Entity Mine (3 page)

Chapter 4

“So what kind of things have you been experiencing?” Devon turned away from Beth and scanned her friend’s restored Victorian with a practiced eye. A beautiful hanging staircase of varnished, dark wood graced the dramatic foyer. A formal parlor balanced a richly, paneled dining room on the other side. The house smelled of wood, floral polish, and peanut butter cookies.

Beth sucked her lower lip for a moment. “Dark shadows. Cold spots. Lights going on and off. Footsteps. And I’ve woken up several times to see a figure at the foot of the bed.” She stared at Devon, her face ripe with expectation.

“Optical illusions. Drafts. Faulty wiring. Loose pipes.” Devon ticked off on her fingers. “Rattling window panes and—”

“—and I know, I know. Ooh, ooh, call on me, professor.” Beth waved her arm wildly. “A hypnagogic state.”

Her elegant hand fell and she hugged herself, her face tired and strained.

Devon’s stomach clenched. How could she be such a jerk to her oldest friend? Hell, at this point her
only
friend.

Maybe Beth read the apology in her eyes because she touched her arm as if in forgiveness, her eyes serious. “That’s what I thought the first time, but I don’t think so now.”

Still there were perfectly logical reasons for all the things Beth had described. “Because that demonologist from the Paranormal Society of Western New York said he ‘sensed’ something? I looked him up, Beth. He has a book for sale on Amazon.” Devon hated to think of her friend being taken advantage of so some shill could gain the notoriety needed to sell books.

“Just because he has a book for sale doesn’t make him a liar.” Beth tsked. “You’ve gotten so cynical. I wouldn’t even have believed in the supernatural if I hadn’t seen so much with you when we were growing up.” Beth grasped Devon’s hand and towed her up the creaky stairs to a small guestroom in the turret. She put her hands on her full hips, puckering the casual blue dress she’d changed into since coming home. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel something?”

“Okay, okay.” Devon sighed. “Give me a minute alone.”

Beth nodded, a satisfied smile creasing the corners of her eyes. “I’ll make us some tea.” She disappeared through the elaborately molded doorway and Devon heard her jogging down the stairs.

She grinned. That girl would never change.

Devon surveyed the room. An antique washstand stood beside the full-size bed against the straight, dusky blue interior wall. Late afternoon sunlight poured in through the sheers veiling the curving bank of windows making up the turret wall. Beneath the windows, built-in shelves and a cushy window seat invited you to settle in with a book. Beth had really done an excellent job with the decorating.

Centering herself, Devon let her eyes lose focus. She took several deep breaths of the slightly musty air, reaching toward the part of herself she used to access as easily as breathing, but the disillusionment of adulthood had made more elusive. Of course, it hadn’t been only adulthood that had forced her to mothball her ability, but that memory hurt too much to examine.

Shaking off the past, she cast out with her faded senses, opening the rusty gates of her inner eye. For several minutes nothing happened. She took a deep breath. Maybe there was nothing there, but Beth wasn’t the hysterical type.

Maybe burying her ability for so long had finally killed it.
There you go, Devon. You should be happy.
So why wasn’t she? Why did the burn in her chest feel like fear?

She shook her head and tried again. Beth needed her. No way would she let her down.

A minute later the bright wall of windows seemed to recede. A faint buzzing filled her ears and goose bumps sprouted on her bare arms. A chill draft flowed around her. She stuffed her hands into her jean pockets, wishing she’d worn a hoodie over her T-shirt.

The atmosphere grew heavy. Devon felt her lungs grow tight as a weight bore down upon her and a dark mass formed near the window. The normal shadows in the room seemed to lighten in contrast, as if the specter stole their darkness for its own use.

She sucked sun-warmed air into her gasping chest.

Well, what do you know? There really is a presence here.

