Friday, July 01, 2005







Book one of THE ETERNAL KNIGHTS

With a rush of awareness, Alexis Harrison sat straight up in her bed. Like the pounding of a drum, her heart beat against her chest. Realization came as she blinked into the dimly lit room.
She was dreaming. And he was here. She felt him. Already her body thrummed with the sweet arousal of her fantasy lover’s presence.
Anxiously, her eyes traveled the room, blinking against the darkness. And then she saw him . . . the stranger who seduced her in her sleep and stole her inhibitions.
He stood in front of the open window, the breeze lifting his dark hair from his shoulders. Moonlight cast a mysterious glow around him, giving her just enough light to devour his perfection. The silky white curtains fluttered around his muscular frame. Like a predator, he stood there, unmoving, dark eyes fixed on her as if he prepared for attack.
He reminded her of a big cat. Yes. He was like a leopard, smooth and sleek, with the gift of deadly agility and potent seduction.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” she whispered.
“I was never far away,” he said, in a low, sultry voice as he walked towards her, his clothes as black as his raven hair. As if he was a part of the night, moving within the darkness. “Destiny awaits. You know this.”
With each step he took, anticipation grew. A tiny tingling of arousal emerged between her legs. “You speak of destiny but you offer no answers.”
“I’d tell you if I could.”
She wanted to demand he explain himself. To tell her who he was and why she wanted him with such completeness. But suddenly, he was there, beside her, sitting on the bed. The scent he carried, so familiar, so male, danced along her nerve endings like a calling. His hand went to her cheek, and she leaned into it, lashes fluttering with the sweet bliss of his touch.
Alexis looked up at him, this stranger who’d come to her in her dreams for so many years. He wasn’t like other men. Of this she was certain. There was something far more primal, almost animalistic about him. Yet, he burned inside of her like a part of her very soul. With him, she felt free. For his short visits she wasn’t alone in the world. She wanted to understand why he made her feel such things. But like the times before, logic slipped away, and passion ruled.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, needing what she hadn’t had in far too long.
Slowly, he lowered his head, his breath warm and seductive with its promise of intimacy. And then his lips were on hers, and his tongue . . . it slid into her mouth with a long, languid stroke that swept through her entire body with a rush of heat.
His hand went to her waist and she sighed into his mouth. She wanted to be taken. To be consumed and controlled. Only with him did she ever allow herself to let go. He did that for her. Took her to a place where nothing else mattered. Gave her a peace she had never felt in the real world, but yearned for in a way she couldn’t quite understand.
He tore his lips from hers, then pulled the sheet from her body and gently urged her to ease onto her back. She did as he suggested, because she knew the reward that would follow. She knew well the pleasure that he alone could give. But never well enough.
A hint of a smile played on his sensual mouth as his index finger traveled to the edge of her gown, and inch by inch, slid the silk up her thigh. He brushed the edge of her panties, and she sucked in a breath. Wet with want, she burned to feel him on top of her, inside her, all around her.
Sliding to his side, lying so he faced her, his long, hard thighs pressed against her body, his lips touched her ear. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
And she had missed him. She wanted to respond. To ask why he’d stayed away, but his fingers brushed her nipple. A shiver raced through her body, and her back arched. Rewarding her response, he circled it, and then lightly tugged.
Desperate for more of him, to feel him close and hard beneath her hands, she turned into him, pressing her body against his. Her hands found the long layers of dark hair even as she pressed her lips to his. He kissed her then, his mouth hot and hungry as he devoured her. Like a wild animal, he both gave and took. Tasting her with completeness. Delivering her to that erotic wonderland where nothing mattered but him. Her. Them.
Then, she was lost . . .
For a moment, everything went black as the dream turned to nightmare. For just an instant, coldness replaced the heat of the embrace. As if she had been brushed by evil. Oh God, she knew what came next. Death would invade this dream and make it a nightmare.
She was alone. So very alone.
Blinking, she tried to see into the darkness. Black, thick, silence surrounded her. Suddenly, a flash of light moved before her eyes, and then everything came into focus.
