The Arrival (Children of the Morning Star Book 1)

by Kastie Pavlik

  Sunlight still filtered through the door at the end of the hall, cheery and beckoning as it had been before she’d left. It sparked the realization that this homecoming was a carefully orchestrated and thoroughly sugarcoated lie.

  The cloaked man and a glint of silver suddenly flashed before her eyes. Squeezing them shut, she tightened herself into a ball, repeatedly whispering, “Go away. Go away. Just, go awa—”

  A heavy knock shook the door.

  She jumped up, heart pounding. She attempted a calming breath, and, clutching her chest, threw the door open, expecting Molly. Simon stood there instead.

  She hurriedly smudged tears off her cheeks. He didn’t seem to notice, and was fidgety, saying he only had a minute to check in, and had she found the lawyer? She offered thanks and assurances, and mentioned she’d seen Eric.

  “Well, okay then.” Turning to leave, he sighed and hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. He stared at her for a long moment, then pursed his lips and nodded goodbye.

  Molly suddenly barreled past him, flattened boxes and a plastic bag piled up in her arms. “Sorry! I’m going to lose it all if I don’t put something down right now!”

  As Paresh rushed to help, Molly dropped everything with a “thud” on the table and dropped into a chair with a huff. Paresh heard Simon mutter, “Have a good day, ladies,” and turned to see nothing but daylight in the doorway.

  Intending to push it closed, Paresh hesitated when Eric emerged from the tree line by the carriage house. Irritation flashed across his face as Simon hobbled down the flagstone toward him.

  When the caretaker tried to scurry past with a nod, Eric’s whole body stiffened. His hand shot out and grabbed the old man firmly by the elbow. Paresh heard Eric’s voice in patches. “You... something... care to explain?”

  The rest was too quiet to make out. For most of it, Eric regarded the caretaker grimly and spoke in a low voice that made Simon defensive. The old man’s arms shot out in various directions as he talked, and, at one point, his gnarled fingers jabbed the black box in Eric’s hand. A brief pause followed in which Simon fell silent and Eric’s expression went blank. An instant later Eric’s posture loosened and he nodded wearing a strange grin. He patted Simon on the back and glanced up at Paresh spying on him.

  Ignoring the caretaker, who eyed him warily as he scampered away, Eric shot her a wide smile. She bit her lip and ducked behind the door. Her cheeks felt on fire. The butterflies were frenzied.

  Molly chuckled from the table. She rose and began pulling the window shades down. “Eric’s here, huh?”

  “Hey! Shh!” Paresh whispered.

  Molly laughed louder, whispering back, “He can hear you!”

  Feeling even more heat rise to her face, Paresh stared at the older woman a moment before peering over the edge of the door. Eric was at the path’s midpoint, shaking his head and chuckling. Paresh glanced at Molly, who unknowingly mimicked his actions.

  “You two are something. It’s entertaining, really. Here. Lunch from The Greenery.” Molly moved the plastic bag to the kitchen counter and grabbed the stack of boxes off the table. “You wanted to start in the master suite, correct?”

  “Yes,” Paresh replied as Molly headed down the hall. A scuff on the flagstone outside the door caused her heart to erupt. Eric stepped inside and removed his sunglasses with a flash of crystalline blue that sent the butterflies surging into her throat.

  “H-h-hi,” she croaked.

  “Was it better when I was Darien?” he asked with a soft laugh. “You could talk to him, at least. Although...”

  He set his sunglasses and the metal box on the sideboard, and took hold of her hands. “You did have trouble walking while staring at him, as I recall.”

  Her mouth gaped silently. He was smiling, his mesmerizing eyes holding her gaze steady. When had he gotten so close? The spicy edge of his cologne, the clean scent of his clothes, his raw masculinity enveloped her, and the heat of his skin danced on hers.

  “Hmm, interesting.” He leaned in and her heart surely stopped, anticipating his lips on hers. She caught her breath and her eyes widened.

  Concern bridged his brow and he straightened. “I’m sorry for teasing you. What happened?”

