by Lynde Lakes
She still hurt deeply for Damon when he screamed out in the midnight darkness and violently thrashed about in bed. Aware that his agony came from a false sense of guilt, she would hold him and gently explain that it wasn’t Damon the man who had ripped out the throat of his own brother. It was his alpha werewolf persona, instinctively protecting those he loved.
Angela sighed and snuggled deeper into Damon’s arms. Suddenly, she felt much older than her twenty-one years. She’d lived a lifetime in the months since the night she first morphed. Actually, everything started going downhill on her eighteenth birthday when she discovered she was adopted and that her birth mother, Crystal, had committed suicide. Then on her twenty-first birthday, she’d learned about the journal and the curse. But it wasn’t until the full moonlit night of October 31st that the curse manifested and knocked her world off kilter. Would her daughters have to go through the same struggles and live with the same fears? Dear God, keep them safe…
* * * *
Angela awoke to what she figured was at least a 6.0 earthquake. Portraits and works of art shuddered against the walls, shifting and losing their levelness. The towel over Damon’s parents’ portrait slipped to the floor in a ghostly flutter. The picture fell upside down on top of it with a loud thump. Window glass rattled. The floors rolled and pitched so hard, she had visions of the historic mansion crumbling down around their shoulders. She stiffened as the rumbling echoed around her. Damon held her tightly. “Relax,” he said in his deep comforting tone, “the Lamont Mansion is structurally sound and as solid as the mountain.”
“Yes, I remember how solid the mountain was during the rainstorm when the roads washed away.” She had a great urge to run to a doorway, but Damon held her closer. She forced herself to nestle deeper into the cocoon of his arms. When everything stilled, she tried to go back to sleep, but it was useless. “Damon, I can’t sleep.”
“I can fix that.” Still facing her, her reached around and began to caress her shoulders, her back, massaging deeply with powerful fingers. Even after he’d stopped, the embedded warmth and tingling flesh remained. He kissed her breasts and moved lower. She barely heard the whisper of the sheets as he changed position. Then, he was fondling the moisture between her legs. His erection pulsed against her thigh. Fierce and hot desire rose within her and she reciprocated, caressing him. He moaned, and she guided him into her waiting silkiness. They performed the undulation of love slowly, teasingly—until the wildness kicked into gear.
She arched and writhed, turning the slow, sensual dance into a primal, violent, fiery, volcanic eruption, riotous and uncontrolled. As they soared to the pinnacle, her scream of release echoed around the chamber, unrestrained. After she stilled and went limp, Damon kissed her tenderly and rolled off of her. He drew her into his arms and closed his eyes again. Within seconds, his breathing evened and she knew he was asleep.
How do men do that? She was awake for the day. She did her two-hundred sit-ups. When she finished, her gaze fell on the wall where Damon’s parents’ portrait had hung. She stiffened. There were two pea-sized holes in the wall. She lined up her eyes and tried to look into the small punctures, but saw only darkness. She yanked a tissue from its filigree container, balled up two tiny pieces, and stuffed them into the holes. She would ask the new jack-of-all trades houseman, Kyle Cooper, to putty the holes and touch up the paint. She picked up the portrait with holes in the eyes and shook her head. Did Damon know about the spy holes?
She reached out to shake him awake, but he looked so peaceful and innocent in slumber that she stayed her hand, wondering about the wisdom of attacking her new husband in his sleep, especially so soon after making love. Forcing herself to calm down and take some time to think this through, she tiptoed out of the room. Still broiling with unspent anger, she furiously darted down the long, curving stairway. By the time she’d reached the bottom step, she had an urge to tromp right back up stairs and get this settled. Was that wise? She really needed to think things through. She scanned the living room. The only evidence of the earthquake was more askew pictures and wall mirrors. She felt a surge of gratitude. The damage could’ve been much worse, she thought, heading for the kitchen.
The troubled day had started with a double jolt—first the earthquake, and then the discovery of the holes behind the portrait. She knew Damon couldn’t do a blasted thing about the earthquake, but he sure as the devil better have a good explanation for the holes in the wall. Had he put them there? If not, who then?
