Kitabı oku: «Immortal Bride»
She froze on the shore, unable to move—her gaze locked with his
Damien could see her.
This was what she’d wanted, Olivia reminded herself, as panic choked her. She had wanted him to see her. She needed him to see her in order to exact her revenge.
But when he lifted his arms and reached for her, the panic turned to fear. With dread, she turned to the lake. Every time she went back in, she had to fight harder to reach the surface—to leave those icy depths. But while she’d wanted him to see her, she wasn’t ready yet—she wasn’t strong enough to face him.
Even now, knowing what he had undoubtedly done to her, she wanted him….
MILLS & BOON
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LISA CHILDS
has been writing since she could first form sentences. At eleven she won her first writing award and was interviewed by the local newspaper. That story’s plot revolved around a kidnapping, probably something she wished on any of her six siblings. A Halloween birthday predestined a life of writing for the Nocturne line. She enjoys the mix of suspense and romance.
Readers can write to Lisa at P.O. Box 139, Marne, Michigan 49435, or visit her at her Web site, www.lisachilds.com.
Immortal Bride
Lisa Childs
Dear Reader,
I am a voracious reader myself, and my favorite books are romances, of course. I was just eleven when my mom and grandma introduced me to romance novels. I fell as in love as the heroes and heroines in the books I read. I love a good love story—a story of the kind of love that withstands time, that withstands life and death.
Damien Gray, a modern-day warrior, has that kind of love for his immortal bride, but theirs is no simple romance, because one of them is alive and the other is dead—murdered, perhaps at the hand of the man she loves.
I hope you enjoy the story of Damien and Olivia’s immortal love.
Happy reading!
Lisa Childs
For my parents, Jack and Mary Lou Childs,
whose amazing love story has spanned sixty years
of marriage. Thank you for your guidance,
love, support and inspiration. Happy Anniversary,
Mom and Dad!
Love,
Lisa
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Prologue
Centuries ago…
Crouched on the boulder on the rocky shore, Gray Wolf’s image reflected back at him from the moonlit surface of the Lake of Tears. The stripe of white had widened in his black hair, but other than that, he didn’t look much older than he’d been before the lake had formed.
Remembering the ravine that water had filled, he winced as he felt again the rocks and branches tearing at his skin as he’d dropped into what his people had believed a bottomless abyss. Yet the rocks and branches had not inflicted the scar that shone faintly on his deeply tanned skin, on his chest, where an arrow had pierced his heart.
He had been dead long before the arrow had killed him, though. The same shaman who’d shot the bow had killed the mother of Gray Wolf’s son. But Gray Wolf hadn’t known, so he had blamed invaders from a far off land and himself until those invaders returned with the woman. Anya—with her hair like moonlight and her eyes like chips of a light blue sky.
The shaman had called her a sorceress, and although he hadn’t admitted it, he’d been fearful that she was more powerful than him. So the Wise One had ordered her death as necessary to protect the sacred land of Gray Wolf’s people. Only on their land grew the special herbs that could be used in potions that induced supernatural powers. Anxious to redeem himself for what he’d considered his failure to protect his people, Gray Wolf had accepted the mission to kill her.
Instead he had fallen in love with the flaxen haired, pale-skinned beauty. As her touch could bring slain warriors back to life, it had brought him back to life. Twice. First from his self-imposed death due to guilt and remorse and then from genuine death. She had filled the ravine with her tears, so his body had floated to the surface. She’d dragged him onto this very boulder on which he crouched and had brought him to life again.
And to love. He had never loved another like he loved his Anya. And he never would…
Water splashed as the surface of the lake broke. Arms, as pale as moonlight, glided like ripples through the water, bringing her to him. He gazed down into her light blue eyes, and his once-wounded heart clenched with love. “Anya…”
“My warrior…always protecting me,” she said with a wistful sigh.
Even impaled with the arrow, he had saved her from the shaman—throwing her crude dagger and killing the Wise One. Yet Gray could not help but feel the man’s spirit lurked, waiting to seek his revenge against Gray Wolf’s descendants. But Gray wasn’t the gifted one. Anya was, as was a female from every other generation of her family. They had no children together—just his son whom she treated like her own. Gray wished for his son, and all his descendants, to find a woman like Gray had, a sorceress, who could save him from the vengeance of the shaman and whose love would create their own Legend of the Lake of Tears.
