Bound by Time (7 page)

“I’m just surprised you didn’t want to go to one of the fast food places up on the main road.”

Isobel shrugged. “I prefer the little independent places when I can find them. Besides, I love the square.”

They spent another hour discussing the pros and cons of various books and authors. When the conversation started to turn more personal, Isobel told him she needed to get home. He walked her back to her car, and Isobel couldn’t decide if she was surprised or not to see his black motorcycle in the next space over.

It really was a sick twist of fate that placed the perfect guy in her path. Perfect, except she couldn’t tell him about the creepy laughter and icy fingers that chased her through the house. Or that a headless man wasn’t always the worst of her dreams now. Or that her mom’s new window watched her and to top it off, a strange power that had killed her birth mother was trying to break loose from inside her.

Damien watched her car back out and drive away. He hadn’t missed the barely visible dark smudges under her eyes or how she nervously steered the conversation away from anything personal. How much was she hiding? The energy level in the house had stayed fairly constant. Was the low level just enough to terrorize her? He would have to keep a closer eye on it.

Isobel drove slowly back to her house with a deep sense of regret, wishing there could be more between her and Damien, but things were just too strange. When she pulled down the drive, the house seemed to be waiting for her. The sun reflected off the huge, round window and for a moment she saw a white veil covering it again. Something dark moved within the colored glass. Then it was gone.

Isobel exhaled and parked the car. A trick of the light, that was all. She stepped out into the warm afternoon, picked her book up, and stared at the house. Why did they have such a big house anyway? It was only the three of them. Even Elizabeth had thought it excessive, but her father insisted because he liked the island. If they had a smaller house the window wouldn’t have fit and it wouldn’t be there.

Hot air brushed past her face as she pushed the front door shut. Isobel leaned against the smooth wood and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart.

Another hot breeze brushed her cheek followed by laughter. Her eyes snapped open. A large, bent shape of smoky shadows stood in front of her. A scream strangled in her throat. Isobel stood frozen as it reached for her. It melted away before the shadowy claws could touch her.

Her legs trembled as fear clawed at her insides. Casting a frightened look at the stairs, Isobel ran into the family room. It was the farthest point from the window when she was inside the house.

The laughter followed her. Isobel turned the stereo on and cranked the volume until the bass rattled her chest and drowned out the laughter. She hugged her arms around her middle. Could malicious spirits do that? Could they make people see things? Sleep deprivation caused hallucinations. Was the lack of restful sleep, not to mention the dreams, affecting her mind?

The pounding music was her only answer.

I
t felt like a lifetime since her parents had left, but it was only three weeks. Isobel stood at the large windows in the family room and watched dark, heavy clouds smother the evening sky as a rumble of thunder rolled across the house.

There would be no reading outside this evening. Fat drops of rain splattered across the deck, growing heavier. The sky darkened as rain poured down. Isobel shoved her hand through her hair. After a hot, humid day spent outside she needed a shower.

Isobel climbed the stairs with heavy steps, reluctant as always to be near the window. The feeling of being watched settled over her immediately. She showered and pulled on clean clothes as fast as she could, anxious to get back downstairs.

“Isobel.”

She froze in the act of running the brush through her hair as her heart slammed in her chest.

“Isobel.”
The silky whisper called her again.

Isobel trembled at the sinister sound. and fear laced the blood rushing through her veins. In the mirror her reflection warped and changed as if melting. Isobel’s throat constricted, strangling the scream that tried to tear from it. Stumbling, she threw herself from the bathroom and bolted through the bedroom.

On the landing, the crimson eye glared balefully at her. Malevolence radiated from it. She backed away until she hit the wall then walked sideways, sliding along it until she felt the smooth wood of the short banister. Terrified to look at the window, Isobel was more afraid to look away. It wasn’t just a window. There was something very wrong with it, and she couldn’t bring herself to turn her back.

When Isobel reached the stairs, she ran down them and threw open the front door. A loud crack of thunder made her flinch back. The rain poured down in curtains so heavy she couldn’t even see her car. Where was she going to go in this? Did she really think she could go to the police and tell them her mom’s window was evil? They would think she was on drugs, crazy, or both. Isobel shut the door.

Isobel turned to face the house. The sound of the pounding rain seemed distant somehow. She stood perfectly still, listening as her pulse pounded in her ears. Outside, lightning flashed bright, illuminating the rooms. Nothing moved—nothing spoke.

After several long moments, she let out a shaky breath. What was she going to do, huddle by the front door all summer? Moving as quietly as possible, she crept through the living room toward the kitchen to retrieve her phone. She had to call Amelia. She needed a friend; someone who would listen and maybe help stop this.

The darkness seemed thicker in the kitchen. Her bare foot stepped in something warm and wet. “What the—” Isobel flipped on the light. A man in dark robes lay on the floor; his head rolled and came to a rest, empty eyes staring at her. Blood spread out from the gaping neck. Her head swam and black edged her vision. Her reoccurring nightmare lay on her kitchen floor.

“Oh God.” Isobel clamped a hand over her mouth as her stomach lurched. She backed away, her foot leaving a smear of blood on the tile. She stared at the dead man in horror, her body shaking all over.

Lightning flashed followed by a crash of thunder. The house plunged into darkness; the power was out. Isobel bolted for the front door, yanked it open, and ran straight into Damien’s solid body.

