Beyond The Veil: A Paranormal & Magical Romance Boxed Set

by Multiple Authors

  “Then think about something more permanent between us. Because I for one would like access to you on a regular basis.”

  Sophia’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want regular access.” She narrows her eyes.

  He can sense yet another change in her.

  “Is that what you just said to me? Access? Really?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “What the hell, Aden. I’m not a fucking time-share.” She shakes her head. “And what exactly did you say to Logan, today, while we’re talking? He seems to know something that perhaps, well, he shouldn’t know anything about. Hell, while we’re talking, how do the two of you fit into this little scenario? Did you two have some mutual bet going on after the shared dream? Fuck. What was I thinking?” She turns and saunters out of the bedroom.

  “Logan has nothing to do with this conversation.” He clenches his jaws together. “And don’t walk away from me.” A low, throaty growl slips past his lips. “There’s a lot you don’t understand.” Aden reaches out for her. “And we’re not done here.”

  “No. You’re wrong. We’re more than done with this conversation right now.” Sophia looks down at his hand that’s wrapped around her arm. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not one of your workers. And I sure as hell haven’t signed any contract. Now. Let. Go.”

  Aden takes a deep breath then fishes his buzzing phone from his front pant pocket. He glances at the screen. “Shit. I have to take this call. But if you think this conversation is over, you’re mistaken.”

  Chapter Five

  Sophia Mahoney

  WHEN ADEN RELEASES HER, she turns then scuffs down the stairs.

  “Sophia. We will finish this conversation later.” His voice rings in her ears.

  At the base of the stairs, Sophia spies Logan talking to several men. He looks up and smiles. But she glares at him as she walks by then ducks into the science fiction section of the bookstore. Leaning over, she picks up a handful of the books scattered on the floor and stacks them into piles of five. Rising, she begins to restock them.

  A firm hand grasps Sophia’s shoulder, spinning her around.

  She comes face to face with Logan. Fuck. How did I not hear him approaching? “Logan don’t.” Sophia shakes her head. “Trust me when I say, I’m in no mood to talk right now.”

  “What happened?” His brows furrow. “Why are you pissed about?”

  “Why don’t you ask your contractual boyfriend upstairs? Who knows what he may tell you next—here or in a dream. You should go find him. Seems you both like making plans together.”

  Logan draws her into his arms. “I’m going to overlook the comment you just made regarding Aden and I because I see you’re upset.”

  “Then, perhaps, both you and Aden should give me some much-needed space.”

  Logan releases her then raises his hands in the air. “I’m going.” He backs up. “But I’ll be back after I’ve talked to Aden.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Turning away from him, Sophia kneels and picks up some more books. “I’m sure both of you will.” Rising, she places them on the middle shelf.

  Retreating footsteps lightly drum on the floor. His steps, they’re softer than she’d have imagined for a man his size. When he’s out of view, she exhales a ragged breath.

  God, I shouldn’t have snapped at him like that. This isn’t his fault Aden and I had an argument.

  And now, she wonders if she should’ve been more willing to listen to Aden when he was talking. Was I too defensive—too quick to judge?

  Accepting help from others has never been easy for her. Sophia’s just not used to people stepping into her personal life and taking control. She likes Aden. Honestly, she likes him a lot. She’s never been drawn to someone likes she’s drawn to him. But things are moving fast, maybe too fast. The sexual attraction between her and Aden is strong, unrelenting. She can’t deny it. Well, actually, from what she can tell, neither one of them can. But that doesn’t change the fact that she just met him yesterday. So why does she feel such a connection to him?

  Sophia surveys the area. “Guess the cleaning crew missed this area.” She signs then shakes her head. It’s not as if she can have it both ways. She can’t be mad at Aden and Logan for cleaning up and fixing things then make stupid comments about the cleaning crew.

  Last night, the intruders wrecked the place and for what?—the book?

  Picking up the discarded books, she places them in neat rows then shelves them one by one. When the science fiction section is finished, she steps into the non-fiction area.

