Strains of achingly sweet music receded into her dreams. Smiling, Aimee opened her eyes.
A familiar ceiling stared back at her from her familiar bedroom. So why did she have the distinct feeling she’d been somewhere else? Somewhere infinitely pleasant…lights glittering all around her…the enticing press of a hard male body against hers. Silk-clad muscles rippling beneath her hands as he moved.
She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of red roses. Instinctively her hand went to the side of her head, knowing somehow before her fingers met softness what she would find.
The scarlet rose overflowed her palm. Aimee fingered the velvet petals, afraid that if she didn’t touch it, the crimson flower would disappear as surely as the man who gave it to her.
Images caressed her memory, tantalizingly close. City lights swirling below her. Raven hair blowing over her shoulders. Eyes that became the sky. The rustle of powerful wings…
Forget.
But she hadn’t forgotten. Memories crystallized.
Tristan. The man with the woeful eyes and the breathtakingly handsome looks. Tristan, whose courtly manners and dulcet voice could melt the heart of a street-hardened caseworker.
Finally her phantom had a name. However, naming him did nothing to dispel the mystery surrounding him.
* * * * *
Bruised clouds of violet-gray squashed the sunset. The threatening sky promised rain. According to the forecast, it would be an icy one. Aimee hunkered down into the collar of her leather jacket. Regardless of the weather, she intended to scour Queen Street until she found the elusive Tristan.
The parkette was empty except for a disgruntled raccoon that reluctantly left its perch on the garbage can when she approached. Vengeful eyes turned upon her, it lumbered off into the shadows, waiting for her to leave.
Barhoppers warmed themselves in trendy pubs, leaving the streets to those who had nowhere else to go. A discarded soda can clattered down the empty sidewalk.
The homeless began setting up sleeping bags for the night. Aimee made her rounds, going from person to person, offering hot coffee and asking if they knew where to find Tristan.
“Tall guy in black?” Gray took the coffee gratefully. “Haven’t seen him for several days.” He spread a piece of sleeping bag out on the hot air grate to offer Aimee a seat. Hawk-like eyes regarded her shrewdly. He wiped a grubby hand through his steely beard and grinned toothlessly. “Why you so interested?”
Aimee swatted him playfully. “You’ve got a dirty mind, Gray.”
“Ask Maggie,” Gray offered, grinning again as Aimee stood to leave.
Maggie slumbered underneath a veritable mountain of newspapers and plastic garbage bags. Sheltered from the wind in the doorway of a boarded-up building, she wasn’t cheerful about being awakened. Even for the offer of a hot chocolate.
“Fellow with the pretty face?”
Aimee nodded.
“Always wears black?”
“That’s the one.”
Maggie took a cautious sip of hot chocolate. “Saw him last week, down by the old electric factory.”
“Thanks, Maggie.”
“Not worried about the likes of him, are you? Man can take care of himself.”
The streets aren’t safe at night.
Aimee left the makeshift camp and hurried across the abandoned parking lot that led to the old factory. Beyond the spheres of the streetlights, the gravel lot was treacherous, full of broken bottles and rusty nails. One look, she promised herself. A quick tour of the perimeter. Hopefully, the rain would hold off that long.
Gravel shifted ahead in the dimness. Something even darker glided through the gloom.
“Tristan!”
The shadow froze as she approached. “You should not have come here.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“You should leave at once. This place isn’t safe.”
“But—”
The brick wall threw her voice back at her. The space where Tristan had been standing was suddenly empty.
“Wait!” Aimee rushed into the shadows.
The doorway reared up out of nowhere. She crashed against it, flailing to keep her balance when it unexpectedly swung inward. The interior was unrelentingly black. Aimee thrust out a hand. Her fingers connected with the dusty plaster of a nearby wall and by touch alone, she navigated forward. Straining her ears to make up for the lack of sight, she heard a soft tread, rising upward.
Stairs.
She turned toward the sound, groping her way until she found a rickety banister. Footsteps continued up into the darkness. The railing vibrated under her hand. Climbing blindly, Aimee followed.
A sprinkling of silver light dusted the upper floor. It took several moments for her to realize part of the roof was missing. Grateful for the illumination, she hurried up a second flight of stairs. Damp air, numbingly cold, greeted her as she stepped onto the landing. A metal door stood ajar, beyond it a tarred roof. Desperately she cast about for Tristan’s fleeing shape, but the roof was empty.
