Dark Tales Diaries: Volume Two

by London Saint James

  Evernight Publishing

  www. evernightpublishing. com

  Copyright© 2013 London Saint James

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-452-8

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JC Chute

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  I’m proud to be an Evernight author, and would like to thank all the wonderful people I work with at Evernight Publishing. All of you rock!

  London

  DARK TALES DIARIES: VOLUME TWO

  London Saint James

  Copyright © 2013

  Prologue

  “Come on, Tristan," Keira said, giggling playfully as she shut her diary.

  “What new story have you added? One of love? Intrigue? A tale of the forbidden?” I inquired while eyeing the leather-bound book.

  Keira laid it aside, and rose to her feet. "I’ll read them to you, someday."

  She slipped out of her white cotton dress, leaving her sandals in the wake of snow-colored material at my feet. I leaned my back against the trunk of the tree, pretending to rest, but in truth, rest was the furthest thing from my mind.

  Keira twirled on the ball of her foot, more graceful than any dancer.

  “Do that again," I said.

  The sun broke through the leaves on the trees, and set her long raven tresses into brilliant highlights that shimmered in deepened shades of blue-black. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She alone encapsulated perfection, with her small, pert breasts slightly covered by her long hair, and when she moved, the gumdrop point of a pale-pink nipple peeked through some of the strands. She raised her arms above her head, giving me a full view of her extended frame, and did something of a provocative pirouette before turning to face the pond.

  Her slender waist gave way to rounded hips that swayed seductively as she tiptoed, nude, toward the edge of the water. She stuck one toe in, and looked at me over her slim shoulder. Her jewel-green eyes penetrated my soul.

  Keira twisted her long hair up, and used the dark pieces that fell from her fingers to weave her tresses into a tied-off knot, freeing the canvas of her back. The dappled shade that fell from one of the overhanging branches caressed the curve of her spine like a long-lost lover, and in that instant I wanted to kiss the dimples above her heart-shaped ass. The thought stirred up something much more primal.

  “Are you coming?” she asked.

  When Keira licked the plumpness of her lips, my cock ached for her.

  “Definitely," I said, and stood from my shaded spot under the oak, toeing off my shoes in a hurry, before ridding myself of my shirt and pants.

  Once free of my clothing, I bounded toward her. She grinned and jumped before my hand made contact with her arm. I wasted no time, and followed in behind her. Our heads popped to the surface in unison, with her joyous laughter filling the air.

  “I bet you can’t catch me," she taunted in a cutesy voice before diving beneath the murky pool.

  I studied the trail of bubbles and waves she made, guessing where she might come up, then made my way onto the grassy bank, crossed over the plank bridge, and hopped into the water off the south bank. When she resurfaced, I snatched her up.

  “Got you," I said, and placed a kiss to her lips.

  She wiggled. Her moist mouth left mine. "No fair, Tristan. You were supposed to swim and catch me, not cheat and wait until I ran out of air."

  “You never outlined the rules. And besides, I play to win."

  Keira shook her head. Water rolled along her nose, over her parted lips, and down her chin before the wandering drop found its home in the pond.

  “I know you do," she said, rubbing her nose against mine. "That’s one of the things I love about you."

  “What else do you love about me?”

  “I’m not telling."

  I placed my lips to her tempting neck, traced a line with the tip of my nose to the end of her ear, and sucked her lobe into my mouth. "What if I persuade you to tell me?”

  She moaned my name, and draped her arms around my neck. "Don’t stop doing that, and I might be persuaded."

  Keira wrapped her long legs around my waist. The head of my hard cock slipped between our two intertwined bodies. She pressed herself against me, tighter. Warmth worked its way through my essence as I slid my manhood in-between her parted lower lips. I wanted to explore all of her with my hands, my dick, and my mouth. One hand remained on the back of her slim neck while the other left her lower back to discover the wonder of her ass. Flames––not water––lapped at my skin, my desire for her beyond words.

  I needed to delve deep inside her tight, sweet universe and feel her grip me, but I’d wait until she was on the verge of explosion. Wait until she begged me to enter her body with my cock. I worked myself, sliding up and down. Her clit felt pebble-hard against my wide head. Our tongues tangled together.

  “Do it," she said, breathless.

  I knew what she wanted. My thumb pressed into her tight little pucker. Keira’s ass clinched then relaxed. I pushed. She took more of my finger. Her mews of satisfaction filled my mouth, setting the pace to fevered kisses. Our wet bodies slid against each other. The feel of her rigid nipples rubbing against my wet chest could only be described as exquisite.

  “Tristan!” Adelle’s voice broke through my reverie. "Have you seen the latest sales?” she asked. I turned around, leaving memories behind me, and gave my sister the attention she required.

  “No," I said.

  “Here." Adelle handed me a paper. I glanced at the spreadsheet. The third quarter sales had skyrocketed with the introduction of Dark Tales Diaries. "It looks like you may have stumbled onto something. I would never have guessed the first volume would have done so well, but I suppose figures don’t lie," said Adelle. "Have you started volume two?”

