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An Excerpt From: Demonic
Obsession
© Copyright
Elisa Adams, 2004.
All Rights Reserved,
Ellora's Cave, Inc.
Chapter 1
Ellie sat on an old wooden bench, her
sketch pad resting on her lap. The sunset just visible over the tops of the
trees washed the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. The rustling of
the summer wind through the leaves and the faint breaking of waves against
the nearby shore calmed her nerves like nothing else could—on most nights.
Just not tonight.
She tucked a few stray strands of hair
behind her ears and took a sip from her water bottle, making an attempt to
ignore the strange sensations that prickled the hair on the back of her
neck. The air crackled with an electrical tension, sending a shiver through
her despite the warm temperature.
Something was different.
Something had disturbed the peaceful,
sleepy quiet of Stone
Harbor. Something she
couldn’t define—maybe didn’t want to. A knot of anxiety formed in the pit
of her stomach and her gaze landed on a man leaning against a tree a few
dozen feet away. Did he have something to do with the disturbance?
“Yeah, right,” she muttered to
herself, turning her attention back to her sketch pad. He looked about
average height, with an average build and average dark hair—nothing
spectacular about him, at least from this distance. He wore khaki pants and
an off-white polo shirt—nothing impressive there. He looked more like the
married with three children type than the bad to the bone and out to cause
trouble type.
So why couldn’t she shake the feeling
that his presence signaled danger?
She blew out a breath, frustrated with
her paranoia. So her ex-husband had turned out to be a first-class jerk
disguised as a successful businessman. That didn’t mean that every other
man who dressed nicely meant her emotional harm. If she didn’t get over
what happened with Todd, she’d never get the chance to meet a nice guy and
settle down. Three years had passed since her divorce—plenty of time to get
over her silly insecurities.
She had to stop pasting Todd’s face on
every man who walked into her life. They weren’t all like him—she
wasn’t naïve enough to believe that—but her luck with men seemed to really
suck lately. This poor guy hadn’t done anything to her, he probably hadn’t
even noticed she was alive, and she’d already pegged him as some kind of
deranged mass murderer.
His head was turned toward the small
pond in the center of the park, but every so often, he looked in her
direction. From the distance, she couldn’t be sure if he was looking at her,
but the fact that he might be unsettled her. Her fingers smoothed over the
totem that hung from a silver chain around her neck—a small panther carved
in black onyx—in a reaction that was more automatic than calculated. She
closed her eyes briefly, calling to the animal the totem represented for
guidance. She tried to focus on the sleek grace of the creature, the
control and strength it exuded, but her powers of concentration were
severely lacking tonight. It was all his
fault.
She tried to keep her eyes off him,
but she couldn’t help stealing little glances every so often. Something
about him compelled her to, even when she knew it was impolite and possibly
dangerous. The man was a complete stranger in a town where she recognized
most people on sight, and that fact alone made her wary. She knew she
shouldn’t stare, yet she couldn’t pull her gaze away.
That frightened her the most. An odd
fixation on a complete stranger was something she thought she’d outgrown
years ago, once she’d hit puberty. What made him so special that she
couldn’t draw her gaze away, even with exercised concentration? As far as
she could tell—nothing.
But there had to be something,
or else she wouldn’t be spending her evening observing him when she’d come
here to sketch the sunset in preparation for her next painting.
His head swung in her direction and
she didn’t have time to look away. This time she had no doubts—he was
looking right at her. She drew in a deep, shaky breath, her palms suddenly
growing damp. A smile spread across his face and he nodded slightly—just
enough to let her know he’d caught her staring. The thought unnerved her,
but not enough to make her drag her gaze from his. A dog barking in the
background finally broke the spell. She looked quickly back at her sketch
pad, not wanting to encourage him in any way, but afraid it might already
be too late.
She tried to make a rough sketch of
the flowers lining the banks of the pond, but her traitorous hands instead
drew the shadowy form of a lean, dark-haired man. After three attempts, she
slammed her pencil down on the pad and sighed in disgust. It figured. She’d
never felt a pull this strong—not even when she’d been with Todd. She
prided herself on being independent, level-headed to a fault, and suddenly
she felt like the world had tilted on its axis.
