I removed the lid.
Empty.
It was only a small square, maybe a couple inches around. Its dark blue silk lining pegged it as a jewelry container. I imagined it had once held a ring.
Then I saw my name was engraved on the lid.
Seeing the name made me shiver.
Elizabeth was a family name passed down through generations. It was likely that this item belonged to my great-grandmother, who was married to Jeremiah Silverstone. She’d died not long after their second child was born.
The box was tarnished, obviously old. I stared at the lid, and frowned. If the “Elizabeth” on the lid referred to my ancestor, and this was a family heirloom . . . then why did it feel like I was holding plutonium? It didn’t belong here. It wasn’t mine. And I had the strangest urge to chuck it out the front door.
Instead, I left it on the tea table in the parlor, and, fighting off a rousing case of the heebie-jeebies, locked up the house and retired to my bedroom.
The storm raged with a ferocity that made me distinctly uncomfortable. I lay among my pillows with the covers pulled up to my chin, like a child frightened of closet monsters. I tried to focus on the novel, but my gaze kept wandering to the flickering light of my bedside lamp.
We vampires didn’t do coffins, but crypts were another matter. I had created my bedroom in the basement of the house as a precaution against sunlight. I added a full bathroom down here as well, with a Jacuzzi tub and a steam shower. Everything was luxurious, from the rich green, gold, and bronze colors of my decor to the Egyptian cotton sheets and towels.
Beautiful interior design and luxuriant materials, however, did not offer the kind of comfort I currently needed. I was too much the woman alone in her creaky old house—the horror-movie heroine stalked by an ax-wielding maniac.
I gulped.
I couldn’t shake off my trepidation. No amount of self-lecturing about my maturity or vampire skills (as my friend Jessica would say, I totally kick ass) or reminders to myself of protections (werewolves, Invisi-shield, neighbors) helped. Granted, my neighbors weren’t exactly close. I lived on three acres, two acres of which were all woods. I had blazed my own trails hiking through there numerous times, but now the closeness of the forest merely represented optimal hiding places for the nefarious.
I badly wanted to hear another person’s voice, but I would feel utterly ridiculous if I gave in to such an urge. How would I explain such a phone call to my friends?
It was still an hour away from sunrise.
I decided to make some jasmine tea to calm my nerves. I gave in to cowardice and used vampire speed to zip from my bed to the staircase that led directly into the kitchen.
The rain pounded like fists against the windows, making them rattle. I set the water to boil and wandered around, flipping on all the lights. I stopped in the parlor, my gaze falling on the little silver box. There it was, on the table where Rand and I had enjoyed our tea.
“Elizabeth!”
I whirled around. The man’s angry voice didn’t emanate from any obvious source. I reached out with my vampire senses and felt no one. Nothing. My own powers didn’t include communing with the dead-dead. The very idea of a spirit roaming my house gave me the willies.
I snatched up the box, thinking I should just toss it into the trash. Would doing so end this nonsense? I was disturbed by its presence, and equally disturbed by my fear of it—and that voice.
“Elizabeth!” The scream pummeled my ears. “You betrayed me!”
“Who are you?” I cried.
I felt a pair of big male hands encompass my throat, and squeeze.
Chapter 2
I choked, backing away.
What was going on? Why were the sensations so strong? No one was in the room with me. But I’d lived in Broken Heart too long to discount even the craziest explanation. Ghosts. Demons. Invisible men.
Panic fluttered.
“S-stop!” I yelled. The violence of the act terrified me. I couldn’t die from strangulation; I didn’t need to breathe. But my windpipe could be crushed and my neck broken. Healing from such injuries would be terribly unpleasant.
“Elizabeth.” My name was a despairing sob, and the hands squeezed harder.
I moved out of the parlor and into my foyer. I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t escape.
I put my own hands to my throat and felt nothing, not even the barest outline of fingers—and yet it felt as if nails dug into my flesh. My throat threatened to collapse against the tremendous pressure.
I dropped the box.
Instantly, the strangulation ceased.
