Harlequin E Shivers Box Set Volume 4: The HeadmasterDarkness UnchainedForget Me NotQueen of Stone

by Tiffany Reisz

  In the end, my curiosity won me over and I followed him as he bushwhacked in front of me, seeming to know exactly where he was headed. “Care to give me at least a hint?” I asked.

  He kept swiping away at the brush, but paused to call back to me. “I have this idea about Florida. See, most people think of beaches and palm trees when they think of Florida. I did, too, at least before I became a geologist. When I first took this job and came to Florida, I saw all these sinkholes, all these strange rivers, and I thought ‘there’s got to be a reason for these strange features.’”

  We were deep in the trees now. Mosquitos buzzed all around me and tried to settle on my skin. I was just about to give up, to tell him I was turning back, when he said. “Ah, here we are.”

  Everett stepped aside, held back a stubborn palm frond and I went and stood next to him. In front, the ground collapsed inward into the shape of a cone, and in the center, like an aquamarine jewel nestled in a ring’s setting lay a pool of the clearest, brightest blue water I’d ever seen. So very different from the dark river that ran nearby.

  “I can’t believe it,” I said. I looked at Everett, and he had the most childish expression of joy and satisfaction on his face.

  “Believe it.” He pointed to the water. “That’s a spring. Freshest water you can imagine, straight from the belly of the earth. When I started researching and found these little springs spotted all over the land around here, I thought to myself, there’s something really unusual happening here.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  He continued on without stopping to take a breath. “Let me explain. In Florida, the ground beneath us is porous, like a sponge. I think—” he held up a finger excitedly “—I think, that the small holes connect together to form an underground network. That’s why there are so many sinkholes.” He grabbed a leaf from a nearby tree and placed it on top of his hand, which he held perfectly straight. “Pretend you’re this leaf. You could just be innocently standing on the ground and then poof!” He yanked his hand away, sending the leaf fluttering to the ground. “The roof collapses on a cave you didn’t even know was there.” We both stared at the poor leaf, which had landed on his boot. “Then you see what really lurks beneath the surface.”

  I was mortified. “Right beneath us?”

  “Right now. You’ll never know. Not until it’s too late.”

  He said, “This pool was always here. Always. We only see it now because the earth on top collapsed away. There might be a passage that links this pool to another. That’s my big idea! Far upriver there’s an enormous sinkhole, eons old, with a pool of spring water. I poured fluorescent dye—it’s natural, and glows orange—into the spring. Now I drive around, mapping the state, and waiting for the dye to appear and prove my theory. Of course, nothing has happened yet. But I have a hunch this water is flowing all over the state. For hundreds of miles, it flows in caves and caverns hidden beneath our feet, and if I’m right, the orange dye will eventually show itself. I don’t know where, but it will. Trust me, it will.”

  “And that’s what you want me to look for?”

  “Exactly!” he exclaimed, like a proud teacher at a slow student who finally catches on. “I believe that the dye might appear in a sinkhole just like this one.”

  “A sinkhole?”

  “Yes. But it could show up anywhere. It may surprise us where we least expect it.” He looked at me with pure pride, as if he had designed the entire state himself. “That’s the clearest water you’ll ever see. Would you like a taste? You want to head down there?”

  I peered down over the steep vine-covered slope. “No. Not me. Right now, I don’t even want to stand on the ground, but I guess I have to. The rest, I’ll leave it to the scientists.”

  Everett said, “I understand. It takes a certain mind to wonder about these things. Come on, I’ll take you back to the road.” He looked at me shyly. “Thanks for indulging me. I know I can be a bit enthusiastic. My mother could hardly take it—I was always bringing home rocks.” We headed back to the road together. The trek was far easier now that the path had been cut. The sun burned higher in the sky when we returned, and not only were my clothes damp from the dew, but now also from my sweat.

  “I think I should probably be going,” I said, “but thank you for the detour.”

  “Where are you headed? If you don’t mind me asking. I’m going to town.”

  “I’m headed back home. I’m tired and hot. But if you are going to town, we’ll be walking in the same direction for a bit.”