  Sophia’s eyes water and tears brim her lower lids.

  Uncle Hugo’s favorite display case is broken, and the smashed door is hanging off the hinges. The view makes her heart ache. She chokes back a sob.

  The day her uncle had it installed in the store, he was so excited.

  But look at it now.

  Shards of broken glass, from the display panels, are scattered across the floor. And several of the first edition books that were housed in the case have been torn in half with no regard for their priceless value and sentiment. Upon closer inspection, the back of the antique bookcase has been pried apart. It appears there was a secret compartment on the third shelf, which is odd. Did Uncle Hugo know it was there?

  Sophia’s fingers glide over the splintered wood. There’s a slight gap between the smooth surfaces. Kneeling, she creeps closer and inspects each shelf. While tapping on the wood, she notices an area that sounds hollow at the base of the bottom shelf. Running her fingers along the seam of the bookshelf, she comes across an uneven seam.

  Wedging her fingers between the small gaps in the structure, she pries a section loose. A piece of the wood splinters and skewers her index finger.

  Sophia jumps and hits her head on the shelf above her. Peering down at her finger, she stares at the toothpick-sized splinter protruding from the tip of her finger. She takes hold of the sliver of wood and pulls it free. A droplet of blood pools, filling the surface of the opened wound left behind. She brings her finger to her mouth and sucks on the tip then examines the circular hole. Other than a bit of blood, she’s no worse for wear.

  Focusing on the task at hand, she lifts the false bottom. It pops out with ease. She sets it down on the floor. Her eyes zero in on an old leather-bound book laying in the false bottom. Taking hold of it, her fingers tremble.

  Is this what they were looking for last night?

  Her body shakes. Holding the book, she thumbs through the first several pages. And her uncle’s handwriting jumps off the page. It’s one of his journals. The man, ever since she can remember, has kept his thoughts journaled in notebooks.

  A clanking noise booms behind her. She jumps and almost drops the book. Glancing over her shoulder, Sophia finds a man in his early fifties staring at her. Two younger men, dressed in black, are standing on each side of him. The man, he’s wearing a tailored three-piece suit with polished wing-tipped shoes. And he’s holding an ornate cane in his right hand—no doubt the sound of the clanking she heard earlier.

  The man takes a step forward.

  The hair on the back of her neck stands on end and her heart races, it’s pounding in her chest. She squares her shoulders and levels her chin. “The store is closed for repairs.” She struggles to keep her composure in check. “You’ll have to come back later.” There’s something unsettling about the way the man is staring at her.

  “I’m not here to shop, Sophia,” he says with a heavy Italian accent. “I’m here to pay my respects.” His eyes narrow. He looks down at the book in her hand.

  Oh, crap. One of the men last night was Italian. “Thank you.” Swallowing hard, she places the journal behind her back. “I appreciate the kind words; however, the rest of the family and I just really need some time alone. I’m sure you understand, mister—I’m sorry—I didn’t catch your name.”

  “That’s because I didn’t give it to you.” The man takes a single step forward. “We both know your uncle was the only fam
ily you had, Bella.” He taps the man to his right on the chest with the handle of the cane. “Things could’ve been different if he had listened—if he and your mother hadn’t betrayed the clan or their coven. Now, let us hope you’re a smart girl, who listens.” He pauses. “Give me what your family stole—all I want is what’s mine—give me the Book of Light and Shadows.”

  The younger man in black advances, closing the gap between Sophia and him in only a few short strides.

  Sophia steps back, countering his onward approach. “I’d like you to leave, all of you.” Her voice quivers.

  “Give us the book then we’ll leave, Strega Bianca,” the older man commands.

  “I don’t think so.” She takes several steps backward. “And for the record, I’m getting tired of your clan popping up everywhere I go. You need to leave. I want you and your flying pet monkeys out of my bookshop.”

  A grin washes across the older man’s face, and he chortles. “You have balls; I’ll give you that much. And perhaps, if things were different, we might even be friends.”

