NightWind

NightWind 1st Book: HellWind Trilogy Charlotte Boyett−Compo

Hard Shell Word Factory

This story copyright 2003 by Charlotte Boyett−Compo. All other rights are reserved. Thank you for honoring the copyright. Cover Art by Mary Z. Wolf Hard Shell Word Factory. PO Box 161 Amherst Junction, WI 54407 [email protected] www.hardshell.com Electronic book created by Seattle Book Company. eBook ISBN: 0759936293 All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

Table of Contents Prologue 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 Epilogue Charlotte Boyett−Compo

NightWind 1st Book: HellWind Trilogy

Prologue He heard her calling to him, one of thousands who asked each night. One of the legion of hopeless, burdened women whose souls were blighted, withering on the vines of life. Her name meant nothing to him; names never did. It was her pitiful sobbing, her breaking heart, her utter loneliness that caught, and held, his attention. He listened closely, his mind reaching out across time and space and millennia. To him, her entreaties were like cool, sweet water to a thirsty man; they tempted his thirst for further knowledge of the human race and filled his bored mind with a multitude of possibilities. The dark ember in his eyes flared. Her sobbing had ceased; her desolation, her emptiness called out to him, begged him, beckoned him, needed him. The ache in her heart was a sentient life form thrusting up through the heavens, speeding toward his lair. It cried out in mournful whimpers of surrender to him, granting him entry, promising him all, and its sound struck a chord deep in his being. He turned his gaze Earthward, searching amongst all the womanly cries for help, the sobs of need, the whimpers of female defeat and frustration and failure. His keen vision traveled swiftly from land to land, from coast to coast, mountain to mountain, river to dale. He strained to catch her voice once more, one tiny, fluttering essence of her grief. In the strident confusion of tongue and sound and noise, he probed; 1

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he explored the nether regions of human misery that called out to him, searching for the one voice, the one cry that had garnered his attention. In the resonance drifting up to him, at last he heard her and his intellect homed in on her pain. He smiled. He had found her. And she would be his.

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Chapter One Lauren Fowler’s forty−fourth birthday came and went with the onset of the Summer Solstice. There had been no party, no birthday cards nor wishes, no presents wrapped in gaily colored paper to mark the day of her birth, no bouquet of flowers. No one phoned. No one even noticed. No one cared. Not the people she worked with who always ignored her. Not the customers who never acknowledged her presence. Not the people on the street who overlooked her. Not her neighbors who barely noticed her existence. Not her mother who had always neglected her. Lauren Fowler had no friends, only acquaintances. She had no one with whom she could talk, to whom she could confide her deepest fears and regrets. There had never been anyone in her life who would listen to her troubles, and they had been many in her life. No one ever listened when Lauren Fowler spoke. No one ever took the time to hear what she said. Her voice was drowned out by all the other voices; her words lost in the vast sea of human flotsam that washed around her. Lauren Fowler was as alone in her world as though she were the only inhabitant. “Where can I find John Sandford’s new book?” Lauren looked up at the elderly woman who was standing in 3

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the aisle. She smiled as she stood up from her cramped position on the floor, but the old woman did not return the gesture. “I believe it’s out of stock at the moment, but if you would like to give me your name, I can call you when...” She stopped as the old woman, mouth pursed in annoyance, eyes rolling, turned and walked away from the counter. Lauren’s smile faded and a hard thump of hurt twisted in her heart. She watched until the old lady had pushed through the front door and was gone. “Those self−help books will not shelve themselves, Miss Fowler!” Lauren jumped, turning around to face her manager, Mrs. Yelverton. “One of our customers was asking about—” “I am not paying you to chit−chat with the customers, Miss Fowler. I pay you to work.” Louvenia Yelverton frowned and her dark red lips twisted in irritation. Her sharp scrutiny raked Lauren. “There are quite a few names on my waiting list of prospective employees. If you are not willing to do the job, you can certainly be replaced.” Lauren’s eyes widened in fear. “I do want the job, Mrs. Yelverton. I apologize if it seemed otherwise.” “Well then,” the manager nodded curtly. “We’ll see how much you wish to maintain your employment with us. I expect you to have those books shelved and cataloged in short order. Is that too much to ask for the ridiculously high pay you are earning, Miss Fowler?” “No, Mrs. Yelverton,” Lauren mumbled, her face scarlet. “I’ll have the section finished before quitting time.” Louvenia sniffed. “If not, you will stay until it’s done.” she pointed a thin, bony finger at her employee. “And I will not pay one penny of overtime if you do!” “I understand, Mrs. Yelverton,” Lauren answered. She 4

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ducked her head, her shoulder−length hair cascading over the sides of her face to hide her embarrassment from the older woman. “And do something with your appearance!” Louvenia snapped. “It is unseemly for a woman your age to wear her hair in that manner.” The manager reached up to pat her own sleek chignon. “One can never recapture one’s youth, Miss Fowler.” “Yes, Mrs. Yelverton.” Lauren’s hands twisted together at her waist. “I’ll pin it up tomorrow.” “Are you waiting for an engraved invitation to get back to work?” Lauren shook her head and sank to her knees before the older woman could ridicule her again. She blindly reached for a book, tears making her vision water, blurring the title. She swallowed hard to keep the sob from escaping, felt the other shop girls smirking at her, hear their muted giggles. Her face flamed as her trembling hands pushed the book onto the shelf. “If you ask me,” she heard Inez Montes say, “Yelverton ought to fire her. There’s not a day that goes by that she isn’t in trouble with the old lady.” “Yelverton feels sorry for her,” Beth Janacek laughed. “Who else in town would hire Maxine Fowler’s old maid daughter?” “No one in their right mind, that’s for sure!” Karla Cooper said in a droll tone and the laughter rang out until Louvenia’s harsh shush came from the back of the store. Lauren wished the floor would open up beneath her; a wide, deep, endless chasm yawn before her into which she could fall, and keep falling, disappearing forever. She knew they watched her: laughing, mocking, hating. She could no longer hear their words, but nevertheless she knew the hushed whispers coming from the other women were about her. A piercing pain throbbed 5

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in her soul and her tears slowly crept down her cheeks as she took another book from the box beside her and placed it on the shelf. “Excuse me,” came a soft voice from above her. Lauren flinched, startled, for she hadn’t heard the customer’s approach. She looked up and blinked. “Perhaps you can help me,” he said, his gaze kind, his lips stretching into a lazy smile. “I’m looking for a book on medieval madrigals by Soames. Do you know if you carry it?” She stared at him, her eyes widening, her lips parting in surprise. She couldn’t seem to find her voice and when his left eyebrow lifted in amusement, his smiling mouth twitched, she felt her face flame again. “I’m sorry,” she said, coming so hastily to her feet her heel caught in her skirt and she lurched forward. A tremor of pure shock ran through her as he reached out and took her arm to keep her from falling. “Easy there.” He laughed as he steadied her. Lauren looked up into his smiling face and felt a quiver go through her belly. The man was looking at her, not through her, and there was a gentle kindness in the way his gaze swept over her face. “May I help you?” Inez Montes sultry Spanish accent was like a pail of cold water in Lauren’s face and she turned, seeing the shop girl eyeing the customer with undisguised invitation. Lauren saw the flash of annoyance that flared dangerously in the man’s dark eyes. He had been looking directly at her, but at the other woman’s interruption, he slowly turned his attention to Inez. His hand on Lauren’s arm tightened. “I am being helped, thank you.” Lauren noticed the warmth had fled his deep, slightly accented voice. 6

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“Miss Fowler is only a stock clerk,” Inez informed him, the sultriness deepening in her voice to gain his attention that had shifted back to Lauren. “I am one of the saleswomen. I know every book in the store. What may I help you find?” She sidled closer, her avid interest roaming the tall length of him. The man ignored Inez Montes. “Stock clerk?” he asked Lauren, his voice a silky caress. “Then you are familiar with every book on every shelf in this establishment, are you not?” Lauren could only nod. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Inez glowering at her. She wished the man would let go of her arm, but his thumb was rubbing a slow little circle on the tender flesh on the inside of her elbow. It was a sensation that was both stimulating and threatening at the same time and it caused a feeling with which Lauren was not familiar. She sensed he was gaining as much pleasure from the gesture as she was. “Is something wrong here?” Louvenia Yelverton asked as she joined them. Her sharp blue gaze passed over Lauren, dismissing her, and went to the customer. “Has this girl caused you a problem, sir?” “No problem at all,” he answered. He smiled at Lauren. “As a matter of fact, she was about to help me make some purchases, weren’t you, mam’selle?” His voice was like a gentle touch as he scanned her face. “Mrs. Montes is—” The man swung his concentration to the older woman, giving her the full impact of his gaze, turning his head so he faced her fully, and the manager’s words came to an abrupt stop as she stared at him, her indrawn breath a quick sigh. “I am already being helped,” he said in a soft, quiet voice that brooked no further discussion and then he smiled, his gaze steady on the manager. “You have no objections to that, do you, 7

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Madame?” To Lauren, his smile was intoxicating. His even, white teeth gleamed in the dark tan of has lean face and his glowing brown eyes seemed to undress the older woman as he looked at her, appraising her, flirting with her. For the first time in all the years Lauren had known Louvenia Yelverton, the usual look of disdain and arrogance did not twist the face of the older woman. Instead, a look of wistful girlishness infused the lined face. “Of course not, sir,” she heard Louvenia Yelverton whisper in a throaty tone. “Miss Fowler will be most happy to help you, I am sure.” “Thank you,” he said and his gaze slid to Lauren. “I believe you were about to show me the historical section, Miss Fowler?” Lauren’s knees weakened at his smoldering gaze, at the gentle squeeze he gave her arm before he released it, his slim fingers running down the length of her arm before he did, and she had to look away from the heat in his devastating gaze. She found herself staring at Inez Montes instead and saw hate and envy glaring back at her. Even before Inez flounced away, her pert nose in the air, her skirts swishing behind her like the flamenco dancer she pretended to be, Lauren caught the unmistakable glint of revenge in the woman’s Latin face. “Pay no mind to her,” he said, watching Inez flit away. “She’s jealous.” “Of me?” Lauren gasped, so surprised by his words that she forgot herself. She looked away, ashamed of her outburst. “Most certainly of you,” he answered smoothly. “She wants what you have, Miss Fowler.” His dark eyes lost their sheen, became less warm. “She craves something she will never 8

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experience.” Lauren looked at him. “What on Earth could I have that Inez would even want?” Once more her words shocked her as he looked down at her. His dark look held her spellbound. That lazy, gentle smile returned to his lips and his soft voice lowered, whispering his words to her like a lover’s sigh. “Something even you do not yet know you possess.” He looked away from her then, breaking the spell he had cast over her. He scanned the store, frowning when he saw the other shop girls staring at him. “I don’t care for this place,” he said in a low, throbbing voice. He looked back at Lauren. “You could do better.” The force of his gaze shook her to the very foundations of her being and she found herself helplessly staring at him, unable to look away, caught and held by the sheer strength of his personality. Her gaze moved over his face as she evaluated the utter male beauty of him. There was unmistakable power and authority in the chiseled planes of his face. His nose was bold with a hint of arrogance to it. His jaw line was round, but not so pronounced as to make his face seem hard and unapproachable. The soft fullness of his lower lip was sensual in its unsmiling state, sultry when he smiled and his teeth were very white, just a touch crooked. Beneath the slash of his thick eyebrows, his dark eyes, a warm, mesmerizing shade of soft brown, were direct and gentle. There was a small scar just under his chin and she wondered how he came by it. A mole on his right cheek caught and held her attention, making her want to touch it with her fingertips. In all, his face was so devastatingly handsome it made her ache to look at him. 9

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From his face, her attention moved to the gleaming deep brown of his long hair that was tied back. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch the healthy sleekness of it, to remove the silver band that held it to let it fall down around his shoulders, to run her fingers through the thick wavy locks. She had to mentally shake herself to keep her hand from moving up to do just that. Her gaze moved reluctantly from his face, paused as the glint of a small silver hoop in his left ear brought her gaze to it. Something moved in her lower belly and she took in his broad shoulders, powerful chest beneath the flowing white of his full−sleeved shirt. Before her vision could take her down the full length of him, down the black trousers, she forced herself to look away. “Is something wrong, Miss Fowler?” A tremble went through her and she shook her head, not daring to look at him. What must he think of her bold perusal of him? Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks, tears misting at her presumption. She shook her head, feeling humiliated to the very depths of her soul. “The historical section is over here,” she heard herself saying in a voice that was not hers. She didn’t look at him as she walked away from him. “Did you say Soames?” “Yes.” He sighed, following her. “Lord Bertram Soames.” Inez Montes glared at her as she passed the woman; heard a hiss of contempt from the Latin woman’s pursed lips. The force of the other woman’s anger followed Lauren to the historical section. “If Miss Fowler isn’t up to the task of helping you, I would be most happy to get you anything you need,” she heard Inez coo. “All you need do is ask, Mister...?” 10

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Lauren looked back, saw him stop, his unfathomable gaze aimed at Inez. She thought she saw a flicker of dislike cross his face before he smiled at the Spanish woman. “Cree,” he answered in an annoyed voice. “Syntian Cree.” Inez obviously did not notice the bored, knowing way she was being regarded as she stepped closer to him. Her gaze moved down him then locked on his handsome face. “And what do your friends call you?” His lips twitched. “Mr. Cree.” The flirtatious smile on Inez’s face wavered. He turned and smiled warmly at Lauren. “But there are those whom I allow to call me Syn.” “Syn as in wicked?” Inez teased, her face glowing as he returned his attention to her. She unconsciously licked her upper lip as she watched him. “Syn as in deadly.” His smile turned cold. Lauren felt the heat of him as he came to stand beside her. “If we have any of Lord Soames’ books in stock, they would be on this shelf,” she said as she put her hand on the wood. She snatched her hand back when she saw it was shaking and started to turn away. “Would you help me look?” he asked, his voice low and rife with subtle command. She would not look at him. “Yes, of course.” She scanned the titles before her. He was standing close to her, so close she smelled the tangy aroma of his cologne, so close she heard the gentle exhalation and intake of his breath. She watched as his hand reached out, looked down at the fine matting of hair on his wrist as the French cuff pulled back, admired the dark tint of his tan, the elegant tapering of his slim fingers, the manicure of his nails as 11

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he plucked a book from the shelf. “Duke Giles du Mer.” She heard him chuckle softly. “History of St. John Thorne.” He thumbed through the pages. “Du Mer considered himself quite the intellectual, but he didn’t quite grasp the complexity of a man like Thorne.” He turned to her. “Are you familiar with the tale?” She shook her head, glancing at the cover of the book he held in his hand. There was a picture of a scaffold, rope dangling from the crossbeam. In the background, angry black clouds swirled on the horizon. “St. John, Lord Thorne, fifth Earl of Willingsham, was hanged at Derry Berne on the twenty−fourth of April in the year of our Lord 1653. His body was left on the scaffold as a warning to all those who would dare to defy the English government.” He turned a page and stared down at a lithograph; he frowned. “Sometime between midnight and dawn of the following day, Lord Thorne’s body was removed by a person, or persons, unknown and was never found.” He turned his enigmatic gaze to Lauren. “Legend has it that he wasn’t dead, that he had cursed his executioners before they carried out his sentence and he swore to take his revenge on his accusers.” “What did he do?” she whispered, seeing anger building in his dark face. “He skewered a revenue agent on the tip of his sword for trying to confiscate the Thorne lands.” “Was he in debt?” “One did not have to do much of anything to lose one’s land during that time.” He shrugged. “An insult to a nobleman was often just cause to sue for satisfaction. The courts often awarded land as compensation.” His gaze narrowed. “Nor was it uncommon to condemn a man to death on trumped up 12

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charges in order to take those lands if you had no other cause against him.” He shut the book and sliding it back on the shelf. “Did Lord Thorne take his revenge?” He didn’t answer, but rather drew another book from the shelf. He scanned the contents page then turned to hand it to her. “I’ll take this one.” He moved further down the aisle, looking at other books. Lauren glanced at the book in her hand. Her brows drew together. She couldn’t ever remember seeing that particular book before. Even the title was not familiar to her. She opened it in the middle and was shocked to see an explicit picture of a man and woman engaged in sexual union. She shut the book with a snap, drawing his attention. “Shocked, Miss Fowler?” he asked, one brow lifted in amusement. “I didn’t know we had this.” He took the book from her. “The Satyricon of Petronius was considered to be the most erotic book of its day.” He leafed through the pages. “This version, complete with lithographs, was an underground version of the novel printed in the late seventeenth century.” He handed the book back to her, drew three more from the shelf then faced her. “Have you found what you wanted?” she asked, wanting desperately to escape from his intoxicating presence. He smiled. “For today.” His eyes moved over her face with a tender sweep as he handed her his purchases. Lauren clutched the books to her chest. She felt him right behind her as she walked to the counter where Louvenia Yelverton stood waiting. “I hope you found everything you were looking for,” the older woman gushed. 13

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“And more,” he answered as he took out his wallet. “Cash or charge?” Louvenia asked as she mentally calculated the total of the four books. She looked up at him sporting a foolish smile. “Cash,” he said, handing her a hundred−dollar bill. “Thank you, Mr. Cree,” said Lauren. “It was my pleasure, Lauren.” His smooth voice made the hair on her arms stir. His gaze was hot and filled with an emotion she was shocked to realize was keen interest and sexual fascination. “Run along now, Miss Fowler,” Louvenia told her, her eyes stern, “or you’ll be here all night.” “Yes, Mrs. Yelverton.” She heard her manager murmuring an apology to Mr. Cree. “Sometimes I’m afraid Miss Fowler has her head in the clouds when she’s working.” “Better than her soul in torment, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, his voice tight with annoyance. Lauren glanced back to see Mrs. Yelverton sputtering as she hastily placed Mr. Cree’s purchases in a bag with the store’s crest emblazoned on the front. The bell over the door tinkled as he left the shop and Lauren glanced around the shelf of self−help books to see him staring back at her through the window. She ducked her head, hiding herself from his view. “He’s mouth−watering, isn’t he?” she heard Beth Janacek sighing to Karla Cooper. “I bet he has women eating out of his hand everywhere he goes. He can put his slippers under my bed any time.” “He could come to my bed—” said Inez began, but Louvenia’s curt voice hushed her into propriety. 14

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“The gentleman would not appreciate us talking about him in such a manner, Inez,” the older woman snapped. “I bet he’s use to it.” Karla giggled. “Any man who looks like that has to know what women think of him.” “Who is he, anyway?” Beth asked. “I’ve never seen him around town.” “And you would have remembered if you had!” Karla teased. “I wonder if he’s the man who bought the old Herndon place. Reed told me a stranger had bought the place through a lawyer up north.” Louvenia nodded her head. “I bet that’s who he is.” Her avarice glowed. “Reed said he paid cash for the place.” “And did your husband get the commission?” Inez inquired. “No, Reed’s partner made the sale.” Louvenia sighed. “It was a rather substantial commission, too. The asking price for the acreage alone was over a quarter million. Janet Herndon practically threw the house in for next to nothing in order to get rid of it.” “The place is haunted,” Karla said, shivering. “You don’t believe those old tales, do you?” Inez scoffed. “Can you explain why the house has been vacant all these years?” Karla shot back. “No one wants to the live in the house where Janet’s granddaddy went berserk and killed his wife and oldest son. People have seen things in that house.” “Like what?” Inez challenged. “I believe we have better things to do than discuss old ghost stories of the Florida Panhandle, ladies,” Louvenia reminded them. She looked down at her watch. “We close in fifteen minutes and I, for one, have no intention of putting in any overtime.” 15

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The women moved away from the center aisle and headed back to what they had been doing before their last customer had entered the shop. Only Inez Montes did not resume her work, but instead, stared across the aisle from the inspirational books to where Lauren knelt, shelving books. As Lauren looked at her, Inez laughed disdainfully. “You made a fool of yourself flirting with that man,” the Spanish woman sneered. “It was obvious he wasn’t interested.” “I wasn’t flirting with him.” Inez smiled, her lips cruel and twisted with contempt. “You aren’t his type, Lauren. Men like attractive women, women with fire.” Her look ran scathingly down Lauren’s body. “Not cold fish like you.” A shaft of anger went through Lauren. “I was not flirting with him,” she said again, her teeth clenched. Long after the others had left the store, Lauren was still shelving and logging in the crate of books that had come in that morning. Outside it was raining, the sky occasionally lit by white flares of light. Distant rumbling shook the plate glass front window, rattling it in its frame. The wind was picking up, moaning as it cornered the bookshop. Lauren knew it was going to be a miserable two−block walk to her home. At last finished with the cataloging, she glanced at the clock behind the counter and winced. It was eight already and she’d had nothing to eat since eleven. A grumbling in her stomach told her it was well past time for her supper. Putting the book register under the counter, she headed to the break room for her raincoat. The phone rang and she jumped, startled by the sound. Not really sure whether to answer it or not, she wondered if it was her mother, calling to ask if she needed a ride home in the 16

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rain. She pushed that thought away as quickly as it came for she knew her mother would never venture out on a night such as this. As the phone rang again, she reached out for it. “The Composition Book Store,” she said. There was a brief silence then the husky voice spoke. “Happy birthday, Lauren.” A tremor of surprise shook her for she didn’t recognize the voice. “Who is this?” There was another brief silence then the line went dead. “Hello?” Lauren’s brows drew together in confusion. “Hello?” There was nothing but the hum of the open line. Slowly replacing the receiver, Lauren stared at the phone. For a reason she could not explain, the mysterious phone call had made her heartbeat accelerate and her mouth go dry. She swallowed. Who could it have been? It had been a man’s soft, resonant voice: sensuous and low. Almost as mesmerizing as.... A thrill ran through Lauren like a current of stray electricity and her head came up. “No,” she whispered. “It couldn’t have been.” She leaned against the counter. The man from that afternoon, what was his name? Cree. Yes, that was it. Syntian Cree. He couldn’t possibly have known it was her birthday. There was no way he could have known. She locked up the bookshop and started the rainy walk home. No, Mr. Cree couldn’t have known it was her birthday. She stopped suddenly in the pouring rain as an eerie thought crossed her mind: No one had told him her first name, either, but he had known it. Despite her rain coat and umbrella, Lauren was soaked by the time she reached her one−bedroom house on Canal Street. 17

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She hurried up the short flight of steps to the screened porch, shaking her umbrella as she reached the roof’s overhang. She laid it on the porch floor and shrugged out of her wet coat, laying it on the back of one of the two tall porch rockers that stood on either side of the front door. She fished in her purse for her house key, stuck it in the lock, opened the door and reached in to flip on the porch light. She started to put the key back in her purse when her attention was diverted to the little wicker table beside one of the rockers. She stopped, key in hand and stared at what was on the table. A single, scarlet red rose in a fragile−looking crystal bud vase stood in the center of the table. Propped beside it was a small white card. “Who in the world?” she asked as she dropped her key into her purse. She walked to the table, lifted the rose and sniffed it, inhaling its delicate scent. With the rose still in her hand, she picked up the card and saw there was no florist shop name on the outside. Her curiosity pounding in her temples, she opened the card. Inside, there were only four words on the simple white card: From one who cares. No signature, no initials. Just those four simple, sweet words. “From one who cares.” Lauren jumped as her phone began to ring. Closing the door behind her, she ran to the phone and snatched it up on the third ring. “Hello?” “Did you like the rose?” he asked. “Who is this?” Lauren’s heart had leapt up to her throat. “Did you like it?” he repeated, his voice soft and caressing. “Yes, but—” “That’s all that matters.” He hung up. 18

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Lauren’s mouth dropped open and anger replaced her astonishment of only a moment before. “Damn it!” she spat as she slammed down the receiver. She glanced at the rose in her hand. It seemed to mock her as she stared at it and she put it down on the telephone table, backing away from it as though it had somehow become a deadly enemy. She had no idea what kind of cruel game he was playing, what kind of fool he took her for, but the thought of a man like him taunting her made tears slide unbidden down Lauren’s cheeks. She ran to her bedroom and threw herself face down on the bed. Her sobs were lost in the wild torrent gathering outside her window. His palm stretched out over the candle, his flesh turning warm from the kiss of the flame. Outside the storm was raging, the rain lashing against the windowpanes of his study. Now and again the wind howled as it played around the eaves of the old mansion. The electricity had gone out long ago, plunging the book−lined room into near−total darkness; but he preferred the candle light to the harsh glow of the electric lights to which he could never seem to become accustomed. The shadows hovering around him were comforting companions that whispered to him in words only he could hear. A flare of lightning stepped down from the tempests above him and lit the room in a harsh blue−white glow that caught, and held, in his dark eyes, turning them a murky gold for a moment. He blinked, ridding himself of the lethargy into which the storm had cast him. Moving his palm from the candle, he put his hands on the arms of his chair and stared into the darkest corner of the room, his attention settling there. If he concentrated hard enough, he knew he could look past the 19

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plaster and wood and brick, peer out through a ragged hole in the span of time and look right into her bedroom. He tried to keep himself from doing just that, but his desire was building, the need in him so thick, he smelled his own body heat. It wasn’t time. He tried to force his thoughts away from her. He knew it wasn’t time; but the ache was throbbing, the pain almost too intense to bear. Slowly he pushed himself from the chair and stepped toward the darker shadows. One moment he was standing in the candle−lit sanctuary of his study, the next he was beside her bed, peering down hungrily as she lay sleeping. His eyes glow a feral red in the semi−darkness of her bedroom walls. “Not yet,” the taunting of his inner voice warned him. “It is not time.” But his hand moved, swept downward and he touched her. Inez Montes moaned in her sleep. Juan’s hands were on her body, stroking her, touching her, his hands rough and demanding, his fingers entering the hot moistness between her thighs. She squirmed against the invasion, clamping her thighs down on the hard heat of his hand. His thumb was on her clitoris, rubbing it roughly, and her body reacted to the intimacy of the touch. “Open your legs to me,” she thought she heard her husband say and she obeyed, her limbs stretching languidly upon the mattress and she felt his weight hovering above her. There was a solid, steel−like pressure against her womanhood and she groaned, aching to feel him inside her. “Are you sure you want me, Inez?” came the silky purr and she nodded, licking her lips. “Then you must ask me to take you.” “Yes!” Inez mumbled. “Take me. Take me, now!” Her arms 20

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came up to hold him, but as she did, a thrust of such power, such heat and force and tearing pain, entered her that she screamed with the agony of it. Her eyes flew open, her teeth drew back over lips snarling in pain, but there was nothing above her. Although there was a heavy weight atop her thrashing body, rocking her in sexual union, thrusting against her, there was no one there. “Inez? What’s the matter with you?” Her head twisted to one side and she saw Juan, on his side, facing her, his expression horrified as he watched her moving back and forth on the bed. As the ice cold burst of ghostly fluid shot deep within her, burning her, scalding her, Inez Montes threw back her head and howled in abject terror.

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Chapter Two “Do you know if she’s going to be all right?” Karla asked Louvenia as the older woman unlocked the shop doors. “Juan said the doctors aren’t sure,” Louvenia answered, holding the door so Karla and Beth could enter. She had seen Lauren walking toward her, but did not bother to wait for her. She let the door swing shut as she walked behind the other women into the store. “They had to perform emergency surgery at two o’clock this morning.” “How the hell does someone get a perforated uterus?” Beth wondered. “Knowing Inez,” Karla whispered so Louvenia wouldn’t hear, “she got slap−happy with something battery−powered!” “You’ll have to fill in for Inez, Miss Fowler,” Louvenia said when Lauren entered the shop. “She’s going to be in the hospital for a few days.” Lauren’s face showed her concern. “Is she ill?” “She wouldn’t be in the hospital otherwise, now, would she?” Beth snapped. Lauren blushed. “I just wondered what happened. She didn’t seem sick yesterday.” “I’m sure it’s nothing to concern you,” Louvenia informed her. “You’ll have Inez’s work, as well as your own, to occupy your time.” She punched open the cash register and began to 22

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put in the day’s cash. “You want to go with me at lunch to see her?” Karla asked Beth. “We’ll send flowers, of course,” Louvenia told them. Lauren felt a stab of hurt go through her. The day before had been her birthday and not one single soul in the shop had said anything to her. Not that she had expected it, but it would have been nice. She turned away. The phone call came at lunchtime when there was no one in the shop but Lauren. At the last moment, Louvenia had accompanied Beth and Karla to the hospital to see Inez. Lauren answered the phone and knew even before he spoke who it was. “How are you today?” he inquired. “Mr. Cree?” she asked. “Syn,” he corrected. Lauren’s chin went up. “Did you leave the rose on my front porch?” “Would you have dinner with me this evening?” His question stunned her. And brought her anger of the night before back. “Mr. Cree, I’m sure you find this amusing, but I assure you I do not. I don’t know who put you up to this, but it’s not funny. It’s a very cruel thing to do. Please don’t call me again.” She hung up the phone, her hand trembling and her lip quivering. She felt an aching in her heart she couldn’t explain and a sense of devastation so complete it brought a pounding to her temples. “Who were you talking to, Lauren?” She jumped, spinning around to see her mother peering at her with a steady evaluation. There was a look on the older woman’s face that made Lauren ill at ease. 23

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“No one, Mama. Just someone playing a joke.” she tried to smile, but her lips felt frozen. “What are you doing today?” “Was this someone a man?” her mother probed. A hateful sneer drew the woman’s lip up. “Are you seeing some man, Lauren?” She shook her head. “No, Mama. I’m not seeing anyone.” She fumbled with a button on her blouse. “You know I’m not seeing anyone.” Maxine Fowler studied her daughter’s flushed face and took note of the way Lauren wouldn’t look directly at her. She looked down to the girl’s nervous fingers that were toying with a loose button and her gaze sharpened. “Don’t lie to me, girl,” she snapped. “I don’t hold with lying, you know that.” “Who would I see, Mama?” Lauren asked, her eyes coming up to plead with her mother. “I’ve never had a date in my life.” Maxine sniffed. “It’s just as well that you haven’t.” She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and blotted her face. “Men are the devil’s work. There’s not a one of them what’s worth a plug nickel.” She stuffed her handkerchief back into her purse and closed it with a snap. “You’ll do yourself a favor by staying clear of them all.” “Yes, Mama,” Lauren answered, wondering how her mother could possibly think any man would find her attractive enough to ask out. But he had, a little voice whispered to her. “I hear tell that Montes woman’s in the hospital. Ruptured uterus, I hear.” Maxine Fowler picked up a romance novel and turned it over to read the back cover. Lauren’s brows shot up. “I didn’t know why she was admitted. Mrs. Yelverton didn’t say.” “That’s what comes of having to please a man,” Maxine 24

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grumbled as she put the romance novel on the counter and began to fumble in her purse for the money to pay for it. “There’s no telling what them Spanish men do to their women. Only the good Lord knows how he constructed such heathens.” Lauren winced. “Mama, I’m sure Juan didn’t cause Inez’s problem.” “What do you know of it?” her mother snapped. “You, who’ve never had to endure the vile touch of a brutish male like I did!” Her stare turned as cold as glass. “You know as well as I do, missy, that given the chance, men will defile even their own offspring!” Acute shame washed over Lauren and she looked away from her mother. It had been a long time since any mention of Lauren’s father had been made, even longer since her older sister, Joanne, had come up in conversation. It had been thirty−eight years since that horrible night. Thirty−eight years since Joanne Fowler had hanged herself from the rafters in the family barn. “Don’t do to speak of it,” Maxine mumbled. “Best no one ever know what Brewster did to his own child.” She squinted darkly at her daughter. “But it taught you a lesson about men, didn’t it, missy?” “Yes, Mama.” “At least something good came of it then.” Her mother handed the money to her daughter and took up her purchase. “I didn’t come in to buy something. Just wanted to see if you knew anything about that Montes woman, but since you don’t, I reckon I’ll be on my way.” “I’m glad you stopped by, Mama,” she said, coming from behind the counter. “I had hoped you’d at least call me yesterday.” 25

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“Whatever the heck for?” her mother asked, surprise lifting her thinly plucked brows. “I don’t call unless I’ve got something to say.” Lauren felt a twinge of hopelessness flit through her, but she tried not to let her sadness show. “I just like to hear from you, Mama.” “Well, don’t be expecting me to call you up just to chit chat. That ain’t my way Annie Lauren.” Maxine tucked her romance novel under her arm and left. She passed Karla and Beth on the sidewalk and stopped to talk to them, no doubt finding out all she could about Inez’s condition. “Your mother’s such a nice woman,” Karla told Lauren when she came into the store. “Too bad you don’t have her personality.” Lauren was thankful she didn’t. He watched her from across the street as she left the shop and headed for the little sandwich shop where she ate each day. His gaze followed her into the shop then slid to the bookstore. Inside, he saw the other three women laughing and talking, and when he concentrated, heard what they were saying. “Lauren just isn’t fitting in, Lou,” the prettier of the two women, the one called Beth, was saying. “The customers don’t like her and she just plain doesn’t do a good job.” She flung her hand toward one of the aisles. “I found three books out of place over in the gardening section just this morning.” He heard the older woman cluck her tongue in sympathy. “I just can’t let her go without good cause, Beth. She’s been here almost three years.” “Three years in which you’ve received numerous complaints about her,” the red−haired woman, Karla, grumbled. “If you’re 26

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going to keep her on, Louvenia, at least make her stay out of the shop until closing time where the customers won’t have to put up with her incompetence.” “Better yet,” the blond−haired Beth put in, “just have her come in at closing and do her work. She’s a stock girl; let her stock at night.” “I don’t see that she’s really such a problem with the customers,” the older woman argued. “She certainly was a help to that nice gentleman yesterday.” “Oh, come on!” Beth snapped. “Couldn’t you see what she was trying to do?” His attention narrowed dangerously. “I’m afraid I didn’t,” the older woman answered. “We did,” the red head smirked, looking to the other girl with a quick nod of conspiracy. “She was practically all over the poor man. You could see it took all his manners not to say something.” A strong right hand clenched into a powerful fist as he listened. “I got the impression he was quite smitten with her,” Louvenia said. “He certainly couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.” “You didn’t see his face!” Beth announced. “At one point he looked over at me as though asking for help. I would have gone to the poor man’s rescue, but Lauren turned and gave me such a vicious stare I positively couldn’t move!” The mailman walking up the street on his rounds paused, hearing the low growl of fury that rumbled from the throat of the dark−haired man standing under the awning of Summerton’s pharmacy. As the man’s cold, savage stare slid toward him, the mailman moved quickly on, a faint trace of fear 27

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crinkling along his spine. “I saw her on the phone last evening when I passed the store,” Karla reported. “I’ll just bet you she was trying to find out his phone number so she could call him.” “And I bet she did call him,” Beth put in. “If you ask me, the woman’s nothing more than a closet slut!” With a hiss of rage, he pushed away from the wall and started across the street. His eyes were glowing embers of lethal intent and his jaw was set and thrust forward with purpose as he ground his teeth together. He barely heard the horn that blew at him as he crossed the middle of the street. His gaze was locked on the book store and the three women inside. “Mr. Cree?” He turned, surprised to hear his name called and saw the Realtor who had sold him his house hurrying toward him. He cursed beneath his breath, let his jaw relax and forced the anger from his face. “I thought that was you!” Allan Turnbridge laughed as he thrust out his hand. “I was just about to come out to see you.” He took the man’s proffered hand, hating the feel of it in his own, letting it go as quickly as manners would allow. “Is something the matter?” he asked. “I was under the impression the papers were all in order.” “Oh, it wasn’t anything about the house!” Allen assured him. “I was just coming out to see if you were settling in and to invite you to a little dinner party I’m giving. Being new in town, it would be a chance for you to meet the town’s folks.” “I don’t usually—” “Of course you may bring a date, if you like,” Allen injected, seeing the way his companion’s dark gaze darted to the bookshop as Beth Janacek came out the door. “Have you 28

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met Beth?” he asked, and before he could get an answer, he called the young woman over. “Beth? Come here, darling! I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.” If he had had a dagger in his hand, he would have gladly plunged it into the Realtor’s throat, but instead, he stood there as the introductions were made and the simpering bitch reached out a hand to him. He had no choice but to take her hand in his. A strong wave of revulsion ran down through his arm and he felt sick to his stomach as she smiled at him. “Mr. Cree was in the shop just yesterday, weren’t you? Did you find everything you needed?” Beth cooed at him. “Yes,” he answered, a muscle working in his lean jaw. He had a strong urge to wipe his hand on his trousers. The smell of her flesh was sickening. “I’ve just invited Mr. Cree to a party Olivia and I are giving tomorrow evening. If you’ve got nothing planned, maybe you’d like to come, too, Beth.” The Realtor beamed, proud of his ploy as he looked from one of them to the other. “I’d love to!” she agreed. “It might be a little hard finding a date on such short notice, but...” Her coy smile lifted to the dark man beside her. “Oh, you aren’t ever without an escort!” Allen laughed. He nudged his companion with a skinny elbow. “Beth was Miss Milton, weren’t you, darling?” “That was a long time ago, Allen!” The woman giggled. He opened his mouth to decline the invitation, but at that moment, he became aware of Lauren Fowler coming out of the sandwich shop behind him. He half−turned, his full attention on her. The scent of her filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply. “Oh, please say you’ll come, too, Mr. Cree,” he heard the blond woman simpering. “I’m sure everyone is just dying to 29

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meet you.” Syntian saw the Realtor glance at Lauren, frown then look at the blond. Something mean passed between them in that look and he felt a resurgence of his anger. “I would be delighted to accept your invitation, Mr. Turnbridge,” he found himself saying through clenched teeth. “Please, call me Allen.” The Realtor clapped him on the back. “If you don’t have a date, maybe you could drop by and pick up Beth.” “I have someone I will be bringing with me,” he said, cutting off the man and gaining the stunned surprise of the blond. Allen Turnbridge blushed. “Well, good then.” He cast an embarrassed look at Beth. “We’ll see you at our place at seven?” At his companion’s absent nod, he ducked his head and headed for the sandwich shop, wanting to get away from an embarrassing situation. “Anyone I might know?” Beth asked, somewhat annoyed that this glorious hunk of a man could have met someone so quickly. He smiled nastily. “Oh, yes. Yes, you do,” he said before nodding to her. He turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him. Lauren looked up from her book when the doorbell rang. She frowned. No one ever visited her, not even her mother. She laid the book aside and went to answer the door. She was even more surprised when she recognized Steve Keller, the delivery boy from Hatcher’s Florist, looking back at her through the screen door. “Hello, Steve,” she said, pushing open the door. She’d 30

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babysat for him when he was a little boy. “Just wanted to see if you was home,” the teenager said before he turned on his heel and tripped lightly down the steps. She watched him slide open the door to the delivery van and reach inside. Her puzzlement grew as he straightened up, a large bouquet of white roses in his hands. “Those can’t be for me!” she gasped as he brought them to the door. “I wouldn’t have delivered them here if they weren’t.” He thrust the bouquet out to her. “Here.” She took the arrangement of plush white roses and looked at Steve. “If you’ll wait, I’ll get you a tip.” With a shrug of disdain, the boy turned on his heel. “He already paid me.” “Who?” Lauren asked. “Who paid you?” “If it ain’t on the card, the man don’t want you to know.” He was back in the van and pulling away from the curb before Lauren could reply. She became aware of someone watching her and turned. Her next door neighbor, Henrietta Malone, was eyeing her with ill−concealed curiosity. The woman’s face was glowing with speculation. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Malone,” she called out, but the old woman didn’t answer. Instead, Henrietta clumsily turned and hobbled into her house on the aluminum walker that enabled the old woman to get about. Feeling foolish for having tried still one more time to get Mrs. Malone to acknowledge her greetings, Lauren went back inside the house, closing the door behind her. She placed the bouquet of roses on the dinette table and took the florist’s card from the holder. Even before she opened it, 31

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she knew whom it was from. The card read: Forgive me. I meant you no disrespect. And it was signed: Syn. Could she have been wrong about him? She tapped the little card against her lip. Had she misinterpreted his actions? If so, she owed him an apology. The man was new in town, did not know her, had no idea of the contempt with which the rest of the town held her. Perhaps he was all that he appeared to be—a friendly man trying to make friends in a new place. She felt even more foolish than she had when her neighbor had not answered her hello. Lauren touched the petals of one silky white rose, bent to inhale its soft fragrance. She counted the roses. There were two−dozen long−stemmed buds in the green glass vase. Never having a reason to purchase flowers before, Lauren had no idea how much the bouquet cost, but she had a notion they weren’t cheap. Mr. Cree’s extravagance was not lost on her. If he felt he had needed to apologize to her, she could at least acknowledge it. Making up her mind, before she lost her nerve, she went to the telephone and dialed Directory Assistance. “Directory assistance for what city?” came the bored female voice. “Yes, Milton, please. Do you have a listing for Mr. Syntian Cree? That’s C...r...e...e, I believe.” The phone rang a long time before she lost her nerve and hung up. Maybe it was just as well he hadn’t been home. She hadn’t known what she would say to him. “Thank you for the lovely flowers,” seemed so trite. “I’m sorry I was rude,” sounded better, but neither really was what she wanted to say. She tried again twice more that evening, but there was never 32

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an answer. Maybe he’ll call me, she thought as she turned the linens back on her bed. Maybe he’ll want to make sure I got the flowers, that I’m not angry. But the phone never rang. His dark gaze gleamed as he entered the house. He heard her gentle breathing leading him to her. His footsteps were sure, silent, on the thick carpeting. A hiss of sound made him stop, scanning the room until he saw the chatoyant glow of a feline’s eyes regarding him from the foot of the bed. He held out his hand and the animal lunged at him, jumping into his arms with ease. He stroked the cat’s thick fur, nuzzling his face in the shiny coat, listening to the deep resonance of the cat’s purr then put it down on the floor, pointing one long finger to the opened door. The cat meowed softly in disappointment, rubbed against his leg then trotted obediently from the room. He turned his attention to the sleeping woman. The need inside him was building. His shaft strained against the restriction of his trousers. His palms itched to touch the female body before him; they were slick with a thin coating of moisture as he rubbed his fingers together. He caught her female scent and his nostrils flared; it wasn’t a pleasant smell, but it excited him. He moved to the side of the bed. Karla Cooper sighed in her sleep and turned over on her belly, kicking the covers from her long legs. Her arms wrapped around her pillow and she murmured in her sleep. “Syn,” she sighed, smiling against the pillowcase. He wasn’t at all surprised to hear his name on the woman’s lips, yet the single syllable sounded obscene coming from her; sounded almost as bad as the word from which it had been taken. 33

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“I’m here,” he said in a deep, hypnotic voice. His knee pressed into the mattress and he straddled her hips. He pulled up her nightgown until her naked flanks were gleaming in the soft moonlight filtering in through the lace curtains of her bedroom. He heard her sigh as his hands moved on her, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of her buttocks. He squeezed her, rubbed her, parted the cleft of her rump. “Syn,” she sighed once more. He leaned down, putting his lip to her ear. “Shall I take you, Karla?” he whispered seductively. “Yes. Yes!” she answered in her sleep. “You must ask me to take you,” he whispered. “Yes, my love,” she sighed. He straightened up, staring at the slack profile of the woman lying beneath him. Even in the shadows of the room he saw her clearly for his night vision was as acute as any other nocturnal predator’s. He watched as she ran her tongue over her lips, anticipating his entry. “Yes, oh yes,” she moaned as his finger slipped inside her. Slowly he withdrew his finger. His hand went to the zipper of his trousers and freed his throbbing member. He positioned himself, feeling her lift to better accommodate him. He smiled. “What do you want me to do, Karla?” he asked. “Take me, Syn,” she begged, her hips writhing beneath him. “Take me!” He gripped her hips in his hands, his fingers splayed under her hipbones, the better to position her. Then Karla screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

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Chapter Three Louvenia Yelverton listened in shock to the policeman who was speaking on the phone. She had to grip the counter with her free hand to keep from sagging to the floor. “But have you any idea who the man was?” she asked, feeling nausea flood into her throat. “No, ma’am, we don’t. There’s no sign of forcible entry. It looks as though she knew her assailant. She must have let him in. Went willingly to bed with him, we figure.” “Karla wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment,” Louvenia told the policeman. “And none of the young men she dated are capable of such brutality.” “You never know, Mrs. Yelverton. When some men get riled, they can be pretty violent. I’d like that list of her male acquaintances as soon as you can get it to me. The sooner, the better.” “Yes. Yes, of course.” She hung up the phone and looked at Beth Janacek with a shocked expression. “She’s in ICU over in Pensacola, in West Florida Medical.” “What happened?” Beth asked, alarmed at the look on her supervisor’s pale face. “Assaulted,” Louvenia said and she shuddered as she wrapped her arms about her. “Rough sex, the policeman said.” “Karla?” Beth asked, flinching. “Oh, my God!” 35

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“She nearly bled to death before she got to the phone. She was so torn up inside it took the doctors hours to stitch her up.” Louvenia dabbed at her dry eyes with an equally dry handkerchief. “The police want a list of the men Karla dates.” “Do they know who it was?” Lauren asked. Beth sneered at her. “Do you think the police would be asking us for a list of her boyfriends if she could tell them?” “This sort of thing just doesn’t happen in Milton,” Louvenia said, shaking her head. “Over in Pensacola and Mobile, yes, but not in our little town.” “Brutality doesn’t abide by city limit signs,” Beth argued. “Just the thought of that sweet girl suffering so makes my heart ache for her,” said Louvenia. “I tell you what I’m going to do!” Beth remarked. “I’m going to get me a gun!” “Oh, dear,” Louvenia whimpered. “You don’t think he’s someone we know, do you?” “I’m not taking any chances,” Beth snapped. “I’m a woman living alone and that’s the kind of victim men like that look for. I’ll say this much: if he brings it around me, he’s gonna find out he’s bitten off more than he can chew!” She nodded. “My brothers taught me how to shoot and I’ll blow his ass right out of the water!” Lauren shuddered. “You shouldn’t be so over−confident, Beth. The police tell you that’s the worst possible state of mind to be in when something like this is happening.” “As if you had anything to worry about!” Beth drawled. “You’d have to pay a man to hump you!” Louvenia was about to reproach her sales clerk once more when the bell over the front door tinkled and she glanced up. Her face broke out into a warm, welcoming smile. “Mr. Cree! 36

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How nice to see you again!” She came around the counter and took his arm, leaning against him. “Are you getting settled in?” He recoiled at her touch, but managed not to show it. He warmed to her smile and forced a smile of his own to his rigid lips. “I’ve gotten almost everything unpacked. It’s taken me longer than I anticipated.” “Moving always does!” Louvenia laughed. “If you need any help, I’d be happy to come out there,” Beth told him. “In fact, I’m free this Saturday.” Behind her, he saw Lauren looking at him and had to shift his attention to the blonde’s hopeful face. “Thank you, but there’s not that much left to unpack and arrange.” Beth’s lips thrust out in a pout of disappointment then her face brightened. “Are you still going to the party Saturday evening?” she asked. “Oh, will you be attending Allen’s little soiree?” Louvenia inquired. Her hands tightened on his arm. At his nod, she giggled. “Oh, this is just marvelous. Marvelous! Everyone, simply everyone, wants to meet you!” “And did your date accept your invitation for this evening, Syn?” Beth asked, boldly appraising him. He had to stifle the urge to snatch his arm away from the Yelverton woman and slap the self−satisfied smirk from the blonde’s face. Instead, he reached down and patted the older woman’s hand, his mind reaching out with a silent command to be released. Louvenia reluctantly let go of the man’s arm, frowning as she wondered why she had suddenly had the impulse to do so. She looked up, baffled, and smiled hesitantly. “Syn?” He turned back to the blond. “I haven’t had the chance to 37

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ask her yet.” Beth’s lips slowly slid into a cat−like grin. “If she’s busy, I would love to accompany you.” Lauren turned away. How much more blatant an invitation could the woman make? She stooped down to pick up a handful of children’s books to arrange on the shelf. “I am sure no woman would be too busy to accompany Mr. Cree to the party,” said Louvenia. She wanted to touch him again, even lifted her hand to do so, but stopped, drawing back her hand with confusion. “If you ladies would excuse me,” he said, wanting to get away from them, “I need to see Miss Fowler about a matter of importance.” “Lauren?” Beth gasped. “What on Earth do you need to see her about?” He stopped, turned, and let his gaze settle on the blond. “I don’t believe it concerns you, Miss Janacek.” He was pleased to see a red stain creep over the brazen woman’s face. “Miss Fowler hasn’t caused you a problem, has she?” Louvenia asked, her own face wrinkling with concern. “No,” he answered and turned away, making it plain no further explanations would be forthcoming. Both women looked at one another, surprise kindling in their faces. They watched him walk to where Lauren was kneeling and strained to hear what he was saying, even moving further down the aisle, but the soft words were too low to make out. “Good morning.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Good morning.” He reached his hand down to her to help her to her feet. “I tried calling you last night,” she said, blushing furiously. She put her hand in his and felt the same alluring tingle go 38

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through her body that she had felt two days earlier when he had reached out to steady her. “I’m sorry I missed your call. If I’d known you were going to phone, I wouldn’t have gone out.” She ducked her head, looking away from his achingly handsome face. “The flowers were lovely, but you shouldn’t have gone to that expense.” “Why not?” he asked, one brow lifting in surprise. She glanced at him. “You didn’t owe me an apology, but I owe you one.” He cocked his head to one side. “Whatever for?” Her face flamed. She looked down at the floor. “For accusing you of playing some kind of cruel game at my expense.” She drew in her breath when his hand came out to gently cup her chin and lift her face to his. “I came in this morning to invite you to be my guest at a party I will be attending this evening. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to have you at my side.” His thumb stroked the side of her chin. “Will you do me the honor of accompanying me?” She stared at him, her mouth open. Slowly, she shook her head. “I can’t.” “And why can’t you?” he pressed, his fingers caressing her chin. “I...I just can’t.” She pulled away from his touch. “I’m sorry.” He lowered his hand. “You’re still angry at me.” “No!” she told him. “I’m not. I just can’t go.” For a long moment he looked at her, his hurt and frustration showing on his face then he smiled sadly. “I understand.” “I hope you do,” she was quick to say. “It’s got nothing to 39

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do with you. Really it doesn’t.” “I know it doesn’t,” he answered and the way he said it made Lauren think he truly did know why she’d had to turn him down. “Some other time then?” She didn’t know how to answer. He was standing there, wanting an answer, expecting one, and she could only shrug. “I don’t ever give up, Lauren,” he told her. His gaze fused with hers. “Not when it’s something I want so badly I’ll do anything to acquire it.” He shrugged. “I’ll go now.” She felt keen disappointment at his words. “I’m sorry,” she said and wasn’t sure if she meant for having to turn him down or that he was leaving. “There will be another time,” he said softly. “I don’t think—” He shushed her with a finger to his lips. “I don’t give up, Lauren. Not ever.” She watched him walk away, his broad shoulders squared, head high, and somehow knew she had hurt him very deeply. She wanted to call out to him, to tell him she’d changed her mind and would go with him after all, but she knew she wouldn’t. Knew she couldn’t. Instead, she watched him walk down the aisle, his path momentarily blocked by Beth and felt an emotion she had never experienced in her life: jealousy. “Did you get things straightened out with Lauren?” Beth asked, gazing up with open invitation. His lips pursed tightly together as he stared down at her and he saw a flicker of uncertainty form on her face as she looked up at him. She moved out of his path. “Good day, Mrs. Yelverton,” he said to Louvenia as he pulled open the shop’s door. Beth stared after him, her face flaming, her stare spitting 40

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fire. Spinning around, she marched to the back of the store and grabbed Lauren’s arm, spinning the surprised woman around. “What did you say to Syn about me?” she snapped. “We weren’t discussing you,” Lauren said, trying to pull her arm out of the other woman’s hard grip. “Don’t lie to me, you stupid piece of white trash!” He stopped midway across the street, his acute hearing homing in on the insult. He turned, his furious gaze stabbing through the shop’s window, tearing away plate glass and shelves of books, zeroing in on the two women. “I want to know what godawful lies you told him about me.” Beth shook Lauren. “He looked like he could have killed me when he left!” “Did it ever occur to you that he could see right through you?” Lauren jerked her arm free. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Beth yelled, drawing Louvenia down the aisle. “You did everything but reach out and grab him between his legs!” He chuckled softly. “Maybe I should have!” Beth shouted. “At least I would know what to do with what’s hanging there!” “I’m sure you would. Whores usually do.” His smile widened and he threw back his head and laughed aloud this time. “Why you little foul−mouthed—” Beth drew back her hand and slapped Lauren with such force it staggered the other girl. She would have slapped her again had Louvenia not grabbed her arm. A dark fury rose up inside him. A fury worse than any he had known in a long, long time. His entire being quivered with it, 41

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his nerve endings humming so violently he trembled. His hands clenched into fists and his teeth ground so tightly together it was audible. He took one step back across the street then stopped for Louvenia Yelverton’s words made his entire vision go red with rage. “You are fired!” the old woman shouted at Lauren. “I want you out of this store immediately! You have caused nothing but trouble since I hired you!” “But I haven’t done anything!” Lauren protested, holding her bruised cheek. “I’ve put up with your insubordination longer than anyone could be expected to. Leave this shop this very moment or I shall be forced to call the authorities and have you removed!” Louvenia pointed a bony finger at her. “I will charge you with trespassing!” Lauren looked at the older woman’s livid face, turned her gaze to Beth’s smug, self−satisfied smirk, and then spun around, running for the break room and her purse. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said Beth, laughing. “I will mail you your last check!” Louvenia called out as Lauren ran through the bookstore and yanked open the door. He watched her running down the street, no one even taking the time to stop and stare after her. It was as though she did not exist for the people of this wretched town and his fury grew in leaps and bounds beyond even the rigid self−imposed limit he had placed on it with centuries of practice. A writhing serpent of vengeance slithered in his gut and his hot glare slowly left the running woman to go once more to the bookshop. The dark ember of his gaze grew red−hot, the pupils of his eyes elongating until they more closely resembled the slit pupils of a viper than a human being. His lips pulled back over his teeth 42

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and he hissed. Night would not come fast enough for Syntian Cree. He stood in the shadows, hidden from her view. He had watched her bathe, soaping her body with hands that lingered on her breasts and between her legs. He had watched her bring herself to a shuddering climax, all the while with a gaze so hot it would have burned her flesh had she been aware of it. She had climbed out of the tub, toweling her lithe frame, powdering it, perfuming the creases behind her knees, under her breasts, the flesh at her wrists. It had not taken her long to dry her hair, to brush it to a glossy sheen. It had taken her longer to arrange it on top of her head in artful curls meant to cascade down around her shoulders with the release of a few strategic hairpins. As she sat down at her vanity to apply her makeup, he had stepped from the shadows, moving into her line of vision in the mirror. He had watched her eyes widen, first in surprise then narrow with speculation. She didn’t turn as he walked to her and placed his powerful hands on her shoulders, caressing the smooth flesh as he found her eyes in the mirror. “I was wondering when you’d come,” she said, smiling at him in the mirror. She reached up to put a hand over his. “How long can you stay?” He did not answer her smile. “As long as it takes to pleasure you, my lady.” Her fingers caressed the back of his hand. “And in return for such an offer, Syntian?” “I need your help,” he answered. He ran his hands over her shoulders, over her chest, and his strong fingers slid beneath the silk of her chemise and molded to the creamy perfection of her 43

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breasts. She leaned her head against his belly. “You want to break your vow.” “Aye.” His thumbs stroked the tips of her breasts until the nipples were hard little nubs against the pad of his thumb. She held his gaze in the mirror for a long time, watching him, probing his emotions, thrilling to the touch of the one male in the universe who could ignite such passion within her. At last she sighed. “There will be an exacting price to pay for such evil as you intend, Syn.” His lids flickered, but he held her look. “I know, my lady,” he said softly. He slid his hands down until her breasts were cradled in each of his palms. He squeezed her gently. “And you are willing to pay that price?” He hesitated, calculating, trying to hide his deepest feelings from her. She was watching him closely and he knew she read his mind as easily as he read the mind of a mortal female. His hands slid from her flesh and returned to the softness of her white shoulders. “Syntian?” she asked. “Are you willing to pay the price?” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Aye.” Her smile was lazy and slow as she stood up and faced him. She loved the way he was looking at her: half−afraid she would deny him; half−afraid she would agree. She enjoyed what little bit of power she had over him for no other being had such control over Syntian Cree. “I will not allow you to repay me in any other way, Syntian,” she warned. “If you feel you must do this, then I will be paid as befits the bargain. You do understand that, do you not?” She watched his sensual lips part as he drew in a long breath 44

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then close softly as he exhaled. “I understand what will be expected of me, my lady.” Her hands went to the straps of her chemise as she pushed the silky garment from her shoulders. Her breasts gleamed in the candlelight as the chemise slid down her curving hips to lay forgotten on the floor. “Then pleasure me, my sweet demon,” she whispered, “and I will allow you to break your vow just this once.” He stood still, taking her into his arms, feeling the glory of her nude body against his own. He swept her up, cradling her against his chest. “Do not disappoint me, Syntian.” “No, my lady,” he answered, crossing to the bed. “I will not.”

