DemonofDesire

by Ari Thatcher

  Demon of Desire

  Ari Thatcher

  First in the Whispering Valley series.

  The only consolation Sin has for moving into her late great-aunt’s creepy Victorian house is the handymen who come with it. Triplet vampires Baen, Gower and Enos are yummy enough to tempt her from her self-imposed celibacy and make her forget she’s well on her way to becoming a crazy cat lady.

  The brothers instantly recognize Sin as their mate, but realize they need to ease her into the idea of being loved by three vampires. Then a sex-craving demon takes control of Sin’s body and seduces the men, forcing them to make a rash decision with her life.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Demon of Desire

  ISBN 9781419933004

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Demon of Desire Copyright © 2011 Ari Thatcher

  Edited by Raelene Gorlinsky

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication April 2011

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

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

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

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

  DEMON OF DESIRE

  Ari Thatcher

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

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

  Peterbilt: PACCAR Inc. DBA Peterbilt Motors Company

  Texas A&M University: Texas A&M University Instution of Higher Education

  YouTube: Google Inc.

  Chapter One

  Sin slammed the car door shut with her hip and paused to look again at the lonely old Victorian house. It stood stately and proud, snow clinging to the slate roof in the turret shadows. Although the rooms were all dark, she felt life emanating from behind the curtains. She supposed any structure that had been around more than a century had its own soul. Just as long as it remains quiet.

  A sad emptiness filled the air around the house. Where psychic memories of children’s laughter should have echoed in her mind, she heard only a heavy sigh. Had this place ever been a happy home? Certainly in a house that size, a family must have lived here before her aunt. Curiosity had her wanting to check property records to see. Children generally left behind a positive energy.

  She felt only negative vibes from the building.

  Movement drew her gaze to the center attic window. The curtains in the dormer were pulled back on one side as if someone looked out at her. Hadn’t they just been closed? She shook off the shudders that threatened to course through her and carried the last of the houseplants inside before the lightly falling snow burned the leaves. The last thing she needed was to start imagining ghosts on her first night alone in the house.

  Great-Aunt Absinthe’s three cats scattered when she entered the room she planned to convert to an office. “Dear kitties, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Dear, rich kitties.” What kind of person left all her money to her cats, and to her grandniece the house they lived in? Great-Aunt Absinthe, of course. Her crazy maiden aunt.

  She’d only met the woman once or twice that she recalled, not recently enough for a strong impression to linger. Her great-aunt had seemed sane enough—for a cat lady. The weird things in the attic had stuck with Sin all these years, but nothing about her aunt. Over time those dusty, boxed collections had become shrunken heads and disembodied thumbs and fingers in her nightmares. Who knew what they had actually been? Man, someone better have gone through the attic and gotten rid of all that.

  Inky, the slender black cat, trailed Sin into the kitchen and watched her bang her way through the cupboards, searching for a pitcher to water her plants. Cleo, the large, fluffy, smoke-colored Ragdoll cat, sat on the counter twitching her tail to voice her opinion at the disturbance.

  Sin spun toward the cat, fists on her hips. “Well, if you’d tell me where to find things, I wouldn’t have to make so much noise. Take your tail and your attitude and get off my counter.” She flung out her arm but the animal didn’t move.

  It wasn’t bad enough she’d been named Absinthe Penelope after her great-aunt. Now she was going to become a crazy cat lady, just like the old maid. She was an old maid, too, if she thought about it.

  She didn’t want to think about it.

  Sighing, she went to unload more stuff from the car. Once she threw out some of her aunt’s clutter, the place might not be so bad. The old Victorian had character.

  A book clattered off the shelf as she passed through the parlor. Sin looked for a cat but none was around. Not only does the house have character, it has a mind of its own.

  The antique clock on the mantle chimed nine times. She was glad she had stayed at the motel the night before, since the heat didn’t seem to be working. Carrying in a large box of clothes, she muttered under her breath about antique radiators and went upstairs to see what shape the bedrooms were in.

  When she pulled the bedding off her aunt’s queen-size sleigh bed, a cloud of dust sent her into a coughing fit. The old woman must have fired her housekeeper at least a year before being admitted to the nursing facility where she’d died peacefully in her sleep.

  Inky wound herself around Sin’s legs, pulling her attention back. She bent down and lifted the kitty, scratched behind its ears before setting it on the bed. “Who fed you while she was away?”

  Balling up the sheets and old quilt, she headed down to the laundry room. Setting the water temperature to hot, she put the quilt to one side and stuffed the washer full of linen.

  It occurred to her she should check if her cell phone still had a charge. The weather reports called for a storm and the power could go out for long periods. A trip to the grocery store would be wise, too. She had no idea how long it would take the town to plow the road out as far as her place.

