Beyond The Veil: A Paranormal & Magical Romance Boxed Set

by Multiple Authors

  “We were going to take another pass through the park.” His eyes zoom in on her mouth. Her lips, he’d like nothing better than to nibble on them, too. Fuck. What am I thinking? “But it’s getting late.”

  Logan stands then approaches. “Which way are you headed? Where’s home?”

  “Down Broadway Street.” She points in the general direction. “My uncle’s place, Hidden Treasures is on the corner right before the Witte Museum.

  “Wait. Isn’t that a commercial zone?” Aden asks.

  “Uhm...yeah. I guess so.” She shrugs her shoulders.

  “Hidden Treasures...that’s the bookstore, right?” Aden takes in the movement of her legs. To be more exact, his eyes are drawn to the flexing of her long, lean thigh muscles each time she takes a step.

  Walking down Broadway, Aden’s senses are on edge. There’s a tension in the air that he can’t place. It’s a heaviness he feels in his bones.

  He, Logan, and Sophia make their way through the outskirts of the park then head down the sidewalk leading to the bookstore. At the entrance, Sophia keys in a numeric code. The keypad flashes red twice then turns green. She pulls the outer door open and walks inside the narrow entry. She extracts a key from a zipper compartment in her shorts then makes her way up to the door.

  A gust of wind blows through the confined space, generating a howl. Sophia’s fingers shake, and the key slips out of her grasp. It falls to the stone floor, making a dull thud upon contact.

  Aden kneels and places a hand over hers. The touch, the feel of her skin, produces a hot plethora of warmth that prickles under the palm of his hand. He slides the key from her trembling fingers then rises. With one fluid motion, he slips it into the lock and opens the door.

  A series of steady beeps drums in the air. An alarm is counting down. Sophia steps up to the keypad and punches in four numbers. Once inside, Logan performs a sweep of the store and the upstairs living quarters while Aden remains by Sophia’s side downstairs.

  Aden hands her a business card. “I’ll return in the morning.” He hates to leave her, but he has questions. Questions he needs to obtain answers to, and he can’t do that until he returns home.

  “You’ll what?”

  “Breakfast. I’ll be here at eight.” His inner gargouille listens to the steady beat of her heart. “Unless you have other plans.” He eyes her. “Do you have other plans?”

  “Um...no, I don’t.”

  “Good. Then I’ll see you in the morning, and we can talk. But if you need anything before then, call my cell, regardless of the time.”

  Chapter Three

  Sophia Mahoney

  WAIT. WHAT WAS THAT? Fuck. Did I just agree to eat breakfast with him? Sophia locks the door and then engages the deadbolt. She picks up the safety chain and slides it into place.

  The door handle jiggles, and she jumps back. Peering through the peephole, the side of Aden’s chiseled face comes into view. He turns the knob a second time before walking down the cement steps.

  Exhaling a ragged breath, Sophia leans against the door and closes her eyes. The words of the masked man from the park—or whatever the hell he was—whispers through her thoughts. He wanted a book. A specific book. Something he called the Book of Light and Shadows.

  Uncle Hugo, rest his soul, used to collect books. Not really that uncommon since he had owned a bookstore. The ones he treasured most were anything but ordinary. They were old and falling apart when they came to him. But he had cherished each and every one of them, breathing life back into their delicate pages.

  His most cherished and prized pieces, he kept locked up and secured in a bookcase. It wasn’t a typical, everyday run-of-the-mill case. No. This piece of furniture wore the Old World charm of a French chateau.

  The distressed black finish with silver trim matched the cherry veneer backing. It created a warmth, a sense of rich heritage. Even the rounded corners softened the look, and the sliding beveled glass doors, with crown molding, added to the exquisite details of the piece.

  Standing on the tips of her toes, Sophia’s fingers skim over the top of the bookcase. They brush against the cool, hard surface of a skeleton key. Unlocking the case, she scans the contents. Her eyes zero in on two books.

