Demon Dreamer: A Captive Souls story Read online

  “I can’t take you any farther.”

  “I understand. There’s no need to worry. I’ll be more than fine.”

  “A pretty thing like you needs to be careful.”

  She smiled. “I can take care of meself. It may not look it, but from where I come, people are afraid of me.”

  He didn’t look like he believed her, but eventually he tipped his head to her, put his truck in gear and rolled forward, turning onto the other road.

  She watched as his truck rambled away from her. Then she straightened her shoulders and stepped onto the grassy lane, starting her journey toward her father’s house and a new life.

  She’d read his letter with a mixture of anger and interest. She’d never met her father. Her mother had told her nothing of him, except that he had knocked her up and abandoned her and Kiara the second she’d been born. Rubbing a finger under her eye, Kiara didn’t have to guess why he’d fled. Her goat’s eye was difficult to look at. She struggled with it when she was younger, until finally she grew to accept it and even be proud of it. It afforded her power and prestige in her culture.

  Jean-Paul’s letter had been full of regret and words of apology. He’d asked her, nay, begged her to come to Louisiana to see him. He’d wanted to make amends to her. She didn’t know about making amends, but she jumped at the chance to come. She knew this was a sign, an omen. And she always followed the omens. She came to the old parish not to find a father, she cared nothing for him, but to find the one thing she was missing in her life. Passion. She knew it was waiting for her down the road.

  After a few minutes, Kiara stopped and slid off her shoes. She picked them up and shoved them into her bag. Hefting her bag over her shoulder, Kiara inched off the grooves in the road to bury her toes into the soil alongside.

  Since arriving in Louisiana and particularly in the area near New Orleans, she’d been overwhelmed with the need to touch the ground, to set her bare feet onto the earth beneath the city. And that’s what she did the moment she was outside the city and on her way to her father’s old plantation house.

  She knew it would be a little walk, a quarter of a mile several folks told her when she informed them of her destination, but she didn’t care. Now that she was here in this part of the world, she felt an affinity to everything. The trees, the grass, the dirt, even in some sense the old buildings. There was some force here, some power that called to her inner spirit. Something that told her that she was home.

  The dark rich soil was cool on her toes and she squished it between them, sensing the power deep inside the ground. There was something powerful here, in this place, waiting, sleeping, growing, and shifting. Into what, Kiara didn’t have a clue. But she knew that when it woke from its long slumber, there would be a storm like no one had seen before swirling overhead, threatening to destroy or to create. Depending on its mood.

  She kept on walking, in no hurry to reach her destination. Kiara was all about the journey. She’d never been in too much of a hurry to get anywhere. It was her gypsy roots. Meandering from one place to another, letting the wind guide the trip. Yet she was excited to get to the house. She knew there was something amazing there waiting for her. Something that called to her even while she was awake. The closer she got to the house, the more she could sense its presence.

  Every night since her first dream of the demon and the other two beings in the library, she’d dreamed of him. Dark, sensual dreams that stirred her juices. She’d wake sweaty, aching between her thighs. The ache would nag at her until she satisfied it with her own fingers. But it would be back again, harder, fiercer, the next night and the next. It got to the point where she didn’t need to sleep to feel that throb pounding inside her. It was there now, a constant companion, and no amount of massaging or thrusting or manipulating would sate it.

  Only her dream demon could slake her hunger.

  She hoped he was waiting for her, primed and ready, eager to take her, to plunge himself into the warm soft folds of her body.

  Her breathing grew rapid as she thought about the possibilities. Sweat trickled down her chest, between her breasts to pool in her navel. It was hot, and thinking about her dream demon wasn’t doing anything but making her hotter. She had to curb her thoughts before she dropped onto the ground right here and now and took care of the raging lust pumping through her veins. She hoped the walk wasn’t that much longer. Because if this kept on, she’d do just that, and be damned if anyone came by and saw her.

  Kiara walked, dragging her bag on the ground, for another few minutes before she sensed a change in the air. It became thicker, heavier, and cooler. As if an ocean breeze had swept through, but she knew that was not the case. The ocean was not close enough to elicit such changes. It was a shift not in the weather but in the atmosphere. There was something tangible just over the rise.

  Her pace increased. She was anxious to get to the house, to finally find a place of her own, to have a home she could come to and be herself without fear, without judgment, without reservation. She knew from her father’s letter she would be accepted here for who she truly was. Her father had called her home for a purpose.

  And that purpose was within her grasp. She could feel it creeping over her skin, like fingers of a lover’s hand. Licking her lips, she crested the rise and came to her salvation.

  The sight of the huge, ancient sycamores lining the dirt lane stole her breath. She’d never seen so many great trees before in her life, and she came from the Emerald Isle. These trees were giants, leaning over the road, protecting it like formidable guardians. They formed a canopy overhead that sunlight could barely penetrate. So when Kiara took her first step onto the road to the house, it was as if the moon had eclipsed the sun.

