Cursed Kiss (Paranormal Romance)

by Taylor, Helen Scott

  Pablo stared at her, his face pale, lines of tension bracketing his mouth. "How long will that take?"

  "Just over four hours the last time it happened to me." A horrible stench reached her as if there was something dead in the room. She glanced around, nose wrinkled. A huge four-poster bed dominated the space, its red velvet drapes hooked back to reveal white lacy sheets. Smaller pieces of elegant, dark wood furniture were placed around the room. She saw nothing to account for the smell.

  "Clare, don't get distracted." Pablo grasped her hand, his gaze fixed on his reflection, and pulled her back to face the mirror.

  "We'll get back. It's just a matter of time." She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze, although she felt far from reassured by the surroundings. The smell still hung around and it bothered her.

  Pablo met her gaze in the mirror, his anxious eyes rich velvety brown in the late afternoon sun. "We can't be too long. Luka needs my help to survive."

  Comprehension dawned. Luka needed psychic energy and the only person he could touch without causing them harm was Pablo.

  "How long can he last without you? Hours, days?"

  "Days, but I don't want to leave him worrying."

  He would be worrying. Clare imagined how she'd feel in his position. The poor man must be frantic, unable to do anything to get them back.

  The sun fell and dusk poked its shadowy fingers into the room.

  "What do we do if someone comes?" Pablo asked.

  Clare had been wondering the same thing. She glanced over her shoulder. "Hide under the bed."

  "That's the first place someone would look."

  "But they won't be looking for us, will they?"

  Their eyes met in the mirror and Pablo released a tight breath. "We'll be lucky. Nobody will come. In a moment we'll see somewhere in the mirror and pass through the portal."

  She wished she shared his optimism. They stood in silence for a while, then something stirred in the glass. "Look." She raised a finger. She tensed, preparing to move, and squinted. The brown image wavered and distorted.

  "Shall we go?" Pablo said.

  "No. We can't risk passing through unless we're sure what's on the other side."

  The image faded, leaving them staring at their own reflections again. Her shoulders sagged and she rubbed her forehead.

  Nothing happened for what felt like hours. Clare let her gaze travel up and down Pablo's reflection. His skin glowed deep bronze, his hair glossy black. He was an attractive man, probably better looking than Luka, but he didn't have Luka's charisma. Although she had to admit that the tight leather leggings and the jerkin, loosely laced to reveal a glimpse of chest, were pretty hot.

  His gaze snagged hers in the mirror and his lips kicked into a smile. He'd noticed her checking him out. Clare cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, but he wasn't going to let her off that easily. He stroked his fingers over her hand and she pulled it away.

  "Not the time or the place," she said.

  "I disagree."

  "Just watch the window."

  He laughed.

  She cast him a sideways glance. "I got the impression you were into Luka."

  "My tastes are eclectic."

  "Hmm, the pretty blonde waitress for example?"

  He gave her a mischievous grin.

  Clare rolled her eyes and concentrated on the mirror.

  A faint tapping sounded, growing louder, until Clare realized it was footsteps.

  "Someone's coming. Should we hide?" Pablo asked.

  Clare hesitated, not wanting to move in case she missed an opportunity to go home, but equally worried about getting caught. She held her ground for a few more seconds, then dashed to the bed. She lifted the valance, preparing to slide underneath but the wretched bed was solid.

  Her eyes widened and her gaze shot to Pablo. "On top," he whispered.

  They scrambled up on the high bed, released the ties that held back the bed curtains, and yanked the drapes closed to hide themselves. Pablo ended up behind her and she found herself huddled between his legs.

  Clare froze, pulse racing as she tracked the footfalls. A moment later the room door creaked open. Light, decisive steps, which sounded female, clicked across the stone floor.

  Pablo hugged his arms around Clare, squeezing so tight she could hardly breathe. The room's owner moved around. Fabric rustled and the sounds of items being moved continued for a while. Clare clenched her fingers, the tension almost unbearable. At any moment she expected the bed curtains to be pulled aside and their hiding place exposed.