The storm had subsided, and the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, bringing warm, golden ribbons of sunshine into the kitchen. Somehow, the passing of the storm and the newness of the day lifted her spirits. Since the jack-of-all-trades houseman-cook wasn’t around, and since she had all this pent-up volatile energy, she decided to whip up some breakfast. As she furiously scrambled eggs, she listened to the local news station to verify that the road conditions were safe for them to leave the mountain for their appointment with Madam Nola.
A geologist came on and talked about the earthquake damage to the local area. Listening with interest, she popped some turkey bacon wrapped in paper towels into the microwave and was about to pour her beaten-to-death eggs into the frying pan when the geologist started describing the area behind the mansion. She froze.
“The 6.0 earthquake had an unusual roll,” he said, “and the land under the shadow of Mt. Baldy has undergone serious shifting. This has set off a chain of events that, over time, could very well significantly change the composition of everything within a two mile radius, giving form to new species of plants and animals—and perhaps undermining the stability of the hillside. Further study is required to determine how this strange phenomenon might affect our community.”
Oh, my God. It was within the two-mile radius he described that Madam Nola had scattered Reeves’ ashes. It also encompassed the cave where Damon buried Hugo. Geologists digging around in their hillside could bring trouble.
Chapter Two
When Damon came down to breakfast a few minutes later, Angela relayed the geologist’s report. He frowned. “Don’t worry. Like I said, our structure is sound.” He ate only a few bites of breakfast then glanced at his watch. “Gotta go. I’m late.” He scraped the eggs and bacon onto the toast, folded it quickly into a sandwich, and wrapped a napkin around it. “I’ll eat this on the way.”
An image of the holes in the bedroom walls and in the portrait flashed in her mind.
“I thought you took the day off.” She couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. “We have important things to discuss—”
“Later, I promise. A rush project came in. I’ll be back at one o’clock to pick you up in plenty of time for our two o’clock appointment.” He winked, gave her a quick kiss on her lips, then headed out the door, leaving her to stew about the holes in the wall and all of the other unknowns in her life.
Before she could work up a good steam of angst, her mom called. “Are you okay?”
“Just shaken a bit. Damon’s gone to work and I could use some company.”
“Then I’m coming over. I want to hear more about this pregnancy.”
Angela’s mouth fell open. “How did you find out about that?”
Her mom laughed. “I saw Dr. Lopez’s nurse last night at our prayer meeting, and she mentioned how great you looked. I added up two and two and figured she’d seen you in the gynecologist’s office. With your quickie marriage and a visit to your GYN, I deduced you might be pregnant.”
“You’ve been watching those detective stories on TV again, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s not it. I got suspicious when you slipped away without a proper wedding.”
“Mom, I told you about that. After all that happened, we just wanted a quiet ceremony with no fuss. Besides, we thought it would be easier on Dad. He still acts a little miffed at Damon. None of us need to deal with any extra tension right now. Surely you understand.”
“But, you are pregnant, right?”
<
br /> “We’ll talk about it when you get here. I’ll ask Kyle our houseman, to pop a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls into the oven. He used to help his dad in their family bakery and the guy is a genius with pastries.”
* * * *
Forty minutes later, Angela checked out the enclosed glass veranda to be sure Kyle had it set up nicely for her coffee party with her mom. He was just finishing up when she entered. He was about her age with spiky carrot-top hair and intelligent water-blue eyes. Like all Damon’s staff, he was a bit odd. He moved about the mansion like an undernourished ghost, always sneaking up on her. This time, she’d tried to sneak up on him, but he turned immediately.
“All set,” he said, flashing a toothy grin.
She felt invigorated by his enthusiasm, and warmed by the aroma of cinnamon, coffee, and pine spiking the air. The setting looked festive with the white table cloth and candles. The centerpiece of fragrant evergreen branches, pine cone, and two big red bows added to something special to the occasion.
