Cursed Kiss (Paranormal Romance) (17 page)

She reached out, found his hand, and slid her fingers into his palm. He lifted her hand to his lips and whispered her name. "You are so beautiful, sweetheart."

"Come closer, Luka. Hold me."

He climbed in the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms. Clare let her fingers wander over his shoulders, enjoying the smooth skin and firm muscles.

"I've dreamed of this," he said against her hair, "of being close to you, holding you in my arms."

Clare curved her palm around his cheek, felt the prickle of stubble against her skin. "Kiss me, Luka."

His lips touched hers, tentatively at first, then firmer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, reveling in the melting heat inside her. Just a kiss from Luka swept her away. There was something between them she'd never found with a man before, a connection at a deeper level than she'd ever experienced.

She wanted this night in his arms to go on forever.

She closed her eyes, and nuzzled the warm, firm strength of his shoulder as he trailed his hand down her arm. She twined her fingers in his hair while he stroked her back.

God, she wanted him. She wanted to touch him everywhere, to taste him, to feel him inside her. Pleasure flowed from his caress, filling every cell of her body.

When she raised her hand to pull down the strap of her nightdress, he caught her wrist and dragged in a breath. "No, love, you need sleep."

He hadn't touched a woman for decades, but he still put her needs above his. She traced her fingers around his jaw. "You're too good to be true, you know."

He gathered her against his chest and held her tightly. "Seeing myself reflected in your eyes, I almost believe you," he whispered. "I wish I could live up to your opinion of me." He released a sigh that pinched her heart.

Clare clung to him while a tornado of emotion spun inside her. What would it be like to wake beside him? That seemed like an impossible dream.

With a soft click, the bedroom door opened. Clare's heart jumped with fear at the sound. Slivers of pain shot down her body as she jolted her injured neck, but it was only Pablo. He advanced on the bed, wearing nothing but scarlet pajama pants. He blinked sleepily and scratched his chest. "What happened?"

"Clare was attacked by a psychic vampire. Her energy is low."

"Ah. Can I get in with you?" Without waiting for an answer, Pablo walked around the bed and climbed in on the other side of Clare. She met Luka's gaze and they both laughed.

Pablo pushed up on his elbow. "What?"

"You didn't wait to be invited."

Pablo only grunted and snuggled back under the covers.

"Well, I think we can safely say you will not be attacked by that intruder again tonight," Luka said to her.

"I guess not." She settled down again and snuggled up to Luka, determined to enjoy every second of being with him while they could touch.

"Good night, my love," he said.

"Good night, Luka. Good night, Pablo." She had to admit she did feel safe, even if the setup was rather unorthodox.

***

The following morning, Clare stood outside the château's back door. She sipped her coffee and watched Pablo and Luka dance around each other in skintight white fencing uniforms as they sparred. It was an interesting sight. Although she still felt weary after losing energy to the vampire, her body hummed from spending the night in Luka's arms.

The fine blades of the swords flashed in the sun as they thrust and parried. They fought in the enclosed stable yard while three stable lads lounged against the wall, watching, and eyeing Clare with feigned disinterest.

Six horses looked on, their heads poking out over their stable doors while they chomped their breakfast.

White doves fluttered around the slate roof of the clock tower on the far side of the yard, and Clare noted it was already half past ten. She had woken alone shortly after ten, had a super-quick shower, and raced downstairs. She didn't think the thing that attacked her would come back in daylight, but she was eager to find out what it was and how to fight it off. Its smell had reminded her of Edward—not a pleasant thought.

One of the horses behind Pablo shook its head vigorously, showering food on him. He swore and looked around. Luka went for the kill. The tip of his blade spiked Pablo's chest over his heart.

Luka stepped back and pulled off his face protector.

"That's not fair," Pablo said as he followed suit. "I was distracted."

"Fighting is not about being fair. If these were real blades, you'd be dead."

Both men walked towards her. Pablo shoved his sword beneath his arm and pulled off his gloves. "Next time I'll beat you."

Luka smiled. "You say that every time."

"I need a hug to console me." Pablo put his arm around Clare's shoulders.

She held her coffee aside and embraced him with one arm. She didn't know the rules of fencing, but she was sure Luka would never cheat on principle. Pablo however, would almost certainly cheat, but he would never mean any harm.

She met Luka's eyes over Pablo's shoulder and he smiled, a genuinely happy smile that touched her deeply. She ached to hug him too, to hold his hand and kiss him. Living without touching must be so lonely. Clare wasn't a touchy-feely person, but to be denied physical contact with anyone would drive her insane. No wonder Pablo was important to him; as well as feeding Luka energy, Pablo was his only human contact.

Both men stripped off their white jackets and stood in undershirts, drinking glasses of iced water.

"I've been thinking about my nocturnal visitor," Clare said. "It had a very distinctive smell that reminds me of Edward Gregore, the guy who attacked me in Amsterdam."

"Do you know much about this man?" Luka asked.

"He's in cahoots with Monique and there's something weird about him."

"How so?"

Clare was reluctant to tell them. She was half convinced she'd been fooled. "I kneed him in the groin."

Both men grimaced. "That's the reaction I expected from him, but he didn't have anything down there."

Luka frowned. "You mean he's really a woman?"

"No. I mean he's smooth like plastic."

