A Curse of Forever Page 3

  There, in the fire’s glow, knelt his beloved. Perched on all fours, she writhed in demonic bliss, mounted from behind by a hulking beast. The sickening din from their unholy pleasure froze Nathaniel’s heart, and he gripped the safety railing to stay on his feet. He cried out to her from his high vantage point, unsure if his voice would pierce the storm, his soul in torment.

  “Elizabeth! What is it you do here?”

  To his surprise, his words cut through, and she whipped her head about, pinning him with a hedonistic stare. The tempest responded to the demonic pair, waters rising and cresting in time with the carnal act.

  “Do you like what you see?” Her words had oozed decadence, and Nathaniel stared agape, unable to move or speak. She reached back, urging her lover to quicken his pace. As her full breasts swayed, nearly brushing the ground with each powerful thrust, Nathaniel trembled in helpless fear. He fought to move, but his broken spirit could not encourage his body to flee.

  Elizabeth licked her lips, savoring the violent act, and caught Nathaniel’s terrified gaze.

  “You know now what I am, and I cannot allow you to spread this truth. Since you stare, apart from me, forever shall you stay. I call upon the powers of Hecate and curse thee. Ne’er shall you leave this tower, forced to observe the passage of all time. Neither living nor dead shall thee be, trapped for all time, until my heart returns to thee.”

  She shrieked in release, and Nathaniel threw back his head, roaring in rage.

  “ELIZABETH!”

  * * *

  Nathaniel jack-knifed off of the cot, panting as though he had just run for his life. His lungs burned and sweat dripped off of his chin. He flopped back onto the threadbare mattress, groaning heavily, covering his eyes with a lazy arm. It seemed like eons since he’d slept on a real bed, the stuffing in the wafer-thin pad having given up the supportive ghost long ago. He glanced around at the bare watch room furnishings. At some point during the centuries, the wood fires had changed to oil-burning lamps, which were eventually replaced with the advent of electricity. Workers appeared with less frequency, none staying for more than the time needed for required maintenance. Now, the lighthouse stood in disregard, obsolete, thanks to the strange building yards away balanced on the edge of the rocky cliffside.

  As the years passed, Nathaniel continued to stand guard. From the widow’s walk, he’d watched his own funeral. By the light of the day beacon, he’d seen horse-drawn carriages replaced by loud, smoking automobiles.

  Forever apart from the world beyond the white oak walls.

  Trapped, with only his memories as company.

  The nightly cries of the seabirds and the tidal crash of the waves were momentarily drowned out by the rumble of an approaching engine. Nathaniel frowned, lifting the fleshy shield of his arm to peer curiously at the ceiling. Even in this ultramodern day and age, the legend of the ghost haunting the Black Bay Lighthouse continued to draw the curious. He once welcomed the visitors, even seeking out interactions with the brave few. A fringe benefit of his cursed existence: Nathaniel was invisible to non-believers. His wicked beloved had known her craft well. With her face once again in the forefront of his memories, he rubbed at his chest, hoping to wipe away the pain still residing in his heart. How could he have been so blind?

  The door at the base of the lighthouse rattled, someone outside twisting the handle. Nathaniel’s frown deepened, and he swung his legs off of the bed. Straining, he picked out two voices, both female, and judging by the similarity of their intonations, definitely related. He slipped on his boots, intent on the argument taking place outside of his prison. Now properly dressed, he glanced out through his narrow window, but to his surprise, no one stood beneath the tower’s entryway lamp.

  Had they somehow gained entrance? The lock was ancient, and he was uncertain if anyone besides him still possessed one of the skeleton keys. No tell-tale shattering of wood had met his ears, yet the voices did seem closer and clearer than before. His brows tugged together as he exited his small room to peer over the edge of the stairwell. Two focused beams of light sliced through the all-consuming darkness. Safe in the shadows, Nathaniel eavesdropped on his unexpected guests.

