Lifebound Page 2

  Then one night he’d had a stroke while working late in the office. She’d called for help, but until the paramedics arrived, he’d wanted her with him and had clung to her hand. She did all she could to pour life back into him, but the pull was always stronger than the push.

  Though she was draining him, she couldn’t leave him, not when he begged her to stay. “You’re the only one I can count on,” he whispered softly as he held onto her hand so tightly. He’d died before they got him to the hospital.

  She’d killed him.

  He’d been like a father to her, and she’d killed him.

  She’d walked the razor’s edge that every lamia before her had to negotiate—take only enough to keep herself balanced without weakening her host too much. Give back that energy in the form of creativity and innovation. The successes were legendary—Shakespeare, Newton, Edison, Einstein.

  But so were the failures—Hannibal, Keats, Mozart, Gershwin.

  And she’d failed. Tom Bridges had been an important person. Her backfeed of life into him had fueled the development of so many technical innovations that would benefit the world.

  Now he was gone because she hadn’t been able to make herself let go of him.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and put her face in her hands. On the dresser, the bedside lamp began to dim and glow as she drew on its power, then pushed it back again in deep breaths, not only of air, but of life itself.

  She needed that push and pull, that tidal force of energy moving in and out of her. She needed to have a constant, steady stream of life to feed her. She needed her host to anchor her in the flow as it passed through her.

  But she’d killed him.

  Fury built in her, anger at herself for not being stronger, anger at Tom for needing her so much, but more than anything, anger at what she was. It built in her until she stood in the center of the room, her hands clenched so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palms, finally escaping in a loud cry of anguish and frustration.

  “Why?”

  With a loud pop, the lamp on the bedside blew into a thousand shards of glass and the room was plunged into darkness.

  One floor above, Josh’s desk lamp suddenly blew with a popping sound. “Damn it, how am I supposed to read now?” He’d fully intended to eat his dinner in his room and had been studying the menu when the light blew.

  He rose from his chair and hobbled to the light switch. The overhead light was out as well. What was the deal with that?

  Fine, then. He’d go down to dinner, take a couple of ibuprofen, and try to go back to sleep. He’d had a really long nap that afternoon, which was completely out of character for him, but his room had smelled really good. Some kind of candles had been burning when he came in. It had been so peaceful. He’d have lit the candles again in the dark, but they were gone when he woke up from his nap.

  Weird.

  The whole place was a little weird. He headed out the door of his room. The ferry ride into the Atlantic had been interesting at first but had turned boring when they’d run into heavy fog just a short distance off the coast. On arrival, the fog had suddenly cleared to reveal the dock and this huge and completely unexpected Bavarian-style castle off the coast of New England.

  Coming here had not been his idea. In her typical mother-hen fashion, Alicia had booked the trip for him, saying he needed rest and relaxation since physical therapy hadn’t healed his broken hip.

  He’d thought Rob might back him, but his cousin had just shaken his head. “If I know anything, it’s physical therapy,” he stated firmly, patting the arm of his wheelchair. “Therapy ain’t working for you, dude. It’s time for something else. Maybe this is it.”

  He’d given in reluctantly to a couple of weeks at this New England spa—Wiccan Haus. Maybe he’d get to drop in on the L.L.Bean store before leaving the area, so the trip wouldn’t be a total waste of time.

  But at that moment, the growls from his stomach took precedence over everything else.

  As he locked his door and headed to the elevator, he took in the unusual décor. The whole place had a “spa for Frankenstein” kind of vibe to it, lots of fresh flowers and gargoyles.

  Josh walked through the lobby and into the dining room, feeling very much like he needed a stein of beer. A willowy blond girl—Sage, her name tag read—welcomed him and showed him to a table on one side of the room. He sat down and gazed over the menu, then over the other guests around him.

  He recognized some of them from the ferry ride over. The grey-headed suit had changed into a golf shirt and khaki pants and already looked more relaxed.

  But across the room were a group of guests he didn’t remember having seen at all. Some of them were dressed a bit on the odd side. In particular, a tall black-haired woman with dark red lips and a black dress that reminded him of Morticia Addams wove her way between the tables. When she crossed the room in front of him, he read her nametag: Sarka. He was a little relieved when she didn’t stop. Instead a slender silver-haired woman wearing what appeared to be yoga clothing stepped over to greet him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Trenton. My name is Trixie.” The woman’s voice was a soothing cross between a preschool teacher and that curly haired painter on PBS—what was his name again? Oh, yeah, Bob Ross.

  “I’ll be holding a deep breathing class outside after dinner if you would please join us,” Trixie said. “I think you will find it beneficial.”

  Breathing? What kind of idiot needed to learn how to breathe? He just wanted some dinner and a copy of Sports Weekly. “I breathe okay now as it is.” Josh dismissed her firmly but politely.

  “Just come when you are ready.” Trixie gave him a serene smile.

