Books by Maggie Shayne (268 page)

He sat down, took a long pull from his can. “I’ve had a fear of water since I was a kid. Even baths were a major trauma when I was real young.”

She didn’t look as if she thought he was nuts. Instead she nodded. “Yes, I can see why.”

“Funny. I never could.” He lifted the can to his lips.

“Heights, too, I’ll bet?”

His hand froze with the can in midair. He blinked slowly, said nothing, and then took a larger gulp of the cool brew than he’d intended.

Licking her lips, she went on. “But you moved into a lighthouse, on an island, despite your dislike of water. And all because of the view?”“

He lowered his head. “Sounds pretty crazy, doesn’t it?”

“No. There’s a reason for it. For all of it.”

He took another sip of beer before facing her again. “And you know what it is?“

She nodded.

“Well? Don’t keep me in suspense, Raven. I’m dying to hear your theory.”

Drawing a deep breath, she lifted her chin. “You’ve lived before.”

Ahhh, so that was it. She was some kind of a psychic, or considered herself one. Well, it was interesting, if not exactly earth-shattering.

“You were born over three hundred years ago, in Scotland. Later you lived in England, where you were studying for the priesthood. And then—”

He choked on his beer, set the can down, and swiped his mouth. “The priesthood,” he repeated. “Me.”

“Yes. But you gave it up and came here. You lived right here in Sanctuary. And when you died…“ She closed her eyes. ”You died right there,“ she whispered, pointing. ”On the rocks below those cliffs you can see so clearly from this window. And that’s probably why you came into this lifetime with a fear of the water, and of heights, and part of the reason why the view from these windows affects you so deeply.“

Her words made his stomach cramp and turn, and his spine tingle, and his jaw clench. But they were utterly ridiculous, and there was no reason in the world he should feel any reaction at all.

“Next you’ll tell me that we knew each other in this… past life.”

She got to her feet. The ivory dress slid down her legs, brushing her calves. The light was behind her, and he could see her silhouette through the soft fabric. And that feeling, that craving he had no business feeling, stirred to life in him all over again. Then he realized she was crying. Not noisily. She wasn’t a noisy crier, he suspected. It was just one silent tear, glimmering on her cheek.

He rose, too, and touched that tear, absorbed it into his fingertip. “I wasn’t making fun,” he told her.

“But you don’t believe me.”

“I told you I was a skeptic.” When she would have turned away, he touched her shoulders, gently keeping her there, facing him. “Why does any of it have to matter, Raven? I like you. I’d… like to get to know you. Can’t we forget about all this hocus-pocus stuff and just be two people who just met? Two people who… maybe… could feel something for each other, given time? Hmm?”

She seemed to search his face. “It would be easier, maybe, if we could. But there’s more, Duncan. So much more. And it does matter… especially to you.”

He shook his head. “It really doesn’t matter in the least to me. But it does to you, doesn’t it?”

“It does. To both of us.” She cleared her throat. “We… were… you and I were…”

Frowning, he probed those black eyes of hers. “Lovers?” he asked her.

“Oh, Duncan, it was so much more than that. So very much more. When you held me, touched me, it was a kind of magick beyond anything I’d ever felt. And it was the same for you, I know it was…” She bit her lip as if to stop the words.

Too late, though. That irrational desire for her was sizzling through him now, and no amount of reasoning would vanquish it. “I suppose that would explain,” he whispered, and he let his hands slide from her shoulders, down her arms, and to her waist, “why I want you so badly right now.”

He leaned down, and he kissed her. Tentatively, lightly, so that she could object if she wanted to. The power of his attraction to her… was that what made such a jolting awareness between them? Was it something chemical? Something physical?

She didn’t object. Her lips formed his name against his, and then she melted into his arms. Her mouth parted, her arms twisted around his neck, and she kissed him back.