Ethan studied Devon’s pale face as she moved around the small room. He couldn’t say for sure why he’d followed her into the car, but now that they were here, he’d been curious to see her in “action.” Not that there had been much action to see. It was kinda like watching someone meditate, or paint dry.

But then, a moment ago, she’d looked past him as if seeing something he couldn’t, her pupils dilated, her breathing hot and heavy. He pivoted to stare at the area she studied, but there was nothing there.

Huh.
They were alone in the room.

So why would she be putting on a show?

He sank onto the bed without making a ripple in the nubby white bedspread and sighed. Why the hell had he bothered? This was a complete waste of time. A chuckle whiffed out at that. Time was one thing he had plenty of.

He leaned back and folded his arms. Too bad he couldn’t eat. How long had it been since he’d had dinner and a show?

He watched Devon focus on empty air and mentally thumbed through what he knew about so-called spirits. The idea that they couldn’t leave the place where they’d died, for instance, must be utter bullshit.

He’d always been able to leave. He’d discovered that the first night when he’d pursued his unwelcome guests out into the rain, slashing and clawing at their impervious bodies.

They’d jumped into their silver rental car and peeled away without looking back, leaving him standing there, barefoot on gravel that should have shredded his feet and dry beneath a stormy sky that should have drenched him.

Rage had driven him to chase the car, but, unable to keep up, he’d lost them.

The first few weeks after his death, he’d planned on nothing but hunting Dan down and tearing him apart piece by bloody piece.
How could his friend have done this to him?
But though he could leave, he had no way to travel anywhere. He couldn’t drive a car and God knew calling a cab was out of the question.

Suddenly, Devon gasped, regaining his attention. Her breasts rose enticingly under her black hip-length T-shirt and for a split second the sweet ache of arousal numbed his senses. He followed her gaze across the room and saw a miniature, crystal-cut vase full of dried petals move on its own. It slid in a very purposeful way to the edge of the bookshelf built into the window seat beneath the bay windows of the turret, and plummeted into a square of sunlight on the hardwood floor, before exploding into sparkling shards before his stunned gaze.

Holy shit. Maybe she couldn’t see him, but she sure as hell saw something.

He rubbed his eyes and peered so hard into the depths of the room his eyes burned. Was that a faint shadow near the window? He couldn’t be sure.

An acrid, bitter smell seemed to singe the lining of his nose. He coughed. The scent might be unfamiliar, but it reminded him of a rescue mission he’d gone on when he was a SEAL. He and his team had assaulted a compound in the Philippines to rescue a kidnapped American, but something had gone wrong between the kidnappers and all they’d found were bloated, bullet-riddled corpses.

The smell of decay, of rotting, putrid flesh and desiccated bone had filled the stifling rooms of the compound. This smell was oddly similar.

The odor grew stronger and the pressure in the room seemed to plunge. He yawned, as if he could pop his ears. The powerful feeling of malevolence lifted the hair on the back of his neck and spiked his heart rate. The creature inside him roused and he caught himself emitting a low growl.

Whatever stirred in this room, it wasn’t friendly. Far from it.

Faster than conscious thought, he vaulted to his feet in front of Devon, shielding her from the unnatural presence. His heart slammed against his chest like a judge’s gavel, but he stared at the source of the smell, every muscle alert.

Another growl escaped and he grimaced.
Look at you, you crazy bastard. You’re clueless about what this thing is and how to stop it, and somehow you’re going to protect her?

A glance over his shoulder at Devon showed her still focused on the origin of the foul smell. He backed up and something odd happened. Well, odder than the malevolent sprit in the room.

Devon looked around him.

Chapter 5

A door slammed and Kyle Mara felt his inner dragon raise its massive head, but an air current herded his brother’s familiar scent across the penthouse to his office, and he wrangled the ever-strengthening creature back into its cage, shoving a file aside on his skypad and tapping open the one beneath it, disguising the undeniable fact that he’d been a split second from an uncontrolled shift.

