Those were the vague memories of the past that had haunted her for almost two decades. They were a lot like her ghoulish coworker—fleeting—terrifying—almost tangible but not quite solid enough for her to hold onto. “Let’s just hope this one doesn’t get too uppity.”
“I won’t.” A new voice entered their conversation.
“Oh, my.” Startled, Lyra spun around. The duster fell from her fingers to land with a soft thud on the hardwood floor. She gaped at the man standing in the doorway. Holy macaroni. “ Handsome” didn’t do him justice. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and she licked her suddenly dry lips. He was stunning from the top of his raven-haired head to his strong chiseled features. Unable to stop herself, she let her gaze drink in all of him. His broad shoulders. His narrow hips. His strong legs. She gulped. If she had to pick out his best feature, she’d say it was his piercing black eyes. “Mr. Thorton, I presume.”
“Yes, Miss?”
“Lyra.”
“Miss Lyra.”
Good Lord have mercy on me. He’s got the sexiest voice this side of the freaky paranormal world. “No,” she answered on a strangled giggle, trying without much success to gather her wits about her. Not an easy feat when her body was going haywire with a foreign emotion. Her nipples hardened to tight buds and a tingle took root low in her belly. Talk about instant attraction. “It’s just Lyra, no middle initial and no last name.
This here is my friend and coworker, Vigor.” She moved to wave at Vigor but he’d already disappeared. “Don’t worry about Vigor. He pops in and out. Eventually you’ll meet him.”
“I see.” He didn’t appear humored or remotely interested in the resident ghoul haunting Spimoni’s. If Mr. Thorton’s expression was any indication, her new boss was pissed. His gaze was glued to her face. A blush crept up her cheeks when he crossed his arms over his chest and inspected her from the top of her head to the tips of her worn sneakers.
She guessed it wasn’t anything less than she deserved since she’d spent at least a minute or two gawking at him when he’d first entered. Her stare followed his fingers as they raked furrows through his thick hair. Her hand positively tingled to touch his hair, his body, his… Get it together. “Well, you might not actually see him, but you will feel his presence. He’s notorious for flying through people if the mood strikes him.”
“I take it you work for me.” He stood his ground but a muscle ticked in his jaw.
What’s got your panties in a wad? “Yes. I keep the parlor clean and am the cosmetologist to the recently departed.” Even angry, the man was hot. She wasn’t sure if that was what made him so desirable or if it was the flashing sparkle in his eyes. Either way, she was hooked. Lust, pure and powerful, rolled through her system.
“Come here, Lyra.”
She’d have loved to say she wasn’t enticed to obey him. Vampire. The word shouted in her head. “Are you using your paranormal powers on me?” For the first time since she’d been brought to Strange Hollow, she could only hope she was the victim of a psychic attack. Part of her, the inner sex kitten she’d tucked away because she was so different from all the other paranormals in the sleepy town, wanted to come out and play.
“No,” he answered her plainly. A scowl marred his brow. “You have a poltergeist hanging around your shoulders. I’m trying to determine its intentions.”
“I do?” Great, now I’m acting like an absolute idiot. “Wait, did you say poltergeist?” Goosebumps rose on her arms. Her throat grew tight. “Are you sure?” she whispered.
Having worked for years at Spimoni’s, she’d only heard rumors of the poltergeist said to haunt the place.
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe you’re mistaken.” The whole statement was thrown out the window when one of the urns rattled on the shelf before it flew off its perch to crash into the wall opposite the display.
“Come here, Lyra.” He held his hand out to her.
She didn’t need to be told thrice. Rushing across the room, she didn’t have to ponder about what to do next. He thrust her behind his back. She clutched his shirt and laid her head against his strong, shirt-clad frame. His steady breaths did nothing to assuage her fears about being caught in a poltergeist rant. “You have a great sixth sense.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” Beneath her fingers she could feel his muscles tense. She stood there for what seemed like hours but she knew was only a few minutes. “What are you waiting for?”