Warm, she was so warm, and soft, and her taste was like a drug that he couldn’t quite get enough of. He bent over her, deepening the kiss, hands at the small of her back holding her close, then burying themselves in her hair, and then slipping lower again while his tongue dove into her mouth. He gathered the dress up until he could touch her bare thighs, run his palms over them. Heat met his hands. Her skin seemed to be burning him. Fevered… for him. And when he explored the soft mound of her buttocks and found it bare, he knew this was what she’d come here for. He cupped her there, squeezed her and pulled her hips tight to his. The soft sound she made was like a plea.

So he turned her, and scooped her into his arms. He kept marauding her succulent mouth as he carried her up the curving stairs to the bedroom above. Glass all around… the old light in the center, and the mattress on the floor. It was all he had here… all he’d needed. Until now. Now he needed something more, and it was a need more powerful than any he’d felt in his life.

He laid her on the mattress, knelt beside her, and peeled the dress away.

And then he looked at her.

There was no shyness in her, none of the first-time nervousness other women had displayed. She lay still, proud and naked and utterly beautiful. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside.

Her soft small breasts rose and fell with every breath, quivered with every heartbeat. Their centers like sweetmeats, dark, dusky rose, their peaks hard, elongated, expectant. He bent over her slowly, saw her close her eyes, arch her back. And when his mouth hovered a hairsbreadth from her, she clasped his head and pulled him down, until he took her nipple in his mouth and suckled, and nipped, and tugged at it. Then he moved away, stretching his body out alongside hers, twisting his arms around her slender waist, pulling her against him. Her breasts against his naked chest, her body tight to his, her longing as intense as his was as he kissed her again.

Rocking his hips against her, he muttered, “God, lass, it’s been so long,” and was barely aware of his own words as he reached for the button of his jeans.

A buzz made him pause. He closed his eyes, sighed in agony as the sound grew louder. Another boat. Dammit, who the hell could be coming out here now?

He met her eyes as the sound grew louder and then died. Someone was here. No question. And his own little launch sat outside, so they’d know he must be home. Suddenly protective of her, he reached for a blanket, drew it to cover her even as he got to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “God, you have no idea
how
sorry. But I’ll get rid of them. I’ll be back.”

I knew it would be a mistake to let him make love to me. But how could I resist him? How could I resist my own burning need to hold him inside me again, after all this time? I craved him just as I had before… no, even more so. I loved him. I loved him, and none of the things Arianna said made a difference in that.

He trotted down the stairs, pulling on his shirt. I heard his steps cross the floor, and the creak of those hinges as the door swung open. And then I heard him say, “What in the world are you doing out here?”

Curious, and suddenly sure he wouldn’t be returning as quickly as he’d promised, I pulled my dress on, and found my shoes, which I’d kicked off at some point. One lay in one direction, one in another. I slipped them on, then crept to the stairs. Then down them. I was quiet, not wanting to interrupt Duncan and his guest, just eager to glimpse the visitor.

At the bottom of the stairs I paused. I could see through the main room to the door at the far end from here, and so far, I remained unnoticed.

But as Duncan spoke, the other man’s head came up. He met my eyes, finding me there unerringly, as if he’d known exactly where I was. And my blood rushed to my feet. Dizziness swamped me, and I nearly lost my balance. Because the man I hated above all others, the man who had tried to kill me more times than I could count over the centuries,
Nathanial Dearborne,
was staring back at me, and the message in his eyes was clear. He meant to have my heart this time.

And just when I thought my shock and surprise had reached the precipice of a dozen lifetimes, I heard the words that chilled me to the bone.

Duncan said, “Come in, Father.”

I stepped off the bottom step and darted to the side, out of their sight. Pushing open the first window I came to, I rapidly clambered outside. What was wrong with me? Was I a fool? I hadn’t even brought my dagger tonight! It was at home, tucked away in a drawer in my bedroom, and I was helpless. A sheep awaiting the slaughter. How many times had Arianna told me I must carry it with me always?
Always!

I ran to my small boat, shoved it away, and then leaped inside. Taking the oars from the floor, I dipped them, and stroked with all my strength. The craft shot away.

