Demon's Portal

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Demon’s Portal ISBN 9781419911675 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Demon’s Portal Copyright© 2007 Elyssa Lynne Edited by Helen Woodall. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication August 2007 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

DEMON’S PORTAL

Elyssa Lynne

Dedication To all of us who seek refuge in fantasy. May we make our realities even more wonderful.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Disneyland: Disney Enterprises, Inc. Schlage: The Schlage Company Superman: DC Comics

The Ace of Wands Aces stand for raw potential, for the excitement of a new endeavor, for possibilities that may not even be dreamed of yet. Wands stand for personal power and fulfillment. Put them together? The Ace of Wands is a card that foretells a rush of enthusiasm, an opening to new possibilities, an expanding of potentials and strengths. This is an opportunity to take on the world, to discover your courage, to go beyond your previous limits. It may demand that you face your fears, for only by doing that can you achieve your goals—and your heart’s desire. In Demon’s Portal, Sharla draws the Ace of Wands from a tarot deck. She thinks it’s a mistake, a sarcastic joke by fate to give the card of enthusiasm and potential to a woman whose life is dull and ordinary. But as the card predicts, her life is about to change. To her amazement Sharla approaches the new and terrifying challenges with enthusiasm as she discovers the strength and courage she never knew she possessed. And she needs every ounce of both to face the horrors—and the love—that come through the Demon’s Portal.

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Chapter One The cab pulled over to the curb before the city’s old two-story museum. In Sharla’s mind—unfortunately only in her mind—the naked Greek god who sat next to her opened the door and stepped out, every inch of his muscular tanned body gleaming in the glow from the streetlamp. In reality Shar opened the door for herself, handed the driver his fee and tip and climbed out into the warm spring night. Now if this was a perfect world Apollo would slide his arm around her and caress her rear while he leaned his dark curly head close in order to whisper erotic suggestions into her ear. And he wouldn’t be wearing any damned fig leaf either. Sharla sighed as she stared at the brightly lit building. The banner proclaiming the night’s fundraiser fluttered in the breeze, the spotlights illuminating the words in the hopes of drawing in a larger crowd. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home with a good erotic book and her handsome romantic Greek god in his clever disguise of a dildo. Another cab pulled up at the curb, another passenger climbed out. Heels clicked on the sidewalk as the woman joined her to stand companionably at her side. “Come on, you can do it, Sharla.” Jessica Holmes, that gray-haired denizen of the museum’s gift shop, captured her arm in the way the nonexistent Greek god couldn’t. “They don’t need me,” Shar protested. “I’m only a very junior assistant curator. Gregory can manage without me.” “And you’ll be in for another lecture for not schmoozing with the paying public. Come on. Put in an appearance. Smile at people. Make sure you’re noticed. Then slip out when no one’s looking.”

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“That’s easy for you to say. You like these affairs.” But she responded to Jessie’s tugging at her arm and started toward the wide concrete steps that led to the museum’s brightly lit front doors. The smell of…sulfur? rotten eggs?…reached her and she stopped, looking around to find the cause. She could just imagine Gregory’s fussy wrath if his guests were driven from the premises before they’d had a chance to open their wallets and dig out the plastic. Jessie grinned at her. “Quit dawdling.” “I was just wondering where that awful smell was coming from.” Jessie lifted her head and sniffed. “Jasmine? It’s potent but I wouldn’t call it awful. There’s some planted along the steps. It’s blooming in full force tonight, isn’t it?” “No. This is something rancid. Can’t you smell it?” Jessie shook her head. “You’re imagining things. You’ve been standing over too many packing crates and using too many tubes of funny glues.” Sharla tried not to gag from the sulfurous stench. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed movement as if someone pulled back into the shadows of the alley beside the museum building. Kids, she supposed. Kids with stink bombs. She should be glad it was nothing worse. But why didn’t Jessie notice it? She allowed the woman to pull her up the sweeping steps to the double glass doors of the old building. Mr. Romlin, the dapper little security guard, bowed as he admitted them. The babble of voices accompanied by the lilting strains of Mozart provided by a determined string quartet drifted from the main exhibition hall. “Are there many people?” Jessie asked in a hushed voice. “Mr. Gregory is very happy,” Mr. Romlin assured her. He took her coat then turned to Shar. “Go ahead,” Shar told the other woman. “I’ll be right behind you.”

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“Gregory will notice if you bolt for it and don’t put in an appearance,” Jessie warned but the lure of the crowd, the music—and probably the hors d’oeuvres—took control of her feet and she headed for the party. Shar dragged off her own coat. “Something’s wrong outside,” she told the security guard and tried to describe the smell and movement she had glimpsed. “I could have been wrong,” she added. “I really don’t know what I saw. But I’m positive about that awful stench.” Mr. Romlin patted her arm. “I’ll send someone out to look for whatever’s causing it, Ms. Reid.” She thanked him then turned toward the music, laughter and voices. She really didn’t want to go in. But Gregory would know and be angry with her in his fussy fastidious way and go around for the rest of the month making snippy comments about her not helping out when she was needed. So she would resort to her usual method of dealing with these situations and wrap herself in her own private fantasy. She drew a deep breath and stepped inside. This wasn’t a museum fundraiser but a Roman orgy. She didn’t wear a plain black dress and heels but a tunica of diaphanous silk all scarlet and gold and fluttering about her otherwise naked body. And she would be barefoot, her toenails as vivid a shade as her painted lips. Handsome senators, wealthy merchants, powerful army officers would all turn from their own women to stare at her with lust, their gazes stripping her of her breezy garment. The scent of roses that filled the room would be overpowered by the smell of sex, of testosterone brought to the boil by her and her alone. Their cocks would swell just for her. But though they would long to taste the buds of her breasts and thrust their shafts deep into her tunnel none would dare touch her. Because the emperor himself would appear, looking just like Apollo. He would be the strongest and the most powerful of all the men and have the most deeply defined muscles. And he would have the strongest and most powerful cock. Humor and wisdom would shine in eyes that glowed just for her. And he would worship her and 8

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take her into his arms and kiss her until he was all that existed in her world. Then his fingers would drag the fabric from her breasts as his mouth brushed her ear so he could whisper— “You look dignified tonight.” Not the voice of Apollo but of her boss Gregory. Sharla managed a twisted smile. Emperor Apollo would have told her she looked ravishing, or possibly ravishable, then suited action to words. But Gregory looked every inch the aging businessman he was, not an ounce of romance left in his soul, suffering from too many lavish dinners with contributors and no exercise that didn’t involve overseeing a new display. “You’re such a charmer,” she said but as usual her comment went right over his head. “Good turnout,” she added. “If all goes well we should bring in a tidy sum tonight.” He gave her a dismissive nod and strode off, all punctilious politeness and prim smiles to greet a newly rich computer magnate. Gregory could smell a potential dollar from across a crowded room. And it was crowded. Too much so for Sharla’s taste. She hated being around so many people. She never knew what to say. Jessie—in fact everyone she knew—seemed always to have an excess of polite small talk. She had an excess of nothing—except for padding around her hips and thighs. She spied a waiter bearing a tray of champagne flutes, snagged one then retreated to stand beside her favorite statue. She liked the Greek man and not only because he was nude except for the inevitable fig leaf added by some Victorian prude. He never said anything and never expected witticisms from her. Her gaze lowered to the fig leaf. The story of her life, the most exciting bits kept from her. She knew real men must exist as muscled and handsome as this one but they just never came her way. What would it be like to be caressed by a man who enjoyed sex, who enjoyed her, rather than by one who was embarrassed by the whole subject and got through it as quickly as possible? But Dan, a fellow grad student, had been gone from her life for almost three years now. Best to erase him from her mind. The 9

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memories he’d left hadn’t been happy ones. He’d been as dull as she. She’d never been the sort of woman to arouse real passion in a man. But at least she had her fantasies. Which reminded her, that Roman emperor had been about to tear off her tunica and have passionate sex with her in front of his jealous party guests. If she could just wrap herself back in that moment maybe the evening wouldn’t feel so unbearable. Jessie strode up, a determined smile pinned to her angular face. “Quit hiding. That statue is not your date.” “Pity,” Shar murmured. Of course she’d rather have Emperor Apollo but she’d take what she could get. Jessie laughed. “Come on. The food’s pretty good. Have you tried it yet?” “I arranged for the catering,” Shar reminded her. “And went a trifle over budget I’ll bet. So that’s why Gregory looks so pinched. Probably breaking down the cost per bite. But there’re enough people here to more than justify it. We’ll rake in a tidy bundle and he’ll go around all smiles until the next batch of bills roll in.” “And then we’ll have another fundraiser. Where are we going?” she added as Jessie drew her toward an alcove. “You’re going to have your fortune told,” Jessie announced. Gaudy curtains hung from either side of a tension rod placed in the deep archway where a large Chinese vase normally stood. In its place a woman in gypsy garb sat at a tiny round table with a deck of tarot cards, crystals and candles arranged before her. A sign read “Fortunes—$10.00. Single card—$3.00”. Jessie pushed her into the chair that protruded into the main room. “Go on.” “Single card,” Shar sighed and handed over the bills. The woman passed her the deck. “Concentrate on a question or a situation and hold it in your mind while you shuffle seven times.”

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What did she want to know? Maybe that was it. She wanted to know what question she ought to be asking. Ruefully she shuffled the cards then returned them. The pretend gypsy spread the deck across the table so every card was exposed. Which should she pick? Not that it really mattered. Shar reached toward the right only to suddenly feel drawn toward a card near the far left. All right, she’d play along. She reached for it, pulled it out and turned it over. “Ah, the Ace of Wands,” the fortuneteller crooned. “How lucky you are.” “Am I?” Shar tried to keep the skepticism out of her voice. “You are,” the woman asserted. “This means you are filled with the excitement of a new undertaking. You have just discovered some new path in your life and energy and excitement surge through you to pursue it. An auspicious time. A fortunate time.” A hollow laugh escaped Shar. “Boy, did we get that one wrong.” She pushed back her chair and rose. “If not now then soon,” promised the gypsy. Yeah. Right. She could wish. Maybe it just meant a new fantasy to replace her Roman orgy. She managed a smile and turned away. Nothing new ever happened to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt even a little bit of excitement at an undertaking. Any fires that might have once burned deep in her heart had long ago been extinguished by the sameness of daily living. Jessie shook her head. “Don’t sell yourself short, Sharla,” she said as if reading Shar’s mind. “The next time an opportunity presents itself leap at it.” “With both feet,” she promised. “Right off the cliff.” Jessie laughed again and together they made their way to where Gregory stood in earnest discussion with an older couple Shar recognized as major contributors in the past. She murmured a response to their greeting then excused herself to “deal with a few matters”. That sounded good and official. It ought to satisfy Gregory and explain why she wasn’t around.

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She paused by her statue, whispered goodnight to it then slipped out the exhibition hall’s door. Mr. Romlin, she saw, stood at his post at the museum’s entrance. “Did anyone find anything?” she asked as she reached him. He shook his head. “Not even that smell you described. All clear now. Going already?” She shook her head. “I’m taking care of a few matters in my office. Or upstairs. Or maybe even in the basement.” She went past him into the combination cloak room and security office, found her coat and pulled it on. “Pity I’ll be busy for so long a time.” He winked at her. “And I’ll have seen you several times.” He opened the door for her and she stepped out into the brightly lit night. With luck it would take Gregory at least an hour or two before he realized she’d gone home. She could count on Jessie and Mr. Romlin to cover for her. As she started down the steps the sulfurous odor reached her once more. Either there was something really wrong with the security guard’s sense of smell or someone had just set off another stink bomb. Trying not to inhale too deeply she strode forward. The sooner she reached the corner and found a cab the better. Why hadn’t she asked Mr. Romlin to call one for her? She stepped into the shadowed darkness away from the museum’s lights and a sudden icy breeze set the skirts of her coat whipping about her legs. Where had that come from? She shivered and hunched her shoulders as the temperature seemed to plummet. Droplets formed in the air, misting her face. And that horrible smell surrounded her now. Thinking about Apollo ought to warm her up. A bit of cold wouldn’t bother him. It wouldn’t make him put on any clothes either. He’d walk beside her gloriously naked, the heat from his flesh warming her. Then he’d stop and unbutton her coat so he could slide his hands along her neckline, over her shoulders, his touch burning her with his desire. He wouldn’t waste time with her zipper. He’d tear her dress in the best tradition of bodice ripping, exposing her breasts to his passion-filled gaze. His mouth would 12

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fasten over her tingling nipple and his darting tongue would send fire shooting through her. A blast of sulfurous gas made her gag, destroying her fantasy. Damn. She’d just been coming to the good part where Apollo would run his tongue all over her body. Where was that disgusting smell coming from anyway? And then she heard the snarling growl. As she turned a dark shape hurtled from the mouth of the alleyway beside the museum. A man cannoned into her, knocking her to the ground, tumbling with her. Something long and metallic clanged to the pavement and all too close she heard what sounded like baying hounds. The man dragged himself to his feet, staggered a single step into the pool of illumination from a streetlamp then collapsed to his knees. The light gleamed off the blood that oozed from a long gash on his face. More dripped from his hands and his clothes. His very odd clothes. It took her a moment to realize he wore a kilt of some brown material and a light-colored peasant shirt with wide sleeves gathered into cuffs. The dark streaks she realized were gashes in the cloth. And blood. Boots of some supple material laced up to just below his knees. An empty scabbard hung about his waist and a large sword lay on the ground between them. He must have been at a costume party or more likely some fantasy and science fiction convention in town for the weekend. Her gaze came to rest on the powerful muscles of his thighs. That was one thing a kilt was good for, showing off a man’s legs. And his made her breath catch in her throat. Not the grotesque ones of a bodybuilder but the superb ones of an athlete. The snarling drew closer. Sharla dragged her attention from the exposed flesh to the man’s injuries. They looked bad. Really bad. But if whatever had attacked him was close by they had both better get out of there. Fast.

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He lifted his head and the effort caused a spasm of pain across features all angles and planes in the pale light. She made out a squared jaw, high cheekbones and eyes that gleamed and seemed to burn from within. “Go.” The word came out hoarse, almost guttural in his deep voice. “Forget you saw me.” She pulled herself to her feet and reached for his arm to help him up but he shook his head. “Too slow now. Just go.” His deep voice held a trace of an accent, unidentifiable but sexy as all hell. “You need help.” He looked over his shoulder then up at the light. A quavering sigh escaped him and he slumped back to the pavement, his tautness relaxing. “I’ll be safe here for a little. Go on.” “You need a doctor.” “No.” He shook his head. “I’ll be all right.” What had happened to him? He’d been in a fight of some sort. That seemed obvious. And from that nasty gash she’d bet knives had been involved. A drug deal gone bad? A robbery? Did someone lurk just out of sight with a pack of pit bulls? “Right.” She reached for her cell phone. “I’ll call the police.” “No!” He almost shouted the word. His head drooped and his thick dark hair fell free to hang over his face down to his shoulders. He struggled for breath. He might not have been the victim, she realized. He might be the criminal. Oh damn if that wasn’t just typical. She finally encountered a gorgeous hunk of male and he was probably a gangster or drug lord or something equally disgusting. A strange hissing sound came from the shadows of the alley followed by growls in various pitches. Alarmed, she turned toward it and found herself staring at a dog at least twice as big as any she had ever seen before—and that included Great Danes and

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Saint Bernards. It looked like a small horse. Four others crowded behind it, all black, all with red fiery eyes, all with fangs that dripped something she hoped was only blood. “What are they?” she gasped. His head jerked up to stare at her. “You see them?” “They’re kind of hard to miss.” She stood as still as if she’d been frozen. If she moved would they attack? What the hell had she stumbled into? “They won’t come into direct light if they can avoid it.” He continued to stare at her, his expression odd. “That’s…good. What are they?” “Demon hounds.” He drew in a gasping breath and clutched at his blood-soaked shirtsleeve. The growling increased in volume until it could have drowned out a siren. One of the hounds crept closer, its head lowered, its fangs bared. This was no animatronic device from a warped version of Disneyland. This looked—and smelled—all too real. The sulfurous stench sickened her. The man groped toward his sword and succeeded only in taking hold of it. The effort to lift it seemed too much. He slumped back. “We’ve got to get away,” he muttered. “Have you someplace safe?” “From them?” “And more just like them.” She considered. “A police station.” He shook his head. “No one in your world will be able to see them. They don’t exist here.” “I see them.” And she wished she didn’t. But what did he mean by “in her world”? “Have you a home? Someplace with lights?” “How about a hospital? Or won’t anyone be able to see you either?” “Me they can see.” He sounded rueful. 15

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“Then we’ll find some help for you.” He reached out and grasped her arm. “No need. Let’s just get to somewhere with plenty of lights.” The hand on her arm bore a ring on the third finger. She stared at the heavy gold band, at the insignia of an archway intertwined with a key, in disbelief. She knew that crest. It appeared over every doorway, every window, even on the wrought iron gate of her grandparents’ old house. She’d seen it on the backs of her grandmother’s tarot deck, on her necklace and linens and dagger and a score of other objects that had been handed down through her family for generations. But never anywhere else. It was her family’s crest. So how did it come to be wrought on the ring this man wore? Was he one of her relatives? That, it flashed through her mind, would be even worse than his being a criminal. But so very typical. And it wasn’t as if he’d have any interest in her anyway beyond keeping himself alive. What would be the safest place for him? She hesitated but the crescendoing snarling from the darkened alley sent chills of dread down her spine. She could take him back to the museum—but how could she explain to Gregory or even to Mr. Romlin a bleeding man in a costume, one who could barely stand? The guy needed medical attention. And from the amount of blood he seemed to have lost he needed it as soon as possible. The lead hound advanced several more paces. The others crept after it, their hackles raised, their mouths gaping to reveal double rows of fangs. Whatever she did she had better do it fast. “Hang on a sec.” She eased her arm from his slackening grip and stepped out of the circle of light to study the street. A taxi approached but she glimpsed two passengers in the backseat as it zipped past. Frustrated, she glanced over her shoulder to where the man still sagged beneath the streetlamp clutching his sword. The hounds crept another step closer.