“You to let go of me.”
“Oh.” She released her death grip on his shirt and stepped away.
“Vigor, protect her.” His command cracked through the room like the resounding snap of a whip.
“Yes,” the slithering, sliding dialect of the ghoul whispered up from the floor. The chill coming off the spectral being surrounded her. Shivers racked her body.
“Thanatose,” Vigor whispered. The swirling mist of his paranormal form blocked out the view of the salesroom. Lyra tried to fight her way free but she couldn’t break through the thick veil shrouding her form. “Death.”
“What are you blathering about?” Lyra demanded. She clawed at the fog. “Let me out.”
“Death, ” Vigor informed her. ” Death has come to Strange Hollow. ” Terror strangled Lyra’s soul. “You mean Death, as in Death himself?” Her teeth started to chatter. “The Grim Reaper? Dance Macabre? Bones and scythe?”
“Secret. A secret we must keep. ” Vigor eased off so she could watch their new boss fighting the poltergeist.
“Why? Why do we have to keep it secret?” Her heart clanged in her chest and darkness crept into her peripheral vision. Her empty stomach heaved. A cold sweat broke out on her brow when she saw Mr. Thorton battling the poltergeist. He had his hands around the evil ghost’s throat. Urns, bits of paper and two satin-covered pillows from the display caskets swirled around him as he brought the evil specter to its knees. She shook her head when his countenance shifted between a skeleton and the handsome man she’d found attractive just a few moments ago.
She was either going to throw up or pass out. “Tell me. Why do we need to keep it a secret?” For the life of her, she couldn’t grasp what was happening. A memory of another fight rose in her mind’s eye. She was young in the recollection and struggling to break free of someone or something. Icy black eyes that had bored into hers. Horns. A chilling darkness that wanted to engulf her, suck the life from her. Terror. Bile rose in her throat.
She touched the frigid ether around her, searching for an anchor to hold her securely in reality. “Tell me, goddamn it.”
“He is hunting. ”
Opening her mouth to ask “who this visage was after,” Lyra passed out before she could utter a syllable.
The last thing she thought before her body crashed to the floor was, her worst nightmare stood before her and he was her boss.
* * * *
“She’s terrified of you,” Morpheus said. He paced back and forth in front of the windows in Lyra’s room situated above the funeral home.
“Can you blame her?” Niko brushed a wayward curl from her brow. Tilting his gaze to Morpheus who had transformed into his human form when Vigor raced to the garage and informed the god of sleep that Thanatose needed help, Niko sighed. This isn’t just a royal mess; it’s a damnable cluster-fuck. “She’s met another member of the death caste.
A visage of the ultimate moment when life ends that took her parents and her youth from her. The change in Lyra, at least her outlook on life, occurred all in a single swipe of a hand.” Niko stared at her face. He’d felt the unnatural pall she carried the instant he’d met her, but hadn’t had time to really consider who she’d come into contact with. When the poltergeist appeared he’d done what any other member of his sect would have. He beat the dangerous spirit back to the black hole from whence they came. “She’s been touched.”
“That’s not allowed. If you or any member of the death caste touches a mortal they have to follow through. Out-of-bod
y experiences aren’t just frowned upon, they’re grounds for incarceration in the Tartarus.” Morpheus jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We’re held to some of the most stringent rules in all of the Third Level.” Thinking back over his long existence as a member of the death caste, Niko shrugged. “Mistakes happen. Not often, but sometimes a mortal slides through the cracks.” He took in her pale complexion and the way she fussed against the already mussed bed covers. It was almost as if she was still fighting to get away from the darkness that came from meeting one of his kind. “Shh, Lyra,” he whispered when she moaned in her sleep. He took another pinch of the powerful sleep sand from the bag he’d set on her nightstand and sprinkled the golden dust on her forehead.
