Copyright 1995 by Anne Stuart
Electronic Edition Copyright 2015 by Anne Stuart
http://anne-stuart.com
E-book and Cover Formatted by Jessica Lewis
http://authorslifesaver.com
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Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
About Anne Stuart
PROLOGUE
He could control it all. The power of the elements, the storms and the night, the wind and the bright sunlight. He could make people do his bidding, draw them to him with no more than a faint beckoning of his hand and that seductive brilliant white light that promised everything.
He could give them the answers they were seeking to all the questions that plagued them. He held the keys to the future for each and every soul.
But he couldn't answer his own questions. Couldn't give himself the peace and finality he offered others. He was doomed, as no one else was, to exist in a black-velvet ether of comfort and emptiness. Alone.
It was little wonder he looked out over all he surveyed and felt the need of centuries building up inside him. Little wonder that he rebelled against his destiny. Was it better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven? He wanted to find out.
In the end, it all came down to one of the frail souls he was called to take. One woman, who'd been his since childhood, one small, sweet soul who should have gone on to her destiny years ago.
He'd refused to take her. Because he'd known he wouldn't want to let her go.
He no longer had any choice. This time the voice calling to him was so loud that he had to answer.
But this time he would answer in his way.
"Two days," he said, his sepulchral voice echoing through the heavens. "Just allow me two days."
There was no answer, only the power of the wind that he'd called forth. All his thoughts were centered on one spot in the middle of a vast country, on one soul, and all the other shrieking spirits calling to him were ignored.
"Two days," he said again, and he didn't bother to hide the desperation in his voice. "You owe me that much."
Again nothing from the one power greater than he. Her voice was louder now, louder than all the others, crying for him, and he knew this time he couldn't leave her. This time he had no choice. He closed his eyes, drawing all his power around him like a black-winged cape, and a moment later he was on the side of a mountain in Colorado, looking at her as she lay in the pine needles, eyes closed, dying.
It was a sight he knew well.
Because he was Death. Come to take her.
CHAPTER ONE
Wednesday afternoon—late summer
Laura Fitzpatrick was running. Panic welled up inside her, a deep, nerve-shattering fear as she raced across the thickly wooded hillside, the branches of the evergreens slapping at her face. Her heart was pounding unmercifully, her breath was rasping in her chest, and she could feel the cold sweat prickling her body. She should slow down. She should walk, calmly, safely, back to the house. Someone else could find Justine.
But she couldn't stop. The fear that swept over her was all-encompassing. She couldn't rid herself of the notion that death was all around, just waiting to pounce. Back at the house, her father lay in his massive bedroom, drifting in and out of consciousness. Her older sister, Justine, had taken off into the woods, tears blinding her eyes, her voice taut with anguish as she said, "I just can't sit and watch him die."
Justine was the sensitive one; Laura knew and accepted that. She was somewhere deep in the piney forests that surrounded the family compound high up in Taylor, Colorado, no doubt close to hysterics. And if Laura had any sense, she would let her be.
But only a few moments after Justine ran out, William Fitzpatrick had taken a turn for the worse. He would be dead by nightfall—they all knew it—and there was no way that Justine would forgive herself if she wasn't there to help his passing, even if she was bound to accompany it with melodramatic sobs.
The others didn't know that Laura had gone. They had all huddled closer around the frail, dying figure of their father, and Laura had slipped out the back, certain she could find Justine before she got too far.
But she must have lost her way. Night was closing in around her, the wind had picked up, and in the distance she thought she could hear Justine's heartfelt sobs.
She should have sent Ricky after his wife, but Ricky was half-drunk already, and he would doubtless just have shrugged and poured himself a double. She should have sent their stepbrother, Jeremy, after her, but he was glued to William's bedside, and Cynthia, his wife, had never been known to exert herself for her in-laws.
There were servants, of course. There were people who watched her like a hawk, to make certain she didn't overexert herself. She didn't care. Justine needed her, and for once Laura had the chance to take care of her family, not just sit around and let them take care of her.
The first pain hit her like a hammer blow, directly between her breasts. She went down on her knees, landing on the springy, pine-scented earth, rigid with agony. This couldn't be a heart attack, she told herself. This couldn't be the end, so abruptly. Not when her father was dying, as well.
But the gathering dusk grew inky-black. Far above the towering evergreens she could see the faint glitter of stars, and the scent of pine danced on the wind as she collapsed on the forest floor. She could no longer hear Justine's cries. She could hear nothing but the noisy, painful beating of her own heart, slamming against her chest as she struggled for breath.
And then she heard it stop. Silence reigned in the night forest. No sound, no heartbeat, no gasping breath. Nothing at all. There was a bright white light ahead of her, like the outline of a door, and she could see a man silhouetted there. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she couldn't move.
All she could do was close her eyes with a faint, inaudible sigh and let go.
He looked down at her for a moment, not moving. She lay utterly still, her tawny hair spread out around her pale face. Her eyes were closed, and he wanted her to open them again. He remembered the color—an exquisite warm brown that had entranced him when she was a mere child.