  Sage came by the table then, a cup in her hand. “This is a tea I’ve brewed especially for you.”

  “No, thanks. I drink mine iced.”

  Sage took a step back like he’d insulted her or something.

  “Can’t help it,” he continued. “I’m a Southern boy.”

  She gave him a weak smile and left the cup anyway. He just looked at it. He didn’t drink hot tea.

  His food arrived, but he didn’t recognize half of it and his hip was getting stiff and painful the longer he sat there.

  The blond man, Cemil, came over and asked how his dinner was.

  “It’s all right,” Josh said. “Just different.”

  “I understand. So what brings you to Wiccan Haus?” Cemil took a seat at the table with him.

  “That’s none of your business,” Josh snapped back.

  “Au contraire,” Cemil said. “Your healing is our highest priority. So how did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “How did you hurt yourself?”

  “That, too, is none of your damned business.” Josh pushed his chair away from the table and pulled himself to his feet. “Excuse me.”

  He headed for the exit as quickly as he was able. He wanted to be left alone. He didn’t need these people fussing over him. If he’d wanted that, he’d have stayed home and let Alicia badger him about taking care of himself and doing his therapy.

  However, he had only gotten halfway to the door when a young woman walked in. Sage pointed her toward a table in the far corner of the room. As she walked that way, the light in the room followed her, glinting off her smooth, straight hair. The color—dark blond but with an ashen sheen to it like the silver of birch trees—mesmerized him.

  She sat down at the table and pulled a napkin across her lap. Her skin was fair, almost pale, with a translucent quality like she was illuminated from the inside. Her lips were a pale soft pink, her mouth tender yet sad.

  Her eyes found his and his heart stopped. He fell into her gaze, the color of storm clouds over the ocean. He could almost sense the thunder inside them. He felt something pull at him, like the
tide on the beach pulling at the shrimp nets, like a strong wind drawing him into the center of the storm.

  He hadn’t been aware of walking toward her but found himself standing right beside her table. His breathing had quickened, and his heart pounded as he held out his hand in invitation. He didn’t know if he wanted to shake her hand, or kiss it, or just let her fingers rest in his.

  But before he could find out, a strong arm wrapped itself around his shoulders and steered him away.

  “Hey, Josh!” the deep voice that belonged to the strong arm said as it pulled him away from her. “I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Rekkus. Tomorrow morning, I’ve got a group of boys who are just desperate to meet you.”

  Rekkus walked with him back up to his room, talking nonstop all the while about these kids and how they were huge fans of his.

  Only after they’d reached his room did Josh realize that Rekkus’s strong arm had also helped support the weight on his injured hip so they made the trip back in half the time and with half the effort.

  “Who was that girl in the dining room?” Josh asked as Rekkus unlocked his door and practically pushed him inside. Those candles were back again, enough in the room to burn it down.

  “What girl?” Rekkus asked. “I didn’t see anybody.”

  Josh sat on the edge of the bed, but the walk downstairs had made him tired. Suddenly he was very sleepy. The scent from the candles filled the room and his head began to spin. He couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore and fell back against the pillow.

  Somebody pulled his feet onto the bed as well, maybe Rekkus. He dragged open his eyelids and tried to focus.

  That blond woman, Sage, was in the room as well. She slipped his shoes from his feet and covered him with a blanket from the end of the bed. He wanted to tell them to get the hell out and leave him alone, but he was too sleepy to talk.

  “Are you trying to drug him or kill him?” Rekkus said in a pissed off tone. “You’ve got enough stuff burning in here to roast a pig.”

  “You saw what nearly happened, Rekkus,” Sage said. “Now let’s get out of here and let him sleep.”

  What nearly happened? Who was that girl?

  But the door had shut behind them, and he was alone. Her face floated before him in his mind’s eye for just a moment. He’d only wanted to take her hand. Then he was asleep.

  Chapter Three

  Adriana sat at her table in the dining room in a state of shock. Who was that guy? His eyes had penetrated into her as if he knew her, as if he knew what she was.

  But that wasn’t possible. He was human. He’d never met her before. How could he know her?

  His dark hair was cut short and sexy like a race car driver or something. He wore a baggy T-shirt and shorts, but his clothes couldn’t completely disguise the muscles of his shoulders or the leanness of his stomach.

  But his blue eyes had pierced into her. He’d looked deep into her soul with those clear cerulean eyes—so help her, they were cerulean—and had held out his hand to her.

  And oh, she’d wanted to take it so badly. The life inside him snapped and sparked off him like tempting golden coils of electricity. But before she could lift a finger from her lap, Rekkus had swooped in like some black T-shirt-wearing club bouncer and escorted him away.

  It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t going to touch him. She didn’t even know his name.

  “Josh. His name is Josh Trenton,” Cemil said as he took a seat beside her. “And by now, he is so drugged by Sage’s sleep candles he wouldn’t know his own name.”

