Lana's Calling: A Golden Hills Legacy Novel

by Nancy Glynn

  “Hunter is good, too good for me now…”

  “Stop it! By being with him, you’ll save your soul. I get mixed signals about Hunter, not sure why. He seems good, but there’s something off. Maybe it’ll come in a dream.”

  Lana’s brain still tried to absorb what she heard. “Why hasn’t Jack told me this little secret?”

  “He wants your trust. If he tells you he made you immortal, he knows you’d never go to him. He very much wants you to go to him, probably more than any of the women in your whole family. He had a thing for Bessie York, chasing her through that Lost Forest year after year, decade after decade, taunting her. Your mother thought she was helping her, but I guess she did get to be with her through you.”

  “Does Eric know?”

  “Yes.”

  His list made sense now, saying he wanted to be immortal with her. It all started to make sense, from the lists, to the paintings, and her portrait all depicted what was to come. But Jack had said certain things were written in the stars.

  Her grandmother really did fall asleep this time. Before she left, she kissed her mushy forehead and each paper cheek, and then her thin lips, knowing this would be the last time she’d see her gypsy princess great-grandmother, one of a kind seer. She’d finally join her guides very soon, and Lana would be left here running the earth for century after century, being chased by Jack, Eric, and Drake. But Hunter was the one she wanted.

  ***

  When she got inside her jeep, she let out a hoarse cry of agony that put a crack in her front and back windows. She grabbed her head, shaking it, and looked in the rearview mirror to see if she appeared to be a monster of some kind. There was nothing, just her normal face. No black eyes.

  Rocking herself in a bear hug, she lay her head against the headrest and let the tears flow. “Why?” she screamed to no one but everyone. “Mama, why didn’t you help me?” She closed her eyes and allowed the deep heaviness fill her chest.

  When she finally opened them after what seemed like forever, but only fifteen minutes, something caught her eye on the passenger seat. She glanced over and found a simple daisy. Picking it up, she smelled it and cradled it in her arms, swallowing back another threat of fresh tears. “Sorry, Mom. I know you would have stopped it if you could. I know.” Her chin trembled, feeling weak from her outpour.

  A flash of memories flooded her mind of her as a little girl holding her parents’ hands, swinging her and making her laugh. Her father throwing her up on his shoulders and bouncing her like a horse, her head falling back in a fit of giggles. Playing with her older sister Emily before she died. Emily used to braid her hair and play tea party, having all Lana’s stuffed animals sit on chairs. They’d dress up with hats and fancy dresses. Her father would peek in and ask if he could have some tea, but they’d tell him only ladies. Now, she wished she would have had him be part of it.

  She thought more about Emily and wished she knew what really happened to her. All she could remember was finding Emily in her bed, cold to the touch, and that mark on her back. A mark that made her mother gasp and run for her father. He had flown in the room, picking Emily up and holding her in his arms, screaming. She’d never seen her father so distraught until that August Sunday morning, her birthday.

  After taking a deep breath and realizing she had no choice but to accept her fate at this point, a new strength emerged, a raw surge of anger imploded, and she pushed the ignition button to start the jeep. Wiping her tears away, she vowed to herself there’d be no more weakness.

  Driving through traffic was easier. She even swerved a little near a bridge cliff, tempting a death that’d never materialize. Her jeep ran alongside the bumper rails, causing cars to beep going past her. If they only knew who was driving this car.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw a flicker of her pupils dilating, enlarging and then returning to normal. She almost felt proud as her father had gone through the same thing, except he wouldn’t be completely immortal until his twenty-first birthday. She didn’t get the choice. It was taken from her. He didn’t get to taste the undead, but his daughter would.

  She drove erratically, swaying in all three lanes of the Stevenson Expressway. Loving and hating her father at the same time was a hard feat, but it dwelled in her soulless soul. Jack’s soul was it now? Who the hell’s soul did it belong to if not her?

  The texting sound went off on her phone, Hunter’s distinct tone. Normally, she wouldn’t dare look at her phone while driving, but now she picked it up without a care.