  They’re old, worn and weathered. They’re catalogs from the 1930s. Pulling them from the shelf, Sophia makes her way to the parlor room and plops down on the brown leather sofa. Skimming through the pages, she doesn’t find a listing for the book.

  Sophia grabs her laptop off the coffee table. She powers it up then logs into the bookstore’s online catalog. But there’s no listing for it there either. Opening a browser window, she conducts an Internet search. Several images of books come into view. They’re all Wiccan spell books for witches.

  Okay. So, the masked guy at the park either thought he was a Wiccan, or he was bat-shit crazy. She shakes her head.

  Wiccans. Fuck. Witchcraft. How does anyone believe in that crap anyway? And what the hell was he? Because he wasn’t human. People don’t just sprout wings. And why would he—or his master as he called him—think I had what they were looking for? And who has a master, anyway?

  Sophia stretches out on the couch and continues to search the web, looking for any clue that may lead to what he was and the Book of Light and Shadows. Each search she pulls up leads her to another dead-end.

  Yawning, she shuts her laptop and sets it down on the coffee table. She lays back, closes her eyes, and then sinks into the familiar folds of the couch.

  The rich scent of vanilla mixed with jasmine wafts in the air. Drawing in a deep breath of the tantalizing aroma awakens her senses. Footsteps drum on the floor nearby. She’s not alone.

  Her eyes snap open, and she scans the room. She’s in the parlor on the sofa, and she’s wearing a red satin gown. But she doesn’t remember changing. And three glasses of wine sit on the coffee table.

  “You’re up.” A familiar voice whispers from the shadows.

  Sophia’s heart thuds in her chest. Sitting up, she locks eyes with Aden.

  “What are you doing here? How did you—”

  “I’m here because you summoned. You reached out to me—to us.”

  Aden approaches the couch with Logan on his heels. They both kneel in front of her.

  “Summoned you.” Sophia shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

  The room doesn’t feel right, and there’s a haze lingering.

  Aden reaches out and cups Sophia’s chin, tipping her head back. His breath is warm and minty. It flows over her skin like the caress of a familiar lover.

  Slowly, he eases her down onto the cushions. Warm lips press against her jawline. Gasping, she sucks in a breath of air.

  Aden leaves a hot trail of kisses across her jaw and down her neck.

  Hands slide up her calves and continue to glide over her thighs.

  “Wait.” Sophia’s hands encase Logan’s, stopping his progression up her legs. “What are you doing?”

  Her head is spinning. It feels as if it’s stuffed with cotton. And she can’t focus her thoughts.

  “Relax, Sophia.” Aden tenderly strokes the side of her face. His touch sends tingling sparks of energy rippling across her skin.

  “This isn’t real.” Sophia fights to keep a tremor out of her voice. “You’re not real—neither of you—are you?”

  “This is a shared dream. One you initiated. But I assure you, the emotions evoked are very real.” Aden claims her lips. The kiss, soft and gentle at first, leads into an urgent and demanding, hungry lip lock.

  A dream. It’s only a dream. The tension in her shoulders dissipates, and her body relaxes. Slowly, her shoulders roll forward. Aden and Logan’s touch upon her skin makes her body come alive.

  Aden leaves a trail of desire from her mouth to the bustline of her scooped neck gown. The fabric rubs against her erect nipples, and his mouth closes over the material. Sophia arches her back and presses her breast closer to his mouth.

  Positioning himself o
n the couch, Logan pushes the dress up over her hips then eases her legs apart. Warm lips kiss the inside of her thighs.

  “Oh God,” Sophia pants. “Dream or not, I can’t do this.”

  Sophia’s eyes snap open. She’s disoriented, and the room is spinning around her. The roar of her racing heart hammers in her chest. And the lingering effects of the dream tug at her mind.

  She looks down at her clothes. She’s still wearing her exercise gear along with Aden’s shirt. “Holy crap.” Sophia swallows a lump in her throat. “That was intense.”

  What the hell was I dreaming? Well, I know what I was dreaming. Sitting up, she rubs the sleep out of the corners of her eyes. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it’s a little after midnight. Rising, she makes her way up the stairs. A shower would be nice. Maybe a cold one to douse the warmth lingering between her legs.

