Trevena was a beautiful thirty-four-year-old Saint liked to call my biggest fuck up of the century. He didn’t like her, and I was sure she returned the feeling. My son was never known for his crass around the genteel folk that visited the castle, yet he didn’t bother with respect where Trevena was concerned.
“A quickie, perhaps?” She reached for my belt, and I neatly sidestepped her.
If she weren’t the daughter of an esteemed colleague, I would’ve told her to quit being a pain in my arse. Yet, no amount of dismissals could break that ‘I don’t care’ veneer she carried to perfection.
Three years ago, I made the mistake of fucking her at a masquerade ball and now, I had a pet poodle for life, apparently. Grasping her arms as I turned away from the bar, I sighed. “Trevena, you’re a beautiful woman.” Immediately her lips dipped into a pout. “Don’t disrespect yourself by throwing yourself at a man who isn’t interested in you.”
“You’re not?” Her blue eyes glazed over.
“I’m not.”
“Okay.” She took a step back, sniffling.
If I were a fool, I’d fall easily for those tears she used to manipulate the people around her. “You’re welcome to visit the castle any time you want.” Her face lit up at that. “With your folks, that is,” I smoothly added.
“Oh.” Her shoulders sagging, she turned and headed for the door, then stopped to look at me. “Have you ever been in love, Xavier?”
“No.”
“Pity,” she sighed. “The most attractive feature to falling for a man like you is when you finally let that elusive girl in, it won’t be because you want her, it will be because you need her. Not just physically or emotionally, but the mood swings, the good and bad qualities, the peaks and valleys, the highs and the lows, the wonders and the annoyances. You care.” She smiled. “I hope she finds you.”
She was gone, leaving me gaping at the empty doorway, wondering how I’d misread her interest as nothing but whiny desires to fuck. Shaking my head, I downed the bourbon I’d poured, needing the burn.
An hour later, after I’d worked out the frustration with Andrew at the gym, I stepped out of the shower to my ringing phone. “Wilkes?”
“Turner is at the house, sir. Right now, he’s speaking to someone at the door.”
“Who?” I gripped the phone tighter.
“Sorry, sir. Obscured visibility. I can’t see the person.”
Switching to speaker, I tossed the phone on my bed and dried my body. “Do we know who owns the house?”
“It’s registered to a Layla Michaels.”
I paused mid-wipe, wondering if the name was legit. “We have a name. What’s the next step?”
“The thing is, sir, Layla Michaels has been dead for years. I’m staring at her death certificate as we speak.”
I cursed, pulling on a shirt. “Children, perhaps?”
“According to municipal records, Layla never married, never had any children, any on record, that is. I’ve got the team working on tracing ownership. If it’s on the system, we’ll find it.”
I pulled in a deep breath, suddenly unsure of my reason for discovering everything about this girl, to protect her. It was more than gut, a profoundly entrenched need I couldn’t put my finger on. Almost like something was pushing me to help, to see this through to the end, whatever the repercussions.
“Keep me posted, Wilkes.”
“Yes, sir.”
After the call disconnected, I stepped into a pair of jeans, buttoned up my shirt, and tucked the tails into my jeans. Done, I grabbed my phone and headed for my study. There I paced until my legs led me to pour myself a bourbon. Still, the spicy drink burning down my throat did nothing to alleviate that strange anxiety riding the tendons on my neck and shoulders.
Like the Sinclairs before me, I was a strong and, at times, an arrogant head, yet my beliefs in the paranormal occurrences weren’t unfounded. For a family steeped in a curse for centuries, how could I not believe in unexplained mysteries? Regardless, I always trusted my gut.
Tonight, however, some bizarre phenomenon was urging me to do something, the sensation so intense I could feel invisible fingers squeeze my heart, almost stopping its intended purpose.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, looking heavenward and idiotically waiting for the answers to fall.
Despite my laugh, my sixth sense warned me they would drop a bomb in my lap.