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Desperate, she waved at every car, taxi or not, until at last a cab pulled over. She called her address to the driver and asked him to wait. “My friend got clumsy,” she told him with an attempt at a bright smile. Hoping like hell the cabbie wouldn’t just drive off she returned to the stranger with her family’s ring and helped him to his feet. The sword dropped from his hand. She retrieved it and her arm strained at its weight. She turned a considering eye on the snarling demons. She couldn’t use this weapon. And judging by the way the man swayed where he stood he couldn’t either. So it was only in her way. With a bit of a struggle she managed to sheathe it at his side then studied the distance between them and the open back door of the taxi. “Only a few steps. Can you make it?” But whether she asked if his strength would hold out or if the demon hounds would attack she wasn’t certain. The snarling monsters slunk toward them, keeping out of the direct circle of light. If she made a lunge for it they might be able to reach the cab. But what if the giant beasts leapt? The driver climbed out. “Don’t you want a hospital? Or a doc-in-the-box?” he asked, suggesting one of the emergency care centers. “Just need to lie down,” the man mumbled. Between them she and the driver helped him into the backseat with the scabbard causing only a little problem. Sharla slid in beside him. His kilt, she noticed, had rumpled up to again reveal an expanse of muscled thigh liberally sprinkled with dark hair. Burning desire shot straight to her nub, setting it tingling and aching. Her breasts felt as if they swelled and her sensitized nipples scratched against the lace of her bra. What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt? Who cares? All she wanted to know at the moment was what this man wore and although he had an accent she didn’t think it was Scottish. She wasn’t sure what it was.

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As if it mattered. She might get the cheap thrill of a glimpse of his manhood but that was all she’d get. It would take him days to recover from his injuries and loss of blood and by then he’d be long gone and out of her boring life. A sudden memory popped into her head of the fortuneteller holding the Ace of Wands. Excitement in new beginnings. All she ever got was the glimpse of something new so far in the distance that enthusiasm never had a chance. She glanced back as the cab pulled into traffic. The giant hounds had spread out away from the circle of light, the gazes of their flaming eyes fixed on the taxi. As the vehicle sped away the dogs broke into a run in pursuit.

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Chapter Two Streetlamps, cars, neon signs, sirens, honking horns, all the bustle of city life at night. Those hounds couldn’t possibly navigate through all this. They’d be slowed by their need to avoid light. They’d lose sight and scent of their quarry. She and this man were safe now. Sharla leaned back in the seat, stifling a groan. What had she stumbled into? And why wasn’t she hoping to stumble right back out? Her gaze moved to the man at her side as a stoplight cast a macabre red glow over the strong features of his face. His dark tousled head rested on the seat back. One hand covered a gash—or a bite—on his arm. Blood still seeped between his fingers. He couldn’t be that close a relative, could he? Extremely distant cousin at most. A few more streets, several more turns. Those hounds must be a couple of miles behind by now. Still her uneasy gaze searched the sidewalks, the passing traffic. After another block she let down the window an inch and sniffed the air. No. Nothing sulfurous. They’d escaped. At last the cab pulled up in front of her apartment building. Pretty plain, just sixty units going up ten stories, built more than half a century before. But the neighborhood had a low crime rate and the supervisor kept everything in reasonable repair. It made a serviceable home but one she feared she wouldn’t be able to afford much longer. Of course she might not have to worry about living anywhere if she met up with those hounds again. Stifling that thought, she paid the driver then climbed out of the cab. He got out too and opened the other door for the man who dragged himself from the seat only to stumble.

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Shar caught the slumping figure about the waist. Such a solid waist. Her eyes were on a level with his chin which meant he must be at least a head taller than she if he stood straight. His squared chin with its evening stubble and tiny cleft provided a terrific view. A tantalizing taste. She wanted to see more, so much more. “Need help getting him inside?” The cabbie sounded—and looked—dubious. The kilted man raised his head. “We’ll manage.” His words slurred. The cabbie shook his head. “Get him to AA,” he muttered to Sharla. She nodded. The driver would never believe the true explanation. For that matter she didn’t either. And she’d seen those demon hounds with their fiery eyes and horrendous stench. The cabbie returned to his vehicle but waited. Shar thanked him and turned toward the building’s front door. After they’d taken several faltering steps she heard the taxi pull away from the curb. She was on her own with this man now. His chin had sunk to his chest again but he raised it now to look up at the building. “How many stairs?” “The place isn’t that old. There’s an elevator.” A frown creased his brow then he nodded. He took another step, his knee buckled and she tightened her hold about his waist to keep him from falling. His arm wrapped about her shoulders, clinging for support, the pressure heavy on her. Oh damn, why did he have to be injured? Why couldn’t he embrace her because he wanted to, not because he needed to? Because she was too fat. She wore a size twelve instead of a size three. Men didn’t like padded women. She could blame the media and advertising all she wanted but that didn’t change the facts. Men had been taught that plump women weren’t sexy. She wasn’t sexy. Except in Apollo’s eyes. Three cheers for an active fantasy life.

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She fumbled for her keys, unlocked the lobby door and helped him inside. His feet dragged as they crossed the tiles. Was she doing the right thing? Should she have overruled him and taken him to a hospital? What if she couldn’t stop his bleeding? What if those gashes and bites became infected? What if those hounds had drooled poison? What if he died? They made it to the elevator. She pressed the button to summon it then studied the man’s grayed face as she waited. Strong bone structure. Young. She doubted he was even thirty. “What’s your name?” she asked suddenly. He opened the eyes he’d closed. “Kerrick.” Kerrick. Irish perhaps? Scots? “I’m Sharla.” He made no response. Probably wasn’t interested. Story of her life. The elevator arrived and she helped him inside, pressed the button for the fourth floor then peered back toward the street. No hounds. They really had made it. Then came that familiar feeling of dropping into the floor as they began to rise. The man looked about, apparently disoriented and gripped her arm. Why did his touch have to send a wave of longing through her? Unable to stop herself she pressed against him. He needed her body for support, she assured herself. This had nothing to do with her racing heartbeat or her shallow breathing or the yearning in the pit of her stomach that spiraled downward into her clit. Her breast brushed his arm and she stifled an urge to repeat the movement, to tease her nipples by rubbing them against his chest. Saved—or foiled—by the elevator. It jolted to a stop and the door slid open onto the hall. She shifted her arm about him to give him greater support and helped him the thirty-odd steps to her apartment. She had the key ready and it only took a moment to let them inside and switch on a light. Light. In here they’d be protected from those hounds if any had managed to follow. That gave new meaning to one’s home being one’s sanctuary.

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She helped the man to the sofa then returned to lock and bolt the door. After a moment’s consideration she wedged a chair beneath the knob as well. No point in taking chances. Now to see how badly he was hurt. If it went beyond hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic cream, bandages and a few aspirin she’d have to insist on a hospital. Kerrick sprawled on the sofa where she’d allowed him to drop, head lolled back, knees spread, kilt enticingly askew. Keep your mind on his wounds, not his nethers, she ordered herself. His wounds looked bad enough to keep her occupied for some time to come. Clean him up first, she decided. Then she’d have a better idea what she was up against. She went into the kitchenette, dug out the largest bowl she possessed, filled it halfway with hot water and a large dollop of antibacterial soap then unearthed her clean dishtowels. She laid these on the coffee table and regarded her patient. Had he passed out? Just gone to sleep? Was she out of her mind for not screaming for a doctor at once? Shirt first, she decided. She looked for buttons at his cuffs but found only ties. Ties? She peered at the stitching. Hand sewn. Someone had made this costume for him. A girlfriend or possibly a wife, she supposed. Someone might be wondering where he was and be worrying about him. Someone he probably loved. She had to face reality. But what was real about those demon hounds? She loosened the lacing up the neckline next then eased the cloth—linen, she thought—over his head. Oh god, what a torso. Broad shoulders, incredible pecs, defined abs, all covered by a thick dusting of dark curling hair. Her hand trembled as she touched his skin, the wanting of him an ache almost too painful to bear. Clean him up, she ordered herself. She could drool over him later. She dipped the cloth into the bowl then sponged it gently over his skin. Tanned skin. He must spend a great deal of time outside with his shirt off. Swimming possibly. Or running. Or maybe just swinging that sword around. He had the body of an athlete. 22

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The dried blood resisted then liquefied, allowing her to mop it away, leaving only the open gashes of fang and claw. Oh damn, his body made her favorite Greek statue look like a wimp. And when she’d dreamed up her god Apollo why hadn’t she had someone who looked like this for a model? Wounds, she reminded herself. Treat his wounds. About twenty minutes and two dishcloths later his torso, neck and face looked better. Still gashed but better. She ran to her tiny bathroom, found several clean towels and her first aid supplies and brought them back. The gouges only seeped a little blood now. Odd. They’d looked so deep she’d expected them to be hemorrhaging. Just went to show how little she knew about medicine. And the human body. She’d never known for instance how incredible the male torso could look. The rest of him needed her attention too and she tried not to let the prospect send thrills shooting through her. She unlaced his soft leather boots and eased them from his calves. Oh wow, what calves. His lower legs boasted every bit as much muscle as the rest of him. She trailed her fingers along a defined line, realized what she did, flushed in embarrassment and used a wet towel instead. The boots showed deep scratches but they’d protected his legs. His magnificent legs… Back to work. She mopped his marvelous skin up to his knees then above where a particularly nasty gouge implied a bite from one of those hideous hounds. It looked awful. She dabbed as gently as she could but Kerrick appeared beyond caring. He hadn’t moved since he’d reached the sofa. So she’d probably not bother him if she lifted his kilt just enough to see how high those slashes went. The thick wool cloth felt heavy in her hand. Fortunate, she decided. It had acted like padding or armor, granting him partial protection from the vicious attack. She lifted it higher and stared.

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One question answered, the thought floated through her mind. She didn’t know about Scotsmen but Kerrick didn’t wear one single damned thing beneath his kilt. Not even a fig leaf. But oh what it revealed. His cock and balls made her treasured dildo look pathetic. How could his penis be so large? And what lay beneath more closely resembled tennis balls than golf balls. She ran her tongue along her lips all the while eyeing her preferred target. It would tear her apart. No, she could feel her tunnel opening already, widening itself to receive that massive weapon. Oh if only. If only. Her moisture pooled, readying her for the thrust that would never come. Why did he have to be injured? Why couldn’t she have picked him up in some bar instead of under a streetlamp with the hounds of hell baying from the shadows? Why couldn’t he have come to her apartment not for shelter but for a wild romp in her bed? Because. Lousy reason but that was the way it was. At least she’d have the memory of his incredible tackle to fill out her fantasies for years to come. With firm resolution and considerable regret she set to work sponging and drying the gashes. The hydrogen peroxide didn’t even make him flinch though it bubbled and foamed inside each fang and claw wound. He must be unconscious. She’d better check for a head injury when she’d finished with the wounds. If the rest of him hadn’t been covered in so much carnage she might have thought of that already. Antibiotic cream, gauze, tape, bandages. She sat back on her heels at last, satisfied she had done her best. Now for his head. Her gaze fell on his face and didn’t want to leave. How could any man be so handsome? Not in a pretty way but rugged. Chiseled. It hadn’t been a trick of the lighting under that streetlamp. His face really was a collection of intriguing planes and angles. And his hair, so thick, so dark, so wavy as it hung about his shoulders. She ran her fingers through it and felt the fluttering response in her abdomen. And in her clit. She leaned closer. His hair smelled of pine, of earth, of leather. And a touch of that sulfurous stench clung to it. 24

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Which brought her back from longing to reality again. Gently she probed his scalp but found nothing that felt wrong, nothing yielding where she should feel bone. At least she hoped all was in order. But would she really know if she encountered something amiss? The poor man might have a concussion and she’d never be able to tell. He seemed all right though. With an effort she boosted his legs onto the sofa cushions then maneuvered his shoulders down so he lay in a somewhat comfortablelooking position. Except for that sword belt. She unbuckled it from around his sexy waist—damn, every bit of him was sexy beyond belief—and dragged it free. She lowered it to the rug then on impulse drew the weapon. She’d forgotten how heavy it was. Large. Made for a purpose. Just like his cock though that had been designed for a very different sort of attack. Something glinted in the lamplight and she peered closer. Engravings glittered along the blade. Not runes or artistic tracery but actual pictures. An archway intertwined with a key and standing on a raised dais with two steps leading up to it. Her family crest. Again. At least the blade didn’t glow with an eldritch blue light. Did that mean no orcs—or rather no demon hounds—lurked nearby? She inserted it back into its scabbard then laid it on the floor at his side along with his boots. What else could she do for him? She didn’t think she ought to wake him up for food or coffee or wine even if she could. Probably a good night’s sleep would be the best thing for him. He’d be hurting like hell when he woke up. She rummaged out a spare blanket, draped it over him with regret at hiding his body from her view then stepped back. Let him rest. She could use some too. Actually she could use something else. Touching him— hell, just looking at him—had sent her senses racing and her clit and tunnel yearning. Time for the good old reliable dildo, she supposed. But what a crime to have to resort to a steel spring covered in rubber when such a magnificent alternative lay right here in her living room. Just the thought of him sent her into her bedroom at high speed. 25

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It only took her minutes to brush her teeth, wash off the traces of makeup and pull on her slinky black negligee. All right, it was only cheap black nylon of the one-size-fitsall tent variety but it was black. At least it wasn’t a flannel granny gown. Not that it mattered. Kerrick slept in the living room and her dildo wouldn’t know the difference. She crawled between the sheets then opened the drawer of the nightstand and brought it out. She’d christened it Apollo in honor of the god who lived with her in her fantasy world. She closed her eyes and summoned his image to her mind but his features refused to come into focus. Instead she saw Kerrick’s angular face, his muscled arms, his broad chest. It was Kerrick’s hand instead of Apollo’s she imagined tracing circles around her breasts, pinching their taut buds. A moan escaped her and she clasped the pseudo-penis and brought it between her legs, stroking her mound, teasing her clit, luring more moisture from her channel to ease its entry. But Apollo was puny in size compared to Kerrick’s phallus. It slid inside with no effort and although she moved it with all the skill of long practice it failed to satisfy. In fact her ardor faded. She continued for several minutes more, rubbing her nipples until they hurt, punishing her clit with her thumb to no avail. Her fantasies failed her. The reality that slept in the next room oblivious to her made her efforts seem pathetic. Tears of frustration, of longing that would never be fulfilled, brimmed in her eyes. She shoved Apollo back in the drawer, rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. Every part of her ached for Kerrick’s touch. It was his giant penis she wanted plunging inside her, not some inferior imitation. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to block out the images that welled in her mind of that wonderful cock and tackle rubbing against her clit, invading her pussy. Her body arched, her hips thrust forward with the longing for him. Would she ever be able to use Apollo again? Or had just the sight of Kerrick’s equipment ruined her for anything else?