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Chapter Four Beth Janacek looked up from her glass of champagne and smiled. “Where is your date, Mr. Cree?” she asked, sweetly, licking her lips as she looked him over. He put his hand on her upper arm and squeezed. “I’m looking at her,” he answered. His thumb rubbed a tight little circle on her flesh. A fine blond brow eased upward. “Really? And what happened to the lady you had intended to bring?” He shrugged. “She had a prior commitment, I’m afraid.” His hand slid up and down her arm in a light caress. “Are you disappointed?” The heart inside her chest thumped hard against Beth’s ribcage as she stared up in his smoldering gaze. It was hypnotic, captivating, and seemed to strip the clothes from her body. Heat infused her lower belly and she had to take a sip of the sparkling champagne to hide the urge to put her hands on him, to reach out and grab that part of him she longed to possess her. “Are you?” she asked. “Disappointed, I mean?” His smile was slow and heartbreakingly sensual. “Not at all.” He held out his arm. “May I escort you into the party, Miss Janacek?” “Beth.” “Beth.” Her name on his lips was like an intimate touch on 46

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the most private parts of her anatomy. She took his arm, feeling the hard, steel−like muscles of his forearm under his silk shirt. When he covered her hand with his own, she felt her knees go weak with surrender. “Oh, there you are, Mr. Cree!” Allen Turnbridge called out as he led his wife over to the couple. “We were beginning to wonder if you were going to make it, after all. Have you met my wife, Olivia?” Syntian inclined his dark head toward the short, dumpy woman at Turnbridge’s side. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Turnbridge.” “Olivia,” the sixty−year old woman breathed, looking into his face as though she were drowning. “My name is Olivia.” As Beth took another sip of her wine, her look filled with a mocking light. As her escort repeated the old crone’s name, she thought Olivia Turnbridge would wet her pants. The heavily made−up face of the hag split into a girlish grin. “We are so pleased you could come,” said Olivia. “I am most pleased you invited me.” “Syn, I’m famished,” Beth put in, pulling on his arm. “Allen and Olivia always use the best caterers. I’m dying to try out their buffet. I intend to stuff my mouth!” Olivia saw a spark of pure fury flit through the hot brown eyes of her guest, but the man smiled, although the smile did not reach those devastatingly direct eyes. She noticed that he seemed to tense at Beth Janacek’s touch, almost as though he were repelled by it, but his manners were impeccable as he apologized to her and Allen and led the brazen little Janacek girl to the dining table. “He doesn’t like her, Al,” Olivia remarked, watching the way Syntian Cree moved away from Beth at the table. 47

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“He’s a little on the odd side,” Allen acknowledged. “I think he was going to bring someone else.” Olivia looked at her husband. “Who?” When Allen only shrugged, she returned her gaze to her guest. “Maybe that’s why he seems put up with Beth. She wasn’t his first choice.” “Whoever gets him,” she heard Louvenia Yelverton remark as she joined them, “will be getting her heart’s desire!” “Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Beth asked as she placed an hors d’oeuvre on the plate her escort was holding for her. “I’m not hungry,” he answered, looking out over the crowd of people assembled in Allen Turnbridge’s home. “I am!” Beth piled several more canapés on the plate then touched his arm to gain his attention for he was staring across the room at a rather good−looking brunette. When his attention swung back to her, she thought she saw a flash of irritation. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “No. What could possibly be wrong?” “You were looking at Angeline Hellstrom as though you could gobble her up where she stands.” A huffy tone entered Beth’s voice for he looked back across the room. “Have you met her?” “Who?” he asked, still looking at the striking woman. “Angeline Hellstrom!” “No, I’ve never met her,” he said. “Who is she?” Beth had wanted to make an indelible impression on the town’s newest, richest inhabitant, but she was beginning to think that all the time she had wasted at her toilet had been for nothing. He had yet to compliment her on her dress or looks and he seemed to be fascinated with the town’s most sought−after society matron. 48

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“She just owns half of this state, that’s who she is,” Beth groused. “She’s had more husbands than Elizabeth Taylor and Zsa Zsa Gabor rolled into one.” She swung her narrowed gaze to the woman. “Unless you’re a multi−millionaire, she won’t have anything to do with you.” She turned pale as Angeline Hellstrom looked their way almost as though she had heard herself being discussed. Her nails dug into her palms as the woman excused herself from the group of men around her and headed their way. “Oh, shit! She noticed you.” He watched her walking toward him, her lips parted in a mocking smile. Her hips were swaying seductively beneath the green silk of her sheath. As she reached them, she held out one slim hand toward him. “Mr. Cree, isn’t it?” she asked in a breathless, smoky voice. He took her hand in his and brought the slim white fingers to his lips. “You have me at a disadvantage, my lady,” he answered smoothly, his eyes boring into hers. “Introduce us,” Angeline demanded of Beth, not even bothering to look at the girl. “Angeline Hellstrom, Syntian Cree,” Beth mumbled, shifting from one foot to another. “Syntian,” she sighed his name. “May I call you, Syn?” “Call me whatever you wish to call me, my lady. I might come and I might not,” was his throaty reply. At her light giggle, his left brow crooked. “What if I were to call you my sweet demon?” she taunted. “My incubus come to brighten up an otherwise dreary existence?” He released her hand and snorted with grim humor. He shook his head. “You are wicked.” 49

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“And are you as wicked as your name implies?” she asked, glancing at Beth. “When the occasion warrants.” Beth looked from one to the other as they spoke and had the uncanny feeling that they not only knew one another but knew one another more intimately than anyone else ever would. The heated look that passed between them was almost vulgar in its intensity. She was about to turn away, when her escort reached down and threaded his strong fingers through hers, tapping her hand suggestively against his steel−like thigh. “It was a pleasure, my lady,” he said to Angeline. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.” “Count on it,” Angeline assured him. She reached out a delicate hand and touched his cheek. “My demon.” Her scrutiny slid insultingly to Beth. “I’d be careful of him, my dear. He’s more dangerous than you know.” She smiled nastily and excused herself. Beth’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t know what to say to the sultry bitch. The gentle tugging on her hand as her escort’s fingers tightened, made her look up at him with pique. “What the hell was all that about?” she demanded. Syntian laughed, his appraisal on Angeline’s swaying hips. “I think the lady likes to play games.” He brought Beth’s hand to his lips and touched her knuckles with his tongue, gazing at her from beneath his thick dark lashes. “Don’t you?” he whispered. Beth felt a tingle of pure sexual lust drive straight through her belly. His touch was like nothing she had ever experienced before and she wanted him, wanted him so badly she would have torn his clothes from him there on the dining room floor and devoured him had they been alone. She could show him 50

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what wickedness really meant. “Promises, promises.” He chuckled, eyeing her with interest. Beth jumped. Had he read her mind? From the hot look he was giving her, he must have guessed where her thoughts had skipped. She leaned against his taut body and felt the warmth of passion flood through her. “Would you like to come back to my apartment?” she asked, her mouth watering as she looked up into the dark planes of his incredibly handsome face. “Now?” he asked. He looked about him. “The party has just started.” “I can show you a better time than any party you’ve ever been at,” she whispered huskily. He arched a dark brow at her invitation. “I would imagine you’d try.” She felt slightly insulted by both the words he had spoken and the tone that had been just a touch short of condescending, but Beth ignored it, wanting him so desperately she was willing to strip naked before him at that very moment, the hell with the people milling around Allen Turnbridge’s home. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, taking his hand from hers. “You go on ahead and I’ll join you a bit later.” As she started to protest, he put his thumb on her bottom lip, shushing her as he stroked the velvet surface. “That will give me time to discharge my neighborly duties to our hosts and you time to prepare yourself for me.” His powerful hand cupped her chin. “Undress and wait for me in your bed.” He heard her draw in an eager breath. “I won’t be long.” He smiled wickedly. Beth nodded, unable to look away from the strange intensity of his dark stare. It was as though he were commanding her, bidding her to do his will. She felt lost in those deep brown 51

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eyes, beyond surrender to the gaze that filled them. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” He watched her go, her face filled with a lusty rapture that made people look at her as she passed. Her pupils were dilated almost as much as if she had been given a strong tranquilizer. He turned his back, dismissing her, and found Angeline staring at him, one perfectly tweezed brow lifted in challenge. His slow smile was all the answer Angeline needed. Lauren turned over in the bed, angrily fluffed up her pillow, mumbling to herself. She wasn’t any more comfortable in that position than she had been in the one she’d just restlessly left. She sat up, sighing angrily and stared for a long time into the dark shadows of her bedroom then she turned her head and looked at the bedside clock. It was only ten o’clock on a Saturday night and already she knew she’d had all the sleep she was likely to get. She was about to reach out to turn on the bedside lamp and read awhile, when the jingle of the phone brought a soft yip of startled surprise from her. She picked it up on the second ring. “Hello?” “Can’t you sleep?” he asked in that soft, gentle voice. Her heart slammed against her chest. “I’ve been trying,” she confessed. She heard his low laugh. “No sheep to count?” Lauren laughed. “I’m allergic to wool.” “Maybe you should try warm milk.” Lauren heard laughter and the tinkling of glassware in the background and she remembered the party he had invited her to attend with him. “Are you having a good time?” she asked, not knowing what else to say. “No.” 52

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“Why not?” she heard herself ask and felt stupid for doing so. “Because you’re not with me.” Something incredibly warm and sweet passed over Lauren’s heart and she found herself clutching the phone to her ear. “You hardly know me.” “I know everything there is to know about you, my sweet Lauren. For as long as I have existed I have sought you. I have traveled many thousands of miles just to be near you.” His voice was silky and tender as he spoke. “You’re drunk,” she accused, feeling embarrassed by what she thought were words brought forth out of an alcoholic haze. “And you are the dearest, sweetest creature to which I have ever been drawn.” There was a long pause then he sighed. “Aye, sweet lady. I am drunk. Forgive me.” “Mr. Cree?” she called out, afraid he was about to hang up. “Don’t call me that,” he pleaded with her in a hurt tone. “My name is Syn.” “Please don’t drive home if you’ve been drinking. It’s a long way out to—” “Say it,” he asked. “I don’t—” “I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear my name on your lips,” he begged. “It wouldn’t be proper.” “If you won’t say my name, I won’t be responsible for the damage I might cause on my way home.” He sounded like a little boy. “There’s many a stop sign between here and my driveway, Lauren.” Lauren laughed. “You’re incorrigible, aren’t you?” “I’m drunk,” he told her. “I don’t consume human food, but 53

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I can damned sure guzzle booze like there’s no tomorrow. It’s the one vice I am allowed.” “Will you give your keys to someone there at the party?” “Will you say my name?” “Syn.” The name was like a feather touch on her spine as she spoke it, causing tingles all the way from her shoulders to her feet. She heard him sigh with contentment. “Good night, my sweet Lauren. You can sleep now.” He hung up. Lauren stared at the phone. A warm feeling was encroaching on her cold heart, a heart no one had ever cared enough about to heat. As she slowly replaced the receiver, his face drifted before her and she smiled. “Good night, Syn,” she whispered. She lay down, her eyelids feeling heavy. Behind one long, deep breath, sleep crept softly, protectively over her and she fell gently into that good night. His hands were all over her, rough and painful: the way she had always liked a man’s hands on her. Pinching, pushing, probing, pulling, prying, punishing. So powerful, so strong, so sure of themselves, his hands lifted her, positioned her, dug their lustful fingers into the thick mane of her blond hair. “Open,” he demanded, his voice hard and vicious, and she eagerly obeyed. She felt him enter her with a violent thrust of blinding pain. Beth’s eyes flew wide open; she came awake, her hands clawing up to push him away from her. But there was no one there. No one above her on the bed. “You will never slap my lady again,” was the last thing Beth Janacek ever heard. 54

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Chapter Five Lauren had just returned from Sunday morning Mass at St. Rose of Lima when the doorbell rang. Her heart did a strange little flutter and her lips broke into an amused smile. She laid down her jacket and walked to the door, expecting to see him standing on her porch, her neighbors peeking out from behind their curtains, but instead, her landlady—who was also the owner of the bookstore where Lauren had worked for three years—was standing at her screen door, smiling at her. “Good morning, Lauren.” “Mrs. Hellstrom.” Lauren heard the surprise in her own voice. She blushed and pushed open the screened door. “How are you?” “Better than I have been in a very long time,” Angeline Hellstrom answered. She glanced beyond Lauren into the little house. “May I come in?” Lauren’s blush deepened and she stepped back. “I’m sorry. Of course. Please do.” Angeline looked around her as she entered the tiny room. Her brows lifted in surprise. “Why, Lauren, it’s absolutely lovely!” She turned a bright smile to the younger woman. “You’ve made it come alive.” She glanced at the blue gingham curtains and polished wooden floors with their multi−colored blue oval scatter rugs. Her hand trailed over the freshly 56

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laundered slipcovers. “Did you make these yourself?” At Lauren’s shy nod, her guest’s smile deepened. “I would not have thought it possible to make this old place shine, but you have.” She sat down on the loveseat. “I am very pleased with how you have taken care of it.” Lauren smiled. “I have enjoyed living here, Mrs. Hellstrom.” A shaft of fear went through her. “Have you sold it?” “Oh, no. No!” Angeline laughed. “Who would buy a one bedroom cottage this day and age?” She ran her finger on the end table next to her and wasn’t surprised to not feel any dust. “I am most content to have you rent the place, Lauren.” The smile disappeared from Lauren’s face. “I hope I can continue to make the rent payments, Mrs. Hellstrom. I suppose you heard about what happened at the store.” Angeline Hellstrom’s face turned hard. “Yes, I did, and that is why I am here.” She sat back on the loveseat and looked up at Lauren. “Sit down, dear. We must talk.” Wanting to forestall the moment, Lauren gasped. “Where are my manners? May I offer you something? Tea, coffee, a glass of lemonade?” “Nothing for me, dear,” Angeline said, patting the loveseat. “Do come and sit down, Lauren.” Her smile was gentle. “I promise I won’t bite.” Lauren’s smile wavered and she sat down nervously on the edge of the loveseat, folding her hands together in her lap. “First of all,” Angeline began, reaching out to place her cool hand over Lauren’s. “There is nothing for you to worry about in regards to this cottage. If, after our little talk, you find it difficult to come up with next month’s rent, we can arrange something, I’m sure. But I don’t think that will be a problem.” “Jobs are scarce here, Mrs. Hellstrom,” Lauren said in a 57

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small voice. “I don’t even know where to start looking. Since I don’t drive—” “Lauren,” Angeline whispered, “I don’t believe you’ll have to look anywhere.” As the young woman glanced up at her with confusion, Angeline smiled. “I want you to go back to the store. As a matter of fact, I am thinking of promoting you to sales clerk since both Inez and Karla won’t be coming back.” “They won’t?” Angeline shook her head sadly. “Inez just hasn’t been herself since her...accident. And Karla has been committed to The Chancel over in Louisiana.” She clucked her tongue. “Such a terrible thing, don’t you agree? At any rate, her family is quite well off and poor Karla is just not herself since that horrible man brutalized her.” “I’m sorry,” Lauren said. Angeline looked closely at Lauren. “I know you are, dear. That’s the kind of sweet person you are.” Lauren ducked her head beneath the compliment. “But even with Inez and Karla gone, Mrs. Hellstrom, Mrs. Yelverton won’t want me back. She made that very plain to me Saturday.” “You leave Louvenia Yelverton to me!” Angeline snapped. “I’ve been thinking of retiring her for quite some time now. I’ve even thought of dabbling in the store, myself, for something to keep me occupied.” She bent toward Lauren. “Until that next filthy rich old man comes along!” Lauren laughed despite herself. “See? You can laugh!” Angeline patted her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. Things are going to be just as you’d like them. You’ve got a guardian angel looking out for you, now.” The smile slowly left Lauren’s face. “Beth isn’t going to be happy to see me back there, either.” 58

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“Oh, yes. The little Janacek girl.” Angeline tapped her lip with her finger. “The two of you had words as I recall.” “Yes, ma’am,” Lauren admitted. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very nice to her.” “You probably said no more than was the absolute truth, I’m sure.” “Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have insulted her.” She turned to her guest. “Beth didn’t like me before all this happened. She’s not going to like me any better if I go back.” “That doesn’t matter.” Angeline stood and smoothed the fabric of her skirt. “Don’t give it another thought. The little problem with the Janacek girl will be taken care of, I would think.” Lauren got to her feet. “I appreciate this, Mrs. Hellstrom. I really do.” Angeline reached out and put her palm on Lauren’s cheek. “My dear, you are very special, do you know that? I’ve heard such glowing things about you lately.” Lauren’s face showed her surprise. “From whom?” Angeline lowered her voice. “From someone who is most smitten with you, I fear.” “Me?” Lauren gasped. The smile that passed over Angeline’s face was gentle. “I’ve no doubt your life will be changing quite a bit from now on, Lauren.” Something strange flickered in the older woman’s eyes. “Enjoy it while you have it, dear.” Lauren was stunned as the elegant lady bent forward and kissed her on the cheek, smiled, and then strode to the front door. “I’ll see myself out.” She waved a slim hand in goodbye and pushed through the screened door. 59

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Lauren stared after her, wondering about the unexpected visit from her landlady, someone the town saw only once or twice a year at most. Walking slowly to the porch, Lauren was in time to see the chauffeur open the white limousine door for his employer. The black man tipped his hat to Lauren and Lauren lifted a shocked hand in reply, watching until he was in the limousine and had pulled away from the curb. She turned back, staring blindly at her little living room. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she breathed, unable to believe what she’d just experienced. Louvenia Yelverton’s mouth was pursed into a vicious pout as she jammed the shop’s door key into the lock the next morning. Who would have thought, she fumed, that one little call from that slutty Angeline Hellstrom could ruin a person’s entire day? Slinging her purse onto the counter, the shop’s manager reached behind the counter to flip on the overhead lights. Outside, the sky was a dark, gunmetal gray and fat globules of rain were already beginning to strike against the sidewalk. It was just a little past 8:45 a.m. and the shop didn’t open until 9:30, but Louvenia had decided after church the day before to come in early so she could begin to go through the names of prospective employees to replace Inez and Karla. Just thinking about that Hellstrom woman insisting on interviewing all the candidates set Louvenia’s teeth on edge. “It has been brought to my attention,” the bitch had told Louvenia Sunday afternoon, “that there has been more than one instance of employees not getting along in that store, Louvenia. I will not tolerate my girls sniping and causing trouble for one another.” “There’s been only one employee who has caused any 60

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trouble, Mrs. Hellstrom,” Louvenia had told her. “And I would imagine the main instigator in any situations that have occurred was Beth Janacek,” the Hellstrom tart had snapped. “She was a hateful little child, spoiled rotten by her parents, and she has become a spiteful grown woman with no regard for any one other than herself. I certainly did Marge and Henry Janacek no favor in hiring her to work at my store.” “The problem has been Lauren Fowler, Mrs. Hellstrom,” Louvenia had informed her. “She just doesn’t fit in here.” “Why? Because she’s too honest? Too sweet? Too willing to let Beth and Inez and Karla run all over her?” Louvenia had ground her teeth. “The customers don’t like her. She’s—” “She’s a personal friend of mine, Mrs. Yelverton,” the Hellstrom whore had said in a cold, non−compromising voice. “Do you understand my meaning?” “Yes, Mrs. Hellstrom. I understand you perfectly.” “Good. Then I expect you to make sure Lauren is treated in a manner I like.” “I can’t speak for Beth, Mrs. Hellstrom,” said Louvenia. “The two women do not get along.” “Beth Janacek’s days were numbered when she slapped Lauren Fowler, Louvenia. I suggest you think long and hard before you act in a similar manner!” The phone line had gone dead with a thud. “Whore!” Louvenia had growled at the phone, slamming the receiver down so hard her fingers tingled. “Just because you’ve got money doesn’t mean you own me!” Now, waiting for the Fowler girl to return to work after she had fired her, Louvenia snarled with revenge. She hoped Beth would come in early so they could talk. Beth wasn’t going to 61

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like it one bit. Not one bit! Between the two of them, they were sure to find a way to make Lauren Fowler wish she’d never heard of the Composition Book Store. The rain was coming down in silver sheets of slanting fury by the time Lauren finished dressing for work. She didn’t want to be late, especially today. One look at the gusting rain skittering across the street in front of her house made Lauren wish she could afford to call a taxi. But even if she could have afforded it, it wasn’t likely one of Horace McBride’s cabs was available on this side of town. Sighing, accepting the fact that she was going to get soaked, Lauren pulled her umbrella from the can by the door and unsnapped it. She stepped out onto her front porch just as thunder rumbled wickedly over the sky and the wind pushed fine sprinkles of rain through the mesh of the screened porch. Lightning zigzagged across the street behind the Atherton’s house and the sky turned pale for a moment. The crack was loud and deadly sounding and it leant a cold dread to Lauren’s heart that she was going to have to be out walking the two blocks under such a violent sky. The blare of a horn made her look up. A black, low−slung car had pulled up to her curb, its wipers sweeping furiously across the windshield. Its headlights slashed out into the dark morning, gilding the rain before it in twin beams. The car’s windows were darkly tinted so she couldn’t see inside, but there was a faint glow as the driver’s door opened. A figure, hunched over under the heavy onslaught of the rain, skirted the back of the car and ran toward her house. It wasn’t until his wet foot falls slapped against her sidewalk that Lauren recognized Syntian Cree. 62

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“What on Earth are you doing?” she called out to him as he reached up a wet hand to pull open the outside screen door of her porch. He was shivering, his lips trembling, stray wisps of his hair that had come undone from the band at the nape of his neck plastered against his left cheek. His thick lashes were spiked with fat rain droplets. “Your carriage awaits, my lady!” He laughed, reaching up to wipe the rain from his face. He sniffed, blinking away the raindrops. “May I carry you out to the car?” “You most certainly may not!” she said, shocked. She stared at him, mouth open. At his unabashed, little boy grin, she snapped her mouth shut and tried to glare at him. “You are—” He held up a wet hand. “I know. Incorrigible. A character fault, I fear.” She shrugged, giving in to his charm. “I appreciate this. I don’t know how to thank you.” “I’ll find a way.” He grinned, wagging his thick brows. He pulled open the door for her. “Ready?” She looked at him, really liking what she saw. For one moment, as their eyes met and his gentle smile was just for her, she thought maybe things were going to be all right after all. Louvenia plopped into the chair in her office and picked up the telephone once more. It was 9:23 a.m. and Beth was still not at the store. Any moment now that Fowler tramp would be coming through the front door and Louvenia was not prepared to be the only one in the store when she did. Dialing Beth’s number for the fifth time that morning, Louvenia listened to the steady ringing that went on unanswered. “Where the blazes are you, girl?” Louvenia grumbled as she slammed down the receiver for the fifth time. She heard the bell 63

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ring over the front door and drew in a quick breath. With any luck at all, it was Beth. She got up, walked smartly out her door and looked down the center aisle to see that absolutely mouthwatering Syntian Cree looking at her from the doorway. She smiled. “My goodness! Aren’t you the early bird this morning? And on such a vile day, too!” She barely glanced at Lauren who stood next to the counter. “My godson will be celebrating his twelfth birthday this coming Friday and I was hoping to pick up some books for him.” Syntian was smiling at the older woman as she made her way toward him. “He’s rather an avid reader and a big Michael Moorcock fan. He’s into all that sword and sorcery stuff.” He shoved his hand into the pocket of his black jeans and pulled out a damp piece of notebook paper. Unfolding it, he handed it to Lauren. “Can you help me find these books, Miss Fowler?” Louvenia’s mouth tightened as her glance darted malevolently to Lauren. “Miss Fowler has been promoted to sales clerk and I’m afraid she has quite a bit of company paperwork to fill out this morning. But I would be happy to help you select some appropriate novels for your godson.” A gleam of fire sparked in Syntian Cree’s face as he looked at the Yelverton woman. “I can come back when Lauren’s free,” he said, gauging the effect his words would have on the older woman. “I prefer to have the same clerk wait on me each time I patronize an establishment. It’s just good business, don’t you agree?” Louvenia tried to smile, but her lips felt frozen. “If you prefer,” she managed to say although she hoped her tone told him she thought he was making a bad mistake. Her stare swung to Lauren. “You may help Mr. Cree, if you will, Miss Fowler.” 64

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Lauren’s lips twitched as she turned away. “Of course, Mrs. Yelverton.” She glanced at Syn. “The science fiction section is over on the right side at the back, Mr. Cree.” “You promised to call me, Syn, remember?” he admonished her, reaching out to pat Louvenia’s arm as he passed. He wasn’t surprised by the older woman’s reaction. She smiled wistfully at him and nodded. “That makes for good business, too,” she agreed and wondered why the hell she’d said such a stupid thing. She was still wondering when the doorbell tinkled again and she turned away. “This is quite a list,” Lauren said as she glanced over the book titles. She looked at him. “There must be fifty books here.” “Some are no doubt out of stock or in the store room, I would imagine,” he said. “My guess is it’ll take you at least an hour or two to handle my order, don’t you?” She stared at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?” He grinned. “If things go the way I plan, Sweet Lady, you should just about be finishing up with the order when it’s time for you to take your lunch break.” He grinned wickedly. “A lunch I intend to buy for you.” “Oh, you do, do you?” she laughed, loving the way his eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled. “With any luck at all.” “Lauren!” Lauren looked past him to find Louvenia Yelverton slumped in the arms of Sheriff Wiley Jackson. She glanced at Syntian then pushed past him to hurry to the front counter. “What happened?” she asked, worried. Louvenia’s face was chalk white. 65

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“Can you call Reed?” Wiley asked as he struggled to keep Louvenia from slipping out of his arms. “She’s just fainted, but I think she ought to go see Dr. Patrick.” Syntian reached Louvenia just as Lauren turned to the phone. She saw him bend down and scoop the unconscious woman into his arms, heft her effortlessly to his chest and spin around on his heel, carrying her toward the back of the store. “Reed Yelverton, please. It’s an emergency.” Lauren covered the mouthpiece of the phone and looked around at the Sheriff. “What happened to her?” “I had some shocking news to tell her, Miss Lauren. It put her in a state, I guess.” Lauren held up a hand to interrupt him as the phone at the other end was answered. “Mr. Yelverton? This is Lauren up at the store? I’m calling for Sheriff Jackson. You’d better come up here when you can. Mrs. Yelverton needs you.” She flinched as the connection was broken with a loud click. She turned to the Sheriff. “He’s on his way.” Hanging up the phone, she saw the stark worry in the lawman’s lined face. “Something else has happened, hasn’t it?” Wiley Jackson nodded grimly. “It’s the Janacek girl, I’m afraid.” Lauren’s blood ran cold. “Is she all right?” The Sheriff took off his hat and ran the back of his arm over his forehead. “No, she ain’t.” He put the hat back on, pulled it low on his brow. “She’s dead.” “How?” Lauren gasped. The man’s face turned red. “I don’t reckon you ought to hear such things as how she was murdered.” He looked at her. Syntian hunkered down beside Louvenia Yelverton as she lay 66

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moaning on the sofa in the break room. He watched as her eyelids fluttered open. In the glazed depths of her pupils, he saw the horror of what she’d been told. “Louvenia?” he asked softly, his voice urgent, demanding. “Yes, Syn?” she asked dreamily, staring up into his mesmerizing eyes, falling through the space they opened up for her. “I’ll be visiting you tonight, Louvenia.” He ran his finger down her arm. “Expect me.” “Mr. Cree ?” He turned, smiling as the sheriff stopped him at the door of the shop. “Yes?” “If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the party the other night.” Wiley Jackson stepped out of the way as Reed Yelverton came rushing into the bookstore. He pointed toward the rear of the shop. “She’s back there, Reed. The Fowler girl is with her.” Reed Yelverton barely glanced at Wiley and Syntian Cree as he hurried toward the back. His shoulders were hunched as though he expected a blow to his head at any moment. “They’re very devoted to one another,” the Sheriff commented to Syntian. “Never had any children.” “What was it you wanted to ask me?” Syntian asked. His face was open, direct, and friendly. “One of my deputies dates Allen Turnbridge’s youngest daughter. He was at the party Saturday night and he said he saw you and Beth Janacek together.” Syntian nodded. “We spent some time talking, yes.” “Lin Dixon, that’s my deputy, told me Beth left early. About Nine−thirty.” 67

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Syntian’s brows drew together. “I believe it was somewhere around that time.” “Did you leave with her?” Wiley watched the tall man closely. “No,” he answered, shaking his head. “You didn’t drive her home?” “No, I didn’t.” Wiley Jackson squinted. “Florence Frazier, do you know her? She’s our County Clerk? Well, anyway, she remembers hearing you telling Miss Janacek that you would come by her apartment later that night.” Syntian smiled. “Beth invited me to, yes, but I never made it over there.” “And why is that?” He let a dull flush spread over his face and he slipped on a look of chagrin. “I’m afraid Allen took my car key’s away from me, Sheriff. I was, shall we say, feeling no pain?” “What time was that?” Wiley wrote something down in his notebook. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I called a friend about ten or so, I remember doing that because I was half−watching the baseball scores on the television in Allen’s den when I called her.” “And who was it you called?” “Lauren Fowler.” Wiley Jackson’s brows shot up. “I suppose she could corroborate that?” “I would think so. She was in bed when I called her; no doubt she glanced at the clock.” He smiled. “And there would be a record of the call, as well.” Reed Yelverton walked through the store, his face puckered 68

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with annoyance. “She doesn’t want to go see Wes,” he grumbled. “Says she’s all right.” “She had a pretty bad shock there, Reed,” Wiley commented. “I think she ought to go home.” Yelverton’s face filled with anger. “That makes two of us, but she says the store won’t run itself and she’s gonna stay.” He stomped to the door and put his hand on the handle then turned and looked directly at Syntian. “I appreciate you carrying her back to the break room Mr. Cree.’’ Syntian nodded. Louvenia’s husband swung his angry glower to the Sheriff. “How did Beth die, Wiley?” The Sheriff glanced at Syntian Cree, then looked at Yelverton. “From our preliminary findings, she choked to death.” “How?” Reed Yelverton demanded. “Did the bastard strangle her?” At the Sheriff’s look of surprise, the real estate agent waved a dismissing hand. “Hell, Wiley! It’s all over town by now that she was murdered. I didn’t even make it out of the office before one of the secretaries told me what had happened!” “I can’t discuss it with you, Reed. We’re still investigating.” “You find him, Wiley!” Yelverton spat. “You find that pervert that’s going after our women.” He pushed through the door into the rain, his angry footsteps kicking up water as he ran across the street. Syntian felt the Sheriff’s gaze come back to him and he looked away from Yelverton to look politely at his inquisitor . “What time did you leave the party, Mr. Cree?” “I tried to leave about eleven o’clock.” “You tried to leave?” 69

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“I didn’t quite make it.” Jackson’s brows drew together over his thick nose. “Then how did you get home?” “I didn’t.” Syntian watched the Sheriff’s mouth tightened. “Allen insisted I spend the night there; he was afraid I’d wrap myself and the Porsche around a pine tree on Chumuckla Highway on the way home. I crashed in his guest room that evening and the next morning, Olivia drove me home on her way to church at Pine Terrace Baptist.” “Did you leave the Turnbridge house at any time that evening?” “I’m afraid I wasn’t in any condition to go anywhere, Sheriff Jackson.” He looked down at the floor. “Allen told me the next morning that I had passed out on the sofa in his den. He and some other gentleman got me up and took me to the guestroom. I kept insisting I could make it home, but Allen wouldn’t hear of it.” Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Do you make it a habit to drink until you pass out, Mr. Cree?” “No, but it’s been a long, tiring week. I’ve been trying to get things settled at the house, get my business affairs in order up in New Haven. I’ve been out hunting for office space in Pensacola.” “What kind of work do you do, Mr. Cree?” “I’m a commodities broker. I got tired of the harsh winters up north and decided to sell my share of the business to my partner and relocate down here.” “So you were just unwinding at the Turnbridge party is that it?” Jackson probed. “Letting your hair down, so to speak?” He flicked a disapproving glance over Syn’s long hair and the silver hoop in his left ear. 70

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“I think I overdid it, Sheriff. I believe I came unwound that night.” Syntian laughed. He shook his head. “I haven’t been drunk since my college days and I don’t think I’ll try it again any time soon.” “Hung over, were you?” “Bent over,” Syntian answered. “I became up close and personally acquainted with the toilet Sunday morning.” “You live out at the old Herndon place.” It was more an accusation that a statement. “Yes, I do.” “You live out there by yourself?” Syntian nodded. “I haven’t had time to hire a staff yet. Why?” “I was just wondering if you wasn’t afraid to be out there all by your lonesome,” Jackson remarked. “What with most folks in Santa Rosa County thinking the place’s haunted.” Syntian laughed. “So I’ve been told. But I don’t think Jesup Herndon is going to bother me.” “And why’s that?” Jackson asked, curious about the strange look that had flitted quickly across the other man’s face. “I’d be more likely to scare him.” The Sheriff found himself thinking the same thing. He looked down at his note pad for the too direct gaze of Syntian Cree’s umber eyes made him uncomfortable. “Are you seeing the Fowler girl?” A look of surprise crossed Cree’s face. “Lauren?” As the Sheriff looked up at him, Syntian shook his head. “No, I’m not, but it hasn’t been for lack of trying.” “How’s that?” Jackson asked, wondering what the man could possibly see in Maxine Fowler’s old maid daughter. Syntian grinned ruefully. “The lady seems to be immune to 71

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my charms.” “To my knowledge, she ain’t never had a date,” the Sheriff informed him. A glimmer of dislike passed over Syntian’s face. “And I would imagine the entire town would have known if she had.” Jackson didn’t pick up on either the insult or the tone with which it had been spoken. “I’d imagine so.” He closed his note pad, stuck his pen through the top of the spiral binding then shoved pad and pen into his raincoat pocket. “I might have a few more questions for you, Mr. Cree. You aren’t planning on leaving town any time soon, are you?” Syntian schooled his face into confusion. “No. Am I a suspect in these attacks, Sheriff Jackson?” Wiley Jackson shrugged, his lower lip thrusting out and arching down. “You’re new in town. We don’t know you, yet. I’d have been remiss if I hadn’t questioned you.” “I see.” Syntian dropped the words like a stone. He let his face set in insult. “Will there be anything else?” Wiley Jackson shook his head, understanding that he had just made a life−long enemy of the man before him. He wondered why that worried him more than it should have. “Then, may I go?” “Yeah.” Syntian nodded curtly and pushed his way through the door into the storm outside. The Sheriff watched him get into the expensive foreign job parked at the curb and pull away. “Sheriff?” Jackson turned to find the Fowler girl looking at him with fearful eyes. “How’s Lou?” he asked, passing his attention over the drably−dressed woman, pondering once more how a man of such sophistication and obvious breeding as Syntian Cree could 72

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find anything interesting in her. “She’s washing her face.” Lauren had overheard the Sheriff’s questioning of Syntian Cree. “Mr. Cree really isn’t a suspect, is he?” If Wiley Jackson was surprised by the admonishing tone in the woman’s voice, he didn’t let it show. “Every man in this town is a suspect until I know he had nothing to do with this mess.” “But surely you couldn’t think Mr. Cree capable of such a thing.” “What do you know about him, Miss Fowler? Do you know where he came from? Who his friends were? If he’s married, divorced, widowed?” He let his gaze slide insultingly over the woman. “For all you know, he could have a wife in every state.” As the black Porsche sped down Stewart Street, the shift ground as the angry hand clutching it pushed the stick too fast to accommodate the clutch. A hiss of rage filled the silence in the sports car as the Sheriff’s words intruded into Syntian Cree’s consciousness. Lauren’s chin came up. “I don’t know Mr. Cree well at all, Sheriff. I’ve only spoken to him on a few occasions.” “Yet he drove you to work this morning,” the Sheriff insinuated, his tone curt. “We have a witness that saw him at your place and you getting in that car of his.” The Porsche’s tires lurched dangerously on the wet pavement, the rear end of the black car hydroplaning momentarily as the foot on the accelerator pressed down too hard for the road conditions. “Mr. Cree was kind enough to stop by on his way into town. I don’t have a car, as you know, Sheriff. I would have had to 73

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walk two blocks in the rain if he hadn’t thought to stop by for me.” “Has he asked you out?” Wiley inquired, making the question seem as though he would be astonished if she answered in the affirmative. The black sports car’s brakes squealed as if they were in horrible pain as the steering wheel spun toward the gravel drive leading to the old Herndon estate and the Porsche was downshifted with careless regard to the finely tuned mechanics of the engine. The rear wheels slid in a short arc as they dug into the red clay of the roadway then were jerked viciously back onto the gravel as the car shot up the long, curving drive. “I don’t see that my personal life is any concern of yours, Sheriff,” Lauren made herself say. A short, furious bark of laughter echoed through the murky interior of the Porsche. Wiley Jackson stared at the woman. He didn’t care for the way she was looking at him. Her face was still. If he hadn’t known her better, he’d have thought she’d developed a bit of backbone, but he shook his head, negating the notion. He reached up and adjusted his hat. “I’d be careful of him, Miss Fowler,” he warned her. “What’s been happening’s been happening to women you work with. Three women been hurt bad and one of ‘em is dead. I don’t think nothing would happen to you.” He smiled snidely. “Or Louvenia,” he added. “But you never know. You don’t know this Yankee boy and I’m just suggesting you watch him careful like. He’s too slick for my liking.” He held her gaze for a moment more, trying to make her look away. When she didn’t, he sniffed and left the store, a faint touch of unease lingering on his mind. The low−slung black car skidded to a dangerous stop on the 74

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semi−circular driveway in front of the old Ante Bellum−style home. The car door was thrust open in a vicious shove and then slammed hard enough to rock the entire body of the Porsche. The front door of the mansion crashed back against its hinges then slammed shut. Angry footsteps echoed hollowly on the parquet floorings until they stopped at what had once been the mansion’s sitting room. Syntian Cree reached out and flicked on the ornate chandelier hanging from the room’s ceiling. He stood in the doorway, his entire body quivering. He was unmindful of the heavily boarded windows nailed shut with 1 x 12s; paid no attention to the dark tint he had painted the walls and boards. Nor did he notice the deep scarlet flooring beneath his feet. His eyes had searched for, and unerringly found, the bright gold of the design that he had carefully painted in the center of the floor. He moved toward it, lightning and thunder moving over the old house with lethal snaps and booms. He stepped into the direct center of the design and raised his hands to the tempestuous heavens. “Hear me, Master!” he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. Rain glistened on his face. “Hear Your servant!” A deadly crack of light stair−stepped the heavens and crashed violently into the forest behind the mansion. The air turned chill, stank of sulfur, and the Earth rumbled and throbbed. The wind howled its fury across the house, shaking the very foundations of the old place. “I come to You seeking vengeance!” A pine tree in front of the house was cleft top to bottom by a spear of blinding white light. The design in the center of the floor glowed bright, seemed to lift upward from the scarlet−painted floor. Overhead, the chandelier’s lights 75

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flickered out and the only source of luminescence on the black walls came from the glow cast by the golden pentagram on the floor. “Lauren? ” Lauren turned. “Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Yelverton?” “I don’t believe we’re going to be having many customers today,” Louvenia said, unable to look at the girl. “I called Mrs. Hellstrom and explained the situation to her. She suggested we close up and go on home.” Lauren’s heart sank. Outside, the storm was raging, the rain lashing against the windows with heavy sheets of fury. Lightning was cracking overhead so loud it was hard to hear the older woman speaking. Now and again, the lights in the shop flickered, threatened to go out. It was only a matter of time before Gulf Power cast them into darkness. “I suppose you’re right.” Lauren glanced out the window and saw nothing for the heavy downpour of rain. “I’ll drive you home,” Louvenia suggested, a bit surprised by her offer. She looked up to see the young woman staring at her. “You’ll never get Horace McBride to send a cab out in this mess.” She was intently embarrassed by her offer and beginning to regret it. The last thing she had wanted to do was offer the girl a ride, but it wouldn’t have been Christian not to do so. “I...I would appreciate it very much, Mrs. Yelverton,” Lauren assured her. “I don’t know how to thank you.” “Just go get your purse,” Louvenia grumbled. “I want to get the hell out of here before the lights go off.” Once inside the musky interior of Louvenia Yelverton’s Lumina, Lauren was quiet, afraid to speak, for the older 76

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woman’s lips were pressed tightly together as she backed out of her parking slot beside the store. Lauren knew her manager could barely see through the windshield for it had already fogged and was running thickly with pummeling water. “I don’t remember ever seeing such a nasty storm this time of year,” Louvenia remarked as she pulled cautiously out onto the street. “I hope this isn’t a warning that we’re going to have a bad hurricane season,” Lauren answered, feeling she had to make some comment. “All this talk about El Niño makes you wonder.” “Yes, it certainly does,” Louvenia said. She glanced at her passenger. The girl was sitting so rigidly in the seat, pressed tightly up against the door, it seemed almost as though she were trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. The older woman looked at the road, a momentary nudge of pity making her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “You live in that little blue cottage next to the Black’s, don’t you?” “Yes, ma’am.” Lauren leaned forward, trying to peer out of the windshield. “I don’t have a driveway.” “If I remember rightly, you have a screened porch, don’t you?” Lauren looked at her. “Yes, ma’am.” “Then it won’t hurt if I pull up into your yard and let you out there at the door,” Louvenia said. “You don’t have to,” Lauren told her. “I can get off at the curb.” “Nonsense,” the older woman snapped. “No use in you getting soaked running up to the door.” She put her turn signal on since she had no idea if anyone was in front or behind her. Not every one was as diligent as she was at putting on their 77

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headlights when it rained. Lauren didn’t know what to say as the Lumina bumped over the shallow curb and drove slowly into her front yard, Louvenia angling it as close to the front of the cottage as the azalea bushes along the flowerbed would allow. She put her hand on the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Yelverton. I really do appreciate this.” Louvenia waved a dismissive hand. “It was the least I could do.” She glanced at the girl. Lauren was pushing down on the door’s handle. “Lauren?” she asked. When the girl looked back at her, Louvenia Yelverton’s eyebrows met over her hawk−like nose. “Lock your doors tonight.” She was acutely embarrassed over her remark, especially at the look of astonishment settled over the younger woman’s face. “Well,” she sputtered, “we don’t know about this man, now, do we? He’s attacked three of us at the store. Who knows? He might even be watching one of us right this minute!” Fear entered Lauren’s face. “You don’t really think that, do you, Mrs. Yelverton?” Louvenia Yelverton’s gaze shifted from her employee. “I don’t know what to think, but Inez swears some man attacked her that night and Karla was sodomized. And Beth was...” she stopped, shuddering, then turned to the girl beside her. “Just lock your doors and don’t let anyone in you don’t know.” She shook her head. “Don’t let anyone in! Wiley said Beth and Karla had to have known the man who attacked them. You might know him, too.” Lauren nodded, her mouth dry. “And you be careful, too, Miss Louvenia.” Louvenia looked at the girl, seeing the gentle look that she and the others had always thought was meekness. For the first 78

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time in the years she had known Lauren Fowler, Louvenia knew it wasn’t meekness but courtesy and kindness. “Go on,” Louvenia said gruffly. “It’s let up a bit.” Lauren smiled, thanked the older woman again, and then pushed the door open. She shut it carefully getting soaked for her effort then ran up the short flight of steps to the safety of her porch. She turned and waved before going inside. In the dark confines of his mansion, Syntian Cree looked up from where he knelt, exhausted and weak on the floor, and cocked his ear for the whispered words that came to him like a bolt from the heavens. “Be careful, Lauren,” he heard Louvenia Yelverton say. Tiredly, he pushed to his feet, staggering under the weight of his conjuring. He ran a hand over his sweaty face and wiped it down his wet jeans. His weakened body quivered with fatigue and for a moment he saw bright bursts of lights at the periphery of his vision. Yet he sent out his thoughts: searching, gathering, evaluating, and the replay of the last ten minutes came back to him in a wavering vision. He heard the older woman offering her assistance to the younger. He watched her take Lauren home. He heard the admonitions. Then he smiled grimly, closing his eyes for a moment to the strain of the last half hour. Slowly he made his way to the door of the room and closed it behind him, locking it. On weaving feet, he made his way into the front parlor and sank to the sofa, stretching out on its length. The older woman’s face flashed before him. “You just earned yourself a brownie point or two, Agnes Louvenia Yelverton,” he promised as his exhaustion reached 79

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out to claim him.

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Chapter Six Louvenia Yelverton turned over in the bed, frowning at her husband’s loud snoring. She stared up at the ceiling. The storm had lessened somewhat, but even now, at midnight, the rain still pelted the windows and drummed unceasingly on the roof. Reed’s hitching blast of nerve−grating sound made her toss the covers back and get up. She slid her feet into the bedroom slippers lying by her bed and reached for the peignoir draped over the footboard. Swinging it around her shoulders, she padded from the bedroom she had shared with her husband for forty years and walked down the hall toward the kitchen. The walls lit now and again with an eerie white glow as the lightning outside flashed. The ghostly light cast the furniture of the den into relief, making it jump and pulse toward her, as she passed from the cozy comfort of the room and pushed through bat wing doors into her dark kitchen. She reached for the light switch, but a soft voice stilled her hand. “Do not turn on the light, Louvenia.” Louvenia Yelverton did not cry out; she didn’t cringe away from the soft footfalls that sounded to her right. She turned to face the ebony shape that came toward her, waiting patiently. “That was a good thing you did this afternoon, Louvenia.” She nodded at the low, deep words. 81

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“You saved yourself from needless pain.” She nodded again, agreeing with the soft words. “But you still have to be punished for all the times when you were not so kind to my lady.” Louvenia did not feel fear. She did not feel the least amount of alarm. She could not really see the dark shape at her side, but she could sense the immense power flowing through it. But still she did not feel particularly anxious even as a heavy weight settled on her slim shoulder. “I am going to grant you an experience few women have ever been given, Louvenia,” the gentle voice told her. She smiled as she listened to the hypnotic voice that seduced her. Her head turned slightly to one side in mild curiosity. “What you will see, you will never describe to another living soul,” the soothing voice commanded. Louvenia Yelverton sighed. The heaviness of her shoulder lessened, as though a powerful hand had been removed. The absence of the weight made her sad. “Remember me, Louvenia. Let the sight of me etch itself into your soul. And as you do, know that it is my revenge for the suffering you caused my lady.” Louvenia’s vision flickered, focused, traveled upward into the hidden face of the being beside her. She felt his presence, his power, and the intensity of his passion. Lightning flared outside and the shadow of the dark shape before her leapt across the ceiling, pulsed, loomed above her, and in the glare of the light, she saw his eyes first and her own went wide in fear. “Look upon me, Louvenia,” he demanded; his voice was neither gentle nor soft. “Behold the unforgiving retribution you have earned in this lifetime. Behold the face of the NightWind!” 82

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Once more the flash of lightning lit the room in a strobe−like wash of incandescence and the dark shape before Louvenia Yelverton was suddenly cast in horrific detail. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her pupils dilated with terror. Her body went rigid as stone. Within her chest, her heart skipped several beats then slammed painfully against her ribcage. Her eyes flickered then rolled back in her head as she slumped to the floor. Her mind clicked on the image she had seen; clicked and took the picture with her down into the bottomless realms of insanity from which she would never emerge. As her soul struggled with what it had seen, as the picture developed in her churning mind, the corruption of that image etched its likeness on her cerebral cortex and would stay with her forever. Lauren’s phone rang at 7:30 the next morning and she ran to answer it, her toothbrush dripping paste into her hand. “Hello?” “Lauren, this is Angeline Hellstrom.” She swallowed the minty foam in her mouth and nearly gagged. “Yes, ma’am? Is something wrong?” “I’m afraid so, dear.” There was a pause. “It’s Louvenia, Lauren. I’m afraid she’s had a mental breakdown.” “A mental breakdown?” Lauren shivered. “You’ll have to open the store for me today. I’m sending the key over with Delbert, my driver. He’ll pick you up.” The elegant lady laughed. “I’m afraid it’s still sprinkling out there. Under the circumstances, would you consider accepting the position of manager at the store?” “Manager?” “I have every confidence in the world that you can run the store efficiently. I’ll come in tomorrow or the next day to talk 83

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about specifics. Louvenia sent me a list of girls who had put in applications at the store. I’ll help you choose a sales force you can work with.” Lauren’s head was spinning. She sat down on her bed and stared at the far wall. “I don’t know what to say.” “Say yes.” Angeline laughed. “I really need your help, dear.” “Of course,” Lauren said absently. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Mrs. Hellstrom.” “Angeline,” the other woman said. “I would prefer you call me by my given name.” Lauren dressed in a state of numbness as she readied for work. Her hands trembled as she buttoned her blouse, fumbled with the zipper on her skirt. Nothing could have prepared her for the stunning news she had received that morning. Even as the phone rang again and she unthinkingly reached out for it, bringing it to her ear, she had still not taken in the full extent of her new circumstances. “Yes?” she breathed into the receiver. “Did you hear what happened to Louvenia?” she heard her mother’s loud question come blaring over the phone. “Yes, Mama.” She blinked away the lethargy into that she’d settled. “Mrs. Hellstrom just phoned me. She’s making me the new—” “I always said that woman was high strung. It’s those kind of people what go over the deep end and wind up in nut wards.” Maxine Fowler clucked her tongue. “Got what she deserved, if you ask me!” “It was everything that’s been happening at the store, Mama,” Lauren tried to explain. “Mrs. Yelverton seemed very upset about Beth Janacek’s—” 84

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“I suppose you know how she died.” There was a snort of derision. “Got it straight from Monique DeSalle at the Coroner’s Office. That Janacek hussy choked to death on a man’s thing!” She chuckled. “I always figured she liked that kind of depraved behavior. Sluts like her will do just about anything to keep a man happy, except this time she tried to swallow more than would fit down her whoring throat! Fitting end to her, don’t you think?” Lauren winced. “You shouldn’t talk about the dead like that, Mama.” “You going in to work today?” her mother asked, ignoring the reprimand. Lauren sighed. “Mrs. Hellstrom has made me the new—” “You call me if you hear anything else about all this,” Maxine Fowler ordered before she hung up the phone. Lauren replaced the receiver and stood up. Her mother’s calls never failed to depress her and this one had been no exception. She looked up as a knock came at her door. Wiley Jackson cupped his hand on the screen door, trying to peer through the glass on the inside door, but the hazy silk of the curtain prevented him from seeing into the interior of Lauren Fowler’s living room. He heard footsteps inside and moved back from the door. A look of surprise passed over Lauren’s face as she opened the door. “Sheriff Jackson,” she said. She pushed open the screen door. “What can I do for you?” “I need to ask you a few questions, Miss Fowler,” he said as he pushed past her into the living room. He scanned the little room. It was just as he imagined an old maid’s parlor to look like: prissy and so clean you could eat off the high gleam on the 85

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wooden floor. He looked about him for the multitude of cats he expected to find. “Would you like to sit down?” He didn’t see any damned cats, but he knew the woman had to have one. All old maids did. He turned to face her. “I suppose you know what’s happened to Louvenia Yelverton.” Lauren nodded. “Mrs. Hellstrom called this morning.” Her face fell. “I am sorry about Mrs. Yelverton.” “But not about Karla Cooper or Beth Janacek,” the Sheriff accused. As the woman’s eyes jerked up to his, he looked away from her, walked away from the front door. “It wasn’t any secret in town that there weren’t no love lost between you three.” He peered into the immaculate little dining alcove and sniffed in disapproval. “And from what Inez Montes told me this morning, the two of you didn’t get along, either.” “We weren’t friends, no, sir, but we weren’t exactly enemies, either,” Lauren agreed. Her puzzled frown followed the Sheriff as he craned his head into her tiny kitchen. “I don’t understand what this is all about, Sheriff Jackson.” He walked into the little hallway, glanced into the woman’s spotlessly clean bathroom then pushed open the door to her bedroom. “Are you looking for something, Sheriff?” Lauren asked, her heart thumping in her chest. “You seen Cree this morning?” “Syntian?” she asked, surprise lifting her brows. “Any other men hanging around your skirts, Miss Fowler?” Jackson sneered. Lauren’s mouth dropped open. “You thought he was here, didn’t you?” “He ain’t at home,” the Sheriff answered. “I figured he 86

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might have stopped by for...” His smile was nasty. “...breakfast, maybe?” Her chin quivered with outrage. “I assure you, Sheriff Jackson, I am not in the habit of entertaining gentleman in my home at this hour.” “Or at any other, huh?” He chuckled. He walked to the door and opened it. “When you hear from him, you tell him I want him to come into the office for a few questions.” “If I hear from him,” Lauren snapped. She was taken back when the Sheriff paused on the threshold and looked back at her with a sly smirk. “Oh, it’s my guess you’ll be hearing from him, Miss Fowler. I don’t know how you did it, but you done caught his attention good, didn’t you?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You tell him to call me,” demanded Jackson. He tipped his hat impudently and walked off the porch, ducking his head under the light patter of rain as he ran to his car. Neither he nor Lauren saw the black−clad figure hidden under the camouflaging branches of the spreading live oak tree across the street next to the Atherton’s. Nor did either of them see the bloodlust that turned the dark umber eyes to red pinpoints of pure hate. Wiley Jackson was a good driver. He always had been. Therefore it was quite a shock to everyone who knew him when he careened out of control on the way out to the truck stop in the east part of town and crashed into a gas tanker truck that had broken down along the side of the road. Investigators at the scene later that morning couldn’t figure out why there were no skid marks on the highway. 87

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“Didn’t even look like he tried to stop,” one of the deputies remarked. Nor could they explain why Jackson’s car, according to the driver of the tanker who was setting out flares at the back of the truck, had suddenly picked up speed before slamming into the rear of the semi. “It was almost like he just aimed for my truck. I barely had time to run across the highway ‘fore he hit me,” the driver had said. “One minute that car was angling ‘cross the road and the next it was under the back of my trailer.” He shivered. “Then the tank ruptured and that ammonia oxide went all over the damned place.” Sheriff Wiley James Jackson, age fifty−nine and the father of four girls and five boys, was pronounced dead on arrival at the Santa Rosa Hospital. Lauren listened in shocked silence as Angeline Hellstrom’s chauffeur told her about the grizzly death of Wiley Jackson. She managed to nod at him as he tipped his black cap to her before taking his leave. Turning her back to the gray, rainy day that still lingered beyond the plate glass window of the shop, Lauren leaned against the counter, her hands clutching the brass rim of the Formica. What evil had come to the little Panhandle town of Milton, Florida, she wondered? What primordial force of bad luck had come visiting? She shivered, the chill of foreboding going down her spine like lightning to a tall pine. The bell over the door chimed and she turned. He stood there, his face glistening with rain, his gaze steady on her: worried, cautious, betraying a depth of emotion she could easily see. He seemed to be awaiting the decision that 88

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was warring inside her. He made no move toward her, was not willing to make any kind of demand, afraid to scare her off. She felt his warmth, his eagerness to help her, to be with her, and her, alone. She sensed his concern for her state of mind as his worried gaze roamed her face. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low and soft. She nodded, her lower lip trembling. Her eyes locked on his. “Would you hold me?” she asked in a tiny, quivering voice. He opened his arms to her. Lauren walked to him and stepped into his embrace, pressed her cheek against the cold dampness of his black windbreaker, folding her arms against his rock−hard chest. As his strong arms closed around her, she leaned into his strength. “It’ll be all right, Lauren,” he crooned to her, his breath fanning the wisps of hair at her temple as his hand moved lovingly up to cradle her head. “I’ll make things right for you. That’s what I’m here to do.” “I need you,” she whispered. “I need you so much.” She did not see the dark brown flash of triumph as he stared past her lowered head. “Was he there ?” Delbert Merrill nodded. “I saw him as I pulled away from Miss Lauren’s house.” He held the chair for his mistress. “He followed us to the shop.” “Do you think he noticed you?” Del shook his head. “He wasn’t looking at me, Miss Angeline.” Angeline Hellstrom nodded. “She seems to be the major force occupying his mind of late.” She let a harsh sigh escape her ruby−red lips. “I’m afraid this latest escapade of his has 89

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become a bit of a problem, Del. I did not give him permission to kill a male.” “I reckon he thinks Wiley deserved it.” The black man shook his head. “I’ve never known Cree to become so attached to one of his causes before.” Delbert waited for his mistress to finish the note she was writing. “Neither have I, and frankly it worries me.” She penned the flowing calligraphic script upon the expensive parchment page, stuffed it into a matching envelope and reached for her personal seal. Del handed her the black candle glowing on her desk and she applied a thick glob of wax to the flap of the envelope then pressed the intricate seal into the center of the wax. She handed the note to her servant. “Make it clear to him that this is not a request, Delbert,” she told the tall black man. “This is a command.” Delbert nodded, placed the envelope inside the pocket of his black wool uniform jacket, and turned to go. Her sultry voice made his pause and look back over his shoulder. “Don’t return without him, Delbert. He won’t want to come. Use force if you have to.” “Yes, ma’am.” Angeline sat at her desk for a long time, her attention steady on the glittering flame of the black candle in its golden holder. In the glow of the warm light, her face shone as though it were lit from within. She looked forward to her confrontation with Syntian Cree. And to punishing him. “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked him after she’d ordered. He shook his head. “I had a late breakfast.” She put her hands on the red check tablecloth and twined her 90

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fingers. “I appreciate you staying with me at the store this morning.” He shrugged. “I didn’t have anything all that pressing that I needed to take care of this afternoon. I thought you might like some company.” Lauren nodded. “I did.” “Then I’m happy I could help,” he laughed. Something seemed to catch his eye and he looked past her. The smile slipped from his lips. “Syntian?” she asked. He started at the sound of his name and seemed to pull himself back from some revelry into that he’d fallen. “Aye, milady?” “Is something wrong?” she asked, watching his gaze slide past her again. She turned in her seat and saw Angeline Hellstrom’s driver walking past the sandwich shop’s window. She looked back at Syntian. “Have you met Mrs. Hellstrom?” He flinched. “Ah, yes. At the party the other night.” He looked down at his watch then up at her. “I really need to get going. I just remembered I have an afternoon appointment over in Warrington to look at an office.” He scooted his chair back. “Will you be all right, now?” Her puzzled, hurt look drove straight through him. “Sure.” He reached down and laid a gentle hand on hers. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?” She felt wistful, dreamy, looking up into his handsome face. “Promise?” He removed his hand. “Promise. You’ll be careful?” She nodded. Every female in the place watched him leave.

