Phantom Pleasures: Sexy Paranormal (Book 1, Phantom Series) (28 page)

Paschal stretched and rubbed his back. She couldn’t imagine that a terrifying kidnapping, a harrowing escape via helicopter and private plane from Texas and brief, but frantic ocean travel added up to comfort for a man Paschal’s age. She wondered if they could delay the rest of this conversation, but one glance at the stained-glass window in the room behind them told her they could not. Daylight was coming. And since Cat and Ben had stolen Paschal back from his captors, there was a good chance those goons were headed this way, too.

“The K’vr has since split into factions,” Paschal explained. “One is quite aware that the necklace is only a key. The other took me captive.”

“And they let you go once you could not produce the charm?” Damon asked.

“One of the faction leaders—or at the very least, someone who aspires to the job—aided in my escape and stayed behind to waylay the others. But l doubt I’ve seen the last of her—or them. They are led by a power-hungry parvenu named Farrow Pryce. The second group has the bloodlines. The leader, Keith Von Roan, is barely a man, but he’s descended from Lukyan Roganov. His father, grandfather and beyond led the K’vr for years. That gives him extreme sway. His is the group that knows the charm’s true purpose, and I suspect they will move against us soon. They must have orchestrated you getting the necklace so you could bypass the castle’s protective spell for them. That’s why you need to take Rogan’s power now, before anyone else.”

Damon scowled. “You think I have not been trying? Finding the source will release me fully, will it not?”

Cat blew out a frustrated breath, and Alexa could see dark circles beneath her friend’s eyes. Paschal wore a matched set. Ben didn’t exactly look ready to run a marathon. They’d been through so much, but sunrise loomed. The time to solve this mystery was now.

“Why wasn’t Damon released the way you were?” she asked. “Why is he trapped in the castle?”

Paschal’s expression turned pensive. I believe, though I am not certain, that Damon has suffered from a second magical curse because the portrait was more important than the mirror that entrapped me. I don’t believe the painting was intended to capture my brother or any of the other raiders heading toward Valoren that night. I believe the painting was meant as a hiding place for Rogan himself.”

Damon stood and, in his usual, thoughtful manner, began to pace a tight circle around his brother.

“Because Rogan was in the portrait originally?”

“Yes,” Paschal replied. “He kept that painting at the precise center of the house. The best place to hide something of value is in plain sight, agreed? Rogan manipulated the magic most skillfully so that anyone who stumbled upon his cursed items, perhaps the raiding horde on their way to massacre the Gypsies, would suffer centuries of loneliness trapped inside the valuable items he’d enchanted, but they would not control his power. That, he’d keep for himself.”

Damon sat back on his haunches. “So you knew I was trapped in the painting when you found it?”

 “I suspected,” Paschal said, rubbing his stubbled chin. “But nothing I did released you. Even my dear Collette tried, to no avail. That’s when I decided to use the money Collette’s family had amassed before the war to bring the painting back to its home. Here, in the castle, but out of reach. I’d hoped the surroundings would trigger the magic.” His tone dipped low as his failure hit him hard. “Nothing worked. Then the charm was stolen from me and I could no longer enter the castle. I had to abandon your portrait. I decided then to work toward retrieving every item I could associate with Valoren, in hopes I’d free one of our brothers, and together, we’d find a way to free you.”

“So you left?”

Alexa wished she could erase the pain from Damon’s voice, but Paschal stood and put his hand on, his brother’s shoulder. “I had to keep searching for the answers. I believed Rogan had created the ultimate catch-22. He could hide in the painting, in a sleeplike state, for as long as he needed. He would not age. He would not waste away from hunger or thirst. But to break free of the painting, someone, most likely Sarina, had to unlock the magic with the key—the Queen’s Charm. When he was out, he would destroy the protection spells and go about his life. Apparently, things did not go as he planned.”

“But how does this help us find the source of Rogan’s power?” Alexa asked, her eyes darting to the window.

“Rogan never would have strayed far from the source of his magic. If he planned to hide from the raiders in the portrait, it stands to reason that the source is there as well.”

“Do you mean. . .” Damon asked, his eyes as round as silver coins.

“Yes,” Paschal verified. “You’ve had the source all along.”

“And the necklace? If it’s the key, why didn’t it work for you?”

“It did. To a point. I was able to breech the castle’s defenses. But to release the portrait’s subject, Rogan had introduced a failsafe I’ve only now figured out.” His eyes darted between Damon and Alexa and a smile, curved with naughty innuendo, spread across his face. “Clearly, the charm only works when in the hands of a person who desires the person within. Collette caught a glimpse of me in the mirror the day she found me. The way she told it, she was instantly, well”—he cleared his throat and cast a guilty look toward his son—“intrigued by me. She’d found the mirror at a time in her life when she was yearning for some delight to cancel the horrors of war. Sarina would have, at least in Rogan’s mind,” Paschal said politically, “desired to be with him. Need, I’m afraid, is the crucial element.”

“You mean lust,” Cat quipped. “He meant for Sarina to free him all along and he was counting on her being hot for him.”

Everyone ignored Damon’s growl.

