The Shadow Guide (Challenging the Fates)

by Victoria Smith

  “What happened?” He rubbed her freezing hands before wrapping her in his arms.

  Alaina told him, embarrassed at how easily they’d taken her under the spell.

  “They’re more powerful than I thought. Damn.” He held her close, easing the knot in her stomach. “And you are far, far stronger than I realized.”

  “What now?” she asked against his shoulder.

  “I don’t know.” He moved away, grabbing one of the cameras and removing the card. “Damn. I wish I’d had a recorder set up.”

  She hated how much she’d come to rely on him. She wanted to ask him if he regretted making love with her last night, but the question wouldn’t come. Maybe they were supposed to pretend it didn’t happen. She snorted. Patrick glanced at her. There was no way she could ever pretend his touch hadn’t affected her. Even with the crap scared out of her she still wanted him.

  “They’re sizing you up—trying to figure out a way to use your weaknesses against you.” Patrick continued gathering equipment.

  “Whatever they were saying was almost hypnotic, forcing me to stay and listen.”

  Patrick stopped and turned toward her. “Crap. You can never, ever listen to them. Never. They’ll warp your thinking.” He turned quickly, but Alaina caught an edge of fear.

  “And how do I stop them?” She took a medium-sized camera bag from him, hefting it onto her shoulder.

  “If I knew how, they’d be gone already.”

  She smiled, earning a half-cocked brow from him. Damn, what she could do with that eyebrow, especially if he was naked over her. Mick yelled a hello from the foyer before she could act on her impulses. “Well then, you’d better get busy.”

  His sigh was loud as he went out the door to greet the crew. She followed. Some of her anxiety lessened with the sense of normalcy and the arrival of Patrick’s crew.

  After Patrick updated the guys and told them what needed to be done, they headed up the stairs. Gram’s room was cold, maybe due to the door being closed all night. Or not. Several shadows lingered in the corners, most appeared huddled into themselves as if unaware of the others near them.

  The sense of malice wasn’t present until she stripped the sheets from the bed and shoved them down the laundry chute in the hall. A ball of energy came up behind her. Alaina raised the hand with the ring, not sure what else to do. A sense of confidence filled her, as control snapped into place.

  She turned quickly. The red eyes of the shadow narrowed as it studied her. The face sharpened into focus, revealing an older person—presumably male—though the features weren’t distinguishable.

  “You will wait until the time I instructed. I will not do this now.”

  The presence dissipated, leaving her shaken and worried she’d fail. Despite the confidence and control she’d felt—the rightness—she had to try to find a way to get out of sorting the damn things, or whatever it was she was supposed to do for them, or this new job might ruin the rest of her life. She had to get out of this family legacy. She snorted. Hell, this was no legacy. It was a curse. A wink from Patrick forced her back into motion. She tossed the pillows into the hall before turning back to the bed.

  “I don’t think moving furniture is enough. They’re not taking you seriously. Or maybe I should say they’re being encouraged to not believe you can do the job.”

  “What do you mean?” She watched the only shadow that had remained in the room when they started moving furniture. “You get that from her?”

  “Has to be, but I didn’t know it was female.” He glanced over at the dark shape.

  “A young girl. Killed in a boating accident on her birthday. She’s not evil, but she’s confused and scared. I can tell that, but nothing else.” Things would be much easier for her if she could.” Alaina shrugged when his head snapped towards her. “I get fragments. She repeats the same thing. She’s cold, lonely, and scared. Someone is telling her, all of them, you’re a fraud and you don’t know what you’re doing. She doesn’t know why she’s here. She only wants to move on, and she’s scared of you.” Patrick turned toward the shadow figure as the dead girl moved to face him.

  The spirit nodded, visibly relaxing—if that were possible.

  “It’s going to be okay. She will help you. I promise.” Patrick quirked his head toward Alaina as the spirit straightened.

  “If I could talk to them . . .”

  “You’ll be able to soon. It’ll click into place when you begin. I think we need to do a little more in here though. Maybe paint and change that.” He pointed to the gaudy antique and huge chandelier. “That screams Alona, not you.”

  She nodded. “Sage green for the walls and something simple. Okay.”

  By the time Mick called over the walkie-talkie that lunch was ready, they had the bed moved into the attic storage and the furniture rearranged. They’d sent Dave to the hardware store for the paint and light fixture. Shadow people and strange noises frequently interrupted their work, but Alaina did her best to ignore them. The sense time was running out filled her, but at least they didn’t have to remove wallpaper or paint windows. Gram had kept her room plain and simple—something to be grateful for.

  Her neck prickled as she crumpled the napkin in her hand and folded the paper plate. She glanced at Patrick, but he seemed unaware of the change. Maybe. He raised one eyebrow, glancing at her before casually turning to the wall behind him.

  The three faces spoke, their voices tumbling over one another in rhythmic tones, though Alaina still couldn’t understand what they said. They seemed to direct their speech at Patrick. The music they’d filled her with earlier was gone. She pinched her arm to stop from wanting to hear it again. She had to prove she was strong enough to resist them. Going to stand beside Patrick, she joined her ringed hand with his.