  Hunter: Where are you?

  Lana: On my way—

  She deleted that and entered:

  Lana: None of your business!

  Throwing it on the passenger seat, she shrugged, ignoring the pain. That should take care of him. How could she possibly be with him now? It wasn’t right. Never would be.

  She heard it go off again but kept driving. She drove for hours until the sun disappeared, surrounding her in darkness to mirror what would begin to grow in her, a seed planted and festering in its wild growth of vines clutching onto follicles, molecules, arteries, organs, pumping blackness into her veins and oozing out of her pores.

  Either, she’d run from it or embrace, and she wasn’t a runner. What choice did that leave her? One thing was for sure; she’d make a little visit to Mr. Jack Red, and not to invite him to her bed.

  ***

  Jack’s gates guarded any uninvited guests, a gargoyle on each end with glowing red marble eyes and teeth set to ravage any intruder. Lana laughed at them as she punched the intercom.

  “Who goes there?” a British voice shot through the speaker.

  “Lana Stone.”

  The buzzard bounced back. “Please enter.”

  The black opulent gates creaked open, allowing her to drive through the long, gravely road, a five-hundred yard rectangular pond in the center, surrounded by hedges on one side and the lawn on the other.

  She thought her home was magnificent, but this was a castle fit for…a dark prince. Some parts of it looked like a church, which was ironic, with its stained glass windows glowing with light on the inside, illuminating the front yard. It would be a shame when she destroyed them.

  Slamming her jeep door shut, she walked to the sidewalk in front of the pond to face the house, and raised her hands and closed her eyes, conjuring the highest power from the bowels of her black soul. One by one, the windows exploded, shattering every beautiful shard. The winds blew, feeding upon her anger, whipping the trees in a frenzy.

  “Lana, don’t be so upset. Just think, you’ll get to live forever,” Jack said, stepping out of the front double door, and walking toward her. “Please, my love. Let me calm you.”

  “Get away from me! I despise you! Despise all that you are…represent…” Parts of the roof flew off, causing Jack to duck as a copper turret sliced through the air near his head.

  “Come here,” he whispered, beckoning her in his outstretched arms.

  “No. I don’t want your touch. I’d rather drink poison, pour acid on me, light myself on fire than to be touched by you, Jack Red. Why did you do it? Why?” The winds continued to blow, her hair thrashing around her face, sticking to her wet cheeks.

  A male voice echoed from the doors as she stared at Jack. “Lana, I’m yours if you’ll have me.” The voice belonged to Drake Morris. He stood on the steps with his hands palm up for her to take. “I know who you are.”

  “You made me who I am,” she said through gritted teeth, her eyes lanced upon him.

  “Not without your permission. Do you recall when you were asked if you accept all there is to this new life, without question? You said yes.”

  “I didn’t know you meant…this.” She wiped the tears away, the wind still roaring in her ears. A tree cracked and fell against the bartizan of the home, cycling bricks through the courtyard and over their heads.

  Jack’s face morphed into her father’s and spoke in his voice. “Lana girl, listen to Jack. He knows you better th
an you know yourself. Go to Drake and live out your destiny. It’s in the stars.”

  “No, you’re not my father.” She turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Sweetheart, it’s me. I’m with your mother. It was my idea to place that daisy in your jeep earlier. We didn’t want you to feel alone. You are so loved. Please, listen to Daddy.”

  She covered her face and shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. The winds began to die down, and Jack’s face returned, giving a sympathetic smile. He held out his arms, and she felt herself walking to them and then collapsing against his chest.

  “Drake, come!” he summoned the high priest who ran and pulled Lana into his arms.

  “You’re okay now, Lana. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. You are my queen.” He picked her up and carried her weakened body inside, kissing her temple, her hands wrapped around his neck.

  ***

  At first, she opened her eyes, and a blurry figure at the foot of her bed came into view. She rubbed them to clear her vision and clicked on the bedside lamp. The image was of Drake. The man who’d accept her exactly as she was.

