Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

by Colleen Gleason

  The Reaper stood, rinsing his plate in the sink as he’d seen humans do before. He knew that Sam Sloan wouldn’t have bothered and wondered why he should either, but it seemed a little thing to do, and it would keep her off balance until he could find a way out of this situation.

  He stepped through the rooms, feeling the disjointed memories of the man whose body he occupied echo with his footsteps. Alone, the panic seeped in.

  He still didn’t know how it had happened. He remembered stepping in—early because he’d needed to touch Maggie for reasons he still didn’t fully understand. Half in, half out, he’d bridge the gap between them. Even now, he could feel that sense of her. The wonder, the beauty, the draw that had kept him holding on when he should have let go and taken both himself and the dying Sam Sloan to the Beyond.

  The pain had come fast and hot, electrifying. He’d felt the human’s body seize, felt the clutch of Sam’s consciousness as it sparked and then ... the inferno had seared him, melted him, melded him into something he wasn’t.

  Now here he was, trapped in this body.

  And still thinking about touching the woman.

  As far as he could tell, no one in the Beyond knew he was here. Reapers were a common, expendable thing, not unique enough to even bear a name. Not like angels or demons who were tallied and tracked, albeit with limited success. No rescue party would be coming to help him get back to the Beyond, where he belonged. He’d have to find the way on his own.

  The logical solution would be to kill the vessel that lodged him and free them both. But in those seconds when he’d tried to pull Sam’s soul from his body, a sense of wrongness had enveloped him. A tainted hue had smothered Sam’s light—a corruption of some sort that had taken flight in the final moments, leaving Sam’s soul damaged and weak.

  There were several possible explanations for what the Reaper had seen and felt. Possession was the most likely. Sam could have sold his soul to one of the many demons of the Beyond, and that dark veil that had doused his light could have been the courier come to claim it. Perhaps the events that followed, the electrifying pain, the entrapment in this body ... that had trumped the demon’s plan. A soul could only be taken in death and Sam was still alive.

  It all made sense, except it hadn’t felt like a demon and that intrigued him. What else had the power to control a human soul? Equally important, had Sam been aware of it—whatever the illusive it was? Had he consented and let it in?

  Is that why you left?

  Those five words spoken by Maggie had been so pain-filled, so angry. So telling. He’d wondered at the estrangement between Sam and his wife. He’d puzzled over the stupidity of the human male.

  To be near Maggie was to yearn to touch her. Each touch made him long for another. He wanted to press his mouth against hers more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted other things, too. Things he could barely conceive.

  This, Sam had left.

  He shook his head, fighting the urge to dwell on that. Sam’s foolish decisions were not his concern. Escaping this human casing was. Yet ...

  Killing the vessel would solve the problem and send him back where he belonged. It would release Sam’s damaged soul and leave it to whatever fate awaited in the Beyond. But it wouldn’t answer the question—what taint had darkened Sam Sloan’s soul in the first place?

  Nor, would it appease the hunger inside the Reaper, the hollow need for the woman that was too great to ignore. The very idea of leaving before he had the chance to understand, to satisfy his desire, filled him with frustration. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—do it.

  He stopped his relentless pacing, decision made. He would delay the destruction of this body until he knew more about the corruption he’d sensed ... and until he could quench his thirst for Maggie. He would have the woman first. Return to the Beyond after.

  “Maggie,” he said aloud, as he’d done in the hospital when he’d waited for her.

  He moved to the window. She was coming back, strolling down the sidewalk holding a boy by the hand. As they walked, the child spoke with animated gestures, and she listened with undivided attention, a slight smile on her lips.

  Until she looked up. Until she saw him.

  She froze. So did the Reaper, while all the breath left his borrowed body.

  What was she thinking? How could just a look make every inch of him feel hard and hungry?

  Mouth dry, he waited for her to come to him.