  Her eyes are drawn to the advancing younger man’s face.

  His blond hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail, and his jaw line is square and freshly shaven. His green eyes bore into her.

  Sophia’s breath hitches in the back of her throat. The guy, he has scratch marks on his lower jaw and cheeks.

  The blond-headed man smirks. Recognition is etched in his eyes. He’s the one from the park.

  A small sob escapes Sophia’s parted lips.

  The blond guy advances, pinning her body against a bookshelf.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Sophia opens her mouth to scream. A large, gloved hand clamps over her mouth, stifling her cries for help.

  He slides his other hand around her waist, reaching for her arm. “Give it to me, Cara.”

  Shoving the journal behind her, Sophia knocks several books off the shelf. They land with a heavy thud on the other side of the open partition. The blonde’s grip tightens, and his fingers sink into her flesh. He yanks her arm forward, but her hand is empty.

  “Don’t play fucking games with me.” The man curses. His fingers dig deeper into her flesh.

  Tears brim Sophia’s eyes. Drawing her right knee up, she aims for his crotch, but he deflects the blow.

  “You did that in the park, Cara,” the blond man growls in her ear. “When we’re alone later,” he licks the side of her face, “I’ll teach you some manners.” His hand tightens over her mouth, squeezing.

  Sophia moves her head back and forth. His hand slips and she bites down on a fleshy section of one of his fingers.

  “Fuck.” He curses under his breath. “So you want to play rough.” Grabbing a fistful of hair, he yanks her head back, removes his hand, and then slams his mouth over hers. He catches her lower lip between his teeth and bites down.

  A searing heat shoots through her lip and the coppery, metallic taste of blood lines her taste buds. Twisting her body to the side, she rips free of his mouth. A blood-curdling scream erupts from deep within her diaphragm and rings in her ears.

  The older man says something in a foreign tongue.

  The blonde lips. “You’re sweet, Cara.” He releases her.

  The older man and the other guy step out of the non-fiction section. The blonde picks up Sophia’s uncle’s journal.

  “No.” She takes several steps. “You can’t have—”

  “So.” He stops and turns his attention to her. “You are eager to play.”

  Sophia freezes in place. Fear grows in the pit of her belly.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll play with you again real soon.” He smirks then winks. “I promise.”

  “Monte,” the older Italian calls the blonde by name. “Let us go. There’ll be time for that later.”

  The older man shoves one of the workers standing in the entry way. The man falls to the floor, and Monte steps over him, kicking at his face.

  Oncoming footsteps bounce off the walls.

  Sophia takes off running through the entryway after Monte and the other men. Fingers dig into her shoulder, and she’s spun around. A yelp passes her lips.

  Logan peers down at her and pulls her into his arms. The tips of his fingers brush the bottom of her lip. He rubs his blood-tinged fingers together. “Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath. “How many were here, and which way did they go?” He sniffs the air.

  “There were three of them.” The worker crouched on the floor stands and wipes blood off his face. “They turned right and got into a dark gray SUV. They were from the Doccioner clan, and the old man was with them.”

  Sophia stares at the worker wide-eyed. “Hell. Does everyone here know more about these bastards than I do?”

  “Stay here.” Logan releases her then heads for the door. “I’m going to see if I can track the pricks.”

  “Wait.” Sophia takes several steps. “I’m coming with you. I need to get—”

  Strong arms wrap around Sophia, lifting her feet off the floor. “That’s not a good idea.” Aden draws her closer to his lean frame then cradles her to his chest.

  Chapter Six

  Aden Clarkson

  “BUT THEY TOOK IT. I have to get it back.”

  “Slow down.” Aden blots her lip with a handkerchief. “You’re not leaving here because it’s not safe.” Rage boils over deep within his body. And his gargouille claws for release. He wants to hunt and rip the intruders apart for touching what’s his.

  Her body shudders. “You don’t understand.” A tear cascades down her cheek. “They took it.” She casts her eyes downward avoiding his gaze.

