“No, it wasn’t,” Bren admitted, remembering his father’s cabin, the place where he’d spent most of his childhood. His mother had demanded more, for herself and for her son, and for many years they’d moved between a proper house in Townsend and the cabin on the mountain. The house in Townsend, nice as it had been, had never felt like home.
The conversation about this mountain and the cabin was small talk, but in the air something momentous lingered. A kiss and the electric energy in the air danced between them. Everything had changed, could change, and surely Miranda felt that on some level. Bren wasn’t good at romance; he didn’t know how to woo or chase or smoothly seduce, and he still wasn’t sure what he was going to do about this woman who had worked her way beneath his skin. The possibilities remained endless.
He was straightforward in everything he did, including sex, so he asked, “Do you have a boyfriend at home?”
“No,” she answered quickly.
She didn’t wear a ring, but that was less than conclusive. “A husband or fiancé?”
“No.” She didn’t ask him why he wanted to know. After the kiss she shouldn’t need to ask. “What about you? Is there a girlfriend out there wondering where you are on a beautiful Sunday afternoon?”
“No,” he responded as simply as she had.
“A Mrs. Korbinian?”
“Not yet,” he said, looking her squarely in the eye.
For some reason that answer brought a hint of color to Miranda’s cheeks. She tried to ease the tension in the room with a laugh that sounded all wrong, as she removed her hat and tossed it onto the couch as if it were a Frisbee. “What’s wrong with us? The ghost thing scares a lot of men away, but you…what’s your excuse, Korbinian? Why are you still single?”
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” If he stayed here much longer he wouldn’t be able to leave. He had the best of intentions, but if he stayed in Miranda’s company he’d soon be physically incapable of walking away, and the decision he wrestled with would be made. Bren headed for the door, but he did turn to look back at Miranda. She was a hard woman to leave. “Dinner tomorrow, my place, I’ll pick you up at six.”
He didn’t give her a chance to refuse his offer, but left quickly—while he still could.
Chapter 4
Miranda showered and put on her pajamas early in the evening, determined to get the rest that had brought her to the mountains. She would relax if it killed her! She made soup for supper—chicken noodle soup right out of the can, since real cooking wasn’t what she’d call restful. To be honest she wasn’t all that hungry, but she made herself eat a few spoonfuls.
After soup she sat on the deck for a while, enjoying the spectacle of near and distant vistas, but her eyes were drawn too often to the house at the top of the mountain. Korbinian’s house—in no way could it be called a cabin—had been built with an eye to fitting into the environment, so it didn’t exactly pop out. The roof was a dull, dark green; the deck, which ran the length of the house, seemed almost a part of the wooded landscape. If not for the little bit of light shining through large windows, which surely afforded Bren a stellar view, she could almost think his house was a part of the mountain he wanted to claim entirely as his own.
She couldn’t get a good handle on Brennus Korbinian. Yes, he looked at her like he wanted to eat her up, and they were both unattached and healthy in a world where in so many cases that was good enough for everyone involved. Miranda had never understood the appeal in a one-night-stand, but plenty of women—and men—her age did. If she was ever going to consider a casual sexual relationship, Bren would be perfect.
She understood her attraction to him, but why was he paying her so much attention? Korbinian was successful and good-looking, so he shouldn’t be exactly desperate for female companionship. Lack of social skills aside, he should have women lined up at his door, if that was what he wanted. He didn’t strike her as one of those men who had to conquer every woman they met, as if sex was a game and they thought themselves master players. She’d met guys like that, men who moved in too quickly, got too close, smiled too widely and too intimately. Bren wasn’t like that, not at all. In the beginning he had been anything but friendly, and he was very low on the smarmy meter—even though he had hiked to the cabin naked, which she surely would’ve taken as a warning sign if she didn’t instinctively like him at least a little bit.
Over time his attitude had changed, subtly but significantly, to one of cautious friendliness. That was hardly the way of a snake.