  “Then I’ll join you. That is if you want company on your walk. I’m leaving today.”

  “I don’t mind,” I said. He was so friendly and jovial, for a moment I felt as happy and uncomplicated as Everett.

  Promising Everett that I would send a note, we said goodbye at the bridge. I crossed the bridge without losing my balance, but as I stepped onto firm ground something caught my eye. A pine tree had fallen from our property over the wall. It was an old tree with sharp limbs that resembled claws writhing in the air. Its thick trunk shattered the wall and lay solidly wedged in the structure.

  Had the tree been there yesterday and I just didn’t notice it? It was entirely possible. Earlier that morning when I left I was headed in another direction and wouldn’t have bothered to look. In fact it would be hard for anyone to see, set back as far as it was.

  I thought I should tell my aunt about it, but that perhaps it would be best if I inspected it personally. She might be liable for the damages since the fallen tree originated on her side. That was the logic I used to indulge my curiosity. I soon found myself once again climbing through the woods, though without an enthusiastic scientist to forge ahead of me.

  I came to the tree. Its canopy was gone, taken by some long ago affliction. Bark had peeled away from the trunk revealing the light wood beneath. The tree was practically inviting me to climb it, if only to take a peek over the other side.

  Without stopping to give my better judgment a chance to catch up to me, I put one foot on a limb, testing the strength of it. It was sturdy. Grabbing on to the branches I pulled myself up, sending bits of the remaining bark everywhere. Like a tightrope walker I weaved along the trunk until I stood above the fence. In front of me the trees parted in a strange manner, almost creating a walkway that was carpeted with vines.

  It was too tempting to resist. So I jumped to the ground, feeling the shock of the landing in my feet. I dusted off the bits of bark from my dress and stepped onto the path. Everything was lush and bursting with life. Pink hibiscus bloomed on either side of me. Purple flowers dotted the carpet beneath my feet. It was as if I had landed in the Garden of Eden. I plucked a hibiscus flower and a few of the purple flowers at my feet and followed the path.

  I came to an opening, approaching it hesitantly, fearful of some trick, of a trap. But no, before me was a glade, and at the center stood a pool of the bluest water. Muted light and sparse rays played tricks upon the water. Above the pool, on the far end of it, a bougainvillea bush curled over the water, creating a natural grotto.

  I peered into the shaded area beneath the covering and saw the ghostly white statue of a woman. Goose bumps scattered over my flesh. I wondered who it was. I touched the ring that hung at my neck, thinking of my mother all of a sudden, because there was something so forgotten about the statue. So very neglected. Like all people who had died before us, and been relegated to small pockets of memory. Already the undergrowth was reclaiming the statue. Vines gathered at her feet, their tendrils brazenly climbing her gown. No one should ever be forgotten in such a manner.

  Looking at the flowers in my hand, I made an impetuous decision. Some might say I reacted to an urge. I set the flowers gently on the ground, then slipped off my shoes and socks. The vines were soft as velvet under my feet. I took off my dress and tossed it aside, leaving on my cotton slip for some protection. Then, I picked up the flowers, walked to the pool and dipped a toe in.

  It was warm. Inviting.
Cajoling. I took a step, then another. Before I realized it, I was waist deep, my slip floating diaphanously around me, my skin bare beneath it. But nothing mattered at that moment, nothing except moving closer to the statue. I slipped deeper into the water and it rose past my breasts to my necklace.

  When I reached the statue I saw her eroded beauty. She was ancient. Venerated so often with loving hands that her features were worn smooth. Still, she was beautiful. Simple and feminine, with full lips and tendrils of hair that curled about her face. Her ghost-white eyes pleaded blankly and I longed to know the real woman behind the statue.

  A marble bowl lay at her feet. As soon as I saw it the flowers felt warm in my hand. Somehow I knew I must be clean to lay an offering before her. I dipped under the water, fully wetting my hair. Then I took a few petals from the hibiscus bloom and crushed them, releasing a sweet, heady fragrance. I approached the bowl, watching her. I was unsure of exactly what to say or do, only aware of some deep need to recognize her. To acknowledge her in my own small way.

