Spent, but still ravenous for more, Rafe reached for her, but she kicked him hard on the shin and rolled away to writhe feverishly against the sheets, selfishly hoarding her pleasure. Her legs were thrown wide, her sex fragrant where she stirred it, and the rich odour of woman was a drug melting Rafe's brain and his ability to reason.
'Not unless I will it!' Her voice was icy cold, despite her heat.
When he tried again to move towards her, drawn like some primordial organism towards heat or nourishment, she growled with unearthly fury and lashed out with shocking power, to strike his cheek.
White light exploded and Rafe fell back, dazed and winded.
6 Trust Issues
As his wits came back to him, Rafe sat up with a jerk, clutching his face.
The woman in bed with him was lying back peacefully against the pillows now, her face tranquil, even though her hand was still at her crotch, her fingers curved to cup her mound.
Paula!
Isidora was gone. He could feel it. She'd disappeared as suddenly as she'd arrived, leaving her vessel in the same hypnotic trance she'd been in all along.
Rafe nearly fell off the bed. He still felt giddy from the blow, but disorientated from much more than that. His gut still glowed from the sex, yet he felt heartsick and disgusted at his own weakness.
What the hell have I done? he thought, his innards churning. What did she mean by 'summoned'? Has something changed?
The sight of Paula, so vulnerable, twisted him with guilt. Yet a part of him still wanted to summon the sorceress again. Her dark enchantment was like delicious, dangerous, addictive alcohol, and he mustn't let it snare him.
She offered power, lush eroticism and possibly the antidote to his greatest terror. She'd lived hundreds of years, she claimed, and she could save him from squalid death at 42.
'What the fuck are you thinking, man?' he hissed at himself. Bringing forth Isidora meant oblivion for Paula, he knew it in his gut. How could he do that to her? She'd come to him for help, and yet he could still hear Isidora whispering eternity in his brain.
He reached out to touch Paula's hand, to stir awakening in her palm, then snatched back his fingers. She looked peaceful and sexually untouched despite the fact she had her hand between her legs. His heart heavy, he slid off the bed and padded from the room, unwilling to shatter her peace and explain the unexplainable. Not the fact that Isidora existed, but the fact that he'd consorted with her, almost fucked her. In Paula's body.
He could still see the sheen of his own semen on her belly, drying in what looked like a lacquered pattern. Moving from side to side, he seemed to see characters and stylised swirls and curlicues for a moment. But then it was gone, and it just looked like spunk on skin again, the depressing evidence of his own weakness. While Paula still slept, he would have to clean it off, but first, and most of all, he needed a drink.
A cupboard in her kitchen yielded a bottle of gin. A supermarket brand, and he didn't even like the stuff, but he poured several inches into a teacup and gulped it down.
The spirit was clean and balsamic and made his eyes water, but he took another big measure and swigged it down too.
With the alcohol hit came a moment of clarity.
As he went to the bathroom to search for a face cloth with which to cleanse her body, he knew he couldn't tell Paula what had just happened.
* * *
I don't think I trust him.
Paula glanced sideways at Rafe, watching his hands and his profile as he drove. They'd been on the road for a while now, following directions she'd apparently given him whilst in her hypnotic trance. An edgy silence had settled between bouts of navigation.
He's keeping something from me, she thought.
Since he'd hypnotised her, Rate's eyes had been full of shadows. Not that he was looking her in the eye much any more. He seemed to be making every effort to avoid looking directly at her.
'It says turn left after a mile here,' she said, consulting Rate's notes, 'but according to the map there's no road going that way for forty miles, not even a track. This just doesn't make sense. It's as if the directions include roads that aren't there.'
'Well, we'll soon see, won't we?' said Rafe lightly. 'If there's a turn-off in a mile, we take it. If not, we pull over, go through everything again and backtrack.'
'OK. If you're sure this thing isn't going to break down any minute.'
She wished they'd brought her car, not his. Now she'd put herself at his mercy somehow, not to mention the fact that he'd showed up outside her building this morning in the oldest and most decaying Jaguar she'd even seen.
