Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (83 page)

Grant’s claw retracted. He stepped away, watching the glow rise into the air like smoke. The wisp shimmered as a faint sound met his ears. Grant shook his head, stumbling back. No. It couldn’t be. Not laughter. He didn’t just hear a child’s laughter. He strained to hear more, to see it shimmer again. But a breeze tugged the wisp upward, pulling it and something deep inside of Grant apart.

He cut his attention to Jean-Paul. The man stood hunched, clearly in pain. Grant’s skin rippled. The soul of the beast inside him wanted to spring. Grant pushed against it, against what he’d witnessed. He needed to be human—whole and sane and human again. “You need a doctor.”

Jean-Paul shook his head.
“Non. Si’l vous plâit.”
His chest labored. “Leave me.”

The wolf finally retreated, leaving shivers in its wake. Grant steadied his breathing, considered picking up the man and carrying him to help. In the end, though, he decided a man had the right to choose his death. With a single nod, Grant bid Jean-Paul adieu and walked back to his apartment, dismissing the soft scent of roses in the air.

~~~

Chapter Four

Leigh waited. She paced. She chewed each nail to a stub. Jacob lingered, fading in and out, doing his best to soothe her with sweeping smiles and attempting to tuck her long hair behind her ear. Usually, when life shook her up, his gestures grounded her. A lifetime together gave Jacob a place in her heart no living person could fill.

Except today.

“
Damn Grant Connel!” Leigh muttered. He didn’t have any idea of everything he’d ruined by interfering. This was all
his
fault. “Now I’ll be stuck in Paris. I’ll have to go back begging to Georgette LePlante.”

Jacob shook his head emphatically, no. He’d hated her few weeks living with the spiritualist, hated Georgette exploiting Leigh’s gifts in exchange for room and board. Leigh could hardly blame him. He’d been forced to play the psychic game right along with Leigh. He was her channel to the other side, so if she had to read, so did he.

Who knew if the woman would even speak to her again? It wasn’t as if Leigh had given Georgette advance notice that she was leaving with Beatrice. Leigh had been too eager to disassociate herself of the woman’s spiritualist charades to care if she’d burn a bridge.

“
I should have left more than a note.”

Jacob rolled his eyes and again shook his head. She did feel a tiny bit bad about that part. The woman had taken her in, after all. She should have left more than a note. Ironic, now, that she was waiting on a note herself.

The hour neared eleven. She should be sleeping off the day’s events instead of waiting for word from Beatrice. Pretty soon, she’d have to face the fact that Grant had dissuaded his sister from hiring Leigh. The unfairness of it ached in her throat. Who would help Beatrice now? Who would find Tristan? Leigh would have done everything in her power to find the boy. Jacob would have, too.

Jacob shimmered into view, forcing her to pause in her agitated stride.

He wanted her to sit down. To lie down. To get some sleep.

“
How can I?” she asked. She would not cry. Crying never solved anything. She couldn’t sleep until she had an alternate plan in place. Even a flimsy plan would calm her right now. If she were being honest, Grant wasn’t really to blame. Leigh could have been clearer on the rules of the reading. Maybe he’d truly been trying to help her. That stabbing pain in her guts...Who knew if she could have tolerated more?

Really, this whole mess went back to Henry. If not for him, she wouldn’t be in Paris at all. In his letters, he’d begged her to come. Begged! Why couldn’t she see the future, like so many people assumed? She’d keep herself out of disasters like this.

Jacob swam into view again, tucking her chin up so their eyes met. A lock of dark hair flopped over his brow.
Try again
, he urged. Try to convince Grant Connel? It was either that, or go back to Georgette. Or start over again, penniless. Facing Grant once more actually might be worse. But with Jacob’s big brown eyes pleading with her, how could she refuse?

They needed to get home.

“
Fine. I’ll try,” she said, and sat upon the edge of the bed. At least she had a bed for the night and was safe, thanks to Beatrice. Tomorrow, she’d step back into life’s fray. She’d find Grant and ask for another chance. If he refused her, she’d go back to doing readings. If Georgette wouldn’t have her, certainly she could find another spiritualist. Maybe she could enlist one of Henry’s expatriate friends for aid.

Oh, that lying snake! How could his feelings change so easily? How could a man go from talking marriage to looking right through her over a matter of weeks? Because he was a liar. Which made her a fool who fell for his lies. Someday he’d be sorry he ever let her go. He’d be on his knees, crying. just like she had done. Begging again. Only Leigh would give him what he deserved. Nothing. Not even a smile. Not even a harsh word.

She toyed with her lower lip, stewing. She would look right through him, just as he had done to her. What if....

What?
, Jacob wanted to know, joining her, cross-legged on the bed. He put his hands over hers, sending a tickle through her. An idea sparked inside her head.

Leigh popped up and rummaged through the escritoire. She’d show Henry Pontouse. The man hadn’t even offered to pay her passage home. Clearly, she’d never truly known the real Henry. The realization stabbed through her heart, but she had to get past it. She’d make him regret ever turning her away.

She found pen and ink and paper.

She wielded the words like a knife, intending to slice, and each one felt so good. She thanked Henry for his decision. Yes. Thanked him. If not for his change of heart, why she would never have stumbled into such...good fortune? Yes. Excellent fortune. And love. True and pure—and the last thing she ever expected when she’d crossed that ocean sick and green.

Yes. She thanked him for his decision, because it led her to meet the most wonderful man—a true gentleman who made her literally...glow...from her hair to her toes. In fact, they would marry as soon as they returned to America. While they would love to elope, he wanted her to meet his mother—too much?

Hmmm. What was it that Georgette always said? Use details that are specific, but at the same time very general. You see a name. It has a
J
in it. Then wait for them to lead you.

Not elope, then. Too over the top. Too specific. Infer it, instead.

