Entangled in Darkness
By
Vivi Anna
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Vivi Anna This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, is any form. This ebook may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.
**previously published as Awakenings by Whispers Publishing 2007
PROLOGUE
The long, filmy, red curtains billowed out from the open windows, fluttering around her naked form like silken wings. Stepping through them, she approached the four-poster bed, draped in white satin sheets, in the center of the empty expansive room.
With each step, her heart hammered painfully in her chest. Sweat trickled down her back, and soft flutters of desire began to flicker between her legs.
The dream was the same every time.
The thought of seeing him naked on the bed brought swells of delight surging through her body. Already she was wet with an intense craving that left her breathless.
As she neared the bed, she could see the outline of him lying on the satin covers through the translucent white curtains hanging down from the canopy. With a trembling hand, she lifted the drape from the bed and knelt onto the mattress.
He was waiting for her, like he did every night. Stretched out across the bed, his head supported by his hand, he looked like a golden angel. His long blond hair was arranged artfully over his shoulders and fanned out around him like spun gold. He had flawless skin the color of alabaster, and it only accentuated the ripples of muscle in his arms, chest, stomach, and legs. Everything about him screamed perfection.
But it was his eyes that had always drawn her. Pale as moonlight and just as mysterious, they pulled at her insides. When he looked at her, she was like raw clay in his hands with which he could do anything he wanted.
“I have been waiting for you, my love.”
His crisp lilting voice sang in her head, reminding her of a bubbling brook, much like the one in the garden of her childhood home. Smiling, she slid onto the bed, nestled her body next to his. His heat penetrated her skin and warmed her blood. When he touched her, she knew nothing but his flavor, his intensity. Here, in his arms, passion was the only thing that existed.
“And I am here.” Lifting her head, she pressed her lips to his.
Raising his hand, he buried it into the tangle of her long auburn hair and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. She sighed as his tongue touched hers in a long, liquid dance. Ripples of pleasure coursed over her, gathering into a tight sizzling ball right at her center. Thinking no longer seemed possible as pulse after throbbing pulse surged up from between her quivering legs.
His palm cupped her cheek. With one last press of his lips, he pulled back and gazed into her eyes.
“It is time, Branlyn.”
“Hmm?” She sighed, cuddling into his warmth.
“You have run for long enough.”
Closing her eyes against the memories of another time, she shook her head. “It is never long enough.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I know it is painful, but you must return.”
“I can’t.”
“You can, and you must.” He snuggled into her neck and kissed her gently. “It is time you went home.”
Sighing, Branlyn felt the tears welling in her eyes. She knew this moment would come. The first night he visited her in her dreams, he said that one day would come when he would ask her for something. If she had known he would ask this of her, she might have pushed him out of her mind the first time he materialized.
“Will you be there?” she asked, her voice wavering.
“Of course, my love. I have never left.”
CHAPTER ONE
“Are you sure you’re ready, Branlyn?”
Branlyn Carmichael turned from the twentieth story window and looked at her lawyer and surrogate uncle, Thomas Brady. He was leaning forward in his chair, his hands clenched nervously on top of the old mahogany desk.
“No, but it’s time. Fifteen years is a long time to be running. I’m tired, Thomas. I need to go home.”
Smiling, he closed the thick manila file folder and stood. Rounding the desk, he took her hand and pressed his mouth to the back. “I am delighted you are here.”
“Thank you.” As she said the words, her stomach rolled over. Was she really ready to do this? During the flight from Toronto, she had three drinks and some percodone so she didn’t have to think. Now that she was standing in her lawyer’s office in downtown Vancouver, too many memories had rushed into her mind. She was dizzy from them.
Three days ago, when she had woken from a dream in her bed in a small flat in Paris, she had a desperate urge to come home. Need clawed at her mind, forcing her to think of nothing else. But now that she was only a ferry ride and a three-hour drive up the coast away, she was petrified to move.
Thomas must have seen the fear in her eyes because he helped her to a chair and sat her down, still cradling her hand in his.
“Do you want me to go with you? I could have Maureen clear my schedule in a matter of hours.”
