by Julie Leto
Alexa picked up her bag. “Go back to the hotel, then,” she told Jacob. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“We’ll talk now,” Jacob said. “I’m going with you.”
“Excuse me?”
Jacob dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Rumor has it you’ve been spending every night at the castle since I left. I want to see you sleep on a hard stone floor.”
“I had a room done up,” she lied. “A room that sleeps one. And since I’m perfectly safe in my castle on my own, I’ll see you in the morning.”
She grabbed her bag and proceeded down the pier, relieved when she didn’t hear Jacob’s footsteps behind her. As she boarded the boat, he saluted. Only after Paulie shoved off did Jacob sprint down the pier and jump onto the deck, grinning at his own moxie.
The young captain dashed in front of Alexa. “Who the hell are you?”
“Ask her,” he said.
Alexa cursed. “I didn’t invite you along, Jacob.”
“Since when does family need an invitation?”
Since I’m going to see my phantom lover, you twit.
“Since I need some time alone,” she answered.
He stepped closer, but apparently, Paulie’s expression made him stop before he was too close. “What secret are you keeping?” he asked. “You’ve never been reticent with me before.”
Only because she’d never had secrets worth keeping until now. Work, work and more work didn’t require caution. Now larger-than-life, amazing, unbelievable, intimate things had been happening to her. Things she might never have believed less than a week ago.
And she wasn’t thinking about the magic.
“I’m not being secretive; I’m being private. There’s a difference. Unless, of course, you want to pour your heart out to me about where you go on those jaunts of yours every other weekend? Or the large packages that arrive at the house every month with no return address? Or maybe you’d like to show me the second cell phone you keep, the one that never rings with numbers I recognize?”
Jacob stared at her, expressionless. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She crossed her arms tightly on her chest and told Paulie she could stand down. The captain headed back to her helm, out of earshot, but watching Jacob keenly. Alexa stepped closer so Jacob wouldn’t miss a single syllable of her response. “Let’s just say that our brother-sister relationship isn’t about one of us being bound to the other. I mean, I may have tried to whip you into corporate shape for the good of the company, but I don’t expect you to act submissive to me.”
Jacob forced a chuckle at her seemingly nonsensical response, but his discomfort oozed from the pores on his forehead and above his lip. “My personal life is none of your business.”
“Exactly. And mine is none of yours.”
Paulie leaped onto the pier and re-secured the bow line to the cleat. When Jacob made no move to disembark, the captain cleared her throat. Jacob spared her a glance and quickly accepted that two stubborn women weren’t worth the trouble. He gave Alexa another salute, grabbed his bag and returned to the dock.
Seconds later, Paulie joined her on the boat, her gloved hands automatically coiling the line. “You okay?”
Alexa swallowed deeply, but her throat remained dry. Something in Jacob’s eyes seemed different…and yet, familiar. Like the Jacob of the old days, when he cared more about rebellion than he did about his Rolex.
“I’m fine. My brother is overprotective sometimes.”
Paulie smirked as she climbed into the captain’s chair. “Is that what you call that look? Cause, hon, it looked like pure, unadulterated hatred to me.”
The young captain turned her attention to the helm, her observation hanging heavy in the air. As the boat pulled away from the dock, Alexa watched Jacob laze his way toward the marina. He watched them depart. The distance was too great for her to gauge his expression, but a chill chased up her spine anyway. With a shake, she banished the reaction to the back of her mind. She had more important things to think about right now than her stepbrother.
Like Damon.
She wanted him to stay. In her castle. In her bed. Not to fulfill some fantasy and not to haunt her hotel guests. She wanted him with her, fully flesh and blood, to share her life. But once they secured his complete freedom, she knew he’d leave. She expected him to set off immediately to discover what happened to his family, to Rogan, to his estate and title. Roles reversed, she’d do the same. He had no tie to her. No obligation. Too bad she felt inexorably tied to him.
