by Lynde Lakes
He slipped inside her dewy canal, filling her with heat and driving power. Eyes brimming with unshed tears, she writhed and moaned in pleasure as the hard plane of his sculpted body rose again and again above her in thrusting arches of urgency. She slipped her hand down his muscled length and dug her fingers into his buttocks and drew him closer…harder.
Later, as she softly floated down from soaring into the wilds of sexual and emotional release, exhausted and spent, she kissed his glistening chest. The air smelled of lilacs, bodies, and sex. He touched her forehead with his lips so tenderly that his show of love overwhelmed her, and she could no longer restrain the pool of unshed tears.
When they overflowed and trickled down her flaming cheeks, he kissed them and said, “Honey, are you all right?” His husky voice resonated with concern.
Her throat constricted, and she could only nod.
He lowered himself beside her and drew her close. It was then she realized that was what she really wanted—simply to be held close by the love of her life, a heroic, caring man—and nothing like the rumors claimed.
She kissed his neck and whispered. “Have you ever thought of moving?”
He stiffened for a moment, and then said, “No, no this place is part of me…of my history. You knew that when we married.”
She stoked his chest. “I know. It’s just that sometimes it spooks me out.”
He kissed her hair. “The bad stuff is over. Together we’ll build only good memories.”
She prayed it was true, but shivered, knowing it would take tremendous determination to get past the dark history of the place. She had just entered the third grade when she began hearing the horror stories about him and his family.
“Did I ever tell you that when I was a child I had this macabre fascination with the mansion and its dark, jetting towers, especially around Halloween when half-truths and titillating hysteria ran rampant?”
“People fear what they don’t understand. It was best that you stayed away until you were older. No one ever came trick-or-treating to our door. And my parent never let me go to other people’s doors.”
She sighed. “I never minded the stories. For me, it was titillating and made Halloween even spookier. As curious as I was, I was too chicken to march up to your door. But, believe me, I wished every year for the courage.”
Memories flooded her brain: Few, if any, of the community had ever seen the original owner or the grandson, Damon. But longtime residents claimed both were quite mad. Some speculated the grandson had massacred his sister and grandfather and now lived there alone with a gimpy, hunchback servant and a pack of wolves.
Little did anyone know that the real evil in the mansion was Damon’s butler, who was also his illegitimate half-brother Raymond Reeves, and similarly cursed with a werewolf gene. But unlike Damon, he was evil through and through. The monster had killed their sister, Damon’s maintenance man Hugo—also a werewolf and another of Damon’s illegitimate half-brothers—and then Reeves slaughtered dozens of the local women. He’d almost killed her and her best friend, Katrina. But Damon had saved them and an untold number of community women from Reeves’s reign of terror. He would be forever her hero and deserved her support.
She still hurt deeply for Damon when he screamed out in the midnight darkness and violently thrashed about in bed. Aware that his agony came from a false sense of guilt, she would hold him and gently explain that it wasn’t Damon the man who had ripped out the throat of his own brother. It was his alpha werewolf persona, instinctively protecting those he loved.
Angela sighed and snuggled deeper into Damon’s arms. Suddenly, she felt much older than her twenty-one years.
“I’m not the only one with a past,” he said, holding her closer.
She smiled up at him. “I know. We’re quite the pair.”
She’d lived a lifetime in the months since the night she first morphed. Actually, everything started going downhill on her eighteenth birthday when she discovered she was adopted and that her birth mother, Crystal, had committed suicide. Then on her twenty-first birthday, she’d learned about the journal and the curse. But it wasn’t until the full moonlit night of October 31st that the curse manifested and knocked her world off kilter. Would her soon to be born daughters have to go through the same struggles and live with the same fears? Dear God, keep them safe…
Angela awoke to what she figured was at least a 6.0 earthquake. Portraits and works of art shuddered against the walls, shifting and losing their levelness. The towel over Damon’s parents’ portrait slipped to the floor in a ghostly flutter. The picture fell upside down on top of it with a loud thump. Window glass rattled. The floors rolled and pitched so hard, she had visions of the historic mansion crumbling down around their shoulders. She stiffened as the rumbling echoed around her. Damon held her tightly. “Relax,” he said in his deep, comforting tone. “The Lamont Mansion is structurally sound and as solid as the mountain.”
