Wind and Shadow

Caroline

Wind and Shadow

Tori L. Ridgewood

Rayvin Woods, photographer and natural witch. She just wanted to start her life over again after a series of misadventures. She didn't count on rekindling a lost love when she came home to Talbot . . . or battling a malevolent vampire and his coven for her life.

Grant Michaels, police officer. He thought Rayvin was a murderer. He will do whatever it takes to protect the community he loves from danger . . . but will he learn to trust his heart, and the word of a witch, before it's too late?

Malcolm de Sade, cunning vampire, imprisoned underground for a year by Charlotte Fanning and Pike Mahonen (Mist and Midnight, Midnight Thirsts). His accidental release unleashes his hunger and ambition on a small, sleepy town . . .

Dedication

To my beloved grandmothers: Phyllis, who always encouraged my writing and enjoyed reading pretty much anything I composed, and Helen, whose pragmatism and persistence have become a model for me in recent years. I miss you both.

To my darling husband, Mark, for his unending support, and my children, Jack and Bridget, for encouraging their mom to follow her dream. Thank you for putting up with me and loving me unconditionally.

To my dear friend Frank, who was one of the first to read the early draft of Wind and Shadow. Wish you were here. BB.

To my kindred spirits, without whom this work could not have been completed: Allie, Angela, Anna, David, Golda, Kate, Jenn, Jenny, Monica, Rob, Sandi, Sue, and Tara. I can never thank you enough for your incredible patience, thoughtful feedback, and creative suggestions. Your belief in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself, has kept me going.

To Crystal and Karen. This book could not have been written without your childhood friendship. I treasure the memories of our adventures, and they continue to be an inspiration to me.

And, last but definitely not least, to my parents, Doug and Ada. You taught me how to love and appreciate books and reading, among many, many other things. I love you both more than words can express.

Table of Contents

Wind and Shadow

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Author

Previews

Prologue

In his dark, dank, grimy tomb, the vampire waited. He was patient. Pinned down by countless tons of broken rock and jagged boulders, and something else he recognized as mystical but was powerless to destroy, he also saw the futile waste of energy struggling would produce, and bided his time. Small vermin, unwise enough to wiggle through the smallest spaces, fall prey to his single free limb and gleaming, razor-sharp canine teeth. Sooner or later, the foolish mortals would err, and he would be free again to wreak havoc, seeking not just his mate, but also vengeance.

Time was on his side.

October 28

Chapter One

The sun was just beginning to set when Rayvin’s beaten red Plymouth Horizon passed the sign indicating the exit for Talbot. Several suitcases and boxes were tied down to the roof and covered with a secure tarp. They weighed down the hatchback, causing the vehicle to fishtail slightly in the thin slush coating the highway as it swerved to make the turn. The loaded small trailer covered with a second tarp and a web of bungee-cords followed suit, wavering from side to side for a moment as Rayvin adjusted her speed. Reaching back to rub the nape of her neck, the back of her hand pushed against the carved hairpin keeping her long, curly auburn hair in its bun; the pin slid free, falling somewhere behind her seat, and the locks spilled down around her shoulders. Sighing with irritation, she changed hands, keeping one firmly on the wheel while the other gingerly patted the boxes and bags crowding the backseat, searching for the hairpin. Her eyes stayed on the road, though she wasn’t concerned about the route. No matter that half a lifetime had passed since she had last travelled this road; she still knew exactly where each hill would be, the precise moment when a curve began and when the pavement straightened again.

Time seemed to have come to a standstill in this relatively remote corner of northeastern Ontario. The environment seemed unchanged in spite of the decade that had gone by after she had thumbed her final ride on the shoulder of this road, determined never to come back to Talbot. Memories came wandering unbidden and unwelcome to the forefront of her mind, as she gave up on the search for the hairpin and draped the length of her hair around the back of the headrest to keep it out of her way.

When Rayvin had hitch-hiked her way out of Talbot, ten years earlier, she had vowed to cut her hair as soon as she had settled. It would be part of her fresh start, her new life; she would change the colour, bleach away the red to platinum blonde, trim the curl down to a sleek pixie. Anything but the straggly, flaming mane that, she felt, marked her so clearly as different. It had been a banner, attracting attention. She had felt clearly the hostility on people’s faces as she passed them on the main street for the last time, chin high, heading for the beginning of the highway and whichever motorist would be kind enough to help her begin her journey to a new life. She had walked away from the only home she’d ever known with nothing but her backpack, filled to bursting and carving painful red marks into her shoulders. The whispers from onlookers peering out of open shop doors had followed her like the malevolent humidity, both urging her on and dragging her down. Her chest had felt so tight, and her eyes had been dry and burning, when she had passed the boy with the deep brown eyes. If there was anyone who would have believed her, she liked to think it would have been Grant Michaels.