  “How’re you feeling?” He came around and sat next to her. “I’ve been so worried.”

  She scooted up against the pillows and cleared her throat. “I feel a little better. Am I in Jack’s house?” She gazed at the unfamiliar room, much grander than hers ever could be. A canopy of white tulle flowered around her in soft cascades on long, golden poles, her headboard and footboard made out of the same gold. Glorious paintings hung on the walls of unfamiliar faces and families in courtyards and gazebos.

  A stone fireplace was to the left wall, and a grand piano sat in the corner, with a red velvet bench placed before it. The Oriental rug embroidered in multiple colors added an Asian beauty to the room. A chandelier dangled above the center of the room. Yes, this room was made for a queen.

  “I don’t remember much except that I destroyed his beautiful home.”

  He shook his head. “All fixed, like it never happened.”

  “Of course.”

  He took her hand in his and kissed it. “Your mother was in this very same room when she belonged to Jack.”

  Lana nodded, disdain coloring her face. “Against her will, but that’s the only way Jack plays. He brainwashes his victims and has them sign contracts in blood, or, in my case, dip a dagger in some wine and make out with the whole coven.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t be like that, my love. Will I ever get you to smile for me?”

  She studied his chiseled good looks, his light hazel eyes, and his military style haircut. He seemed so vulnerable in this moment, like a little boy, that she actually felt bad for him. He, too, was a victim of Jack’s. Her face softened. “I’m sure one day. I’m just not ready right now.”

  “That gives me hope. I know you wish I were Hunter, and I’m sorry for that. He’s a terrific guy.”

  “You must stop being so nice,” she scolded teasingly. The thought of Hunter cracked her heart wide open. Drake was right. She did wish he were him, holding her hand lovingly. But that dream was dead. He’d find some woman who carried the same faith as he did and have a family with her, perhaps going to a nice church in Chicago where he worked. There were plenty of churches there. This was her life now.

  “I can’t help it. You bring it out of me. Ever since I laid eyes on you, I knew you’d be mine. I know right now I don’t own your heart, but someday I hope to.” He leaned down and kissed the corner of her lips, so close yet not quite. He pulled back. “Hungry?”

  “Starved!”

  “Well, that’s a good sign! I’ll let Elsa know; you’ll love her. Jack wanted me to stay here until things were more permanent between us. I used to have an apartment on Lockport Street, a nice one, but this is much nicer.”

  “Permanent?”

  “You know.”

  “Betrothed?” She used her grandfather’s word because it was easier than saying marriage, something that meant true commitment and a vow to love and honor. Betrothed, to her, meant given away.

  “Yes, betrothed. I can’t wait to start a family with you, to see you carry my son. I’d like to name him Ash, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Isn’t that what Jack wanted to name his son?”

  He looked shocked. “Yes, it is. We have the honor of naming our son that. I think he’ll be perfect with our fair beauty. I mean, your father was a handsome man with his dark looks, but this child will be much more striking.”

  The more she listened to Drake, the more he appeared to be a Stepford husband, following the orders of a darker force…Jack Red.

  Someone knocked at the door, and an older dark-haired woman bustled through. She carried a tray of meats and cheeses, a loaf of bread, and fruit on the side. “Here you go, Miss Lana. Anything else, please let me know,” she said with a southern twang before backing out.

  “Well, I’ll let you fill up. Maybe a walk through the garden with me later?” He stood, still holding her hand. “It’s a beautiful night.”

  “Maybe.”

  He winked and walked out of the room.

  She chewed without thought, not feeling all that hungry after all. Swallowing without tasting the food, deadened taste buds, her eyes stared straight ahead. She glanced at the chandelier, making it swing and then stopping it.

  The garden. She knew what he wanted in that garden. He wanted to bring her taste buds alive, make them dance on his tongue, his skin, his body. She could see it in his hooded eyes, the fast squeezing of his fingers against hers, the rubbing of her palm. The sexual tension in his muscles all screamed his wanton desire for her.

