Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) Read online

  "Why am I getting all this abuse from you?"

  "How in hell are you going to find your dream man if you don't go out and look for him?"

  "Well,” she began as she walked over to the window and looked out. “I, uh…"

  "What? Spit it out."

  "Well, I'm damned tired of looking for him. I think it's about time he tried finding me."

  "She said, as she gracefully hobbled into old age—without a man."

  "You're a pain, you know that?"

  "I know I'm a pain, but it's what best friends do."

  The next voice Chyna heard was Joni wheezing out a dramatic sigh, and saying with a trembling voice, "But it's all right, I'll get along. Someone has to be the thorn in your side, the splinter in your finger, and the voice of reason in your conscience. I'll suffer silently when you—"

  "Sheee, should I get out my violin?"

  "Smart ass. All right, so you're not going anywhere, but don't say I didn't warn you. Do you know how you're gonna end up? Sittin' out in your swing combing your blue hair, pickin' your false teeth and staring at that pathetic little road, still wondering what's up there."

  "Give it a rest Tallulah. I've got to go to bed. Goodbye."

  Chyna chuckled when she heard a resigned "Hrumph," then the dial tone. Hanging up the phone she turned and crawled into bed, lay down quietly, and waited for the dream to begin.

  But nothing.

  She frowned and opened her eyes. Why wasn’t the dream coming? Why wasn’t she being swept up into a swiftly moving current, then pushed back into a pile of large, plush pillows with her dream man gazing into her eyes? Just when she decided she wanted it, demanded it even, the dreams were gone. She’d had it all planned. She was going to confront her dream man and ask him to explain. But now it was over. Now, all she was left with were two tormented, glowing eyes peering out of a dim, haunting shadow.

  * * * *

  Quinn slammed into the mansion yelling for Elaine.

  "In the kitchen!"

  He walked in and leaned on the doorframe. "I'm back."

  "I see that. Hey, you should have been here this afternoon. We had a visitor."

  "Oh yeah?" he said, looking into the refrigerator. "Way up here? Who was it? Someone got lost, no doubt."

  "Very good. She was lost as a matter of fact."

  He twisted open the cold beer, threw the top aside, then looked down to his watch. “Aren’t you doing that kind of late?”

  “I’m almost through. Got started late, that’s why I’m still at it.”

  "Well, are you going to tell me who this person was, or is this some kind of game you’re playing?"

  She looked at him and grinned. "It was none other than the nasty, dirty, little erotica writer herself, Chyna Marsh."

  Quinn spewed the beer right out of his mouth. While choking on the suds, he picked up a towel and wiped himself off.

  Elaine looked down at the spewed beer, and said, "My God, Quinn, I expected you to get excited, but this is ridiculous. Look at the mess you’ve made.”

  “Sorry,” he said and slammed down his beer. “I’ll be back.” He quickly turned and burst out of the mansion and trudged up to Cat's Paw. Once there, his searching eyes anchored on the widow's window and saw the candle. He had learned that when the candle was burning, the widow was open for business. Pushing himself through the wind, he made his way down a path that led to the beach, then made fading footsteps through the tide toward the lighthouse where he pounded on the rattling door.

  He needed the old widow's services—now!

  Quinn had been in the widow’s house for quite a while, but when he came slamming back into the mansion, an evil smile tugged at his lips. Everything was going along as planned. First he had managed to get Chyna to Mystic Islands, then he had made her want him through her dreams. Then, just when the time was right, he took them away.

  It’s just as well, he thought, the dreams were too fragile. They had served their purpose, but now he had to go on to the next step.

  After changing clothes, Quinn went back out again and circled the mansion, securing windows and examining doors, siding, and anything else that needed attention. After everything was done, he settled in his study—and waited.

  * * * *

  Elaine looked at her watch. It was getting late, and she wondered if she should go down and get Kirk's dinner tray. She hesitated, thinking since she had left him so angry, maybe it would be better to wait until morning for him to cool off. Shaking her head, she decided she had better get it since Kirk didn't like her to leave it overnight. She certainly didn't want to make him any angrier than he already was, so she opened the creaking door and crept down the stone stairway very quietly.

