by S. K. Yule
“What? Like monsters or vampires or demons? Is that what you mean by things?”
He shrugged again. “And would you put these monsters and vampires and demons all in the same category?”
She thought about that for a moment. “If you are asking me if I think them all to be evil, I guess I’d have to say that, if they did exist, then, no, I wouldn’t put them all in the same category. There are all kinds of people—smart, dumb, rich, poor, happy, sad, good, and bad. I would have to assume the same would be true for any other species or kind of being.”
* * * *
His brows rose at her answer. She surprised him again, being the first person who had not automatically deemed all demons the devil’s spawn. Few people threw him off guard, but she was managing to do so at every turn. Izzy was a unique woman, and he found he liked her more with each passing minute. “You still didn’t answer my question. How do you survive being possessed unscathed?”
“I told you. I have an anchoring potion that protects my soul. I can invite spirits in to use my body for a short time to communicate with loved ones. I don’t do it for the spirits. I do it to provide closure and comfort to the living.”
He wondered if she knew about Havoc spirits. Even with her anchoring potion, she might not come out alive if one of them ever got hold of her. “You do realize that there are always exceptions to everything?”
Her brows dipped toward her nose. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
“Let’s say your potion works ninety percent of the time. What about the other ten, when it doesn’t?”
She shivered, and her skin paled.
Cyrus pulled a chair out from the table just in time for her to sink onto it before her butt hit the floor.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said.
It was clear she had suffered a nasty encounter at some point. Whichever spirit had hurt her, it better be damned glad he hadn’t been around at the time. He would have ripped it to shreds for daring to touch her.
When he put his hand on her shoulder, she stiffened at his touch. “I’m sorry, Izzy,” he said. “Let me get you some more wine.”
She didn’t refuse, and by the time she had swallowed a couple more sips, Scarlett was back with a man pushing a huge tray laden with food. Once the food was laid out on the table and uncovered, Cyrus thought Isabelle looked much better as her skin returned to its normal soft pink glow.
* * * *
Isabelle had never seen such an elaborate spread of food. The main dish was a colossal roast surrounded by baby red potatoes, carrots, onions, and green peppers. There were rolls that she was sure were made from scratch, and various side dishes served on gorgeous silver plates. The aromas made her belly grumble and her mouth water.
She was relieved Cyrus hadn’t inquired any further about her ability over dinner. When he’d asked her about the other ten percent, her mind had done an instant backflip to Stephen. She didn’t want to have that conversation with Cyrus. Hell, she didn’t want the memory, but she had no magic wand to remove it from her brain.
Scarlett seemed happy and relaxed, and Isabelle was glad the woman was finally able to feel guilt-free about moving on without Harry. By the time dinner was over and the chef had brought in scrumptious looking chocolate cake for dessert, the fog in her brain told her she’d had way too much wine. The giddiness and uninhibited wildness with which she wanted Cyrus was eating away at her self-control.
She stared at him, unashamedly perusing him, not trying to hide her actions in the least. He gazed back just as boldly, and her body screamed in silent invitation.
After dessert and coffee, Isabelle decided it would be best if she excused herself and went to her room before she made a fool of herself and jumped Cyrus.
She scooted her chair back and eased upright. “Thank you, Scarlett. Dinner was exquisite, and you were wonderful company.”
“No. Thank you, dear. It’s been a long time since I’ve had guests. I enjoyed it.”
Cyrus thanked Scarlett as well and insisted on walking Izzy to her room, even though she was adamant about being more than capable of making her own way. He guided her through the foyer and up the stairs to her door. Before she could go in and effectively shut him out, he pulled her around to face him, and she melted against him.
His mouth slanted over hers. This wasn’t a rough, demanding kiss like the previous one, but a slow, possessive exploration of senses. The hint of wine and chocolate on his tongue enhanced his erotic sensuality, and he flowed through her, claiming her, branding her. He was the only man she’d kissed who evoked such intensity of feeling with a mere mating of mouths. While the wine helped free her inhibitions, it wasn’t the only thing drawing her to Cyrus. There was something about him—his essence, his smell, his touch—that coaxed every wanton cell inside her to life.
She wanted him—drunk, sober, or otherwise.
All reason fled her foggy mind. At the same time, her body strained closer, begging for his touch. She moaned, and he deepened the kiss, pushing her back against the door and pinning her to the unyielding surface with his hard body. His hands rested on either side of her head, effectively imprisoning her. Not that she planned on going anywhere anytime soon.
His erection nudged her stomach, leaving no doubt that he wanted the same thing as she did, and she pushed back against him. A low growl rasped from his throat, and he cupped one breast and gently rolled the hardened tip of the nipple between his thumb and index finger. The soft fabric of her dress heightened the sensation.
She fit his hand perfectly. He covered her other breast, kneading them both gently, scraping his fingers back and forth over the peaks that begged for his touch. He took his mouth from hers and nibbled his way down her neck, raining kisses over her collarbone before sucking one nipple right through the fabric.
