing a suite for the duration of the week, then I can sleep on the sofa and you can have the bed.”
“Actually,” came the blonde’s perky voice from behind the counter, “the suite houses a California King Bed. If I were you two, I’d just snuggle in and get comfortable.”
My eyes widened at the thought as my soon-to-be roomie suggestively wiggled his eyebrows.
“Even better,” he said.
Mental sigh, and, dare I say, an unwelcome surge of longing?
Trouble.
Miguel Galvez was going to be nothing but trouble.
* * *
The Windswept Inn was a charming Victorian mansion nestled along the picturesque coastline of Galveston Island. Its interior boasted of beautiful antiques reminiscent to that of the Victorian era, a truly quaint and cozy kind of get-away for those needing a place to spend their honeymoon, anniversary or in this instance, Valentine’s Day.
A single woman like myself was going to stick out like a sore thumb in this place.
I might have enjoyed the decor and intriguing ambiance if the B&B had also housed more than one elevator. I’d never visited an inn so busy. The single elevator was filled to the brim with new people checking in, forcing me to haul my humongous suitcase up two flights of stairs. Not an insurmountable task, but I’d been awake for nearly forty-eight hours due to my previous assignment coupled with my inability to sleep on airplanes. Throw in a deploring lack of food, and my blood sugar levels were now in serious disarray.
Two flights of stairs may as well have been twenty.
The dang suite just had to be located on the second floor.
After reluctantly agreeing to share the room with Mr. Galvez, I’d grabbed my room key—an actual key—and my bulky suitcase and began the climb to the second floor.
Mr. Galvez had asked that I wait for him while he grabbed his items from his rental, intending to help me with my suitcase once he returned.
Yeah, right. Like that was happening. I’d get into the room first and lock myself in the bathroom. If I could turn on the shower and situate myself on the bathroom floor, then the summoning could take me with my “roomie” none the wiser.
My special gift involved astral projection. So, I’m a bit of a freak.
I had no intention of staying for the full week allotted me. I could generally tell within the first night if an area or building had a non-corporeal visitor. Unlike most ghost hunters, I didn’t need the use of EMF meters, audio recorders, digital thermometers or digital infrared video cameras to sense paranormal activity.
Nope.
I possessed the annoying ability to travel outside my body and meet with any spirit unwilling to move on to the next phase of their journey.
I guess many might have labeled me a spirit medium, but I’d never run into anyone who conversed with spirits the way I did. Some mediums could only contact or summon a ghost if the ghost in question actually wanted to make contact. My gift worked as a sort of ultimatum. My own spirit had a powerful pull on any and all things supernatural. The minute I entered an area inhabited by ghosts, it was only a matter of time before my energy called to theirs, pulling me into a deep sleep while my spirit traveled to a realm of limbo where it made contact with any other spirit present. The ghost had no choice but to communicate its unfinished business, and I had no choice but to listen.
I’d spent many years of my life playing The Good Samaritan, relaying messages to loved ones, warning people of possible threats, and leaving a few anonymous tips to the police about specific murder investigations. That’s where my run-in with witches came into play. I’d had some awful experiences in that department. Trying to help a dead witch with unfinished business was like trying to peal an onion: multiple layers with no end in sight.
All of that changed after my experience with Ian.
Though he’d been my fiancé, I’d managed to keep my supernatural abilities a secret, worried he might consider me a freak or worse, crazy.
Then his mother passed away and refused to stop summoning me until I informed Ian that she had kidnapped him from a hospital the day after his birth. She had been a nurse at the hospital and recently lost her own newborn. She gave me the names and address of his birth parents and asked me to help him find them.
I knew right from the beginning that Ian would resent me. I’m familiar with how tempting it is to shoot the messenger rather than the one who penned the message. Still, I think a desperate part of me hoped he might trust me, believe in me, considering we were engaged.
He became angry at first, refusing to visit the address given me by his mother or believe for even one second that I had actually conversed with her spirit. The things he called me, the look on his face...the way he pushed me from him and refused to ever see me again...well, I could live a thousand years and never succeed in wiping it from my memory.
Since then, I’d come to realize that my gift was just a way for others to either use me or reject me, and I wasn’t interested in experiencing either one of those scenarios ever again.
I’d quit my job at the newspaper I’d worked for and moved from Los Angeles to New York City, joining a smaller newspaper. Eventually, I created my own column of ghost busting adventures where I could use my gift to get accurate results. I then pretended my findings were all scientific through the kind of tools and technology most ghost hunters employed when detecting paranormal activity.
The column had become pretty popular with more hauntings reported to my boss every day. I found out just enough about the ghost to make the article interesting and valid to the reader and those requesting my services.
I no longer took the time to become deeply involved with the spirits I came in contact with. I didn’t care about their wants or needs or fulfilling some promise they made on their death beds. My main goal included proving or disproving claims of hauntings, writing my article and getting paid every two weeks for it. Not much of a life, I guess, but I never had to stay in one place for too long, make friends or build relationships. I worked alone, and I liked it.
