by Ciar Cullen
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
512 Forest Lake Drive
Warner Robins, Georgia 31093
Unholy Vows
Copyright © 2007 by Ciar Cullen
Cover by Anne Cain
ISBN: 1-59998-192-0
www.samhainpublishing.com
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2007
Unholy Vows
Ciar Cullen
Chapter One
“Do you have any good books on voodoo? I’m branching out a little and…”
“Nope. No voodoo. Not a single voodoo doll, voodoo pin, voodoo book, nothing.” Jennifer tapped a newly manicured fingernail on the glass case in annoyance. Tory, was that her name? The young woman wore attention-grabbing black clothes, heavy, dark makeup and hair dyed coal-black. Jennifer’s shop attracted the Goth kids like flies.
I’d like to cast a spell on you, young lady. “Anything else I can help you with?” Jennifer prompted, less polite than she would have managed on a different day.
Tory looked a little hurt as she caressed a fanciful statue of a dragon. Jennifer was about to ask her to put the fragile porcelain figurine down, but didn’t have the heart to hurt her further.
“Hun, I need to close a little early today, maybe you could stop back tomorrow?” Jennifer glanced at her watch—he’d be there any minute. Damn it, her stomach was tied in knots.
“Oh, but the units are leaving Long Beach Island tomorrow, this is my last day.”
“The units?”
“The parental units.”
“I see. Don’t forget you can shop the Raven’s Cave online now—I’ll ship anything to your home.” She extracted the hundred-dollar dragon from Tory’s hands and put it back on the shelf.
“Oh, cool. Do you have a blog or something? Are you on MySpace? I could put a link to your shop on my paranormal website…”
Jennifer glanced again at her watch. She wanted to reach across the counter and strangle the girl, but the truth was that she had been a great customer all summer long, buying pendants, crystals, rune stones, and books on Druids. Her parents no doubt had money to burn, as did anyone who could afford a house on the island for the summer. Besides, she saw a bit of herself in the girl—a bit of a loner, searching to fit in somewhere.
Jennifer didn’t have the heart to tell Tory she didn’t believe in the supernatural powers of the trinkets she hawked in the Raven’s Cave—the crystals, pungent incense, soaps, New Age books and Wiccan jewelry. Nevertheless, she was damned proud of every sale, of every precious piece of merchandise covering her display shelves. She’d bought the shop from a widow anxious to retire, and had slaved to breathe new life into the dreary place. Light-catching crystals hanging in the window, small fountains with wood nymphs, fairies, and angels, and light Celtic music combined to relax and intrigue her customers. Freshly baked scones and aromatic teas and coffees were free for the taking.
She’d turned the place around within a year, and it was now a gold mine. Jennifer had worked night and day during that year to turn a profit so she could keep the modest beach house she had once shared with the monster—the label she’d tagged her ex with. And she had done it alone. The success of proving to herself she had the business smarts, the guts, and the ability to launch a successful career had filled her with pride. But the success of the shop had come at a price—she’d thrown herself into her work, rarely taking the time to visit with friends, and certainly not venturing out to meet men.
Now that she was a success, she had no one to celebrate with, no one who understood or cared about her accomplishment. Shawn will care, won’t he? And he’ll be here soon.
“Tory, I’d love to chat about my website, but I have to go into the back and take care of a few things. If anyone comes in, say a man and a woman in their late twenties, you’ll let me know, right? Keep an eye on any other customers, too?”
“Sure.” Tory beamed at the vote of confidence.
Jennifer ran into the back room and slammed the stockroom door. She could barely catch her breath, her heart raced and her hands shook. Get a grip, Jen. This is pathetic, you should be way past these adolescent nerves.
She’d been through it all—a brutal divorce from a man who had abused her, a miscarriage, the death of both parents, and renting out her own home during the summer and living in the carriage house. Instead of feeling like a survivor, she’d grown exhausted, too exhausted to consider dating again.
Jennifer smirked at herself in the mirror. “Liar. Admit it—you’re fixated on one man, and you’re not willing to bother with anyone else.”
The only problem, of course, was that Shawn was young, and he probably still thought of her as his sister-in-law, even though she and the monster had been apart for years. Still, Shawn and his sister Dana had disowned their brutal foster brother, and kept in close touch with Jennifer, visiting every year, propping her up with their support and encouragement, emailing her weekly.
More and more, Jennifer had come to live for Shawn’s emails, rereading them for any hint at his personal life, at any interest in her. She’d come close to pouring her heart out to him several times, but had never found the nerve to ask the question that haunted her for years—“What do you think of me? Would you ever consider…?”
Jen cursed as she pulled her mascara out of her makeup bag. It would have been a hell of a lot easier to test the waters via email than in person. Maybe this year Shawn wouldn’t be as friendly, or supportive, or hot. She’d watched him grow from a nerdy, shy college student to a stunning man in what seemed like the space of a few years. And no doubt, if he thought of her at all, he’d watched her age, put on a few pounds, form a few crow’s feet around her eyes from too much sun and too much worry.