  I bowed slightly and lay the petals in the bowl, scattering the pink and purple blossoms. I lingered, tracing my finger along the petals, watching the mysterious woman. How long I stayed like that I cannot say. Only that time slowed and seemed to bend with the strange light that hit the pool.

  I was jolted back to reality when a man’s voice spoke behind me. “Your curiosity got the better of you,” I heard the voice say. A strange, breathy warmth bloomed within me. Navarre. I went perfectly still, my finger frozen on the petal. A single drop of water ran down my back like a fingertip tracing the water.

  He spoke again. “Tell me, Zara, do you know what you are doing right now? Do you realize that you worship at the feet of a goddess?

  Pulling away my finger as if I had been burned I said, “No. I don’t.” I wanted so badly to turn around, yet I stayed still.

  “Oh, but you do. Worship, that is. And quite well actually. I would say you’re a natural. Look again at the statue in front of you.”

  I looked down and saw her featureless white face staring back at me. She implored me with her distant, sorrowful smile.

  “She is Demeter. It strikes me as no coincidence that you stand before her. She is the goddess of agriculture. Look in her hand. Do you see the shafts of wheat? She is offering the secrets of the harvest. And you the daughter of a wheat farmer just honored her. It’s a shame you weren’t here before the dust bowl. Or the drought. Maybe those tragedies could have been avoided.”

  Remembering my poor father’s suffering, I replied hotly. “How dare you say such a thing to me?” I turned around to face him, anger and embarrassment swirling inside me. On the one hand I was ashamed at being caught red-handed doing something so foolish. But on the other hand, he implied things that felt threatening, foreign and scary. Gods and goddesses. Worship. I was going to give him a piece of my mind. But once I got a good look at him all my bravado fled.

  He looked otherworldly, as if I’d conjured him from my deepest imagination. The garden seemed too small for him. He watched me hotly, strangely, with a gleam in his eyes I couldn’t yet identify though it made me nervous. Some warning bell sounded within me. I looked down to see that I was standing with my torso above the water, my slip soaking wet. See-through. The shape of my breasts was obvious, and my nipples were dark, shadowy circles beneath the fabric.

  I quickly immersed myself in the water. But the damage was done. Now I understood the look in his eyes. I knew that being caught in his garden I would face some sort of trouble. Looking at him now I wondered if the trouble might be more dangerous than I previously had anticipated.

  “What brings you here, Zara?” he asked softly. “What would drive you to disregard warnings and barriers and seek this exact place? A place no one has ever told you about. A place you know you don’t belong.”

  He had struck at the heart of it. A question that he knew I didn’t have an answer for. I fumbled around until I said awkwardly, “Well, the tree fell over your fence and I just thought to peek over and then I saw the vines carpeting the ground. It practically invited me. That’s why I’m here.”

  But, what exactly did lure me? I wasn’t sure. The only thing I knew at that moment was my racing heart and the strange tightness in my chest.

  “No.” He walked languidly around the pool of water. “That is not why.”

  “Then why?” I asked with mock bravado.

  “I’ll tell you.” He moved and now he stood at the edge of the pool close to where I stood in the water. His eyes glittered a bright aquamarine color. “You cannot deny the pull inside you, drawing you here. Even I see it. I feel it. Why do you think you knew exactly how to worship? And your willingness to shed your clothes and place an offering before the goddess is no coincidence. It’s proof that you are one of us.”

  “No!” Grasping for some sort of denial I said, “Then why did you tell me that I shouldn’t look down the road? You warned me away and now you tell me that I belong.”

  “I didn’t see the necklace at first. I didn’t see the ring that marks who you are. I didn’t make the connection. I didn’t think the scared girl who trembled in front of me could possibly be the one…”

  “The one what?” I asked hotly.

  “Never mind,” he said sharply. “I was certain you could never, ever belong. I know exactly how you were raised. A proper young woman. A decent, churchgoing girl, waiting for a man to come and marry her.” He gave me a wicked smile. “I bet you even teach Sunday school.”

