The Raven Master

by Diana Whitney

  Charles.

  The memory hit like ice water as a throbbing pressure moved between her thighs. She went rigid. Her eyes flew open and she nearly cried out in terror. It was Charles’s face looming over her, mouth contorted, eyes glowing with perverse pleasure.

  She remembered the pain, how he’d enter her roughly and berate her sexuality between grunting thrusts. Like making love to a corpse, he’d snarl. Ice between your legs. Then he’d slap her face. Move, bitch. Cry, so I know you’re alive. The insults would continue until his final, shuddering release.

  Afterward he’d push her away and leap from her bed as though contaminated by her ineptness. She could still see the disgust and condemnation in her husband’s face. He’d called her frigid and worse, telling her that she’d never be a whole woman, never be able to pleasure a real man.

  Quinn was a real man. She couldn’t bear to disappoint him, to experience his contempt. Panic surged up like a bitter bile. Terrified, she tried to twist away and beat wildly on his chest. “No, stop! No!”

  Stunned by the sudden attack, Quinn stared at her for a moment, then quickly moved away.

  Freed, Janine rolled onto her side and pulled up her knees. “I—I can’t. I j-just can’t.” With a broken cry, she started to sob uncontrollably.

  “What is it, Janine?” Quinn sounded distraught. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Who’s done this to you?”

  All she could do was shake her head miserably and try not to choke on her own tears. Suddenly Quinn gathered her in his arms, murmuring soothing words and rocking her as though she were a wounded child. “It’s all right, honey. No one is going to hurt you ever again.”

  Janine hiccuped and covered her face with her hands. Quinn continued to hold her until her sobs had receded into silent humiliation, then he gently pulled down her sweatshirt and helped her on with her clothes.

  Once dressed, she scooted under a tree, hugged her shins and laid her forehead on her knees, wishing she would die on the spot. She felt like a fool. She was a fool. How could she have put herself in such a vulnerable position?

  A cracking twig alerted her to Quinn’s movements, and as footsteps crunched across the thick blanket of dried foliage on the forest floor, she stiffened without looking up. From beneath her folded arms she saw his sneakers and the bottom of his jeans, then his denim-clad thighs as he knelt in front of her.

  He stroked her head. “Are you feeling better?”

  “No.” She wiped her face on her sleeve. “I’m so ashamed.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” His palm slid around to cup the back of her neck. After a moment, he spoke with a hesitation that seemed strange for such a confident man. “Are you upset about something I did?”

  The statement was so ludicrous that her head snapped up. “You? Of course not. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

  He frowned. “Always? I don’t understand.”

  Chewing her lip, she absently brushed a dried leaf from his T-shirt. “I warned you that I…wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.”

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “What sort of thing are you referring to?”

  A covert glance confirmed that he wasn’t making fun of her. She fiddled with a twig that had tangled in her shoelaces. “You know. Sex.”

  “Ah. Is that what we were doing?”

  Her face flamed. “It’s what we were trying to do.”

  “I think not.” He urged her to look at him. “We were sharing an intimacy, exploring each other, preparing to make love. That’s a great deal different, to my mind, than simply having sex.”

  Since the two phrases had been used interchangeably during her marriage, Janine couldn’t see any definable difference and said so.

  “Who told you that?” Quinn asked.

  “Charles.”

  “Your husband.”

  “My ex-husband.”

  “Of course.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Let me guess. You married quite young, and although your husband was considerably older and more experienced, you went to him as a virgin. Am I close?”

  If her face grew any hotter, Janine was certain that she’d start to glow. Since she couldn’t choke out a word, she simply nodded.

  Quinn rubbed his chin. “I would also guess that during the course of your relationship, you didn’t enjoy intimacy very much.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” She started to stand but he stopped her with a light touch.

  “I think you do. I think something is eating you up inside, and you want desperately to talk about it.”