Smiling, Branlyn shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, Thomas, but this is one thing I need to do on my own. I owe my dad at least that much.”
Nodding, he patted her hand and then stood. He went back around his desk and raised the watercolor painting hanging on the wall. Behind the artwork was a safe. Quickly, he unlocked it and brought out a small metal box, setting it on the desk.
Swallowing down the bile slowly rising in her throat, Branlyn watched as Thomas opened the box. She knew what was inside. Thomas lifted out a set of keys. They jangled in his hand.
“When you called to say you were coming back, I had Maureen get your dad’s BMW out of the storage.” He turned and offered her the keys. “It’s all washed, gassed up, and ready to go.”
Gingerly, she reached out and accepted the keys. She held them in her hand, feeling the solid weight of them in her palm. The keychain was still the same. Hot Rod Dad, it read in fire-red letters emblazoned across a photo of an old jalopy. It was a gift to her dad for his forty-fifth birthday. The last gift he ever received.
A single tear rolled down her cheek as she fingered the engraved metal.
“I thought you sold it at the auction.”
“The other cars went, but I couldn’t let this one go. I knew how much Harrison loved this car. It didn’t seem right.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed the metal tight in her hand.
Nodding, he took out another set of keys and a folded set of documents.
Her heart raced like a speedboat in her chest, and her throat tightened with dread as she eyed the dangling silver metal. She leaned back in her chair, shrinking from Thomas’s outstretched hand.
Take them. It’s all right. They can do you no harm.
His lilting voice sounded in her mind, relaxing her instantly. Taking a deep breath, Branlyn sat forward and reached out toward Thomas. Carefully, he set the keys in her outstretched hand.
“You are officially the owner of Carmichael Manor. Electricity, heat, and water are all functional. So you don’t have to worry about that. I hope you can finally find a sense of peace there.”
“Me, too, Thomas. Thank you.” She glanced down into her hand and took in the familiar shape of the keys to her childhood home. A place where she had been blissfully happy for fourteen years and then her whole world had been destroyed. Her father and stepmother had been brutally murdered before her eyes, sending her spiraling into a never-ending nightmare.
After the funerals, Branlyn had been shipped off to England where she lived for awhile with her paternal grandmother. In and out of counseling, she had been a handful for the elderly woman whom she had only met once before. The woman had never been motherly.
When she turned eighteen, Branlyn took a sizeable portion of her inherited estate and hit the road. Traveling from country to country, she never stayed in one place too long. At all costs, she avoided settling somewhere and growing roots. She also flitted from relationship to relationship. The only constant in her life was the nightmares of that terror-filled night. Until he came into her dreams.
It was only when he, the golden man with no name, was with her that she could forget. His presence lightened her heart and occupied her mind with thoughts of desire. He turned her frightened mewls of terror into moans and gasps of pleasure.
She had fallen in love with that dream. Too bad, he wasn’t real.
One of the keys on the ring caught her attention. It was odd and out of place. With its long skeletal shape, it looked like an old brass key, possibly something from Victorian times.
“What’s this?” She held it up toward Thomas.
Narrowing his eyes, he stepped closer. “You don’t recognize it?”
“No. I’ve never see it before.”
“It was on your step-mother’s ring, I believe.”
Branlyn rubbed her thumb over the metal and shivered. Something about it caused her stomach to tighten into a knotted ball.
“It looks old. Possibly Tamora had a chest or trunk?” Thomas offered.
Branlyn nodded absently as she continued to stare into her hand. Why such a simple thing should give her the creeps she couldn’t fathom. It was just a key, was it not? Nothing as sinister as her heart pounding painfully registered. It was most likely as Thomas suggested. A key to an old chest or trunk. An heirloom perhaps that Tamora brought with her when she and Harrison had wed. Branlyn had been only seven when they married. It was not as if she could remember what the woman had brought to their home.
Still, shivers raced up and down her spine. A feeling of dark malice had crept into her skin, and she could not shake it.
* * *
Turning down Thomas’s invitation to stay another night in town, Branlyn jumped into her father’s BMW and drove to the ferry station to catch the three fifteen boat to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. Branlyn knew if she delayed another moment, she would never again muster the courage to face her past.
