Ghost Moon Read online

  With nothing to lose by trying to gain his confidence, she closed her eyes and leaned back against him.

  “What do you want from me?” she said, hearing the strained quality of her own voice.

  “I want . . . company.”

  “Why?”

  “I have been here a long time.”

  The way he said it had her fighting empathy, yet she answered, “Other people must have come through these woods.”

  “Yes. But they cannot feel me or hear me the way you do.”

  What luck! Her psychic talents had gotten her into this trap.

  Was her captor a ghost? Or a demon? Or something else? She wanted to know, but she was afraid to find out.

  While she was silently debating her options, she felt him stir, felt his hold on her change subtly.

  One arm moved upward to press against her breast. While she was reacting to that, she felt the fingers of his other hand stroking her cheeks, then her jawline in a pattern that could have been soothing—or sensual.

  Then the feel of his fingers on her skin was replaced by his lips. His invisible body hunched as he slid his mouth gently along the line where her hair met her face. And he sighed as he found the curve of her cheekbone.

  “Your skin is so soft. Like silk.”

  His voice had turned almost dreamy. Was this her chance to pull away?

  She shouldn’t let this opportunity go—when his guard was down. If it was down.

  But her resolve faded as she caught the woodsy scent of him and felt his lips travel to her neck. Her earlier fear was replaced by a buzzing in her brain . . . and a tingling along her nerve endings.

  “Don’t,” she managed.

  “Why not?” he asked, his mouth moving against her neck, then sliding lower, to her collarbone. His lips were warm on her skin, his breath exciting little tingles of sensation.

  His breath? Warm? How could that be possible?

  The question drifted through her mind and right out again. He was standing behind her, so that his mouth couldn’t reach hers, even when she arched her neck and threw her head back.

  “You’re beautiful. I love your hair.” He ran his fingers through the locks she had grown out recently. “Your little nose. And your sensual lips.” As he spoke, he touched each feature he mentioned.

  He still seemed to be behind her. Could he really see her face? Or was he talking about the view of her when she’d first walked into the clearing?

  A thought struck her, and she stiffened.

  “What?” he murmured.

  “Were you watching me undress?”

  “You gave me a wonderful view of your body. But not all at once. First your breasts. Then that sweet dark triangle at the top of your legs.”

  She felt her face heat.

  “I was too far away to touch you.”

  “But not too far away to make those rocks block the path!” she accused.

  He chuckled, his voice rich and deep. “That wasn’t easy. But I did it.”

  “Why?”

  “Each time you came from . . . the other place, I tried to get you to notice me. But you were too far away to hear my voice—or feel my touch.”

  The finger at her lips stroked back and forth. “Open for me.”

  She struggled to resist. But somehow he had bent her to his will. After a few moments, she did as he asked, and his finger slipped inside her mouth, tenderly playing with her inner lips and, sliding along the line of her teeth, arousing currents of sensuality that pulsed through her.

  In some corner of her mind, she was shocked at what she was doing—allowing herself to respond to him on such a basiclevel.

  Yet she had stopped fearing him. He was no devil. Or if he was, he knew how to give a woman pleasure. Was he an incubus, trapped here in this patch of woods? That would explainthe effect he was having on her.

  Or was she simply so starved for a relationship with a man that she welcomed the attentions of a phantom?

  She tried to stiffen her resolve. Even if she was needy, she shouldn’t allow him this access to her body. Yet what choice did she have? He was stronger than she was. And he wanted this contact.

  She dragged in a breath, her legs turning shaky so that she swayed as though she were fighting a strong wind blowingthrough the forest.

  He pulled her more firmly against his invisible body, and she knew that he was aroused. At least she felt what seemed like an erection wedged against the top of her ass.

  Rationalizations tumbled through her mind. He had her under his control. This was not her fault. She was helpless to keep him from doing whatever he wanted.

  Even if he had once been a man, he was more than that now. More powerful. More commanding. Sexier.

  Maybe he sensed her response to his power, because he increased the intimacy of the contact, his hands sliding to her breasts, weighing them in his hands, pressing and kneading,his fingers circling around her hardened nipples but not touching them.

  “Please.” She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to go on—or stop.

  No, that was a lie. She knew exactly what she wanted him to do.

  And so did he. His fingers tightened the circles barely brushing the sides of her raised nipples, wringing a cry from her. In some corner of her brain, she realized he didn’t have to slip his hand under her bra the way a mortal man would have. His knowing touch was simply there, his fingers circlingthen plucking at her with the practiced skill of a man who knew how to arouse a woman.

  She felt the blood rushing hotly through her veins, felt her breath sawing in and out of her lungs as physical sensationsspiraled out of control.

  “You like that.”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He understood very well what he was doing to her.

  With the arrogance of a conquering male, he slid one large hand down her body, cradling her thigh and then glidinginward toward her sex. As her response leaped to meet his touch, a measure of sanity returned to her mushy brain.