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Chapter Three Kerrick shifted his shoulders as the heavy lassitude lifted from his muscles. He felt their stiffness. He must have indulged in too much training again. He raised his arms and arched his back in a deeply satisfying stretch. Yes, much better. He opened his eyes then blinked in the pale light from a lamp. Where was he? Then memory flooded back and he sat up. A pale blue blanket, soft and yielding, tumbled to his waist. He was in that woman’s home. What was her name? Sharla, that’s what she’d said. Sharla. He summoned her lusciously curvaceous figure into his mind’s eye. Somehow he’d imagined the Keeper of the Key to be an older woman, gaunt, possibly grim and forbidding. He’d never anticipated as delightful and intriguing a seductress as Sharla with those full breasts and rounded hips just made for fucking all night and the whole of the next day too. He broke off that thought. Why in the name of all the hells was he allowing his libido to run away with him like that? He had barely made it here alive. If he hadn’t found her when he did those demon hounds would have had him. And where would his world be then? Keep focused, he ordered himself. He had no reason to think she’d be interested in him anyway. She’d probably want to get right down to business without any distractions. But he could daydream, couldn’t he? Not if he wanted to save his world. He reached for his sword, discovered the belt was missing and sprang to his feet. Bad move. He winced at the soreness of one leg. That damned hound had sunk his fangs in pretty deeply. He reached for the spot and found it covered in soft gauze which 27

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he pulled free. It had almost closed over, the skin puckering in healing. This one might leave a scar. Well, he’d suffered worse. And there lay his sword still in its scabbard on the floor. He sat down again, relieved. Sharla, it seemed, had a strong streak of capability. She’d conveyed him to safety and tended his injuries. He’d have to thank her. He rose and crossed to the window which looked down on the darkened street. Lamps spread pale pools of light at evenly spaced distances and though he stared hard at the shadows he caught not so much as a glimpse of movement. Perhaps they’d managed to lose the hounds for a time. They’d be back of course. But the light of this world seemed to be too much for them. They’d have to hide during the day. He peered into the sky. The same familiar constellations met his searching gaze and he studied their positions. If these worlds shared their seasons that meant about two more hours remained before dawn. Two more hours in which the hounds would try to track him. And Sharla. His scent would be the stronger, more familiar to them in this strange world though. He returned to the sofa. She had laid his shirt across a chair. He picked it up and grimaced at the tears and bloodstains. That brought his attention to the kilt he still wore. It had seen better days too. He unbuckled it and pulled it off, holding it up. Filth and gore and the poisonous drool of those fiends soaked the cloth and their claws and fangs had torn gaping holes in it. Considering what he’d gone through to get this far he’d be lucky if his clothes weren’t in tattered shreds by the time they reached his world. He wandered into the tiny cooking area and studied the sink. After a long minute he pulled and twisted a handle and water gushed forth. A smile of satisfaction tugged at the corners of his mouth and he plunged the brown woolen garment into the cool water. Several minutes scrubbing with a bar of soap removed the worst of the stains and slime and he rinsed it, squeezed out the excess water and left it draped over the basin to dry. The tears would have to wait until he got home.

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Now where was Sharla? He padded across the thick soft carpeting to a door that stood slightly ajar then pushed it and looked inside. A bedchamber complete with someone sleeping. He could hear the steady slow breathing. He hesitated then walked softly to stand beside the figure, looking down at her. A faint light seeped through the curtains that covered the room’s window and by it he could just make out the tumbling fair hair, lashes lying across her rounded cheek and a hand peeking out from beneath the covers. He reached out, just touching her fingers, then drew back his hand. He shouldn’t disturb her. He’d given her quite enough of a shock already. But then she’d had no reason to suspect she’d ever be called upon to perform her hereditary duty. The women of her family must have inhabited this sphere for five or more generations now without the perils of his world ever intruding. A loud clatter sounded from outside, all too close. He whirled toward the window, reaching it in three long strides. It looked down not at the lit main street he’d seen from the living room but onto a dark alley. He could just make out a cylinder rolling around on the ground and a dog—a motley straggly normal-sized one, not one of the demon hounds—snuffling inside it. His tensed shoulders relaxed. Not a fresh attack then. He just might be safe here until he finished healing. He checked his arm, pulled off another bandage and inspected the reddened puckered flesh. Another few hours and even that would be gone. The soft shush of fabric brushing against fabric reached him and he looked up, straight at Sharla. She sat erect in the bed staring at him, the moonlight glinting off her wide eyes. “Did the noise wake you? It was only a dog knocking over a container down there.” “You—” She broke off and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “You’re better.” “I must thank you for your care. The healing looks clean.”

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Her gaze lowered to his legs. “I’m surprised you can stand. Doesn’t it hurt?” Then she was studying the floor. Slowly she looked up, higher, hesitated at the level of his groin then turned away. “It’s almost healed,” he assured her. “What?” She looked startled. “Impossible.” She threw back the covers and slid from the bed. She wore a voluminous gown in some flimsy black material. Too voluminous. It hid those alluring curves of hers. She flipped on a light that stood on a bedside cabinet and to his intense pleasure he discovered her garment possessed a certain transparent quality. He could now see the generous outlines of her body. Yes, every bit as entrancing as he remembered. She approached him slowly as if uncertain then dropped to one knee before him. She reached toward the deepest of the bite wounds only to draw her hand back. “That’s impossible!” She looked up at him, her expression mystified. “It was terrible. I thought it would need stitches.” He shook his head. “I heal quickly. All my people do.” “All your people.” She repeated his words, a frown creasing her brow. Her lovely brow. Her face possessed a sweetness, a caring that stirred something deep inside him. She was a woman with whom to laugh, with whom to be comfortable. With whom to make love. The thought went straight from his brain to his cock. He felt it stir, heat, swell with sudden need. Damn, he’d been aware of her from the moment he’d seen her tumbled on the ground with him beneath that lamppost. He’d wanted her then. And he wanted her even more now. It was hard to hide that sort of thing when you’d dispensed with your clothing. She stared at his erection. Slowly she looked into his face, into his eyes.

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A shock shot through him, swelling his rod into a pulsing frenzy. An answering spark reflected in the depths of her own eyes, a desire so tangible he could almost hold it in his hands. It made no sense, such an instant intense connection. But he couldn’t doubt its existence, not when all he wanted to do was tear that garment from her body, fold her into his arms, feel her breasts pressing against his chest and plunge his throbbing cock deep into her pussy. He wanted that more than he’d ever wanted anything before in his life. He reached down to where she remained on her knees. Still gazing into his eyes, she held out her hand. He caught it, relishing its warmth, its softness. And it trembled. Her whole body seemed to quiver, setting that flimsy gown shimmying, brushing over her breasts, over the wonderful curve of her hip. Slowly, holding that gaze as if it were a fragile treasure, he stooped to kiss her fingers. Her eyes widened, her lips parted in an expression of awed surprise and her breath shallowed and quickened A delicate floral fragrance clung to her hair. Enticing. Erotic. His cock twitched in impatience to find its warm moist bed inside her. He wanted her. But he wanted to give every bit as much pleasure as he would receive if not more. He knelt before her. The top of her head barely reached his mouth. He released her hand so he could cup both of his around her face while his thumbs gently stroked her throat. He could lose himself in her eyes and never want to find a way out. Slowly, his hands holding her captive, he brushed her mouth with his. A sigh escaped her, the merest breath of a sound that shot straight to his cock. He kissed her again, this time allowing his tongue to touch her lips. They parted for him inviting him inside and with tentative teasing forays he explored her mouth. Only that wasn’t enough. His hands slid down her throat, over her shoulders, down her arms. Her teeth caught his tongue and it was his turn to groan. His thumbs found the rounded mounds of her breasts and he caressed the curves through that flimsy fabric.

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Her hands found his shoulders then wrapped about his neck, twining in his hair, pulling his head closer. Anything to oblige a lady. He deepened the kiss and his thumbs found the hardened tips of her nipples. He wanted them in his mouth. He gathered a handful of fabric and pulled downward. The flimsy material tore and a gasp escaped her. Not of dismay, he realized the next moment as she clung to him, her fingers stroking circles along his back in a manner that made him want to cry out and beg her never to stop. With one more tug he exposed her breasts then bent his head to first lick then nibble. She tasted…perfect. That was the only description possible. More fabric gave under his persistent tug, revealing her abdomen, her navel, more glorious curves then the soft bush covering her mound. He caught her against him and stood, lifting her off her feet and strode toward the bed. For a moment she struggled and he stopped, appalled that he could have misread her desire but she merely divested herself of the shreds of her gown and wrapped her arms once more about his shoulders, her mouth searching for his. He covered it hard, kissing her so deeply it must hurt but she returned the pressure with an equal intensity. He sat on the edge of the bed, cradling her in his arms, his mouth working its way down her throat to find a breast. His cock pressed against her hip until he didn’t think he could bear it a moment longer. He lifted her, turning to lay her on the bed. She seemed to shrink into herself, her shoulders hunching as she groped to pull the blanket over her legs. He caught her hand, stopping her movement. “I want to see you.” Color rose in her cheeks and she looked away. “Let me at least turn out the light.” He stroked the tendrils of hair from her face. “You’re so beautiful, don’t deny me.” She shook her head. Her lips formed words but he must have mistaken them. They seemed incomprehensible. Why would she say “I’m not”? She reached out, he heard a faint click and the light vanished.

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“You are beautiful.” He made it an assertion. “You’re perfect. I could stare at you all night.” He felt a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “But there’s something else I want to do as well.” He covered her breasts in a circling motion that brought a choking gasp from her. “And there’s more,” he assured her. He bent over her, kissing first one breast then the other. He moved down her stomach, alternating darting licks with nibbles until he reached her mound. He rolled to his side, kissing her breast once more as one hand slid through the soft bush and found the sensitive folds beneath. There. Her soft cry assured him he’d found her clit. He delved lower, finding an ample pool of moisture in her cleft. He slid it upward, finding her nub and caressing it. Her hips surged up to meet his touch. He could wait no longer. He lifted himself over her, bending to kiss her eyes then her lips. She shifted, spreading her legs, offering herself to him, the greatest gift he could possibly receive. He positioned himself then pushed forward until the head of his cock encountered warm resistance. He pushed harder and she opened to him, welcoming him inside. Gods, it felt fantastic. He rose on a wave of sensation that made conscious thought all but impossible. With exquisite torturous slowness he pulled back and relished the pressure of her internal muscles as she tried to capture him, to hold him inside. And that was fine with him. That’s where he wanted to be. He thrust forward again, deeper, harder, more demanding, then out again, savoring the way her tunnel clung to him. He bit one taut nipple, pinched and tugged at the other and thrust home again. And again. Her hips rose to meet him, capturing his rhythm, capturing him. Her soft flesh yielded to his questing hands as he stroked her body in time to his accelerating pace. He slammed into her harder, faster while her hips rose and fell. At the deepest point of his next thrust he slid one arm beneath her waist and rolled, bringing her to rest on top of him. She arched her back which pushed out her breasts. He rose up to grasp one tip between his teeth. The other he caught once more between

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thumb and forefinger. His free hand he slid between their joined hips, searching until he found her nub. She cried out then added a twist to her next movement so she ground her clit against him. He couldn’t control himself any longer. The heat and tension spiraled and he came with exploding force. Only as he relaxed did he feel her own convulsions squeezing his cock again and again and again. For a long moment she remained where she straddled him, her breath coming in gasps. He wrapped his arms about her and drew her to lie full length on top of him. He kissed her hair and held her close and wanted never to release her. At least not until he could make love to her again.

Sharla lay on top of Kerrick, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. Afraid he’d want her to roll away from him. This could not have happened yet miraculously it had. He had wanted her. Her! Instead of being put off by her overly rounded body he had explored it with a sensitivity bordering on worship. His touch reassured her, made her feel beautiful. Made her feel desirable. And possibly because of that he had brought her to the most ecstatic orgasm she had ever experienced. Who was this man, this Kerrick? What special powers did he have? And not just over her but over his own body? How could he heal like that? Had she found herself her very own Superman? Or was he the real Apollo? If so the reality sure beat the hell out her fantasy in every possible way. “Sharla?” His deep voice warmed her night. He remembered her name. A thrill of pleasure danced through her. “Kerrick,” she breathed, wanting to taste his name on her tongue. His arms tightened about her. “Why aren’t you living at the gateway?”

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“The what?” She liked his enticing accent. Lazily she rubbed her cheek against his solid chest. She felt too relaxed, too content for more. “The gateway,” he repeated. “It took me most of the day to track you.” That penetrated and she lifted her head to peer at his face through the darkness. “What are you talking about?” He unwrapped one arm from about her, raising his hand with the ring so she could see it. “It’s time.” “For what?” But the perfection of the moment had vanished. She slid off him and groped for the blanket to pull over her. “To fulfill our purpose. The key is needed.” “What key?” Coldness seeped into the pit of her stomach and formed a hard lump. “You tracked the wrong person.” Well, she’d known this had to be a mistake. Nothing this wonderful would happen to her except through some ridiculous error. He shook his head but his brow puckered in uncertainty. “The talisman led me. There’s no mistake.” “The ring?” Talisman? What was he talking about? He rose on one elbow and stared down at her. “You really don’t know.” She shook her head. He wasn’t crazy, she reassured herself. She’d seen those gigantic black dogs with their flaming eyes. She’d smelled them. And she’d treated the bite wounds and claw slashes. Of course she might be the one who had gone mad. He drew a deep breath. “Listen, Sharla. I come from another world. A parallel sphere. So did one of your female ancestors.” “I always thought they came from the Netherlands,” she quipped but as a joke it fell flat. She drew a steadying breath. “All right. Start at the beginning. Assume I know nothing because I don’t. Who are you?” “I told you. My name is Kerrick. I’m the hereditary Keeper of the Portal.” 35

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“What portal? The same gateway where you thought I was supposed to be?” He shook his head. “This world—your world—is the closest to ours. We opened that particular gateway in a time of danger for a particular purpose. The portal is something very different, the transfer point between all other worlds. Some are similar to ours and some…aren’t. Many are very dangerous.” An image rose in her mind of those snarling hounds. “Demonic?” “A few. It was because of an incursion from that particular world that we created the seal for the portal in the first place. But that was a very long time ago. Centuries ago. Then came a time of considerable political unrest for our people and the key was seen as a stepping stone to power. So the Keeper of the Portal—my ancestor—sent the key in the custody of a Keeper into another world where it could be safe from political maneuverings.” “And now those demons are breaking through again so you’ve come for the key?” Uneasiness gripped her. “What has that got to do with me?” His mouth tugged into a smile. “You, my dearest Sharla, are the hereditary Keeper of the Key.” She hesitated. “What will happen if you don’t recover it?” she asked at last. His smile faded. “There’ll be no way of stopping the hounds. And other demonic forces will follow. My world will be destroyed. And then because the interface is so thin they’ll invade your world as well.” Stillness settled over her. She didn’t breathe. Even her heartbeat seemed to stop. Tension entered his voice. “Why do you ask?” “Because,” she said very slowly, “I never inherited any key.”

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Chapter Four For a long moment Kerrick said nothing. Then, “You must have.” Sharla shook her head. He swung from the bed and took several pacing steps across the floor. The pale moonlight filtering through the window silhouetted his body, turning him into a blend of perfect form and controlled movement. Like a jungle cat, she thought. Then he turned so the glow cast him into a collage of shadow and gleaming skin and muscle. And cock. She couldn’t drag her gaze from that magnificent organ. And only minutes before it had plunged and thrust inside her then brought her to toe curling gasping ecstasy. And he had only sought her out because he wanted some damned key she didn’t even possess. “You do have it,” he declared as if reading her thoughts. He returned to the bed, fumbled with the base of the lamp, found the small knob and turned it. With a click light once more filled the room. Sharla looked away, clasping the blanket over her breasts. Light made her feel exposed. Vulnerable. Fat. “It’ll be disguised but somewhere you have it,” Kerrick insisted. “Why aren’t you living at the gateway?” All he wanted was the key, she reminded herself. She pushed a few inches away from him. “If you told me what that was it might help.” “The house.” He sounded surprised as if any idiot would have known that. “It should have been in your family for generations, always descending through the female line.”

