“What?”
“Witch. Well, I guess you’d actually call her more of a priestess, if they still use that term. But this McCain sometimes meets with twelve of them in what they call a Sisterhood Circle to worship the goddess Brighid.”
My sister. Lucas sat there, stunned, and then memories of Sara’s apartment flowed through him. The picture of Avalon, the statue of Venus, the gypsy painting. Her name itself. St. Sara. Sara, the daughter of Mary Magdalene. The Magdalene herself descended through a royal bloodline that led back to Brighid.
And Brighid was Balor’s archenemy, having banished him from Avalon and taken his divinity. If Balor found out that Sara was a priestess of hers, her life would be forfeit. And not in a fast and merciful death, either.
He had to get back to Texas.
****
“I’ll be fine,” Sara assured a worried-looking Michael. “Your mom needs you.”
“I don’t like leaving you,” Michael answered. “Not with what you told me went on in Halifax. The jerk could be out there now, stalking the place.”
“I’ll lock the door after you leave,” she said, “and I won’t open it to anyone, I promise. Your mom’s been hit by a car, Michael. It’s a good two-hour drive to the hospital in Waco. It’s already getting dark. Go.”
He still looked hesitant.
“I’ve got the gun, remember? I know how to use it.”
It took a few more minutes to persuade him that she would be all right for the night and that tomorrow she would stay at Mr. Smith’s home until either he or Lucas got back into town.
She smiled as she threw the deadbolt. Unless this Mr. Baylor had a key, he wouldn’t be breaking down this door. It was solid oak. She checked the windows to make sure all the latches were down. Feeling rather silly, she even pulled the curtains. Now, no one could even look in.
She read for a while and then, getting bored, turned on the TV. One of the cable networks had on something that looked like soft porn. Not that she neededthat, but she couldn’t seem to find anything else on. She glanced at the time. Ten o’clock. She might as well watch this in her bedroom. That way she could just fall asleep.
The man on the screen fisted his lady’s hair, bringing her head back and exposing the curve of her throat to him. He ravaged her mouth in a deep, demanding kiss while his hand tore the flimsy negligee off her, exposing large breasts.
Wow. A real bodice-ripper, Sara thought as the heroine moaned and the man grabbed her buttocks and gyrated against her belly.
What would it be like, making love to Lucas? Would he take her like this, hard and fast, leaving little room for anything except raw passion? Or would he take his time to make sure she was pleasured? Would he explore every inch of her, running his tongue down her stomach and up the insides of her thighs andthen teasing her very core until she shattered into mind-blowing nirvana?
She turned off the TV and snuggled under the covers, drifting off to sleep.
The dream came again. A Templar, his face lost in shadows.He removed the white mantle with its red cross, a lopsided smile on his face as he stood naked in front of her. His erection jutted out from a mass of tawny curls and Sara reached to stroke it as he lowered his tall, well-muscled bronzed body over her and cradled her head in his hand. He brushed her hair back and began the long, leisurely exploration of her mouth and throat and breasts—
DANGER!
With a jolt, she sat up.
DANGER!
Chapter Nine—Trusting
When she thought her legs could support her again, Sara picked herself up from the floor in the closet and cautiously inched it open. She was pretty sure the intruder was gone. She’d heard the door shut, and he had what he thought he wanted. Still, he could be waiting…
Sara kept the hammer of the gun cocked and steadied her trigger finger by supporting the butt with her left hand. She took a step and listened. Silence. Second step. Third. Still quiet. She tried not to notice the charred holes in the bed sheet.
She poked her nose into the hallway. It was empty and the door was closed. Since she’d pulled the drapes in the living room, it was hard to see, but she didn’t dare turn on a light in case he was waiting down the street. Her hand found the doorknob. Very slowly, she turned it and opened the door a mere crack. Light from the parking lot illuminated the door handle and lock. The metal was smooth; there were no scratches to indicate a forced entry.
Sara closed the door and leaned against it, her breathing shallow. No forced entry meant someone had a key. But who? Her complex manager did, of course, and Brianna. Michael didn’t. Mr. Smith didn’t. She’d changed the locks after Loser Number Three left. With trembling fingers, she turned the deadbolt, swearing to herself that she would get a safety chain first thing in the morning, and then dragged a dining room chair over and tilted it under the doorknob, hoping it would hold.
She curled into a corner of the sofa, the gun beside her on the end table. Nim shimmered in the air in front of her, a worried expression on her faerie face.
“Thanks for warning me,” Sara said.
The faerie waved a hand. “No need. I tried to get the mask off to see his face, but he only swatted at me.” She fluttered her wings, one of which was bent.