  If this kept up, he was going to make her come—and maybe he was doing it to give himself more power over her mind and her body.

  As he’d aroused her, her fear of him had receded. Now it surged up again. And in that moment of terror, she summonedthe strength to wrench herself away. Or maybe he had let his guard down.

  Freedom was a shock. She hadn’t expected to escape, so she lost her footing and tumbled forward, landing in a pile of leaves a few feet from where she had been standing.

  She tensed, waiting for him to come down on top of her. He chose not to. And she breathed out a grateful sigh.

  As the night air cooled her heated flesh, she sat up and looked around, trying to find him.

  “Damn.” It was a mild curse, yet it carried a wealth of emotion.

  She zeroed in on the place from where the voice had emanated.“Stay away from me.”

  “I won’t force myself on you.”

  You already did, she thought. Well, at the beginning. Then she’d been a willing participant.

  The light was starting to go, but she still focused on the place where it sounded like he was standing. Could she see something? A flickering in the air? Like when she’d first sensed him?

  In her world, children with psychic talents went to special schools. And in one of her classes, the teacher had taught a series of lessons on ghosts. Not just in theory. The instructor had summoned several apparitions. She remembered how they had looked. A few had taken human form. Most were not substantial at all, just a disturbance or a ripple in the air. Of course, for the safety of the students, they had been benignghosts. Although few of the children could communicatewith them, Quinn had been able to talk with some. But that was years ago, and she hadn’t done it again, until now.

  “What are you thinking?” the phantom asked.

  “If you were me, wouldn’t you think this was a strange situation?”

  “Yes. It is for me, too. But I won’t hurt you.”

  “Why?”

  “I have my hon
or.” He made a derisive sound. “Honor! That’s how I ended up dead.”

  “So you are a ghost.” she said, glad of the confirmation.

  “What else would I be?” he shot back.

  She didn’t bother to educate him on the other possibilities.Instead, she asked her own question. “And when you were alive, what was your name?”

  “Caleb Marshall.”

  Her breath caught. Marshall. The same last name as Loganand his brothers and cousins. Could that be a coincidence?Or was this one of the werewolves in his family?

  That might be true. She had sensed hidden power in this being. Was she sensing a werewolf as well as a man?

  Or was he lying to her? Had he picked up the name from her mind? Because he was actually a demon bent on controllingher.

  If so, why was he still standing a few yards away?

  Her mind supplied an answer. Because he’d changed tactics,and he was trying to get her to drop her guard.

  She hated looking for hidden meaning in everything he said. But she couldn’t help herself. She could be in danger. Even if he’d kissed and caressed her, he could turn on her at any moment.

  “What are you—besides a ghost?” she asked.

  “The guardian of this place.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I . . . protect the animals.”

  “And how long have you been here?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Caleb felt a rush of frustration as he considered the question. He didn’t know the answer!

  For a long time, anger had kept him here. He hadn’t even known what he was angry about. But he knew that he couldn’t let his soul slip into eternity.

  Then memories had started coming back to him, little by little.

  First he’d recalled the fight. He and Aden had come here—each bent on teaching the other a lesson. They had changed to wolf form and rolled across the forest floor, both of them trying to inflict damage.

  In the middle of the battle, Aden had broken the unspoken rules and gone for his throat. He remembered the hot pain. The blood draining out of him. His terrible weakness—and then the darkness where he had clung to some kind of existencethat he couldn’t even describe.

  His first memories had been of his own death. Only that. It was like someone had taken a knife and cut a big, gaping hole in his consciousness. Then other recollections came stealing back into his mind. All of them dark.

  His mother’s sorrow over the death of a baby girl. The death of his older brother—when he’d first changed from man to wolf. Caleb’s own dread of that first transformation.

  Finally, he’d remembered something good—the family celebration after his first transformation, when he’d made it through to the other side. Not long after that, he and his fatherhad started to fight, and he’d known it was time to move out. He’d found a broken-down little house near the woods and made it livable. And when he was home, he prowled the forest at night in wolf form.

  The memories had been like a dream—of someone else’s existence. At first he had waited here through endless loneliness,watching the seasons change and the forest creatures live their lives. Then he realized he could make this patch of woods a place where hunters were afraid to venture. He couldn’t speak to them, but he could give them a bad feeling about stopping here—and keep them from shooting the animalsfor sport.

  He glanced at the woman’s expectant face, knowing she was waiting for his answer. It was strange to be talking to her. Stranger still to touch her and feel her reaction to him.

  That connection made him give her the truth. “I cannot answer you. Time . . . passes. The world changes. I have been here for a long time. I know that much.”

  He watched her take that in, watched her come at the question from another angle.

  “Do you know what year you died?”

  He hadn’t thought about the year in a long time. But it came to him. “1933.”

  She nodded, then supplied an answer. “That was seventy-five years ago.”

  “Ah.” The number sent emotion sweeping through him. Yes, that was a long time. Longer than most men lived.

