Sherri L King, page 1
ICARUS
© Sherri L King, 2002
Chapter One
Morrigan Mederos looked at the large manor house beyond the gate. After several quiet moments she inched the vehicle forward and tried to still the racing of her heart. A strange and niggling fear was prevalent in her mind and heart as she surveyed her surroundings. The house looked like a mausoleum—dark and brooding under its heavy canopy of rowan and oak trees. The atmosphere of the place sent shivers of apprehension down her spine.
But this was to be her home now, she reminded herself. This large monument of brick, stone, and mortar was to be her haven. As far away from the bustling stress of her former New York lifestyle as she could manage. She’d taken this last step of leaving her public life as a poet and songwriter behind her. Now was not the time to let her fears ruin whatever happiness she might find here.
There was no turning back now.
Her new home was nestled in Scotland, far from the incessant demands of her fans and colleagues. Far enough, too, from the dreams that had begun to rob her of her rest…and of her sanity. Although this land was an alien and forbidding one, it held the hope of succor during the storm her life had become.
It was cold. Morrigan tried to shake the invading chill from her bones but knew it was an effort in futility. The cool September air of Meigle, moist and chilling, could not be warded off with a mere shiver. This land, in the beautiful Valley of Strathmore, was ever damp and chilly this time of year.
The house was nestled on a plot of land on the outskirts of the village of Meigle—the oldest village in Scotland. It had existed well before the time of Christ. The ancient Picts had lived and worshipped here; their sacred standing stones even now resided in a local museum. King Arthur’s stone, as well as the Macbeth stone, resided in their eternal resting places nearby. This was an ancient and mystical place, perfectly suited for her artist’s temperament.
It was a magical land.
Deep in her soul she felt sure that this place could bring her the peace and happiness she sought. A peace from the days spent feeling lonely amidst an ever-growing crowd of people. From the faceless mass of people who wanted nothing from her but what her gifts and talents could bring to them.
In recent years she’d forgotten all happiness. She hoped this move would inspire it again. In the years she’d spent climbing to the top of the entertainment industry, she’d forgotten what true joy was. Her life had become an endless drive for critical acclaim. It was something she’d never wanted—not really.
She was ready to start anew.
With sudden hope welling inside of her heart she pulled into the courtyard of her new manor home. All apprehension was brushed aside and forgotten. Coming to an abrupt stop in front of the great oak door of the house, she cut the engine of her car and sighed. Several days before, her moving crew had arrived with what personal belongings she’d decided to keep when she’d moved out of her cold and sterile penthouse. She was more than eager to unpack and looked forward to surrounding herself with familiar comforts.
For weeks she’d toured the local countryside and acquainted herself with the population and culture of her newly adopted home. Now she was tired of her travels. In fact, it felt to her at times that she’d been traveling all her life—searching for this place from the very beginning.
Since the decision to move had been made, she’d felt cut adrift, and without purpose. Her busy life had never allowed her much time for relaxation. But now that she had all the time she’d ever need she found herself at a loss. What new direction would her life take now? Were her instincts correct in leading her to believe that something…monumental, lie in wait for her just over the horizon?
Morrigan was uncertain what the future held for her—but she was more than ready to find out.
As she stepped out of the car, the cold wind cut into her like a blade. Under her whipping black cloak, her waist-length copper hair was tamed into a fat braid along her back. Her long legs, lush figure, and exotic elfin features had made her an easily recognizable personality among showbiz’s elite. But she wouldn’t have much use for her assets here in her new world. She needed to blend in, not stand out, she thought with a smile.
Her charcoal gray pantsuit looked expensive and chic, and her matching Italian leather half boots barely made a sound as she walked across the cobblestones. She approached the front door with weak knees. Wind whistling about her, the scent of approaching rain heady in her nostrils, she reached for the iron handle.
Holding her breath she opened the door of her new home with slow, cautious movements. Risking a peek she looked into the dim foyer beyond and sighed in relief. She smiled and laughed a little to herself at her own foolish behavior. The interior looked the same as it had in the realtor’s pictures. It was full of warm cheer and cozy welcome—all the feelings she associated with a good home.
It had been an impulsive thing—to buy this house sight unseen but for the realtor’s Polaroids. But she’d been obsessed with it from the first. The realtor’s description had stated that the home and land were situated in Scotland, near various lochs and waterways. A heady compulsion had taken her, driving her to stop at nothing in order to possess the property.
Shoes softly padding on the floor, she looked through each room of the house. Falling in love with it was easy. It was wonderful, complete with cathedral ceilings, high windows and spacious rooms. Her bedroom housed a lovely king-sized bed canopied by large falls of white gauze and satin. It was her favorite room. Walking to the French doors on the far side of the chamber, she opened them and stepped onto the balcony that lay beyond.
Dark green rowan branches lay close to the balustrade, giving the balcony a private and enclosed feeling. Morrigan breathed deeply of the crisp, cool air, savoring the surrounding silence. The calm of her new home began to seep into her world-weary bones. It grounded her and made her feel as though she was finally an accepted part of her surroundings.