Over time. Ha! She’d known him one day, if you could call carrying on a conversation with a distant naked man knowing him.
Her instincts where people were concerned were better than normal, yet they were far from flawless. Could she trust those instincts where Bren was concerned? Had her hormones overridden those instincts…as well as her common sense?
Much too early in the evening, the lights from those windows at the top of the mountain went out, and she could no longer see the lines of the Korbinian house. The mountain was black, ominous and filled with secrets. Did Bren retire so early? Likely so. He was in construction, after all, and probably would get an early start in the morning.
Not her. She was going to sleep until noon! She was going to lie in the bed and do nothing. It had been a long time since she’d treated herself to a real rest.
The same flock of birds she’d seen last night appeared once again, swooping toward the cabin and then taking a sudden upturn as they approached the deck. Miranda knew a couple of women who were afraid of birds, but she’d always been fascinated with them. They could fly; she flew only in her dreams. They were entirely free; she was mired in responsibility and an abnormal ability she did not want.
Ravens in particular appealed to her, always had, and she wasn’t sure why. They were sleek and beautiful and smart. Something about them must be special, given all the poems and legends in which they played an important role. Maybe she was drawn to them because they were forever tainted by a mythical relationship with death, and death was a very real part of her new life. Her fascination with the blackbirds had only grown stronger after the accident, so maybe that was the explanation. Long before she’d been pulled into the world of the dead, maybe something inside her had known it was coming…
The flock of birds swooped down and lit in a nearby dead tree, where their shapes were made clear thanks to the moon behind them. Some sat still, others hung from dead branches by their large claws. They played; they watched her; they fluttered black wings and cawed to her as if attempting to carry on a conversation. Miranda found herself smiling as she watched them frolic, as if they had come here for the specific purpose of entertaining her.
Were ravens night birds? She didn’t think so, but twice now she’d seen these birds take over the night sky. They came to her by night. What an odd thought, to believe that these wild creatures were hers in any way.
A sharp, crowlike scream split the night, and then the ravens burst from the tree as one, leaving the perch as suddenly as they had landed, all of them taking flight at once as if on some silent command she couldn’t hear with her inadequate human ears. She thought the birds would soon be gone, leaving her alone once more, but apparently that was not their intent. For a few moments the ravens flew before her, their motions graceful and in symmetry. They became a part of the night, swooping and twirling as if their every move had been choreographed. Miranda grasped the deck railing and leaned forward, almost sensing that she was somehow a part of their display. Her heart pounded hard and she could not wipe the wide smile from her face.
She reached out a hand, which they ignored; she laughed for no reason.
Too soon the ravens rose and disappeared into the darkness, circling the cabin high above where she could no longer see them. As quickly as they had come to her, they were gone. Miranda’s wide smile faded as she hugged herself against the chill of the night. She stepped inside.
How was it possible to mourn the loss of a flock of wild birds?
&
nbsp; Miranda had promised Roger that she wouldn’t work at all while she was here, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t check her e-mail. She’d put off the chore until now, since like cell service, there was no high-speed connection in this isolated place. She’d have to do with dial-up. Barbaric!
Getting her laptop connected did turn out to be a test of her patience, but she managed. Her e-mail downloaded with agonizing slowness. Most of the messages were from potential clients or old clients who had new questions and wanted to meet again. After scanning a couple of the work-related messages, she moved on, leaving the remainder unread. This was, after all, vacation. They could wait.
There was one long and disturbing message from Autumn. In the upscale suburban neighborhood where Autumn and Jared had a very nice home, a young mother who lived on the next street over had been murdered on Friday night. At first the police thought she’d surprised a burglar, but now they were talking to the husband. Even though it looked like yet another sad domestic-abuse case, Autumn didn’t much like being left at home alone while Jared traveled on business. She’d been hearing strange sounds at night and was having trouble sleeping, and until she knew with certainty what had happened to the poor woman, she would not rest easy. She didn’t ask, but Miranda expected her friend would like her to try to talk to the ghost of the murdered woman when her vacation was over and she got back to work.