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Angeline Hellstrom paced the luxurious confines of her boudoir. Pale golden candlelight cast the only illumination within the peach moiré walls, but did little in banishing the myriad of mysterious shadows that lurked about the room. Outside, it was raining fiercely again and the diamond−shaped windowpanes of the Tudor−style house rattled in their oaken frames. A particularly savage gust pelted the side of the house and the sky outside seemed to grow darker still, sucking what remained of the natural light from the room. She glanced down at her watch and frowned, her pretty mouth twisting into a grimace of annoyance. It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon and he was not here. Damn him, she thought then a wry twitter of amusement burst from her throat. The man was already damned; had been for nearly as long as there had been counted time. “My lady,” one of the young servant girls called out, poking her cap of auburn curls around the door. “They’re here.” Angeline nodded. She walked to the mirror over her vanity and checked her appearance. Satisfied with what she saw looking back at her, she sat down on the velvet loveseat that flanked the white marble fireplace along the north wall of her boudoir and waited. Delbert Merrill handed his cap to the downstairs maid and rolled his eyes at the girl. The dark man with him was already stalking up the stairs, his anger and his power so visible the room had turned chill. “He didn’t want to come,” Delbert told the girl. The maid shrugged. “He never does.” Syntian Cree felt a vein throbbing in his forehead as he took the stairs to the upper floor two at a time. He wished himself as 92

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far away from this silk−lined prison as he could get, but the command that had come for him, and in the light of day at that, was one that could not be ignored. The knowledge of that cutting obligation caused his mobile mouth to harden with towering rage. With Angeline, he was not his own man and the thought of him not being so drove him nearly insane with fury. She heard his angry foot falls on the stairs, smiled as that hard tread came purposefully to her own door, stopped—she knew he was trying to get his fury under tight control before he came into her room—then slammed her door back on its hinges. She watched him standing on the threshold, his fists doubled at his side, glaring at her as though he could, if it were possible, consign her to the nether regions of hell. “I am not amused, Angeline,” he bit out, his eyes boring into her own with hot fury. Angeline pulled her legs up on the loveseat and tucked them beneath her. Her lashes lowered demurely over cool speculation then lifted in wide−eyed innocence. “Did you not sign a pact with me to come when I called you, Syntian?” she asked in a sweet voice. He reached behind him and slammed the door shut so hard he put a crack in the lintel. Stalking to her, he stopped at her feet, put his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “What the hell do you want?” Her smile was a slow, sardonic command, but she did not speak. One perfectly arched brow lifted in challenge. His glare narrowed dangerously. “No!” he shouted at her, turning on his heel. “I command you, Syntian,” she called out to him. He had reached the door, put his hand on the French handle. Her voice stopped him cold in his tracks. His breathing was 93

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rapid, ragged, and raging as he turned back to glower at her. She saw him trembling beneath the force of his anger. Angeline lifted her hand and crooked her finger at him. “Come, demon!” she ordered. He knew he had no choice in the matter. He was blood−bound to do her bidding, but even as the reminder of that hell−wrought pact flashed across his fevered brain, his hands itched to wrap themselves around her slender neck and squeeze until there was no life, human or occult, left in her buxom body. “Don’t make me call you twice.” He dropped his hand from the door handle and walked to her. His handsome face was filled with hatred. Angeline stretched, lifting her slender arms over her head. The movement thrust her breasts into prominent relief beneath the silk of her wrapper. She looked up at him for a long moment, a smile playing across her lips. “What is it you want?” She pointed to the floor at her feet, saw his face blaze in warning, and shook her head. “You are mine to command, Syntian.” Her voice became cold. “Do as you are told.” His jaw set, muscle twitching in his cheek, he knelt before her, going to his knees in one fluid motion. She heard his angry expulsion of breath as he spread his legs apart, bracing himself more comfortably in the awkward position into which he had been forced. He glared at her. “There are two reasons I sent for you today, Syntian.” Her gaze locked with his. “The first is not that important, but it is a command I insist you obey.” He didn’t speak. His look was dangerously cold, infinitely bored as he watched her. The hands on has thighs were balled into fists. 94

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“There will be no more killing.” “That is not a decision you may make!” Angeline bent toward him, not surprised when he turned his face away from hers. Her voice was a soft, quiet threat. “This is my domain into which you have inadvertently chosen to play your latest little game, Syntian. These are my subjects with whom you are toying. When I tell you there will be no more killings, I mean just that. Do I make myself clear?” He turned his head back and his lips twisted into a sneer. “As long as I serve you—” “The key word here is serve, Syntian,” she reminded him in a stern voice. “And in serving me, you are blood−contractually bound to do as I tell you, are you not?” When he stubbornly refused to answer her, she reached out and gripped his chin, her lids flaring wide as he put up a hand to knock hers away. She beamed with victory when he slowly lowered his hand. Her grip tightened on his chin. “Are you not blood−bound to do as I command you, Syntian?” “Aye,” he spat, his lips drawn back over his white teeth. He snatched his chin from her grasp. Angeline leaned back on the loveseat. “Then we are agreed there will be no more killings,” she stated. “If there are, you will be severely punished, Syntian.” She heard him sigh angrily in defeat. “Now that’s settled, let’s move on to the second order of business.” She put out one foot and rested it on his shoulder. His head jerked around at her touch. He knew better than to move away from her, to push her leg from him. The look on her face made it clear that she was not going to relinquish her hold over him until she was ready to do so. “You will stay with me until the new moon has passed,” she told him and saw him flinch with surprise. He opened his 95

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mouth to protest, but she drove the stake deeper in his heart. “And you may remain here even after that if I decide I desire you with me. You will learn you are not to destroy human life whenever the mood strikes you.” “You bitch,” he growled, knowing full well what she was doing. “I came to you and asked—” “Be quiet!” Angeline cocked her head to one side. “Who is your mistress, Syntian?” He ached to wipe the taunting grin from her ripe lips. His entire being throbbed with the need to demolish her; to tear her body apart with his bare hands and teeth. Her scent filled his nostrils and that part of him that gloried in defiling and debauching and degrading, that corrupted and contaminated and consumed, screamed out to him to take her in his natural form, to rend her limb from limb in the way of his ancient heritage. To drink her blood and devour her flesh, to take unto him all the meager power inside her puny body, to rid him of her once and for all. “Be very careful, Syntian,” she warned him. “You may not think so, my sweet incubus, but I have as much power as I need to cast you back into that primordial ooze from which you were conjured. There are thousands of others slithering in that vile muck who would gladly come forth to take your place at my side.” Her foot slid seductively down his chest. “I can be your most steadfast champion this side of the Abyss, my love, or I can be your most formidable enemy.” She smiled. “What will it be?” “I will not be your plaything, Angeline. That was not part of the bargain I made with you!” “You were conjured to be a woman’s vengeance, demon. And yours is still a binding oath although no ancestor of mine 96

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ever required it of you.” She pushed against his chest with her foot. “And you are blood−bound to me as you were blood−bound to your first mistress!” Syntian tuned out her words as she berated him, reminding him of things he knew all too well and wished he didn’t. His mind slipped past the warmth of Earth’s realm and flew to the land of his birth. To the place where his hell began. There had been a time, he thought with true regret, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions, when he had been part of the human race. It was a long time past; many millennia removed from this time and place in which he was now trapped. He had walked among those of his own kind: smiling and laughing, loving and living, enjoying the companionship of other males, the attention of the female members of his tribe. He had known what it was to look forward to the glow of the hot sun, the cool of the nights on the plains. He had known the pleasure of the hunt, the taste of raw meat on his tongue, warm blood oozing down his throat as he ate. He had known the frenzy of bloodlust and the intoxication of tracking his enemies and destroying them. He had thrilled to the scent of a female in heat, of falling upon her to satisfy the lust building in his genitals, of impregnating her. He had experienced the wild elation and ego−satisfying joy at the births of the many children he had sired; had delighted in teaching his sons to hunt and kill and war; had watched his daughters grow into women. And when his tribe had settled upon his shoulders the mantle of chieftain, he had sought out and become one with Tsahan, the last woman he would be allowed to mate with and bear children by according to the laws of his tribe. He had grown to love his dark−haired mate. Their love became the 97

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brightest light in his life. But when an envious female whose advances he had shrugged aside murdered Tsahan, the light vanished from his existence, plunging him into a darkness far beyond that of the night and he had howled with a grief so intense even the were−tigers had run away in fright. He had known true, overwhelming agony as he had held his mate’s lifeless body against his own, her thick blood running unheeded down his bare arms. He had turned his eyes to the heaven, cursing the entire female race for the actions of one. In his wild−eyed grief and misery, he had sought out the murderous vixen who had taken Tsahan from him and in a frenzy of rage had torn her body apart, his fingers dripping with her hot, sticky blood as he had devoured the still−pulsing heart he had ripped from her chest. But the female he had killed had been the first−born daughter of the tribe’s High Priestess, Uxumia. Uxumia’s own raging sorrow had called upon her to punish the male who had so callously and violently taken her daughter’s life. With the womenfolk of the tribe gathered around her, Uxumia had summoned the minions of the Abyss, bidding Them come to her to avenge the death of Uxumia’s daughter. And the powers had come, Their beastly wings flapping about Them as They dove out of the howling heavens. “Take him!” Uxumia had entreated the beasts of the Abyss. “Take the murderer of my child and confine him to the loathsome pit beneath the Abyss. Bind him there for a thousand, thousand years in the piss and vomit and pustulence, the cesspool of all the wastes of all the living things. Show him no mercy and grant him no surcease from the punishment my sisters and I have passed upon him!” The beasts of the Abyss had sought out Syntian, laying 98

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repulsive talons on his cringing flesh; clasping heavy chains to his wrists and ankles and dragging him—kicking and screaming and crying out his vengeance—to the noxious, lightless cavern that oozed beneath the bowels of the Earth. It was in that horror as he was plunged beneath the pernicious surface of the pit to the very depths of it, that he sought a higher power, a mightier master than the One served by those he had offended. “Hear me!” he had pleaded, his shackled hands thrusting up through the sludge and slime to make entreaty to whatever Source might hear him. “I will serve him who takes me from this wretched place. I will gladly do the bidding of he who will rescue me from this accursed existence! I will sell my soul, such as it is, to be free of this hell!” And One had come, red eyes gleaming, forked tongue slathering over scaled lips, cloven hooves striking fire against the stone barriers of the pit. “And will you sign with your own blood that you will obey Me?” the demon had asked, Its slit mouth stretching wide over fang−like teeth. “Release me from this place,” Syntian had begged, “and I will do anything. Anything!” Anything, he had promised and the demon had taken him at his word. “Rise up, Cree,” the hiss had slithered from the demon’s slathering mouth. “Rise up and hand me your soul and you will find the place to which I have assigned you.” The lair had been cold, colder than any snow that had fallen on the high mountains of his homeland. And it had been barren of light or sound. But it did not smell of animal excrement; it did not slime his skin with its loathsome, poisonous touch. It 99

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was a place for him to hide, to lick his wounds and heal his soul, to await the call promised when he could once more return to the world of light and sound and warmth. Little did he know, or guess, that when the summons came, it would be from the very gender he had cursed; nor that when he was able to look at what he had become, he would view in horrific silence the image of the master he had sworn to serve. His terror had been so great, so overpowering, he had nearly begged to be returned to the pit; but such was his joy at once again seeing the light of day and feeling the warmth of it against his skin, he allowed the female to do as she pleased with him. At first, his main purpose had been the settling of scores. With his vile looks he curdled milk, made sterile the herd, caused all manner of problems among the human race. At the death of the woman who had called him, he had flown back to his lair to await the next call. When it came, his purpose for that female became more sinister. He caused stillbirths, gathered for her potions to kill and maim and destroy, all the while crying deep in his lost soul at the things he was forced to do. When that woman was burned at the stake for her evil deeds, he escaped once more to the lair that had summoned him. It was not long after that time that he heard the first faint call for his help. Although he could not act upon that call, he could not escape it, either. The harder the tears fell; the louder the sobs of loneliness and heartbreak; the longer the misery continued, the deeper the pain of the woman’s wretchedness affected him. He soon began to realize that he might well have found a way to escape the vengeance Uxumia and her tribeswomen had 100

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thrust upon him. What better way, he thought with sinister glee, than to aid the weakly females who called out to him? To take all they were willing to give and give pain and suffering to those who abused them in return for the pain and suffering he had been forced to endure? To avenge the weak and helpless with a vengeance so exacting it destroyed those upon whom he unleashed it? He dwelt upon his plan, brooded upon it, seeking a way to go forth on his own, to find the one seeking his aid, to punish those who preyed upon the weak, but the lair was a prison, binding him in its cold, cold walls. It was not until he was summoned again, this time to murder and cause mischief across the land, that he was able to bargain with his new mistress, slyly hinting of untold delights he could visit upon her unresisting body if she would but make him presentable to the human eye once more. And in return? she had asked. “You have enemies, milady. Enemies you want destroyed. I will reap the vengeance you seek. In return, grant me what I need to sustain me,” he had asked. “Allow me to go to those lonely women like yourself who need protection; who need the touch of a gentle hand upon their bodies. Let me seek out and destroy those who have hurt that woman, who have oppressed women like yourself.” His hooded eyes had gleamed in the dark. “Let me punish those women who have turned their noses up to you and your kind; who have sought your misery and downfall with the priests and inquisitors; who have laughed as your sisters have burned and drowned.” His hissing voice had lowered to a seductive coo. “Let me be the vengeance of all the sorceresses from all time!” And will you remain faithful to me and mine? she had 101

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demanded. Will you come when you are called? “Aye,” he had agreed, sensing her capitulation. “I will serve you and be at your command for all eternity.” She had demanded he sign his name in blood—binding him contractually to the vow—and he had gladly taken the athamé and slashed his palm, dripping his mark upon a page in her Book of Shadows. “It is done,” he had whispered. “Now make me a man once more.” The witch had agreed and had cast a spell that peeled away from him the scales of the viper he had become; that had rounded his slit eyes; had stitched together his forked tongue and turned his cloven hooves to human feet; had given him fair form and face so remarkably handsome it dazzled all who beheld him. “You will serve me and mine,” the woman had sighed as she looked up as he stood before her in all his naked glory. “Do what you will to those of our enemies, but it will be me, and mine, you will obey.” She had touched him. “Now make good on your promise, demon!” For the vengeance he sought, he was more than willing to pay the price of lying with the woman and pleasuring her body with his own. It had been thousands of years since he had coupled in human form and the pleasure far outweighed the price he had to pay to achieve it. Through the centuries, he had taken his revenge on those women who had dared to hurt and cause hurt for the weaker of their gender. He listened for their call: the wounded ones, the ones in pain, and he had sought them out, able now to leave his lair whenever his mistress did not need him, and destroy, body and soul and mind, those who—because they had hurt the weak ones—had become his enemies. His revenge was exacting and 102

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final and the acting upon it gave him pleasure such as he had not known since he lay in sweet Tsahan’s arms. As for those whom he championed, he left them better off, stronger than they ever thought possible. He gave them self−pride and knowledge. He gave them strength and bravery to face a world set against them. He gave them the will to endure and to carry on. He made them a part of him and he, a part of them. The only price they ever paid for his intervention, his schooling, was the induction into that secret sisterhood that controlled him. “Before you leave them, you must recruit them into the art,” his mistress had made him vow. “These women you champion must become One with Us. There can be no other way. And when you have done all you can for them, you must leave them and never seek them out again.” That part of it hadn’t bothered him. Not until he had championed Lauren Fowler. “You came to me, Syntian.” Angeline’s words brought him back from the past. “I had not called you in years. It was you who sought me out; not the other way around.” “You never wanted me,” he reminded her. “Why now?” She shrugged. “I was young when I signed the pact with you; inexperienced with not only men but with those of your kind. It never occurred to me to have your sexual favors as part of the bargain.” “Until now,” he snarled. “Your touch gave me immense pleasure, Syntian. More pleasure than any human male ever has.” His lips twisted with triumph. “That is the way it has always been with my kind. A bonus for all the other joys taken from 103

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us.” “ I want you, Syntian. And just as you were willing to promise our master anything in return for being taken from the pit, I was willing to do anything to have you.” She shrugged. “Even going to so much trouble to put temptation in your path.” His brows drew together as he looked at her. Her lips were stretching into a challenging smile, her face glowing with humor. There was something in her look that told him she had somehow manipulated him, forced him into doing something he would not ordinarily have done. His eyes searched hers, probing, seeking. As the truth of what she’d done finally shown itself to him, it hit him with the force of a physical blow, rocking him back on his heels as he stared at her with stunned disbelief. His lips parted, his eyes narrowed with pain, and he slowly shook his head as if the action would negate what she’d done to him. “Oh, yes,” she whispered, assuring him. He hung his head, his face registering all the hurt he was feeling in his being. His powerful shoulders slumped and blood−red tears formed in his eyes. “Why?” he whispered. “I knew you couldn’t resist helping someone like Lauren Fowler. It was only a matter of time before you rose to the bait and fell into my net.” She saw him flinch. “The moment you touched her, you were lost. Weren’t you, my sweet demon?” A ragged breath, a tired sigh came from his bent head. “Aye,” he replied tonelessly. “I was.” “When you came to me and asked to break your vow not to kill a human female, I knew I had you, Syntian,” she said in a throaty acknowledgment of his pain. “You gave up much for Lauren and I pray she was worth it.” Angeline shrugged. “It would be nice to have Lauren be one of us, but it isn’t 104

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necessary. I rather like her. If you hadn’t come to her aid, I’d have eventually done something myself. I certainly wouldn’t enjoy seeing her hurt.” His head snapped up, fear turning his brown eyes black. “Don’t worry, lover,” she told him. “As long as you behave, Lauren will be just fine.” “What do you want from me?” he whispered, his voice rife with hurt. “Your strong arms around me,” she said as she sat forward on the loveseat. “Your body atop my own. Your hard shaft within me, pleasuring me.” “And in return?” he asked in unconscious imitation of all the mistresses he had ever served. Angeline slid down to the floor in front of him and slipped her arms around his neck, ignoring the repulsion she saw in his face, the way his body tensed at her touch. “In return, I will allow you the joy of being with Lauren. She seems to give you pleasure and I like the revenge against those who have abused her all these years. As long as you come when I call you, you can have her for as long as you desire her. But the first time you balk at a command from me or ignore my wishes, I’ll take her from you in such a way, the pit will seem like paradise to you.” Her smile faded as she moved her lips to his ear. Her whisper was as soft as a feather. “Do we understand one another, my demon lover?” Her hands were on his body, caressing him, touching him, sending shock waves of revulsion down his spine. Her lips were on his neck, nuzzling, nipping, sucking at his flesh. Her body was grinding against his, demanding, seeking, needing. “Do you understand? ” “Aye, milady,” he whispered, his voice tight with grief. 105

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“Good. Now put your arms around me, Syntian,” she ordered as her tongue slipped into his ear. His arms came up and gathered her to him, pressing her hot flesh against his. He was numb inside, mindless of the way her lips trailed kisses over his cheek and onto his immobile mouth. She licked him, the tip of her tongue sliding against his slack lips. “Kiss me,” she breathed against his mouth. “Open your mouth and plunder mine!” He moved his lips over hers, all the while staring at some point beyond his vision, his eyes blank and glazed. He felt her hand slide down between them to his manhood and he flinched as her fingers molded around him. “I want you,” she commanded. “Pleasure me, demon. Make me mindless with passion and whatever you do, do not dare disappoint me.” His hands moved of their own accord, neither feeling nor experiencing the pleasure he had learned to give so well. As he was forced against his will to mate with her, his thoughts were on the vengeance that would one day be his.

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Chapter Seven Lauren looked at the clock radio beside her bed. It was a quarter past ten and she had still not heard from him. It had been more than a week since they had sat together at the sandwich shop; over a week since she had spoken to him or knew anything of his whereabouts. She had broken down and called his house twice the day after their last meeting, but he hadn’t been home. She’d thought he’d drop by the store, but he hadn’t. There had been only the continuous ringing of his phone when she’d called again. After the fourth day of trying to get hold of him, she’d given up, hurt by his thoughtlessness, wounded by his silence. On the fifth night, she’d began to imagine the worst, calling every hospital within a sixty mile radius, hoping against hope that he hadn’t been injured in a wreck or become so ill he couldn’t tell anyone his name. On the eighth day, she’d called the police, but they knew nothing of his disappearance either. If anything, they were more anxious than she was to get hold of him. “Why?” Lauren had asked. “There’s still some questions we want to ask him about Beth Janacek,” the interim Sheriff had answered. “We went out to his house, but he wasn’t there. If he didn’t have anything to hide, where is he?” Where, indeed? Lauren turned over on her side, away from 107

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the clock and its accusing face. Her sixth sense told her he hadn’t left the state, that he wasn’t all that far away, but she couldn’t image where he could be or what he could be doing. “Lauren,” Angeline Hellstrom had said to her only that morning on the phone when she’d voiced her fears to her employer. “Maybe he has a girlfriend. Did that ever occur to you?” It hadn’t. Not at all. The thought of Syn seeing another woman hurt Lauren more than she would have thought possible. After all, the man was merely a friend. He’d never touched her in any inappropriate way. Had shown her nothing but kindness and courtesy and friendship during the few times they had been together. He hadn’t led her on, promised her anything, or hinted at any further entanglement. Why shouldn’t the man have a life outside the confines of his and her acquaintance? Maybe he was the kind of man who needed the stimulation of many women: friend, lover and intellectual−sparring partner. She’d heard of men like that. “I’m sure he’s probably just shacking up with one of his women, Lauren,” Mrs. Hellstrom had laughed. “A man as handsome as Syntian Cree is bound to have more women chasing him than he can shake a stick at. Don’t let it worry you. You’ll hear from him. I’ll be willing to bet on it.” And yet ten days had passed and not one word. Lauren dug her fingernails into her pillow and buried her face in the downy softness. The phone wasn’t going to ring tonight any more than it had on the previous eleven nights. She might as well not expect it to. Quiet sobs began to shake her slender shoulders. He growled at Delbert as the black man opened the bedroom 108

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door and looked in on him. “Miss Angeline said to tell you she’s waiting for you in her bath,” Del said quietly to the fiercely scowling man who was pacing like a caged animal across the plush rose carpet. Syntian’s voice was ice cold with fury. “You tell her she can...” Delbert shook her head. “You know better than that, Cree.” He shut the door softly, grimacing as something was pitched hard against the door. He heard the shattering of glass and wondered what the man had broken now. “Bitch!” he spat as he snatched up another Waterford vase and sent it hurtling across the room to crash against the thick panel of the oak door. “Whoring slut!” A delicate Hummel followed closely on the heels of the vase. He stopped as his hand closed around the Tiffany bedside lamp. He felt the tug of her calling him, the demand for him to obey pulling at his being. He put his head back and howled in frustrated rage. He knew as well as she did that he couldn’t disobey. The knowledge of that drove him nearly insane with thwarted defiance. “I hate you!” he shouted, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood if he could bleed. “I want you,” came the soft, insinuating murmur wafting around him like tentacles. He felt trapped, imprisoned within the silky walls of Angeline Hellstrom’s guest room. She had allowed him the privacy of his own room during the day, but his nights, every one of them since he had been summoned to her, had been spent in the bed beside her, her hands on him like hot pinchers tearing away bits and pieces of his sanity, her mouth sucking away any vestige of peace he had ever known. 109

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“How much longer, Angeline?” he had pleaded with her only the night before. “How long must I stay?” Her answer had been an iron band around his chest: “Until I am finished with you.” He raked his hands through his hair, tearing at the thick dark mane that swung loosely around his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved in days; didn’t intend to. His unkempt appearance seemed to amuse her. “It makes you look dangerous,” she had whispered to him. “I am dangerous!” he had shouted, deliberately hurting her as his fingers had thrust deeply within her moistness. But she had enjoyed the pain, his roughness, and he had become sickened by her reaction. “Everything you do thrills me, Syntian,” Her nails had raked across the flesh of his back. Now, listening to her siren song chanting to him, teasingly calling his name in childlike sing−song: “Syn...ti...an! Syn...ti...an, where a...r...e you?” His lips pulled back over grinding teeth and he snatched the bedroom door open and strode down the hall with murder in his cold, cold heart. Maxine Fowler frowned at her daughter. The girl was helping a customer, smiling at the woman, carrying on a conversation as though she had every right to. The customer, a middle−aged man with a receding hairline, was actually smiling at the chit. Smiling at her! Maxine’s stare lowered as she watched the interplay at the counter. A warning light had already gone on over her head when one of the three other shop girls in the store had come to Lauren to ask her a question in a polite, respectful voice. When there had even been a smile from the girl, Lauren’s mother began to gnash her teeth. 110

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“I just can’t seem to get enough of David’s books,” the little man said. “I’ll put your name down on our list, Mr. Rogers,” she heard Lauren tell the man. “It shouldn’t take very long to get your copy of Wiltse’s new book.” “Thank you, Lauren,” Bill Rogers said. He smiled again and left the store, politely nodding at Maxine as he went out the door. “Why were you flirting with that man?” Lauren’s mother demanded as she stormed up to the counter, oblivious to the looks the other shop girls and sole customer sent her way. Lauren’s face turned red. “I wasn’t flirting with him, Mama. Mr. Rogers taught me at PJC my last year there.” “It was disgraceful!” Maxine grumbled. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my entire life?” “Of what?” Lauren asked, her face creased in puzzlement. Maxine snorted. “Of the way you were throwing yourself at that odious man!” Lauren’s mouth dropped open. She was about to answer her mother’s ridiculous claim when the phone rang behind her. Her mouth snapped shut and she squinted with anger then spun around, snatching up the phone. “Composition Book Store. May I help you?” she snarled into the receiver. “You can say you aren’t mad at me,” he answered. Her hand tightened on the phone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother glowering at her. The look on Maxine Fowler’s face put starch in her daughter’s spine. “I’m busy. I suggest you call someone else with whom to chat!” She replaced the phone in its cradle and turned to face her mother. Her chin came up. “I was neither flirting with Mr. 111

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Rogers nor was he flirting with me, Mother. I was being polite to him because he is a polite and courteous man and he is a valued customer at this store. If there is something you wish to speak with me about, it would be preferable if you either waited until my lunch hour or called me at home this evening.” She skirted the counter, motioning for one of the other girls to take over. She moved with purpose toward a customer in the non−fiction aisle who had been trying to gain her attention. Maxine Fowler stared after her daughter with a shocked expression of disbelief. She saw the customer Lauren headed for smile and heard Lauren speak in a friendly, good−humored tone of voice. “May I help you, Mrs. Lutz?” “I hope so, Lauren,” the middle−age woman replied. “Do you have the latest book on movies and video releases?” “What is going on here?” Lauren’s mother breathed, watching Lauren laughing with the woman. She glanced at the girl who was now behind the counter. “Who’s the manager here now that Louvenia’s in the hospital?” she asked. The girl looked at her with confusion. She could have sworn Lauren had called this woman her mother. She shrugged, thinking maybe the woman didn’t know. Lifting her hand, she pointed at Lauren. “Lauren?” Maxine gasped. “You can’t be serious!” At the girl’s nod, Maxine Fowler turned toward her daughter once more and stared at her, thoughts churning like cresting waves in her mind. Who in their right mind would trust Lauren with a job of such importance as managing a shop? The answer, Angeline Hellstrom, flitted across her consciousness like a foul taste. “I might have known,” Maxine sneered. Her face turned ugly. “And just what other things do you have in common with 112

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that slut, Missy?” she silently asked her daughter. Her nose in the air, Lauren’s mother spun on her sturdy heels and pushed angrily through the door. She’d do more than call Lauren this evening; she’d go to her house. Lauren had some explaining to do! He slowly hung up the phone, a dagger of hurt twisting in his heart. It had taken him nearly two weeks to free himself of Angeline and her voracious appetite and he was drained: emotionally and physically. Every day had found his thoughts on Lauren, her face before his wounded eyes, her sweet voice in his ears to block out the demands being made on his flesh. He had looked forward to, counting the minutes of, his escape from, Angeline’s hot clutches so he could once more see Lauren; speak to her; feel the respect and admiration for him she so willing gave. He had dialed the shop’s number with eager, trembling fingers, had felt his heart thumping inside his chest as he waited for the phone to be answered. When he’d heard her voice, his heart had soared and he felt the great affection he had developed for this woman bubble up inside him like molten lava. He hadn’t expected her to be angry with him. Not really. He hadn’t expected her to talk to him the way she had. Her tone of voice, more than her words, had stunned him, caused him so much pain he thought he would collapse under the weight of it. He had stood there, receiver pressed against his ear long after the dial tone changed into the irritating whir of a receiver off the hook. He had stood there, his heart on his sleeve, his pain showing in his handsome face, and felt for the very first time since he had been drawn up from the Pit, the kind of sorrow that drove men to their knees. 113

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“Problems with the phone?” he heard someone ask and he turned to face the stranger behind him who was obviously waiting to use the public phone Syntian’s hand still touched. He let his hand fall away. “No,” he answered, shaking his head. “The phone’s fine. It’s my life that’s the problem.” He moved away, shoving his hands down into the pockets of his acid−washed jeans. He hunched his shoulders into the brisk Gulf breeze and walked back to the limo where Del sat waiting patiently, Pensacola New Journal spread open in his hands. The black man glanced over the top of the paper, to the rear view mirror when Syntian climbed into the back seat. “Wasn’t she at the store?” Delbert asked. Syntian looked up, locking his gaze with Del’s. Something in the other man’s eyes told Syntian that Angeline had been hard at work trying to undermine the tentative bond Syntian had been trying so hard to establish with Lauren Fowler. “What did she say to her, Del?” The black man shrugged and folded the newspaper, laid it on the seat beside him. “I don’t know.” “The hell you don’t!” Syntian growled. “What did Angeline say to her?” “Let me give you a word of advice as a fellow brethren,” Del told him. “You don’t go around biting the hand of the woman what owns you, man.” Syntian snorted. “You might enjoy serving her hand and foot, Del, but I don’t! If she’s telling me one thing and doing another, I can break that damnable pact!” Del shook his head. “I suggest you don’t try.” He twisted around in the seat. “You wanna go back to the darkness in the Earth, brother? I sure as hell know I don’t. I like the light and I like the warmth and I ain’t gonna do nothing to jeopardize the 114

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way I got it now. It took me three hundred years to get where I am. I ain’t going back!” “It took me five thousand years to find a woman I can love, Del!” Syntian shouted back. “Do you think I’ll stand idly by and let Angeline Hellstrom take her away from me?” “Love?” The black man’s face showed his shocked astonishment. “You better not let Miss Angeline hear you say that, Cree. Ain’t no telling what she’d do then!” Syntian turned away and glared out the window. He barely heard the car crank, felt it pull out onto the highway to Navarre. Blindly he watched the bland scenery moving past him along the road. His mind was on Lauren and that was exactly who he intended to see the moment he got back to Milton. He would find out what Angeline had said to her to make her so angry with him. That the witch had said something he had no doubt. And he had every intention of finding out what! “Love?” Angeline whispered as she ran her hand over the pool of water before her. “You love her, do you, Syntian?” A smile of pure evil passed over the beautiful face of Angeline Hellstrom and she laughed. What an absolutely perfect way she had found to control her wayward lover! Lauren had declined the new store clerk, Cathy Atherton’s, offer of a ride home. She had needed the two−block walk to try to sort out all the conflicting emotions tumbling around inside her head. She glanced at the red light on the corner, looked to see if any traffic was coming then started across the street. With her attention on the pavement before her, her mind on her sudden change of station in life, Lauren didn’t see the car of 115

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teenaged girls that had turned onto the road she was crossing. Their car roared down on the intersection until she was jolted from her reverie by the sharp blare of the little car’s high−pitched horn. She jumped, her head coming up, face pale, as the smirking teenaged girl behind the wheel flipped her the finger as the car sped past her. “Why don’t you watch out where the fuck you’re going, old lady?” the girl yelled at her. The car plowed through the intersection, deliberately running the red light, and Lauren heard the laughter of the other teenagers in the vehicle. She stared after them, knowing without having to be told, the girls, or at least the one driving, were the daughters of high−ranking officers assigned to the naval air station north of town. She shook her head. She dealt with rude, self−centered self−important little girls like that all the time at the bookstore. She shook her head again, wondering why the parents of such arrogant little snots didn’t try to teach them any respect for others. There was a slight breeze as Lauren headed down the sidewalk from the red light to her little house. The smell of mimosa was thick on the air and the Spanish moss in the spreading live oaks swung gently as the wind swept over the trees. Somewhere, the faint chink of a piano playing an old gospel song faded in and out with the passing traffic, the shouts of children at play, the slamming of screen doors along Canal Street. An aloof cat, as black as midnight, trotted by, tail rigidly erect, it’s velvet paws seeming to barely touch the ground as it walked. It moved ahead several paces, stopped as if to look back at Lauren then veered off into someone’s yard, disappearing. 116

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Down the block, a dog barked, another answered, and a car horn beeped twice. It was a typical summer evening, the sun lowering in the western sky, sending shadows skipping alongside Lauren. Coming up the sidewalk to her front porch, Lauren opened her purse and fumbled inside for the key. She was tired, bone weary, and was looking forward to a long, relaxing shower before fixing something light for her supper. She opened the outside screen door, stepped onto the porch and stilled, her gaze going to her right to the porch swing hanging from the ceiling. “Hi,” he said, coming slowly to his feet from his place on the swing. Lauren stared at him for a moment then looked back at the street. His car was nowhere in sight. She returned her gaze to him. “Why are you here?” she asked. He took a step forward and saw her stiffen. He stopped. “I wanted to explain.” Lauren’s brows rose. “I’m sure you don’t owe me any kind of an explanation, Mr. Cree.” She saw him wince at her use of his formal name. “I think I do,” he answered. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other like an errant schoolboy. “I think you’ve somehow gotten the wrong impression and I need to rectify that.” Her gaze jerked away from him and she stepped closer to the inside screen door, put her hand on the handle. She stilled then turned her face toward him. “I don’t believe there is anything you need to rectify. I would appreciate it if you would leave now.” she opened the door. “Lauren, please,” he begged, stepping to her in one lithe bound that surprised her with its quickness and fluid grace. He 117

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was like the cat that had passed her on the sidewalk, moving so lightly on the balls of his feet, she hadn’t heard his approach. With his black jeans and shirt, his dark hair, the image of the exotic feline she’d seen flashed unbidden across her mind. “There’s nothing we have to say to one another, Mr. Cree,” she told him, putting the screen of the door between them. She looked at him through the mesh. “I’ve had a very tiring day and I’d like to rest.” “Someone told you I was with a woman,” he interrupted. “Is that it?” Lauren’s face flamed, but she continued to look at him. “Your personal affairs are none of my business.” “Then make them your business,” he bit out. “If I could have called you, I would have. It was business, nothing more, and I wasn’t where I could get hold of you.” A look of disbelief crossed Lauren’s face. “I don’t suppose there were phones where you were.” His face turned bitter. “I wasn’t allowed to use the gods−be−damned phone!” he snarled. “It was a business matter, Lauren. Strictly business.” “It doesn’t matter,” she said, jamming her door key into the lock. She twisted it with shaky fingers and turned the knob, pushing the heavy pine door open into the riving room. “Will you at least let me come in and try to explain?” She shook her head. “My neighbors are watching.” “Then stay out here and talk to me, Lauren.” “No,” she said. She turned to face him. “I really would like it if you’d go now.” He reached out and grabbed the door edge. “Not until we’ve talked.” She pulled the screen door away from his grip and hooked 118

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the latch. It wasn’t any real protection, especially against a man as powerful as she realized Syntian Cree was, but it put a barrier between them she saw that he accepted. “I told you, no.” “At least tell me what’s made you so angry with me.” His hands were on either side of the door frame as he peered through the screen at her. Lauren sighed. She hated confrontations. “Just go,” she asked in a tired voice. “I really don’t want to get into this tonight.” Hope flared in his expression. “Will you have lunch with me tomorrow then?” She was already shaking her head in denial. “Why not?” His tone was more hurt than belligerent. “Mrs. Hellstrom is coming over tomorrow. She’s invited me to lunch.” She saw his lips purse. “There’s a lot to be done at the store.” “What did she tell you about me?” he demanded, his voice angry. Lauren’s forehead crinkled. “Who?” “Angeline Hellstrom.” “Nothing,” she answered, wondering why the bookstore owner’s name sounded like a curse exploding from Syntian Cree’s lips. “Did she tell you I was with her?” True astonishment spread across Lauren’s face. She stared at him. Finally finding her voice, for he seemed to be waiting for her answer, she asked, “Were you?” He searched her face. He saw the hurt, saw the tremble along her lips that she was so desperately trying to hide from him. He knew if he lied to her, if she caught him doing so, it would be the last time she’d give him the chance to be a part of her world. 119

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“It was business,” he said in a low voice. “A business arrangement.” He shook his head. “It meant nothing to me.” Her gaze involuntarily slid down him then moved up in shock to his face. “You’re a gigolo,” she breathed, her brows drawing together in stunned realization. Even as he shook his head at her conclusion, she nodded. “You are. That’s exactly what you are.” she watched as his face seemed to turn dark with shame and she thought she had hit upon the source of his money, his expensive car and luxurious home. What better playing ground for a man such as he than the white sands of Florida’s Panhandle? “You are wrong,” he said. “Were you with Mrs. Hellstrom?” “Aye, but—” “The entire two weeks?” He let out an angry breath. “Damn it, yes, but let me explain—” “Did you sleep with her?” Lauren countered, emboldened by the anger growing inside her that this man had fooled her so completely with his slick manners and smooth voice, that Mrs. Hellstrom had not bothered to tell her that Syntian Cree was off limits. Syntian didn’t say anything for a moment; instead, he looked into her waiting face, trying with his gaze to make her understand. “Well?” she flung at him. “Did you sleep with her?” His voice was small, low. “Aye.” Lauren’s face turned pale. “And she paid you for it.” He squeezed shut his eyes as though he were in pain. “No, Lauren, no. It isn’t like that.” “She called and you went to her,” Lauren accused. “Just like 120

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that?” She snapped her fingers. “She tells you to jump and you ask how high? Is that it?” He flinched. “It’s not what you think, Lauren.” She glared at him through the screen. “Does she give you money?” He was shaking his head. Her voice rose. “Clothes? Cars? Property?” Her eyes raked him with disdain. “How does she pay for your sexual favors, Mr. Cree, or is your expertise in that department gratis to any woman who wants it?” He looked at her: at her anger flashing at him; at the way her lips were straight lines pursed tightly together; at the way she stood so rigidly behind the safety of the screened door; at the look on her pretty face that told him she would never again trust him or want anything to do with him. His shoulders sagged, his hands sliding down the wooden doorframe beneath the contempt and disgust he saw settling in her expression and he slowly shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said so softly she barely heard him. He lowered his hands from the door and stepped back. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Lauren.” She watched him turn, push through the outside door and cut across her yard toward the street. He never looked back as he headed down the sidewalk to the streetlight. She slowly closed the door, shutting out the sight of him. Maxine Fowler lunged out of her car and trod up the sidewalk to her daughter’s porch and snatched the screen door open. “Lauren!” she bellowed, coming up to the inside screen and finding it locked. She rapped smartly, loudly on the doorframe. “Lauren, open this door!” Lauren sighed, gritting her teeth to the strident voice yelling at her from outside. Now was not the time for her mother to 121

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make one of her sporadic yearly visits. She neither needed, nor wanted to endure, one of the tyrannical, blistering diatribes her mother was accustomed to delivering whenever she came to call. “Lauren!” The screen door rattled with a vicious jerk. “I’m coming!” Lauren called out, clenching her hands into fists as she hurried to the door. She twisted the dead bolt on the outside door, pulled the door open and reached out to flip the screen door latch off. Before her mother could snatch the door open and bulldoze her way in, Lauren turned and walked through the tiny dining alcove to the kitchen beyond. “Where did you go?” she heard her mother yell. The sound of heavy footsteps rattled the cheap china in Lauren’s sideboard. “I’m in here, Mama,” she managed to say through clenched teeth. She winced as her mother slammed through the swinging door from the alcove into the small kitchen. “I want to talk with you, missy!” Maxine Fowler snapped without preamble. “I know,” Lauren sighed, filling her teakettle with water. “Don’t you get huffy with me!” Maxine growled. She looked around the kitchen and sniffed her disdain at the cleanliness and orderliness of her daughter’s little domain. “Show me some respect or I’ll know why!” “Would you like a cup of tea, Mama?” Lauren asked as she placed the copper kettle on the stove and turned on the heat. “I would like an explanation of just how you finagled your way into being given the management of the book store!” her mother demanded. “Just what did you do for Miss Whore of Babylon to warrant such a promotion, I want to know!” 122

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A muscle in Lauren’s jaw clenched tightly as her teeth crunched together, but she was able to face her mother with a steady gaze, something she never thought she’d be capable of doing ever in her life, and explained how the job came to be hers. Maxine Fowler’s stare narrowed into a thin slit of mistrust. “I don’t believe that’s all there is to it.” “You can believe whatever you wish, Mother,” Lauren told her as the kettle began to whistle. She turned to pick it up and found her wrist in a vicious grip as her arm was twisted away from the stove. She yelped as the pain of her mother’s fingers dug into her flesh. He almost turned around at the red light, almost started back to the house. The old woman’s angry, insinuating words had been enough to make him furious, but the pain she had caused Lauren had speared straight through him like an arrow. He was quivering from head to toe as the grip on Lauren’s wrist tightened and her faint whimper of hurt sliced into his brain. He glared at the little house down the block, piercing wood and stabbing through walls until he saw the scene that was playing across his vision like a motion picture. His breathing was ragged: coming in heaving gasps that pushed from him like small explosions. The heat in his face was rising along with the building rage and he dug his fingernails into his flesh to keep from bellowing out in absolute primal fury . “Don’t you ever sass me, missy!” Maxine Fowler shouted at her daughter as she pushed Lauren’s hand down toward the floor. Her strong fingers, the fingers of a professional typist with decades of practice, gripped her daughter’s wrist in such a punishing hold she felt the bones grinding against one another. “You know better than to sass me!” 123

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“Mama, please!” Lauren gasped, tears flooding her eyes. “You’re hurting me!” He took two steps toward the house then stopped. If he barged into Lauren’s home at that moment, he knew he’d snap her mother’s body in half without the slightest regret. A red haze of rage was spreading around him already: a haze filled with running blood, tearing muscle and pulverized bone. It was all he could do to stay where he was, his temper like a white−hot probe jabbing into his being. He opened his mind, let the force inside him that had controlled him for centuries reach out, gathering, bringing together the elements around him, coalescing the vibrations humming through the air into one direct beam of concentrated design. Maxine Fowler smirked with satisfaction. She shoved Lauren away from her, smiling as the young woman came up painfully hard against the porcelain of the old Youngstown sink and slid down to the red and black asbestos tile floor, cradling her injured wrist in her right hand. She was looking up at her mother with shock. She whimpered and flinched as her mother bent over her. “Don’t you ever sass me again, Lauren. Do you hear me?” Lauren nodded. As her mother straightened and moved away, Lauren breathed a sigh of relief. She pushed herself from the floor and stood uncertainly next to the sink. Maxine reached for a napkin and blotted her perspiring upper lip, unaware that a malevolent force was building outside. He could not harm the old woman, but he wanted to. He wanted to hurt her as she had hurt Lauren. Not enough to cause serious damage, but enough to revenge the pain the old woman had caused. But there was something he could do and his eyes flared with vindictiveness. His thoughts, his powers spiraled 124

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together into a thick mass of anger then turned to heat . “Now,” Maxine stated, pulling out one of the vinyl chairs of the red chrome dinette set. She sat down and regarded her daughter. “What else is that witch having you do for her?” Lauren’s shoulders sagged. “Mama, please. I just manage the bookstore. That’s all.” Maxine snorted. “For now, maybe, but that whore will be sending you men callers. You mark my word!” He stopped, the heat of his building revenge glowing around him like a mirage. He listened, heard the words as clearly as though he was in the room, and the power of his anger changed, shifted subtly, and he smiled so evilly the birds in the branches above him flew away in sudden alarm . “It’s not like that!” Lauren cried. “Mrs. Hellstrom’s not like that!” “Don’t you tell me what that bitch is like,” Maxine Fowler said. “I’ve known her a lot longer than you, missy. I know how she gets her money, don’t you think I don’t. And don’t you think the whole town don’t!” Her gaze narrowed. “All them old men she marries up and die in a year or two. Don’t leave their money to nobody but Angeline Hellstrom, neither.” She sniffed. “Wouldn’t surprise me none if the bitch don’t kill ‘em. You remember that Judy what’s her name what murdered her son on the Blackwater, the one they call the Black Widow? That’s what Angeline Hellstrom is as sure as I am standing here! She kills them old farts or gets one of her men to!” “Men?” Lauren asked. A surge of unease shot through her belly. “What men, Mama?” His mind released the hold he had on his anger, sending the sustained effort of his thoughts directly toward the little house midway the block. He folded his arms across his chest and 125

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watched as the revenge he had formed slid unerringly toward the woman who had caused it. Maxine Fowler waved a hand in disdain. “That bitch has every swinging dick in this county and five others slobbering after her. She can get ‘em to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do.” she tapped her index finger on the tabletop. “The woman is a witch!” “Mama.” Lauren sighed, more than aware of her mother’s propensity to call any woman she didn’t like a witch. “Mrs. Hellstrom’s been very good to me.” “She wants something from you,” Maxine interrupted. “And to get it, she’s gonna put temptation in your path, missy. You mark my words!” “What kind of temptation, Mama?” Lauren sighed again. She became aware of the shrill shriek of the teakettle boiling away on the store. After an uneasy glance at her mother, she reached out to take the kettle off the stove with trembling fingers. An undulating wave of heat passed through the screen mesh of the porch, wafted under the doorjamb and slithered along the floor to the kitchen door. It slid unseen under the base of the door and wafted toward Maxine Fowler. “She’ll send a man,” Maxine Fowler prophesied. “A man who’ll be just too good to be true.” She watched her daughter carefully for any hint that just such a thing had already happened. Lauren put her back to her mother as she poured the hot water into the cup with its tea bag draped over the side. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she knew if she were to turn so her mother could see her face, the older woman would know there was a man who had already entered Lauren’s life. 126

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The wavering movement reached the chrome legs of the dinette chair in that Maxine sat and slithered up one shining surface. Where it passed, the metal turned hot with an alien heat that gave off no color or sense of warmth . “That man will woo you, missy,” Maxine crooned in a smirking voice. “He’ll tell you how pretty you are and how much he likes you.” The heat crawled up under Maxine’s flowered dress and onto her thigh, curved over it, slid down between the crease where her thighs touched and spread its ghostly tendrils under the leg bands of her panties. It reached out to touch her then oozed through the crisp curls of her pubic hair and entered her . Maxine drew in a shuddering breath. She seemed to lose her focus, her body tensed, and she became aware of an infused heat inside the little kitchen. Absently, she reached out and put her hand on the table and began to rub her palm across the red Formica top of the table. Her voice changed, became softer, dreamy. “He’ll put his hands on you, his body against yours.” Her eyes, intent on her own reflection in the gleam of the Formica’s surface, had become glazed as she spoke. “He’ll kiss you so deeply you’ll think your soul will be drawn out through your mouth and into his. His tongue will slip down your throat and his manhood will leap against your belly like white heat.” Lauren, her face red, turned around to stare at her mother. There was a look unlike any Lauren had ever seen on her mother’s slack face. Maxine Fowler’s pupils were dilated, fixed on something Lauren couldn’t see. Her right hand slid off the tabletop and fell to her lap where it began to twist in her lap, her fingers gripping and pulling at the material of her dress, inching 127

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the fabric up her thighs. There was such naked hunger in her mother’s face. It sent a shiver down Lauren’s spine. Her mother’s voice went low and throaty. “He’ll pick you up and carry you to his bed and his arms will be so strong you will think he could break you in half if he wanted to.” Her lips stretched into a smile of pleasure. “His body will be fine. So fine it will make you ache with wanting him. His chest will be hard and thick with a pelt of hair as black as soot. And when he enters you, when he takes you, he will give you the kind of pleasure no mortal man ever could.” Maxine’s face contorted. “Ahhhhhh!” The heat withdrew in a rush of coiled spite. “No!” the older woman gasped. “Please!” She shivered, moaned in abject disappointment as she squeezed her thighs together, her hand clutching desperately at the material covering her legs. Her vision rolled into focus, and she became aware of her daughter staring at her. She tore her gaze from Lauren and tried to still the thumping of her heart inside her chest, tried to quell the intense sexual heat flooding her lower body. A thin trickle of drool was oozing down the corner of her mouth and she snatched up a napkin from the holder on the table and blotted her face. “Mama?” Lauren questioned, taking a step toward her mother. “The devil’s spawn, he’ll be,” her mother whispered as she wiped her mouth on the napkin. “And he’ll take your virgin body with a cruelty and lust you can not imagine!” She stood up, pushing away from the table with a grunt. “And what will you have after you lose your maidenhead to a man like that, missy?” Lauren gaped at her mother, jerking as Maxine Fowler’s 128

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next words were flung at her like pelting stones. “A whore! That’s what you’ll be! A whore just like Angeline Hellstrom! You will be his whore for as long as he wants you!” Lauren’s mouth dropped open as her mother stormed out of the kitchen. She followed her, amazed. At the door, her mother turned and pointed a finger at her. “You’ll be just like her, missy. Just like her!” She rushed through the screen door and hurried to her car as though the hounds of hell were on her heels. The door slammed on the car and the motor ground as her mother twisted the key too hard in the ignition. As her daughter watched, Maxine Fowler peeled away from the curb, tires squealing in protest, and sped away. He watched the look of confusion and alarm leave Lauren’s face as he stood across the street and observed her. He ached to reach out, to touch her in a similar way to the way he had touched her mother, but he knew he wouldn’t. Knew he couldn’t. As much as he wanted her, he wanted her to come to him as any human woman would come to her mate. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her. His dark, fathomless gaze moved away from Lauren as tires squealed around the corner at the far end of the street. A humorless smile touched his full lips and his attention moved gently back to the woman who stood on her porch, shaking her head. “Lauren,” he whispered. He saw her head come up and he stepped back into the shadows, away from her searching look. She had answered his call, not even knowing from whence it had come, not really hearing the soft sigh of her name on his lips, but feeling it deep in her soul. 129

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“My Lauren.” The whisper was like the soughing of the wind and he smiled as she shivered, wrapping her arms about her as she stepped away from the door her home. His eyes turned hot as a blazing inferno. “Mine,” he claimed her and then blended into the lush foliage behind him .

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Chapter Eight Angeline Hellstrom smiled. “Sales at the store are doing quite well since you took over as manager.” She took a sip of her coffee, viewing Lauren over the rim. As she returned the cup to the table, she smiled again. “I believe I made a very good choice in picking you.” Lauren looked down at her plate. “Thank you.” She couldn’t seem to look the woman in the face today not after yesterday afternoon’s talk with Syntian Cree. Angeline’s smile slipped slowly away. “Is something wrong, Lauren?” she asked, reaching out to touch the young woman’s arm. The cool touch of Angeline Hellstrom’s fingers on her flesh drove the fleeting thought of Syntian deeper into Lauren’s mind and she glanced up at Angeline, shaking her head. “I guess I’m just tired,” she answered. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” The older woman sat back in her chair and regarded Lauren for a long, silent moment until Lauren blushed under the intense scrutiny. Lowering her head once more, she let the long wave of her unbound hair obscure her face from Angeline’s gaze. “He’s not worth it, Lauren,” Angeline said. When the young woman’s head came up and her wounded eyes speared straight 131

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into Angeline’s, the other woman shrugged. “Your sleeplessness, dear. Syn is very good at what he does, but he’s not worth losing sleep over.” Lauren’s blush deepened and she tried to turn away from the gentle look coming from Angeline Hellstrom’s probing stare but the older woman reached out to take her chin and force her to look at her. “I know Syn can be a very stimulating man, Lauren. He’s a remarkable man, a pleasure to be with, but he can be very cruel and unfeeling sometimes, not even meaning to be.” She smiled, sighing ruefully. “Women to him are an avocation. He needs variety and I can accept that. Can you?” The stain turned scarlet red on Lauren’s cheeks. “There’s nothing between us, Mrs. Hellstrom.” “Though not for lack of trying on his part, I would imagine,” Angeline said. There was great hurt and sadness in Lauren as she forced herself to return Angeline’s look. “I’ve never had a man be nice to me like he’s been,” she confessed, the admission making her face screw up with embarrassment. “I didn’t know how to react to it.” “Something upon which Syntian unconsciously acted,” Angeline said. At Lauren’s look of puzzlement at the remark, the older woman leaned forward. “You are a challenge to him, dear. He’s used to women falling all over themselves to gain his attention. You, on the other hand, have had very little experience with the opposite sex.” “No experience at all,” Lauren admitted. Angeline’s lovely face clouded. “None?” Lauren mutely shook her head. The gleam of understanding in Angeline turned to pity for 132

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the girl. “Not even dating?” “No, ma’am.” A single lonely tear eased its way down Lauren’s cheek as she opened her eyes. Something akin to contrition shot through Angeline’s being and she drew in a long, wavering breath. “And Syntian’s little flirtations must have seemed a Godsend to you,” she said in a soft, understanding voice. Lauren looked up. “I really thought he was interested in me.” She couldn’t go on for her eyes were blurring with tears. “He seemed sincere, didn’t he, dear?” “Yes,” came the whispered, ashamed answer. Angeline lifted her head and gazed out over the restaurant. No one was looking their way; no one to observe the softly crying woman sitting beside her. The older woman’s lids were slit with compassion, an emotion she had not thought herself capable of feeling. The empathy she was experiencing with the young woman made her acutely uneasy and she regretted her use of Lauren Fowler in her effort to punish Syntian. “Have the two of you been friends long?” she heard Lauren ask. Angeline looked at the girl. “Do you mean have we been lovers for very long?” At Lauren’s wince, Angeline almost felt ashamed. “I’ve known him for thirty years. We’ve been lovers off and on for most of that time.” A frown of confusion wrinkled Lauren’s smooth forehead. “Thirty years?” She gazed into Angeline’s unlined face. Although the woman had an expert hand in applying her makeup, the fine lines and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth gave away telltale signs of her age. Lauren thought her to be in her mid−fifties, but Syntian? He couldn’t have even reached his mid−thirties yet. “He’s older than you think,” Angeline said gently. “We both 133

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are. You’re what? Forty−four?” At Lauren’s nod, she smiled. “I meant to send you a birthday card, but things were just so hectic that week.” “You did?” Lauren asked, amazed, not knowing the subject of age had been deftly cast aside. “Of course, I did,” Angeline smiled. She reached out to pat Lauren’s hand. “Why wouldn’t I? I like you, dear. You remind me so much of myself when I was younger.” Her smile turned thoughtful. “I was horribly shy and unsure of myself.” “You?” Lauren gasped. Angeline laughed. “Why not? I was such a shrinking violet I walked down the school halls with my eyes on the floor, my shoulder pressing against the walls, and my books clutched so tightly to my chest my mother never had to press the bodices of my dresses!” At her tinkling laugh, she saw Lauren’s lips twitch. “Can’t you just picture it?” she asked. “Here’s this scrawny little reed of a thing huddling along the hallways, books clasped to her flat little chest; pimples spread out like wildfire over her plain face; hair so lackluster and limp it defied curlers; a body that was ungraceful and gangling and nondescript. Not once was I ever asked out in high school. You know how it feels not to be asked to your proms?” At Lauren’s solemn nod of understanding, Angeline sighed. “I was so desperate to go, I finally screwed up my courage and asked one of the nerdy boys who I knew wouldn’t have the guts to ask anyone to go with them. I was crushed when even he turned me down.” “But you’re so lovely,” Lauren protested. “I can’t imagine you looking any other way.” “It wasn’t until I went to college that I began to bloom,” Angeline explained. “I took some courses in ancient religions 134

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and one day Syntian walked in.” Her vision clouded for a fraction of a second before she blinked and refocused. She seemed to mentally shake herself. “He went to the same college?” Lauren wondered at the look that had come over her employer’s face. Angeline shook her head. “He came to class one day, interested at the course on demonology that was being taught. He sat down next to me and when he smiled...” She sighed. “You are aware of what that smile of his can do to a woman!” Lauren ducked her head. “I’m afraid so.” The older woman finished her coffee before she spoke again. “You know, Lauren, he’s not a gigolo.” As the young woman’s head snapped up, Angeline shrugged. “He called me to demand what it was I possibly could have said to you that made you think such a thing of him. He was mortally offended, I’m afraid.” She chuckled softly. “The man has a massive ego and to have a woman think him a boy toy absolutely devastated him.” Lauren’ flinched. “I shouldn’t have accused him. I didn’t mean to offend him.” “He’s not angry at you,” Angeline hastened to say. “He’s furious at me!” She laughed. “He was telling you the truth, Lauren. It is a business deal between the two of us.” “I don’t understand,” Lauren admitted. “I know you don’t, dear, but what is between Syn and me has nothing whatsoever to do with the way he feels about you.” She put her hand over Lauren’s and squeezed. “There will always be a connection between him and me because we have a long, long history together.” She withdrew her hand. “He really would like to take you out, Lauren. If you wish to accept his offer of a date, I think I can manage to sever our sexual 135

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relationship.” She looked away a moment. “There are many more where he came from.” Her mother’s words cut through Lauren like a hot knife through melting butter. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can accept a date with him under the circumstance. My mother—” “Did you know your mother and I went to high school together?” At Lauren’s look of surprise, Angeline nodded. “Graduated the same year from college, too.” “But that would make you as old as my mother!” “I told you I was older than you thought I was,” Angeline laughed. She blotted her lips with the linen napkin then tucked it beside her plate. “I’m sixty−eight.” One lush, dark, perfectly tweezed brow lifted at Lauren’s look of stunned surprise. “Don’t look so shocked, dear. I think I’ve held together rather nicely, myself.” “Of course you have!” Lauren gasped. “I just would never have imagined.” Angeline smiled. “I take better care of myself as I get older. It’s hard holding back the hands of time, but it can be done very effectively if you just know the secret.” “You’ve found the Fountain of Youth,” Lauren teased. The older woman’s face glowed. “You might say I have.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “His name is Syntian Cree.” When the blush returned to Lauren’s face, Angeline shook her head. “We’ve got to work on that blush, dear. It keeps giving you away!” “You said you went to school with Mama,” Lauren said, wanting to change the subject. “Maxie Grant was the prettiest girl in school. She had all the boys eating out of her hand, so therefore, never lacked for a 136

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date on the weekends. She was head cheerleader, prom queen, homecoming queen. She had so many titles I couldn’t keep up with them.” A frown passed over Angeline’s lovely face. “I envied her.” “I’ve never seen her yearbooks,” Lauren confessed. “She never mentioned high school to me.” “She was the belle of the ball every year,” Angeline said. Her voice was filled with a slight hint of anger. “She had the tendency, even back then, to act as though she was better than anyone else. But she met your father our first year at FSU and I’m afraid he was her downfall.” “He wasn’t a very likable man,” Lauren said, her voice soft. “He was a bastard,” Angeline told her. She seemed to shudder. “He was as bad a man as any I’ve ever met.” “And he turned my mother against men,” Lauren added. Angeline shook her head. “It wasn’t him who did that, Lauren. It was another man.” Lauren’s brows lifted. “I didn’t know there’d been anyone but my father.” “Oh, yes,” the older woman said, nodding. “A man Maxie fell hopelessly in love with. She fell so hard for him it wasn’t funny. She would have done anything for him.” “Can you tell me about him?” Angeline smiled, but to Lauren, the smile was filled with a large amount of revenge. “They were quite the item around campus. She was dating both him and your father, but it was that man she wanted and set her cap for.” She gazed intently out the window. “There was another girl.” Her face puckered with remembrance. “A lonely, sad girl who caught his attention. He went to her, wanting to help her, needing to help her, but when your mother found out what he had done, she caused a lot of 137

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trouble for the poor thing.” Angeline closed her eyes. “He was infuriated when he learned what Maxie had done. After that, he wouldn’t have anything more to do with her.” She opened her eyes and turned to look at Lauren. “He became my lover, instead.” Lauren could not dredge up a picture of her mother as a young woman, especially a woman in love, but she could picture a bitter woman who had been hurt badly by the man she loved. “How did she take that?” “She was devastated, I can assure you. Ever since she’d been in her early teens, she’d always gotten whatever it was she went after. She’d found the secrets to making life go as you want it to long before I did, but I’m afraid the teachers she had weren’t nearly as good as mine.” Angeline smiled again. “When she realized what had happened, that I had taken the man she wanted away from her, using the same tactics she’d always used to get men to notice her, she was absolutely livid.” A small, dry laugh escaped Angeline’s pretty mouth. “She sent out these ridiculous flyers all over campus accusing me of being a witch and having put a spell on the gentleman in question.” “That sounds like my mother,” Lauren observed in embarrassment. “She thinks everyone she dislikes is a witch.” “It takes one to know one!” Angeline chuckled. “What happened to him? The gentleman?” Lauren wanted to know. “Oh, he’s still around. I see him now and again.” She shook her head. “He’s not the marrying kind.” Her eyes locked with Lauren’s. “At least not with me, he isn’t.” “So then Mama married Daddy,” Lauren stated. “On the rebound and to leave school, I suppose.” A nasty 138

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little twitch moved her expressive mouth. “She was pregnant with your sister so that may have had something to do with her marrying so quickly.” Lauren was floored; she’d had no idea her sister had been conceived out of wedlock. “Was she his child?” she stammered. “Was it our mutual lover’s child?” Angeline asked. An amused smile flitted over her expressive mouth. “It’s highly possible.” “That explains why Mama talks about men the way she does,” Lauren said, almost to herself. “And because I took her lover away from her, she calls me a whore.” Angeline laughed. “And sometimes I am.” When Lauren looked up at her with shock, Angeline shook her head. “Don’t worry, dear. I have no intention of corrupting you, but I’d be willing to bet Maxie’s warned you that I might.” “I don’t make value judgments, Mrs. Hellstrom,” Lauren said. “I’ve had enough made about me that I know how it feels.” “I know, dear,” Angeline said, sobering. She enclosed Lauren’s hand with hers. “That’s why I think you should accept Syn’s friendship. He’s a perfect gentleman and he wouldn’t do anything to harm your reputation.” “I don’t think it would be appropriate.” “If you’re worried about the relationship between him and me, don’t. We’re old friends, Lauren, and nothing can ever change that, but I don’t own the key to his heart.” She squeezed Lauren’s hand. “I don’t think anyone has for a long, long time, but I see a glimmer of hope when he speaks of you that I’ve never seen before. He really cares for you.” “I shouldn’t,” Lauren whispered. “I don’t know him very well at all.” 139

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“The only way you’re going to get to know him, Lauren, is to go out with him!” Angeline reminded her. “What harm will it do? Let him take you to supper, to a movie. But I warn you he’s a horror movie buff. You’d better do the choosing or you’ll wind up watching Jason shearing off some poor teenager’s noggin’!” Lauren smiled. “The way I treated him yesterday, I wouldn’t blame him if he never asked me out again.” Angeline chuckled. “Oh, he will! Believe me, he will.” Glancing down at her watch, Lauren realized they had been sitting at the table for over two hours. She looked up guiltily at her employer. “It’s almost two o’clock.” “So?” Angeline inquired, lifting a fine brow in challenge. “Who’s gonna fire us for getting back late?” Lauren laughed, rising from the table as her companion did. She started to open her purse, but Angeline put out a hand to stop her. “This lunch, and the tip, is my treat.” Walking back to the store, the two women spoke quietly, laughing together, giggling like schoolgirls. Neither saw the darkly handsome man watching them from across the street although Angeline felt his presence as she always did when he was near. As she held the door open for the younger woman to precede her into the store, she turned her forest green eyes across the street and smiled. He didn’t smile back. Maxine Fowler bent over and, with the back of her arm, swept everything from the little mahogany table in her foyer. Crystal burst as it hit the hardwood floor, flowers scattered about the area rug, water dripped down the wainscoting, little china 140

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figurines collapsed as they broke. “God damn you to the everlasting fires, Angeline Brewster!” she screamed. “You filthy, rotten, whoring bitch!” Turning, Maxine stormed into her living room and cast about for something else to render to rubble. Stalking to the long sofa table in front of her, she picked up a simpering little Precious Moments knick−knack and hurled it against the far wall, chipping the plaster and crushing the smiling figurine to dust. Her fingers closed around a marble egg in its brass stand and sent it flying through the archway into the dining room where it struck the cheery wood table and took a small nip out of the veneer as it skittered across the high sheen of the Queen Anne table. “I loathe you!” Maxine snarled, her lips drawn back over clenched teeth. “I despise you!” She snagged the afghan from her rocking chair and tore at it, her fingers grasping like a crone’s claws as she pulled viciously at the crocheted stitches. The material twisted in her hands, stretched, but the stitching held the pattern together. With a growl of frustration, Maxine threw the afghan to the floor and stomped on it, her heels catching in the pattern. Kicking it away from her, she flung herself into the rocking chair and glowered sightlessly at the far wall. “I’ll see you in hell for your interference, Angeline Brewster!” she mumbled. A thin stream of saliva eased down the left side of her mouth. “I’ll see you roasting in the eternal flames of the Pit for what you’re trying to do to me!” “What is it you think she’s doing to you, Maxie?” Maxine Fowler whimpered, slowly turning her head toward the softly accented voice that had spoken. As her vision took in the speaker, her mouth sagged open and she flinched, pressing 141

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back into the rocker, her hands gripping the arms with such force her knuckles bled of color. A groan of fear dredged up from the bottom of Maxine’s dark−tinted soul and she stopped breathing as she watched the man who walked toward her. Syntian’s sensual mouth twitched with humor. One thick brow lifted in challenge as he stepped up to the chair and stood gazing down at the woman in the rocker. He smiled slowly as he saw the terror flitting across her wrinkled face. Putting out his hands, laughing silently as he saw her flinch away from him as he took hold of the rocker’s arms and bent his knees to hunker down in front of her, he kept eye contact with her, refusing to allow her to look away from him as he settled at her feet. His head cocked to one side as he looked at her. “Why is it always you, Maxine?” he asked quietly. Maxine’s throat had closed with fear, but her body was aching with a deep−seated hunger that his nearness only intensified. The heat between her legs was so great she felt sweat oozing down her thighs. A rumbling, clutching twist in her womb made her painfully, acutely aware of the warm, animal smell coming from him, the smoldering directness of his hot gaze. “Please,” she managed to whimper, her teeth chattering. “Syntian, I need you.” She squirmed in the rocker. “I need you so badly.” “I imagine you do.” “I gave you pleasure once,” she whispered. “The least you can do now is pleasure me!” “Do you remember when you called me from my lair, Maxie?” he asked her as he moved toward her an inch or two until his body was pressed against her trembling legs. He smiled at the hopeless groan that was pulled from the depths of 142

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her being as his flesh touched hers. Where his body was in contact with her own, Maxine felt a radiant heat that pulsed through her. His chest was braced against her knees. Pressing, searching, and, without thought or conscious effort, her knees moved outward, away from one another, and the heat of him moved closer, settling itself between her spread thighs. “You wanted what I could offer you, Maxine,” he said softly. His hands slid from the chair arms to her quivering thighs. She moaned deep in her throat. Her head fell to the tall slats of the rocker. “Did I not give you what you wanted, Maxine?” His voice was a silky caress that reached out to erase the passage of time. It slid sensually back through space and years and misery, taking her along with it, until Maxine stood on the steps of her grandmother’s house, an ancient, crumbling black book in her hands. “I held to our bargain, Maxine,” he reminded her. “Do you remember?” Ah, but yes, she remembered! A thrill of sweet, aching pleasure drove through Maxine’s body and she trembled. She remembered it all: finding the old book in her grandmother’s trunk; reciting the incantations; calling forth the glorious essence now pressing so intimately between her legs. “I gave you all that you wished for, did I not?” He had. Her lips lifted in a sad smile. Everything she had demanded, he had given in full measure. He had been her knight in shining armor, her rescuer, her instructor. He had been her all. “Was I not all that you wanted me to be?” 143

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That silky voice was like a fondling of her most secret parts. It always had been. From that very first moment when she, thirteen years old and unschooled in the ways of the flesh, had first opened her arms to him. “Take me,” she had ordered him. “Take me and make me a woman!” There had been no hesitation as he swept her up into his arms and carried her inside her grandmother’s house. There had been no hesitation as he stripped her clothes from her and pressed his own naked body over her own. There had been no hesitation as he had entered her, hard and demanding, filled with such glorious heat she could still feel it inside her. There had been no hesitation as he had plunged so deeply within her, taking away the barrier of her virginity, replacing it with the throbbing shaft of his ownership. There had been no hesitation as the ice−cold fluid of his lust had spurted into the very core of her. “Yes!” she had screamed, her legs wrapped around the smooth flanks riding her. “Yes!” She had grunted at the hugeness of him, the pain of his penetration, but her cries soon turned to ecstatic groans of fulfillment as the rhythmic thrusts of his manhood drove deeper still into her. “Did I not pleasure you, Maxine?” his soft whisper swirled around her. “Yes, Syntian, you did.” She sighed, lowering her head to look down into his dark, sinful eyes. Her hand came up to cup his smooth cheek and she moaned softly as his head turned and his lips pressed familiarly into the palm of her hand. He felt her threading the fingers of her free hand through his hair. He moved his lips from her flesh and smiled. “Was I not everything you wanted me to be?” 144

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She nodded as her fingers pushed through the flowing, shoulder−length silk of his dark hair. “All any woman could want, Syn,” she answered. His right hand moved, slid under the fabric of her dress and unerringly found the wetness at the juncture of her thighs. He felt her clamp down on his fingers as he slid them inside her. “Do you still want me?” Her hand tensed in his hair. “I will always want you, Syntian.” His fingers probed gently. “And what will you give me if I pleasure you this day, Maxine Grant?” All her fear had vanished with the touch of his flesh against her own. Her hunger was so great she would have devoured him if it were possible. Her hand on his cheek caressed him; the hand in his hair smoothed the soft strands from his face. “Whatever you wish for, my demon,” she answered. “Your daughter?” he queried. “Will you give me your daughter?” There was no hesitation. “Yes.” He smiled. Lauren was out of breath when she reached the telephone. “Hello?” “I just called to tell you I’ll be going away for a few weeks.” “Mama?” Lauren’s brows drew together. “Going where?” “To visit your Aunt Ivonne,” her mother answered in a dreamy voice. “I needed a vacation and that’s where I’m going.” “Isn’t this rather sudden?” Lauren inquired, not liking, nor understanding, the tone of her mother’s voice. “Don’t get impertinent with me, missy!” her mother 145

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snapped. “You’ve got the number in Wewahitchka if you need me.” Lauren stared at the telephone, as the connection was broken. Slowly she replaced the receiver and stood there in her living room, confusion moving over her face. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang again. “Did you forget something?” she asked. “Are you still angry with me?” His voice was gentle, reflecting the uncertainty of his reception. Lauren’s heart thudded hard in her chest. “No,” she whispered, wanting to apologize to him for the ugly insinuation she had made earlier that day, but not knowing how to begin. “Then will you please let me take you to supper this evening?” There was a thread of insecurity in his tone that told her he was prepared for her rejection of him. “I would love to,” she answered immediately. She smiled at the sigh on the other end of the phone. “Seven?” he whispered. “Seven would be fine.” Maxine Fowler lay with her arms behind her head, intent on the expensive clothes that were covering Syntian Cree’s magnificent body. As he buttoned his silk shirt, she licked her lips, watching as his strong fingers threaded the pearl studs through the buttonholes. “How old were you, Syntian?” she asked, her regard moving over the width of his shoulders and down to the tapering of his waist. He looked around at her. “When I left the world?” At her silent nod, he shrugged. “Thirty−four in Earth years.” He reached for his jacket that hung on the footboard of her bed. “Will you ever age?” Her face had taken on a look of intense 146

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sorrow. He shook his head. “No.” A remorseful sigh escaped Maxine’s lips and she turned over in the bed, a bed still damp from their wild lovemaking, and buried her face in the pillow. “I will,” she said. “You already have,” he said in an unkind voice. She flinched, tears gathering. A shaft of anger drove through her to replace the languid warmth of a moment before. “Just as Lauren will,” she reminded him. He slipped into his jacket. “I am aware of that, Maxine.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “And will you want her when she is old and gray and wrinkled as I am?” He glanced up at her as he moved his shoulders to settle his jacket more comfortably about him. “I will teach her what she needs to know to keep her beauty for as long as humanly possible. Had you been a different sort of woman, Maxine, I would have taught you such things.” “Like you have taught Angeline?” He shook his head. “I have taught her only ways of the flesh. That was all she required. Others have taught her what she knows of maintaining her looks.” Maxine sat up. “Why did you abandon me?” she shouted at him. “It was I who called you, demon!” He walked to the door, intending not to answer her, but a spark of annoyance lit and he turned to face her. “Do you remember what pledge I had you make before I ever laid hands to you, Maxine?” At the furious shake of her head, he nodded. “Oh, aye, you do. Think back, Maxine. What did I ask of you in return for the demands you made on me?” She stubbornly refused to answer, not wanting to remember her own foolishness at the bargain she had made. She turned 147

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her face away from the glorious beauty of his dark face. “Answer me, Maxine,” he ordered, his voice stern, uncompromising. She looked around at him. Her mouth was set in a mulish pout. “Maxine,” he warned, taking a step toward her. “You made me swear an oath,” she said grudgingly. “In your own blood,” he injected. “In my own blood!” she snapped. Her chin lifted. “That I would never do harm to another like myself.” “But you did,” he prodded. Her mouth twisted with memory. “Angeline Brewster was a little nothing!” “A little nothing just like you,” he taunted. He stepped closer to her, smiling at the way she scooted herself up in the bed, fearful he would lunge at her and do to her what she knew him capable. “Angeline hungered just as you did for the very things I gave you. But you tried to murder her, didn’t you, Maxine? And you would have succeeded had I not stepped in to take the bullet meant for her!” His eyes were hot with accusation. “Instead of trying to help her, you put every obstacle you could conjure into her path then you tried to kill her. For that, I took revenge in her name.” “But you were mine! You are blood−pledged to my family line! Not hers!” she protested, her lips trembling. “I heard her calling, just as I heard you calling,” he answered. He stared at her. “And she is blood of your blood, Maxine. Family of your family.” “Fourth cousins don’t count!” Maxine denied. “Aye, they do,” he responded. “The bloodline carries on from generation to generation. You know that.” 148

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“But you had made a pact with me!” Maxine whimpered. “With me, Syntian Cree!” “And I fulfilled that pact,” he reminded her, “until you broke it by attempting to harm your own flesh and blood. I did what you wanted. I made you a woman.” “Then left me for that whore!” Tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I loved you, Syntian. I loved you!” “You still do,” he said with a snarl. “And you always will.” She turned her head away. “But you didn’t learn from that time years ago, did you, Maxine?” he asked, driving the spur of his dislike further into her. “You have tried to keep your own daughter from learning of her heritage, haven’t you?” Her head snapped around and she flared at him. “I tried to keep Lauren safe from brutes like you!” “Safe?” he scoffed. “You tried to deny her the very humanity with which she had been born!” “I wanted to keep her pure!” “You wanted to keep her ignorant,” he shot back. “You wanted to keep her under your thumb for as long as you paced this Earth.” His face was hot with fury. “But I would not allow that.” “You will do to her what you did to me then abandon her just as you did me!” Maxine shouted. “She will grow to love you and you will corrupt her as you corrupted me and Angeline and every other mortal woman who’s known your evil touch! Lauren will pay for letting you put your filthy hands on her!” His sneer was deadly. “Just as you let me put my filthy hands on you?” “Get out!” she yelled at him. “Go to her! Take her, for all I care! She deserves what you’re going to do to her!” She flung 149

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herself down in the bed and began to wail in fury. He stood there for a moment, disgust and loathing stamped on his handsome face. “Consider yourself lucky I did not come to you as I did to those other women, Maxine.” Her sobbing stopped and she flipped over in the bed, staring. “Aye, lady,” he said savagely. “They knew the hate of the NightWind. Would you like to feel it, as well?” Maxine pushed herself up against the headboard. “That was you?” she whispered. “Don’t interfere with what I plan, Maxine,” he threatened. “You would not like to pay the price for meddling this time, I can assure you.”