  CHAPTER 5

  The afternoon and evening had crept by, marked by Sam’s veiled glances and Maggie’s overwhelming awareness of his every move. He always seemed to be too close, too observant, too big ... too masculine. When he was near, she felt it beneath the skin. It had always been like that between them, even in the end.

  They had breakfast for dinner, usually a favorite, but as Maggie moved around the kitchen, Sam seemed to be everywhere she turned. In her way. Making her agitated and so aware of him that her nerves buzzed. Every time he touched her—which was pretty much every chance he got—he scattered her thoughts and turned her into a bumbling fool. Once he reached around her at the sink, and she nearly melted to the floor in a boneless puddle. If anything, this new version of Sam—Sam 2.0—had made her attraction to him more lethal.

  The kids buffered some of the tension, but they also contributed to it. Lexi texted continuously as she pretended to do her homework, while at the same time, eyeing the stranger in their midst with the same suspicion as Maggie did. The last time Sam had been home during an evening like this had been nearly a year ago. The memory was peppered with his short temper and impatient pacing from window to door. He’d been waiting for a call and as soon as it came, he’d left as abruptly as he’d arrived.

  And only come back to pack a bag.

  Maggie didn’t chastise Lexi for her disrespect now. Sam might seem like a changed man, but no one could erase their past, no matter how much they wanted to. Lexi had a right to her anger. So did Justin, but he was too young to know it.

  “Does your head hurt?” Justin asked looking up from the picture he’d been coloring to eye the bandage covering the shaved spot just over Sam’s left ear.

  Sam touched it. “Some.”

  “Who shot you?”

  It was the question of the hour. The police had been to the hospital several times, asking the same thing, interrogating, trying to trip him up and expose the amnesia thing for the lie they suspected. Sam had been shot point blank. How could he not remember who’d done it?

  One of the detectives had stood in front of Sam, demonstrating just where and how close the shooter would have been when he pulled the trigger, but nothing seemed to jar his memory, and each time they asked the question, Sam grew more confused. Agitated.

  “I don’t remember who shot me,” he told his son.

  She almost believed him.

  “How come?” Justin asked.

  Sam shrugged. “I just remember waking up in the hospital and seeing your mom.”

  “She was there?” Justin asked with a scowl.

  For a moment, Sam looked uncertain.

  “I’m not their biological mother,” Maggie reminded him gently.

  Memory nudged, he nodded. “I meant you,” he murmured, gaze intent on her face.

  Justin let out a breath. “That’s good. She would have made you cry.”

  Justin’s mother made everyone cry eventually. Maggie had only met her once, but Janet had a sly way of ferreting out the facets of fear that lurked in a person’s sense of self. Maggie’s stomach still clenched when she thought of the time Sam’s ex-wife had come to her house shortly after the wedding, before things had gone bad.

  “I thought it was a rumor,” Janet said when Maggie opened the front door.

  Maggie had assumed Janet was still living at the facility where she’d been committed. Still, she’d known instantly who the beautiful woman on the front step was. Lexi had her eyes and mouth. Justin, the thick blond hair.

  “The children are at school, Janet,”
she said calmly, pretending that she felt no threat in the other woman’s appearance even though her heart had been racing.

  “I came for you, Miss Fancy Pants,” Janet replied with a dimpled smile. “Enjoy my family while you can. They won’t be yours long.”

  Maggie had wanted to scoff or return a snide comment in kind. But Janet had effortlessly pricked a festered wound. In the deepest, darkest corner of her mind, Maggie had been waiting for something like this, convinced that so much happiness was simply an invitation to heartbreak. Maggie had plenty of experience with losing things she loved. The moment had felt portentous and had proven to be the harbinger of the future.

  Justin went back to his school project—what he planned to do over summer vacation. So far he’d drawn a picture of himself, his sister and Maggie on a sandy beach.

  Reluctantly, Maggie glanced at the clock. It was almost nine-thirty, long past Justin’s bedtime. Selfishly, she’d let him stay up late to postpone the dreaded moments when she’d have to be alone with Sam.