The whole affair had started as a fairy-tale fantasy, but now their connection was painfully real. At least to her. He’d made her face things about herself, about her life—about her future—that she couldn’t ignore. For the first time in years, she looked forward to the next day, the next hour, the next minute—not because of the money she’d make or the expectations she’d satisfy, but because of the man who’d traveled across centuries and landed in her life like a gift.
And Alexa knew better than to ever refuse a gift.
Time slowed, a contrast to the swiftness of the wind against her face. Nightfall had come and gone. She’d run late and then had been delayed by Jacob. When Paulie slowed the vessel near the entrance to the lagoon, Alexa’s gaze locked on the castle looming above a wall of prickly tropical plants and prayed she wasn’t too late.
Once Paulie released the anchor, Alexa grabbed her bag and joined her captain at the stern of the boat, where she kept an inflatable skiff. Paulie had made the journey with her once without incident, yet Alexa noticed the younger woman still looked nervous, even after the motorized raft’s hull scraped against the bleached white lagoon sand.
The sunset had turned the sky into a brilliant prism of reds, pinks and oranges while she’d been arguing with Jacob, but now a deep indigo overtook what would be a starry sky. “You look nervous,” Alexa said, climbing out and accepting her bag from Paulie. “You know I’m safe here, right?”
Paulie glanced at the castle. “On this island, I think safety may be relative. I’m not from around here originally, so I didn’t grow up with all the legends and lore, but those salts at the marina have a good time filling my head with horror stories.”
Alexa tried to stifle a grin. “Do you believe these tales of ghosts and curses?”
Paulie snickered. “Do you want me to?”
Just a few days ago, Alexa would have said yes. She would have wanted to feed the fables until no one could resist making a reservation at her castle, if only to find out if the stories were true. Now thoughts of establishing her independent reputation outside of her father’s legacy meant next to nothing. Not when a man’s soul was at stake.
Paulie floated the skiff back into the water. “Check your phone. Make sure you can reach me if you need rescuing.”
Alexa did as her captain instructed. The satellite device responded perfectly, so with her usual promise to call when she wanted to leave, she waved good-bye.
With her flashlight skimming the area as she moved, she followed the now familiar path to the fissure in the wall that would lead her to the castle. Again, the overgrowth snapped at her, and again, she persevered until the castle was only a few yards away.
The moon hung like a priceless pearl in the sky, the glow electrifying the castle walls with a thousand points of diamond light. Candle and firelight burned inside the stained-glass windows, igniting a rainbow of color against the glittering stone. She couldn’t help but think that all future guests to the island should arrive on a full moon so they could witness the castle as she did now.
Joyful. Magnificent. Magical.
She approached warily, but this time, before she even touched the latch, the door slowly swung open.
As if someone had thrust a knife into her windpipe, she faltered. From the foyer to the stairwell and both grand rooms on either side, period furnishings, tapestries, paintings, mosaics and plush carpets overflowed with rich elegance. Damon had spared no detail. E
ven the cat seemed inordinately pleased as it pranced across the landing, flicking its thick, fluffed tail.
“Damon,” she whispered, her stomach aching from what he’d done. “No.”
She dropped her pack and shot forward to find him, then stopped before she had gone six paces. Remembering her brother’s odd appearance at the dock, she turned and secured the door. She then dug into her pack and retrieved her satellite phone and, as an afterthought, the flare gun. Despite her warnings and his promises, Damon had re-created every inch of the main floor. What had the magic taken from him in return?
Twenty Five
Searching for him took more than an hour. Every corner she turned provided yet another stab in her heart, another blow to her ability to hope. Only a few small rooms on the upper floors and a row of small chambers beyond what she learned was the kitchen remained untouched. She was about to backtrack when a frustrated shout rent the air.
