SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (29 page)

“Maybe I’d rather see you in bed.”

I caught my breath but moved no other muscle. My silence became an invitation, though. He bent down and took my lips in a kiss that sent my pulse hammering against the thumb he had pressed to my wrist. I still clutched the ledger book. He took it from my unresisting fingers and set it on the table. In a movement as fluid as the need dancing over my skin, he pulled my free hand up to his chest and settled it over his heart.

His tongue caressed the softness of my bottom lip and I sighed, opening up to him. He deepened the kiss, and I breathed in his scent as his hands explored the contours of my back, the slope of my spine, the curve of my shoulders. He cupped my face, holding me while he made me dizzy with the sensation of his tongue against mine, the taste of my sweet coffee mingling with the whiskey on his breath. I made a sound in my throat that spoke of the havoc he wreaked on my emotions.

He moved from my mouth to my neck. I should have stopped him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. His roving hands found the roundness of my breasts, and I sensed the coiled passion in him waiting to strike. I felt the point of no return rush at me from all sides, and I was frightened by it. As if hearing my thoughts, he pulled back and stared into my eyes.

“Ella,” he breathed, inches from my mouth.

I looked at him, my eyes heavy with passion, my lips swollen from his kisses. He seemed to forget what he was going to say, and he simply kissed me again and I was lost. I surrendered reason and gave myself over completely.

There was a loud pounding at the front door. Sawyer lifted his head and shouted, “Go away. We’re closed.”

The knocking came again, hard and insistent. “The hell you are. It’s Aiken. Open up.”

Diablo Springs: Chapter Twenty-Five

With each step down to the cellar, the darkness became more complete. Bill led them with the flashlight. Next came Gracie, with Reilly close behind. When they reached the bottom, they stood in a huddle, looking at the cramped space. It was no more than a fifteen-by-fifteen-foot area—nowhere near the length or width of the house. The floor and walls were concrete, spidered with cracks, but it looked dry. For the time being, anyway.

“Michael? Are you down here?” Bill called. Not a whisper of a sound answered.

Shelves used to store jars of vegetables, fruits, and jams lined the walls. Thick dust covered everything, though, and Gracie wondered how long ago Grandma Beck had preserved the contents. Years? In the far corner, stacks of old furniture and other junk hunkered in the shadows and cobwebs. The pile looked unstable and some of it appeared to have toppled to the floor, revealing a saddle and a small chest not much bigger than a carry-on suitcase. As Bill played the light over it, Gracie saw a trail of dirt that indicated the items had been dragged out from behind the furniture.

The light played over the area in front of them, but everything beyond it was shifting and obscure. Gracie couldn’t stop glancing over her shoulder, convinced the bogeyman was going to jump out at her. Down here, the thunder sounded more ominous and otherworldly. Juliet went in the other direction, cautiously sniffing the sealed jars and dark corners.

Reilly squatted in front of the saddle, running his fingers through the thick layer of dust. Bill and Gracie crouched beside him.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “I’m going to blow on it.”

When they opened their eyes again, Reilly had cleared a portion of the saddle. It was black with finely tooled leather. There was a silver inlay on the horn and saddlebags hanging over the side. An ancient-looking rifle stuck out from a holster.

They looked at one another. “Strange place to keep your saddle,” Reilly said.

“Especially when we never had any horses,” Gracie answered.

The lid to the chest stood open, and men’s clothes that looked to be of the same era as the trunk and rifle spilled out around it. A small round hat sat on the top of the pile. Bill lifted it. Inside, a white label had been sewn and someone had handwritten a name:
Aiken Tate
.

“Oh my God,” Gracie said. “That’s—”

Juliet began barking loudly and urgently. The three jumped, and Bill aimed the light at the opposite corner. Gracie tried to make out what the beam spotlighted but the darkness held on to its secrets until, at last, she made out the shape of feet, black pants, and a flashing glimmer of white.

Reilly moved first, taking the flashlight from Bill and running the beam over the corner. Dressed in black, Michael blended into the shadows. He sat with his knees pulled up tight, and his head bent. The gloves were off and his pale fingers looked naked and somehow shocking to Gracie.