  “Really, Laur, you need to get out more.” Derision dripped from the first speaker’s words, the sharp, nasally edges of each syllable cutting and slashing his hearing, and Nathaniel fought the urge to order the rude woman away. Something in her timbre did not sit well with him and he had yet to see her face.

  “But when did you learn to pick a lock? I mean, this is probably illegal, and we’ve gotta be breaking some kind of law; defacing a national monument, or at the very least, breaking and entering.” The shocked tone of the second voice piqued his curiosity. Rich like honey, it flowed along his senses, brushed along his skin, and tempted, he dared a step nearer.

  Practiced laughter grated his ears, and he curled his lip. The first woman again. She sounded very much like one used to getting all she desired, perhaps with a batting of her lashes. He envisioned her looking very much like his fickle betrothed.

  “You’d be surprised by the skills I have, sis. And besides, I didn’t technically break anything.” Sharp heels clacked against the worn wooden planks. “Ugh. This place is so dirty. Why did you drag me here?”

  That sealed the deal. He did not like her one bit. During times of fierce emotions, Nathaniel was able to drive out the occasional offensive visitor. Determined, he stepped onto the landing, prepared to conjure up enough energy to banish the unwanted guests—

  “Now hang on just a second, Carrie.”

  —then paused, surprised by the sweet voice stepping up to defend his prison.

  “I didn't drag you anywhere. I told you where I was planning on going and suggested you stay at Grampa’s place to talk with Aunt Jean. You whined about being left behind and—what were your words again? ‘Missing out on the fun’? So, no. I’m not going to let you crawl up onto that cross.”

  “But I didn’t think you were really serious about coming … here, practically in the middle of the night. I’m cold.”

  Sneering at her dramatic mewling, Nathaniel looked over the railing to spy one of the females pacing around the ground level. His vision had grown accustomed to the pitch black, with night appearing like day to him. Her hair was an unnatural shade of blonde, stick straight as it reached toward the hem of her loose top. He shook his head as he scrutinized her ridiculous outfit. A bright pink blouse that accentuated her slender figure and disproportionately large bosom served as a dress, a black belt hanging low on her hips. Tight black tubes encased her legs, yet he swore he spied a flash of pale flesh. Narrowing his gaze, he realized the tubes were not pant legs as he first assumed. Instead, they were the tops of stiletto-heeled boots.

  Can the woman be any more improperly clad?

  From his lofty window on the world, Nathaniel had seen the change in fashions via the infrequent travelers. While the men remained steady with their shirts and breeches, which only the length had changed, he continued to be stunned by the diminishing length of skirts on the women. Would his mystery female be similarly attired? Would this knowledge alter his opening perceptions of her? The thought had barely crossed his mind, when the second guest stepped into a pool of captured moonlight.

  “You’re kidding, right? Maybe next time, you’ll remember to actually wear clothes.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes flared wide as he glimpsed the beckoning waves of strawberry blonde curls twisted into a thick, ropy band, and a milk-and-honey complexion peeked out as she turned her head from side to side. Dressed in a simple, deep green sweater and a pair of curve-hugging blue denims, she outshone her flamboyant sibling. She also wore more sensible hiking shoes, judging by her muffled footfalls as she strode to the base of the stairwell.

  Beams from their handheld torches scaled the spiral steps, and Nathaniel ducked into the shadows before the light touched him. In the fringe glow, her eyes sparkled like perfect sapphires, clear and brilliant. A pert nose and full li
ps rounded out her delicate oval face. A hint of a smile touched his mouth, and he lingered a moment longer.

  The blonde sibling squeaked, flapping her arms wildly, having walked through one of the many cobwebs draping through the unused space. “That does it. I’m going to go wait in the car. You stay here in this creepy place.” She vanished from his limited view, her staccato steps receding until he heard the creak of the front entry hinge. “Just don’t stay too long. I have needs, too, you know.”

  The door slammed shut, leaving him with the more intriguing female.

  “Like I could ever forget.”

