“I see.” Ava frowned, still not comprehending, but her mind latched on to one word. “Outcasts?” She forgot the sickening sensations in light of this new info. “Why would you assume I’m an outcast?”
One of his eyebrows arched. “You are a latent wolf, are you not?”
How could he possibly know that? “Maybe.” Best not anger the natives.
The man chuckled as if he knew a secret or two. “There are a few rules here. If you’re not living peacefully, you’re not allowed to live in Destiny. If you think you’ll be allowed to ‘freeload’ in Destiny without serious thought as to discovering your own paranormal fate, you’ll be asked to leave.”
“Freeload? Off whom?”
He didn’t answer the question but instead continued. “If you haven’t found your truth or happiness while in town, you’re not in the right frame of mind. Don’t be surprised if the town suddenly ‘pushes’ you.”
“Pushes me where?” Panic rose in Ava’s throat. It was sounding more and more like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.
A smile touched his lips. “You’re not better or worse than anyone else. Remember your own unique qualities. Jealousy and coveting what your neighbor has are frowned upon. Anyone visiting Destiny who bullies the residents will be asked to leave. If you’re reprimanded a second time, you might be disposed of by the very residents you’ve derided. Instinctual urges will not be curbed.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” She looked around. No one paid the slightest attention to her.
Thelonious’s smile widened. “Feel free to mingle with the townsfolk, but I will caution you to procure clothing more suited to this time period.” He walked toward the Town Hall. Almost as an afterthought, he paused and turned to hold Ava’s gaze. “I wish you luck, Miss Lesarris. More lives than just your own depend on you figuring out this riddle.”
The panic she’d been holding in check exploded into full-out terror. Cold chills raced over her skin. “What I am supposed to do? Where will I live? All my money is in my car, and I don’t even have that right now.”
Thelonious waved away her concerns. “There is a dress shop not far from here. You will find their clothing selection most pleasing. Afterward, feel free to wander the town. If you’re ever feeling sentimental, the train station will be your best bet. This is all I can tell you.”
As Ava stared, alternating between bursting into tears and screaming obscenities at the man who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand her viewpoint, Thelonious Evermore literally vanished into thin air.
Her wolf picked that moment to chime in. I think we’re screwed.
“No crap.” And definitely not in a good way. What exactly did a person do when suddenly whisked back in time without a valid explanation or reason? “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Of course, her wolf had no smart answer this time.
Chapter Two
Samuel Tremaine checked his pocket watch for the second time that afternoon, with the same results. Time moved altogether too quickly, and he had absolutely nothing to show for its advancement. After thirty-four years, his life came down to a handful of days—four, in fact—including today. No matter that he held an exalted position as one of two partners in Destiny’s only bank, as a phoenix and the last of his kind, his imminent death meant he’d never be remembered.
Replacing the watch into his waistcoat pocket, Sam rose from his chair. An impossible situation at best, he’d known that the day would come; he’d merely hoped when it did, he’d have accomplished something…more. As it stood now, he had no wife or children. Hell, he’d never even accidentally impregnated any of the bevy of women he’d had sexual relationships with over the years. This was a double-edged blessing. It meant he’d never need to see those grasping, vapid females again, yet there would be no one to carry on his family name; no one to speak of his legacy. Of course, fathering any sort of offspring now was not viable. No matter how stunning the female appeared, at his advanced age in phoenix time, sustaining an erection for longer than thirty seconds was beyond his power. Thus, he hadn’t sought any woman out for bedding purposes for years. No one could know his secret shame.
A heavy sigh escaped him. No use dwelling on the issue. There was no hope for it.
He moved from the massive cherry-wood desk to stand before a plate-glass window at the front of the office. In the next room, the faint scratch of pen nubs on ledger books filled the silence, punctuated by the gentle click of coins as they were stacked for counting. Beyond that, Sam recognized the soft murmur of his partner Jamison as he tried to convince one of the town’s residents to let the Community Bank of Destiny hold the note for their mortgage.
