Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) Read online

  She recognized the cavernous room immediately.

  But it wasn’t a room, she thought. It was something like a living area with an enormous fireplace, and a front door that opened into it. When she looked, she even recognized the antiquated doorknob. As crazy as it sounded, she knew she had been here in her dreams—but how? Then suddenly she heard someone coming and looked in the direction of the footsteps, not knowing what she might see.

  "Well, I'm relieved that you’re finally awake," the friendly voice called out.

  Chyna's eyes widened. The woman who balanced a tray in her hands was the same woman she had seen at City Lights. She watched as the woman put the tray down on the coffee table, poured a steaming cup and offered it to Chyna.

  “Tea?” she asked, smiling.

  Reaching for the cup, Chyna thanked the young woman, hoping the tea could ease the hurt she’d felt when she realized her dream man was married.

  "So, we meet again," the woman said, looking at her over the pink flowered teacup.

  "Yes, I guess we do."

  "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Elaine Grayson." She extended her beautifully manicured hand in Chyna's direction.

  Chyna stared at her. She looked so completely different than she had at the restaurant. That night her shoulder length hair had been full, loose, and she wore a black dinner dress with a square neck, and fitted sleeves. A sparkling broach set the dress off, and makeup had turned her pale, washed-out face pretty. Now she wore a simple gray-on-black sweater and skirt, had her dark hair pulled up into a bun, wore no makeup, and her lovely face seemed pinched, worried. Taking her hand, Chyna said, "I'm happy to know you, my name is…"

  "No need to tell me. I know who you are, but what I am wondering is, how you managed to get way up here."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trespass."

  "No, it’s okay. What I meant was, few people come up here. If you've been in town very long, you must know this stretch of road has a reputation, and Cat's Paw has become sort of a legend around these parts.”

  “Cat’s Paw,” Chyna repeated under her breath, remembering the tattered little sign.

  “It’s what they call the ridge above the ocean. You can see it from town. Paints a brooding picture, I’m afraid. They call it Cat’s Paw because of its odd shape.” Elaine smiled. “Sort of sinister, don’t you think? If anyone comes up here at all it's only out of curiosity."

  "Actually that's why I came up, but I had no idea anyone lived up here."

  "Yes, it is remote, and certainly off the beaten track, but this is our family home, and when our parents died, it just naturally came to us. We try to keep it up, but…"

  Chyna frowned. "Excuse me, but who is we?"

  "My brothers, Quinn and Kirk."

  Chyna’s eyes widened. "Quinn Grayson is your brother?"

  "Yes."

  "The man you were with at City Lights the other night."

  "Yes, why?"

  A smile began tugging at the corner of Chyna's mouth. "Oh, nothing. I mean, I suspected it, you, uh, look so much alike."

  Elaine indicated to her cup. "Would you like me to freshen that for you?"

  "Oh no, I've warmed up quite a bit, thanks. By the way, who brought me in from the ri…uh, Cat's Paw?"

  "Kirk. He saw you fall."

  "Kirk. Your other brother?”

  “Yes.”

  "Is he here?” she asked, looking around. “I'd like to thank him."

  "No. I mean he's here, but, well, he wouldn't want you to see him."

  "I don't understand."

  "Kirk is…well, he's a very private person."

  "Oh?" Chyna frowned.

  "Yes. I'm sorry. I’ll be happy to tell him for you."

  Dismissing it, Chyna glanced around the big room, and suddenly felt a chill when her eyes caught a husky form lingering in a shadow. Before she could say anything, he slipped out soundlessly, leaving only a trail of muffled footsteps as he departed.

  She looked at Elaine. "Is there anyone else in the house besides you and your brothers?"

  "No, just us."

  How strange, she thought, feeling a chill settling over her. Finally, she asked, "Where's Quinn?"

  "He had to go up to Boston. He should be back tonight. He'll be disappointed that he missed you."

  She looked back at the empty shadow, knowing that the mysterious figure must have been Kirk. Looking around, she said, "The place is quite large. The first time I was here—"

  "You were here before?"

