by Rachel James
“Rrr-owww.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she murmured. “You cannot make him remember the healing wash. He’s got to remember on his own. The Ancients decree it that way.” A chuff and a sneeze emanated, followed by a series of stuttered throat vibrations. Brianna glanced down at the ring on her finger, and twirled it absently. ”Well, at least I won’t need this anymore. I’ll use another one when I remarry.”
“If you do, your new husband won’t live long enough to kiss you,” a deep voice said, from behind her.
Brianna whirled, startled to find Devlin lounging in the doorway, a lop-sided grin on his face. Her pulse skittered at once. Thank you, Nicodemus. I owe you one. The cat mewed its disgust at her, but she didn’t have time to react, as Devlin hoisted himself from the doorframe and came her way.
“Do you actually think I would divorce you—now that I’ve finally got the only thing I’ve ever wanted?” he asked. Brianna’s mind whirled at his question. His hands snaked up her arms, and hauled her close to his body. “Good God, woman. We shared a healing wash.”
A sob tore from Brianna’s throat.
“I thought you didn’t remember. I thought I diverted it.”
“Divert a healing wash by the Ancients? You’re not that good.” He wrapped his arms around her midriff and held her snugly. “I have loved you since I was ten, you moron. And I have wanted to marry you since I was sixteen.”
“What?! Then why the divorce?”
“To bring you to your senses—so you’d admit that we belong together. Even that obnoxious pet of yours knows it.” Bending, he planted a wet kiss on her lips, and then, lifting his head, he met her gaze. “Do we belong together, Mrs. Janus?”
She thought of saying no just to tease him, but her heart was hammering so wildly that all she managed to get out was a simple, breathy “yes.”
Hearing the word, he released her waist, stepped around her, and scooped Nicodemus from the windowsill. Crossing the room, he tossed the growling cat into the hallway, shut the door, and locked it.
“What are you doing?” Brianna queried, choking up.
He headed back her way.
“I’m going to have hot, steamy sex with my wife.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
He stopped in front of her.
“What? You don’t think I can arouse you to a fever pitch a second time?”
“Don’t be an ass. We’re not having mind-blowing sex in a hospital bed.”
He gathered her into his arms and his grin was devilish.
“So you admit the sex was mind-blowing?”
Brianna tossed her head at him.
“Change the subject, or there won’t be any sex between us ever—hot or cold.”
His voice softened as he lifted her chin and gazed deep into her eyes.
“If you think that, Snow White, you’re not the smart High Priestess I know you to be.” The last of his words were smothered on her lips and, to her delight, this time the kiss was slow and erotic. She savored every moment of the burning fire on her lips, and then his mouth left hers to nibble on her earlobe. Brianna’s trembling limbs quickly clung to him, and then, scarcely aware of her own voice, she whispered in his ear.
“We have to let the Council know we’re not divorcing.”
He ignored her words, his mouth wandering down the tingling cord of her neck.
“They already know. They got the message when I tore up the papers,” he finally murmured.
His mouth wandered back up along her jawbone, and then, with a soft sigh, he settled his mouth on hers again. Caught up in the pleasure pulsing through her, Briana nestled against his supple strength and parted her lips in mute invitation. His tongue swept inside immediately, and overwhelmed by the spreading heat, she broke the kiss and buried her face against Devlin’s throat.
“If the stars are in a favorable conjunction tonight, I might let your naked body claim mine.”
“Even if the stars aren’t in a favorable conjunction tonight, my naked body is going to claim yours,” he responded. “That’s a promise, and as a High Priestess, you have to do what your High Priest thinks is best.”
“I’m more interested in knowing what Mr. Janus thinks is best,” she murmured.
His fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse.
“He thinks Cinderella should keep Prince Charming satisfied, day and night.”
His lips recaptured her mouth, his fingers skirting inside her bra, to magically stroke the smooth flesh. The caress was so male and so bracing this time, that for a long moment, she lay drowned in a melting sweetness. This was what it was to be blissfully happy, and fully alive. Her arms slipped around his neck and she caressed the tendons she found there. He broke the kiss, his breathing labored.
“You’re killing me here, Rapunzel.”
“I certainly hope so.” she murmured.
Her lips met his half-way this time. Soon, nothing else mattered, except the strong and vivid desires that shook both their bodies and claimed their hearts.
EPILOGUE
High on the rise, overlooking a painted circle, Nicodemus stood guard, ears twitching, waiting to be summoned. Alongside, Devlin watched the scene below, listening to the raucous giggles reverberating in the night air. Brianna’s laughter soon joined in, and Devlin saw her lift her hands toward the full white moon hanging low in the sky.
“Begone!” she ordered.