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Chapter Nine “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked him. Syn shook his head, put his hand on his stomach. “I started feeling a little queasy on the way over to your place.” He smiled ruefully. “I think it was something I ate yesterday that’s upset my system.” “Maybe we should just skip supper then.” “Nonsense,” he declared, shaking his head. “I can get just as much pleasure watching you dine as I could from ingesting the food myself.” He laughed. “And not gain any of the calories.” Her laughter was like a tinkle of silver bells. “But you don’t mind me having them, huh?” His gaze smoothed over her flushed face. “I like my women full−bodied.” Lauren felt her face grow hot. She looked down at the napkin in her lap, not sure how to answer such a blatant attempt at flirtation. “I really should apologize for the other day,” she finally said, glancing up to see him watching her. “About what I called you.” “Actually,” he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his wide chest, “after I thought about it for a while, I rather liked the notion that you thought I was a gigolo.” He grinned openly at her look of acute embarrassment. “No really,” 151

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he continued. “At least you don’t find me unattractive and I was beginning to think you did.” Her head came up. “You’re joking.” “Not in the least.” He tilted his head to one side. “You didn’t seem all that eager to go out with me.” “It wasn’t you,” she answered in a low voice. “Must have been my cologne then,” he teased then winked at her. “Or my deodorant.” “You’re an incorrigible flirt, aren’t you, Mr. Cree?” “I’ve been known to be.” Her smile widened. “Where are you from, anyway?” He wagged his brows. “A galaxy far, far away.” Her laughter made his heart soar with affection. “Why, Lauren, don’t you believe me?” His lower lip thrust out in a seductive pout. “I think I’d believe anything you told me,” she laughed. “You make everything you say sound so sincere.” “I am sincere, woman,” he cautioned her. Unfolding his arms, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the clean white linen of the tabletop. “You can believe that anything I tell you will be the one hundred percent truth.” She grinned. “What planet?” “Rysalia.” Lauren clucked her tongue with mock disgust. “A barbarian.” His left brow crooked upward. “You’ve heard of it?” There was a look of wonder on his handsome face. “Just this side of Andromeda,” she teased. “Beyond the mountains of the moon.” He laughed, understanding her literary allusion. “Well−read and well−versed.” He nodded. “I like that in a woman.” 152

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“So you’re Scottish,” she commented, alluding to his slight accent. “I am an Outlander from beyond the mountains,” he admitted, but he didn’t say what mountains or in what land those mountains lay. “And your purpose here on Earth?” she asked, her face perfectly still although her lips twitched in wry amusement. He leaned closer, lowered his voice. “To take a Terran woman to wife.” “I see.” she smiled sweetly at him. “To re−populate your planet?” He sighed. “To make my life less lonely.” Lauren’s brows shot upward. “That won’t do.” He frowned. “Why not?” “You’re suppose to be here for nefarious purposes, barbarian. No self−respecting star traveler would come to Earth for anything other than to cause mischief.” His smile returned. “Oh, I do that, too.” He sniffed. “In my spare time.” “When you’re not looking for a wife?” “Precisely so.” “And what kind of wife are you looking for?” She winced at her question although it seemed to carry on the fantastical quality of their conversation. “One who is a good breeder?” His answer made her blink. “One such as I once knew,” he answered quietly. There was such sadness in his tone, such inner misery Lauren was taken aback. His answer put a damper on the frivolity of their intercourse and she was stunned to realize this man had been married. She wanted to clarify the realization. “You were married?” 153

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He nodded. “A long, long time ago.” He looked away from her across the crowded restaurant. “What happened?” She had to know what had brought such agony to his face, such terrible longing to his dark eyes. He looked back at her. “She died.” Lauren felt a stab of pity. “I’m sorry.” Syn shrugged. “As I said, it was a long, long time ago.” “But you still feel the pain of it.” “I always will.” His gaze fused with hers. “I think you know what such pain feels like, don’t you, Lauren? In a different way, but a lonely pain just the same.” She shifted her look from his. “I’ve known moments of unhappiness, yes.” She flinched as his hand covered hers on the tabletop. Looking down at the strong, bronzed fingers caressing her own, she knew a moment of utter joy that rocketed through her entire being. “Let me make you happy, Lauren. Let me make you feel all the things you have always wanted to feel.” She withdrew her hand from beneath his and placed it in her lap. She took a deep breath before she could answer him. “I think you have misjudged me.” The waiter brought her food and apologized for interrupting her. She smiled at him and looked down at the platter of steak sizzling before her. “It looks good. That will be all,” Syntian said. Bowing elegantly, the waiter bid them a good meal and walked away. “You were saying?” Syn encouraged, lifting his wine glass to take a sip. “I’m not a very sophisticated person,” she said, picking up her knife and fork to score the meat. She concentrated on the 154

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food before her, avoiding his eyes that she could feel steady on her face. “And I’m a bit old−fashioned.” “You don’t kiss on the first date.” She looked up at him, her utensils still. “That’s not all I wouldn’t do.” He sat back, regarding her with half−closed lids. “I am aware of that, Lauren. If I insinuated otherwise, I apologize.” She looked away, fearing she had misread his intentions in the things he had said to her. “If I offended you again, I apologize.” “No, you did not,” he interrupted. He smiled as she glanced up at him. “I am offering you my friendship, my companionship, Lauren.” His smile widened. “Unless you wish me to prove my barbarism to you by committing some of those nefarious deeds all star travelers engage in upon landing on Earth.” “Such as?” she shot back, relaxing in the glow from his warm eyes. “Rape, ravaging, pillaging of the first order.” His face shone. “I’m quite good at all three.” Her giggle was quick in coming. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.” “Shall I ravage you then?” She shook her head as she speared a cube of steak and placed it between her lips. “I don’t think so.” “Soon, though?” “Before you return to Rysalia,” she promised. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said in all seriousness. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Among other things.” She nearly choked on the meat in her mouth and had to take a hasty swallow of the red wine at her plate. 155

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“Gotcha.” He chuckled, wiggling an admonishing finger at her. The meal was delicious. The conversation was lively and just bordered on the risqué. Her companion’s presence caught the attention of every woman in the room and many found it necessary to pass their table on the way to the ladies room, their hungry gazes devouring the man who ignored them. “Would you like to go to a movie?” he asked as she finished the last of her coconut cream pie. Stuffed as she was, Lauren could barely nod. “I’d love to. Do you know what’s playing?” She lifted her napkin to wipe her mouth. “There’s a horror movie at the Cineplex.” He stopped at her laughter. “What?” “Mrs. Hellstrom warned me about your love of horror movies.” He looked crestfallen. “You don’t like them,” he said in a disappointed voice. “On the contrary,” she answered, watching his head come up. “The gorier, the better.” His smile was radiant. “Hellraiser Five is at the Cinema Nine.” “BloodWind is playing at the Riverview Quadriplex,” she countered. Syntian’s brows shot up. “Fancy that one, do you?” She nodded. “I’m an Eric McCormack fan.” She cocked her head to one side. “As a matter of fact, you look a lot like him.” He shook his head. “I’m much more handsome.” “And from Rysalia, not Toronto.” The movie was good: filled with haunting music and, to 156

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Lauren’s embarrassment, a good deal of the players’ naked flesh. She hadn’t counted on there being so much overt sex in the plot. “Rather effective use of his hands, don’t you agree?” Syn had leaned over to whisper to her at one point during the film and Lauren was glad for the cover of the dark theater. “I think I’ll try that.” Soon after the lights had lowered in the room, he had managed to stretch, placing his left arm along the back of her chair. She was reminded vividly of a schoolgirl memory of teenaged boys doing just that to their dates when she’d been in school. It was endearing, just a tad wicked, and wholly Syntian Cree. The fingers of his hand strayed often to her shoulder, stroking the fabric−covered flesh as he sat keenly intent on the scenes floating by them on the screen. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked as they walked back to his car. “Yes, I did.” she smiled as he opened her door and waited until she was inside the car. “Good plot.” He nodded, shut her door and walked around to the driver’s side. Climbing in, he sat, his eyes straight ahead of him, hands on the wheel. “Not exactly accurate, but good,” he agreed before he reached down to crank the car. She looked over at him. “Not accurate in what way?” He shrugged as he put his hand on the gearshift. Looking behind them, he backed out of the parking spot. “The guy in the film was an incubus, yet he impregnated that young girl all on his own.” “Can’t they do that?” she asked, curious that he knew so much about the infernal arts. He shook his head. “Not unless he had become a succubus first and gathered the sperm into itself.” 157

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Lauren didn’t understand and said so. “An incubus is a male demon; a succubus is a female demon. The incubus and succubus are interchangeable in most occult writings that tend to make them sexless until they visit their victims: incubi to women and succubi to men. The demons are supposed to have the same ability to be whichever they wish. An incubus intent on impregnating a human female can first metamorphose himself into a succubus, gather the semen of an unsuspecting human male then transmit it, in the form of an incubus, to his female victim.” “But it won’t be his seed that impregnates her.” “The dead don’t have active body fluids.” “Demons are really dead people then?” He nodded. “In a manner of speaking. They are the spiritual dead inhabiting mortal bodies.” “But can they be destroyed by fire? As he was in the film?” Syntian chuckled. “Hardly. The only way an incubus can die is to be defeated and slain during mortal combat by one of their own kind.” He pulled up behind the line of cars waiting to exit the theater parking lot. “Even then, it is not death as you know it. He will return to the Abyss when he leaves this plane of existence and that is a death to be avoided at all costs.” “Was that the only inaccuracy in the movie?” “Demons don’t just pop up out of hell without being summoned, either. But once here, loosed, they can act on their own if given the opportunity.” He glanced to the left before pulling into traffic. “How come you know so much about demonology?” He grinned. “I’m a demon, of course.” “An incubus,” she corrected. His eyes found hers. “At your service, milady.” 158

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Lauren lay in bed, smiling, happy. Her thoughts were roaming back over the night, touching lightly on the conversation they had had at the little all−night diner where, over coffee, they had laughed and joked with one another. She sighed, thinking of what a gentleman he had been at her door, gallantly kissing her hand, reaching out to gently touch her cheek before he turned to go. “Syntian?” she had called out and he had stopped, turned to look back at her in the harsh glare of her porch light. “What, milady?” “Thank you.” He had bowed his head at her words. “Any time.” She had stood on her porch and watched him drive away until the taillights of the sleek black Porsche had blinked away in the darkness. For a long time she had stood there, breathing in the soft fragrance of the mimosa and Cherokee rose and wisteria. The blending of the night fragrances wafted under her nose and made her heady with their scent. The phone rang as she crawled beneath the covers and she had known right away who was calling. She had lifted the receiver languidly to her ear. “Aren’t you tired by now?” There was a low chuckle at the other end. “Good night, Sweet Lady,” he had said. She heard the hollow buzz on the line that meant he was using his cell phone. “Good night.” “Are you waiting for your incubus to come calling?” Lauren giggled. “I’m ready when he is.” There had been a long moment of silence on the phone then his voice was low and sultry. “Maybe you should make sure your windows and doors are securely locked.” 159

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“Somehow I don’t think that would do any good.” “It wouldn’t,” he had answered, breaking the connection. Lauren replaced the receiver, grinning at the way the man had of making remarks that seemed to convey far more than the words spoken.

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Chapter Ten He hadn’t meant to go to her. He truly hadn’t, but his lust had gotten the better of him and he found himself standing over her bed, staring down at her as she slept, aching to reach out and touch her, to stroke the silk of her flesh, to slide his fingers into the warm moistness of her body. He watched the gentle fall of her chest, pushing the silk fabric of her nightgown upward with each breath, and the thickness between his thighs had grown painful and hot with need. He tried to turn away, but he couldn’t. His hunger was too powerful, his need too great, and he reached for her, wanting her more than he had ever wanted anything in this life or the last. “Syn,” she whispered in her sleep. He stilled, his groan of despair so great he thought she had heard him, but her lids only fluttered as she turned over in her sleep. He watched her arms wrap around her pillow, drawing it to her breast and he wished with every fiber of his being that it was him she held so tightly to her body. “Leave her, Cree,” he heard his inner voice warn. “Get out before she wakes and finds you here.” Yet still he could not go. He knew he had to content himself with merely looking at her, not touching her as he so longed to do, not burying himself to the hilt inside her warm and innocent body. 161

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Go! Now! Before it is too late. Before he let his hunger rule him. An ache, from deep within the gut of him, rose up to fill him with a pain of such longing, such loneliness, he wished he could weep to release it. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and his entire body quivered with misery. “Come away!” another voice demanded and his head came up as he recognized Angeline’s waspish hiss. “Now, Syntian! Come to me!” His teeth clenched together until the muscles in his jaw jumped. Tearing his gaze from Lauren’s sleeping form, he stepped back into the darker shadows of her room and evaporated. Angeline watched him form in the far corner of her bedroom, the wavering heat of his fury spiraling around him like a mirage on the desert floor. It was his eyes that came first: hot and infinitely raging then his body, stiff with outrage and anger. “Behave,” she warned him. “It is I who orders you.” His voice was a snarl of pure venom. “What do you want, Angeline?” “You,” she answered and saw his eyes flare with such lethal intent she nearly feared him. But her own hunger for the body beneath the black silk of his shirt and sleek black leather pants forced the fear from her mind. “I will not let you paw me tonight, bitch.” “You will do whatever I ask of you, demon, or I shall send you back to the very depths of hell.” He took a step toward her, intent on letting her have him in such a way she would never forget, or live to remember, but her mocking smile brought him up short. 162

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“You want her, Syntian?” she taunted. “How will you have her if you can not reach her, my lover? If you are once more imprisoned in the muck of the primal ooze?” He wasn’t so sure she had the power to send him back to that nether region of the Abyss since she hadn’t been the one to summon him from it, but he couldn’t take the chance that she didn’t. He had known women before, powerful women who had had such abilities and he had feared them, much as he feared Angeline, although his hatred for this one ran deeper than any he had experienced in a thousand years or more. “Come here, Syntian,” she demanded, crooking her finger at him. He watched her stand up and untie the silken ribbon at her throat, watched the pale peach gown slide down her shapely body until she stood before him in curvaceous splendor. “Don’t make me tell you again,” she warned as she ran her hands down her breasts. “I don’t want you,” he bit out from between his clenched teeth. “You never do.” She sighed. “Since when have I ever let that stop me from having you, Syntian?” There was fire in his body as he went to her, jerking her roughly into his arms, slamming her nude body against the coolness of the silk and leather of his clothing. His right hand buried itself in her long hair and he dragged her head back until the slim column of her slender throat was exposed to him. He wished he could sink his teeth in that pulsing flesh and rip out her throat—tear out the veins and arteries—and gorge himself on her warm, salty blood, devour her flesh. “Be careful what you do, Syntian,” she told him, sensing his violence as his hand tightened painfully on her scalp. 163

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His breath gasped from his lungs in great gulps and he was forcibly reminded that beneath the sludge of the Abyss, he had had no breath. No warmth. No blood to course, sluggish as it did, through his veins. He had simply existed, his mindless screaming going on and on and on. There had been no light, no warmth nor presence in that private section of eternal punishment that had been given him. It had been the loneliness, the overpowering aloneness that had nearly driven him insane. He knew he would never survive another internment in that evil place without losing all presence of himself and becoming a shade in a world of shadows. “Love me, Syntian,” he heard her saying as her arms twined about his shoulders. He heard the ripping of the silk covering his back, felt her long nails digging into his flesh, scoring deep, bloody furrows that would take a long time to heal. “Pretend it is Lauren you are taking.” A shaft of pain so agonizing rapped through him that it staggered him and his hand fell from her hair to her shoulder, sliding down her neck until his fingers curled around the slim column of her neck. “Don’t make me do this.” She pressed her body to his. “You love her, don’t you, Syntian?” Her hips ground against him. “Angeline, please.” “If you ever hope to have her, you had best pleasure me as I wish to be pleasured, my demon lover, or I will see to it that you never put your hands on Lauren Fowler this side of the Abyss!” “Angeline, I beg you. Do not make me do this tonight.” His voice was a throaty moan of protest and sorrow. “Do it, Syntian,” she warned him. “And do it gently.” 164

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With a sigh of defeat, his arms encircled her and his mouth dropped to hers, slanted across her lips with tenderness he did not feel. As her tongue flicked across his rigid lips, seeking, probing, he opened his mouth, accepting the torture she planned for him and let himself become lost in her vindictive embrace. He had no need to sleep. The dead didn’t sleep. His restless prowling at night amused her. She watched him from beneath half−closed lids as he stalked about her room, his body as rigid as stone, his eyes bleak and lost and hopeless. She saw him sit down in her boudoir chair, shift uneasily then come to his feet in a tiger’s leap of grace to stalk through the room once more. She saw him stop now and again and look back toward the bed where she lay and she saw the hate and the fear and the frustration. His teeth would gleam behind the drawn back curve of his snarling lips and he would commence his pacing once more, the low growl in his throat a warning sign of what he wished he dared do to her. “Find somewhere else to vent your anger, Syntian,” she told him and saw him spin around to glare at her. “I give you leave to find some enemy you wish to tear asunder so I may sleep.” She wiggled down beneath the covers. “But come back here as soon as you’re finished.” A sleek smile touched her lip. “But do clean up before you crawl into bed with me, lover. I don’t want blood on my sheets.” His growl of fury shook the room and Angeline saw him vanish in a swirl of violent light. Wind rushed through the room with gale force at his departure and she shivered, feeling vaguely sorry for whatever or whoever he got his hands on this night.

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Blair VanLandingham was bored. She looked about her at the other young men and women lounging on the hoods of their cars, necking inside the parked vehicles, or who wandered aimlessly about the river bank, arms around one another’s waists. It was always the same: every Friday night no different from the one that preceded it. It was all boring, annoying drivel that these southern bumpkins considered “fun” and that Blair considered to be brainless inertia. “Want a hit, BeeVee?” some stupid tenth grader asked her as she passed the front of his Nissan pick−’em−up truck. “Eat shit and die, yokel,” she snapped as she picked her way through the red clay muck that sucked at her Nikes. Her gaze scalded the longhair boy with disdain then jerked away to her objective: Briton Alexander. Brit was by far and away the handsomest boy Blair had ever seen. His golden blond looks and sky−blue eyes were enough to make the California−bred−and−raised teenage girl hot with anticipation. That he had continued to ignore her all night didn’t help Blair’s mood any and his intentional snubbing was starting to wear as thin as the herringbone bracelet clasped around her slim wrist. She made her way to his 1963 ‘Vette. “Are you planning on blowing this gig any time soon, Briton?” she asked in a waspish voice. As he glanced at her through the halogen glow of Jack Ritter’s El Camino lights, she could see his annoyance surfacing. “What’s your problem, VanLandingham?” he snapped at her as he slid down from the hood of his ‘Vette where he’d been sitting with Angel Ramirez, one of the halfbacks on the Milton varsity team. He flicked away a Coors can and hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his 501’s. “You’re the one who wanted to ride out here.” 166

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Blair tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder and rewarded him with a look she had perfected over her seventeen years that was meant to quell the strongest jock. Usually it worked, but with Brit, it only seemed to amuse him. “I’m so bored I could fuck a baseball player,” she grumbled. Her head jerked around at Angel’s guffaw and she fixed him with a deadly glare. “You’d fuck anything that asked you,” Angel snorted, ignoring the look by lifting his beer up to his lips. “Anything except you!” Blair’s voice turned frosty. Angel turned his head and spit beer off into the dark. His broad Filipino face broke into a grin when he turned back to look at her. “I’d never ask a cunt like you to fuck my duck.” “Chill,” Briton mumbled to his best friend. He had brought the chick out here, might even be somewhat responsible for her, but all she was worth was a quick one wherever he could manage it. All the same, he didn’t want a scene between her and Angel that might escalate into something more than just that. “Keep your twat’s mouth shut, Brit,” Angel warned, sliding down from the hood and crushing his beer can in one powerful fist. “Or I’ll give her something to put in it.” “Duh!” “Knock it off, Angel.” Briton sighed. “I’m outta here.” He took Blair’s arm and pulled her toward the passenger side of his ‘Vette. He barely waited for her to adjust herself in the deep bucket seat before he slammed the door and hopped over the hood. “Make sure you got a cast iron white fish in your pocket, Brit.” Angel laughed. “That bitch’s been under so many dudes, she’s still dripping from two weeks ago!” 167

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“Asshole!” Blair shouted out the window. “Slut!” Angel called back. “Will you just cool it?” Briton snapped as he turned the key in the ignition and put the ‘Vette into gear. He flipped Angel the bird as he peeled away from the riverbank and could hear his friend’s hoot of derision: “Promises! Promises!” “I don’t know what you see in that Flip trash,” Blair grumbled as the red Corvette slid out onto the highway. “You wouldn’t,” Briton ground out. He reached down to turn on his Alpine stereo to drown out any further babble from his “date.” The harsh twang of Nirvana exploded from the speakers. Blair turned to look at him. His profile was crisp and clean, manly in the frosty green glow of the dash lights. He had a chiseled face, a perfect face, a face meant to rain kisses upon, but so far all she’d gotten from him was a poke and stroke, and not necessarily in that order. “Where are we going?” She had to shout to be heard over the volume of the stereo. “I’m taking you home.” Blair flounced in her seat, folding her arms over her more than ample chest. She turned away, glaring at the passing pines and scrub oaks along Highway 90. The scenery sped by as the ‘Vette reached seventy on the straightway; the white line on the road skipped like dots beneath the front end of the car. Briton felt like kicking himself. He knew he shouldn’t have allowed the little tramp to cruise with him tonight. All she’d done was cause trouble from the time he’d picked her up until now. It had been one thing after the other: at Wendy’s; at Wal−Mart; at the Penny Pantry when he’d stopped in for beer. He was in a mean mood and he didn’t feel like sitting here 168

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beside her all the way to Pace with her brooding. That tongue of her was going to flick out in a minute and she was going to lash into him like she always did. “Stop the car.” He turned and looked at her. In the faint light glowing from his dash, he could see the pout on her lips. “If I stop, I’ll put your ass out,” he warned her. They’d been through this before and he always wound up soothing her ruffled feathers. He wasn’t going to do it tonight. “Stop the car,” she repeated, never doubting that he would. “I mean it, VanLandingham. If I stop this fucking car, you’ll be fucking out on your scrawny ass.” She slowly turned her head and looked at him. “Stop the goddamned car.” He took his foot off the accelerator and geared down until he could maneuver the right front wheel off onto the shoulder of the road. They were in the middle of nowhere and there were no lights, no passing cars, no nothing. As he brought the car to a stop, he saw her push open her door and step out into the dark night. When the door slammed, he had the ‘Vette moving, back on the pavement and away from the stupid cunt as fast as its wheels could turn. “You son−of−a−bitch!” Blair shouted after him, never once considering that he had meant what he said. She took a few steps forward, saw his brake lights come on then smiled spitefully. “You’ll pay for that piece of shit, Briton Alexander,” she promised, expecting him to spin the car around and come back for her. But that wasn’t to be. The lights returned to their driving tint and then disappeared down the long stretch of isolated road. At first she couldn’t really believe he had left her. When the 169

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realization that he wouldn’t be back finally penetrated the fog of surprise surrounding her, she stomped her foot like a child and let out a howl of fury. “You prick!” she screamed into the darkness. “You limp−dick butt−wipe!” That was what she got by going out with a hillbilly, redneck Cracker, she thought angrily as she kicked at the dirt beneath her feet. Varsity quarterback or not; Captain of the debate team or not; best−looking boy in Santa Rosa county or not! She shouldn’t ever have gone out with the jerk. After all, his Daddy wasn’t anyone! Not like hers. Tiffany Blair VanLandingham spat a mouth full of vengeance at the asphalt in front of her and began to walk. The closest service station was a good way off, but at least there was a phone booth there where she could call her father to come get her. “You just wait, you cotton farmer,” she mumbled as she stomped down the road. “When my Daddy gets through with you, you’ll wish you’d never been born!” And her Daddy was just the man to do it, Blair thought with a smugness that had been fed to her with a silver spoon. Men like her Daddy could do anything they set out to do. You didn’t become a Rear Admiral by sitting on your ass or kissing other peoples’! Rainor VanLandingham was the kind of man whose ass other people kissed. A sneer formed on Blair’s pretty face and she flung her hair back over her shoulders. “You just wait, Briton. My Daddy’ll have you on your knees apologizing to me!” The roar of the car engine blared out of the darkness behind her and Blair turned to see twin high beams leaping over the hill toward her. Whatever the car, it was powerful and it was 170

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expensive by the sound of its engine and the howl of an excellent stereo system fanned out toward her with the sharp electric sounds of Guns ‘n Roses Blaze of Glory. Blair stopped, shading her eyes as the headlights bore down on her. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the car was slowing, the engine gearing down; the music was so loud, she really couldn’t tell. For a moment, she felt fear, the cautions of her mother and every grownup rushing through her head, but she ignored them and stuck her thumb up, cocking her tightly clad, jeans−wrapped leg out at a saucy angle. She smiled. The car was definitely slowing down. The motor purred like a giant cat as the sleek dark car slid to a smooth stop beside her. Blair watched as the passenger window slipped down. Inside the car, two bright, feverish eyes glowed at her from the light cast from the dash lights. “You going to stand there all night, baby, or do you want a ride? The voice was like molten gold: rich and warm, with just a faint hint of an accent. “How do I know you aren’t Ted Bundy’s twin?” She kept a safe distance from the car’s door. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but those eyes were latched on her like cockleburs on corduroy. There was an amused snort from the interior of the car then she saw his hand reach down to the dashboard to flick on the overhead light. What she saw as the light fell down on the man’s face made her smile. “Well, hello there,” she said, putting her hand on the doorknob. Angeline Hellstrom sat up in the bed, unease shifting through 171

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her. She looked about her, felt the cold permeating the room. He was not in the room, but the essence of the great evil he was capable of doing clung to the walls like a rime of frost. She shivered, drawing the coverlet up to her throat. She searched the room, but without getting up to go to her conjuring room, she couldn’t tell what he was up to, what he was doing. But she knew, without being told, that whatever it was, and whoever was on the receiving end of his fury, would not live to regret it. You gave him your permission. You told him to take his anger out on something. “I was afraid he’d take it out on me,” she whispered to the empty room. A quiver of dread ran through her and she lay back down, pulled the coverlet to her chin. “God help me,” she mumbled, feeling his icy fury invading her body. She sank further down in the bed, bringing the silken coverlet over her head in denial of what he was making sure she felt. Blair looked down as his hand slid over to her thigh from the gear knob. The fingers were strong, powerful, and his touch was unlike anything any boy had ever bestowed on her. Where he touched her, she felt a warmth and trill of excitement and wetness began to form at the juncture of her thighs. “My name’s Blair,” she said, looking from his caressing hand to the strong profile that faced the road. “It suits you,” he answered in that honey−lined voice that sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. “What’s yours?” She placed a jittery hand over his and felt his fingers clutch her thigh and still. He turned and smiled. “Syn.” Her lips formed the word and she smiled back at him as he 172

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returned his gaze to the road. She was beginning to feel a very strong sexual arousal and she knew before this ride was over, he’d be hers. “Where you heading, Syn?” Her fingers stroked his until his hand slid over her thigh and to the V of her legs. Her indrawn breath was loud enough to be heard over the wail of the tape in the player. The warmth of his fingers oozed through the tight fabric of her jeans as his hand curled under her and he squeezed. “Where you wanna go, baby?” he asked, rubbing his hand between her legs. Blair groaned, thrilling to the feel of his hand on her, the heat of it through the fabric making her pant. She opened her legs further, wanting more of him to touch more of her, and she heard his low chuckle of satisfaction. “You like that, baby?” he asked in that mellow, slightly accented voice that drove her wild. “Um,” was all she could say as his hand shifted up to the button of her jeans. As it came undone, her breath caught in her throat and his fingers began to expertly lower the zipper. The tight constriction of the fabric loosening sent more moisture flooding through her lower body and she jerked, whimpered deep in her throat as his hand dipped down into the opened fly and his fingers tangled in the thick thatch of tawny hair above her vagina. “You want it?” she heard him ask in a husky, throbbing voice. She turned her head on the seat and gazed at him with lust. “Any time, any place, any part of my body,” she answered and drew in a startled breath as he withdrew his hand. She was about to protest, but saw that he was slowing down. 173

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She watched him gear down with the expertise of a racecar driver. She saw him glance behind him then he turned into a dark lane off the highway. As the car moved under the canopy of the spreading live oaks, she reached out to put her hand in his lap. When she felt the bulge under the soft leather, she smiled, molding her fingers to him. “Looks like you want me,” she said in a coy tone of voice. “More than you know.” He slid the car beneath a low−slung branch of oak and cut the engine. Pushing off the lights, he turned in the seat and grabbed her, pulling her over the gearshift toward him in one mighty movement and pressing his body down hard atop hers. Blair had never felt such raw, naked hunger in a man’s kiss before. It both thrilled and alarmed her. His hands were on her, along her back, at the nape of her neck, and his mouth was covering hers completely, his tongue thrust so deeply into the recesses of her mouth, she could barely breathe. As his hand came up and grasped at her breast, squeezing urgently, she managed to pull her mouth from his feverish suction. “Do you have a blanket?” she breathed, panting like a dog in heat. He let go of her and reached into the backseat, snagging a wool blanket. He was out of the car even before Blair could react to his timing. Even as she turned to the passenger door, he dragged it open and his hand was on her arm, urging her out of the car. “Eager little bugger, aren’t you?” She laughed as he dragged her behind him to the base of the sprawling live oak. Batting Spanish moss out of his way, he let go of her long enough to flick the blanket open, spread in on the ground and reach for her blouse. 174

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Syn’s fingers snagged in the fabric at her throat and in one powerful flick of his strong wrists, rent the material down the front to her waist, sending buttons flying about them. Blair gasped with outrage. “Now, wait a minute!” she tried to say before his hands were on her naked breasts beneath the torn fabric and his callused palms were scraping sensually over the suddenly erect peaks of her nipples. His arms went around her, drawing her to him and his head dipped at the same time until his eager mouth was fastened as firmly on her breasts as it had been on her lips. A ripple of staggering lust shot through Tiffany Blair VanLandingham and she lifted her hands to thread them through the dark silk of his long hair, pulling it free of the band at the nape of his neck. She threw her head back as his teeth grazed her nipples, bit lightly at her flesh, and his tongue spiraled like molten fire around the puckered tips of her breasts. “Oh, my God!” she gasped, feeling his tongue flicking up her bare chest to the base of her throat. “Not even close,” she heard him growl as his mouth came down on hers with merciless passion. He invaded her mouth with his tongue, thrusting deep inside. His hips were against her, the bulge at his thighs prodding against her lower belly. He dragged his mouth from hers. “Tell me what you want,” he demanded. “You have to ask me to do it.” “Please,” she begged. Nothing in her five years of sexual activity could have prepared her for this onslaught of dizzying hunger. She felt herself being lifted and gripped him between her thighs as he turned and dropped to the blanket on the ground. “Ask me,” he snarled at her, his fingers shredding the blouse from her body. 175

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“What?” She had no idea what he wanted, but she knew full well what she wanted: His magnificent, powerful body inside her own. “Ask me to take you. It must be of your own free will,” he said and his hands were at the waistband of her jeans, tugging them viciously over her hips. “I want it,” she echoed. Heat, throbbing and moist, was crawling inside her belly and making her hips undulate as the jeans were yanked down her legs. “Ask me to take you!” he demanded as he threw the jeans away into the darkness. He was over her, braced on his hands and knees, paused above her, still clad in the sleek leather britches and dark silk shirt. “I want you,” she agreed. Her hands went to his shirt and ripped away the buttons as she threw the material back from his wide chest. She could see his chest heaving in the faint sky glow shifting through the lacy branches overhead and ran her hands over the thick muscle of his powerful chest, her fingers threading through the crisp chest hair. “You have to ask me to take you,” he snarled. Her hand went down to the closure of the leather britches. It didn’t take much to free the throbbing, pulsing member that leapt out at her with intent. “Take me, Syn. I want you to take me.” She curled her eager fingers around the steel of that massive manhood, feeling the blood coursing through it, wanting it so deep inside her that it would hurt. “It will,” he promised. Blair felt the flesh in her hand expand beneath her touch, grow, broaden, elongate. The silky flesh turned hard and callused and ice cold to the touch. She jerked her hand away. 176

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“What’s the matter, Blair?” he crooned to her, seeming to loom over her more than ever. His body was expanding like the flesh of his penis. She heard the leather ripping at his hips as his lower body grew heavier on top her own. “Wanna see something really neat, Blair?” she heard him ask in a snide tone. Blair smiled into his handsome face then the smile slipped as she watched his face change. “Like what you see?” he sneered as his face disappeared, dissolving into a moist plain of warty, horny protuberances. As his eyes sank deep in his head, his forehead bulged forward to a broad ridge that shot out over his flat nose with its wide, flaring nostrils, he smiled at her. The last thing Tiffany Blair VanLandingham ever saw was the wicked canines so long and sharp, they glinted in the moonlight. Gathering up his own tattered clothing, as well as the girl’s, Syntian Cree wrapped them in the damp blanket and buried them beneath a mound of debris and leaves deep in the pine thicket where he had brutally ravaged Blair VanLandingham. Calmly, with a smile on his lips, he opened the trunk of his car and took out a pair of blue jeans and T−shirt, pulled them on, then got back into his sleek black Porsche and drove away.

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Chapter Eleven Lauren recognized the girl’s picture on the news. She’d seen her only a few days before driving the car that had almost run her over as she’d crossed the street on her way home. Shaking her head, wondering what had happened to the teenager, Lauren sat back in her chair at the dinette table and sipped her coffee. “Anyone knowing the whereabouts of the VanLandingham girl or who might have seen her on Highway Ninety last Friday night is asked to contact the Santa Rosa County Sheriffs office at...” She stood up, leaned over and switched off the television, finished her coffee then carried the cup to the sink where she rinsed it and turned it upside down in the drainer. As she dried her hands on the dishtowel, she peeked out the window over the sink and smiled. “Well, hello there. Who’re you?” The black cat that was sitting on the picnic table on Lauren’s postage stamp−sized patio lifted one graceful paw and began to lick the fur, dipping its sleek head as it swiped at its ears. The feline studiously ignored Lauren as the human female came to the opened screen door of her kitchen and watched him. “Are you hungry?” Lauren asked. She eased open the door, wondering if the cat would stiffen then bolt at her approach. It did neither. Instead, after craning its head to look around 178

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at her, the cat continued his morning bath. Lauren watched the feline for a moment then went back inside to pour a small bowl of milk for it. She opened the back door once more and stepped out onto the first riser, her movements slow and non−threatening, but the cat still sat on the top of the picnic table, licking its chest. “Who do you belong to, big fella?” Lauren asked as she moved over to the table and placed the bowl at the opposite end where the cat was sitting. The feline stilled in its ablutions and looked around at her, shook its head, stood up and padded gracefully to the bowl of milk, sat down, dipped its head and began to drink as though he had been expecting just such a tribute. Lauren’s smile turned to a pleased grin. “Trusting sort, aren’t you?” she asked, wanting to reach out to stroke the cat’s head, but afraid her actions would scare it away. As a child, she’d never been allowed to have pets, and as an adult, on her own, she’d never let the thought of owning one cross her mind. Idly, she wondered if her lease precluded her having an animal. “You’re a pretty boy, did you know that?” The black cat lifted its head, flicking out its pink tongue to clean the milk from its mouth, and then moved over to the edge of the table where Lauren stood. With a low sound of pleasure, it bumped its midnight head against the woman’s hip, purring deep in its throat as a soft human hand came down to stroke its long back. “If I were to get you a bed and some litter, would you stay with me?” Lauren asked, scratching the cat behind his pointed ears. A deeper purring was her answer. Lauren laughed and slowly put her hands on the cat to lift it, 179

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holding her breath in the hopes the animal wouldn’t mind being picked up. When there was no adverse reaction to being held, and a soft mewing sigh of pleasure when Lauren kissed it on the top of the head as she rubbed its ears, Lauren made up her mind to keep the cat. She put the animal on the table. “I guess if you belong to someone, they’ll come looking for you, huh?” The cat shook its head then strolled back to the bowl of milk. It sat down and went on with its meal, not bothering to look up as the woman went back in the house and shut the kitchen door. “Onyx,” Lauren said as she locked the back door, watching the cat through the slats of the mini blinds. “That seems a fitting name for you.” The feline lifted its head, looked up at Lauren and seemed to nod as though it agreed. Returning to the last few ounces of milk, it didn’t look up again until it was finished. When the last drop of milk was gone, so was the cat, leaping agilely to the ground in a smooth arc and then trotting carelessly away, never looking back. It disappeared under the row of azalea bushes that separated Lauren’s house from Anna and Agnes Black’s, the two old maid piano teachers who had originally owned the house in which Lauren lived. Tearing off a sticky note, Lauren made a list of things to buy at the variety store around the corner from the bookstore on her way home that afternoon. At the top of the list was cat food. Grabbing up her purse she stuck the day−glo note to the vinyl and left the house to begin her morning walk to work. Just as she made it to the sidewalk, the sleek black Porsche pulled up beside her and stopped, its idling engine sounding like a giant cat in the early morning stillness. 180

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“Need a ride?” he asked as the window on the passenger side slid smoothly down in its track. Lauren shook her head. “You are spoiling me.” Syntian grinned at her. “That was my intent.” He leaned over and opened the door for her. “Hop in.” Aware of being scrutinized by her nosy neighbors, Lauren climbed into the low−slung sports car and shut the door. She turned her head as Syn laughed. “If I want to know what you’re doing every minute of every day, which one of those busybodies should I ask first?” He popped the clutch and allowed the Porsche to leap forward. “My sixth sense says the Black sisters.” Lauren giggled. “You’d do better with Mrs. Malone, I think. The sisters Black are afraid of men.” Syntian glanced in the rear view mirror, spying one of the ancient crones craning her neck down the street to watch their leaving. “Maybe I should go talk to them.” “Why?” Lauren asked, studying his cleanly chiseled profile. “They’re going to be seeing a lot of me,” he answered, braking for the stop light at the end of her street and flicking on his left turn signal. “I just want them to know my intentions are honorable.” She stared at him, thinking that the sweetest thing any man could have said to her and knowing full well Syntian meant it. He was being careful of her reputation, didn’t want her neighbors to think her a loose woman of easy morals. When he turned his head and smiled at her, she saw the concern for her showing on his lean face. “Does that surprise you?” he asked, moving into the intersection as the light changed. “This is all new to me,” Lauren admitted. “If I still had a 181

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father and was living at home with him, would you come ask him for the honor of escorting me?” She had meant it as a gentle tease, but his next words went straight to her heart. “That is the proper way of seeking a lady’s company,” he told her. “I’ve already asked your mother.” He couldn’t have said anything else that would have stunned Lauren as much as those five words. She stared at him, her face showing her surprise. “When?” she finally managed to ask him. “Before she left.” He turned right at the courthouse to make the block so he could pull up alongside the bookstore to let Lauren out. “And what did she say?” Lauren asked, expecting the worst. Syntian shrugged. “Let’s just say I charmed her.” There was nothing to say to that mysterious remark. If anyone could charm her mother, it might well be Syntian Cree, although Lauren had strong suspicions that no man could ever still the beastess in Maxine Fowler, especially not after what Mrs. Hellstrom had told her about her mother. “Is that a shopping list?” Lauren looked up as he stopped at the red light, became aware of the clicking tic of his turn signal as he waited for the light to turn green. “List?” Syntian reached over and tapped the fluorescent orange sticky note clinging to Lauren’s purse. “List,” he stated. She glanced down. “Oh, this.” Her laugh was almost apologetic. “I seem to have adopted a cat.” “Did you adopt him or did he adopt you?” “He’s been hanging around the backyard for a couple of days now. He climbs up on the picnic table and stares through the window at me.” She glanced up and noticed the light had changed just as he began to make his turn on Highway 90. “I 182

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fed him this morning, so I guess I own him now.” Syntian shook his head as he pulled up in front of her store and put on his right signal to let the car behind him know he was letting someone off. “Cats aren’t owned by their mistress, Lauren, they own their mistress.” She opened the door. “You’re probably right.” Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she bent over to thank him for the ride. “I’ll come back and pick you up after work,” he told her. “We can go out to K−Mart for the cat stuff.” “You want to go shopping with me?” she asked, surprised. “I like shopping with women.” He grinned. “I find it fascinating.” “You would.” Glancing over her shoulder as she unlocked the door to the bookstore, she heard him tap lightly on the sports car’s horn as he turned the corner at the end of the street and disappeared from view. “You’re a lucky woman, Miss Lauren.” Lauren turned and found Gina Busbee, one of the new sales clerks staring wistfully down the street. “I’d give anything to have a man like that courting me.” A dull red infused Lauren’s cheeks and she started to protest, to tell the girl Syntian wasn’t courting her. But she realized, much to her delight, that that was exactly what the man was doing. If any of the customers in the store that day noticed the fresh bloom and glowing look on Lauren Fowler’s face, they didn’t mention it. If they took note of her laughing smile and the easy way that she made conversation with anyone who entered the store, they certainly didn’t comment on it. And if they sometimes saw her staring off into space, a dreamy look in her 183

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sparkling eyes, they simply didn’t recognize it for what it was. But Angeline Hellstrom did when she came to take the day’s receipts to the bank with her. “Has he kissed you, yet?” she asked Lauren in a whispered aside. “Certainly not!” “He will,” Angeline assured her. “When he feels the time is right.” She grinned. “And that man does know how to kiss, let me tell you!” Lauren had to escape to the break room. When the shiny black car pulled up to the curb just as she was locking up for the night, Lauren felt a tugging at her heartstrings that she had never thought to ever experience. As the door swung open and he grinned at her, putting out his hand to help her into the car, Lauren knew a wild, soaring moment of sheer ecstasy. “Shopping first,” he said as she shut the door behind her, “then supper, then I’ll take you home.” He paused, turning so she could see the devilment in his face. “Where I will dutifully wait outside for you while you change into something really nice.” “For what?” she asked. “To go dancing,” he told her, pulling out into the traffic. “Dancing? I don’t know how to dance!” “I do,” he said with a finality that left no doubt in her mind that he did and was very good at it, too. “The man leads; the lady follows.” He glanced at her. “That you can do.” “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said, her heart hammering in her ribcage. She’d never gone to a dance the entire time she was in high school and college; had never even been asked to go to one. 184

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“There’s a place over in Fort Walton.” Her shriek made him turn to look at her. “Fort Walton? That’s forty miles from here!” she said. “She knows the distance between Milton and Fort Walton!” he said in a voice filled with wonder. “Is there no end to the woman’s talents?” “Be serious.” “I am being serious,” he replied. He slowed down for an elderly woman whose right turn signal had been on for the last five blocks. He glanced at his passenger, his face smug. “You know you want to go.” Lauren knew she did, too; was dying to go. She shook her head at him. “You’re incorrigible.’’ “I am, ain’t I?” Everywhere they went inside K−Mart, women followed Syntian with gazes hot with both desire and wistfulness. That he didn’t look their way, not even once, turned their looks to Lauren with speculation. “What kind of food should I get him?” Lauren asked, studying the variety of cat food cans on the shelves. She looked up at Syn. “I read somewhere that cats should eat only canned food.” He picked up a can of Whiska’s with bits of beef, studied it for a second and tossed it into her buggy. “That sounds good.” She watched him reading the label on a can of Kal Kan Optimum with chicken and rice. “And this, too.” He dropped it in the buggy then added several more. “Are you buying this for Onyx or for you?” she asked with a laugh. Syntian smiled as he took a stack of Whiska’s from the shelf. “I know what he likes,” was the reply. He reached for a 185

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bag of dry food. “And he likes variety. He’ll want you to add a cup of this in with the canned food every morning.” “Oh, he will, will he?” Lauren asked as she watched him push her buggy toward the end of the aisle where there were bags of cat litter. “What about a flea collar?” Syntian turned and glared at her as though she had offended him. “He doesn’t have fleas.” Lauren cocked an eyebrow at him. “How do you know?” “I just do,” was the tart reply. Lifting a bag of clumping, allergy−free cat litter into the cart, he pushed it on around the corner, leaving Lauren smiling after him with wonder. “And do you know what kind of bed I should buy him?” “He’ll be sleeping with you,” he told her. “Oh, no!” Lauren answered, shaking her head. “I don’t want to get him in the habit.” “Of what? Keeping you company?” “Getting fur on my bedspread!” He stared at her then shrugged. “He won’t.” “I’m going to buy him a bed.” “He won’t use it. He’ll sleep at the foot of your bed.” They argued about the feline as they took their purchases up to the front. Syntian nixed her idea to buy flea soap and sprays, worm pills, and any number of other products designed to insure the cat’s good health. “He’s an animal, Lauren,” Syn had sighed with exasperation. “A creature of nature, not science. Let him fend for himself; he knows how to take care of his own needs.” “But it says on this bottle...” she protested. “No!” came his firm correction as he took the bottle of fur ball medicine from her hand and put it back on the shelf with a thump. “He won’t need it!” 186

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Lauren mumbled to herself as the cashier rang up the sale, all the while casting flirtatious looks to Syn that the man ignored. “He’s my cat,” Lauren muttered. “You’re his human,” Syn reminded her. “That will be twelve dollars and fifty−two cents,” the cashier told them. Lauren opened her purse and was fishing for her checkbook when Syntian handed the cashier a twenty−dollar bill. She looked up, annoyed. “Syn!” “My treat,” he answered, winking at the cashier. She didn’t say anything to him until they were in his Porsche and then turned in the seat to take exception his high−handed actions. “I know,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall her. “That wasn’t right. I’m sorry, but I just like cats.” He looked so contrite, or was pretending to be, she thought with a grimace of exasperation, that she couldn’t argue with him. “Don’t do it again.” “No, milady,” he answered, leaning toward her to put a soft kiss on her cheek. When he straightened up, he smiled into her surprised face. “How does Burger King sound?” “Do I have a choice?” “No.” Lauren sat across from him in the fast food restaurant, marveling that the man never seemed to eat anything. He pushed his fries around inside the top of the Styrofoam container that held his Whopper Junior, sipped at his iced tea, played with the sesame seeds on the hamburger bun, picking them off to flick one now and again across the table. When she giggled, he stopped in mid−flick. Syntian looked up and saw 187

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her watching him. “What?” he asked, all innocence. “Nothing,” she answered, biting into her Whopper. He pushed away the food. “I don’t eat human food. I’m really a space vampire, you know.” Lauren shook her head. “Not possible,” she said around a gob of food. “Why not?” he challenged, dusting his hands. “If you were a bloodsucker, you couldn’t come out in the daytime.” She wagged her brows at him. “You have to sleep during the day, in your coffin I might add, and go about your nefarious deeds at night.” Syntian’s chin came up. “Don’t believe all those stupid tales about us. We do some of our best work in the daytime.” “Such as?” she countered as she stuffed an onion ring into her grinning mouth. “Fomenting diseases, polluting the water supplies, introducing corn bores into the crops; that sort of thing.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “And causing the stock market to decline, of course.” “When do you sleep?” she asked. He shook his head. “No need to. We do our raping, ravaging and pillaging at night.” He leered at her. “Ravishing virgins is right at the top of the list, you know.” “How come I can see your reflection?” she asked, nodding toward the picture beside him where his image was showing on the glass covering. He glanced at himself and the shrugged. “Vampires are required to be exceedingly handsome creatures, not ogres like the one in Nosferatu. We like to look at ourselves, of course.” Lauren giggled. “Of course.” He cocked his head. “And we don’t have pasty faces like 188

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Bela Lugosi or bad hair cuts like Frank Langella or raspy voices like Jack Palance.” “What about Christopher Lee?” she asked as she sipped at her iced tea. Syntian’s eyebrows came together in a frown. “What about him?” “Well,” she said after wiping her lips on her napkin, “Christopher Lee is handsome.” “Too pale.” “He’s tall,” she said dreamily. “Too thin.” “He doesn’t have a raspy voice.” Syntian sniffed. “But he has a phony upper class British accent.” “I think he’s sexy,” she said. She grinned. “And Eric McCormack in The Passion of Dracula! Whoa, baby! Those eyes, that beard, those sexy lips! The precious little mole on his right cheek!” She sighed dramatically. “He could bite my neck any time.” He stared at her for a long moment then he slowly, sensuously smiled. “You don’t know,” he told her in a seductive, low voice, “what sexy is.” His stare became very intense. “Yet.” Lauren felt a stab of reaction deep in her abdomen and she wiggled in her seat, looking away from the devastating promise in his dark face. “Shouldn’t we be going?” she asked, reaching for her purse and slinging the strap over her shoulder. Syntian watched her as she stood up, nervously fiddling with the remainder of their meal, wiping at the salt on the tabletop, replacing the salt and peppershakers to their original positions, 189

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stuffing the unused napkins into her purse. As she started to lift the plastic tray, he stood and covered her hands on the tray’s rim with his own, not at all surprised when she jumped back, snatching her hands from under his. “Let me,” was all he said as he took the tray to the garbage bin and dumped the contents inside. He held the door open for her, and the giggling teenage girls who were just entering. “Thank you,” Lauren heard one of the girls breathe. “Any time, Sweeting,” came Syn’s reply and the four teenage girls broke out in groans of adolescent lust. “You’re a flirt,” Lauren told him as he opened the car door for her. “No,” he answered when she was inside. He put his arm on the top of the Porsche and leaned toward her. “I’m incorrigible.” He straightened up and pushed the car door shut.