“Possibly,” Paschal replied. “She did have the key and she did—the diary proves it,” he directed at Damon, “want to be with Rogan more than anything.”

Damon’s nostrils flared. He stomped nearer to his brother and punctuated his words by jabbing his finger in the air. “The night I was entrapped, I found the necklace on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. She abandoned him. She left him.”

“Possibly,” Paschal conceded. “We may never know.”

Tempted as she was, Alexa couldn’t allow herself to be swept into the romance of Sarina and Rogan’s affair. For one, the topic infuriated Damon. And second, it did nothing to save her lover, who was even now growing paler with the sunrise.

“This is a great story,” she snapped, “but now we need to find the magic. Tell us where it is.”

Paschal looked at her, shocked. “I have no idea where it is, my dear. But Damon does.”

Damon’s skin felt as if it were wrapped in cotton. Muffled. Light. Soon, he’d lose his corporeal form. He had no idea if he could free himself in that state, and frankly, he didn’t want to try. He’d waited long enough.

He’d missed so much. His younger brother, the shadow twin to the loquacious Logan, had grown old and had searched for his missing brothers entirely alone. He’d made great progress, but now Damon had to take the torch. With his preserved youth and Paxton’s superior research, they could track down Aiden, Colin, Logan and Rafe and free them from the curse that had likely captured them all.

Unless they’d been freed already, as Paxton had. Unless they’d already lived out their lives and died?

Not willing to risk an overload of emotions when time was so short, he pushed that possibility away. He wanted the source and he wanted it now. He thought hard. What was in the painting? The cat?

He called to the beast, but it did not materialize.

“I do not think the cat was the source. To put something so valuable in a living thing would be risky indeed,” Paschal offered.

Damon’s mind swirled. His gaze roamed across the room until he spotted Alexa’s bag, over which she’d draped Rogan’s cloak.

The cloak! Of course. It had been with him in the portrait the entire time. With purposeful strides, he crossed the room and retrieved the cursed fabric with an insistent yank. The brooch on the collar flamed to life, mocking him with its blatancy.

“How could I not have known?” He shook the cloak angrily.

Alexa glanced up at him, perplexed, for only a moment before all the pieces fell together in her mind. “The opal?” she asked.

Paxton hummed. “A wise possibility. A beautiful stone. Very valuable, in and of itself. And I don’t think I ever saw Rogan without it. He used to toy with it, remember, Damon? Roll it in his hand after dinner when he’d sit by the fire with you and Father over port and politics. I venture to guess that no matter how lovely or precious the gem, you left the cloak precisely where it was, hanging over Rogan’s chair, never touching it, never wanting anything associated with Rogan near your skin.”

Cat crossed her arms and whistled at Rogan’s cleverness. “The perfect hiding place. He put it in the painting. Only by releasing you could anyone retrieve it—and once you were out, the place where he’d hidden the stone was the last place you’d want to be.”

Damon allowed himself a second to admire his enemy’s brilliance, then another realization hit him.

“I’ve always had the power to free myself. It was right beside me the whole time.”

Paxton clucked his tongue. “No, you needed Alexa to awaken you. And you needed me to fill in the blanks. Of course, all we have right now is supposition based on an old man’s educated guesses. We won’t know if my theory is true until you take the stone and will yourself free.”

Stepping back, Damon shook out the cloak and spun it so it would fall across his shoulders. But before the material could settle against his shirt, Alexa ripped the cape from his hands.

“No, wait!”

He yanked the cloak back. “There’s no time for delay.” Grabbing her by the arm, he led her into the dining hall to the nearest window. The stained glass glowed with the rising sun.

“Why are you stopping me?”

“The magic, Damon. The cloak and the opal are filled with it. Even Paschal isn’t sure the magic will set you free. And even if it does, it could corrupt your soul for good. We need to wait. Slow down. Think about this.”

Alexa clutched the cloak against her chest with such desperation, her fingers turned red, matching the rise in her cheeks.

He grabbed one of her hands, stroking it softly until the muscles in her fingers relaxed. “You know there is no time, my love.” He glanced over his shoulder at Paxton, Ben and Cat, who were watching them expectantly. “If the K’vr went to great lengths to capture my brother, we cannot assume they will stop pursuing him or the magic’s source. And Paxton said the other faction is also searching and that it was they who had the necklace before and perhaps saw to it that you. . .”

He let his words die away, but Alexa wasn’t a fool. She knew exactly what he meant.

“Jacob isn’t a member of any cult,” she claimed, but the words sounded entirely hollow.

“You told me yourself you are not close with him, that you do not delve into his private life. Judging by his actions in the past, a sect devoted to an ancient sorcerer might be very seductive to your brother.”

“Stepbrother.” This came from Cat, who’d stopped at the doorway. “He gave you the necklace, Alexa. And right after you put it on, you were miraculously allowed entrance to both the island and the house. That’s no coincidence. And then there’s the matter of the island itself. He’s the one who brought you the codicil. You say you own this island—”

“I do,” Alexa insisted. “I have the deeds. Chandler Enterprises has been paying the taxes on the land for years. Jacob”—she stumbled over the name—“showed me the records himself.”