He licked the peak, wetting the material all around it. When he let out another low growl, she assumed it was in reaction to her braless state. Isabelle speared her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, silently pleading for more.
After moving to the other nipple, he treated it to the same slow, sweet torture. He slid his hand under her dress and caressed her thigh, his fingers moving slowly upward until they found the edge of her panties. Pushing them aside, he skimmed her heat.
“Holy sh—”He sucked in a breath. “God, you are so fucking wet.”
Isabelle nearly came when his fingers found her sex. He slipped along the wetness and found her center, then moved his finger in lazy circles over her clit as she arched her hips against him, crying out his name. Suddenly, he was on his knees, her dress was bunched around her hips, her panties yanked to the side, and his mouth was on her.
He licked her, pushing his tongue deep, then gliding it up and over her most sensitive flesh, over and over until she was gasping, riding his face with wild abandon. Within seconds, she cried out as her orgasm shook her body, turning her muscles to jelly.
She was sated, yet ached for more.
Cyrus stood, stared into her eyes, and licked his lips, as if savoring every last drop of her. He pulled one of her hands to his groin and pushed it against his hardness. “See what you do to me?”
His eyes burned black, and she gasped when she cupped his huge cock. He was magnificent. A dull ache throbbed low in her belly in response to the need for that wondrous erection to slide inside her.
* * * *
Cyrus was going to have Izzy. He had no choice. From the moment he’d slipped his fingers over her wet heat, he knew he’d never be able to deny his cock the same pleasure. She’d be heaven wrapped around him. Her slickened channel would grip him tightly while he plunged through her tightness, taking them both to shattering orgasm.
He bent his head to take her mouth again when footsteps sounded on the stairs behind them. Cyrus opened Isabelle’s door and pushed her inside her room before shutting it and turning around to come face-to-face with Scarlett. Damn. He was fond of the woman, but she had terrible
timing.
Scarlett raised one brow, no doubt taking in his tousled hair and disheveled appearance. Without a word, she grinned and continued walking toward the end of the long hallway where her own room was. “Goodnight, Cyrus,” she said over her shoulder before chuckling.
He sighed. “Goodnight.”
Once Scarlett had retreated into her room, he turned back to Izzy’s door and knocked softly. “Izzy?”
“Go away, Cyrus!”
He let his forehead rest against the cool wood. “Come on, Izzy, let me in. You know you want to.”
He was certain she wasn’t going to let him in, but he couldn’t resist teasing her.
“I said no. Go to bed.”
“I want to, darling. Let me in and we can both climb into that big—”
The door flung open, and he barely caught himself before tumbling inside. Izzy was in a tizzy, and she looked beautiful.
“It’s not going to happen. I’m sorry I led you on. I had too much wine. I don’t want to do this.”
He leaned closer to her. “Liar.”
Her face turned beet red in what he perceived to be anger with a hint of embarrassment from being called out on the lie. “Cyrus, I am going to my bed alone. Goodnight.”
She tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his foot, then pulled her to him and gave her a quick kiss. “Fine, Izzy, but I’m going to dream about you tonight, and everything I soon plan to do to you.”
* * * *
She slammed the door. He was infuriating, and…she still wanted him. What the hell was she doing? How could she have acted like such a hussy? Sure, he was gorgeous, sexy, and she ached for him like crazy, but she had just met him.
She had to get out of here and away from him before she did something really stupid.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Isabelle awoke to the pounding of drums in her head. And if a raging headache first thing in the morning wasn’t fun enough, the memories of the nightmare about Stephen she’d suffered through last night was the icing on the cake. She groaned. Or was the headache the icing? Whatever. At least the dream had ended well, with her mystery man finally making an entrance and saving her once again.
Resting her palm on her forehead, she tried to will the pain away. The dreams were frustrating and confusing, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something vaguely familiar about the new stranger in them.
Her psychic abilities were weak at best, but she was about ready to give them a spin, hoping they’d give her some kind of clue as to what message her dreams were trying to send her.
With a sigh, Isabelle threw back the heavy comforter, then did her normal morning routine of stretching and yawning. Suddenly, she remembered that she needed to get the hell out of here and away from Cyrus. God, even the mere thought of him heated her body.
After collecting her things, she did a quick sweep of the room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, snatched up her purse, and stepped outside the room, where she ran smack dab into a hard chest.
Strong hands reached out to steady her. Cyrus. Were there ever such things as clean getaways anymore?
“Good morning, Izzy.” He smiled and nodded toward her bag. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home.”
She shrugged his hands off her shoulders and started for the stairs.
“I don’t think so.”
Isabelle turned to face him, straightening her back. “What do you mean by that?”
He grinned, flashing her that mouthful of perfect pearly whites. “Remember the snowstorm Scarlett mentioned last night? It turned into a blizzard. It’s still going strong as we speak. Most of the roads are closed, and it’s forecasted to continue for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
No! This is not happening!
Dropping her bag, Isabelle bolted downstairs before jerking open the front door. She gasped at the whiteout that greeted her and at the cold that stole her breath. There was at least two feet of snow on the ground, and a gale blowing around even more of the stuff, making it nearly impossible to see her car parked across from the house.
