Gazing up at the intense greenery above her, Kiara walked slowly down the lane. She was very aware of every step she took, every slight puff of sultry air, every movement of every leaf on the branches drooping down toward her like fingers. There was a presence here; she could feel it on her skin, on her face. Like moving through something viscous. Threads of power clung to her body like spider silk. They tightened around her as she drew closer to the house.
The road seemed to go on a long time. She could barely make out the image of the old antebellum home. But she knew it to be grand. She could feel the greatness residing within the walls and knew only a place of wealth and prestige could contain such power.
But with every step she took forward, the lane seemed to draw away. As if lengthening despite itself. The entity surrounding this plantation was playing games. It beckoned to her in one breath and tried to keep her away with the next. But it would not work on her. She’d been playing these types of games her whole life. It was how she kept the gypsy men of her caravan both at her call and at bay. She never had any intention of making an honest man out of any of them. Even if an honest one could’ve been found.
Even before dreaming of the demon and her father’s letter, Kiara knew she’d never wed one of her caravan. Or of any caravan. She knew deep down inside that there was so much more for her, somewhere in the world. That her fate was not chiseled in stone. That some great task would be put upon her. And she would rise to it with her head held high, and her heart beating with fierce passion.
She smiled at the trickery, up for the challenge. “I’m coming, my demon. Even this strong magic canna keep me away from you.”
Malvo jolted from his sleep. Something woke him. A voice he thought, but he couldn’t be sure.
Shoving the two warm bodies covering him, he sat up and yawned. The two women, conjured from his mind, mumbled protests as he moved off the bed. Ignoring them, he stood, na**d, his body still gleaming with sweat, and padded across the bedroom to the living room.
He crossed the room to the cabinet in the corner. Yawning again, he poured himself a short glass of scotch and tossed it back in one gulp. Afternoon trysts always took a lot out of him. He preferred to sleep for hours afterward, but something had startled him from his slumber.
He knew there were others in the house. He’d sensed them the moment they arrived. Two females. He could scent them even through the thick wood walls. Desire had flared hotly in his body, but he knew they weren’t for him. Maybe they were here for the other prisoners in the house. This thought gave him no comfort. Once more, he was completely aware of his imprisonment and the illusionary world he’d created for himself behind the library walls to keep himself sane. Well, at least, less insane.
But another presence had woken him. A voice. A female voice. Accented and lilting. An accent he’d hadn’t heard in a long time. Before he’d cursed himself and created his prison, he’d traveled all over the world. He knew that accent from his adventures in Europe.
Sighing, he poured another drink and carried it to the far wall. Maybe he was just overtired, and thinking too much about the past. Maybe he’d conjured the lilting voice just as he’d conjured everything else around him. Maybe he was finally going over the edge. He knew it was inevitable. A being couldn’t be locked up without any outside influence for this long and still keep a level head. Maybe he’d gone over years ago and had just never noticed.
Taking another sip of his drink, he waved his hand over the wall. A shimmer rippled over it, transforming the dark wood of the wall into something lighter, thinner even. After another few moments, it was as if a window had been installed into the wall. A window to the outside world. Through it, Malvo could see outside the house. He didn’t use the magic often, as it made him angrier and more restless to be free of his prison. But he had to know if the voice was real or just another figment of his imagination.
The view was of the front of the house with its overgrown walkway and weed problem. Jean-Paul, the man who had lived in the house for years, was never one for gardening, Malvo thought. He’d been too busy seeking power and prestige. Sucking it out of the house itself.
Peering through the veil, Malvo searched for any sign of the source of the disembodied voice. At first, there had been nothing, but as he continued to gaze out toward the long driveway up to the house, an image wavered into view.
A breathtaking image.
She was as enchanting as her voice. Long strawberry-blonde hair fell to her waist in soft waves. His fingers itched to reach through the wall and touch it to see if it was as silky as it looked. She wore a long gauzy green skirt and white tank top that showed off her creamy pale skin. As she drew closer he could make out the firm swell of her br**sts as they bounced free beneath the cotton. But it was her gaze that tore a breath from his throat and caused his hands to shake.
She had the mark.
Lifting her head, she stared at the house as if she could see through his veil and right into him. Her eyes were as green as emeralds and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the one on the right. Her goat’s eye stared right through him as if she could see his very soul, as if he ever possessed one.