“Then the state of Florida is getting more than its fair share,” Ben said, sidling up behind Cat. “My father never sold this land, Miss Chandler. This castle, this island, belong to him.”

With Damon at her heels, Alexa stomped into the other room. She stopped hard when she saw Paxton relaxed in the chair, his eyes fixed on some faraway place. Perhaps into the past. He snapped to attention once he sensed their presence.

“What? Did the cloak work?”

“You still own the island?” she asked. “You didn’t sell it to my father or lose it in another poker game or—?”

Paxton frowned, as if he hated imparting the truth to Alexa. “I’m sorry, Miss Chandler. I never would have sold this land, knowing that my brother might possibly be trapped here. Documents such as deeds can be forged, apparently. I’m afraid you’ve been duped.”

Alexa dropped back, flush against Damon’s chest. He longed to wrap his arms around her and help her through this heartbreak. More than anyone in the room, with the possible exception of Cat, he knew how she’d pinned more than just her financial hopes on the castle she’d inherited from her father. The discovery of the deed had not only reawakened old fantasies, but connected her on a deeply personal level to a man she missed more than she’d admit to anyone. Even herself.

But Damon couldn’t be the man she needed now if he was nothing more than a phantom, locked in the night. Perhaps that was the rub in this whole scenario. No matter how much he cared for her—loved her, even—Damon could not be Alexa’s lover beyond these seductive castle walls until and unless he risked his soul to become whole again.

Cat slipped next to Alexa and threw her arm lovingly across her shoulders. Damon stepped aside and, with his eyes locked with his brother’s, drew Rogan’s cloak around him and fastened the clasp. He then laid his hand over the opal brooch, closed his eyes and called to the magic to restore him to a full and free life.

Instantly, waves of prickly heat shot through his body, starting at his hand and spreading like wildfire. His heartbeat accelerated and his lungs seemed to enlarge so that they felt entirely too thick and full to be contained in his chest. Bright flashes of light appeared in his eyes, but no one else in the room moved or reacted, so he knew only he could see the fireworks. The explosions came faster and faster until his muscles constricted and he threw his fists against his eyes to keep them from popping out of his head.

“Damon?”

The voice pierced through the pounding in his brain. He felt a hand wrap around his wrist and knew it must be her. But if the magic did corrupt him, she couldn’t be the closest. He might hurt her. He tore out of her grip and staggered away.

Fire coursed through his blood like knives, stripping him from the inside out. He could no longer contain a scream, and seconds later, the agonized sounds echoed against the sparkling stone all around him.

Somewhere beyond the pain, he heard Alexa’s voice. Was she calling him? Cursing him?

He collapsed. In a fog of awareness, he heard Alexa demanding that Ben help her remove the cloak. Paxton argued vehemently, ordering them away.

“Let him be!” Paxton shouted.

And yet, he could feel Alexa cradling his head in her lap. He struggled, but opened his eyes to a growing brightness, and in the center of his vision was the woman he loved. Her red hair gleamed in the streaming sunlight. She had, indeed, affected his destiny, as the Gypsy woman predicted. In every way possible.

“Damon? Say something. Are you all right?”

He groaned, then tested his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I believe. . .I am.”

Control returned to his muscles. Pain receded, and after a deep breath, he raised himself off the floor.

The cloak now felt like a soft caress around his shoulders.

Otherwise, nothing else had changed.

Alexa’s eyes brimmed with moisture. She hadn’t yet cried, but was on the verge. He chose his words carefully, holding his hand out to her. “I’m fine, Alexa.”

She hiccupped and then laughed. “You don’t feel an irresistible urge to kill me?”

He chuckled. “No.”

Cat clucked her tongue. “Just wait. The time will come.”

Alexa rushed into his arms, and the sensations of her embrace erased any memory of the agony he’d experienced.

“But how do we know you’re alive?” she asked, looking up at him expectantly. “You’re solid now, but how long will it last?”

He stared at the sunlight now turning the crimson glass in the window into bright scarlet. “There’s only one way to find out for sure.”

Despite the apprehension marring Alexa’s lovely face, he marched to the door and touched the handle. The sky remained bright. No storm brewed. He felt no resistance as he pressed the latch. He sucked in a breath, tugged and was instantly bathed in new morning sunlight.

He blinked, then, realizing he was holding his breath, he exhaled audibly. He reached behind him and Alexa instantly took his hand. He stood there with her, in the doorway between his former prison and freedom, breathing in the fresh salt air and listening to the gentle rustling of the wind through the strange, spiky plants that surrounded the castle. His life, after nearly three centuries, had finally begun.

Tentatively, he took a step outside the threshold. He glanced up at the sky, which was blossoming with an array of colors, from lavender to pink to tangerine, with hints of blue that foretold a clear and brilliant day. As his boot crunched on the step, covered in sand and crushed shell, he turned toward Alexa, and with no words to express his elation, bent down to kiss her sweet lips and make his rebirth complete.

But before his mouth could press against hers, pain tore into him, the hot agony preceded by a sharp report. The world rocked. His legs buckled. His vision swirled. His knees slammed hard on the stone when he fell, but the only sound he could hear was Alexa screaming his name.