  They disappeared. Patrick stalked out, heading toward the office. She waited in the doorway as he plugged a recording device into a USB port on the computer and typed in a few commands.

  She followed him up the steps, grabbing the brushes and rollers he couldn’t carry. A confrontation was coming. Good. He’d been prickly since they stowed the bed in the attic and saw the young woman holding a baby in the rocking chair near the attic window. She understood what that sighting had done to him, but she wasn’t going to be hurt for something beyond her control. Pushing by him in the hall, she went into her room to change into painting clothes.

  She slammed the door behind her when she entered Gram’s room, thoroughly irritated but not quite sure why. Patrick continued stirring paint and ignoring her. Fine, two could play his stupid game.

  Grabbing one of the buckets, she headed toward the window-free wall and popped the seal on the paint. She did know they needed to get the negative emotions out of this room before she could do whatever it was she was supposed to do here. If only Gram would have taken the time to explain all of this to her, she wouldn’t need to put up with Patrick’s barely concealed hostility.

  After three hours of total, angry silence, Alaina had had enough. They were nearly done with the last coat of paint, rushing the job for the sake of the quickly moving time. Patrick had replaced the light fixture with the ceiling paint still wet, and once they finished their current walls, they’d be finished.

  She picked up her paintbrush, dipped it into the green, and striped it across Patrick’s neck. He clamped his hand onto the area, glaring at her when he realized what she’d done.

  “Very funny. We don’t have time for goofing off.” He turned back to the wall.

  Alaina did it again, trying her best not to laugh. “We don’t have time for you to be so pissed off either. The negativity is bad for the room.”

  He glared at her again, but said nothing. She shrugged and applied the final bit of paint to the wall, bending over to gather her brushes as Patrick grabbed her from behind. With a shriek, she spun in
his arms, not sure what to expect.

  The searing, toe-curling kiss wasn’t it. She couldn’t have resisted if she’d wanted to, and there was no way she wanted to. Pissed at him or not, she craved his touch, needed it. He backed her up against the wall, not even the squish of wet paint breaking his hold on her. He kissed her with nearly suffocating intensity. He stripped off her jeans before she could even get his unbuttoned. She let go of everything but the feel of him as he pushed a finger inside her and moaned. Or maybe that moan had come from her? She reached for his pants, hurrying to get the button undone and feel him inside her.

  She didn’t want niceties or sweetness. Alaina wanted Patrick as he was—rough and angry. She pushed against his shoulder, urging him to hurry. He smiled, his eyebrow raising. Was she using him as a way to forget about the changes in her life, denying her fears and channeling her energy into sex rather than what she should be concentrating on? She had a hard time believing that. Each time they made love she felt more in control and she sensed the connection between them growing stronger. His touch focused her energy, even now.

  “You’re a jerk,” she said, pushing his pants down with her foot.

  “I know, and you’re so freaking hot I can’t stand myself. I need to fuck you. Now.” He removed his fingers and she moaned at the loss.

  Before she could complain again, he was in her, pumping his hips in a fantastic rhythm that sent waves of pulsating insanity through her entire body. She rocked against him, matching his moves and clutching his shirt.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed into his mouth as he moved his arm to her lower back to support her. “Don’t stop.”

  “I don’t intend to.” He pushed into her harder and her world collapsed into him.

  The room lightened as if to punctuate her completion.

  Patrick chuckled as she rested her head against his chest, too weak to move. “I didn’t think we’d be this incredible again.”

  “Seriously?” She moved her head, but couldn’t pick it up the whole way.

  “No. I’m afraid, Alaina. Afraid of this.” He left her barely able to stand on her own as he tugged on his jeans. “I’m sorry I walked out on you that night in the greenhouse. I just . . . didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Everything that came to mind wasn’t right. He still wore his dead wife’s wedding band around his neck. What the hell did she expect from him? She was competing with a ghost. Regardless of his claim to not want to hurt her, she would be in severe pain when this was over. She needed to decide if that pain was going to be worth it.

  Didn’t she have enough to deal with right now?

  With a sigh, she slid Patrick’s shirt over her head, breathing in his scent, and grabbed her destroyed clothes from the drop cloth. She peeked into the hallway before making a mad dash to her room. After dumping the paint-covered clothes into the trash, she scrubbed the green from her arms and shoulders, removing the worst of it. Dressed in old clothes again, she went back to the room to fix the paint they’d ruined, but Patrick had already taken care of the repair. She grabbed her brushes and went to the hall bathroom to clean them. Patrick didn’t say a word when she accidentally bumped into him on her way by. He didn’t even acknowledge her apology. Tears threatened, but she choked them back.

  A little over a week ago, she was living her own life, minding her own business, and smiling a heck of a lot more. She missed Gram, and she missed her old life. It didn’t matter that she could still run her business from Gram’s house—her house now—and could continue to grow her specialty herbs in the greenhouse next to the potting shed in the backyard.