As if the person had a choice. Yes, Thelonious gave each new resident a “place” to live, yet the Fae interpretation of that was vague. At times, it was only a plot of empty land; at others, the residence wasn’t fit for habitation, or worse. Sam and his partner had jumped on the chance to make money, thus the lending business had been born in the town. Sam grimaced. He repeated it when he saw his expression reflected in the sunlit glass. The bank was the only lending institution for miles in the area. Most of the properties in the small town were owned by the bank. Under his and Jamison’s reign, the moment one of their customers fell behind, they made swift action to reclaim the delinquent note.
Such was life. No payment, no property. This was how it worked, except he would always wonder if there was more to it than that. What about the lives behind the note? Were they happy, did they have a story to tell? What happened after they were displaced when a property reverted to the bank?
Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He would never know. Yes, he’d accumulated a large amount of wealth from his investment knowledge and power from his position, but for what purpose? In four days, he’d take to his bed and burst into flames in a blaze that would end his life. Such was the fate of his kind—or so he’d been told several lifetimes ago, it seemed. If the bank ever failed or Jamison lost interest in the venture, he could always fall back on his first love—critiquing eateries.
Bah. None of it mattered now.
As Sam moved to return to his desk, a flash of activity caught his eye. In the street beyond, a woman with the most striking blonde hair walked along Main Street, appearing for all the world as if she were lost. And well, she could be, if her bizarre costume was any indication. He pressed his palms against the window glass in an effort to see her better. Clad in a mannish type of suit and trousers that showed off her very feminine lower limbs, her lips moved like she were carrying on a conversation with another, though she was most assuredly alone.
Yet even from this short distance away, he saw the flash of mossy green in her eyes and the rosy flush on her smooth cheeks. What caused the high color—anger or some other emotion? Then he knew a desperate urge to solve the mystery. His long-dormant male appendage gave a brief twitch in agreement, but that’s as far as it went. Evidently, the strange woman couldn’t help him in that department either.
A deep and immediate connection to her rocked him to his soul. He shook his head. It was a knee-jerk reaction to a pretty face, nothing more. Nevertheless, a wave of hot desire washed over him, one so strong he headed for the front door before he’d thought the matter through. Whoever she is, she needs help, and perhaps by some miracle, she’ll be my last conquest before fate steps in.
“Going somewhere, Sam?” The booming voice stopped him cold.
He turned to stare at his partner. “I find it necessary to step outside for a bit.”
Obviously having concluded his business with the potential client, Jamison Postlewaitt lounged in the lobby with his shoulder against the door frame. Broad of shoulder and possessing dark European features, it wasn’t any wonder the man was highly sought after for parties and balls. His alter identity as a vampiric food connoisseur only added to his appeal. Any good hostess never made a decision on gastronomical menus without his advice.
“The one
reason you’d make such a hasty departure is if there were a woman connected to the move.” One of Jamison’s dark eyebrows hit his immaculately combed hairline as he jutted out his pointy chin. “From all you’ve told me, that couldn’t possibly be the case, correct?”
Heat crept up Sam’s neck. “This is true. However, I just spied the most delectable bit of leg outside. She’s striding down Main Street as if on a mission of some import. I would love to know why as well as who she is.”
“Ah.” Jamison pushed off the wall and sent an indulgent grin to the clerks scurrying around the office. “She is new to Destiny?”
“It would appear so.” Almost vibrating from impatience, Sam edged toward the door again. “What harm can it do to introduce myself? It’s been years since anything untoward has happened in my bed. I cannot envision a scandal occurring in the time I have left.” A tiny trickle of relief filtered through his chest. At least his friend knew the truth and could carry out his last wishes when the day came that he never rose from his bed. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to investigate.”