She stood in an alley, still wearing her nightgown. Beside her, was a trash dumpster, the door open, the smell rotten and tainted, causing her stomach to wrench in disgust. A rat scurried across the pavement, its squeal so real it made her skin crawl. Everything felt magnified a hundred times. There was no wind and the air was thick, and mixed with the smell of the trash, almost suffocating. She looked left, and then right, but saw no one.
And then, with a sick feeling gathering in her stomach, she looked down.
Confirmation came like a hard slap. A woman lay at her feet, dark lashes against her pale skin. For several seconds, Alexis simply stood there. Unmoving. Praying she would wake up. But, the sourness of the air made her nostrils flare and her surroundings seem to brighten.
Usually, it wasn’t like this. So vivid. So real.
The thought set her in motion. If this was real, then so was the woman at her feet. She bent down next to the body intent on searching for a pulse, adrenaline like a drug in her veins. Her hand met a damp stickiness. Bright red smudged her fingers, and Alexis had to force herself to swallow. With dread in her heart, she touched the coldness of the woman’s cheek, and turned her head. But she already knew what to expect. She’d been here before. Not this exact location. Not this exact victim. But this nightmare had come to her many times. With two similarities. There was always a dead woman. And the death came in the same, horrifying way.
Alexis brushed long black hair away to view the injury. Two deep puncture marks on her neck oozed with blood. Just as expected, yet . . . With a deep breath, Alexis reached forward, touching a drop of bright red liquid, trying to understand the moment. Something about this felt different than her other experiences.
Tears burned in the back of her eyes as the blood stained her skin. This woman had a life, a family, and people who cared for her. Loved ones who would mourn. It destroyed Alexis to know she had no power to save her or the others before her. She’d devoted her life to using her abilities, her visions, to stop such things. Why then was she seeing these images if she could do nothing to make a difference?
“Why?” she screamed into the night, her face tilted to the sky, and her body shaking with emotion. Then, in a hoarse whisper, “Why?”
Abruptly, the wind lifted her hair, blowing with a sudden gush. And then he stood there, in the alley with her. Her stranger. Never before had he entered the nightmare portion of her dream. Alexis stared at him. His gaze met hers, but there was no emotion in the depths of his deep, dark eyes.
“Help her,” Alexis said to him. For some reason, she knew he could. She even felt his desire to do so. Yet, something kept him from acting.
“It’s too late for her.”
That wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. “Why am I here then?” Alexis pushed to her feet. “If not to save her, then why?”
“I told you,” he said. “Destiny.”
“Stop saying that. It’s not enough. I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
Alexis balled her fists by her side. “I want to know now.”
“Soon,” he said. “Soon.”
Walking towards him, Alexis felt an urgency she didn’t understand. Only that it rolled inside her like a ball down a hill, picking up speed. She needed to touch him. To feel him. To confirm this was real. No longer could he represent peace. Now, he had become a part of the fear. When he’d left the bedroom and entered the alley, he had evolved from dream to nightmare. She wanted this to end. To stop the terror eating at her mind. Somehow, she felt that touching him would dissolve the evil and bring back the bliss. But with every step she took, her stranger seemed to become more distant. The alley grew dimmer, grayness turning to black until suddenly she was thrust into total, utter darkness.
***
Ringing. There was a loud ringing noise. Slowly, Alexis let the sound enter her mind, and blinked. Daylight became reality about the time the telephone went silent.
Staring up at the ceiling, she replayed the images of her dream in her mind. The passion of the dark stranger coupled with the desire to give to him so completely. Then the violent turn from lovemaking to the death of yet another woman.
In her twenty-nine years of living, she’d had some damn scary nightmares. Often, they foretold the future. A skill she considered a gift. Her thoughts went back to her decision to join the FBI. To listening to the man who had heard of her skills and recruited her. The man who was now her boss. He’d convinced her she could save lives profiling for FBI. Now years later, she had never regretted her decision to join the agency. Her job was her way of fighting evil. Her calling.
Accepting the gift she’d been given as a gift from God had allowed her to deal with the darkness of the images.
But this nightmare had repeated itself for a good five years without ever becoming reality. She wasn’t sure what it meant or how to respond. Each time it unnerved her to the core. Every part of it. That she gave to a stranger so freely. That a woman would die and she couldn’t save her.