And then I paused, looking back. What about Duncan? What if it were him Nathanial was after?

But no. Duncan had called the man Father.

Father.

I shuddered again, sick to my soul. But how, why? And was Duncan safe?

I closed my eyes, searched my mind, sought the wisdom of the ancient Witches whose blood flowed in my veins. If Nathanial meant to have Duncan’s heart, he’d have had it by now. Duncan never would have lived to reach adulthood. It was obviously something else the bastard was after.

Me. It was me. He must have known that if he remained close to Duncan, he’d find me, eventually. And suddenly I knew with great clarity exactly what Dearborne intended. I knew it as surely as I’d known Duncan when I’d seen him again standing on the sidewalk in town. He would use Duncan… to get to me. But once he took my heart, his need of his
son
would be as dead as my lifeless corpse would be. He might very well intend to kill Duncan, too. But only after he’d cut the living heart from
my
chest.

There was only one thing for me to do. Kill him. Kill him before he could hurt Duncan.

I would not again be the cause of my lover’s death. Not again.

“It’s really not a good time, Father.”

“No? And why not?” His father stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him and idly stroking the antique dagger he insisted on carrying. He’d had that thing belted to his hip for as long as Duncan could remember. But then, his father had always been fascinated with antiques. His collection of obscure books on the occult was probably the largest around. Nathanial loved things salvaged from the past. Duncan figured the dagger must be his favorite piece. That he likely treasured it the way Duncan treasured his own onyx raven.

Raven.

He glanced uneasily toward the stairs. But the sound of a motor drew his head back around. He ran to the window, to look out, only to see Raven’s small boat churning steadily away from the island, heading toward the rocky shore. “Damn.”

His father looked over his shoulder. “Who… ?”

“A girl. A strange, beautiful girl. I can’t believe she left like that.”

“I should apologize. I didn’t know you had… company.”

Duncan eyed his father then, immediately doubting the man. Her boat had been right outside, after all, and… No. He’d never build a relationship with his father if he kept doubting every word the man said.

“It’s all right. I’m sure I’ll see her again.” With a longing glance through the windows, he sighed and told himself to focus on the
other
stranger in his life. His father. “You want a beer?“

“Only if you have no wine.”

“I detest wine.” He headed into the kitchen, bit his lip, then turned to look back into the living room and forced a smile. “I’ll make a point to buy some, though.” It felt fake, this jovial attitude. This farce of friendship. And it hurt to realize just how strained things between him and the old man had become. God, could this ever work? Or was it too late?

Maybe, Duncan thought, it was too late a long time ago.

His throat tightened on that thought. He grated his teeth and resolved to give it a chance. Again. One last time.

When he joined his father with a beer—in a glass, in deference to Nathanial’s sensibilities—he found the old man holding one of the miniature ravens in his hands. The tip of his thumb kept running across the bird’s wooden breast. It gave Duncan a chill, though he couldn’t say why. He had to resist the urge to snatch his treasure away and replace it lovingly in its spot. But his hands itched to do just that.

Instead he held out the beer.

Clutching the bird too tightly in one hand, his father took the glass with the other. “So tell me about this mysterious beauty. Are you… involved with her?”

“I just met her.”

“Really? You’ll have to introduce me sometime.”

No way in hell
.

And just where did
that
thought come from?

“Maybe. Sometime,” he said. “But right now, I’d rather talk about why you’re here.”

Nathanial shrugged. “Can’t a father visit his son without a reason?” He set the bird down carelessly, and it tipped onto its side with a clunk that set Duncan’s teeth on edge.

Instinctively he reached for it, set it upright in the spot where it belonged. As he did, he stroked its back, almost as if he were soothing it. As if it were real. Man, he
was
losing it.

