Thunder and Lightning

by Calista Fox

  Thunder and Lightning

  Calista Fox

  Cane is haunted by the alluring scent and exotic beauty of his new neighbor. But as a vampire, he knows that personal encounters with mortals can turn deadly.

  In truth, Bev is an immortal being, gifted with an extended existence by the Aztec Gods. Not knowing Cane is immortal too, she believes her desire for him is forbidden, though still so tempting!

  One sultry Savannah night changes their lives forever, as they give in to their unrelenting passion. Secrets are inadvertently revealed, altering both their courses, trapping them in a scorching-hot, doomed affair. When the sins of Cane’s past come back to haunt him, putting Bev’s newly mortal life in grave danger, Cane becomes her only hope for survival. He’s forced to make the most difficult decision of his entire existence. Will saving her soul mean damning her for all eternity?

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Thunder and Lightning

  ISBN 9781419924989

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Thunder and Lightning Copyright © 2010 Calista Fox

  Edited by Briana St. James

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication January 2010

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Thunder and Lightning

  Calista Fox

  Acknowledgements

  One of the most exciting things about being a writer is the freedom to create myths and legends that form the basis of a plot. Altering reality can be tricky, but I’ve found that if you share with the reader what you know about the world and characters you’ve created, they’ll happily travel the fictitious road with you.

  Thanks to all of the readers of erotic romance, and particularly those who love paranormal stories as much as I love writing them!

  Also, thanks as always to my fabulous editor, Bree. Working with you and the rest of the EC folks is always a pleasure. I hope we end up with another award-winning story!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Botox: Allergan, Inc.

  Buns of Steel: Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

  Hugo Boss: Hugo Boss A.G.

  Mercedes: Daimler Chrysler AG Corporation

  Neosporin: Johnson & Johnson Corporation

  Chapter One

  Immortal being Bevelyn Goitia was due a fresh start. Staying too long in one place when those around her aged and she did not called for her to uproot her life every few years and start anew. Savannah, Georgia seemed like a promising place for her to spend the next decade of her extended existence. But the dark cloud that descended upon the coastal southern town with her arrival was a bit disconcerting. The forecast declared clear, sunny summer skies, yet it had been muggy and overcast since she’d come to town three days ago and settled into the beautiful Victorian she’d just purchased.

  Today had been the worst of it.

  No. This very second was the worst.

  Two fast-moving plumes of doom overhead were on a collision course from opposite directions. A peculiar spectacle that would baffle the local meteorologists. One that threatened to eclipse the moon and which also reminded her of the lore of her ancestors, which she’d never heeded until this very second. The mysterious storm setting in this evening hinted at an impending predicament she’d never anticipated experiencing.

  Being an immortal descendant of the ancient Aztec rain god Tlaloc, she was conscious of dramatic changes in the weather, always curious of their origin. Particularly freak thunderstorms.

  A disturbing thought tickled the back of her brain now as she stood in her driveway, her gaze shifting from the bleak sky to the black Mercedes that rolled to a stop next door.

  Ah shit.

  A quick glance back at the storm brewing overhead made her wary of her heritage. She thought about the scrolls she coveted in her personal library, all of which spoke of the alleged mystical phenomenon of Tlaloc’s effect on the weather, depending on his various lascivious moods.

  Lust caused the clouds to roll in.

  Desire made the thunder rumble across the sky.

  Passion incited the riotous electricity that illuminated the night.

  Love triggered the fat raindrops that sated the parched earth.

  The embracement of these romantic emotions returned the weather to its natural state. Released the sun from its shield of clouds and let it shine bright.

  Bevelyn was by no means as powerful as Tlaloc had once been, as his spirit continued to be. Nor had she ever experienced any of the four fervent emotions to the extent that she impacted nature’s elements.

  Hell, in her six-hundred-plus years of existence, she’d yet to experience an orgasm that could be classified as “earth-shattering”.

  Admittedly, she enjoyed the romanticized history of those who’d come before her, whose spirits still lingered in the heavens above. Though, in truth, the power to rule the climate wasn’t a legend she fully believed in.

  And yet…

  She lowered her gaze again and it landed on the dark, devilishly handsome man who slid gracefully from the seat of his car.

  Cane McAllister.

  Her new neighbor and hottie extraordinaire.

  He was dangerously cool. Shockingly perfect from head to toe. A masterpiece sculpted with great care, yet infused with a predatory spirit that spoke to Bevelyn. He looked as sleek and stealthy as a panther, with eyes as smooth and shiny as obsidian stones.

  Eyes that connected with hers and held fast. Making every gut instinct inside her go on high alert.

  At the exact same time every inch of her turned warm and molten.