What the hell are you thinking? You can’t do this!
The monster’s damned words haunted her, the ones he’d used to ease his own guilt as he tried to explain the bimbo in her bed, with her husband. “Come on, Jen,” Frank had slurred through the drug and alcohol haze that dominated his life in the last year of their marriage. “Men aren’t cut out for monogamy, especially as the woman gets older.” It wouldn’t have slipped Shawn’s notice that Jennifer had aged, would it? No doubt he had a string of coeds lining up outside his office at the college every day.
A bead of perspiration rolled down her neck. She rummaged for her lipstick and blush—anything that would hide about five years. She straightened her little tank top and shorts and brushed her long, dark hair until it gleamed. Cursing as she tried to wave away the cloud of perfume she had, spritzed on, she stopped cold and stared in the mirror.
“What the hell are you doing, Jen?” she asked her image. You’ve known him since he was a teenager. He knows what you look like. It’s too late now.
The bell on the shop door clanged and her nerve endings caught fire. Perhaps it would be different this year, she thought for the hundredth time. Perhaps Shawn wouldn’t look good, perfect, unattainable.
With one last look in the mirror, she took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. She pushed open the door and froze. Nothing had changed, except that Shawn was a year older, and
even more compelling because of it. He sported a new, sexy little mustache and goatee. He wore his thick black hair a little longer, reaching beyond his collar. But nothing had changed about that body or those eyes.
You idiot. He’s brilliant and gorgeous and kind and sexy…and completely unavailable. He could have anyone he wants, and he’ll want someone his own age. You’ll never be anything to him but a friend.
Jennifer suppressed a groan and ran to Dana, her former sister-in-law. “Look what the cat dragged in!”
Dana giggled and kissed her cheek. “Jen, how the hell do you manage to look better every time we see you? It’s sick. You’ve made a pact with Satan, using this stuff, right?” Dana pointed to a cheap pentagram pendant. Jennifer smirked at the cute blonde and looked past to Shawn, who leaned on the counter, looking a bit uncomfortable. Tory stared at him with an open mouth, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey, Shawn.”
“Hey, Jen. Good to see you. You look…the place looks great.” Jen felt her frozen smile tighten and she tried to look more natural, but her lips wouldn’t move. Come on, Jen.
“Tory, honey, I have to close up now.” Tory nodded glumly but perked up a bit when Jennifer hugged her. “You’ll be back next summer, right?”
“Yep. Don’t forget, if you need any help in the shop…?”
“You will be the first person I call, I promise. Don’t forget to visit me online, and maybe we’ll see about trading links, okay?” She smiled and waved Tory out the door, groaning once she left.
Dana laughed. “Another fan who wants to be like the Mistress of the Raven’s Cave? She has a long way to go, poor thing.”
“She’s harmless, simply a little lost. All right! I got my house back from the tourists yesterday and am all ready for you. Let’s get you two settled in and then maybe go to Charlie’s for lobster, my treat.”
Shawn shook his head. “My treat.” His quiet voice carried an intensity she hadn’t heard from him before, and she tried to look nonchalant as she examined him. She moved to grab her purse, but Shawn caught her and held her in a light hug, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“Good to see you, Jen. You look great.” His amazing emerald eyes drilled into her as he held her close for a moment, a moment that seemed an eternity. Electricity rushed through her body at the pressure of his arm around her waist.
“You…you look good too, Shawn. I like the new look.” She reached towards his chin, dying to stroke the smooth dark hair, but pulled back. Oh my God, you look amazing. And that’s the first time you’ve touched me in all these years.
They regarded one another in silence, and Jen pulled away awkwardly. Shawn ran his hand through his thick black hair and glanced around the shop. Jen searched frantically for something to say, but Dana’s giggle broke the spell.
“What’s funny?”
“Oh, nothing important.” Dana rolled her eyes innocently.
After Jen locked up the shop, the trio took to the boardwalk. Shawn breathed the salt air in deeply as he stared out at the beach and retreating tide. “I love this place, especially at this time of year. Want to finish teaching the semester for me, Jen, and I’ll take over the shop for you?”
“That’s not a good idea. I’m sure the shop would turn a profit, even if you don’t quite look like a purveyor of fine New Age paraphernalia. But I’m pretty sure I couldn’t teach microbiology.”
“Molecular biology,” he corrected. “I wouldn’t put it past you. I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do.”
Dana followed behind, snickering.
“What is your problem?” Jennifer chided her friend. Dana shrugged, tongue in cheek.
Shawn tried to keep the excitement of being in Jen’s company off his face through dinner. The sight of her floored him—long, dark hair hanging to her waist, amazing legs in tiny shorts, fantastic breasts pushing at her tight tank top, and the winning smile of a movie star. She could fucking stop traffic, and probably did, regularly. How the hell could she be thirty-five? She got sexier every time he saw her. And what the hell had his brother Frank been thinking, screwing up that marriage?
She was hot, funny, intelligent, and a solid friend. Frank had to be the ultimate moron. Shawn longed for a chance with her, just one night with her. No, that’s not what he wanted. He wanted enough one nights strung together to make up years. Or was it simply because she made him feel special, less of a geek?