A smile lifted her full unpainted mouth. And he yearned to feel those lips on his flesh. Hands on her hips, she cocked one eyebrow and said, “I’m here, my dream demon. I’m home.”
And that’s when the glass he was holding slipped from his fingers and smashed into a thousand shards near his feet.
Chapter Four
As Kiara approached the house, she felt something deep-seated flutter inside her belly. It was the sensation of coming back to something, returning after a long absence. It was strange but it didn’t stop her from stepping closer to the large two-story plantation home.
The off-white columns rose above her as she stepped up onto the veranda. Four large windows loomed along the wall, dark blue shutters surrounding them. The double oak and glass doors beckoned her forward. And she heeded them, placing her bare feet one in front of the other until she stood directly in front of them.
She dug into her bag and came away with a key. It had been inside the letter from her father. Her ma had kept it until Kiara had declared her intentions of going to Louisiana.
Holding it tight, she slid it into the gold lock and turned it. It clicked and she turned the knob, opening one door. She took the key out and tossed it back into her bag. Taking a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold and into her father’s home.
The blue and beige checked carpet was soft against her feet as she moved further into the entrance hall. As she stepped forward, she ran her fingers along the velvety blue sofa along one wall, and stared at herself in the full-wall mirror on the facing wall. Her hair looked a mess, swirling around her with some tendrils stuck to her sweaty forehead and cheeks. But as she continued to stare, she realized she looked right at home in the old estate house. Smiling, she continued forward, anxious to investigate.
Ahead of her was a steep staircase leading to the second floor, a set of closed double oak doors, an open doorway on her right, and one on her left. Slowly, she crept to the doorway on her left and peered in. It appeared to be a parlor, complete with two sofas, chairs done in the same rich blue fabric, tables, and a big fireplace. There were paintings and pictures on the walls, but nothing immediately interested her, so she continued on.
Nearing the stairs, she looked up, straining to hear anything out of place, or evidence of anyone else being in the house. The second she stepped through the door she sensed she wasn’t alone. She considered taking the stairs, but something drew her attention to explore further. She stepped to her right and peered through the other open doorway. The room was for dining. There was a long mahogany table in the middle of the room, big enough to seat twenty by the count of the chairs. There were several candelabras on the table, looking ready to be lit for the evening’s diners.
Kiara found it strange that the place had a look of being lived in, although she knew that Jean-Paul was dead. According to her research there was no one living in the house. Unless she hadn’t been the only one invited home. Her mother had told her that Jean-Paul had a wandering eye. Maybe Kiara had a few siblings lurking about. She loathed thinking about it, as she didn’t want to share this place with anyone else. Now that she was here, in this house, she wasn’t going to let anyone, no matter who they were, run her off.
The dining room held no interest to her either, and she continued with her search. For what, she wasn’t quite sure she could name. But it seemed to be calling her forward, urging her to move down the hall toward the closed double oak doors.
When she reached the doors, she pressed her palm against the wood. It was warm to the touch and she could feel a humming presence beyond the wood. There was something there, living, breathing, and waiting for her. She sucked in a deep breath and pushed the doors open. She smiled as she stepped through them.
It was a library. Just like the one from her dreams.
She dropped her bag by the door and moved into the room. Everywhere she looked it was wall-to-wall books. Shelves stretched to the high ceilings. There was a ladder on rails in the corner that looked like it would go all around the room, so a person could reach the books on the highest shelf. A sofa sat near another fireplace. It was in the same blue fabric as all the other furniture she’d seen so far. Two tables sandwiched it between them, with books stacked on top. It looked like someone had been searching for something, and had been interrupted during the process.
Kiara neared the fireplace and ran her fingers over the wood. She loved the feel of it under her hands. It was as if the wood was alive. She could sense a presence living inside it. Something that welcomed her home.
Tired from her long trip, Kiara collapsed on the sofa. She wondered if anyone would mind if she slept in here. She had no desire to find a room. Where she was right now felt perfect to her. She curled her feet up under her and rested her head on the soft cushion behind her. An overwhelming sense of satisfaction rolled over her. So did exhaustion. Yawning, and with a smile on her face, she closed her eyes. She’d just rest a minute and then she’d explore some more. She sensed there was way more to find in this house than just furniture and books.