SUNLIGHT
MOONLIGHT
By
Amanda Ashley
REVIEWERS RAVE ABOUT AMANDA ASHLEY:
DEEPER THAN THE NIGHT
"The very versatile Amanda Ashley does a wonderful job… a fast-paced and fun-filled read!"
—Romantic Times
EMBRACE THE NIGHT
"Sensuous! Mesmerizing! Electrifying! A must read for all vampire romance fans!"
—Romantic Times
"An absolutely wonderful story!"
—The Talisman
* * *
Other Love Spell books by Madeline Baker writing as Amanda Ashley:
DEEPER THAN THE NIGHT
EMBRACE THE NIGHT
SUNLIGHT
MOONLIGHT
LOVE SPELL
NEW YORK CITY
LOVE SPELL®
January 1997
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001
Copyright © 1997 by Madeline Baker
Printed in the United States of America.
SUNLIGHT
To DENA HAWKINS
Who shares my fascination for
Ghosts, werewolves, phantoms, and
One particular masked man!
Chapter One
Lainey stared at the old mansion, which sat alone at the end of an unpaved road. There had been rumors about the Grayson place for as long as she could remember. Some said it was haunted by the ghost of its last owner; some jokingly speculated that it was inhabited by a vampire. The townspeople might disagree about who or what lurked inside, Lainey mused, but they all agreed there was something definitely spooky about the place.
The house had been vacant for at least ten years, and it showed. The paint was peeling off the eaves, some of the tiles on the roof were missing, several windows were cracked or broken. Trees and shrubs grew in jungle-like profusion.
It was obvious no one lived in the house, and yet, lately, passersby had reported seeing a pale blue light flickering in the third-floor window. Police had been sent to investigate, but reportedly had found nothing suspicious.
It was a mystery, and Lainey loved a mystery. Reading them or writing them, it didn't matter. She'd take a good mystery over a love story any day of the week. Of course, if the mystery also contained a scorching romance, so much the better!
She also had a fondness for vampires, werewolves, and witches, which seemed at odds with her deep and abiding fear of the dark.
She also had a penchant for exploring old houses, but that, she decided, would have to wait for another day.
Taking her camera out of its case, Lainey snapped a couple of pictures from varying angles. The mansion, which was said to be over a hundred years old, was the perfect backdrop for the murder mystery she was currently writing. From its gabled roof and small round windows to its enormous front door and shadowed veranda, it reeked of mystery and danger. She could easily imagine any number of foul deeds being committed within its dark interior. No doubt there were dozens of secret doors and passageways cut into the walls and closets, she mused, and if there weren't, well, it didn't matter. She would just write a few in.
She zipped up her jacket as she glanced at the lowering sky. One more picture, and then she'd go.
She was focusing on the round turret at the north side of the house when she saw a flash of movement in the third-story window.
Startled, she lowered the camera and stared at the window, and then she laughed uneasily. There was no one there. She was just letting her overactive imagination get the best of her. Sternly, she reminded herself that the house had been vacant for years.
Nevertheless, she decided she had taken enough pictures for one day. Slinging the camera strap over her shoulder, she started walking down the driveway to the road where she had left her car, walking faster and faster until she was running.
Running as if she were being pursued by demons.
Once she was inside the car, with the windows rolled up and the doors locked, she felt like a child running from shadows. But sometimes her wild imagination overcame her good sense.
Shoving the key in the ignition, she gave it a twist.
Nothing.
Grimacing, she tried again, and again, but the car, always temperamental, refused to start.
Defeated, she rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Perhaps she'd flooded the engine. The word flood had no more than crossed her mind when the heavens opened, unleashing a deluge that would have given Noah cause for alarm.
"Oh, great," Lainey muttered. "Now what am I gonna do?"
She sat there for twenty minutes before she tried to start the car again. Nothing happened. Maybe it was the battery. Jim, over at the garage, had told her she needed a new one.
She sat there for another ten minutes, shivering inside her thin nylon jacket. A jagged bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a crash of thunder that was so close, she almost jumped out of her skin.
Into her mind came visions of night stalkers and serial killers, all of them just looking for a lone female stranded on a deserted road.
She glanced up at the house, thinking she'd probably be safer, and warmer, inside four walls.
Staring at the mansion, she felt her gaze drawn to the upper floor, felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to explore the house, to ferret out its secrets.
Before she quite realized what she was doing, she was out of the car and running up the driveway.
Breathless, she took the stairs two at a time, then stood shivering on the front porch. For a moment, she chewed on her lower lip, debating the wisdom of going inside, but another drumbeat of thunder decided for her. The door was locked, but one of the panes of glass was broken, making it easy to reach inside and unlock the door. The thought that she was committing a crime fluttered in the back of her mind. Breaking and entering. But she wasn't breaking, she rationalized, since the glass was already broken, just entering.