  Excitement rippled through her. Her nipples tightened behind the plain white cups of her bra. She wore sensible cotton lingerie due to the sweltering heat and humidity that raged through Savannah. But the practical, once-comfortable undergarments suddenly felt confining, making her long to be stripped bare by the scorching-hot man standing forty feet away from her.

  She could imagine his large, strong hands on her body, bringing pleasure with every stroke, every caress. The need to feel his hard muscles melded to her soft curves rose within her, making her long for his weight on her body, pressing her into a mattress. Taking her with impassioned fervor, driving his thick cock deep until…

  Bevelyn bit back a gasp. And a sigh of longing.

  She felt the convergence of gray haze overhead as much as she saw it in the form of the cumulus clouds blocking out the moonlight and casting dark shadows ac
ross her lawn. Her body vibrated in a peculiar way, as though a bolt of electricity chased down her lightning rod of a spine, sending electrical jolts to her most sensitive erogenous zones. Targeting that much-neglected spot between her parted legs. Her clit tingled with a sensation that was almost foreign to her, while her pussy throbbed with an intensity she’d not felt in…

  Hmm.

  She hadn’t felt this shaken to the core of her being, this turned-on…ever.

  Letting out a ragged breath, Bevelyn’s gaze took in every tall, sinewy, powerful inch of her neighbor.

  She’d already heard the women in town talking up a storm about him. No pun intended. She could hardly blame them. Even with a lush courtyard sprawled between her and Cane, she felt an erotic shudder that shimmied through her body from her head to her toes.

  As the clouds darkened in color and the thunder rumbled in the distance she couldn’t help but wonder, Am I making this happen?

  True, Cane was, without doubt, the most sexually potent, disturbingly attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on. But seriously… She was a six-hundred-year-old immortal being. The man standing in the adjacent driveway should not be affecting her so vehemently!

  “Strange storm we’re having,” her hotter-than-hell neighbor said. His deep, intimate voice drifted on the warm breeze, seemingly surrounding her.

  An understatement, really, for his voice seeped into her very soul.

  A sharp crack of thunder overhead made Bevelyn jump.

  “Not just a midsummer squall?” she asked, hopeful.

  He shook his head, causing a lock of longish, black-as-night hair to dislodge and sweep across his forehead. “Been here long enough to know it’s not typical weather this time of year.”

  “Well, then. Strange indeed,” she muttered, her pulse accelerating.

  He took a wide step toward her. Bevelyn took a step back.

  “Need some help?” he asked.

  “Got it under control,” she assured him. Her car was loaded with groceries and household items she’d just purchased. She hefted a paper bag into her arms as if it created some sort of barrier between them.

  Yeah, right. She could practically feel his commanding presence enveloping her, swallowing her up, making her want to meld to his body, surrender to his heat and sensuality. Yield to his unspoken promise of gratification and ecstasy.

  “I’m Cane McAllister,” he said as he continued to advance on her, as though stalking his prey. Her stomach fluttered at the thought.

  “Bevelyn Goitia,” she replied automatically, forcing herself to hold her ground. Despite the fact that the thunder rumbled low and ominous, like a warning. Her breathing became shallow, a bit strained. “Friends call me Bev.”

  “Nice to meet you, Bev.” His tone was rich and sensual. A sultry summer caress on her bare arms and legs. A whisper of a touch against the nape of her neck. A tickle along her sensitive clit.

  He came to a halt before her, his onyx eyes remaining locked with hers, stirring all kinds of riotous emotions that left her head reeling and her body aching for him. An altogether overwhelming and wholly unfamiliar reaction. Yet enticing and heady all the same.

  “Sure I can’t help?” There was a seductive note of suggestion in his tone. One that tempted her as much as it terrified her.

  Bev’s male companions over the centuries had all been chosen based on intellect and ambition. Not Buns of Steel. She didn’t doubt Cane was intelligent and driven—the determination and worldliness glowing in his dark eyes convinced her there was more to this man than orgasm-inspiring brawn. But the latter was what tempted her the most, and she innately felt the need to keep her distance from this dangerously alluring man.

  So she gave a slight shake of her head at the offer he’d extended. “I can manage, thanks.” Yet for all her independent bravado, her voice sounded breathy and lustful.

  That explains the clouds.

  She cringed inwardly. Maintaining her distance and keeping the courtyard between them would be her best bet, though it was a little late to exercise that precautionary measure. The man was mere inches from her. And goddamn did he smell good! Like virility and power and passion all rolled together with a hint of Hugo Boss that made the blood rush through her body like a river of fire. The raw intensity of the scent—of the man himself—teased her senseless and awakened dark desires she’d suppressed for centuries.

  But she knew she had to keep her suddenly raging hormones under control. She wasn’t able to give into her lust on a mere whim. Bev wasn’t like Cane McAllister…or any other human, for that matter.