To her right came the scratch of claws.
“Tristan,” she called, hoping desperately it was him.
Something very large alighted nearby. Aimee turned to see eyes like black opals staring back at her from the ledge at the edge of the roof. Dark, human-looking eyes.
Standing so close, it was impossible not to be awed by the size of the huge owl. It was easily four feet tall. She didn’t even want to guess its wing span. Through the dimness she could make out gray and black feathers. She knew without touching it that the coat was downy soft.
It froze there on the ledge, looking back at her with Tristan’s eyes. The giant bird ruffled its wings, as if considering whether to take flight. Its chest heaved. Inexplicably, she thought she heard it sigh.
Then the impossible happened.
Claws morphed into feet, its legs thickened, stretched. Wings melted into arms.
Aimee took a sharp step backward.
Feathers receded, the beak became a nose. Midnight hair tumbled over expanding shoulders. She watched in utter fascination as its face blurred, reshaped.
Then it was Tristan standing before her.
Sorrowful eyes regarded her thoughtfully.
“Is this the thing you couldn’t tell me?” Her voice trembled.
He nodded, still watching her warily.
Aimee forced herself to take a step toward him. “Are you going to tell me now?”
Tristan turned away from her to look out into the night. “I suppose I have nothing to lose.”
He made no sound as she approached, simply stared off into the menacing clouds that lined the horizon.
“Be careful,” he said finally. “The roof isn’t safe.”
Cautiously, Aimee reached out a hand to touch him, half expecting to feel the softness of feathers beneath her fingers. Instead her touch connected with a muscular shoulder that felt most definitely human. She heard him suck in his breath. But instead of stepping away, he turned and pulled her into his arms.
He was wearing a different shirt, dark green in the pale light, loosely fitting. The wind caught at it, billowing the shirt around him.
“You told me to forget,” she said into his chest. “But I didn’t.”
“No,” Tristan said, regretfully. “You have a much stronger mind than I anticipated.”
“Why did you come to me then, if you intended to wipe out my memory of you?”
He sighed, hugging her closer. “I couldn’t help myself. From the first moment I saw you, chatting on the air vent with that old man, I loved you.”
“Gray,” she corrected. “That’s what he calls himself.”
“You have a kind heart.”
“As do you, protecting people who can’t protect themselves.”
Tristan shook his head. “I came to understand the value of kindness far too late.”
“Too late?”
“To save my soul.”
“I don’t understand…”
“It’s quite simple,” he said, holding her away from him. “I’m cursed.”
That’s ridiculous. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t say them. She’d just seen an owl turn into a man. The man who’d rescued her, courted her, haunted her dreams. The man she could come to love.
“Do you believe in the power of curses, Aimee?” he asked softly.
“Right now I don’t know what to believe.” That at least was the truth.
“And do you still want to know?”
Aimee looked up into the hard planes of a face that was at once beautiful and fierce. The animal in him lurked so close beneath the surface, seething with restrained strength. She half expected him to leap from the rooftop, metamorphosing into a majestic bird as he fell. And by the tortured look on his face, she was certain he’d much rather do just that than share his darkest secret.
Conflicting desires warred within her. Part of her desperately wanted to run. Yet another, stronger part of her longed to understand. “Tell me.” She rose to her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his.
His lashes brushed her face as his eyes drifted shut. He caressed her lips with his own, tenderly, regretfully. Gently yet firmly, he pushed her away.
Tristan swallowed heavily. For a brief moment he considered her, then, as if suddenly coming to a decision, he said, “I was born over two hundred years ago to a merchant family.”
Aimee opened her mouth to protest the impossibility, but he continued resolutely.
“My father had a knack for business, but he also had a knack for drink and gambling. He squandered his wealth. Our fine house, his ships, everything was claimed by debtors. The shame of it was the death of my mother. I soon found myself living in the streets.
“It was a harsh existence, but I was a bright youngster. While I had no property, I did have knowledge and plenty of wit and courage. I convinced an old colleague of my father’s to take me as his apprentice.”
He paused. But when she looked back at him with compassion, he resumed.
“I learned quickly. Eventually he made me his partner. When he died, I inherited the business I helped create.”
“But that was good, wasn’t it?” She didn’t understand what could be so shameful about being a self-made man.
