Felix took the corner of Ursuline Street for the fifth time, intending to walk past Regan’s house yet again. He had no idea what he was doing. He had been pacing and stalking the outside of her mansion since right after his meeting with Alcroft. He had no idea what he was expecting to see or why he didn’t just go up and ring the damn doorbell, but he just kept trolling the block, again and again, waiting for something.
The only thing he’d seen so far was the FedEx guy deliver a package and Regan return home with a blond man in a red golf shirt. Felix had hung back and watched them chat for a second on the doorstep, the guy smoking a cigarette while they talked. They gave each other a cheek kiss for good-bye, and Felix had wondered if it was the friend she had mentioned, the one who had spent the night with her the day she had moved in.
Then she had paused before going in and Felix had instinctively known that she had sensed his presence. He had ducked into the doorway of an art gallery and cursed himself. When she’d gone in, he’d started another circuit around the block.
What the hell was he doing?
Glancing at the screen on his cell phone as he approached the side of her house, he saw it was almost eleven. Maybe he should just send her a text message. Though he had no idea what it would say.
Hey, you’re in danger, though I’m not sure from what. Your ex-husband is a demon, and the ghost in your house is my crazy nineteenth-century client and lover.
Somehow he doubted she would think anyone was crazy but him.
Which maybe he was.
What did he really know about Camille or Alcroft’s intentions? Nothing. He just knew something was off, something was in motion, and he couldn’t let Regan be hurt.
Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he looked up at her house, at the balcony overlooking her courtyard.
And would have had a heart attack were he capable of such a thing.
Regan was sitting on the balcony railing, legs dangling over the side down toward the cobblestones of the courtyard. She was in a nightgown, her dark brown hair not controlled the way it usually was, but whipping around in the wind.
Jesus Christ. Felix started running, afraid to call out to her and startle her, but terrified that she could slip and crash down onto the ground below. Tugging at the gate, he knew it was locked even as he rattled it back and forth. Regan was meticulous about locking all her doors. Keeping an eye on her, just perched there so still, hands gripping the railing, Felix reached up and grabbed the gate, pulling himself up the length of it.
Regan didn’t seem to be moving or looking at anything. She was just sitting there, not even reacting when the wind grabbed the bottom of her nightgown and lifted it, exposing her thighs and a flash of panties. Grateful for his immortal strength, Felix scaled the top of the fence, slicing his hand on one of the spikes but ignoring it. He dropped down onto the stones of the courtyard and ran for the interior stairs that led to where Regan was dangling.
She didn’t seem to see him, and Felix realized she had to be sleepwalking. Slowing his pace at the top of the stairs, he approached her as quietly and swiftly as possible. He hesitated, not sure how to grab her in such a way that she would fall backward with him, and in no way did he want to startle her so that she struggled with him and fell forward.
Breathing hard, he actually surprised himself by offering up a quick prayer. It had been a long, long time since he’d done that.
Reaching out with both arms, he got them positioned around her middle and whispered, “Regan.”
She didn’t respond, and he moved in closer to her, tightening his grip on her. “Regan, you need to wake up.”
Suddenly her head whipped around, cracking him in the temple, the unexpected pain causing his grip to loosen. She wobbled and screamed and Felix panicked, her hair blinding him. He squeezed her against him, and felt her sliding down the front of the railing.
“Regan, lean back!” he yelled, her motion propelling him forward so that he slammed against the railing.
The iron fencing rattled against his weight, and she screamed again as he yanked her as hard as he could. Her one knee hooked on the railing and she was dangling upside down, her nightgown falling over her chin, arms flailing, but he had her on the right side of the balcony. Swearing, heart pounding, he dragged her the rest of the way until they both thumped onto the wood floor.
“Holy shit,” he said, sucking in a few breaths as he pulled her so that her head and shoulders were lying on his leg.
“Felix?” she asked, her eyes glassy with sleep and confusion as she stared up at him. “What’s going on?”