She was being such an idiot! Ellie was
the calm one. Her sister, Charlotte, was the dramatic one. Always had been.
But now it seemed like Ellie had switched places with her younger sister.
The whole situation made her feel off balance, like she couldn’t quite get
her footing right. This had to be some kind of a sign that she needed to
make some changes in her life. Either that, or she
needed some kind of psychological counseling. She blew out a breath and
muttered to herself, “Normal,
healthy women don’t obsess about complete strangers.”
And all the while, the stranger in
question was probably leaning against that tree, laughing to himself about
the skinny girl who kept staring at him. He’d probably go home later to his
house with a white picket fence and a couple of Volvos in the driveway and
have a good laugh with his equally yuppyish wife.
Yeah, she was definitely nuts. Time to
get back to work. That was, after all, her purpose for being in the park.
She tried her best to focus on her
sketching, but it was no use. Her mind was on that man, not on her work.
She slammed her pencil down on the pad yet again, this time with a lot more
force. If she wasn’t going to get anything done tonight, she might as well
just pack up and go home. No sense wasting time sitting around gaping at
strangers when she could be home in her studio—alone—getting some actual
work done.
“Why did you stop?”
She nearly jumped a mile at the voice
behind her. She spun around so quickly the pad and pencil slid out of her
lap and hit the grass below.
It was him.
She opened her mouth to chastise him
for sneaking up on her, but she couldn’t form a single coherent sentence.
Up close, he was even more fascinating then he’d been at a distance—and he
certainly wasn’t as average as she’d first thought. His hair was
thick and shiny—a rich, deep brown nearly as dark as hers. The light
colored shirt contrasted sharply with the golden bronze tone of his skin.
A half-smile played on his full lips,
and she caught a glimpse of gleaming white teeth. “Are you an artist by
trade?” he continued, his gaze snagging hers and holding tight. She
couldn’t look away, even if she’d wanted to. His eyes were a clear emerald
green with small flecks of gold threaded through, almost hypnotic in their
beauty. She’d never seen eyes that color in her life.
He cleared his throat and she realized
she’d been staring. “You do speak English, don’t you?” he asked, his tone
laced with humor.
“What? Oh, English. Yeah.” She cursed
herself for sounding like a complete airhead, but she couldn’t help it.
They just didn’t make them like this in Stone Harbor,
and seeing him must have short circuited something vital in her brain.
“I asked if you were an artist.”
She could do this. He was just a man.
Nothing to be afraid of.
“Yes.” She paused and took a deep
breath. At least she’d been able to make some sense this time. A little
calmer, she launched into an explanation. “A painter, but I work with
charcoal from time to time when I need a change, which now I—.”
She clamped her mouth shut and let a
breath out through her nose. Geez,
Ellie. Think you can give him any more information he didn’t ask
for? She mentally berated herself for nearly boring him to death. What
would he care about her humdrum life? The only interesting things about her
were things she only told her closest friends. The rest of her life—the
public part—wasn’t even worthy of a mention. Bending down, she scooped the
pad and pencil off the ground and settled them back in her lap, covering
the picture with her arms to block it from his view.
She lifted her gaze to him again,
ready to excuse herself and make a quick exit before she humiliated herself
further. He focused his eyes on her lap, presumably trying to get a glimpse
of what she’d been drawing. It gave her a chance to get a better look at
near-perfection. His face reminded her of a sculpture—all smooth lines and
clean angles. She placed him somewhere in his late thirties or early
forties, from the faint lines around his eyes and mouth. His hair, though,
was dark without a hint of gray. And all that bronze skin looked unusually soft,
and had the strange desire to run her fingertips over his cheeks to find
out.
What a painting he’d make. She’d never
ask a complete stranger to pose, but the thought intrigued her. A face like
that would keep her hands—and eyes—busy for hours. The fading sun glinted
in his eyes, and for a second they flashed gold. The sight made a shiver
run down her spine, both from anxiety and something she hated to label as
arousal.