She followed the sound through an archway at the very back of the castle. On the other side, she discovered an odd circular room she didn’t remember from her initial explorations. Very little distinguished the space from an outdoor patio, except that it had a roof and curved walls on all sides. Otherwise, the floor-to-ceiling windows invited the outdoors in so much that she was shocked to see Damon collapsed onto his knees in the center of the room, his head buried in his hands.
She called his name.
“Leave, Alexa. Now. Before it’s too late,” he muttered, though even the thready words brimmed with barely checked fury.
Disappointment and loss flooded through her. How could he use the magic so thoughtlessly? He’d known the consequences. How could he risk everything without first giving her a chance?
“What have you done?”
He slapped his hands against the polished marble floor, and pushed to his feet. He did not face her, but his shoulders bunched with barely contained tension.
The word was more growl than command. He’d done so much magic. Did she dare stay?
She took a step forward, her hand outstretched. If she could only…
He spun on her. “Go!”
“I won’t!”
He charged toward her, slashing his arm as if he meant her to fly backward with the momentum of his movement. She didn’t move, but a large urn near the doorway rose into the air and crashed against the wall.
She jumped, startled, but held her ground. He slashed his arm again and the urn’s partner exploded. A hailstorm of ceramic shards rained against her legs but did no damage.
Only inches in front her, Damon panted, furious, then stared at his hands. Horror was etched into the stunning planes of his face. Horror at what he’d tried to do? Or at his impotence to hurt her?
When he looked up, his eyes burned. A red glaze had formed over his irises.
“Get. Out,” he ordered.
Her heart cracked and the emotional pain nearly doubled her over. Then, completely on instinct, she grabbed his shirt and yanked until her lips crashed against his.
The contact lasted only seconds. He threw her backward and she lost her footing, falling and sliding across the floor. Debris from the shattered urns bit at her hands, but not enough to scare her off.
She stood and dusted the dirt off her slacks. “I won’t go.”
“Then you’ll suffer unspeakable pain,” he responded, but the voice wasn’t his. He’d clearly gone too far. Too much of Rogan’s magic had infected him. Was there any of him left?
“Like you are?” she challenged. “You can’t leave, can you? All that magic, all that power, and you’re still trapped like an animal. Only through me can you find your way out.”
He yelled, fury raising his voice to painful levels. Lifting his hands, he focused his gaze on the wrought-iron chandelier hanging above them. The masonry shook. The stone cracked. The heavy collection of candles and metal plummeted toward her.
Alexa threw up her hands. Any second now, she expected the excruciating pain of being crushed beneath solid iron, but nothing happened. She looked up. Just above her canopied arms, the chandelier had stopped in midair.
Instantly, she dashed out of the way. The moment she was clear of danger, the light fixture crashed to the ground. She flattened herself against the wall, gasping for breath, while Damon stared at the twisted remnants, blinking wildly, rubbing his eyes, trying, she hoped, to break free of the dark infection.
“How did I…stop you?” she asked, the question meant more for herself than the monster Damon had become. He’d tried to kill her, hadn’t he? But he had not succeeded. Why?
She couldn’t assume she’d lived because his heart wasn’t in it. The chandelier would have crushed her if she hadn’t stopped its momentum.
Heat burned between her breasts. She tore her blouse aside, expecting an injury, but finding the charm. The charm was protecting her.
But for how long?
After a second, her body and brain caught up with each other. She could not stay any longer. She ran, dashing around and through doorways, jumping over footstools and trunks, knocking over knickknacks, her entire focus on escaping the castle before Damon snapped out of his odd trance and pursued. Once at the front door, she reached for the latch only to find her way blocked by Damon’s materializing form.
She stumbled back. “Leave me alone. You wanted me to leave.”
Sweat splashed down his face and glued his shirt to his body. His eyes continued to glow red, as if a veil of blood had descended over the stormy gray irises. His breathing was heavy. His fists clenched and unclenched. Was he fighting the evil he’d unleashed by using the magic so completely? Or was it too late to help him break free?