“Yes, I remember how solid the mountain was during the rainstorm when the roads washed away.” She had a great urge to run to a doorway, but Damon held her closer. She forced herself to nestle deeper into the cocoon of his arms. When everything stilled, she tried to go back to sleep, but it was useless. “Damon, I can’t sleep.”
“I can fix that,” he whispered into her ear. Still facing her, her reached around and began to caress her shoulders, her back, massaging deeply with powerful fingers. Even after he’d stopped, the embedded warmth and tingling flesh remained. He kissed her breasts and moved lower. She barely heard the whisper of the sheets as he changed position. Then, he was fondling the moisture between her legs. His erection pulsed against her thigh. Fierce and hot desire rose within her and she reciprocated, caressing him. He moaned, and she guided him into her waiting hot silkiness. Alive with desire, they performed the undulation of love slowly, teasingly.
When the wildness kicked into gear, she arched and writhed, turning the slow, sensual dance into a primal, violent, fiery, volcanic eruption, riotous and uncontrolled. As they soared to the pinnacle, her scream of release echoed around the chamber, unrestrained.
After she stilled and went limp, Damon kissed her tenderly and rolled off of her. He drew her into his arms and closed his eyes again. Within seconds, his breathing evened and she knew he was asleep.
How do men do that? She was awake for the day. She did her two-hundred sit-ups. When she finished, her gaze fell on the wall where Damon’s parents’ portrait had hung. She stiffened. There were two pea-sized holes in the wall. She slipped out of bed to get a closer look. She lined up her eyes and tried to look into the small punctures, but saw only darkness. She yanked a tissue from its filigree container, balled up two tiny pieces, and stuffed them into the holes. She would ask the new jack-of-all trades houseman, Kyle Cooper, to putty the holes and touch up the paint. She picked up the portrait with holes in the eyes and shook her head. Did Damon know about the spy holes?
She reached out to shake him awake, but he looked so peaceful and innocent in slumber that she stayed her hand, wondering about the wisdom of attacking her new husband in his sleep, especially so soon after making love. Forcing herself to calm down and take some time to think this through, she tiptoed out of the room. Still broiling with unspent anger, she furiously darted down the long, curving stairway. By the time she’d reached the bottom step, she had an urge to tromp right back up stairs and get this settled. Was that wise? She really needed to think things through. She scanned the living room. The only evidence of the earthquake was more askew pictures and wall mirrors. She felt a surge of gratitude. The damage could’ve been much worse, she thought, heading for the kitchen.
The troubled day had started with a double jolt—first the earthquake, and then the discovery of the holes behind the portrait. She knew Damon couldn’t do a blasted thing about the earthquake, but he sure as the devil better have a good explanation for the holes in the wall. Had he put them there? If not, who then?
The storm had subsided, and th
e sun peeked out from behind a cloud, bringing warm, golden ribbons of sunshine into the kitchen. Somehow, the passing of the storm and the newness of the day lifted her spirits. Since the jack-of-all-trades houseman-cook wasn’t around, and since she had all this pent-up volatile energy, she decided to whip up some breakfast. As she furiously scrambled eggs, she listened to the local news station to verify that the road conditions were safe for them to leave the mountain for their appointment with Madam Nola.
A geologist came on and talked about the earthquake damage to the local area. Listening with interest, she popped some turkey bacon wrapped in paper towels into the microwave and was about to pour her beaten-to-death eggs into the frying pan when the geologist started describing the area behind the mansion. She froze.