There was also a message from Roger in which he chastised Miranda for reading her e-mail, as if he’d known she couldn’t go more than a couple of days without checking in. She answered Autumn briefly but ignored Roger for now. Let him think she was doing as he commanded.
She couldn’t help but wonder what he and Cheryl would think of her odd relationship with Bren. Was it a relationship? Not really. She’d met him. He’d almost run her over with his truck. He’d given her a ride and kissed her once, in public. That didn’t exactly constitute a relationship.
The birds had moved on, and Miranda found herself lost in a stark and unusual and oddly unwelcome silence. No city sounds, no television, no wings flapping or birds cawing. Such silence was downright unnatural! She thought about putting a CD in the portable player Roger had sitting against one wall of the main room or plugging in her MP3 player, just for the noise, but she didn’t do either of those things. She decided to embrace the silence, which was so much a part of this mountain.
She often felt alone, as she had told Dee earlier in the day, but she’d never before felt so isolated. It was the view of mountains that appeared so untouched and uninhabited, she imagined, the fact that but for one man on the top of the mountain, she was physically, as well as emotionally, separate. She wondered if this was how people who’d lived long ago, when the world had not been so populated, might’ve felt. Isolated. Vulnerable.
Miranda started to turn off the laptop, then hesitated. She wasn’t quite ready to disconnect from the rest of the world, and when she turned off the computer, that’s what she would be. Completely disconnected. Instead of signing off, she went to a search engine and typed in Brennus Korbinian. So she was a potential stalker. She hated the fact that anyone could type in her name and in minutes read all about her life, and here she was snooping into Korbinian’s past. Her curiosity was justified, she reasoned. There was something decidedly unusual about the man, and if she was going to have dinner with him tomorrow night she needed to know more.
What if he kissed her again? What if he wanted much more than a kiss next time?
Again, waiting for results was agonizingly slow. It took minutes rather than seconds for the information to come up on her screen. There were articles about Bren’s involvement in the community, which surprised her. He didn’t just want this mountain all to himself, he fought against overdevelopment, even though he made his living building and selling homes. Very nice, expensive homes, judging from what she saw on the Web site for his real estate company. There were a number of Realtors listed, but he was not among them. The company was his, but apparently he spent his time building homes, not selling them. Miranda smiled. No, Bren would not make a great salesman. She could just see him, brusque and without any finesse at all, telling potential buyers to make up their damned minds or quit wasting his time.
She scrolled down the page of results until she came to an obituary for Bren’s mother, Denise Korbinian, who’d passed away a little more than two years ago. Feeling more stalker-ish than ever, Miranda clicked on the link to read the entire story, which came complete with a photo.
“Dee!” she said aloud, and then she glanced around the room to see if calling the ghost’s name had conjured her up. Apparently not. Dee, Bren’s mother, perhaps still felt guilty about her little stunt on the road. As well she should.
Below that link on the main search page were quite a few articles and sites in foreign languages. She also found Bren’s father’s obituary. Joseph Korbinian had preceded his wife in death by six years, almost to the day. Curious, and anxious to wipe away the new knowledge that her current haunt was Bren’s mother, Miranda continued her search.
Moving on to name meanings, she discovered that both Brennus and Korbinian meant Raven. Miranda got a strange chill down her spine as she looked at the words on the computer screen. Her own name meant “admirable.” Boring. Raven was much cooler—and odd, considering her collection at home and the birds who had visited her here.
Odd, but not exactly freakish. It was just a name! With that thought she turned off the laptop, taking a moment to glance at the clock in the bottom right-hand corner before the screen went black. She’d spent far too long browsing the Internet for info about the man who was going to feed her tomorrow night. The fact that she’d had to deal with dial-up service hadn’t helped matters at all.