'Don't worry. Unlike me, even though it looks decrepit, this bus is actually reasonably sound in wind and limb.' He turned to her quickly and, though he was smiling and superficially relaxed, Paula could still see he was tense.
'You're not decrepit.'
Far from it. After he'd woken her from the trance, he'd made love to her with a strange and tender ferocity. He'd kissed her everywhere, and repeated her name again and again, 'Paula, Paula, Paula...' Almost as if he were reassuring himself who she was, even as he'd fucked her.
He'd also tasted of gin. And afterwards, when she'd left him sleeping and padded to the kitchen, she'd checked the bottle and discovered he'd drunk quite a bit of it.
What the hell's going on, Rafe? she asked him silently, wondering why in God's name she couldn't seem to voice her doubts. She'd opened her mouth to do it a dozen times. Then suddenly, somehow, lost the impetus.
Yet more to suspect him for.
'Why do you say that?' she sniped at him. 'You're fit and you obviously take care of yourself, apart from the smoking. OK, you've got a bit of grey in your hair but what difference does that make?'
There was a long silence, during which Rafe put his foot down, sending them hurtling along the narrow country lane as if they were rallying. Careering round blind corners and passing within a whisker of very hard-looking dry stone walls, Paula found herself gripping the frayed edge of her car seat.
'Appearances are deceptive.' Rafe's voice was grim as he wrenched the wheel and flung them round a particularly hairy bend.
'What's that supposed to mean? That ... that...' The questions, about last night, just wouldn't come. She couldn't even ask him what he'd done to her.
'Look, can you please slow down a bit? What if we run into another car or some sheep or cows or something? There's no point to this trip if we end up mangled in wreckage!'
Rafe took his foot off the accelerator immediately but a second later he glanced quickly to his right, then shoved his hand out of the window.
'It's going to piss it down any minute. The sky's looking dark as sin and the window seals aren't all that tight.'
'Great,' muttered Paula, but the word was eclipsed by a sudden, booming roll of thunder. Within the space of a few moments, a pleasant summer's day seemed to be heading towards a high-category tropical storm. Humid air pressed down on them and, right on cue, rain burst from the heavens as if someone had opened a giant water cooler in the sky. It lashed the car, the lane, the walls and the greenery with relentless fury where just a minute or two ago all had been dry and basking in the baking afternoon heat.
Up above them, heavy with looming clouds, the sky had gone black. And as the thunder rolled again, two things happened simultaneously.
Water started to drip onto Paula's head through the leaky sunroof and, with a dramatic spit, cough and splutter, the Jaguar's engine died.
'You fucking cunt!' roared Rafe, smashing the flat of his hand down on the steering wheel. Then a stream of similar cursing was drowned out by a more elemental roar. A second crack of thunder, far louder than the last and almost on top of them. Gothic blue lightning ripped across the sky and the rising wind made the trees at the side of the road whip and lash like ghastly claws reaching out to smash the ailing car.
The Jaguar coasted to a stop, with Rafe just managing to coax it to a patch of grass verge in front of a rusted gate. Ir
onically, just ahead of them and appearing almost out of the torrential downpour itself was the left-hand turning that didn't appear on the map.
'Now what do we do?' Paula reached up to see if she could adjust the sunroof, but her efforts only made the water teem down on her even faster.
Looking to Rafe for help, she saw that he'd pitched forwards and was resting his head on his arms, against the wheel, muttering, 'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'
'Well, I suppose we could do that,' Paula shot at him, her temper flaring. 'The back seat seems to be relatively dry, if you want me to oblige?'
The minute she'd said it, she wanted it. Don't be ridiculous, Paula, she told herself. Now is not the time!
Why not? murmured the voice inside her, with shocking clarity. It was almost as if Isidora were in the car with them. Paula shook her head, trying to rattle the dark bitch loose.
But as Rafe straightened up and turned to her and frowned, the sudden, unwanted arousal coiled and stirred.