  Folding her arms, she leaned back against the rough bark and stared at her knees. “I’ve already apologized to you. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You have no reason to apologize to me or anyone else. Lovemaking is a very special experience but only if it’s mutually enjoyable. No one is entitled to the use of your body.” He studied her reaction then added, “Not even a husband.”

  She averted her gaze.

  “Is that what happened, Janine? Did your husband rape you?”

  The word horrified her. “Certainly not! I mean, that’s not even possible, is it?”

  “If you didn’t consent to intercourse, then it was rape.”

  “Of course I consented. Charles was my husband. I wanted to please him. I wanted to be a good wife but…but…” Her throat closed up.

  Quinn covered her trembling hand with his palm. “But what?”

  She looked away miserably. “There was something wrong with me.”

  Since Quinn looked like he’d been gut-kicked, that obviously wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “What do you mean, something was wrong with you?”

  “I, uh…” Her gaze darting, she searched for escape. Finding none, she slumped in resignation. “I’m frigid.”

  He sat back on his heels and stared in disbelief. After what seemed like an eternity, he sat on the blanket of crisp leaves and started to chuckle softly.

  Janine’s head snapped up. “Do you think that’s funny?”

  “Funny? God, no.” Biting away his smile, he took her hands. “Listen to me, Janine. You’re not, I repeat, not frigid. You are, in fact, the most passionate woman I’ve ever known. I have the scratches to prove it.”

  She would have blushed had she not been so stunned. “You don’t understand. Charles said—”

  Quinn interrupted roughly. “I don’t give a damn what ‘Charles’ said. The man was obviously a sadistic boor who got some perverse sexual gratification out of tormenting you.”

  The entire concept was just too much for her. She couldn’t cope with the sudden flood of emotions, the confusing quagmire of horror, denial, shame and hope all rolled together in a jumbled mass. All she could feel was numb disbelief, a complete unwillingness to accept that a man who’d professed love would have deliberately used her in such a vile way. She stared straight ahead like a shell-shocked soldier. “That’s not true. Charles had normal, healthy needs just like any other man. I…simply couldn’t fulfill those needs.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Wincing at the memory, she closed her eyes and shuddered. “B-Because other women could.”

  A warm arm slid around her shoulder. “Did your husband have an affair?”

  Squeezing her lids even more tightly shut, she managed a curt nod.

  “More than one?”

  Her head drooped in response. When he gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, she found the courage to speak. “Charles had lots of women.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She made an unpleasant sound. “Everyone knew. He wasn’t very discreet. At first, people used to tell me that he was at this restaurant or that hotel, always with a different woman. Eventually he flaunted his affairs so openly that it wasn’t news anymore. People just accepted it. In that society, an affair was okay. A divorce wasn’t.”

  “And you accepted it, too.”

  She shrugged. “At the time, I thought it was
my fault.”

  “Why?”

  “Because those women would…” The disgusting words clogged in her throat. She shook her head miserably.

  Quinn caressed her face, offering gentle encouragement. “What would the women do, Janine?”

  “I can’t say. It’s too…sordid.” Tears slid down her cheeks.

  She couldn’t talk about what had happened, yet she couldn’t not talk about it. After so many years of humiliating silence, the anger festered just below the surface, threatening to explode if she didn’t relieve the pressure. Quinn’s gentle questions had opened the floodgates. She couldn’t hold back the emotional deluge.

  “Charles would tell me everything,” she suddenly blurted. “He’d come home smirking and force me to listen to the lurid details of what his ‘real’ women had done for him. Then he’d try to make me do the same things. I—I wouldn’t.” A sob caught in her throat. “I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t…I would—”

  “Shh, it’s all right.” He caught her wrist in midair.

  Janine stared at him stupidly before realizing that she’d been pounding her legs with her fists. With a shocked whimper, she fell into Quinn’s arms and cried.

  He stroked her tenderly. “Don’t you see what he was doing, honey? None of it was about sex. It was about domination and control. Your husband simply used sex as a tool for degradation because it made him feel powerful.”