I fell to my knees and rubbed my bruised throat. I couldn’t quite ease the ache, or the terror.
My gaze fell on the box, and I scrambled back from it. Whatever was trying to hurt me was using the jewelry container as the connection.
I sat there, trying to gather my courage, and I heard another voice, and with it an urge so fervid, I scrambled to my feet.
“I’m here,” said a weeping female. “Please find me. Please.”
A detailed image pierced my mind: Ringed by pine trees, an irregular stone marked the spot. Nearby was a fallen oak, and there, a path I often walked.
I knew this place.
I had to go.
“Yes,” cried the voice. “Hurry. Find me.”
I turned blindly for the front door and wrenched it opened, stumbling onto the porch.
The sunrise. How long did I have? Forty minutes? Less? Not long. Probably not long enough.
I felt compelled, as if my legs were obeying someone else’s commands. Rain slapped at me, cold and stinging. Thunder cracked and lightning zigzagged from roiling black clouds.
I used my vampire speed to go around the house and make the trek to the woods. I had to slow down, though, because the path was strewn with fallen logs, stones, and holes. Still, I went as quickly as I could, grateful my supernatural vision let me penetrate the thick darkness.
I’m not sure how long it actually took to find the area, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. I snaked through the trees, slipping through mud and puddles until I finally found the exact location. The storm was relentless, but I ignored its brutality. I dropped to my knees and started to dig.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
Wet soil flew in all directions, spattering me and assaulting my mouth. Rain stung my eyes, but I couldn’t stop.
“Find her,” I murmured. “Find her before he does.”
Then the earth gave up its secret.
The female voice muttering in my mind faded away, and I was left alone in her grave.
“Oh, my God.” My fingers slid over the skull. No vampire could cry—in a literal sense. But even without the satisfactory discharge of tears, I found myself weeping. I did not know the woman, but I felt a soul-deep sorrow for her death.
Her murder.
I heard a low, long growl. The disturbing noise came from my right. I would’ve pegged it as one of the lycanthropes who often did security rounds in their wolf forms. Yet, it sounded catlike.
Why would a were-cat be out here? There were only a few who lived in town, and they mostly kept to themselves. Turned out cats weren’t social creatures, whether pet or shifter.
Then I heard other noises, and these came from the left.
Still the storm raged, giving cover to those who were apparently sneaking up on me.
Why? Who?
Someone else was in the woods with me. The violent spirit? My heart skipped a phantom beat. If the ghost, or whatever it was, had followed me into the woods, then my theory about its connection to the jewelry box was incorrect. If this was someone, or something, else, then their purpose was unknown. I owned this land, including the wooded area, and didn’t expect anyone to be out here—certainly not in this storm.
More bones were being washed clean, but I couldn’t take them all with me. I estimated that I had about twenty minutes before daybreak. I’d have to hurry to make it back to my ho
use. I loathed leaving the rest of this poor soul here, but I could return in the evening to retrieve the remains.
I kept the skull close, and struggled out of the pit I’d dug.
The rain dampened my senses, but I could still hear something big moving in the woods. Most large animals in Broken Heart were shifters. A security lycan wouldn’t try to hide its presence from me. Another series of cat yowls interrupted my ruminations.
My instincts screamed at me to get going. I hurried to the path, but my foot caught on debris and I tripped.
Oh, perfect. I landed on my side, splashing into an icy puddle. I spit out the nasty water as the skull rolled out of my grasp. I really was the heroine in a horror movie, waiting for the ax-wielding maniac to cut me down. What kind of moron left the safety of her home to follow a ghostly voice to a grave? At night? In a vicious storm?
So long as I was making idiotic choices, I decided I wouldn’t leave the woods without the skull. I needed something to show for my efforts, and, by God, the woman deserved whatever closure I could give her. I saw my ghoulish prize at the edge of the path, lodged into a scraggly bush. I crawled to it and yanked it out. Then I rose unsteadily to my feet, triumphant.
I stilled.
