Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1) (12 page)

Tabitha caught up with me before I managed to exit the dig. Apparently, she’d been assigned to babysit me.

“Yes, let’s go back to the villa,” she encouraged. “They’re almost finished here anyway, and I need to change.” She pointed to her dirt-smudged cloak.

I hesitated, remembering Lucian had warned me not to be alone with her. I wondered if she’d made up her firedrake mind about me yet.

She sensed my unspoken concern, I think, because she smiled. “You did well today,” she said. “Impressive.”

I wondered if that meant acceptance, but decided it was good enough.

With a noncommittal nod, I stepped out with her into the narrow alley. My boots rang on the cobblestones, mixing awkwardly with the clicks of her stiletto heels. When we reached the end of the alley, I asked, “So, what’s Lucian going to do with all of those skeletons?”

I knew she probably wouldn’t tell me, and she didn’t. In fact, her nostrils flared a little and that was it.

We walked in silence the entire way back to the villa, and when we finally entered the front door, I couldn’t resist muttering despite myself, “It was certainly nice chatting with you, Tabitha,” before stalking up the gracefully curving stairway.

I had no idea where I was going, but I didn’t want Tabitha to know that. I swept up the stairs and chose a door at random.

As luck would have it, the room I chose was a bedroom. A nice one. A huge four-poster bed. Modern black bedspread. Silk sheets. Bookcases with leather-bound books. A comfortable armchair. A low, marble-topped table, and a floor-length mirror tucked in the corner. All in all, an inviting atmosphere after a weird and exhausting day.

Deciding the place looked uninhabited—and the bed just a tad too appealing to resist—I stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind me.

I made a beeline for the bed—well, almost a beeline. I did detour to pause in front of the mirror to inspect my bedraggled reflection. I looked exhausted. Dark circles under my eyes. Full mouth tired, turned down. Hair hanging limp.

It was definitely time to rest.

Yawning in anticipation of a good night’s sleep, I plopped down onto the bed, boots and all. I’d barely settled into the comfortable nest of goose-down pillows before I was out like a light.

As I mentioned before, I’m a deep sleeper. Very deep.

I didn’t hear him come in. I certainly didn’t hear him shower.

Sometime later, I woke up to see Lucian stalking across the dimly lit room with his dark hair wet, loose, and wild about his shoulders. He was bare-chested, wearing only black sweatpants, and in the shadowy light, his abs were even more incredibly outlined.

In short, he was a wickedly handsome man.

I watched him with a not-so-guilty pleasure as he paused by the leather chair and picked up a maroon suitcase. Tossing it down onto the marble-topped table, he ran his finger along the brass clasps in an absentminded gesture. After a moment, he popped the suitcase lid open. It sprang back on well-oiled hinges.

Dolls. The suitcase was filled to the brim with them. Marionettes. Small ones. Barbie-sized. All dressed in rich medieval clothing.

I caught my breath, startled.

Lucian’s broad shoulders tensed immediately. Turning his head to one side, he froze, listening. The next moment, he was beside me and lifting me out of my pillow nest with a single, well-muscled arm.

“You’re not allowed upstairs,” he growled deep in his throat. “And especially not in my room.”

I scarcely heard what he said. I was simply too distracted.

I’d spent my entire life steering clear of entanglements. But this man … well, there was no denying his raw animal magnetism. I couldn’t help it. My eyes dipped to rove over his sculpted form, from his washboard abs, lean shoulders, up to his lips, which held a promise to be able to send most any young woman to the wild heights of abandonment.

My distraction hung in the air between us for several long moments before—just like on the plane—control slipped away. From us both. I knew it the moment his eyes raked me with a sensual, smoldering gaze.

“If you seek to play like a cat plays with a mouse, then beware,” he warned in a voice, low and raw.

“Beware?” I repeated in a tone that accentuated the scratchy quality of my voice.

My gaze flicked over his jawline and neck. I’d like to play with him, but not in a way that required caution. Maybe.

From the intensity of his expression, it was clear that he’d followed my thoughts. It wouldn’t take much to coax us both beyond the point of no return. The wild, almost hungry look on his handsome face threatened to unleash a passion that I’d never experienced before. I could feel it in my bones.

But then a sudden realization came over me like a bucketful of ice water, and the spell broke—the attraction between us was 
too strong
 to be real. I scarcely knew the man!