  Gazing up at the intense greenery above her, Kiara walked slowly down the lane. She was very aware of every step she took, every slight puff of sultry air, every movement of every leaf on the branches drooping down toward her like fingers. There was a presence here; she could feel it on her skin, on her face. Like moving through something viscous. Threads of power clung to her body like spider silk. They tightened around her as she drew closer to the house.

  The road seemed to go on a long time. She could barely make out the image of the old antebellum home. But she knew it to be grand. She could feel the greatness residing within the walls and knew only a place of wealth and prestige could contain such power.

  But with every step she took forward, the lane seemed to draw away. As if lengthening despite itself. The entity surrounding this plantation was playing games. It beckoned to her in one breath and tried to keep her away with the next. But it would not work on her. She’d been playing these types of games her whole life. It was how she kept the gypsy men of her caravan both at her call and at bay. She never had any intention of making an honest man out of any of them. Even if an honest one could’ve been found.

  Even before dreaming of the demon and her father’s letter, Kiara knew she’d never wed one of her caravan. Or of any caravan. She knew deep down inside that there was so much more for her, somewhere in the world. That her fate was not chiseled in stone. That some great task would be put upon her. And she would rise to it with her head held high, and her heart beating with fierce passion.

  She smiled at the trickery, up for the challenge. “I’m coming, my demon. Even this strong magic canna keep me away from you.”

  Malvo jolted from his sleep. Something woke him. A voice he thought, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Shoving the two warm bodies covering him, he sat up and yawned. The two women, conjured from his mind, mumbled protests as he moved off the bed. Ignoring them, he stood, naked, his body still gleaming with sweat, and padded across the bedroom to the living room.

  He crossed the room to the cabinet in the corner. Yawning again, he poured himself a short glass of scotch and tossed it back in one gulp. Afternoon trysts always took a lot out of him. He preferred to sleep for hours afterward, but something had startled him from his slumber.
/>   He knew there were others in the house. He’d sensed them the moment they arrived. Two females. He could scent them even through the thick wood walls. Desire had flared hotly in his body, but he knew they weren’t for him. Maybe they were here for the other prisoners in the house. This thought gave him no comfort. Once more, he was completely aware of his imprisonment and the illusionary world he’d created for himself behind the library walls to keep himself sane. Well, at least, less insane.

  But another presence had woken him. A voice. A female voice. Accented and lilting. An accent he’d hadn’t heard in a long time. Before he’d cursed himself and created his prison, he’d traveled all over the world. He knew that accent from his adventures in Europe.

  Sighing, he poured another drink and carried it to the far wall. Maybe he was just overtired, and thinking too much about the past. Maybe he’d conjured the lilting voice just as he’d conjured everything else around him. Maybe he was finally going over the edge. He knew it was inevitable. A being couldn’t be locked up without any outside influence for this long and still keep a level head. Maybe he’d gone over years ago and had just never noticed.

  Taking another sip of his drink, he waved his hand over the wall. A shimmer rippled over it, transforming the dark wood of the wall into something lighter, thinner even. After another few moments, it was as if a window had been installed into the wall. A window to the outside world. Through it, Malvo could see outside the house. He didn’t use the magic often, as it made him angrier and more restless to be free of his prison. But he had to know if the voice was real or just another figment of his imagination.

  The view was of the front of the house with its overgrown walkway and weed problem. Jean-Paul, the man who had lived in the house for years, was never one for gardening, Malvo thought. He’d been too busy seeking power and prestige. Sucking it out of the house itself.

  Peering through the veil, Malvo searched for any sign of the source of the disembodied voice. At first, there had been nothing, but as he continued to gaze out toward the long driveway up to the house, an image wavered into view.

  A breathtaking image.

  She was as enchanting as her voice. Long strawberry-blonde hair fell to her waist in soft waves. His fingers itched to reach through the wall and touch it to see if it was as silky as it looked. She wore a long gauzy green skirt and white tank top that showed off her creamy pale skin. As she drew closer he could make out the firm swell of her breasts as they bounced free beneath the cotton. But it was her gaze that tore a breath from his throat and caused his hands to shake.

  She had the mark.

  Lifting her head, she stared at the house as if she could see through his veil and right into him. Her eyes were as green as emeralds and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the one on the right. Her goat’s eye stared right through him as if she could see his very soul, as if he ever possessed one.

  A smile lifted her full unpainted mouth. And he yearned to feel those lips on his flesh. Hands on her hips, she cocked one eyebrow and said, “I’m here, my dream demon. I’m home.”

  And that’s when the glass he was holding slipped from his fingers and smashed into a thousand shards near his feet.

  Chapter Four

  As Kiara approached the house, she felt something deep-seated flutter inside her belly. It was the sensation of coming back to something, returning after a long absence. It was strange but it didn’t stop her from stepping closer to the large two-story plantation home.

  The off-white columns rose above her as she stepped up onto the veranda. Four large windows loomed along the wall, dark blue shutters surrounding them. The double oak and glass doors beckoned her forward. And she heeded them, placing her bare feet one in front of the other until she stood directly in front of them.

  She dug into her bag and came away with a key. It had been inside the letter from her father. Her ma had kept it until Kiara had declared her intentions of going to Louisiana.

