by Shara Lanel
Kim couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. Setnau had walked her out of the cemetery after the circle, giving her no choice but to stay by his side. She owned a boat of a car, an old Cadillac handed down from her dad. Once she and Setnau had reached it and she’d pulled out her keys, the lunatic had grabbed her face, covered her nose and mouth so she couldn’t scream and could barely breathe. Then he’d wrestled her into her own trunk.
And he must have left her there during that first day, too, because she remembered thinking she was going to die from the heat. She’d passed out. The next time her eyes opened she was in this cage in this room, naked and bound.
The bare bulb hanging over the stairwell flared to life, nearly blinding her, and Setnau, dressed in black slacks and a black buttoned shirt, arrived with a plate of food. It was usually canned things, like corn and green beans, and her water was in a plastic cup with a straw.
“Why are you keeping me here?” She forced her tears away. She’d shown enough weakness in front of him, crying, pleading, and screaming, and he hadn’t responded. Maybe she needed to show him strength instead. Maybe that would get through. “I deserve an answer.”
Finally he spoke. “Kim, I have decided to bestow upon you a high honor. I will perform the Great Rite with you on the full moon before Samhain. Since you are a virgin, the gods will look most favorably upon us.”
“I’m not a virgin.” She was, but that seemed like a bad thing in this case, so she denied it. “What’s the Great Rite? You’re not going to murder me, are you?”
“No, not death. Life. We will enact the life-giving rite of the God and Goddess. My power will then be great enough to draw her to me and make her my High Priestess.” He frowned. “And do not lie about being a virgin. I have checked and your hymen is still intact.”
Kim gasped in shock. In the next moment she found herself retching. He’d violated her while she was unconscious, touched her, and looked at her, and now he was planning to rape her. Nothing was in her stomach to come up, so gradually she marshaled her reaction. She had him talking. That was something. “Draw who to you?” she asked. “Why don’t you just kidnap her then, if it’s someone else you want?”
“Oh, Kim, she must desire to be my High Priestess, and only by showing her my great power will she agree. Just as my father did.” He gestured to the rectangular box or table in the center of this weird room. The single light bulb barely penetrated the shadows, but the rectangle gave her the impression that it might be an altar of some kind. She could tell from the tone of Setnau’s voice that he was lost in a memory. “She was so beautiful when my father performed the Great Rite on her, marking her for me.”
Kim nearly gagged again. He’d watched his father rape a woman? When was this? Where was his father now? The idea of two such madmen made her want to curl up in a fetal position and call for her mommy. “Look, you’ve got to let me go. My dad will be searching for me.”
She could tell his haunted eyes had refocused on her naked form, though his face was in shadow. “The rite will be very soon, and if you participate willingly I can promise you two things. You will then be fully initiated as a witch…” Like she gave a damn at this point! “…And I’ll let you go.”
“You swear it? You’ll let me go? Alive?”
“I swear it, and I’ll even swear it in my blood. But you must be willing.” His voice grew hard. “Otherwise, I will be forced to offer you as a sacrifice to the Horned God.”
Kim guessed that would not be a good thing.
* * * *
The dream changed. Instead of flitting from dead face to dead face, Diera’s mind’s eye saw only one face. It was scuffed and dirty, the blonde hair greasy and limp. The eyes were closed, but rough breaths shuddered out of her nose and lifted her nude chest. It was Kim, her boss’s daughter. She recognized her from the many pictures in his office, as well as the one he’d given her to keep in her purse. She’d also met the girl once at the company Christmas party last year. Kim had been sullen then, because her dad had forced her to attend the work party rather than letting her visit a friend’s house.
The girl’s hands were crossed on her bare, flat stomach, and Diera noted that a tiny, silver barbell pierced her belly button. Her legs were long and bruised. Her feet were bare and almost black from dirt. But just like in the other dreams, she was in a coffin, white satin cushions cradling her backside. Did this mean Diera was too late? Was Kim already dead? She seemed to be breathing, though. Did it mean she was buried alive somewhere right this moment?