  The interior of the bathroom is lined with tiles from floor to ceiling. Walls alternate between red tiles with white grout and white tiles with red grout. The shower stall, tub, sink, and toilet are white with silver fixtures. Standing at the sink, Sophia peers into the oval mirror. Her lower jaw is discolored, and her eye is a little swollen. She touches her cheekbone then flinches because the area is tender.

  Sophia gazes into the mirror. Her lips curl upward into a small smile. Aden’s shirt looks more like a dress than sports apparel. She holds up the business card Aden gave her, keys his number into her phone, and then she sets both the card and phone down on the vanity.

  Taking hold of the bottom of the garment, she pulls it overhead. Next, she slides off her sports bra, which makes her sore muscles ache. After shimmying out of her jogging shorts and panties, she tosses the clothing down the laundry chute that leads to the washroom on ground level.

  The tile is cool under her bare feet. Standing in front of the shower, she eases open the glass door and turns on the water. When steam bellows out, she enters the steamy stall.

  The water cascades down her body. She closes her eyes and takes in the warmth. Images of the partially masked man from the park fill her thoughts. A shiver runs up her spine. And tears spill from the corners of her eyes.

  Sophia’s chest tightens. Uncle Hugo would’ve known what to do. He would’ve made her feel safe, but he’s not here. She’s alone, really alone. Standing in the shower, she weeps. God. What if that thing comes back? She shakes her head to clear the intrusive thoughts of the park, as well as the painful reality of her uncle’s death, from her mind.

  That was then, and this is now. Geez. I have to pull myself together.

  A sea sponge hangs just inside the door. Sophia grabs it and squeezes some vanilla-scented body wash on it. The aroma fills her nose. It brings back vivid images of Aden that stir her libido.

  Slowly, she slides the sponge over her arms, down her legs, and across her abdomen. A renewed warmth spreads between her legs.

  Fuck. The shower isn’t helping.

  Turning off the hot, she blasts herself with a cold spray of water. Sophia grabs the shampoo bottle. She pumps out just enough of the creamy fluid to fill a quarter-sized section in the palm of her hand. Lathering up her hair, her shoulders roll forward. It feels good to rinse out the remnants of the park. Conditioning her curly locks, she runs her fingers through her hair.

  A thunderous boom in the distance makes her jump. Freezing in place, she listens. Her heart races in her chest. Quietly, Sophia slides the stall door open and steps out onto the bathmat and locks the bathroom door.

  Voices and movement reverberate from the other side. The handle jiggles. She’s not alone. Someone’s in the building with her. Crap. Why didn’t I bring a change of clothes in with me?

  One of her uncle’s dress shirts is hanging on a hook. She grabs the garment and slips it on. The tails of the shirt hang down to the middle of her thighs.

  “We know you’re in there, Sophia,” a man shouts. His voice is deep and his Italian accent thick. “Open the door.” He bangs on the hardwood surface.

  Whoever is on the other side of the door knows who she is.

  “Open the fucking door,” he yells. “Give us what we want and we’ll leave you alone, Strega Bianca.”

  Sophia picks up her cell phone then slips it into the front pocket of the shirt she’s wearing. There’s a window in the bathroom. Her uncle was an exceptional repairman.

  Unfortunately, his expertise only extended to books and nothing else. So, the stairs of the fire escape probably still stick, which would make it next to impossible for her to lower them. A loud thud echoes in the room. Wood splintering reverberates off the tile walls.

  Surveying the room, Sophia searches for an alternative escape route. Her eyes fall upon the laundry chute. It leads to the washroom on the first level. She swings the door open and peers down. The opening isn’t very large, but then again, neither is she. Her body will fit.

  I can do this; I know I can.

  It’s a straight shot to the lower level through the chute. Grabbing the vanity chair, she positions it in front of the opening.

  She slides one leg then the other through the chute door. Sophia balances her body, at waist level, on the lip of the opening.