In his heart he wanted to bring her relief. His conscience told him not to. There’s not a damn thing I can do about it other than finish what my contemporary started.
“Do you think that’s going to help her? Sleep sand? All the sleep in the world won’t soothe her soul.” Morpheus appeared ready to put his fist through the wall. Niko sympathized with him. This was so unfair on so many levels.
It was also why the death caste was held to high standards. To meet one of the few members of their elite club and walk away was like walking into a never ending nightmare. Thoughts of death were never far from the victim’s mind.
“You know what you have to do. What you are required to do, Death.” Niko’s response was instantaneous and full of conviction. “I won’t do it.” Exactly why he was having such a problem with lifting her soul from her body was beyond him.
There was just something about Lyra he was attracted to. An aspect of her aura that enticed him to be the god he’d once been. The ultimate authority in life and death. The ruler of the dark lands. The visage who rode the mighty gray Pegasus named Morpheus.
“Do you hear me? I will not take her soul.”
“It’s your duty.” Morpheus sat on the other side of the bed.
“My duty be damned.” He raked his hand through his hair. Recognizing how unreasonable he was being, Niko brushed the back of his knuckles down Lyra’s cheek.
He closed his eyes to the truth. Whatever his common sense or heart or soul might want him to do meant diddly when it came down to being a member of the death caste. He couldn’t reject his duty, and he wouldn’t allow another member of his sect to see the task completed. “If by the time we capture Leslie Carney she’s still suffering, I’ll reconsider.” There’s no reconsidering involved. I will release her from her mortal life.
A resigned sigh whispered across Morpheus’s parted lips. “Fine.” Morpheus pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t take that to mean I agree with you. Granted, she didn’t deserve this, but the facts are the facts.”
“I’m aware.” Niko toed off his shoes and reclined next to Lyra. He stared at the ceiling. The joy he experienced when she curled her body around his brought back an emotion he’d thought long gone from his life. A feeling he’d not experienced since the tragedy that was Ragnarok, and he’d watched so many of his friends walk into the Abyss.
He’d watched his wife leave the Third Level for the Eternal Plane.
A jolt of emotion rocked through him. He actually cared about Lyra. Not the same way he cared about Morpheus. They were tied to each other ethereally. This wasn’t even the way he had cared about his wife. She’d had no choice in marrying him. They were matched and married through old god law.
Lyra was different. Very different.
She was also soft in all the right places. By the White God. I’m lusting for her. “Are you going to just sit there?” He peeked at Morpheus through the veil of his lashes.
Morpheus snorted with derision. He shook his head as if to say, you’ve lost your mind, my friend. “This isn’t going to work for long, Thanatose.” An apology clung to his statement. “Eventually, you are going to have to face that she’s gotta become a client of yours.”
“I know.” Hoping that if she was trapped between the bliss of sleep and the calmness of death she’d relax if only for a little while, Niko closed his eyes when Morpheus laid down on her other side. For the first time in a long while he prayed for a miracle.
Heavenly White God and the gods of old, those who saved me from the Abyss, help me…
“We’re running out of time,” Morpheus muttered.
The omnipresent weight of his primary mission weighed heavily on Niko. He gritted his teeth. “We’ll find Leslie Carney.” He reached over and turned out the light.
Help me … please.
Chapter Two
You are validating my inherent mistrust of strangers.
Lyra didn’t know what had hit her. One moment she was sound asleep, the next she was crazy with desire for Mr. Thorton. Her crotch throbbed for his cock. Her nipples tightened to hard buds. She panted against the wild, lurid image she’d just dreamed.
With her heart beating like a freight train in her chest, she sucked in a lungful of air.
The dream wouldn’t let go of her. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. In her fantasy she’d been so close to an orgasm her body still hummed from her brush with a climax.
Shaking her head, she blinked several times but her eyelids refused to open. The dream rolled through her brain. Mr. Thorton fucking her hard. His thumb flicking over her clit as he slammed his cock to the hilt in her channel. Jiminy frog singing crickets. A gasp broke from her throat.