  Alaina stopped, wondering if Gram’s easy agreement to Alaina’s building her greenhouse in the backyard instead of buying land was because Gram knew this would happen. When Alaina had considered a few acres on the other side of town, Gram had talked her out of it. Sure, she’d had a ton of very sound financial reasons—Alaina’s still fledgling business as one—but that was four years ago, and Lavender’s was on definite solid ground now. Between Internet orders and repeat customers for her medicinal herbs, Alaina wouldn’t even have to keep and maintain the store to make a very decent profit.

  She loved the store though. Between the herbs, crafts, specialty coffees, and nursery plants she sold, it was a haven of relaxation. Alaina missed it. She’d only been in a few times since the funeral, though the business continued to run fine without her constant presence. She’d been checking in with the staff twice a day and was thankful her managers kept everything running smoothly. She loved the place so much she usually spent most of her time there, preferring to work out of her office there than anywhere else.

  Her brain hurt when she realized how much she had to do. Christmas planning, decorating designs, and ordering merchandise for the store should begin by the end of next week. The planning session should have already happened. She knew her staff understood why it wasn’t scheduled, but it was definitely something she needed to put at the top of her to do list. The day-long meeting that included a catered lunch and then drinks afterward was a much anticipated event.

  If Alaina didn’t get a handle on the weirdness going on around her, she’d run the risk of losing customers if she wasn’t ready for the holidays. She had great people helping her, but business needed tending to, and soon. Unfortunately, until she figured all this weird shit out, she was stuck.

  Patrick stood behind her, patiently waiting for her to finish washing out her brushes. She finally flicked the water out of the last brush and stepped back. Patrick raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Sorry. Woolgathering.” She moved to the side, still lost in her mind.

  “Alaina.” His voice was quiet but earnest. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have never let things happen between us. It was a mistake. I took advantage of you.”

  Well, that did it. She pushed against his back as she passed. “Jerk. I don’t need your apology or your guilt. I’m a grown woman. I wouldn’t have let you touch me if I didn’t want it. I don’t remember asking for a happily-ever-after from you. I don’t remember asking for anything from you except checking the house for spooks. What happened between us was phenomenal and I don’t regret a second of it. I’m sorry that you do.”

  She pushed him again, slamming the door behind her. Bastard. The trio of faces on the wall seemed to mock her as she passed. Alaina put up her middle finger, sick of being followed by them. She was tired of all of this crap. Returning to the room she’d use to do whatever it was she was supposed to, she stopped.

  Peace and confidence overwhelmed her as she stood under the new light fixture. Maybe she’d done something right with her decisions. She still hated this damned legacy, and that she apparently didn’t have much choice ate at her, but she’d do what she had to do. For now. The room swirled with dark shapes. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she backed out the door, going to the spare room to get the chair she wanted to use. She pushed at it, getting the overstuffed brown suede to the door, but no farther. There was no way the chair was making it out of this room under her manipulation. Damn.

  Patrick and Mick appeared, turning and pushing the chair without a word. She followed, grateful and a little irritated at her lack of strength. Patrick paused in the door after putting the chair in place. Alaina studied him, waiting for him to say something, but all he did was nod and walk away.

  “Jerk.”

  She sat in the chair, scanning the room and blowing out the nudge of fear with a long, hard breath. There were a few more things she wanted to place in here, but for the most part, she could begin doing whatever it was she was supposed to. She only wished she knew exactly how that was supposed to happen. Patrick had told her as much as he knew, but he said it was different for everyone. As she tucked her legs under her, something hard dug into her butt. Reaching down into the cushions, her h
and closed around a large book.

  ~ ~ ~

  Patrick didn’t know what to do.

  He was the jerk she’d called him. There was no doubt about that. Why he’d said those things to her, he didn’t know. Except he was scared. More scared than he’d ever been in his life.

  There was something about her that made him stronger, more confident, and . . . more. She brought out emotions and needs he couldn’t explain—hadn’t even felt with Jana. He didn’t want them. He could live the rest of his life without having those kinds of ties. Jana’s death had proven he didn’t have what it took to be a part of a guide’s life. He’d spent too much time being angry at her for the way she’d done the job she had no choice but to perform. She’d been lazy and sloppy and could not have cared less if she made the wrong decision.

  Hell. He’d spent a lot of time being angry with Jana, period.

  He peeked in the door of Alaina’s sorting room as he set down the bag of equipment he wanted to hook up before she was ready to begin. She sat in the chair with her eyes closed. He fought the urge to ram his fist through the wall because of his idiocy. She’d done nothing wrong. It wasn’t her fault he was terrified of what he felt when he was with her—both in bed and out. He was the one with the faults, the guilt, and the rage he carried with more conviction than anything else he’d ever done in his life, including being married to Jana. Unease gnawed at him, leaving an acidic taste in his mouth. He forced the emotions away and concentrated on setting up the equipment.

  When he was done, he sent the small crew home with the recordings from earlier in the day. Scrounging through the fridge, he found something to warm later when Alaina would need refueling. He then returned to the office and uploaded the translated recording he’d made after lunch when they’d taunted him in a language he couldn’t understand. There was no guarantee the program would be able to decipher it, especially if the language was old or unknown. Patrick thought he recognized it from the ancient language studies he took a few months ago, but he couldn’t place the dialect.