by Marina Myles
Once she flung it free, she was left in nothing but her stockings. She ripped at the material until the soles of her feet were exposed. Able to grip the bricks better now, Rose continued to climb. She gulped against the gigantic lump in her throat because she heard nothing now. No voices. No car horns. Nothing but the wind whistling around the pyramid-like structure.
Were Morvina and Drago staring each other down? Or is my vertigo wreaking havoc on my mental capacities?
Ten more bricks until she’d be able to witness the Victory take place.
Before Rose reached the midway point of the pyramid, she heard Drago shout, “It’s time for you to die, Morvina!” Then punches were thrown. Clothes were torn. And no doubt blood was being shed.
Who will lose their head?
Beyond anxious, Rose climbed until the demons came into view. Drago, who was garbed in remnants of his white dress shirt and dark trousers, looked exactly like Morvina. With scaled gridelin skin, scalloped wings, hideous faces that resembled gargoyles, and sharp fangs that glimmered in the moonlight, the demons clinging to the narrow spire chilled Rose’s blood.
She forced her eyes to remain on the horrific scene. One creature had the other in a chokehold—and the one in the chokehold was stammering for breath. Rose’s debilitating fear returned. She wanted to come to Drago’s aid by clawing at Morvina but she couldn’t distinguish between them. Worse, she couldn’t make herself climb the slim ladder in front of her.
Struggling to tap down her phobia, Rose shut her eyes for a moment. As she groped for courage, the world calmed around her.
“Think, Rose,” she murmured under her breath. “Your name was kept out of the papers when you were born. No one knew Malcolm and Florence Hayes had a baby except the people who came to your private christening. Your birth certificate was destroyed. There is no record of you living anywhere at all—just like Drago.”
Rose squeezed her eyes tighter and concentrated again.
“You’re destined to be with him in another time and place. Go. See what Drago has planned for you.”
To her surprise, a clear vision materialized in her mind. She was back at her spirit writing session when she was seven. And she remembered the vision she’d managed to conjure that night. She saw herself falling off a building when she grew up and turned twenty-one. Now the source of her vertigo was clear! As a child, the premonition of her falling had been horrifying enough to spawn the phobia.
Also in the vision, she saw herself obeying Drago’s plan and fulfilling his instructions so that they could be together.
I know which demon is Morvina now.
Rose opened her eyes. Gone was her fright. Inhaling, she began to ascend the narrow ladder. Because she was able to climb the rungs quickly and with more confidence, she managed to steal silently underneath Morvina. The demonic witch had her hands around Drago’s throat.
“Say your goodbyes!” raged Morvina.
The sorceress was about to twist Drago’s head off when Rose fisted the tops of Morvina’s boots and gave the strongest yank of her life. The heave knocked Morvina off balance. The witch reached for the ladder rung. Meanwhile, Drago pulled a knife from his trouser pocket. In a flash, he clamped Rose’s hand around the handle and both of them severed Morvina’s head.
It tumbled out of sight as did her body.
Cringing, Rose climbed two more steps into Drago’s arms.
“Thank God,” he murmured in a ragged voice.
She clung to him and to the ladder with equal ferocity. When she looked up at him, he still wore a dire expression.
“It’s time for you to do as I tell you,” he said firmly.
Horror raced through Rose anew. “I already know what you want me to do.”
“How?”
“I relived the premonition I had when I was seven.” Her voice was shaky.
Taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips. Rose tried not to think about the fact that they were teetering seven hundred feet in the air.
“It’s time,” Drago said. “If I don’t make you disappear, the police will hunt us down. And they won’t stop until they find us.”
“Where will I go?” Rose asked urgently.
“Someplace wonderful.”
“What’s going to happen to you?”
“I’ll join you at that wonderful place eventually.”
She took in a breath. Then she buried her head against him and shook her head. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“You trusted me from the minute we met.” His voice grew emphatic. “Now you need to trust me one last time.”
“Promise me we’ll see each other again,” Rose whispered.
“I promise.”
