by Cait London
“Oh, I need you,” Owen admitted roughly. “Is it necessary that you check on him tonight?”
“I said I would. Owen, he’s exactly the kind of vulnerable personality that whoever is using Janice preys upon. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to him.”
“You think you can protect him, do you?” he asked a little too sharply.
“If I have to.”
Owen smoothed back Leona’s hair, then slowly rubbed her shoulders and back. The tension there pounded at him. In the quiet evening air, Leona turned her face to him. “Alex has no one else to help him. I’m all he has for now. He doesn’t make friends easily.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. Don’t be jealous, Owen. He’s a friend, he’s lonely, and he needs me.”
Removing his hand, he clasped it in the other. The chilling scene with Janice had revealed more information about the Aislings. “Tell me about that brooch, what it means to your family. Janice said she’s going to see the real one. And what is the ‘old writing’ she mentioned?”
Leona didn’t answer. In that terrifying scene with Janice, she had also gotten new information about Owen. “You didn’t tell me your name was ‘Wolf.’”
“It’s a middle name, and not unusual for a Native American. Why? Does it matter?”
Leona turned her face to study him. “Yes, it does. I’m going after this creep, and you’re involved somehow. There’s a wolf’s head on that brooch, and your middle name is Wolf. There could be a connection.”
“Oh, I’m involved, all right, and not only because of my sister,” Owen murmured, as his hand smoothed her hair, letting the silky warmth flow around his fingers. He gently drew Leona into his arms and let her rest against him.
Leona trembled, but she held him tightly. Her face pressed against his throat as she whispered, “I’m so scared, Owen. My sisters, my family could be at risk. Janice was right. Claire and Tempest will be pregnant soon, and so vulnerable. For years, I—I’ve seen flashes, images of them pregnant, and with babies in their arms. Claire was pregnant, before she walked into a bank robbery. That trauma and the one at the hospital caused her to miscarry. Before that happens again, I’ve got to get this bastard out of our lives now. But I’ve got to open myself to what I am, and I’ve fought it all my life. My grandmother killed herself because she’d ‘opened,’ and had become too strong. She’d fought it all her life, then suddenly she changed. When I was four or five, she stayed with us after Dad’s accident. She told me something—I’d forgotten until recently what it was, then only parts. She was already losing her mind, and it could have been the start of her madness, which lasted for years.”
“Tell me about the original brooch. It’s not just a piece of jewelry, is it?” Owen had to know why all the Aisling-Bartels wore replicas, why Janice had said that Greer had the original brooch. “You don’t have anything Celtic in your home—or that I noticed. And yet your brooch has that definite style.”
“It’s a family brooch, like one my Viking ancestor wore—the chieftain who captured the seer called Aisling. His name was Thorgood. My family is descended from them, and my mother took Aisling as a professional name. In our family, clairvoyant gifts usually come to the red-haired, green-eyed females. I wanted nothing in my home to remind me of a gift I have never wanted, but I can’t escape. It is a curse in itself. When I see myself in the mirror, I remind myself so much of the Aisling of my dreams that I can almost hear her whispering to me, warning me.”
“Anything else?”
“The brooch has a curse. Thorgood got Aisling, Borg didn’t, and so he cursed the brooch and their bloodline. He’s the bad guy in this unbelievable story, or rather his descendant is.”
Owen shook his head. “How do you know all this—the exact names and what happened?”
“Dreams. Flashes in mirrors, in glass, and just plain old-fashioned nightmares. We know the names very well. The man in Janice’s sketch is a psychic vampire, Owen. He seduces at first, then gradually takes control and becomes stronger than his victim. Soon his victims no longer belong to themselves. They move at his command. He’s very powerful. He wants that original brooch, and he’s going to kill to get it. He’s already killed,” Leona corrected.
“You’ve seen him, too?”
