Through Her Eyes
Published By: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc.
Published: Apr 29, 2009
ISBN # 9781419920561
Available in: Epub, HTML, Microsoft Reader, Adobe Acrobat, Mobipocket (.prc), Rocket
Categories: Romance>Erotic Romance
He’s not psychic, but Des knows things Claire’s power can’t reveal. He knows about a psychopathic madman who’s set his sights on Claire, and the fact that her brainy, rational exterior hides a deeply sensual, uninhibited woman. Des also knows something else—that he will claim Claire as his.
If he can keep her alive, that is.
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stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of
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An Excerpt From: THROUGH HER EYES
Copyright ? BETH KERY, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
She awoke, chilled and disoriented, lying alone on a
couch. She?d been dreaming about the man in the library. No?it couldn?t
have been a dream. She wouldn?t accept that.
She sat up abruptly and realized she was still in the
library. Her gaze darted around frantically. The fire in the hearth had
cooled. Only a few embers continued to glow with heat. Snow still covered
the trees and shrubbery outside the window.
She was still in the dream.
Pain sliced through her as if she?d been dealt a blow
when she saw him. He wore his jeans again and sat in the chair by the
hearth. He leaned with his head in his hands, holding the same desolate
pose she?d first seen him in when she came in the library.
He was alone again, distant from her?untouchable.
At least he was still there, she consoled herself.
Claire paused when she considered what had just happened between her and
this man?this complete stranger. But then she recalled the reason why she
had wanted so desperately to reach out to him.
She had wanted to warn him. She reached out with her
Yes, it was still there. Some threat, some danger as yet
unformed but taking shape even at this moment. She stood, knowing she had
to reach him again in order to alert him. This was his world. He had
power in it while she was a mere ghost.
She went to him, her cheeks heating as she recalled what
had occurred between them.
Her eyes clenched tight. Everything had spun so
incredibly out of control. But at least she?d gotten his attention, she
thought with a wry twist to her mouth. He?d seen her, touched her. Now she
needed to warn him within the realm of the dream, get his help to stop
whatever tragedy was about to take place here, in his time.
Claire glanced down, saw her
nightgown intact, as if he had never touched her. Why had he covered her?
Why had he dressed himself? She knew she should be glad that he had but
instead she only experienced a sense of hollowness.
Once I have you I?ll always be empty in your absence.
No, no, she couldn?t consider that now. The sense of
danger swelled, as though the threat existed simultaneously both in the
house and within her own breast. She moved over to
him, touching his shoulder.
?You have to come with me,? she whispered urgently.
Claire didn?t know what she?d expected from him but it
wasn?t the haggard, tormented expression that she saw on his features when he
leaned back in the chair and considered her dully. Tears pricked behind her
eyelids. Where was the heat, the focused, intense desire that she?d seen in
his silver eyes before?
?Please come with me before it?s too late.?
She didn?t trust herself to touch him again. Apparently
her verbal plea was sufficient. He stood and followed her without speaking.
Claire was too anxious about the unfolding danger to notice the way he
trailed after her resignedly up the grand staircase, like a man being lead
to the gallows after years of torture and imprisonment.
She didn?t hesitate when they reached the top of the
grand staircase, heading directly for the master bedroom?Aunt Isabelle?s
Enough illumination from the moon and streetlights came
in through the windows for Claire to sufficiently see the large, elegantly
decorated bedroom. Her brow crinkled in confusion. The bedding on her
aunt?s four-poster bed looked mussed, as though someone had just been lying
on it. Otherwise the room seemed empty and eerily still. Even so, Claire
sensed a watching menace. The claustrophobic sensation that she?d felt in
her recent nightmares crept into her awareness. A sure knowledge passed
through her, cold and sharp.
They weren?t alone.
She walked across the room to the wood-paneled door that
began at waist level. The door stood open, blocking her view into the space
behind it. It was the entrance to the dumbwaiter?situated ideally so that
the original owners of the nineteenth century mansion could have trays or
other items sent directly to their room from the kitchen staff.
Her skin pebbled with a deep, primal fear. She hesitated
but the man behind her didn?t. He seemed galvanized into action. He pushed
her aside, his movements now forceful and determined. He opened the
dumbwaiter door wide, exposing the interior to Claire?s gaze.
Despite her desire to look away her gaze remained glued
to the grisly spectacle. A body hung in the dumbwaiter shaft limply, the
head falling at an unnatural, sickening angle. The woman?s neck was broken.
Long, fair hair spilled forward over her face. A silent scream rose in
Claire?s throat as the man reached forward. The body swayed at his touch. A
rope had been tied around the corpse?s neck.
He lifted, slackening the cruel hold on the woman?s
slender throat. A pale, lifeless arm fell forward through the dumbwaiter
opening. The silver of the bracelet on her wrist glowed with a life of its
own in the faint moonlight while the turquoise seemed dense and black,
mottling the corpse?s fair skin.
Claire stumbled back, escape her sole primitive
directive. A dark figure stood in front of her, aggressively blocking her
path to the door. Isabelle?s face looked as stern as a judge?s and deadly
pale. She held up her hand but Claire couldn?t determine in her rising
terror if Isabelle was bidding her to attend to what was behind her or if
she was angrily ordering her away.
Claire awoke to the sound and sensation of terrified,
trapped cries in her throat. She sat up, gasping wildly for air. The sheets
were damp with her sweat, the bedside lamp still on. She panted while her
gaze flew anxiously across the everyday items of her room?seeking comfort,
She saw the skirt she?d set out for work tomorrow laid
across the back of the upholstered chair beside her closet. There was the
book, just as she?d left it on the bedside table?Dreams, Prophecy, and
?It wasn?t real,? she assured herself.
The vision of the dead woman hanging in the dumbwaiter,
then her aunt?s white face and wrathful gaze, flashed graphically into her
mind?s eye. She shoved aside the book. The silver and turquoise bracelet
still lay on her bedside table. The same bracelet she had seen on the
?It?ll never happen,? she mouthed soundlessly.
She inspected her body with her eyes and hands, assuring
herself that she was intact. Alive. Her final thought caused her to shake
her head irritably. Her imagination had more than likely been stirred up by
the book. Nothing more.
Logic implied all of it had been a figment of her
imagination, of course.
Even the part about the man.