A cat, and, my goodness, was that an understatement, crouched on the path four or five feet away from me. He—and I couldn’t help but think of it as he—was massive, with sleek black fur and green-gold eyes. He growled—a warning to me to stay put, or so I assumed. His muscles rippled under that glorious coat as he moved into a pouncing stance. I gulped. A shifter, I hoped. Otherwise, I’d have to believe a jaguar had been living in Broken Heart without anyone noticing.
His unstaring gaze looked beyond me, his nostrils flaring.
Fear pulsed through me, but I couldn’t get my legs to move. Even if I could tap into my vampire speed, there were too many obstacles in the woods. I took an unsteady step back, and he yowled.
I stopped.
The rain pounded me. My nightgown was plastered against me, offering no shield, no warmth. My toes sunk into the slick, cold mud. My hair lashed my face and neck.
Seconds ticked by.
The dawn was coming—I felt it in my waning strength and rising panic. I had to either risk the jag’s attack or risk roasting in the sunlight.
The cat roared: a terrible, fierce sound that sliced right through me.
Something hard smacked me on the back of the head.
Pain spiked all the way down my spine, and I went down to my knees, my gaze on the beautiful, angry jag.
He tore down the path toward me.
My vision grayed as I fell forward.
The cat launched over me, and I marveled at his grace, at the power he so wonderfully exhibited. He knocked something—no, someone—over, and I heard sounds of a struggle.
Then I passed out.
“Lady? Aw, hell. C’mon, sweetheart. Wake up.”
As I assimilated the unfamiliar male voice, I felt the sting of a light slap on my cheek. My eyes flew open.
“Stop that immediately!” I demanded.
His hazel eyes widened, and then he grinned. “No problem, princess. You wanna get up now?”
“Certainly.” I took his proffered hand and struggled to my feet. I felt dizzy and light-headed. It had stopped raining, although the sky rumbled ominously. “Where’s my skull?”
“Attached to your neck.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped. “I mean the one I dropped.”
One brown eyebrow winged upward. I realized several important things right then. One, I didn’t know this man. Two, he was quite handsome, with skin the color of caramel. And three, he was unaccountably naked and very, very well built.
And endowed by the gods.
Did I just look at his . . . his . . . package? Embarrassment shot through me, and I averted my gaze. Ah. I spotted the skull grinning up at me from a shallow puddle. I scooped it up and turned to the gorgeous nude man. For a moment, I couldn’t get my throat to work. Finally, I managed a crisp “Thank you for your assistance.”
I marched away.
He followed.
“You’re welcome,” he said lazily. “Anything else I can . . . assist you with?”
His sensually charged question nearly made me trip again. What the—Really? Sexual innuendoes now? And why did I feel like my cheeks had been dipped in lava? Vampires didn’t blush.
I stopped, and turned to glare at him. “Are you a nudist?” I asked in a frosty tone.
“With the right person.”
His gaze let me know that I could be the right person. Was he insane? I was muddy, my hair was a mess, and my clothing . . . Oh! I looked down and it was exactly as I feared. My satin nightgown was plastered to my body, outlining every curve and showcasing my turgid nipples. Oh, sweet heaven. If I waited long enough, maybe lightning would strike me.
I felt suddenly woozy, and, for a moment, I wondered if the man had rendered me nigh unconscious with his virility. Then I realized that was not the case at all. Sunrise. “H-how long was I out?”
“Five or six minutes,” he said. “You didn’t even ask about the creep who whacked you. What are you doing out here?”
“These are my woods. I can go wherever I like.” I paused. “What creep?”
“I didn’t get a good look. But he just about kicked my ass.” Fury lurked in his eyes. “That doesn’t happen too often.”
Someone had followed me. Or had been here already. Had they known I was looking for . . . well, whomever I found? Were they compelled by the same intuition, the same sorrowful begging? If they’d arrived for the same purpose I did, then they wouldn’t have struck me. Could a ghost do such a thing?
No. My rescuer had fought someone. This someone was either in the woods to find the grave, to hurt me, or for some other reason. Had I been mistaken for a predator?