  Approaching the barred metal door, she didn't hear anything, so she peeked in thinking he was already asleep. Again she considered going back up, but since she was already there she decided to just go ahead and get it without waking him. She opened the door as quietly as possible, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness little by little. While looking around for the tray, her feet bumped into a bulky mass of something on the floor. She lost her balance and fell, finding herself staring into the horribly scarred up face of her brother. She became panicky, and began screaming hysterically. When she tried to get up, she pushed her hands against the floor, dipping them into the blood beside his body, and became wild, her screams sharp, one after the other.

  Quinn jerked his head up when he heard the screams.

  He jumped up from the desk in the study and went running through the mansion. "Elaine! Elaine! Where are you?" He heard her scream again, determining that the sound was coming from the basement. He quickly found the door and ran down the stairs. Scrambling as fast as he could toward the little room, he reached out and pushed on the barred doors and burst through them. There he saw Elaine, bloody and frightened while crouching in a corner. She pointed at Kirk. Quinn turned to look, and groaned, "Oh, my God, what happened?"

  “I don’t…I…I f-found him like that.”

  Quinn quickly ran over, saw Kirk’s wrists and grimaced at the blood. He pulled Kirk’s clothes back, and felt the pulse point along his neck for signs of life. "He's still alive. Elaine, help me get him over to his bed."

  "Aren't we going to call an ambulance?"

  "We can't. Trying to get an ambulance up here would be like asking someone to come to the moon."

  "But he'll die."

  "I don't think so. His pulse is strong."

  "But the blood, Quinn. He's lost so much blood."

  Quinn whirled on her. "Elaine, you know as well as I do that he would rather die than go to a hospital. I can give him my blood if he needs it, like I did when he had the accident. You’re a fine nurse. Get out of that damned corner and set up the equipment in case we need it. Now make yourself useful and help me."

  Just as he was about to lift him up, Quinn saw something clenched in Kirk's hand. Leaning over, he pried it out, and saw that it was a picture of Chyna Marsh. He looked at the picture, then over at the pitiful face of his younger brother. The ugly scars gleamed brightly with lovesick tears in the dim light.

  "Damn, that woman is nothing but trouble to the Grayson men."

  "What is it?"

  "Uh, nothing, never mind,” Quinn said, shoving the picture in his pocket. “Let's just get him over to the bed." Together, they managed to drag him over to his bed and get him on it. Elaine examined his wounds, thankful for her nurses training. Then dragging out a large box of medical supplies, she quickly and efficiently fixed his wrists up as well as any doctor.

  "Quinn, why don't we move him upstairs? I worry about him down here in this dark dungeon. Why in God's name does he insist on staying down here? His face is not that bad."

  "We're used to it, Elaine. To someone else he might look like a monster. If Kirk wants to live down here, we should just leave him alone. When he's ready to move upstairs, he'll let us know. I'll stay down here with him tonight and watch him. If he can make it until
morning I think he'll be okay."

  With a sigh, Elaine went over and began clattering among the broken glass and broken furniture, picking things up.

  Quinn got up, went over and put his arms around her. "Elaine, just let that wait until tomorrow. Get the IV and other things ready just in case."

  Elaine laid her head on his shoulder and began crying. "My God, Quinn, what if he dies?"

  "He's not going to die, Elaine. He's going to be all right, I promise." He pushed her toward the door. "Now you go upstairs and get things ready."

  She hesitated. "Quinn, what made him lose control like that? What made him go on such a rampage?"

  "How do I know? He probably just got a look at himself in the mirror. By the looks of it, he must have been pounding on it and got all cut up."

  "But Quinn, that…"

  "Elaine, get out and do what I told you."

  “All right,” she mumbled as she reluctantly headed upstairs.