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Chapter Twelve He was holding her close to him, the heat of his body flowing along her own like molten lava. His right hand was at the small of her back, pressing her to him, and his left was holding her right hand close to his chest. She could smell the heady scent of his Halston Z−12 cologne where her cheek nestled against his neck and the aroma was intoxicating. He moved so well to the music, his feet keeping the soft, hypnotic rhythm of the slow song as he swayed her around the dance floor. Overhead, a revolving ball of faceted light sent shards of refracted color over the dancers circling about them and seemed to pulse with the beat. “I like this song,” she muttered, feeling his hand caressing her fingers. “Fields of Gold. It is lovely.” He nuzzled her with his chin against the side of her head. “Sensuous.” “Do you come here often?” she asked, a stab of jealousy that he might have brought some other woman here, had held that woman like he was holding her, making her heart ache. “Sometimes I come just to listen to the music,” he admitted as he ran his right hand up her back. “Alone.” She pulled back from him and looked into his face, surprised that he had been dancing with his eyes closed. When he opened them and looked down at her, she felt a tremor go through her 191

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lower body for the look he gave her was filled with pure lust. “Does that surprise you?” he asked, allowing a little more distance between their two bodies. “I may be a vampire, but I’m not a satyr.” He grinned. “Have you ever brought Mrs. Hellstrom here?” she asked, wishing she could have bitten off her tongue before uttering that childish, and to her way of thinking, telling, remark for his face became still and alert. “I don’t know what you think is between Angeline and me, Lauren,” he told her, becoming as still as his face. “But what she and I have is strictly impersonal.” His hand tightened on hers. “I may sleep with the bitch, but believe me, it’s not because I want to or gain any kind of pleasure from doing so.” She stared at him, amazed that he would admit such a thing to her. Her feminine curiosity overrode her good sense and she asked the question even before she had time to think. “Does she have something on you, Syntian?” He flinched, and when she started to apologize for her presumption, he quieted her with his fingertips. “Yes, you do have the right to ask,” he told her. Lowering the hand that still gripped hers, he turned and led her from the dance floor toward the front of the nightclub. “Syntian.” “We’ll discuss it on the way home.” The night was dark, no moon sailing the skies of the Florida Panhandle. The spooky ride back from Ft. Walton Beach through the pine thickets of Navarre was broken only by the wide concrete bridge over the Yellow River that cast back the lights from the Porsche with white brilliance. Few other points of illumination filtered through the tinted windows of the sports car until they passed the Santa Rosa Truck Stop with its idling 192

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semis and restaurant lights. Despite what Syntian had said, there had been no conversation between them for the last thirty miles. When he stopped at the intersection of Highway 87 and 90, he pulled off the road onto the dirt parking lot of a closed feed store and turned off the engine. They sat in the quiet, each with his own thoughts, until Syntian turned in his seat and put his right hand on the back of Lauren’s seat. “What I am going to tell you, you won’t believe,” he said. “You’re going to think I’m a raving lunatic and you probably won’t want anything to do with me afterwards.” She shifted around and faced him, unable to see much of his face in the absence of any light, but she heard a quiet desperation in his voice that told her what he had to say meant everything in the world to him. “I’ll believe whatever you tell me. Except that you’re a vampire.” He looked away from her, peering out through the windshield. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts and she didn’t break the silence. His hand was gripping the headrest of the bucket seat and she felt the pressure of his hold. She heard the deep, measured cadence of his breathing: rhythmic and controlled. When that cadence changed, grew faster then stopped, she knew he was ready to tell her what was on his mind. “Angeline Hellstrom is a witch, Lauren,” he said, still not looking at her. “My mother thinks so, too. But she’s always been nice to me.” He acted as though he hadn’t heard her. “She knows how to control people, how to manipulate them. She’s your friend as 193

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long as you are useful to her.” He turned to look at her through the darkness. “But once that usefulness is over, she is finished with you.” His voice turned hard. “If you’re lucky.” “Obviously your usefulness to her isn’t over with.” He took his hand from the headrest of her seat and sat back in his own. “I wish to hell it was.” He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and jerked on it. “There is only one way I’ll ever be free of her and that is if she can somehow be made to break the contract.” Another car passed in front of them and the sweep of its headlights momentarily lit Syntian’s profile. Lauren found him glaring out the windshield, his arms rigid in front of him. Whatever was bothering him had brought a fierce scowl to his handsome face. “Have you asked her to let you out of your contract to her?” A bitter laugh rushed through the interior of the sports car. “Oh, I’ve asked her,” he growled. “And she said no.” He swung his head toward her. “It’s more than the contract, Lauren; it’s me she doesn’t want to let go.” A puzzled frown passed over Lauren’s face. “I don’t understand. Is she in love with you?” “Love?” he scoffed, throwing back his head. “Lust would be more like it!” Under the dark cover of night, Lauren was thankful he couldn’t see her face. She looked away from him, looking out through the passenger window, unable to say anything. She was not used to having such conversations, especially not with a man, and she was not only embarrassed, but feeling somewhat guilty concerning the subject matter. “I don’t love her,” he said forcefully. “I never have and I’m 194

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damned sure never going to!” She didn’t turn back around. “Then why sleep with her?” Her voice was small, lost as her embarrassment mounted. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, Lauren,” he said. “It wasn’t part of our deal, but if I want to continue seeing you, that was the stipulation she made.” Lauren’s mouth dropped open and she slowly turned her head to look at him. “You’re joking!” She saw him shake his head. “No, I am not.” Lights flooded the back windshield and he glanced in the rear view mirror, squinting as the bright flare of a semi’s high beams reflected into his face from the mirror. “Bastard,” he grumbled and flipped the mirror toward the headliner. Lauren watched him sitting there, quiet, allowing her to absorb what he had said, waiting for her to ask him whatever she would. When she remained silent, he turned his face to her. “I care about you, Lauren. I care deeply about you.” His voice was hoarse, as though his words somehow hurt him. “I don’t want anything or anyone to turn you against me.” “That’s not going to happen,” she said. “I don’t judge other people by what someone else says about them, Syntian. I’ve been on the receiving end of that situation enough to know how it feels to be condemned without ever having committed the crime.” She could feel his probing look through the darkened car. “And if that person has committed a crime?” A faint shiver of apprehension went down Lauren’s spine. “What you did before I met you doesn’t effect how I feel about you,” she answered. “As long as what you’ve done in the past stays in the past, I don’t see how it can be of any importance. I 195

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swear to you, I’ll never hold it against you as long as it stays in the past.” He turned away. “It can, Lauren. Believe me, it can.” He closed his eyes. “Promise me you won’t send me away because of what I did before we began to see one another.” “I promise,” she said and crossed her heart. “On my honor, I promise.” She heard him sigh with relief. She thought she understood. “Mrs. Hellstrom knows something about you that you don’t want other people to know. Is that it?” He nodded. “And this something is bad enough that she can control what you do and don’t do by keeping it quiet?” He breathed a long, tired, nervous sigh. “Aye.” That shiver of apprehension turned more forceful. “Can you tell me about it?” He shook his head. “No.” There was a long moment of utter silence inside the sports car. Finally Lauren broke the stillness. “Syntian?” He looked around at her. Her hand came up to cup his right cheek. “It doesn’t matter what you did,” she told him. “It might if you knew.” “It wouldn’t,” she insisted. She shifted in her seat, turning to face him fully. “Believe me it wouldn’t. And do you know why it wouldn’t?” Her hand on his cheek was the most wonderful thing he had felt in a very, very long time. Her flesh was cool and smelled faintly of soap. Nuzzling his face against her palm, he told her no. “Because,” she said, caressing his cheek, “God help me, I want to be with you and I won’t let anyone chase me away.” He heard tears in her voice. “I’ve waited too long to feel the way I 196

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am feeling to let someone else’s jealousy or spite ruin it.” He drew in a harsh breath and brought his hand up to press hers closer to his face. Turning his lips against her palm, he kissed her flesh, closing his eyes to the emotion flooding his being. “I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t care what Mrs. Hellstrom knows about you,” she told him. “All I care about is the way you treat me; the way you make me feel inside. No one has ever looked at me the way you do. I don’t want that to end, Syntian.” “It won’t!” he swore. Before she realized what he was going to do, he had reached out and taken her by the nape of her neck, drawing her toward him in the darkness, bringing her lips to his and covering them with a hot, questing mouth that sealed his promise in a way that was meant not only to reassure her, but make her understand the depth of his pledge. His kiss was heady, bringing excitement. Even as inexperienced as she was with the worldly natures of men and women, she knew Syntian Cree’s kiss could have rocked the most jaded woman off her pedestal. It did more than just elicit a gasp of pleasure from Lauren’s throat; it started a humming vibration along her nerve endings that made her squirm in her seat. Where his fingers held her neck, she felt tingling warmth and his mouth slanted across her own was draining away every ounce of reserve she possessed. When his tongue flicked at her lips, she jumped away from him as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. Through the darkness, he peered at her face, listening to the ragged breath dragging from her lungs in quick little gasps of bewilderment, feeling her trembling where his hand touched her 197

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shoulder. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, drawing away from her. He leaned as far away from her as the interior of the car would allow. “I’m sorry. You’re not ready.” Lauren, stunned by the ache his kiss had brought, couldn’t answer. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage, her blood pounding in her ears, and she became aware of a light film of perspiration under her arms. Syntian switched on the ignition and reached for the gearshift, surprised when Lauren covered his hand with hers. He looked at her. “Go slow,” she said and he knew she didn’t mean his driving. He exhaled a wavering breath of relief that he hadn’t frightened her. “All right.” A curtain parted at the Black sisters’ front parlor as he pulled up in front of Lauren’s house. He could see one of the old maids peering out at them. “They don’t miss a thing, do they?” he asked. Lauren smiled. “What else do they have to do except keep watch on their neighbors?” He turned off the car. “It doesn’t bother you?” She shook her head. “No, not really. In a way I guess it makes me feel protected.” She glanced at the Black’s window and saw Agnes join her sister in spying. “With the horrible things that have happened to the women at the store, I don’t feel all that safe. The Blacks are our Neighborhood Watch.” “You don’t have to worry about something like that happening to you,” he said, opening his door. “I wouldn’t allow it.” 198

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She watched him get out and walk around the front of the car, coming to her door to open it for her. He held out his hand to help her out then shut the door. “I’d invite you in, but there would be talk.” “I’ll take care of it,” he said, nodding toward Henrietta Malone’s house where the crippled old lady was now standing in the doorway of her house, unabashedly staring at them. “Whatever you do,” Lauren warned as he walked her to her door, “don’t give them anything more to say about me than they already do.” He stopped walking, dragging her to a standstill beside him. His grip had become painfully tight. “What do you mean?” he asked and there was something intense about the way he had asked his question. He was studying her face closely as she looked up in surprise at him. “Nothing,” she assured him. “I think they feel a little sorry for me because I’ve lived here five years and have never had a gentleman caller before.” She lowered her voice. “There’s a girl down the street who comes to visit her boyfriend and they think it’s scandalous. I hear them talking about her like she’s white trash.” He lifted his head and stared at the two old women framed in the tall casement window, not at all surprised that they didn’t close the curtain and step back when they realized he had seen them. His face turned hard. “I’ll take care of it,” he said again and drew her toward her front stoop. Henrietta Malone frowned when she saw the handsome young man open Miss Fowler’s screen door and usher her inside. She waited, her arthritic hands gripping the stainless steel arms of her walker. She was expecting the man to go into the house with the Fowler girl, but when he just continued to 199

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stand on the front steps, looking up at the girl, Henrietta began to relax. “He isn’t going to kiss her,” Agnes Black told her sister. “What do you think of that, Anna?” Anna Black stared at the young man, her fading eyes sweeping over his wide shoulders and neatly turned rump. “He’s just being cautious. He knows we’re watching him.” Lauren thanked Syntian for a wonderful night. “I am going to have a hard time keeping my mind on work tomorrow.” “Take the day off,” he advised, smiling. “You know I can’t.” “I tell you what,” he said, stepping back off the stoop and jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll come by and pick you up for lunch. How’s that?” “Don’t you ever work?” she asked him. “Gigolos don’t have to.” “Shush!” she warned him, looking over at Mrs. Malone’s house where the old woman was intently watching them. “They’ll hear you!” “Let them!” he teased, walking backwards. “I don’t care.” “I do,” she hissed at him. He shrugged. “Too bad!” he said in a sing−song, childish retort. He did a little jig on the sidewalk as he reached his car. “See you tomorrow!” “Oh!” Lauren gasped as he reached out to open his car door. “I forgot the cat food!” She came out of the porch and hurried toward him. “She’s going to kiss him!” Agnes stated. “Hussy!” Henrietta snarled as the girl flew out to the man’s saucy little car. Syntian poised, remembering the cat food himself as he saw 200

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her coming toward him. “Shame on you,” he said, reaching in to pop the bonnet. “Onyx would never have forgiven you.” “He’s probably out roaming around,” she remarked, insisting on taking the bag from him instead of allowing him to carry it to her door for her. “Or sound asleep inside someone else’s house.” “Nope,” Syntian told her. “You’re his only human.” he reached out and tweaked her nose. “Make sure you don’t make him stay out in this weather.” “What weather?” she chastised. “And besides, who knows where the little brat is?” “He’s on your picnic table,” Syntian said, “and it’s going to rain.” Lauren shifted the weighty bag filled with cat food, refusing to let him take it away from her. “Go home,” she said. “It’s late.” “If you get lonely, I’m listed in the Yellow Pages under Escorts,” he said, grinning. “Go!” Lauren admonished. Henrietta stiffened as the man bent toward the girl, but when all he did was butt his head against hers, the old woman relaxed again. “Well, I never!” Anna Black whispered. “He’s letting her take that bag in by herself!” “She wouldn’t let him have it, Anna,” Agnes reminded her older sister. “He could have insisted!” “He’s watching her get inside safely, though,” Agnes remarked, craning her neck to see into the girl’s front room as the light came on. Henrietta stood on her porch until the little black car had 201

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disappeared from view. She glanced across the street to see Thaddeus and Nita Atherton sitting on the swing in their front yard. She nodded at the elderly couple; they nodded back, got up from their vantage point and went on back in their house. With a glance toward a sudden flare of heat lightning, Henrietta turned her walker and hobbled back inside her own home. Lauren took the bag of cat food into her kitchen, fumbled with the bag, shifting it so she could flip on the overhead light then put the slowly disintegrating bag on the kitchen table. Stooping down by the stove, she pushed aside cans of shortening, bottles of cooking oils, and Pam no−stick spray to make a place for the cat food. When she had stacked the cans neatly in the cupboard, leaving one can in the bag, she shoved the small bag of dried food in beside them and closed the door. Outside, a low roll of thunder passed over the house and Lauren looked up with surprise. It hadn’t seemed like rain was in the air when she had been outside, but apparently Syn had been right. She walked to the back door and flipped on the porch light, not at all surprised to see Onyx sitting placidly on the picnic table, peering inquisitively at her. “It takes a man to know one,” she laughed and unlocked the back door. She held the screen open. “You wanna come in?” she asked the cat. Disdainfully, Onyx got up, stretched his front paws out in front of him, lifted his hind end high in the air, raised up and shook his fur then hopped off the table, padding elegantly up the small run of steps and into the house as though it was something he did every day. “Don’t have to be asked twice, eh?” The cat strolled to the stove, sniffed at the cupboard door beside it then lifted his head to look up at Lauren. 202

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“Are you hungry?” she asked, squatting down beside him and putting a hand out to smooth has head. He turned his cheek into her palm and purred contentedly. “Flirt!” Onyx looked at her and blinked then turned and, with tail straight up, trotted out of the kitchen and into the house. Lauren watched him going from one piece of furniture to another, sniffing, looking about, jumping up on the sofa, getting down and peering into the corners. “Oh, no, you don’t!” Lauren breathed. She didn’t know that much about animals, but Onyx looked as though he were marking off his territory and there was only one way she knew that cats did that and she had left his litter and litter pan in Syn’s car! She hurried after him. “Onyx!’ The feline turned, gazing at her as she came into the living room. “Meow?” Aye? “Ah, I don’t think you’re going to be able to stay in here tonight,” she said with an apologetic grimace. “I forgot to get your litter out of Syn’s car.” Onyx turned his back on her and walked to the front door. He rubbed against it as though asking to be let out. Lauren shrugged. “Sorry,” she said, thinking about the rain that was beginning to hit the side of the house. “You can sleep on the porch though. I can hose that down if you have an accident.” She opened the door, but the cat stayed where he was. “Come on, Onyx,” she said with exasperation. “You can’t stay in without litter.” The feline shook his tail at her and walked halfway out the door, stopped and then looked at her. “Go,” she said and tried nudging him out with her foot, but the cat sat down. Heaving a sigh of frustration, Lauren stepped out on the porch and hunkered down, calling him to come to 203

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her. As she did, she saw the litter pan and bag of litter sitting in the rocker beside the door. “Syn,” she whispered, thinking he must have realized he had not given her the litter and pan and had come back while she was putting away the cat food. “Meow!” Onyx demanded, strolling back inside the house. Now I can stay! Lauren looked at the cat, then got up and brought in the litter. “You don’t have to be so darned insistent.” She braced the pan and litter on her hip while she re−locked the door then carried the pan into the kitchen, wondering where she was going to put the litter pan. “Meow!” Onyx insisted, trotting into the bathroom. Just put it in here! “Well, of course! Why didn’t I think of that?” “Meow.” The one word admonishment was enough. The wind began to pick up, beating the rain against the windows. Lauren turned out the lights in the main part of the house and went to her bedroom. As Syntian had predicted, Onyx was already there, lying on the foot of Lauren’s bed. “I shouldn’t let you do that, you know,” she said eyeing the feline. She kicked off her shoes and started to unbutton her blouse. Onyx’s pale green eyes were steady as he stared at her. His low purr was audible. He was stretched out on the bed, front paws tucked gracefully under his chest, his head up, back paws beneath him, tail swishing slowly against the bedspread. “Stop looking at me like that,” Lauren told him, vaguely embarrassed by the cat’s intent gaze. She turned her back on him as she unfinished unbuttoning her blouse and pulled it off. She felt him watching her as she unhooked her skirt and slid it down her legs and stepped out of it. She craned her head around 204

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and looked at him. “Voyeur!” The cat seemed to smile at her. He blinked, threw his head back and yawned. When he lowered his head, he resumed his stare. “Brat,” Lauren called him as she turned her head away and pushed off her half−slip. He watched her unhook her bra, step out of her panties. His hungry gaze slid down the smooth flesh of her flanks, roamed back up over the curves of her waist and the slight turn of her breasts that were half−hidden by her arms as she reached out for the robe hanging on her closet door. He wished with all his being that she would turn around, that he could see her fully naked, exposed to him, but the robe swung around her, closing off his view of her. Lauren turned around and eyed her new pet with suspicion. “Are you going to be good while I take my shower?” Onyx’s ears twitched and before Lauren could react, he jumped off the bed and padded regally into the hall and into the bathroom. “Oh, no, you don’t!” Lauren mumbled. “You’re not going to watch me bathe!” She picked him up from his perch on the toilet lid, put him out of the bathroom and shut the door in his face. “Meow!” she heard him protest. I want in! “Sorry!” she called through the door. The water came on in the bathtub and the sound of shower rings scraping back over the rod came through the door. He sat on the floor, peering up at the handle, wondering if she would hear the door opening. When he decided she wouldn’t, he stared hard at the knob until the door swung soundlessly open. Lauren turned her back on the hot spray of the shower 205

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nozzle and arched her head into the steaming spray, wetting her hair. The water felt good: clean, relaxing, and invigorating. She stayed under it for as long as she dared before soaping her hair and letting the shampoo stay on while she bathed. There was just a tiny seam where the shower curtain did not fully meet the wall and that was where he cast his attention. Moving so that he could look into the tub, he stared up at her as she bathed, keenly watching her hands traveling lovingly over her body as she ran the soapy washrag over her arms and chest and breasts. A fierce gleam of ownership flared in the alien depths of his eyes as her hands moved down, spreading soap over her belly and onto her thighs; and when her hands dipped between her legs, cleansing that part of her he most longed to know, he felt the stiffness of himself pressing hard against the porcelain of the tub. It was both ecstasy and agony as he watched her, letting his adoring gaze travel over her, stopping where it would, memorizing, worshipping. As she began to hum, he made a soft growl deep in his throat, and had to move away from the tub and pad quietly to the door before he lost all sense of control and flung himself on her. Lauren stopped, her heart skipping a beat as she thought she heard the door open. Fearfully, she peered around the curtain, relieved to find the door closed although still not entirely so to realize she hadn’t locked it. She listened for a moment, didn’t hear anything then finished bathing, rinsing her hair thoroughly before turning off the tap. Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped the towel around her and opened the bathroom door, peering out into the hall as though expecting to see an intruder. “Meow?” What’s the matter, Lauren? Lauren glanced down at the cat who was sitting by the door. “Were you bumping against the door, fella?” 206

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“Meow?” Why? Did I scare you? She breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t do it again.” “Meow.” Okay. She went back into the bathroom to dry her hair and made an unladylike snort when the cat pushed past her and hopped up on the toilet seat once more. She stared at him as he stared at her. “You don’t give up, do you?” Onyx grinned. She shook her head and reached for the blow dryer. He watched her ruffling her short brown hair. It was fine, he knew, like baby’s hair, and just as soft. He liked touching her hair although he had only done so once or twice. He lowered his gaze to the top of the towel that was slowly coming unwound around her chest and chuckled. It wouldn’t take much, just a light tug, to slide the towel away from her. But he didn’t think he should do that. He contented himself with just watching her brush her hair, her teeth, cream her face and neck and arms. He held his breath when she put her foot on the tub and began to apply the cocoa butter cream to her long legs. “Do you have a girlfriend, Onyx?” Lauren asked as she smoothed the cream over her calves. “Meow.” Yes, I do. “Is she pretty?” Lauren looked into the cat’s midnight black face. He blinked. “Yeah?” “Meow.” Yeah. “Bring her around sometime,” Lauren advised him. “I’d like to meet her.” He smiled to himself. Her scent filled his nostrils as she walked out of the bathroom and he followed her, watching 207

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every move she made. He approved of the pretty cotton nightgown she took out of her dresser and held his breath as she let the towel drop and she slid the gown over her head. “Sounds like Syntian was right,” she told the cat and didn’t see his ears rotate toward her. She bent over the bed to pull the covers back. “He said it was going to rain.” He watched her sit down on the edge of the bed and stare off across the room at the lightning flaring outside the windows. “I don’t like storms,” she said absently. “Meow.” I know. She lay down, pulling the covers up to her waist, and then turned on her left side. She smiled as the cat hopped up on the bed and padded up to her, lay down behind her, his back to her. “Syn said you’d sleep at the foot of the bed.” “Meow.” He was wrong. “Good night, Onyx.” “Meow.” Good night, my love. Lauren Fowler sighed with pleasure. A sweet, enchanting feeling of lassitude and peace had settled over her as she slept. For once in her life, her world was not at odds with her. She felt safe and protected and loved. She was wrapped in a warm cocoon of security, supported by the comforting hands of refuge, shielded from harm and adversity and intolerance by the wide chest of fate. The warm breath of chance had blown over her, cleansing her life of unhappiness and misfortune. Guarded now by the vigilant presence of an unseen sentinel, she lay in the sheltering arms of a new destiny. “Lauren.” She smiled, turning over into those sheltering arms and pressing her cheek against that wide chest of fate. Comforting 208

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hands stroked her back and soothed away the worries and cares. Her sentinel’s body lay solidly against her own and she nestled against him, aching to feel the warmth she had so long been denied. He knew she had sunken as far down into the chamber of dreams as she could go. Her breathing was slow and deep and even. There was nothing standing between him and what he longed to have except the tiny pull of conscience that reminded him she was not to be touched. Yet. His body throbbed with wanting her. The rigidity of his manhood leapt against her belly to remind him that he did and he pressed himself closer to her, molding her tightly to him in an effort to still the building need within him. She snuggled against him, her warmth invading his senses. A deep growl of possession issued from his throat and he placed his lips to her forehead, claiming her as his own. He had lain beside her all night, listening to her steady breathing, blocking out the wild tempest brewing overhead, shielding her from the fear she had of the raging storm. He had whispered to her, calming her, stroking her back to ease her and help settle her deeper into the realm of Morpheus. He dared not touch her as he wanted to until she had turned over in her sleep, seeking out his arms and the security of his embrace. Now, with her laying full length against him, his need was almost unbearable. Light flared brightly in the room and he began to count, tensing for the thunderous boom he knew was to follow. A moment before the loud crack, he tensed his arms around her, safeguarding her from the noise, absorbing the instinctive flinch that shivered through her sleeping form. 209

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“Oh, Lauren,” he sighed, desire making his voice deep. He nuzzled his chin along her temple and closed his eyes. From somewhere in her subconscious, there came a need. At first it was small, nearly hidden by the deep slumber that claimed her, but it grew, blossoming within her like the promise of a new day. It quivered along her nerve−endings and sent little electric bursts of desire quickening throughout her body. It made her breathing ragged and her heartbeat erratic and a sheen of moisture appeared under her arms and between her thighs. His nostrils quivered and he tensed, gazing down at her sleeping face as he perceived the change occurring in her body. He studied her face, took on the rapid eye movement beneath her lids and knew she was dreaming. Another waft of strong aroma flitted under his nose and he held his breath, realizing what was happening to her. Lauren moaned, lost in the coolness of her dream. There was a waterfall, a small pond, lush green growth all around. The water in the pond sparkled with dappled sunlight, filtering down through the spreading branches to dance upon the surface. The waterfall was musical, its tumbling waves gentle and soothing as it cascaded down from a red stone cliff. Everything about the place spoke of peace and contentment. And then he was there, standing under the canopy of a live oak tree, his hand on a low, twisted branch. He was smiling at her, his handsome face split between the happiness to see her and the desire that turned his gaze to molten heat. Slowly she stood up from where she sat, her own face lit with tenderness. “I have come for you, milady,” he told her. She came to him, soft as a blessing, and he enfolded her within his strong embrace, fastening her tightly to him. “I have waited so long for you,” she whispered against the 210

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column of his throat. He lowered his head and his mouth claimed hers in a fevered kiss that drew from her the passion he sought. She heard his low growl of pleasure as she opened her mouth beneath his and he thrust his tongue into the sweetness. His kiss was deep then brutally invading as he cupped the back of her head with one hand while he pressed her body intimately to his own with the other. When at last he tore his lips away, he blistered the flesh of her throat and shoulders with kisses that made her knees weak and sent a white−hot stab of longing through her belly. He took her right hand from his neck and moved it down his chest to the hard, demanding swell between his thighs. “I have come from a vast distance to pleasure you, milady,” he whispered against her throat. “Will you have me, now?” She molded her fingers around the tumescence of his shaft. “Make me your woman then,” she answered. She pressed herself against him and he groaned. Her body was responding to the dream in which she was locked. He sensed her passion building for her body was giving off the unmistakable odor of impending release. She was shivering, wrapped up in the arms of her dream, about to experience for the first time in her life the climatic moment of that release. He didn’t know how much longer he could lay there, holding her, smelling her musky scent, absorbing the heat of her body, and not fling himself upon her to satisfy the straining power in his loins. His nearness to her was torture. Lauren whimpered and writhed against him, her hand going down to the juncture of his thighs. He slid his hand down her back, over her hip, and insinuated it between them, moving aside her questing fingers. He touched 211

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the core of heat radiating from her body, and eased his fingers to the elastic at the leg opening of her panties, sliding his trembling hand under the cotton fabric until he touched the crisp curls at the apex of her thighs. “Do not touch her,” he heard Angeline’s voice as clearly as though she lay beside him, her restraining words hissing in his ear like a deadly viper. His hand stilled and his face became a mask of seething frustration. “You know better,” his mistress warned him. Lauren wiggled against him and the tips of his fingers encountered the wetness flowing from her womanhood. “Angeline, please!” he begged, watching Lauren’s face as the passion built. He held his breath, understanding the release was only a second away from Lauren. He hurt wanting to thrust his fingers inside the dampness, to feel the quivering that would signal the woman’s first climax. “No!” Angeline forbade him. Lauren drew in her breath and shuddered, reaching the summit of desire and hovering for just a moment at the top before tumbling downward into the valley of satiation. He groaned, sensing his lady’s release, not a part of it, forbidden by time and chance to have been the one to initiate her into the pleasure of lovemaking. “Damn you, Angeline,” he spat, removing himself from Lauren’s sleeping body, and getting out of the bed to glare into the darkness of the room. “Why?” His words were vicious, spat from a mouth twisted with loathing and bitterness. “Because it was wrong,” came the answer. “She did not give you permission to take her.” “I just wanted to...” 212

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“To do what is not allowed. Go. Get away from her. Let her finish her sleep in peace!” His anger was like a rampaging river, drowning everything beneath it as he stalked from the room, his face set into hard lines of unforgiving hate. Flinging himself down on the sofa, he curled up into a fetal position, hugging his misery to himself, and stared in defeat at the flashes of light pulsing outside.

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Chapter Thirteen Bright sunlight flooded her bedroom the next morning and Lauren woke feeling refreshed and at peace with herself for the first time ever. There was a smile on her face as she threw back the covers, looking around for Onyx only to find him missing from the bed. She shrugged, knowing he was about somewhere, and padded into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror over the vanity, she liked what she saw. Her face was bright, her eyes dewy, her smile content. She brushed her teeth and her hair and swung her robe about her, belting it as she came down the hall and peeked into the living room. “You hungry?” she asked the cat curled up on the sofa. Onyx jumped down from the sofa and trotted over to her, rubbed against her legs, begging to be picked up. “You’re spoiled already, aren’t you?” Lauren asked as she bent down to lift him into her arms. Stroking his sleek body, she carried him, purring and limp, into the kitchen and set him down by the stove. Squatting down beside him, she opened the cupboard and swept her hand over the array of cans. “What’ll it be, Milord Onyx?” The cat sniffed at the cans and then nudged one with its velvety nose. “Veal bits,” Lauren said as she picked up the can and read 214

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the label. “Good choice, Your Grace. Will you be having white milk or chocolate with that, milord?” “Meow?” Chocolate milk? “Meow!” You’re kidding! “I agree. White it is.” She opened the can and spooned the Kal Kan into a little blue bowl and placed it on the floor in front of Onyx then she took another bowl from the cabinet and filled it with milk. When she bent over to place the milk on the floor, she was surprised that the cat hadn’t started eating, she frowned. “What’s the matter with your food?” Onyx flicked his tail then bumped against the cupboard. Lauren’s face cleared. “Oh, I forgot.” The cat waited patiently until a handful of dried food had been added to his breakfast and mixed with the veal before dipping his head to the bowl. “Syn was right,” Lauren admitted. “Meow.” Naturally. While she made coffee and a couple of English muffins with mayhaw jelly for herself, she watched Onyx consume his meal. She grinned when he was finished and he sat down to engage in his morning bath. “Did I keep you awake last night?” she asked, wondering why he hadn’t slept all night on her bed. When the feline stopped in its absolutions and peered up at her with a calm stare, she laughed. “I guess I did, huh?” Onyx went back to his bathing and Lauren got up from her table to pour the coffee that had finished dripping into the pot. Carrying her steaming cup to the back door, Lauren opened the panel and peered through the screen at the sparkling moisture clinging to the shrubs and bushes in her backyard. “That was some storm last night, wasn’t it, Miss Agnes?” 215

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she called out to the little old lady who was watching her from her own screened back porch. Agnes Black did not acknowledge the friendly question, but continued to water the plants hanging from the porch’s ceiling. Lauren sighed, a part of the brightness of her day stained by the old woman’s rudeness. She jumped, feeling the furry invasion of Onyx’s body against her leg. “You ready to go out and about, fella?” she asked and unhooked the screen door. The cat padded softly down the steps and onto the wet grass then disappeared between the azalea bushes between her property and the Black’s. “You be careful!” Lauren called out. She blushed when she realized Agnes Black must have thought she had been speaking to her for the old lady hurried into her house and shut the door. There was a knock at her front door and Lauren looked back through the kitchen, puzzling at the dark form on the other side of the glass. She put down her coffee cup on the table as she passed and pulled her robe closer around her. Her face mirrored her confusion when she recognized Ben Hurlbert, the new acting Sheriff, through the lace sheers. Opening the door, she smiled hesitantly at him. “Good morning, Benny,” she said, having known the man all her life; they had graduated high school together. “‘Morning, Lauren.” he said, doffing his hat. “How you doing?” “All right,” she answered, wondering at the uneasy look on his face. “Has something happened?” Ben Hurlbert shook his head as he twisted the rim of his uniform hat around and around in his hands. “No, ma’am, not that I know of.” He looked behind him, flinched when he saw 216

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the Atherton’s staring at him from their front yard. He glanced to his left and seemed to shrink when he saw Henrietta Malone glaring at him from her porch. He lowered his voice, apparently embarrassed. “I’m sorry to have had to come over here, Lauren, but your phone wasn’t working.” He blushed. “All the phones are down because of the storm, but the phone company says they’ll be back on by nine.” Lauren unlatched the screen door and came out onto the porch as Ben stepped back. “May I offer you some coffee?” The acting Sheriff shook his head. “I’ve had plenty; thank you.” He ducked his head. “I was just wondering if you’d know where I could find Mr. Cree.” He lifted his head and seemed to flinch with embarrassment. “Ah, Mr. Syntian Cree. I understand you, ah, went out with him last evening.” Lauren’s heart skipped a beat. “Has something happened to him?” “Oh, no, ma’am,” Ben hurried to say. “Ah, not that we know of, anyway. I just went out to his house yesterday afternoon to speak to him and he wasn’t there. Francine Chalmers said she saw you up to K−Mart yesterday and that he was with you. I came by your house about ten last night and there weren’t no lights on. I didn’t want to bother you ‘cause I thought you might have already gone to bed.” His face turned bright red. “I didn’t see Mr. Cree’s car here so I knew he wasn’t with you.” “Is he in some kind of trouble, Benny?” Lauren fidgeted with the neck closing of her robe. “I don’t think so,” Ben answered. “We ran a check on him and nothing’s come up yet.” He shifted from one foot to another like a schoolboy before his principal. “He came down to the office on Monday, but I just have some more questions I need to ask him about Beth Janacek.” 217

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Fear ran down Lauren’s spine. “You don’t think he had something to do with her murder, do you?” “No!” Ben was quick to reply. “He was at Mr. Turnbridge’s as best we can figure when Beth was killed, but I’d still like to question him a bit more.” He lowered his head. “About his relationship with her.” “Have you tried reaching him this morning?” Lauren asked, wishing she could tell Ben there had been no relationship between Syn and Beth Janacek, but she didn’t know if there had been or not. Ben nodded. “I went out to the Herndon place first thing, but he wasn’t there. His car was gone and I thought, well, you know.” He looked away from her. “That he might have come over here to see you.” Lauren smiled, wondering how many people in town knew she was keeping company with Syntian Cree. “I haven’t seen him today, Benny, but I’m supposed to have lunch with him. If you’d like, I’ll tell him you’d like to speak to him.” Ben sighed with relief. “That would be real nice of you, Lauren,” he said. He walked to the front screen door and opened it, jammed his hat back on his head of thick chestnut hair and touched the brim. “You sure do look pretty this morning.” Lauren’s eyes widened. “Why, thank you, Benny.” The acting Sheriff blushed and nodded. “You have a good day, now, you hear?” “You, too,” Lauren answered, too stunned by the compliment to even bid the man goodbye. She saw him tip his hat to Mrs. Malone and the Athertons then climb into his car and drive away. She was surprised even more when he looked back and waved at her. She lifted a hand and stood there, with it 218

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raised, until he was out of sight. Henrietta Malone shuffled back into her house and the Athertons continued on their early morning stroll, glancing only once at Lauren before putting their heads together as though discussing something of vital importance. Out of the corner of her eye, Lauren saw the curtain at the Blacks’ front parlor swing back into place and knew the elderly sisters had been investigating, as usual. “I couldn’t carry on a wild affair and keep it quiet in this town,” Lauren mumbled to herself, shocked at her own words. She hurried inside to get dressed for work. At a quarter to nine, Lauren stepped off the front stoop of her house and headed down the walkway to the sidewalk. Just as she turned to her right to head for the corner, she saw Syntian standing on the Blacks’ front steps, looking up through the screen door, smiling as he talked to whichever of the Black sisters had answered the door. Lauren stopped, staring at him, wishing he’d look her way. She started to call out to him, but he stepped off the top step and the screen door swung outward and he entered the porch. “What are you doing, now?” Lauren whispered. She heard the second screen door of the Black sisters’ porch squeal open and shut and knew he had been allowed into the old women’s front parlor. “Gonna be late if you don’t hurry, Lauren!” Lauren’s head snapped around and she noticed one of the Colton boys who lived down the street pedaling past her on his bike. He waved at her and she hesitantly waved back. Never once had either of those two teenage boys ever spoken to her, let alone waved. “What’s going on?” she asked herself. First, Benny Hurlbert 219

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had actually complimented her; now, Trip Colton had spoken to her and waved! She glanced once more at the Black sisters’ house then shook her head. Agnes Black smiled as she held the silver teapot over the gentleman’s cup. “Do you take cream and sugar, Mr. Cree?” “Perhaps he prefers lemon,” Anna Black corrected her sister. “Nothing should be allowed to spoil the blend of the leaves,” Syntian answered. He smiled at the sisters. “Why ruin perfection?” Agnes Black’s wrinkled face glowed; Anna Black nodded in appreciation of the gentleman’s good taste. “Naturally, we prefer it unadulterated ourselves,” Anna admitted. She sipped delicately at the Earl Grey. “Where is your home, Mr. Cree?” Agnes inquired. She wiped at her upper lip where the strong tea had clung. “I am a native Bostonian,” he informed them and watched as the two sisters exchanged knowing glances. He lifted his cup and took a small sip, smiled his approval and saw Agnes beam with pleasure. “Of course, I was educated abroad.” “One can tell,” Anna told him. “Good breeding and a fine education always show.” “From which institute did you matriculate?” asked Agnes. Syntian’s lips twitched. “I received my Master’s Degree in music from the Sorbonne,” he said, giving the university its French pronunciation. Anna’s face lit with excitement. “The Sorbonne?” breathed, casting a slow, thrilled glance to her sister “Why, our mother studied there, as well!” “Did she?” Syntian asked politely. “What a coincidence.” 220

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Agnes hurriedly put her cup down and walked to the Steinway flanking the east wall of their parlor. “Do you play, Mr. Cree?” Anna clucked in disapproval. “Sister, really! Mr. Cree is our guest. Allow him to finish his tea.” Placing his Limoges teacup on the Queen Anne console beside him, Syntian stood up and joined Agnes at the piano. He lovingly touched the deep shine on the baby grand’s lid. “A magnificent work of art,” he said, running his hand over the wood. He turned his full gaze on Agnes. “May I?” Agnes stared into his umber eyes and fell through layer upon layer of fantasy. “Yes,” she breathed, reaching out to open the piano’s lid. “By all means, please!” “I don’t know where Agnes’ manners have gone, Mr. Cree,” Anna began as she hurried over to join them at the Steinway. “She sometimes gets carried away.” She stopped as that devastating gaze fell upon her. “Call me Synti,” he said, staring down into the old woman’s creased face. “Synti,” Anna whispered, her gaze running rampant over the strong features before her. Syntian sat down at the piano and ran his fingers over the keys. “Beautiful tone and resonance,” he said. “We have sheet music from every classical composer,” Agnes told him. “No need,” he said, playing random chords. He looked up and fused his gaze with Anna’s. “What would you like to hear, Miss Anna?” “Bee...Bee...” Anna cleared her throat, trying again. “Beethoven?” Syntian smiled, his smoldering look locking with her 221

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confused one. “The Moonlight Sonata?” Agnes drew in a quick breath. “That’s our very favorite!” she gasped. He turned that lethal attention on Agnes. “Ladies of discriminating taste,” he complimented and arched his fingers over the keyboard and began the movement. Agnes and Anna Black stood mesmerized by the beautiful music flowing from the strong fingers of their guest. They stared at his face, marveled at how expertly he could play with his eyes closed, his head thrown back as though he were being transported to another sphere of existence. They took in his measured breathing, the way his wide shoulders seemed to fill the room, the grace with which his hands caressed the piano keys to draw forth the breathtakingly beautiful music that flowed with ease from the Steinway. “Heavenly,” Agnes sighed, staring at his handsome face, caressing that lean jaw with her fevered gaze, wanting desperately to touch his glorious hair. “Truly magnificent,” Anna agreed, allowing her vision to smooth over their guest’s high forehead and stroke his glossy dark hair. Syntian did not need to see the faces of the women to know they were beyond where they stood. He had taken them with him to another world: a world where he ruled and where he decided all that was of any importance. He was mesmerizing them, carrying them to a place where neither had ever been. His fingers might have been running over the ivory keys of the Steinway, but to Anna Black, his fingertips were stroking the high insides of her thigh. He might well have been bringing forth the brilliant music of a composer without equal, but he was also bringing forth pants of pleasure from Agnes Black’s 222

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wrinkled lips. Anna was unaware of the trembling hand she reached out to place on her guest’s shoulder. Even as her fingers moved over his back to caress the thick queue at the nape of his neck, to fondle that silky hair, she was not cognizant of doing so. Had she seen her face: pupils glazed, mouth slack, face high with color, she would not have recognized the woman staring back at her with rapture. Likewise, Agnes was as unaware of her sister, and her sister’s transport into fantasy, as she was of her own state of excitement. She seated herself beside her gentleman caller and was running the palm of her arthritic left hand up and down his taut thigh, marveling at the strength beneath the leather of his pant leg as his thigh muscles tensed and relaxed as his foot plied the pedals. She squeezed his flesh, caressed him, so wrapped up in her own dream world, she did not know her fingers had strayed to the boldness between his legs. Syntian smiled as he felt her stroking him, barely flinched as Anna placed her dry lips against the side of his throat and kissed him. He continued to play, to draw from the Steinway the music that had so enthralled the old women. He knew they were supremely oblivious to the fact that he was repeating the same measures over and over again. He had brought them to this place and was now letting their fancies run wild, allowing them the dreams they had long been denied. “Touch me, Agnes,” he whispered and smiled knowingly as the woman’s trembling fingers unzipped his fly and moved without hesitation into the opening. He heard her gasp of pleasure as her hand cupped him. Anna trailed kisses over his jaw line and when he turned his head toward her, she claimed his lips, groaning as his tongue 223

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thrust against her own. She slanted her mouth tightly over his and thrust her tongue deep inside the warmth of his mouth, feeling the heat of him far down in the shriveled, never−touched core of her sagging belly. “Pleasure me, Agnes,” he whispered against Anna’s mouth. Agnes slid to the floor at his feet, bending awkwardly as she slithered between the piano and the bench. She put her head in his lap and covered his flesh with her lips in an attempt to draw from him the same wonderment that filled her ears with such intoxicating sound. Her body thrilled as he moved his legs further apart to accommodate her and she fastened on him like a hungry leech. Syntian stopped playing, knowing the women were beyond hearing or feeling or seeing or caring what they did. He stared into Anna’s lust−filled face as she continued to kiss him, her mouth now covering his own so wetly, saliva oozed from the corner of his own mouth. He felt the rush of his seed spiraling toward climax and he let himself relax, let the two of them have him. He reached behind him and drew Anna around the side of the bench, insinuated his hand under her prim and proper dress and found that part of her that had never known a man’s touch. At almost the same moment his fingers unerringly found their way inside her wetness, she exploded around them with violent pulses of rapture and she threw back her head and trilled with satisfaction. Agnes slurped at him, drawing away every last drop from him, as though she had been a woman dying of thirst. Suddenly, her entire body tensed and she jerked in the throes of such a powerful climax, her lips clenched too painfully around his shaft. Syntian laid a restraining hand on Agnes’ head. “Enough,” 224

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he said softly. He waited silently and patiently until her pleasure had settled then bade her rise. Agnes lifted her head and politely re−fastened his clothing then scrambled out from under the piano. “Sit,” he commanded and both women moved as though in a trance to where they had been sitting. Gracefully they sank to their seats, folded their hands primly in their laps and came out of their revelry at the same moment. “That was lovely,” Agnes was the first to say. “You are very good,” Anna awarded him. Syntian lowered the piano lid and stood up, gazing down at the two old women with a half−smile. “I am happy to have pleasured you.” “More tea?” Agnes asked. “Perhaps just a tad,” he answered, grinning at them as he resumed his seat. He held his cup out to Agnes and winked up at her as she poured. Agnes nearly dropped the teapot. Her cheeks rushed with color and she glanced guiltily at Anna, hoping her sister had not seen the handsome gentleman caller flirting with her. It just wouldn’t do. Anna would be jealous! “I have wanted to come over to speak with you ladies for some time now,” Syntian said, gaining their immediate attention. He let his hot gaze bathe them with its intensity. “I am sure you know I have been courting Miss Fowler.” Agnes nodded politely. “We thought you might be.” Syntian’s gaze sharpened. “Miss Fowler is a fine woman.” Anna’s brows drew together then relaxed as her guest’s attention narrowed on her. “She certainly is.” “And very well−educated,” Syntian added. “One must, of course, overlook her parentage.” He took a sip of his tea and 225

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peered at the two old women over the rim of his cup. “Lauren can’t be held responsible for the kind of father she has,” Anna agreed. “Or mother,” Agnes put in. “Naturally not,” Anna said emphatically. “Miss Fowler is what we call in Boston ‘a lady of genteel breeding,’” Syntian informed them. “A woman to be respected.” “And admired!” Agnes echoed. “She is, sister,” Anna admitted. Syntian set aside his cup. “I am, as you must be aware, quite taken with Miss Fowler.” “Who can blame you?” Anna asked. “Lauren is such a delight,” added Agnes. He stood up, looking down on the women with a benevolent expression. “I would take it as a personal favor if you two sophisticated and worldly women would take Lauren under your wing, so to speak. I would not think of entering her home without a chaperone.” “Gossips can do a good woman’s reputation much harm,” Agnes said sadly. “We would be most pleased to chaperone you, Mr. Cree,” Anna breathed. “Synti,” he corrected her and stepped over to take her hand in his. He kissed the parchment−like flesh and heard Anna’s quick in drawn breath. “Synti,” Anna sighed, lost once more in his infinite eyes. “And perhaps you could speak to Mrs. Malone?” he asked, still holding Anna’s hand. “Inform her that I will be calling upon her this morning?” “Yes,” Anna said dreamily. Her brows drew together. 226

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“Why?” Syntian smiled. “Tell her I am your nephew, a distant relative. I am Cousin Maureen’s son.” His gaze bored into hers. “Anything that grants me entry to her home.” He tightened his hold on her hand. “I must have her permission to enter to do what I must do.” Agnes shot out of her chair as though she had been snagged on her skinny rump by a hellhound. “I will call her!” “The phones are not in service,” Anna said, not taking her gaze from Syntian. “Yes, they are,” he answered and stared into Anna’s face as Agnes hurried to the phone and jerked up the receiver, dialing Henrietta Malone’s number so fast she broke a fingernail. “Henrietta? Agnes Black. Have you noticed we have a visitor? Yes. Oh, yes! But did you know he’s our nephew?” There was a brief pause. “Boston. Our cousin Maureen’s boy. He wants to meet you.” Nina Atherton opened the door with a smile. “Mr. Cree, so nice to meet you! Henrietta has told us all about you! Won’t you come in?” Thaddeus Atherton put out his hand as their guest entered the living room. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cree. I didn’t know Henrietta had a nephew living up in New Haven! You are originally from Boston, eh?” He glanced at his wife. “And to think he’s been over to Lauren’s and we didn’t even know he was practically kin!” Ben Hurlbert looked up from his report and frowned. “I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Cree.” Syntian smiled. “So, I’ve heard.” He sat down on the chair 227

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in front of the acting Sheriff’s desk. “How may I help you?”

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Chapter Fourteen Lauren’s face showed her surprise when she answered the knock on her door. She unhooked the latch and pushed the screen open. “Miss Agnes,” she said, confusion drawing her brows together at the warm and friendly smile on the old woman’s face. “Anna and I were baking cinnamon rolls this morning and thought you just might like some with your coffee, Lauren.” She moved past the startled younger woman and entered the living room. “We just knew you’d have made this place as pretty as a picture.” She turned, looked lovingly at Lauren then cocked her head to one side. “And you have, haven’t you?” Lauren stared at her, taking the proffered plate of warm rolls in her hand as the old lady extended them to her. “And where is that adorable little ragamuffin?” Agnes chirped, sweeping her gaze about the room. “What is it you call him, again? Onyx?” She bent forward, clucking her tongue. “Here, kitty−kitty! Come here, you pretty boy, you!” The old woman ventured on into the dining alcove, then pushed her way into the kitchen, calling the cat the whole time. “Here, kitty−kitty!” Lauren’s brows shot up and she just stood where she was, rooted in the middle of the living room floor, hearing odd sounds in her kitchen as pots and pans rattled. As the tap turned 229

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on and she heard the unmistakable sound of water filling a boiler, she managed to make herself move, walking slowly toward the kitchen as though a madman were lurking about inside. “He’s out there on the picnic table,” Miss Agnes informed Lauren as the young woman entered the kitchen. “Just look at him sitting there like a little prince!” She carried a two−quart boiler over to the stove and turned on the burner. “Miss Agnes?” Lauren asked, placing the plate of cinnamon rolls on the kitchen table. “May I ask what you’re doing?” Agnes Black giggled as she began to rummage through the cabinet over the stove. “I woke up this morning,” she said, pushing aside spices, standing on her tiptoes to reach for a tin of sage, “and I said to myself, ‘Aggie, that young woman works all day long and has to come in and fix herself supper.’” She flipped up the lid of the tin and began to shake a liberal amount of sage into the boiler. “So, I discussed it with Sister and we decided to make you a nice pot of chicken and dumplings!” Lauren’s eyes grew wide and she had to reach out to grab the edge of the table. “Chicken and dumplings?” she echoed. Agnes nodded. She peeked out the window and clapped her hands together. She looked around at Lauren and winked. “Here she comes!” There was a shadow moving across the side window off the back stoop and Agnes Black hurried to the door to unlatch it and open the portal for her sister. Anna Black climbed the steps and came into the kitchen with a wide grin of pleasure on her wrinkled face. “I thought this one would do, don’t you agree, Sister?” Anna asked, handing a small broiler chicken to Agnes. “Perfect,” Agnes answered. She hefted the chicken and then 230

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carried it to the sink where she began to remove the plastic wrap. “It’ll do nicely.” Anna startled Lauren when she came over to her and embraced her, putting a dry kiss on her cheek. “Did you sleep well, dear?” “Yes, ma’am.” Lauren watched the two old women bustling about her kitchen, getting out bowls and spices and milk and shortening. She sat down with total confusion as Anna found the rolling pin for Agnes as the other woman tore off a sheet of waxed paper, moistened the counter top and then spread the waxed paper on it. “Keeps it from sliding about,” Anna explained to Lauren. “You make the dumplings while I stew the chicken, Sister,” said Agnes. “Sister!” Anna exclaimed, making Agnes turn in surprise. “Have we forgotten something?” Agnes asked, frowning. “She hasn’t had her coffee!” Anna said in an aggrieved tone. Lauren’s mouth dropped open. “Really I don’t think−−” “She has to have her morning coffee, Agnes,” Anna reprimanded. “You know she does every morning!” Agnes looked apologetically at Lauren. “Forgive me, my dear. I just got so carried away, I entirely forgot to make your coffee.” She rushed to the Mr. Coffee machine and jerked up the canister to fill it. “Miss Agnes,” Lauren protested, coming to her feet, finding a voice that was squeaky with absolute astonishment. A polite tap came at the back door and all three women turned to see Syntian framed in the opened doorway. Smiles: two filled with rapture, one filled with bewilderment, slipped unerringly over the female faces. “May I join you lovely ladies?” he asked. 231

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“You certainly may!” Anna answered for them all. She hurried over and took his arm, led him to the kitchen table and pushed him gently into the chair beside Lauren’s. “Sister? Where’s that coffee?” Lauren looked at him, shrugging at his questioning look. She gripped his hand as he slid it across the table to her and she re−seated herself, her puzzled gaze going to the two old ladies who were scrambling around her kitchen as though it were an every day affair. Syntian leaned back in his chair, his fingers still clutching Lauren’s hand and an amused smile slipped into place. He cocked a brow at Lauren. “I don’t know,” Lauren whispered. “You are up and about early this morning, Synti,” Agnes accused as she poured water into the coffee maker. “Have you had breakfast, son?” “Synti?” Lauren questioned, throwing him an arch look. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his gaze going to the bowl of cat food on the floor. Though he did not eat human food, the feline part of him reveled in a nice presentation of fish...the smellier, the better. “Did you know Lauren had a guest yesterday morning?” Anna asked, grinning conspiratorially at Lauren. Lauren looked away from the challenging look on Syntian’s face. “Ben Hurlbert,” she muttered. “Ah,” Syntian laughed. “Our new Sheriff.” He grinned at Anna. “Think there’s something between him and Lauren, Miss Anna?” Lauren gasped, jerking her hand from his tender grip. “From the way Benny was looking at her,” Agnes giggled, “he’d like to come courting.” 232

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Lauren swung her head toward the old woman and stared at her. “Synti wouldn’t allow that, would you, son?” Agnes stated as she switched on the coffee maker. “No, ma’am, I would not,” Syntian answered, meeting Lauren’s shocked look with a bland one of his own. Anna came up to Syntian’s side and slid her arm across his shoulders, sighing with pleasure as he reached up to put a hand on the small of her back. “Are you going to take her to lunch again today, Synti?” Syntian turned and looked at Lauren. There was something electric in his gaze. “If she’ll go, Miss Anna.” Anna chuckled. “Oh, she will, won’t you, Lauren?” “Be a fool not to,” Agnes quipped from the stove. “Wouldn’t she, sister?” Lauren swiveled her attention from the two old ladies to Syntian and wondered at the knowing looks that flowed between them. She sat back in her chair with bafflement. Syntian patted Anna and the old woman moved away. He leaned toward Lauren. “Well?” She looked at him. “Well, what?” “Lunch?” he reminded. Lauren nodded. “I suppose so.” He smiled. “What about supper?” “Did you make those reservations like we suggested?” Agnes asked, turning around to level a polite stare at Syntian. “Yes, ma’am, I did,” Syntian answered. He winked at Lauren. “They’re holding a private room for us at Le Paradis for tomorrow night at seven.” Lauren gaped at him. “Le Paradis? Syntian, that’s the most expensive restaurant in the Panhandle!” 233

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“He can afford it,” Anna proclaimed. “Can’t you, son?” Syntian’s smile widened. “Yes, I surely can.” Lauren shook her head. “I don’t have anything good enough to wear to that place!” “Well, pooh!” Agnes snorted. She turned around, ladle in her hand and shook it at Syntian. “Go buy her something pretty to wear, Syntian!” Lauren gasped and swung her head toward the old woman. “Miss Agnes! I can’t allow that!” “Whyever not?” Anna asked, putting her hands on her scrawny hips. “Yes,” Agnes said. “Why ever not?” Lauren stared at the women. “Because it’s not right, that’s why!” Agnes glanced at Anna then both women turned their eyes to Syntian. “You haven’t asked her yet, have you?” “Ask me what?” Lauren questioned suspiciously. “To marry him!” Agnes announced. “What else?” Anna tittered. Syntian winced as Lauren gawked at him. He shrugged helplessly, avoiding Lauren’s look. “I haven’t had the chance.” “Shame on you, Lauren!” Agnes clucked. “You give this boy a chance to ask you.” “Yes, give the boy a chance to ask,” Anna echoed. The younger woman felt as though she had committed some unpardonable social faux pas. She opened her mouth to speak, but Syntian’s words cut through her bewilderment and pitched her headlong into total shock. “Will you, Lauren?” he asked and when she turned her head to stare at him, his face was filled with hope. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Syntian Cree!” Anna exclaimed. 234

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“That’s no proper way to ask for a lady’s hand in marriage!” “Certainly not!” Agnes agreed. She leveled her ladle at him. “You were brought up better than that, young man!” Syntian nodded. “You are right; I was.” He pushed back his chair and stood. Lauren’s mouth sagged open as Syntian went to his knee before her and reached out to take her hand in his, bringing it to his lips in a chaste kiss before settling her fingers against his chest. “Miss Lauren,” he said in a grave voice as he stared into her eyes. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?” If the world had crashed down around her, Lauren could not have been more surprised. Here it was: eight o’clock in the morning; kitchen filled with people, two of whom had never even spoken to her before that day and who were now making supper for her; a man at her feet, asking her to marry him; coffee brewing on the counter; sunlight filtering in through the blinds to light on Syntian’s face as though caressing it. “Will you, Lauren?” “Answer him, girl!’’ Anna commanded. “Don’t keep the boy on his knees waiting!” “You’re torturing him, Lauren,” Agnes stated. “Can’t you see that?” Syntian’s grip on Lauren’s hand increased and his face filled with an emotion that could only have been a fear of rejection. “Lauren?” he asked, his voice shaky. Lauren looked from his face to Anna’s to Agnes’ and then back to Syntian’s expectant gaze. “I don’t...” she started to say, her voice breaking. She tried again after clearing her throat. “I don’t know what to say.” “Say yes!” Agnes told her. 235

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“Of course, she’s going to say yes. Aren’t you, dear?” His fingers around her hand were hot. “Say it, Lauren,” he encouraged. “Say you will marry me.” “I ...” Lauren swallowed, looking away from him. She searched the floor, as though trying to find an answer. She shook her head. “This is so sudden.” “Please?” he whispered, his voice filled with all the emotion a woman could ask for. Slowly she lifted her head and looked at him. “Syntian, we haven’t known—” The word never drew sound, but it was on his lips: “Please?” “You’ll break his heart if you say no,” Agnes told her. “Can’t you see what your silence is doing to the boy, Lauren?” Anna queried. Syntian reached up to lay the palm of his hand on Lauren’s cheek, caressing her. “Say it, Lauren. Please, say it. I love you with all my heart and I want to spend the rest of our lives together making you happy.” “Oh for pity sakes, gal!” Anna declared. “Give the boy your answer!” Lauren bit her lip, looking from Syntian to the old women and back again, then sighed. “All right,” she whispered. “Yes.” Syntian drew in his breath. “Yes?” he asked, not daring to speak louder than a whisper for fear he had heard her wrong. Lauren smiled, her love showing in her eyes. “Yes,” she answered. “I would be honored to be your wife.” “Well thank goodness!” Agnes sighed. “Where’s the ring, Synti?” Anna prodded. “Ring?” Lauren asked. He let go of her hand long enough to rummage in his pocket. When he brought his hand up, he held a beautiful two−carat 236

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emerald−cut solitaire. He took her hand and slipped the ring on the ring finger of her left hand. He looked up at her. “Like it?” Lauren stared at the white−hot sparkle of the diamond in the sunlight. She nodded, overwhelmed and overcome with emotion. Anna and Agnes beamed as they watched the handsome young man stand and draw his fiancée into his arms. Their aged faces cracked with contentment as they watched him seal the bargain with a polite, virtuous kiss on the young woman’s quivering lips. “Syntian Cree!” Agnes said with exasperation. “Can’t you do any better than that?” “Kiss the gal like you mean it, boy!” Anna demanded. Lauren stared up into his heated gaze and felt herself plummeting through time and space. When he pulled her against him, nestling her in the warmth and security of his arms, she laid her head on his chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart through the silk of his shirt, Lauren felt emotions she had never expected to feel. “I love you, Lauren,” he said softly against her temple and his arms tightened around her. “With all my heart, I love you.” “Will you kiss her like you mean that, then?” Anna snapped. Lauren felt his finger under her chin, lifting her face. She looked up, her belly clenching with unadulterated lust when she saw the look in his dark eyes. When he lowered his mouth to hers once more, slid his hand along her jaw, through her hair to brace her head for his kiss, she thought her knees would buckle beneath her. As his tongue slipped possessively past her lips, she felt the thrust of it all the way to her womb and sagged against him, thankful for the strong arm that pressed her intimately to his body. “That’s more like it,” she vaguely heard 237

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Anna proclaim. When his lips released hers, he stepped back a little then planted a sweet, chaste kiss on her forehead, then her nose, one last soft touch to her lips, then smiled. “Tell me you love me,” he whispered. “Yes,” Lauren breathed. “I do.” She answered his smile. “I do love you.” “And we’ll be celebrating your engagement tomorrow night at Le Paradis!” Agnes sighed. A quiver of excitement trilled down Lauren’s spine and she pushed away from Syntian, looking up at him for confirmation of the old woman’s words. “You didn’t stand a chance,” Syntian told her. “We had it planned down to the smallest detail.” He cupped her cheek. “Remember what I once told you? I always get what I set out to acquire, Lauren Fowler.” After Syntian had gone and she was left alone to sip her coffee while the two old ladies bustled about the kitchen, Lauren could not believe what had happened to her that morning. Even on her short walk to work—having declined his offer to drive her for she needed time to think—she had trouble crediting what had occurred in her little kitchen. Her mind was swirling with questions, with confusion, with absolute shock as she fumbled open the shop door. Standing there, key in the lock, she stared through the glass into the interior of the dark store and felt a wave of total elation flood through her body. “I hear congratulations are in order.” Lauren jumped, startled by the voice and turned, her hand still on the key to stare at Angeline Hellstrom. The older woman was standing beside her limo. There was an odd look on Mrs. Hellstrom’s face. 238

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“He couldn’t wait to call me and tell me,” Angeline mumbled, stepping up onto the curb. She nodded at her driver and the black man skirted the car and opened the door, tipping his hat to the two women as he climbed inside the expensive automobile. “I don’t know what to say,” Lauren answered, embarrassed when she remembered the connection between this woman and the man she had agreed to marry. “Don’t worry,” Angeline told her as she eased Lauren aside and finished unlocking the door. “I’m happy for the both of you.” She pushed the door open and motioned Lauren inside. Lauren felt a tremor of unease go down her backbone as she entered the store. Had she seen the look of pure spite on the older woman’s face, she would have known why.