Chapter 1
She fought her way from the murky depths of the lake, kicking against the skirt of her gown. The wet tatters of material wound around her legs like the tentacles of some monster of the deep, trapping her beneath the icy water. Help me! Help me!
She could only utter the words inside her head. Her voice, shaking with fear and desperation, echoed inside her mind. She blinked back the water and tears that blinded her. Faint light guided her toward the surface, yet she could not break free. But she could see the world beyond the lake. She could see him.
With the ripples in the water, his face wavered in and out of focus. He crouched atop a boulder on the rocky shore, the wind ruffling his hair, which was all black but for a thin streak of white in the lock falling across his forehead. He leaned out over the lake and tossed long-stemmed roses like stones across the water.
Frantically thrashing her arms and legs, she finally broke free to the surface. But no water splashed. She didn’t create so much as a ripple.
His shoulders hunched and head down, he didn’t even glance toward her. His face, with sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes, reflected in the lake. But her face—none of her—reflected back from the water. Because she no longer existed. He had made certain of that.
“Are the flowers for me?” she asked him through the bitterness and anger choking her.
He lifted his head, as if listening. Then he pushed a slightly shaking hand through his hair, which was long, nearly brushing his broad shoulders. With a heavy sigh, he climbed down from the boulder and walked away, leaving the lake and her behind him.
“Damien!” she screamed. But the birds continued to chirp in the trees surrounding the lake, undisturbed by her cry. Because no one could hear her anymore.
But him? He turned back, glancing over his shoulder at the roses floating across the surface of the water. Did he see her…floating just above? Or did he see only the mist that rolled across the lake every evening as the sun dropped from the sky?
“Damien!” she screamed again, but he whirled away from her and headed up the steep hill to the Victorian house perched on the edge of it. The weathered clapboard and fieldstone facade of the house, with its turrets and gables, blended into the rocky slope—except for its widow’s walk, the ornate railing rising eerily above the roofline.
Propelled by anger, she found the strength to pull herself from the lake. She followed him but stopped before the boulder from which he had tossed the roses. A glint of metal drew her attention to a bronze plate affixed to the ancient rock. She reached through the thickening mist and, with a trembling, pale fingertip, traced the engraving in the memorial plate.
Olivia Ann Kingston-Gray, Rest in Peace.
But Olivia could find no peace in death or this limbo in which she existed where her body lay—at the bottom of the Lake of Tears for the past six months. And her restless spirit roamed the rocky shore of the lake, anger feeding off her grief and fear until rage consumed her.
She traced the last words of the inscription. Beloved Wife. Another pretty lie. He had told her so many times—making her trust him, making her fall for him. Olivia didn’t know at whom she was more angry—him for telling the lies or herself for being so gullible that she’d believed him. But now, too late, she knew better.
And she knew what she had to do. Olivia had returned from the dead for one reason. Revenge. Against the man who had killed her. Her husband.
Damien Gray stared down at the lake, which stretched out a half mile from the rocky shore in front of the house. Woods of ancient pines surrounded it. He studied the surface of the lake, watching it grow dark as the last trace of daylight faded into dusk.
Wisps of fog drifted across the gray surface like the roses he had strewn onto the water just a short time ago. He braced his palm against the cool, curved glass of the second-story, turret bedroom window and leaned forward, staring intently across the rocky shore to the lake. He narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the thickening mist. Trying to see her.
Had she been there earlier, floating on the surface of the lake like the fog? Or had her faint image only been his mind—and his heart—playing tricks on him again? Hell, everywhere he looked he saw her now. Maybe she was only a figment of his imagination and his guilt.
Or she was actually haunting him…?
He blew out a ragged breath of bone-deep weariness and turned away from the window. Maybe if he could close his eyes and not see her, he wouldn’t see her when he was awake, either. He needed some damn sleep. Now. Before insomnia stole whatever was left of his sanity.
But when Damien turned toward the antique sleigh bed, the last thing he thought of was sleeping in it. He thought again—always—of her. And their honeymoon…
Olivia had giggled as Damien kicked open the door and carried her across the threshold into the master suite. “You’re really pushing this macho thing by carrying me up the stairs,” she teased. “You better put me down.”
Never. The thought flashed through his mind, and his arms tightened around his new bride.
