by Kyra Whitton
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Through the Veil
Copyright
Dedication
Also By Kyra Whitton
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
He jerked her to him. “No more of that, Eve,” he growled in her ear. “You have to come with me, now. Please.”
He didn’t even sound breathless, and her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing loud.
“Where?” she managed to choke out.
“Back.” He whirled her around and nudged her back in the direction they came.
She obliged, what fight she had abandoning her.
“Why don’t you just kill me?”
“It matters not to me,” he murmured. “I will get you back there one way or the other. But it would be far easier if you just come willingly. You’ll see that. You will. I promise.”
“But where?” she demanded.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
His voice held a hint of awe.
Was he so surprised? She opened her mouth to ask, but his grip fell away and his cry of pain echoed in her ear.
“Run, Evelyn!”
She whirled to stare wide-eyed at her rescuer.
Through the Veil
by
Kyra Whitton
Breaking the Veil, Book 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Through the Veil
COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Kyra Whitton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kristian Norris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2019
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2793-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2794-5
Breaking the Veil, Book 2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For Steve, my partner in all things
Also By Kyra Whitton
Breaking The Veil series
Into The Otherworld
Chapter One
“This is amazing.” Evie Blair looked out over the little medieval town, a cool, salty breeze coming off the North Sea blowing her dark hair into her eyes. She tossed her head, clearing her vision. “Why did you wait so long to force me up here?”
“You kept telling me you were afraid of heights.”
She snorted. “And you listened?” She gazed out over the water, searching out the white-tipped waves unfurling toward the shore like rolls of lace. When he didn’t answer, she spun around.
“Oh!” she squeaked, clasping her hands over her mouth.
Nestled on a velvet cushion, a diamond ring glittered in a rare glimpse of sunlight.
Her heart slammed into her chest “Are you—?”
“Evie, will you—?”
“Yes!”
“Oh.”
Calum Baird blinked, his expression frozen, mouth slackening. But as a lop-sided grin slowly split his face, he lifted the ring out of the box and slid it gently onto Evie’s outstretched finger.
“I had more of a speech. I could—”
She launched herself at him. Arms wrapped around his neck and toes strained to add enough height, she kissed him through the grin she couldn’t wipe off her face. His own arms slipped around her waist, hugging her until her toes no longer touched the ground. As if he never wanted to let her go.
“You ready for a real holiday?” he murmured next to her ear.
She pulled back only enough to look into his blue eyes. “There’s more?”
“Oh, Evie lass, there is so, so much more,” he purred huskily.
She giggled and gave his lips another quick peck. “Then what are we waiting for?” She wiggled out of his arms and whirled away, disturbing the parcel of crows dominating the north side of the tower.
Calum grabbed her hand as she stepped down into the dark stairwell, and slowly they made their way down the narrow, twisting steps.
As they emerged back into the warm summer morning, Evie looped her arm in his, and they strolled down North Street.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her gaze on her left ring finger, the weight of the ring foreign, but not unpleasant.
But he didn’t answer, instead pulling the passenger side door of his car open so she could slide in.
She buckled the safety belt as he jogged around the front to the driver’s seat, and raised an eyebrow in question when he made no immediate attempt to answer.
He pushed a pair of dark sunglasses onto his hawk-like nose. “A grand tour of the Highlands.” He grinned.
Shoulders drooping, she slumped back into the seat. Hitting every tourist stop between St Andrews and Inverness topped her bucket list, but there was no way she could fit a holiday into her schedule.
“I can’t be gone that long. I have so much to do here, and there are deadlines I have to meet. You know I—”
Calum reached across the center console and squeezed her leg just above the knee. “I’ve already spoken with your professor, Evie.” He gave her thigh a pat and then pressed the gear shift into reverse.
“You-you what?”
“She’s known for weeks. Even made suggestions for stops along the way.” He grinned and nudged the small car out into traffic, heading west out of town. “We have five days, love. I thought we would start at Tay and work our way north.”
Her jaw slackened. “Are you serious?” Was it possible to adore this man any more?
He chuckled and tossed his head toward the rear of the car.
She glanced over her shoulder. In the small back seat, two overnight bags sat propped on the narrow bench, a cooler wedged between them.
“How did you—? I don’t know what—?” She snapped her mouth shut. “Calum Baird, I can’t believe you kept a secret like this from me!” she half-heartedly admonished him.