The two-hour long trip seemed like an eternity as Branlyn stood on the main deck and watched the water. Now that she had made the decision to come home, she wanted to be there. The journey was nearly killing her inside. It had been a fifteen-year long road trip, and now that her final destination was within her grasp, she wanted to grab hold immediately. For she feared if she didn’t, she would never make the effort again.
There was something this time that was driving her back. Tempting her home. The not knowing was like a pinprick in her mind.
The announcement that the ferry was nearing the Nanaimo port sounded over the speakers asking people to return to their vehicles. Branlyn stayed where she was, leaning over the railing, watching the way the boat cut through the water. Her heart felt the same as they neared the port. With every mile closer to her home, she could feel the pain of the past slicing into her.
As the dock came into view, she could hardly breathe. Her lungs burned with every quick intake of air, and her heart pounded against her ribs as if to break free and escape from the pain of her memories. She was only three hours away from her home. Three hours away from facing something she had been running from for so long. Was she really prepared for this? Was her mind stable enough to cope with the rush of distressful memories she was sure to encounter?
As the ferry prepared to moor, Branlyn straightened and took in a deep breath of salty ocean air. She would be all right. It was only a house. A house she had once loved dearly. Two rambling stories on an acre lot atop a cliff looking over a small-secluded strip of white sandy beach. How many times had she stood on her bedroom balcony and gazed out over the ocean, thinking how lucky she was to live in such a glorious place? Every day.
You will again.
His voice touched her mind like a lover’s soft caress. She reached for that thought and held onto to it tightly. His presence, even fleeting and surreal, gave her the strength to turn and descend the stairs to her waiting car. That was the hard part; the rest she hoped would just come like the tides she so often watched out her bedroom window.
CHAPTER TWO
By the time Branlyn eased the BMW into the spatial estate’s driveway, the sun was starting to set, and long shadows were cast over the immaculately kept front lawn. Turning off the ignition, she stared at her childhood home through the windshield, unsure if she could actually open her door and walk to the front stoop.
The house hadn’t changed since she left. In fact, it looked exactly like it did the day she was forced to pack her suitcases and was shipped off to England.
From Thomas, she had learned that a local landscape company, paid by her family’s estate money, kept up maintenance on the house and the grounds in hopes that Branlyn would one day return.
Now, here she was.
Grabbing her purse, she opened the car door and slid out. She walked around the car and made her way slowly up the front stone steps to the big white door. Hands shaking, she managed to put the key in and turn it. The audible click of the lock nearly made her jump out of her skin.
Taking a deep breath, Branlyn turned the doorknob and pushed opened the door.
A rush of memories surged over her on the stagnant air and her knees buckled. Grabbing the doorframe, she kept herself on her feet but knew if she didn’t sit down soon she would collapse.
Sinking to the threshold of the door, Branlyn put her head between her knees to take in some deep cleansing breaths. It was too hard to face. She wasn’t strong enough. She should have never come back. The past should’ve remained behind the locked door of her childhood home.
You have the strength to do this, Branlyn. Look inside, and you will find it.
His voice sounded in her head, instantly calming her. Lifting her head, she took in a final cleansing breath and pushed to her feet. She turned and stepped past the doorframe and into the front foyer, shutting the door behind her.
Glancing around the high-ceilinged entrance way and through the arched way into the living room, Branlyn noticed that everything was still in place. None of the furnishings had been moved, just draped with white cloths to keep the dust and dirt from settling onto them.
She shuffled farther into the house and stood at the base of the curving staircase looking up toward the second floor where the bedrooms were housed. Clutching her purse tightly to her chest, she mounted the steps, taking each one with slow deliberate movements. She counted each one as she had when she had been a child. When she reached thirty, she was on the second floor landing.
To the right was her dad’s office, her stepmother’s sewing room and a small half bathroom. On the left was her old bedroom, her dad and step-mom’s room and another bathroom, the one she had used growing up. Taking a deep breath, she turned left.
The walk down the wide hall seemed to last an eternity. Her legs vibrated with each step. When she came to the first down on her right, she opened it and walked through.