  “Time to clean up, buddy,” Maggie said.

  Justin grumbled, but it had been an exciting day and he was tired. Sam watched with interest as Maggie helped Justin write his name on the bottom of his picture before they gathered up all of the crayons and put them back in the box. Lexi slammed her books shut and crammed them into her backpack. She went up to her room with a mumbled, “’Night.”

  “Good night, Lexi,” Sam answered, startling them all.

  He followed Maggie and Justin upstairs when they went—too close once again—and leaned against the door jamb while she helped Justin brush his teeth and get into bed. They’d been reading Justin’s favorite—for the third time—a mystery about three kids, two dogs and a babysitter in a haunted house at night.

  Justin said, “I don’t want that one,” though, when she picked it up off his nightstand.

  Surprised, Maggie answered, “Finally tired of it?”

  “No. Just don’t want to be scared.”

  The story had more humor than thrills, and he knew it by heart. Wondering what caused the change of mind, she picked a Dr. Seuss book from the shelf and sat on his bed.

  “Do you wanna come in and hear the story?” Justin asked, looking past Maggie to where Sam stood at the door.

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder, sure that the invitation would do the trick and convince Sam to find something better to do. Instead, he came in, filling the small room, looking big and male and completely out of place among the toys and stuffed animals scattered about. The shadow of his beard gave him a hard, disreputable appearance that trilled against every nerve ending. He’d showered earlier, and now she caught a whiff of his expensive cologne. She’d always loved the way Sam smelled—even when she’d been actively hating his guts.

  She’d packed up most of his things and stored them in boxes in the garage, but his cologne stayed in the mirrored cabinet. In weak moments, she let herself remember how it had felt to press her face against his skin and breathe that scent in.

  She held her breath when he sat beside her on the bed. Too close, of course. She could feel the heat of his thigh against hers.

  The book was short but it seemed to go on forever as her awareness of the large man beside her reached excruciating levels. Each time his glance strayed to her face, she felt a flush follow, scalding hot. Every shift in weight brought her closer to him, made her want to jump to her feet and bolt. With relief, she declared, “Step with care and great tact and remember that Life's a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left. And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.),” and looked up just as Justin’s eyes drooped shut with only a few more sentences to go. Smiling, she closed the book. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, she turned on the nightlight, switched off the lamp and left the room.

  Sam came right behind her.

  Nervously, she made her way to the master bedroom. Sam and the children had moved into her small house after they’d wed. The plan had been to fix it up and sell it so they could buy a bigger place—one with enough room to grow their family.

  At least he’d fixed the drippy bathroom sink before he’d lost interest in that goal. She didn’t know where he’d been sleeping for the last year, presumably the apartment where he’d been shot. She’d given up caring. At least that’s what she told herself.

  The house only had three bedrooms, a fact she’d been worried about since the doctors had said to bring him home. Sam followed her into the master bedroom now, as if he meant to sleep there. With her.

  Something deep inside turned traitorous at the thought.

  Determined not to show just how disconcerted she was, Maggie moved to the bed, took her sleep shirt from the nightstand and grabbed her pillow. She’d curl up with Justin tonight, though for such a little boy, he was a terrible bed hog. She’d be exhausted in the morning.

  “Just let me grab my toothbrush,” she mumbled as she brushed past Sam on the way to the bathroom.

  He caught her arm, stopping her. Surprised, she looked up into those blue, blue eyes. “We don’t sleep together?” he asked, a shade of disappointment in his tone.

  “We don’t live together,” she answered pointedly.

  He had that lost, panicky look again. It staunched the harsh words that wanted to follow. She swallowed, realizing just how bitter she’d become.

  “I thought you’d be more comfortable if you had the bed to yourself,” she said instead.

  His gaze made a lazy search of her face, long lashes casting shadows in the hollows beneath his eyes. He looked vulnerable and dangerous all at the same time.