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Chapter Fifteen “I’m not Catholic,” Syntian told her as he drove her home from the engagement party the next night. “Would you consider converting?” she asked, nibbling at her lower lip. His right hand was threaded with hers and she felt his grip tightened. “You have to belong to a religion to convert to another, Sweeting.” Lauren looked out her window, not distressed by his words, but a little worried about them. “You don’t go to church at all?” “No,” he answered. She was afraid to tell him she wanted to be married in her church. “I’ve contacted a friend of mine,” Syntian said, glancing at her averted profile. “He’s a notary public.” A portion of her happiness evaporated. Lauren looked at him. “A notary public?” Syntian shrugged away the gasp in her voice. “In the state of Florida, a notary public can marry people.” Another vapor of happiness slipped away. “Why not a justice of the peace?” Lauren asked. She saw his lips purse into a frown. “We could go to the courthouse.” He turned to look at her. “Is that what you want? To stand in the courthouse and be married?” 240

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“No, I want to stand in a church,” she said, somewhat annoyed at his tone, “Besides, isn’t standing in the courthouse the same as standing in someone’s living room or office and getting married?” Syntian thought about that for a moment. “I have a friend who is a sea captain. Paegan has a schooner moored in Panama City. I can arrange for him to marry us, then have his crew take us on a cruise down to the Bahamas and Puerto Rico.” He caressed her hand. “How do you like that idea?” “A ship?” Lauren had never done anything so wonderful. A sea cruise sounded nice. “The Revenant.” He glanced at her and was relieved to see her expression was not closed to the idea. Lauren let out a long sigh, giving in. “If that’s what you want.” He didn’t say anything, then pulled his hand away from hers to down shift the Porsche. He turned into a brightly lit parking lot and cut the engine. Facing her, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Would it make you feel better if I had a Catholic priest there to bless the marriage?” Lauren smiled. “Yes.” Syntian squeezed her shoulder. “Then, Father Robbie it is!” “Why don’t we invite my priest?” she asked, searching his face. Syntian tensed. He looked away from her. “I’ve already invited Robbie to the wedding. He and I were in college together and—” “It doesn’t matter,” Lauren said, not wanting to spoil things for him. She put her hand on his knee. “Just so long as he blesses our marriage, it doesn’t make any difference.” 241

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On the drive back into Milton, Syntian breathed a sigh of relief that Lauren had been so agreeable. It would have been more difficult to arrange matters should he have been forced to ask her parish priest to the wedding. His thoughts went to Robert MacCorkingdale, the defrocked priest who would be blessing his and Lauren’s union, and he smiled. Things were working out just the way he had planned. Angeline watched him stalking about her bedroom. His unleashed fury was mounting and she knew the effort it was costing him to keep that violence in check. She looked down at the powerful fists clutched at his side and smiled. Syntian saw that smile and growled, a deep roar of warning pushing from his throat. His umber eyes glowed with hatred and his lips pulled back over gleaming white teeth. “You might as well sit down,” Angeline scolded him. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, Syntian.” He lashed out, sweeping his arm across Angeline’s vanity, knocking her cosmetics to the floor where they shattered and spilled on the carpet. The pungent smell of Opium filled the air. His narrowed gaze turned on the woman as though daring her to chastise him for the destruction. Angeline shrugged and leaned back on her chaise. “Nothing that can’t be replaced,” she informed him. “You she−bitch!” he spat, spinning away from her condescending gaze to glare out the window at the rolling waves of the Gulf of Mexico. “I would be careful what names you called me, Syntian,” she warned him in a neutral voice. “I could stop the wedding, you know.” He jerked, coming around to face her as though he could tear 242

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out her throat. His words were thrust from between gnashing teeth clenched with primal rage. “Do not dare try.” “Not that I will,” Angeline told him, amused at the lethal intent in his handsome face. “As long as you behave and do as you are told.” Syntian knew a wild moment of absolute mindlessness as he stared at her laughing face. His vision filled with a scarlet haze of violence and his nostrils quivered as though he were a wild beast on the prowl for fresh kill. Beneath the tight grip of his hands, his palms were slimy with sweat just as there was a thick line of it over his upper lip. “If you don’t sit down,” she told him, “I will have you caged like the animal you are behaving.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what you want on the night before your wedding, Syntian?” “Don’t fuck with me, Angeline!” he spat at her, taking a step toward the chaise. “Don’t speak to me like that, Syntian. You know I don’t like it.” “Tough shit,” he hissed, turning away from her steady gaze, feeling his helplessness closing around him like the sharp teeth of a steel trap. “She will come to her wedding day as pure as the day you forced yourself into her life,” Angeline reminded him. He tried to shut out the woman’s words, but they penetrated his mind. He heard her berating him, chastising him, as she had nearly every day over the month−long period he and Lauren had been engaged. He had anticipated her anger, had prepared himself for it, but when she had merely smiled at him, wishing him happiness in his marriage when he had rebelliously told her of Lauren’s acceptance of his proposal, he should have known she was being too accommodating by far. 243

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“Oh, I’ll let you marry her, Syntian,” Angeline had agreed, confusing him and alerting him to a danger far beyond her words. “I’ll even attend the wedding.” He had stared at her, his instinct telling him there was something lurking behind her calm words. “In exchange for what?” Angeline had smiled. “I don’t know, yet.” When she had summoned him on the eve of his marriage, Syntian had been furious. He had ignored the call, making it necessary for Angeline to send Delbert after him. He had fought Delbert, but it had availed him nothing. Del was good at what he had been created to do. “You could have saved yourself the pain,” Angeline had said as she had stood over him, shaking her head at the blood that dripped down his face. “Go to hell!” he’d snarled at her, swiping at the blood on his cheek. Angeline swung her legs from the chaise and stood up, unlaced the ribbon at the throat of her peignoir. “Come here,” she told him, not surprised when she saw his back stiffen and refuse to turn around to face her. “Don’t make me call you again, Syntian.” He spun around and fixed her with a malevolent glower that should have struck her dead. “I will not have you pawing me, Angeline! Not tonight!” “You, my dear sweet demon,” she told him, “have no say in the matter.” She let the peignoir drop to the floor. Her naked breasts gleamed as she reached up to lift them and separate their fullness. She caressed the heaviness with her slim fingers. “Would you rather I called you on your wedding night?” He knew she was as likely to do that as not. He also knew he would be dragged to Angeline—kicking and screaming in front 244

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of Lauren—if that was what Angeline decided she wanted. His shoulders sagged in defeat. “That’s a good boy,” she said, crooking her finger at him. “Come, Syntian.” His entire being shivered with distaste as she made him kneel at her feet. He had to force himself to put his arms around her, to draw her supple body to his cheek as he laid his head against her belly. “You know what I want you to do,” she said in a sigh of anticipation. Her fingers threaded through his long dark hair. He forced himself away from the terrible place in which he was being kept; invoking every demon he knew that she would not keep him here past the early morning when he should be leaving for the docks in Panama City. “Syntian,” she purred at him. He lifted his head and looked bleakly at her, wondering what new tortures she had in store for him for her voice had been too sweet. Angeline smoothed the lush hair back from his forehead. “I will drive Lauren to P.C. tomorrow.” He groaned. “Angeline—” “I will drive her,” she stated, brooking no further discussion. “Consider it my wedding present to you.” He searched her face, looking for the treachery he knew was there, but all he saw was amusement. He flinched as she laughed at his helplessness. “Love me, Syntian,” she warned him. “And love me well else you’ll spend the rest of Lauren’s life right where you are at this moment.” Angeline dabbed at the corner of her eye as Syntian turned to 245

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Lauren and took her into his arms to place the stamp of possession on the young woman’s lips. The wind ruffled her sleek hair and a few stray wisps escaped the confines of her chignon. She pushed them back with her hand and smiled as Robbie’s gaze met her own. “They make a handsome couple, don’t they?” Robbie chuckled. His pale blue gaze widened with spite. “I don’t know why he’d want her instead of you, though.” “Oh, I still have him, Robbie,” Angeline assured him. Her eyes went to the happy couple. “Now, more than ever.” Robbie lifted a glass of champagne from a tray Delbert held before him. He turned and raised the glass high. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he said, gaining everyone’s attention. “May I propose a toast to our newly wedded friends?” Syntian caught Angeline smiling at him and he tore his gaze away, feeling every moment of her vile attention crawling over him as it had the night before. He drew Lauren closer to his side as though to protect her from the other woman’s wrath. “To Lauren and Syntian!” Robbie intoned. “To Lauren and Syntian!” Agnes Black echoed and her sister repeated the toast. “To Lauren and Syntian!” the Athertons, Lauren’s neighbors, and new friends, chanted. Henrietta Malone had declined the champagne, but raised her glass of Sprite to the couple. “To Lauren and Syntian!” Angeline lifted her glass, her gaze steady on Syntian as she commanded him to look at her. As his attention leapt reluctantly to her, she arched one perfectly shaped brow at him. “To Lauren and Syntian,” she said. “May the wind be always at their backs.” She held his gaze as she took a sip of her wine. He understood her warning and he brought Lauren even 246

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closer to him. As his bride looked up at him with love and adoration in her pretty face, he glanced down at her and smiled. “To my lady,” he said softly, entwining his arm with hers in the traditional toast every newly married couple made to one another. Applause and cheers rang out over the docks. Robbie slapped Delbert on the back then caught the attention of James Brigman, the notary public who had married the couple. “Do you need a ride home, James?” Brigman nodded, putting his champagne glass down on the sleek teak rail of the ship. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” “No trouble at all,” Robbie answered. He bent over and kissed Angeline’s cheek. “Tonight?” he asked, sweeping his fathomless gaze over her flushed face. Angeline nodded. Paegan Hesar, the owner and captain of the Revenant, held both arms out to the older ladies beside him. “May I escort you lovely women to your car?” Agnes blushed, quickly taking the proffered arm. “It would be our pleasure, wouldn’t it, sister?” Anna Black was slower to take Hesar’s arms, but when she did, she pressed it intimately against her shriveled bosom. “Indeed, we would.” “I’ll return in a moment and get us underway, Syn,” Paegan told his age−old acquaintance. His dark eyes roamed over Syntian’s bride with admiration. “If you’re ready, Lauren, I’ll take you where you’ve never been before.” Lauren smiled. She liked this handsome Norwegian. “I can’t wait,” she answered, looking up at Syntian and wondering why he was frowning at Paegan. 247

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“Have fun, you two lovebirds,” Angeline laughed as she motioned for Delbert to join her. She locked her gaze with Syntian’s. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He had to catch himself before he growled at the bitch. Instead, he forced a smile to his lips, acknowledged the good−byes of the Athertons and the Blacks, and graciously accepted a wet kiss from Henrietta Malone’s nearly toothless mouth. “You take good care of this precious little girl, now, Synti,” Henrietta made him promise. “I will, Miss Henrietta,” he vowed. They waved at the people on the quay as Paegan pulled the sleek ship out of its berth and into the sound. They laughed at Robbie’s beep on his Jeep’s horn, answered by Thadeus’ toot on his Fairmont’s, Anna’s blare of her Oldsmobile’s horn, and Delbert’s long, elegant chime on the limo’s. “Happy?” Syntian asked Lauren as the ship moved out past the buoys for the open seas. She snuggled against his side, her heart near to bursting with emotion. “Yes.” Paegan looked away from the wheel and watched as the couple disappeared below decks to the stateroom he had given over to their comfort. He glanced back at the dock, not surprised to find Angeline still standing there, staring after them. He cast his gaze back to the hatchway into which the couple had gone. “I wouldn’t be you for anything, Syntian Cree.” He shivered. “For anything!” His hands were trembling as he eased her out of the lace and silk wedding gown Agnes and Anna had insisted on buying her. 248

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The tiny pearl buttons were proving to be more of a hindrance than he could have imagined, frustrating his already nervous hands and making him groan with hopelessness as he snagged the lacy fabric with his short nails. “You’d better let me,” said Lauren, turning around to face him as she struggled to undo the last three buttons at her waist. The gown gave way and she drew in a breath, reluctant to pull the sleeves down over her arms. She clutched at the neckline and blushed, avoiding his eyes. “Lauren,” he sighed, drawing her gaze to his. “I love you. “ Her smile was tremulous as she released her death grip on the fabric and the gown moved off her shoulders. She sucked in her breath as he put his hands on the sleeves and pushed the silk and lace confection from her, letting it slide unhindered to her hips where he tugged it and sent it cascading to the floor. Lauren was trembling. He stared at her, his heart in his eyes, and she heard the ragged intake of his breath as his gaze wandered to the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the silk of her slip. When he reached up to tug at the straps, she started to stop him, but then remembered this man had every right in the world to undress her. He was her husband. “I don’t know what to do.” He placed a finger against her lips. She watched him shake his head. “I know,” he assured her. His fingers splayed out over her collarbone and slid under the straps of her slip. Very slowly, he eased them over her shoulders and, with little tugs, slid them down her arms, pushing the slip down with them. “I’ll teach you.” Lauren swallowed. Her heart, beating as fast as it could within her chest, was filling with love and something she could not name. Her body was quivering at his touch, aching to have 249

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his hands caress her. As the slip slid to the floor to pool atop her wedding gown, nothing stood between her and Syntian but a lacy bra and pair of panties and a blue garter belt holding up a pair of real silk stockings that had been a present from Henrietta Malone. “Only silk, dear,” Henrietta had assured her. “Never nylon.” He turned her, putting her back to him, and he licked his lips as his fingers went to the hooks of her strapless bra. His palms were sweating and he could see the tremor in his hands as he unhooked the lacy contraption. He saw Lauren’s hands come up to cup the bra to her. He bent his head and placed a gentle kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Lauren shivered all the way from her head to her toes as his mouth touched her flesh. She leaned against him, feeling the silk of his shirt against her naked back. His arms came around her, pulling her to him, and she gave herself up to the wonderful feeling that was invading her lower belly. “I want you,” he whispered against her cheek, fanning the hair at her temple. Closing her eyes for a moment, gathering her courage, Lauren turned in his arms, glorying in his strength as he loosened his hold on her. When she faced him, she let her hands fall away from the bra and the lacy protection fell away from her. Syntian looked down to take in the twin perfections that rose and fell with every ragged breath his lady took. He reached out, cupped the soft mounds in his hands, hearing Lauren’s gasp. He eased his thumbs over the stiff peaks, stroking the hard little nubs, smiled at her groan then looked into her face. “Lauren,” he said, sliding his arms around her and drawing her against him. “My Lauren.” 250

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She held him, aching to know him, aching to have him know her. Her moan of pleasure was breathless as he dipped down and put his arm under her legs and swung her against him. He carried her to the bed and laid her gently upon it. With fingers that shook, he unhooked the garter and rolled down her stockings, keeping his hot gaze away from the dark triangle beneath the silk panties. Even when he tugged at the panties, drawing them from her hips, he avoided looking at that dewy patch, knowing that if he did, he might well throw himself on her and ravage her as the beast within him desired to do. She watched him tear at his clothing, wanting nothing between him and her. She winced, as the silk was rent and the buttons popped. She smiled shyly as he tugged furiously at the zipper of his trousers then cursed as it snagged. She was amazed when he ripped the zipper apart and thrust the trousers away in a frenzy to join her on the bed. She was only a little shocked when she saw he wore no underwear beneath the Armani trousers. When at last he was naked, feeling her timid gaze sweeping over him, he stood beside the bed and allowed her to look her fill, to banish any fear of him she had. He was unaware that the thrust of his manhood had already driven a deep wedge of uncertainty and tremulous anxiety through Lauren’s rapidly beating heart. She held her arms up to him. “Syntian?” There was nothing between heaven and hell and the Abyss that could have kept him from covering her body with his own. “Tell me you want me, Lauren,” he whispered as he sank upon her. “Ask me to take you.” It had been unlike anything she could have imagined. The 251

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pleasure was sweeping, exhilarating, all encompassing; but it had not hurt as she had thought it would. At the moment he had started to impale her, he had forced her gaze to his. “Look at me, Sweeting,” he had ordered and she had become lost in the maze of desire in his eyes. She remembered nothing of her deflowering, but the passion and the heat and the urgency of his desire as he claimed her. To her dying day, she would relive that moment of ecstasy over and over again, marveling at how wonderful the experience had been. “I want you to know the joy of my love, Lauren,” Syntian had told her, “not the pain of it.” He had been so gentle with her, so tender, so caring. His touch had been like a feather against her skin, then a soft weight that had brought about the most wonderful of feelings between her thighs. His teeth had nipped at her nipples, nearly driving her mad with need, and his tongue flicked about her flesh, making her squirm beneath his hands. “Let me show you what it is to be loved, Lauren,” he had asked of her and set about doing just that. He had not once made her ashamed of what he was doing or what he showed her to do. Not once did he arouse in her anything but sheer desire and overwhelming longing to know all of him. Not once did he ask of her anything she was not willing to do. “Some women like this; some don’t,” he had said as he showed her the many ways a woman can love her mate. “If you don’t, we won’t do it again.” But there had been nothing that she had not enjoyed; no part of her she did not want him to touch and love. Likewise, there had been nothing he showed her of his own body and his own 252

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pleasure that she had been reluctant to know and embrace wholeheartedly. “You don’t have to do this,” he had told her at one point. “I want to,” she had whispered and her lips had found the core of him, drawing on him, and he had tangled his hand in her hair. She had not minded all that much for she knew she had given him great pleasure, but he had stopped her, quickly stopped her, when the pulse in his manhood had grown heavy and hard. “Let me” he had said brokenly, drawing her up his body and then rolling with her so that he was atop her, their sweat−drenched bodies slick against one another. He had nudged her legs apart, settled himself between her thighs, bracing himself on his elbows as he gazed down with a heated expression that scorched Lauren’s soul. “Are you ready?” His voice had broken with strain and she could feel his arms trembling as he sought to hold himself up. She had pushed her nakedness against him, all the encouragement and permission he needed, to reach down and position himself at the threshold of her being “Are you sure?” he had asked, breathing hard. “Take me, Syntian,” she had answered. “Make me yours.” He had been so gentle, so careful. The tip of him pressed intimately against her and she had tensed, expecting the pain. It had been then that he stilled, his gaze going into her like molten lava. “Look at me, Lauren.” There had been no pain, but there had been a dribble of blood when he had pulled free of her after the most intense experience of sheer pleasure she had ever known in She had screamed beneath the covering of his mouth over 253

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hers when she had climaxed around his rigid staff like an Earthquake. Her fingernails had gouged into his back, her hands feverishly pressing him closer and closer to her sweaty body. Her legs had come up and wrapped about his hips then moved up to clamp him around the waist as she lifted herself against him in an effort to get as close to the source of her need as she could get. It had been a slight pressure at first, a pleasurable building that spread throughout her lower body. It became an itch, a need to be satisfied, a tickle that made her squirm with abandon against the hardness of him, striving to calm the intense feeling that shot through her, around her, pushing her up into the stratosphere only to drag her spiraling down through a sudden darkness that settled to numbing lassitude. His hands were clasped to her buttocks, urging her against him as, with a shudder and an inhuman growl of elation, he spent himself deep within her. She felt him leaping inside her, pulsing, his seed driving upward, spurting heavily into her, and she cried out, another small orgasm making her dig her nails into his flesh. “Syntian!” she had shouted, pressing upward as though trying to blend them into one being. He grabbed her, turning her over in the wide bed until she was above him, her legs beside his own. He clutched her hips and drove her down on him; lifted her, then slammed her down again. “Syntian!” she screamed mindlessly, her body on fire with passion. He felt the inner muscles of her vagina gripping him again, sending tiny little quivers along his shrinking shaft and he lifted her one last time, feeling himself lose his tumescence but 254

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knowing the movement had only intensified her reaction. She collapsed on him, gasping for breath, tangling her fingers in the damp hair on his chest, as she shuddered one final time against him. “I love you,” he whispered against her sweat−glistened temple. “I love you with all my being, Lauren.” She sighed, listening as his heartbeat began to slow. She lifted her head and looked at him through the fading light filtering through the half−closed blinds. “I love you, too.” “Remember to whom you belong,” came an insinuating voice threading its way evilly through his consciousness. “What is it?” Lauren asked, seeing his expression change from love to shock. He shivered, his smile a wavering apology. “Nothing,” he answered. “Nothing at all.” He pulled Lauren to him, his face once more bleak and hopeless as Angeline’s laughter chilled him.

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Chapter Sixteen Lauren Cree had never been happier. Her eyes glistened with happiness; her face shone with it; her entire being gave off an aura of serenity and peace that had long been denied her. Her walk was buoyant; her laughter was hearty and unrestrained; her confidence grew with every morning’s sunrise. The customers at the bookshop smiled back at her with genuine pleasure and people greeted her on the street and in stores and at the supermarket. Men looked at her as she passed and sighed wistfully, wondering why they had never noticed how pretty Lauren Fowler was. Women watched her with approving smiles and often thought they would like to be more like Lauren. Even the arrogant teenagers had time to wave at her as they shot past in their daddy’s cars. There seemed to be nothing ugly in Lauren’s world any more. Not even her mother’s refusal to come to the wedding had dampened the gaiety of that afternoon or the pleasure of the two−week honeymoon Mrs. Hellstrom had insisted she take. “Go,” Angeline had laughed. “Have fun while you can!” Four months into her marriage had done nothing but make Lauren that much more thankful for the day Syntian Cree had walked into her life. As they walked hand in hand in Carpenter’s Park, throwing bread crumbs to the ducks in the pond, there seemed to be nothing that could cloud the horizon. 256

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Syntian tossed a quarter of a slice of bread to an especially persistent drake and laughed as the big fellow paddled like crazy to reach the tidbit before the rest of the flock. “Greedy little bugger,” Syntian called out to him. “Think we ought to give him any more, Sweeting?” When his wife didn’t answer, he glanced her way. Lauren wasn’t paying attention to the ducks. She was looking behind them at the playground where several children were sliding and swinging. Her wistful expression made Syntian turn to see what was so interesting. “I used to come here a lot,” Lauren said, grinning at a little boy whose fat legs were pumping furiously in an attempt to keep up with his bigger sister. She looked up at her husband. “I like to watch them play.” Syntian smiled at her and dusted his hands. He reached down and took her hand in his and they began to walk toward one of the small covered seating areas. “I always wondered what it would be like to be a mother,” she said on a long sigh as they sat down and watched the children playing. At first he wasn’t going to answer her, but the look in her eyes, the wanting, tore at his heart strings and he brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “How many children did you want?” Lauren shrugged. “I never really gave it that much thought.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Two, I think.” She chuckled softly. “Two boys. Thomas and Christopher.” “No girls?” he inquired, slipping his arm around her. “No girls,” she said with an emphatic shake of her head. “Girls aren’t any fun.” Syntian snorted. “Maybe not to you.” 257

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She looked up at him. “Would you like to have a baby?” He flinched, staring down at her as though she had asked her question in a foreign language. “Baby?” he repeated. Lauren tucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Yes. Have you ever thought about it?” “No,” he was quick to respond, wishing his answer hadn’t been so firm for he saw the wistful expression disappear from her face to be replaced with a look of hurt. “I mean,” he just as quickly added, “it hasn’t been something high on my list of priorities.” She studied his face. “And now?” He felt trapped. He looked away from the expectant look on her face. “We haven’t been married all that long, Lauren. Why would you want to start a family so soon?” She pushed away from his shoulder and turned so she could face him. “Is there some reason you don’t want to have children?” He shook his head. “No.” He couldn’t give her a child of his own and didn’t want another man’s seed in her belly. “Do you dislike children?” she asked in a voice that said she hoped that wasn’t the case. He shook his head again. “No, that’s not it.” “Then what is?” she probed. Syntian shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t been married long enough to think about having kids.” He stood up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We’ve got time.” “I don’t,” she said. He looked back at her. “What?” “The old biological clock,” she laughed nervously, standing up beside him. “Time’s running out for me to start a family.” 258

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She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned against him. “Will you at least think about it?” The trap had sprung and he was caught. If he told her he couldn’t father a child by her, she would want to know why. She might even insist they go to a doctor, which he damned sure couldn’t allow. If he told her they needed to wait, she would wonder if he just didn’t want to share her with a child. If he tried to talk her out of having a baby, she would no doubt think he didn’t want one of the burdensome little brats, which he didn’t. Any way he went, he was destined to run up against the stone wall of her hurt. “Syntian?” He exhaled a long breath. “Is that what you want, Lauren? A baby?” He felt her arms tighten around him. “More every time I see little boys like that.” she pointed to a toddler throwing sand into the air, chuckling hilariously as it cascaded down on his head. “Preston!” the little boy’s mother cried out. “Stop that!” Lauren laughed. “Boys will be boys,” she said wistfully. He enfolded her in his arms and peered across the park at the laughing, playing child. He felt a constriction in his chest and knew there was only one way to give her the child she wanted and it was a way he found utterly loathsome. “I’m sorry,” she said, sensing his reluctance. When she would have pulled away, she found herself even more tightly in his embrace. “If you want a baby,” he said, his voice and face set and grim, “then we’ll have a baby.” She looked up at him. “Are you sure?” He watched keen pleasure flit across her upturned face; happiness put a gleam in her eyes. He drew in a long breath, 259

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held it then exhaled slowly. “Aye, Sweeting. I’m sure.” They were getting into the car at Wal−Mart when Ben Hurlbert hailed them. Syntian turned, an annoyed frown on his face as the newly elected Sheriff came hurrying over to them. “Syntian,” Hurlbert acknowledged as he skirted the front of the Porsche and reached out to open Lauren’s door before her husband could. “How you been, Lauren?” “Good and you?” she asked, a little embarrassed by the effusive way in which she had been greeted. “Can’t complain,” Ben answered, grinning. He looked over Lauren’s head to Syntian. “Found that office yet?” “Not yet,” Syntian replied. He helped Lauren into the sports car and then looked at the Sheriff over the door rim. “Is there something we can do for you?” A faint tug of dislike crossed Ben’s face then slipped away as he shrugged. “I was just wondering if you two would like to come to a little shindig I’m having out at my place this Sunday.” “That’s the day of the raft race, isn’t it?” Lauren asked, glancing up at her husband and wondering why he looked so angry. “Yep, it sure is,” Ben agreed. “I’m gonna set the grill up and burn some steaks; throw some bottles of Coors in the river and watch the tubes go by.” “I believe we have a prior engagement,” Syntian answered, firmly shutting his wife’s door. He looked down at her and something in his expression demanded that Lauren not correct him. He watched the puzzlement begin to form on Lauren’s face then turned away, locking his stare with Ben’s. “Thanks for asking, though.” 260

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Ben looked down at Lauren and saw the guilt on her face. He glanced up at the woman’s husband and tried to get past the hostile look on Cree’s face. “That’s a shame,” he finally said, knowing he was being told a lie and thinking he knew why. “Maybe some other time,” Syntian told him. There was a current running from one man to the other as Lauren looked up at them through the open window of the car. Their faces were set, and she thought with a fleeting sense of the ridiculous, had they been dogs, she was sure their hackles would have been standing. She had to look away from them before she started laughing. “Tell me, Sheriff,” Syntian said as he walked around the rear of the car and opened his door. “Have you ever found any trace of who killed Beth Janacek?” Ben’s face flamed and he glared at his tormentor over the top of the car. “No. If I had, it would have been in the paper.” Syntian’s smile was slow and malicious. “I don’t have time to read the paper.” He lifted one thick dark brow. “Lauren keeps me busy doing...” His smile widened. “...Other things.” The red glow intensified in Ben’s cheeks and the man tore his gaze from the deadly insincere smile that was aimed at his jugular. He looked down at Lauren then told her he hoped to see her soon. With one last angry look at Syntian he headed toward the store. Syntian stood where he was, one foot in the car, the other on the pavement of the parking lot, his right arm on the top of the car, and stared at Ben Hurlbert. The man was handsome, as mortal men went. He had dark hair and eyes and he was tall, although somewhat lanky. His face held just a touch of squareness and his jaw was firm. “That was rude,” Lauren said. 261

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Getting into the car, Syntian glanced over at his wife. “He’s in love with you.” Lauren stared at him as he bent forward to crank the car. “You’re not serious.” He eased up on the clutch and backed the Porsche out of the parking slot. “And he knows I know it.” There didn’t seem anything she could say as he nosed the sports car out of the parking lot. She simply stared at his profile, seeing the anger in the way he kept his jaw clenched. “The thing is,” he said, “he knows I’m not going to let him do anything about it.” He looked at his wife. “You want an ice cream cone?” Lauren’s mouth dropped open. “An ice cream cone?” “At Micky D’s,” he answered, shifting lanes. “No, I don’t want an ice cream cone,” she snapped. “I want to know why you told Benny we couldn’t go up to his place this Sunday.” “I just told you.” “No, you didn’t.” “You weren’t listening then.” They were silent all the way down Highway 90. He pulled into the fast food restaurant’s parking lot and headed for the drive−thru. When he spoke again—as though there had been no silence between them—his voice was firm. “I said he was in love with you and I wasn’t going to let him do anything about it.” He rolled down his window at the order kiosk. “May I take your order, please?” came the hollow, girlish voice. “A chocolate swirl and a glass of water,” he ordered. “I don’t believe you,” Lauren said with exasperation as he 262

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rolled his window up and pulled in behind the car ahead of them. “What don’t you believe? The ice cream or the water?” “Syntian,” she warned in that long, drawn out way a woman has of reprimanding her mate. “I’m not taking you out to that bastard’s place so he can flirt with you, Lauren,” he announced as he dug into his pocket for the change to pay for the cone. “And that’s all there is to it.” A fierce pride went through Lauren’s heart, along with a hint of laughter at his stony face as he turned to let her know he meant what he said. “You’re jealous.” “No, I’m not,” he denied, lowering his window down to pay the girl. He took the cone and wrapped it in a napkin before handing it to his wife. “Yes, you are.” Lauren grinned. “No, I’m not!” he hissed from between clenched teeth. He took his cup of water then rolled the window back up. “As jealous as you can be.” He glared at her. “Whatever you say.” She bit into her ice cream cone. “And I think I like it.” He grunted, took a sip of his water, and pulled out of the parking lot into the traffic. Ben said hello to the bartender at McGuire’s Irish Pub. He ordered a draft and nodded at the two young Navy fly boys who were sitting at the bar. “You guys at Mainside or Whiting?” he asked as the frosty beer was placed in front of him. “Whiting,” one of them answered. “Just got assigned here.” “Where you from?” Ben asked as he wiped the foam from his upper lip. 263

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“Pete’s from Tampa and I’m from Columbia, South Carolina,” the taller of the two said. He finished off his beer and ordered another. “Name’s Mike.” He held out his hand. “Southern boys,” Ben grinned, shaking hands with both young men. “That’s the best there are.” He took a long gulp of his brew. “What do you do?” the one called Pete asked. “He turns a girl’s head is what he does.” Ben jumped, hearing the voice almost in his ear. He looked around and saw a beautiful blond−haired woman giving him an appraising grin. He smiled at her. “I’m Raja,” the woman told him, running her hand up his back and onto his shoulder. “What’s your name, darlin’?” Ben swallowed the beer in his mouth. “Ben,” he answered. “Ben Hurlbert.” The woman’s blue eyes glowed. “And what do you do Ben−Ben Hurlbert?” She ran her finger down his arm. “C...cop,” he stammered, feeling the path of her finger as it moved down to the back of his hand. “That’s nice,” she said in a low, throaty voice. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to do it with an officer of the law.” The two Navy men chuckled, eyeing one another with knowing looks. The shorter of the two, the one named Pete, slapped Ben on the back. “I think she wants to show you a little southern hospitality, dude!” Raja sidled closer to Ben. She fused her gaze with his surprised one. “That’s not all I’d like to show him.” Ben stared at her, the bulge in his trousers becoming harder and harder as the woman’s blue gaze traveled down his frame then settled with heat on his face. “How about it, Ben−Ben Hurlbert?” she challenged, coming 264

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so close to him the tips of her lush breasts poked into his khaki safari shirt. “Wanna play cop and hooker?” Ben felt a shooting spark of pure lust travel through his belly and he stepped back, downed the rest of his beer, slammed the stein down on the bar, and took the woman’s slim arm in his hand. “Lady,” he said on a throaty grunt, “I’m placing you under arrest!” “Place me under you, baby,” Raja said, “and I’ll show you what a real woman can do!” The two Navy flyers nudged one another as they watched Hurlbert leaving the pub with the tall, willowy woman in tow. “I think he felt the need for speed.” The taller of them chuckled. “He definitely ain’t lost that loving feeling!” his brother−in−arms replied dryly. It hadn’t been all that hard, Syntian thought, as he drove recklessly back to Milton from Pensacola. Actually, it had been easier than he would have expected. Getting out of the house, lying to Lauren about where he was going, had been harder than the rest of it. That was something he didn’t like to do: Lie to Lauren. By his calculations, he had a little less than an hour in which to do what had to be done. Less than that if he got caught speeding down Highway 90. He eased his foot off the accelerator as he drove through Pace. It wouldn’t do to attract attention to the black car and himself. He’d done it only once before, he thought with a grimace of distaste. A long, long time ago. What had been her name? He tried to remember. Theresa? Bridget? Siobann? He couldn’t 265

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remember. It didn’t matter. She’d wanted a baby and he had provided her with one. “And will ye be giving me one with bonny blue eyes and bright red hair, my lover?” she’d asked him. “I will give you whatever you want, milady,” he’d told her. The little girl had been born with her father’s flaming red hair and piercing blue eyes. Although he couldn’t remember the woman’s name, he had never forgotten the man’s: Seamus. Syntian shuddered, his gorge rising in his throat. No, he hadn’t forgotten the producer of the seed that had given the Irish woman her wee bairn with flaming red hair and blue, blue eyes. And he knew he’d never forget Ben Hurlbert, either. Or the man’s mouth. Or his hands. Or his sickening thrusts. Syntian’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He still smelled the musky, cheap scent of Hurlbert’s Avon cologne. It had invaded his nostrils like the scent of putrefying flesh. He imagined it clung to his own flesh and he reached out to open the car window to get rid of the smell. The only thing difficult about the entire business had been making sure Hurlbert had not used the condom he had insisted on using. There had been a moment when the Sheriff’s notion of safe sex and Syntian’s own needs had come at loggerheads. Syntian had won out and the stupid bastard’s sperm was wiggling around inside a body that was disgusted by it. “Shit,” Syntian hissed, running his hand over his sweaty face. He stopped at the traffic light by the Pace High school turn off and lowered his head to the steering wheel, overcome with nausea and loathing. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to puke, wanting to rid himself of the smell and the feel and the 266

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seed of Benjamin Hurlbert. That he would have to inject that seed into his own wife filled Syntian with a disgust that bordered on insanity. That Lauren would bear Ben Hurlbert’s child, was a torment that came close to the pain he had felt when Tsahan had been murdered. “It’s what she wants,” he mumbled to himself, unaware that the light had turned green. “She wants a baby.” A horn blared at him and Syntian jerked his head up, staring with anger at the car behind him. He stuck his hand out the window and acknowledged the driver behind with a stiff finger. The horn blasted again and Syntian just sat there, hoping the driver would get out and come at him. Realizing he might have started something he couldn’t finish, the driver of the blue BMW behind Syntian backed up, came around the Porsche with a long triumphant blare of his horn. The driver shot his hand out the window of his automobile and repeated Syntian’s greeting before peeling off. “Die, you bastard,” Syntian growled, narrowing his gaze. He watched as the driver lost control of the car and the vehicle spun crazily around in the road before flipping end over end into the ditch. It landed on its top and burst into flames. He drove past the crackling fire, ignoring it. His mind was on Lauren and what he had to do. It was almost dawn. He sat on the long back porch of his home and stared off into the dark pine thicket that was becoming alive with birds and scavenging animals. In the master bedroom above him, Lauren was sound asleep, her body already seeded with the child she wanted. He hung his head, bloody tears dripping down his cheeks. 267

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“Syntian.” He shook his head. “No.” “Syntian, come to me...” He slapped his hands over his ears to blot out the insistent sound of Angeline’s voice. “Go away!” “Don’t make me send Del after you, Syntian.” He lowered his hands, brought them around to press his fingertips over his eyes. His entire body seemed to sag with defeat. “Leave me alone, Angeline.” “Come, Syntian,” was the demand. “I command you, demon.” “Why are you tormenting me like this?” he whimpered, his heart breaking . “If I call you again,” came the fierce reply, “you will pay dearly for your defiance.” He looked behind him, to the place where he knew Lauren was sleeping, then he got up and melted into the ripening light.

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Chapter Seventeen Lauren missed Onyx the most in the move she had made from her little house to the sprawling mansion that was her husband’s home. The cat had not been seen since she came back from her honeymoon and she hoped nothing had happened to the little fellow. “He found another home,” Syntian had assured her. But Lauren had agonized over her pet’s disappearance, wishing they had searched harder for him when they’d called him the day before the wedding. Lauren had meant to put him in the vet’s although Syntian had argued against it. “He’s a creature of nature, Lauren. He wouldn’t want to be locked up in a cage.” He’d kissed her. “He can fend for himself. Just leave some food with Agnes and Anna. They’ll feed him.” Padding down the stairs to fix breakfast for herself since Syntian never seemed to eat anything but canned tuna and salmon salads and globs of raw hamburger that made her stomach lurch. “How can you eat that stuff?” she’d asked him. “I like it.” His eating habits worried her, but he seemed healthy enough. At least he wasn’t filling up on red meat and demanding elaborate dishes she couldn’t cook. The only other odd thing about her husband, were his walks. 269

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He took long walks early in the morning for exercise and she had yet to wake to find him still in bed with her since they had come back from the cruise. The coffee was almost finished brewing when the phone rang. She poured herself a cup and reached over to lift the receiver from the wall unit. “Hello?” “Good morning,” Angeline told her. “Isn’t it an absolutely heavenly day?” Lauren glanced out the kitchen window. “It’s going to be.” She tucked the phone between her cheek and shoulder and popped some bread in the toaster. “Is something wrong up at the store?” It was Wednesday and Lauren’s day off. “No,” Angeline answered, laughing. “Just called to see how the lovebirds were doing.” That particular phrase of Angeline’s never failed to annoy Lauren, as it did this morning, but she ground her teeth to keep from telling the woman not to use it any more. “We’re doing fine. How are things in Gulf Breeze?” Angeline stretched on her king−sized bed and turned over on her naked belly. “Never better. Is he out and about on one of his jungle treks already or can I speak with him a moment?” Instant jealousy flared in Lauren’s gut, but she stamped it down. “He isn’t in the house so I guess he’s roaming the forest as usual.” Angeline laughed. “When he comes home, will you have him call me? There’s a business matter I need to discuss with him.” The jealousy turned to anger. To her knowledge, Mrs. Hellstrom had made no demands, business or otherwise, on Syntian since he and Lauren married. As a matter of fact, 270

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Syntian had avoided the woman as much as possible. “I’ll tell him you called,” Lauren answered, jumping a little as the bread popped up out of the toaster. “You do that, dear,” Angeline agreed. “Bye, bye.” Lauren hung up the phone, a portion of her day ruined by the intruding call. She wondered what Mrs. Hellstrom wanted. She doubted it had anything to do with the intimate relationship she and Syntian had once shared, but a nagging worry wouldn’t let her overlook the possibility. “It’s over between us,” Syntian had sworn to her on their wedding night. “I promise you it is, Lauren.” And she was sure he had kept his word. Delbert rapped on his mistress’ door then entered with a tray of fresh fruits, coffee, and papaya juice. He put the tray on her bedside table and helped her adjust the pillows behind her head, studiously avoiding looking at her lush nudity. “How is he?” Angeline asked as she sipped the hot coffee. “Furious,” Delbert informed her. “I had to restrain him.” Angeline clucked her tongue. “That’s too bad.” “He’s dangerous, Miss Angeline,” Delbert warned her. “Like a rabid dog.” The older woman laughed softly. “He can be controlled.” Delbert shook his head. “When he finds out what you’re going to do...” He let the words hang in the air like a bad odor. “There’s not a damned thing he can do about it,” Angeline reminded him. “He belongs to me and he will continue to belong to me. He can’t change that fact.” The black man bowed gracefully. “No, ma’am, I don’t expect so, but he’s going to fight you just the same.” Angeline took a delicate bite of mango, chewed thoughtfully 271

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for a moment and then shrugged. “I look forward to it,” she told him. He refused to look at her when she came down into the basement where he had been confined. He sensed her presence long before the door had opened and the tiny sliver of light from the landing beyond had seeped into the dark, damp room. As she descended the stairs, his nostrils extended; her smell disgusted him. He ground his teeth, growling low in his throat, his hands clenched together, his short nails were stabbing into his flesh. He would not look up, not give her the satisfaction of seeing how furious, and how helpless, he was. Angeline kept well back from the thick iron bars that separated her from Syntian. A low bench had been placed against the far wall and she sat down upon it, crossed her legs, placing her hands primly in her lap, and waited for him to acknowledge her presence. Her gaze was riveted on his bent head, her ears finely attuned to his labored breathing which told her he was beyond fury, beyond human emotion completely. He was prowling somewhere in the primal range of bestiality from which she had drawn him long ago, lurking there, ready to pounce if she made even the tiniest of error in dealing with him. Syntian heard the door open again and heavy footsteps came down the stairs. His keen sense of smell told him it was Delbert and the servant was bringing food and water to him. “Be careful, Del,” Angeline warned the black man. Delbert approached the cell, placing the bowl of food and the dish of water on the floor, well away from the bars. He took a long wooden broom handle from against the stairs and pushed the dish of water to the cell, within reach of the prisoner inside. Some of the water sloshed over the dish’s low plastic side and 272

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bled a black stain on the concrete floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Syntian watched Delbert poke the food bowl toward the cell. The broom slid off the tin base and the servant had to take a step closer in order to push the bowl any further. Delbert jabbed at the bowl and missed again, necessitating another small step toward the cell. Angeline screamed as the roaring, spitting demon inside the cage sprang toward the bars and swiped a vicious hand out to grasp the wooden handle. Delbert shrieked with terror as he was jerked up against the bars and his neck was grabbed in powerful grip that lifted the black man clear of the floor. “Syntian, no!” Angeline shouted, not daring to go to her servant’s rescue. Even as the loud snap sounded in the basement room, even as Delbert’s body went limp and lifeless, she could do no more than watch as the black man’s head was twisted savagely from his shoulders and hurled across the room at her feet. She shrieked with revulsion as he slung the corpse across the room. She slammed herself against the wall, staring wide−eyed at the brutish specter who had crawled up the bars, hands clutching the iron uprights, feet jammed onto the crosspiece, and was shaking them so violently the iron rattled in the concrete. His mindless howl of fury, bloodthirsty and uncontrolled, echoed from concrete wall to concrete wall. He pulled against the bars in a frenzy to free himself, to get to the female across the room, to rend her limb from limb, to feast on her flesh, to lap up her blood. His lips were drawn back over sharp, gnashing teeth and his eyes glowed a feral scarlet light in the near−darkness. He howled again, throwing back his head and keening like an enraged ape as he clung to the bars and shook them. His cry was a roar of such fierceness it could only have 273

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come from that part of him that had been born in the Pit. Angeline gaped at him. Her heart was slamming against her rib cage, her blood pounding so furiously through her veins, she thought her head would explode. She was trembling from head to feet, her face as pallid as the moon. She brought one hand up to cover her quivering lips as she saw his head lower, his lips stretch into a parody of a grin and his gleaming red eyes settle on her. The look he gave her was so fiendish, so evil, so inhuman, a low moan of fear crept out of her constricting throat. “Angeline,” he snarled and the sound was low and vibrating like a hellish purr. He shook the cage with less force, but the power was still in his clutching hands and the bars rattled in the concrete. She edged along the wall, not trusting the protection of the iron bars or the runes that had been spoken over them to keep him at bay. She stumbled against the corner of the bench and yelped as the wooden edge gouged into her calf. His predatory chuckle, a growl of satisfaction, rumbled through the room. His head was lowered, his hair wild about his lean face and he was looking at her from beneath the heavy slash of his thick brows, his steady stare following her as she slid along the wall. “Angeline.” To her ears, the word was an ominous threat, giving notice. The menace of those three syllables rang a death knell on her nerves and she stilled, watched him vigilantly as he swung on the bars, crawling sideways across them until he was in front of her. He gurgled deep in his throat then dropped away from the bars. The moment his feet made contact with the floor, she knew a wild instant of pure, gut−wrenching terror. 274

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“I’ll s−send you b−back to the Abyss,” she stuttered as she pressed herself against the coldness of the concrete wall. Glistening white teeth, knife−edged and lethal, were revealed behind a diabolic grin. “No, you won’t.” He sidled along the bars, trailing his hands over the iron uprights. “You can’t.” Angeline drew in a quick breath. “Yes, I c−can and I w−will!” She could not look away from those piercing, demonic eyes that seemed to hold her in their grip. He shook his head, his thick hair spraying around his shoulders. “You can’t.” She gathered her courage and took another step toward the stairs, shrieking with fright as he lashed out, jabbing his hand through the bars, his fingers grasping furiously as he strained to grab her. His cheek was pressed against the bars in his effort to reach her and his inability to do so only served to infuriate him all the more. “Bitch!” he howled, craning his neck back and bellowing his helplessness to the low ceiling. “You’ll never get out of there,” Angeline yelled. “I will keep you in that cage for the rest of your life!” Laughter, as hellish as the infernal regions of the Pit, rang over the room and he gripped the bars again, shaking them so violently, so feverishly, Angeline feared they would not hold. “I will outlive you, you worthless cunt!” he shouted at her. He rattled the bars. “I am hell−born and my days are without number!” “But you won’t outlive Lauren!” The howl of outrage and frustration that met her words was unlike any sound she could have ever described. It was evil intoned: a malevolent, virulent cry of hurt and suffering and 275

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mental anguish. It rebounded around the walls like a blast of Satan’s breath. It slithered over Angeline and made her clamp her hands over her ears to shut out the sound. “Uncage me, bitch!” he screeched at her. He banged his head against the bars so ferociously, the flesh broke and blood ran down his face in thick rivulets. “Uncage me!” She gawked at him as he repeatedly slammed his forehead into the iron bar. Blood was spraying the floor, dripping down his cheeks, soaking his shirt and matting his hair. “Stop it,” she whispered, watching him jerk away from the bars and fling himself about the confinement of the cell, going from side to side to side to side, jerking at the bars. “Syntian, stop it!” He dropped to all fours and pounded his clenched fists against the concrete. His hair flew around his face as he viciously shook his head from side to side, negating her command. His fists were becoming as bloody as his face. “I said stop it!” He twisted sideways, fell to his back and screamed, his torment rising to the heavens as he denied his imprisonment. He slapped at the floor with his bleeding hands, leaving wet palm prints on the concrete. That part of her that loved Syntian Cree, that would always love Syntian Cree, made her take a few steps toward the cage. Tears of guilt ran down her cheeks as she stopped, beyond his reach and tried talking to him. “You knew I wouldn’t allow you to keep her, Syntian,” she reasoned with him. “You knew that.” He turned over on his side and drew his knees up as though he were a lost and lonely child. A shudder ran through his body and he moaned: a low, keening sound of pure torment. 276

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“I let you stay with her longer than I should have,” Angeline said. “Long enough for you to give her a child.” The thinking, cognizant, still−intelligent portion of his brain, that portion that had not reverted to the savage beast he had once been, the primal organism intent on killing and maiming and destroying, heard the female speaking and made some sense of her words. Although what the female was saying was hurting him even more, he strove hard to listen, to understand, to grasp the sounds and interpret them into meaning. “She’ll have your child to remember you by,” Angeline told him, taking still one more step closer to the cell. “You have given her what you set out to give her, Syntian. You have given her a life; you have given her friends and respect and a reason to live.” The female’s words were excruciating tortures that drove into his skull like arrows. They brought despair and racking agony that tore at his brain and pierced his heart. Those hideous sounds: words that he understood, with meanings he knew spelled his doom, filled what was left of his being with utter hopelessness. “You are mine, Syntian,” the female was telling him. “I shared you with her and now I want you back.” He twisted his head until he could see her face. There were tears in the female’s eyes, but then again, females often controlled their mates with tears. Tears meant little to them and meant nothing to him. But there was sorrow in her face, in her damp eyes, and he recognized that for he had seen it many times in his own face. He looked away from her and stared up at the bars over his head. Angeline moved as close to the cell as she dared and looked into his bleak face. She wondered if her words were getting 277

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through to him, breaking through the shell of resistance he had erected. There didn’t appear to be any sign of human intelligence in his staring eyes. There was no telltale spark of humanity glowing there. There was only a keen awareness of pain and a tortured expression on his sensuous lips that said he was suffering. “Can you understand what I am saying to you, Syntian?” she asked, pleading with him in a voice breaking with its own grief. “Don’t you see that I am doing what is best?” As he lay on his back, he turned his head toward her and stared at her for a long time. “You belong to me,” she said. “I will never allow you to see Lauren again.” She heard him groan as though in great pain. “I mean what I say, Syntian.” His eyes filled with agony and he stretched out his hand to her, his palm up, his fingers splayed in an attempt to be touched. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t trust you.” He turned over on his belly and crawled to her on his knees, like a broken animal, a wounded beast seeking solace. He pulled himself up and sat in front of her, gripping the bars, peering at her with a face filled with misery. “No,” she said. “I am not going to allow you to make me feel guilty.” He turned his head to one side and whimpered. The sound was pitiful. Slowly, he reached his hand through the bars, asking for her compassion. “No.” She shoved the tin plate of food toward him. Syntian glanced down at the raw meat, still oozing with blood, smelling rank. His mouth watered and he licked his lips, but he looked back up at his tormentor and flexed his hand, 278

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extending his arm as far through the bars as he could stretch. “Please,” he whispered coarsely. Angeline shook her head and pushed herself from the floor. “You are mine,” she told him in a cold voice, “and mine you will stay.” He watched her walk to the stairs and start to climb. “Angeline,” he begged her, striving still once more to reach out to her. “Don’t do this to me.” She would not turn around. With her hand gripping the banister, she pulled herself up the stairs, ignoring his whining cry for release. She heard his quiet sobbing, felt his heart breaking, sensed his bewildered pain and hopelessness, but it made no difference. With one last look behind her, at his seeking hand, his pleading face, she shut the door, closed off the light, and left him alone in the dark with Delbert’s corpse.

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Chapter Eighteen Sheriff Ben Hurlbert finished filling out the report, flipped the top of his notebook closed and pocketed his pin. “I don’t know what else to do, Lauren,” he said glumly. “I’ve got an APB on him and we’ve searched these woods around the house five times over.” He shook his head. “There just ain’t no trace of him.” Lauren looked at him with despair. “He can’t have disappeared into thin air, Benny,” she reminded the man. “His car is still here; his belongings are still upstairs in the closet.” She stood up and paced the room, her hands running over one another. “There hasn’t been any calls like you said I might get.” “Well,” Ben admitted, “he’s a wealthy man, Lauren. If we was gonna get a ransom demand, we’d have got it by now.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Something’s happened to him, Benny,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “I can feel it!” Ben got up from his chair and moved over to her, folded her into his strong arms and nestled her head in his palm to lay it on his wide chest. “There, there, now. We’ll find him, darlin’. It may take us awhile, but I swear to you we’ll find him.” Nate Biggins, the deputy who had come to the old Herndon place with Ben, sat on the edge of his chair, scanning the room for the ghosts everyone knew haunted the old mansion. He 280

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thought he heard a moan and he jumped up, searching about him for the source of the sound, but sighed a deep breath of relief when he realized it was just the rafters moving overhead. He looked at Ben and smiled sheepishly. “Go on outside, Nate,” Ben snapped, annoyed with the man. Biggins, more than glad to leave the gloomy interior of the old house, dipped his head to Lauren as he passed and hurried out the door. “That boy is scared of his own shadow,” Ben scoffed. Lauren pushed out of his arms and ran the base of her palm under her left eye, wiping away the tears. “I’m sorry, Benny. I just—” “Don’t you worry none about it,” he told her, reaching out to pat her shoulder. “I understand.” She sniffed and moved away from him, sitting once more on the loveseat near the marble fireplace. “It’s just been so hard.” “I know,” he said, not knowing what else to answer. Lauren glanced up at him. “I’m pregnant.” Ben felt as though someone had kicked him in the gut. He let out a harsh breath of surprise and then seated himself on the chair in which he’d been sitting for over an hour. “When did you find out?” She lowered her head. “Yesterday morning.” The Sheriff studied her for a moment and then made up his mind to say what had come into his thoughts at her confession. “Could he have known you were pregnant?” Lauren looked up. “What?” Ben squirmed in his chair. “I mean, could he have suspected you were expecting?” A confused look came over Lauren’s face only to be replaced with anger. “We wanted a baby, Ben,” she informed 281

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him. “We were trying to have one.” Hurlbert shrugged. “You know sometimes a man gets kinda skittish when his wife’s gonna have a baby, Lauren. Some men think it ties ‘em down, gives ‘em more responsibility than they’re ready to take on.” She pursed her lips in annoyance. “That was not the way it was with Syntian.” Ben nodded. “Maybe not.” He smiled at her. “I hope not. Anyway, I guess congratulations are in order, huh?” Lauren tried to smile, but his insinuation about Syntian not wanting the baby had struck a chord and she was remembering her husband’s reluctance to start a family. She didn’t think that had had anything to do with his sudden disappearance six weeks earlier, but she couldn’t honestly say for sure that it didn’t. “Lauren, honey,” Ben said, standing up and then going to her to hunker down in front of her. “You know you got friends here.” He looked up into her face, gathered his courage and reached for her hands, taking them in his own big paws. “If there’s anything I can do, you know you don’t have to hesitate to ask, don’t you?” Her heart filled with tenderness at his words. “I appreciate that, Benny.” “I ain’t saying there’s been foul play, you know?” He winced at her immediate flinch and was quick to gloss over his suspicions, “but I want you to be prepared, darlin’, if that’s the case.” “He’s alive, Benny,” she whispered, tears forming again. Her voice quivered. “I know he is.” “Then where is he, honey?” Ben asked kindly. When she shook her head, he hated to remind her, but he felt it was 282

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necessary. “You don’t really know that much about him, do you? Where he came from? Who his people are? Who his friends are?” “Mrs. Hellstrom,” she answered, looking up at him. “He was friends with her.” Ben nodded. “Yeah, he was, but she ain’t seen him, either.” “You investigated him, Benny,” Lauren said. “You didn’t find out he was some kind of criminal, did you?” “No,” Ben drawled out. “We weren’t able to learn much at all about him. He was a private man. What we did find out was precious little and that was kinda suspicious if you ask me.” Lauren knew they had traced Syntian back to New Haven, Connecticut where he had been part owner in a stock brokerage. His partner had supplied them with scant information about a man he had supposedly known for over ten years. “If he has family here in the states, I don’t know about it,” Rutherford Langly had told Ben. “There used to be some cousins or such over in Boston, but I don’t think Syn ever discussed them. I couldn’t tell you their names if my life depended on it.” The Florida Bureau of Investigation had come up with very little other than a valid social security number, unimpeachable tax returns, a deed to the old Herndon estate, a birth certificate which listed Massachusetts as Syntian’s home state, various grade school, high school and college diplomas from that same state. There had been a military deferment from active service, a stock broker license, bank accounts listing a great deal of money and assets, and a valid Florida driver’s license that had been taken out to replace the Connecticut one. “This man is so squeaky clean,” Ben said the deceased Sheriff had told him, “he ain’t for real!” 283

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Which made Lauren wondered even more what Angeline Hellstrom could possibly know about Syntian that would have kept him tied so securely to her. But when she had brought the subject up, Mrs. Hellstrom had denied there was anything other than an occasional bout of mutual lust that kept them together. “Syntian is a man of great appetites, Lauren,” Angeline had said sorrowfully. “It wouldn’t surprise me to know he had moved on.” Lauren had been dumbfounded. “Moved on?” she’d echoed, disbelief running rampant through her voice. The older woman had put a comforting hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “He likes women, Lauren. Do you remember me telling you that once? He has a hunger for women; all kinds of women. I really had my doubts about him ever being faithful to you.” A shaft of fury had driven deep in Lauren Fowler’s being. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Mrs. Hellstrom had looked at her with pity. “Do you remember calling him a gigolo once? Well, he might not prey off women to get their money, but he does like variety, Lauren. He’s slept with more women than either of us will ever know. If you want to know what I think—” “No,” Lauren had answered coldly. “I don’t want to know what you think, Mrs. Hellstrom.” She had grabbed her handbag and rummaged inside for the keys to the bookstore. She slammed them down on the counter and stared the older woman down. “As a matter of fact, I think you’re just a vicious, jealous woman who is angry because he left you for me!” To give Angeline Hellstrom her due, Lauren had to admit the woman had seemed genuinely upset by Lauren’s actions. She had reached out to take Lauren’s arm, real hurt showing in 284

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her eyes when Lauren had snatched her arm back and stepped away from her. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said, Lauren,” Angeline had apologized. “Please, accept my apology. Don’t let this end our relationship.” “Syntian would not have left me for another woman,” Lauren said in a stiff voice. She closed her purse with a snap. “I asked for your help in trying to find him and all you want to do is try to make me think he’s screwing around on me.” If Angeline had been shocked by the word Lauren had used, she didn’t show it. Instead, she had tried once more to get Lauren to calm down. “You’re right, of course, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you find out what’s happened to him. Please stay on here at the store, Lauren. You need something to keep you occupied and the money will certainly be a help.” Lauren had lifted her chin and with all the dignity she could muster, she had told the older woman that she had plenty of money in the joint checking account Syntian had opened for her. Angeline Hellstrom had shaken her head with sadness. “How long do you think that money will last you, sweetheart?” “Until my husband comes home!” Lauren had snapped and left the store, her shoulders squared and her face set. She had not seen the look of guilty triumph that had passed over Angeline’s; nor did she hear the words that sealed Syntian Fowler’s fate: “Your husband will never come home!” “Lauren?” She looked up, brought back to the present by the concerned look on Ben’s face. “I’m sorry, Benny,” she confessed. “I was 285

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thinking of something else. What did you say?” Ben Hurlbert stood up and looked down at her. “I just said I think us not being able to learn that much about Cree is kinda suspect.” Lauren sighed. They’d been through this before. She also stood up. “Well, like you say: Syntian was a very private man.” She started walking to the front door, knowing he would follow. “You gonna be all right out here by yourself?” Ben asked as they reached the door and he took his hat from the hall tree. Lauren wrapped her arms about her. “There’s no ghosts in this house, Benny,” she said in exasperation. “That ain’t what I meant and you know it,” he said, not unkindly. “It’s just so far out here and if anything should happen...” He blushed. “Well, you know.” She smiled. “I know.” Ben let out a long breath. “Why don’t you have your Mama come out and stay with you a while. She’s back from down south, ain’t she?” Her mother living with her, even visiting, was the last thing Lauren wanted, but she didn’t want to tell Ben that. She shrugged away his question. “If I need anything, I’ll call you. How about that?” Hope rose in the man’s dark eyes. “Promise?” Lauren smiled and reached up to cup his cheek. “I promise.” She took his arm and propelled him through the door. As he drove away, Ben Hurlbert glanced only once in the rear view mirror of his patrol car. Lauren Fowler, a woman he had fallen helplessly in love with over the last year, was standing in the doorway of her home, her shoulders slumped, her head down, and he knew she was crying. 286

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“What you think happened to him, Ben?” Nate asked, breaking the silence between the two lawmen. Ben’s jaw jutted out with anger. “I think the bastard deserted her, is what I think!” Nate nodded as he picked at his dirty fingernails with his pocketknife. “Yep. Me, too.” He glanced at Ben. “Shame, too, ‘cause she’s a real nice lady, don’t you think?” Ben’s face lost some of its anger. “Yeah. I do.”

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Chapter Nineteen Maxine Fowler had been told all about her daughter’s misery. It seemed as though everyone in Milton knew about the troubles that had fallen on Lauren’s fragile shoulders. No one seemed to mind regaling Maxine with what they thought had happened to the girl and no one seemed to see the anger in Maxine’s expression when they did. “He up and left her, Maxine,” Peggy Johnson had said at the beauty parlor that morning. “It’s just a damned shame, it is.” “Imagine how that poor child must feel,” Nancy, the beautician had commiserated. “Never having had a man make over like that before and then all of a sudden, he’s done traipsed off with some other gal.” “Your daughter is just the sweetest thing, Maxine,” one of the old maid Black sisters had been quick to tell Maxie at the Piggly Wiggly later that day. “I just don’t know why Syntian did her the way he did, but I’ve told her if she needs anything, Sister and I will be glad to help out any way we can.” The more she had heard, the angrier Maxine Fowler became. It had been all she could do to act civil to the busy bodies that had sought her out to discuss Lauren’s problems. Nor was it an easy thing to do to answer the questioning looks those same old biddies had given her when they’d made sure Maxie knew Lauren was no longer a social outcast in their little town. 288

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“Maybe you were just a little too hard on her,” Henrietta Malone had had the nerve to say at Rollo’s fish market. “Didn’t let her stretch her wings and try new things. You treat a girl like she’s a hothouse plant, Maxine, and the next thing you know she’s getting herself mixed up with a man like that Syntian Cree.” The old woman had shaken her head sadly. “He broke her heart and left her with a baby she’s going to have to take care of all by herself.” Maxine looked at the crippled old bitch and said, “Lauren has a mother to help her take care of that baby!” The girl behind the fish counter had exchanged a knowing look with old lady Malone and Maxine had exploded with fury, pushing past several customers to rush outside and away from the accusing stares. The drive to Lauren’s house, no, Maxine corrected, Syntian’s house, had been a blur. She couldn’t remember driving down the highway, stopping or even slowing for any red lights although there were several between the fish shop and the turn off to the old Herndon homestead. Everything had just passed without her noticing until she was sitting in front of the ante bellum home, her car engine idling, suddenly more afraid than she had ever been in her life. Her hands had a death grip on the steering wheel and she could not seem to reach down to turn off the ignition. It wasn’t until Lauren opened the front door and stepped out onto the veranda that Maxine found the strength, and courage, to shut off the engine and get out of the car. Lauren held her hand up to shield her eyes for the house faced the west and the sun was low on the horizon, nearly blinding her. When she had heard the car approaching, she had known immediately who it belonged to. She’d dreaded hearing 289

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that engine for nearly two weeks, the length of time since her mother’s return from Wewauhitchka. Taking a deep breath, Lauren ventured out to the top step and watched her mother walk toward the house. “How’s everybody in Wewah?” Lauren asked, hoping to forestall the words she knew her mother would say. Maxine’s lips tightened. “Fine. Just fine.” She stopped at the bottom step and stared up at her daughter. The anger went out of her like the air released from an over−expanded balloon. Lauren had deep dark circles under her eyes. She had lost weight everywhere but at her midsection where the slight bulge of impending motherhood was already beginning to form. The girl was pale, far too pale, and she looked as though she hadn’t slept in days. There was a haunted look in her too thin face and her hand trembled as she held it up to block out the sun. She appeared weak and frail and listless and the haunted look that peered at Maxine was piteous. Maxine took a step up the stairs. “Are you all right, Anna Lauren?” she asked, taking another step. Lauren shrugged. “As right as I can be, I suppose.” She turned around and headed for the door. “Come on in, Mama.” Even the girl’s voice was sluggish, without tone or expression or life. She seemed to stumble when she walked and Maxie couldn’t help but wonder if the girl was eating right and she said so. “I haven’t had much of an appetite,” Lauren admitted as she showed her mother into the parlor. She turned and looked blankly at Maxine. “You want some iced tea?” Not once in her daughter’s life had Maxine really noticed the girl. Oh, she had cared for her when she was little. Well, she had to admit, as much as she had wanted to care for her. Most 290

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of the time, both Lauren and her older sister, Joanne, had fended for themselves: getting up to get their own breakfast; getting themselves to school, listening to one another’s problems. That was until Joanne had hung herself. Maxine shook away the memory and really looked at her daughter for the first time. What she saw made her feel as guilty as sin and twice as heartless. “Mama?” Lauren asked. “Do you want the tea?” The older woman shook her head. “I want to talk,” she said in a gruff voice and winced as her daughter nodded wearily. “I knew you did.” Lauren sighed. She seated herself in one of the Queen Anne chairs and folded her hands in her lap, waiting patiently for the diatribe she knew was coming. Maxine glanced about the room, knowing Syntian had prepared this room to please Lauren. Everything spoke of good taste and wealth. Not a stick of furniture scattered professionally about the place would be of poor quality. Only the best would have been brought to this place. Only the best for the woman Syntian Cree had wed. Deep, abiding jealousy ranged through Maxine’s soul and she shivered, casting aside the emotion. Syntian had never cared anything for her. He had used her as she had once used him. His vengeance had been swift and exacting when she had broken the pact between them and he had made sure she knew he had taken pleasure in seeing her hopes and dreams smashed. Now, her daughter’s dreams and hopes had been destroyed, but Maxine knew Syntian was not at fault this time. She knew who was. “How long has he been gone?” Lauren heard her mother ask. Lauren shrugged. “Three months, now.” “And there has been no word?” 291

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Lauren smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt. “No word,” she repeated. Maxine heard the abject sorrow in her daughter’s voice and for the very first time, her child’s pain had meaning for her. She took a deep breath and looked away from Lauren’s bent head. “Have you asked Angeline Hellstrom where he is?” Lauren looked up, a faint glimmer of interest showing in her wan face. “She says she doesn’t know.” “They were having an affair; have been for years,” Maxine grumbled. She could have bitten off her tongue when she saw the immediate tremor that tugged at Lauren’s lips. “I know all about that, Mama,” she admitted. Maxine didn’t say anything for a moment. She was trying to find the best way to relate to her daughter what she knew without making the girl think she was crazy. As she sat there, pondering what, if anything, she should say, she became aware of Lauren staring quizzically at her. She squirmed in her seat, but held her daughter’s gaze. Lauren’s brows drew together. “Do you know something you aren’t telling me, Mama?” When her mother appeared to silently shrug away the question, Lauren let out a bone−tired sigh. “Mama, I really don’t feel like doing this today.” She stood up. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really don’t feel all that well and I’d like for you to go.” “He’s with Angeline,” Maxine blurted out, causing her daughter to take a step back from the fierceness in her mother’s voice. She held up a placating hand. “Just hear me out and if you think I’m a raving lunatic, then you can call the little men in the white coats to come get me.” “Mama, I’m not feeling well and I haven’t been sleeping.” She pushed herself up from her chair. “I’m not trying to be 292

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rude, but I’m not up to listening to you...” She stopped and put a hand up to her forehead. She wavered for a moment and then looked at her mother. “I...” Maxine squinted, watched what little color Lauren’s face had, bleach away. She stood up slowly. “Lauren?” The room shifted about her and Lauren’s eyes rolled up in her head. She dropped to the floor, falling in a crumpled heap, one arm flung out. “Lauren!” Maxine shouted and ran to her daughter, kneeling down beside her. “Lauren?” She put her hand on Lauren’s cheek, shocked to find the flesh ice−cold. Scrambling to her feet, she ran to the phone and dialed 911. Dr. Daniel Mayheaux straightened up and motioned Maxine from the triage room. He closed the door quietly behind them, ushering Maxine away from the room. “In here,” he said, opening the door to the doctor’s lounge. “Have a seat, Mrs. Fowler.” Maxine sat down and looked up at the physician with concern. “She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?” The doctor poured himself some coffee, offering Maxie cup. She declined. “Everything considered,” he said as he spooned Equal into his cup, “I’d say she’ll come out of this just fine.” He stirred his coffee, took a sip and let out a tired sigh. It had been a long day. He sat down at the table and stretched out his long legs. “She hasn’t been taking care of herself and that’s not good.” “But what’s wrong with her?” Maxine asked. “I never fainted once when I was carrying either of my girls.” Dr. Mayheaux held up his hand and counted off the reasons why Lauren Fowler was lying across the hall. “She’s 293

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undernourished; she’s exhausted; she’s worried; she’s been trying to deal with her husband’s disappearance all on her own; and she’s pregnant.” He took another sip of the hot, bitter coffee. “If she doesn’t start looking after herself, she could lose the baby.” Maxine nodded. “Lauren has never been a strong person,” she answered. She sat back on the sofa and studied the doctor. “What can I do to help?” Dr. Mayheaux’s brows shot up. “This is something new, isn’t it, Maxie? Since when have you developed concern for Lauren’s state of well being?” “Don’t start with me, Danny,” she snapped, looking away from the sarcastic disbelief in the man’s face. “I may not be able to show affection as easily as most women, but I do care about what happens to my daughter.” The physician drew in his legs and leaned forward across the table to stare the woman in the eye. “Lauren’s going through a tough time right now, Maxine. She doesn’t need any more turmoil to make matters worse.” Maxie’s head came up. “And you think that’s what I’ll do? Make matters worse?” “I hope not, but you’ve never shown any real motherly love for that girl since the day I delivered her.” His gaze narrowed. “As a matter of fact, I remember you saying you wished she’d never been conceived.” “I didn’t want to bring another child into this world for Brewster to...” She looked away, a dull red blush of guilt spreading over her face. Dr. Mayheaux sat back in his chair. “If you knew Brewster was molesting Joanne, you should have gone to the law. You didn’t and you saw what happened to your child.” 294

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A shudder ran through Maxine, but she would not look at her accuser. “I kept Lauren away from him.” “And every other man, as well,” the doctor reminded her. Maxine flinched. “I was just trying to protect her.” She looked up. “I only did what I thought was best.” The physician shook his head. “You stunted her growth: psychologically and spiritually. You did everything you could to turn her against men and the town against her.” The flush of shame crept down Maxine’s neck. “I did what I felt needing doing.” “And in doing so, helped create the problem Lauren’s facing right now.” She jerked her head around. “How did I help create a problem for her?” Dr. Mayheaux drained his coffee and pushed the cup away. “When that man came to town, he went looking for the most vulnerable woman he could find. A woman he knew he could twist right around his finger.” He folded his arms over his chest. “That woman was Lauren. She wasn’t used to coping with a man’s advances. She was so damned naive, she took him at his word that he cared for her.” “He does,” Maxine mumbled. “He married her, didn’t he?” “Yes, and he left her.” There was a hint of disgust in the man’s deep voice. “Left her pregnant with his child.” From everything people had been saying to her since she had returned home, Maxine knew the town had turned against Syntian Cree as it had once been oblivious to Lauren. The entire populace of Milton seemed to view him as some despicable libertine who had despoiled the town’s favorite virgin, and in the doing, destroyed the girl forever. If they only knew, Maxine thought, standing up. 295

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“Are you going to keep her here?” she asked, looping her handbag over her arm. He nodded. “At least for the night. I want to get some nutrients into her system with that IV.” He pushed himself up from his chair. “I might even keep her a bit longer. I don’t like the idea of her being out there in that house alone.” Maxine’s chin lifted. “I will be taking her to my house when she leaves here.” Dr. Mayheaux shrugged. “I’ll leave that decision up to Lauren.” He walked to the door and opened it for her. Walking out into the hall, Maxine saw Ben Hurlbert standing at the Nurses’ Station. When he saw her, he came hurrying forward. “I heard on the radio that an ambulance had been sent out to get Lauren.” He jerked his head toward the nurse he’d been questioning. “They wouldn’t tell me what had happened.” “She fainted,” the doctor told him. “Nothing to get upset about, but we’re going to keep her overnight. Maybe run some tests in the morning.” Ben studied Mayheaux’s face. “She’s all right?” “As far as I can tell, yes.” He slapped the Sheriff on the shoulder. “We’re going to take good care of her, Benny.” Ben Hurlbert blushed, thinking he should never have told Danny he was in love with Lauren Fowler. He ducked his head. “Can I see her?” “When we get her up to a room,” the doctor answered. He turned to Maxine. “Are you going to stay or do you want me to have someone call a cab?” Maxine frowned at him. “I’m staying, Daniel.” “Suit yourself.” He’d never liked Maxine Fowler and today he liked her even less. With a friendly nod to Ben, he sauntered 296

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off. “What brought on her fainting, Miss Maxine?” Ben asked. He was twisting the brim of his uniform hat around and around in his hands. “The doctor says she hasn’t been taking good enough care of herself,” Maxine informed him. She let out a long breath. “It’s all this mess with Syntian.” Ben looked at the room where he had been told Lauren Fowler was being kept. “What do you think happened to him, Miss Maxine?” “I think you should ask Angeline Hellstrom that question, Sheriff,” she told him. When he shook his head and answered that he already had, Maxine snorted. “She knows precisely where he is, but she isn’t going to tell you unless you get a warrant and search her place.” Ben’s head snapped up. “Search her place?” He stared at her, recognized the steady look she gave him as brutal honesty, and stopped toying with his hat rim. “You think he’s staying with her?” “I know he is,” Maxine snapped. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “And I’ll tell you something else, Benjamin Hurlbert: He isn’t there because he wants to be, either!” There was something compelling about the woman’s conviction, but the implication that she was making with her bold words, was too hard to credit. Ben’s face hardened. “What you’re saying is that Syntian Cree is being held there at Miss Angeline’s against his will. That’s a libelous statement, Mrs. Fowler.” “Get a warrant and go out there and see.” “I can’t just ask for a warrant without proof that something’s going on!” Ben grumbled. “What reason am I supposed to give 297

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Judge Clarke for a search warrant?” “Angeline Hellstrom and Syntian Fowler were lovers,” Maxine snarled. “She worshiped the ground that man walked on.” “How do you know that, Miss Maxine?” Ben countered. Maxie’s jaw clenched. “I just do, Sheriff! She got madder than snot when Syntian married my daughter. If you ask me, Angeline was just biding her time, trying to figure out a way to get him back. She probably called him, harassed the man, and when he made it clear he wanted no part of her, she had him kidnapped and taken to—” “Miss Maxine!” Ben said in an exasperated voice. “Do you hear what you’re saying? Miss Angeline is one of the most respected women in Santa Rosa County. Escambia county, too! With her looks and her money, she could have half a dozen men dancing attendance to her. Why would she want to go after a married man who didn’t want her?” “Because she don’t like to lose!” Maxine hissed at him, jabbing her finger into his chest to emphasize each word. “He was hers and Lauren took him away from her. So she took him back!” She jabbed him once more, more painfully and she smiled as he winced with pain. “Get yourself a warrant and go over to Gulf Breeze. That’s where you’ll find him!” Ben threw his hands in the air. “Ain’t no man worth going to jail over, Miss Maxine. If he’s with Mrs. Hellstrom, he’s there ‘cause he wants to be, not ‘cause she snatched him. She’s got better sense than that.” “The hell she does!” Maxine exploded. She jabbed at him one more time. “Are you going to help me get him back from her or not?” The Sheriff shook his head. “I just can’t go out there and—” 298

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“Yes or no?” “No, ma’am!” Ben shot back. “I ain’t!” “Fine,” she snapped. “That’s just fine.” She spun on her heel and headed for her daughter’s room. “I’ll do it myself!” Ben couldn’t believe the conversation he had just had with Lauren’s mother. He looked about him, not surprised to see several of the nursing staff looking his way. How much of his talk with Maxine they had heard, he had no way of knowing, but by the looks on several of the women’s faces, he knew they didn’t like the Fowler woman any more than he did. After one more look at Lauren’s closed door, he jammed his hat on his head and muttered to the nurse at the desk as he passed that he would be back in a few minutes. “Taking kinda particular interest in that little lady, don’t you think, Linda?” the head nurse asked one of the lab technicians who were gathered around her desk. “Seems to me that he is,” Linda Wainsworth answered. She hefted her rack of specimens and walked toward the lab. “Make her a fine new husband, I reckon.” “Benny Hurlbert’s a good man,” one of the orderlies remarked to no one in particular. “He’d do right by her.” “Wouldn’t leave her for the likes of that Hellstrom broad,” another orderly snorted. “You think that’s what he did?” asked the head nurse, Diane Bickerstaff. The orderly snorted again. “Wouldn’t surprise me none.” Outside, sitting in his overly warm cruiser, Ben snatched up the mike from his radio and called into the station. “Go ahead, twenty−four.” “Yeah, Marie. Have somebody from over in Gulf Breeze go by and question Angeline Hellstrom again about Syntian Cree’s 299

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disappearance. Tell whoever goes over there to see if he can’t look around the place; see if maybe somebody’s living there with her.” “Like that philandering husband of Lauren’s?” Marie Halbach, the dispatcher answered back. Ben frowned. “Yeah, like him.” “Ten−four.” Ben racked the mike and sat staring across the parking lot of the hospital. It was close to ninety degrees outside and the underarms of his khaki shirt were wet with sweat. He swung his legs out of the car and still sat there, thinking. If it was true Syntian Cree was staying with Angeline Hellstrom, he reckoned it damned sure wasn’t against the man’s will. Cursing under his breath, more furious with the vanished man than ever, Ben slammed out of the car and stomped toward the emergency room entrance. Lauren lay in the hospital bed and stared up at the tile ceiling. She was tired, feeling numb and weak and listless. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t been eating right the last few weeks. “You’ve got to eat, Lauren,” Doc Mayheaux had warned her. “If not for yourself, at least for the baby.” The baby. Lauren lifted her arm, the one with the IV catheter in it, and placed her hand on her belly. The roundness was already showing and she felt the changes taking place in her body. She caressed her stomach, took a long, deep breath, and sighed contentedly. She couldn’t let anything happen to her baby. To Syntian’s baby. The smile left her face and she turned her head on the 300

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pillow, tears gathering almost immediately at the thought of her missing husband. In her heart, she knew he had not simply left her. That would have been like admitting he had never loved her, and she knew that he had. It was more than just the simple, desperate fear for his safety that made her so ill, that drove her to restlessly roam the house at night, depriving her of sleep. It was the awful thought that he was hurt and suffering and that he might need her. That he might be lying somewhere, unable to call for help, in pain or not remembering who he was. That he might be at the mercy of someone who meant him harm. “Lauren?” She jumped, startled, and swiveled her head around. She smiled. “Hi, Benny.” He came shyly into the room, twisting his hat in his hands. “How ya feeling?” “All right.” She pushed herself up in the bed and told him to sit down. “I can’t stay,” he said, glancing around him. “I’m still on duty, but I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” His lips twitched in a self−conscious apology. “I was worried about you.” “There’s no need to be,” she told him. “I just fainted.” Ben nodded. “If there’s anything you need, I told them out at the desk to give me a call.” Lauren’s face showed her surprise. “I gotta be going,” Ben stammered, seeing that look of surprise on her face, misunderstanding it completely. “You rest, okay?” He backed toward the door. “Is it all right if I come check on you again in the morning?” She scrunched up her forehead in answer. “I guess so.” Ben smiled, stumbled into the door, looked around as though 301

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expecting the obstruction to attack him, laughed nervously and then made his way through the door. “I’ll be seeing you,” he informed her. “Okay?” Lauren smiled. “Okay, Benny.” She listened to his boot heels ringing against the terrazzo floor of the hall as he stomped away. He was proving to be a good friend and she knew when Syntian returned home, he would want to thank Benny for trying to take such good care of her. “When you come home,” she whispered to the silent room and the tears welled once more. She was beginning to think she would never lay eyes on her husband again.

