Phantom Pleasures - Chapter Two
Wednesday, March 26th, 2008
First things first…congratulations to Plotmonkey, Leslie Kelly, for finaling in this year’s RITA awards!! SHE’S NO ANGEL has been nominated for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance! Yeah, Leslie! We’re so proud of you! And I’m proud of you, roomie!
Back to the week of excerpts! This experience is so incredibly exciting…getting to read the chapter along with over a hundred readers a day! More! Lots of people aren’t posting comments, but are reading along. Wow. Thank you all for following along with the story and commenting in the thread. Remember, when you do, you’re eligible to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Just check the excerpt tomorrow to see if you’ve won…today’s winner is listed at the bottom!
Now, if you’re just joining us, taking a moment to catch up by clicking the Prologue and then Chapter One. Then come back here to enjoy Chapter Two!
Air rushed into Damon’s lungs, nearly choking him. His eyes flew open and he was partially blinded by the sudden light. Had it happened? Had he finally crossed over from the plane of his punishment into hell, where he belonged?
A soft mewling at his ankles convinced him he still was not dead. At least, not entirely. And he couldn’t suppress a wave of disappointment, an undercurrent against his natural instinct to survive.
He looked down, not surprised to see a long-haired, black cat swirling around his ankles. He kicked out, but the animal merely burst into a cloud of smoke and seconds later, reformed into the crafty feline he was.
“Away, beast.”
The cat stared at him with amber eyes flecked with gold, eyes that, perhaps, didn’t look so evil after all these centuries.
Damon bent down. The cat disappeared. A split-second later, he felt a warm, furry weight in his arms.
“You enjoy taunting me,” Damon said to the cat.
The creature replied by purring and rubbing its flattened face against the bulge of his arm.
The cat’s rumbling vibrations brought Damon a peace he did not deserve. He preferred the state of dormancy he fell into every hundred years or so. Drowsy. Still. Forgetful. Dead, and yet…not. A phantom, unable to escape from a prison of his own making.
For long periods of time, he couldn’t remember exactly what or who he was, why he was trapped in a world that consisted of little more than a drawing room, a doorway that led to nowhere and a window that looked out on nothing. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he remembered a time when he’d been whole. Virile. Strong. Solid.
And ultimately, cursed.
He remembered a sorcerer. A missing sister. Brothers dispersed into a storm in search of their wayward sibling. A storm. And magic most evil.
But beyond that, his brain felt too taxed to work out the details. How could the particulars matter after all this time?
And yet…
What was the smell suddenly invading his nostrils? He breathed in deeply. The cat meowed. Sea salt? He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds teasing the edge of his consciousness. Waves? How could that be? There was no ocean in Valoren. Had he transported back to his beloved England? Or was he somewhere new?
Another sound sent him bolt upright and after a moment, his surroundings solidified. The brush strokes faded and the furnishings in the room sharpened. He could feel the carpet beneath his boots, smell the smoke from the torch in the sconce and the melting wax from the candle above the unlit fireplace. The atmosphere became suddenly dank and cloying, causing his linen stock to chafe against his neck. He reached around and undid the ties, his hand brushing against his long hair, bound with a black ribbon. Was it his imagination, or was he still damp from his ride in the storm?
A loud chopping noise drew his attention away from the state of his body and clothes. Despite the cat growling in his arms, Damon stalked to the window. He tore aside the heavy drapery, shocked that the view outside was no longer blank canvas. Below, angry waves crashed against a shore of sharp boulders at the base of the castle. Blue skies, devoid of clouds, gleamed all around him. And then swooping in from above him, something hovered in the sky. The sun glanced off the monstrosity, forcing Damon to look away. The cat scrambled out of his arms, arching and hissing, its claws sharp through his sleeves.
Damon froze, enthralled. The metallic bird turned and through what looked like glass, he saw a woman trapped inside the belly of the beast. He reached out to brace himself on the window, but his hand slipped straight through.
Yet no glass shattered.
Damon jerked away from the window, his breath sapped and his eyes, clearly, deceiving him.
“Where am I?”
He shouted his question, but just like every other demand he’d made since his entrapment, no one replied.
