Darkest Nyte

  DARKEST NYTE

  By

  Elizabeth Batten-Carew

  © copyright February 2005, Elizabeth Batten-Carew

  Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright February 2005

  ISBN 1-58608-257-4

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  I dedicate this book

  to my husband, Mark,

  the man who brings magic to my life!

  Chapter 1

  "Merlin, what was that?" Lucinda Divine rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then pushed herself up on her elbows. Moonlight illuminated Merlin’s slight profile, and his vivid green eyes stared into hers questioningly. Then he yawned and settled his head back down on her stomach, his eyes dropping closed again.

  "I don’t know why I bother talking to you," she grumbled, as she glanced at the clock.

  Three forty-seven.

  The last time she’d been awakened in the wee hours like this, Randalph had been calling for help. But it wasn’t Rand this time. So who was it? Could it be work related? Three of her current cases were straightforward remove-a-curse types, but she had taken the precaution of putting monitor spells on her other two clients. Still, if it had been one of her own spells warning of trouble, she wouldn’t be in doubt as to the origin.

  She pushed the covers aside, ignoring Merlin’s sharp protest at being ousted from his comfortable position.

  "Oh, stop complaining. It’s not like it was my idea to get up at this time of the night."

  Merlin leaped off the bed and strutted away, stiff-legged, tail held straight as a post. He jumped onto her rocking chair and curled up, his glossy black back toward her.

  "Okay, be like that." Just like Merlin. He wouldn’t lose sleep over a late night caller.

  She turned her attention away from the cat and took a deep breath. Stilling her thoughts, she listened for a repeat of the call that had awakened her. A moment later it rippled through her awareness, strong and insistent.

  The Call!

  She had received The Call?

  But that didn’t make any sense. She had been born of human parents, not wizards. Only those with wizard parents could be mentors.

  The Call burst through her again, transforming her confusion into resonating joy.

  It was true! A new wizard had appeared in the world, and she had been called upon to be his mentor.

  To guide a new wizard through the difficult time of learning to control his power--this had been a secret dream of hers for almost three centuries, even though she’d known it would never--could never--happen.

  She didn’t know why she’d been chosen, but pride bubbled through her that Fate had entrusted her with such an important role. She hoped she could do as well as her own mentor, Randalph. He had taught her to look beyond herself and reach past the limitations of everyday. In so doing, he had given her a level of control over her life she’d never thought possible. She would always love him for that.

  She could hardly wait to get started with her own student.

  Trying to quell her mounting excitement, she reminded herself that The Call occurred upon birth of a new wizard. She smiled, thinking of the new baby born into the world, the child she would guide to the fulfillment of his wizardly powers. But over a decade would pass before she took an active part in his life. Right now, he was just an infant in his human mother’s arms.

  She imagined a tiny, naked baby staring up at her, a smug expression on his little face, and an irresistible impulse to go see him tugged at her.

  No, this was silly. She could take a peek at him tomorrow, after she’d had a good night’s sleep. After all, she would not play a significant role in his life until he reached puberty.

  She remembered that period in her own life, when her changing hormonal balance had triggered the ability to control magic. It had been a frightening, confusing time and she didn’t envy her new charge the ordeal ahead.

  An insistent, yet indefinable, urge coursed through her. She wanted--no, she needed--to find this wizard. Right now. She absolutely had to see him.

  That’s odd, she thought. She’d never had any particular inclination to stare at babies before. Could it be The Call affecting her like this? She frowned. From everything Rand had told her during her insistent questioning, she’d imagined a slight niggling feeling connecting her to this new person, not an overwhelming urge.

  It dragged steadily at her senses now. Alarm spiked through her at a new sense of urgency that fueled the pull. As if he might be in trouble. Could this baby have been abandoned? Could he be alone and frightened?

  Merlin’s sharp mewing cut through her mounting apprehension. His bright green eyes stared at her and his ears perked straight up.

  "Merlin, I’ve got to go to him. He needs me."

  Merlin made an insistent warbling sound and she planted her hands on her hips. "Well, I know I don’t know anything about babies." She wagged her finger at her furry friend. "But I won’t allow any wizard I’m responsible for to wind up in an orphanage. If I need to, I’ll bring him here and take care of him myself!"

  Merlin bleated rudely, leaped from the chair, and strutted away.

  "What do you mean you feel sorry for the poor kid?" She glared at his retreating back, wondering what she’d done to deserve such a rotten cat.

  Pushing aside her irritation, she closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to zero in on her subject. She visualized the incoming thread of anxiety-triggering energy and grasped it, tracing it backward, letting it draw her toward the source. She fluttered through space, her body light as chiffon billowing on a summer breeze. Time and matter quivered around her, meaningless in the process of transporting through the Earth.

  Finally, a heaviness settled in her feet, then drew upon the rest of her rematerializing body. She squinted against the bright sunshine that invaded her slightly disoriented brain. The aroma of something too delicious to be good for her dragged her attention to the shop door in front of her. The sign printed across the large glass window read "Patisserie." A large platter of croissants and what had to be pains au chocolat, judging from the dark brown smudges on the sides, stood under a glass dome on the counter inside. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. Reflected in the glass, a world-renowned landmark loomed behind her.