  Even through her choked sobs, his words impacted like a sledgehammer. Power. Dear God, it was true. She looked up, searching Quinn’s soft gray gaze and realizing that he was right. The emotional abuse she’d suffered had been nothing more than the cruel manipulation of a brutal man. It had been insidious and painful, yes, but it had never been an accurate reflection of her femininity. She moistened her lips as the potent revelation hit home. “So there’s nothing wrong with me?”

  “Nothing about you is the least bit wrong.” His lips brushed her forehead. “You are a beautiful, desirable and passionately real woman.”

  Overwhelmed by sensations she couldn’t identify, she caressed his cheek. “If I had any doubt that my hormones are healthy and functioning normally, what happened between us seems proof that they are.”

  Quinn averted his gaze, and when he looked at Janine again, she was stung by the desolation in his eyes. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s only natural that you’re feeling a bit mixed up right now.”

  “Mixed up about what?”

  “Don’t confuse gratitude with something deeper. I’m no good for you, Janine. I’m no good for anybody.” Releasing her, he abruptly stood. “The sun will be up soon. We have to leave.”

  After a hesitant moment, Janine took his proffered hand and allowed him to help her up. As they entered the tunnel, her mind was elsewhere. Quinn’s brusque warning had taken her by surprise because she knew that her feelings for him had evolved beyond mere gratitude. In fact, she wondered if she was falling in love with him yet was nonetheless plagued by doubt.

  In spite of his soft-spoken manner, Quinn Coulliard exuded an aura of danger that was both chilling and thrilling. Janine was playing with fire and she knew it.

  After shushing Edgar’s noisy greeting, Quinn sat heavily on the bed and rubbed his aching head. For the most part, his plan had gone beautifully. Once he’d remembered seeing muddy splotches on the upstairs carpet, his search had narrowed considerably. The mud—which he’d ascertained to be a smeared footprint—had appeared the day after the Barker fire, and since there had been no stains on the stairway or anywhere else in the upstairs hall, the tunnel entrance had to be within a few steps of that footprint. And it was.

  After that small victory, though, things had unraveled fast. He certainly hadn’t expected Janine to follow nor had he expected the raw passion that had suddenly exploded between them.

  With an angry grunt, he slammed his fist into the mattress, ignoring the raven’s startled screech. The rage still burned in his gut, a white-hot fury at the filthy snake who’d so cruelly defiled such a sweet, trusting woman. At that moment, Quinn would have given ten years of his life for one hour alone with that cowardly worm.

  Frustrated, he stood and paced the small room, fingers raking through his long hair. His anger wasn’t limited to Janine’s ex-husband; he was also furious with himself. Not only had he been powerless to heal her pain, but he was also disgusted by his own weakness in wanting to. The woman was getting to him, and Quinn simply couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to control himself, to focus on what must be done. It was a matter of life or death.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Janine fiddled with the switch on her ancient vacuum, greatly annoyed that the stubborn thing refused to work. Only the painful memory of the toe she’d once broken prevented her from giving the recalcitrant machine a swift kick.

  This was a frustration she didn’t need. A new vacuum was beyond her pitiful budget, and the cost of repairs would probably exceed what the dismal old unit was worth.

  Muttering irritably, she dragged the useless vacuum back to the kitchen and shoved it into a closet. There was nothing she could do with it at the moment, and besides, if she didn’t start cooking, dinner would be delayed and her guests would be even crankier than usual. If that was possible, of course, which she doubted. All of her tenants had been so testy Janine was beginning to wonder if there were grump germs in the well water.

  As she hauled a bag of potatoes from the pantry, the telephone rang. After hoisting the lumpy sack onto the counter, she tucked the wall phone receiver under her chin. “Taylor’s Boardinghouse.”

  An agitated female voice greeted her. “Is Jules there?”

  “Edna?” Janine dropped a wet potato in the sink and glanced at the clock. “No, he’s not. I assumed he was on his way to the clinic to pick you up.”

  The woman clucked in dismay. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour. Jules is never late, never.”

