Lord of the Vampires (Royal House of Shadows #1)(45)
Author: Gena Showalter

Laila probably craved him more than the air she breathed. The thought alone caused jealousy to rise up, sharp and biting. Jane ignored the unproductive response. A few problems with turning herself in. One, Laila could wield magic. Jane could not. Two, Jane’s secret could be found out. And if the queen whipped her own daughter, what would she do to an enemy impersonating one of her children? Three, what if Nicolai followed her to Delfina? He could be captured again, his memories wiped. His body used.

His body belonged to Jane. No one else.

She rolled to her side, clutching the pillow to her middle, suddenly reminded of the day she had received Nicolai’s book. She’d read a few passages and had thought of him for hours afterward. She had been obsessed with him, really. After reading a few more passages, she had fantasized about him, practically making love to her pillow. Then, she had gone to him.

Maybe she could reach him again.

She closed her eyes and imagined him inside her cabin, puttering around, fixing things, then seducing her into bed. There, he touched her, stripped her. Kissed her, tasted her. Consumed her. Goose bumps spread. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath, the slick glide of his skin.

“Nicolai,” she breathed.

Jane.

His voice, so deep, so familiar. For a moment, she experienced a wave of dizziness, felt as if she were floating. Then the mattress was beneath her again, and…cold. Cold? In less than a second, the mattress had gone from warmed to chilled. Impossible. Unless— Her eyelids popped open, hope unfurling.

Hope dying. She hadn’t whisked to Nicolai. She was inside her cabin. On her own bed.

Jane jolted upright, trying to suck air into her lungs. A knot formed in her throat, and nothing could penetrate it. No. She couldn’t be here. No, no, no. She popped to her feet, nearly toppling as her knees shook. She rushed around, stumbling a few times, grabbing her knickknacks to see if they were real or imagined.

Please be imagined.

They were solid, dusty, as if they hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. They were real. She choked back a sob.

No! Tears blurred her vision. She swiped her arms over her dresser, knocking everything to the floor. A glass vase shattered. A hairbrush clattered. How the hell had she gotten here? She’d wanted to be with Nicolai. She needed to be with him and had to get back. She would get back.

She just had to figure out how.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JANE RAGED FOR HALF AN HOUR. Panicked for an hour after that. Then she did what she did best—reasoned. There was a logical explanation for what had happened. There always was. So, she brushed her teeth, showered and redressed in her robe. No way she’d dress in jeans and a T-shirt. She didn’t belong here anymore, and wouldn’t dress as if she did.

She belonged there. With Nicolai.

She stretched out on her bed, and her comforter plumped around her. Okay. She could do this. What had she been doing before she’d ended up here? Lying in bed, just like this, thinking about Nicolai. Imagining the two of them making love, actually. Good, that was good. She would just do that again.

She cleared her mind with a little shake of her head, drew in a deep breath, released the air…slowly…and forced her muscles to relax. A picture of Nicolai rose front and center. Dark hair shagging around his head, silver eyes liquid with desire. For her. Lips parted as he breathed shallowly, his own desire raging. His fangs peeked out.

Her stomach quivered, but other than that, nothing happened. No dizziness, no movement whatsoever. Keep going. In her mind, she saw him remove his shirt, slowly pulling the material over his head. His skin, his beautifully bronzed skin, glistened exquisitely. His ni**les were small and brown, utterly lickable. That scrumptious trail of hair lead from his navel to a c**k she’d once loved with her mouth.

Warm moisture pooled between her legs. But again, no floating, no changing locations.

Damn it. She hadn’t been this unsuccessful since the age of eight, when she’d read about making synthetic diamonds in the microwave. Diamonds she’d hoped to present to her mother on her birthday. The charcoal bricks and peanut butter necessary for the conversion had survived the lengthy cook time. The dish she’d put them in had not. Neither had the microwave.

A chuckle escaped her as she suddenly recalled her mother’s reaction. They’d been standing in the kitchen, her darling mother looking through the thick, dark smoke to Jane, who was holding the book that explained exactly how to do it. Her disbelieving expression was comical.

“Diamonds?” her mother asked.

“I followed every step, didn’t miss a single one.”

Her mother coughed as she claimed the book. Several minutes passed before she turned her attention to the blackened mess inside the microwave. “You followed every step, did you?”

“Yes!”

“And you used a Pyrex dish?”

Jane blinked. “P-Pyrex?”

Dizziness caused the image to waver, fade, and that dizziness caused a bubble of excitement to burst through her chest. This was it. She was returning….

The moment the dizziness passed, she popped open her eyelids and sat up. For a moment, her unfamiliar surroundings simply couldn’t register. She was perched on a linoleum floor in the center of a kitchen. There was a stainless-steel stove, a sink, scuffed cabinets. The layout was familiar—she’d just seen it in her mind—but the colors were not.

Once, the walls had been painted yellow. Now they were painted blue. Once, the refrigerator had been silver. Now it was black. Still she knew. This had been her kitchen. She’d grown up here. Her mother had stood just in front of that sink, coughing from the smoke wafting from the microwave. A high-pitched scream suddenly echoed, a jumble of words following. “Intruder! Thief! Murderer! What the hell are you doing here?” a woman gasped from behind her. “Who are you? Get out! Get out right now! Billy, call 9-1-1.”

Jane whipped around, instinctively holding up her hands in a you-can-trust-me gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Absolute fear coated the woman’s features. She grabbed a knife from the counter, waving the sharp tip in Jane’s direction. “That’s what all the psychos say.”

Jane backed away.

“Billy!”

“What?” a sleepy male voice growled from around the corner.

Oh, crap. Reinforcements. Remembering the house’s layout, Jane bolted, heading straight for the front door. She raced into the morning sunlight, the length of her robe tangling around her feet. And sure enough, she was in her old neighborhood. Not much had changed. The houses were small, a little run-down and crowded too close together.