Blood of Souls Read online

  BLOOD OF SOULS

  VIVIEN DEAN

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2008 by Vivien Dean

  Revised edition © 2018 by Vivien Dean

  Cover Art © 2018 The Book Cover Machine

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author or publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  First Edition, 2008, Amber Quill Press

  Second Edition, 2018, Never Doubt Books

  Published in the United States of America by

  Never Doubt Books

  [email protected]

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 1

  The sword was the single most beautiful weapon in Quin Black’s vast collection. In the six years Annie Pontin had been the recluse’s personal assistant, she had never seen him acquire an item more elegant, nor treat another possession with such delicate care.

  “I’d trade all the rest of it to keep this one item,” he’d said after he’d hired her. He caressed the bejeweled hilt like he would a lover, his long fingers tracing each stone, then curling around to cradle it in the palm of his hand. “I’d even trade my own life to ensure it was always protected.”

  Personally, she thought the pronouncement a tad extreme. As a historian, she loved artifacts, too, but this was still just a sword. The kind of focus Quin demonstrated bordered on mania. Another person might have reconsidered taking the job at that point, but Annie had worked too hard to get Quin’s attention in the first place. She wanted this. She wasn’t going to pass it up because her boss had an unhealthy attachment to one of his possessions. After all, she told herself, people did it all the time. At least he was rich. When poor people developed fixations, they were called crazy. The wealthy were just “eccentric.”

  The object of this particular eccentricity was a Roman relic. The blade dated to the first century, and while its polished construction held a simple beauty, it was the crusted guard that demanded attention. Rubies, each no larger than a teardrop, coated the thick metal. They glittered with very little illumination, scattering shards of scarlet across any available surface. Annie would even go so far as to say that under certain light, the jewels glistened as if they were fluid rather than gemstone.

  Moments like that, she could almost understand Quin’s obsession. The sword evoked fantasies of different times, reminding her of all the reasons she’d fallen in love with history in the first place. When her friends had been talking about boys and fashion, Annie had buried herself in books about the past. She loved the neverending stories, how easy it was to get whisked away to another world, how inspiring and terrifying people could be all at the same time. History wasn’t a timeline. It was a web of interconnected events where the past influenced the present and the future could be anticipated if when people learned the lessons of their ancestors.

  She liked to think of herself as an excellent student. But nothing had prepared her for falling in love with Quin.

  Sighing, Annie tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she closed the storage room door shut behind her. She was becoming maudlin in Quin’s absence. Better to crack down and focus on what she’d come in here to do.

  Under Quin’s instruction, she polished the sword every other day. Normally, cleaning was a task assigned to someone in the housekeeping staff, but from the beginning, this had been her responsibility.

  “Nobody else will treat it the way we would.” Quin replied when she asked him why. His piercing eyes, a brown so dark they looked obsidian, had held her transfixed, as his hand rested on the glass case that housed the sword. “You’re the only one I trust to care for it as it deserves.”

  How could she shirk her responsibility when it was justified with such passion?

  As she finished laying out her cleaning supplies, the muffled ring of her phone vibrated from her back pocket. She smiled when she saw the caller ID.

  “Why is it you always manage to interrupt me in the storage room?” she teased.

  “It’s the only room in the house I can guarantee nobody will walk up and interrupt my time with you.” Quin’s baritone warmed the line. “How is your day going so far?”

  “Oh, the usual. My boss is a tyrant.”

  He chuckled. They had long ago crossed the borders from employer to friend, then from friend to intimate companion, in spite of the fact she still got a paycheck from him. “He’s also running late. The auction got delayed. I won’t be home until after you’ve gone to bed, most likely.”

  “Oh.” Annie was glad he wasn’t there to see her pout. She didn’t get to see him nearly as much as she wanted to, but for the sake of appearances, she kept a brave face. “Well, maybe you can wake me when you get in then. Or better yet, I’ll stay up.”

  “No, you’ll try to stay up. And then I’ll find you with your head on your arms at the desk, with creases on your cheek and drool ruining the book you were pretending to read while you waited for me.”

  “I don’t drool.”

  “But you can’t argue you won’t fall asleep.”

  Annie sighed. “Well, no, you’ve got me there. So you’ll wake me up when you get in?”

  “In the best way possible.”

  Her skin heated at the husky promise in his voice. They had been lovers for nearly two years, but each time he touched her was still like the first. “Maybe I’ll wear that black teddy you got me last year. Didn’t you say you liked how that one felt against your skin?”

  Over the line, Quin groaned. “Now that’s just mean. I have to sit here for at least four more hours. Do you know how uncomfortable that is with a hard-on?”

  “Good,” she teased. “Because I’m going to be hot and bothered all day, thinking of tonight.”

  “Don’t you dare get yourself off before I get home.”

  “I thought you liked the way I taste after I come.”