“Michael,” she said softly. “Are you okay?”

At first he said nothing, and he sat so still that she feared the worst. Finally, slowly, he lifted his head. His face was ashen, his eyes dark pits.

“He didn’t stay dead,” he said.

Reilly handed Gracie the flashlight and hunkered down beside the other man. Gently he reached for Michael’s arm. “Let’s get you out of here, buddy.”

Michael allowed Reilly and Bill to help him to his feet. It was only then that Gracie noticed the book, clutched against his chest. It was brown, obviously old. On the front the word
Ledger
was embossed in ornate script.

The book her grandmother had been holding when Gracie had seen her in the kitchen on the night she died.

Michael turned his head, and his gaze met hers. His eyes looked like black diamonds in the layered gloom. “He’s here,” Michael whispered.

Gracie’s knees felt watery, but she tried to keep her voice steady. “Let’s get you upstairs, Michael.”

He shook his head. “He moves within us,” he said anxiously, still in that whisper that raised all the hair on her body. “No one can deny him. Not even me.” Tears filled Michael’s eyes. “Not even me. He came to me. He wants what’s his.”

He handed the ledger to Gracie like a child relinquishing something he’d been caught with that he shouldn’t have. She spotted his gloves on the ground and scooped them up before following the men up the stairs.

Brendan was waiting in the kitchen when they entered, his body unnaturally still, his eyes electric in the murky light. The sight of him made Gracie suck in a breath. Jonathan came in right behind him, and Michael cringed against Reilly.

“He’s everywhere,” he breathed so softly that Gracie wasn’t certain she’d really heard it.

“What were you doing down there?” Jonathan demanded.

“Don’t worry about it,” Reilly answered, helping Michael to a chair in the front room.

Chloe took one look at his face and hurried into the kitchen for water. Analise sat opposite him at the table, Romeo in her lap and Tinkerbelle at her feet. Her face was almost as pale as Michael’s.

“What happened?” she asked.

No one really knew, but Gracie had guessed. Something had drawn Michael to the cellar where he’d found the ledger that was somehow integral to what was happening here. He’d touched it and seen whatever secrets it had to reveal. No doubt they’d been dark, violent and traumatic. He’d withdrawn into himself, his eyes distant, his mind shut to their questions.

Soon it would be fully dark and they’d be trapped in this place with no power. Reilly looked worried and Gracie felt helpless, overwhelmed by the need to protect her daughter without knowing what she was protecting her from.

He’s everywhere.

It was a pretty sure guess he meant the one who didn’t stay dead. The one who’d wreaked so much havoc on her ancestors and instilled fear of curses in her grandmother.

“I have to know what’s happening here,” Chloe said desperately. She looked at Gracie. “Don’t you see? I can’t control what I don’t know.”

Gracie frowned at her and said, “Sometimes you can’t control what you do know.”

Analise shifted uncomfortably and Brendan leaned back in his chair, his gaze ever shifting from one to the other of them.

He moves within us
.
.

What was she thinking?

“What’s that book?” Jonathan asked.

“Something Michael found,” Gracie answered.

“Did he ask you?” Chloe demanded, her fingers wrapping around Gracie’s wrist.

“Who? Ask me what?”

“No,” Reilly said. “And I’m not going to.”

“Ask me what?” Gracie repeated.

“About the séance?” Chloe said urgently.

“Are you kidding me? A séance is the last thing we need to be doing.”

“You say this because you’re afraid.”

“Yes,” Gracie said. “I’m scared to death. Michael looks practically catatonic, and we have no idea what happened to him. The water’s rising about a foot an hour. We have no power, no way to get out, and it’s going to be dark soon. So, yes, Chloe. I am afraid.”

Beside her, Analise made a noise that took the anger out of her. Gracie instantly regretted her vehement response as she looked at her daughter’s tight and frightened face. What was it about Chloe Lamont that made her so angry? Was it the sense that even though Chloe claimed to want to help, Gracie feared just the opposite? That Chloe would hurt her and her family if she could?

“I want to go home,” Analise said, sounding very young and defenseless.

“Me, too, sweetheart.”

“I’m scared of the ghosts.”