  Maybe if she gave in, she’d feel alive again, even at Drake’s soiled touch. She just wanted to feel life flow through her body, not this necrotic numbness. What she really wanted was Hunter’s hands on her, in her, making her his. She’d always belong to him no matter what. Moving the tray to the table, she lay back down and rolled to her side, her hand sliding down her stomach and finding what it needed.

  “Hunter,” she whispered over and over.

  ***

  Lana descended the stairway, taking her time, regarding Jack at the bottom.

  “There you are, my love. Sleep okay?”

  “Yes. I want to go home.”

  “After a few days. I want to make sure all is well.”

  “I need to help Diana prepare…”

  “Prepare? For what? Her demise?” he scoffed.

  “How do you know I’m picking her? It could be Eric.”

  Drake appeared around the corner. “Ready for the garden?”

  Jack grinned. “Ah, the garden. It’s splendid out there. Go be with your true love. I’ll see you two lovebirds later.”

  She glared at Jack before returning Drake’s smile. “Sure.”

  He linked her arm through his, guiding her through the kitchen and through the glass garden doors. “There’s a bench near the rose bed,” he said, pointing.

  They sat and smiled awkwardly at each other, not knowing what to say. This did feel like a courtship in a way. “It smells…so nice here. I love roses,” she said, closing her eyes, taking in the flowery scent.

  “It does.” He stood and plucked a red rose, bringing it back to her. “For you.”

  She smiled, taking the offered gift. “Thank you, Drake.” She lifted the delicate flower to her nose. “Lovely.”

  “As are you.”

  Coming back to reality, she placed the rose in her lap and bit her lip. “When did you…”

  “…become immortal?”

  She nodded, twirling the rose stem in her hand, numb to the thorns pricking her fingers.

  He sat against the back of the bench, letting out a sigh. “When I turned twenty-one,” he said, showing a lopsided grin.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah…oh. That was about six years ago, so I’ve gotten used to it, sort of.”

  “Was there a Ball?”

  “Like your father? Yes.” He pulled h
er hand into his lap and continued. “I think I fell in love with the girl chosen for me that night, can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “Who was she?”

  “You.”

  “What? But that’s impossible!”

  “Let me explain. You had a dream on your twenty-first birthday, right? A dream of a dance in Stone Manor?”

  “I can vaguely remember, but I think so. When I awoke, I just thought I was dreaming of my father’s horrible night from all the stories they filled my head with. It was vivid, but I don’t remember you.” She felt bad hurting his feelings, but that was the truth.

  “Jack snatched your soul in your sleep and brought you to my side. He told me you were my future high priestess and a gift for me turning twenty-one.”

  Her eyes squinted together with a question in mind. “But there’s a certain ceremonial tradition in those birthdays, where Jack has sex with the girl and then gives her to…” She stopped when she saw his face. “I had sex with Jack in his real form?”

  “It’s your destiny, Lana. Everything has led up to this point in our lives. I’ve tried going to you in your dreams, but Jack always stopped me. He said not until we’ve officially met and you’ve become immortal.” His other hand slid on her thigh, squeezing it, his breathing quickening, his pupils dilating.

  “We’re monsters, Drake! Doesn’t that bother you?” She pushed her hand on his chest to keep him at a distance.

  “I’ve waited so long for you, Lana. The way you looked at me at my birthday…our birthday, because it’s the same day, I can tell you wanted me then. You flirted with me all night, sneaking kisses when no one was looking, laughing at every joke. Jack made you forget it all. I begged him not to, but he said if you really cared for me, you’d remember on your own. But you didn’t remember…” His head hung low, closing his eyes as if in pain. “I was angry at you at the ceremony for not remembering. That’s why I was such an ass.”

  “I wish I could remember. I’m so sorry, Drake. I do remember a faceless man that night. Perhaps that was you?” She knew it wasn’t. There was no love for Drake in her heart. But the need to give him something was strong, and she followed it. She cupped his chin, making him face her. She licked her lips and drew his mouth to hers.