They had rarely spoken, but she had liked the sound of Grant’s voice, the things he had said, and the way he had looked at her when they passed in school, with appreciation, interest, and respect. She would have liked to have gotten to know him better, and to have been friends. They might even have dated, were it not for his interfering, perverted friends. But he had turned his back on her, just like the rest, after her disastrous date with his best friend. The appreciation, interest and respect she had felt from him had changed in one night into hatred, anger, and disgust. Maybe even fear.

Rayvin had always felt his regard for her in the background and taken it as a comfort; after everything that happened, she missed it terribly. Without the kindness of a nice boy, her world had felt that much smaller and colder. Not even Andrea, her dearest friend and almost-sister, could fill that sudden emptiness. It felt much like when her mother had died.

In this way, unwanted and under pressure, Rayvin had left Talbot the day after her nineteenth birthday.

In her vehicle, her hands resting on the wheel, she recalled the sudden feeling of liberation as she had crossed the town limits, the glorious rush of hope and freedom that had filled every cell of her body when she had felt she had achieved her escape from accusation, anger, and fear. She could reinvent herself, and she would, in a place where anonymity was a gift. She would start with her hair.

But when the moment finally came, weeks later in the city, she couldn’t do it. Her hair was too much a part of her identity. Maybe Talbot was, too, in spite of her history. Her throat tightened as she wished once more that she had found some other alternative to coming back, and prayed to Goddess that time had healed what she could not.

It hadn’t been for lack of trying. She had gained her abilities as a healer from her mother. After Jason was hurt, she had at least attempted to do the right thing, but she had forgotten her mother’s final lesson. Some things could not be fixed, with medicine, or with magick. Things like broken vertebrae, and terminal cancer.

It’s just how things are, my darling, Rowan Woods had whispered from her hospital bed. She’d looked so small and pale. Rayvin recalled the shock of seeing her mother’s once-beautiful red hair lying against her scalp in a thin, limp layer, and how Rowan’s thin frail face had frightened her. I will miss you growing up. You will need me but I will not be there, physically.

We haven’t tried everything, Rayvin had protested. There are still a lot of herbs, and spells, way in the back of the book! The tears filling her eyes had blurred her vision, making her mother appear to be surrounded by a halo.

Rayvin smiled sadly at the memory. Her determination to put a broken body back together had been just as strong in her late teens as it had been when she was seven and losing her mother, but it had taken those two failed attempts at spellwork to make her realize the limits of her power. She still wondered if her own feelings toward the injured boy had interfered with the magick, in spite of her efforts to put those emotions aside. No one aside from Andrea had known that she had tried to heal Jason. At least the humiliation of her failure hadn’t spread like the other rumours about her. If it had worked, she wouldn’t have had to leave the only life she’d ever known.

She wouldn’t have had to walk away from the woods where her mother had taught her to respect magick. Rayvin had never grown to love the silence and the solitude of the bush, as her mom had, but she had gained an appreciation for it. She wondered if she would still be able to find the trails where her mother had shown her how to recognize helpful and harmful flowers, roots, berries, trees, and herbs.

What would her life have been like, if she’d been able to heal Jason? If he’d never been hurt in the first place? She might still be living in the gable room in Andrea’s house, her door across from Andrea’s door. She might have avoided some of the pain that she was now hoping to leave behind her. She would have tended her mother’s grave as faithfully as she’d once vowed. Andrea had promised to look after it, but Rayvin still felt guilty about abandoning her mother’s remains. Visiting her would be one of her first priorities, once she got settled in.

Lost in her thoughts, the appearance of red and blue pulsating lights in her rearview mirrors escaped her attention for a full five minutes. A brief pulsing siren woke her up. Shock and disbelief exploded in her chest and throat, as much from interrupted anticipation of the journey’s end as from interrupted anticipation of the journey’s end as from embarrassment. Her heart accelerated with adrenaline, and she had to fight the urge to accelerate.

Breathe, Rayvin, she told herself, aiming the vehicle for a section of straight road shoulder. Braking carefully, she laughed ruefully. She had never gotten a ticket before. Magick had nothing to do with it; she was simply good and careful. She’d made it a general rule to avoid problems with civil authorities but here she was, not twenty minutes away from her destination, already being cited or warned or fined or whatever. This was not an auspicious start.

