Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Audrey Godwin

  Quinn's eyes widened when he heard the familiar expression then grabbed her arm, soft with flabby skin. "If you give me one more spell that doesn't work, you sorry old witch, I'll make you pay. Do you hear? I'll make you pay, and I mean it."

  As the leaping flames glowed in a macabre way on her wrinkled old face, the widow’s evil eyes still showed no fear. By this time the fire was blazing, and provided a hot, smoking light in the small dark room. As they both sat down on the threadbare sofa, their shadows loomed large and grotesque against the ugly, stained walls. The old woman lowered her deceitful eyes and pulled something out of her pocket. She held it up in front of his face and said in a ragged whisper, "This potion was created by an Egyptian Pharaoh’s Soothsayer to be used for the hot beds of Egypt."

  Quinn frowned at the small bottle. "It looks like nothing but water."

  She witch's eyes danced as she laid the little vial in her palm and extended it outward. "It was taken from the River Nile, and no water in existence ever held such power." She lifted the bony fingers of her other hand and began a circling motion over the tiny bottle. After three times around, she spoke low and ominous…

  Give it to her under a full moon

  when the wind is whistling a

  forlorn tune.

  Look up into the midnight sky and

  see a white cloud…turn black!

  She took his hand, laid it in his palm and closed his fingers around it. "At the witching hour put it in a cup of tea. She'll never know, and by the next full moon, she'll be yours. Give her half, and you take the rest yourself, because she'll only fall in love with the one who drinks the other half."

  "Old woman, if this doesn't work, you're dead. Do you hear? You're dead."

  The palm of the witch's bony old hand extended forward for payment, but Quinn looked at her with contempt. "Not this time, you ugly old hag. When it works, that's when you'll get paid."

  He jumped up with the little vial in his hand and slammed out the door. Watching him go, the old witch chuckled. Only she knew that the little vial didn't contain a love potion. It was an elixir that, in time, would give Quinn everything he deserved, but nothing he wanted. It would act on Chyna only as pure water. She turned back to the fireplace and began thinking of her beloved Venita. He had ruined her. That rotten, low-down bastard had ruined her sweet, innocent daughter, and for that he would pay.

  And the little vial with the deadly elixir was exactly what it would take!

  While humming a haunting tune, she leaned over the table and looked into her crystal ball. She squinted her old eyes as she looked down into the mysterious maze, then lifted her gnarled hands and stroked the ball tenderly. Suddenly a rainbow of leaping flames appeared, making it seem as if she were gazing into an abyss. The reflected fire danced, then subsided just enough to reveal a lone figure walking along the beach. The silhouette of Quinn Grayson resembled a lost soul walking through the hottest part of hell, and the old witch knew that even though he wasn't there yet—he soon would be!

  * * * *

  The next day while Kirk was packing his hospital bag, Chyna watched him from the doorway. "Need any help?"

  Kirk turned and smiled thinly. "No thanks.”

  “Are you sure? I could—”

  All at once he stopped what he was doing and looked up at her, embarrassed. “Would you believe it? I'm nervous."

  Concern etched her face, knowing he was having a hard time with this. She slowly walked over, took the garment he fidgeted with out of his hands and threw it on the bed. "Kirk,” she said, sliding into his arms, “if you’re having second thoughts, don’t do this because you think I want you to. You must know by now that the scars don’t matter to me. Besides, you have the synthetics. They do such a good job no one would ever know there’s anything wrong with your face.”

  “I wish it were that simple, Chyna.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when you look at me…at the scars…what do you see?”

  Chyna considered his question thoughtfully. “Actually, I think I’m blind to them. I only see the man I love.” She shrugged. “Maybe the scars are part of that picture.”