Sitting up, she threw back the covers, her hand trembling ever so slightly. The alarm clock sounded and Alexis jumped. With a low sound in her throat, she scooted to the edge of the mattress and pressed the off button just in time to hear her doorbell ring.
“Who the heck is here this early?” she murmured under her breath.
Grabbing a robe, she made quick work of shoving her arms into it. An accidental glance in the mirror said her long, brown hair looked downright scary. And she needed to make a highlight appointment. The auburn locks she tried to have redone once a month hadn’t been touched in three. She drew a wayward lock to her nose and frowned. It smelled like the nasty dumpster from her dream. But that wasn’t possible.
Alexis shoved away the thought and rushed towards the front of her apartment. One thing for sure, no one visited at seven in the morning with good news. By the time she reached the door, a hard, impatient knocking had started.
She yanked it open to find her boss, Agent in Charge Ryan Cameron, standing in her doorway. Tall and dark, he was still in top-notch physical shape. He looked forty rather than his age—fifty-two. Though he’d only headed up the San Francisco field office where she worked for about a year, he had supported her from day one. Unlike most people who first met her, he had never once questioned her talents as an FBI profiler or her special gifts. Of course he’d been the one who’d found her. Ryan had spoken at her college. Several students had told him about her work at a runaway shelter. Intrigued, he’d shown up at the shelter and watched her in action for a solid week, telling her it had been research for a project. He’d seen her visions in action. Watched her charge into a gang fight because she’d already known the ending. That one of the kids would die.
And he’d pursued her for the agency until she’d finally seen it as the opportunity it was. A way to help stop evil.
Ryan eyed her with a smirk on his face. “Nice hair,” he said, moving forward so she had to back up to allow him to enter or be run over. “Coffee made yet?”
Alexis blew at a piece of hair as it dropped in front of her eyes. People weren’t supposed to see her this early in the morning. She hadn’t missed the file he held. He’d come to talk shop. “It’s too damn early for whatever you’re here for.”
“You wouldn’t answer your phone,” he said, already halfway to her kitchen.
“I’ll be at work in an hour,” she said, irritated as she shut the door and walked towards the kitchen. “And you called about five minutes before you knocked.” Bringing Ryan back into view, she found him standing at her sink running water into a glass pot. She leaned against her bright, white refrigerator, noting the mud he’d managed to deposit on her equally white tiled floor. “What the heck is going on? And you didn’t wipe your feet on the mat.”
Ignoring her floor issues, he poured the water into the back of the machine. “You’re going to New York, kid.”
Her brows dipped. “What? Surely someone is closer to New York than me.”
Ryan grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. One was her Mickey Mouse mug she only used when she was upset.
“Two profilers have bombed on this,” Ryan said. “You’re up to bat. They asked for you by name. The police chief read about you. Seems he is getting a lot of bad press for the department.”
She walked towards him and reached for Mickey replacing it with a plain blue mug instead. Mickey had been a gift from Father Michael, the priest from St. Petersburg who had raised her. She didn’t let anyone else touch it. Mickey, like Father Michael, was special. It had been a present as had the trip to Disney World. And since he’d passed away only a year before, Mickey was more important to her than ever. She’d lost everyone she’d ever loved. She wanted to keep what little she had left of Father Michael to herself.
“I wanted the Mouse cup,” Ryan said, drawing her attention back to the present.
She ignored his comment. “Exactly what am I dealing with here?” Alexis asked.
“A serial killer.” He walked to the circular glass table and sat down, reaching for the folder he’d place there. “With a nasty habit of biting people in the neck.”
Alexis’s blood ran cold. “What . . . what did you say?”
He flipped through some papers and tossed a picture on the table. Alexis took small steps to bring the photo into view. Instinctively, her hand went to the cross around her neck. It had belonged to the mother she’d never known. Father Michael had given it to her the same day he’d given her the mug. On her sixteenth birthday. She’d never felt she needed the comfort of that cross, quite as much as she did at this very moment. Because there, on her table, was a picture of the dead woman from her dream. Reality rushed into focus as did her stranger’s words.
Destiny was calling.

Posted by Lisa Renee Jones :: 3:07 PM :: 0 comments

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