She locked eyes with him. Drago’s gruesome face hovered inches above hers but in her mind she could picture him in his normal, handsome state. Tenderly, he put a hand to her face. Even though her grasp on the sharp edge of the spire was making her fingers bleed, she refused to let go. They dangled there until a voice from the street reached them through a bull horn. “Let your wife go, you monster!”
“They may start shooting at me,” Drago said as a tear slipped down his scaled nose.
A tiny voice inside Rose reminded her that she belonged to another time and place.
She exhaled. It was time for Rose Hayes Carlisle to die.
“Goodbye for now,” Drago whispered.
She lifted her mouth to his lips and despite how frightening he was, kissed him deeply. Then she pulled him off the ladder. On a hushed prayer, both of them fell freely. Hurtling downward through space, a prolonged silence greeted her. The seconds ticked by. Drago tumbled out of sight. Wind sped past her.
Then Rose became unaware of everything as her world went black.
PART 2
CHAPTER 33
One hundred years later
Drago ended his phone call and leaned back in his office chair. Sighing, he swiveled it around and gazed out the window at London’s twinkling skyline. Situated in the city’s banking district, Drago’s sleek office had become his second home over the years. However, on tranquil evenings like this one, he let his thoughts drift back to the parting kiss Rose gave him on the ladder of the Woolworth Building. He put a hand to his heart. Their separation caused him severe pain even now. He didn’t have his beloved wife anymore. Since then, he’d prevented any woman from bringing him joy.
Drago’s nostrils flared as he recalled the details of that fateful night. After he and Rose plummeted off the building, he made her vanish in mid-air. Then he’d commanded her to travel to a secret location.
Teleporting. Isn’t that what magicians called it today? An act sub-par illusionists faked but could never accomplish.
True teleporting involved a body dematerializing from one location and rematerializing in a different spot in an instant. That’s what he had done in 1913. He’d relocated Rose from the skies of New York City to someplace safe. In that confidential location, Rose lay in a dream state. Resting like a beauty in bloom . . . fully protected by Drago’s magical handiwork.
After the Woolworth Building spectacle, the public had deemed Dragomir Starkov one of the creatures who’d attacked the girls in Coney Island. Onlookers were stunned when they saw Rose fall without hitting the pavement below.
Had Dragomir the Magnificent dragged his wife to a secretive place in order to kill her, too? The papers wrote.
Drago grimaced at the outlandish accusation. Little did the public know that he’d sent Rose away to allow one hundred years to pass. That way no one would know who she and Drago were in modern society.
In order to do that, Drago had been forced to escape many things: reporters, the fact that he didn’t show up in photographs, the police, and the Marconis. He’d seen his plan through by obtaining a new identity following Rose’s disappearance. In Europe, he’d chosen a stranger with whom he’d switched bodies. The last Immortal to have the coin gained that rare power.
The unknowing male ended up with Drago’s original
body and no memory of the spell. Thankfully, the police never discovered the switch—or the stranger with Drago’s face.
Unfortunately, becoming a new person had been a huge adjustment for Drago. Throughout his 579-year existence, he had never altered his physical appearance except for this one time. In the past, he’d simply taken enough energy from someone to maintain his own.
Drago glanced at the name plate on his desk. Julian Sloane. That’s the man he had become.
Julian/Drago heard his cell phone ring in his trouser pocket. Instead of withdrawing it, he ignored the intense vibration and pulled out the lei coin. He was lucky enough to have snatched it from Morvina while she was trying to strangle him. Over the years, the coin had allowed him to continue his necromantic abilities. It also let him check in on Rose at her secret location.
Sighing again, he returned the coin to his pocket and gazed out at the main floor of the investment firm. The other bond traders were leaving for the night. He unlocked the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a journal. He’d always kept a diary. Recording things kept his mind clear.
Lips set in a straight line, he ran his fingertips over the green leather cover. He’d started this particular journal after he departed Château de Maincy. When Rose fled the estate in such a hurry, he had raced off too—leaving his original diary behind.