  Sin pushed the swinging door out of the kitchen and walked straight into a wall. A firm, muscular wall tightly encased in a black t-shirt. She shrieked and jumped back.

  “I knocked but you must not have heard me. The door was unlocked. I came to check the boiler in the basement and make sure your heat is working.”

  Blinking, she tried to find her tongue, which desperately wanted a taste of the wall’s chill-reddened lips. “Oh. Did the probate lawyer call you? Thank God. I had no idea how to turn the thing on.”

  His luscious, moderately full lips stretched into a slow smile, parting only slightly to show pearly white teeth. Sin lifted her gaze above his chiseled nose to deep blue eyes and short, ash-colored hair. He was older than she expected upon such close inspection of his chest, with white peppering his temples and smile lines feathering out from his eyes.

  “I’m Gower MacDuirmad. I was a friend of your aunt.” His voice held a trace o
f a burr in the way he pronounced his name.

  “I’m Sin. I guess you know where to find the boiler?” She couldn’t believe her hand was actually twining her ponytail over her shoulder as she stood like a ditz looking up at him, wide-eyed. She shoved both hands in the back pockets of her jeans, realized how that movement thrust out her breasts and quickly folded her arms instead. She followed Gower into the front room.

  As he disappeared down the basement steps, the sound of stomping feet on the porch drew her to the front door. She stopped at the window, pulling back the curtains to peer out. The door opened and a man stepped inside. Her eyes widened when he pushed back his hood and turned toward her. He had the same face, maybe ten years younger than Gower. He lacked the silvering temples and a few toes in the crow’s feet, but otherwise they were exact copies.

  Her body hungered to know him better, stirring as if awakened from hibernation. She had to close her eyes for a moment and let the warm whiskey-like wave of desire pass through her. He was here to help his brother, most likely. While casual sex would probably go a long way toward satisfying the damned urges she’d had since she and Tim broke up, there were too many reasons not to get involved. With anyone.

  “Hello. You must be Absinthe.”

  She cringed at the name. “Sin, please. That name is only suited to elderly cat ladies.” As if on cue, Cleo wrapped herself around Sin’s leg. “And you are?”

  He smiled and she held her breath at the sight. Can I just kiss you now and get it over with?

  “I’m Enos. I believe my brother is here. I didn’t realize you had arrived already.” He spoke with a clipped accent, making her think he’d been born elsewhere but spent a lot of time in the States.

  “Yes, he just went downstairs into the cellar.”

  With a nod, he turned toward the hallway. The brothers obviously helped out here often. Aunt Absinthe had been one lucky woman.

  The washing machine screamed its off-balance noise, calling her attention from Enos’ ass. With a sigh, she headed toward the laundry room. Inky stood on the dryer and meowed. Sin nodded at the cat. “I know. It’s an awful sound.”

  She was talking to the cats. Forty-two years old, single and talking to cats. It was all downhill from there. From the corner of her eye she saw the back door open and one of the brothers walked in. She struggled to remember if there was a door in the cellar that led to the outside.

  He shoved off his hood and brushed powdery snow off his shoulders. “Oh, hello. You must be Absinthe. I’m Baen.”

  Unable to find her tongue, Sin just gaped. He was identical to the other two, but definitely the youngest, by at least a decade. She’d never seen siblings look so much alike unless they were twins.

  “I believe my brothers Enos and Gower are here? I apologize for walking in. I didn’t know you’d arrived yet.”

  This had to be a cosmic joke instigated by her maiden aunt. Their heavy coats masked their builds, but she was certain there were no beer bellies or plumber’s smiles in this bunch. All three were apparently gym rats, and obviously had been quite friendly with Aunt Absinthe. Life just wasn’t fair. “They’re in the basement.”

  His smile made his pale blue eyes twinkle. He nodded and walked out of the kitchen.

  Shrugging, she trotted up the narrow staircase to get back to work. If she ever had to pick a family to be stranded with on a deserted island, she knew where to look. But that was the only place she’d consider taking on another man. On a deserted island where he had no Wi-Fi to access her assets. If she ever had assets again.

  Sin busied herself with pulling Aunt Absinthe’s clothes out of the closet to make room for her own. The scent of lily of the valley drifted off the old dresses, filling the small space, immersing her in memories. Her aunt had been a slender, attractive woman in her youth. Why had she never married? Had she ever been in love?

  As she carried an armload of garments out of the closet, her foot connected with something solid. Balancing carefully, she nudged it out of the way with the toe of her boot. She carried the clothes to the attic. Whispering voices filtered through the ornate black metal grate on the floor next to the dresser. The guys must be discussing the boiler. She hoped they got it working soon.