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The house. That gigantic architectural behemoth that cost a fortune to heat and would take a Trump or a Gates to pay the repair bills to make it livable. “We couldn’t afford to keep it up,” she said. “My grandfather would have sold it if he could have broken the trust after my grandmother died. Now it just sits there suffering from termites and rot and advanced decay.” “But you’ve inherited it?” he persisted. “Some inheritance. The taxes and insurance on that monstrosity take everything I’ve got.” “But it’s yours.” That seemed to matter to him. “And you have the keys to the place?” She scooted to the other side of the bed then hesitated. He’d torn her nightgown and she couldn’t be certain where she had discarded it. If she ran really fast could she make it to her robe in the bathroom without him seeing too much of her ample figure? She’d have to risk it. She pushed herself to her feet and darted toward the door. “Stop.” His deep voice held an odd compelling note. She halted but the familiar flush of shame heated her cheeks. “You’re so beautiful.” He didn’t sound like he was making fun of her. If she weighed twenty or even just ten pounds less she might believe him. But how could he find her attractive? Other men didn’t. He rose and walked toward her. With one hand he caressed her cheek and jaw as he slid the other around her waist. He pulled her against him, his mouth covering hers. His cock pressed against her, swelling, rising once more to attention. “You make it hard to concentrate,” he murmured against her lips. This man was simply too wonderful to be true. She twined her arms about his neck and clung to him, needing to reassure herself he was tangible and real and not just

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another of her fantasies gone wild. Her breasts crushed against his rib cage, sending desire flaring through her. Could these sensations be all in her mind? Did she have the imagination to create the way he’d made love to her, the way he sent her senses into full flight? Suddenly she had to know, had to experience it again. If it was the same then she’d have her answer, know that none of this night was real. Know that she had gone over the brink into fantasyland and had best report to the nearest psychiatrist for long-term rehab. That would at least explain her seeing those demon hounds. Kerrick’s hand stroked her hip, her buttocks, then he pulled her tight against his straining erection. It sure felt real. It felt…incredible. A moan escaped her as his swollen shaft pressed against her clit and as her mouth opened he darted his tongue inside. She caught it with her teeth and pushed even tighter against his cock, massaging it with slow circular movements. It was his turn to groan. He stooped to circle one arm just beneath her rear and he lifted her, carrying her to the bed. “Wrap your legs around me,” he murmured. As she did he buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, nuzzling her throat. Then he boosted her higher and sat on the edge of the mattress, cradling her in his lap. She rotated her hips forward so not only her clit but her entire cleft claimed his engorged penis. It felt so right, so marvelous. Like they belonged together. As if he possessed his own key and it fitted perfectly into her lock. He leaned back, holding her away from him. The head of his penis pushed along her cleft until it found the entry it sought. With a sigh she welcomed it inside, holding it as tightly as she could as he straightened. And then he began to rock back and forth, back and forth, her clit rubbing into his bush, his cock massaging her pussy. She arched away from him, pressing into the arms that clasped her at waist and hip and he ducked his head to latch his teeth over one nipple. Heat spiraled through her as she clenched her hands on his shoulders, raking his skin, kissing the thick dark hair. His scent, his 39

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touch, his taste filled her world then his rhythm quickened and everything faded except their point of joining, the rising ecstasy, the tidal wave of sensation that crashed through her. She sank against him, cradling him to her, her lips moving across his hair then his forehead as he raised his face to reach for her mouth. For a long while they clung together, faces buried in one another’s necks. She breathed in deeply, savoring the mixture of sweat and earthiness and pure masculinity. Yes. This time it had been different yet every bit as wonderful. Tonight really must be more than the product of a deranged imagination. He had to be real. At last he let himself fall backward onto the blankets pulling her with him. “How did I ever live without you?” he murmured. “I could almost be grateful to those demons for making me come to your world.” “The demons.” She sat upright, dismayed. If he was real then so were those horrible baying hounds. “It won’t be safe to return to the gateway until daylight,” he told her. “We have until then.” “It may take until then to find the key.” With reluctance she eased herself away from him. “We’d better look for it.” He rolled off the bed and to his feet in one graceful movement. “Where do we start?” “My desk.” She headed to the bathroom and pulled on her robe. “It’s in the living room,” she called. Not that her apartment was that large. He could hardly miss the old oak roll-top. She emerged to find him standing before it rummaging through the lower drawers. A tiny part of her wished he’d put on his kilt again. His superb equipment kept drawing her gaze, making her want him all over again. And she’d just had him twice in a row which still amazed her. The greater part of her whispered she should enjoy the view while she could. He would be gone from her life again all too soon. But from now 40

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on her daydreams and fantasies would be filled not with that second-rate loser Apollo but with Kerrick. “How did those demon hounds get here?” she asked as she joined him. He straightened. “They broke into the fortress and followed me through the gateway. There were too many for me to kill them all but the daylight was my ally.” “They’ll be attacking people—” She stopped as the horror of that thought unfolded before her. “They have little substance here,” he assured her. “They won’t be able to take a more tangible form in this world until they’ve overcome mine. Then they’ll be able to move onto the next.” “This one.” He nodded. “Until then I’m the only one who really exists for them.” “But I could see—and smell—them.” “Because your ancestress came from my world. Your blood may have been diluted by generations of marriage with the men from here but there’ll still be enough of it within your veins for you to fulfill your role.” “By finding that damned key.” She rolled up the wooden slats and watched them disappear into the wooden frame. The first of the tiny drawers revealed only stamps. The second held paper clips and rubber bands. The third at last held an assortment of keys. She brought them out in triumph. “I did put them in here. I was afraid I might have stuffed them in one of the boxes.” He stared at the handful of variously shaped pieces of metal. “It’s not any of those.” “It has to be.” She studied them. A gate key. One for the barn, another for the carriage house. Car keys. Several padlocks. “Here.” She held up an old-fashioned intricately cut specimen. “For the house.” He shook his head. “For the house perhaps. But not for the portal.”

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“But you said—” She broke off. No, he hadn’t. She’d assumed. “What does it look like?” “It’ll bear the symbol of the portal. Like the ring that led me to you.” He held up his hand. The family crest. It would contain her family crest. She closed her eyes in an effort of memory then shook her head. “I’ve never seen it on a key.” “It might be disguised as some other object.” “Oh great. Do you have any idea how many places that damned crest appears? It’s all over the old house. It’s above doorways. It’s carved into the fireplace.” He nodded. “The fireplace in the great hall is the gateway to my world.” “Oh.” She blinked. “Do you mean that every carving of it leads to some other place?” “No. Only that one. The rest were probably added to hide the importance of that one. To make the symbol’s appearance on other objects seem unimportant.” “Other objects,” she repeated. “Like what?” “Knives?” he suggested. “Jewelry? And I didn’t sense its presence in the house. I don’t think it’s there.” “Here?” she asked. “Can’t tell. You’re here, you see.” “You mean I give off the same impressions as this key?” “You’re its Keeper.” “And what a great job I’m doing.” She sighed. “So it could be anywhere among the things I inherited. Damn it, why didn’t the family warn me?” He smiled. “It would have helped. The responsibility should have been handed down from mother to daughter.” “Only my mother died while I was still a child. So she never passed it on. Why couldn’t one of them have written about it somewhere? Left a diary or something?” 42

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“Are you sure they didn’t?” She nodded. “I read so many papers when I came of age. All the trust documents. All the legal obligations. There wasn’t any mention of instructions for protecting parallel universes.” “Definitely an oversight. There wasn’t anything at all?” “Only the legal prohibition of selling or giving away anything marked with the family crest.” He sighed. “Well, let’s see what we can find here.” He stayed at the desk. She looked around the room. What would a key to a timespace-magic-dimensional-whatever portal look like? Not a good old reliable Schlage, she bet. It ought to be ornate, heavy, carved with runes and sigils and mystic symbols and all that nonsense. More likely it would be completely plain except for the crest. Why should it be easy to identify? “Why can’t that ring of yours be a finding device?” she demanded as she headed for the storage closet. “It found you,” he pointed out. “Lucky me,” she muttered. She opened the door and glared at the contents. She had stuffed a number of boxes in here that had moved with her each time she’d had to leave one cheap apartment for an even cheaper one. She didn’t think she’d opened them since her grandfather’s death more than a decade ago. If the key was anywhere, she supposed, it would be lurking in one of these. She pulled out the top one and stared at a set of metal plates—pewter not silver—that lay within, individually wrapped between tea towels and pillowcases each embroidered with that damned crest. “Can it be fabric?” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s see.” He sank to he ground at her side.

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It cost her an effort to study each item he lifted in his hand rather than the very intriguing item that hung between his muscled legs. “Nothing?” she sighed as he handed back the last platter. “Next box?” he suggested. They opened it. More linens. A box of stationery. A leather ink stand. A box of sealing wax with… “A seal!” she cried, excited. He picked it up, turning it over to study the engraving of the intricate archway and key pattern. “For wax,” he agreed. “You mean that’s not it?” she demanded, surprised at how disappointed she felt. “I really thought that might be the key.” “No.” He brought out the last object. She drew her gaze from the incredible anatomy in his lap and focused on an aged and much worn deck of cards. The imprint of the crest appeared on the back of the topmost pasteboard. “That’s my grandmother’s tarot deck.” Her excitement flooded back. “Do you think one of the cards could be the key?” The Ace of Wands perhaps? He picked up the top one, held it a moment then set it down without bothering to turn it over. She waited, working her lower lip between her teeth, hoping. “Well?” she asked as he neared the bottom of the deck. He held each of the remaining cards in turn only to shake his head as he set down the last. “No.” “Damn.” She looked around. “What else?” He sounded tense. Worried. No wonder if the existence of his world depended on her being able to find that key. She closed her eyes, racking her memory, searching for some forgotten moment, some dream where a female ancestor might have come to her and told her not, under any circumstances, to ever forget the importance of something. No luck. She shook her head. “Nothing except the two items in the museum.”

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“That sounds promising.” He didn’t look enthusiastic though. In fact he looked pale. “Are you all right?” “Just tired. My injuries were severe. The healing takes time.” “And I didn’t help.” Contrition filled her. They had made love twice and she’d been wondering about the chances of engaging in round three. Yet she’d known how deeply those fangs had penetrated his skin, how much blood he must have lost. “You need sleep.” He shook his head. “We’ve got to find that key.” “But not this minute. You said yourself it wouldn’t be safe while it’s still dark out. And the museum will be locked up with the security system ready to scream at the slightest movement or sound. Get some sleep now while you can. It looks like we’re going to be pretty busy as soon as it gets light.”

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Chapter Five Sharla stood in the doorway to her bedroom gazing at Kerrick as he lay on his side beneath her blanket. He looked—and had felt when he made love to her—so solid. So real. As if he belonged in this world. She shook her head. She’d never have believed Kerrick’s insane story if she hadn’t seen—and smelled—those demon hounds for herself. She still couldn’t understand how the cab driver hadn’t been aware of them. Or maybe it should scare her more that she had seen them, heard their snarls, seen the dark ooze that dripped from their fangs. Just the memory sent chills down her spine. It made her want to crawl into the double bed and find shelter in Kerrick’s strong arms. Of course she’d want that anyway. And so much more. His hand moved in his sleep and she caught the glint from his heavy carved ring. She’d always thought that crest belonged to her family. How could she have guessed it actually belonged to the protectors of another world? And that now she herself had become one of those protectors? Another world. Her lips twitched into a sad smile. How typical that the one man who roused her wildest passions—and who actually seemed to want her—belonged to another world. And thus could never belong to her. She returned to the living room. At least today was Sunday, her day off. She ought to get some more sleep too. But first she had to think. She wandered into her kitchenette to be greeted by his kilt draped over the faucet and sink. Air fluff in the dryer, she decided. It would take hours to get all that moisture out but it would still be faster than leaving it where it lay. She could always put it in with heat. If it really was made of wool it would shrink. She rather liked the thought of a really tight kilt as the only covering to his remarkable tackle. Of course she preferred 46

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the thought of nothing covering it at all. Except of course her. She’d like to surround it again, feel it thrusting inside her tunnel, revel in his arms wrapping about her as she joined in his lustful enthusiasm. That man really knew how to enjoy sex. And he shared that gift with her so freely. But as much as she relished the thought of his nakedness he’d need to wear clothes once they left her apartment. The cabbie had seen him, he wasn’t invisible in the same way the demon hounds were. And that meant not only the kilt but his shirt as well had to be presentable. Those broad shoulders and spectacular pecs of his would never fit into one of her t-shirts. She poured hydrogen peroxide over the darkening stains on the shirt though it would probably be easier to dye it all a brownish red. While it soaked in cold water she stared uneasily out the window. No demon hounds lurked in the darkness. At least she hoped they didn’t. She didn’t see any movements at any rate. But she and Kerrick would have to leave the safety of this building when it got light. If he was right then they shouldn’t be pursued in the daytime. They could reach the museum, she could— Oh hell. Her grandfather had given those two pieces to the museum on permanent loan. She couldn’t just walk in, tell her boss Gregory she needed them and carry them off. There’d be paperwork. Mounds and mounds of paperwork. Delays. She might need approval from the board of directors which would mean even longer delays. Gregory and the directors might even refuse to let her borrow them even though the items technically belonged to her. She’d just have to take them without Gregory’s permission, without going through proper channels. And that wouldn’t be easy. Best to go when no one was there except a security guard. Mr. Romlin would be ideal since he wouldn’t question her reasons for wandering into the displays after hours. He might even help her steal what she wanted. No, she couldn’t ask that of him.

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He’d get in trouble especially if she couldn’t get them back where they belonged before Gregory made his fussy rounds on opening the next day. She was grinning, she realized. She wasn’t scared, she wasn’t really nervous, she was actually excited and eager which meant she must have gone completely out of her mind. But this was an adventure, an undertaking worth any risk, even her life’s blood. She could hardly wait to see it through. Excitement at a new undertaking. The words whispered themselves in her mind. That’s what the fortuneteller had told her, wasn’t it? And to think she’d found the idea ridiculous. On impulse she went to the box that still sat on the floor and brought out her grandmother’s tarot deck. Not just her grandmother’s, she realized. How old were these cards anyway? Had they come from this world or Kerrick’s? She closed her eyes, concentrated her thoughts on the portal, the key and the invasion of the museum she planned, shuffled the deck seven times as the pseudogypsy had instructed then spread them facedown across the carpet. Then she ran her hand slowly along the pasteboard line about an inch above the cards. That one. She pulled it free but even before she turned it over she knew which one she held. The Ace of Wands. Smiling, she replaced it in the deck then on impulse tucked the pack into her purse.

***** Kerrick stirred from the fog of deep sleep. He’d do this slowly, he promised himself. One should never rush coming to full wakefulness if one could avoid it. He’d focus on one sense at a time. Smell first. Already he was aware of an intense odor, strong and rich. It made his mouth water and like the sweet voice of a siren called him from his bed. But what was it? He’d never encountered it before. This was something he’d remember. Absolutely out of this world…

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Out of this world. Or at least out of his own. He was in a different world and he’d come because the demon hounds had forced an entry through the portal and he needed the key to seal it once more. And he’d found Sharla. He spoke her name softly, felt the softness of it in his mouth, on his tongue. He wanted more of her there. Her sweet lips, her mouth, her wonderfully rounded breasts. Just the thought of her sent heat surging through his groin and his cock swelled and stiffened. He needed her. He stretched, rolled to his back and opened his eyes. Daylight flooded through the open curtains. But not the early morning light he’d expected. This had the feel of late afternoon. How long had he slept? And why had she let him? They had a great deal to do today and he couldn’t accomplish any of it lying around in her bed. Of course he could think of one thing he’d like to accomplish in her bed. But he needed Sharla for that. He swung his feet to the floor and encountered the soft carpet. Interesting idea having a rug that stretched from one wall to the other but completely impractical. It must prove nearly impossible to clean when you couldn’t take it outside for a good beating. And where was Sharla? He went to the doorway and saw her sitting in a chair in the living room, her back to the window as if to take full advantage of the light, plying a needle and thread to his shirt. He stopped in his tracks, his heart constricting at the sight. A Keeper who applied herself to domestic tasks. She actually mended his shirt for him. And from the looks of it she’d managed to remove the blood and dirt as well. She wore pants of some heavy dark blue material, a light pullover top and practicallooking shoes. He’d rather she didn’t wear anything at all but these garments showed off her rounded curves in a way he found appealing. It would be fun to help her out of them.

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She looked up at him and her lips parted in an expression partly surprise, partly pure appreciation as her gaze scanned the length of his body from head to groin. Did she like to look at him? At his cock? He hoped so. He certainly liked to look at her naked body. He liked the way it stirred his senses. But even more, he realized, he liked the way it made him feel that he belonged with her. “There’s coffee ready,” she said in that tantalizingly melodic voice. “Coffee?” Was that the incredible smell that surrounded him? What exactly was it? “Don’t you have it in your world? I’ll pour you a cup. But I’ll warn you it smells a lot better than it tastes. I’ll add some milk and sugar.” She set the shirt on the small table at her side and went into the cooking area. She took a glass pot from an oddly shaped holder and poured some of the dark steaming liquid into a large mug. She added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar then turned to a metal cupboard. From it she brought out a carton, poured something white into the coffee then stirred. He took it from her and took a cautious sip then another larger one. She was right about the taste not living up to the smell but then nothing could. Still this was definitely something he could get used to. “Hungry?” she asked. “Yes.” Ravenous in fact. He couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last. “Omelet okay?” “Great. How long do we have before it gets dark?” She leaned back against the counter, a worried look creasing her brow. “I’ve been trying to figure things out,” she said. “We won’t be able to search the museum until after it’s closed for the night.” He opened his mouth to protest then shut it again. This was her world. She knew its ways. “That means we’ll risk the hounds again.”

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She nodded but her eyes held a spark of excitement rather than fear. “If we try to take anything from the place when it’s open we might be facing the police.” And you honestly believe your guards are worse than demons?” At that she smiled. “In a way. We couldn’t fight the police, not with your sword at least. It wouldn’t be right. They’d only be doing their jobs. In fact I’d be applauding them if it was anyone else trying to steal things from the museum.” “So we have to wait.” At least he’d managed some much-needed sleep. He felt stronger for it. He flexed his leg muscle that had suffered the deepest bite. Barely a twinge remained. If he had to face those hounds he’d be ready for them. She opened the metal cabinet again, replaced the carton of milk and took out a long rectangular box made of what looked like textured heavy gray fiber. Eggs, he realized as she opened it. It was nice to recognize something. She turned a knob on the cooking surface, pulled a pan from a drawer, poured in some oil then cracked open the shells. “What do you like on them?” “Whatever you’ve got.” “Can you chop onions?” He found himself grinning. “My sword might be overkill.” “Knives in the drawer there.” She nodded toward it. He found several and chose one that seemed the most suitable for the job. He opened the metal cabinet where she seemed to keep her food and the cold inside startled him. It must contain a block of ice hidden somewhere. Clever. He rummaged around the contents and discovered not only the suggested onions but also peppers, mushrooms and even a bag of some flimsy see-through material containing fresh spinach leaves. He set to work chopping while she beat the eggs then brought out a long narrow loaf of some crusty bread.