Opening the journal, he flipped through the pages and located the entry he’d written following the spectacle at the Woolworth Building. Once he became Julian Sloane, he’d traveled to the secret location to confirm that Rose had been teleported safely.
The night he penned the entry, the air had been unsettlingly still . . .
June 20, 1913
Thank God Rose is safe in this sequestered castle.
Its dark furniture and eerie architecture feel familiar to me, yet it seems colder and more ominous than ever here. I’m alone without Rose’s brilliant smile to keep me company and I’m starting to perspire. Maybe it’s because I’m so torn about what I have to do.
Feeling nervous before an illusion is foreign to me. Magic is something I’ve performed for others all my life, but now I must use it for my own purpose. I thought making Rose vanish in front of the spectators at the Woolworth Building was my greatest illusion, but it wasn’t. This will be my most important trick—but there isn’t a servant or even a lowly rat in this place to witness it.
I’m all alone. If my magic fails, no one can help me. Or save Rose.
I’m looking at her image inside my pocket-watch. The black-and-white photograph taken for publicity purposes doesn’t do her justice. Even now I can envision her luminous peach skin, violet eyes, and raspberry lips.
I long to embrace her and make love to her, but that will have to wait. She’s fallen into a deep sleep, one that needs to hold fast until it’s safe for her to wake again.
Since the police will try and track Rose, I plan to throw the watch into the fire to erase any trace of her. Then I’ll say goodbye to this castle and perform my illusion.
Hopefully, nothing will stop me from returning here in a hundred years.
Drago slammed the journal shut. It was a hundred years later and he missed Rose more than ever. He missed talking to her, confiding in her, and feeling her firm curves beneath him. From where she was, she had no idea what he’d been up to. She didn’t know that he’d lived for years as a recluse inside a home he had purchased in Switzerland. That he’d eventually sold Château de Maincy without ever returning to it. That he had moved to the sunny shores of Australia in 1949.
In Australia, he’d settled into an inexpensive house ten steps from the ocean. For weeks, days, and years, he had lain about like a bum, lost his Romanian accent, got a tan, and watched history pass him by. After a startling new invention called television hit the market, he witnessed the invasion of the Beatles, the Vietnam War, Woodstock, Watergate, the rise and fall of disco, and the tragic death of Lady Diana.
Growing tired of being unproductive, Drago moved to London in 2000 to become a bond trader. The profession suited him perfectly. It challenged him. It used his mind. And he figured that if it brought him astronomical amounts of money, then so be it.
That’s exactly what happened.
Shaking himself, he surveyed his posh office. It was beautiful and state-of-the-art, but today it looked odd because it had been cleaned out.
“Georgina?” he called for his administrative assistant.
“Coming, Mr. Sloane!” came Georgina’s sing-song voice.
As he waited for her to appear, Drago considered that this was the last time he’d be sitting in this chair. Yet he was far from sad.
“Yes, Mr. Sloane?” Charmingly pudgy Georgina stuck her head in.
“Is everything in order for my trip?”
“Of course.” She smiled. “Your British Airways flight leaves from Heathrow at ten p.m.”
“Please have my driver pick me up at home in a half hour.”
“Will do.”
“Thank you.” Heaving another sigh, Drago pushed his chair away from the desk.
Georgina lingered by the doorframe. “You must be excited to be taking such a long hiatus.”
“Yes,” Drago replied gently. He rose and put on his Zegna jacket.
“Ah”—Georgina cleared her throat—“since you’ll be gone for a while . . .”
He smiled again.
“Would you mind terribly if Lana said goodbye to you? You know how much she admires you. She’s at my desk.”
Drago suppressed a groan. Georgina’s twenty-two-year-old daughter was gorgeous—by any man’s standards. But she was irritatingly unintelligent, not to mention the fact that he’d sworn off women. His heart still belonged to his long-lost Rose.
Still, Georgina had been nothing but wonderful to him. In fact, he had to laugh because they’d practically mastered their computer skills together. That’s why he’d chosen her to be his assistant. For her humility and for the fact that she was unattractive. He had zero interest in forming a relationship.