“Yes. In my dreams. Now I’m questioning if my grandmother actually transferred an image of him into my mind. My mother has the same dreams, very real. Sometimes it’s as if we’re Aisling, experiencing what she did. Sometimes we see her in that Celt village, as she watches Thorgood come toward her. But the visions of Borg challenging Thorgood for Aisling are the same. Whatever the case, this psychic vampire is a descendant of Borg, and he wants revenge. He wants to make that curse come true…he wants to kill us and get that brooch. He has some mad idea that he’ll have whatever so-called power it holds.”
She shivered against Owen before continuing. “Once he gets control of someone—always the vulnerable—he has them do his dirty work, then commit suicide. He uses them, and he discards them like trash. His attempts on my sisters’ lives resulted in several suicides or deadly accidents. In Claire’s case, when she miscarried, it was a doctor and nurse and a man trying to reform. In Tempest’s, it was only a boy trying to survive a rough life. All of them had connected with him, just like Janice. A computer is his usual choice. This man, whoever he is, is like a puppet-master, pulling psychic strings, using his minions.”
Owen thought of his sister’s suicide attempts. He was always the explanation, what He wanted her to do. “Do you really think there is a connection to my family name, ‘Wolf’?”
“With your light eyes, I’d say there’s a good chance.”
“Explain.”
“They’re gray, not blue.”
“So?”
“I don’t know exactly how you fit into this, but you do.”
“And you have some idea. I need to know anything even somewhat possible.” Leona leaned back to look at him. Her hand stroked away the strand of hair at his forehead. A wave of euphoria curled around him, and Owen smiled, “It feels good, honey, but I’d appreciate you not practicing with me. I like to understand any psychic connection we may have but I’d rather have the real flesh-and-blood thing with you.”
With Leona so close in his arms, Owen couldn’t stop his body hardening, his need for her swelling inside him. As his hand lowered to caress her breast, Leona’s eyes searched his face. Then, gripping his hair, she tugged Owen to her. Against his lips, she whispered, “We don’t have much time.”
“No, we sure don’t.” Owen had expected a soft kiss. Instead, Leona’s body heated and melded to his, her fingers pressed deep into his upper thigh, her hand moving upward to cup and stroke him. When she leaned back, the hunger in her expression matched his. She licked her lips, a reminder of what that tongue had done three evenings ago.
In one movement, Owen stood and scooped Leona into his arms. He moved swiftly toward the barn, carrying her.
“You like this big, strong macho stuff, don’t you, big guy?” she teased between kisses. But her hand had already slid inside Owen’s shirt, caressing his chest. Her fingertip prowled his nipple and sent a jolt straight southward until he almost missed a step.
Leona’s change of mood was too sudden, but at the moment, Owen wasn’t refusing. “Like you said, we don’t have much time. Is it always this way with you? Changing gears at the speed of light?”
“No.”
Owen decided that he’d take that firm “No.” He wanted Leona to react differently to him than she had with any other man, and that was good enough.
Within heartbeats of entering the dark barn, of closing the door, Owen eased inside Leona. Their clothing had been strewn upon the plastic sheeting covering the standing saw and they stood in a corner, his back braced against the wall. Shuddering, he lifted her to accept him better, then thrust deeply within her.
He stopped, holding her on that peak and withdrawing slightly. Leona dug in for th
e battle, set to complete it. Her nails pressed into his back; her legs wrapped around his. Instinctively, Owen knew that she’d never given another man everything; she’d never fought for her pleasure so desperately or so quickly. Other men probably hadn’t seen her primitive side. Owen had, and he intended to give Leona something she wouldn’t forget.
Lost in passion, her body at its throbbing peak, tightly gloving his, Leona threw back her head, her hair webbing her damp cheek. Her eyes shone bright and furious upon him. Torn away was that perfect calm, that poise and soothing cool voice. She looked as if she would fight all odds to pay him back. Perfect, Owen thought, before his mind went blank and his body took over.
When the pounding red haze passed, Leona stood limp against him, her body quivering. Owen pressed his face against her damp throat, taking in her scent. “What was that?” she whispered unevenly.
He nibbled on her skin, licked it lightly, and tasted her sweat. She’d matched his passion in every heartbeat. “I think you know. Now tell me what turned you on so fast…. For future reference.”