  The door crashes open, and a man stands in the doorway. He’s wearing a ski mask, and he appears much larger and thicker than the man from the park. His hands are gloved, but at least, he doesn’t have a gun. A looming figure appears behind him. He’s not alone.

  What if they’re like the one from the park? What if they’re not human? The hair on the back of her neck stands on end. Sophia’s fingertips warm and then tingle.

  The men charge forward.

  Sophia lets go of the chute opening. She slides down and lands with a hard thud. A shooting pain runs up her left ankle. Fuck. Please, don’t let it be broken.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide for long.” The man yells down the chute.

  Crawling out of the bin, Sophia pulls herself up to a standing position. Her ankle hurts, but at least, she can walk on it. Taking hold of her phone, she dials 911, but her finger hovers over the talk button. The memory of being placed on hold in the park earlier chills her to the bone.

  Scrolling through the contacts, Aden’s name appears. Sophia hesitates then presses the call button. Slowly, she limps out of the laundry room. The motion detector in the hall picks up her movement, and the lights come on, stinging her eyes.

  The phone. It’s ringing.

  She enters the restoration room connected to the bookstore.

  Ring.

  Her uncle’s office is less than ten feet away. She hobbles over to the entrance. He had a panic button installed under his desk a couple of years ago, which seemed senseless at the time, but now, she’s glad it’s there. In the distance, she can see the green, glowing hue of the button inside her uncle’s dark office.

  Ring.

  Sophia wraps her hand around the knob of the glass door and the lights in the hall go out, leaving her in total darkness.

  Chapter Four

  Aden Clarkson

  “THIS IS ADEN.” His voice echoes through the receiver.

  “Aden,” a female says, barely above a whisper. “It’s Sophia, from the park.”

  “I can barely hear you.” He sits up on the couch in his living room.

  “Someone’s in the building,” she says softly. “They broke through the bathroom door. They’re looking for me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the back of the store next to my uncle’s office.”

  “Did you hit the silent alarm?” Aden rises.

  “No. It doesn’t work.”

  “If there’re lights on, I want you to turn them off.”

  “They went out. I think they shut down the breaker in the basement.” She sucks in a ragged breath of air. “God. That means there are, at least, three people in the building right now. Perhaps, more.” Her teeth chatter.

  “Logan’s on the phone with the police. He’s reporting a break-in. Keep the phone with you, but
turn the ringer off. Set it to silent. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Her voice cracks.

  “Can you get to the front door?” Aden walks out of his apartment.

  “I can try.”

  A noise booms in his ear. The muscles in his shoulders and neck tense and he squeezes the cell in his hand tighter.

  “Oh God,” she whispers. “I hear something.” The phone goes silent for several seconds. “I think someone’s down here.”

  “Listen to me. Turn off the ringer, and don’t talk or text. I want you to find a place to hide. We’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

  “Sophia,” a deep, throaty growl reverberates over the phone. “Give us the book, Bella, and we might just go away.”

  Chapter Five

  Sophia Mahoney

  THE ICY COLD HAND of fear knows no bounds. Terror. Fright. Trepidation. Words that nightmares are made of blow through her thoughts. She kneels with her back pressed against a leg of the workbench. A caged sensation washes over her. She’s trapped in the room with nowhere left to run or hide.

  A mixture of archival glue, honey-scented leather conditioner, renaissance wax, and a potent leather consolidate compound fills the room. The familiar, comforting aroma does little to calm her racing heart or douse the fear churning in the pit of her belly.

  Behind her, the large rectangular window filters in the dim light of the moon. Her eyes scan the area for a weapon. Several display cases hang on the wall behind her. They’re full of baseball memorabilia that her uncle has collected over the years.

  One of the shadow boxes contains several baseballs and a wooden bat. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. And it might buy her enough time for Aden to arrive. Sophia inches her way around the table then crawls closer to the wall. She blindly slides a hand over the corner of the workbench then grabs a rag off the worn surface.

  Slowly, she wraps the strip of fabric around her left hand and wrist. She waits for the man to leave the room. When his footsteps recede, she rises, and then she strikes the case as hard as she can.