“The 6.0 earthquake had an unusual roll,” he said, “and the land under the shadow of Mt. Baldy has undergone serious shifting. This has set off a chain of events that, over time, could very well significantly change the composition of everything within a two mile radius, giving form to new species of plants and animals—and perhaps undermining the stability of the hillside. Further study is required to determine how this strange phenomenon might affect our community.”
Oh, my God. It was within the two-mile radius he described that Madam Nola had scattered Reeves’ ashes. It also encompassed the cave where Damon buried Hugo. Geologists digging around in their hillside could bring trouble.
Chapter Two
When Damon came down to breakfast a few minutes later, Angela relayed the geologist’s report. He frowned. “Don’t worry. Like I said, our structure is sound.” He ate only a few bites of breakfast then glanced at his watch. “Gotta go. I’m late.” He scraped the eggs and bacon onto the toast, folded it quickly into a sandwich, and wrapped a napkin around it. “I’ll eat this on the way.”
An image of the holes in the bedroom walls and in the portrait flashed in her mind.
“Do you really have to go into your office today?” She couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. “We have important things to discuss—”
“Later, I promise. Remember, I told you—a rush project came in. I’ll be back at one o’clock to pick you up in plenty of time for our two o’clock appointment.” He winked, gave her a quick kiss on her lips, then headed out the door, leaving her to stew about the holes in the wall and all of the other unknowns in her life.
Before she could work up a good steam of angst, her mom called. “Are you okay?”
“Just shaken a bit. Damon’s gone to work and I could use some company.”
“Then I’m coming over. I want to hear more about this pregnancy.”
Angela’s mouth fell open. “How did you find out about that?”
Her mom laughed. “I saw Dr. Lopez’s nurse last night at our prayer meeting, and she mentioned how great you looked. I added up two and two and figured she’d seen you in the gynecologist’s office. With your quickie marriage and a visit to your GYN, I deduced you might be pregnant.”
“You’ve been watching those detective stories on TV again, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s not it. I got suspicious when you slipped away without a proper wedding.”
“Mom, I told you about that. After all that happened, we just wanted a quiet ceremony with no fuss. Besides, we thought it would be easier on Dad. He still acts a little miffed at Damon. None of us need to deal with any extra tension right now. Surely you understand.”
“But, you are pregnant, right?”
“We’ll talk about it when you get here. I’ll ask Kyle, our houseman, to pop a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls into the oven. He used to help his dad in their family bakery and the guy is a genius with pastries.”
Forty minutes later, Angela checked out the enclosed glass veranda to be sure Kyle had it set up nicely for her coffee party with her mom. He was just finishing up when she entered. Angela looked him up and down. He was about her age with spiky carrot-top hair and intelligent water-blue eyes. Like all Damon’s staff, he was a bit odd. He moved about the mansion like an undernourished ghost, always sneaking up on her. This time, she’d tried to sneak up on him, but he turned immediately.
“All set,” he said, flashing a toothy grin.
She felt invigorated by his enthusiasm, and warmed by the aroma of cinnamon, coffee, and pine spiking the air. The setting looked festive with the white tablecloth and candles. The centerpiece of fragrant evergreen branches, pine cone, and two big red bows added to something special to the occasion.
“Thanks for doing such a lovely job, Kyle.” She felt the warmth of her smile deep in her heart. “I need to ask you to do another project this morning. I wouldn’t bother you, but it’s important.” She rushed on, not waiting for an answer. “There’re some holes in the wall in the master bedroom. Please fill them right away and touch up the paint.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and then he grinned. “Good as done,” he said.
She stroked a pine needle and inhaled the heady, fresh scent. When she looked up to tell Kyle not to re-hang the portrait, he was gone. She shivered, remembering how Damon’s half-brother Reeves used to disappear like an apparition. Damon had trusted him and that unwavering trust nearly proved fatal.
Fifteen minutes later, she opened the door to her petite and beaming adoptive mom, a salt-and-pepper redhead. Her quick smile made Angela’s heart skip a beat. She hugged her tightly, feeling closer than if Mom number two had actually given birth to her.