“I think you were sleepwalking:” He brushed her hair off her face and leaned over to tug her nightgown down over her bare breasts. He couldn’t get it past her waist because of the angle but he didn’t think it mattered. She was wearing panties and they were deep enough into her courtyard that someone would have to be staring pretty intently from the sidewalk to get a flash.
And he wasn’t exactly feeling sexual at the moment so she had no worries from him.
“I was sleepwalking? I never sleepwalk.” She shifted and winced. “Oh, my leg hurts.”
“I’m sure you’re going to have a hell of a bruise tomorrow, but at least better than the one you would have had if you’d fallen off that railing.” The image of her sitting there, vacant, was replaying in his head. God, if he hadn’t been walking by ...
“I never sleepwalk,” she said, still looking dazed. “I came outside?”
“Yes. Come on.” He nudged her gently. “Let’s get up and get you back inside.”
Regan struggled to her feet then yanked her nightgown down. “Sorry.”
“For what?” Felix stood up, forcing his shoulders to relax.
“For my nightgown.” She gestured to indicate it had been bunched up, her pale cheeks staining pink.
“Give me a break. I wasn’t even looking,” he said, irritated.
“Of course you weren’t,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked back at the balcony. “What happened?”
“I was walking by and I saw you sitting on the railing, facing out. You almost gave me a fucking heart attack. Were you dreaming?”
“No.” She frowned, shaking her head. “Not that I remember. I was watching TV and I fell asleep. That’s all I remember.”
“Alright, let’s get you back in bed and we’re shoving a chair in front of the door so you can’t leave.” Felix put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her toward the doors to her bedroom.
When they stepped into the room he smelled it immediately.
Demon.
The scent was cloying and overpowering in her room. Felix grabbed the back of her nightgown and brought her to a stop. “Hold on. Stay here.” Going into the room, he did a quick sweep and saw no one.
But there was no denying the smell ... a demon had been in her room and had left something of himself behind to create that kind of stench. But Felix didn’t see anything obvious or out of the ordinary.
Then his eyes landed on the chest of drawers and what was resting on top of it. “What is this?” Felix moved toward it, the very bureau Regan had to have found the journal in, the one that had been in the room the night he had been here with Camille.
He ran his hand over the marble top of the chest of drawers, remembering it with candles burning on it, the shadows dancing over its handles and glossy finish. Only now it held a wineglass with a piece of mailing envelope crammed in it, red droplets spattered over its marble surface. A pen lay next to the glass, and the envelope she had ripped a piece out of and shoved into the wine was lying carelessly beside it. “What is all this?”
“I ... I don’t know. When I fell asleep the glass was on the nightstand next to me. I’m sure of it.”
A quick glance at her pale face, her trembling lips, showed she was telling the truth. “And the envelope?”
“It was on the bed. I got a box of chocolates in the mail and I had pulled it out of the envelope on the bed to eat them while I was watching TV. Felix, how ... how can they be over here? Did I do this in my sleep?”
“Apparently.” He plucked the torn envelope out of the glass and uncurled it. There was writing on it. Smeared from the wine, but still legible.
Courage.
What the hell ...
“Was the glass empty?” he asked.
“No. I barely took two sips before I fell asleep.”
But she clearly had drunk it after she’d fallen asleep. After she had done a courage spell. Put your fears in blood, add your courage, and drink it.
“This is a voodoo spell,” he told her.
“What?” She got that look again, the one she’d been wearing when she had almost fainted on him before, and Felix grabbed her with both hands to steady her.
Swallowing repeatedly, she whispered, “What do you mean?”
“It’s a spell to rid yourself of fears.” And all it had done was increase his.
“How ... how could I do that asleep? I don’t even know any spells.”
“Was it in the journal?” Camille’s little legacy. And possibly Camille’s trapdoor into the land of the living once again.
“No. I haven’t read very much of it. And I don’t remember there being anything like that” Her arms furled tighter around her breasts. “I don’t understand what is happening.”
Neither did he. Not exactly. If the journal was Camille’s access to Regan, and mortality, then why did the room stink like demon?