“Who are you?” she asked when she
finally got her mouth working properly. She supposed, if he planned to stand
there and let her gape at him all night, he at least owed her an
introduction. And if she knew his name, he wouldn’t be a complete
stranger anymore—and she wouldn’t feel so guilty about staring.
“Eric Malcolm.” He held out his hand
and she took it hesitantly, expecting a handshake. When he brought her hand
to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, she blinked in surprise.
His palm was warm and soft, and the fleeting touch of his lips against her
skin had her drawing a sharp breath.
“And you are…?” he continued, her hand
still firmly in his grip.
Think. She
mentally knocked herself on the head, trying to get her brain to function.
“Ann Elizabeth Holmes.”
Stupid! No
one called her Ann Elizabeth. What was she thinking?
“Well, Ann Elizabeth—“
“Ellie.” She smiled weakly. “Please.
Call me Ellie. I hate Ann Elizabeth.”
“Why?” He raised an eyebrow at her as
he spoke.
“It’s
boring.” Oh, yeah. Like Ellie is any better.
He
frowned and studied her for a minute. “You don’t strike me as a boring
woman.”
She
had to laugh at that. “Stick around. I’ll prove you wrong in a matter of
days. Maybe even hours.”
He
nodded slowly, his eyes darkening almost imperceptibly. “I might just do
that.”
“Oh,
no, I didn’t mean…” She sighed, not willing to finish the thought. She felt
a little like a moth drawn to flame. His gaze sucked her in, entranced her,
but if she got close enough she’d be fried to a crisp. He could do that to
her—she had no doubts about it.
“I think you did.” He glanced at the pad
in her lap, his head cocked to the side. Self-consciously she brushed her
hair back behind her ears. He took full advantage of the moment, reaching
over her shoulder and lifting the pad off her lap before she even had time
to react.
“Hey! Give that back!” She made a grab
for her sketch pad, but he held tight with one hand as he leafed through a
couple of the pages with the other. He had to have noticed the sketches of
him, but he didn’t show any kind of a reaction.
“Why are you trying to hide this from
me? Surely a woman as talented as you is used to showing off her work?”
The subject matter, rather than the
work as whole, caused her the most distress. She didn’t need him thinking
she was some kind of obsessed mental case—normal women didn’t go around
drawing pictures of complete strangers. Yeah. If she kept repeating
that, she might actually start to believe it.
She shrugged, failing miserably at
casual. “I have a few in a gallery downtown. This,” She yanked the pad out
of his hands and closed the cover. “Is too raw to share. I make it a policy
never to let anyone see my work when it’s in the beginning stages.”
Especially if the work was of a man who had no idea she’d used him as an
artist’s model.
“That’s too bad. It seems like such a
waste to not share.”
His compliment caught her off guard.
She didn’t know how to answer. “I guess I have doubts about that. Most
artists do.”
“Don’t doubt your talent. If you
consider these sketches rough, I’d be very interested in taking a look at
some of your finished work.”
“Why?” she asked, incredulous.
Suspicion rose in her. That was taking the whole flattery thing a little
too far.
“I’m redecorating my house, and I’m
very interested in New England artists.”
He put his hands in his pockets and leaned a hip against the back of the
bench. Everything about his manner said “casual”, yet she detected a
faint…restlessness about him that practically screamed “ulterior motives”.
“Is that why you’re in town? To
acquire art?” She resisted the urge to tell him that the words
“woman” and “stupid” were not synonymous. When people wanted art, they went
to the big galleries in New York
City. They didn’t come to Stone Harbor.
Sure, there were a couple of galleries downtown, but they were mostly for
the tourists who flocked to the town in late summer to invade the beaches.
He elegantly shrugged one shoulder,
the casual façade firmly in place. “Art is one of the reasons for my visit.”