  Aden tips her chin back. “What did they take?”

  “My uncle’s journal.” Her voice wavers. “I found it hidden in the bookcase, and the man from the park, he took it. It was all I had left of him.”

  Aden holds her trembling form in his arms. He struggles to push down the rising rage, but it’s no use. His inner gargouille wants blood, and when Logan locates their nest, he’ll eradicate them—every last one of them.

  Tears breach Sophia’s lower lids, spilling over onto her cheeks. Gently, he wipes them away, but they fall faster than he can brush them off. A mixture of pain and anger swirls around her. Aden scoops her up in his arms and carries her to the couch. He sits down on the end, holding her while she weeps. The depth of the emotions he feels flooding her body pulls at his heart.

  Aden’s inner gargouille wants to take her pain away—to shield her from further agony. He has feelings for her. Feelings he doesn’t fully understand.

  Chapter Seven

  Sophia Mahoney

  THE SOFT FOLDS of the beige couch in the sitting area are worn. They’re familiar. They fold around Sophia’s body, gently embracing her. Thoughts of her uncle’s journal flood her mind. Was that the book they were looking for? Was it the Book of Light and Shadows?

  Since the unannounced visit from the Doccioner clan, it’s been quiet in the bookstore, except for the men working. A two-man crew carries furnishings up the stairs. So far, they’ve made five different trips.

  Aden, laptop in hand, is sprawled out on the other end of the sofa. His fingers pound against the keys. Dark curly hair falls loosely around his tanned face. Long lashes brim his eyes. He’s staring at the screen, focused on what he’s composing.

  Uncrossing her legs, Sophia places her bare feet flat on the floor next to her shoes and socks. Rising from the couch, she stretches her arms overhead. A warm hand takes hold of her wrist. Aden’s eyes, they’re an intense shade of blue.

  “Where are you going?”

  She breathes a heavy sigh. “To the bathroom.”

  His concern is appreciated, but he’s smothering her. She needs some space to think. Earlier, she let emotions get the better of her. Breaking down in front of people—especially Aden—isn’t something she’s comfortable with. It makes her feel vulnerable.

  “Logan will be back soon.” Aden’s hold relaxes. “He’s bringing some Chinese food.” He r
eleases her wrist.

  “Okay.” She makes her way to the banister.

  Aden’s eyes follow her, tracking her every move.

  Sophia steps onto the first stair. A dull pain shoots up the ankle and radiates up her leg. There’s a bathroom downstairs, which she could’ve used, but placing more distance between her and Aden is what she needs right now. She needs to clear her head, and she can’t think when he’s around.

  Up at the top of the stairs, she can see her bedroom door. It’s open, so she slips into the room. The work crew is setting up a solid wooden bed frame against the west wall. Several other pieces of furniture are already positioned in the room. Even the floor has been resurfaced. And the light coloration of the new stain on the hardwood flooring provides a sharp contrast to the darker colors of the furnishings.

  One of the men looks then nods his head with a warm smile.

  Silently, Sophia crosses the floor and steps into the bathroom. Pushing the door closed, she engages the lock. Back pressed against the door, she rests her head on the wooden surface for a few more seconds before sauntering to the window.

  Drawing the curtain back, she peers out of the glass panes. Her fingers slide over the latch. It’s locked. Turning around, she takes care of her bathroom needs then washes her hands and face. Staring in the mirror, she takes in her image. Her eyes, they look haunted. What am I going to do? I like Aden, but am I ready for a relationship? God, I’m so confused about everything.

  The phone in her back pocket vibrates, making her jump. Sliding the device out of her pants, she glances at the screen, and then she shakes her head.

  It’s a text from Aden.

  —you okay?

  Is he seriously texting me while I’m in the bathroom? It’s not as if I’m going anywhere—unless I get sucked down the toilet in a swirling vortex. But hell, at this rate, who knows what’s possible. After all, less than forty-eight hours ago, she didn’t know gargouilles—gargoyles and Wiccans truly existed.