  “I do. I also like the way you tremble when you’re fighting not to. Don’t do it.”

  The command in his voice made her eyes squeeze shut, staving off the worst of the desire rushing through her. It happened every time he went all domineering on her. She loved the way he took control, issuing unarguable orders that always made the reward worth it. A lot of people found Quin’s autocratic behavior inexcusable, especially women. What they failed to realize—something Annie had learned very quickly after joining his employ—was that he didn’t act that way because he disrespected people. On the contrary, he often had a higher regard for Annie’s worth than she did. He did it because he was invariably right and hated the dancing around that inevitably occurred while people came to the same conclusion. In his mind, he simply took away the middle step.

  “Anything else you want me to do for you today?” she asked.

  “No, nothing. Take it easy after you’re done in storage. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  She said goodbye and hung up, leaning against the wall with a small smile. It would be a long day without him, but she’d make his night memorable enough to make up for it. Maybe she’d even convince him to take tomorrow off and sleep in. As soon as she considered it, though, Annie knew it would never happen. Quin never stopped. The day he did would be the day he did so permanently.

  Humming under her breath, she went back to the sword’s case. She unlocked
it by rote. Her thoughts were elsewhere, awhirl with the possibilities of how she could pamper Quin when he got home, when she lifted the lid and reached inside.

  The blade sliced across her fingers, cutting through the latex gloves she always wore when she handled the sword and into her skin like it was paper. With a pained cry, Annie yanked her hand away, but droplets of blood splattered across the jewels, even more dripping from the side of her palm as she darted over to the table to grab one of her polishing rags.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she chastised as she wrapped the cloth around her hand. She hadn’t been watching what she was doing and misgauged her reach for the hilt. How many times had she handled the sword? How many times had she sat and watched Quin hone the blade until it was as sharp as it had been when it was first wielded? She knew it was dangerous. He was going to have a field day when he got home and found out what she had done.

  Unless she wasn’t here because she had to go to the ER. Blood soaked through the rag already, sopping it enough to make her wonder how deep the cut really was.

  She was peeling back the edge of the rag to see if she was going to need stitches when she heard it.

  A groan. Male.

  Followed by an odd creak. It grated across her nerves, like nails down a chalkboard, but she had no idea what it could be.

  Then she heard it again. Only louder.

  The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She was alone in the room. Did people experience auditory hallucinations from too much blood loss?

  Slowly, Annie turned her head. Her blood froze at the sight that greeted her.

  A naked man was in the sword’s case.

  He was on his hands and knees, his head hanging so his dark hair obscured his face. The tawny skin of his back heaved up and down as he seemed to fight for breath.

  The creak echoed through the room again. Now, Annie recognized it. It was the industrial glass protesting the added weight.

  Panic set her into motion. She bolted for the door, but as soon as she moved, the man lifted his head and looked in her direction.

  His light brown eyes widened. “Annie?”

  She stumbled at the sound of her name, only managing not to fall on her ass by twisting to lean against the wall. A hallucination. It had to be. The man looked real, and he sounded real, but she had no idea who he was, let alone how he’d gotten into the room without her noticing.

  They stared at each other in silence. He was younger than she was, probably twenty-two or twenty-three, with a heart-shaped face and fine, almost delicate, features. Dark brown hair hung to his shoulders, and the cast of his skin suggested a Mediterranean heritage. Under other circumstances, she would have thought he was a model, because on top of the too-pretty looks, the strange man had the body of an athlete. Broad shoulders, tightly muscled arms with a chest to match, and—her gaze flickered farther along his length—an ass that would look phenomenal in jeans.

  He hid that particular asset from view when he sat up onto his haunches. “What did you do?”

  His awed question snapped Annie out of her panic. “What did I do? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know how you got in here.”

  “I was here first.”

  Alarm bled into irritation. Now her hallucination was calling her blind? “Excuse me?”

  But he seemed unfazed by her sharp tone. “I’ve lived in this room for as long as Quin’s owned the house. I’ve seen you every day since he hired you, Annie.”

  Her mouth was open to argue further, when one, very vital fact registered on her consciousness.

  The sword was gone.

  Annie immediately tilted her head to look under the case, and when that showed nothing, she stepped to the side to see the side the man obstructed from her view. It wasn’t there, either. He was the only thing left. Exactly where the sword had rested.

  “What did you do with it?” she demanded.

  He tilted his head, his fine brows pulling together in confusion. “With what?”

  Before she could elaborate, however, the case creaked again. There was no telling how much longer it would hold the man’s weight. “Get out of there,” she ordered. “But be careful.”

  Astonishingly, the man didn’t argue. He rose slowly, testing each foot he put down. When his lower half came into full view, Annie averted her eyes, though she stole a glance back when she heard a slight thud. He now knelt on the floor, his head bowed, his shoulder bent.