  An unusual scuffling caught her attention and she cocked her head to listen. It reminded her of a brush being dragged across the floor, but the sound came in short scrapes, more like a scuttling noise. Could it be an animal? Clare wracked her brain to remember the horrible creatures Luka had described. This creature sounded small and fast and she couldn't think what it might be.

  Pablo gave a muffled cough. Immediately the scuttling stopped. Whatever it was had heard him.

  Every muscle in Clare's body tensed to the point of pain.

  "What is it, my angel," a soft voice crooned. "Come tell Mommy." That voice sounded so familiar, it raised the hair on Clare's neck.

  There was a quick burst of the scuttling sound, then the room filled with a shrill clicking that turned Clare's insides to ice water.

  Clare's heart pounded in her ears as the woman's heels tapped out a path to the foot of the bed where the curtains met. Then the drapes were flung apart. The silhouette of a tall, slim woman with long hair was framed by the swaths of red velvet.

  A gasp burst from Clare's lips at the sight of her grandmother. Shock left her light-headed and it took a moment to get her mouth around the frantic rush of questions in her head. "Monique…how…you're dead?"

  Although the woman was obviously her grandmother, she looked younger. A stunning floor-length sapphire gown draped her slender form, bringing out the blue of her eyes. Her glossy dark hair flowed over her shoulders like ebony water. Nestled in her ample cleavage, clinging to a diamond pendant, was the biggest, hairiest spider Clare had ever seen.

  Monique idly stroked a fingertip along one of the creature's legs. "Clare, darling, I've been expecting you."

  Clare scrambled to make sense of what was happening. It was shocking to find her grandmother in Taldom when she had supposedly died in a house fire months ago. "Is this where people come when they die?"

  Monique laughed. "Don't be stupid. Do I look dead?"

  "Well, no."

  "Come on, catch up, darling. You're not usually this slow." Monique glanced past Clare, and her delicate features puckered. "What's Pablo doing here? Where's Luka?"

  Things started to drop into place in Clare's mind, although she was far from having the full picture. Somehow Monique had set this up—and she was expecting Luka. "What are you up to?"

  "It's business, darling. Never mind, you can go back for Luka later." She bared her small white teeth in a smile that was almost feral. "Pablo can entertain us in the meantime. Can't you, Pablo, darling."

  Chapter Seven

  Clare followed her grandmother down some roughly hewn stone steps on the way to dinner. Her initial shock at finding her grandmother in Taldom had faded to be replaced by a dark sense of foreboding.

  Her instincts screamed that Monique's business here involved Luka and not in a good way. Clare would never bring him back through the portal if that were the case.

  The air in the large dining room was hazy with smoke from thick pillar candles. About thirty men and women with metal goblets in hand stood around talking. Dressed for dinner in fine clothes, they were adorned with gold and silver jewelry, rich silk embroidery, and pearly buttons.

  This was like a scene from a historical film. The whole thing seemed unreal, as if she were dreaming.

  Pablo touched her arm. "Don't leave me, Clare, please."

  "Of course not." She slipped her arm through his and was surprised to feel him trembling.
>
  As they moved into the crowded room, the soft hum of conversation dropped and faces turned towards them.

  "These people look like us," she said in a soft aside to Pablo.

  "They're the same race as Luka," he replied.

  She hadn't thought of that. They obviously weren't all afflicted with the problem Luka had, the lack of psychic energy.

  Monique motioned for a servant to seat her at the head of the table. She beckoned Clare with a sharp, red-nailed finger and pointed to the seat on her right. With courtly nods that reminded her of Luka, the crowd stepped aside, opening a way for them. Pablo walked at her side, but it was her doing the leading and supporting and him the following.

  As Clare sat, Monique fixed her gaze on Pablo, running the tip of her tongue across her teeth. "Pablo, you'll sit on my left."

  For a moment, Pablo clung to Clare's arm as if he couldn't bear to be parted from her. Then he straightened and walked behind Monique's chair to take his own.