  “I wouldn’t have touched him,” Adriana began. “I am not looking for another host.”

  “I know that.” Cemil reached out one hand to touch her himself in an instinctive gesture of connection and comfort, but pulled back just in time. She didn’t even flinch.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all.” She picked at her dinner salad. “I am used to it. Most humans do not have any desire to get very close to me. It’s as if they can feel what I might do to them. And no paranormal will get within five feet. It is only with my own people that I feel free to touch and be touched.”

  And her own people had practically disowned her.

  “All I want is for you to help me control this so I can exist in the world without a host. I do not want to hurt anyone else.”

  “I am not sure you can exist without a host.” Cemil frowned a little. “Very few lamia have ever been able to do without the give and take of energy to survive. If you wish to try, we will need you to move to one of the isolated cabins on the island, but none are available at the moment.”

  “Then I will manage in my room. I will not leave it.”

  “That might be for the best.” Cemil rose from the table. “Enjoy your dinner. We will talk again tomorrow.”

  Adriana sighed and picked up her fork to finish her meal, but every bite tasted like paper on her tongue.

  She couldn’t help but notice how the lights in the building dimmed and brightened in her presence, almost with her pulse. Even the elevator struggled to keep moving as she headed to her room on the second floor.

  Inside the room, she lay down on her bed and wondered about the man at dinner. Josh. Josh Trenton. The name sounded familiar. Why had he come to her table? What did he want?

  Josh slept and dreamed.

  He dreamed he lay beside her, his fingers running through the rippling silk of her hair. Her hair like birch leaves. He caressed the soft outline of her cheek and traced the incredible pink of her lips. She felt like a rose petal, soft and velvety.

  He kissed her, and she tasted sweet and real like homemade wine. He could get drunk off that intoxicating kiss. He was drunk already. He pushed his hand underneath her camisole across the silk of her skin to reach her breast. It fit his hand perfectly with its warm, rounded smoothness. Her nipple brushed against his palm, rising against him.

  He wanted this so badly. He needed to be beside her, inside her, so that her warm softness could wrap around him completely. Without her, he was so cold.

  With a start, he woke up. He was standing at the window of his room, the cool night air blowing in through the open casement. What was he doing? How long had he been standing there?

  His injured hip ached with the exertion and the coolness of the room. He began to shiver.

  A knock at his door stirred him from his spot, and he limped over to open it.

  Rekkus filled the doorway. “You okay in here, Josh?” the big man asked. “Thought I heard something.”

  “I’m fine. I was just going out for a walk.”

  “It’s two in the morning,” Rekkus said. “How about you take your walk when it’s closer to daylight?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Josh shut the door and then shut the window. He lay back down to sleep, but kept thinking about her, about how it would feel to be next to her. He didn’t even know her name.

  “What have you done to him?” Sarka asked Adriana the next morning in her office. “Rekkus said he nearly jumped out of the window last night.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” Adriana said for what felt like the hundredth time. “I went to bed and went to sleep. That’s all.”

  Adriana refrained from mentioning the fact that her dreams had been anything but peaceful. In fact, she’d woken up orgasmic at least three times. Or that her energies were far more balanced that morning than they’d been in weeks. Because they were dreams. Only dreams.

  “We have never had a death on the island.” Sarka’s voice was so firm that the air in the room had grown a little heavy and the shadows had gotten much darker.

  Adriana recalled that Sarka was a very powerful enchantress and one she would do well to respect. “I am no threat to anyone here. I will stay far away from him and everyone else. I just wa
nt to rest.”

  Sarka stared at her silently for several more seconds and then dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

  Adriana left the office feeling troubled. Had she somehow caused Josh to nearly jump out a window? She didn’t even know him.

  On the way back down the hall to her room, she stopped in the lobby to pick up a couple of books to read. The rooms didn’t have televisions—part of the rest and relaxation policy, she assumed—so she needed something to do. Chattering voices diverted her from the selection of books on the lending library shelf.

  “I still can’t believe Josh Trenton is here on the island,” a boy’s voice called from the entry. “He’s like a legend!” Four teenage boys pushed into the door, each bearing a skateboard.

  “Rekkus said he’d introduce us.” One of them flipped back his shaggy blond hair.

  “Who is Josh Trenton?” she asked the group as they drew nearer.

  “Where have you been?” the first asked. “He’s a skateboarding legend. X-Games champion. Cover of Sports Weekly.”

  “Twice,” one of the others interjected.

  “Makes really epic skateboards.” Another held up his board and pointed to the bright graphic of a wolf emblazoned upon it.

  “Nearly killed himself a couple of months ago skating the loop,” came a voice behind them.

  “Dude! It’s Josh Trenton!” The boys practically fell over themselves trying to get to him. “Dude, sign my shirt!”