  Chyna gulped, "No, of course not. I only meant when I saw it from the outside, I thought it resembled a Fran…uh, a large southern plantation."

  "Yes, it is large."

  "Do you have help? Someone to help keep it clean?"

  "I'm afraid not. I mean, I've tried, but I can't seem to find anyone who’ll come up here. I've even offered to pay double the normal salary, but it doesn't seem to help." She smiled and shrugged. "So I just do the best I can."

  Chyna smiled, reached out, and put her hand over Elaine's. "Well, if you need any help, just let me know. I'm on vacation for a full month."

  Elaine smiled at the foolish suggestion. "If you're on vacation, I doubt you'd like to spend it cleaning up—" She angled her gaze over at Chyna. "Frankenstein's castle, I believe is what you were about to call it. Am I right?"

  Chyna blushed, knowing she'd been caught. "I'm sorry. I’ve spent most of my adult life living in a tiny little New York walkup. Now, anything larger than two rooms looks like Grand Central Station to me." She grinned, and added, “Or Frankenstein’s Castle.”

  Elaine laughed and looked around at the high rafters. "You know there was a time that a grand house such as this was considered very elegant." She looked back at Chyna. "It's been in the family for generations, dating all the way back before the Civil War."

  "Why don't you just sell it and get something more suitable for the times we live in?”

  A sad look came over Elaine's face. "In honor of Dad, I suppose."

  Chyna noticed her reaction and responded immediately. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she replied, then smiled sadly at the memory. "When Dad was alive, he wouldn't even consider it. His great grandfather bought the mansion for his bride, and a lot of memories are attached to the old place. I loved it when I was a kid, but since then it’s become somewhat of a stigma.” Elaine chuckled. “I don’t know, maybe I’m one of those people that see things the way they want to see them instead of the way they are. I just keep remembering it the way it was when I was a kid. You know, beautiful, full, bustling. Then when mom and dad died, the mansion seemed to die with them. Still, the thought of letting it go is painful. We keep it up as best we can, but it’s so close to the coast, even modernizing it would be a waste of money. She continued to glance around. "We just sort of rattle around in the old place. With no life in it, it seems empty and, well, out of place."

  Looking down at her watch, Chyna's eyes widened. "Say, it's later than I thought. I guess I'd better get going." Her cup clattered as she placed it in the saucer while rising to her feet. "Please don’t forget to tell Kirk how grateful I am that he was there."

  "Are you sure you're all right?" Elaine asked. "I mean, I could drive you if you're still a little woozy. that is, unless you're working out and need the exercise."

  "I probably do, but I would appreciate a ride, thank you."

  Elaine grabbed her keys. "Why don’t you relax and finish your tea? It’ll take me a minute to bring the car around."

  “Okay, thanks,” Chyna said, leaning over and picking up her cup.

  She had just put the rim to her lips when she happened to sense a presence behind her. She stiffened, feeling his eyes on her. She wanted to turn around, but stood frozen to the spot, knowing that she was in the house alone with him. The seconds stretched into minutes, and Chyna’s fear became inflated. She lifted her gaze and looked around the beamed ceiling, imagining the draping
shadows that surrounded her to be hanging low from the ancient framework like snakes. Her insides began churning, and she worked to try and remain calm, nervously taking a sip from her cup. Finally, she brought the empty cup down slowly, her nervous hands rattling it in the saucer.

  “There’s no reason to be afraid.”

  The voice jolted her, and she nervously placed the rattling cup and saucer on the tray. She realized she was being stupid and put a hand on her stomach while she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I guess this…well…this day hasn’t been a very good one for me.” Still trying to calm her nerves, her eyes lifted hesitantly as she turned toward the pool of shadows. “I…wanted…I was hoping to thank you for bringing me in from the bluff."

  No response.

  "K-Kirk? Is that your name?"

  No answer.

  As she looked at the dark shape and the glowing orbs that stared out at her, something began tugging at her. It seemed to be a memory buried deep, the memory of a dream—a horrible dream.

  Scorching eyes.

  A crumbling stairway.

  And a face—a horrible face.