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Chapter Twenty Already, the hot Florida sun was beating down with relentless perseverance as the orderly wheeled Lauren out to her mother’s car two mornings after Lauren had been admitted to the hospital. The asphalt of the parking lot was steaming and the chrome on the car’s door was like molten lava. “Gonna be a scorcher,” Hank Varner, the orderly, joked with Lauren. “Must be close to a hundred by now.” He helped her into the car and then stood there. “You take care now, Miss Lauren,” he advised her. “Don’t want nothing to happen to that little fella in there, now, do we?” “No.” She waved at Hank as he closed her door and stepped back from the emergency ramp, pulling the wheelchair with him. “Hank Varner knows enough about children,” Maxine scoffed. “He keeps his wife’s belly filled with them.” Lauren sighed. She had not wanted to ride back to her house with her mother, but the older woman had insisted, saying she had something she needed to talk with Lauren about and that it couldn’t wait. She sat silently, listening to her mother complain about the traffic on Berryhill Road; about the traffic light at the corner of Berryhill and Glover Lane that she had seen no earthly reason for the city to have installed; at the slow drivers, the heat, the funny taste the drinking water had of late. 303

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“Mama,” Lauren finally said on a long breath of frustration. “Do you think we could talk about something else.” Maxine glanced at her daughter as she braked for the light at the intersection of Bypass and Park. “Like what?” Lauren looked out the window and waved at the Pavlo boys who worked at the Winn−Dixie across the way. “How much do you think it would cost to hire a private detective to find Syntian?” The car behind her beeped in annoyance as Maxine sat there long after the light had turned, staring at her daughter as though Lauren had grown an extra head. She glanced with anger at the offending driver then eased off the brake, going as slow as she dared to annoy the woman who had had the nerve to blow her horn at Maxine Fowler. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” Maxine grumbled as the car behind passed her, laying on the horn to let Maxine know she hadn’t appreciated her tactics. “Goddamned Navy officer’s wife from No Fuck, Virgin,” Maxine growled, seeing the Virginia license plate with a Norfolk car dealer’s sticker on the trunk. The crude and vulgar word brought Lauren’s lips together, but she didn’t answer. Rudeness and sarcasm were her mother’s favorite past times. She glanced at the Knights of Columbus hall as they passed, wondering briefly why there were so many cars out front on a Saturday morning and said so. “Ladies’ Auxiliary Bingo.” “Oh, that’s right,” Lauren said. “I’d forgotten.” Maxine kept watching her daughter as they traveled. Nearing a convenience store, she asked if Lauren wanted a 7−Up. “You sure?” “I’m not thirsty,” Lauren answered, not wanting to prolong 304

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the ride home, only wanting to reach the sanctity, and quiet, of her own bedroom. “Remember you’re supposed to drink plenty of liquids,” Maxine advised as she stopped for a red light. She turned to look at her daughter. “I’ll fix you something to eat before I leave this afternoon.” Lauren looked around at her mother, aghast that the woman intended to stay any longer than to drop her off. “That’s not necessary, Mama,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as cold to her mother as it had to her. “It’s no bother,” Maxine assured her and turned left as the light changed. “Maybe some soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. How does that sound?” Hot, Lauren thought with a grimace. A cool salad and lemonade sounded a whole lot better to her, but she didn’t say so. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest. “Feeling poorly again?” “Just tired.” “We’ll be there in a minute or two.” Maxine reached out and patted her daughter’s knee. “You’ll feel better with something in your stomach.” She laughed uneasily, casting an embarrassed look at Lauren’s midsection. “Other than that little bundle of mischief you got growing in there.” Lauren lifted her head, turned, and stared at her mother. It was the first time any mention had been made of the baby. For all Lauren knew, her mother was as upset about the baby as she was about Lauren getting married. “You know,” Maxine said, unaware of the look her daughter was giving her, “I’m the only woman my age at the courthouse who doesn’t have a grandkid or two.” She smiled to herself. 305

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“Lord, I hope it’s a boy.” Astounded by the remark; flabbergasted by the sex her mother was wishing the child to be, Lauren could not find the words to say. She simply stared, confusion running across her face in tighter and tighter waves until the confusion had transformed itself to anger. When her mother turned and grinned at her, she wanted to wipe what she thought was a smirk off the older woman’s smug face. “Have you picked out a name yet?” Maxine asked. She looked down once more at the rounding of Lauren’s belly. Lauren bit her tongue to keep from berating her mother. “Connor James if it’s a boy and Helen Louise if it’s a girl.” “Hope it ain’t twins!” Maxine chuckled. “Now that would be a real handful!” Shaking her head at her mother’s cheerful banter, the pretenses of a normal mother−daughter relationship that had never existed, Lauren turned away and watched the scrub oaks and scraggly pines they passed. She tuned out her mother’s banal chattering and wished she had not allowed herself to be driven home by her mother. “You know Syntian really should do something about this driveway,” Maxine groused as she pulled onto the pinestraw covered lane that led up to the old house. “The least he could do is put down some gravel.” With her jaw clenched as tightly as teeth and bone would allow, Lauren forced herself not to scream at the insane words. “I’m sure that will be at the top of his list when he comes home, Mother,” she mumbled. Maxine glanced her way and then pursed her lips. “Don’t get huffy with me, Anna Lauren. I was only making a comment.” “An entirely inappropriate comment considering the 306

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circumstances, don’t you think, Mama?” Lauren snapped as the car rolled to a stop at the wide veranda. “Now, you listen here, missy...” But Lauren had already opened the door and was climbing out of the car. “I appreciate the ride home, Mama. Thank you. But I think I’m going to go up and go to bed for a while. The heat is wearing me out and I just want to sleep.” She slammed the door and walked to the steps and started to climb, furious when she heard her mother’s door open. “I’m not about to leave you here alone.” “Mother,” Lauren stated, turning around to stare with annoyance at the other woman. “I am a grown woman.” “I need to talk to you, Lauren,” Maxine interrupted, forestalling any further excuses. The two women glared at one another for a moment and then Lauren gave in, thinking if she got it over with, whatever inane thing her mother wanted to discuss, maybe the woman would leave sooner. “All right. Come on in,” she said ungraciously. Maxine clamped her mouth shut and climbed up on the porch behind her daughter. In her hand was clutched the big canvas carryall that went with her to work every day. Lauren eyed it suspiciously, hoping that it didn’t contain extra underwear and a nightgown. “I’m not staying,” Maxine defended. “Not all night, anyway.” Sighing wearily, Lauren unlocked the door and ushered her mother on past the living area and into the kitchen where she poured the both of them an iced tea and then sat down at the little round table in of the bay window. “All right, Mama. What’s so important that it can’t wait?” Maxine laid the big carryall on the table and seated herself. 307

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She took a long drink of the tea before rummaging in the bag and drawing out what looked to be a very old scrapbook. “I want you to look at this,” she told Lauren and pushed the book toward her. “What is it?” Lauren glanced down at the musty covering that bore no lettering and wrinkled her nose. “Where did you get it?” “Just open it to the first page,” Maxine ordered. For a reason she couldn’t explain, opening the old book was the last thing Lauren wanted to do, but seeing the resolve in her mother’s sharp eyes, she drew in a deep breath and then turned back the ash gray cover of the book. The first page looked so ancient she was afraid to touch it for fear it would crumble. She peered at the elaborate scrawl of elegant lettering on the page then looked up at her mother. “What does it say?” Maxine shook her head. “Read it.” Looking closer at the antique writing, Lauren was finally able to decipher the calligraphy. Her right brow arched and she looked up at her mother. “The Book of Shadows?” “Yes,” Maxine answered. She pointed. “Go ahead. Turn the page.” Carefully picking up the bottom corner of the page, Lauren flipped it over and was astounded to see a list of women’s names covering the next page. She could barely read the first dozen or so, but near the bottom, three names stood out as though written in neon. She stared, then slowly lifted her head to look at her mother. “Anna Ruth Fontrelle? Wasn’t that your great−great grandmother?” she asked. At her mother’s nod, she put her finger on the second name. “Felicity Beckman.” Her brows 308

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drew together. “That was your great grandmother.” She remembered the names from the genealogical research on her family she’d done while in college. Maxine tapped the last name on that page. “Miranda Hennessey,” she said softly. “My grandmother.” Lauren felt a chill run down her spine. “What is this book, Mama?” “Turn the page and look on the back.” Something told her she shouldn’t, that she should shut the book, and tell her mother to leave, but a part of her, that curious part that was woman, gave her the strength to turn the page. She let out a long breath. Her mother’s name was the only one scribbled on the page. She looked up. “Why isn’t Grandmama’s name in here?” Maxine shrugged. “She never needed what the book had to offer. Besides, she was so pious, she shoulda been a damned nun!” Lauren started to close the dusty−smelling book, but her mother stopped her. “Turn the page,” Maxine commanded. As each successive page was turned, Lauren became more and more confused. There were drawings, odd symbols, numerical calculations, words that held no meaning for her, poems whose words she could barely make out and that made no sense. There were lists and what could only have been called recipes mixed in with astrological symbols and dates and times, phases of the moon, properties of plants and herbs and spices. “I don’t understand most of this,” Lauren admitted. “That’s because some of it is written in Hebrew, some in Ancient Assyrian, Gaelic, French. There are spells from Egypt and runes from Scotland and translations of some writings off 309

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cave walls when man had yet to walk upright.” “My Lord,” Lauren finally exclaimed, realizing at last what the book was. “This is a book of witchcraft!” “Demonology,” Maxine corrected. “There is a difference.” She turned another page, not having heard her mother, and stared at the heading. Her blood ran cold in her veins as she read the words: The Summoning of Demons. Without knowing she was doing so, she began reading the incantation to raise an incubus from the Abyss. “The NightWind?” she whispered. “That’s not important, now,” Maxine said, startling Lauren and making the girl look up at her as though she had just awakened from a nightmare. “You can read that any time. Turn the page. See what’s after the invocation to the NightWind.” Not wanting to, but knowing she had no choice, Lauren flipped the page and gasped, looking up to gape at her mother. “Is this blood?” she asked of the writing scratched down the length of the page. The dirty orange coloring could be nothing else. “Look at the top of the page,” Maxine asked, deflecting her daughter’s shock from the ink that had been used to write the document. “There where it says on this date, etceteras, etceteras, I, Sybelle Ahunnami, do enter into this agreement.” Lauren lowered her shocked eyes to the old parchment page. She would never have been able to tell that those were the words in the document had her mother not given her the key to read them. She looked up, more puzzled than ever. “Who was she, Mama?” “An Assyrian princess as best I can tell,” her mother replied. Maxine reached out and began flipping pages. Page after page after page bore the identically same phrasing, only the names and dates had been altered, along with the handwriting in which 310

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the document had been produced. “Generations, Lauren,” Maxine explained. “Generations of women, our ancestors, yours and mine, all women from our family, have kept this book. It has been handed down from mother to daughter, from grandmother to granddaughter since time began. Pages have been added with every successive generation as have spells and all manner of magic that has been proven successful for our womenfolk.” She stopped at a page that bore the name of Maxine Mulroney. The document was dated 7 April, 1834. “I was named after her. She was my great, great, great grandmother.” She turned another page. “This is my grandmother. It was from her I gained the knowledge of this book.” Lauren snatched her hands away from the vile thing and shuddered. “Get that thing out of my house!” she snapped, hugging her arms about her. “Now! This minute!” “These are pacts with the NightWind, Lauren,” Maxine said, flipping back halfway through the book. “Here at the bottom of the page. It’s his mark.’’ Involuntarily, Lauren glanced down at the crooked symbol. It looked to her like an X turned slightly on its side with the upper right leg longer and curved outward. “That’s the ancient symbol of the Wind,” Maxine breathed. “That’s not what most people think of as the astrological sign, but it is the true mark.” “I don’t want to hear any more of this.” “Each of us,” Maxine said, her eyes glazing as she spoke, “signed our pact with him.” She turned her dreamy look to her child. “We have each made our bargain with the NightWind. And in return, he granted us his protection.” “I want you to leave, Mama,” Lauren ordered, getting up 311

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from the table. “I don’t want that vile thing in my house.” “I was thirteen when I signed my pact with him,” Maxine told her. “He came to me on the whisper of a breeze and gave me all that I asked of him.” “Mama,” Lauren said loudly. “I want you to leave!” Maxine turned the pages back over until she had found the document signed by her great−great grandmother. “Look,” she said, pointing down at the page. “Look how the symbol has changed since that very first bargain.” Lauren reached down to shut the book, to lift it and throw it into her mother’s face if necessary to get the woman to leave, but her gaze feel on the dark rust mark at the bottom of the page and she stopped. “This was the last time he put just the symbol on the agreement. My great grandmother insisted he take a human name because up until then, the women of our family had only summoned him as the NightWind.” She touched the symbol on the page. “What does it look like, Lauren?” It looked like a lightning bolt with a straight line drawn through it, Lauren thought. She had no chance to say that for her mother was already turning the page and even before the parchment sheet settled, Lauren knew what would be at the foot of the page. “My great grandmother gave him the name he used from that day forward when he made bargains with our family.” Maxine studied her daughter’s white face, searching the eyes that had glazed. “She said he had been born and bred of the greatest of transgressions, that he had been brought forth from that very first day to do the wickedness our ancestors could not do on their own.” Maxine noticed the tremor that had started in Lauren’s hands. “So she named him after that greatest of 312

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transgressions. She named him Sin.” Scrawled in the unmistakable, bold stroke that she had seen many times, Lauren stared at the name penned in blood across the document before her and wanted to scream with the horror of it. She reached out, mindless of tearing the aging paper and turned the page. Again, that familiar signature glared up at her from the yellow−tinted page that held her great grandmother’s name. Once more she turned the page and there, at the opposite end of the page from her own mother’s delicate, convent school penmanship, Lauren read her husband’s name: Syntian Cree. “He changed the spelling of sin and altered the name himself,” Maxine said softly. “Cree is his real name. The name his mother gave him many thousands of years ago.” Slowly Lauren sat down, her gaze riveted on the book, on that one name. Her mother was speaking, saying something to her, but she didn’t hear. Her blood was pounding in her temples, blotting out all other sounds, and she was trembling so hard her teeth were clicking together. “There’s more,” Maxine said loudly, gaining her daughter’s attention. She bent over and turned several pages at once then straightened up to allow her daughter to see what was on the page. “Seeing this, I don’t see how you can doubt what I have told you.” On the page, drawn in an expert hand, was Syntian. He was staring at her as he had been seen by the eyes of Nicolette Du Mer on the fourteenth of May in the year 1568. “I guess somewhere along about the turn of this century, the women of our family stopped drawing him and started taking pictures,” Maxine said gently. She flipped through different poses of the same man, drawn in different centuries, clothed in the fashions of the times, his likeness caught forever by many 313

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different women, until she came to a section near the back where first yellowing lithographs, then grainy black and white photographs of Syntian Cree had been taped to the newer pages. There he was in 1871, standing beside a lovely little woman with pale, pale hair. He looked stiff and formal in his cutaway and he held his top hat in the crook of his arm like it was an afterthought, and probably had been. In 1913, he was seated in front of a woman with long dark hair. Her hand was protectively caressing his shoulder and he was glaring at the camera as though it were his enemy. 1930, the year Maxine had been born, found him lying on the grass at the feet of Lauren’s great−grandmother. His white shirt was open to the waist and there was a high sheen on his knee−high boots. And in 1949, her mother’s freshman year in college, Lauren saw him holding the hand of a pretty young woman in a prom dress. The pretty young woman could be none other than her mother. “That was the year Angeline took him away from me,” Maxine said, walking away from the photograph. “I had broken the pact between us and she had offered him a way to avoid going back to the Abyss.” Lauren stared at the smiling face in the photo. How handsome you look, Syntian, she thought as her gaze went lovingly over him. The tuxedo was without doubt very expensive and the corsage on her mother’s wrist was almost certainly made up of orchids. “He really had no choice,” her mother was saying. “I see that now, but at the time, I was furious with him.” She snorted. “And beyond furious with that whoring Angeline!” Lauren flipped through the pages, looking at the drawings, 314

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renderings done with loving hands and eyes that had no doubt looked upon him with the same measure of love she, herself, had bestowed upon Syntian Cree. “Given the choice of signing a pact with her or being forced back into the darkness and stench of the Pit, I would have chosen the pact, myself,” Maxine mumbled as she paced about the kitchen. Lauren traced the charcoal jaw line in a drawing made on the Twentieth of June in 1777. Of all the drawings she had seen, this one seemed to capture the true essence of the man. “Right after he left with Angeline, I married your father. The biggest mistake of my life, but after Syntian, what man would have lived up to a woman’s dreams?” The girl who had drawn that portrait in 1777 was named Gezelle Gilbert. Lauren wondered what great, great appellation fitted that name. That she had been an expert with her art was in the shading of Syntian’s eyes and the mobility of his mouth, the almost life−like angle of his chin. Gezelle had caught the essence of his sexuality in that drawing. “When he showed up here, I knew exactly what had happened.” Lauren’s mother sat down at the table again. “I knew you had called him and he had come to you.” Lauren looked up, caught by the words. “What?” “He has been indentured to our family for thousands of years, Lauren. He belongs to us. He owes allegiance to us for it was our ancestor, that very first sorceress who freed him from his imprisonment in the Abyss and brought him out into the light once more.” She reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “He heard you calling him, Lauren. He was drawn to you because there is still a connection despite the fact I broke the pact between him and our family. Out of all the voices in the 315

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universe, all the heartbroken, lonely, desperate women, it was to you he came. Don’t you see?” “No,” Lauren shaking her head. “I don’t see at all.” “You had to have called him, Lauren,” Maxine stressed. “Yes, you had to have! He couldn’t have just come on his own.” She tightened her hold on Lauren’s hand. “Think, girl. Think! Was there a time when your life was so miserable, so lonely, that you wished for some gallant knight in shining armor to come to rescue you? Did you not have some fantasy of being swept away from the drudgery of your life to some distant place where everything would be the way you wanted it to be? Didn’t you cry out for help? For a ceasing of all the misery in your life?” There was a grain of truth in what her mother was saying. Many times Lauren had lain awake at night and thought of just such things happening. She had cried herself to sleep wanting that highwayman to swoop down on her coach and carry her away with him to his keep where he was lord and master. She had imagined the lusty pirate who would board her ship, lift her high in his powerful arms, claiming her before his band of ruthless cutthroats as his own before sailing away with her to some tropical shore. She had longed for the brawny, sun−darkened arms of the Cheyenne warrior to snatch her up on his horse and ride away, escaping the cavalry’s noose to hide her in his encampment deep in the Texas hills. She had dreamt of the highland rebel who had defied king and country to win her hand, who fought with flashing blade and bare knuckles to keep her forever at his side. She had created the star traveler whose fast−as−the−speed−of−light war cruiser could whisk her away 316

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to his home in the heavens where he would make her his queen and his mate. And she had put herself in every romance novel she had ever read and every romantic movie she had ever seen. She had pictured herself in the arms of movie stars and rock stars and every handsome man she saw. She had pretended love songs were written just for her ears and that those mysterious dedications on the pages of her favorite novels had been penned for her. Yes, she thought with guilt, she had fashioned a world for herself where she was the center of attention. “He heard you, Lauren,” Maxine whispered. “He heard you calling and he came for you. Just as he came when I called him.” “I don’t...I can’t...” Lauren slammed the book shut and buried her face in her hands. “Nothing makes any sense!” She pushed the book away. “Nothing at all!” “Doesn’t it?” her mother asked kindly. “You needed him and he came.” She stroked Lauren’s shoulder. “I doubt even he knew how much you would come to mean to him.” “Then why did he leave?” Lauren sobbed. She looked through the obstruction of her fingers. “To answer some other woman’s cry for help?” Maxine shook her head. “No. As sure as I am sitting here, he did not want to leave you, Lauren.” She glanced down at the mound of her daughter’s belly. “Especially after he impregnated you.” Lauren winced at the crude way her mother put it, but then a thought, jarring and horrible, flitted through her mind; a gist of a long ago conversation coming back to taunt her. She gaped at her mother, her face going as chalky as death. “Oh, God!” she 317

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croaked. “Please tell me it is possible for him to produce children.” Maxine looked away. “Mama?” Lauren’s voice was like a child’s asking for comfort. Her mother’s shoulders sagged. “If you cut him, he will bleed, although that blood is as black as his sinful heart. If you feed him what he has to have to stay powerful, he will piss and shit like any normal man, but...” she looked back at her daughter. “Those are the only bodily fluids that are normal within him, Lauren. He cannot father children on his own.” A tiny whimper came from deep within Lauren’s chest. “Then whose child is it?” She shivered, suddenly more afraid than she could ever remember being. “Someone he would have approved of,” Maxine was quick to say. “A healthy, vital male whose offspring Syntian would not have minded raising as his own. Someone who would have had to have had the same coloring, the same build.” At Lauren’s harsh intake of breath, she nodded. “My guess would be Ben Hurlbert.” “No!” Lauren shouted, flinging herself out of the chair and against the wall. “It can’t be! I won’t let it be!” “If you read through the history in the book, you’ll see that he has only done this once before. In Ireland, back in the 1600s. Bridget Mulroney, the woman who asked it of him, made a note on the reverse side of the pact that he had been furious with her for having to lower himself to gather the seed to impregnate her and she advised no one else try it for she feared his wrath.” Her eyes softened. “For him to have willingly done this for you, shows how much he loves you, Lauren.” “Love?” Lauren shouted, nearly mad with the thought of 318

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carrying an unknown man’s child in her body. Even given the fact that it might be Benny’s, the mere notion of it was akin to the vilest kind of defilement. “Can you imagine how degraded he must have felt to be handled by another male? The shame he must have endured just to provide you with what you wanted?” She studied her daughter’s face carefully. “And it was you that wanted the child, not him, wasn’t it?” “Why are you defending him?” “Syntian was my lover,” her mother answered, feeling as much as seeing the flinch that shook her daughter. A perverse imp inside her made her reckless. “Even after he met you, one final time, he came to my bed, Lauren.” At Lauren’s look of shock, she shrugged. “Why do you think I left Milton? I had to get away from him before it happened again. I have no protection from that man’s lust any more than you do.” Lauren glared at her mother. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” “I won’t deny it,” Maxine defended. “I will always love him, just as I suspect you will always love him.” She lifted her chin. “Just as Angeline Hellstrom loves him, else she would not be holding him against his will and away from you!” “What are you talking about?” Lauren yelled. She was on the verge of losing her sanity and her mother was back to vilifying Angeline. “For pity’s sake, girl, think! Somewhere along the line he had to have told you he was bound to her. I know Syntian. He would have tried to break the vow he made between her and him and she might even have allowed him to put aside a portion of it in exchange for the sexual favors he was never all that willing to give any of us! If she realized how much he wanted 319

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you, she’d have given him enough rope to hang himself then reeled him in when she thought he had gone too far. Willingly getting you with child would have been way over the limit with her. Don’t you see that?” What her mother said made sense even though the whole thing was beyond the surreal and had ventured into the realm of the improbable. Such a fantasy as her mother was spinning was hard to believe and yet the proof was there before her: in the so−called pacts made with the Demon NightWind; in the drawings that were aged too well to be anything but genuine; in the photographs which appeared just as authentic; in the signatures on the last few documents that could be none other’s than Syntian’s handwriting. “Do you realize how ludicrous this sounds, Mama?” Lauren asked. “How bizarre?” Maxine nodded. “To anyone else, yes, it would. But you’re not just anyone else, are you, Lauren?” She leaned forward. “Haven’t you felt the Calling? The pull that tells you you aren’t like everyone else?” At her daughter’s perplexed look, Maxine jabbed her finger onto the tabletop to make her point. “Haven’t there been times when you knew, you knew something was going to happen before it did? Or a moment when you knew that if you but tried, you could change what was going to be? You may not have acted upon that knowledge, but nevertheless you felt you could have done something if you’d just had the courage to try. And haven’t there been times when you’ve looked at a person and known beyond a shadow of a doubt that that person was evil or that he or she could do things no one else could? Have you ever tried to deflect that evil or stop those people from doing something by just thinking of doing it?” 320

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“Everyone has intuition, Mama,” Lauren explained away the feelings she had had since she could remember. “It goes deeper than intuition, Lauren. These are things granted to the women of our family by our connection to Syntian. He gave us these abilities.’’ Lauren looked down at the table. “Even if everything you say is true,” she looked up and fused her gaze with her mother’s, “even if Syntian is...is...” She couldn’t say it. “Not of this world?” her mother finished for her. The younger woman’s forehead crinkled with befuddlement. “How can he not be?” She shook her head in negation of the possibility of such a thing. “None of this is important,” Maxine stated. “Whether he is human or not is of no matter. The question is: Do you want him back or will you allow Angeline Hellstrom to win?” Lauren opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She lowered her head into her hands and started to cry, heart−rending sobs which shook her entire body. For once in her life, Maxine Fowler took pity on a fellow human being and got up from the table and went to take her daughter in her arms. She laid her head on Lauren’s and rocked the girl, shushing her wracking sobs with soft words of encouragement. “We can get him back for you, Lauren,” Maxine assured her. “Everything we need to do is written down in the book.” She smoothed her daughter’s hair. “I can gather what we need and we can perform the ceremony right here in this house.” She lifted her head and gazed about her. “There is no better place than where Syntian, himself, has dwelled.” Maxine knew there had to have been a room where he had performed magic of his own before Lauren had come to live 321

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with him. She was almost positive it no longer existed for he would not have wanted his wife to know what he was until he could no longer hide it from her. “If he’s with her,” Lauren sobbed, craning her head back so she could look up at her mother, “why hasn’t he tried to let me know he’s all right?” Maxine’s face hardened. “She would have seen to that, Lauren. If I know her, and believe me I do, she would have had a place already prepared before she summoned him the last time, a place from which he couldn’t escape. She would have taken all the correct precautions to keep him from being able to leave once he was within.” A hitching breath shook Lauren before she could speak. “What kind of place?” “A holding place, a cell,” Maxine answered. “A cage made of iron that has been strengthened with incantations to keep him in. That would be the only kind of internment that would make it impossible for him to get to her, too.” Lauren’s face showed her confusion. “Who do you think raped Inez and Karla, Anna Lauren?” her mother asked with characteristic sarcasm. “Or frightened Louvenia Yelverton so badly she had to be committed to an insane asylum? Those women tormented you, didn’t they? They caused you hurt and embarrassment and he would have gone after them to punish them, to keep them from doing it again.” Fear and shock flooded through Lauren. “No,” she denied. “He wouldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have!” “Oh, yes, he could,” Maxine told her. “You just think about it a minute and I’ll lay you odds you can come up with other people who’ve been hurt or who’ve had sudden changes of heart since Syntian has come into your life.” 322

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Beth Janacek’s face flashed across Lauren’s mind, as did the face of the teenage girl who had almost ran her down on the street. Agnes and Anna Black. Thad and Nina Atherton. Henrietta Malone. Maxine saw the wheels of realization turning in her daughter’s mind. “He’s been protecting you, Lauren. That’s all. Given his nature, those who hurt you the most were simply eliminated. Those he could control, he just planted a seed in their minds and let it grow. Suddenly, everything is right in your world.” “Beth,” she whispered. She closed her eyes. “He killed Beth.” The face of the teenager slipped like sewage across Lauren’s mind. “And that young girl.” Her hand came up to her mouth as though she could silence the thoughts inside her tormented being. “And he would tear Angeline Hellstrom apart if he could get to her, I can tell you that,” her mother vowed. “She’s keeping him from you and by now, I would imagine he’s beyond feeling any kind of human restraint and has reverted to the beast he was before our first ancestor called him from the Pit. Angeline knows if she should slip up and he should ever get free, there would be nothing left of her but pulpy ooze.” Her lips tightened. “And it couldn’t happen to a nicer person!” There had been too much, Lauren thought, too much information being fed to her. The circuits of her mind were beginning to shut down. She felt the overload coming, the glitch in the system that would make that system crash. Already she could feel the program that was her consciousness starting to spool. Flashes of faces, facts, voices were tumbling past her mind’s eye in a blur. Soon the screen would go blank and there would be no way to ever store data again. 323

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“Lauren?” She pulled out of her mother’s arms and got out of her chair on the opposite side, away from the hand her mother had reached out to soothe her. “Honey, everything’s going to be all right. We can get him back for you. I will not let Angeline win again!” Lauren stared out the bay window, her gaze sweeping over the lush gardens that had seemed to spring up almost overnight after he had brought her to this house. She took in the fishpond, the gazebo, the brick patio she had always envisioned having. Her eyes moved past the exact Adirondack outdoor furniture she had dreamed of owning. Her inner gaze saw the furniture, the linens, the curtains, the dishware, the appliances, the color of the carpeting throughout the house: All of it just what she had wanted and had been shocked to find upon entering the house for the first time. “He knew just what would please me,” she mumbled as she put a trembling hand on the bay window that had been in her notebook of dreams, as had the white tile table at which she had been sitting. She smiled at the birdhouses along the back perimeter of the yard. “Down to the very shade of gray I wanted.” “What?” Maxine asked, pushing her daughter’s bow−back chair under the table. “What did you say?” “It was all here,” Lauren said softly. “The pattern of china, the stemware, the pots and pans, the silverware.” She slowly shook her head in amazement “And I never questioned it.” Her voice was incredulous. “Not once. I just accepted it.” Her gaze fell on the wicker porch swing in the gazebo. She remembered long evenings of sitting there, not once bothered by the pesky mosquitoes that were a way of life in the South. “Everything 324

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was perfect. Everything. Down to the most minute detail.” She shook her head. “Not even a pigmy rattler in the pine straw.” Maxine exhaled a long sigh. “He only wanted to please you.” “He did,” Lauren said with wonder. “I thought him the most wonderful man in the world. The perfect husband. The kindest friend. The most gentle lover.” She leaned her head against the coolness of a windowpane. “And all of it was a lie.” “Not all of it,” Maxine told her. Lauren’s head jerked around and she glared at her mother. “What wasn’t?” She flung her hand at the immaculate kitchen, a kitchen she had dreamt of having. “Everything in this house is a lie!” “He loves you. That isn’t a lie.” Her daughter’s face turned severe. “And I loved him. What does that say of me?” Maxine reached out and took Lauren’s shoulder in a hard grip. “Do you want him back?” When the younger woman didn’t answer, she shook her. “Answer me, Lauren. Do you want Syntian returned to you?” For one brief, rebellious moment, Lauren almost said no. Hurt and anger and what she thought of as the infinite betrayal had turned her tender heart rock−solid in her chest. Spite entered her gleaming eyes and her mouth turned bitter with regret and revenge. She pulled away from her mother’s touch and glared at the woman. “Yes, I want him returned, if for no other reason than to send him back to the hell from which he sprang!” she hissed. This time she was the one to reach out and grip her mother’s shoulder in a painful clutch. “Is that possible? Can we do that? Can we send him back?” 325

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Vindictiveness shot over the older woman’s lined face and a pitiless smile began to stretch the contours of her wrinkled lips. “Oh, yes,” Maxine said in a low, throaty voice. “We can do that. We can send him back, never to return if that is what you want.” Lauren’s head came up and she squared her shoulders. Her gaze was fierce, implacable. “What do we need to do?”

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Chapter Twenty−One The plate of food slid across the floor toward him with a tinny grating sound that set his teeth on edge. He glared at the new bondservant Angeline had conjured. This one was cautious, considering what had happened to Delbert, and would come no closer to the cage than he had to. He pushed the plates of food and bowls of water only as far as Syntian could stretch out his hand to take. He didn’t make the mistake of pushing them to the very bars of the cell. “Throw me the water bowl,” the man grumbled, leaning on the broom handle. “Get it yourself,” Syntian snarled. He was sitting at the back of the cell, well away from the man. As quick as this one was, he could move out of Syntian’s reach even if he came right up to the bars and Syntian took the chance of lunging at him as he had done once before when Angeline had relented and removed his shackles. The man’s slit of a mouth stretched into a thin, humorous line. “You can do without for all I care, NightWind.” He turned and leaned the broom handle against the basement wall, then started to climb the stairs. “Wait!” Syntian called out. His thirst far outweighed his need to be contrary. He scooped up the plastic water bowl and got to his feet, carried it over to the bars and flung it toward the 327

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man. Angeline’s new servant stared down at the bowl for a moment then craned his head around to look at Syntian. “You wanna play games? You can do without until I come back this evening,” he chuckled. “Maybe by then you’ll have remembered who is the prisoner and who is the warden!” Fury shook Syntian and he gripped the bars, pulling on them as he had done nearly every day for the last four months he had been held captive. “You son−of−a−bitch!” he yelled as the light to the upstairs world closed off once more and he was pitched back into the darkness. “You pond scum!” He heard an amused guffaw come from above stairs and he slammed his fists against the bars then spun around to glare into the interior of the cage. The place smelled, he thought with rancor. It reeked. Not as bad as the Pit, he remembered with a shudder of revulsion, but bad enough that Angeline had not been down to torment him for more than two weeks. He had begged her to have someone come to clean out the excrement in the south corner of the cell, but she had refused, reminding him he was little more than a beast and beasts did not mind the smell of their own waste. “Why are you doing this to me?” he had shouted at her. “What would just a gods−be−damned pail hurt, Angeline?” He had pleaded with her, beseeching her to allow him at the least the dignity of a slop can in which to relieve himself. “You are being punished for killing Delbert, Syntian,” she had informed him. “No chamberpot. No eating utensils. No drinking utensils.” Her laugh had been filled with contempt. “You acted like an animal and now you are being treated like one. I removed your manacles; do not ask for more!” His bellow of rage had shaken the very iron bars onto which he clung, but she had been adamant and the stench worsened 328

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every day. His own body odor was vile for he had not been allowed to bathe since being confined. His hair was plastered greasy to his head and his fingers were caked with dirt, his nails filthy. He kept them chewed down as close to the quick as he could. His face was smeared with grime plastered to his flesh. Syntian slid his hands down the bars and sat heavily on the floor, buried his face in his dirty palms. Even the smell of the meat in the tin plate a few feet away held no allure for him although his belly rumbled with hunger. He was thirsty, so thirsty his mouth was parched, but he knew it would be at least five to six hours before the man came back. Idly, he wondered if Angeline knew how her servant mistreated him. From the first moment they had laid eyes on one another, Syntian and the man whose name he had never heard, had loathed one another. There had been a spark of recognition between them and Syntian had understood by the look on the man’s face that he would do everything he could to make Syntian’s imprisonment as close to being the hell of the Abyss as he could manage. “I’ll see to him, Miss Angeline,” the man had cooed, his feverish gaze intent on Syntian’s face. “You can count on that.” When the man had come the next day to bring food and water, he had deliberately spilled the water and placed the plate of food just out of Syntian’s reach. “You are of the NightWind, aren’t you?” the man had sneered. “One of the so−called higher orders.” Syntian had known at that moment that Angeline had failed to conjure one of his own kind and had brought forth instead one of the minor demons the Christians classified as “unclean spirits.” This one would have no powers not expressly given to him by his mistress. He could do nothing on his own. 329

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Obviously, the man was ashamed of his failings and jealous of Syntian’s abilities. “I’m not afraid of you,” the servant had bragged. “Why should you be?” Syntian had offered. “I’m where I can’t get to you.” He had grinned viciously. “For now.” Syntian’s tormentor had backed away from the cage. His bravado had been short lived, but on subsequent trips down to the basement, he had regained his confidence. No doubt Angeline had assured him Syntian posed no threat. “I can walk free,” he’d said once. “Out in the light. In the warmth.” The man’s taunt had struck a chord of helplessness in Syntian and he knew it. He had turned the plate of food over on the floor and ground it into the concrete. “And you can do nothing but sit there and dream of being free!” “And killing you,” Syntian had responded. For that remark, he didn’t get food or water for three days. Syntian lifted his head and leaned against the bars. He wondered what Lauren was doing. If she was all right. If she was beginning to show. A fleeting smile crossed his face. It had been four months. She would be showing by now. A groan of frustration erupted from him and he squeezed his eyelids shut to block out the face of the man whose seed was growing inside the woman Syntian loved. “After a few years have passed, maybe even before that, she’ll begin to realize you won’t be coming home to her,” Angeline had told him. “She’ll need a man to help her raise the child and do you know who’ll be right there ready to step in and lend a hand, Syntian?” She had laughed. “Why, Ben Hurlbert, of course.” She had ignored his growl of rage. “He’ll be glad to take your place in Lauren’s life.” Her brow had cocked in challenge. “In her bed. Raising his own child.” Her smile had 330

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been terrible. “A child with which you were seeded, my demon. Did you enjoy that degradation, Syn? Do you remember Hurlbert’s hands on you? His prick thrusting inside you? Remember it well, demon, for that is what Lauren will be feeling!” He had gone nearly insane with that taunt and had caused himself some minor damage that had taken a full week to heal. And gained for himself a week of total darkness and cold in the concrete confines of his cell. She had not even allowed him a rag upon which to lie and the floor chilled his bones and made him stiff. “But he’ll be good to her, Syntian,” Angeline had assured him. “After all, Benny loves her. He’ll see that she gets what she deserves.” “Just as you will get what you deserve!” Syntian had bellowed at her. Angeline’s face had lost its humor. “Make no mistake about it, Syntian. On the day I know I am to die, I will send you back to that hellish existence from which Maxine drew you. That will be my final revenge upon you, my demon!” Sitting there in the dark, his mouth so dry he could find no spittle to swallow, he knew to the very core of his being that Angeline did not possess the power to do what she had threatened. The extent of her ability was evident in the manner of fiend she had been able to bring forth. Thinking back on it, he suddenly realized that it hadn’t been Angeline who had called forth Delbert, either. It had been another woman who had broken her pact with the black man and lost him to Angeline. “Listen,” Delbert had once told him. “If your mistress dies, see, you ain’t got no choice but to return to the Pit. It draws you back, you know? There’s no reason for you to stay unless 331

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you’ve been bound to another mortal. If’n that mortal breaks the pact between you and another woman steps in to bind you to her, then you can stay. That’s what happened to me, you see?” Just as it had happened to him, Syntian thought with misery. Maxine had broken the contract and he had, unwisely and stupidly, signed his soul over to Angeline in order to keep from being sent back to that horrible place again. “You know what else? What can happen even though you’ve signed a pact with another mortal?” Delbert had asked, reminding Syntian of something he had known all along but refused to think about. “If the woman whose family drew you up, whose family originally bound you looses her Book of Shadows or it gets stolen or destroyed by someone who don’t know what it’s for or how to use it, you get sent back and you won’t ever return to the light!” That was his greatest fear. That the Book of Shadows that belonged to Lauren’s family would somehow be destroyed. If that happened, he would spend eternity inside the foul boiling of the Abyss. Once he had been afraid Maxine would burn the Book, she had threatened to, but he had cajoled her into keeping it. But he worried that one day the old woman would turn that Book against him and send him back, never to be free again. “Lauren,” he mumbled, lying down on his side and curling up on the cold floor. “Oh, Lauren.” How he missed her, he thought with abject grief. Her laughter, her smile, her gentle touch that wanted nothing from him except his love. Her tender nature that asked no evil thing of him; that demanded nothing more than his strength and protection and security. He grieved for the time they had had together; the loving they had shared in that brass bed he had 332

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had to search the world over to find for her. He had moved mountains to find everything she had ever wanted, just because he wanted to see the pleasure such material things could give to the woman he loved. “I will find a way,” he whispered into the darkness. “I have to find a way to get back to you.” But he knew his chances were slim. “I will be back in half an hour,” Maxine told her daughter. “I have everything we need at my place. Do what I told you, get everything together I listed, and when I come back, we’ll begin.” Lauren looked at her mother with a steady gaze that held no emotion. “Doesn’t there have to be a full moon or some such thing?” Maxine laughed. “Only in fairy tales!” She patted Lauren’s arm, unaware that her daughter stiffened at the touch. “That book tells you what you need to know and it don’t matter a rat’s ass when you do the ceremonies if you’re good enough at your craft to ward off those demons that will try to come through while you’re conjuring.” If the thought of other hellish creatures coming into her world frightened Lauren, she didn’t show it. She simply stared at her mother with a chilling attention that made the older woman uncomfortable. “You rest until I get back. You’re going to need all your strength for what we need to do tonight.” Lauren shrugged. “I’m all right.” From the look on her daughter’s face, Maxine wasn’t sure, but she needed Lauren’s help to do what had to be done and she couldn’t take a chance the girl would be useless later on. 333

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“Go lie down until I get back. Will you do that?” She walked to the door and turned. “Will you?” “I’ll think about it,” Lauren conceded. There was something cold, and alien, in Lauren’s voice and in her manner, but Maxine didn’t have time to think about it. She hurried from the house, and the presence of Syntian Cree within its walls, and drove as fast as she dared to her house near the Blackwater River. She didn’t have all that much time to waste in gathering together the things necessary for the ritual that evening. “Just a few more hours, Angeline. Just a few more hours and you will know the wrath of the Fontenelle women!” Lauren had asked about a full moon. She doubted her daughter was even aware there was one tonight. Not that it made any difference to what they were going to do that evening, but it was certainly going help. Lauren sat down on the sofa and stared across the room, seeing images that up until that morning had meant nothing to her. Onyx, coming out of nowhere. Staying. Seeming to belong to no one but her. Watching her every move, appearing to know just what she was saying to him. Syntian’s surety that he knew just what the animal needed and wanted. The cat’s sudden disappearance when she and Syntian had married. “A familiar,” Lauren whispered. “He was my familiar.” “No,” an inner voice whispered back. “He was Syntian!” “Louvenia drew this thing,” Reed Yelverton had told Lauren once after his wife had been committed to the Chancel Sanitarium in Louisiana. “She keeps drawing this horrible−looking monster.” And she saw that monster, didn’t she, Syntian? Lauren 334

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wondered. Did you let her see you as you really are or did you conjure for her a nightmare image that would snatch away the woman’s sanity? “Inez swears there was someone there, but there wasn’t anybody in that room,” Montez had told everyone when his wife was hospitalized. “Karla keeps babbling about this invisible monster what attacked her,” Mrs. Cooper had said sadly when Lauren had met her on the street and expressed her sadness at Karla’s troubles. “Can you imagine that? The incident was so terrible for her, she just can’t make herself think of that bastard’s face.” But you didn’t let her see your face, did you, Syntian? Lauren questioned. If she had seen your face, she would have been able to identify you and you couldn’t have allowed that. Only briefly did she wonder if Beth Janacek or the VanLandingham girl had seen his face before he had slaughtered them. “What did you do to the Black sisters?” she asked aloud. “And the Athertons and Mrs. Malone? What spell did you put on them to make them suddenly like me?” She lay down on the sofa and curled into a ball, her hands protectively wrapped around the life growing in her belly. She thought fleetingly of Benny. Of how that good friend, if he really was a friend and not a conjuring of Syntian’s, would feel knowing how he’d been used. “You have a lot to account for, my demon,” Lauren whispered.

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Chapter Twenty−Two Angeline held her handkerchief to her nose as the cell was hosed down. Devlin, the name she had given her new minion, was laughing gleefully as he flicked up the nozzle of the water hose and blasted the water over Syntian, driving him back against the far wall of the cell. She watched Syntian stumble under the onslaught of the water pressure, throwing his arms up to protect his face as he cowered at the back of the cell. “He doesn’t like that, does he?” Devlin chuckled as he held the steady flow of cold water on Syntian’s upper body. “That’s enough,” Angeline warned him. “Just clean the floor of that foul smell.” Devlin frowned, wishing he could do more than just drench the uppity bastard in the cage. He grinned at the malevolent look that was shot his way as the prisoner, as Devlin liked to think of him, glared at him. “You look a sorry sight,” Devlin taunted. “Wouldn’t no mortal woman want you looking like that.” Syntian swung his gaze to Angeline, hating her with every fiber of his being. He found her studying him as though he was a specimen under a glass and he looked away. “I thought you might like to know Lauren was in the hospital for a few days.” His head snapped up and he rushed to the iron bars closest to 336

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Angeline, reaching out to wrap his fingers around the uprights. “Why?” he asked, flinging his wet hair out of his eyes. “What happened?” Angeline shrugged. “She fainted. Not all that uncommon an occurrence for pregnant women, Syntian.” Syntian’s heart was slamming in his chest. “Is she all right, now? Is the baby all right?” “She’s fine,” Angeline snapped, annoyed at the disgusting look of concern on his wet face. “Her mother took her home this morning.” “Maxine,” Syntian whispered, fearing the word. He clutched the bars tighter. “Would she tell her about me, Angeline? Do you think she’d tell her?” Angeline’s mouth twisted. “There’s no telling what that bitch would do, but I don’t think she’d tell Lauren about you. If she did, she’d have to tell her about the Book and I know she wouldn’t dare do that.” His ears perked up. “Why not?” “Because of the Book’s power. If Lauren was to ever try any of the incantations...” She stopped, her lips drawing back over her teeth. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she hissed. She pointed an angry finger at him. “That won’t happen so you might as well not even consider it.” “Consider what?” he crooned. He eased along the bars. “That if Lauren was to ever get hold of the Book, she might invoke the NightWind?” Angeline shivered. “Maxine won’t allow that to ever happen.” Syntian’s face brightened. “But if it did, Lauren could summon a demon capable of destroying you, couldn’t she, Angeline? Maxine can’t do it because the pact between her and the NightWind was broken. She can’t utilize what is in the 337

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Book, but Lauren can.” “Lauren doesn’t know anything about the craft,” Angeline hissed, “and her mother sure as hell wouldn’t give her the opportunity to learn.” “You keep believing that, Angeline,” he warned her. “But if I were you, I’d keep a close watch on those dark corners of my bedroom when the moon is full.” He jabbed his hand through the bars, trying to scare her, but yelped as the handle of the broom came down hard on his forearm, bringing instant, terrible pain. He snatched his hand inside the cell and cradled it against his chest, glaring at the servant who had attacked him. “Thank you, Devlin,” Angeline said, her chin up as she regarded Syntian with contempt. “Sometimes pain is the only way to gain his cooperation.” “Let me hurt him, Miss Angeline,” Devlin panted, aching to bring a scream of agony from the prisoner. “Let me give him some real pain.” Syntian snorted, knowing that was the last thing Angeline dared do even if she had wanted to see him writhing in whatever pain the bastard could dole out. He flung her a disgusted look then settled down in the middle of the cage, crossing his legs as he sat there and contemplated the two of them. “Oh, he’s in pain,” Angeline told her servant. “He’s in so much pain he can barely survive it.” She smiled at Syntian. “It’s a type of pain that leaves scars on his heart, not on his flesh.” “Fuck you,” Syntian told her. After the light had been turned off his existence once more, Syntian sat on the damp floor and stared into space. The iron bars with their runic protection did not allow him to see beyond the place where he was being kept, but he was aware of a 338

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shifting in the Veil, an undercurrent he didn’t think Angeline had felt. He tried probing the feeling, but he got no further than the uneasy nagging that told him something was going to happen. “Don’t destroy the Book, Maxine,” he begged, hoping that wasn’t what he was feeling. “I don’t want to go back.” It would be too much to ask that Lauren find the Book and realize the power she held in her hand. Although he was bound to another conjurer through a pact of blood, he was still tied and indentured to the women of Lauren’s family. All it would take would be for Lauren to break the hold Angeline had over him with the right invocation to the NightWind. Maxine couldn’t do it. Her power had been lost the moment she had broken the contract between them. But Lauren was a different matter altogether. “Give her the Book, Maxine,” he pleaded. “Show her what she has to do. Teach her how to use it to free me.” The only trouble was, he didn’t think Maxine would. She hated him and even though she loathed the thought of him being at Angeline’s beck and call, rather than see him have what he wanted—her daughter Lauren—she was more than likely content to let him rot where he was. “Find the Book, Lauren,” he whispered. “Find it and come for me, Sweeting.” Lauren gazed with disinterest at the variety of strange−looking objects her mother had assembled in the spare bedroom. She was still amazed at the older woman’s strength as her mother had ripped the carpeting from the walls and had painted a blood−red circle on the bare wooden floor. “There has to be protection for us,” Maxine had mumbled as 339

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she had begun to painstakingly paint a series of symbols inside a second, smaller red circle. “You can’t go about any of this without making damned sure one of those infernal bastards can’t snatch you away with him.” Syntian’s wife had marveled at the glazed look on her mother’s face as the woman began to arrange candles at the five points of an upside−down star she had drawn last, mumbling strange words as she worked. “Once we’re inside the safety of the circle, nothing can get to us. You just have to make sure you don’t step even one toe outside the protection of the circle. Do you understand, Lauren?” “Yes,” had come the bored reply. Maxine had brought along a small hibachi that she now placed in the center of the star, or pentagram as she told Lauren the thing was called. She placed bowls of water and salt and sand beside the brazier and took out of her canvas tote a sharp−looking, double−edged knife she called an athamé. “Every sorceress has one of these,” she had said with pride. “Mine is hundreds of years old and belonged to an ancestor who was burned at the stake in France.” Alongside the things she had already placed on the floor, came a twisted twig. Maxine said it was hazel wood. There was also a golden chalice, two empty porcelain cups, several vials of murky−looking liquid and a fat red candle. “I’ve got the sacrifice, too, but I won’t get it until everything else is ready.” The mention of a sacrifice brought the first animation to Lauren’s face. “What kind of sacrifice?” Her mother had shrugged. “A chicken, Anna Lauren. I couldn’t find a cat so I stole a chicken from that trailer down 340

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the road from the turn−off.” She placed the Book of Shadows beside the hibachi and then glanced up at Lauren’s angry face. “Would you rather it be our blood the demon drinks or a stupid, worthless chicken’s?” Lauren’s face turned angrier still, but she kept her mouth shut. When everything had been placed according to the instructions in the Book, Maxine retrieved the squawking, flapping chicken, its feet tied together with string, and brought it into the circle. “Come on, get in,” the older woman snapped with irritation. “This will take awhile.” With one final look at the bare walls of the spare bedroom, Lauren stepped inside the circle, careful as her mother told her to be of the still−wet paint and joined the other woman in the center of the pentagram. “My eyesight isn’t what it use to be,” Maxine said as she fought with the struggling chicken. “You’re going to have to read the words of the Invocation.” She was prepared for the objection she was sure would be forthcoming, but when Lauren simply took up the Book and flipped to the correct page, she shrugged away any unease her daughter’s state of mind was causing her. Staring down at the words, it took Lauren a moment to decipher them and she read across the lines, wondering what would happen if she mispronounced them. She said as much to her mother. “You’ll say them the way they’re meant to be said. Believe me. They aren’t hard to say at all. Just go slow and think before you speak.” She grabbed the chicken’s beak and hissed at it. “Stop that!” 341

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As Lauren began the Invocation, she felt a trill of suspense go down her spine and the baby inside her move for the first time. It startled her for just a moment, but she cast the pleasure of that feeling aside, and grimly began to intone the words sprawled across the page. Maxine watched her daughter’s face, caught up in the fierce look that had settled over Lauren’s normally meek and pleasant features. Darkness had settled in the girl’s eyes and her lips were rigid around the unfamiliar words as she spoke them. Her knuckles had bled white with the grip she had on the Book and her cheeks were as pale as moonlight in the glow from the lit candles. The room got progressively colder as Lauren continued to read. A smell, not all that unpleasant at first, soon began to permeate the room. The hair at Lauren’s temples stirred in a wafting of breeze through the opened bedroom door and her skirt blew against her legs. “He’s coming,” Maxine whispered, feeling the shifting of unseen forces gathering about them. The words meant nothing to Lauren. They were merely sounds as she spoke. She didn’t understand their meaning, but she knew what they were doing. She was beginning to feel a presence, an entity lurking just beyond her peripheral vision, taunting her, watching her, waiting. The smell in the room intensified and it was pungent, musky, becoming offensive. Her hair was blowing freely about her head, now, and her skirt was plastered to her thighs. She felt the baby stir once more, leaping in her womb, and she smiled. “Can you feel it, Lauren?” her mother asked, looking about at the deepening shadows that were seeping into the room. “Can you feel the Portal opening?” 342

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She ignored her mother’s awed voice. She had no idea what the woman was talking about, for the Book she was holding in her hands was doing something strange to her. Never had she felt such all−encompassing power, such capability, a vital effectiveness. It was growing inside her, this feeling of potential, this super−charged energy that told her she was a potent power, that she could do whatever she wanted. The force was gathering within her body, visible now when she looked down at the reddish glow around her hands and arms. “Lauren,” she heard her mother breathe as the older woman saw the aura that was beginning to form around her daughter’s rigid body. That smell, that scent of the demonic suddenly became so intense, it took her breath away, staggered her beneath the sulfurous blast, but she kept reading, not looking up at the ebon shadow building at the south corner of the room. “He’s here,” Maxine whispered. “Lauren, He’s here.” The room was frigid with cold, the wind whipping through it so intense it was all Lauren could do to stay within the confines of the pentagram. She spoke the last words, saying them slowly, stressing each syllable then she looked up into the most terrifying visage she could not have conceived of even in her worst nightmare. “L...a...u...r...e...n,” It hissed, the sound of Its voice like the buzzing of a billion angry bees. “Greetings, oh Master of the Demons; Bringer of Storms; Destroyer of Souls,” Maxine called out. “We welcome you, oh Mighty Raphian!” The thing was hideous, Lauren thought, shivering despite herself. It’s eel−like neck was capped with a triangular head that glowed green. Beady red eyes and row upon row of sharp, 343

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grinding teeth made the specter a prime candidate for future nightmares to come. “What do you have as an offering, L...a...u...r...e...n?” It hissed, milky drool dripping from its gaping slit of a mouth to plot with acid sizzle on the wooden floor. “Here!” her mother was quick to say. “Toss it the chicken!” Staring into that horrible face, watching that eel−like neck swivel to and fro against the ceiling of the room, Lauren wondered if Syntian, in his natural form, looked anything like this fiend. “Lauren!” her mother spat, thrusting the chicken at Lauren. She exchanged the Book for the flapping chicken, looked down once at the poor animal and then flung it at the thing in the corner. A horrendous popping sounded as the gaping mouth opened further and the chicken disappeared down the demon’s maw. There was a screech of ungodly pain then the beast sighed. “I am intrigued, L...a...u...r...e...n. What do you seek of me?” Maxine nearly fainted with relief. She stepped closer to her daughter and whispered, “Tell him you want a minion.” At Lauren’s frown, her mother explained quickly. “Tell him you need a minion, a helper, to take back what belongs to you. Tell him you want the incubus to be the most pleasant of human males ever to draw breath upon this Earth. Tell him you want him to be so handsome even his enemy, Jehovah, Himself, will be envious of the male’s beauty.” Lauren gaped at her mother. “I will not!” Maxine snorted hatefully, then turned her attention on the fiend. “My daughter is new at this and I will speak in her behalf if that pleases You, oh, mighty Raphian.” There was a hiss of annoyance from the beast and then It 344

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swiveled Its horrid head closer to the pentagram. “Is she one of mine?” was the sly question. Maxine turned her head and looked at her daughter. “Are you?” The power was still flowing through Lauren and she somehow knew there was a way to channel it for what she wanted, not for the evil those before her had used. She ignored her mother and turned her gaze to the creature. “There is a woman who would dare take what was given to my family by You, Mighty Raphian. I seek a way to punish her and to re−gain what is ours by right of the blood pacts signed by my ancestors.” “Cree,” the fiend snarled. “Yes,” Lauren agreed. “I will have him back.” “Why?” Maxine watched the rage building in her daughter’s face. She had never seen Lauren angry. She had never known her daughter capable of vengeance and retaliation, but Lauren’s words both shocked and pleased Maxine for they were the same thing she, herself, wanted. “Most likely to send his worthless ass back to You!” Lauren growled. “To shut him away from the light and the warmth and imprison him in the Abyss for eternity, never to be allowed out again!” A low chuckle, sinister and merciless echoed around the room. The walls trembled with the sound and the floor shook. An evil glint shone in the beady red eyes and the gaping mouth appeared to form a smug, satisfied smile. “Woman, speak the words for your daughter!” Lauren glanced at her mother. She shrugged as though she didn’t care one way or the other. “You know what we need, tell 345

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him.” Maxine smiled, liking what she saw on Lauren’s face. She turned to the fiend. “He must be the most handsome man ever to step foot in this world. Next to him, Syntian will pale in comparison. He must be tall and dark. He must have a cultured voice, perhaps English, French—that doesn’t matter. I would have him forty, no older, and have access to wealth.” “Can this minion take the place of a man who already exists?” Lauren interrupted her mother. Maxine’s lips pursed with annoyance. “Why?” “Angeline is drawn to wealth, to power,” Lauren mused, looking away from her mother to stare up into the hideous face of Raphian. “There is a man I have read about. A Prince of a Middle Eastern Emirate. He is considered to be very handsome and is known to be as utterly ruthless as he is powerful. It is said he is the second richest man in the world and whatever he wants he can have with the snap of his fingers. Jaborn is his name. Jaleel Jaborn. Do you know of him?” Raphian’s long neck bobbed. “Jaleel Jaborn,” It buzzed. “I know of him.” “Can this minion we seek take his place?” Again the low chuckle shook the room . “It can be made so...” “Then, that’s what we want. Bring him here and have him meet Angeline. Make her fall so deeply in love with him, she will not know what we are about until we are ready to destroy her and take back what is ours.” Maxine gawked at her daughter, appreciating the vengeance, seeing the plot for the glorious coup de grâce it was. For the first time in Lauren’s life, her mother respected the girl . 346

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“And what will you give me in exchange for this that I do, L...a...u...r...e...n?” “Be careful,” her mother warned. “A human life?” Lauren asked. “One worthy of Your interest, Raphian?” The fiend nodded. “That would do.” “Then you shall have it!” Lauren shouted and shoved her mother out of the pentagram and away from the protection of the circle. Maxine Fowler howled with sheer terror and tried to scramble back into the circle, but the long eel−like neck swooped down and she was sucked up into the mighty maw of the fiend’s grinding mouth. Lauren stared at the ceiling and smiled. The screams had been choked off quickly enough and there was no blood, no gore. Everything was tidy as her mother’s thrashing feet finally disappeared down the creature’s gullet. There was a mighty burp, then a great sigh of pleasure as the beast licked Its maw. “Satisfied?” Lauren asked the fiend. “Aye!” “Good. Then let’s get down to business.”