“Trying to get away from me already?” he asked, keeping his tone light and teasing even though he worried that she was. That she might. Because it had happened before.
Her hand clenched on his shoulder, and she smiled up into his face, her pale blue eyes shining with love. Or so he’d thought at the time. “I’m right where I want to be,” she assured him.
“Good,” he said with satisfaction, “because you are not going anywhere.”
She lifted her chin and challenged him. “Oh, I’m not?”
“No, I forbid it.” And he wasn’t entirely joking.
She tilted her head. “Hmmm…as I recall the vows that we spoke today, we agreed to respect each other, but there was no mention of obeying.”
“Hmmm…” he mocked her, “I recall you definitely agreeing to obey. Have you forgotten so soon, Wife?”
“Nice try, Husband,” she mocked back. “But if you don’t let me go, I can’t give you your surprise….”
His gut tightened with apprehension. “Surprise?” He hated surprises. He’d had one too damn many.
Taking advantage of having distracted him, Olivia wiggled out of his arms. “Yes, I have a surprise for you.” She grabbed a small suitcase from the chest at the foot of the bed and carried it into the bathroom. “I’m glad the bags were brought up.”
“Nathan brought them up when we went down to the lake,” he said, glancing toward the curved turret windows that overlooked the rocky shore and the Lake of Tears. But he didn’t move toward the window; he could not move farther away from her.
“Nathan?” she asked through a crack in the bathroom door.
“My cousin and the caretaker of the house and lake,” he explained—as much as anyone could explain Nathan Gray.
“The shaman?” she asked.
Obviously she had spent enough time in town to hear about Nathan. Usually the residents of the village of Grayson, in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, were reticent with and suspicious of strangers. But from the moment Olivia had come to town, she had been accepted as if she belonged. And she did—she belonged with him.
“Yes, Nathan is believed to be a shaman,” he said. But no matter what the townspeople, or Nathan, thought, Damien struggled to accept the legends and the beliefs of the past as anything more than fairy tales. He was too pragmatic and cynical to believe in the supernatural.
“I want to meet him,” she said.
Probably to question him about the lake, as she had persistently questioned Damien since they had first met. Her fascination with the legend of the Lake of Tears should have forewarned him…of the tragedy to come.
“I want to thank him,” Olivia explained, “for bringing up the bags.”
Then she stepped out of the bathroom and into the soft light of the crystal chandelier. And for a moment Damien stopped breathing, the air trapped in his lungs, as he stared at his bride. Even though she hadn’t worn a wedding dress for their civil ceremony, she had been beautiful in an ivory skirt and jacket, with her hair pinned up. Now she looked bridal—in a white silk-and-lace robe and gossamer gown with her platinum hair shimmering like moonlight around her shoulders.
“I want to thank him, too,” Damien said, his voice raspy as desire for his bride overwhelmed him.
Her fingers trembling, she plucked at the long, full skirt of the gown. “It’s not too much? I know we wanted to keep things simple.” Dark pink color flooded her pale skin. “And it’s not like we’ve never done it before….”
He reached out and pressed a finger across her lips. “Shhh…” He sought to settle her nerves even as ones of his own rushed up to squeeze his chest. “Tonight is our first time.”
Beneath his finger her lips curved into a smile of amusement. “Damien…”
“Tonight is our first time as man and wife.” He moved his finger back and forth across the silkiness of her full lips. “Tonight is the first time I sleep with my bride….”
“This bride,” she murmured, her eyes soft with vulnerability.
Since he’d met her, which had actually been a few short months ago, he had witnessed only her strength and confidence. He had never glimpsed her insecurity until that moment.
Did she have doubts or regrets about marrying him? “Olivia?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head so that her hair swirled around her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have mentioned her—”
But now that she had, the pressure that had weighed on Damien for years returned. He shoved a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe we shouldn’t have come here.”
“You didn’t want to,” she reminded him. “I talked you into it.”
And he should have followed his gut instinct and stayed away from the lake. Hell, maybe he should have sold the house and property. Unlike Nathan and Olivia, with their fascination with the past, Damien preferred to leave it behind and move on to the future. But he and Olivia had met here at the lake, and so he had allowed himself to be persuaded to return for their honeymoon.
Their honeymoon.
He was the one who needed to move on, to let the past go and focus on the future. His future with Olivia.