  “I’m going to finish up reading the last few submissions tonight."

  “I’m still not happy about you wasting your time and our father’s publishing company trying to find Keira, and I’ve never hidden the fact I think you’re totally mad when it comes to that girl."

  “She’s no longer a girl, Adelle. And I’m no longer a silly boy. You need not remind me how many years have passed."

  “She left you, Tristan. Why can’t you accept that, and let this whole search for her go?”

  “She wouldn’t have vanished like she did without something being horribly wrong."

  “Like what?” Adelle asked.

  “I don’t know."

  “You suspect something. I can tell by the look on your face."

  “Did father ever say anything to you about Keira?”

  “No. Why would he?”

  I shrugged, and placed the spreadsheet upon my desk.

  “Tristan, do you believe father had something to do with Keira leaving?”

  “Yes."

  Adelle gasped. "Why?”

  “He never liked Keira."

  “How do you know that?”

  “Keira said something to me once."

  “What?”

  “It was told to me in confidence, with the promise I would let it go."

  “But he loved you," Adelle said. "He would never do anything to hurt you."

  “He loved you too," I said. "And how did that turn out for
you?”

  “If you are referring to my relationship with Daniel, and father’s disapproval of him … well, Daniel wasn’t good for me."

  “Says who? You, or is that our father talking?”

  “Tristan. Stop this. Our father’s gone, God rest his soul. Leave things alone. The past is the past."

  “I can’t let it go. Not until I know what happened. Not until I find her."

  PART ONE

  Dear Dark Tales:

  Growing up, I was a bookworm and straight-A student. I left all the excitement in life to my audacious father, my colorful mother, and my older, more popular, jock of a brother …always content to sit by myself, up on my rooftop, looking at the stars and dreaming.

  My father, a geologist and the adventurous type, left home often. When I was seventeen he went on an extended two-month expedition in Nepal. He never came home. We received word he was killed when his jeep slid off a narrow mountain pass during a rainstorm that caused horrific mud slides. I guess it’s fair to say this event impacted all of us a bit differently, and we all mourned his death in different ways.

  After Dad’s untimely death, my older brother became even more of a thrill-seeker, trying to live up to the memory of our father. My mother the artist, who always lived her life out loud, shut down for a while then came back with vigor. Her newfound verve arrived in the form of younger men. And me? I played it even safer, especially when it came to anything too adventurous. I didn’t take a lot of chances in life, or in relationships.

  Needing the solitude only the night sky gave me, I kept gazing up, obtained my Bachelor of Science in Astronomy, and secured a great job as an assistant for the head of the astronomy department at a well-known university. In retrospect, I’d spent my life becoming a fascinated observer of the constellations, but when my boss needed a second pair of eyes, I finally found out just how long my head had been lost in the clouds.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Taylor Matthews

  The Observation Deck

  I wanted to scream.

  This was absolutely the last time I allowed my brother to borrow anything of mine. After all, we were no longer children, and Jake, my thirty-year-old sibling, should be more responsible. Everything I "loaned” him came back to me in less than the perfect condition in which it left.

  Unloading my once-pristine Celestron telescope from the back seat of my Volkswagen, I felt the tension in my jaw. It was a direct result of grinding my teeth together while I admired the dented leg on the tripod. It became clear I’d also be purchasing a new carrying case since it was M. I. A. Who knew where my case had ended up? It could be anywhere, because Jake is one of those adventurous types: The cliff-climbing, bungee jumping, speed-racing, mountain-biking, kayaking over whitewater rapids, adrenalin junkie type.

  The sound of my cell phone caught my attention, and stopped me from cursing out loud. I juggled the tripod to one hand, tucked the scope under my arm, picked the phone out of my front jean pocket, and answered.

  “Hello," I said.

  “Hey, Taylor. Lila told me you stopped by the condo to pick up your telescope."

  “Uh, yes, Jake. And as usual—”

  “Yeah, sorry about the dent and the carrying case," Jake said casually, interrupting me, of course.

  “Jake, you know that telescope was important to me."

  “I know that," he replied.

  “Why do I let you borrow my things?”

  He chuckled.

  “Maybe because I’m your big brother, and you love me."

  “I may love you, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you," I huffed.

  “Come on, T. Chill out."

  “Jake—”

  “I’ll buy you a new case, and a new tripod."

  “That’s not the point, Jake."

  "Stop. I already know what you are going to say next. I need to grow up, and be more responsible. Blah, blah, blah."

  "You said it. I wish you would take it to heart," I replied.

  “Yeah, well."

  “Listen. I’m doing a juggling act in my driveway with my telescope, my purse, and this phone. I’ll talk to you later."

  “Catch ya on the flip side," Jake said. "And un-wad your panties about the telescope. I’ll make it right."