  “Thank you, Annie. Your thoughtfulness knows no bounds.”

  The more he said, the more confused she became. “Who are you?”

  “Theodotus.” The scantest of hesitations, but then… “Quin always called me Theo.”

  She felt like Alice, falling down the rabbit hole. “And how do you know Quin?”

  “I’m not sure that’s my story to tell.”

  “Really? Because from this side of the looking glass, you seem like the only one who can tell it right now.”

  His gaze lifted, its sudden softness enticing in spite of her natural reaction to run far, far away from this. “Your voice sounds different now.”

  She blinked at the non sequitur. “What?”

  “It’s…richer.” He chuckled. “Though I guess that’s to be expected. It’s just…surprising.”

  Annie snorted. “And finding a guy in the middle of a locked room isn’t?” She shook her head. “I’m going crazy. That’s gotta be it.” Lifting her hand, she meant to rub at her suddenly tired eyes, but the reminder of the blood-stained rag stopped her at the last moment. In the insanity of the last couple minutes, she’d completely about the painful sting across her fingers. “Damn it,” she muttered. “Quin’s going to kill me.”

  The man chuckled. “No, he won’t.”

  “You don’t know that,” she retorted.

  “I know Quin.”

  “Yeah, you keep saying that.”

  “But Quin would never blame you for the cut,” he continued. “The fault is entirely mine, and for that, I’m so sorry.”

  She needed a first aid kit, not apologies. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’m the klutz who grabbed the blade.”

  “But I was the blade until a few moments ago. Ergo, I am responsible, not you.”

  She stared at him. What he suggested was impossible. He was a man, not a weapon. It didn’t matter that the sword was nowhere to be found, or that there was no other way for him to get into the room. The possibility that he could be anything but a figment of her imagination was out of the question.

  “I’m hallucinating,” she announced, as if saying it out loud made it true. “I have to be.” Finally finding the strength to start moving again, she darted toward the door and fumbled with the doorknob until it opened. She didn’t have to worry about leaving him in the storage room with Quin’s collection, because he wasn’t real. Case closed.

  With a shuddering breath, she hurried out. First things first, she needed to clean her cut.

  The water stung where it hit the open slice across her fingers, swirling red where it ran down the drain. The house had never felt so large, and every little sound made Annie jump. In the kitchen, there were a lot of them—the icemaker dropping a batch of cubes, the air conditioner whistling from the vents, the roar of a lawnmower from the Brubaker’s backyard beyond the rear fence. She kept straining to hear anything from the direction of the storage room. She wasn’t entirely sure if the fact she couldn’t was good or bad.

  Though the cut was deep, she didn’t think she needed stitches, but it was difficult to get the Band-Aids on with her left hand. Tearing the wrapping off with her teeth, Annie spit out the tiny piece of paper as she pressed the pad over the cut on her index finger. At least they weren’t along her knuckles. Her right hand would be pretty much useless if she couldn’t bend her fingers.

  “Can I help?”

  Though the voice was soft, its mere presence was enough for Annie to drop the bandage in the sink. Swearing under her breath
, she dug it out, but the adhesive was already wet, rendering it useless. She was about to take another one out of the box when a long, lean hand took it out of her reach.

  “Let me.”

  She wasn’t in a place to argue. He had the Band-Aids. How crazy was it to fight with a figment of her imagination anyway?

  The first surreptitious glance sideways showed that the figment had somehow found sweatpants to slip on. Well, that was no surprise. Annie didn’t think her addled brain really wanted a naked man wandering around the house so it clothed him appropriately. Why it had done it in Quin’s workout sweats, she had no idea. They were too big around the waist and drooped dangerously low on his slim hips. She could even see the dark hair trailing down the middle of his abs, disappearing beneath the elastic, leading to the long, slim cock she’d caught a glimpse of in the storage room.

  Annie snapped her attention back to her cuts. Apparently, having a hallucination when thinking sexy thoughts led to having sexy thoughts about the hallucination. She really needed to pull her act together.

  “I’ve always loved your hands.” He held her lightly, fingers working nimbly to secure the Band-Aids in place. “But then, they’re as lovely as the rest of you.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. Quin complimented her quite regularly, but it had been awhile since another man had offered such intimate sentiments. She was very good at keeping a professional demeanor with all of Quin’s contacts. There was the occasional flirt, but this went beyond that.

  But he’s not real. You’re imagining this.

  His touch fell away when the last Band-Aid was in place. Splaying her fingers, Annie turned her hand over and back again. She wasn’t imagining this.

  Slowly, she lifted a shaky gaze back to the young man’s face. He regarded her with those haunting light brown eyes, a shy smile curving his mouth, as if waiting for her to speak first. Theo. He’d said his name was Theo. Wait. That wasn’t entirely true. He’d said Quin called him Theo. That changed everything.