  A quick look out the kitchen window confirmed that Edna’s car was still parked outside, although Althea’s vehicle—and Quinn’s—were both missing. “I guess they’re not back yet.”

  “They?” Edna’s voice rose to a squeak.

  “It’s all right, Edna. Jules is with Althea.”

  A horrified gasp filled the receiver. “Are they…alone?”

  Although baffled by Edna’s sudden apprehension about Jules and Althea being alone together, Janine sought to calm the agitated woman. “When Althea works the early shift, she and Jules frequently spend the afternoon at the video arcade. They must have lost track of time, that’s all.”

  Obviously that tidbit of information was news to Edna. “The devil’s victory,” she whispered ominously. “God will punish all who forsake Him. Ekpyresis.”

  That peculiar word again. Janine stared at the receiver, perplexed by the woman’s continued overreaction to a harmless afternoon diversion. “It’s just a video arcade. Althea probably took Jules to the ice-cream store afterward. You know, for all their squabbling, they’re really quite close.”

  Actually the paradoxical duo were more like battling siblings than true friends; still, there was an emotional attachment between them and an obvious affection that Janine found rather touching. Since Edna had never shown any prior concern about her grandson’s relationship with Althea, Janine couldn’t understand why the woman was so distressed.

  “Edna…? Please stop crying. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes, okay?” Janine took the muffled sob as an affirmative answer, mumbled a quick goodbye and hung up the phone. She sagged against the counter envisioning the unpleasant confrontation that would doubtless take place when Jules and Althea finally returned.

  With a pained sigh, Janine grabbed up her car keys, wondering why the comfortable environment that had once been her refuge had turned so ugly and hostile.

  Twenty-five minutes later Janine drove back across the wooden bridge while her distraught passenger clutched a dime-store cross, warned of God’s wrath and prayed for divine intervention. The pious moaning grated on Jani
ne’s nerves, and as she reached the gravel drive, she twisted the steering wheel with more force than necessary.

  Edna bounced off the passenger door, righted herself, smoothed her white polyester uniform, then resumed her zealous prayers about sin and Armageddon without missing a beat.

  When Janine spotted Althea’s dumpy little import parked in the driveway, she was instantly relieved. “Now you see, Edna? I told you there was nothing to wor—Oh, no.”

  At the same moment, Edna spotted the sheriff’s vehicle parked beside Althea’s car and started to wail. “It has begun again! God save us all!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Janine hit the brake and flipped off the ignition. “The sheriff is probably selling tickets for a department fund-raiser or something.” That reassurance was lost on Edna, who had jumped from the car and was rushing up the walk.

  Grabbing her purse, Janine hurriedly followed, and her heart sank with every pounding step. This time she had the sick feeling that Edna’s prognostications of doom might not be so far off the mark. Something was terribly wrong. She felt it in her bones.

  When Janine entered the foyer, she immediately saw that Jules and Althea were standing beside the parlor sofa. Edna was in the doorway with her knobby knuckles pressed on her brow, swaying faintly. Suddenly she blurted, “Praise the Lord,” and waddled into the room with open arms. She ignored her grandson but fervently clutched Althea’s waist and sobbed into the startled woman’s bosom, “I’ve been so worried, dear, so dreadfully worried.”

  Althea’s jaw dropped. Staring over the top of Edna’s curly head, she met Janine’s astonished gaze and shrugged in confusion.

  Edna stepped back, wiping her wet face. She slid an apprehensive glance at her grandson, then took Althea’s hands. “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Well…sure.” Althea gave Janine a questioning look, to which Janine could only spread her hands helplessly. When she turned a perplexed gaze on Jules, he simply sat down on the sofa, folded his arms and stared sullenly at the floor.

  At that point, a movement caught Janine’s eye, and she realized that a flat-faced man wearing a taupe uniform and a polished brass badge was standing beside the stereo. He dropped a pair of aviator-style sunglasses into his shirt pocket and scrutinized Janine with acute interest.