  My God, had that been Kirk? Was that why he stayed in the shadows? Was that why—the bars—no, it couldn’t be.

  And this mansion, she thought, her eyes darting around. What kind of bizarre fluke had brought Quinn, and this mansion into her dreams?

  The blast of Elaine’s horn brought her out of her thoughts, startling her. Quickly cutting her eyes toward the door, then back at the shadow, she said, “Well…goodbye.” She backed away hesitantly as if hating to go. She couldn’t seem to pull her eyes away from those that burned when they looked at her.

  A deep silence emanated from the shadow, and Chyna, with faltering movements, finally opened the door and disappeared. As they drove away, Chyna looked back toward the mansion. She couldn't seem to put those scorching eyes out of her mind—they said so much.

  Chapter 6

  The tall, dark figure paced among the dust and darkness of the basement, believing he was going mad. He could feel the anguish and sorrow growing inside him. Pushing—driving—begging to burst out of his throat in some god-awful sound of torment. This wasn’t unusual. Sometimes his buried grief would become such agony he had to release it in a bellow—an agonizing cry—a sound of suffering that reached all the way up into the cavernous mansion to reverberate through its corridors and its hundred-year-old rafters. The echo of his cry was so thunderous, it could be heard along the beach, and along the fog-shrouded walkways of town where hazy lamplight turned the mist to gold. While pacing, he jerked himself around, hearing a noise outside his door. Staring into the darkness, he realized it was Elaine coming with a tray of food.

  Opening his door, she said, "Kirk, why can’t I convince you to come up out of this miserable place and live like a human being?"

  "Isn't this where monsters are supposed to live?" he growled. "Down under the ground in sewers and rat-infested basements?"

  "Please don't call yourself a monster."

  He kicked a chair in anger. "I'll call myself any damn thing I want. Now get out of here and leave me alone."

  "Kirk, we have seven perfectly good bedrooms upstairs. You don't have to live like this."

  "I said, get out," he growled.

  "All right, be stubborn. Chyna Marsh wanted to thank you. I can only imagine what she thought when I told her you didn't want to see her. You probably saved her life, pulling her off Cat's Paw like that. The way the wind blows on that lonely old bluff, she would have been pushed over in no time.”

  The mention of her name caused an uncontrollable quiver down deep inside him that he would acknowledge only to himself. Every time he looked at her picture, he felt something. A mysterious pull coming from somewhere deep inside him. It wasn’t something he could shake off and forget. It was something that hung on, a hidden something that seemed to want to draw them together. The old widow might call it one soul mate calling out to another, but he knew it wasn’t anything quite as romantic as that. It was only his damnable flesh wanting to be satisfied. His hands wanted to touch her, to stroke the lushness of her lips, her breasts, to feel her body beneath his. No, there was nothing divine about it. It was lust pure and simple.

  But he could never have her.

  He knew it every time he looked in a mirror, or reached up to feel the crazy zig-zagging scars on his face.

  "Don't talk to me about that cheap romance novelist. She writes nothing but trash, and I'd better not ever see you reading any of her books."

  "Who in the hell do you think you are? I'm an adult. I'll read any damn thing I want, and I just dare you try and stop me."

  With anger boiling up inside him, Kirk turned and began walking toward her with an energetic stride.

  Elaine's eyes widened and she quickly turned and ran out.

  Kirk reached for the door just as it clanged shut, then stood there rattling it violently as he watched her run up the stairs. After being sure she was gone, he turned, walked to his bed and pulled something out of the nightstand drawer. Handling it almost reverently, he brought it up and squinted at it in the dim light of a lamp. His angry eyes became soft when he looked down into the beautiful smiling face of Chyna Marsh. Gazing into her beautiful eyes, he thought about how her body had felt against his as he carried her into the mansion from Cat's Paw. His heart wrenched in pain, knowing he would never feel the softness of that body beneath him, or feel the touch of her sensuous lips on his. His eyes closed as he remembered the exotic smell of her perfume when he held her shapely body close to his—perhaps a little too long.