  The Eiffel Tower.

  April in Paris. Charming. Why did she always wind up in these wonderful places when she didn’t have time to enjoy them? Last time, she'd been searching for Death at Club Med. She smiled. Of course, once she’d found him and gotten their business out of the way, they’d had a good time. A date with Death was quite an experience.

  A couple of teenagers skated past her on roller blades and giggled. Lucinda shifted her focus to her own reflection and flushed. Here she stood in the middle of Paris wearing only a mauve camisole and tap pants--and bare feet. She groaned. Well, she’d never pretended to be good at these middle of the night adventures. She had trouble being organized at the best of times let alone with less than a good night’s sleep.

  Pretending great interest in the view behind the glass, she checked her peripheral vision on each side, wondering how best to avoid notice.

  Right, like that would happen. Almost everyone who passed by glanced in her direction. Some quickly glanced away again, some grinned, some twittered. Some ogled. She dragged in a deep breath, deciding on brashness as her best course of action. Drawing her shoulders back, she turned away from the window. She smiled and nodded at each person who glanced in her direction, then turned down t
he first alleyway she came across.

  Good heavens. She would have to choose the mid-morning rush hour to appear in a world-class city in a state of undress. Of course, most nights she slept in an oversized grey sweatshirt, but yesterday, of all days, she’d given in to temptation and bought the feminine camisole set in the window of a lingerie store near her office--and she’d had to wear it to bed.

  She padded down the alley, searching for a hidden corner where she could materialize some clothes, but a groan from up ahead interrupted her mission. She crinkled her forehead. Had it been an actual sound? Good heavens, could it have been the baby? Had he been left alone somewhere in this alley?

  But a baby didn’t groan.

  She closed her eyes and listened. Fragmented questions tumbled through her mind. Where am I? Who am I? The strong sense of disorientation threw off her balance, sending her careening into a brick wall. Her shoulder pressed against it and she flattened one hand against the side of her head, trying to control the dizziness. The person was disoriented. And uncomfortable.

  But he wasn’t in danger.

  She tried to catch her breath as a stunning certainty ricocheted through her. These thoughts were too coherent for an infant. And yet they definitely came from her intended student. She slumped back against the wall, barely holding herself upright as disturbing questions pelted her consciousness like hailstones.

  If this wizard she’d been called upon to teach was not a baby, why hadn’t she received The Call over a decade ago? The lad seemed to be suffering from some kind of accident. Could a blow to the head have triggered wizardly potential in him?

  She didn’t know. Drat. Many of her friends loved mysteries, but not her. Why hadn’t one of them gotten this one? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Lucinda felt a fierce protectiveness jolt through her. No way. This guy was hers. Lucinda had longed to be a mentor for centuries.

  A good thing, a little voice whispered inside her head. Because a seventh sense told her he was ready. She could feel the magical potential shimmering from him. Damn. She felt like a pregnant woman who’d just given birth, been handed a full-grown child, and told, "Here you go. You’re a mother now." In fact, it occurred to her that in that particular analogy, not only had she not realized she was pregnant, but she’d thought she could never even conceive!

  This isn’t fair! I need more time. I’m not ready for this!

  She could almost see Merlin’s sardonic green gaze. Yeah, like life is always fair.

  Lucinda shook her head. Okay, she’d manage. Somehow. In fact, the thought that she could start the teaching process right away held some appeal. She’d never been a patient person. Waiting twelve or thirteen years would have driven her nuts. And a teenager would be much easier to take care of than a baby. In fact, didn’t they usually want to do everything on their own?

  Sure. This would be just fine. Ever since she’d decided she might have to care for a tiny baby, a heavy sense of responsibility had dropped on her shoulders. Now it lifted. She straightened up and pushed herself away from the cold wall.

  Time to find this guy.

  Creeping further into the alley, she scanned the edges of the clutter lining the path. Garbage cans. Cardboard boxes. Wooden crates.

  The glint of tanned skin caught her gaze and she focused on a figure slumped on the ground behind a box. She hurried toward him and stopped about a meter away. What should she do now? This was definitely the person she’d been seeking. She sensed confused thoughts skimming the surface of his mind. Not quite conscious. She stepped forward and touched his shoulder.

  A fierce growl startled her and she leaped backward. He bolted to his feet as he swung around to face her. Her gaze followed his piercing eyes as he reached full height. In her peripheral vision, she saw his hand shoot to his hip. He tried to grasp something. A sword? That’s what his surface thoughts revealed. How odd. A slightly puzzled expression flickered across his face, then disappeared. Hidden behind a shield of keen intelligence.

  Her breathing slowed as they stared at one another. She could almost believe he was an ancient warrior displaced in time. He emanated a strong aura of power. His hair, dark and untamed, swept back from his face and tumbled over strong, broad--and very naked--shoulders.

  Naked?