  Quinn pulled up a chair close to his brother’s bed and sat watching him for the slightest movement, but none came. After asking himself the same question Elaine had, he pulled something out of his pocket and gazed down at the photograph of Chyna Marsh. Her lips were parted in a sensuous half smile that would send any man running for the nearest bedroom, or in his case a cold shower, or—cutting his gaze over at the moonlight dappled body of his younger brother—suicide.

  Chapter 7

  The old widow, her body slightly stooped, stood against the rail at the top of the lighthouse tower. The winds buffeted her frail body, whipping her ankle-length skirt and her kinky gray hair wildly. She knew a storm was hovering off the coast, and had been paid a handsome fee to use her magic to seize it. Lifting her gnarled hands to the sky, she called out an incantation that pierced the clouds, her voice rising above the storm—

  I call upon thee, Mighty Hecca,

  god of the wind, to send your power!

  I call upon thee, Mighty Thorr,

  whose beard is as bright as the

  evening sunset, to crack the

  storm clouds with your lightning power!

  Thunder roll, thunder shake,

  the sky is yours to rent and quake!

  In response to her powerful commands, the high winds gave forth a piercing cry, bringing with it the flash of lightning and the roar of thunder from out of the dark sky. She continued to watch the turbulent sky with her piercing eyes, repeating the commands until she knew she had captured the attention of the gods of the storm.

  When the ritual was at last complete, the lightning, thunder, and wind roared around her, growing stronger by the minute. She held on to the rail, languishing in the hurricane power that she herself had unleashed. Looking up she saw the dark clouds roil, the lightning piercing them while the powerful thunder cracked and quaked. But in only seconds the velocity of the storm became such that she was almost picked up by the wind and dangerously buffeted along the lighthouse balcony. She began to struggle, pulling herself slowly along the rail until she finally managed to get through the door that was being pushed and pulled by the strong wind.

  * * * *

  Chyna’s phone rang suddenly, sending a shrill sound throughout her house. Being thankful that it still worked, she reached for it. "Hello?"

  "Hey, kiddo, you all right?"

  "Hi Joni, I'm fine."

  “You sound scared.”

  “No, really. I’m fine.”

  “Well, I just wanted to check on you before all the phone lines go down. There's a hurricane off the coast you know, and since you're so close to the coastline, I was a little worried. You want to come over here and ride it out with me?"

  "No, I don’t think so.” She scowled with concern as she looked out the window. “I’m sure I'll be okay. The weatherman seems to think we’ll just get the edge."

  "Okay, but keep your radio on, and if they say anything about evacuation, get the hell out! That'll mean it's moving inland, and you won't have a minute to spare. The village already looks like a ghost town."

  "Okay, I will. Hey, by the way, how's your car?"

  "Poor old Bessie died a noisy death. The mechanic actually laughed at me when I asked him to fix her. You know what that creep had the gall to say? He looked around like he could see through the walls and said, ‘Tell me the truth, am I on Candid Camera?’ How do you like that bum? I know I ain't no beauty, but what the hell do I look like, Peter Funt?"

  "That's too bad. What'll you do now?"

  "Monday I'm going to a used car lot I know about up near Luger Pass. Wanna come along?"

  "Sure, I guess so. What time are you going?"

  "Around ten."

  "How about we stop somewhere for lunch after we buy you a new clunker?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  "Okay, see you then.” She chuckled. “That is if I haven't blown away."

  Just about the time Chyna hung up, she heard a high, whining sound. The wind was making horrible music through every crack in her house. Alarm began building in her and she jerked her head around at every sound. First she heard limbs cracking, then anything outside that wasn’t nailed down began blowing in the wind, some of it bumping up against the door. When the windows began rattling, she felt panic coming on. She stupidly thought of the three little pigs trapped in a house of straw.

  I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll bloooow your house down!

  With those words ringing through her head she spilled her coffee when she jerked her whole body around, hearing a horrible ripping sound.