“I’d like you to come to the courthouse—er, that is, the museum tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

Nathanial nodded, his pale blue eyes skimming the furniture, the floor, lighting, everywhere but on Duncan. “I’ve already taken care of most of the paperwork involved. Acquired the proper permits, and so on. There’s still the advertising to be done, but that won’t be a problem. Still, Duncan, there are physical aspects to this project that a man of… of my age—”‘

“Oh.” Was this his father? The cold, brutally independent, utterly secretive man he knew, asking for his help? “Look, I’m not real comfortable with this Witch Museum idea,” Duncan began.

“I know, you made that clear this morning. Still, there are all those crates to unpack, you know. The sign to hang. Shelves to be assembled and placed. All of that.”

And maybe
that
was why he’d asked Duncan to be his partner. He could handle the business end himself, and money was no problem. So all he wanted was a strong body for the grunt work.

Duncan frowned, looking away. He was jumping to conclusions. Judging Nathanial according to the pattern he’d set in the past. If this “one more try” routine were going to have any chance of working, he’d have to try to curb that tendency. But hell, old habits died hard.

“Besides,” Nathanial went on, “if you do decide to be my partner, I’ll want your input on things.” He looked at Duncan’s face, very briefly. Not his eyes, just his face. “I do hope it doesn’t upset you that I’ve done so much of the early work already.”

“No, of course not.” So maybe it
wasn’t
just a set of strong arms the old man wanted. A spark of hope flared in Duncan’s chest. A tiny kernel of belief in the man he’d always
wanted
to believe in.

“We need a gimmick,” his father said. “A hook to draw in the tourists for the grand opening.”

Duncan lowered his head. Part of him was ready to agree, while the other part grimaced in distaste. And still another part warned him not to hope for too much where his father was concerned.

Slowly he said, “I suppose if I
were
going to get involved in this—and I’m not saying I am—but if I were, I might suggest Halloween for the grand opening.“

Nathanial slapped his knee, sloshing beer from his glass onto the couch cushion. “There, you see! That’s the kind of brilliant idea I’d hoped you’d generate. It’s perfect. The holiday most sacred to Witches, as the grand opening of the Witch Museum.”

Duncan felt the blood leave his face. “I didn’t realize…”

“It’s perfect,” Nathanial said again.

“No, Dad, it’s not. Look, it was a bad idea. I spoke without thinking it through. Given the origins of the holiday… hell, it would be offensive.”

“Nonsense. It’s the perfect date, I tell you.”

“You don’t think it’s like opening a Nazi war crimes museum during Passover?”

“Not at all!” Nathanial rubbed his chin. “I hope we can be ready, though. It’s only a couple of weeks away.”

His father’s face seemed more animated to Duncan than it ever had as he talked about his plans—talked about
their
plans. It didn’t
feel
right, this idea of a museum devoted to relics of the Witch trials. Not that he knew much about the subject. But it sent an odd feeling up his spine to think about it.

Yet, his father was speaking to him as if he gave a damn—for the first time in Duncan’s memory. Besides, he hadn’t even seen the items to be put on display yet. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

He… hoped not.

Who was he kidding? He’d seen enough. Those stocks.

“I can’t be your partner, Father. It doesn’t mean we can’t try to work on things, but—”

“Does it mean you can’t help an old man unpack a few crates?”“

Sighing, Duncan shook his head. “No, it doesn’t mean that, either. I’ll help with the heavy work, all right?”

“Wonderful. Wonderful. As I said, there are the shelves and the sign, and…”

Duncan turned, barely hearing the animated buzz of his father’s voice now, as he gazed across the water to the main-land. It was too dark to see the cove far to the west of the cliffs, where Raven kept the small boat. There must be a path from there up to the house atop the cliffs. Perhaps he’d walk it one day soon.

He had to see her again. He knew that much. Crazy or not, he couldn’t seem to shake the woman’s image from his mind. And even if it turned out she was a raving lunatic, he had a feeling it would always be this way.

When I slammed the front door, Arianna leaped off the sofa, as startled as if a gunshot had gone off beside her ear. One hand pressed to her chest, she drew a deep breath and stared wide-eyed at me. “What in the name of the Gods are you trying to do,
scare
the heart out of me?”“

I met her brown eyes, and she stared into mine. And then her face changed. She came forward, one hand going to my shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Lifting my chin, I swallowed hard. “Nathanial Dearborne,” I told her.