“What? I can’t be the one to make advances? That’s old-fashioned, isn’t it, Owen?”
“I’m not complaining. I just want to know what I’m dealing with.”
Leona nuzzled her cheek against his, then against his throat and over his shoulder. She nipped her way back to his ear, and whispered, “I guess that’s only fair…. I’m not used to releasing so much of myself to another person. I’d just told you the family secrets. I’d just come down from helping Janice. I’d had to push myself to connect and soothe her, and it’s causing me to grow and change. This is new for me. Our relationship, and—and finding out what I can do, when I push, or try to open to another. A little success, and I’m flying high. I was all charged up, and you just tapped all that energy.”
“Uh-huh. So it had to go somewhere? You had to use it somehow?”
“I was coming off a psychic high, exhilarated, highly charged. You did just the wrong thing.”
He felt his grin all over his body. “Hmm. It felt right to me.”
“You’re full of yourself right now, aren’t you? I don’t think you’re very sweet, Owen Wolf Shaw. You were also making a macho possessive point—that you have some claim on me. You do that to me again, and you’ll pay.”
“Promises, promises. I can’t wait.”
Leona bit his shoulder lightly, then rested her cheek on that same spot, nuzzling him. As Owen let all the tension in his life simply flow away, his senses filled with this one woman, her body soft and curving in his arms. As they stood naked and still joined in the shadowy cool barn, time drifted sweetly by, the aftermath of a primitive mating. He caressed her back, smoothed her breast, and waited until her trembling had stopped. Then he couldn’t resist cupping her breasts, studying the shape and pale flesh within his hands. Leaning back slightly, he looked down where they joined and became one, lock and key.
“Stop that…. I have to go,” Leona whispered desperately against his shoulder.
“I know.” Owen forced himself to ease away. He helped Leona dress, then tended himself. Then he took her hand, pressed it to his lips and placed it over his heart. “Thank you.”
She smiled softly and arched a brow, her cool, protective poise sliding back into place. “For this?”
“For helping Janice.” Owen smoothed her hair. He let the silky strands slide between his fingers. “You’ll be safe?”
She tilted her head, those earth-green eyes mocking him slightly. “I’m a big girl, Owen.”
“Oh, I know that,” he answered with a grin as he patted her bottom. Leona stiffened slightly and frowned. He patted her again, testing her uncertain expression.
“You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?” she said as she pushed away and sauntered toward the door.
Owen drew in a deep ragged breath. As he watched those swaying hips, his body hardened once again. Raising his gaze, he saw the seductive look Leona gave him over her shoulder and grinned again because he knew exactly how he was going to pay….
In his underground workshop, Rolf switched off the screen fed by the camera in the Shaws’ barn.
He couldn’t see Shaw and Leona in the darkness, but the motion sensor had picked up movement. A brief glimpse told him what they’d been doing. “So he carried her into the barn. She clung to him, and it only took a few moments. They must have been desperate,” he said, hatred burning him.
He expected the phone to ring and when it did, he picked it up and listened to the report closely. Furious to learn of the setback in his plans, Rolf focused on the message he must imprint on the caller to ensure no further damage came to his mission. He was too close to success. A wrong word to his minion could destroy a precious connection he had spent hours developing. Pushing back his fury, he kept his voice calm and soothing, his words logical. The caller had to understand….
Once he hung up the phone, Rolf released his anger in a storm of curses. He picked up a hammer from the workbench and smashed it into the mirror. One shard of the mirror reflected his image, the violence circling him, his eyes wild. He sent the hammer into it and stood back, panting, as the shards flew into the shadows. “Shaw thinks he’s going to protect Janice by taking her to that witch-mother, Greer. Maybe he is—for a while, but I’ll have Janice again. I needed that girl to help me with Leona. Shaw will pay for ruining my plans, and so will Leona, and Greer. I hate all of them, but Greer the most. How dare she put me down!”
Rolf glanced around his cluttered workshop, the electronics that fed him scenes from several cameras and microphones.