Thoughts of drug dealers and other disreputable characters filled her mind as she opened the door. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears as she crossed the threshold.
Closing the door behind her, Lainey stood in the entryway, listening. The sound of her footsteps echoed loudly as she crossed the black-and-white tiled floor to the parlor.
Knowing it was useless, she flicked the light switch inside the arched doorway. Nothing. In the rapidly waning daylight, she could see a high-backed sofa and a couple of chairs crouched before a massive stone fireplace. Sheets that had once been white, but were now threadbare with age and thick with dust, covered the furniture. To her fanciful mind, the furniture looked like beasts of prey ready to pounce on unwary strangers.
Standing with her arms folded over her chest, she stared at the fireplace, wishing she had the means to start a fire. She felt a warm breeze caress her cheek, and the next thing she knew, there was a fire crackling in the raised hearth.
Lainey blinked at the flames, certain she was imagining things.
But there was nothing make-believe about the heat radiating from the fireplace. She stood there for a long moment, wondering if the shivers running up and down her spine were caused by the fire's seemingly magical appearance, or her growing apprehension. For a moment, she considered going back outside to sit in the car, but the warmth of the fire was irresistible.
Slipping out of her wet jacket, she spread it over the back of a chair to dry, then stood in front of the fire, toasting first her front and then her back.
The warmth of the fire made her drowsy. Removing the sheet from one of the chairs, she shook off the dust, then sat down, the sheet spread across her lap, and stared at the dancing fl
ames.
How odd, she thought. Here she was, sitting in the dark in front of a fire that had started as if by magic, and she wasn't the least bit afraid.
Listening to the sound of the rain as it splashed against the windows, she had the strangest feeling that she wasn't alone, that there was an unseen entity hovering nearby, watching her every move through curious, unblinking eyes. But even that didn't shatter the peculiar sense of well-being that was slowly engulfing her, wrapping her in a cocoon of contentment.
Perhaps the place was haunted, she mused. But it didn't feel haunted. Enchanted, then. That would explain her sudden lethargy. But even the thought of falling under some mystical spell lacked the power to frighten her as she drew the sheet up to her chin and closed her eyes.
Chapter Two
Lainey came awake with a start. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was, and then she sighed. She was inside the Grayson mansion. She sat there for a moment, listening to the sound of the rain as she glanced around the room.
In daylight, she could see that the parlor had once been elegant. The draperies at the window, now faded and frayed, were of dark red velvet. The floor was of solid oak, dulled by years of dust and neglect. The chair she was sitting on was upholstered in a dark red, green, and gold print, as was the other chair and the high-backed sofa. She guessed the walls had once been a creamy white, but time had dulled the color. An enormous lacy cobweb hung from one corner of the vaulted ceiling.
Rising, she pulled on her jacket, surprised that the fire was still burning. Perhaps it was a gas log, she mused as she tossed the sheet over the chair. But surely, if there was no electricity, there was no gas. And even if the gas was on, it still didn't explain who, or what, had lit the fire the night before.
She combed her fingers through her hair, wished fleetingly for a toothbrush and a glass of orange juice, and then began to explore the rest of the house.
The kitchen was huge, with a walk-in pantry and numerous cupboards. A large window overlooked the backyard.
She paused at the back door, which was slightly ajar, frowning when she saw a carton of orange juice on the top step. Pushing the door open a little further, she picked up the container. The date stamped on the carton was current.
She hesitated only a moment, then opened the container and took a drink. It was fresh and tangy, as if it had just been squeezed.
Maybe someone did live here, she thought. But that was impossible. All the surfaces in the house were covered with a thick layer of dust, the cupboards were empty, there were no appliances of any kind.
Turning away from the door, she saw a stack of newspapers, and she thumbed through them while she drank the juice, scanning the headlines. The oldest newspaper was dated three weeks before.
FIREBALL SEEN STREAKING ACROSS L.A. SKY, the headline read, ALARMED CITIZENS, FEARING UFO INVASION, BOMBARD POLICE STATION WITH CALLS.
For the next week, the lead story had been about the meteor. No one had seen it land, but all sorts of government agencies, including the Air Force, were said to be scouring the area, hoping to find a piece of it.
After a week, the meteor story had been relegated to the back pages until an enterprising reporter interviewed a couple of scientists, who had speculated that the meteor might not have been a meteor at all, but a spaceship. Mention of flying saucers put the unidentified flying object back on the front page.
Flying saucers, indeed, Lainey thought as she put the carton on the sink and left the kitchen. Did scientists really expect to find little green men roaming the streets? She had never believed in flying saucers, had always assumed that if there really were other people on other planets, they would be just like the people of earth. She had never believed all those wild tales of people being abducted by aliens, either.
She wandered through three bedrooms, a large den, and a solarium that was crowded with plants and rosebushes, all remarkably green and healthy considering that no one had lived in the house for ten years.