  I felt embarrassed and irate that his words should be so close to the mark. I felt like a child now, and I felt a need to show him that I was no child. “That is far from the truth.”

  “Not very far. There’s no denying you are an innocent.”

  I looked up at him awkwardly, and then quickly away, certain he could see my cheeks reddening.

  “And yet you step so willingly upon my land, and now stand before me. Quivering still. But, you stand before me and that is all I need to know. It tells me your true nature.”

  The conversation was getting away from me, like a cat and mouse game that I was losing. I was unsure how to proceed, and all I could do was mutter, “And what is my true nature?”

  “Your true nature is the ring that dangles at your neck. It is your legacy. It means that you belong to us in mind and body. In your heart is passion. Ecstasy. For you are a Lucian—I know it in my blood.”

  I was horrified. “You lie to me.”

  He shook his head. “I can prove it,” he said, his voice suddenly low, his eyes gleaming sharply.

  “Go ahead and try,” I said bravely. Foolishly.

  If only I had kept quiet. For no sooner had the words left my mouth than he leaned over the water, grabbed me beneath my shoulders and snatched me from the pool. As I sailed through the air in his strong arms, I thought of the heron nabbing the little fish from the water.

  He landed on the grass in a half-reclined position with me sprawled clumsily over him, soaking his shirt and pants. Our eyes were inches from each other. I noticed how thick and black his eyelashes were, far too pretty for such a rugged, handsome man. He was far from pretty. He was intimidating. Manly. I had never been this close to a man. Certainly not a man like him.

  The sun threw a blinding, dazzling ray over us, and whatever small fears I had evaporated. There was only now. I needed no encouragement. No thoughts clouded my mind, just a need, a wild hungry need to feel him. I wound my hands in his shirt. He drew back, and gently traced my cheek. He said, “Maybe you’re too innocent for me.”

  I had never been so close to such a rugged, handsome man. Every part of him was a mystery revealed. The hard line of his chin, the curve of his lips. All so masculine. He even smelled mysterious, like sandalwood and sage. I could not be turned away from this, so I replied boldly, “I don’t care.”

  “Indeed,” he said. He toyed now with the edge of my slip. The fabric clung to my leg, and he peeled it back and rolled it beneath his fingers, an
d though his touch was gentle, something told me that if I tried I couldn’t move his hand away.

  “You see,” he said in a low voice, “I know who you are, Zara. Even your name betrays you. I couldn’t believe it when I first saw you. You seemed so prim, so scared of the world. But that is only a facade. You descend from a line of women with very special status in our group. Irreplaceable.”

  I looked away nervously. “You are speaking nonsense.”

  “Am I?” he asked, and looked at me very strangely. His body was hard as stone, lifting me with every breath he took. Events had become so strange that I almost wondered if I was dreaming. That was when he kissed me.

  I was expecting it, hoping for it. Nevertheless when his lips touched mine I responded in a way I never thought I would. The pure maleness of him overwhelmed me. He was strong and hard and demanding something of me. Though I couldn’t guess what. Without thinking, my tongue reached out to him. He responded instantly, crushing me to him, proving to me that my response inflamed him. His lips claimed me, owned me. His hands roamed my body, pausing at every curve and swell of my figure.

  My nipples hardened. I had been kissed before. Kisses stolen from behind the barn with the neighbor boy. Dry, clutching kisses with bumping noses and awkward looks. They were child’s play.

  This was a man’s game.

  I was aware of my breathing coming in gasps, of him kissing my neck. An ache, a need began to spread between my legs.

  The glade must have had some magic aura that lulled me into a kind of lethargy, so when he shifted his weight and lowered me upon the grass I could hardly protest. Then his mouth…his mouth trailed fire down my neck, past my mother’s necklace to hover just above my nipple, barely veiled beneath the wet fabric that clung to it.

  He ran a thumb over it and my skin puckered. He made a sound like a hiss as he watched, and then put his mouth down over my nipple, over the fabric. Oh, I felt the heat of his mouth a thousand times over, and I moaned. I shocked myself by running my fingers through his hair, exploring him, savoring his body.