  A look of pain clouded his eyes. He moved from her arms, went to a window and looked out. His voice, low and ominous, revealed his pain. “I see rain-slicked streets, flying glass, and the death of my parents. I see ten long years of living in a rat-infested basement. Wasted years, Chyna. Years that I was alone with nothing in front of me but more wasted years. It means a lot that you love me in spite of the scars, but I just can’t go through the rest of my life staring into a face that reminds me of all that. It would drive me crazy.” He hesitated, lowering his gaze, and silence filled the room. Finally, he looked over at her. “Chyna, please understand what I’m about to say.”

  Suddenly Chyna was frightened.

  “Even if getting rid of my scars made you feel differently about me, I’d have to do it. Do you understand?”

  Chyna walked to the window and looked up at him with pretended anger. “Oh, so that’s your plan, is it? Well, let me tell you something right now, mister. You’re stuck with me, got that? A hurricane brought me to you, but it’ll take a lot more to drag me away.”

  He drew her close, his voice soft. “You’re wonderful, did you know that?”

  She stroked the dimple in his chin. “And don’t you forget it.”

  “Besides, if we do have kids, I don’t want to scare them to death every time they look at their old dad.” He stroked her face. “The bottom line is, I’ve just got to put it behind me, and getting rid of these damned scars is part of it. You do understand, don’t you?”

  She smiled. “Of course I understand. I just want you to be sure is all.”

  He heaved a sigh. “I sure wish I could get rid of the jitters, though. This new territory is a little hard to grasp.”

  “Kirk, honey, you'll be fine. The doctor is even letting Elaine stay there with you to take care of you. I think that's very thoughtful of him. You know how good Elaine is, you'll have the very best of care."

  "But you won't be there."

  "Oh, yes I will. You'll get so tired of looking at me, you'll probably ask the hospital to lock the door when they see me coming."

  "Not a chance," he said, his smile slowly being replaced with worry. "There is one other thing. I’m…well…I’m not sure what I'll look like when all this is over."

  Chyna looked over at the computer generated picture the doctor gave Kirk of what he was supposed to look like when the healing was complete. The edge of the picture was inserted into the groove between the glass and the wood frame of the dresser. "There…that's you, over there."

  "That ugly mug? Not nearly good enough for you. Maybe I should tell the doctor to make me look like Mel Gibson."

  Looking deeply into his eyes, she whispered, "Never heard of him."

  "You know," he said as he smiled down at her, "you're awfully good for my ego, what would I ever do without you?"

  "Well, I don't ever intend to let you find out, so hurry up and get out of here so you can come back. And no flirting with the pretty nurses. After all I've got Elaine there to…" Chyna's eyes widened, and her hand flew up to her mouth. "Oops!"

  "What? Why you little devil." He grabbed her, pulled her down on the bed and they wrestled while laughing and kissing.

  "What a delightful little scene."

  They jumped apart when they saw Quinn casually leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest.

  "That's a bad habit you have, Quinn, of just walking in," Kirk growled.

  Quinn sauntered in, looking around at the mussed clothes still needing to be packed. "Yes, I know. Unfortunately I was here for the whole sickening show." Casting an evil eye toward them, he continued. "You two must remember to keep your door locked." He pulled the white-handled knife from inside his belt, and rubbed his fingers along the glinting steel. He looked up at them with a wicked smile tugging at his lips. "After all anyone coul
d come in…for any reason."

  Kirk jumped up and grabbed the knife from his hands and closed it up. “Cut the dramatics, Quinn, and get out. No one’s afraid of you.”

  Quinn suddenly felt himself being herded out the door, and feeling left out when he turned back and saw a blank door being slammed in his face.

  * * * *

  The night of the full moon came, and the midnight hour wasn't far away. Quinn stood on the windy bluff of Cat's Paw and looked up, searching the sky. Suddenly he heard someone moaning and jerked his head around, finding only the tormented wind. The whipping tempest was as chilly as a grave, and its forlorn cry pushed against him with mystical life.

  Looking up, he searched the velvety blackness for several minutes, then he saw it.

  A white cloud drifting in a black sky.