The moon slipped behind a cloud, and the five young girls in the circle clapped and spun, not the least bit frightened by the orb’s sudden disappearance. Instead, they began a silly chant for the moon to return and chase away the darkness. When it re-emerged from its hiding place a moment later, showering them and the clearing with a neon brightness, they giggled and twirled. Oohing and aahing, they attempted to catch hold of the prisms of light bathing their raised arms.
Seeing the bright rainbow, Devlin grinned. The girls were about to experience a last, shocking surprise. Brianna’s hand waved towards the moon again, catching the girls’ attention and directing it upward.
“Abra . . .ca . . . dabra . . .” she began. The girls giggled in delight at her silly reference.
“No, it’s hocus pocus, Mrs. Janus . . . hocus pocus, stinky, okus . . .” The youngest of the girls twirled on her toes, and her cohorts joined in. “Hocus pocus, stinky, okus . . .”
The girls squealed at their own silliness and then fell silent, eager for the surprise Brianna would shower on them. Devlin knew Brianna wouldn’t disappoint. She pointed her finger skyward.
“Oh, magic genie, I order you to open sesame . . .” The girls held their breaths, their glances shooting back and forth along the skyline in anticipation. And then a loud “rrr-oww” split the air, and the group looked down, startled to find Nicodemus lying peacefully in the center of the circle, staring up at them with his bright yellow eyes. The girls clapped in unison.
“It’s Nicodemus,” Miranda O’Connor cried first. “What a clever, clever cat.”
Joining hands, the girls began to dance and twirl around Nicodemus’ outstretched form, chanting his name over and over. Lifting his gaze, Devlin spotted Brianna striding the rise. Reaching the crest, she slipped into his arms.
“There’ll be no living with Nicodemus now,” she scoffed. “Their flattery will go to his already over-stuffed ego.”
“Rotten cat for a rotten brat,” Devlin muttered. Turning her face up, he deposited a wet kiss on her lips, and then spun her around. Slipping his arms around her waist, he dropped his head on her right shoulder, and studied the giggling figures below. The shrill chants revved up, allowing the pair a moment to savor the energy surrounding the clearing, and bask in the power of spirit. Finally, he heard a contented sigh.
“The joy in magic still lives, Devlin. Can you feel it?”
“I can feel it.” He molded her curves closer into the contours of his body, and his mouth grazed her earlobe. “It’s right here in my arms.” His lips seared a path down her neck to her
shoulder, and then with a quick spin, he swept her, weightless, into his arms. He immediately devoured her lips, reveling in the shared intimacy of the kiss—until, to his annoyance, a strong pressure knocked against his legs.
“Rrr-ooww.”
The kiss ended abruptly, the pair springing apart.
“Damn cat,” Devlin drawled.
Brianna’s laugh echoed as she backed out of his arms.
“He means well. He’s reminding me, I must close the circle.” She spun around and headed back down the incline. Reaching the circle, she gathered the girls together and began powering down the energy cone.
Watching the group from the ridge, a grin overtook Devlin’s features.
“Rrr-owww.”
“Yes, I know. It’s not at all proper to envision my hands roaming intimately over a High Priestess’s naked breasts.”
Nicodemus sneezed his dislike immediately, and Devlin’s grin turned up a notch. No one was going to keep him from rousing his wife to a frenzied state of love-making in the next hour. Not even a damn, magical cat.
SANCTUARY
RACHEL JAMES
Avon, Massachusetts
Copyright © 2015 by Rachel Schneider.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.
www.crimsonromance.com
ISBN 10: 1-4405-9451-1
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9451-9
eISBN 10: 1-4405-9449-X
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9449-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123RF/ostill, 123R/Fandreykuzmin.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER ONE
Jenny Flores lay on the table, staring at the ceiling with lifeless eyes. What the man was doing to her was obscene. Yet, for some unknown reason, she couldn’t find the courage to make him stop.
“Kiss me,” a pleasant, deep voice said.
A hand slipped beneath Jenny’s back and lifted her torso up. She raised her face, and warm lips smothered hers. “And where are you now?” a different voice asked; it was louder, less distant.
Her breathing became erratic.
“I’m having sex with Phil. He’s a wonderful lover. We make love two or three times a week … ”
“And where are you now?” asked the voice.
“I’m in the park with Phil and the kids. It’s Sunday. We always picnic in the park on Sundays. The weather is picture-perfect, and the kids are playing with our dog, Scruggs.”
“Kiss me,” the pleasant voice interrupted again.
Jenny fell back, staring up at the ceiling with lifeless eyes. What the man was doing to her was obscene. Yet, for some unknown reason, she couldn’t find the courage to make him stop.
• • •
Hurled out of a white vortex and back to reality, empath Sonny Blake hugged the bedpost. Something was wrong with her skills. The same vision was replaying over and over—one she couldn’t make sense of, or stop.