Severing his gaze, I wrenched free from his grasp and sprang to my feet. “What are you doing?” I accused harshly, shoving him back. “Are you trying to use some kind of magic on me? A curse or something?”

Lucian’s eyes hardened as his face grew dark. In a flash, he’d twirled me around in front of him so that I then faced the door, his hands firmly on my shoulders. “Oh, there’s nothing to fear, my dear,” he whispered coldly into my ear from behind. “I never cast spells that can be suspected … and certainly never ones that can fail. And I never start what I don’t plan to finish.”

And before I knew it, he was roughly shepherding me out into the hallway and slamming the door so hard that it jarred my teeth.

I stood there, insulted, and most definitely annoyed, before collecting myself enough to storm down the hall.

I didn’t know 
what
 game Lord Lucian Rowle was playing any longer.

He’d changed all the rules.

I Just Might Keep Ricky, After All

My irritation didn’t last long. Behaving like a moonstruck fool just wasn’t in my makeup. And I was used to brushing people off. Lucian was certainly no exception.

I descended the stairs and nearly collided into Heath on the bottom step.

“I put your suitcase in your room for you. It’s just down the hallway, first door on the right,” he offered with an amiable grin.

He looked just like a dog expecting a pat on the head. Yeah, I knew he could turn into a massively muscled beast—I’d seen it. But a strain of puppy personality was alive and well. I’d never thought werewolves could be so … Golden Retrieverish.

I watched him trot off towards the kitchen, shaking my head. He was clearly up to something. It was late. Dark outside. I could see the full moon shining through a nearby window—the classic werewolf setting.

Curious, I stood there for a bit, listening and waiting in anticipation, but the only sound that filled the villa was that of the distant ticking of a clock. Finally, I gave up with a shrug. Most likely, Heath had just gone to the kitchen for a late-night snack.

With a yawn, I located my assigned room. It was nice. Pretty much the same as Lord Rowle’s, only the décor was lavender instead of black, and there weren’t any books.

I fell into the goose-down pillows and immediately winced as I landed on something hard.

It was Ricky’s spice bottle.

Rolling to one side, I dug it out of my pocket for a quick inspection only to discover that it was empty. I guess I should’ve known that imps couldn’t be confined in such ordinary containers.

For a moment, I really did consider going out to look for him—but only for a moment.

I mean, really, where would I start? He could’ve slipped out in so many places. I hadn’t checked on him for hours. He could be at the dig, the piazzas of Venice, or—
holy crud
—in Lucian’s bed.

That thought made me snicker out loud.

Chuckling to myself, I hoped that he was, and kicking my boots off, I settled down for a nice, long snooze.

It took me a bit to fall asleep. I was quite entertained with imagining the various looks of horror on Lucian’s handsome face when he discovered Ricky snoozing on the pillow next to him. Would Ricky call him “doll”, too?

Eventually, I drifted off.

I don’t know how long I slept before I was rudely interrupted by someone screaming my name.

Reflexes took over. I bolted out of bed and had knives in both hands before I recognized Lucian’s furious tones and realized that the screaming came from upstairs. He sounded angry, hysterically peeved.

Grinning, I took my sweet time putting on my boots then, and after a nice, long stretch, casually strolled out into the hallway.

Heath was there—in werewolf-form—crouched on all four paws with his golden eyes glued on Lucian standing on the landing above.

The warlock was sexy. There was no denying that fact. His sweatpants hung low on his lean hips, and he was still shirtless, but I only appreciated that small fact for a millisecond.

I was beyond thrilled to see that my fantasy had, indeed, come true.

Lucian hovered on the landing above me with his hand extended and his fingers pinched tightly together as he dangled Ricky over the railings by the scruff of the neck.

“Where have you been?”
 Lucian shouted at me, livid. His piercing eyes flashed. 
“I’ve been calling you!”

I faked a yawn and graced him with a mocking smile. “I’m not allowed upstairs, remember? I expected you to come down, Lord Rowle.”

Lucian’s nostrils flared. Flinging Ricky at me, his voice shifted into a threatening tone. “Clever, leaving him behind. But you should let your Terzi masters know that this little ploy will fail, just like all of the others.”

Ricky splatted by my feet as I frowned in confusion.