  How many things had changed in the world? Did they still have bread lines? What about people fleeing the Dust Bowl? Did everybody still listen to the Jack Benny show on the radio? Were the New York Yankees still losing to the Washington Senators?

  She cut off his silent musings with a question. “How did you end up here?”

  He raised one shoulder. “I fought with one of my cousins. He killed me, and he buried me here.”

  She winced. “And you’re a werewolf?”

  Surprise jolted him. That was something they kept in the family. “How did you know?”

  She hesitated for a moment, then said, “I sensed it.”

  “Yes. You have senses that most other people do not possess.”

  She nodded, then asked another question. “Why are you still on earth? I mean, why haven’t you . . . gone on?”

  He hesitated, wondering how much he should say.

  “First, I stayed to avenge my death. Then I saw that I could make this place a haven for the forest creatures.”

  She went back to what he had first told her. “The wolf who killed you has to be long dead.”

  “Maybe he had sons.”

  QUINN pushed herself to her feet and dusted leaves off her jeans and shirt, facing the spot where Caleb Marshall’s voice came from. Now she thought she saw the dim simulacrum of a man. Was he becoming more solid while she watched?

  As she stared at him, she could add details. He was tall— perhaps six feet, with dark eyes and dark hair cut short. His nose was strong. His jaw conveyed stubbornness or maybe aggression. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt, which she had to assume he’d been wearing when he’d been buried.

  In 1933 in this universe, men’s clothing hadn’t looked so different than it did now. Or to put it another way, his dress was closer to what men wore here than what they wore in her world. Except for his shoes. They might have been athletic shoes, but they had strange, high tops that disappeared under the legs of his jeans.

  She gave herself a mental shake. She shouldn’t be standinghere evaluating Caleb Marshall’s clothing. She had to escapefrom him. For more than one reason.

  Taking a step back, she said, “I have to go.”

  “Why?”

  “A woman’s life depends on my mission,” she answered. As soon as she said it, she was sorry she’d put it that way, since she was talking to a man who had already crossed that boundary.

  “A woman from that . . . other place?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you say.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “To get away from me.” He appeared to shift his weight from one foot to the other. “What is the place where you come from?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  When he stood silently staring at her, she answered, “All right. A universe parallel to this one.”

  He answered with a harsh laugh. “You expect me to believethat?”

  “Being a ghost hasn’t given you more knowledge about the universe? You didn’t . . . go to an astral plane or somethinglike that?”

  “Astral plane? What is that?”

  She struggled to remember the lessons she’d learned in school. “It’s a place of the mind and spirit—outside the physicalworld. Living people can sometimes go there to meditate.And there are other beings there—spirits.”

  He flapped his arm in what looked like exasperation. “No. I have been here the whole time. In this forest.”

  “And you saw me come . . . out of a cave.”

  “Yes. I know you didn’t go in there. But you came out. Then later you went back in and vanished.”

  “Yes, I crossed over from my world—and went back there.”

  “This is the world.”

  “There are others. Only a thin . . . wall separates them, if you know how to find it.”

  She conside
red how much to tell him about her friends, Zarah and Griffin. She’d met Zarah when they were both slaves, and the other woman had been sent to spy on Griffin, a powerful council member in Sun Acres.

  But everything had changed soon after they’d come to the city. Griffin had ended up freeing them both—and then he’d married Zarah. Now he was under attack by another council member: a man named Baron, who wanted to rule alone.

  Griffin was prepared to fight him, but not to put his wife in danger. So he’d had his most talented adepts open a portal from his world to this one, and soon Quinn would bring Zarah through.

  Trying to convey her sense of urgency, Quinn spoke from her heart. “The woman I’m helping is with child. Her husbandhas enemies, and he sent me to find a place where she will be safe until the crisis is over.”

  “Why you?”

  Raising her chin, she said, “I’m her best friend. Both of them trust me to bring her to safety. And they know I have the skill and the courage to do it.”

  She waited with her heart pounding, wondering if he would accept that.

  Finally, he said, “I hear the truth of that in your voice. And I have seen your courage for myself.”

  “Thank you.”

  She would have sworn she heard him swallow hard.

  “You can go—if you promise to come back and see me again.”

  “If I can,” she answered, wondering if she was telling the truth. He had frightened her. Touched her. Stirred something inside her that was better left unstirred. At least with him.

  When she started to take a step away, he held her with his gaze. “Tell me your name.”

  “Quinn.”

  “That’s not a woman’s name. Women have names like Helen or Betty or Doris.”

  “Where I come from, my name is fine!”

  “All right, Quinn. Go. Before I change my mind.”

  HE was the one who vanished.

  One moment she was standing in the forest talking to the ghost of Caleb Marshall. Then he was gone. To his grave?

  She shuddered. It was a disturbing notion.

  She hated to think of him as a dead man in his grave. And maybe there was a different explanation for where he had come from. If he’d simply flickered into existence, then disappearedfrom the scene just now, maybe he was only “here” when he wanted to be.