“Sam, wait.” Jamison intercepted him. “Your time on this earth is limited. My advice to you? Make every moment count. I somehow doubt chasing a skirt is the best use for that time.”
“I shall bear that in mind. However, my interest has been piqued. I must follow through.” Moving firmly past his partner, he grabbed his hat and gloves from a spindly legged table, wrenched open the door, and swept outside.
If Jamison thought to guilt him into keeping close to the bank or his home, he could think again. Yes, he only had a handful of days remaining, but wanting to find out who the stranger was and what she wanted in Destiny did not signify a wastrel attitude.
Jamming his top hat on his head, not caring that he upset the waves his valet had fussed over for endless moments that morning, Sam yanked on the thin leather gloves. Where was she? As he glanced up and down the street, he spied her dark silhouette disappearing into Lady Cynthia’s Dressmakers a block up the road. Not an ideal situation by any stretch, but he supposed he could wait for her outside. Although, how would he explain himself once she emerged?
Lost in thought, he arrived at his destination long before he’d worked the explanation out in his head. I could shift into my phoenix form, wait for someone to open the door, then fly inside the shop to spy on her, except… The string of vulgarity he wanted to spill died in his throat as the vine-carved wooden door opened to reveal a couple of lace-draped women. “I beg your pardon.” Moving out of their way, Sam politely held the door as they stepped onto the leaf-strewn walkway.
When they nodded their thanks, he knew a few seconds of acute indecision before shoving his doubts to the side. With a deep breath, he entered the dress shop and immediately found himself in a stately parlor, complete with dainty furnishings trimmed in gilt, floral-printed fabrics at the windows, and thick, inviting Oriental rugs. Behind closed doors, the high-pitched titters of female laughter filled the air. Occasionally, an authoritative set of instructions would cut the gaiety short. No doubt overworked seamstresses or harassed companions.
As he stood gaping, a side door opened, and a matronly woman joined him in the room. Dressed in black crepe, her gray hair was arranged in braided coils around her head, and an expression of mild distaste lined her round face.
“May I help you, sir? It is highly irregular for a male to enter this establishment.”
Her double chins quivered in apparent fury.
Sam swallowed as his throat had suddenly grown thick and dry. “I am searching for a woman.”
An elderly eyebrow soared. “Sir, Lady Cynthia’s is not that sort of place.”
“I am aware, thank you.” Heat infused his face, but whether from embarrassment or outrage at her claim, he couldn’t say. “Not two minutes ago, I witnessed a woman come in here dressed in strange clothing. I did not recognize her and wish to see if I could be of assistance to her as she settles into Destiny.” Ice dripped from his words, but his displeasure wasn’t enough to leave an effect on his hostess.
She held her ground as sure and stubborn as she held his gaze. Sam wouldn’t back down. For whatever reason, his interest in the woman went beyond mere curiosity. Perhaps it was an end-of-life surety, but he refused to leave now. He needed to find out why he still felt the pull to the woman.
The matron huffed her disapproval. “Wait here. She is not exactly conforming to this style of dress at the moment.” She swept through the doorway she’d entered from, clearly expecting him to bow to her dictates. The door slammed shut with a finality that brooked no argument.
Sam hesitated, but he remained in the parlor. Beyond the door, a shout of irritation rang out. The female in question had much to say about the abhorrent effects of a corset on the female body as well as the waste of money using so many yards of fabric for everyday wear. Whoever the speaker was, he grinned at the verbal reprimand she gave. Imagining the seamstresses and the other women helping on the project made him chuckle. Perhaps if more females were outspoken, the ridiculous lines of women’s garb would slowly change.
Perhaps not. Theirs was a strict and exacting world, yet merely the fact that women were swaddled and covered in multiple layers brought exquisite excitement to the unveiling of the bodies that lay beneath.
I do love divesting a woman of her clothes…well, I did. Now, I’m as harmless as a eunuch.