  He seemed wary—no, more than wary, frightened. Whatever the antipathy between Monique and Luka, Pablo had obviously been involved as well. As soon as they were alone, she would ask him about it.

  While the other men and women took seats, Monique sat regally, chin raised, scanning the crowd intently like a predator selecting the weakest member of the herd. She cupped her diamond pendant in her palm and tapped it in the same rhythm as the horrible spider's clicks.

  Although she wasn't hungry, Clare forced down some of the unidentifiable red meat and vegetables from the metal platter. She wasn't sure when she'd get her next meal. Pablo pushed his food around his plate but ate little.

  Most of the conversation at the table took place in a strange guttural language, but when the guests addressed Monique, they spoke in strongly accented English. Were they all denizens of Taldom? Or were some of them from Earth?

  Monique quizzed Clare on what was happening at Moray, and it occurred to Clare that as her grandmother was alive, then she still owned Moray. Why on earth would her grandmother leave her precious company in anyone else's hands?

  "I don't understand what's going on. Why did you fake your death?" Because that was obviously what Monique had done.

  "Straight to the point. I do like that about you, darling." Monique patted her lips with a napkin.

  Clare narrowed her eyes, taking in Monique's fresh, young complexion. Her grandmother had always used Moray Faceglo to stave off the effects of aging and it had worked—but never this well. Anyone who didn't know them would assume Monique was her sister.

  "How did you escape from the fire?"

  "There was a portal in the house that burned down."

  "You left, making it look as though you died?" Clare shook her head, trying to shake her thoughts into order. "Were you in trouble with the police or something?"

  "Heavens, no! Nothing so dramatic." Monique placed her goblet back on the polished oak tabletop, picked up an exotic red flower, and twirled the stem between her fingers. "I simply wanted to pursue a business opportunity, the sort that comes along only once in a lifetime."

  "Some kind of elixir of youth," Clare guessed. "That's why you look so young."

  "Something like that." Monique ran her hand down the sleek length of her dark hair. "My latest discovery will change our world forever."

  "You're coming back to take over, then?"

  Monique tapped a fingernail on the table between them, her expression hardening. "On the subject of taking over…Edward was supposed to become president of Moray."

  Her tone had changed, grown dangerous. Clare had not expected to have to justify her actions to her grandmother. "I was the majority shareholder. I saw no reason not to take the top job. Do you have a problem with my decision?"

  The moment of tension stretched until Clare almost couldn't bear it, then Monique's face relaxed. "It made things slightly more difficult than expected, but if you're stronger than Edward, I want you in charge." Monique's eyebrows rose. "He's angry, of course, but that doesn't matter."

  "You've been in contact with Edward?" As the question left her mouth, she realized that of course the two of them were in cahoots. That made sense and explained Edward's superior attitude. But it still didn't explain why her grandmother had faked her death to come here and why she'd left her precious company in the hands of others. Then another thought occurred to her, one that made her anger rise.

  "Is there really a problem with the Taldom's blood additive, or did you fake that to manipulate me?"

  "I prefer the word motivate."

  "Manipulate, motivate, whatever." Clare gestured in irritation. "You set me up to find Luka and send him back here, didn't you? Oh, and by the way, I refuse to put his blood in our products anymore. I can't believe you did that."

  Monique ignored her tirade and sniffed the red flower. "I love this scent." She held out the bloom to Clare.

  It smelled like overripe fruit. Sickly, on the edge of rotten.

  "This is called Red Death." Monique stroked the red petals across her cheek. "Handled carelessly, the flower is deadly. But when heated in water to just below boiling point, it's possible to generate a mother tincture that has incredible properties as you can see." She patted the smooth skin of her cheek. "First we'll add it to Faceglo, then I've plans for a new formulation called Bodyglo. It'll be a license to print money."

  Using a plant extract in Faceglo was preferable to using blood, but there had to be a catch. "Any side effects?"

  Monique dropped the stem on the table and framed her face with her hands like a fifties model. "Do you see any problems?"