Diera struggled to surface from the dream. She needed to wake so she could find the teenager, save her. Once again, the view in her dream pulled back, almost like she was floating above the ground. She saw tombstones, some very old, where the engraved text was almost worn smooth, others new, crisp and ornate. There was an obelisk, the river, a row of mausoleums, one framed in a wrought iron cage. The shape of the black cage reminded her of the Taj Mahal.
Whisk. She was back in the coffin, looking at Kim’s pale face. Kim’s eyelids fluttered … opened … but they weren’t Kim’s eyes. The eyes were the same as they’d been in each of her past dreams, but this time she finally knew who they belonged to.
With a gasp, Diera woke up. Sunlight streamed through the dainty white curtains on the dormer window. Unfortunately, this room faced east, so even though the clock showed how friggin’ early it was, it seemed like high noon.
But she had to get to Holt. He’d said he’d dreamed about her burying him alive, and his eyes were the ones she always saw at the end of her dreams. Was he having the same dreams?
She didn’t even question the logic of believing these visions were trying to tell her something. She didn’t stop to analyze that Kim was just on her mind because of her assignment. She knew the dream was a warning—she had to act on it—and she knew Holt would be able to help her figure it out.
Crossing the floor on tiptoe, she opened her door, cringing as it creaked. Her aunt’s bedroom was on the floor below, and though the older lady was a morning person, Diera doubted even she rose at the crack of dawn.
A short walk down the stuffy hallway brought Diera to Holt’s door. She knocked gently and was shocked when he pulled it open immediately.
He wasn’t naked this time, but he was up, like he’d been expecting her. His jeans were unbuttoned, though, and his tantalizing chest was bare. The timber of his voice was just as sexy as yesterday. “You had the dream, too, didn’t you?”
Diera blinked. She had to focus on her purpose and not on all that bare skin and the fact that she ached to run her hands over every inch. “Yes. Did you see her? Did you see Kim in your dream?”
He shook his head. “No, I saw you looking down at me.” He drew Diera into the room with a sweeping gesture, before he shut the door.
“Maybe you were seeing it from Kim’s eyes,” Diera said. “But I saw her very clearly until the end. Then I saw your eyes.” She walked to his bed and sat, ignoring the fact that the top sheet was sliding down the side of the mattress.
“Really?” He plopped down next to her.
“I always see your eyes, right before I wake up. Even in Norfolk before I knew who you were. The same eyes every time.”
“And I always see your face.” He trailed his fingertips along her jaw line. “But you looked very different than you do in Maeve’s photos. You looked like a goddess, especially since you tend to hover and glow.”
Diera smiled. “I hover in your dreams?”
“Yeah.” His fingers journeyed from her chin along her neck to the curve of her shoulder. Those familiar eyes were intent on hers, glinting in the lamplight.
She had to concentrate on Kim, not on the pings of arousal low in her belly. “Do you think she’s buried alive? Do you think that’s what the dream means?”
His hand settled firmly on her shoulder. “I do think it’s a warning. I think you might be right that she’s in danger if you saw her in your dream, but I don’t think the coffin is literal.�
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“Why not?”
“Because we’ve been having these dreams for a couple of weeks now.”
“But this is the first time I saw Kim.”
“I think we should consult with Rowena…”
“The High Priestess?” Her stomach clenched.
He nodded. “Yes. She’s better at deciphering dreams, but we can also have her scry for us. Maybe she can divine where Kim is exactly.”
“You know I don’t believe in this hocus-pocus.”
“But you believe in the dream, don’t you? That it’s sending us a message?”
She blinked, and blinked again. “I want to take more concrete steps to find Kim.”
“And we will. We’ll look up other area covens and start asking around, okay? I’ll take the day off from work. It’s not like Graves is going to be happy with a damn thing I do, anyway.”