Her walls were still pink, a soft hue like in a sunrise. All her girlie posters of movie stars and music idols were tacked up with hot pink thump tacks. Pulling off the cloth covering her dresser, she smiled when she saw all her trinkets and knick-knacks she’d collected over the fourteen years of her childhood.
With shaking hands, she picked up the music box her mother had given her before she’d died. Branlyn had been only five, but she could still remember the day as if it had recently happened. Slowly, she opened the lid. Soft strains of Chopin floated out from the box’s small speaker, and the little swan spun around on a blue crystal representing a pond. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she ran her finger over the tiny little bird. She remembered her mother calling her, her little swan.
Shutting the lid, Branlyn set the box back on her dresser. Turning, she walked out of her room and went down the hall to a set of double doors. Her father’s bedroom. With pain swimming around in her heart and tears blurring her vision, she turned the brass knob and pushed open the doors.
A rush of stale air surged over her. Underneath it, she swore she could smell the woodsy cologne her father was so fond of wearing. The scent nearly brought her to her knees.
She had spent many years grieving for her father. For a few months she had retreated so far into herself, her grandmother had sent her to a child psychologist. The good doctor didn’t do anything for her except push her farther into obscurity. By the time she was done with therapy, she was an angry withdrawn fifteen-year-old instead of just withdrawn.
All those same feelings came surging through her. Instead of an independent woman of twenty-nine, she felt like a frightened angry fourteen-year-old all over again, having just realized that she’d never see her father again.
Like a zombie, she wandered into the room. She pulled the sheet off her father’s king-sized platform bed then collapsed onto it, her sobs so intense she could barely breathe. Curling herself in a ball, she cried. Wept all over again for losing her family and being left to fend for herself. She had been too young to be without someone to depend on, someone to love. She had been too young to be completely and utterly alone.
As she sobbed and wept, she had the distinct feeling of being comforted. As if a phantom had sat down beside her on the bed and put its arm around her. A male arm. She knew in an instant it was her dream lover comforting her. The wild scent of him swirled around her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
* * *
Hours later, after full dark had settled in, Branlyn rolled off her father’s bed and stretched. She had cried until, spent, had fallen asleep. She supposed she needed it, having not slept more than two hours since leaving Paris almost four days ago.
Her crying jag had exhausted her, but she felt surprisingly refreshed. She felt cleansed. Maybe she needed to purge herself of her pain. To finally have it all come out. Now, maybe she could finally put the pieces of her life back together. In the same place where it had all fallen apart.
Twisting side to side trying to ease the aches starting to creep up on her, Branlyn wandered toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of the balcony and looked out over the manor’s expansive garden. Pushing the door open, she stepped out onto the veranda. The fresh salty air swept over her and made her smile. There was nothing like the smell of an ocean breeze. That was one of the things she missed about living on the island.
She lifted her arms up and stretched her back. Then she froze.
There was someone in the garden.
Branlyn could see a dark shape standing by the stone water fountain.
“Who’s there?” she called.
The form didn’t move.
“I’m calling the police if you don’t leave.”
Branlyn.
She shivered as the sound of her name floated up to her on the warm salty breeze. She felt a sudden tug at her body, compelling her to go down into the garden.
Turning, she rushed from her father’s room, ran down the stairs, and marched into the large kitchen facing the garden. She went to the glass doors at the breakfast nook, threw the lock, and opened them.
Branlyn. I’ve been waiting for you.
Again feeling something pulling her, as if an invisible rope had been tied around her waist, she walked out onto the porch.
Was it her dream lover calling her? Although she knew it to be impossible, she wanted desperately to see him. To be able to touch him. The seductive summons from the garden seemed familiar. Like the sound of her golden man’s lilting voice. Curls of desire started to unfurl between her legs as she stepped down the steps and onto the garden’s stone path.
She walked briskly, with purpose, as if whatever was calling to her wanted her to hurry. She could feel the urgency in the summons. And the seduction.
As she neared the fountain, her heart started to hammer in her chest. The little hairs at the nape of her neck rose to attention as a delightful tickle rushed down her back. She gasped as the pleasant sensations moved over her body and brushed at her inner thighs as if to coax them apart.