Business, perhaps? He didn’t strike
her as someone who traveled to the edge of nowhere for fun. She waited for
him to elaborate on his other reasons, but he didn’t. He just stood over
her, his gaze boring into hers, until she couldn’t take the silence
anymore. “The gallery at the Art Association downtown has a few of my
paintings. You could always go down there if you wanted to take a look.
It’s a little red brick building on the corner of Main and Washington. You
can’t miss it.”
“I don’t get a personal tour?” He
smiled down at her and something quivered low in her stomach.
She almost gave in then and there. Almost.
But then she remembered that, even in a tiny town like Stone Harbor,
getting too friendly too quickly with strangers was a bad idea. “No, I
don’t think so. You look like a smart guy. I think you can find your way
around a gallery all by yourself.”
She had to get out of there—now,
before she forgot all her common sense. She stood and left the bench,
stuffed the pad and pencil into her tote bag, and started toward the
parking lot without glancing back. If she looked, even a tiny bit, she knew
part of her would want to stay. Funny, she’d always thought of herself as a
rational woman. Talking to a complete stranger the way she did certainly
wasn’t rational. It bordered on insane.
“Would it change things if I told you I’m
more interested in the artist than the art?”
She stopped in mid-stride and pivoted.
“No. Definitely not. I—”The words she’d meant as forceful denial came out
as no more than a squeak that ended in a gasp when she realized he stood
less than two feet away.
“How did you get there?” He’d been all
the way back by the bench, and she hadn’t heard his footsteps behind her.
“The same as you. I walked.” He
shrugged and smiled, fixing that incredible green gaze on her and turning
her body to jelly. She felt like he’d stepped even closer in the seconds
that followed, but he hadn’t moved at all.
“Sure you did.” Yeah, and she was
Mary, Queen of Scots. Thoughts in her head began sliding together like
pieces in a puzzle, and she didn’t think she’d like the final picture.
“Listen, I really do have to go. I have things to do.”
“That’s too bad. It would be a shame
to waste such a beautiful night. I’m sure, without all the lights of the
big city, the night sky here is fabulous.”
“It is. It’s also dark. Very dark, and
I have to get home before the sun sets.” She had a feeling that she didn’t
want to be stuck alone with him after the sun went down. He made her
nervous, suspicious—tense.
And aroused.
The last thought hit her like a slap
in the face. The only thing she knew about him was name, and somehow he
conjured such strong emotions within her that she couldn’t control them.
“It will be a beautiful sunset, if you
just stay a few more minutes,” he continued with that deep, hypnotic voice.
She smiled nervously, shifting from
foot to foot. The combination of unease and attraction was a powerful
combination. “Yeah. It will. I hope you get a chance to enjoy it. If you’ll
excuse me…”
“Of course.” He smiled ruefully. “If
you insist on leaving, I won’t stop you.”
Then why did it feel like her legs
were leaden, and she couldn’t drag herself away without some serious
effort?
“I—I have to go.” She repeated the words
like a mantra—one her body refused to acknowledge. Despite her best
intentions, her feet remained planted to the ground as if she’d grown
roots.
“You’re unsure of me, aren’t you?” He
didn’t look upset. Instead, his gaze held sparks of humor and curiosity—and
a healthy dose of the crippling arousal currently assaulting her.
She nodded slowly, nervously wetting
her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. She backed up a step, then
another, to put some much needed distance between them.
“I wouldn’t expect a beautiful woman
like you to be all alone. Do you have a man waiting at home for you?” His
eyes darkened at the question.
He didn’t know the half of it.
Sometimes she wished she were all alone. One day with her family, and he’d understand. She shook her head. “It’s
just…I…never mind.” She should leave before this got any worse, but her stubborn
feet refused to move.
He stepped closer and raised his hand,
a set of keys dangling from his fingers. Her keys. Her heart stopped
for a beat before starting again with a thud. “Where did you get those?”
“On the ground by the bench. They must
have fallen out of your bag.” He held them in front of him as if daring her
to come and get them.
She swallowed hard. She always kept
her keys in her pocket or purse. Always. She never put them in her
bag. That thought was enough to release her from whatever held her to the
spot. “Thanks for bringing them to me.” She held out her hand and waited
for him to place them in her palm.