  Holding it tight, she slid it into the gold lock and turned it. It clicked and she turned the knob, opening one door. She took the key out and tossed it back into her bag. Taking a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold and into her father’s home.

  The blue and beige checked carpet was soft against her feet as she moved further into the entrance hall. As she stepped forward, she ran her fingers along the velvety blue sofa along one wall, and stared at herself in the full-wall mirror on the facing wall. Her hair looked a mess, swirling around her with some tendrils stuck to her sweaty forehead and cheeks. But as she continued to stare, she realized she looked right at home in the old estate house. Smiling, she continued forward, anxious to investigate.

  Ahead of her was a steep staircase leading to the second floor, a set of closed double oak doors, an open doorway on her right, and one on her left. Slowly, she crept to the doorway on her left and peered in. It appeared to be a parlor, complete with two sofas, chairs done in the same rich blue fabric, tables, and a big fireplace. There were paintings and pictures on the walls, but nothing immediately interested her, so she continued on.

  Nearing the stairs, she looked up, straining to hear anything out of place, or evidence of anyone else being in the house. The second she stepped through the door she sensed she wasn’t alone. She considered taking the stairs, but something drew her attention to explore further. She stepped to her right and peered through the other open doorway. The room was for dining. There was a long mahogany table in the middle of the room, big enough to seat twenty by the count of the chairs. There were several candelabras on the table, looking ready to be lit for the evening’s diners.

  Kiara found it strange that the place had a look of being lived in, although she knew that Jean-Paul was dead. According to her research there was no one living in the house. Unless she hadn’t been the only one invited home. Her mother had told her that Jean-Paul had a wandering eye. Maybe Kiara had a few siblings lurking about. She loathed thinking about it, as she didn’t want to share this place with anyone else. Now that she was here, in this house, she wasn’t going to let anyone, no matter who they were, run her off.

  The dining room held no interest to her either, and she continued with her search. For what, she wasn’t quite sure she could name. But it seemed to be calling her forward, urging her to move down the hall toward the closed double oak doors.

  When she reached the doors, she pressed her palm against the wood. It was warm to the touch and she could feel a humming presence beyond the wood. There was something there, living, breathing, and waiting for her. She sucked in a deep breath and pushed the doors open. She smiled as she stepped through them.

  It was a library. Just like the one from her dreams.

  She dropped her bag by the door and moved into the room. Everywhere she looked it was wall-to-wall books. Shelves stretched to the high ceilings. There was a ladder on rails in the corner that looked like it would go all around the room, so a person could reach the books on the highest shelf. A sofa sat near another fireplace. It was in the same blue fabric as all the other furniture she’d seen so far. Two tables sandwiched it between them, with books stacked on top. It looked like someone had been searching for something, and had been interrupted during the process.

  Kiara neared the fireplace and ran her fingers over the wood. She loved the feel of it under her hands. It was as if the wood was alive. She could sense a presence living inside it. Something that welcomed her home.

  Tired from her long trip, Kiara collapsed on the sofa. She wondered if anyone would mind if she slept in here. She had no desire to find a room. Where she was right now felt perfect to her. She curled her feet up under her and rested her head on the soft cushion behind her. An overwhelming sense of satisfaction rolled over her. So did exhaustion. Yawning, and with a smile on her face, she closed her eyes. She’d just rest a minute and then she’d explore some more. She sensed there was way more to find in this house than just furniture and books.

  Another dream came. This time she was in it
, standing in the library alone. But she wasn’t for long.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the air ripple and shimmer until it formed a door. It was a normal-looking door, made out of wood with a lock and a doorknob; it was just floating in the middle of the room.

  She neared it, excitement and fear thrumming through her. She reached out to turn the knob, when it opened on its own. Startled she took a step back, her heart racing. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed it down.

  Anxious, she waited for something to happen, for someone to step through the door. She didn’t have to wait long. A form, large and wide, materialized in the doorway. She gasped when he stepped out. It was the demon from her other dreams.

  But he looked different from the first time. He was more real, solid-looking and dressed in black pants and a red silk shirt. He didn’t smile when he saw her, but she knew he was pleased that she was here in his home. There was no mistaking his sexual attraction to her. It was evident in the darkening of his eyes, and the way his gaze traveled up and down her body, caressing her.

  He moved toward her, predatory like. Fear snaked down her spine, but she didn’t allow it to back her up, or down. She liked how it mingled with the desire boiling inside her. It added a layer of excitement that called to her.

  She lifted her chin as he neared her, meeting his gaze. She wanted him to know that she wasn’t afraid. Well, she was a little, but it didn’t dampen the intense need clawing at her insides.

  He stood directly in front of her. She could smell him. It was a tantalizing mixture of heat and spice, like red hot chili peppers. She loved spicy food, so his scent had saliva pooling in her mouth.

  “You are not afraid of me.” His voice was deep and rumbling. The little hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rose to attention. She was deftly aware of the sweat trickling down her chest to pool in her navel.

  She shook her head, not trusting her voice. She had an insatiable urge to drop to her knees and beg him to touch her, to kiss her, to lick every inch of her body.