  Too surprised to be disappointed, she looked at her feet and gnawed her lip. She had nearly forgotten. “Uh, nothing. A nightmare,” she said quietly. “I-it’s nothing.” She glanced up through hooded lids and forced a slow smile. “What’s with the box?”

  “It’s a small safe I keep in my car. It’s empty—a test,” he said dismissively. “Tell me about this nightmare.”

  He led her to the table. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. Why don’t you eat while you tell me about it?”

  She nodded and reluctantly recounted the tale between sips of iced tea and bites of cranberry, mandarin, and spinach salad. He listened intently, only speaking after she finished with, “and then you and Molly arrived.”

  “You were alone?”

  “Molly went to get boxes. I promised her I’d stay inside, but I saw the sun and couldn’t resist—” She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them like a chastised child. “I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed here.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. This is your home,” Eric said, leaning back in the chair but reaching a hand out to her. “Do you have any idea who the man in the cloak is?”

  She chanced a quick look at his face before sliding her hand across the wooden surface into his. His fingers were warm as they threaded hers. “He seemed familiar, but I’ve never seen that black ring. It was just a dream, right? Nothing to be worried about?” She shuddered.

  “Why do you think he’s familiar?”

  “Just a feeling.” She shuddered again. “Premonitions aren’t a thing are they?”

  “If people could see the future, they’d all win the lottery, right?” The darkness in Eric’s eyes betrayed his smile. It was a reminder of his beastly nature.

  “Maybe, but supposedly there’s no such thing as vampires, either,” she said lightly.

  “Touché, my dear, but even I cannot predict the future.” He grinned and beckoned for her other hand. “I will not allow any man to bring you harm. Believe in that, if nothing else.”

  They hesitated at the master suite and shared a glance. Hers uncertain. His supportive. He nudged the door open into nostalgia.

  There were no cobwebs or dusty sheets. Suede leather slippers waited endlessly beside the four-poster bed for her father’s feet, and her mother’s reading glasses sat folded up atop a book that she’d never finish.

  But, change was in progress thanks to the force that was Molly, methodically removing hangers, surrounded by folded and draped piles of clothing that buried the quilt Paresh’s mother had hand sewn and embroidered. Flattened cardboard stood propped against the footboard while assembled boxes formed a crescent over the floor’s oak planks and held an assortment of men’s and women’s trousers and shirts.

  Molly paused mid-fold when Eric and Paresh entered.

  As she drifted to the foot of the bed, Paresh’s mind traveled to the past. She was only vaguely aware of Eric leaning against the doorjamb, and of his and Molly’s eyes locked on her. She was lost in the timeless serenity of the pale green walls—the color of a luna moth’s wings—and the mash of the cream colored and modern straight-lined chaise lounge with the scenic Victorian paintings in silver frames, and in the elegant antique curves of the highboy and dresser topped with angular, frosted sterling lamps. The vanity, with delicate legs and a demure oval mirror, stood opposite the large, commanding bed and its ornate headboard of floral carvings layered beneath thick coats of glossy shellac. Matching nightstands guarded windows covered by honeycomb blinds and sheer lace panels.

  Despite the personal effects spilling from drawers or lounging atop the bed, the room felt oddly sterile, its memories stamped into history. She traced the threaded lines of the quilt, reminiscing about crawling under the sheets with her mother to cuddle after
her father had left for work.

  Memories couldn’t reenergize the space. It was time for change, even if facing those memories meant mourning all over again. The inner strength she had developed in grief emerged and aided her resolve to let them rest. They’d live on in her heart.

  She had lost her parents and been forced to accept new guardians. But Eric’s betrayal, his abandonment, had torn and scarred her soul the most. All those years of anguishing, not knowing, not understanding, asking why. The reason may have changed, but the questions lingered. She eyed him, admiring him—limber in black and white, affecting leisure while emanating a keen awareness—thankful for every truth he had revealed. His words had withered her pain and bolstered her strength.

  Watching him watching her, she came to a sudden realization: if her life had changed in any way, her relationship with him would be very different.