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In minutes she stirred in his contributions, allowed the concoction to set, then folded it with the cheese she grated. After carefully cutting it in half she slid it onto two plates. “Grab the bread and your coffee.” She led the way to a small table. He settled opposite her took a long swallow from his mug then turned his attention to the food. The first forkful rested a moment on his tongue, the melded flavors delectable. He ate the rest with gusto then broke off a chunk of bread. She even had a thick slab of butter to spread on it. Simple but satisfying and definitely more enjoyable than the formal meals over which he had to preside at the fortress. “What will we be looking for in the museum?” he asked when his hunger had subsided from a growl to a mere murmur. He broke off more bread. “Only two things. A necklace and a dagger. I know where the necklace is on display but I can’t remember seeing the dagger. It’s probably in storage.” “But you can get to it?” She nodded. “Might take a little time but I’ll find it. At least it isn’t a very large museum.” Together they cleared the table. She placed their dishes into a large box beneath the counter that seemed to be filled with racks already piled with other plates and cups. As he watched, fascinated, she poured white powder from a box into two small compartments, closed the large front flap and turned a dial. A low rumble issued from it. Sharla smiled. “Dishwasher. In a bit over an hour they’ll all be clean and dry and ready to use again.” Kerrick stared at it, puzzled. “But I could do that in just a few minutes.” “Go right ahead if you want. But I’ve still got your clothes to mend.” She left the tiny kitchen area and he followed her to a second closet that stood beside the one they had searched earlier. She pulled wide its double doors to reveal two large white metal boxes. One she opened and a light inside illuminated the cylindrical

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interior. His kilt lay in a heap on the bottom. She pulled it out, gave it a shake and nodded. He caught a handful of the brown fabric. “It’s dry.” How could that have happened? The light in that odd box? Perhaps it gave off more heat with its door closed. “This will probably take me about half an hour to mend,” she said. “You can take a shower if you like.” Her gaze rested on his chest for a moment then she turned back to her chair and the waiting needle and thread. A shower? Something like a rain shower perhaps? He went to the window, enjoying the way her gaze followed him and studied the sky. Not a single cloud, no chance of the suggested rain. Maybe it was something like a bath. But it would take too long to heat water. Already he could detect the first creeping of dusk. “When can we go to the museum?” “It won’t close for another hour, I’m afraid. We can head over there though as soon as you’ve got something to wear. There might be a few awkward questions about what I’m doing there on my day off but we can deal with that.” Kerrick stared into the street filled with cars and people and noise. “The hounds will be around the museum.” She looked up again, her expression alarmed. “Even in the daylight?” “They’ll have found darkness in which to hide. Given time they can weave it from shadows and wrap it about themselves.” “Which means they’ll find you as soon as we get near the place?” Worry sounded in her soft voice. Her very attractive voice. As desirable as the rest of her. With an effort he dragged his thoughts from the warmth of her body, the sweetness of her touch, the satisfaction she brought to him with her moans and cries and explosive orgasms. She made him feel every inch a man. And it went straight to his cock.

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Not now, he ordered his swelling penis—not that that would help any. He had to concentrate on his mission, his duty as Keeper of the Portal. Not on sex. Which was getting more difficult by the moment. “Can they find you here? At my apartment?” “Eventually,” he admitted. “Not yet though. They won’t have had time.” Not unless they had learned to adapt more quickly than they had on their arrival in his own world. Anything was possible though. “We’ll wait here,” he decided. He strode from the room. If he stayed in her vicinity any longer he’d be undressing her just so he could look at—and touch and kiss and stroke—her breasts. And her nub and cleft and then he’d want to explore the depths of her pussy and find some relief for his throbbing cock. He now stood in her sleeping room which did nothing to ease the growing ache in his nethers. He should check and clean his sword except at the moment handling that weapon would only make him more conscious of the one that hung—and rose— between his legs. What was the matter with him? He’d never let desire for a woman interfere with his purpose before. But this woman was different. And not just because she came from another world. Focus on what brought you here. With an effort he averted his gaze from her bed. Reflecting on the softness of the mattress, on how it was just the right size for the two of them to roll and romp accomplished nothing except his increasing discomfort. They’d never checked this room for items bearing the symbol of the key. Perhaps she kept it in a place where she saw it so often it had lost all significance for her. He slid back a panel door to reveal a long narrow closet. Not that many articles of clothing. Several shelves, a few boxes. He closed his eyes and felt with the power of the ring. Nothing among the hanging garments. He checked the shelves. Again nothing. Nor in the boxes. It looked like the key really must be in the museum. Unfortunate. Dangerous. But unalterable. 54

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Except he hadn’t checked the bedside cabinet yet. He peered into the bottom cupboard first to no avail. Then he opened the drawer. Odds and ends. Except what was this? He drew out what looked to be a rod about two inches in diameter and six inches long with two rounded objects attached near one end. With a bit of imagination it looked like a man’s cock and balls. It was supposed to be a man’s cock and balls. The realization hit him with stunning force. This was an object for a woman who did not have a viable man in her life. No, he corrected himself. This was an object for a woman who took charge of her desires, who refused to rely on others for what she wanted or needed. This was the object of a woman warrior. And she’d allowed him to share pleasure with her. He didn’t know whether to feel smug or humbled. He replaced the object in the drawer and closed it and found himself smiling. When he returned to the main room she was standing before the window staring down into the street. He must have made some sound as he approached but she didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder. So much for his smugness. He would have to earn the attention of this woman. He came to a stop behind her. If only she would lean back he could hold her against his chest. No. This woman deserved boldness. Probably she would demand it in a lover. He stepped forward and circled his arms about her waist, sliding his hands along her rib cage. Too much material covered her. He wanted it gone. Now. No fastenings. He found the bottom edge of the soft garment and eased his fingers beneath. He felt her body stiffen then she leaned back against him with a sigh as his hands smoothed across her soft skin. Slow, he ordered himself. She deserved every ounce of pleasure he could give her.

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Oh to the hells with slow. His cock had been pounding and burning for too long. It pressed against her cloth-covered rear, demanding attention. He wanted to quench it in her pussy. Right now. He found her breasts but some scratchy fabric covered them. Impatient, he pushed the covering aside, finding the rounded curves then the taut tips of her nipples. That’s what he wanted. He pinched them tight and felt her back arch, thrusting the roundness of her bottom against his straining erection. He bent his head to nibble at the curve of her neck where it emerged from her rounded neckline. She turned in his arms to wrap her own about his bare shoulders. She felt so right, so perfect there. She— She tensed and pulled back. “Do you smell something?” Only her. Only… Sulfur. The demon hounds had found him. Snuffling sounds came from just outside in the hallway. Then a low growl reached him. The next moment a heavy body slammed against the door. At least the damned creatures lacked opposable thumbs. “Your clothes!” Sharla snatched up his kilt and thrust it at him then reached for the shirt. He scrambled into the garments. Already she had retrieved his scabbard from the floor and he buckled it on. He grabbed his boots. No time for the socks. He set to work lacing while she ran to the kitchen and pulled open a drawer. Again and again the huge bodies of the hounds battered the wooden door. It wouldn’t hold much longer. Their stench filled the room, sickening, spreading dread everywhere it seeped. He looked to Sharla to see how she held up. She stood by the table where they had eaten earlier, staring at the door and gripping a large knife in both hands. “That won’t

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faze them,” he warned. He had to shout the words to make himself heard over the repeated poundings and growls. “Unless you can carve in the symbol of the portal and key really fast.” She stared at the useless weapon she clutched. “What can we do?” “Is there another way out of here?” “A fire escape. The bedroom window.” He secured a knot. That would keep the boots from falling off until he had a chance to tie them more securely. “Come on then.” He drew his sword and as she snatched up her purse he grabbed her elbow and propelled them into the other room. As they clambered out the window onto the metal grating the front door splintered and crashed and the furious baying of the hounds filled the gathering dusk.

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Chapter Six Sharla scrambled down the fire escape. Howls and furious barks accompanied by the crashing of furniture sounded from her apartment and the metal treads rattled and rang as Kerrick pounded after her. At least he didn’t try to play hero and attempt to hold the demons off. That would have been sheer stupidity. She grasped the railing, preparing for the thunderous shaking when the first of those giant fiends sprang after them. It didn’t come. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw them slavering and snarling from her window. The fire escape landing, she realized, lay in what little remained of the daylight. The sun, she realized, had set. This reprieve wouldn’t last for long. Already the shadows of approaching night lurked all too near. And collected way too fast. The hounds. It had to be the hounds. Kerrick had said they could gather shadows to weave about themselves. She reached the uneven pavement of the alley and turned to grasp Kerrick’s hand as he joined her. “This way,” she shouted then felt ridiculous. Only a few yards separated them from the street. He’d hardly have run the opposite way. “That streetlamp’s beginning to glow,” Kerrick called over the din of the hounds. He was right. The pale peach light spread out from the bulb as darkness descended. Only a few more feet and they’d make it to that little circle of safety. Then all they needed was a cab. Why hadn’t she phoned for one? She’d intended to. But that was one of those things you did when you were almost ready to leave. She’d thought they’d have more time. Well, they hadn’t.

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They reached the meager protection of the pool of light. Already more hounds emerged from the shadows on the opposite side of the street. Others slunk growling in doorways all too near. She turned to glance at Kerrick and their gazes locked and held. Longing welled in her to stay like this, to stay with him, to share their lives. At the moment all they shared was danger. One of the massive beasts paced toward them, head lowered so its spiky shoulder blades rose high. Fire flickered in its red eyes and dark ooze dripped from its bared fangs. Sharla clung to Kerrick. Would dying be more bearable, more comforting, if she was at Kerrick’s side? To hell with that. She’d much rather live with him than die with him. She needed a cab but cabs rarely came into this neighborhood unless they’d been called. She fumbled in her purse, drew out her cell phone and punched in the numbers for information. In another minute she placed the call, gave the address and received the assurance there would be a taxi at her door within six minutes. Six minutes. That could all too easily be a lifetime. She found Kerrick’s hand again and welcomed its warmth, the firmness of its clasp. Just his presence comforted her. He drew a step closer so his chest pressed against her shoulder. She longed to close her eyes, to lean against him, to savor just being with him. But the demon hounds that slunk in the deeper shadows made that too risky. It took seven and a half minutes, every moment of which the snarling and growling of the monsters grew louder, more threatening. But as the gathering darkness descended in earnest and the demons crept from their sheltering shadows the taxi pulled into sight. By the time it swung to the curb a scant twenty yards from the lamppost she and Kerrick were running, reaching it as the lead hounds snapped at their heels.

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Sharla pulled open the door and tumbled inside, scrambling across the seat to make room for Kerrick. He followed, jerking the door closed even as one of their fiery-eyed pursuers slammed into it. And the driver had no idea of the beasts that even now hurled themselves against his car in fury. They pulled into traffic with the hounds racing after them. Sharla leaned back against the seat, a shuddering sigh escaping her. Kerrick slid closer, his arm circling her shoulders and she rested her head against him. At last she allowed her eyes to close as she savored the texture of his linen shirt and the solidity of the muscle beneath. If only they were alone, if only this taxi didn’t race them toward even more danger. She wanted his bare skin beneath her cheek. She wanted his hand to grip not her arm but her breast, his fingers caressing her nipples, his mouth covering hers and his tongue tracing its slow circles about the inside of her mouth. A soft sigh escaped her at the sensations her thoughts roused. Did he know how she burned for him, how her clit ached for his touch, how her tunnel filled with moisture to ease the way for his giant cock? And here she was in only a t-shirt without even a coat for covering so his hands could prowl beneath it. She raised her face so she could look into his eyes and was surprised by his expression of tormented tenderness. With a finger that trembled with her emotion she touched his cheek. How could she want someone so much, feel such a connection, such a closeness after so short a time? A soft exclamation escaped him. His arm tightened about her and he dragged her even closer, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that proclaimed his own raging desire. His hand caressed her thigh and she regretted the heavy denim of her jeans that was in the way. If only she could unzip them, slide them down so she could experience his fingers trailing along her flesh, grant him access to her lacy panties and what they covered. She wanted those fingers caressing her clit, forging an entry along her cleft, delving deep into her pussy. And she wanted it now.

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Her own hand slid across his muscled waist then along the heavy fabric of his kilt. He didn’t wear anything beneath it. Just his bare cock and tackle. Her hand dipped into his lap and a thrill shot through her at the hardness she encountered there, at the rod straining to meet her touch. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth then nibbled his way along her throat then around to her ear where he tugged at the lobe then allowed his tongue to trace its outline. The taxi jolted to a stop. Sharla looked out the window but they had only come to a traffic light still several blocks from the museum. But the hounds would be waiting. “They’ll be closing about now. I’d better call ahead,” she told Kerrick. She pulled out her phone once more and punched in the emergency number that bypassed the automated main line and took her directly to the Mr. Romlin’s department. On the third ring someone picked up. “Museum security,” came Mr. Romlin’s comfortable voice. Thank heavens it was him on duty this evening. He wouldn’t ask questions, insist on her filling out paperwork. “It’s Sharla Reid,” she said. “There’s been a family emergency. Can you meet me at the front door in about four minutes?” “You’ll be needing your family’s things then?” “Afraid so.” “I’ll be waiting for you.” That wonderful sweet unsuspicious man. “Could you turn on the floodlights for the front steps?” she asked on inspiration. “I’ve got a friend with me.” “It does look more impressive that way,” he agreed, his smile sounding in his voice. “But they’re already on. People are still leaving.” Kerrick straightened, his muscles tensing once more. “They’ll be waiting.” No need to ask whom he meant by “they”. “And all those people with no idea.” She shook her head. “They’ll be safe but we’ll have to run for it.”

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Which would be the key, the necklace or the dagger? The necklace would be the easiest, they’d only have to take it from the display case. If it was the dagger that would prove more difficult. They’d have to locate it and that meant wasted minutes searching the records for its storage location. Somewhere in the basement in one of the numbered drawers, that was all she knew for sure. Only there were so many of those drawers containing everything from mineral specimens to silverware to weapons not currently on display. If they hadn’t updated the costume exhibit only last year the necklace would reside in one of them too. The floodlights from the museum illuminated not only the steps down to the sidewalk but also the surrounding area for about fifteen yards in each direction. About half a dozen people descended, stragglers, oblivious to what lurked so close. If only she could be the same. She glanced at Kerrick and saw the determination gleaming in the depths of his dark eyes. Then he met her gaze and her breath stilled. “As soon as we’ve completed our duty,” he murmured, making the words a vow. A thrill shot through her. He wanted her possibly as much as she wanted him. The promise of feeling his arms about her holding her close while his marvelous cock plunged inside her would carry her through whatever dangers lay ahead. As they slowed to a stop at the curb Sharla pulled out sufficient money to pay the driver. She’d tucked all the cash she had in her apartment into her purse earlier in the day but that wasn’t much. She hoped it would cover the next taxi, the one they’d need to take to the outskirts of town to the massive old house built so long ago. A gateway into another world. Unbelievable. But the massive shapes pacing in the darkness beyond the spill of the lights could not be denied. She glanced at Kerrick. “Ready?”

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He nodded and adjusted his grip on the sword. She sprang from the cab and raced up the stairs. Several of the patrons turned to glance at her then shrugged and walked on. Then the hounds that prowled all too near gave tongue with a baying that chilled her, sending a fear shooting through her that made it an effort to keep going. As if those demons willed her to falter, to fall, to become their prey. Even as her steps slowed the hounds leapt forward wrapped in their own fields of darkness that faded the further they came into the light. Kerrick grabbed her elbow. “Don’t stop,” he ordered. His touch broke the spell that had gripped her. She pelted after him up the last stairs. The hot breath of the lead beast lashed against her legs as Mr. Romlin opened the door. She stumbled inside and Kerrick barred the narrowing gap as the glass panel swung closed. “Oh to be young enough to want to race.” Mr. Romlin shook his head, an indulgent smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Family emergency or costume party? Never mind. That necklace is yours, you can borrow it back if you want.” “Emergency that interrupted the costume party,” Sharla managed. She was panting from the exertion. Kerrick’s breath hadn’t even sped up. He seemed completely calm as he sheathed his sword. Resolutely, she turned her back on the snarling, slavering monsters that hurled themselves against the door which shook and rattled under their onslaught. The light didn’t seem to be slowing them much now. Yet Mr. Romlin noticed nothing. “Have you visited the museum before, sir?” “My first time,” Kerrick told him. “Would you like a tour?” The security guard regarded them hopefully. “We’re in a bit of a rush, I’m afraid,” Sharla said. “Can you turn the lights back on in here?” “I’ll look forward to it another time,” Kerrick assured the man who beamed at him.