  There was no doubt her grandmother looked great, but she'd said the plant was deadly when handled carelessly. "It'll take years of research to develop a product we can bring to the market safely."

  Monique's dreamy gaze hardened. "You let Edward deal with that side of things. He'll update us tomorrow."

  Clare felt her jaw go slack. "Edward's here?"

  "No, but he comes when I call him. The three of us can sit down together and do some planning."

  There was so much to take in, facts and questions spun around Clare's head. She hardly knew what to think anymore. Despite that, her thoughts kept going back to Luka as if he were an anchor.

  "You set it up so I'd bring Luka here. Why?"

  "Enough questions for now." Monique rose and clapped her hands. All conversation ceased abruptly. Her gaze traveled over the guests. Some returned Monique's appraisal, most looked away, a few fidgeted. "It's time for some entertainment. Who's going to oblige me?" Slowly Monique's gaze drifted back and settled on Pablo. "Ah, the Spaniard."

  An almost imperceptible sigh of relief whispered from the other guests.

  Clare snapped to full attention, no idea what was about to happen but sure she wouldn't like it.

  Monique rose and trailed a finger over the back of Pablo's chair. "Have you ever seen a bullfight, Clare, darling? I love the way those matadors strut around in their tight pants and nifty little jackets."

  Pablo's shoulders hunched and he slid lower in his seat.

  "The Spanish bullfighters wear crimson so the blood doesn't show when they're gored." Monique laughed. "Such dedication to the performance."

  Everyone had stopped eating, a sense of morbid expectation hanging in the air.

  "You'll oblige us, won't you, Pablo. Stand up."

  He became preternaturally still like an animal caught in headlights.

  Clare met his gaze across the table. "You don't have to," she said.

  "Of course he will. Anything to please an old friend, isn't that right?" She brushed a hand over his hair and he cringed away. All the blood had drained from his face, giving his olive skin a sickly hue.

  "Can't you see he's not feeling well?" Clare was on her feet and moving around the table before she had time to consider her actions. She didn't want to incur her grandmother's wrath any more than the next person, but she couldn't sit back and see Pablo intimidated.

  Monique gestured to
a group of musicians in a gallery at the end of the room. The first strains of a melody floated into the taut silence.

  "Clear a space on the table," she commanded. Some of the men stood and swept the platters, goblets, and plates aside, leaving a cleared area of polished wood. "Climb up there." She shoved Pablo's shoulder.

  "No, stop this." Clare grabbed Pablo's arm, holding him in place.

  Monique turned her cold blue gaze on Clare in warning. "You're quite at liberty to join him if you like, darling."

  Clare froze. She hadn't expected that from Monique and didn't know how to respond.

  "I thought not." Monique dismissed Clare with a flick of her fingers. "Go and sit down and stop interfering."

  Clare owed her grandmother a lot. She'd rescued her from a miserable existence and given her a fresh start and a new life. Even so, Clare had soon learned that Monique was not a kind and sympathetic relative.

  Every instinct Clare possessed told her to sit down, but she'd promised Pablo she would stay with him and she would. She met his gaze and nodded. With a look of surprise, he rose slowly to his feet. "Okay," she said, to her grandmother, "we're ready. What is this, karaoke or something?"

  Monique stared at her for a moment, her mouth open in surprise. She snapped her teeth together and her expression hardened. "Pablo is going to strip for us. If you want to help him, then go ahead."

  "Strip! You're not serious."

  Monique held her gaze steady. She was serious. Monique pointed at the table to indicate they should climb up.

  Clare was ready to refuse, but the glint of warning in her grandmother's eyes made the words catch in her throat. If she humiliated the woman here, in front of all these people, there would be consequences. Better to play her little game, make light of it, and get it over with quickly.

  Pablo climbed on the chair and up to the table, then extended a hand to help Clare.

  It was strange standing above everyone. Far from feeling victimized, this position gave Clare a sense of power. They would put on a show and enjoy themselves. Clare would not allow her grandmother to win.