An icy fear snaked around her heart muscle and squeezed. Was she finally going mad after all these years? Had her mind been flung in and out of time and space so many times that it could no longer tell one vision from another?
The young girl’s face swam through her mind again. Who was the girl, and why couldn’t she identify where she was?
And who owns that distant sexy voice requesting a kiss? Sonny’s inner voice asked.
And why are two visions overlapping one another? she shot back. We never mix and match our visions.
You’re the interpreter, Miss Empath. You tell me.
Her inner voice fell silent, and Sonny sighed. She was talking to herself—a clear sign that she needed to start using her brain for something more rational than stolen kisses and frightened girls. There were bills to pay, schedules to keep, and a host of employees to manage.
She attempted to haul her body away from the post, only to cling to it again as a bout of nausea swept over her. The vision had not only drained her psychic energy, but her physical energy as well. Not a good sign, her inner voice chided. No, if she kept on, she would be hauled off to the funny farm and dropped down a rabbit hole so deep not even her family would be able to find her. And who belongs to that sexy voice that keeps requesting the kiss? her inner voice prodded. He sounds delish—not like the other one.
Annoyed by her ego’s fixation on erotic kisses, Sonny crawled back under the covers. There’d be plenty of time to look for answers after she got her nausea under control. She closed her eyes, snuggling into her pillow. She needed to realign her body and mind with her personal mantra. Down the rabbit hole, one, two, three; out the rabbit hole, fiddle-dee-dee …
Sonny smiled at her self-mockery. The similarity between her and Alice in Wonderland wasn’t far off the mark. They both went down rabbit holes in pursuit of a White Rabbit—or, in her case, a white vortex. And while in Wonderland, they both endured trials that tested their souls, yet managed to re-energize their spirits.
Swallowing a growing lump in her throat, Sonny concentrated on her breathing. In, out, breathe. Twenty exhalations later, the image of the High Priestess Tarot card swam into view. She attuned her energy to the card, her mind sweeping past the dual pillars, through the door of knowledge, and down into a different kind of rabbit hole. This hole was filled with the shimmering, golden light of the Sun. She turned her face to the orb and basked in its glory.
When a feeling of peaceful euphoria settled over her frame, she snuggled deeper under the covers.
Goodnight, Alice, her inner voice called, as she drifted down, down, down ...
• • •
Ned Chalmers closed the office door and locked it. His sessions had gone incredibly well today. Two of the clients had actually shown a flair for the therapy. Tomorrow, he’d look for others he could manipulate.
Turning, he hit the light switch and stood in the darkness. There was nothing better than moving through the scrim of darkness—except for when the darkness moved through him. Then, he was godlike, the power showering his entire aura and energizing it with a magic that couldn’t be halted, or described in human words.
Recalling the elation, he smiled. He had spent years training his senses to align with the dark’s spatial energy, and now that he had succeeded, he knew he had earned the skill of seeing, hearing, and moving without detection. The nightly alignment was downright addictive, and, unlike those around him, he considered the darkness his trusted friend.
He moved now, reaching the short staircase without bumping any piece of furniture. A few moments later, his foot hit the bottom step of the staircase, and he paused. Abducting and killing Sonny Blake was his current objective. The bitch was poking her nose into his business. She was
questioning his trip schedules, asking for airline and hotel receipts, and demanding to view his therapy session tapes. He’d make her pay for that aggravation when he had her under his thumb and begging for her life. But before he killed her, he’d merge her talent with his power of darkness and, once united, be unstoppable.
He’d have to be careful, though. The bitch could sense any dark thought that came against her. Thankfully, she treated him like a favorite uncle, and that helped him stay in close proximity to her. It also fueled his desire to wound her to the core. Her ability to project her mind into spatial energy and interpret it gave her an edge over him. And that rankled. There was too much on the line. If she learned about his pet project, Pandora, he’d have to go underground again and stay there. No, killing Sonny Blake was his only option. But how to do it? And when?
When no answer surfaced, he bounded up the steps and entered a makeshift bedroom. He made a beeline for the large bed, where he shed his clothes and slipped beneath the sheets. He rolled over and checked the shackles tied to the bedposts.
A frightened scream floated through the darkness at the dip in the mattress. He smiled smugly, moving his fingers down the chains to a pair of magnificent breasts. In seconds, he was mounting the young girl and introducing her to the ways of the dark.
CHAPTER TWO
Logan Reed nudged the petite body on the floor with his toe. Shit. Another dead empath—and another goddamned Tarot card. You’d think the bastard would add some variety to his killing ritual. Logan stared down at the purple hair, nose ring, and colorfully tattooed arms. Amy Carlyle was certainly not your average-looking empath. Her talent had obviously hitched itself to the wrong crowd. His gaze swept the needle in the fold of the young girl’s left elbow. The mouse might still be alive if Logan had ignored his grumbling stomach and skipped lunch.