“I intend to give you everything you want, Olivia,” he promised.
She gazed up at him, her blue eyes soft, and insisted, “I only want you.”
He lifted his hand and ran his thumb over the gold band on his finger. “You have me.”
“I’m greedy,” she said, her lips lifting in a smile again, but one that was more wistful than amused. “I want all of you.”
He had worried that she would want more from him than he could give. But yet he had proposed. Maybe it was the gambler in him that had compelled him to risk his heart again. Or maybe it was her.
“You have all of me,” he assured her. “I’m here.”
Not at the chain of casinos that usually consumed all his time and energy but that had rewarded him for his hard work and dedication with more money than he would ever be able to spend.
“And I’m with you—only you.” Because of her, he was able to move on beyond the pain of his past.
He pushed his fingers into her soft hair, cupping her head and tipping up her face so she’d meet his gaze. “You are everything to me.”
Her breath shuddered out in a warm caress against his throat and chin. “I love you. I love you.”
Damien, as a gambler, was used to taking risks. But he didn’t like to drop his poker face and reveal his hand. Too many times the other person had proved to be bluffing. But this was Olivia, and even though he hadn’t known her long, he felt he knew her well, well enough to trust her. “And I love you….”
“Prove it to me,” she challenged, shrugging off the white silk robe to leave her creamy shoulders bare but for the narrow straps of the gown. Through the thin lace, he caught glimpses of her body—the swell of her breasts, the shadow of her navel and her rosy areolas. Under his intense stare, her nipples hardened and penetrated the flimsy material.
He groaned. “That’s some gown.”
“Negligee.”
“Whatever it is, I like it,” he said as he slid his finger under one of the straps. “But I’d like it even more off you.”
“You’re the one with too many clothes on,” she complained, reaching for his tie, unknotting and then sliding it free of his shirt. Next she attacked the buttons, undoing them to bare his chest to her soft hands and softer lips.
His heart pounded hard beneath her mouth. He tangled his fingers in the silken strands of her hair and tugged gently so that her face tipped up to his. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to hers. He nibbled first at her lips then deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into the sweet warmth of her mouth, as he couldn’t wait to bury himself inside her body.
His blood was rushing through his veins as he slid his mouth from hers, over her delicate jaw to her neck. Her pulse pounded with a passion nearly as fierce as his. He moved his hands over the silk and lace covering her body, tracing the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips…
Then he cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs across the nipples protruding through the gown. When he replaced one thumb with his mouth, suckling through the lace and tugging gently with his teeth, Olivia moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing his head against her breasts. “Damien, please….”
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. The pale blue irises nearly swallowed by her enlarged pupils, she stared down at him. “Please,” she repeated, “give me everything….”
“Oh, I intend to,” he promised as he pushed the straps of the gown from her shoulders. The white lace slithered down her body, puddling at her feet, leaving her pale skin bare but for the flush of passion. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed and vowed, “I’m going to give you everything, Wife, and not just tonight….”
But for the rest of their lives. He had intended to spend his life making her happy, not mourning her loss.
That night had marked the beginning of their marriage and was supposed to have been the beginning of their life together. But less than a week later, before the honeymoon had ended, Olivia was dead.
Rubbing a slightly shaking hand over his face, he stared out the window again. A storm had rolled in with his turbulent memories. Dark clouds hung over the fog-enshrouded lake while thunder rumbled in the distance. Then lightning broke the clouds, illuminating the sky, the lake, the rocky shore—and her.
Olivia, wearing that same silk-and-lace gown he’d taken off her on their wedding night, walked along the shore. The lightning caught in her hair, making the long blond strands as luminescent as moonlight.
He pounded his fist against the curved glass and screamed her name: “Olivia!”
Lightning flashed, cutting through the mist to illuminate the rocky shore and the house on the hill above it—and the man standing at the window of the bedroom in the second story of the turret. Thunder drowned out his voice, but from the way he moved his lips, she could tell he screamed her name.
She froze on the shore, unable to move, her gaze locked with his. Then the dark clouds dropped closer to the earth, blocking the house and him from her vision. But her tension did not ease; she was as restless as the weather. The crisp spring wind whipped around the lake, shaking the boughs of the ancient pines. Thunder boomed with such force that the rocks on the shore beneath her trembled, and above her, the windows of the house rattled.