I should have remembered to check my almanac, she muttered to herself. It’s probably a waning moon.

Waiting with her hands on the wheel and looking straight ahead as her driving instructor had advised, so many years before, her eyes couldn’t help but stray to the tall, well-proportioned male figure in dark navy blue striding along the pavement to her car door. The bulky standard-issue padded jacket enhanced his broad shoulders; corded muscle and tendon were thrown into brief relief above the collar as he got closer, and the gun belt slung almost casually around his narrow waist suggested a healthy contrast in size between shoulders and abdomen. Clearly, this was neither a sergeant close to retirement nor a fresh recruit. Then he was there, tapping gently on the glass with the butt of a long-handled flashlight. At his gesture, she lowered the window, squinting against the orange glare of the sunset. Unable to make out a face from the officer’s position, silhouetted against the dying sun, she looked directly at his mirrored glasses. The convex angle distorted her nose and the wrinkle of skin above it that was produced by her squinting; she hoped that she didn’t look as hag-like as Smokey suggested, and tried to relax her vision as she asked the inevitable question.

What’s the problem, officer?

The silence stretched a trifle longer than it should have. Then, just on the edge of discomfort, the policeman responded. License and registration, please.

She shivered slightly, trying to pretend it was only from the chilly air that was quickly invading her car. The presence of the police officer, so close to Talbot, was forcing up flashbacks that were taking her breath away. The strobing lights, primary colours casting shadows against her bedroom walls. The degradation and disgrace of interrogation, first in front of her foster mother in the spacious living room of the house she had come to love after her mother had died. Then the further humiliation as she was marched out, in handcuffs, and had seen her foster sister’s tearful expression reflected in the hallway mirror.

Rummaging through her purse first for her wallet, and then leaning across to the glove compartment, Rayvin fought down rising panic, recalling the glaring, accusatory stares of the neighbours as they gathered in little bathrobe-dressed groupings to mutter acidly amongst themselves as a firm hand pushed her head gently under the edge of the car door. The officer shifted his posture, and something metallic clinked against her car door, echoing the cold sound of a key locking her into a sterile, tiny isolation room. Restrained by the seatbelt, Rayvin had to reach slightly for the papers she needed; the movement pulled her sweater up her body, a hands-breadth from the waist of her jeans, and as she wrestled the insurance papers from between maps and Canadian Tire money, she felt a perceptible change in the atmosphere. It was almost as if the cop had suddenly sucked air through his teeth, and she had heard the slight sound register only in the most primal part of her brain.

She froze.

Her heart thudded. Magick flooded her body, an instinctual survival tactic. She closed her eyes, pretending to fumble with the document, struggling now for control. Great Mother, if she lashed out now, she’d be back where she’d started in every sense of the term. The radio came to life for a heart-stopping few seconds, crackling with static, as a field of energy built around her and rang in her ears. She trembled with the force of it, and then the momentum ceased as she regained control of her breathing. The yoga classes and meditative visualizations had been worth every penny she’d scrounged to pay for them, if they helped her to avoid repeating history.

Rayvin swallowed uncomfortably as the officer removed his sunglasses to scan her papers. He pulled a pencil and pad out of a pocket and wrote something down. He shifted his stance, and with an effort, she stopped biting her lip. He was probably trained to see that as an indication of guilty behaviour or something, she thought to herself. Attempting to keep her forehead smooth as she strained to see past the shadows on his face was impossible. Maybe if she appeared to be furrowing her brow in concern he might be more lenient.

What’s the problem, officer? she finally asked again, half-embarrassed at the way the cliché sounded. It felt phony, but the silence had stretched to the breaking point. Mentally running through the last moments of her driving, she recalled the speed limit. She’d been within five kilometres per hour over or under, she was sure, and the last time she’d checked, all her lights were functioning. Her used vehicle didn’t have any dents or broken glass. Her stickers were up to date. Maybe he just had to fill a quota before the end of the month, or something.

An SUV approached from the east, heading in the opposite direction; automatically, she turned her head as it passed. The light from the SUV’s headlamps, just starting to wash the road in the early twilight, passed across the cop’s face and clearly illuminated every feature. Rayvin’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be. Please, please, let it not be true. Let this be a trick of the light. She couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place; time seemed to slow down as he tucked the notepad away and folded her papers. The backwash of air from the passing vehicle caused his scent to surround her. She felt heat rising from deep between her thighs, tendrils of warmth sparkling upward through her core, swelling into her breasts and tightening her nipples. No other man had ever made her feel this way, and deep in her heart, she knew no one else ever would. She had felt this urge to be with him when she was too young to know better, when these feelings had both thrilled and frightened her. She had managed to ignore the strange magnetic pull she had felt then, by ignoring him as much as possible. But it had taken so much strength to stay away from him, to protect him from herself; in this state, vulnerable and more than a little defeated, she wasn’t sure if she could find it again. Turning to face away, desperate to compose her expression before he saw her, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands, pressing her palms into the raised leather chevrons and curving her fingers until her nails just bit into the sensitive skin folding out beneath the curve at the midsection.