Terzi masters? Did the man really think I was some kind of spy for the enemy? A double agent?

Determined not to give him the upper hand, I smiled sweetly in reply. “You’re not making much sense, Lord Rowle,” I said in honeyed tones.

Lucian merely glared, and then tossing his mane of dark hair, he spun on his heel back towards his room. A moment later, I heard his door slam.

Chuckling, I picked Ricky up from the floor and patted him on the head—well, I tried, anyway. I succeeded only in swishing his head away from his body a couple of times. I still hadn’t gotten the hang of handling smoke-creatures yet.

“Good imp,” I said, grinning as his head reassembled. “Maybe I’ll keep you, after all.”

Ricky opened an eye and winced, obviously terribly hungover. “What’s that, doll?”

I didn’t even mind his nasal voice or the 
doll
. “I don’t know what you did to irk him, but do more of it, hmm?” I encouraged.

After bidding Heath goodnight, I carried Ricky back to my room. He muttered something as I kicked the door shut, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy replaying Lucian’s horrified face and snickering even as part of me rankled over the Terzi accusation.

“The dolls,” Ricky raised his voice. He waved his spindly hands to attract my attention.

“Dolls?” I repeated absentmindedly. Now, where had I put Ricky’s bottle? I had to find it. I couldn’t let the little miscreant remain loose to stir up more trouble, not yet, anyway.

“The marionettes.” Ricky burped and giggled.

I paused and blinked. Suddenly interested, I gave him my full attention. “Marionettes?” I repeated, recalling the Barbie-sized ones I’d seen Lucian inspecting in his room. “Those creepy things in the suitcase? What about them?”

The imp scowled at me and placed a warning finger over his mouth. “Shh! Not 
those.”
 He pointed a finger straight up at the ceiling. “The ones in the room across the hall. Shelves. Hundreds. Hundreds of them.”

Hundreds?

I couldn’t suppress a shiver. “Maybe he’s a collector,” I said, but even as I said it, I knew how silly it sounded.

I tossed Ricky onto the bed. He somersaulted a few times before sitting upright to tuck his long pointy ears behind his head. “He’s a curse-master, eh?” he whispered suggestively. “Right, love?”

“Voodoo dolls?” I asked, recalling the female marionette dressed in the red dress and white fur stole that I’d seen outside his office just a few short days ago. Had he made a voodoo doll of her?

Ricky’s ears flattened even more. “All curse-masters use surrogate objects,” he hiccupped helpfully. “Some use paintings. Others use vases. I once met a bloke that uses carpets!”

They 
were
 voodoo dolls. “So, the Chosen Ones he unearthed today,” I murmured mostly to myself. “He made voodoo dolls of them. I wonder what he did with the actual remains.”

“I wouldn’t know, love,” Ricky replied with his trademark giggle.

All at once, I found him irritating. “Go to sleep now,” I ordered.

I guess he was tired because he obliged me at once. Inspecting one of my boots and apparently finding it adequately homey, he slipped inside. Minutes later, the boot began to vibrate with the sound of his snoring. I wasn’t too thrilled about it, but at least he was out of my sight.

Slowly, I settled back on the bed.

So, if Ricky had been lucid enough to tell me the truth, then I’d just discovered that Lucian was some kind of voodoo-doll-making curse-master. How creepy was that? He’d apparently cursed the Chosen Ones, but in what way? And where had he hidden their bones?

I knew very little about Dorian Ramsey, but I knew enough to be certain that the vampire wanted his clan back. He was probably going to want that suitcase, too.

A clear, deep laugh echoed through my mind.

I sat bolt upright.

In a flash, I stood at the window. Pulling the curtain aside, I peered out into the darkness.

My eyes found him at once. He stood on the other side of the canal, cloaked in shadows: Dorian. The kilt-wearing vampire. Waiting. Patiently.

His laughter echoed louder in my head, accompanied by an image of Lucian’s maroon suitcase.

“No,” I said, scowling and stepping back.

I wasn’t that vampire’s lackey.

A sudden howl outside made me glance out the window again just in time to see Heath’s dark, blurry form launch itself at Dorian. But Heath was too late. The vampire had vanished, leaving the werewolf’s massive paws to only swat air. Heath paused there a moment and then bounded away in the darkness.