I liked it.
Which was why this issue of my room being double booked with a handsome warlock left me feeling one hundred percent uncomfortable.
My progress up the stairs halted as my blood sugar levels continued to drop. I stood on the second floor landing with one hand gripping the railing and the other hand strangling the handle on my luggage. I desperately fought to hold onto consciousness as I realized that my weakened state only allowed my supernatural abilities to move in with full force.
This place was most definitely haunted. I could still feel the insistent spirit tugging on my own insubstantial form.
I took two deep breaths, opened and closed my eyes, and then let go of my suitcase to support myself with both of my hands upon the railing. I felt as wobbly as a seasick passenger on a fishing boat.
“Ms. Lavelle, are you all right? You should have waited for me. Do you need help with your suitcase?”
I cursed inwardly at Mr. Galvez’s impeccable timing. If I went down now, it would appear to him as if I merely slept until he checked my vitals. Then he would assume I’d died or was close to it. As a young child, I’d awakened in an ambulance on more than one occasion. It had taken a while for my parents and me to finally understand what was happening.
I kept my eyes closed to avoid his hypnotic gaze, not to mention the undulating floor beneath me. Dizzy. Why was I so dizzy?
“No, I’m fine. Only resting a bit.” I flitted my hand in the direction of the next flight of stairs. “Move along now. Nothing to see here.”
He made a shuffling noise and then something large hit the floor with a loud thump. A warm arm sli
d around my waist while another arm scooped my legs out from under me. Mr. Galvez held me, cradling me in his more than capable arms.
Startled, I threw my own arms around his neck and pried open my heavy lids. “What on earth are you doing?”
His chocolate eyes held true warmth and concern. “Carrying you, of course. It is obvious you do not feel well. Allow me to assist you to our room.”
Our room.
He said the words like nothing could be more natural.
“This is ridiculous. I’m merely dealing with low blood sugar issues. I just need to eat something, and I’ll be fine.” I hoped by explaining away my wobbliness he wouldn’t bother checking for my pulse if I actually passed out.
I tried squirming out of his vise-like grip, but his hold on me tightened, and my dizziness hit me again. I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my head against his shoulder in unwilling surrender. “Why can’t the damn place stand still like any normal bed and breakfast inn?”
His low chuckle rumbled against my ear.
“Perhaps you and I will find that this particular inn is not as normal as one might expect. Now, let’s get you to your bed, querida.”
I felt him place a soft kiss on my forehead as he started up the last flight of stairs. Exhaustion prevented me from giving this handsome foreigner a lecture on boundaries and personal space. I couldn’t help but nestle into his arms and tighten my hold on his neck as I felt myself sinking further away.
I was vaguely aware of him unlocking our suite, carrying me to the bed and gently placing me on my back, covering me with a soft, downy quilt that smelled of lavender and felt like pure heaven.
His hand caressed my cheek, and I thought I heard him whisper, “Let the dream take you, querida, and perhaps you will have answers for me when you awaken. I’ve waited centuries for someone like you.”
Chapter Two
The spirit standing before me appeared fuzzy and out of focus. Not uncommon with first encounters like this. It would take a few more summonings for me to acclimate to the area and become familiar with the new spirit’s energy before getting a clear picture of whom I’d be dealing with. My only impression at the moment led me to believe its gender to be male.
I wished for the millionth time that this period of acclimation didn’t have to take almost an entire week. For once, I simply wanted to astral project into the spirit realm, see and hear the ghost in question right from the beginning, ask them a few questions that allowed me to write my article with as much truth and accuracy as possible, and then leave without ever having to meet that particular spirit again.
I narrowed my eyes and stared hard at the fuzzy apparition in front of me, hoping that by force of sheer will power I could make his features and voice materialize at a more rapid rate. After several seconds of screwing my face up into a determinedly focused stare down—I probably looked constipated—I finally accepted the inevitability of my week long stay at this charming B&B with a roommate more appealing than any man had the right to be.
“Well, whoever you are, I suppose I’ll see and talk to you later.”
I gave the ghost a flippant solute, and stepped backward, throwing myself back into my body. As I came out of the summoning, I heard the spirit whisper a name, one I hadn’t heard in years.
Zurina, my birth name.
* * *
I abruptly awoke and sat straight up in bed. My heart beat a heavy staccato as my mind raced at the possible reasons this most recent spirit might know my birth name. I’d never even known I had a different name until my parents reluctantly admitted to adopting me as a baby.
They never wished to reveal that kind of life altering information, but the emergence of my gift as a medium forced them to answer some troubling questions I relentlessly posed.