  Charmed by her mumbled response, Nathaniel made his way onto the landing, then cautiously descended the stairs. At the bottom, he took a deep breath and, sending a silent prayer to any deity who still heard him, took a chance on contact.

  “Good evening, young miss. Prithee, why have you come to such a place?”

  Chapter 4

  Laurel spun around, eyes flared wide at the unexpected voice. No way anyone had gotten in after she and Carolyn did. Hell, her sister had picked the lock open, so they had to be alone.

  Yet, there he stood, semi-hidden by the surrounding darkness. He must have been an employee who kept guard during the evening hours, making sure no one tried to desecrate the monument.

  She pressed her hand against her chest, holding back her heart from flying out of her rib cage. “Omigod. You scared the hell outta me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was here. We did knock but we couldn’t … see … any… Whoa.”

  Her excuses ran dry as the mysterious speaker stepped farther out of the shadows. Tall and confident, he was dressed in proper colonial attire: dark doeskin breeches buckled at his knees, just above the tops of well-worn chocolate brown riding boots; a jacket and vest of russet-and-woody-mahogany clung to his strong, well-built physique, yet the white lace dripping from his sleeves appeared yellowed and dingy, as if age had stolen away its brightness.

  His face, though … that’s what encouraged the butterflies in her gut to take flight. He was gorgeous, handsome in a way rarely seen in modern society. Hair blacker than night flowed down past his shoulders to frame a strong, square jaw. His long, straight nose told of no brawls in his youth and sat above a pair of kissable lips. As she gawked, he pulled a short strap of leather from a vest pocket and hastily secured the dark waves at the nape of his neck. His skin, pale under the moon’s glow, sat in sharp contrast to his thick, black brows and those ridiculously perfect lashes every model coveted. She blinked to be sure she saw the color of his eyes correctly.

  Green orbs like sunlit emeralds … and they regarded her with curiosity. Her knees wobbled, and she grabbed on to the railing at her back. She wanted to convince herself it was because of his sudden appearance, but the blood racing from her brain to the apex of her legs told another story.

  “I apologize if I have startled you.” All too soon, his journey down the stairs ended, and he stood on the ground floor with her.

  She swallowed hard, hoping to hide her needy whimper beneath the sound of his voice: cultured, and as sexy as hell. She shook her head fervently as she picked apart his delicious accent. Traces of something British hung on each syllable, and she yearned for more.

  “No, it’s not that. Okay, so maybe a little. But we did knock. Oh, wait. I already said that, didn’t I? Wow.” Reining in her waking libido, she ran a shaky hand through her unraveling braid. “They really train you guys good here. That costume is really authentic.”

  His thick brows tugged together slightly, and he quirked his head. “Train? Costume? I know naught of which you speak, young miss.”

  Okay, don’t freak out, Laur. He’s just in character. Really, really in character.

  She squeaked out a nervous laugh and dug her hands into her jacket pockets. “Yeah, okay. So, well. Uh, I’d better be going and…”

  Her voice petered out at his crestfallen expression.

  “I wish you would not leave. Rare enough are my chances for pleasant company.” Sadness had clung to each word, and her resolve faltered. Mustering courage, she dared an inch closer.

  “But your shift should be ending soon, right? I mean, it’s well past visiting hours, so…” Once again, the words locked in her throat. Something whispered in the back of her mind, a part of her that still jumped beneath the sheets to avoid the monster under the bed. You know who he is.

  She mentally dismissed the impossible answer, opting to switch tactics. “Who are you?” she asked, if only to hear from his lips what she believed in her soul.

  With a regal flourish, he inclined his head, bowing low before her. “I am Nathaniel Myles Fairfax.”

  “For real?” Laurel gripped tighter the wooden banister behind her. “You … you mean your family named you after the ghost of the lighthouse, right? No, you mean that’s your persona at work.”

  A faint smile tugged at the corners of his sensual mouth. “My name was given to me by my parents prior to sailing from our home in England.”

  “Oh, so you are British. I thought I heard a … wait, did you say ‘sail’?” The reporter in her leaned away from the safety of the wall. Just hear him out. There are no such things as ghosts.