“Graves?”
“My boss. Al Graves.” He scowled. “Annoying little man. Good eye for what sells though.”
The clenching in her stomach now had nothing to do with Kim. “Aleister Graves is your boss? Does Aunt Maeve know this?”
“Well, no, I don’t think it’s ever come up. She’s got my work number in case of emergencies, but since Rowena vouched for me, she never called references or anything. Aleister, huh? I only know him as Al.”
Could it be Dave’s son, the one he’d named after the magician Aleister Crowley? Even if it was, that didn’t necessarily mean the son had followed in his father’s footsteps. He could’ve rebelled, as she had, against witchcraft and Devil worship. His family had been just as broken up by the aftermath as hers. Still, she’d prefer never to meet him face to face.
“You know Al?” Holt asked.
“Maybe.” She flopped backwards onto the bed and closed her eyes. She was so tired. “I don’t want to think about it right now. What should we do about Kim? You’re going to help me?”
“Yeah, but in a couple hours.” He leaned over her and smiled. “Most normal people are still in bed.”
“I know, people who don’t dream about coffins. I’m probably going to have to bite the bullet and go into Hollywood, too.”
“Why is it ‘biting the bullet’? I love Hollywood. It’s beautiful during the day and steeped in history. Fascinating, even though I’m not a Civil War buff.”
“Didn’t Aunt Maeve tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“My parents are buried there.” The emotions accompanying that statement were so jumbled—rage, confusion, hurt.
“Oh, Diera, I’m sorry. I mean I kind of knew that your parents were gone, since you grew up in this house, but I never really made the connection that they must be…”
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry. Was it long ago?”
Feels like yesterday. “Ten years. I don’t want to talk about that either right now, though. And you’re right; the cemetery is full of history. The mausoleum that my parents are buried in was built in the late 1800s, and some of the remains in there were moved from a family plot in Varina that’s said to date back to the 1700s.” She opened her eyes and found Holt’s face just inches above hers. “It’s a great place for tourists. Just not for me.”
Holt eyed her for a while, then smiled. “Do you know you’re looking incredibly sexy, sprawled across my bed like this?” He waggled his eyebrows up and down, imitating a Marx brother, and propped his head up with his left hand against his cheek. His right hand was a hair’s breadth from Diera’s thigh. She should move away. Her breath caught and she heard, rather than felt, her heart pound in her chest. Every muscle in her body tensed with the possibility that Holt would touch her.
Slowly, inexorably, that hand crept closer to Diera’s leg, almost as if the owner didn’t know what it was up to. As if! A covering of striped cotton didn’t deter Holt one bit as he touched her leg and eased his way to the inside of her thigh.
Oh, my God, Holt’s hand was on her thigh. Her tongue darted out to moisten dry lips only to find her mouth just as dry. Stop, please stop!
“Holt, my aunt is downstairs. What can you be thinking?” She closed her eyes as his big palm slid higher on her pajama bottoms. He wasn’t changing course. She gasped, as he boldly cupped the V between her legs, but only partially in fear. To her surprise, a jolt of energy shot through her, straight from the spot where his hand rested, warm and solid. Without another thought, she spread her legs just a little.
He leaned his face close to her cheek, so that his breath tickled her as he spoke. “I’m thinking that this old house is well-built and almost soundproof from floor to floor, plus I’m thinking that I can be very quiet when I want to be. Can you?”
Since he was pressing his palm against her mound in small circles, sending pleasure messages throughout the area, she wasn’t at all sure she could guarantee silence, but she was willing to try. Like he said, well-built floors and all that.
“I barely know you,” she whispered. Already, though, she wanted to trust him. Good thing, since his caress robbed her of sane thought. Muscular tension drained from her with every stroke of his fingers. Instead, another kind of tension increased low in her belly, causing her breath to hitch and her body to rebel against the notion that Holt would hurt her.
“Actually you know me quite intimately.” She blushed at his knowing grin.