Everything inside Gracie wanted to insist there was no such thing. When Analise had been a child, she’d been afraid of monsters under the bed. Gracie had chased her fears away with a squirt bottle with a few drops of perfume she’d called “monster spray.” She wished something so easy could be crafted now, but being here, in a place that seemed to channel the past, with these people who so obviously
believed
in spirits walking the earth . . . She couldn’t say,
There’s no such thing
,
when obviously, there was.

Gracie squeezed Analise’s fingers and tried to look reassuring. “Tomorrow the rain will stop, and we’ll be able to leave. Tonight we just stick together and wait it out.”

“A spirit trapped in this world is never a good thing,” Chloe said, her eyes pleading.

“Well, I don’t see how summoning it would be any better,” Gracie answered.

Reilly shook his head and crossed to the front door, muttering something about the damn storm. He stepped out onto the porch, and like a parade, the rest of them followed.

The front yard was gone.

The short wooden fence that had divided the Diablo from the street was just a shadow beneath the dark-brown water. It looked like a lake had swallowed the street whole—no, not a lake, an enormous muddy river that churned and swirled and slammed into obstacles. White caps raced along with the rising current. Reilly’s Jeep had been shoved into a leaning mesquite tree, fifty feet away from where he’d parked. The minivan Chloe, Bill, and Michael had arrived in was gone. The ditch she’d careened into still held her little car, but it was completely submerged now.

“Shit,” Reilly said under his breath.

The water rushed the channel of the street, hauling with it the spoils of the storm like prizes raised up to the sky. Branches, a bike, something that might once have been a yard ornament, a lawn chair, a propane tank. And who knew what lurked
beneath
the swift, dark waters? If the rain continued to come down, the first floor would be breached by morning, the cellar flooded by noon.

Diablo Springs: Chapter Twenty-Six

There was nothing they could do but wait it out, but standing there, seeing it, made Reilly realize just how dire their situation had become. With a deep breath, he turned to face the others. “Chances of the power coming back on are pretty slim. Let’s hunt up some candles and matches. After that, let’s sit down and calm down. No more ghost stories.”

He gave Chloe a pointed look. She sniffed and glanced away, but no one questioned the quiet authority in his voice. Like scared kids, they huddled together. Except Jonathan. He had disappeared now, too.

Reilly pulled Gracie aside as the others began opening drawers and searching the kitchen for supplies. “Did you see where Jonathan went?”

“Upstairs,” Brendan answered.

Reilly shot him a look. He couldn’t get a read on the kid. Sometimes he seemed open, confused, a kid on the cusp of manhood with a baby on the way. And other times . . . Other times, Reilly felt like he was looking into the eyes of his father. But Gracie had called Brendan
nice enough
. No one had ever used those words when referring to his dad.

Right now, Reilly saw a scared boy pretending to be a man. Brendan held Analise’s hand and tried to comfort her—as he should do. But Reilly didn’t want Analise going anywhere alone with Brendan—or anyone else but her mother—until he figured out what the hell was going on in Diablo Springs.

In the meantime, he had some questions for Jonathan, who’d scurried off so fast. He was another who Reilly couldn’t quite get a grasp on. He didn’t like how interested Jonathan always seemed in Carolina’s home, possessions, and family. And the Mr. Rogers veneer just didn’t feel . . . authentic.

“I’m going to go up and see what Jonathan found so important to do right now. You okay for a minute down here with them?”

Gracie nodded, and Reilly bent his knees so he could see into her eyes. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ll be right back. Keep Analise with you. I don’t like the idea of anyone wandering around on their own.”

“Me, neither.”

He stared at her for another moment, overwhelmed by the feeling that rose hot in his chest as her misty gray eyes met his. There were things he wanted to say to her—so many things—and he could tell she had words she needed to speak herself.

He stepped closer and cupped her face with his hands. “When we get out of here, I want to . . . talk. For like a week.”

Though worry still shadowed her eyes, she smiled at him. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Not caring who saw, Reilly dipped his head and kissed her. Analise echoed Gracie’s surprised gasp, but Gracie didn’t push him away. She leaned into him and let her lips soften beneath his. The kiss was brief—way too brief—but it held promise that there would be more than words between them later.