Then lightning cracked again, illuminating the house. But no one stood at the upstairs window anymore. Because now he stood—just a couple of yards—in front of her, his handsome face stark with shock as the color drained from his usually dark skin. “Olivia…?”
He could see her.
This was what she’d wanted, she reminded herself, as panic choked her. She had wanted him to see her. She had needed him to see her to exact her revenge.
But when he lifted his arms and reached for her, the panic turned to fear. And she spun around, running along the shore.
“Olivia!”
The scrape of his shoes against the rocks warned her that he followed. And his ragged breath rising above the wind warned that he drew closer.
With dread she turned to the lake. Every time she went back in, she had to fight harder to reach the surface—to leave those icy depths. But while she’d wanted him to see her, she wasn’t ready yet. She wasn’t as strong as she needed to be to face him. She dove into the water, sinking fast as the lake, pulling at her gown and her hair, sucked her deep.
God, what had she done? Why had she run? It wasn’t as if he could kill her twice. She was already dead….
The water shifted around her, as another body fought against the power of the lake. But this one was alive, for now. Damien’s long legs and arms thrashed as he dove deep. Looking for her?
All these months of restless wandering, this was what she had wanted, for what she had waited. For him to see her. And for an opportunity for revenge. She would have no more perfect opportunity than now…than for him to experience the same fate she had.
Death.
Six months ago, on one night of their honeymoon, she had waited on the shore for him to return from checking in at the casino in Grayson. Wearing only her wedding-night negligee and moonlight, she had planned a special surprise for him. Anticipation had rushed through her as she’d heard the distinctive engine of his custom-made sports car pulling into the drive. But she hadn’t anticipated the attack moments later. She’d had only a momentary flash of foreboding before the blow—not enough warning to react. To save herself and…
She had been knocked over the head and dumped into the lake. The icy water had shocked her into consciousness, and she had fought hard against the hands holding her beneath the water. His hands. She had clawed and kicked, trying to free herself. But then the water had filled her lungs, and she had lost her strength and consciousness again. She’d sunk deep to the bottom of the lake that legend claimed was bottomless. Because no one had ever reached such depths…and lived.
And this time, neither would he…
She cut through the water until she found him. He had changed direction now, kicking toward the surface, unwilling to dive as deep as he had sent her, as he had consigned her for eternity. And she reached out, manacling her fingers around his ankle.
This was the revenge she had wanted, she reminded herself, as doubts assailed her. This was what he deserved for what he had done to her. An eye for an eye…
A life for a life…
But he hadn’t taken just one.
Lungs burning with oxygen deprivation, Damien fought his way toward the surface—toward air. But something caught his foot, wrapping around his ankle and pulling him down. Above him lightning flashed, illuminating the lake and those precious feet that separated him from the surface.
What the hell had he been thinking to leap into the Lake of Tears after an apparition? She couldn’t be real. God, he was losing his mind. And now maybe his life…
He kicked with one foot, the other still caught. Something cold, but which paradoxically heated his blood, wound tight around his ankle, trapping him beneath the water. Panic pressed against his chest, adding to the constriction from lack of oxygen. He had to stay calm if he intended to stay alive.
But hell, what was the point of fighting, of living, when he had nothing for which—for whom—to live?
But he was a Gray—a Gray Wolf, actually, before his ancestors had dropped their surname. And through history Grays had always been fierce warriors. Damien could not stop fighting because he didn’t know how; it was too much a part of his nature, the very essence of who and what he was.
Summoning the last of his energy, as unconsciousness threatened, his vision growing black, he turned in the water, diving down to see on what he was caught.
And he saw her. Pale—almost translucent—fingers wrapped around his ankle, trapping him under the water.
Why?
Her face lifted toward his, and their gazes met. Those pale blue eyes, which had once shone with love whenever she’d looked at him, were now hard and cold with hatred.
“Why?” he mouthed the word at her. And as he did, the last of his air left his lungs and his world went black, swallowing her ghostly image from his sight as the Lake of Tears swallowed his body.
The ancient ghost of an Indian shaman stood on the rocky slope, where he had died centuries ago, before a sorceress’s tears had filled the deep ravineand formed the lake. And he watched and waited, hoping that this time the Gray Wolf warrior would not rise from the depths of the abyss and live….