He shrugged modestly and reached for her hand, weaving their fingers together and resting them on the gearshift. “I’d planned to ask on the shores of Loch Lomond,” he admitted. “But then, seeing you there, up on St. Rule’s with the wind in your hair, I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Evie tried not to smile, pulling her lips down, but ple
asure bloomed across her face, anyway. “It was perfect,” she murmured, gaze returning to her left hand.
She settled down into the seat, leaning her head against the window. The landscape pulled her attention away, and she stared at the waving grasses carpeting the rolling hills, clear blue skies frosted with thick, heavy clouds. It was true. That morning was perfect. He was perfect. For her, at least.
She nestled down in her seat, his thumb idly stroking the back of her hand. Was this not the future she planned for herself? Settling somewhere full of history and beauty with someone she loved? With someone who loved her? When she’d come to Scotland, she never would have predicted this. Or him. But now that she had both, she never wanted to let go.
A flash of sunlight on glass in the rearview mirror caught her attention
“Calum!” she wailed as the car thrust forward with a sickening crunch of metal. Their hands broke apart as his arm swung wide to brace her.
Beneath them, the tires screamed. The nose of Calum’s car buried itself in the truck ahead and the last thing she saw before her head cracked against the window was the inflating airbag. Metal and fiberglass shrieked as blinding-hot pain tore through her.
And then there was nothing but darkness and the distant cawing of crows.
Chapter Two
One Year Later
By the time she realized the pounding wasn’t in her head, Evie could no longer ignore it.
“Mom!” She groaned as she pulled a pillow over her eyes. “Door!”
But there was no answer.
She slunk out of bed and crept down the back stairs, leaning around the corner into the main hall. The grandfather clock in the corner bonged once, quickly going back to its rhythmic ticking, but otherwise, the house was full of stillness and silence.
“Mom?” she called again, and when no one came running, she peeked out the back window into the alley.
Both of her parents’ cars were gone.
Sighing heavily, she opened the back door, yanking it when it stuck. “What?”
A uniformed man stood in front of her and her gaze instinctively went to his chest. His rank, two black bars signifying he was a captain, stood out against the ghastly green and brown pattern of his uniform. She raised her stare to his face, but it was hidden in the shadow of his patrol cap. Evie crossed her arms over her stained t-shirt, its collar ripped out so it hung over only one shoulder.
He didn’t say anything.
She lifted an eyebrow.
He mumbled. “I, uh, found your dog in the middle of the road.”
Her gaze traveled down his arm to where he grasped a black Lab by the collar.
“Uh…”
“Someone almost hit him crossing toward the hospital. I didn’t want him to get lost or hurt.”
“Um, no, I—next door. This is 2711A.” She pointed around the corner to the other half of the stately, historic duplex. “B’s over there.”
“Okay. Thanks. Sorry to disturb you.”
“Yeah, no problem,” she muttered as he turned away and she shoved the door shut. But it was a problem. Was it too late to go back to bed?
Groaning, she padded barefoot into the kitchen and eyed the clock on the microwave. One-oh-six blinked back.
Definitely too late to go back to bed. Eyes drooping and head pounding, Evie pulled down a single-serve cup from the cupboard and shoved it into her father’s fancy coffee brewer. She dumped a liberal amount of both sugar and cream into the bottom of a soup bowl, slid it into place, and hit the start button.
At exactly the wrong moment.
“Are you just now coming downstairs?” her mother Laena asked as she pushed through the back door.
Evie resisted the urge to bang her head on the kitchen cabinet. Over the past few months, her ears had become finely turned to pick up the sound of her mother’s car in the driveway. Most days, she could pick up the crunch of tires over old, cracked concrete and gravel. It gave her exactly forty-five seconds to make herself scarce. But the spurt of the coffee maker must have droned out the high-pitched hum of the car’s hybrid engine and the scrunch of rubber on rock.
In answer to the question Evie grunted and grabbed the bowl, clutching it to her chest like a life preserver.
“I have groceries in the car.” Laena set a paper bag down next to the sink.
“That’s nice,” Evie murmured as she shuffled unevenly out of the room, making her way to the TV and the sofa.
She sank down on the dark brown leather and pulled a fuzzy gray throw over her legs as she curled them up next to her. Using the remote left on the side table, she flipped on a rerun of an old sitcom.
“Damn it,” she muttered as her mother fell into the chair a few feet away.
“There was a black car in the back when I came in. Who was that?” Laena asked, crossing her legs as she leaned back.
Evie grunted. “Oh. Yeah. The dog next door got out, again.”