  "Why in hell did she have to come down here to live?" he agonized, the tortured rasp of his voice filling the dark room. She was light years away from him in New York, a place he would never be. But now she was here in Mystic Islands where under normal circumstances he might walk down the street and see her, or have a chance meeting in a restaurant, the market, on the beach—anywhere—somewhere.

  So close—yet so far away.

  He threw the picture down, trying to resist the urge to wipe the dusty surface off with his sleeve and carefully lean the picture against his glass while he ate his dinner. He tried to look away, but couldn’t. After staring at it for a moment, he finally gave in, leaned over and picked it up, handling it gently.

  With her image leaning against his water glass, he sat down and picked up his fork to eat. He instantly became caught in a reverie, imagining himself having dinner with her when he turned and happened to catch a glimpse of his ugly, scarred face in a mirror. He gasped as the truth exploded inside him, making him feel like a fool. He suddenly jumped up from the table. Bellowing loudly, he kicked his chair and turned the table over. Shouting out a string of obscenities, he angrily ran to the mirror and began pounding on it, smashing it into long, dangerous shards. After an exhaustive fight with his own image, he pulled himself away and fell on his bed sobbing while hiding his wretched face in the pillow. Finally he made an effort to wipe away his unmanly tears by angrily sweeping his rough hand across the harsh, jagged scars that sliced crazily along one side of his face.

  While wallowing in his anger, he happened to see a series of hypnotic glints coming from the shards on the floor. He turned his head, the glittering play of light catching his interest. He spent several moments mesmerized, then got up from his bed and walked over. He leaned down and picked up the longest and the sharpest. He handled it, turning it over in his hand, feeling the way it fit snugly into his palm. Shifting his eyes, he looked down at his other hand, lifted it, and exposed his wrist. He lightly pulled the shard across his veins, leaving only a faint outline of a scar.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead. He wanted to do it so badly, he could taste it. He saw the shard as salvation, knowing it could take away his misery, his agony. He’d lived in this basement for ten years. No one would miss him. He knew Quinn and Elaine would be better off without him. They could leave the mansion, be free to live their lives, and not hav
e to think about him.

  The decision made, he clenched his teeth determinedly. He squeezed the shard in his hand and before he could talk himself out of it, made a wild slice over his wrist, spewing blood everywhere. Before losing his courage he quickly took the bloody shard in the other hand and sliced his other wrist. Suddenly everything began going dark, the room spinning crazily. His husky body fell hard against the wall, bumping it loudly. With the dark dungeon hiding his shame, he tumbled into oblivion, holding the small, ragged picture of Chyna Marsh—close to his heart.

  * * * *

  "No kidding? You got a month off?"

  "Yeah, can you believe it? Some poor guy royally screwed up."

  "Yeeehaaa! Where'll we go?"

  "I can't go anywhere Joni.” Chyna sat down on her bed and absentmindedly began playing with the telephone cord. “I’d like to finish the book before I take any time, but with these dreams and everything, I’m an emotional wreck. I really need to just forget everything and enjoy a little peace and quiet."

  "Come on, Chyna, you have to go somewhere."

  "Joni, I get enough travel working on my books.” Laying back, she stretched and yawned. “Really, just staying home and doing nothing sounds better to me than anything else I can think of."

  "Party pooper."

  "Sorry, but believe me, I won't be bored. I gave Mrs. O’Hanlan a paid vacation, and there's plenty here to keep me busy."

  "You're gonna do housework with your time off? I can't believe you, Chyna. If anybody else had a month off, they'd be flyin' halfway around the world partyin' up a storm. But you want to do housework? Talk about dull."

  Chyna sat up, frowning. "Joni, I will not live in a dirty house. Besides, there’ll be time for everything. Anyway, I'm leaving it up to you to think up some really good things we can do while I'm off."

  "Sorry, but I doubt if I could think up anything as exciting as cleaning the grunge off your shower curtain. But I will keep you in mind if I find any new and exciting floral scented toilet cleaners. You know, you're the first person I've ever seen that goes ballistic if her toilet water doesn't stay blue."