  She saw her future in him and knew Destiny had put her on this path, crosscutting the intersections of her life to end with him. She chose to let the questions fade. Maybe she’d been taken and hadn’t always been safe, but she had come home, and now she had Eric—and not because he had sworn to protect her or even because she wanted him there. It was Fate. She felt it with all her soul, newly renewed and healed.

  His gaze, warm and intimate, made her glance away with a shy smile, heat flushing her cheeks yet again, and she noticed a frame on the vanity. She caught her breath. It was a picture of her parents.

  She hadn’t seen their faces in a decade.

  She held the frame gingerly as though dropping it would shatter the only real childhood she had known. She remembered this moment from fifteen years ago, remembered Eric with the camera as her parents posed in front of the cottage. It was their wedding anniversary. Her father’s arms lovingly encircled her mother’s waist and a three-year-old version of herself held onto her mother’s skirt, looking up in adoration.

  They looked so happy. “I love you both, always.” She kissed them through the glass with tears brimming her eyes. Eric appeared and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She hugged the picture to her chest. “I’ve never seen their graves.”

  “Oh honey.” Brows knitted sorrowfully, Molly crouched before her as Eric gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  “We’ll go see them tomorrow,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this today?”

  Paresh sniffed and blew out a shaky breath. “I’m ready to put them to rest. Just seeing the picture... I didn’t have any photographs of them growing up.”

  Molly patted her knee. “I bet they’re smiling down on you now, happy you’re finally home where you belong.”

  “And they wouldn’t want me grieving my whole life.”

  Eric gave her shoulder another squeeze and they all fell silent. Molly rose with a sympathetic nod and resumed folding clothes, and Paresh returned the frame to the vanity and began assisting her. Paresh sorted her mother’s dresses and Eric sifted through her father’s trinkets.

  Their packing groove lasted hours, with occasional pauses to share memories, until the closet, dressers, nightstands, and vanity were cleared. With each box moved to her old room, they emptied the suite of its former occupants until only the core of the room remained intact. The intimate touches of inhabitance were gone except for a few dresses returned to the closet and the linens on the bed.

  The trio stood back and scanned the room, satisfied with their accomplishment. Molly left to pick up dinner and Eric brought Paresh’s suitcases from the living room. While she put away her clothes, he watched her from the bed with eyes that made her heart flutter.

  “I have something for you,” he said at last. “I’ll be right back.”

  She took advantage of his absence to stuff her bras and panties into a drawer in the highboy. As she set her brush and other personal items on the vanity, she saw him enter through the mirror. He was carrying the metal box he had left on the sideboard earlier.

  “You said that was empty.” Cocking a half grin, she suspiciously watched him pull out a thin velvet case.

  “I lied.” He flashed a mischievous grin. “I am an attorney, you know.”

  Standing behind her, he removed the contents from the smaller case. A platinum cross, elegant and ornate in design with intricate filigree scrolls and rectangular, step cut sapphires and diamonds, hung from the necklace dangling from his fingers. The metal was cool on her skin as he placed it around her neck and clasped the back.

  “Oh, Eric!” she whispered breathlessly. “It’s so beautiful!” Admiring it in the mirror, she lightly ran her fingers over it. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s even more beautiful than I thought it would be on you,” he whispered with a wistful glimmer in his eyes. His fingers lingered on her shoulders. “Never take it off.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides and turned away. “I’m working on a theory. If anyone asks about the status of your trust, tell them the paperwork—account numbers, statements, property deeds—everything is here. When Simon asked about that safe earlier, I told him I was transporting papers to be secured in the basement’s vault.”

  “He asked me if I’d met with you yet. What’s your theory?” She swiveled on the bench as he settled back onto the bed.

  “Let me sort out a few more details and I’ll explain everything. Deal?” he asked with a playful wink.

  “I suppose.” She paused in thought and quietly added, “As long as you sort them out here tonight.” Her body hot with disbelief, she covered her face and stared through her fingers as he rose and approached with long strides.

  “Com’ere, Bashful.” He pulled her up and held her against his chest, his heart thumping as fast as hers. He leaned down and she closed her eyes, lifting her lips to meet his.