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Chapter Twenty−Three “ Who is he ?” Angeline heard the woman at the counter ask. She turned and saw a group of foreigners, two men in long white robes, others in the Western business suits and dark glasses of bodyguards, coming into the shop. “I read about him in the paper this morning,” a customer gushed. “That’s that Hasdu Prince. What’s his name?” “Jaborn,” Angeline whispered. “Jaleel Jaborn.” As though he had heard his name spoken, one of the men in the flowing white robes of a desert sheik turned his head and his penetrating brown eyes locked on Angeline. A slow, interested smile touched his full lips and he bowed his head in compliment to her beauty. There was an instant tightening in her belly as she looked at this man. Never had she seen such a handsome, virile male in all her life. His pictures: in the newspapers, magazines, on the television, had not done him justice. Here was a man the likes of which any woman on Earth would die to possess. “He’s flirting with you, Mrs. Hellstrom!” the counter girl breathed. “Oh, Lord!” the customer beside Angeline gasped. “He’s coming over here!” She could not take her gaze from his face. There was power in that firm jaw, in that jutting chin. Wealth and breeding and 348

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centuries of control lay behind the intelligence in his eyes. He exuded potency, strength, and masculinity and when he stepped up to her and bowed elegantly in greeting, his magnetism was overpowering and nearly suffocating. “I was told the South held the most precious of this country’s jewels,” he said in a rich, bass voice that sent tremors of excitement through Angeline’s veins. He reached out and took her hand in his, caressing her palm with his thumb. “I can see that was no mere boast.” He brought her palm to his lips and kissed her, his tongue coming out to press a quick dot in the center of her hand. Angeline Hellstrom’s knees felt as though they would buckle beneath her. Had this glorious stranger not put out his hands to cup her shoulders, she knew she would have shamed herself by dropping into a heap at his expensively shod feet. “What glorious name have they given you, Sweet One?” he asked, drawing her closer to him as though they were lovers of long standing. “Angeline,” she whispered, lost in the mesmerizing heat of his eyes. “Angeline,” he repeated and made the word seem as intimate as a penal thrust into her very core. He bent forward and his lips claimed hers in a heady kiss. When he drew back, he moved his hands from her shoulders to her face, to cup her cheeks. “Tell me you will have dinner with me this evening, Angeline.” She could only nod. Speech was impossible for her lips were tingling from his kiss. The feel of his lips upon hers had been the stuff of sexual fantasy. “Tell my man where you live and I will bring the feast to you,” he said, his thumbs stroking her lips. “A feast to make the 349

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gods envious.” “Gulf Breeze.” “Gulf Breeze?” he questioned, one dark, thick brow lifting in inquiry. He moved his body so that his full length was pressed along hers. “Where in Gulf Breeze, my Precious One?” “242 Riana del Sol.” “242 Riana del Sol.” The heat of his body was scorching. He repeated the address to one of the men beside him and then kissed her again, flicking his tongue into her surprised mouth as though they were alone in the store without dozens of people staring with open−mouth wonder at the spectacle he was making. “Eight?” he asked, smoothing her hair back from her high forehead. “Yes,” she managed to whisper. He bent forward and placed a sweet, chaste kiss on her forehead, then removed his hands. Her immediate groan of denial and the absence of his touch seemed to please him. “When I put my hands on you again, Precious One,” he told her in front of them all, “it will take an army of warriors to make me remove them before I am finished pleasuring you.” The girl behind the counter nearly swooned with sexual desire. She stared in awe as the tall, handsome Arab turned and walked away, leaving behind him over a dozen women, including the object of his attention, wet between the legs. “Gawd!” some woman mumbled, reaching out to clutch at one of the tall marble columns soaring upward to the ceiling. “Can you fancy that?” Angeline’s face was hot, her legs trembling, and there was a definite odor coming from her body that told her she was as close to being in heat as a human female could get. She fanned herself, ignoring the excited chattering of the women about her 350

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as they begged to know what she was feeling. She walked away from them, in a lustful daze that carried her blindly from the store and to the waiting limo where Devlin was watching the procession of men getting into another long, sleek gray limousine. “Some kind of pog, I think,” Devlin sneered as he got out of the driver’s seat of Angeline’s limo when she approached. “They think they own the world.” He opened her door. “Dirty, rotten bastards.” Angeline lowered herself into the limo and reached out with shaking hands to pour herself a crystal glass of Absolute, neat. She downed the fiery liquor and refilled the glass. Her heart was hammering in her chest. “Where do you want to go now, Miss Angeline?” Devlin asked, looking at her through the rear view mirror. “Home,” she said. “I have to get ready.” Devlin nodded, wondering where she was going that night or what man she’d drag home to her bed. Not that he cared. Such things were nothing more than amusements to him. Sometimes she let him watch from the hidden room off her bedroom. That was enough for him. Angeline was unaware of the scenery as they left the store at Cordova Mall. The traffic was just a hindrance; the endless drive over the Pensacola Bay Bridge, a nuisance. Every red light, every slow or turning car, every pedestrian, every four−way stop was an excruciating obstruction keeping her from reaching her bedroom. The maid at the front door pondered at the vague look her mistress gave her as Miss Angeline hurried up the curving staircase to her boudoir. “What lit a fire under her tail?” the upstairs maid asked a 351

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few moments later when she joined the downstairs maid and cook in the kitchen. “She’s tossing dresses around up there like she’s going to a state dinner.” “A man,” the cook sneered. “It’s always a man.” She rolled out the dough for a lemon meringue pie, Angeline’s favorite. “She’s husband−hunting again.” “You think so?” the butler asked as he looked up from polishing the silver tea pot. “Uh−huh,” the cook grumbled. “Some old fart who’ll want oatmeal for breakfast with his bran flakes.” “And who’ll need me to help him get dressed in the morning,” the butler sighed, resuming his polishing. “For this I was conjured?” He shook his head. “But he’ll be rich as Midas, that you can be sure,” the downstairs maid giggled. The cook nodded. “Yep.” Three Weeks Later

Devlin flung the plate of food toward the cell and waited until the man inside had it before he started back up the stairs. “Don’t guess she’s going to be keeping you here much longer,” the servant chuckled as he climbed. Syntian glanced up from his food. He didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him ask why, but the shifting in the Veil had become so powerful, he was getting daily impressions of impending doom and had been worried about it for several days. He put the plate down and got to his feet, went to the bars. “Why not?” The servant turned around at the top of the stairs and glared 352

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at him. “She’s getting married to some pog and he’s going to take her to that country of his.” He thrust out his chest. “I’ll be going, too, but you won’t.” Unease made Syntian clutch the bars in front of him. “Did she say that?” Devlin sensed the other man’s fear and he laughed, liking the power his knowledge had over the prisoner. “She says she wants to get hold of that Book she was talking about and buy it from the woman who has it.” He took a step down the stairs. “Once she has it, she can send you back where you belong.” The unease turned to instant alarm. “There’s only one woman who can send me back to the Abyss and she won’t do it. You can remind Angeline of that if you want to.” “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you.” Devlin took another few steps down the stairs. “If memory serves right, the female who has the Book is named Lauren. Isn’t that it? Lauren?” Syntian stared at him. “Lauren doesn’t have the Book. She can’t have it. Her mother has the Book.” “Her dam is dead,” Devlin growled. “Dead and gone.” He stepped off the stairs and stood facing Syntian. “Car wreck about a week ago. Wasn’t anything left of her, but bones. Said in the paper it was one of the worst wrecks ever in Santa Rosa County.” True terror shot through Syntian. If Lauren had found the Book and if somehow Angeline could get her to do what needed to be done to send him back to his own private hell, the bitch would do it and Lauren wouldn’t even know what she’d done until it was too late to correct the error. He’d wanted Lauren to find the Book, but he sure as hell didn’t want Angeline to get her hands on it. 353

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“She’s going to be here tonight,” Devlin remarked, watching the look of hope form on the prisoner’s face. “Lauren?” he asked, his heart hammering even faster against his rib cage. “She’s going to be here?” Devlin had long since lost his fear of the man inside the cell. He had even walked up to the bars on many occasions and peered down at Syntian Cree, daring the bastard to try something, but after the incidence with the water hose, the man appeared to be afraid of him. “That pog Miss Angeline is marrying is going to be here, too. They’re having one of those fancy dinner parties like you see in the movies.” Syntian had no idea of the rift his disappearance had caused between Lauren and Angeline. Angeline had never mentioned it to him. As far as he knew, Lauren was still working at the store, seeing Angeline two or three times a week if not more. “Tell Angeline I want to see her,” Syntian asked, reaching out a pleading hand to Devlin. “Please, Devlin. Will you do that?” “Why should I?” Devlin grumbled, coming as close to the cell as he thought advisable. He was out of range of that questing hand. “I don’t give a damn what you want, Cree!” “Please?” He put every ounce of whining servitude and deference he could into the word. “Devlin, please. I’m begging you.” “Tough shit,” the servant sneered. He reached out and batted Syntian’s hand away. “I’m not telling her nothing!” It wasn’t hard to snag the man’s shirtsleeve and yank him to the bars. It wasn’t hard to circle his neck and squeeze, cutting off his cry in mid−press. The demon inside the humanoid body Syntian destroyed was reduced to a squeaking blob that was 354

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easily ground beneath the heel of his boot. The spirit inside the demon fled back through time and space and eternity, much as Delbert’s had, to once more sink beneath the Slime of the Pit. “Tough shit, Devlin,” Syntian growled as he licked the last of the blood from his fingers and arms. “You don’t have to tell her nothing, now. She’ll know and come down here.” The wad of clothing that had adorned the servant’s body made an adequate nest for his head as he lay down on the cell’s floor, chewing thoughtfully on the last of the right femur. He picked at his teeth, grinning. Lauren’s face intruded on his bloodlust and the grin slowly dissolved. She would be here tonight. His wife would be near him that very night. He had to find a way to see her. He had to.

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Chapter Twenty−Four Ben Hurlbert’s eyebrows shot up with surprise when he saw the cab pull up in front of 242 Riana del Sol and Lauren Fowler Cree climbed out of the back. He’d been sitting there for the last half hour, trying to get up the courage to go ask the woman once more if she knew anything at all about Syntian Cree’s disappearance. Others had questioned her, even Ben, himself, but he’d had the strangest feeling all day that he should go see the woman, and he had acted on that feeling. But once he had arrived at her condo, he had lost his nerve, not knowing what else he could possibly ask her that he hadn’t already. Seeing Lauren going up the steps of the condo, made him instantly alert and worried. The interior of the condominium was more luxurious than Lauren could have imagined. She smiled as the maid took her light sweater and declined the offer of a cocktail from the elegant black butler who had bowed to her. “Miss Angeline says to make yourself at home, Mrs. Cree. She had to see to some last minute business, but she’ll be along shortly. Would you follow me, please?” Lauren nodded politely and followed the butler into the spacious Great Room where there was a sweeping view of the Gulf. Despite herself, and her intentions, she was impressed by the grandeur of the view. She was vaguely aware of the butler 356

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taking his leave as she stared at the spectacular vista spread out before her. Sitting on one of the conversation groupings closest to the expanse of glass, she looked out at the waters, wondering what business Angeline could have had. Idly, she wondered if Syntian was that business. Not that it mattered. Before the night was over, Angeline would be gone. Forever. And so would Syntian Cree. A sound behind her made Lauren turn. She smiled and extended her hand to the man who had joined her. “Prince Jaleel?” she inquired. Prince Jaleel Jaborn took her hand in his and kissed it. “At your service, milady,” he said. His eyes bored into hers. “And your service, alone.” Angeline glared at the wad of clothing in the middle of the cell then turned her furious gaze to Syntian. “You son−of−a−bitch!” she seethed. “Come a little closer and I’ll make mincemeat out of you, too, you stinking Cunt,” he chortled. “You’re going to pay for that, Syntian,” she shouted at him, pointing to what was left of Devlin. “You keep making promises you can’t keep, Angeline,” he said, yawning. “Don’t you get tired of it?” She clenched her hands into fists. “After tonight, my arrogant demon, the only promise you need worry about is the one I made to cast you back into the Abyss.” “Lauren won’t give you the Book, and even if she did,” he told her, meeting her furious gaze with a calm one of his own, “it would be worthless to you.” 357

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“Oh, I know only she can send you back, but I intend to see that she does before this night is over!” “She’ll have to see me to do that, Angeline,” he answered. “How are you going to explain my being locked up here?” “I won’t need to!” Angeline spat at him. “She’s upstairs right this minute with Jaleel and he will see to it she does just what I want.” Syntian’s smile slipped only a bit. “Your current paramour, Angeline?” he sneered. “Some minor demon you conjured for your amusement?” Angeline laughed, a brittle sound that was pure revenge. “He’s a NightWind, Syntian,” she whispered. “A NightWind even more powerful than you! And he’s all mine!” The shifting in the Veil became a rending tear and he came slowly to his feet, hearing the truth of her words as she spoke them. He clutched at the bars to his prison. “You don’t have the ability to conjure a NightWind, Angeline,” he denied. “I know you don’t.” “No, I did not conjure him. There have been stories written about Jaleel Jaborn for years. Who knew he was a NightWind? One so powerful he doesn’t even need a mortal to be bound to. I knew the moment he touched me he was one of you, but he does not know I know what he is!” He had heard of Jaleel Jaborn, too, but he had no idea the man was one of his own kind. He wasn’t sure it was possible for a NightWind to exist in this world without sanction and bondage to a mortal woman, but if it could be done by one it could be done by two. He had only to find out how Jaborn had done it. If such a feat were possible, it would be in the Book. “Let me see her, Angeline,” he asked, reached out to her through the bars. “Let me speak to her.” 358

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“Oh, I might, my demon. I might.” She flicked her long skirt aside and started the climb up the stairs. “Just before I am ready to send you back.” “Angeline!” he shouted after her. “Let me see her!” “No,” came the hardy laugh just before the door shut. “Angeline!” “He’s in the basement,” Jaleel told Lauren. “And not in a very good mood, either.” He took a sip of the mineral water the butler had provided for him. “His thoughts are of you. He is in agony being apart from you, my lady.” “Where is she?” Lauren asked, still watching the crashing waves of the Gulf slapping against the condo’s pilings. “About to join us,” Jaleel answered. He leaned forward and put his glass on the brass top of the lacquered coffee table and stood up, adjusted his silk shirt and turned to face the woman who was even then coming into the room. “Precious Jewel of my heart,” he said silkily, skirting the sofa on which he and Lauren had been sitting. “Every absence makes my blood run hotter still.” Angeline smiled into his breathtaking face as he lifted her hand to his lips. “Have you been entertaining Lauren, Jaleel?” “He’s been regaling me with stories of his homeland,” Lauren said, looking away from the ocean and coming to her feet. “You will enjoy living there.” “I look forward to it,” Angeline admitted. “Please. Sit. Dinner will be just a few minutes late. Cook will not serve it until she is convinced everything is just so.” Lauren walked to the window and stared down at the crashing water. “This is a lovely place, Mrs. Hellstrom. Won’t you be sorry to leave it?” 359

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“Yes, but Jaleel has assured me he will buy me a villa on the Riviera, haven’t you, darling?” She took his arm as he led her to the sofa. “I will give you everything you deserve, Precious One,” he answered. Lauren smiled at her reflection in the glass. “Have you heard anything from Syntian, Lauren?” Angeline asked. “Oh, I know where he is,” Lauren told her, turning so she could look into Angeline’s surprised face. She shrugged. “I know he’s here with you.” She cocked a dark brow, “and has been all along.” Jaleel turned to his fiancée. “Who is this man of whom she speaks, Angeline?” Angeline stared at Lauren. “Is that what Maxine told you?” “Among other things,” Lauren answered. “When do I get to see him?” She smiled nastily. “That is why you brought me here, isn’t it? To see him one last time?” Confusion spread over Angeline’s lovely face and she turned to the man at her side, looking into his steady gaze. “He’s a NightWind, Jaleel.” Jaleel Jaborn’s left brow lifted sardonically. “Is that so?” He glanced at Lauren, then at Angeline. “How does this one know of such a one?” “She doesn’t know what he is,” Angeline scoffed. “He—” “He is my husband,” Lauren told Jaleel. She watched his expression change subtlety as his attention came back to her. “She has been keeping him here against his will and I have come to retrieve him.” “Something I, of course, will not allow,” Angeline spat. She faced Lauren. “You have the Book?” she asked. 360

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“I do,” Lauren replied. “And I know exactly what a NightWind is and I know this,” she pointed at Jaleel, “is one, as well.” Angeline managed to conceal her shock. Her lips parted in a vicious smile. “Your mother didn’t have time to teach you about all that is within the Book,” Angeline snapped. “If you think to spar with me, I suggest you don’t. You would be as chaff in the wind to me.” Lauren laughed, but it was not the meek, mild−mannered laugh that Angeline knew. It was a mocking laugh filled with contempt. “I’m sure Mama thought that, too,” she sneered, “just before I pitched her into Raphian’s open arms.” A faint quiver of disbelief passed over Angeline’s face, but then she recovered, stepping closer to the man at her side. “Can you do something about her, Jaleel?” Jaborn was watching Lauren as he questioned the older woman. “What would you have me do, Precious One?” Angeline hissed, clutching at his arm. “Stop her from freeing him, you fool!” Jaleel stepped away from her, shaking loose of her fevered grip, and went to Lauren. He looked down into her face. “That I can do,” he answered. Lauren locked her gaze with his. “I don’t think so.” “Try me, milady,” he said, his gaze intent on her. Angeline sensed a strange undercurrent flowing between the man and woman before her, but she was too afraid of Syntian getting loose to try to understand what might be happening. “He’s in a cell in the basement, Jaleel,” she said in a rush. “Can you speak a rune she can not break?” “He had better not try.” Jaleel’s eyes turned hard as he stared at Lauren. He spoke to 361

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Angeline. “Which way is the basement?” Lauren reached out to stop him, to grab his arm but he moved too quickly away from her. She called out to him to stop, but he ignored her, his long stride widening the distance between them as she rushed to intercept him. “Jaleel!” Lauren yelled. “No!” She started after him. Angeline made a grab for the younger woman, surprised how easily Lauren evaded her attempt. She ran after the girl, yelling for the servants to stop her, but no one came to do so. Jaleel reached the locked basement door and jerked at it, furious when it held. He yanked hard against it and the casing splintered; the door pulled half off its hinges as he slammed it against the wall. Syntian’s head came up quickly. He scrambled to his feet as he saw the dark bulk of the man coming down the dimly lit stairs. He knew who it was and even before Jaborn reached the bars of the cell, he heard Lauren yelling for him to stop. “Jaleel! Please don’t!” “Bastard!” Syntian heard Jaborn hiss at him. He backed away from the bars only a fraction of a second before the man on the other side of them thrust his hand through in an attempt to grab Syntian’s throat. “You’ll not have her!” Jaborn bellowed. “I have claimed her as my own!” Syntian was oblivious to the two women careening down the basement steps. He was staring into the enraged eyes of one of his own kind and he knew he faced an enemy that was far more powerful and much more deadly than any he had ever faced before. The man on the other side of the bars was already pulling at the door, cursing and spitting like the demon he was in an attempt to get the lock open. 362

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“Syntian!” Lauren whispered as she reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the apparition of her husband locked within the confines of the cell. She stopped, pained by his appearance: the gauntness of his face, the haunted look there, the filthy trousers and greasy hair hanging in matted clumps about his naked shoulders. Overcome with the horrid smell emanating from the rear of the cage, she put her hand over her mouth and saw him jerk a glance toward her. “Go, Lauren!” Syntian shouted at her. He didn’t want her to see what was going to happen. “Get out of here!” Jaleel tore the lock completely off the cell door and swung the iron portal wide, nearly pulling it off its hinges. He burst inside the cell, his hands up, fingers arced into claws, and plowed head first into Syntian’s chest. Angeline stumbled as her foot skidded off the last step and she went down to her knees with a yelp of pain. Her head came up and she gaped at the men inside the cell as Jaleel rammed into Syntian, slamming him back against the iron bars at the rear of the cage. Lauren couldn’t move. She was rooted to the spot with her eyes wide as she watched Jaleel snake his arms around her husband’s chest and lift him clear of the floor before throwing him sideways into the wall of bars nearest where she stood. Syntian crashed into the bars and felt a rib break. He grunted with the pain of it then rolled out of the way of a kick aimed at his gut. “They’ll revert,” Angeline breathed as she pushed herself from the floor, heedless of the blood running from her scraped knees. “They can fight no other way.” Even as the words reached Lauren’s ears, a high−pitched yowl shook the condominium’s foundations and before her very 363

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eyes, the two humanoid shapes inside the cell shifted, changed, metamorphosed into creatures the likes of which only stalked nightmares. She stared at them, frozen with horror, more terrified of them than she had been of Raphian. “Come, boy!” the slavering slit of a mouth on the other NightWind taunted Syn. “Come meet your doom!” Jaborn pivoted on his right foot and his other foot crashed against Syntian’s head, knocking his enemy down. Before Cree could get to his feet, Jaborn planted a vicious, deadly kick into his side, doubling him over and sending him tumbling away. “Mine,” Syntian heard the other NightWind chortle. “She’ll be mine and you’ll be sent back to the Pit!” “They are fighting over me!” Angeline bragged, never seeing the amusement on Lauren’s face at those words. Fury engulfed Syntian Cree and he shot up from the floor, coming at his foe with an attack that made both of them grunt with the force of it. The growls and howls and hisses coming from the two fighters were ear shattering and so alien it was hard to imagine anything so bizarre and so eerie. Lauren found her hands wrapped around the bars of the cage. Looking into the cell, watching the awful spectacle inside, it was hard to imagine that only moments before the two snarling, snapping beasts inside the cell had had human shapes. There was nothing even remotely human about them, now. Nothing even remotely of her Earth. Hideous and hellish, the two shapes were rending each other with long, vicious claws. Syntian stumbled away from his opponent as the creature stalked him around the perimeter of the cage. Cree was breathing heavily, winded, already much too tired from months of forced captivity and no exercise. He was losing and he knew 364

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it. He cast a quick, apologetic glance to his wife. “Lauren, please. Go. Leave this place. I don’t want you to see this. I can’t—” He screamed in agony, his words cut off onto a choking gasp as his opponent slashed at him. Jaborn was not unscathed, but knew he was winning the fight. His enemy was weakening, growing clumsy and careless. Cree was keeping as far away from Jaborn as the interior of the cage would allow. “You can’t get out,” Angeline said. “You are trapped in there, aren’t you, Syntian? He’s going to rip you apart!” Lauren could tell the two beasts apart, but Angeline could not. The older woman was watching the fight with keen fascination, putting her money on the taller of the two combatants, never realizing the one she was betting would win was the very one she hoped would not. “Kill him, Jaleel!” Angeline called out. “Kill him!” Jaleel Jaborn’s frenzy soared and he bellowed in rage, crashing into his enemy with enough force to bend the bars behind Syntian’s back. Stunned by the blow, Syntian had no time to move away from Jaborn and felt himself being lifted high into the air. He tried to buck out of the hold, but he was slammed down across his opponent’s knee and he heard his spine snap. Like a rag doll, he went limp, rolling to the floor as Jaborn let go of him. He lay where he had landed, unable to move and saw Jaborn leaning over him, his hands out, going for his throat. As those steel−tipped talons grazed his skin and the mighty hands closed around his windpipe, he knew he had lost. Jaborn went down on one knee, wrapping his hands firmly around the exposed throat. He knew he had broken his enemy’s back for he had felt the give on his upraised knee. Cree’s arms 365

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were lying uselessly at his sides and he was staring up in his killer’s face with resigned defeat. Jaborn began to squeeze. Angeline rushed inside the cell and threw herself on Jaborn’s back. “I won’t let you kill him, Syntian!” Angeline shrieked, digging her long nails into the stunned face of the victor. She clawed at his eyes, raked his cheeks. Even when he came to his feet with a furious roar and tried to shake her off, she clung to him, jabbing her nails further in. Syntian vaguely heard the words coming from outside the cell. All he was capable of doing was turning his head and he did, his blurring vision searching for the voice that had been like music to his ears for so long. He tried to block out the shrieking, spitting cacophony coming from Jaborn and Angeline as they did a macabre dance of death just beyond his peripheral vision. He was straining to hear what Lauren, his beautiful Lauren, was saying as she stood in the doorway of the cell, her arms thrown wide to the heavens far above them. “Get off me, bitch!” Jaborn screeched as he flung the demoness on his back against the bars. He was trying desperately to reach behind him, to pull her off him, but she had a death grip on his face, her nails gouging into his mouth, one sharp nail close enough to his eye that he was afraid she would blind him. He slammed her into the bars again, but his action only seemed to increase her hold on him. Lauren was chanting a rune, Cree thought as he lay there looking at her. His gaze traveled lovingly over her, taking in the beauty no one had ever bothered to see before he had entered her life. He ached to touch her, to have her touch him, to hold him and kiss him. He shuddered, realizing what he looked like to her. He knew his arms and legs and belly were covered with NightWind flesh: scales and tiny, sharp fins. His fingernails had 366

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become talons; his hair, a thick pelt that covered him from head to waist. There were lumps and protrusions and warts all over his face. There were fangs instead of teeth and his pupils were elongated like a serpent’s and scarlet red. He was a horrific sight. Jaborn’s scream of fury was so loud and so vibrating as Angeline Hellstrom’s fingernail jabbed into his left eye, that people along the street stopped, wondering at the strange sound. Heads turned toward the Condominium and at least one startled person ran toward the condo, intent on finding out what was happening inside. Ben Hurlbert’s feet flew across the lush green lawn and up the short flight of marble steps. He didn’t bother knocking on the door, but instead, crashed against it with all his strength. She was saying the Charm of Healing, Syntian realized as the reverberating sound of his enemy’s shrill cry subsided. She’s saying the Charm of Healing for me. He tried to smile around the twisted maze of razor−sharp fangs in his bleeding mouth and he couldn’t. He was already choking on the blood coursing down his throat and he knew it would not be long before the human heart inside his weak body burst. His lungs were rapidly filling with liquid. He tried to speak, to call out her name, but only a bubbling, wheezing sound came from him and he stopped trying. “Change,” he thought. “Change, Syntian. Don’t die a final time like this.” He used his waning strength to concentrate, to alter the molecular structure of his being so that Lauren would not be afraid of him. She had studied the Book carefully. She knew nearly every spell by heart: the Charm of Making, the Charm of Ceasing, the Charm of Holding, the Charm of Healing. It had not taken her 367

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long once she had put her mind to it, and the words flowed easily from her lips as she sought occult help to repair the damages done to Syntian. She would not look at him, could not look at him as he lay there, helpless and broken, but she could stop anything else from happening to him before she had a chance to undo what Jaleel Jaborn had done to him. Angeline’s body was slammed viciously against the concrete floor as Jaborn fell backwards, crashing his entire weight on her as he went down. The breath was knocked from her, but she fought on, gouging deep furrows in the NightWind’s cheeks. Syn turned his head away from Lauren and looked at the rolling, spitting mass that was tumbling toward him. He was pleased to see Angeline’s face scratched, her always−immaculate hair plastered with his feces. He grunted as they rolled against him then rolled away. “Can you move?” He turned his head and looked up at Lauren’s calm face, wondered why she wasn’t kneeling beside him, why she seemed so far away, why she was looking at him as though he were a bug stuck to the windshield. He tried to speak, but choked, coughed up a bright black glob of blood. “You’re changing,” she said in a matter of fact tone that sent a warning through his throbbing brain. He spat away the blood and realized he could feel the cold, damp floor beneath his naked back. He attempted to move his legs, gasped with pain when he was able to. Lauren swung her attention to Jaborn and Angeline. “Let go of him, Angeline,” she commanded. Angeline Hellstrom felt the tug of that command as though it were a rope attached to her body. She lost her grip on her antagonist and flew backwards, slammed against the iron bars 368

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and then slid down in a heap on the floor in a puddle of rank−smelling liquid she knew had to be urine. Her shriek of disgust propelled her up and away from the mess. Jaborn, bellowing with vengeance, made a lunge for the woman, but was brought up short by his mistress’ quiet demand to stop. He swung his grotesque head toward Lauren and growled, seeing the man at her feet pushing up from the floor. “No!” Jaborn roared and started toward Syntian, intent on finishing him off. “Do not touch him, Jaleel,” Lauren said in a calm voice. She pointed her finger at Jaleel Jaborn. “Stay.” Jaborn’s good eye flared with hatred, but that violent emotion was directed at Syntian Cree, not the woman whose command had brought him instantly to heel. “Let me kill him, Lauren!” Jaborn pleaded in a low, throaty snarl. “Let me tear him to pieces!” Syntian staggered as he got up from the floor. He had to reach out to grab at the bars to keep from collapsing back to the concrete slab. He reached out a hand to his wife, needing her touch, but she was too far away and his hand fell tiredly to his side. Angeline groaned with frustration when she realized she had been attacking the wrong man. Her fingers curled into claws and she leapt forward, throwing herself on Syntian and raking her nails down his cheeks before he could bring up trembling hands to stop her from doing to him what she had done to Jaborn. “I’ll kill you!” the woman shrieked, driving her knee upward in an attempt to maul Syntian’s privates. But her fury was so great, her aim was off and all she managed to do was ram him in the thigh as he twisted away from her. 369

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Lauren looked toward the stairs, having heard insistent pounding on the front door and knew outsiders were now privy to the violence that had taken place here in this basement room. She swung her gaze back to where Angeline was struggling with Syntian, spitting into his face, kicking at him. “Let me kill him,” she heard Jaborn begging. “Please?” Lauren knew if the door upstairs crashed open and strangers came rushing to the basement to find a creature such as Jaleel there, there would be no way to explain it. She cast him an annoyed look, telling him to change. “Let me kill him first,” Jaleel said stubbornly. “Change or I’ll send you back to the Abyss,” was Lauren’s placid answer. With a snarl of frustration, Jaleel willed his shape to change. Tired and wounded as he was, Syntian managed to knock Angeline away from him. He stumbled under the force required to do it, slid down to the floor with a grunt of pain, but he was able to rid himself of the shrieking virago that had gouged long grooves in his cheeks. He flinched as she came at him again. Crossing his hands over his head as she tried to pummel him beneath her doubled fists, he felt every hit on his forearms and the top of his head as she reins her blows down on him with all her strength. “That is enough,” he heard Lauren telling the woman. “He is mine!” Angeline screeched as she kicked him, driving the toe of her shoe into his calf. “Mine!” Upstairs, a loud crashing thud, shattering glass, and shouts of anger came through the gaping basement door. Running feet pounded overhead and the faint scream of a siren could be heard over the din going on above the stairs. Lauren cast her attentive scrutiny over Jaleel as he finished 370

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metamorphosing. He was bloody and battered, but not as bad off as Syntian, who was too weak and too wounded to fend off Angeline’s attack. “Go,” Lauren said, speaking to Jaleel. Jaborn’s angry face flushed redder still. “Go?” he shouted at her, taking a step closer to his mistress. “I can’t let them find you here,” Lauren answered. “Go back to your lair.” The NightWind’s jaw thrust belligerently forward. “I will not!” Lauren backed out of the cell. Her gaze was locked with Jaleel’s. She put her hand up and pointed at him. “Either do as I say or return to the Primal Ooze, demon!” A shout: close, too close, sounded near the basement door and Lauren recognized Ben Hurlbert’s angry voice. How he had come to be there, she didn’t know, but she had to make sure he only found the three of them there. She turned furious, unforgiving eyes to Jaborn. “Do you wish to remain in the light, my demon?” she snarled at him. Jaborn knew it would be folly of the worst kind to try and thwart his mistress. He also knew she would send him back if he did. With a final hateful glance at Syntian Cree, he bowed his head at Lauren and vanished. “Black blood into red!” Lauren whispered and pointed her hand at Syntian just as Sheriff Ben Hurlbert thundered down the steps into the basement. He came to a screeching halt when he saw the cell, the two people inside. “What the hell?” he asked, his mouth dropping open. Then he heard a soft cry behind him. Turning, he found Lauren Cree crumpled on the floor, her eyes wide and frightened. He ran to her and took her in his arms. “Lauren!” he gasped, feeling her 371

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trembling against his chest. “Are you all right, darlin’?” “Do something, Benny!” he heard her begging him. “She tried to kill him!” Ben looked behind him, realizing there was a real situation here. He got hastily to his feet and hurried into the cell. The smell that greeted him was enough to make him gag, but it did not impede his headlong rush into the cell where an infuriated, bedraggled Angeline Hellstrom was violently beating Syntian Cree. “That’s enough!” he yelled, grabbing Angeline’s flailing fists and pulling her away from the man on the floor. “He’s mine!” Angeline bellowed. “I won’t let her have him! I won’t!” She bucked in Ben’s clutch, but was rapidly losing her strength. “He’s mine!” Lauren glanced through the obstruction of her fingers as other feet pounded down the stairs and she saw a blur of uniforms descending on the trio in the cell. She watched one officer helping Benny subdue Angeline, handcuff her, as two more knelt down beside Syntian. “How the hell did she build a basement on the coast?” one perplexed officer quipped, stunned to find himself below ground. “My God, the sand is so porous, you’d think...” “Never mind that, Perkins! Call an ambulance!” another officer yelled. “He’s hurt bad!” Ben manhandled Angeline into the custody of two Gulf Breeze police officers, cursing as the woman managed to deliver a nasty kick to his shin. He grabbed his leg, hopping about the cell as the officers dragged Angeline out. “Syntian!” Angeline shrieked. “You are mine! Do you hear me? You belong to me, you fucking demon! I won’t let her take you away from me? Do you hear? I won’t!” 372

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Syntian felt hands on him, assessing the damage. Blood was flowing into his eyes and his face was burning with cuts and scratches. He put up a shaky hand and wasn’t surprised to see deep furrows gouged into the back of it where Angeline’s fingernails had raked him. He breathed a sigh of relief that his blood was no longer the ebon color of a NightWind’s, but the crimson red of a human. “Lord, Mister,” one of the Gulf Breeze deputies whispered. “What the hell did you do to that woman to make her slash you up like this?” Ben Hurlbert hobbled over to Syntian and groaned as he hunkered down beside the man. He took in the filthy clothes and grimaced at the unwashed smell of Cree’s body, cast a look behind him at the excrement mounded at the rear of the cage. His mouth tightened. “You been here all this time?” he asked. It took all of his energy just to nod at Hurlbert’s question. “In this damned cage?” Ben growled. “Look at this, Sheriff,” a deputy said. He shoved a half−eaten plate of raw meat under Ben’s nose. “Get that thing outta my damn face!” Ben snapped, pushing the plate away. His stomach churned and he stared into the dirty face of Syntian Cree. “What is that shit?” “It’s dog meat,” Syntian replied. He smiled sadly at Ben’s wince. “You’ll eat anything when you’re being starved, Sheriff.” “Is that what you were being fed?” the deputy asked with disgust. He nodded again. His eyes searched Ben’s. “Is Lauren all right?” Ben looked up, past the two deputies and found Lauren staring at him with what he thought was shock. “Take care of 373

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him,” Ben mumbled and got to his feet, going to Lauren as fast as his injured leg would carry him. He knelt beside her and took her into his arms again. “It’s over, Lauren, darling. It’s all over.” Syntian felt her gaze boring into him. There was neither love nor concern nor emotion of any kind in the stare she aimed his way. She was clinging to Ben Hurlbert, her arms around his neck, her hands caressing his back.

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Chapter Twenty−Five The ambulance attendants were cursing and frowning when they left. They had made a trip out to the condo for nothing. The man they had rushed to help had refused a trip to the hospital and had only grudgingly allowed them to swab his cuts and scratches. He wouldn’t even let them take his temperature or blood pressure. “I am fine,” he’d growled at them, pushing away the stethoscope. “I just want to go home.” “You got to let us examine you!” the driver had argued. “No, I don’t,” the patient had snapped. “Don’t you think I’ve been through enough?” It hadn’t helped to have the Sheriff from over in Milton side with the stupid man. “Do as he says. He ought to know if he’s all right or not.” “There could be internal injuries!” the attendant had warned. “I’ll take my chances,” the man had informed them as he pushed away their offer of help. “If I get to feeling bad, I’ll have my wife bring me to the hospital.” The driver had wondered at the look the man’s wife had given him, but he’d kept his mouth shut. Throwing up his hand at what he thought was supreme foolishness, he’d ordered his assistant into the ambulance. “It’s his hide, Jake. Let’s get the hell out of here!” the 375

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ambulance driver said with disgust. Ben chuckled meanly as the ambulance drove away from the curb. “They’ll catch hell for not having a transport to Gulf Breeze Hospital. That’s a couple hundred bucks outta the coffers.” He turned to Syntian and shook his head. “You ought to have gone with them, buddy.” “I just want to go home,” Syntian repeated. “You’re gonna press charges against her, ain’t you?” Ben asked, nodding toward the police car where Angeline Hellstrom was sitting, glaring back at them. “Of course he will,” Lauren said. She walked to her husband and put her arm through his. “I’ll bring him to the station tomorrow.” Syntian heard the coldness in Lauren’s voice and wondered if Ben did, too. There was an odd look on the Sheriff’s face and he was looking at Lauren as though he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, then he turned his gaze to Syntian again. “I guess I owe you an apology, Cree,” Ben said grudgingly. Syntian’s brow lifted. “An apology for what?” He felt Lauren stiffen as he leaned against her. Ben ducked his head then looked his rival in the eye. “For thinking you’d run out on Lauren.” He took a deep breath. “Because of the baby.” Syntian nodded slowly. “I understand. I guess it looked as though I had, didn’t it?” He slipped his arm around Lauren and pulled her to him, feeling her body go even more rigid than ever. He looked down into her blank face. “I would never leave this woman willingly, Sheriff.” Ben felt acutely uncomfortable as he watched Cree and Lauren staring at one another. There might not have been anyone else in the world except the two of them. He cleared his 376

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throat, gaining their attention and smiled crookedly. “I guess you folks are gonna need a ride back home, huh?” “That would be nice, Ben. Thank you,” Lauren said, moving out of her husband’s arms. She didn’t look back at him as she walked to the Sheriff and took his arm. “I’ll sit up front with you so Syntian can lie down if he wants to.” Syntian opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again as the Sheriff’s quick reply made it all too clear he would enjoy having Lauren in the front seat with him. “That’s a good idea, darling,” Ben agreed. He cast a superior look at Lauren’s husband, then ushered Lauren into his police cruiser, leaving Syntian to climb into the back seat alone. Ben shut Lauren’s door and hurried around to the driver’s side. He pulled out his nightstick and laid it on the seat between them. “I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was about your Mama, darling,” he said as he placed his uniform hat on top of the nightstick. “I guess it goes without saying that you can call on me anytime you need to talk.” A muscle jumped in Syntian’s jaw as he caught the Sheriff looking at him through the rear view mirror, daring him to comment. Deciding for once that discretion was the better part of valor, Syntian just smiled, but he vowed if the man called Lauren ‘darling’ just one more time, he’d turn him into hamburger. Lauren turned slightly in the seat, having intercepted her husband’s random thought. Her eyes narrowed, letting him know she had heard his silent threat. When Syntian gazed innocently at her, she faced forward again and ignored his presence behind her. Syntian leaned back in his seat, half−listening to the inane conversation being carried on by the bumpkin in the front seat, 377

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glowering at the back of Hurlbert’s head through the heavy protective mesh that kept the front seat passengers safe from the prisoners they were transporting. He had been surprised, and unpleasantly so, to learn Lauren had advanced enough with her study of the Book of Shadows to be able to pick up on his thoughts. He made a mental note to be more careful around her from then on. “How’d she get you out to her place, Cree?” Hurlbert asked, studying Syntian in the mirror. “She call you or what?” “She told me she sent her limo driver, Delbert, to get him,” Lauren answered. “The black man shot him full of something. Didn’t he, Syntian?” She didn’t turn around to look at him, but kept her eyes on the Sheriff’s profile. “That right, Cree?” Ben asked, squinting at the look on his rival’s face. At the slow nod from the man in the back seat, Ben shook his head. “Damned messy business.” He reached out to pat Lauren’s hand. “Damned messy,” he repeated. Unaware that his hands were balled into fists on his lap, Syntian tore his gaze from his wife’s smiling face and looked out the window at the lowering night. They were passing over the bridge and the tollbooth was just ahead of them. He wondered why the Sheriff had taken the long way back to Milton then slowly turned his attention back to the man. The answer was there in the way the bastard was looking at Lauren: He wanted more time with her. “I just don’t understand why a woman would do such a thing,” he heard Hurlbert saying. “Seems to me there are too many fish in the sea to be casting your rod for just one.” “I’ve been thinking,” Syntian growled, bringing the Sheriff’s eyes to him once more in the mirror. “The last time I saw you was at McGuire’s Irish Pub, the night before Delbert kidnapped 378

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me.” At the other man’s instant frown and quick glance, Syntian drove the spike further in. “That was Raja DeLyle you were with, wasn’t it?” Ben’s head snapped around and he stared at Syntian, nearly driving them off the rode with his shock. He wasn’t aware that Lauren had turned once more in her seat and was glaring at her husband with spite. “Raja’s an old friend of mine,” Syntian said, fusing his gaze with Lauren’s. “And every other man that has a cock and knows how to use it.” “That’s enough!” Lauren hissed at him. “I...I didn’t see you there,” Ben stammered. “But I saw you,” Syntian said. “Tell me, Sheriff: on a scale from one to ten, how would you rate fucking Raja DeLyle?” “I said that’s enough!” Lauren shouted at him. She glanced at Ben and saw that he was gripping the steering wheel hard enough to pull it off the column. “What Benny does is his business, Syntian, not yours.” “I was just curious.” Ben looked over at Lauren and found her looking back at him with apology. “I knew it was wrong when I did it, Lauren, but life can be real lonely at times.” Syntian rolled his eyes to the heavens. He was about to make another scathing remark, but the Sheriff beat him to it. “To tell you the truth, Cree: I’ve had better.” The smirk slipped off Syntian’s face and he found Lauren studying him with a malicious grin. If there was any doubt in his mind that she knew what he had done, and how he had done it, that doubt had dissolved with her snort of spite as she twisted around and stared out the windshield. Once they had entered East Milton, Ben pointed to a 379

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convenience store up ahead. “You want something cold to drink, Lauren?” he asked. Lauren nodded. “I think I would.” Ben glanced in the rear view mirror. “How ‘bout you, Cree?” “No,” Syntian grumbled. Bright light flooded the interior of the car as Ben pulled up before the convenience store. He got out, leaving behind him an awkward silence in the patrol car. Finally it was Syntian who spoke. “Are you mad at me?” he asked. Lauren watched Ben enter the store’s restroom door and closed her eyes, mumbling softly to herself. “Lauren, talk to me,” Syntian pleaded. “If you’re angry because I—” “Angeline is the one I am angry at, Syntian,” she answered, opening her eyes. “Something’s wrong,” he countered. “I can feel it.” He sat forward, slipping his fingers through the mesh. “Won’t you even look at me while I’m talking to you?” Lauren was relieved to see Ben coming out of the restroom. She didn’t want to be alone with Syntian right then. She watched as Ben paid for two sodas then elbowed his way out the exit. She heard his boots crunching on the gravel in the parking lot. “We’ll discuss it when we get home,” she said as Ben got back into the car and handed her a cold Mr. Pibb. Ben turned and stared at Syntian. “Sure I can’t get you something, Cree?” “No,” Syntian snapped, glaring at the man. “I think you’ve done enough.” Hurlbert shrugged then handed his soda to Lauren. “Will 380

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you hold this, darlin’?” It was a long ride home for Syntian. He wasn’t asked any more questions and he didn’t comment on anything that was said. He spent the seemingly endless drive to his home staring out the window, listening carefully to what Lauren said and how she said it to the bastard in the front seat with her. When they pulled into the serpentine driveway leading up to the house, he felt the car decelerate slower than was necessary down the pine straw−packed lane. “You’ll be in first thing tomorrow morning, then?” Hurlbert was asking as he tapped on the brakes, slowing the car even more. “First thing,” Lauren agreed. “I’m gonna charge her with kidnapping, false imprisonment, assault and battery, mental and physical abuse.” He chuckled. “I’m gonna throw the book at Miss High ‘n Mighty.” “Syntian will sign whatever you want him to sign, Benny,” Lauren assured him. “Angeline Hellstrom deserves what she gets.” “And I’m gonna see she gets it, darling,” Hurlbert pledged. At last the police cruiser pulled up in front of the mansion and Hurlbert bolted out of the car in his rush to open Lauren’s door. Syntian sat where he was and watched the spectacle as the man gallantly helped Lauren from the car, then started walking with her to the front steps. He knew the bastard thought he couldn’t get out of the back seat without having his door opened from outside. He wondered what the asshole would do if he made the door open. “Oh, damn!” Ben chortled. “I better let him outta there, huh?” He ran back to the car and jerked open the door. “Sorry about that, Cree.” 381

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Syntian looked up at him then got out of the car. “No problem, Sheriff,” he grated. “Thank you again for driving us home, Benny,” Lauren called as she unlocked the front door. “I really didn’t relish coming back in a cab.” “My pleasure,” Hurlbert acknowledged. He nodded as Syntian passed him. “Take good care of her, Cree. She ain’t been feeling all that well since you been gone. I’ve tried to take good care of her for you, though.” Syntian stopped, a muscle grinding in his cheek, and he was about to make the bastard standing in front of him sorry he had ever been born, but Lauren’s cool voice made him think twice about starting something. “Syntian?” she asked. “Are you coming?” Ben Hurlbert smiled, but there was no humor or friendliness in the smile. There was only challenge and gloating. “You wanna say something to me, Cree?” Syntian felt Lauren’s anger and he knew he would be making a big mistake if he attacked Hurlbert. Instead, he took a step closer to the Sheriff and stared him in the face. “Lauren is my wife, Hurlbert. I know how to take care of her. If you think you want to make her your concern, I suggest you don’t.” “Or else what?” “I’ll really give you something to be concerned about,” Syntian warned. Ben sniffed, showing his apparent disdain of any threat Syntian Cree offered. “You talk a good fight, mister. I got a feeling that one day me and you are gonna tangle again.” “Count on it.” Ben Hurlbert chuckled, then sauntered to his patrol car as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “You sleep good, now, 382

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you hear, darling!” Ben called out before he ducked into the cruiser. Lauren waved as the Sheriff pulled out of the driveway and onto to the winding lane leading to the highway. She flicked a glance over her husband as he stood there glaring after the patrol car then entered the house, closing the door behind her. He heard the door shut and turned to look behind him. Lauren’s action, more than any words she could have spoken, warned him things had drastically changed between the two of them. Drawing in a long breath, he held it, then made for the front door, exhaling as he walked in an effort to calm himself. As he entered the house, he became instantly aware of the charged atmosphere that said they were not alone. He stopped looking about him, searching for the intruder whose presence he felt. “Lauren?” he called out. There was no answer. “Lauren?” He walked out of the hallway and looked in the living room, dining room, and kitchen. He pushed the door to the laundry room open and still did not find his wife. Nor was she in the library or small sitting room to the left of the dining alcove. “Lauren?” he shouted. “Where are you?” He took the stairs two at a time and looked in first the master bedroom, then the smaller bedroom that had once been a nursery. Lauren was in neither. He went to the bathroom they had shared and didn’t find her there, either. “Lauren!” he yelled, feeling the alien presence even stronger. Going back into the hall, he turned toward the empty bedroom and threw the door open, not expecting to find her there. Lauren gazed calmly back at him as she stood in the center 383

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of the room. “Welcome home, my demon,” she greeted him. “What are you...?” he began only to stop, his eyes wide with disbelief as his gaze lowered slowly to the pentagram on the floor. His brows drew together in confusion and he lifted his head to stare at her. “What have you done?” She smiled at him. “Where did you think Jaleel came from, Syntian?” She swept her hand around the room. “I conjured him, just as my ancestors conjured you.” The presence was powerful in the room and he backed away from the threshold, afraid to enter. Although he couldn’t see anyone else in the room, he knew Lauren was not alone. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up and he felt a quiver of warning moving over his spine. Lauren held out her hand. “Come, Syntian.” He shook his head. “No.” His heart was hammering in his chest as he backed further away. She swept her hand over the paraphernalia at her feet. “I have the Book, Syntian. I want you to sign your pack with me as you have with the women of my family before me.” Again he shook his head. “There is something in the room with you, Lauren. I won’t be caught again!” “He won’t lay a hand on you,” Lauren soothed him in a soft voice. “All I want is for you to bind yourself to me.” “I am already bound to you, Lauren!” he shouted at her. “I am your husband.” He pointed at the Book of Shadows. “There’s no need for me to sign a contract between us.” Lauren’s smile was nasty as she stared at him. “Angeline doesn’t dare try to invoke you, or any other spirit, considering where she is right now, but she will eventually send something after you. If you have not indentured yourself to me, I won’t interfere. I’ll let her take you.” 384

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His face showed his shock. “But why? Why, Lauren? I didn’t leave you to go to her because I wanted to! Don’t you know if I could have, I would have broken free of her?” “I am aware of that, Syntian.” She sighed. “Then why do you want to bind me through that bloody book? You’ve already bound me through the love I have for you!” Syntian still could not see anything in the room with her, but he knew there was something: powerful, much more powerful than himself, in there and it was lurking there to catch him once he stepped foot inside. “Do you want to leave the light, Syntian?” Lauren pressed, knowing his answer. He hesitated, searched her eyes and knew he could not deny her. She was, after all, the rightful owner of the Book and he was hers to command. His shoulders sagged in defeat. “Bring the Book to me,” he told her. “I’ll sign it here, but I won’t come in that room.” For a moment, Lauren just looked at him then she bent down to retrieve the Book. She also picked up the double−edged athamé and walked toward him. “You have nothing to fear from him, Syntian. I wouldn’t allow him to do you harm,” she said, coming out of the room. He backed away from her, not trusting the look in her eye. There was no love for him showing in her pretty face and no warmth in her voice as she turned to a fresh parchment page in the book and held it out to him. “Already filled in,” she said as though speaking about an application for insurance. “All you need do is sign.” Syntian looked down at the muddy red words on the page, knowing full well they had been written in Lauren’s own blood. 385

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He flinched as she held the athamé out to him. “Sign, my demon,” she ordered. He stared down at the sharp point of the ancient knife. All he need do was take the dagger and prick his finger, apply the blood to the page, and sign his name. “Sign or go back,” Lauren stated. “It’s up to you.” Her husband looked up at her. “What did I do that was so terribly wrong?” “Did you kill Beth Janacek?” she countered, fusing her gaze with his. When he hesitated, she asked him again, slowly, with each word like heavy stones dropped one by one. “Did you kill Beth Janacek?” His answer was so soft she barely heard it. “Aye.” “And the VanLandingham girl?” she pressed. The answer was softer still. “Aye.” “And did you let Louvenia Yelverton see you as I saw you this evening?” Her words were cold and as brittle as ice. “Is that what drove her mad?” He looked away from her. “I could have killed her,” he whispered. “Yes, you could have,” Lauren snapped. “And for that I suppose I should be thankful.” Syntian turned his gaze back to her. “I love you,” he said. She smiled. “I know you do.” Once more she pressed the knife toward him. “Sign.” The presence beyond her, in the room with its deadly pentagram, seemed to loom even larger into his consciousness. He felt it trying to invade his body, trying to smother him with its fetid breath and freeze him with the ice of its talons. “What have you conjured, Lauren?’’ he whispered. Overpowering strength of the entity was sapping his warmth 386

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and his stamina. He was growing weaker with every passing minute. Lauren watched him steadily, gauging his reaction to the alien presence. “Either sign the pact between us, Syntian, or be taken back with him to the Abyss. It doesn’t matter either way to me.” Hearing her say what he had begun to realize only served to hurt him the more. He was in pain: a blinding, throbbing coldness that was drowning him. Every breath he took was an agony of freezing cold air. The heat was being sucked from his body and his vision was growing dimmer. “He is coming for you, my demon,” Lauren told him. “If you do not sign, he will drag you back to the ooze of the Pit.” He smelled the stench of it. It was rank, so putrid it made his stomach heave. Stumbling back against the wall, he gasped for clean, unsoiled air, but all around him the smell was seeping into his pores, attacking him, washing over him with vicious fumes of sickness. “Sign it!” Lauren spat at him. “Now!” His hand was trembling as he took the athamé and pierced his index finger, cutting deeply into his flesh. Black blood flowed from his wound and fell to the page, turning a dark orange as he reached out to place his mark. The bloody ink flowed onto the parchment and spread out in fibrous tentacles. He signed his name: Cree. Lauren looked down as he finished and saw that his name was, indeed, at the bottom of the pact. She closed the Book and brought it to her breast, holding it close to her as though it were the babe she would soon be nursing. “Now,” she said, watching his head come up until he was staring pitifully at her. “Go back to your lair until I call you.” 387

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He knew. He had known the moment he had seen her at Angeline’s that this was to be his fate. Not the insipid cold and gagging stench of the Abyss, thank the diabolical gods, but the loneliness and despair of that place from which her cry had roused him. Angeline had not forbidden him to leave that otherworldly place; she had not imprisoned him in that solitude of emptiness, that endless night time to which Lauren was sending him. At least Angeline had allowed him freedom of a sort. “You won’t ever call me again, will you?” he asked, his voice breaking. She turned away from him, the Book clutched to her bosom. Entering the conjuring room from whence she had called the lurking presence hovering within, she walked to the center of the pentagram and laid the Book on the floor. She turned to Syntian. “There are lonely women all over the world, my demon. Women who have known the pain and suffering and heartache that I once knew. Women who deserve happiness and pleasure in their lives.” Stretching out her hand to the unseen power surrounding her, she locked her gaze on Syntian. “And there are a thousand times a thousand more NightWinds beneath the slime of the Pit.” He understood now. Her revenge was greater than he could have imagined. He was to be sent back and another would take his place. One of her choosing, who had not killed and maimed and destroyed. One who would do her bidding, and her bidding alone. One she could control. “Please don’t do this,” he pleaded, bloody tears forming in 388

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his dark eyes. “Lauren, please.” “It may not be forever,” she said, dismissing his whisper of pain. She fused her gaze with his. “Then again, it might. We’ll see.” “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking with infinite sorrow. “It doesn’t matter,” she answered. He stared at her for a long moment, seeing her resolve, recognizing his defeat. “It does to me,” he whispered. It was his defense and his goodbye. With one last, longing look at her, he bowed his head and was gone. Lauren Fowler Cree’s heart felt as though it would break, but as the powerful hand of her new consort gripped her own, she knew she had made the wisest decision in sending Syntian away. He was dangerous and he would try to control her, despite the blood oath he had signed. “I will do your biding, and your biding alone, my lady,” the powerful entity who had joined her spoke. “Together,” she said, looking up into the face of her lover. “You and I will heal the pain. We will cure the loneliness. We will give pleasure where there has always been hurt. Together, you and I, we will control the NightWinds and bind them to me for all time.” “Whatever you want,” her consort answered and his lips grazed her temple. “I am yours to command, milady.” Lauren felt his arms go around her, felt her child leap in her womb, then turned into her lover’s arms and nestled against his chest. “My demon,” she sighed. “My NightWind.” His dark eyes glowed and he smiled. His manhood stirred against her belly. 389

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“You didn’t hurt him, did you?” Lauren asked. “No,” the NightWind answered. “He died quickly and well. It was much less of a challenge to take his place than it was to take Jaborn’s. I am surprised Cree did not realize I had done so.” Lauren pressed her cheek to her lover’s chest and sighed. Tomorrow would be soon enough to mourn for Ben Hurlbert, the father of her child. The entity whose arms cradled her with tenderness bore Benny’s image and he would take that man’s place in Lauren’s world. Tonight, there were NightWinds to bring through. NightWinds to sigh gently over the lonely women of the world.

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Epilogue She heard him calling to her, one of thousands who begged each night. One of the Legion of hopeless, lost entities whose souls had been damned, imprisoned in the Abyss. His name meant nothing to her; names never would. It was his pitiful howling, his beseeching heart, his utter loneliness that caught, and held, her attention. She listened closely, her mind reaching out across time and space and millennia. To her, his entreaties were like cool, sweet wine: they tempted her thirst to further knowledge of the NightWind race and filled her inquisitive mind with a multitude of possibilities. The bright spark in her soul blazed. His howling had ceased; his desolation, his emptiness called out to her, begged her, beckoned her, needed her. The ache in his heart was a dying ember, filtering down from the heavens, slowly disintegrating as it fell. It whispered in mournful whimpers of surrender to her, granting her powers, promising her all, and its sound struck a chord deep in her woman’s heart. She turned her gaze heavenward searching amongst all the demonic cries for help, the howls of need, the whimpers of demonic helplessness and frustration and failure. Her keen intuition traveled swiftly from Pit to Maelstrom, from Abaddon to Hell, from lair to lair. She strained to catch his unique voice just once more. One minute, evaporating essence of his terrible 391

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grief. In the strident confusion of howls and groans and lost whimpers, she probed; she explored the nether regions of demonic enslavement which called out to her, searching for that one voice, that one cry which had garnered her attention. In the cacophony drifting down to her, at last she heard his and her powers homed in on his pain. She smiled. She had found him. And he would be hers.

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Charlotte Boyett−Compo CHARLOTTE ‘CHARLEE’ Boyett−Compo is the author of over 30 award−winning speculative fiction novels. Married for 37 years to her high school sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons and the grandmother of two. She is owned and operated by five demanding felines for whom she must have a day job in order to buy catnip and cat litter. Her hobbies include reading, writing, and staying as far away from arithmetic as space will allow.

Yet to Come in the HellWind Trilogy DemonWind BaleWind

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