The door swung open, and this time his gaze shot past the matronly bulldog of the establishment to settle upon the woman who stepped into the room from behind her. Obviously, the fight to garb her in the correct clothing had been lost for the moment as she still wore her bizarre outfit.
“You are allowed a short visitation, then I must insist that Miss Lesarris return behind closed doors to complete her toilette.” Wearing a frown that most likely had intimidated lesser mortals, she stormed to one side of the room for a modicum of privacy.
Sam focused on the object of his quest. “Miss Lesarris, is it?” When she nodded, he waved her toward a low settee.
“Call me Ava.”
The name sounded lyrical to his ears. “Please, sit with me for a moment. I would imagine you have questions.” Waiting to settle himself until after she had done so, Sam grinned. “Continue.”
“Actually, they’re more demands at this point. Did you know these people are trying to force me to wear a torture device disguised as a corset?” Her green eyes flashed with the force of her ire. “That may be the norm in this time period, but where I come from, we’re much smarter. Steel boning? Really? Do they even know how unhealthy that is? Underwire bras are the thing. If they work on them now, the lingerie could be invented sooner.”
“I see.” He raked his gaze along her tailored suit, appreciating how the cut of the fabric hugged her curves and how the silky material of the shirt beneath was sheer enough that he saw the faint whisper of lace beneath. At that moment he’d give half his fortune to look his fill on such a modern interpretation of foundation garments. “Perhaps you should tell me more about them?” She cleared her throat, and he snapped his focus back to her face. He’d been well and truly caught. “I apologize. Please ignore my last comment.”
“Men are all the same.”
The urge to return to the introductory stage burned strong. “Again, I am sorry. I have never encountered a woman quite as forward speaking as you.”
“Forward speaking? What the hell does that mean?” Her glare could usher in an early winter. “Did you think I’d sit around and wait to be called upon or something? Rush over to you and ask to wait on your exulted self hand and foot?” An arched eyebrow rose. “Yeah, so not going to work with me, buddy.”
Fascinating woman. I must know more. “Then you confirm you are some sort of time traveler?” How very interesting.
“Duh. Are you not listening to me? Are we speaking the same language?”
“Not exactly, but very well.” Sam couldn’t contain the wide grin from her words. “Let’s try a civil conversatio
n and go from there.”
“Fine, and then maybe you can point me in the direction of a bar? I could really use a cold one right about now.”
“A cold what?” The woman’s phrasing held him captivated. Her speech and figure kept him spellbound.
She rolled her eyes. “A beer. Surely you folks have heard of that?”
“Of course, but ladies in this time period do not indulge, neither do they frequent bars, unless they are of a certain profession that goes hand in hand with liquor.” He raised an eyebrow for emphasis. A stab of pleasure went through him when a wash of pink stained her cheeks. “Ah, you are not that type of woman.”
“I could surprise you, although I draw the line at trading sex for money. If that’s what you’re thinking, just stop.” The woman crossed one leg over the other at the knee, and his gaze slid to her footwear. Much different from the beaded satin slippers with which he was familiar, these shoes appeared to be tooled from supple leather and sported a heel of at least four inches in height. How did one walk in such uncomfortable-looking things? Yet the extreme footwear showed off her high instep. Erotic images danced through his mind of her clad only in a corset and those shoes. Damnation, knowing this woman would be trouble.
His estimation of her swung back toward a fallen woman, despite her protest.
A new wave of heated desire crept over his skin, yet left his cock untouched. He had to know more. “Where and when do you hail from? Why exactly are you here? I apologize for the rapid-fire questions, but from the death glances of that battleaxe guard dog, our time together will be limited.”
His companion glanced at the older woman, and a smile graced her lips, the first he’d seen. It illuminated her cheekbones and made her eyes sparkle with wicked intent.
“Please don’t tell me she’ll be my boss while I’m here.”
“I cannot vouch for a boss, but she may stick close if she feels you need watching, especially if you are alone here in Destiny.”
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