“Isobel?” He reached out to steady her, but she pushed past him and ran off the porch. Isobel sank to her knees on the pavement. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, her tears mixing with the rain that still came in a torrent.

Damien knelt beside her. “I came to check on you since the power is out. Did something happen? Are you hurt?” He tried to calm the pounding of his heart.

Her teeth chattered as she shook her head. “D…dead man,” Isobel gasped. “In the…in the k…kitchen. Blood…everywhere.”

Damien stood in a smooth movement. Not bothering to turn on the flashlight in his hand, he strolled into the house. He sensed the evil retreat from him. Wary of the protective powers he wielded. It didn’t take Damien long to find the kitchen. A quick search revealed nothing. Xapar was growing stronger as the seal weakened. It was never meant to last so long and the danger to Isobel grew. Damien walked back through the house, casting a glare up the stairs. He would deal with that later; right now he needed to get Isobel out of the rain.

Isobel stared at him, fear coursing through her as he approached. The rain plastered his hair down and soaked his shirt. Concern filled his eyes. “Isobel, there is nothing in your kitchen. No blood, no dead man.”

Isobel shook her head. She knew what she saw, what she felt. “I stepped in the blood. It was warm and…” She twisted to look at her foot. There was no blood on it. It could have washed away in the rain, but she didn’t think so.

“What’s happening to me?”

Damien took her hands and gently pulled her to her feet. He clicked on the flashlight for her benefit, shining it ahead of them. “You’re soaked. Let’s get you inside, and you can tell me about it.”

Isobel’s heart fluttered like a bird trying to escape a cage. She didn’t want to go back inside. Terror tried to suffocate her as she slowly followed him back to the house. The closer they came to the kitchen, the tighter her chest grew.

Damien glanced at her, alarm filling him. She was so pale and her pupils nearly drowned out the green of her eyes. “Breathe, Isobel. I promise there is nothing in your kitchen.”

Isobel took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find reassurance in his words as they reached the doorway. The beam of light illuminated the kitchen floor and there was…nothing. No dead man. No blood. No severed head.

“What…” She frowned and examined the floor again.

Damien smiled gently. “Shouldn’t you be happy there
isn’t
a dead man on your floor?”

“I…of course. But then…why did I see it?”

“Do you see a lot of things like that?” Damien frowned. How far had Xapar’s strength reached? How many times had he gotten into her mind?

Isobel shook her head, refusing to tell him about the whispers, her face melting in the mirror, or the icy fingers that touched her. And she definitely wasn’t going to tell him she dreamed of the same man losing his head every night. He would think she was crazy.

He shined the light around the living room behind them. “Why don’t you change out of those wet clothes while I hunt down a flashlight for you?”

Isobel suppressed a shudder. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” A furrow appeared between his brows as he looked down from the height he had on her.

“I can’t go upstairs.” Great. So much for not sounding as crazy as a loon.

Damien studied her for a long moment. “You’re afraid.” There was no hint of mockery in the soft statement.

When Isobel nodded, a tear slid down her cheek. His thumb gently brushed it away. A strange sense of déjà vu fell over her as she stared up at him in the murky light. His eyes comforted her although she had no idea why.

Damien’s heart broke at the sight of the tears and the knowledge of her fear. He gave a quick nod of his head. “I’ll come with you then.”

“What?” Isobel backed up a step. “You can’t do that.”

Damien sighed. What did she think he had planned? “Not into your room. I’ll stand right outside the door.”

“You’ll come with me?” She wouldn’t have to face it alone. But what could he possibly do to protect her from a creepy window?

“Si haec voluntas est tu.
”

Isobel raised an eyebrow. Now he was speaking another language? Why did the words sound familiar? “What did you say?”

“If it is your wish.” He smiled and her heart melted.

“What language was that?”

“Latin.”

She eyed him for a long moment. Isobel had never met anyone that spoke the way he did. If it is your wish. Who said things like that anymore? And in Latin, no less.

“Well?” His smile faded as he gazed at her with intense blue eyes. “Do you trust me to come with you?”

Isobel nodded. She didn’t know why she trusted Damien, but she did. “Yes. I don’t want to be alone right now, but I don’t think you’ll like it up there.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” He couldn’t tell her he knew exactly why. Not yet.

“I…” Isobel stared at the carpet. “I think this house is haunted…or something.”

“Or something?” Damien nodded. “Well, I’ve seen a few ghosts in my lives. Let’s go have a look at yours. Then you can change into something dry.”

Isobel started to follow him then stopped. “Wait, what do you mean
lives?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“You said you’ve seen a few ghosts in your
lives
.”

“I must have misspoke.” Damien looked at her, his face unreadable in the storm-darkened house. “Are you ready to change your clothes?”

What
was
she insinuating? Just because he seemed to appear suddenly when she was in need didn’t mean anything. She had to quit reading so many paranormal romances. “Yeah, I guess.”

She followed him up the stairs. Her skin tightened when they reached the landing, but the familiar sense of being watched was absent. Isobel glanced at Damien out of the corner of her eye as they walked toward her bedroom. His face and eyes were hard, and he moved with eerie silence. Who was this man who volunteered to walk into a house where there might be a dead body in the kitchen? Who spoke in Latin, and used words like “misspoke?” Who wasn’t afraid the house might be haunted? And why did his bracelet have so many religious symbols on it?