“Thanks for doing such a lovely job, Kyle.” She felt the warmth of her smile deep in her heart. “I need to ask you to do another project this morning. I wouldn’t bother you, but it’s important.” She rushed on, not waiting for an answer. “There’re some holes in the wall in the master bedroom. Please fill them right away and touch up the paint.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and then he grinned. “Good as done,” he said.
She stroked a pine needle and inhaled the heady, fresh scent. When she looked up to tell Kyle not to re-hang the portrait, he was gone. She shivered, remembering how Reeves used to disappear like an apparition. Damon had trusted him and that unwavering trust nearly proved fatal.
Fifteen minutes later, she opened the door to her petite and beaming adoptive mom, a salt-and-pepper redhead. Her quick smile made Angela’s heart skip a beat. She hugged her tightly, feeling closer than if Mom number two had actually given birth to her.
“Okay, tell me about my grandbaby.”
Angela smiled. Mom had the energy of a thirty-year-old and would thoroughly enjoy grandchildren. “Don’t hurry me, Mom. Let’s get a cup of coffee and our rolls first.”
When they where seated, A, ngela took a long breath, let it out slowly, and then said, “Not grandbaby, Mom. It’s grand…babies.”
Her mother squealed and rushed around the table to hug her. “Really?” Her eyes glistened with moisture.
Angela handed her the report and sonogram with a lump in her throat. “Twin girls.”
“When?”
Angela forced down her fears and pasted on a smile. “Next July.”
Apparently, Mom saw no significance in the month, and began talking about helping her decorate a room for the nursery. After Mom left, it was time to get showered and dressed. Damon would be returning home within the hour. Angela prayed they’d get some solid answers.
* * * *
Angela stared at the psychic’s one-story house with its pitched roof and gingerbread turquoise shutters. She grasped Damon’s arm a little tighter as they walked up the stone path. “Are you telling me she runs her scam out of her home?”
He grinned down at her. “Relax. Think of it as an adventure.”
Angela glared at Damon. Was she crazy to let him drag her here? Darn it, why did she need Madam Nola to give her assurances anyway? She appreciated what the wily mystic had done for them in the past, but she’d never trusted her. When she first heard about the psychic from her mother, she’d expected a Gypsy with a black turban and jangling gold earrings. After they met for the first time at the ritual out in the wild, hilly acreage behind the mansion, it had stunned her to learn that the psychic was a spunky Barbie doll dwarf in high-heeled boots.
She wondered what surprises Barbie had in store for them today. She rubbed her throbbing head. Each time she doubted the validity of the results of Madam Nola’s ritual, she reminded herself that she’d actually seen her wolf counterpart sucked out from within her body and enter Damon. And then, she’d seen both wolves sucked from Damon nostrils and run off into the hills.
Damon rang the bell, setting off muted chimes, reminiscent of those often heard in old England. Madam Nola appeared wearing a flowing rainbow robe in a delicate, nearly transparent fabric. The silver and sparkling jewel-like pinwheel designs woven over her breasts drew attention to the little woman’s bosomy figure. On each padded shoulder, she had two magnificent white Cockatoos. Their hook-beaks and claws looked sharp. A sudden guttural caw made Angela flinch.
“Don’t let Ka and Ba frighten you,” Madam Nola said. “That was Ba’s way of saying welcome.” The wily psychic’s hair was no longer in the sleek page-boy style she’d worn at their first meeting. Instead, it was in a crown of platinum curls with ruby and emerald crystals woven into each kinky strand. A couple of longer wisps coiled around her ears like silver snakes. The psychic stepped aside, seeming inches taller in her gold, spiky pumps. “Come in, Mr. and Mrs. Lamont.”
She waved them in with a flourish with her child-sized arm and led them through an entryway, past pictures of her dwarfed family tree, to a regular-sized table covered with a small tapestry with wolves on it. Seeing the wolf decor caused the fine hairs on the back of Angela’s neck to prickle. She’d forgotten that wolves were also part of Madam Nola’s heritage.
“Congratulations on your marriage and the coming births.” Madam Nola’s green eyes glistened with what Angela felt was mischief and dancing dollar signs.