With no other option, she tossed herself against him. Her lips crashed against his as she grabbed the damp stays on his shirt and ripped it free from his body. If touches and kisses had cleansed him of Rogan’s evil before, then she’d have to go farther to save him this time.
He shoved his hands between them and pushed her away.
“Don’t touch me!” he ordered.
She tore off her blouse and kicked off her shoes. “Touch me, then,” she countered, just as forcefully.
He took a step away from her, but didn’t dematerialize or strike out at her again. As she unclipped her bra, his gaze feasted on her bare breasts. She could feel his eyes rake a path over her, and for a split second, she glimpsed the Damon within. Her nipples hardened and a surge of need flooded through her until her blood burned.
She shimmied out of her slacks and panties. Bare to him in the dazzling light from the torches, Alexa experienced a vulnerability that nearly broke her down. Her legs shook. Her knees threatened to buckle. Her heart pounded so hard, her chest ached. A war played across his face and she knew she’d made the only choice.
She drew her hands up her body, sliding her palms from her thighs to her abdomen, then lifting her breasts tauntingly. “You know you need me,” she whispered, flicking her thumbs across her thick, dark nipples. “Take what you want.”
In a split second, his clothes flashed off his body. His sex jutted from his groin. Hunger raged behind his eyes. She braced herself, but when his hands clamped over her shoulders and his mouth descended on her neck, she hooked one leg around his waist and gave in to the need.
She couldn’t hold back. She couldn’t allow her fear to waylay her passion. In a leap of faith unlike any other, she surrendered to the madness of his lust. She speared her hands into his hair, lifted his head and kissed him wildly, their tongues battling without surrender. She streaked her nails down his muscled back, then gripped his buttocks with keen possession, grinding her sex into his until he could resist no longer. He spun them and lifted her flat against the door, then thrust inside her, his hardness blinding her with rough sensations she’d never known.
He grabbed her thighs, buoying her against him as he found a rampant rhythm. Clutching her arms around his neck, she lifted herself high. Hungrily, he took her breasts into his mouth even as he drove deep, long and har
d. He bit. He pumped. Awareness of anything beyond him and the ecstasy building in her body disappeared. She lost track of time—lost track even of her purpose.
She only knew she wanted him. For now. For always.
When he came, he howled, arching his back and shouting to the ceiling as hot fire burned inside her. When he looked down at her again, wet streaks cut grooves into his face.
And the only color in his eyes was silvery, stormy gray.
Twenty Six
Paschal stood beside the barred window, his profile even more striking with moonlight playing across the planes of his face.
“Nice place,” he said as Gemma shut the door behind her and raised the volume on the piped-in music. “Though I find it hard to believe that all this security is just for me. How inept must you people be if you need armed guards and security bars to keep an old man from slipping away?”
She turned so her face wasn’t visible to the not-so-hidden camera. “I don’t much care if you escape, Monsieur Rousseau, not so long as you tell me the location of the Queen’s Charm before you leave.”
Paschal arched a curious, if not stunned, brow. Gemma had calculated that her use of the necklace’s proper name would evoke a response from the Gypsy researcher. Even Farrow didn’t know what the golden triangle was called, and thanks to her, he had no clue as to its potential power.
“I’m disappointed,” he said finally, his expression cool and inscrutable, “No seductive come-ons? No womanly wiles meant to loosen my tongue? I’ve used the facilities and brushed my teeth for nothing, then?”
She narrowed her gaze. Any other man wouldn’t dare mock her, and yet, this one made her laugh. At him. At the situation. And admittedly, at herself. “There’s no time, I’m afraid. I just intercepted news that a hotelier by the name of Alexa Chandler has taken possession of property that is rightfully mine. I can only get it back with the Queen’s Charm.”
“How is this property yours?”
“By birth,” she stated simply, but then her bitterness broke through and she allowed her tone to drip with it. “Though no one around here believes I deserve it because I lack a Y chromosome.”