With a serenity that had been a stranger to her in recent years, she turned back inside and made ready to unpack. Night was approaching. Hopefully she would have no dreams.
*
Sleep enclosed her like the darkness of a tomb, and the dream came upon her once again. The realism of it consumed her utterly, and she forgot that the dreams weren’t real. Forgot to remember that in her new environment—supposedly free of worries—she was no longer supposed to have these dreams.
Her therapist had told her the dreams were just byproducts of her stressful lifestyle—that they were fantasies produced by an overworked imagination. But when the dreams conquered her sleeping mind, all rational thought was forgotten. She knew only the reality of what her dreaming mind showed her.
Running through the dark forest in the night, her virginal white nightgown flew behind her on the wind. Her hair lay unbound along her back and shoulders, the darkness making the copper waves appear as blood spilling over her. Her heart hammered in her breast. Her eyes and cheeks burned from the cruel bite of the wind.
Still she ran on, ever onward into the black heart of the forest.
Hands outstretched in front of her to keep grasping branches from scratching and ensnaring her, she barely noticed how far she fled. Her feet were bare below the fall of the gown, but she didn’t even feel the ground beneath them. In the endless dark her eyes searched frantically. For something. For someone whom she dare not name lest she doubt her very sanity.
She searched for him.
At last, she came upon the dark smooth mirror of a placid loch. Her feet came to a stumbling halt at the shoreline. The water felt cold as it lapped gently at her exposed toes, and she waited there with bated breath. Clouds of mist puffed from her quivering mouth. The heavy silence went on unbroken.
She tried to swallow the lump of fear and anticipation in her throat, but found her mouth was far too dry. Suddenly, there before her, a ripple broke the calm of the water’s surface. It was followed by another, and another, until the water splashed against her ankles from the force of the waves.
Morrigan gasped and bit her lip, fighting against the urge to flee as a dark head emerged from the heart of the loch. It was followed by the pale and heavily muscled form of a nude man. The man stepped over the water. His feet walked across its surface with barely a ripple as they passed. A small, mysterious smile played about his erotically sculpted lips. The sight sent her heart racing, though with fear or anticipation she couldn’t say.
His onyx hair was dry and lay in soft waving curls down his back to his buttocks. Though he’d come from the water, he was completely dry, as if by magic. Standing at six and a half feet in height, he towered over her. His strongly muscled yet graceful body crowded her the closer he came.
His skin shone silver in the moonlight, and the only color he seemed to possess blazed from his eyes. His eyes were a deep purple, an impossibly inhuman shade. They burned her from beneath his sinfully heavy lashes, marking her with a possession that was impossible to deny.
Morrigan felt a thrill of fear race through her heart, and she turned to flee. With a shock, she discovered that her legs refused to budge. At last the man came to stand before her, and her eyes could not break away from his. His long, beautiful fingers reached for her and she tried to protest but no sound issued forth from her parted lips.
The man smiled and traced her cheeks with the tips of his cool fingers. He slowly moved his head down to her, until they were separated only by the space of their breaths. His burning eyes roved over her face with an unconcealed hunger. She was unable to me
Like the gentle touch of a feather, she felt his thumbs caress her lowered lashes, and they flew open once more. The man closed his eyes, and leaned closer to her, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply of her scent. His movements were inhuman, far too full of grace and suppressed power.
His head moved about in a circular motion, as if he were rolling it about in the cloud of her scent. She wondered what he smelled upon her for she was wearing no perfume. Once again his dazzling eyes opened, and he caught her gaze for a long moment. The only sound that broke the silence was the haunting rhythm of her erratic heartbeats.
“It is you. At last you have come,” he said, and his voice played out like an echo in the night. His accent was lyrical, like a sweet melody that was familiar to her though she could not place it. When his words faded into the darkness, he smiled, and his eyes glowed brighter than ever before. A possessive look filled his face before his features fell into a mask of wicked anticipation.
Over his bowed head she caught sight of the translucent wings that sprouted from his back. They were thin and membranous, and hung folded quietly behind him like the fins of a giant fish. Though they were a frightening testament to the man’s inhumanity, they were nonetheless eerily beautiful, like an iridescent rainbow awash down his spine.
He was breathtaking.
Morrigan could not find her voice, nor could she turn from him. She stayed frozen in place, looking at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, dreading what he might do next.
His hands strayed down her cheeks to her chin, which he tilted upwards, arching her neck until her flowing hair fell well below her buttocks. She closed her eyes to better savor his touch, and his hands strayed lower, across her shoulder and arms until he held her hands in his own. His silken hair brushed across her face as he leaned closer and pressed a cool kiss to her closed eyes.
Slowly, his lips warmed against her—borrowing her warmth. They traveled down over her cheeks and nose—as soft as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. His breath was hot and fanned out over her face like a physical caress. Goose pimples broke out over her skin. His lips pressed to hers, softly and then more firmly as she gave no protest. The kiss deepened, and she felt a tiny pain. The sweet coppery taste of blood filled her mouth…and his.