Time had passed; they had both matured; she was an adult and could control her impulses. How had she not recognized his voice? It had deepened since the last time she’d seen him, suspicion and hatred rippling from his aura; he’d refused to look at her directly, then, but she’d felt the burn of his gaze against her back. Once more, she could sense him staring at her. How she had blocked his energy before, she wasn’t sure—maybe her exhaustion from the eight-hour drive had something to do with it. But now she had recognized Grant Michaels, and a light was growing inside her that she was powerless to control. Vitality, a powerful earth energy, melded with something not quite tame and entirely masculine penetrated her awareness, forcing her to concentrate on her own mental and emotional shielding. He was clearly waiting for her to turn and look at him, but she couldn’t risk looking at him and losing herself. Not again.

So, where are you headed, miss? the officer asked gruffly. If you’re not from the region, you need to be aware of the night dangers this far north.

Isn’t that a bit obvious, Grant Michaels? Ravyin kept her voice low, unclenching her teeth just enough to speak. Drop the ‘miss,’ you know who I am.

Just being professional, Ray. Don’t take it personally, Michaels replied, leaning down to rest his right elbow on the edge of the window. But seriously, what are you doing here?

It was probably driving him crazy, the way she kept her face in profile to avoid looking at him. She remembered how easily he could read truth and lies in a person’s expression, and consciously denied him the chance to judge hers. In her peripheral vision, Rayvin could see his jaw clench. He was biting back an urge to order her out of the vehicle, she just knew it.

Heat moved through her skin when he finally snapped. Fine, keep your secrets. That’s nothing new. Ten, eleven years—it’s plain to see you haven’t changed. I’ll find out sooner or later anyway; this isn’t the place you want to be if you want to be left alone. But it’s not like you don’t know that.

His anger stung, but she refused to rise to the bait.

If I’ve done something wrong, officer, I’m happy to take my ticket, Rayvin responded icily. She enunciated each word carefully. Otherwise, I’d like to have my license and registration back, please, so I can be on my way.

Silently, without changing his stance, Michaels extended the arm he was leaning against the door, offering the papers just outside of her range of vision so she was forced to turn to see them. She moved to take them, and he pulled them away, just out of her reach. Rolling her eyes, she turned again and lunged, this time catching them firmly.

He didn’t let go.

Exhaling sharply in frustration, she tugged once, and then finally turned her eyes up to his face. Her skin tingled as she took in how very close he was—only inches away, so close she could feel the damp heat of his breath on her skin. The dark brown of his eyes searching her own was nearly irresistible, pulling her in, inviting her even with their fury, or because of it, to explore the passion she could sense just beneath the surface. It was too much. Imperceptibly, he was closing the distance between them, anger turning into something else just as dangerous. Electricity crackled again on the radio, though no power was reaching it from the stilled engine.

Let go, Michaels. Rayvin’s voice came out in a whisper, nearly a plea.

His eyes moved to her mouth as she spoke; she saw them widen as she licked her upper lip in nervousness.

For the space of a heartbeat, they were frozen together, a breath from sweet, scorching contact.

Suddenly, he released his grip and stepped back, straightening his posture. Skin burning, eyes prickling in rebellion against her self-control, Ravyin turned away, dropping her identification on the seat beside her. Blinking fiercely, forcing aside the feeling of loss and emptiness threatening to overwhelm her, she turned the key in the ignition. He remained a standing sentinel in her peripheral vision as she turned the key in the ignition. She could see his hands clenched into fists. Linkin Park blared from the speakers as she pulled away, building up speed. As much as she did not want to look at him, she was unable to stop herself. Her gaze flicked back to watch him in the rearview mirror. She held her breath until he finally turned to march back to the police car.

How fitting that the last person she had looked in the eye ten years before in this town, was the first to do so again.

Chapter Two

Watching Ravyin twist and bend across the car seat had almost been Corporal Grant Michaels’ undoing. Thank God for the fibreglass door that separated them. Watching her drive away, he couldn’t help visualizing the way her close-fitting violet v-neck had parted from the hip-hugging black denim. Christ, they looked like they’d been painted onto the smooth curve of her thighs and the sumptuous roundness of her bum. When her sweater had lifted, revealing a strip of satiny-smooth skin, he’d seen the top edge of red lace panties just peeking over the low waist of her jeans, and had felt himself harden instantly in pure male response.