Leaving the solarium, she climbed the stairs to the second story. There were four bedrooms there, and four bathrooms. The master bedroom was bigger than her whole house. The drapes were blue-gray, the wallpaper a faded blue, white, and gray stripe. There was a corner fireplace, a walk-in closet. Sliding glass doors opened onto a balcony.
It must have been an elegant house at one time, Lainey thought again, and wondered what had happened to the previous owner, and why no one else had ever bought the place. It had such promise, such possibilities. She had a healthy royalty check coming in a couple of months, she thought. Maybe, if the place was for sale and they weren't asking too much for it, she'd see about buying it in spite of the rumors that it was haunted.
Haunted. She grimaced. Maybe that accounted for the mysterious fire last night, and the orange juice this morning.
Leaving the master bedroom, she saw a narrow set of stairs at the far end of the hallway.
Curious, she climbed the stairs to the next landing. There was only one door in sight, and when she tried to open it, she found that it was locked. Since there was no keyhole, it had to be locked from the inside.
That was odd. If no one lived here, how could the door be locked from the inside? It was just stuck, she decided. No doubt the rain had caused the wood to swell.
She put her shoulder to the door and pushed, but nothing happened. It was definitely locked.
A shiver ran down Lainey's spine as her vivid imagination immediately jumped into overdrive.
There was a vampire behind the door.
A serial killer.
Freddy, waiting to rip her apart. Jason, hiding behind his mask.
Cujo.
Heart pounding wildly, Lainey ran down both flights of stairs. Breathing heavily, she stood in front of the fireplace in the living room, shivering in spite of the fire's warmth.
There's nothing to be afraid of.
The voice, faint but definitely masculine, should have scared her out of a year's growth. Confused because she wasn't the least bit frightened, she glanced over her shoulder to see who had spoken, but there was no one there.
Turning around, she examined every corner of the parlor, but there was no one to be seen.
Maybe she was going insane. Maybe spending the night in the Grayson mansion had sent her around the bend. And maybe she was just suffering some sort of delusion brought on by hunger, she thought with a grin. Grabbing the sheet she'd used the night before, she draped it over her head and left the house, sprinting down the driveway toward her car.
Unlocking the door, she slid behind the wheel, uttered a silent prayer, and shoved the key into the ignition.
"Thanks, Lord," she murmured as the engine roared to life.
She was pulling away from the curb when she heard the voice again.
Don't go.
She hesitated a moment. There was something compelling about that voice, an aching loneliness that touched her heart.
Maybe she really was going mad, she thought, and with a shake of her head, she put the car in gear and headed for home.
Chapter Three
Lainey sat in front of her computer, staring at the blank blue screen. Try as she might, she couldn't concentrate on the book she was supposed to be writing—a book that was due in just three months.
"Think plot," she muttered.
But all she could think about was the Grayson mansion, and the mysterious voice that had spoken to her.
Who had that sexy male voice belonged to?
How had that fire started in the fireplace?
Who had left a carton of orange juice on the back porch of a house that hadn't been lived in for ten years? Who had been reading the newspapers?
Why had she felt so at peace there?
Why did she want to go back?
Oh, Lord, maybe she was losing her mind. Maybe there hadn't been any fire. Maybe she'd imagined the orange juice. And the voice? Had she imagined that, too?
She glanced through the photographs of the house
that she'd had developed earlier that day, and then frowned as she stared at a close-up of the third story. Was that someone standing at the window?
Rummaging around in her desk, she found a magnifying glass and studied the photo. Was that a person, or merely a shadow?
She stared at the slightly hazy form, noticing that a faint blue aura seemed to surround the figure.
It had to be a shadow, she thought, or a glitch in the film.
Switching off her computer, she sat there for several minutes. It was a mystery, and she loved a mystery. Her mind made up, she grabbed her purse, her jacket, and her camera. Plucking her keys off the top of the TV, she left the house.
Twenty minutes later, she was standing at the end of the long winding driveway that led to the Grayson mansion.
He squinted against the late afternoon sunlight as he watched her walk toward the house. He had sensed her presence long before he looked out the window.
He studied her as she drew nearer. He thought her quite the prettiest creature he had ever seen, with her long black hair, soft brown eyes, and smooth tawny skin. She wore a pair of tight black pants, a bulky pink sweater, and a pair of short white hoots. He liked the way she moved, as fluid as water.
Why had she come back?
He checked to make sure the door to the room he'd chosen for himself could not be opened, and then he listened to her footsteps as she moved through the house. So strongly could he sense her presence that he could almost see her as she moved slowly from room to room. She stopped in front of the fireplace for several moments before going into the kitchen.
The sound of her footsteps drew nearer, and then he heard her approach the third-floor room.
Lainey stared at the door for a moment, then turned the knob. Nothing happened. She shook the knob, then pushed on the door.
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