  A valid point that resonated deeply when she shifted the bag in her arms. The kitchen knife she’d bought escaped its protective sheath and the serrated edge slit the brown paper, slicing across her palm. There was little pain associated with the wound, but as the blood began to pour from her hand—and Cane’s handsome face became a mask of hard angles and his eyes lit with a wild, almost animalistic glint—she remembered the need to be shocked. To pretend to be in agony.

  Because that’s how a mortal would react.

  Dropping the bag as though it were a delayed reaction to her surprise and suffering, she balled the damaged hand and clutched it with her good one. But Cane’s own hand shot out and he gripped her wrist firmly.

  “Let me see.” His voice was rough, edgy. Pulling the injured palm toward him, he carefully unfurled her clenched fingers, his strong hands much more gentle than she’d anticipated from such a powerful-looking man. And shockingly cool, given the warm, humid weather.

  As he stared down at the crimson river flowing along her ravaged flesh, a strange hissing sound welled from deep within him and seemed to lodge in his throat. Bev realized he was one of those sorts to have an adverse reaction to the sight and smell of blood.

  She could cross “doctor” off the list of potential occupations for her gorgeous neighbor.

  “You’re going to need a bandage for that,” he said in a tight voice. He seemed to have trouble breathing.

  Bev nodded absently as she pulled her hand from his—more so because his touch did unexplainably riotous things to her clit—and pressed the sliced appendage to her stomach, where she clutched the taupe-colored, linen material of her dress. Ruining it.

  “Maybe stitches,” he said as he took a step backward.

  “No,” she was quick to say. “It’s not that bad. And I…heal…quickly.”

  His eyes narrowed on her a moment, but it was as though her words barely registered in his mind. The black eyes that captivated her so shimmered with a strange backlighting—an internal light she’d never seen before.

  Couldn’t attribute it to the moonlight, because it was basically scarce. And the low wattage of the triple-globed porch lamp didn’t emit enough light to reach them this far away.

  As her mouth gaped at the mysterious phenomenon, his head snapped away.

  To break their visual connection? Or was it the sight of her blood that disturbed him?

  Bev’s insides coiled tight at the peculiarity of the moment. But Cane quickly composed himself and turned back to her.

  “Bandage,” he reminded her. “I’ll take care of this stuff.” He knelt down to collect the spilled contents of the grocery bag, managing to scoop them up in the portion of the bag that was still intact. He stood and stared at her.

  “Seriously,” he said, his voice tight and somewhat contrite, as if he was appalled by his initial reaction to her fresh wound. “Let me help you.”

  She nodded.

  Though she felt foolish because of her clumsiness, she was mostly alarmed that her own response to the cut might be questionable. Not that Cane would ever suspect the truth about her. Still. The secret of her immortality was one she held close, for with the promise of an eternal existence came the threat of imminent death if anyone should find out her true identity.

  One of the rules of the game that kept the order in the land of the supernatural.

  She’d played along for centuries, t
hough. Knew how to act mortal.

  Wincing from the “pain”, she turned to the house and rushed up the stairs of the wraparound porch. Cane was hot on her heels and reached around her to open the door. Inside, Bev hurried to the kitchen sink and washed the blood from her hands and wrists.

  But… Damn! She didn’t have any bandages or antiseptic. What the hell would she need them for, anyway? She healed a million times faster than the infected finger in the Neosporin commercial.

  Wrapping a dishrag around her hand, she turned back to her neighbor and lied.

  Double damn.

  He was concerned about her and all she could say was, “I’ve got a first-aid kit upstairs. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “I’ll get the rest of your groceries from the car.”

  “Thanks.” She dashed out of the kitchen and up the two flights of stairs to her room. Once there, she glanced around frantically.

  What to use to cover her hand so that he wouldn’t see she was no longer bleeding? That the cut was already beginning to heal, the skin already sealing? Her gaze landed on the blue painter’s tape she’d been using this week to block the far wall before she rolled a fresh coat of “Yellow Daisies” over the boring off-white color currently making the room too stark for words.

  She grabbed a couple of tissues from the bathroom, folded them in half, then used the blue tape to secure them in place over her palm. Groaning at the makeshift bandage, she wondered how in hell she’d survived everyday mishaps without drawing suspicion from her last roommate.

  Oh yeah. She and Camden Shelton had both worked fourteen-hour days to get ahead in their respective careers—one of the many she’d had over the decades—and barely had time to share everyday life, let alone mishaps. As was the case with all of her previous companions.

  Changing into shorts and a T-shirt, she returned to the kitchen and found all of the perishable items stored in the refrigerator. But the granite-topped island was covered with household stuff Cane clearly didn’t know where to stow. The offensive knife lay in the sink, washed of all blood.