  He dipped his chin. “Aye, sail. I do understand you now have new mechanized methods for travel, but when we crossed the Atlantic in the Year of Our Lord sixteen hundred and sixty-five, large sailing vessels were the only way.”

  “No, no. No, that can’t be real. You’re just a very well-practiced, um, intern. No, that’s not it. Docent. That’s the word.” She babbled on as her legs propelled her around the room, fingers digging into her frazzled hair every few steps. “Yeah, that’s it. Because ghosts aren’t real. I mean, how could they be, right?” She spun about, leveling her panicked stare at the impossible companion perched patiently on the lower landing. “You’re not a ghost, are you? Of course, you’re not. I mean, you’re not, because that’s just crazy talk.”

  And let the freak-out commence.

  Laurel paused, breath burning as she gulped in mouthfuls of air to stay conscious, while light danced in his deep green orbs, mysterious and tempting. So much for the calm and rational reporter.

  “If I were to assure you I am both a ghost and real, could I encourage you to remain a while longer?”

  Her resolve trembled at his heartfelt request, her answer falling from her lips before her brain had a chance to censor the single word: “Yeah?”

  She stood ramrod still, counting the seconds as he approached, and her gaze trailed up his form the closer he got. Bathed in the autumn moonlight, he didn’t appear immaterial. Truthfully, her fingers itched to stroke his stubbled cheek—Touch him!—and her hand shook as she reached for his arm, a less personal invasion.

  She exhaled in a relieved sigh as her palm met solid muscle, and her heart quickened as she realized just how solid the muscle was. His bicep was thick, and her fingertips dug into the strong flesh wrapped in the rough material.

  “You’re real,” she murmured. He smiled, and she was grateful for her tight grip, feeling woozy. “You … you really are him, aren’t you?” She locked with his intoxicating emerald eyes. “You are the ghost of Black Bay Lighthouse.”

  He smile faltered as he dipped his chin, covering her hand with one massive mitt. “I am Nathaniel Myles Fairfax, cursed to remain in this place until the end of all time. But as you can tell, dear miss, I am no undead specter. And to whom am I addressing?”

  She pulled apart his words, and a quick blush warmed her cheek. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m … Laurel. Laurel Holgrave.”

  Chapter 5

  Nathaniel warred with himself to maintain a proper distance. A sparkle in her crystalline blue eyes had reached down to his soul, igniting a fire he did not believe still existed. She was petite—the top of her strawberry blonde head barely reached the pit of his arm—yet what she lacked in stature, she more than made up for in tempting womanly curves. Her sensible cold weather attire hid most of her attributes, so h
is imagination filled in many of the blanks. Although she trembled, she remained steadfast, refusing to flee, and the corners of his lips tilted upward, pleased by her logical reasoning.

  He held her fragile fingers tenderly in his clumsy hand and inclined his head in respectful reverence. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Holgrave.” In customary greeting, he brushed the backs of her knuckles with a chaste kiss, inhaling deeply. The crisp scent of autumn clung to her skin, whispering promises of crackling bonfires and sun-ripened apples.

  This is why I love the fall.

  The room’s temperature crept steadily upwards while heat seeped from her captured hand and sped through his veins. He dragged his gaze back to her delicate face and fell into the sea blue eyes, happy to drown within. Soft pink painted her peaches-and-cream cheeks, and he smiled, content to stare at her honest beauty. After lingering a moment longer, he lowered his arm and released his light hold.

  “I am sorry if my manners are lax in any way. As I stated prior, I have been without company for many years.”

  “Really?” she remarked, her hushed voice filled with awe. “I would think the tons of tourists and other people constantly crawling all over this place would be keep you pretty busy.”

  His buoyant mood grew somber. “Aye,” he said. “Loud and ill-mannered cretins, the lot of them.” He immediately regretted his harsh tone and bowed stiffly. “I apologize, Miss Holgrave. I did not mean to insinuate your presence was unwelcome.”