Darkness Therein
by Kate Hill
Series: Ancient Blood
Format(s): Ebook, Paperback, Hardcover
Heat Level: Steamy
Pairing(s): M/F
Genre/Themes: Paranormal
Length: Novel
Ebook Cover Art Amazon Edition: Created at Canva.com
Purchase Links: Amazon / Apple / Barnes & Noble / kobo / Smashwords
Jocelyn has chased his nemesis for centuries. He swore that nothing or no one would stand between him and revenge on the creature that destroyed his life. That same rival leads Jocelyn to the one person who can reconnect him to the human race.
Art student Charlie has no idea that her family history binds her to a creature of legend–until he appears in the form of a tall, beautiful man with a thirst for revenge. The last thing she wants is to follow his orders, but if she intends to stay alive, she has no choice.
Note: The Darkness Therein was previously published. This re-edited version contains additional scenes.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Are You Inviting Me In?
Massachusetts, 1987
Charlie glanced over her shoulder and strained to see in the darkness. Not a single streetlight glowed in the quiet suburban neighborhood.
Shivering from more than just the autumn chill, she hurried down a subtle bend in the road. In the distance loomed the silhouette of the old Victorian house where she worked as a caretaker while the elderly owners resided in Europe for several months. It had been a welcome opportunity for a full time student with a part time job and she hadn’t regretted accepting the position—until now.
A particularly strong breeze stirred the dry leaves lining the sides of the road. She broke into a run, wishing she’d spent the night at her friend Mara’s. Less than an hour ago, they had been sitting comfortably in the disheveled three-room apartment, munching bagel chips, watching rented films, and discussing their disheartening lack of boyfriends. Then Charlie had felt the obsessive, almost psychic urge to hurry home and complete her most recent painting.
Thinking about her work comforted her somewhat and slowed the frantic beating of her heart along with the pace of her steps. She’d been a gifted artist since she’d picked up a pencil and brush as a child. All her life there had been certain works, inspired by a passion she couldn’t explain, that came to her like visions. With those particular paintings, she couldn’t rest until she finished them, and she couldn’t part with them once they were completed. Only such a painting could force her to venture out alone so late on a starless night.
She’d almost convinced herself that her fear of being stalked was a result of the intense emotions regarding her painting when an unfamiliar voice, as soft as the caressing wind, said close to her ear. “If I were you, I’d keep running.”
Shrieking with terror, she spun toward the slender, blond stranger. They stared at each other.
For the briefest moment she saw uncertainty in his earthy brown eyes. Then she jabbed her knee at his groin. Unfortunately, he was quick enough to avoid the blow. He grasped her shoulders, his lean fingers bruising her skin.
“You’re wasting time! Get inside…” Before he finished, she slashed his shoulder with her house key, wincing at the revolting rip of fabric and flesh.
He loosened his grip on her, though he ignored the blood soaking the sleeve of his black shirt.
Glaring, he tightened his grip on her. “I’m trying to help you!”
Charlie shoved him as hard as she could, and he released her.
She raced toward the hill, her gaze fixed on the house. The moment she reached the end of the long, cobbled driveway, the fiend slipped from behind a neatly-trimmed bush and grasped her neck, dragging her backward into his deadly embrace. Moonlight glinted off lava-red hair. Pasty, eel-like lips drew back over wolfish teeth. He tilted his head backward. Was he going to bite her?
Without hesitation, the blond ran several steps and leapt at the demon, kicking him in the back with an extended leg. The monster lost his grip on Charlie and they fell onto a patch of grass. Stunned and gagging from his stranglehold, Charlie looked up from where she lay.
The two men fought with a viciousness she’d only seen on wild animal documentaries. Though of similar height, the blond was paler, of slighter build, and far more graceful than his redheaded opponent. While she staggered to her feet, they traded potentially fatal blows that drew blood from both. The pale one’s slender build belied a strength that held up remarkably well against the other’s thick fists. It was the redhead who fell back first, his head crashing against the trunk of an oak already stripped of leaves.
The redhead spat a mouthful of blood, a sneer on his lips. “You’re hungry.”
“And you’re clumsy.”
“But not stupid.” The redhead ripped off the lowest tree branch and swung.
Charlie winced as the blond used his forearms to block the branch, certain the blows would shatter every bone in his hands and arms. Finally the edge of the branch struck his temple. He staggered.
“She’s yours! You need her more than I do.” The redhead sneered, but Charlie noticed a glint of fear in his eyes before he disappeared into the darkness of the trees.
She needed to get inside and call the police, but she hesitated, concerned by the blood dripping from her protector’s forehead. In spite of his alarming first approach, he had risked his life to help her. She recalled his initial words of warning before she’d impulsively slashed him with her key.