  He followed it, his eyes moving slowly. Then as the white virginal mass drifted across the face of the full moon, it turned black, Quinn's signal that this was the night. He turned quickly and ran down the incline. When he reached the mansion, he slammed through the door and immediately went in to make a pot of tea. After he set the tray, he looked it over carefully, making sure everything was in place. As his busy fingers continued to move over the shining, silver platter, he felt an odd excitement growing in the pit of his stomach.

  Then suddenly the moment was there.

  He glanced around, making sure he wasn't being watched, then slowly pulled the vial out of his pocket, unscrewed it, and poured the contents into both their empty cups. It was clear, so Quinn knew it wouldn't be noticed. With everything ready, he carried the tray into the living room, put it down gently on the coffee table in front of the fireplace, then went upstairs to find Chyna.

  He slowly walked along the hall, trying to keep his footsteps soundless. As he approached her door, he heard her humming softly. He walked up quietly and touched the knob and turned it silently. Barely pushing it, the door opened just slightly. Inside he saw the soft golden glow of lamps. Silently he watched her slip out of her robe and apply scented oil all over her naked body. His eyes followed her hand as she smoothed the oil on each breast, caressing them sensuously. Her oiled palms rubbed sinfully along her hips, abdomen and the insides of her thighs, making his breath come in hard gasps. On his face was a thin sheen of sweat when her hands lifted her long, luxurious hair and smoothed the oil on her neck. Finally she capped the bottle, put it down, then continued moving her hands suggestively over her delicious body.

  He could smell the deep, musky fragrance of the oil from there and tugged at his collar. As he continued to watch, his arousal grew and strained against his jeans. His breathing began to get heavy and raspy, and the thought of waiting for another full moon was impossible. He bit his lip as she sat down on the bed, then leaned back and stretched with the laziness of a cat.

  Her body glistened enticingly in the dim light of the lamp, and the way she wiggled and moved, the only thing missing from her bed was a man. After a while she slowly rose from the bed and draped a soft, delicate robe around herself that extended down no further than the tops of her thighs. Quinn softly closed the door, then stepped back a few feet as if he’d just arrived. He knocked softly.

  Chyna turned toward the door and pulled the robe tighter around her. When she opened it, Quinn stood there sweating with a strange look on his face.

  "My God, Quinn, are you all right?"

  "Yes, of course. May I come in?"

  "I was just…"

  "Chyna,” he interrupted nervously. “I've been such a fool. I'd like to say that I'm sorry for the way I've acted and wish you and Kirk a long and happy life together. Before you go to bed, would you come down and have a cup of tea with me to sort of bury the hatchet, so to speak?"

  "I’m not going to bed, I’m getting ready to go to the hospital. Can't we do this another night?"

  He looked at his watch. “Do you realize what time it is? Kirk will be asleep.”

  “I know it’s late, but I’ve decided to make arrangements to stay at the hospital with Kirk instead of going back and forth all the time.”

  "I see. Well, before you go, please come down and have a cup of tea with me. As a good will gesture."

  "All right, but it’ll have to be quick."

  He extended his hand out to take hers. "Let's go down in front of the fireplace, it's so much nicer there."

  "You go ahead, I need to put on—"

  "No!" he said, a little too emphatically, then smiled and shrugged. "The tea will get cold."

  “Whatever,” she said, a note of impatience in her voice. “Anything to save time. But remember, Quinn, this has to be quick, I’m in an awful hurry.” Together, they made their way downstairs to the couch where the tray of steaming tea sat waiting.

  With one veiled glance at the grandfather clock, and another at the clear liquid in both cups, Quinn picked up the teapot and poured. Almost as soon as it splashed into their cups, the old clock began bonging out the midnight hour. Turning to her, Quinn lifted his cup, and touched hers with a clinking toast. "To a long and happy life to you and Kirk with my blessing." He watched her closely as she put the cup to her lips. She took a small sip, then put the cup back in the saucer. "No, you have to drink it all, or it won't mean anything."

  "Quinn, that's stupid, of course it will. Besides it's the gesture, not the tea that matters."