“Okay, tell me about my grandbaby.”
Angela smiled. Mom had the energy of a thirty-year-old and would thoroughly enjoy grandchildren. “Don’t hurry me, Mom. Let’s get a cup of coffee and our rolls first.”
When they where seated, Angela took a long breath, let it out slowly, and then said, “Not grandbaby, Mom. It’s grand…babies.”
Her mother squealed and rushed around the table to hug her. “Really?” Her eyes glistened with moisture.
Angela handed her the report and sonogram with a lump in her throat. “Twin girls.”
“When?”
Angela forced down her fears and pasted on a smile. “Next July.”
Apparently, Mom saw no significance in the month, and began talking about helping her decorate a room for the nursery.
After Mom left, it was time to get showered and dressed. Damon would be returning home within the hour. Angela prayed they’d get some solid answers.
Angela stared at the psychic’s one-story house with its pitched roof and gingerbread turquoise shutters. She grasped Damon’s arm a little tighter as they walked up the stone path. “Are you telling me she runs her scam out of her home?”
He grinned down at her. “Relax. Think of this visit as an adventure.”
Angela glared at Damon. It was originally her idea to come here, but had she made a mistake? She was grateful for what Nola had done for them in the past, but she’d never trusted her. When she first heard about the psychic from her mother, she’d expected a Gypsy with a black turban and jangling gold earrings. After they met for the first time at the ritual out in the wild, hilly acreage behind the mansion, it had stunned her to learn that the psychic was a spunky Barbie doll dwarf in high-heeled boots.
She wondered what surprises Barbie had in store for them today. She rubbed her throbbing head. Each time she doubted the validity of the results of Madam Nola’s ritual, she reminded herself she’d actually seen her own wolf counterpart sucked out from within her body and enter Damon. And then, she’d seen both wolves sucked from Damon nostrils and run off into the hills.
Damon rang the bell, setting off muted chimes, reminiscent of those often heard in old England. Madam Nola appeared wearing a flowing rainbow robe in a delicate, nearly transparent fabric. The silver and sparkling jewel-like pinwheel designs woven over her breasts drew attention to the little woman’s bosomy figure. On each padded shoulder, she had two magnificent white Cockatoos. Their hook-beaks and claws looked sharp. A sudden guttural caw made Angela flinch.
/> “Don’t let Ka and Ba frighten you,” Madam Nola said. “That was Ba’s way of saying welcome.” The wily psychic’s hair was no longer in the sleek page-boy style she’d worn at their first meeting. Instead, it was in a crown of platinum curls with ruby and emerald crystals woven into each kinky strand. A couple of longer wisps coiled around her ears like silver snakes. The psychic stepped aside, seeming inches taller in her gold, spiky pumps. “Come in, Mr. and Mrs. Lamont.”
She waved them in with a flourish of her child-sized arm and led them through an entryway, past pictures of her dwarfed family tree, to a regular-sized table covered with a small tapestry with wolves on it. Seeing the wolf decor caused the fine hairs on the back of Angela’s neck to prickle. She’d forgotten that wolves were also part of Madam Nola’s heritage.
“Congratulations on your marriage and the coming births.” Madam Nola’s green eyes glistened with what Angela felt was mischief and dancing dollar signs.
“Did my mom call?”
“No. My crystal ball told me about the pregnancy.” Madam Nola’s Egyptian made-up eyes were a palate of dark smudges highlighted with blue, green, and silver.
But it was their intensity that made Angela uneasy. “Then you know why we’re here?”
Madam Nola nodded, looking wise and mysterious. “Of course. Would you like some red goji-raspberry tea?”
“No, thank you,” Angela said quickly before Damon could accept. The air was heavy with jasmine incense and Angela found it difficult to breathe. This dark cavern of a living room with its cloying scents and heavy, closed drapes gave her the creeps. “Damon has to get back to work. So, if you could just answer a couple of questions for us, we won’t take much of your time.”