The roses drained from her cheeks. “You’ve
seen
him?”

I closed my eyes. “Oh, Arianna, what am I going to do? I didn’t expect this! Even
he
couldn’t be this clever, this low, as to set himself up as… as… Sweet Goddess, I can’t even say it.”

Gripping my shoulders, she steered me backward to the velvet settee in the Edwardian parlor. I went easily, my bones like water.

“Go on,” she whispered. “Tell me what he’s done.”

I met her eyes, but they swam in my tear-hazy vision. “I don’t even know. I only know I was with Duncan, at the lighthouse, when Dearborne came to the door. And when he opened it…“ I bit my lip, shook my head in reborn disbelief. ”Duncan called him
father,
Arianna.“

“What?”

I nodded, reaffirming what I’d said. “I don’t know how, but that beast has managed to set himself up as Duncan’s father. And Arianna, I think… I think he was planning all along to use Duncan to get to me.”

“That’s impossible. Raven, listen to what you’re saying. No Witch, neither Light nor Dark, could manage a spell so powerful. To chose the soul who would incarnate as his own child… It can’t be done.”

I met her gaze, my own narrow. “So you believe it’s coincidence?”“

Arianna lowered her head, shook it. “Of course not. It can’t be that, but there’s simply no way Nathanial could have…“ And then her head came up again, slowly. ”Unless…“

“Unless?”

“Do you suppose Duncan is Dearborne’s
adopted
son?”

I blinked. “That’s it. It has to be.”

“And if that’s true, then you’re right. It has all been a part of Dearborne’s plan to get to you. Otherwise he’d have killed Duncan by now. He has to know the man is immortal.”

“Oh, he knows.” I got to my feet, too upset to sit still when every nerve in my body seemed to be squirming. “He knew Duncan would find his way to me again, one day. Somehow, he knew.“

Pushing both hands through her hair, Arianna paced away from me. “This is not good.”

“And
that’s
an understatement.”

“What are you going to do, Raven?”

I faced her. “What choice do I have, Arianna? I’m going to kill Nathanial Dearborne.”

She gripped my shoulders. “Oh, no. Not so fast, my friend. In the first place, if you murder the man Duncan thinks of as his father, he is going to hate you.”

“That’s just a chance I’ll have to take. Dearborne is out for my heart, Arianna, and you must realize that once he has it, Duncan’s could easily be next.”

“I know, I know, but—”

“Then what would you suggest I do? Wait for him to attack? Let
him
decide when and where and how it will be? No. My best advantage will be to surprise him. He won’t be expecting me to make the first move.”

“That’s because he thinks you have half a brain, Raven.” I scowled at her. “You can’t beat him.” She stated it flatly, dropped it as if it were a proven fact, with no room for doubt. “You know it,
I
certainly know it, having faced the man in battle myself… and Nathanial Dearborne knows it. You won’t stand a chance.“

“You told me I was as good as you now.”

“I lied.”

I blew a sigh and turned away.

“Let me do it, Raven,” she said.

I stiffened and stopped in my tracks. “You didn’t lie,” I said very slowly. “I am as good as you. You’re trying to protect me.”

“Duncan can’t blame you if I’m the one who does it.”

I went to her, took her hands in mine firmly, and made my gaze as penetrating as I could. “I won’t let you fight him for me, Arianna. You beat him once, yes, but that was centuries ago. There’s no way to be certain you could do it again. He’s had time to improve.”

“So have I,” she said.

“And so have I. The difference is, this is my battle, not yours, Arianna.”

She averted her eyes, but they slid back to mine. She understood, I knew she did. Didn’t want to accept it, but she would. I knew her well enough to know that.

“If you insist on fighting him yourself, Raven, then please, please wait. Put it off, just for a little while.”

“Why?“‘ My suspicion had to come through in my voice.