“I’ll call an ambulance for you.” She stepped closer to him, but he shook his head, probably in shock. “You better come with me. Can you walk?”
He followed her silently, swiping blood from eyes that scanned the area with the sweeping awareness of a cat. “He’s gone. Damn.”
“What do you mean ‘damn?’ He could have killed us. I hope the cops catch him. Maybe I should run for the phone. You’re bleeding a lot.”
“Mostly from a certain woman’s key,” he quipped. She wondered how he could sound mocking when she could scarcely control her panic.
She unlocked the heavy oak door and stepped aside for him to pass.
“Are you inviting me in?”
“Unless you want to bleed to death on the front steps.” When he still hesitated, she looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Yes. I’m inviting you in. Do you need it in writing?”
“No. The spoken word is fine.”
She hurried to the phone, but before she picked up the receiver, his hand closed over hers. She jumped, not only from surprise, but from the odd warmth that melted through her at his touch. His large hand completely covered hers. In spite of their size and strength, his oval-tipped fingers were long and sensitive. A rectangular black cameo set in gold adorned his pinky and a gold snake ring curled around his thumb.
Regaining her composure and ignoring the feelings he aroused, she looked up at him. “That guy tried to attack me. I’m calling the cops.”
“Police can’t help. That’s why I’m after him.”
“Are you a cop? FBI?”
He offered a quirky grin. “If you could spare some towels and water?”
She bounded up the circular staircase to the bathroom where she gathered several fresh towels, bandages, and antiseptic. Downstairs, large drops of blood in the hall led the way to the lighted kitchen.
Her guest stood shirtless by the stove, heating her longest carving knife over one of the burners. Though lean, with every bone and muscle showing beneath smooth skin, he was exquisitely proportioned with sculpted arms, shoulders, chest, and back. A tattoo of black symbols covered one sinewy arm from shoulder to elbow. His narrow waist tapered to snake-like hips and a tightly- muscled buttocks curved sensuously beneath black silk pants.
Heat radiated from the knife’s blade. He pressed the scorching metal to the key cut that was creating a pool of blood on the tile floor.
Charlie winced. “Hey, you’ll probably get an infection from that.”
The reek of charred flesh gagged her. Ages seemed to pass while he held the knife in place. They listened to the sound of his skin frying before he rinsed the blade under cold water and dropped it in a barrel by the sink. He glanced at her, his skin even paler under the kitchen light and in contrast with the dark patches of drying blood. He took an unsteady step. She wondered how the hell was he even standing.
She tossed the first aid supplies onto the countertop and quickly brought him a chair.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but I think you really need a doctor.”
“I’ll be fine. Honestly. I’m sorry about the mess I’m making, and I appreciate your help more than you know.”
God, she loved the sound of his voice! It was so quiet, patient, and strong—the sort of voice she would trust to guide her through a dark, unknown tunnel.
“I should be apologizing and thanking you.” She brought him the towels and antiseptic. “Maybe if your approach hadn’t scared the hell out of me, I wouldn’t have acted so…”
“Masterfully?” he supplied. The carefully chosen, if archaic, word sounded natural coming from him.
“Violently.”
For the next few minutes, neither spoke while he finished bandaging his arm. Once he’d cleaned the blood from his face, she saw him clearly for the first time. Though not conventionally handsome, he possessed an attractive, timeless quality. His dark, wide-set eyes gazed from above a long but well-shaped nose. His slim lips were almost feminine in form and looked so incredibly kissable. She hoped when he felt better he’d allow her to paint him. His gaze shifted toward her, and she glanced away, embarrassed. It was as if he’d caught her peeping at him through a crack in a door.
“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked.
“That dog. The barking is driving me mad.”
Charlie had been so preoccupied with her unexpected guest that she’d ignored the persistent barking of Bell, the rottweiler who had been left in her care along with the house.
“I’m afraid if I let her in she’ll go crazy. She doesn’t like strangers.”
“I have a way with animals. We understand each other.”
Charlie shrugged. “If you want to risk adding a dog bite to the rest of your injuries, it’s up to you.”
Eager to inspect the house, the dog bounded through the back door the moment Charlie opened it. The floor shook beneath the weight of her massive paws. Saliva flew from her jaw with every deep, ear-shattering bark. She leapt at the stranger in her house.
“Bell, no!” Charlie shouted.
The blond held out his hand and stared at the dog with his penetrating gaze. Immediately Bell dropped to a sitting position, her stubby tail swishing across the tile floor while her tongue lolled from the side of her leathery black lips. The man confidently approached the dog and patted her head.
Awed, Charlie furrowed her brow. “How did you do that?”
“I told you. Dogs and I don’t have a problem with each other.”
“You mean it’s just that red-headed maniac you have a problem with?”