  “I wouldn’t be,” he said softly, tugging gently on her arm, pulling her so she stood rebelliously in front of him.

  Only not all of her was rebelling. A conspirator within just sighed, finally.

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to peer through the many layers of façade to the truth. “What are you doing, Sam? I mean, other than trying to freak me out with all these soul searching looks and touching?”

  He tilted his head, that thoughtful expression back on his face. “You don’t like me to touch you?”

  Just the opposite. Even now, she craved it.

  “It’s not that. It’s just that—Sam, I know you don’t remember and holding you responsible for the things you did when you have no recollection of them—it feels wrong. But ... I do know. I remember all of it. I can’t pretend I don’t.”

  He caught his lip with his teeth, nodding in that inquisitive way. “I’m not a good guy,” he said at last. “Am I? In the hospital, I heard you say that.”

  She looked down, flushing as she remembered her harsh words. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was just mad at you for dying.”

  He shook his head and cupped her face with his free hand. He still had her arm grasped in the other, but she could pull away if she tried. Fool that she was, she didn’t.

  “No, you weren’t,” he said in that low voice. “You were mad at me for taking so long to do it.”

  “That’s not true,” she lied.

  “I think it is. You don’t even like me.”

  She swallowed. Like was too ambivalent to describe anything she’d ever felt for him.

  “You haven’t given me a whole lot of reasons to like you, Sam.”

  “Why haven’t you left me then?”

  Her throat felt like it was coated in tar that sucked down the words she tried to speak. “Justin,” she managed at last. “Lexi. Mostly Justin, since Lexi can’t stand me. She needs me though.”

  His blank look angered her.

  “They aren’t mine, Sam. Before you left, you made it perfectly clear that I’d never see them again if I went anywhere. Not that I needed the threat. I couldn’t abandon them to you and—” Your vicious ex-wife—“Janet.”

  He nodded, his expression more pensive than shamed. She shouldn’t be surprised. Sam and Janet had been a matched set.


  “Do you remember what she’s like?” Maggie asked.

  “Only her name. Not her face. Nothing else.”

  Truth? Lies? Did it really matter?

  “I’ll sleep with Justin tonight,” she said, pushing past him. She was dangerously close to tears and furious with the emotional tornado spinning inside her. It wasn’t fair, this moment. Any of the moments since he’d awakened from certain death. Asking for her. Watching her with those beautiful eyes, tracking her movements—as if where she was, what she did—mattered to him.

  She scooped her toiletries off the bathroom counter and into a travel bag she kept under the sink, and then returned to the bedroom for her pajamas and pillow. Sam hadn’t moved.

  “Maggie?” he said softly.

  Don’t turn around. Don’t look at him. It will only hurt.

  She let out a deep breath and faced him. “What?”

  He shook his head, hands coming up from his sides. “Staying for the kids ... that’s not the right reason to hang on. I’m sorry he—I—made you make that choice.”

  He looked as stunned by the declaration as she felt. Her jaw dropped and the tears she’d valiantly tried to hold back, pooled in her eyes, blurring her vision. “Who are you?” she demanded in a broken voice.

  He blinked, his expression once again, mystifyingly panicked. As if he’d stumbled into a house of mirrors and no longer knew which reflection to believe and which to fear. His mouth moved over silent words before at last he spoke in a low, somehow damning voice. It was filled with that familiar, possessive hint of Texas she’d fallen in love with. The one she’d let talk her into anything.

  “I’m your husband, Maggie.”

  He took a step forward, invading her space with his size and scent and blue, blue eyes. Anger lurked in their depths, mixing in the tide pool of longing that made no sense. He’d abandoned her.

  He wasn’t touching her yet, but he stood so near that she felt his breath at her temple. She curled her fingers into her palms, willing herself to stand strong and straight. He wasn’t the man to lean on in a moment of weakness. She knew that. And yet, she’d missed him so much.