“Did my mom call?”
“No. My crystal ball told me about the pregnancy.” Madam Nola’s Egyptian made-up eyes were a palate of dark smuges highlighted with blue, green, and silver.
But it was their intensity that made Angela uneasy. “Then you know why we’re here?”
Madam Nola nodded, looking wise and mysterious. “Of course. Would you like some red goji-raspberry tea?”
“No, thank you,” Angela said quickly before Damon could accept. The air was heavy with jasmine incense and Angela found it difficult to breathe. This dark cavern of a living room with its cloying scents and heavy, closed drapes gave her the creeps. “Damon has to get back to work. So, if you could just answer a couple of questions for us, we won’t take much of your time.”
Madam Nola smiled. “You pay for an hour even if you don’t use all the time available to you. And it’s dangerous to hurry the spirits.”
Damon squeezed Angela’s hand as though to silence her. “Of course,” he said. “I’d like to see what your crystal ball can reveal to us.”
“Good,” Madam Nola said. She whispered something to her Cockatoos and, in a white flutter of wings, they flew to twin circular swing-perches. From there, they watched with beady eyes. Madam Nola gestured for Angela and Damon to take a seat.
Angela noted that all the furniture in the house was small except the table and the three chairs around it. Madam Nola brought a small stepping stool and climbed up. Her chair had a booster seat on it.
She wiggled around until comfortable, then touched something under the table and the room darkened and more incense sprayed from a nearby plant. She removed the velvet cover from the crystal ball sitting in the center of the table, muttered some Egyptian gibberish and floated her hands across the globe.
Suddenly, a scene of the wild, hilly acreage behind the mansion filled the flashing orb. It was followed by an image of a cross-section of the earth beneath the surface of the ground. A center layer of mud, bones, and floating ash broiled in fury. Without warning, a blob of muddy crud, shaped like the head and shoulders of an ogre, shot up from the depths to its waist. They all flinched. It reached toward Angela with slimy arms and clawlike fingers. “I don’t know what that horrible creature is, but it isn’t why we came,” she said past the constriction in her throat.
“The crystal ball revealed the image to warn you. It’s prudent to trust the vision. TV reports by experts confirm the problems in the ground behind your mansion—those scientists claim the earthquake initiated ground-instabi
lity at the foot of Mt. Baldy and it set off a chain of events that’s triggering strange species to form in the stratum.” Madam Nola looked up with her luminous emerald-green eyes and met Angela’s gaze with a frightening intensity. “That ogre has fixated on you. In addition, there’s a new dark aura around you that’s growing darker. Have you heard of the devil-chosen dead whose life force dwells with them forever?”
Angela shook her head. An icy shiver slithered through her. Damon put his arm around her shoulder. They exchanged glances. His face looked gray, his eyes worried.
Madam Nola lowered her voice to a chilling whisper. “For the chosen evil ones, everlasting life begins with a journey through the underworld. The ka, or life force, leaves the body, followed by ba, or soul.”
Angela gripped the chair arms and clung to reality with all of her might. This was simply a part of the psychic’s show. She’d even named her Cockatoos after the life force and soul. “What about our girls?” Angela asked, forcing herself to stay on point.
“It’s too early to tell anything significant about unborn souls. But the spirits suggest that the threat aimed at you may actually be revenge against Damon. You and Damon are no longer alpha wolves, however, both of you have retained the alpha characteristics. Two alphas leading a pack in the wilds works, but—” She cleared her throat. “My point is, you must cling together and grow stronger to fight the darkness.”
Angela folded her arms across her breasts and held herself rigid to keep from running out of there screaming. She took a deep, fortifying breath. “But you must tell me something about our unborn girls.” Was Madam Nola stalling to get more money? Angela frowned. She had to remember that it was Madam Nola who’d disposed of Reeves’ body and kept Damon out of jail. That alone was worth her outrageous fees, so she mustn’t resent the mystic’s hunger for money. But the wily dwarf straight-out scared her, and she definitely didn’t trust her.