Maybe now he’d provide more details about the near-disaster outside.
He held her gaze, but he didn’t speak.
“We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I’m Charlie.” She extended her hand, her heartbeat quickening at the memory of the thrill that had rushed through her the last time they’d touched. Had she imagined it? No, she hadn’t. As soon as his hand closed around hers, a jolt of power that was nothing short of electric shot through her.
He drew back. Had he felt it, too?
“Jocelyn.”
“Now there’s a name you don’t hear often—on a man, that is.”
“It was used more during the thirteenth century.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” Yeah, he was unusual, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that drew her to him.
Psychic ability ran in her family. Her grandmother’s dreams had often come true. Her father could pull thoughts out of a person’s head easier than he could pick flowers with his arthritic back. Her mother was perhaps the most gifted of all, having aided police in finding several missing persons over the years. Charlie’s abilities were limited to the paintings she created of places and things she hadn’t yet seen, but often turned up unexpectedly. She’d never had such a reaction to a person before. These feelings Jocelyn stirred were undeniably psychic.
The phone rang, and she hurried to the living room to answer it. Finally, a chance for a break from his disturbing presence.
“Charlie, thank God! You’re all right!” Her mother’s voice was shrill with relief. “I’ve been calling all night. There’s something important I have to tell you.”
“Mom, you won’t believe what happened to me. I—”
“Charlie, keep quiet and listen. A man named Jocelyn is coming to see you—”
“He’s…He’s here, Mom.” Did her voice reveal her sudden terror at knowing her life was about to change?
“Good. He’s going to tell you some incredible things, but he’s not lying and he’s not crazy. Take every word he says seriously. Do what he tells you, and I’ll be there tomorrow night. I’ve booked the next flight to Boston.”
“Someone tried to attack me tonight. Did you know about it?”
“Not until this evening. I nearly went insane trying to warn you. Jocelyn will explain it all. I have to pack for my flight and then call your father in Spain.”
“He’s not there on business, is he?” Even deeper fear gripped Charlie. Her father had traveled to Europe on the pretense of a business trip, but a feeling of unearthly perception told her otherwise.
“No. It’s to do with the coven. Talk to Jocelyn.” Charlie’s mother hesitated before hanging up. “I love you, honey.”
“You, too, Mom. I’m glad you’re coming.”
Charlie drew a trembling breath and hung up the phone. Turning, she crashed into Jocelyn’s bare chest. He caught her by the shoulders. The heat of his palms and the slight pressure of his body against hers aroused her. Despite his weirdness, he was the sexiest man she’d ever met. What was her problem? How could she think about sex at a time like this?
His gaze, the color of warm chocolate, fixed on hers. “Your mother?”
“She said we should talk.”
Tossing her another odd smile, he guided her to the couch across from the fireplace. They faced each other from opposite ends.
“Do you remember me at all?”
She shook her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “I don’t, yet you’re not unfamiliar.”
“You saw me once when you were very young, when you were initiated into the coven.”
Charlie’s family held what some called Pagan beliefs. Those beliefs had been shared for hundreds of years by a small group of families belonging to their coven. They worshipped nature, gods and goddesses of their own choosing, and preserved their ancestors’ memories. Children were initiated into the coven at five years old during a special ritual followed by a celebration. Charlie scarcely remembered her initiation, except for the scent of the incense, the color of the candles and ritual robes, and the feeling of belonging to something important, something secret. Later she learned that without secrecy, they were in danger of persecution from their ignorant neighbors. As a teenager, it had frustrated her that she was forced to keep her beliefs hushed while her friends worshipped freely in the churches of their choice. Her bitterness caused difficulty throughout high school. It was only in college when she met curious, open-minded Mara that she found her first best friend. She trusted Mara enough to tell her a little about the coven. The two women hoped that Mara would eventually be allowed to participate in one of their rituals.
“Think about it,” Jocelyn interrupted her thoughts.
Charlie tried recalling every fuzzy detail of the initiation.
She remembered her parents and the other children crowded into the large, refinished attic room where rituals were often held. Different families participated then. Many of them had moved to various places over the years and kept in touch by mail or phone. Charlie scarcely remembered exactly who was at her initiation. Wait. In the back of the crowd had stood a tall, spectral blond with eyes as dark as the pooling wax of the ritual candles.
“You were there,” Charlie murmured. “At my initiation. You’re part of our coven.”
“I’ve been part of the coven since it began.”
Her heartbeat quickened. Fear and then denial crawled through her, and she broke into nervous laughter.
“This isn’t a joke, Charlie. I was there when the coven was formed. I know why it was formed, and I know that you are more important to us than you realize.”
She stopped laughing and swiped tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. “Are you supposed to be a ghost or something?”
“Would a ghost bleed?”
“Then what are you?”
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