“Ah. No more details are needed. The black Lab is found wandering around the neighborhood more often than he can be found inside his own fenced yard. You’ll never guess who I ran into at the commissary.”
Evie had no desire to guess.
“Evan Griffith,” Laena said.
Evie’s ears pricked up at the name.
“The kid who dumped mustard on my head?”
She didn’t have to see her mother’s face to know she was rolling her eyes.
“Really, Evelyn, that was fifteen years ago. He’s a lieutenant, now.”
“Well, whoop-de-doo,” Evie muttered and turned her attention back to the television. She’d seen the episode several times before, but it was far more interesting than anything Laena could tell her about her childhood nemesis.
“I invited him over for dinner.”
Evie shot straight up, spilling coffee on the floor. “Why the hell would you do that?”
Laena quirked an eyebrow. “He’s new to the area, he probably doesn’t know anyone, and we’ve been friends with his parents since before we were married.” She sighed heavily. “Come on, Evie, you were what? Eight? Nine?”
“Seven.” She seethed.
“That was more than fifteen years ago.” Laena shook her head and slapped her thighs with her palms then stood. “Time to get over it.”
Evie rolled her eyes, but stood and turned toward her mother. “Does Dad know you’re fraternizing with the junior officers?”
Laena continued toward the kitchen. “You should probably take a shower and put on something that doesn’t look like you fished it out of the dirty laundry.”
Evie scrunched up her face, but once she was sure her mother was unable to see her, she lifted her t-shirt up to her nose. It did smell a little stale. And there was a sizable coffee stain just above her right breast from splattering herself a few days ago. Sighing, she trudged toward the stairs, her slippers slapping on the polished hardwood floors.
Stairs still gave her some trouble. Her gait was still uneven. A year before, she would have been taking the steps two at a time. Now she had to grip the railing and lean against it as she dragged her bad leg up to meet her good one. The pain had subsided considerably; unless there was a storm rolling in. Or if it was particularly cold. Or she spent too much time on it.
Yet the skin grafts were mostly healed. Although if she stretched or turned wrong, they would pull. It was uncomfortable, but not debilitating. And her dark hair was finally growing back over the spot where it had been shaved. If she ran her fingers over her scalp, she could feel the slender ridge where doctors cut through the skin and drilled through her skull. Even the tracheotomy scar was fading.
She was lucky to be alive, they told her. A miracle. She shouldn’t have lived.
Most days, she wished she hadn’t.
The upstairs bathroom was nothing special, a remodel to the historic house that left it feeling like a new build. The fiberglass tub and faux-marble countertops were littered with her toiletries and a few her sister left there when she was visiting f
or spring break. The bar of green soap their brother brought with him was stuck to the tiles, dried out and cracking.
She turned on the hot water, avoiding the mirror over the sink. The reflection she knew she would see wasn’t anything she had any desire to see. When she did catch sight of the whey-faced young woman in the glass, it only served to remind her that she wasn’t herself. Not anymore. The surgeon had tried to duplicate her features, and to anyone who hadn’t known her well before the accident, he succeeded. But she could see every slight perfection that was once an irregularity, symmetry where there had been none. She was a more perfect version of herself.
It was a slap in the face.
She climbed into the shower and stood under the spray until the water pinkened the healthy skin and puckered the scarred areas. Shampoo and razors were luxuries she hadn’t taken advantage of in almost a week, and by the time she was done with both, she felt raw and bare.
Why was she even putting forth an effort? Evan had once been one of her favorite people. Her best friend. They had been inseparable in kindergarten, but then, when several families left and new ones moved in, families with other boys their age, she lost her friend.
She stepped out of the shower and toweled herself off. She’d tried everything to get them to allow her to play. She could be a ninja or a warrior or a soldier, too. But they would only let her play if she was the princess. Conceding, she agreed. She just wanted to play with her friend.
It wasn’t Evan who came out with a plastic bottle of yellow mustard, but he was the one who uncapped it and spread it over her head. Because princesses needed golden hair and hers was only dark like a witch’s.
The other boys laughed as it seeped into her eyes.
She could only cry.
No, she wasn’t cleaning herself up for him. She was doing it to prove to her mother she could look put-together when she wanted to.
Evie reached into one of the drawers and extracted the makeup her sister left behind while she was at school. She turned the half-empty foundation over in her hand before uncapping and applying it. It almost felt strange to go over her old routine, to smooth shadow over her eyelids, to brush her long, thick lashes even longer and thicker with mascara.