He’d gotten pretty good at fooling Jake. He rubbed his forehead. If only he could fool himself.

“Hey, what’re you up to?” Jake, his youngest brother at twenty-seven, poked his dark head around the open bookshelves dividing the office from the living room, and ambled in. Though six five, the same height as Ky, he still seemed a bit lanky from years of being underfed. Ky tamped down the rage the observation triggered before it could inflame the dragon.

Jake’s pregnant mate and soon-to-be wife, Anjali, entered, just about joined to her mate’s hip.

His brother sank into the brown leather chair on the other side of the wide desk, the leather creaking, and pulled Anjali onto his lap. A contented sigh escaped her as she melted into him and he kissed her small nose. She turned her head and smiled at Kyle in greeting, her cheeks a little flushed, as if the public display of affection embarrassed her.

What was it like to be so close to another human being? He loved his brother and John, trusted them with his life, but the bond between Jake and his mate . . .

“Any news on the others?” Jake asked, his head tilted to the side, his blue eyes regarding Ky though a gap in his black, chin-length hair, a habit his brother had picked up from years of masking the formerly lion-like amber of his eyes. The color a result of being slightly shifted into his lion form, though he hadn’t known that at the time.

Chimeras had the natural ability to change form into a lion or a dragon depending on the need, though one form or the other was typically the default.

Strong emotion, especially anger, could trigger the change. Jake had been particularly unstable before he’d mated with Anjali. Now he looked relaxed, in control of his powers.

Ky blinked away a bitter tinge of envy. Every day he came closer to losing himself to his dragon, and if that happened . . . He ground his molars and focused on the document in front of him. “I was just looking at Ethan’s file. Thalia still hasn’t gotten any leads on him.”

For years, he’d been searching for his six younger brothers, all of whom had landed in foster care in different cities as very young children, but he’d only recently made any progress when he’d finally tracked down Jake.

Jake, like the others, had thought himself alone, until Kyle had shown up to help him fight the Kincaid Group.

Kyle scrubbed his hand over his face, tugging on his tight jaw muscles to loosen them.

Anjali leaned forward, her dark eyes luminous, the shiny, black rope of her braid slid to the front of her shoulder. “You’re still having trouble sleeping in human form, aren’t you?”

“Why try?” Jake tucked Anjali back into his side. “Go ahead and sleep in dragon form, if it helps.”

Kyle sighed. He didn’t want their worries about him to overshadow their wedding plans. This should be the most exciting time of their lives. He refused to let his weakness ruin it.

“Because last time, he almost ate me when I woke him.” John Roth, Kyle’s half-demon assistant and best friend appeared around the divider, his entrance unnoticed because he hadn’t used a door. “Sorry for phasing without knocking, but I’ve got some news.”

Ky felt the dragon claw at its restraints. John sent him a pointed look. They’d argued only the night before about hiding the truth of his deteriorating condition. Kyle breathed deeply, calming the beast while John slipped behind the wide, walnut desk and opened a newspaper website on Ky’s tablet, then swiveled it around so everyone could see.

The headline on the article read, ‘Local Museum Wins Rare Prize.’

The article went on to describe how the museum had posted the highest bid at auction for a precious object from a shipwreck.

“The Seal of Ochoa?” Anjali’s melodic Mumbai accent made the object sound even more exotic.

“According to Thalia, Ethan had to sell most of his assets to settle a lawsuit out of court with a man named Laird,” John said. “The seal is one of the items listed as recovered from the Santa Florentina, but was never sold, so we have to assume Ethan had it in his possession at the time of his disappearance.”

Fury surged through Kyle like a tidal wave. This time he gave himself up to the dragon, raking long furrows in the surface of his desk with a hand that was no longer human. “You mean, whoever sold that seal may be Ethan’s killer.” His voice merged with the deep rumble of the dragon’s.

He glanced at Jake, and when his brother’s gaze met his, Jake’s eyes glowed gold.