“Maybe we should do some kissing this time, then. We skipped that part yesterday.” Kissing sounded safe. Maybe she could regain control if all they did was kiss. Besides, kissing was romance, and romance was a completely different experience from what happened to her before.
“Kissing sounds good.” And it was good. His lips caressed hers, feeling like 300-count Egyptian cotton against her skin, so soft, so warm. He continued to circle his palm slowly against her mound, and even though this wasn’t much more intimate than two people might get on a first date, they had the memory of yesterday between them, the memory of her stroking his erect cock, of him standing naked before her as his orgasm shot through him. Diera moaned, and he hadn’t even opened her mouth yet. His kisses remained chaste and patient.
“Let’s reorganize,” he said after another minute, since their legs were hanging over the side of the bed. He helped her turn so they could lie lengthwise on the mattress. “Ah, better, don’t you think?”
“A bit.” She reached up to play with the hairs on his chest and his nipples were flat and tempting. She ran her thumbs over each simultaneously. He closed his eyes as she splayed her fingers wide and explored his planes and muscles.
“Lick me,” he said. His voice was a bit rusty.
Her thoughts were a bit rusty, too. Lick him? Actually run her tongue over his body? “Which part?”
“Anywhere. I want to feel your tongue on me.”
She could do this. After all, licking Holt gave her the power—exactly the opposite of what Dave had allowed her. So she rose up until her face was close enough to his chest to feel his heat. She opened her mouth and placed the tip of her tongue on one small, brown nipple, outlining a circle around it, but that wasn’t enough. She wanted to taste it fully, so she sealed her lips to his skin and sucked. Interesting. His big hand gripped the back of her head and held her in place.
“Hmm. My turn.” He pressed her back to the pillow, a pillow that had just the right type of lumpiness and it smelled good, like male musk, like Holt. She felt like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. This bed was just right and she could sleep here.
If she relaxed. On her back again, with Holt in a position to control her, she forced herself to relax. It was easier now. Holt didn’t want to hurt her. In fact, so far she’d experienced nothing but pleasure.
However, sleep was not on Holt’s mind. He was kissing her again, a lot more forcefully now. He opened his mouth and she opened hers in response. His tongue entered her wetness and explored. Diera accepted the sensation, reveled in it, latching onto his shoulders so she could apply more force. Her tongue matched his, dancing in his mouth, tasting, c
hallenging.
*
Holt couldn’t wait another moment to touch Diera’s skin. He knew it would be soft and pliant and warm. He started with her flat stomach, pushing the bottom of her sexy tank top higher, revealing one inch of skin, then two. Not that he could see it. He was too busy exploring Diera’s mouth as if they could share breaths. No, he settled for touch. He explored her belly button, an innie, then moved higher, until the bottom curves of her breasts brushed against the top of his hand. Score! He pushed the fabric higher, happy that she didn’t wear a bra under her PJs. So far they were both sticking to their agreement—no noises, except for heavy breathing, sucking sounds, and an uncontrolled moan or two. Especially when he rolled his fingers over one of her ripe nipples. Already erect, he knew it was hypersensitive, so he kept his touches light and quick. Tug, release, tug, release, squeeze, release. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, the only sign that he was having an effect on her. He threw one leg over her thigh. Oh, yeah, she was arching her pelvis, wanting more than she was getting.
Pulling away from her mouth and listening to her excited breathing, Holt licked his way past her chin, along the curve of her neck to the top of her breasts. He scooped his hands under both of her ass cheeks and squeezed as he sucked one engorged tit into his mouth. She squealed.
He pulled back. “I thought the deal was no noise.”
“Don’t stop.” Her eyes snapped open, as though surprised at her words.
What an intriguing woman, and oh-so-sexy.
“I’ll have to stop if you’re going to make noises.”
“How can I help it?” She moaned as he ran his fingers along her butt crack.
“Silence was the deal, sweet.”