Confident that he could resist Georgina’s sensual daughter, he nodded. “Very well. Lana may come in.”
The long-legged, high-breasted woman entered his office in no time. Wearing a low-cut blouse and an exceedingly short skirt, she sauntered forward. Mouth curved in a seductive smile, she murmured, “Hello, Mr. Sloane.”
Drago’s glance flitted over her stunning facial features, shining brown hair streaked with honey-colored strands, and glossy mouth. He felt a stirring in his groin. He was still a man, for Christ’s sake. But as soon as Rose’s face flashed in his mind, he was able to dispel his lust.
“Hello, Lana,” he returned the greeting.
She sat on top of his desk and crossed her tanned legs. What women wore these days! Rather, what women didn’t wear. Drago may have been old-fashioned—but in his defense he was over five hundred years old. He preferred the days when females didn’t flaunt their skin. It was much sexier.
He gave a little cough. He definitely wasn’t made for this century.
“Mum tells me you’ll be gone for a long time,” Lana said.
“That’s right.” He gathered his wallet and car keys then moved toward the door. “I’ve sold my apartment and I don’t know when I’ll return.”
Lana extracted her smart phone from her purse. She joined him at the doorway. “I thought we could Skype while you’re away.”
This time instead of suppressing a groan, Drago suppressed a laugh. “I don’t think they have Wi-Fi where I’m going.”
Lana frowned. “Will they have the Internet?”
“Wi-Fi is the Internet, Lana.”
“Then they have Internet everywhere!” She giggled. “Except maybe at a medieval castle.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m going on a trip to unplug.”
“Oh.” Rejection passed over her pretty face. “I was hoping we could stay in touch.”
To Drago’s surprise, she trailed her hands up the front of his jacket. Then she grasped his
lapels and pulled herself closer. “I have a thing for older men, Mr. Sloane. Especially ones who stay in amazing shape. Like you.”
Drago still couldn’t see his reflection. Therefore, he needed to go by what people said as to how he looked.
“Lana, I’m a lot older than you.” He responded.
“You don’t look it. What’s your secret?”
You don’t want to know. “I’m going away, remember?”
She made a face.
“Have no fear,” he added. “You’ll find your true love someday.”
She laughed. “You talk like you’re from a different century, Mr. Sloane.”
There’s a spark of intelligence in there somewhere. He smiled ruefully. “That’s what a lot of people say.”
“Anyway, what do you know of true love?” Lana raised an etched eyebrow.
“The woman I fell in love with is long gone, but my heart still belongs to her.”
“Mum says you talk about her a lot. Rhonda. Was that her name?”
“It’s Rose.” Drago removed Lana’s hands from his jacket. “I need to go.”
Lana turned cold. “Okay. I can take a hint.”
“Don’t be angry. I see romance in your future, you know.”
“Really?” Her hazel eyes lit up.
“Yes. Predicting the future is a little hobby of mine.” It’s actually an ability I gained from killing Morvina.
“Oh?”
“When I touched your hand right now, I saw something. A man. Tall, good-looking. A colleague of yours, maybe.”
She thought for a moment. “At the insurance agency?”
“If that’s where you work, then yes.”
“Alistair James,” she said, but promptly dropped her smile. “He’s married. Are you pulling my leg, Mr. Sloane? Just to get me out of your hair?”
“Certainly not.” He paused. “Someday you’ll see that I’ve predicted correctly. Mr. James’s wife will cheat on him. Then he’ll fall in love with you.”
Drago left Lana in the hallway with her mouth agape. After he bid Georgina a long and heartfelt goodbye, he climbed into his Maserati Quattroporte and sped home. Located in affluent Notting Hill, his apartment had been a steal at several million pounds. While it boasted enameled lava countertops, an Archeo copper bathtub, and a Ruijssenaars magnetic floating bed, Drago took little notice of its incredible possessions. He’d hired a designer to furnish the apartment—just as he kept a stylist on the payroll to pick out his clothes because he had no interest in such things.