She stored the computer beneath the desk and walked through the cabin, turning off lights as she went. Once she thought she saw Dee out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned the specter was gone. “Coward,” Miranda muttered.
Even though her mind was spinning, Miranda quickly fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed of black birds and silky soft wings that brushed her flesh with a touch as gentle as that of a lover.
It was a dream and more than a dream, an acknowledgment of the bond between them and a powerful fantasy, rolled into one.
Bren stood on the railing that surrounded his deck, as he so often did, and transformed in an instant into a flock of ravens that flew without a single doubt or reservation to the cabin below. Miranda’s bedroom window was open, as he had known it would be, and he burst into the room. She was not surprised to see him as a flock of blackbirds that flew in unison, that saw and thought and moved as one. She was waiting for him on her bed, naked and smiling and gesturing with a crooked finger for him to come closer.
As if he needed any invitation. He hovered over her, his wings brushing against her body, black feathers stark against pale, delicate flesh. He was seventy-seven ravens that moved over and against her in a wave, caressing her body with wingtips she welcomed. She smiled and accepted him for who and what he was, opening her arms wide so that his wings feathered against them from shoulder to wrist. She did not flinch, not even when his wings came near her face. She knew he would not hurt her; she knew he was hers to command in all ways.
Her gentle smile told him she liked what she felt. Her welcome told him that she knew who and what he was, and there was no fear within her. Not of him.
“My Kademair,” he said, his mind speaking to hers in a voice only she could hear.
“My raven,” she responded aloud.
He brushed the tips of a dozen wings along the soft exposed flesh of her flat belly and higher, across the swell of her breasts. A wing brushed across a taut pink nipple, once and then again. Miranda closed her eyes and threw her head back, exposing a slender throat he caressed with the wings that had carried him through the night air to her. He heard her heartbeat, sensed the warmth rolling off her body.
“My Bren,” she said, reaching for him.
And in t
he blink of an eye he was there, a man to her woman, flesh to her flesh. Lips and hands replaced feathered wings. The press of his body along hers was unlike anything he had ever experienced, but then, she was his Kademair, and they shared a connection that was unknown and even unimaginable to mere men.
Her hands rested lightly on his hips while he kissed her throat with leisure, replacing the caress of feathers with the brush of his lips and the tip of his tongue. He drank in her warmth, fought to refrain from filling her too quickly when there was so much pleasure to be had in simply touching her. Her soft breasts pressed against his hard chest, and her sigh was more arousing than any sound he had ever heard. He was close to being inside her, but it was too soon. She was ready for him physically, he was certainly ready for her…but she did not know all. She did not yet understand how momentous their coming together was.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, shifted her body until Bren was closer and harder than before. He hurt with wanting her; he needed her like he needed air in his lungs and a night sky to fly across. He was being pulled to her and into her by a force beyond his control, as if who they were, who they were meant to be, dragged them to a place where their will no longer mattered. Had it ever? Did he really have a choice?
“Do you know?” he whispered in her ear.
“All I know is that I want you,” she responded. She scooted her hips down, bringing herself closer to their joining. “I want you in a way I have never before wanted anything. There is no room in me for anything beyond that need, not when it’s so great.” Her flesh was warm silk against his own, and he drank in the warmth with her body pressed to his. Where had she been before this? Why had she hidden from him? Her beauty was remarkable, her need for him an aphrodisiac that drove all thoughts but having her from his mind.
The tip of his penis touched her silky wetness, almost entered her body, and she moaned in satisfaction and need. Eyes closed, body open and inviting, lips parted, heart pounding…she was his. Bren no longer cared about anything but the end to this. She was his; he was hers. The heat they created was undeniable, and he had been a fool to think either of them had a decision to make. This was meant to be. He pushed into her body and she accepted him with a moan and a gasp. Her hips lifted, her legs caught him tightly and pulled him deeper.
Last of the Ravens Page 6