He laughed softly as he walked to her.
“Here you are. Have a safe drive home.” His fingers brushed her palm as he
gave her the keys. She felt the contact all the way to her toes. His voice
was a husky whisper—one that had her thinking illicit thoughts about naked,
sweaty bodies tangled in satin sheets, moving together in—
“Thanks,” she said sharply, trying to
pull herself out of her lust-induced haze. What was wrong with her? It was
like some wanton flake had crawled into her mind and set up residence.
“My pleasure.” He lowered his head a
little, his gaze meeting hers dead-on. His deep voice had her practically panting
at his feet. “I meant what I said about your talent—and your beauty.”
The sincerity in his gaze made her
face flame. “Well, thanks. I really do have to go now. Again.”
“I’ll be in town for a while, and I
plan to take a trip to the gallery you mentioned to see your paintings,” he
said as she turned to walk away. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
“Maybe,” she said without turning back
to him.
She virtually ran toward her car. He
didn’t follow, and she didn’t care. The pull he had over her rattled her,
and if she hadn’t walked away that second there was no telling what stupid
things she might have done. She shifted her tote bag on her shoulder and
walked faster. When she glanced up after she opened her car door, he hadn’t
moved an inch. Funny, but it felt as if he were standing right next to her.
It took about five minutes for
everything to click firmly into place. She’d known, subconsciously, almost
from the beginning of their meeting, but she hadn’t dared acknowledge it
until now. The truth hit her all at once when she paused at a stop sign.
She didn’t know who the stranger in the park was, but she knew what
he was.
A vampire.
Just what she needed in her
life—another vampire. She leaned forward and banged her head on the
steering wheel a few times. “Wonderful.” She had a serious case of
lust, and the guy wasn’t even human.
And she’d bet her entire year’s salary
that the real reason for his visit had nothing to do with art.
* * * * *
Eric sat at the tiny round table, the
blue light from the screen of his laptop the only illumination in the hotel
room. He shifted in his chair and glanced at the glowing green digits on
the alarm clock. Twelve fifteen. The night had just begun. He rubbed a hand
down his face and thought about the woman in the park. Ellie. She might
prove to be a distraction, if he wasn’t careful. He had a job to do, and
he’d be wise not to forget it.
He’d shaken her. That much had been
obvious—barely. She was strong. Getting close to her wouldn’t be as easy as
he’d previously thought. He’d tried his hardest to bend her mind to his will,
but he’d scarcely been able to get inside.
Every time he thought he had her, she mentally locked him out. Sam
had told him the woman was an ordinary human. Obviously, that was not the
whole truth. But he’d do what it took to bend her—out of necessity. She
might be his last chance at catching a killer before he destroyed another
life. He had a personal stake in this job—three of his closest friends were
dead.
He might be next, if he wasn’t careful.
He’d have to be. Tracking the killer
while having to constantly look over his shoulder had become tedious work.
It had been months, and it was time to end this for good—no matter what it
took. But he didn’t want Ellie hurt.
Where that thought came from, he had
no idea. He’d need to remember that he was here in Stone Harbor
to do a job, not pursue a woman—at least no more than the job
entailed. If he could get close to her, he’d be able to get the information
he needed. It was quite possible, given her friendships with the few
vampires who lived in town, that she already knew the killer’s identity. But
those vamps were a secretive bunch, so she might not know anything at all.
That was why he’d have to get close to the human woman, get her to relax
around him enough that he could get inside her head.
And he was fooling himself if he
thought that was his only reason for wanting to get close to her. The
second she’d looked up at him with those big blue eyes, lust had hit him
with the force of a hurricane. He wanted to get to know her better,
both mentally and physically, in a way that had absolutely nothing to do
with work. But getting closer to her might mean putting up with her vampire
friends for a little while, too, and that thought turned his stomach. The
last thing he needed were a bunch of vamps to ruin his life, especially
those few in particular.
God, he hated bloodsuckers.
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