Tristan shook his head. “Blinded by my success, I forgot my humble roots. I forgot what it was to be hungry. In my arrogance, I began to look down upon those less fortunate than I.”
“A human enough failing,” Aimee said, grasping for something, anything to wipe that look of anguish from his face.
“Perhaps,” Tristan said. “Preoccupied with my own importance, I angered something that wasn’t quite human.”
“The person who cursed you?”
He gestured to the roiling clouds on the horizon. “On a night such as this, an old woman came begging at my door. I could have given her a place by my hearth. It would have cost me nothing to let her sleep in the stables. But I didn’t want to be reminded of my modest beginnings. I sent her away into the storm.”
Tristan stared into the tumultuous sky. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. “As I began to close the door, she pointed her crooked finger at me. In my dreams, I can still hear her shrieking. ‘Heart of beast, the night to roam, never to face the light alone.’
“As the clock chimed midnight, I became as I am now.” Eyes raw with pain beseeched hers for understanding.
“But that’s—”
“Impossible?” he supplied. “Ah, Aimee, but things happen every day that are…impossible.”
“Then it was you outside my window.” A statement, not a question. “It wasn’t a dream.”
“No.”
Never to face the light alone…
The phrase compelled her attention. Within the verse lay an important clue she was missing.
“Tristan—”
He held up a hand to silence her, as though afraid if he didn’t tell her everything that very minute, he might forever lose his nerve.
“You must understand, Aimee. It cannot be between us. Even if you could come to love the likes of me, I could never fully share your life.” He smothered her protests and pressed on. “Once I believed I could undo the curse if I committed enough acts of kindness. But that turned out not to be the case. I gave up on trying to find a way to break the spell almost a century ago. I found that thoughtfulness has its own way of easing the soul.”
“Is that why you rescued me?” She had to know. “To save your soul?”
“I rescued you because you had already captured my heart. You touched me with your kindness, your concern for others. I loved you. I couldn’t let them harm you.”
Never to face the light alone. Alone…
All of a sudden, the curse’s meaning sunk in. He couldn’t face the light on his own…
Though perhaps he could face it with another. Tristan had to find love before he could face the light again. Aimee’s love might hold the power to undo the curse.
“But Tristan, don’t you see—that’s what the curse means. Alone, you can’t face the light. You’re a creature of darkness, trapped within your own cold-heartedness. But if you had someone to love you, someone to show you the way back to the light, then perhaps the spell could be undone.”
For a moment Tristan seemed to consider her words. Then he shook his head, stepping back far too close to the roof’s edge. “I love you too much, Aimee, to taint you with my evilness.”
He stepped over the side. From the shadows below she heard the flap of giant wings.
Held in check too long, the bloated clouds burst. Frigid rain began to fall like icy knives upon the roof. She was drenched in seconds.
“Tristan!”
Aimee lunged for the empty space Tristan had occupied. Wind shot a torrent of freezing rain into her face. Lightning sizzled nearby, lighting up the roof in a brilliant flash that showed she was quite alone. She blinked as her eyes attempted to compensate for the sudden glare. She stumbled, falling to her hands and knees on the slick surface.
A deafening crack came from beneath her as the old roof gave way. Suddenly there was only empty air beneath her questing fingers. Aimee screamed, arms and legs pinwheeling helplessly as she plummeted into darkness.
Sharp claws seized the leather of her jacket, wrenching her backward and up. Powerful wings vibrated the air around her. She jerked her head up to see two onyx eyes staring down at her. Beneath her the ground whirled sickeningly. She screamed again.
* * * * *
Candlelight, translucent as watercolor, filtered through the fringe of her lashes. Aimee opened her eyes.
The room was aglow with a multitude of candles. They burned in bright rows on low tables and flowed in a brilliant flame across the mantle. The dancing flames were hypnotic, comforting. Closing her eyes, she burrowed back into the warmth of the satin duvet, content to succumb to the seductive call of sleep—until a worrying thought forced her eyelids open again.
She was most definitely not at home. So where was she? The last thing she remembered was plummeting toward her death through the stormy sky.
Throwing off the heavy duvet, she sat up and studied her unfamiliar surroundings. The room she’d been sleeping in looked like a pictorial from a Victorian magazine. Thick velvet drapes, fringed with gold, blocked out the dampness. The parlor was cluttered with an assortment of tables, each bearing its own doily and some sort of figurine or vase. Bouquets of cream-colored roses, dyed the color of antique lace by the candlelight, filled the air with their perfume. From somewhere beyond came strains of Vivaldi.
