the masses, calling her name as the distance between them stretched.
Chapter 2
She looked like none who came to worship at his altar. She was as natural as rain; her long dark hair fell in a multitude of silken whorls to a lean and slender waist. She wore loose fitting jeans and a T-shirt several sizes too large.
Her hands were soft, her nails even and trimmed. They were not idle, those hands. She was forever creating, even the blank canvas of her shoes was not left untouched. They had been skillfully penned with delicate paisleys.
He drew back, watching her through a veil of dark lashes.
“Wake up, Maggie,” he intoned. His voice reaching her through the vast distance of an unnatural sleep.
Her eyes opened slowly, cautiously, looking at him with a widening expression of horror. She wanted to look away but couldn’t.
His eyes were changing, their color darkening, swirling, merging, from blue to green and finally to grey. His stunning gaze traveled from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, his unhurried perusal causing her inexpressible agonies.
He was dressed completely in black, from the spider web of material that shrouded his lean chest, to the indecently low cut of his leather pants.
He sat beside her, close. She was in a bed. His bed? She opened her mouth, yet no words would come. Her eyes darted away.
“Oh,” she whispered. Her voice rusty.
She seemed to diminish in size. All but her eyes. They stood out, large, and shining. “Hello,” he said gently.
“Hi.” She could feel the heat of his stare. “I’m Sorry.”
“For what?” he said softly.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, breathless. “Probably something—” she said, below her breath.
He caught her hand in his, holding it captive when she would have pulled away. He turned it over, bringing the delicate wrist to his mouth.
“Nothing has happened.” His hand was cold, his fingers long, nails painted black.
“You are safe.”
“Please…” she pulled free, searching wildly for a way to escape this particular moment. She stopped, stunned by the image she saw, hanging just above her head. Her eyes flew to the bottom right hand corner.
Magdalene Paine.
She couldn’t believe it; one of her paintings hung in his house?
“It’s actually rather good,” he said with a hint of pride. “It was your first if I’m not mistaken.”
Her eyes were fixed on the likeness of Jesus. It was a disturbing image, not the usual subjugated reflection of his suffering on the cross but an accurate depiction of the violence and torture he’d endured.
He rose with a languid stretch, covering his eyes with the same small black shades that he’d worn during the concert.
“We have company,” he said, turning his face away from the brilliant radiance enveloping the space right beside him.
A figure appeared, indistinguishable. A shadowy silhouette backlit by a brilliant sphere of light. It had imprinted itself across her vision, blinding her momentarily.
“Brother.” His voice was mild, friendly.
“What do you want, Lucien?”
He was unbelievably handsome, with long flaxen hair and almost colorless blue eyes. He turned to her, splintering her with those distinctive orbs.
“Perhaps a moment alone,” he said gently, giving the impression that he spoke to her.
He sighed, glancing at her briefly before leading the way through the room’s heavy wooden door. She was alone and abruptly so. She looked around taking in the rich furnishings.
“Rebekah!” Maggie whispered aloud.
“Where the hell are you?”
She looked at herself; she was wrinkled but fully clothed, so nothing bad happened, hopefully.
She had on several occasions, awoken to find herself in unfamiliar surroundings, but this took the cake. The sheer size of the place was outrageous. Her whole apartment could fit into this one room. If that is what you would call it.
She looked around. A huge chest of drawers drew her attention, its mirror hung suspended between two gracefully arched wings. It looked old, possibly even very old.
The cold floor drew what little heat remained in her as she crept toward it. She opened the top drawer, finding an array of women’s underclothing.
She touched the sheer fabric, withdrew a pair of panties. They were black. Created for seduction. She opened the next drawer—jeans, cut low and very expensive.
“See something you like?”
She laughed, unsure.
He drew closer; his hand reaching up to fondle a strand of her wildly curling hair.
“They’re my sister’s,” he said, a seductive smile curling his lips.
“The two of you are about the same size. His eyes lowered, perceptively.
She flashed a quick glance behind her. “My sister…” she began.
“She’ll be looking for me.”
“Not for some time yet,” he said, enigmatically.
Confusion registered in her eyes.
“Come.” He encouraged.
She followed, keeping a wary eye on his back.
“I’ve taken the liberty of drawing you a bath.”
“Honestly, I’d rather not.” She looked on the verge of panic.
“Maggie.” He sighed pushing her gently back until she was pressed firmly against the huge wooden door. He reached behind her.
“Wait!”
He stopped, looking at her through black lenses.
“You are my guest, Magdalene. Please, have no fear.” He opened the door, watching her stumble backward into the most opulent bathroom she’d ever seen.
Tub and shower were separate. Both were made of a coal black marble, inlaid with golden filigree. The showering area was encased in glass. A stripper’s pole had been installed at some point, making her feel even more out of place.
She turned back, finding him watching her, a slight smile softening his full, sensual lips. He turned, prepared to give her the privacy she obviously required. Walking away silently, he sat down at a desk across the room. He picked up a pen which he put to paper; his guest seemingly forgotten for the time being.
She closed the door quietly. No lock. No way to keep him out where he in the mind to barge in. She looked around uneasily. She was alone. Where had the light haired one gone? He had come in this same door or had he? Oh god. What was happening to her?
She was going too.
Maggie!
Her hand went to the button at the base of her throat as the voice echoed throughout her mind.
Suddenly the fear drained out of her, had she heard something? She wanted only to sink into the heated bath. It was oversized, deep; she would be submerged all the way to her neck. She pulled the shirt over her head. Her pants were next. She folded them up in a bundle, heaping them up together with her shirt and underwear.
She eased in. The water was hot, but it felt good after the chill of the porcelain tile. Her hair was in need of washing, so she let it float about her; she dunked her head, shaking out her hair under water.
“Awe.”