  She allowed her gaze to continue down his firmly muscled chest past his waist. She quickly became cognizant of two startling facts. One, he was a fully mature adult male. Two, he was completely naked.

  Good heavens, how did she get into these predicaments?

  As her skin pebbled, she realized his gaze had started to wander, too. The edges of his mouth quirked up in a smile and a glimmer softened his granite eyes. Lucinda suddenly remembered her attire--or lack thereof. A scrap of satin and lace.

  He took a step forward and she jerked backwards, losing any facade of coolness she’d managed to present up to now. He stopped and studied her thoughtfully.

  Her gaze kept drifting down his chest, along the lightly furred arrow that conveniently pointed to the more interesting feature of the male anatomy. Especially in this man’s case.

  Yipes, don’t look there, she told herself. Yeah, right. That’s like telling yourself not to look at the Eiffel Tower when it’s standing right in front of you. And, right at this moment, the object of her discomfort stood as tall as that landmark.

  Forcing her gaze to meet his, she felt herself drawn into some strange, dark depths. Something about him frightened her--but intrigued her even more. She stepped back, but he reached out and clasped her hand. His body pulsed with suppressed energy, yet his touch felt gentle, coaxing.

  What’s going on? I’m a full-fledged, tenth level wizard. I should be in control here.

  She tugged her hand free, folded her arms over her chest, and scowled at him. What was it about this guy that threw her off so badly?

  "Who are you?" she demanded.

  He shook his head and said something she didn’t understand.

  Of course, that shouldn’t surprise her. The fact she had transported to France should have tipped her off that he probably didn’t speak English. Since her French was rusty at best--so rusty she hadn’t understood a word he’d said--she decided to use a spell to help them break the communication barrier.

  She held up one finger to indicate he should wait a moment, then she visualized him talking to her in her own language, comfortably and naturally, as if he’d been speaking it for years. Then she pointed her finger at him and spoke a quick incantation.

  "I’d like you to speak English now,

  At the snap of my fingers you’ll know how."

  She snapped her fingers. As the energy pulsed through him, he blinked a couple of times, then stared at her expectantly.

  She repeated her question. "Who are you?"

  "I don’t know."

  He spoke the words in a deep, resonant voice, without a trace of an accent. Her spell had worked quite nicely. After congratulating herself on her handiwork, the meaning of his words sank in.

  "You don’t know? Do you remember your name?"

  "No. I remember nothing at all."

  He spoke those words calmly and with supreme control. Which surprised her under the circumstances.

  How could he be so confident? It was as though her self-assurance had seeped out of her and into him. Doubts flashed through her mind and skittered along her nerve endings.

  Gently, he grasped her hands as though he didn’t want her to escape. The feel of his fingers wrapped around hers again sent a pulse of awareness shooting through her. An awareness of him as a man. Of her as a woman. Of his bare flesh so close to hers. A wild urge to touch him, to run her fingers down his chest--then lower--coursed through her.

  She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her uneven heartbeat. No man had ever affected her like this.

  This is what a Love Bond should feel like.

  The renegade thought careened through her mind but she brushed it aside. What she felt was just the excitement of the situa
tion. She was destined to bond with Rand, not this stranger.

  "And who are you?" he asked.

  His words melted through her, warm and persuasive.

  "I’m ... uh...." She groped desperately through the fog surrounding her memory for her name. "Divine."

  His gaze swept down and up her diminutive frame and swirled around her face. He smiled, one of those delightful half smiles that could steal a girl’s heart. His face came alive with shimmering attractiveness and Lucinda realized that smile could become addictive.

  "Yes, you are that," he said.

  "What?" She realized he referred to her last name and cleared her throat. "Uh ... no, I mean my name is Divine. Lucinda Divine."

  His smile broadened and he curled his fingers around her hand, then lifted it. Very slowly.

  She watched his lips descend with great concentration, having a long internal chat with herself. She really shouldn’t let this tall, devastatingly attractive man touch her this way. She should take control of the situation and tug her hand out of the way of his wonderfully full, sexy mouth.

  She licked her lips in anticipation. Yes, she really should pull away. His lips touched the back of her hand lightly, and her eyelids drifted closed. Tingles danced up her arm and through her chest. They seemed to kick-start her heart into a frenzy of activity as it fluttered within her ribs like a caged bird. Oh, Lord, she felt like she was going to melt into a sticky little puddle on the ground. She couldn’t help imagining he was kissing her mouth instead, his lips savoring the contact with a sweet sense of purpose, gently persuading her to open. The thought of his tongue lightly probing the inside of her mouth sent shivers through her, followed quickly by panic.

  It wasn’t that she’d never made love with a man--though she hadn’t. It was just that this man was totally naked, totally devastating to her senses, and totally not what she’d expected. With all the will she could muster, she expended the great amount of energy required to move back the fraction of an inch needed to separate her hand from his lips.

  "I ... uh...." What was wrong with her? She’d never been at a loss for words before and certainly never been bowled over by a man. After all, as a three-hundred-year old virgin, she had certainly learned to say no.