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Sharla glanced at Kerrick. Here he was with a pack of demon hounds baying at his heels while he tried to save his world and he took the time to exchange pleasantries with an old man. Why couldn’t a guy like this exist in her own world? Mr. Romlin vanished into the security room and a minute later illumination flooded the building. The howling outside the door increased for a moment then lessened as the beasts slunk back a few paces. A shaky sigh of relief escaped Sharla. The museum’s main floor consisted of only two exhibition halls, neither very large, with three smaller rooms opening off each of these. A short walk brought them to the one that housed the costumes. As they entered Kerrick came to an abrupt halt, a deep sigh of relief escaping him. He strode to one of the glass-encased mannequin tableaux and gazed inside. “This way.” Mr. Romlin directed them to a discreet door hidden in the room’s paneling and unlocked it. Shar slipped through and a minute later her hands closed over the fastening of the necklace. Power pulsed against her fingers, startling her so she snatched back her hands. Power. The key. They’d found it. But they still had a long way to go between the safety of this room and the gateway inside her grandparents’ decrepit old house. The glass doors of the museum might have been designed to withstand a considerable onslaught but she doubted the old timbers of the house would hold up against a concerted attack by those hounds. Kerrick’s sword alone would never hold them at bay. She’d better take the extra time to find the dagger. She hesitated only a moment then clasped the bulky silver torque about her own neck. The key dangled like the pendant it was disguised to be. Through the thin cotton of her t-shirt she could feel its vibrating hum. All the way to her breasts. All the way to her clit. Oh damn, the last thing she needed was an even stronger desire for sex at the moment.

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But the key made her feel alive. Filled with passion and enthusiasm. She had a purpose and the sense of urgency to fulfill it surged through her until she vibrated along with the key. Mr. Romlin beamed at her as she emerged from the display case. “Very becoming on you.” “It…fits you perfectly,” said Kerrick. Could he see how she reacted to it? Did this same glorious energy drive through him? Did he know how it heightened her every sense? What would it be like to have him stroke her body into ecstatic frenzy while she wore the key? Later, she promised herself. Somehow they’d find time later. Almost running now, Shar led the way back to the main hall only to come to an abrupt halt. The double glass doors leading to the outside stood ajar. And the stench of sulfur permeated the museum. “Now how did that happen?” Mr. Romlin, frowning, strode forward to examine the hinges. “The lock mustn’t have caught,” Sharla said but she didn’t believe that for a moment. She couldn’t ignore that stench. “Go ahead and stay here. We can find our own way to the storage rooms.” The key trembled against her chest. Did it sense the presence of the demonic beings? Mr. Romlin cast a worried look around the hall. “I’d better call a locksmith.” He headed for the security room. Sharla broke into a run. Kerrick drew his sword and followed at a slower pace, his gaze searching the shadowed corners of the hall through which they passed. Nothing. So far. She reached the door that closed off the stairs to the basement, typed in her access code on the keypad and let herself through. Kerrick joined her as she fumbled for the light switch. “Lock the door,” she whispered.

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“That won’t do much good,” he reminded her. “Makes me feel better.” So did the light that flooded the stairwell. She started down but had descended no more than a half dozen steps when the first of the great beasts crashed against the panel. Not as hard as she’d expected. The hounds must be hampered by so much light. But they were growing stronger, better at weaving their own darkness. She wondered how much more time remained before the light would become no more than a mild irritation to them. Fortunately this was a fire door built to withstand a great deal. But no one had ever tested it against a demonic attack. Definite oversight, she decided. She turned to Kerrick, wrapped one arm about his neck and pulled his head down to hers for a kiss. She’d meant it to be quick but she couldn’t break the contact. She held him, caressing his lips with her own, flicking her tongue over them. Desire surged through her enhanced by the pulsing of the key, so strong it overshadowed the battering of the beasts at the door. Heat spiraled through her. But now wasn’t the time. With an effort she pulled free. His eyes mirrored her own regret. “I’ll hold them. Find the dagger.” He kissed her again hard with a passion as wild as her own then spun back to face the door. She ran down the remaining steps. In the hallway at their base stood the table that held one of the networked computers. She switched it on, waited the interminable seconds while it powered up, ran through its internal checks then finally offered her a log-in screen. It took her only moments to sign on with her password, bring up the storage database, find the reference for the dagger and pinpoint its location. Elation surged through her. She wanted to laugh. She’d never felt like this, so eager, so excited, so ready to play this strange and dangerous role that hereditary had thrust on her. So this was the meaning of the Ace of Wands. She understood it now as she never could have before. It vibrated through every fiber of her being in time with the key.

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Grinning in what was probably a ridiculous manner, she let herself into the room containing the drawers and felt an immediate pull toward one of them. She’d wasted precious time with that computer. She knew exactly where to find what she sought. Had the key made her sensitive to other items bearing the crest? Or was the dagger special, made to defeat demon invaders such as these hounds? She sure hoped so. She unlocked the drawer without even bothering to check its number. She knew she had the right one. And she knew which of the many cloth-wrapped items inside she wanted. She drew it out and freed it then simply stared. What was the metal? Steel? Silver? It seemed to have properties of both. And it gleamed and shimmered as if with a life of its own. After what she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours that didn’t seem as crazy as it sounded. She gripped the handle as if she intended to wield the blade. It felt cool to her touch. And smooth in spite of the carving of the intertwined portal and key. It might have been made for her hand so perfect did it feel. Just the right thickness. Just the right weight. The tracery of the crest that ran along the blade began to glow with a fiery light. A violent oath escaped Kerrick from his position on the stairs. Even before she reached the door she knew the hounds had broken past him. They had another target now. They could feel her because of the key. And they wanted her dead. As her hand touched the knob the first hound slammed against the panel, knocking it open. For a long frozen moment she stared into eyes of brimstone and fangs that dripped their poisonous dark ooze.

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Chapter Seven Why couldn’t she be holding a spear? Why the hell had her family chosen so tiny a weapon as a dagger? Sharla wanted something that would hold this monster farther off. Like maybe half a mile or so. She knew an impulse to hurl the dagger at the demon’s fiery eyes but that would probably be a terminally stupid move. With her luck she’d miss. And then she wouldn’t have any weapon at all. So just her, a dagger and a demon. Correction. A whole lot of demons. But Kerrick wasn’t far away. He must be the only reason she wasn’t facing dozens of the damned things. She squared her stance, switched hands on the dagger so she could dry her suddenly damp palm on her jeans then gripped it once more in what felt like a usable hold. This was going to be one hell of a fight. She realized she was grinning. Excited. Almost eager. Absolutely out of her mind. But she felt fully alive. And she had no intention of feeling dead in the near future. She lunged, dodged the fangs and felt the resistance as the metal point met the matted fur and hide of the demon’s neck. Then the narrow blade slid home all the way to the hilt. She shuddered, feeling sick but concentrated on pulling it free, on keeping her grip as the beast toppled to its side. She’d never killed anything larger than a mosquito before. She didn’t want to ever again. But that didn’t seem to be one of her options. She turned to face the next hound, which bunched itself to leap. She lunged forward and sideways, embedding the dagger between the monster’s pointed shoulder blades. She jerked it back in time to face the next that already sprang. It collapsed in mid-jump, Kerrick’s sword thrusting through its ribs. For a long moment Sharla stared at it, trembling, then Kerrick gathered her into his arms. 68

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“We’ve got this lot,” he said against her hair. She looked up into his face now liberally smeared with blood. Some his, mostly demonic. Or so she hoped. He looked like a B-movie extra too liberally smeared with catsup. “You’re all right?” He held her away from himself, his hungry gaze searching for any sign of injury. “I will be.” It annoyed her that her voice sounded shaky. He pulled her tight against his chest. “You did well. A warrior worthy of your ancestors.” “So why do I want to cry?” Tears filled her eyes and she buried her face against his chest. She seemed to be trembling internally. No, there was nothing inside that could tremble. Nothing inside her at all. She felt dizzy as if her body faded away. As if she was nothing but an incorporeal spirit. “Sharla?” Kerrick’s voice seemed to come from a very long way off. “You’ll be all right. Your body is just attuning itself to the key. Do you hear me? Sharla?” She couldn’t feel him. Her hands gripped where his shoulders ought to be but she felt nothing. Had she gone numb? Crazy? Dead? He spoke words she couldn’t hear. She could see his lips moving but they didn’t make any sound, at least none she could make out. She wanted—needed—the haven of his arms, to feel his strength, to hear his deep voice. But her senses failed her. Then he was kissing her or at least his face was so close she could only see a blur that might have been part of his cheekbone and one eye. She couldn’t feel any pressure on her mouth. She tried to pull away but couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she feel anything? Why did her mind float in a disoriented haze? He broke the kiss. Now he made rapid determined movements about her body but she was beyond caring. Her vision blurred, faded. She tumbled as if on raging water,

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shooting the wild rapids of her brain gone mad. She clung to the nothingness that was his arm as if it was a life preserver. Then sensation struck in her core, in the depths of her being. In her clit. She became aware of the linen cloth of his shirt gripped in her hands, of his solid muscle beneath. Of the pounding and thrusting of his cock in her tunnel. She gasped and heard the intake of her breath. “Stay with me, love. Stay with me.” Kerrick’s voice. He repeated the words over and over. His fingers pinched the tips of her nipples. She blinked and she could see hazy color again, then shapes until at last he came once more into focus. “I—I’m back,” she managed. Relief radiated from him. He stooped to kiss her and the movement caused his penis to shift in a way that made her gasp again. She wrapped her arms about his neck, holding him close as she arched her hips forward to meet his next thrust. “Oh my love,” he murmured against her lips. He pulled back only to thrust deeper, harder, with a savagery born of the danger of the pursuing hounds, of the fear she had heard in his voice when he begged her to stay. Her clit rubbed against his thick bush and the sensation grounded her even more. Then his mouth moved to her throat, gentler despite the quickening rhythm of his thrusts and withdrawals until nothing mattered except the tightening coil of tension, the scent of his skin, the certainty she gave as much pleasure as she received. She moaned and cried out, clinging to him, her nails digging into his back as she thrust against him, claiming every last moment of ecstasy, of sharing. With Kerrick. As contraction after contraction rippled through her she felt his own explosion, heard his gasping sigh. He pressed her even closer to his chest, kissing her neck, her throat, her eyes. “Oh my love,” he whispered against her mouth. “My dearest love.” She clung to him, tears of exultation, of emotion, of love brimming in her eyes. She didn’t understand, didn’t try to figure it out. She only knew she needed him, that without him she would always feel empty. And not just her pussy. 70

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“We’d better go.” But still he held her, smoothing her hair, brushing her forehead with his lips. He eased back, sliding out of her. She didn’t want to let him go, she wanted him back inside. She wanted to be joined to him. “There’ll be another time,” she breathed though she meant the promise more to herself than to him. “As many more as possible,” he swore. She lay on the sorting table, she realized. Her jeans and panties rested on the floor where he must have tossed them. She slid to the ground, retrieved her clothes and dragged them on. Kerrick stood with his back to her, using the cloth that had held the dagger to mop the blood from his face and hands. Then he used it on her. At last he gave a short nod. “We don’t look so gory now.” “The attunement. Adjustment. Whatever it was. Was that normal?” It had frightened her badly. He’d sounded as if it had frightened him too. He rested his hands on her shoulders, his expression rueful. “You were nearly too many generations removed from my world to be able to accept the key,” he told her. “You needed to be grounded. Fast.” A smile tugged at her lips. “That certainly did the trick. You can ground me any time you like.” He grinned but sobered almost at once. “You can expect more adjustments. Increased sensory perceptions. Surges of energy. They’ll fade so don’t let them worry you.” She nodded. “Let’s get on with it.” She turned to where the three demon hounds had fallen. Nothing remained of them but the sulfurous smell and a smoldering patch of residue that faded even as she watched. “Well, that makes cleanup easier,” she muttered. His grin flashed again. “Call for another taxi?”

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She did then finished locking up. Together they made their way back up the steps, she gripping her dagger and he holding his sword.

Kerrick paused at the top of the stairwell and glanced at Sharla. She looked determined. Scared. But she also looked solid once again and her eyes glittered with excitement. She met his gaze and gave a short nod. Now or never, he supposed. He opened the door and looked into the main hall. No large shapes moved in the shadows cast by the overhead lights. Even the disgusting odor had faded leaving only a trace, a memory of the demons’ rage and hunger to devour worlds. A memory of pain and death. But for the moment it seemed they’d killed all the beasts that had penetrated the museum. For the moment at least they were safe. He sheathed his sword. No need to alarm that poor security guard. Kerrick’s clothes garnered enough odd stares in this world and he’d noticed the denizens didn’t walk around with drawn weapons. But they didn’t have the need. And if all went well it would continue that way. No world deserved the sort of invasion his suffered. He looked down at Sharla who pressed against his side and a wave of tenderness washed over him. How could she have become so precious, so dear to him in so short a time? He would give everything, even his life, to keep her safe. Yet he must drag her into ever greater dangers. And she came willingly. Almost joyfully. She had embraced her role as Keeper of the Key. He bent to kiss the top of her head, relishing the soft texture of her hair, the sweet scent of her. She met his gaze and undisguised passion flared in her eyes. Her lips parted and he could feel her desire like a palpable force. The heightened sensations he’d predicted. Bad timing. He’d gladly help her experience every one of them, drive her to new heights of ecstasy, share with her this

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phase of her adjustment as he would willingly share his life with her. But right now that wasn’t possible. A door opened. He tensed but it was only the security guard. Romlin, that was his name. The man smiled and crossed the tiled floor to meet them. “Must have been a gust of wind that blew the doors open but it’s died down now,” he announced. “Best get a coat though if you’ve left one here,” he added to Sharla then regarded Kerrick. “Pity I can’t lend you one but you’d never be able to cram those shoulders of yours into anything we’ve got in the security room.” “I’ll be fine.” He had Sharla to keep him warm. His blood burned through him whenever his gaze fell on her, whenever he thought about her. Which seemed to be almost constantly. He wanted her again, right now, as much as the key made her want him. Only this time he would take it slowly starting with her sweet lips then allowing his mouth and tongue to explore every inch of her body. He wanted to taste her nipples, take each one of her fingers into his mouth, run his tongue along the sensitive skin of her ankles. He wanted to spend hours pleasuring her before she finally begged him to bury his cock deep inside her. “No, I’ve got one coming,” Sharla said. Kerrick blinked. Mr. Romlin must have asked about a taxi and he’d been so caught up in erotic plans he hadn’t even heard. “Want to come to my office?” she asked, the gleam in her eyes making her meaning very clear. Yes, he did. He wanted to implement a few of those ideas he’d been having. Would he be able to take every stitch of clothing off her using only his mouth? It would be fun trying. He dragged his gaze from the rounded mounds of her breasts and glanced toward the door. There would be more hounds. And they’d come soon.

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Sharla looked outside also. “Right. Better…wait for the cab. I’ll only be a minute.” She fingered the dagger, gave him a lopsided smile and strode toward the opposite end of the hall. Mr. Romlin glanced at the clock. “Time for my rounds,” he announced. “If I’m not back by the time you leave just pull the door shut hard behind you. It’ll lock itself.” He gave Kerrick a short smiling nod. “You come back now. It’s good to see Ms. Reid so alive. And tell her I hope it all works out with her family.” “We’ll make sure it does,” Kerrick said. He watched the older man set off to do whatever museum guards did after closing then turned his attention to the glass doors and the steps that led to the sidewalk and street beyond. The outdoor lamps cast their glaring illumination all the way to the street. But the hounds were accustoming themselves to this world and they had gained practice at weaving the shadows. And now that he and Sharla had the key their attacks would be bolder. They would take greater risks. He heard the steady tread of her soft-soled shoes as she came up behind him. “Any sign?” she asked. She remained about a foot away from him. Probably a wise choice or they might wind up on the museum’s floor. With an effort he forced himself not to respond to the waves of desire that radiated from her. “Movement in the shadows off to the left. See it? They’re staying out of the direct light for the time being.” “That’s good, isn’t it?” He hesitated. “I don’t think it’s holding them back much anymore.” “Oh.” She tilted her head in a manner he found too intriguing. “You’ve been to the house.” She made it a statement. “I entered through the gateway there.”