Shivering with unrequited lust and the need to come, she turned over and hugged the pillow he’d laid his head on to her chest. The enticing scent of his cologne tickled her nose. Her channel tightened. She squeezed her thighs together. “Please.” The word was ripped from her soul. Tiny tremors twitched through her. “I need this.” Her vagina clenched. Twinges shot from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Then…
Then…
The dream faded away to nothingness.
“No!” Sitting bolt upright in the bed, she blew out a shaky breath. She glanced around her empty room. Insane. I’m fricken’ insane. With a shaking hand, she pushed her hair from her face. “He’s my boss.” Yeah. Yeah. And that makes not a bit of difference.
“He’s Death.”
Sickeningly, his position or whatever he was in the schematic of life meant nadda to her. There was something about Mr. Thorton. It was a calmness that he exuded. A casualness she’d glimpsed yesterday, which combined with his totally alpha maleness to turn her world upside down. Gentleness she vaguely recalled when he held her while she slept.
Sliding out of bed, she nibbled on her lower lip. “I should be afraid of him.” Truthfully, she should be totally terrified of him. She wasn’t. Recollections of him fighting the poltergeist rose in her mind’s eye. In those brief moments, she’d been frightened, but it wasn’t of Mr. Thorton. It was the “thing” that had haunted her nightmares for as long as she could remember.
“What is wrong with me?” She padded to the bathroom. Her body trembled with desire, and her mind caught in a cacophony of opposing thoughts. “I shouldn’t want him.”
“Shouldn’t want who?” His voice echoed in her room.
Startled out of her wits, Lyra spun around. Laying her hand on her chest, she back-stepped her way to her bathroom door. She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his damn business but thought better of angering Mr. Thorton. “Nobody,” she croaked.
His piercing black eyes drilled into hers, and she imagined he was inspecting her soul. He was searching for an answer she couldn’t give him because she didn’t know the question. “I was going to take a shower.”
“I’ll join you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Thorton,” she muttered. Sparks of static electricity jolted down her nerve endings in a synaptic shot. A small whimper escaped her lips when he strode to where she leaned against the door. Her breath hitched in her chest.
The dream was hot. The man encroaching on her personal space was drop-dead sexy.
“Niko
,” he told her.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand,” any of this, she finished silently.
“My name is Niko.” He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Niko Thanatose.”
“I’m supposed to keep that secret.” Her heart crashed in her chest when he dipped his head. “You’re hunting.” Not that she understood what that meant. Hunting? Hunting for what?
He kissed her. His firm lips moved over hers in a tender way that had her clinging to his broad shoulders. Ripping her mouth away from his, she gasped for air as he wrapped his strong arms around her shivering body. “We shouldn’t.” I can’t.
“Yes, we should,” he told her softly yet forcefully. “Let me help you.” He snapped his fingers, and her clothes disappeared.
“Mr. Thorton…”
“Niko.”
His hands felt so good on her naked flesh. She melted against his strength. An inherent desire to get closer to him reared its ugly head. A spurt of fear sliced her heart.
Her first gut instinct was to tell him to buzz off—to go back to wherever it was that he came from—to leave her to her lonely existence. To make him understand that nobody, not even the outcasts of Strange Hollow, desired her because she wasn’t even close to anything in the town. She wasn’t actually an outcast. She was the weirdest of the weird. A powerless being who served no purpose in the town except that of making a corpse look really good for a viewing. A tear rolled down her cheek. She was, in reality and effectively, zip, zilch and nadda rolled into one.
A sob caught in her throat. She buried her head against his chest, wanting to hide from the truth. Daily, she met people who could do something paranormal even if they didn’t drink blood and they should have, or turn into a werewolf not on the full moon but on a moonless night. What could she do? Nothing. Her fingers clutched the soft material of his shirt.
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