"
Mierda
." Pablo's eyes widened. He cupped his crotch as if reassuring himself everything was where it should be.

Luka narrowed his eyes. "What did you say his name was?"

"Edward Gregore."

"E. Gregore. Egregore." Luka cursed beneath his breath and threw his gloves on the stone bench.

"Do you know what he is?"

"My guess is Monique created this creature herself. An egregore is usually cast from clay. It's molded into a shape approximating the form it will take. When the creature is animated, the conjurer visualizes how they want it to appear to the world."

"You're saying Monique created Edward out of clay?" Clare couldn't keep the disbelief out of her voice. That was plainly ridiculous.

"I think it's probable. She has given him a name that describes what he is. It probably amuses her that no one has a clue to his identity."

Clare's legs wobbled with more than the remnants of fatigue. She plopped down on the stone bench. In her mind, she relived many encounters with Edward, the way he spoke, the way he moved, his face, his attitude. He was weird but… "He's the chief financial officer of Moray. You should see the financial reports he generates. There's no way he's a clay model."

One of the stable lads approached and asked Luka a question, which he answered in French. When the boy walked away, Luka indicated the gateway out of the yard. "Let's adjourn to a more private location. We don't want to be overheard."

They wandered out of the yard, along a dirt track that led past the back of the stables, and halted by a field where some horses grazed. Luka leaned his forearms on the gate and Pablo mimicked him. Clare sat on the grass and rested her back against the gatepost.

Could she have been working with a man made of clay? His groin had been smooth like pottery. Eyes closed, she pressed her forehead against her knees and tried to get her head around the possibility. But it just didn't add up. "There's got to be more to Edward than a bit of clay."

"How long has he been around?" Luka asked.

"As long as I've been at Moray, that's five years."

"I understood egregores were mindless beings created for a single task. It doesn't sound as though he fits that description, but Monique is clever enough to make her own improved version. I wonder if she's summoned a spirit from the astral plane and trapped it in the egregore to give it intelligence."

Clare plucked a wildflower and twirled it in her fingers. She couldn't connect this egregore thing with the man she'd worked with, even though he was a weird creep. And the truth was, she didn't want to. The idea that Edward might be made of clay was too unpleasant to contemplate.

"If it contained a spirit, that would explain its long life and its intelligence." Luka drummed his fingers on top of the gate. "You know, it might also explain the fact it's a psychic vampire. A creature like that would produce no energy of its own. It would need to feed regularly. Do you know anyone else who's been attacked like you were last night?"

"No. That was a first for me." The statement comforted her for a second, then her father's haggard face flashed before her eyes. "Oh my God." She pressed a hand to her mouth as an awful possibility occurred to her.

She'd locked away the memories of her father; now they flooded back, threatening to overwhelm her with guilt: her father cowering in the corner of his room, whimpering, his face a mask of terror as he hid from what she'd assured him were imaginary monsters.

"Clare,
mi amor
, what's the matter?" Pablo crouched at her side and rubbed her arm.

"My father…he had night terrors. In the morning I'd find him under his bed." Clare covered her eyes. "He said a devil with red eyes was killing him. The doctors told me he had a wasting disease, but they couldn't identify it." Clare's fingernails bit into her scalp. "He went from being a strong, healthy man to a shriveled skeleton. When they took him to the hospital, I was relieved. Do you think Edward was his devil?" she whispered.

"It's possible," Luka said.

"Poor Dad. I didn't believe him. I thought it was all in his mind."

"Clare," Luka said gently. "If Edward was the one attacking your father, do you understand what that means?"

"Dad probably wasn't ill at all." Anguish surged through her at the thought she might have been able to help him if only she'd known the truth.

"You're right, but that's not what I meant. An egregore follows the commands of its creator. If Edward attacked your father, it was at Monique's bidding."

Darkness ringed Clare's vision. If that were so, her grandmother had condemned Clare's father to a slow, painful death. She'd condemned Clare to be a child caregiver, coping with schoolwork, social workers, and an invalid father.

Clare was at a loss to understand her grandmother's motivation. "Then why offer me a home and a chance to work for Moray?"

"I imagine she wanted someone of her blood to inherit Moray."

Clare glanced up at Luka, shading her eyes with her hand. "So why did she send Edward to attack me last night?"

"That, my love, is a good question."

Chapter Thirteen

Clare lifted another massive leather-bound book down from a shelf in the library and added it to the pile in Pablo's arms. For the last three days, he'd been her constant companion.

As she dropped into her chair, he set the heap of books on the table before her. She hadn't studied this hard since her college exams.

"You're exhausting yourself,
mi amor
. You still haven't recovered from the psychic attack. Please, take a break."

He had been thoughtful and helpful, providing moral support. Without him, her crash course in magic would have been much harder. He was trying to repay her for looking out for him in Taldom, and he was doing a good job.

Pablo dropped into the chair at her side and gazed at her with adoring eyes like a dog waiting for a pat. She felt a twinge of guilt at her comparison. With a smile, she patted his arm affectionately. Luka often touched Pablo in the same way—a reassuring pat to say, "Good boy, you haven't been forgotten." Poor Pablo adored Luka and seemed to have formed an attachment to her as well. Yet neither of them gave him the love he wanted. He deserved more.