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“Then you’ve seen what it’s like. How long the driveway is from the gate to the front door. The last time I went out there it was so overgrown you couldn’t get a car through. It’s dark even during the day. And if there’s any power around the place it’s not the normal electrical kind. I couldn’t afford to pay the bills.” “We haven’t the time to wait until morning. If those hounds have grown stronger here they must be even more so in my world.” “We’ll need light, the strongest we can find,” She stared down the steps but she obviously saw something very different. “Here’s the taxi,” he said. She blinked, coming back to the present, then a wry smile tugged at her full lips. “If we race out there armed with sword and dagger the poor driver will take off in a fright. And I couldn’t blame him.” “So we have to walk unarmed.” He studied her face and couldn’t help but smile. He saw what Mr. Romlin had meant about her looking alive. Her deep green eyes sparkled, bright with the anticipation of whatever lay ahead. A good ally to have at his side. And in his bed. But right now he needed to keep her safe so he’d better think with his brain and not his balls. “Go first,” he decided. “Hold the dagger behind your back.” She threw him a brilliant smile. “Don’t be long.” And with that she opened the door and stepped outside. The demon hounds crept from the shadows but she ran lightly down the steps, keeping to the center in the full glare of the spotlights. Kerrick dragged the door closed behind himself and followed, running as if to catch up to her. One of the demons broke into a trot and another followed. Then more emerged from the other side, creeping, still slowed but no longer hiding from the brilliant illumination. Sharla reached the cab, pulled open the back door and clambered inside. He reached it a moment later,

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followed her then slammed the door. With an effort he kept himself from looking at the demons that growled and clawed at the side of the car. Sharla didn’t so much as glance at them either. “Where can we get a spotlight?” she asked the driver. The man pursed his lips. “This time on a Sunday night? Maybe the drugstore. They have all sorts of stuff.” “Okay.” She stayed sitting forward, her fingers tapping on her legs as if in impatience. Or more likely in frustrated desire. This phase would wear off soon enough but he wished he could help her truly experience those heightened senses the way he’d been able to help her ground herself. With a sigh she sank back at his side. “If they have halogen we might be all right,” she told him. But her eyes conveyed a very different message. Halogen. That must be something really bright. She stared out the window with fixed determination but he contented himself with studying her face, watching the play of colored lights that flashed over her as they drove. He liked the peach glow of the streetlamps best. If the opportunity arose he’d put candles in peach-colored glass lanterns and set them about his bed. Then he’d try that experiment of removing her clothes with his mouth. Or maybe he’d blindfold himself and do it by feel alone. He liked the idea of letting his fingertips find her most sensitive areas, of discovering the different textures of her skin, her hair, her mound. And her cleft. And then he’d let his fingers explore the depths of her pussy. And when she was wet and moaning and clinging to him he’d let his cock take over until they’d both sated their desire. Hells, for that interlude he was damned well going to make an opportunity. The cab pulled into a parking lot and a minute later stopped before the door of a large brightly lit store. Sharla sprang out. “Stay here,” she called then added in a near whisper, “they can’t catch up to us this fast.” With that she hurried through the doorway. 76

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The cabbie relaxed in his seat content to wait. Kerrick looked out the back window, searching the night. Too many things moved. Cars. People. But he couldn’t see any of the gigantic hounds. Not yet at least. They’d come though. He drew them after him. And now the key—and Sharla— would do the same. Those monsters would continue their pursuit until the last one of them lay in the dirt burning into nothingness. Sharla returned more quickly than he’d expected, carrying a large white bag stuffed with several bulky objects with angled edges. She called out an address to the driver then set the sack on her lap. From it she pulled a colored box bearing the illustration of a glowing lamp. “Halogen,” she said with satisfaction. “And I remembered batteries. For the power,” she added in a lower voice. “And I got more cash.” She assembled the two lanterns she had bought, tested them to make sure they worked then set them on the floor of the cab. “And now we wait.” She tried to stifle a yawn but failed. “You didn’t get much sleep last night.” Not to mention she’d had her whole world thrown into chaos and her body assaulted first with disassociation and then with the heightened senses. “Why don’t you lie down?” She yawned again then pulled her legs onto the seat, repositioned herself and put her head in his lap. He stroked her hair, her shoulder and wanted to touch so much more. Gently he held her, feeling closer to her than anyone he’d ever known before. She was a part of him that went beyond their bond of Keepers of the Portal and Key. What had this woman done to him? He felt overwhelmed with caring. With love. With a passionate need for her. Her head stirred in his lap then her hand slid up his thigh. He clenched his teeth trying not to react in a manner the driver might see but heat surged in his groin and his cock swelled. Then her sweet lips brushed the top of his leg, moving higher, nibbling and licking her way until— He stiffened as her mouth fastened over the engorged head

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of his penis. At the same moment her fingers found his balls and began a tantalizing caress. He sat directly behind the driver, he realized. The man wouldn’t be able to see what he did, probably not even his expression. Which was just as well. She was driving him wild. He slid his hand down to the hem of her light cotton top then beneath it to brush his fingers in slow circles over her bare skin. He found her lace-covered breast and outlined the rounded mound then reached the taut bud of her nipple. He fought the urge to pinch. In her current state she might scream out her exultation. And at the speed at which the taxi traveled he’d rather the driver paid attention to the road rather than to what went on in the backseat. Hells, it was getting harder not to gasp or cry out himself. His fingers tightened in a convulsive grasp as she took more and then even more of his cock into her mouth. Her tongue created wild sensations that her fingers only intensified. It cost him a severe effort not to groan, to keep his mouth tightly closed against the cry that welled inside him. He wanted to pull off her clothes, to have her lying naked across him, to caress the generous curves of her body. Generous. That described her perfectly. Generous and sweet. How could he let her go when they had completed their mission? Thought faded as sensation heightened and tightened, coiling, ready to erupt. One of his hands clenched her hip, the other her breast. That sweet breast… And then he was exploding inside her mouth until he at last leaned back with his eyes closed. He wanted—longed—to do the same for her, to bury his tongue deep in her pussy, to caress her clit until her moans of pleasure filled his world. Soon, he promised himself. Soon she would feel again how much he loved her. She moved her head at last, releasing his cock then kissing it. She straightened his kilt then settled her head once more in his lap. He trailed his fingers through her hair wanting this moment of peace, of love to last forever.

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It ended all too soon. They reached a cross street, another darkened avenue, slowed for a turn then turned again to come to a halt before a wrought iron gate that sealed off a long tree-lined drive. Sharla sat up, her hair tousled, her face flushed from her foray beneath his kilt. Their gazes met and held then hers slid past out the window. “I can see them,” she breathed. He nodded. “Several dozen.” “Time for halogen and a prayer.” She handed him one of the lights then paid the driver. She fished the heavy ring of keys they’d found in her desk from her purse, switched on the other lantern then paused, her hand on the door handle. “Ready?” Her eyes glinted with excitement. “Leave the gate to me,” he said. “Let’s go.” He swung the door wide and sprang out, sweeping the glaring beam in a semicircle before him. Hounds that had begun to creep closer now slunk deeper into the weedy undergrowth. He strode forward as the taxi backed out of the drive and onto the street. “Keep close,” he called to Sharla. “Just watch where you swing that sword.” Here on the borders of the gateway power tingled through his veins, in the tips of his fingers. He reached out, laying his hand over the lock and felt the metal pieces turn as the energy surged into them. The gate flung itself wide and he ran through it, one hand gripping the sword, the other swinging the lantern in slow arcs to hold the beasts at bay. Closer they crept, their snarls filling the night, chilling his blood. He could feel Sharla right behind him, caught glimpses of her swaying light guarding their rear. And he could feel the key and her dagger. The hounds would feel them too and the energy would enrage them and drive them to attack. The light would serve them for very little longer. “Faster.” He sprinted now.

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Sharla matched his speed. Her breath came rapidly, almost gasping. In another moment they’d reach the porch. On either side the hounds raced with them, baying and snarling and dripping venom from their fangs. Glints of fire flickered from their eyes. Kerrick jumped the first of the rickety wooden steps, landed on the second, felt it buckle beneath his weight and jumped to the next. Two more and he crossed the wooden expanse, transferred the lantern to his sword hand and pressed the other against the lock. Power surged through him, the door swung open and he stumbled inside. Behind him Sharla slammed and bolted it against the pursuing hounds. “Made it,” she gasped and turned, grinning at him. Both lanterns flickered, faded and went out. “But—” Sharla began. “The gateway’s open. In here my world prevails. And in my world these batteries of yours don’t exist.” He grabbed her arm and moved forward through the darkened hall. First door on the left. He thrust it open and iridescent light spilled out, coming from the massive hearth. Sharla stopped, her expression awed, excited. The first of the demon hounds crashed against the large glass window that looked across what had once been a front lawn. The second shattered it, landing on its shoulder about five paces into the chamber. Another, then three more, then another five leapt through in the wake of the first. Others still pounded against the front door. Kerrick threw his lantern at them, grabbed Sharla’s hand and ran for the hearth. Only steps to go now… The hounds sprang. Kerrick rounded on them, shouting his defiance, his sword swinging, connecting then dripping fiery blood as he brought it around backhanded for another slash that dropped a second hound. A third then a fourth fell to his attack.

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Where was Sharla? There, behind him. Her dagger slashed at the hounds that circled her. Then two leapt at once. Her arm flew up to protect her face at the same time she stabbed one of the demons. But the other’s fangs found her throat. An agonized cry escaped Kerrick as he sprang toward her, sword swinging, driving the beast from her. As Sharla fell Kerrick caught her in his arm, sweeping her from her feet. Turning on his heel, he dove through the glowing gateway as the hounds leapt at his heels.

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Chapter Eight Pain filled the eternity of Sharla’s world. She lacked the energy or willpower to move even if she wasn’t pinned down by a heavy weight pressing along the length of her body. A tingling sensation began in the soles of her feet and the palms of her hands and spread through her every muscle, every vein, every molecule. Minutes—or were they hours?—passed. The pain slackened until only individual parts of her ached instead of the entirety of her being. Then it centered on her throat until even that eased. The heavy weight shifted, moved off her. But she couldn’t gather the strength or even the desire to open her eyes to see where she was. What did it matter anyway? She was probably at home in her bed. Or was she? Fragments of memory tumbled back. The old house. The iridescent glow of the fireplace. The hounds crashing through the windows. Kerrick with his sword, his incredible muscles bulging as he swung it again and again, downing those demonic hounds. And she’d wielded that dagger in defense of the key. The key. Her hand flew to her neck where the heavy silver torque remained. Her fingers found the pendant. The key. It was safe. With an effort she forced her eyes open. This wasn’t the old house but that was the only thing about which she felt certain at the moment. She stared at a stone wall hung with a tapestry depicting a golden archway set on a huge round marble slab in a green field. A deep blue lake and a multitude of trees stood a ways behind it with snowtopped mountains rising in the distance. It was beautiful. Tears welled in her eyes from an emotion she couldn’t place.

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“The portal.” Kerrick’s deep voice sounded near her ear. “Before the surrounding wall and fortress were built.” She turned her head toward him and gasped at the sudden pain in her throat. He sat beside her on the bed where she lay, his complexion grayed with fatigue, his shirt— the shirt she had labored so hard to clean and repair—covered in drying blood. But he smiled at her and at the moment that was all she could possibly want. “You’re hurt,” she tried to say but it came out on a croak. Her throat felt raw. “Don’t try to talk yet.” He smoothed her hair back from her eyes. “One of the demons slashed your throat.” “Fangs.” She mouthed the word. She remembered it leaping for her, teeth bared and the terrible pain. Why wasn’t she dead? The blood on his shirt was partly hers, she realized. That was the weight that had pinned her down. He had lain on top of her, taking her injuries into himself, using that uncanny power of his. A demon had torn out her throat with its fangs and Kerrick had healed her. Awe filled her. What sort of a man was this? How could anyone be so strong, so powerful with a sword, so tender in his touch? So able to turn her into a pool of molten passion with only a look? And how had she won his regard? “Where are we?” This time her words came out in a slurred whisper. “My chamber. I carried you through the gateway into my world. We’re in the Fortress of the Portal.” “The portal,” she managed. “Where—” “Within the walled enclosure. You’ll be able to see it from the windows.” “The demons?” Her throat felt too stiff to form enough words for the question that filled her mind. If the demons had entered his world through the portal then they too must be within the enclosure.

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His jaw tensed. As if he read her mind he said, “It’s a very large enclosure, about four hundred yards in diameter. The fortress makes up part of the wall. There’s a garrison housed here. And me of course. As the Keeper.” “And the gateway to my world?” Speaking hurt just a little less that time. “Through there.” He nodded in the direction of a doorway on the side of the room away from him. “There’s a garden. When you’re stronger I’ll take you out there.” The gateway. Her own world so close, only steps away. Yet she didn’t want to return and not just because the other side might still be knee-deep in poison-drooling fanged monsters. But she had to know. “My world. Those hounds?” “The ones that still lived came through with us.” He sounded satisfied. “The guards dealt with them.” “How could they cross over in the first place?” With every word now she found it easier to talk. “They overran the fortress. We weren’t prepared, it had been generations since the last incursion through the portal. The guards, even my own position, seemed more honorary and ceremonial than practical. We’d never had to do more than repulse a few intruders. This time was different. But we summoned reinforcements and after I went in search of you—followed by a pack of the hounds—the guards drove the rest from the fortress and back into the enclosure walls. The demons still hold the portal though we now have them contained. For the moment.” “But you can’t reach it to seal it.” She made it a statement. “We haven’t tried, not until I could bring back the Keeper of the Key.” She shook her head and the movement barely hurt at all now. “Why did they ever send it away in the first place?” “Safety. Politics. Each of the various factions wanted control of it as a symbol of their power. They had no idea of its true potential. Or even its true importance.”

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“Because it hadn’t been needed in so long?” He nodded again. “You should sleep now to complete your healing. When you wake we’ll find you something to eat then you can see the portal. And the demon army that surrounds it.” Demon army. “Are they all hounds?” His eyes lit with sudden amusement. “Yes. We were lucky this time, weren’t we?” He bent down to brush his lips across her forehead then her mouth. “Rest now, beloved. There’ll be work enough for us both all too soon.” “Don’t leave,” she breathed. “No.” He stretched his long length at her side and gathered her gently into his arms. Her forehead rested against his shoulder. It felt so right there. So safe. With him beside her she had no need to struggle to keep her eyes open. She could relax into the lethargy that crept over her. She snuggled closer, allowing the clean rugged scent of him to fill her senses. She just wanted to lie here, know he was beside her, touch him, breathe him in. Her thoughts drifted and faded into dreams. When she stirred again her first awareness was of Kerrick’s absence. He’d been with her, hadn’t he? She remembered his strong arms holding her, protecting her. Healing her. She opened her eyes. The room lay in darkness and shadows, the only illumination coming from the corner where a brazier held a crackling wood fire. The aroma of apples reached her. From the smoke, she realized, though she couldn’t detect any of it in the chamber. No, there it was, a thin line rising to a chimney set in the ceiling. She stretched, a luxurious movement that eased every muscle in her body. A slight stiffness lingered that could be from lying here so long. Recovering from having her throat torn out.

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Her hand crept toward her neck and she realized she feared what she might find. Her fingers traced across a puckering line that curled in a semicircle. In the shape of a demon hound’s bite? Best not to think about it. Kerrick had healed her. That was enough. She sat up and swung her legs from the bed. Hadn’t she been wearing jeans? Now she had on a long robe of some soft material. She stood and it pooled at her feet, a bit long for her short frame. A quick touch to her breasts and hips assured her that was all she wore. Someone—Kerrick, she hoped—had undressed her, removing even bra and panties. Kerrick. Where was he? This was his room, hadn’t he told her that? It would be filled with his belongings. She wished it wasn’t so dark in here, she wanted to see the things with which he surrounded himself. The brazier did illuminate one thing though. The tapestry that hung on the wall to one side of it. She crossed the stone floor to stare at the image of the portal. Such a beautiful thing. She hated the thought of it overrun by those monsters. But not for much longer, not now they had brought the key. And after they had sealed the portal once more? She shied from thinking about that, about returning to her own world, about existing once more without Kerrick. Or would he no longer want her after their mission was completed? The door opened and a woman entered, wearing a long gown that might have come out of the Middle Ages covered with an apron that more closely resembled something from Victorian times. An odd anachronistic mixture. But this wasn’t her world, Sharla reminded herself. This was probably perfectly normal here. The woman carried a tray piled with covered dishes which she set on a small round table. Her hands freed she turned to the wall where she fiddled with something that hung there. In another moment a glow sprang to life and Sharla realized a number of oil lanterns had been spaced in niches about the room. The woman turned to her at last

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and Sharla gained the impression of a motherly face, a plump body and piercing eyes that would brook no nonsense from anyone. “Lady Keeper.” She bowed her head. “It’s good to see you recovered so soon.” “Thank you. You are…?” She let her question trail off, inviting the answer. “Sergeant of the fortress staff, Lady.” Her voice was low-pitched and rich with the same intriguing accent as Kerrick’s. “I believe I would be called the housekeeper in your world. Now,” she went on, bustling with efficiency, “we’ve prepared quarters for you directly across the Garden of the Gateway. The Lord Keeper—” “The Lord Keeper,” said Kerrick from the open doorway, “will claim the honor of escorting her there himself after we’ve eaten.” Relief surged through Sharla that he was here, that she could gaze at him again. He entered the room, the length of his stride swaying the skirts of his long robe of rich golden brown. A wide belt of wrought gold fastened about his waist. The whole getup, she decided, gave him a regal bearing. The Lord Keeper. Somehow she’d assumed he was only a messenger, a soldier, a person of no more importance in his world than she was in hers. That obviously wasn’t the case. He laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder and the look she gave him could only be described as reverent. “Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll see to our guest’s needs this night. If you can arrange for her to have something suitable to wear for tomorrow’s campaign?” The woman lowered her head in what must be this world’s equivalent of a bow. “Yes, my Lord Keeper.” She turned to Sharla. “There is a rope at the head of every bed, Lady.” She indicated a thick braided cord in a rich shade of green. “You have only to pull it for it to ring in the staff’s quarters and someone will come to you at once.” Sharla dragged her gaze from Kerrick with an effort. “Thank you.” The woman bowed her head again and, with a rustling of her long skirts, glided from the room.