  The front door slammed and Molly announced her return.

  Eric sighed and kissed her on the forehead. “Go on and eat. I’ll join you in a bit.”

  Molly greeted her with another bag from The Greenery and her missing suitcase.

  “They found it!” Paresh exclaimed, her disappointment waning as she rushed over to examine it.

  “It was at the office when I stopped by to get the mail.” Molly pointed to the bag and said, “I ordered the same entrée for both of us: a stuffed roasted portabella with steamed veggies, homemade roll, and house salad with raspberry vinaigrette—all sans garlic, of course.”

  “It sounds delicious, thank you.” Paresh unlatched her case and gasped.

  Eric came from the hall. “What is it?”

  Pieces of massacred photographs fell between Paresh’s fingers. “Why? Who would do this?”

  Molly pawed through the scraps. “It’s just you and this... man.” She paled and shot Eric a look of warning.

  His eyes darkened slightly. But when he saw the man in question, they burned black.

  Stepping behind Paresh, Molly mouthed, “He. Had. The. Letters!”

  “Paresh,” Eric said in a tight, low voice. “What exactly is this man’s name?”

  “That’s Master Jon—Jonathan Trueblood. Do you know him?”

  Ignoring the question, he countered, “And who is missing?”

  “Miss Lydia. Um, Lydia Burke. Why would someone cut her out of my pictures, but leave him?” She poked though the pieces seeking any remnant of her governess, but the woman who had raised her was gone.

  Eric forced a relaxed affect, but couldn’t hide the deadly anger simmering in his eyes. He had never once considered that “Master Jon” might be Jonathan, even given his current presence, and was as furious with himself as he was with his brother.

  Jonathan hated humans.

  Jonathan hated the Hawthornes.

  Jonathan had “worked” with David.

  Jonathan had raised Paresh.

  What the hell was going on?

  His mind reeling, Eric asked, “Is anything else amiss?”

  Paresh shuffled through the contents. “Everything else is here.”

  “Molly, gather the photographs and t
ake them to Chief Hodges when you leave tonight,” he requested. “Paresh, try not to worry. I’m sure whoever did this only meant to protect Lydia’s identity rather than to scare you.”

  Molly reacted to cues subtly laced throughout Eric’s comments and actions, which she had learned to recognize within her first years with him. Gathering the fragments, she agreed, “I’ll bet this man doesn’t want your governess involved with the investigation. You told me they were good to you. Perhaps she was innocent.”

  “They should have just taken them then,” Paresh said sadly, snapping the latches in place.

  Eric took the case. “I’ll unpack it so you and Molly can enjoy dinner.”

  Before Paresh could object, he disappeared down the hall and Molly loudly crinkled The Greenery bag. With exaggerated flare, she popped lids from black plastic bottoms and swept Paresh’s entrée into place. “Voilà, madame!”

  Sitting beside her, Molly directed the conversation and drew out Paresh’s childhood dream of using Sunset Grove as an animal sanctuary, a diversion that Paresh not only appreciated, but also dove into eagerly. They were discussing logistics when Eric reappeared and joined them at the table.

  At a timely lull, hours later, Molly glanced at her watch and flipped the window shade up. The sky was nearly black. “Oh my! If I’m lucky, I can still catch Walter tonight.” She shoved the trash from dinner into the restaurant’s bag and stood.

  “Thanks for helping me today, and for dinner.” Paresh stood with a stretch and yawned.

  Covering her own yawn, Molly eyed Eric, who remained yawn free, and chuckled. “I never noticed that you don’t catch those.”

  “A secret perk,” he said with a wink, waiting at the door as she grabbed her purse. “Paresh, I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Okay,” she replied. “Thanks again, Molly. Drive safely.”

  “You’re welcome. Good night, hon.” She hugged Paresh and then stepped into the silent night with Eric.

  Paresh watched the door close and then walked toward the hall. She brushed her teeth, stripped off her clothes, and dressed in a pink satin and lace camisole set that she’d left in bathroom earlier. Facing the master suite alone was still daunting, so she slid into her mother’s robe and retrieved the candles from the hearth.