Everything was going perfectly. Janice had the revolver, just as she was supposed to. She had Shaw in her sights. If that interfering witch, Leona, hadn’t stopped her, in another minute he would have been dead. There would be no one for Janice to turn to, but Leona. Leona would have taken Janice in immediately, and caring for her would have further exhausted Leona’s energy.
Rolf braced both hands on the work counter and spoke to his reflection. “I could just shoot Leona…kill her somehow. But that isn’t the plan. I prefer the prey to fear me and to know that I am hunting. What kind of a predator would I be if I just killed her outright? No, it’s better that she didn’t go off that cliff. Feeding on her fear is making my energy stronger. And this game is ever so much more pleasurable than an outright kill.”
Picking up a three-foot-long sword, a replica of his ancestor’s, the pommel inlaid with silver and copper, Rolf studied the deadly blade. He had seen flashes of Borg’s actual sword, tossed to the very bottom of the ocean by Thorgood’s men, where it could never be retrieved. In doing so, Thorgood’s warriors had damned Borg’s spirit to roam for an eternity.
“There’s no spirit haunting me. Nothing but a thirst to take what’s rightfully mine, and bring Greer down.” Rolf ran his thumb over the sword’s gleaming edge, then sucked the blood from the small wound. “With this sword, I’ll mark Shaw for my kill. That’s more sporting, to give him time to understand he will die. And then, when his fear is strong enough, I’ll have the pleasure of finishing him.”
Eight
VERNON CHOSE THE WRONG TIME TO STOP AT ALEX’S house. Leona was there first.
Before she opened her shop that morning, Leona had stopped by Alex’s to make certain that he was comfortable. Yesterday, he’d fallen on his way to the kitchen and Leona had seen why—the carpentry clutter in the hallway had been carelessly covered with plastic sheeting. She’d almost fallen, too, her foot tangled in the sheeting.
“Come in, Vernon. I’d like to have a talk with you. I see you’re feeling better.”
“Never better.” As always, Alex’s house was shadowy, but there was no missing the scowl on Vernon’s craggy face. At six-foot-six and with a powerful build, he looked around Alex’s living room, then placed his large wooden toolbox on the floor. Hitching up his bib overalls, he took a cigarette out of his pocket, squinting at Leona as he lit it. He blew smoke in the air. “You’re up and
eager to start tossing orders around. Where’s Alex?”
“He’s lying down. He isn’t feeling well, and because of you. Yesterday he had a bad spill.”
“Is that so?” Vernon’s tone challenged her.
She looked down at his boots. He’d tracked mud onto the newly refinished hardwood floors and Alex’s expensive oriental rug. “Look at that. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
Behind the cigarette smoke, Vernon’s eyes went flat. “You got a bee in your bonnet, lady.”
“I’d like you to be more careful with your equipment. Alex tripped on that loose plastic. And at my house, your things are all over the place. You’ve been smoking there, and we agreed you wouldn’t. You left a window open and tracked in mud.”
“I had to have some fresh air, didn’t I?”
He glanced up at Alex, who had come partially down the stairway. “I’ll be more careful,” Vernon stated quietly.
“Please do. When do you think you’ll be finished with my closet?”
“Everything takes time. Balleau wants some extra work on the job I’m doing for him that I hadn’t planned. I’m full up with jobs.”
“Then maybe you should just take one at a time.”
Vernon’s anger trembled around her. Leaning down to her face, he said “Why, you little—” Stopping abruptly, he glared at her.
Leona’s body chilled instantly. Vernon’s temper was either new, or he’d been good at concealing it. Was he the one stalking her family?
“Vernon?” Alex called as he came down the stairs. “Ah. I thought I heard your voice. It’s all right, Vernon, if you want to take this morning off as we discussed. Call me later.”
Vernon stared at Alex for a moment, as if preparing to say something. Then he nodded and quickly left.
Leona watched him get into his battered work pickup, then she turned to Alex. A gentle man, he would be no match for Vernon in a rage. “I’m sorry I recommended him. He did a good job in the shop’s display room and office. His references were good. But I don’t like what’s happening to him.”