  "Chyna, I'm trying my best to be happy about the fact that you were cruelly snatched from my arms by my brother. Now, won't you please just do me this one small favor?"

  Feeling annoyed with Quinn, she lifted the cup and put it to her lips. She was just about to drink it down when she realized she might not be drinking tea. She looked down into the colored water, wondering. He was awfully anxious for her to drink it, had he put something in it? She looked back up at him, and saw the teacup hovering in front of his lips, waiting for her. “Quinn, if you think I’m going to drink—” Suddenly, as if the widow herself was there with her, she heard her hissing words…

  Drink it! The evil that he points toward you will…backfire!

  While those words reverberated in her mind she slowly lifted the cup and drank the tea down.

  Synchronizing his movements with hers, Quinn drank his down as well. A heavy silence immediately followed with only the muffled clatter of tea cups and the last bong of the midnight hour. As it faded eerily away, Quinn threw his head back and laughed. "You've just drank a witch's brew, my dear."

  Chyna looked down at the empty cup, and said, "What?"

  "A witch's brew," he repeated, the words still carrying a lilting jest. "I said, you just drank a witch's brew."

  Chyna jumped up, her eyes squinting with pure hate as she looked at him. "You are without a doubt the most disgusting monster on the face of this earth. No witch's brew, no magic, no device yet known to man would make me love you, so get it out of your mind Quinn, it just won't happen!"

  She turned to leave, but Quinn grabbed her arm and said, "It won't, huh? Well, that sounds like a challenge to me, you filth-writing little tramp. By the next full moon, you'll be burning for me. For me, you slut, not that scarred up monster you think you're going to call your husband."

  Chyna struggled with him. "I knew you were up to something, but I couldn't have even guessed you would go to such lengths to get me in your bed."

  "You don't have to come to my bed, Chyna. Right here will do fine." While he had her in his grasp he brutally jerked on her belt and pulled her robe apart. With a look of pure pleasure on his face, his eyes drank in her exposed body. She turned to run, but he caught her, crushed her to him and brutally kissed her neck again and again.

  "Let me go, you bastard!"

  As she struggled, he grabbed her wrists and painfully pinned them behind her. Then he pressed his mouth against her ear, his words low and guttural, "You like it rough, huh? I should have known…a woman like you." Then he wrenched her arm and she cried out with pain.

  She pushed, twisted, and tried to escape, but his strength was
too much, and he was as hard as a rock. She turned her face, trying to avoid his kisses while she continued to grapple in his arms. Finally he grabbed her hair and turned her head toward him. Covering her mouth with his, he breathed out, "You want it, you slut, you know you do."

  A sobbing whimper escaped her throat, and fear infused her with desperation. She tried to turn her head but when she couldn’t, she bit his lower lip while still trying to pull away.

  "Why you little bitch!" he yelled, lifting his hand to his mouth and wiping blood.

  She took advantage of his momentary pain and turned to run, but he grabbed her by the waist and bodily threw her down on the couch. You'll pay for that, and pay plenty!"

  Chyna felt herself hit the couch, but before she could make a move to get up, he grabbed her wrists and held them above her.

  Quinn was delighted that she fought like a wildcat. His eyes glazed over with lust as he watched her oil-covered breasts bounce before him. Realizing that he had her right where he wanted her, he carefully mounted her.

  Fear crawled up her spine as she saw the leaping flames from the fireplace flickering on his evil face, then felt that fear rise higher and higher as she watched him slowly lowering himself over her.

  It was now or never, she thought as she lifted her knee and slammed it into his genitals.

  He immediately doubled up. “Owwww, God!” he shouted as streaks of unbearable pain began bleeding into the most remote areas of his body.

  But Chyna wasn’t through with him yet. Before he got away, she brought her foot up and gave him a second kick thrusting him backwards. Finding herself free, she jumped up. "You black-hearted beast, when I tell Kirk about this, he’ll kill you."

  "Tell him what you please, my little blonde spitfire, it won’t do you any good."