Her eyes flew open in a panic. She began to struggle as his tongue lapped hungrily at the blood that welled from the cut in her lip. A ravenous look of hunger and rapture played across his face. His velvet tongue laved over the small wound before he drew her lip into his mouth—suckling and milking the blood from her with devouring kisses. An overwhelming fear took hold of her, and she at last found the strength to move.
Panicked and shoving against him, she twisted her head away, fighting his kiss when he followed. She felt as though she were awakening from a sorcerer’s spell. She fought against the urge to cry out, but her struggles went unnoticed by her captor. His strength was overwhelmingly superior to hers. She moaned in a panic against his now burning lips.
He continued to feed on her mouth.
The man took a firmer hold on her hands as she continued to struggle, locking her arms to her side. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled away from her lips. His erotic mouth was swollen and stained crimson from her blood. Though the sight should have sickened her, it served to arouse her instead. He seemed suddenly more beautiful and frightening than ever before, and it drew her for reasons she couldn’t understand.
Handsome wasn’t a powerful enough word to describe how she saw him now. He was too dangerous, too sinful to be labeled beautiful—though he was that too. The situation was more than dangerous. Morrigan recognized this, but perversely she now wanted not to flee but to draw him closer. She wanted to lose herself within him like a moth to a flame, no matter the cost to her sanity.
Sensing her near surrender, the man raised her hands to his lips to press a fervent kiss to her palm. Watching him as closely as she was, Morrigan saw the brilliant flash of his fangs before his lips were buried in her hand. Fright overtook her once more. She almost fainted from the sight. A broken cry escaped her lips like the coo of a dove, and she renewed her struggles to escape him.
Her captor wasn’t fazed by her struggles, nor did his hold on her weaken. Her temper slowly flared to life to couple with her fear. She hated feeling so helpless. He didn’t even grunt when she landed a kick to his shin.
The combination of her arousal, anger and fear only served to excite him further, which was plain to see as her eyes strayed to his heavy erection. She panted with the force of her efforts, and soon he panted with her but for different reasons.
The man moved his head in a reptilian way, swift and graceful, and his mouth worked as if savoring the last flavors of her blood on his tongue. “I have tasted you now, beauty. We shall never again be apart.” His breathing was harsh and his nostrils flared.
The look of dark, raw possession that blazed from his inhuman eyes seared through her, branding her as his. A second later she fell into the darkness that came and swallowed her up like the cold maw of a grave.
Morrigan shot upright in her bed.
Her rapid breaths ravaged her lungs. Her heart thundered in her chest. With shaking hands she turned on the bedside lamp and cast her panicked gaze about the room. Foolish as it sounded she was searching for monsters hidden in the shadows. Her fear in the dream had left a lingering, bitter taste in her mouth. She moaned brokenly as she buried her face into her hands.
After a few deep, calming breaths, she laughed shakily. In her mind she knew the dreams weren’t real and that her fears were foolish, but her heart was still thundering in her chest. She rose from the bed and padded across the thick rugs covering the cold floor, heading to the bathroom for a drink of water.
Fingers fumbling and clumsy, she turned on the light and approached the sink. Catching sight of herself in the vanity she cried out in shock.
Chapter Two
Jewel green eyes stared back from her reflection, dark and haunted with all they had seen. Her usually peaches and cream complexion was pale and translucent in the harsh light. Wild tangled waves made a halo of her hair, which had escaped the tight braid she always wore to bed.
She hastily splashed water against her face. Making a cup of her hands she drank greedily, washing away the coppery taste of fear and blood from her dream. Her hands brushed against her lower lip and she winced in pain. Suddenly she fell still and after a few frantic heartbeats she slowly lowered her hands away from her face.
Her eyes were wide with shock. The look within them approached terror as she studied the inner lining of her lip. Seeing as well as feeling the small cut there, she let loose a high-pitched giggle. The cut was fresh though the bleeding had stopped. For a split second she feared that her dream was real before she laughed again and pushed the thought desperately away.
She wasn’t crazy. The dreams, though realistic, were not real. The wound on her lip had likely occurred from biting her lip in her sleep while tossing and turning in the sheets. The memories of her dream, while frightening and consuming, should be forgotten upon waking.
Clinging to her mantra, she crawled back into bed. Snuggling down into the covers with near desperation, she shuddered from the cold of the night. It was almost an hour before she went back to sleep. She left the light on.
*
Morning arrived, and the rising sun greeted Morrigan as she stood on her balcony. The crisp dawn air made her skin clammy. Sipping on her steaming mug of coffee, she stared dazedly off into the distance. Her last hours of sleep had been restless ones, consumed by yet another dream. If something didn’t change soon she was going to break down completely.
She was so tired.
This last dream had been so real—so much more than a nightmare. It had consumed her utterly, staying with her long after she’d left her bed and sleep behind. This last dream had taken place—not in the woods as so many had in the past—but in the dining room of her new house.
The man had been seated at the long table in her dining room, eating red berries from a bowl. Their crimson juices stained his mouth, just as her blood had in her earlier dream. His iridescent wings lay like a cape behind the back of his chair. Purple eyes blazed beneath the sweeping, wavy locks of his black hair, looking at her steadily as she stood there in a scarlet velvet gown that fell to the floor.