He shifted uncomfortably in the vehicle seat, images churning in the back of his brain even as he made note of the stop. A strong gust of wind shook the car briefly.

She was even more beautiful than Grant remembered, which probably meant that she was even more dangerous. Rayvin had figured prominently in all of his teenage fantasies. He couldn’t shake the guilt of wanting her even after she had attempted to kill his best friend. The sight of her should have made his blood run cold.

He had burned for her then, and had known that he would burn in hell for it. Then she had left, arrogantly walking out of town toward the highway without even an apology for what she’d done, a heavy backpack weighing down that sexy strut, and his relief had been mingled with his disappointment. It had taken several years and many relationships—all of them brief—to get her out of his head. She was dangerous, unbalanced, a killer without conscience.

Perhaps that was part of her allure.

Once, she had had the ability to turn him on with just a glance. There was something about the way she carried herself, and the slow curving smile she’d offered him, once or twice, in high school. Even though she was shorter than most of the other girls, she stood out from the crowd somehow, and it wasn’t just the beauty of her long red hair. Sometimes, she wore spike heels or push-up bras, bustiers and short-shorts or goth makeup to accentuate her looks, but she didn’t need any of it.

Her legs were perfect, she was round and luscious in all the right places, her grey eyes huge with long smoky lashes. Rayvin was untamed, intelligent, and unapologetic, all of which he’d found appealing, admirable, and incredibly sexy. She had the courage to be different, and to enjoy her difference, which was a rarity in a small town like theirs.

He remembered her saying interesting things, thoughtful things, and wishing he could speak to her in an intelligent way. Afraid he would sound like a fool, he had never attempted to strike up a conversation with her. Rayvin Woods was out of his league, and he’d known it. So had most of his buddies.

But all of her shyness had been a facade, a trick to divert her peers from the truth about her: she was powerful, selfish, cold, and wild. A threat to others. She knew damn well what she could do with those devastating, compelling eyes. Having used them once to her advantage, chances were she would do it again, if she hadn’t already. Who knew what she had done to others since he’d last seen her? Maybe she’d succeeded in a subsequent attempt at murder.

Grant inhaled, slowly, trying to lower his blood pressure. A hint of her scent still lingered in his senses, an intoxicating mix of wildflowers and cedar. The scent of a summer night. He forced himself to lower the window and take a deep breath of crisp night air to clear his head. He still wanted her, and he hated himself for it.

The more things change, he muttered to himself, willing his blood to redirect itself to more appropriate appendages.

The moment her little red hatchback had passed him on the highway, the second it had taken to register the sight of her profile, even at 80 kph, all the years since the last time he’d seen her had fallen away to nothingness. Once again, he had found himself following her, like a dog in heat.

He wouldn’t not allow himself to be embarrassed like he’d been in high school, constantly failing in his efforts to have her talk to him, smile at him, or just look at him. The memories of his friends’ taunts and the sting of rejection were still raw. No, he would not let her have any power over him now. He was a police officer, an upstanding citizen. Grant Michaels’ reputation would not suffer because he had a case of blue balls over a chick from high school.

Rayvin’s face rose in his mind. His body rebelliously followed suit. Long, curly hair in all shades and tones of red. Pink lips, moistened with a darker pink tongue. Eyes the colour of water under ice, the grey at the edges darkening to nearly black.

Grant gripped the steering wheel as the past came back to him. Memories of his unrealized plans to get her alone and beg a kiss, to touch her neck with his tongue, nibble her ears, run his hand along the contours of her perfect body. Rayvin Woods, the first woman he had truly lusted after. He leaned his head back against the head rest, recalling how he’d daydreamed that they might have their first time together. At the time, he didn’t know how likely it was that she’d already been with someone.

When he was fifteen, he’d fantasized that he and Rayvin would come together, sharing a sleeping bag in a tent somewhere on the shores of Lake Temiskaming, on a hot summer night with the stars blazing above. His imagination had supplied many details: the way she would rise above him, their bodies naked, her fragrant, silky hair tumbling all around him. He’d wondered if her nipples looked like strawberries, and what they would feel like to touch, or to put in his mouth. His fantasizing had not been limited to the privacy of his bedroom, either.

With chagrin, Grant recalled watching her work with clay in an art class and envisioning her hands moving over his chest before circling to