Apparently, my birth parents were convinced that I was in some kind of danger, and giving me up was their only option. They arrived at my adoptive parents doorstep in the middle of a rainy October night, introduced themselves, explained their dilemma and promised to return for me when it was safe. They disappeared shortly thereafter. Needless to say, I never saw them again, and their disappearance convinced my adoptive parents that I really was in some kind of danger. So we moved.
Several times.
The entire story was completely ludicrous, but then my ability to astral project and commune with restless spirits didn’t exactly reside within the parameters of anything normal.
I’d stopped looking for answers a long time ago, after my parents had begged and pleaded with me to let it go before the people my birth parents hid me from discovered my whereabouts. I learned my birth name, but never used it. No one but my two sets of parents and myself knew about it, or so I’d thought.
Now, I had some random spirit calling me Zurina. It was enough to make any person with sense pack up and disappear.
I’d never claimed to have much sense.
If this spirit knew my real name, he might also know about my birth parents. I didn’t usually stick around long enough to help spirits with their unfinished business—not anymore—but perhaps if I helped this spirit with whatever project it had, I might bargain for some much needed information where my past and birth parents were concerned.
It was definitely something to consider, and since I had a few days before the ghost came into focus, I had time to consider it.
It would be a departure from the way I’d come to deal with summonings these days. I didn’t like to get involved with supernatural problems anymore. I couldn’t help my quick emotional withdrawal from any and all personal connections. This gift, or rather curse, had ruined several relationships throughout the course of my existence. There were few who believed in what I did, and even fewer who could live with it.
I used to expend so much energy and emotion truly caring for the spirits that entrusted me with their last requests and personal problems. It had given my life purpose and filled me with a sense of importance. I’d been willing to deal with the complications my gift posed when it came to friendships or romantic relationships because I thought I was needed and felt that what I did served a greater, grander purpose.
After Ian’s cold rejection, I couldn’t work up enough emotion to get out of bed in the morning. When I considered what a mess I’d been a year ago, I had to give myself a small pat on the back for how far I’d come. There was no avoiding what I could do, so I put it to good use and made my gift work for me. A jaded way of doing things, but I couldn’t work up enough emotion to care or even feel ashamed of how much I had changed.
Until now, that is.
This felt personal, and getting to the bottom of what this spirit knew might be dangerous. The ghost couldn’t hurt me, but any knowledge I gleaned was knowledge I’d have to live with and possibly act upon. This involved caring, getting emotionally involved.
I was pulled out of my turbulent musings when I heard a door handle jiggle and click. I looked to my left where the bathroom door began opening, and in strode a gorgeous looking Mr. Galvez with moisture dripping from his hair and nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
He froze when he saw me staring at his amazing ab muscles, and then an easy smile spread across his face.
“You are awake. Bueno. I wondered if a doctor might be necessary since you slept through the night and almost into the afternoon.”
I felt my face heat, but couldn’t tear my eyes away from his beautiful form. That coil of magic gave me a hesitant touch, as if it was testing the waters. I threw a wave of angry emotion at it, and felt satisfied at its immediate retreat. Stupid magic. Why did it like me so much?
I focused in on the hungry look Miguel Galvez was giving me, and had to swallow a couple of times before managing a single sentence. “What time is it?”
He walked over to the bed, sat down next to me and then placed a hand on my leg just above my knee. It didn’t matter that my leg was covered with a thick comforter. I could still feel the heat from his hand seeping through the material, instantly
warming my knee.
“Almost eleven! You must have been seriously jet lagged. I’m so happy to have been the one to share a room with you. Who knows what would have happened to you if you had been by yourself.”
I was still trying to process the fact that this gorgeous man was sitting next to me without a shirt on. He spoke to me as if we knew each other well enough for this conversation to take place while he wore nothing but a towel.
Totally inappropriate!
I didn’t like the feelings his presence awakened within me, and I especially didn’t like his familiarity with me. Was he always so comfortable half naked in front of a woman?
Scratch that. I really didn’t want to know.
“Ah, yes. Well, I hadn’t slept in almost two days, and I’m not much of a morning person to begin with.”
He still looked at me with that enchanting smile on his face as if waiting for me to add something more to the conversation.
I cleared my throat and shifted my leg out from under the weight of his large, manly looking hand. What I really wanted to do was grab it and trace the lines in his palm with my finger.
Heavens, what was wrong with me? It had to be the bare chest. This guy needed to put some clothes on so I could think with a clear head.
“Thank you so much for carrying me to our...ah...this suite and looking out for me while I slept.”
He inclined his head, accepting my gratitude. “It wasn’t much of a chore, really. You may sleep like the dead, but you look like a goddess while doing so.”
My lips quirked into an embarrassed smirk.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know how many women you’ve used that line on, or how successful it’s been.”
He put a fist to his heart in mock indignation. “You wound me, señorita. To think I would ever bestow such a compliment upon just anyone.” He moved his hand to my temple and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “No, querida. For you, I speak with sincerity.”