The very idea was laughable.
However, now I knew who, or rather what, this man was.
“Most women I know collect purses and shoes.” He glanced at the skull, then at me.
“I’m not most women.” Alas, I did love shopping for shoes. “You’re the jaguar.”
He hesitated, as if considering whether or not to admit it, and then nodded. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“New in town, aren’t you?” Wooziness made me sway. The man grabbed my elbow to steady me. “I must get home before the sun rises.”
“Why? You turn into a pumpkin?”
“I die.” I felt sluggish. As a shifter, he seemed to have a limited knowledge of parakind—and didn’t seem aware of my undeadness. Did I risk telling him I was a vampire? No. I’d risked enough already. “I have a severe allergy to the sunlight.”
We hadn’t yet made it out of the woods. It was getting too close to sunrise and I felt as weak as a newborn kitten. “I hate to ask a favor so soon after you saved my life,” I said, “but would you mind helping me to my house?”
“You always talk so prissy?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“It’s just kinda hot, is all.”
“Hot?”
“You know. Sexy.”
“My way of speaking has never been described in quite that way.”
“Better stop talkin’ all fancy, princess, or I just might kiss you.”
I don’t know how he managed to turn “princess” into an endearment that offered both complaint and compliment. My gaze dropped to his mouth, and I watched his lips curve into a delicious smile. A dark yearning wound through me, and I looked up at him, feeling rather stunned.
“Promise you’ll look at me that way tomorrow,” he said.
“I’ll do no such thing.”
He laughed, and the sound vibrated all the way through me. “By the way, I’m Tez. Tez Jones.”
“That’s the most suspect name I’ve ever heard,” I said, which garnered another laugh from the so-called Tez. I bristled. Then I straightened and inclined my head. “I’m Elizabeth Bretton.”
&nb
sp; “Perfect name for you. Sounds prissy,” he said. “You live in the Victorian house up the hill, right?”
“Yes.” He’d done enough snooping around to realize my house wasn’t too far. Yet, he hadn’t known that I lived there. I simply had to trust him. Either that, or risk being exposed to the sun. I was too weak to use my vampire speed to get home.
He scooped me into his arms, and I yelped.
“Better hang on, Ellie Bee.”
“Ellie Bee!” I repeated, horrified. I looped one arm around his neck, and clung to the skull with my free hand. “That’s a terrible nickname. Don’t you dare call me that again.”
“Seriously. I’m gonna kiss you.”
He ran all the way to my house.
Tez refused to put me down, not until he’d tucked me into bed himself. No amount of protests would make the man leave or do as I bid. I had no choice but to accede to his wishes, which I must say was rather unusual. I was used to being fully in charge of my own life; not even Henry had argued with me.
I was filthy, but I had no time to shower—and I’d rather walk into the dawn than allow Tez to undress me while I was passed out. So, there I was, caked in mud, hair wet, and gown ruined, and I didn’t even care. I hadn’t even the merest second to shed my nightie.
Tez pulled the covers up to my chin and tucked me in. I refused to give up the skull, so Tez propped it ghoulishly onto the pillows next to me.
Then it was simply too late to worry about Tez or his intentions.
I fell into dreamless vampire sleep.
When I awoke in the darkened room, I was met with the gaping stare of a dirt-crusted skull.
I screamed.
“Princess!” I heard Tez’s cry all the way from upstairs. Then he was hurrying down into my room, where he smacked into something and cursed a blue streak.“Damn it! Where’s the light switch in this mausoleum?”
Trembling, I flipped on my bedside lamp and saw Tez rubbing his shins.
“I thought cats had excellent night vision.” I flinched at the rudeness of my tone, but I was off-kilter. At least he wasn’t naked anymore. No, he was wearing the matching robe to my ruined nightgown. I tugged the covers back up to my shoulders. I felt grimy. My sheets were now as ruined as my clothing. I wanted a shower. And blood. And to regain some control.
Cross Your Heart: A Broken Heart Novel Page 3