He looked vexed, weary, troubled and water was running down his face too. But still she wanted him, and wanted him furiously, right now. The seam of her jeans had ridden up into her crotch and it was pressing like a knot of fire against her clitoris. Invading rain was wetting her hair and her T-shirt, but between her legs a different moisture was welling.
'Look, I'm sorry...' Twisting the ignition key, he attempted to rouse the dead vehicle. 'I know you won't believe me, but this old bus never breaks down. I've been in worse downpours than this and she's just sailed on with never a cough.' He twisted the key again, but nothing happened, not even a splutter. 'And she was serviced only last week.' A thick trickle of water landed on his head and he sighed and shrugged.
And you could do with a servicing too, couldn't you, you little slut, murmured Isidora.
'Oh, shut the fuck up!'
Abandoning the ignition as a null issue, Rafe twisted towards her, looking puzzled.
'Not you, Rafe, her,' she said, reaching out to touch his bare forearm. His skin was hot and damp, the feel of it evocative of sweat in the bedroom. 'She's muttering again.'
'Do you want me to see if I can banish her for you?'
Now there was a thing. Why hadn't that occurred to her? Maybe it was just as simple as that? Rafe could hypnotise her into not being able to hear her inner intruder.
Low laughter, audible only to her, seemed to suggest otherwise.
'Thanks. I don't think she'd listen though.' She squeezed his arm to reinforce her words. 'But she doesn't seem to be able to hang around for more than very short periods. So if I just ignore her, she'll be gone again soon.'
'Are you sure?' Rafe covered her hand with his, then seemed about to try the engine again when a new leak sprang above him and a steady drenching stream poured down on his head. Paula saw him open his mouth to curse – but it came out as a bellow of laughter. A second later they were both howling as they sat beneath the steady downpour of invading water.
'Look, I don't think we can stay in here.' He shook his head, spraying more water around. 'You're supposed to be safest in your car in a thunderstorm, but I don't think that applies when the vehicle in question has turned into an indoor swimming pool.'
Paula looked down at the list of directions, which had run into a smudged blue blur, and the map, which seemed on the point of disintegration.
'Maybe we can set off and walk? It's only half a mile or so down that lane.' She pointed to the turning ahead. 'We can't get any wetter out in the open than in here.'
'Makes sense. Let's do it!' Rafe reached over the back of the seat for his leather jacket, then popped the driver's side door.
Paula puffed out her lips. Her own jacket was a thin, summer cotton affair. It'd be worse than useless in this rain. She flung it back into the car, grabbed her shoulder bag and leapt out to join Rafe.
Rafe swept his water off his face and studied her wryly. Then with a flourish, he held out his leather jacket for her to slip into.
'I'll be OK.'
'No, you won't. Put it on.' He shook the coat at her. 'I don't need it.'
Paula set her jaw, then capitulated, sliding her arms into the oversized garment. It was heavy but strangely comforting and even in the teeming rain she could still smell the delicious odour of Rafe, herbal and spicy and yet underpinned with the foxy scent of man.
The fragrance only heightened her arousal, especially when he caught her by the hand, his fingers warm and protective around hers.
'Come on, love. The faster we walk, the sooner we get there and the less wet we get.'
'We're wet already,' Paula observed, but smiled as they began to trudge along the lane.
It was hard to believe it was still afternoon. The sky was as dark and glowering as the dead of night, except when it was split by titanic flashes of lightning. Great jagged cracks of electric blue-white arched across the entire sky, illuminating the rain-gleaming stone walls and the twisted trunks of the scrubby trees that hugged the side of the road.
When they reached the left-hand turn, the narrow lane was even less prepossessing. It was rutted and potholed, even though it followed the line of a high stone wall that seemed in fairly good repair.
Paula shuddered, then started wildly at a movement in the undergrowth. Instantly Rafe enfolded her with a protective arm around her shoulder.
