Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(52)
Author: Kristen Ashley

And it was then, he roared (yes, roared) “What have you done to your hair?” and he did this as his eyes narrowed dangerously so Sibyl jumped again.

“Colin?” she asked in a timid voice.

He was across the short space to her in one angry stride, pulling her to him with his hands closing around her upper arms so painfully she cried out. He ignored her and crushed her to his body.

“Why do you use this name when you’re with me?” His voice was full of warning and his eyes were hard. “I no longer find it amusing.”

His hands were biting into her flesh and she stared at him, filled with terror.

She’d looked into those eyes before, she knew those eyes.

“Royce?” she ventured.

At the sound of her uncertainty, he pushed her slightly away and shook her roughly. So roughly that her teeth clattered together and her head snapped back.

She grabbed onto his upper arms to steady herself but as quickly as he shook her, he stopped. He seemed to notice where he was and she watched as he stared around the room. He took in her jars and bottles, the essential oils neatly labelled and stacked on shelves. The vats of ingredients carefully lined up on the floor. The huge mixing bowls and paddles she used. The rolls of stickers with which she labelled her products.

“What is this? You’re at the witch’s cottage. Are you a witch? Have you bewitched me?” he rapped out these questions in quick succession, his voice low and even. The same voice Colin used when he was very angry but controlling it with an effort of will.

“Royce, you’re –”

She stopped speaking when she saw that something was changing in him. It changed his eyes, his face, even the line of his frame. It was something even more otherworldly than before.

Then, suddenly, his hands gentled, his eyes warmed and they roved over her face. They did this as if he hadn’t seen her in years. Indeed, as if he hadn’t seen her in centuries.

As if she was the most precious creature in the entire universe.

Her stomach did a somersault.

Then he lifted one hand to her hair. Capturing a tendril at the side of her face, he twirled it in his fingers tenderly.

“Oh Beatrice,” he murmured, his voice thick and throaty but she knew he was not speaking to her, he was talking to someone else. Someone who wasn’t there. And his voice so filled with pain that Sibyl felt a lump form in the base of her throat. “I gave you my hair.”

She had no idea what he was talking about but, at the tender ache in his voice, the pain stark in his eyes, she felt compelled to lay her hand on his cheek. “Royce?”

His gaze slowly shifted to hers.

“You’re so like her.” His voice was now soft, his eyes unbelievably warm. “So like her.” He cupped her face worshipfully in his hands, making her knees go week. “But not her.”

“I know you,” Sibyl whispered to him. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

“And I saw you in her.” He smiled a beautiful, heart-wrenching, sad smile. “You called me Colin when you were her. I thought she was attempting to vex me.”

Her heart lurched at the sound of adoration in his tone when he spoke of “her”.

“How can you be here? Is it me that’s doing this to you?” Sibyl asked.

He shook his head, she knew it was not in the negative but telling her he didn’t know.

“Where are you from?” she asked urgently.

“I know not,” he answered.

“Another time? A different place?” she pressed.

“Not here,” he told her the only thing he knew.

“Royce, who’s Beatrice?”

His look turned intense and he whispered, “She’s you.”

And then, before she knew what he was about, he wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled her head back with a gentle tug, his arm gliding around her waist and he kissed her.

And his kiss was sweet and wild and beautiful and everything a kiss was meant to be, because it was filled with yearning and love.

Experiencing the sad joy and intense beauty of the kiss, she relaxed into him and felt tears burn the backs of her eyes then roll down her temples. When she opened them after he lifted his head, she knew in an instant Royce was gone and Colin had returned.

“What the hell is going on?” he clipped, releasing her, he stepped back and looked about him.

“Colin?” she queried, staring at him in disbelief, her heart in her throat.

A tremor went through her as he looked around with angry bemusement.

Sibyl’s mind was awhirl. This was not right, not real and very, very wrong.

Did she do this to him? Her mother tried to be a witch, believed in magic, but even though Sibyl had grown up around the pagan religion, she’d never truly believed in magic.

Except, of course, to think it would one day bring her a soulmate.

With her strange, lifelike dreams, meeting Colin and all that had happened since Lacybourne (and now this), she was beginning to feel that there was some other power at play here and it could be, maybe had to be, magic.

“What’s going on?” Colin thundered, masculine confusion morphing into anger very quickly.

“You need to sit down,” she told him gently.

“I don’t need to sit down, I need to know what… the f**k… is going on,” he returned slowly and through gritted teeth.

“Do you remember anything?” Sibyl asked and stepped toward him.

His eyes took her in, sweeping the length of her and they stopped on the way up.

“What’s happened to your arms?”

She looked down at her upper arms and saw the dark, angry, red welts that had risen up where Colin/Royce had grabbed her.

“You’ve been crying.” It was not a question or a statement but an accusation.

Sibyl took a deep breath. How to explain?

“You… Colin, you grabbed me and you shook me,” she told him quietly and then took another step toward him when his face blanched.

“I did that to you?”

She laid her hand on his chest and made honest excuses for him, “You weren’t yourself.”

“Christ!”

Sibyl winced because that one word was an explosion. His hand went to his hair and tore through it before he continued speaking.

“I don’t remember anything. I was in the kitchen, wondering where you were and I heard the music. I was going to come out and the next thing I knew I was kissing you.”

She used the hand on his chest to push him back carefully. He didn’t resist and fell into the flowered cushions of a wicker chair she kept in her lab. She hated to see him this way and wished things were different between them. She wished they were such that she could comfort him in the way she wanted, needed to comfort him.