  “Gotta go now. I’ve got things to do."

  “Before you go, when was the last time you did something a little bit crazy, and got that tired blood of yours pumping? You need to think about that, little sis."

  I rolled my eyes. His so-called advice irritated me, and was a waste of breath. I didn’t do crazy or exciting.

  Giving another juggle-shift maneuver to my tripod and purse, I disconnected the call, and half tucked my cell phone into my pocket. Finally, I made it up my driveway, and into the front door of my house. I tossed my keys and my purse on the table by the door, taking care to sit the tripod right side up on the floor, and placed the scope beside my purse.

  The chime of my grandmother’s antique clock reminded me my boss, Professor Chase, who was also the head of the astronomy department where I worked, would be calling soon. We had a conference call scheduled for 6:30 p. m. to discuss a new research project, but I still had some time before he called me, and needed to take advantage of it. My house was reminiscent of a landfill, with empty paint cans, containers, and stuff in general, scattered about.

  Making my way down the hall, one of the many boxes from the attic cleanout greeted me when I hit the corner of it with my shin. I had set it by the door to my mother’s old yoga room yesterday, and I all but forgot about it during the process of turning that room into my home office. I did have intentions of going through it today, but with all of this morning’s rearranging of the master bedroom so I could finish painting it, afternoon errands, and a much needed ice-cream break, I didn’t make it back to that box.

  I glared at it, hunched over and rubbed my shin. BOOKS had been written on the side of the cardboard in my mother’s recognizable, spiky scribble. I wasn’t sure what type of books it contained, but like most of the things I’d been going through, I’d probably place the contents in the stack of yard sale items that was becoming more than noticeable in the garage. In fact, my garage looked more and more like the warehouse of the damned.

  Using my toe, I tapped the side of the box. It scooted a bit on the hardwood floor. I thought about leaving it alone for another day, but decided not to put off the inevitable. Besides, if I started to avoid one box, I might ignore more, and I’d never get done.

  I bent down, making sure I had a firm hold, and heaved the box up. Looking for the best place to put it, I sat it on my desk. As I opened the brown cardboard flap, a poof of dust escaped. I swiped my hand through the air, hoping to clear the cloud of dirt particles before I studied what awaited me. A sneeze or two later, I glanced inside. The"books" were magazines. I pulled a few out. They were old Playboy’s, with a few Hustler’s mixed in. I shook my head, but I guess this find wasn’t as surprising as the detailed instruction guide on tantric sex I found in the closet of the master bedroom.

  I placed the magazines back into the box, picked a black marker out of my desk drawer and wrote, Yard Sale, on it.

  “Sorry Hugh and Larry, but your print creations are headed for the pile," I mumbled as I shut the flaps.

  It’s been one interesting thing after another lately. A few weeks ago, my mother stopped by my apartment on her way to the airport, and handed me the keys to her house. When I asked what was going on, she told me she was moving to Bali with her twenty-something, perfectly tanned boy-toy and personal trainer, Brent. They were opening a yoga center, together. Before I could even process the words that came out of her mouth, she kissed my cheek, told me goodbye, and left me standing on the stoop with the keys to my inheritance in hand. I watched the taxi pull away from the curb, astonished. Since my father passed, she’d done some outrageous things, like getting her nether parts pierced, posing nude in a live art exposition, and briefly opening a body paint shop, but until
Brent, she’d never uprooted her life for a lover.

  Taking a breath, I picked up the hefty box of magazines, carried it out to the garage that didn’t play host to my car, and placed it on top of the stack closest to the connecting door. I adjusted a few more boxes to make sure the heap would hold, and came to grips with the reality that stood like a wall of cardboard in front of me. The yard sale I planned needed to be sooner rather than later.

  As my luck would have it, the phone in the house started ringing when I wasn’t inside to answer. I twirled around, and made a run for it. The kitchen phone was close, so I sprinted through the dining room, and grabbed the handset.

  “Hello, Matthews residence," I answered, breathless.

  “Taylor?”

  I recognized my boss’s voice, and felt like a heel for almost missing our scheduled call.

  “Oh. Yes. Sorry, Professor Chase. I’ve been moving boxes, and must have lost track of the time."

  “No worries. I called a little early. By the way, how is the move coming?” he asked.

  “Slow, but sure. I have things to clear out, and things to move in, and only some of the walls have been painted. It’s been epic."

  His laugh buzzed over my ear, and set off a tingle that danced upon my skin.

  “Epic, huh? I suppose some moves can feel that way."

  “Especially unplanned moves. I’m just lucky I only have a couple more weeks on my current lease. I should be done with everything here by then, and be able to permanently move in. However, using the attached garage will be out of the picture for a while."

  “My advice? Get someone else to move the heavy stuff."

  “Good advice," I said. I glanced around to see if by chance there might be a pen and paper somewhere near the phone. I didn’t see anything even close to paper, let alone a pen. "Professor?”