The dishonesty of it all didn’t sit well with her. But the imagined satisfaction the picture of his stricken face gave her drowned out any guilt. What harm would come of lying to Henry? He had lied to her. He broke promises and made her feel like an idiot. Leigh had spent a year’s worth of savings just to join him. Her poor mother! Leigh had left her with little funds. She’d done so believing she’d immediately return with a husband. That her mother would have plenty until they returned, Henry and Leigh, together.

They’d take care of her mother, just as Henry always claimed—long before he went on his sojourn to Europe.

Damn him to hell How could he? She hoped his favorite parts rotted off.

Her eyes stung. The words on the half-written page blurred. She inhaled a shaky breath. No tears.

Jacob came to stand over her.

She could feel him tsking. He didn’t approve? “I have to do something. I can’t sit here helpless.”

“
Not helpless. This will not help.”

Oh, so now he managed to have a voice? The melodic tone of it threatened to soothe her anger. She liked her anger right now. “It certainly will hurt, though.” She paused and a buried fear surfaced. “What if he found out what I can do, Jacob? What if that’s why he changed his mind about marrying me?”

“
He didn’t know. There is no way he could have known.”

Henry didn’t know about her gifts and still rejected her after all those promises of love. “Then he deserves to hurt as much as I do.”

Jacob crouched next to her, pushing energy that would have been a hand at her thigh. Leigh moved her leg away. Tomorrow, she’d be on the streets again. But not yet. There had to be something she could do, some last measure, to prove herself to Grant Connel.

But what?

She stared at the page, a vise of anger choking her neck, suffocating her satisfaction. How to set Henry on his heels in remorse? Not just anybody could sweep her off her feet. And she couldn’t simply say a name that starts with the letter
J
. This wasn’t a patron she was trying to squeeze more money out of. This had to feel real.

She let herself fantasize that she really was leaving tomorrow with Beatrice and Grant. The hope of finally going home warred with the anger, bittersweet. The memory of Beatrice’s face at the séance, the intense hope in her face, the way her hands trembled when they took Leigh’s, asking if she could procure her services, filled her mind.

Then she imagined Henry’s stricken expression. His heart breaking in two. She only hesitated a moment, then carefully penned “Grant Connel.” She credited Grant with the deep, abiding love, the insistence that she meet his mother.

Jacob peered over her shoulder. Something strange emanated from him. Not quite anger but nothing close to his usual protective concern. He didn’t like what she’d written?

Leigh reconsidered it, too. Naming Grant was silly. Petty, really. It wasn’t necessary either. Any name would do. Henry wouldn’t even know Grant’s name.

Or would he?

That delicious satisfaction returned full force.

She signed the missive with a wicked grin. There. She smartly folded the note. It was too late to send it now.

“
Nobody said I have to send it.” Facing Jacob, Leigh shrugged. Maybe she wouldn’t send it at all. That idea felt about as good as facing Georgette LePlante and begging back into service, though. “At least I feel better. I might even be able to sleep. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He shook his head, and then disappeared.

He wasn’t gone, though. She could feel him there, watching over her as he had every night since she was three. Jacob. Her Jacob. He would help keep her safe while she figured out what to do next and how to get back home. Leigh climbed under the covers, her thoughts finally slowing down from a run to a walk.

In the morning, she would telegraph her mother, letting her know there’d been a delay but to not worry. She’d wire the remainder of the money Beatrice handed to her yesterday.

In the morning, things would look brighter.

She’d send Henry his comeuppance and land back on her feet like always. Sleep snuck up on her, and the dream followed after.

The men were speaking a language Leigh didn’t understand, but she suspected that it was Chinese. She was Leigh, but also living the scene inside the body of a young boy. His legs tucked up to his chest in the dark. The yelling men made his body quake. Something smelled like pee, and no matter how hard he tried to hide behind her knees against the wall, the boy felt sure, at any second, they’d spot him.

Oh, noooooo.

He wanted his momma.

He didn’t want to cry. It was all he could do not to cry. Young men did not cry, but the tears wouldn’t stop, the hiccups wouldn’t stop, and he was going throw up. The men were hurting his uncle—kicking him in the gut and the belly again and again. His uncle stopped moving. He shut his eyes against the scene, but his eyes refused to stay closed.

There was no place to run. No way to hide. He was going to die. These men would kill him, he just knew it. He didn’t understand what they’d done wrong, or what had angered these men so much.

Leigh felt her own pain in his. She wanted her momma more than anything she’d ever wanted. She chanted “Momma, please save us, Momma” in her head, trying to blot out the grunts and laughter. She’d be good. Really, really good. She’d do anything. Please, let her momma come save her. Make it all go away.

She didn’t want to die.

The boy didn’t want the men to hurt him.

His legs were like jelly. His heart sped. His stomach erupted. He puked all over his own knees. More wetness to already wet. The smell of pee, his own pee.

God, Leigh didn’t know what to do. Help. Please, help, she wanted to shout, but the words wouldn’t come out.

A dark silhouette blocked the dim light. One of them saw the boy. He was coming for him. Leigh blinked, and was now watching from afar. The boy sat huddled up, chin quivering. Two men grabbed him by the armpits and disappeared into the pedestrian traffic. No one passing by seemed to see her or the boy’s uncle in the gutter. She stared at him, willing him to move. He twitched, grunted, and before her eyes, became a wolf. She opened her mouth to scream louder than she ever had in her whole life.
Help! Help! Help uuussssssss!

Gasping, Leigh sat up in bed, the last word coming out as a moan.

The dark of the room pulsed around her. No, not the room. Her own straining heartbeat. The fear and images gripped her. Wiping at tears, she called out, “Jacob?”