  The whispers continued when she went back into the closet for the next load. She shivered. The way voices carried through the old heating ducts was creepy. Old houses deserved the reputations they got. Everything about them seemed scripted for effect. You could slap on a coat of paint and run modern wiring throughout and it still didn’t chase away the shadows.

  Glancing up, Gower saw Baen reach the foot of the basement stairs. Thank the gods. Baen was more mechanically inclined than he and Enos. “Hey, take a look at this wiring.”

  Gower stepped back to let his brother get closer to the boiler. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, wiping away the sensation of something crawling over his skin. Something was off about this place. He’d felt it often when he’d visited the old woman, and the creepiness hadn’t died with her.

  The chivalrous part of him, the part he preferred to keep buried, wanted to go upstairs, grab the niece and drive her as far from the town as he could. He wasn’t given to foreboding, but Sin should never have come to Whispering Valley.

  But he wouldn’t interfere. You just don’t do that to people. He knew better than to meddle in people’s lives. No one came to the valley by accident. Regardless how he felt, he had to let her live out her purpose.

  “Why do you think she’s here?” Enos leaned against a metal shelf filled with dusty jars of fruit.

  Gower blinked. After three centuries he ought to be used to his brothers having parallel thoughts. “She inherited the house.”

  Enos rolled his eyes. “Way to state the obvious, bro.”

  Baen’s hands were busy deep in the inner workings of the boiler as he spoke. “Do you think she’s like the aunt?”

  “A medium?” Gower stroked his chin. “Who can tell? You’d think if she was, she wouldn’t have come anywhere near this place.”

  Baen glanced back over his shoulder. “She could have any sort of talent, not necessarily precognition. And you talk as if you know something’s going to happen to her.”

  “I just would hate to see anything happen to Sin.”

  Sin. The name suited her body, Gower thought, but her eyes had iced over long before he and his brothers arrived on the scene. He wondered if she’d always been that way toward strangers, or if he and his brothers had chilled her personality. He wouldn’t mind trying to light a fire inside her and see if he could thaw her out.

  Enos cleared his throat. “Did you guys notice anything about her?”

  “You felt it, too?” Gower asked.

  “Just like the first time I saw Cecily at Vauxhall, after we returned from Waterloo.”

  “I recognized her scent,” Gower said.

  Baen’s voice was muffled as he spoke to the interior of the furnace. “I felt her energy when I reached the back steps. She’s definitely the one. Definitely ours.” He rose and slid the cover back into place.

  Gower heard the pilot light flame up as Baen stepped back. “You got it?”

  “Yeah. I think it’ll stay lit now.”

  Enos straightened and zipped up his coat. “I guess I’ll go make sure she has enough firewood on the back porch. Just in case.”

  Gower nodded. “Baen, do you want to check the water barrels?”

  “Will do.”

  Following his brothers up to the first floor, Gower listened for Sin’s footsteps. He had no idea where she’d moved from and if she was prepared to be stuck in the house once a blizzard hit.

  The worn runner on the stairs muffled the sound of footsteps, but Sin felt a presence behind her as she descended from the attic. She shook off the dark energy she felt wrap around her shoulders and picked up her pace.

  When she turned at the landing, she saw a shadow dart into the doorway across from her aunt’s room. Startled, she stopped in the hallway.


  The low purr of a voice close behind her sent chills down her spine. “Something wrong?”

  She closed her eyes in relief at hearing Gower’s voice. “Something ran into that room.”

  “A cat?”

  She shook her head. The shadow had been too high up to be a cat, unless these cats could fly. How long would it take to get used to the character of this house? The creaks late at night when no one was moving around. The sighs of wood settling after standing too long. The scratching of a tree on a windowpane. She shivered again.

  Gower slipped past her and peered into the room. She followed far enough behind to make a quick escape, if need be. “This place really gives me the creeps,” she admitted.

  He bent down and lifted the eyelet bed skirt. “Then why’d you move in?”

  Her eyes landed on the sliver of skin revealed above his jeans when he crouched down. He’d taken off his jacket and now only his long-sleeved t-shirt kept her from seeing his muscular torso. When he turned and caught her staring, her cheeks heated.

  It suddenly struck her she’d become a different person after the mess her boyfriend Tim had left her in. Walled herself into a tiny, emotional safe room with only a peephole through which she watched the world pass by. She needed to break loose. What was the harm in flirting a little? “Sorry. Nice ass. Now, what were you saying?”

  The expression on his face, one brow barely lifted, eyes darkened, nostrils flared, made her stomach flip-flop. That’s why you don’t flirt. You can’t handle the reaction.

  He rose, still glancing around the room. “I asked why you moved in if you didn’t like the place.”

  She turned away, picking up one of the porcelain figurines on the dark wood bookshelf. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Actually, it was kind of inevitable.”