'OK?' he enquired, having to shout over the torrential rain, the high wind and the low grumbling precursor of another crack of thunder. As the lightning flashed again, Paula looked up at him, his face stark and strange in the angry lighting, despite the kindness of his smile.
'Yes, I think so.' She grimaced back at him as the hot summer rain lashed her face and her eyes. 'I love this sort of challenging weather, don't you?'
Rafe laughed, his arm tightening around her. 'Come on, love, let's hustle. The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll be inside and hopefully dry again.'
Their strides were of different lengths but somehow they managed. Being forced to trot to keep up helped Paula focus and avoid thoughts about the journey's purpose. Just putting one foot in front of the other without sliding in mud and water took all her concentration, even though her arousal still simmered.
Rafe looked like some wild god of the rain as he strode along, his profile fierce against the blackness of sky. Diamonds of moisture glittered on his close-cropped hair and his dark, water-logged T-shirt clung like a second skin to the muscles of his chest and shoulders.
'Jesus! Just look at this!' he shouted suddenly over a particularly deafening thunderclap. He drew her to a halt and Paula looked around them, realising they'd reached their destination.
Before them stood a pair of tall, rusty wrought-iron gates that had seen better days and were hanging partially off their hinges like some giant malformed mouth. This ominous impression was enhanced by the statuary atop the crumbling, moss-adorned posts on either side of them. Two bizarre Gothic creatures snarled and pranced in frozen menace. They looked like cats who'd been to hell and returned in a furious rage to get their own back on someone.
Something about the creepy feline gargoyles made Paula tremble, and it was on the tip of her tongue to suggest they just go back to the car, wait the storm out there, and then get as far away as they could when the engine dried out.
'Yep, this is it.' Rafe drew her forwards to the nearest gatepost.
Encrusted with grime and discoloration, the words 'Sedge-wick Priory' were cut deep into the stone.
'Right,' Paula muttered, then nearly jumped out of her skin when another huge lightning flash illuminated the inscribed words with electric silver. The accompanying elemental snarl seemed to come from the giant cats themselves, a thundering cry of fury.
'Shall we go through?' Rafe nodded at a gap formed by the sagging of the giant gates.
Go?
Retreat?
In a moment of silence, she waited for the voice of Isidora from within, as if the decision depended on her. But there was no answer and inside her jeans the strange marker on her bell
y remained cold against the sodden clinging denim.
'Yeah, let's do it. We're here now. We might as well see what's up there.' She gestured to the narrow uninviting gravel drive that stretched and twisted away between a gloomy colonnade of wet trees.
Rafe nodded, his face indecipherable. Paula wondered what he was really thinking and what he might be hiding. Her senses prickled at the thought of her hypnotic trance. It had provided them with the means to get here but she still felt there'd been more. Something Rafe was unwilling to tell her, whether to save her feelings or for some darker purpose.
Fuck, I don't trust you now! She sighed in the rain, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear it. But what choice had she? She couldn't spend the rest of her life with Isidora lurking inside her, ready to pop out at any moment. And whatever lay at the end of that unprepossessing driveway could well hold the key to banishing her.
Grabbing hold of the slimy-wet gate, Rafe wrenched the gap a little wider for her, and she stepped through, only to feel an electric tingle as if she'd just crossed a charged field. She could almost imagine miniature versions of the blue bolts arcing above dancing between her skin and the iron of the gate.
And then she was through, with Rafe right behind her. He slid his arm around her again as they began to crunch along the sodden gravel of the path.
'It's like Manderley gone bad, isn't it?' She forced a smile, wondering if he'd felt the electric-fence effect too.
'You can say that again. If they ever remake Rebecca, they've got a prime location here.'
The path seemed to wind and wind, but the prospect of being struck by the increasingly ferocious lightning as it aimed for the adjacent trees hurried their feet. Within a couple of minutes, they broke out into a wide, open park that matched the gateway and the drive in desolation, but which sheltered a large, dark and ornately semi-fortified house at its centre.
Gothic Heat Page 10