“I would have taken you home,” said a familiar voice. “But I must confess, I would much rather keep you selfishly to myself.”
Tristan leaned casually against the doorway of the crowded living room, a brandy snifter dangled from one hand, the other thrust into the pocket of his pleated pants.
He left the doorway and crossed the parlor to sit beside her. Carefully, cherishingly, he pulled her toward him, holding her as tenderly as he would a wounded child. The brandy was warm against her lips. It burned all the way down her throat, but its fire seemed to chase back the chill. Her hair was damp against her cheek. She looked down to find herself clothed in a silk shirt that was far too big to be her own.
“Where am I?”
“My home.”
She looked around her, then back at him. “But I fell.”
He hugged her protectively closer. “The old factory roof is most treacherous.”
“You caught me.” Images were falling into place now, like pieces of a puzzle. She remembered the sizzle of lightning, the huge bird lit up against the night sky.
“I would never let any harm come to you.” He set the snifter down on the table in front of them and turned toward her.
“Promise you won’t disappear again after you kiss me?”
He laughed, and she felt the vibration beneath her hand as she slipped it through the opening of his shirt to caress the soft hairs of his chest.
“I promise.”
“Good,” she said. And covered his mouth with hers.
She wasn’t dreaming this time. Desire arced through her, keen and demanding. She intended to remember every minute of this night. With tender kisses, she explored his forehead, dipping lower to nibble at his eyebrow before continuing down the arch of his nose to claim his mouth again.
Tristan lay back, crushing the comforter beneath him, content to assist her in her study of him. Her fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, opening it to her searching lips.
Warm hands traveled upward under her shirt, stroking her, encouraging her, until the fabric grew too confining and she pulled it off over her head and tossed it aside. His gaze lingered on her, warm and admiring. Then he pulled her closer to take the taut peak of one breast into his mouth.
Aimee moaned, arching as his lips moved to tease the other. Frantic hands fumbled with his belt. Chuckling, he assisted her before easing his trousers over his hips and onto the floor.
Her eyes drank in the length of him, the animal strength beneath smooth skin. With liquid grace he turned and gathered her under him. Satin hair fell down around her in a warm cascade. She felt him, hard against her thigh, yearning with desperation to match her own.
“Love me,” she whispered against his lips. And with a gentle yet purposeful thrust, he obliged.
* * * * *
The sun cast spears of light around the edges of the drapery. Aimee opened her eyes, the events of the past few nights startlingly clear in her mind for the first time in three days. She smiled, stretching languidly against Tristan’s warmth beside her.
A band of light cut across his face.
His eyes opened cautiously. Wonderingly, he turned his face into the light.
Like a wary animal, he crept hesitatingly forward, until he was showered in the sun’s golden glow. In fascination, he stared at the liquid light covering his hands.
Then, with a joyful laugh that seemed to come from the roots of his being, he threw open the drapes and turned to face her.
Bewildered, Aimee watched his movements. Suddenly the significance of his simple action grasped her.
Awed, she joined him in the shaft of glittering light.
He ran his hands through her hair, which shimmered with auburn highlights in the sun’s rays. His fingers stroked her cheek as if rediscovering her, assuring himself that the moment was indeed real.
“Tristan?”
“The sunlight,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud might make the miracle disappear.
“The curse…do you think it’s gone?”
Tristan gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t know.”
“Try changing,” she suggested, afraid even to hope.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Aimee watched his features change to smooth marble as he composed himself. She realized suddenly she was holding her breath and let it go with a deep sigh. Tristan opened his eyes.
“I can’t…seem to bring about the metamorphosis.”
“This is good, right?”
“Good? It’s fantastic,” he whispered, the first signs of optimism creeping into his smile. “You’ve saved me, Aimee. With your love, you helped me rediscover the man within the beast.” He pulled her tightly against him and kissed her soundly.
“Do you really think it’s possible?”
“I’m certain of it.” Sweeping her off her feet, he twirled her across the living room, as he had on the rooftop.
“Come on,” he said, putting her down suddenly.
“Where are we going?”
Tristan looked down at her with brown eyes that sparkled like jewels in the morning light. They’d lost the feral gleam they’d had in his owl form. “I intend to walk into the dawn with the woman I love.”