Jennifer had always sought him out, always asked about his studies, his hobbies, his travels, and listened, really listened, as if she cared. As if he counted. But she was just being kind to her brother-in-law, the boring scientist.
Shawn glanced at Jennifer again and pushed away an image of her naked, under him, telling him—no, begging him—to take her. Go ahead, asshole, torture yourself some more. It’s going to be a long two weeks.
“Right, Shawn?” Dana waved her fork at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, sorry, thinking about work. What were you saying?”
“How great it is Jen’s kids’ books are starting to sell. When’s the next one coming out?”
“Weeell, actually, the next one is a little different.” Jen cleared her throat and Shawn watched color flush her cheeks. “It’s a romance.”
“Ugh.” Shawn laughed and dipped a chunk of lobster into butter. Dana punched her brother in the arm.
“Ooooh, goody! What made you decide to do that? What’s it about?”
“Been thinking about it for a long time. It’s…it’s the hot kind. You know, a little steamy. Oh, you may as well know, it’s erotic—tons and tons of hot sex.”
Shawn’s hand stopped in midair, lobster dangling and dripping. His centerfold fantasy wrote porn. His brain turned to Jell-O.
Dana mouthed a silent “Oh,” and turned to Shawn. “Shawn, did you hear that? Tons of hot sex.”
“I heard it all right. Would you mind saying that a few more times, Jen, maybe kind of slowly? We biologists don’t get out much.”
“Wouldn’t biologists pretty much know everything about sex?” Jennifer smirked.
“Think mice. Lots and lots of mice. They don’t have hot, wild, all-night-long, mind-blowing sex. Actually, humans are the only animals who…” he trailed off and pushed the lobster in his mouth.
Dana and Jennifer both looked at him in surprise. Shawn’s cheeks heated up and he wondered if he was blushing. He looked at Dana, begging for a rescue.
Dana winked at her brother. “Jen, are we going to get to read this erotic…”
“Romance.”
“Riiiight. Do we get a copy?”
Jennifer shifted her weight and leaned her chin on one palm. She looked straight into Shawn’s eyes. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for Shawn to be reading things like that. He might think I’m some kind of nymphomaniac. It’s pretty graphic. People tend to think that what you’ve written is what you’ve done…or would like to do.”
Shawn dropped his fork and pushed away from the table. “Which is it? The hot sex? What you’ve done? Or what you want to do?”
Jennifer laughed and toasted him with her beer bottle. “That’s for me to know…”
“I want my copy now.” Dana laughed.
“I haven’t quite put the finishing touches on it. Give me a few days and I’ll let you read it.”
Shawn glanced at his sister, knowing she would pry the thing out of Jen in the next few hours, and he’d pry it right out of Dana’s hands just as quickly. Because nothing on Earth was going to stop him from finding out what kind of hot sex Jen liked.
He toasted Jen back with his own beer, proud he was able to hold her gaze. Was he imagining that she studied him carefully? Something had changed in the past year, or was his fantasy getting the best of him?
Chapter Two
Four hours later, Dana and Shawn snuck onto Jen’s porch, manuscript in hand. Dana put on her glasses.
“It’s called The Monk. Hmnn. Okay, here we go…”
* * *
<
br /> Simon watched her from beneath his dark hood, knowing the grey wall and bleak night hid him from human vision. There was no doubt she intended to repeat the rituals he’d witnessed on the night of the full moon, three months in a row. The tall, buxom beauty intoned strange words, as if speaking to the trees and herbs and the moon itself. She would lean to the ground to pull plants, roots and all, and place them in a rough basket. At one point, she spun in a circle, arms flying and dress swinging, as she laughed and sang in an odd tongue. And then the inevitable sight—the one he waited breathlessly for. She pulled off her cloak, unbuttoned her simple dress, and stepped into the stream, naked except for a medallion hanging between her full breasts.
The sight of her beauty shattered him each time. For years, this perfect woman had taunted him with her appearance, her intelligence, her kindness, her humor. And yet, she knew nothing of her effect on him.
The nest of black curls between her creamy thighs, her dark nipples puckered in the cold night air, her long, black hair brushing perfect buttocks—all pulled at his soul. Each time he spied on her, Simon ran his hand down his hard shaft, pretending it was her hand, her hot mouth taking him in. Her hand caressing the crease beneath, her tongue licking and teasing all of him. He would bite his lip raw to stop from crying out as he spilled hot liquid.
Then he would wander the seven miles back to the monastery, straining to remember every detail of her, burning the vision of her into his brain so he could repeat his release again and again before morning.
By nightfall the next day, he would confess and be forgiven. Simon wondered if Brother Adrian laughed at him, ridiculed him for his obsession with the Raven, as he nicknamed her. If only Adrian knew she was a witch, how the laughter would cease. Simon wondered how much longer his confessor would be willing to keep the secret of the master of Castle Carnoor. Did the holy man know the Raven’s true identity?