“You said you were eating chocolates? Where did they come from?”
“My ex-husband sent them to me.”
Bingo. Felix went over to her nightstand and eyed the box of chocolates. Grabbing a piece, he broke it open and almost gagged. The scent was even stronger, a bitter salty venom. The fucking bastard had sent her a very lovely box of chocolates with his semen inside each little piece of candy. The ultimate binding tool—sexual fluid, inserted right into her food so she would consume it.
Disgusting. Absolutely the lowest form of manipulation in Felix’s opinion.
Knocking the box to the ground, he stepped on the chocolates and crushed as many as he could with his heel.
“What are you doing?”
“I dropped them.”
“No you didn’t. I saw you throw them down,” she said.
He ignored that. “Did you eat any?”
“I don’t think so. I was going to, but I fell asleep. Why? Is something wrong with them? You can’t possibly think Beau is trying to poison me.”
“Of course not.” She’d be of no use to him dead. But why did Alcroft want Regan? Just to win?
“So why did you crush them? Felix, I’m totally freaked out.” She pulled her hair back and wound it into the shape of a bun, then stared at him with huge, frightened eyes. “How could I not remember shoving paper into my wineglass?”
He realized he was just scaring her more than she already was. Walking toward her, he schooled his features into what he hoped was reassurance. It wouldn’t help if she was afraid of him, too. “It’s okay, Regan, it’s okay. Lots of people sleepwalk. You hear stories all the time of people leaving their house, or thinking an easy chair in the living room is the toilet. It doesn’t mean anything.”
She managed a shaky laugh. “Well, at least I’ve never thought my chair was a toilet. Just that my balcony railing is a park bench.”
“Hey, you’re safe.” He rubbed her arms, wanting to take away that look on her face. She had goose bumps, and she shivered when he caressed her. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.”
Not that he thought for one minute stress had caused her to dangle off that damn balcony, the same one Camille had fallen from and died. He suppressed a shudder. If he had been a minute or two later, he might have found Regan broken on the cobblestones in the exact same way.
She seemed to have the identical thought at the same time. “What if you hadn’t shown up right then?”
“But I did. And we had our
Titanic
moment there. I felt like Jack hauling you over the side of the ship.” He tried to inject lightness into his voice. “Though you’re much prettier than Kate Winslet.”
“Hah, right. She’s gorgeous.” Regan stared at his chest, biting her lip.
“And so are you.” Felix ran his finger up her arms, under the sleeves of her nightgown. “You’re more than gorgeous. You’re beautiful.”
“Aren’t those the same thing? And you don’t have to flatter me to distract me.”
Felix almost laughed at the irony. “Oh, trust me, I gave up false flattery a long, long time ago. And while gorgeous implies a sort of overblown beauty, being beautiful is more delicate, more poetic, less overtly sexual.”
“You don’t think I’m sexual?”
He should have known that would be what she extracted from what he had just said, had tried to explain. It seemed that the honesty of his compassion and concern, the truth of his attraction, was more difficult to convey than all the fake sentiments he had whispered to women over the years.
Felix shifted his hands to cup her face. “Regan. I think you are very sexual. But it’s not an in-your-face stripper kind of sexual. It’s coiled like a snake under your elegant exterior, and I have no doubt that you’re the woman every man craves—the lady in public, the tiger in private.”
“I’m really not,” she said, her tongue flicking out to nervously lick her bottom lip in a way that made his muscles tighten. “My ex-husband always said—”
Like he gave a shit what Alcroft thought. He cut her off by shifting his fingers over her mouth. “Shh. Why do either of us care what your ex-husband thinks? I only care what we think. And I think that I can’t leave here tonight until I’ve at least tasted you.”
Maybe it wasn’t the way to deal with the fears of either one of them, but Felix didn’t know how to offer comfort. It wasn’t something he had ever really learned to give. His mother had cosseted him, taught him to take, encouraged his spoiled greed. But he wanted to give ... wanted to make Regan understand she was an amazing woman.