Cyrus pulled her back inside and closed the door, grinning widely. “I told you.”
“Yeah. Great.”
This was not a good thing. She was going to be stuck here with him, and he wasn’t going to make it easy for her to avoid him.
She shot him a scathing look and made her way back up the stairs to her room. Before she could close the door, he called to her that breakfast was ready. His chuckle floated to her ears, causing her to roll her eyes.
He was amused, and she was angry and horny. Not a pleasant combination.
She was hungry too. After twenty minutes of pacing, she caved and went down to the dining room. Scarlett wasn’t there, but of course, Cyrus was.
She was more infuriated when she saw the all-too-familiar smug look on his sexy-as-sin face. “Where’s Scarlett?”
“She wasn’t feeling well this morning. Migraine, I think. She said they usually last a day or two, and that she might be in bed all day.”
The day kept getting better and better. At least her headache was almost gone. Unfortunately, without Scarlett around, she’d have a harder time avoiding Cyrus. After breakfast, she’d go up to her room and try to get some answers about her dream. That would keep her busy and away from him for a few hours.
* * * *
Cyrus could barely keep the grin off his face. He was sure Izzy wouldn’t appreciate it, so he was trying to reel it in. Why couldn’t she admit that she was attracted to him? She chewed on her eggs as if they were her worst enemy, and his body twitched in excitement when he thought about her teeth scraping over his skin. He silently watched her until she finished eating, not missing one of the surreptitious glances directed his way from under her lashes.
He’d never met a woman who had held out against his charm for so long. Then again, he’d never met a woman like Izzy.
She drained the last of the orange juice in her glass, making him envy the juice that she licked off her bottom lip. Abruptly, she wiped her mouth with a napkin, stood, and scurried from the room like a scared mouse.
He sat back after finishing his own meal, stretching his legs out in front of him. He’d give her a few minutes to collect herself, a few moments to lull herself into a false sense of security, before his next visit.
* * * *
Isabelle found some candles in the bathroom cabinet under the sink and in the linen closet. After carrying them to her room and carefully arranging them on the floor in a circle just large enough for her to sit in, she lit them, then flipped the switch by the door to dim the lights. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the circle, she rested her forearms on her knees, palms up, trying to relax and channel as much tranquility into her body and brain as possible. This was a must if she was going to open herself up to any possible psychic activity.
She breathed in and out slowly, deeply, and chased all thoughts from her mind.
“I seek answers from the energy of light.
Unseen messenger, please guide me,
Show me in wake what I cannot unravel in my dreams.”
Isabelle sat motionless, keeping her mind clear and her body relaxed.
She waited…and waited. Just when she thought nothing would happen, the room turned cold. As she shivered, her soul shrank inside of her in fear, though her body burned. She’d only asked for guidance, but something was not right. She’d channeled something, but it wasn’t guidance. Isabelle wanted to open her eyes, to break the connection with whatever was in the room with her, but a feeling of sheer terror anchored her to the floor, not allowing her to move.
Suddenly, her body was invaded, and the pain of being ripped to shreds from the inside out seared through her. She cried out, even though no one would hear her. Darkness surrounded her soul, and each breath became more difficult, as though she was being suffocated.
She was familiar with these feelings…the ter
ror, the anguish, the anger. Stephen had gotten to her again, but this time she had no idea how. She had not invoked an invitation, and no soul should have been able to possess her. Yet, she was being possessed. She couldn’t survive this again. She wasn’t prepared. The scars from last time were still too raw, too deep.
She fought, she cried out, she chanted the spell over and over that should have ejected him from her body, the one that had saved her last time.
He didn’t budge. He surrounded her and continued trying to kill her. Stephen was going to take her body, and she wasn’t sure she could do anything about it. She struggled, fought harder, her soul seeped through Stephen’s dark one in various places, trying to escape, but he remained stronger. She was fading, her life force draining away.
She was going to die.
When all hope seemed lost, when she was about to throw in the towel, another presence slipped inside her—a comfortable presence, a presence that her soul migrated toward.
An instant later, Stephen was yanked away from her soul and out of her body, his loud screech echoing through her ears. As she slipped into unconsciousness, an image of the man from her dreams flashed through her mind. Familiar and strong, he was protecting her.
* * * *
When Izzy hadn’t responded to Cyrus’s soft knocking, he’d pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dark, except for a faint flickering of light coming from the end of the bed. Izzy sat on the floor, surrounded by a circle of candles. He watched her for a few moments, wondering what she was up to. A grin tugged at his lips.
Then his heart nearly stopped.
The blackness of a Havoc spirit suddenly formed above Izzy’s head, then entered her.
Rage singed Cyrus’s veins and throbbed with each heartbeat. His body would die if he was out of it for too long, but he wouldn’t hesitate. If he didn’t make it out in time, he’d get another damned body. Izzy didn’t have that option, and he wasn’t about to let a Havoc kill her.