  * * * *

  Elaine looked outside at the threatening sky and listened worriedly to the horrible sound of the whipping wind. She thought about Chyna Marsh alone in her little cardboard house, and worried about her safety. She kept watching Quinn who was looking through the window toward the lighthouse.

  While looking out at the storm, Quinn was amazed. The power the old widow had unleashed was absolutely staggering. Such force, such power, he thought, his lips twisting upward in an evil grin. Finally, he moved away from the window and walked over to the coffee table in front of the fireplace and poured some tea. Sitting down, he put the cup to his lips, remembering the price he’d paid for the widow’s powers. It hadn’t been cheap, but if it did the job it was well worth it. From the looks of the storm he halfway expected to see Chyna fall from the sky and land in his arms.

  “You’re sure you got everything secured?” Elaine asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Absolutely,” he answered, and turned to see her troubled eyes watching him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t say anything, just kept staring at him.

  “What?” he finally bellowed out.

  "I'm worried."

  "I told you, Kirk is going to be fine."

  "No, I don't mean Kirk. I'm worried about Chyna Marsh down there in that little paper-thin house she lives in. Quinn, she'll never survive this storm if she stays there. Can't you go get her and bring her up here to ride out the storm where she'll be safe?"

  "Elaine, it's too late to be thinking of something like that. The wind is much too high, I would never make it. Besides, she's probably already found a place to stay." He looked at the front door almost expectantly. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d come knocking any minute now.

  Elaine touched his arm. "Yes, but what if she hasn't? She may be scared to death. She's from New York, she's not used to violent coastal weather like this. She wouldn't have known what preparations to make." Elaine jerked her head around when she heard a high, screaming wind.

  While Elaine’s head was turned, Quinn’s evil smile returned, tugging at his lips. Now he knew. God, it was almost too easy, he thought. When she looked back, the smile quickly slid away, replaced by a look of concern. "Well, no use getting out in this storm for nothing. Try calling her first."

  With a sigh of relief Elaine jumped up and rushed to the phone. Since she didn't know Chyna's number she dialed the operator, but got no response. The line sounded
hollow, dead, so she pounded the disconnect bar over and over again, trying to get some kind of response.

  She turned to Quinn with the phone still against her ear. "Oh God, Quinn, it's getting worse, the phone lines are down."

  The mask of concern still on his face, he got up, walked to the front door and looked out. "It would be suicide to try it, Elaine."

  “But we just can’t—”

  “I know,” he began thoughtfully. “All right, I’m going,” he assured her. Then cutting his deceitful, controlling gaze over at his gullible sister, he added as dramatically as if he were giving a performance at the Kennedy Center, "But if I'm not back in half an hour, I may not be coming back at all." With the last words of the tense, moving speech out of his mouth, he grabbed his jacket, then gripped the doorknob, feeling the wind shake it in his hand.

  Elaine watched him battle the door, then put a frightened hand to her mouth as she ran and looked out the glass panels to watch him as he weaved toward his car. With her hands forming a trembling fist in front of her mouth, she prayed that he wouldn’t be too late.

  * * * *

  Chyna could hear her porch swing twisting and turning violently in the wind. One side had already been fully ripped from the porch ceiling, and now she heard another ripping sound, followed by a loud thud. She knew it was the thick chain dropping like lead. She ran to the door and tried to open it just a little to see what the damage looked like, but the wind pushed it back with such a mighty force it swung out of her hand. The wind blew furiously into the house, and she staggered back, falling on the floor.

  The force of the wind was so strong, it slowly pushed the furniture back against the wall. She fought against the wind, trying to get to the door and force it shut when she saw it begin to move back and forth wildly as if by some unseen hand. Before she knew what was happening, the door flew off the hinges and began hurtling down the hall. Furniture, cushions, and pictures flew in the air around her. Knick knacks crashed against the wall, and books were being ripped from the bookcases. All at once she felt herself being picked up and thrown brutally against the wall. A terrible pain pierced her head like a lightning bolt, then she felt herself sliding down the wall, blackness engulfing her.