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As the door closed behind the sergeant Sharla turned her uncertain gaze to Kerrick once more. His world. His rules? What would happen now? “Hungry?” He gestured toward the table where the tray of covered dishes sat. He dragged a second chair from its place against the wall and positioned it across from the one already there. He waited behind it, eyebrows rising. “Starved,” Sharla admitted, surprised at just how hungry she felt. “How long did I sleep?” “More than a day.” She looked up startled. “But—” “Your body needed time to complete its healing. And its attunement.” “I’ve been in your room,” she said dismayed. “I’ve been in your bed.” A slow devilish grin lit his whole face. “And so have I. I needed to keep an eye on you, after all. To make sure your healing progressed in a satisfactory manner.” Was that why she’d slept so long and so well? Had some part of her been aware of his protective presence? She liked the idea. She took the seat he held for her and he settled in his place on the other side of the round table. He removed the covers and the spicy aroma of roasted meat made her mouth water. Smaller bowls contained what looked to be potatoes in a creamy sauce, carrots, tiny ears of corn and a variety of other appealing offerings she couldn’t identify. He scooped generous servings onto a plate and laid it before her. Knives, forks and spoons, she noted with relief. Normal silverware. She didn’t think she could have coped with anything foreign and tricky like chopsticks. She’d never developed the knack for using those things. So many questions flooded her mind—worlds of questions, she reflected ruefully— for which she needed answers. But not now. Eat first. Save the world—or worlds—later. The meat broke apart at the touch of her fork. She held her first bite on her tongue as if it were a fine wine, savoring the flavor and texture. And that heavenly aroma. At

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last she chewed and swallowed. Not until she had emptied most of her plate did she lean back at last and sigh. “Full?” Kerrick watched her with amusement. “When I think of what I made you eat in my world I’m ashamed of myself.” “I didn’t find the hospitality in the least lacking.” Their gazes met and suddenly food was the last thing on her mind. He still had a stubble of beard and it was so sexy it stole her breath away. Or rather it sent heat shooting through her, all the way from her breasts down to her cleft. She picked up her glass of wine and sipped it while her gaze roamed across his rugged features, down his neck to the thick matting of hair that flared up from his chest. Did he wear anything under that robe? It suddenly seemed a question of considerable importance. “Try this.” He held out a short stick of something that might have been covered in chocolate. She leaned toward him opening her mouth. A gleam sparked in his eyes and they held her gaze while her lips closed over his offering. Oh yes, chocolate. She bit down and the creamy filling seeped onto her tongue. It tasted of raspberries. He still held the remaining end of it and this time she took his fingers into her mouth as well, holding them there, sucking gently. Not until she saw the burning of desire spreading across his features did she release him. “Want more?” he asked. He drew his chair closer to hers then fished in the silver bowl for another bite. She extended her tongue and circled it slowly around the chocolate stick once, twice, then a third time. His breath shallowed, his chest rose and fell more rapidly. She withdrew her tongue then darted it out, tasting the stick then retreating, then circling it once more with her tongue. At last she took the candy into her mouth and bit down with slow deliberation. The sumptuous taste couldn’t begin to compare with the expression on Kerrick’s face.

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She selected the next piece and held it out to him. He caught her hand between both of his, splaying her fingers. His mouth closed over her little one, sucking, then moved on to the next. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensations he created in her, reveling in his touch, in the sweet desire that welled as he continued from one finger to the next. Who knew this could be so erotic? So perfect? He stopped. Now the chocolate slid from her hold into his mouth. She looked at her hand and saw the streaks of melted brown on her palm. She held it out to him and drew in a shuddering breath as he began to lick it clean. Then he rose, tossed back the last of his wine and set the glass on the table. “Do you want more?” he repeated, his voice husky with the desire that vibrated like a tangible force between them. “Yes.” She could barely breathe the word so choked was she by longing, by emotion. She stood as he came around the table. The flames flickered in their lamps casting ever-changing shadows and highlights across his face and deep in his eyes. Those wonderful eyes. She reached out, her hand trembling with her need for him and touched his stubble-roughened cheek. He cupped her chin between both his palms and his thumbs caressed her jaw, across the puckered skin of the new scar, down her throat. A long sigh escaped her and her eyes closed only to open again at once so she could continue to gaze at him. His fingers trailed along her shoulders, slow and lazy as they slid beneath the filmy fabric. She leaned forward and allowed her tongue to dart and dance down his neck to his chest. With one hand he tugged loose his belt and allowed it to drop to the ground. His robe fell open to reveal all of him, the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, the curling dark hair that led down to his engorged cock. She had taken it in her mouth during that cab ride and the size of it had come close to choking her. Every inch of the man was—not perfect, that implied something as pristine and untouchable as a marble statue of a Greek god. He was so much more than that. Rugged. Unique. And right now he was hers.

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He shrugged his shoulders and the fabric fell away, sliding down his arms, dropping to the floor. Slowly she traced the muscles, noting older scars, the new ones she herself had tended, feeling the coarseness of his hair, the smoothness of his skin. She ran her tongue along a puckering that sliced across an ab. She wanted to lick every inch of him. And she had all night in which to do it. His hands moved along the neckline of her own robe. A button, she realized. A line of tiny ones ran down the front, fastening the garment. He undid another, then another, then a fourth, then eased the soft folds of the material from her shoulders. It shimmied to the floor, leaving her as naked as he. He caught her hand and drew her index finger into his mouth once more, sucking slowly but with increasing power. Her breasts tingled in response and her nipples, already taut, strained toward him, greedy for his touch. She must have moved to let him know her need, or possibly he was so attuned to her he knew her desires as soon as she did. His tongue moved to her throat then along the curve of her breast until he took the hardened tip between his lips, then his teeth. She clung to his waist, lost in sensation, wanting this to continue, wanting whatever he would give her. Wanting to give in return. She ran her fingertips in a whisper of a caress down his hips, around his back until she found the base of his spine. She felt his shudder of pleasure then he stooped to slide his tongue down her abdomen, her stomach, all the way to her mound. He dropped to his knees before her, his hands caressing her rear as his tongue found her clit. She gasped and her fingers locked in the thick waves of his hair. She held on, unable to move, unable to do anything but cling to him while her world centered on his teasing touch until her desire pooled and spiraled and suddenly she was crying out with her release as her toes dug into the soft fur of the rug beneath her feet. And then he went lower, forcing her legs to part as his tongue nested in her cleft then sought entry into her channel. She still clung to his hair though she trembled all over, weak from her ecstasy. His tongue thrusting into her depths sent heat rushing

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through her once more. But this time she would not climax alone. He held her so close she couldn’t step back. But she could drop to her knees. He looked up as she dropped before him and his mouth found hers as his arms wrapped about her waist. For a long moment she returned the kiss, tasting him, savoring him, allowing her tongue to trace his lips then slide with exquisite slowness across them. A groan rose up from deep within him and the knowledge that she brought him pleasure filled her with joy. She had never allowed herself to become so involved with a man, so vulnerable before. Yet the tenderness of his touch as he caressed her generous curves, of his expression as he gazed into her eyes, filled her with a sense of safety, of certainty. She loved him, everything about him, everything he stood for. She would gladly give up her old life, her own world, if only she could remain with him. But she knew that would never be possible. Not now, Sharla ordered herself. She would worry about the future later, when it happened. Now she held him. Touched him. Loved him. For this moment at least that was all that mattered. That and bringing him the same ecstatic release he had just brought her. The fur felt warm and soft and thick beneath her knees. She guided his mouth to her breast again and caressed his spine with the fleeting, flickering touch that drew a gasp from him and a clenching of his fingers on her rear. Oh yes. She darted her tongue along the hollow of his throat then leaned back farther and farther until she lay with her calves beneath her thighs and her back against the soft dark fur of the rug. He crawled forward until he knelt over her, his gaze devouring her body in a way that sent heat surging through her once more. No man had ever looked at her like that. No man had ever wanted her like this. And she had never wanted anyone in the way she wanted Kerrick. Not just with her body but with her mind. Her spirit. Her soul. She belonged to him.

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He stooped to kiss her eyes, the merest brush of a butterfly’s wing across her lids. A quavering sigh escaped her as those whispering kisses traced along her throat and over her breasts. Then he stooped lower, supporting himself on his arms. The length of his enormous erection slid along her belly then over her mound. The head of his penis pressed against her clit, plowed along her cleft then just touched the entrance of her tunnel. Slowly—so slowly it brought her to tears of longing—he eased inside. For a long moment he rested there then pulled out with that same exquisite, torturous slowness. She clamped her hands over his buttocks, trying to prevent his escape, trying to drive him back where he belonged. And in he slid once more. His weight on top of her pressed her into the rug, held her mound against his groin, rubbed her clit against his coarse hair. She tilted her hips to meet his shaft, to drive it deeper inside her, then she pulled away to increase the sensation of his exit. He thrust in harder the next time then harder again with the growing demands of his cock. Again and again he drove it home, deeper, more powerfully, more ecstatically. She clung to his buttocks, her nails digging in as she urged him on faster and faster. Nothing mattered but that spiraling crescendo inside, the knowledge that a similar one drove him to gasping, moaning heights. Then he cried out as he went over the brink and spasm after spasm took him, caught by her own waves of contractions. He collapsed against her, panting, his body sheened with sweat. She kissed the top of his head as she cradled him close. For long minutes he didn’t move, just lay on top of her, his face buried in her neck. At last he stirred. “You have the most marvelous scent,” he murmured. “Sweet and earthy and sexy as anything.” “I’d call yours pure male.” She rubbed her cheek against his hair. “I’ve never smelled anything so wonderful.” He rolled to his side, sliding out of her. She let him go with only a quivering sigh for the sensations that simple movement created. She looked up into his face as he sat at her side. “What now?” 93

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“I promised to show you to your room.” “I like it right here.” He bent to kiss her. “So do I. But we need to meet with the fortress’s officers for an update so we can plan our final strategy. And as much as I love what you’re wearing right now, I thought you might prefer something a little more appropriate to face a room full of guards.” Back to reality. Or at least as close as she could come to it in a world containing a portal into demonic realms.

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Chapter Nine Kerrick helped Sharla to her feet and they each donned their respective robes. Then he led her through the door she had glimpsed into a rooftop courtyard illuminated only by the moon and stars. Just the one moon like her own world. In a way that disappointed her. Two or even three might have been fun. She also recognized several constellations. So their worlds shared similar niches in their respective universes. The Garden of the Gateway wasn’t big, no more than fifteen yards across. In the middle stood an archway, not as grand or large as the portal portrayed by the tapestry but impressive nonetheless. It mimicked the hearth in her family’s old house, she realized. As she studied it she became aware of a faint shimmering glow emanating from it. And of the tingling in her hands and feet. Her body recognized this gateway. Or it recognized her. Or possibly both. “It’s sealed?” she asked, the memory of those snarling fiends all too clear in her mind. “For now,” he agreed. They circled around it and Sharla realized she gave it a wider berth than necessary. She wasn’t ready to go through it again. “There are three doorways leading into here. Mine, yours and one that leads directly into the officers’ briefing room.” “Then I’d better be careful which door I wander through if I come looking for you,” she said. His arm slid around her waist. “Just to be safe I’d better keep you with me as much as I can.” They reached the door opposite his and he opened it, letting her inside. Someone had clearly prepared the room for her. The oil lamps along the walls burned with a 95

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cheering light and the brazier sent out heat redolent of some mixture of lemons and roses. The furnishings appeared similar to those in Kerrick’s apartment. There was even a tapestry hanging on one wall. But not of the portal. This one depicted the key. Her fingers strayed to her throat to touch the pendant. Two robes lay across the bed, one a dark green and the other the same color but a much paler shade trimmed in gold. She held up the darker one, uncertain. “You layer them,” he explained. “The darker one goes underneath. There should be slippers somewhere too. And there’s a shawl to drape over your hair.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I’ve changed.” It didn’t take her long to put on the simple garments. She liked the fluid lines, the soft materials. The lack of anything fussy. On the whole, she decided, she’d been lucky. She might have wound up in a world that insisted on corsets. She was still trying out various methods of draping the shawl about her head and shoulders when a soft rap sounded on her door. Before she could answer it Kerrick let himself in. He now wore a kilt again but instead of the serviceable brown fabric this one was dark green trimmed with gold. He once again wore that incredibly sexy peasantstyle shirt but a sash now draped diagonally across it, its ends falling below his hip. The laced-up boots once more hid his muscular calves and he’d tied back his long hair at the nape of his neck. She stared in undisguised pleasure at him. His smile deepened. “You are absolutely beautiful.” He strode forward and pressed a light kiss onto her lips. “The robes suit you.” Warmth rushed through her, not—for once—of a sexual nature but of simple happiness. She took the hand he extended to her and together they exited her chamber. “Through the officers’ door,” he said and led her around the gateway once more. Again she felt that tingling sensation, saw the answering glimmer in the stones. She looked away from it.

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They entered a room that could easily hold thirty people. At the moment a table stood in the center surrounded by ten chairs. Six men and two women all in dark brown kilts and those loose shirts sat about it. The seats at either end stood empty. The officers rose as Kerrick paused just inside the doorway. As one they bowed their heads and crossed their right arms diagonally across their chests so their fists rested against their left shoulders. One of the men stepped forward. “Lady Keeper.” He bowed his head again. “We welcome you gladly to our world.” “Thank you.” That sounded silly and inadequate in her own ears but she had no idea what to say. “Let’s begin.” Kerrick led her to one of the chairs then strode to the opposite end of the table. Everyone remained standing. Panicking, she looked to Kerrick who made a subtle motion for her to be seated. With relief she sank onto the chair and the others followed suit. “Report?” Kerrick asked. “It’s not good, Lord Keeper.” The man who had greeted Sharla looked around the table at his fellow officers. “As we told you, the demons broke through the wall after you left. We were able to drive them back but at great cost. We have them confined now but they hold the portal against us. If they could break free again they would bring more through.” Kerrick nodded. “Then we’ll have to find a way past them. Have you spotted any weaknesses in their ranks?” The officers exchanged uncomfortable glances. This time one of the women spoke. “None, Lord.” And what use would the key be if they couldn’t get near enough to the portal to use it?

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“Then we’ll have to make one,” Kerrick said. He drummed his fingers on the table. “What keeps them from bringing more through now?” “Space, we think,” said the same woman. “Every once in awhile the portal flares but nothing comes through.” “So if we kill them we have to replace their bulk in some way so there still won’t be enough room.” “Would wagons or animals do?” Sharla asked. Kerrick grinned at her. “Exactly what I was thinking.” He looked to his officers. “Can you do that?” The man shook his head. “No animals will go near those demons. They tremble and sweat and cry out in terror.” “Then we’ll have to drag the wagons by hand through the breach they made,” Kerrick decided. “I want an attack that will allow the wagons in while at the same time drawing the demons into pursuing a feigned retreat. And I’ll need you to maintain it long enough for us to reach the portal and seal it.” The officers exchanged glances, their tense expressions thoughtful. Uncertain. “We will begin as soon as it’s light,” Kerrick added. The commander bowed his head. “Then with your permission, Lord, we will need to assign positions and ready the wagons. Will we be able to find you in your quarters?” Kerrick hesitated only a moment. “No need. I’ll be back.” He rose and with a surreptitious gesture indicated that Sharla should do the same. As they left the chamber the officers broke into a babble of talk. “Will they be able to reach any decisions?” Sharla asked as the door closed behind them. “I’m going back in to make sure of it,” he said. She stopped, her hands coming to rest on his arms. “I had hoped—” 98

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He kissed her gently, cutting off her words. “When I’m done with them. When I’m sure we won’t be interrupted. But until then there’s something I’ll need you to do.” Her gaze lowered to his kilt. He grinned. “Not that. At least not yet. I want you to write a letter to your closest relative in the female descent and explain about the portal and key.” Sharla swallowed. “You mean that if I…that if anything happens to me…the gateway will react to her?” He nodded. “It will let her through. And since the portal can only be sealed by the combined presence of both the Keepers it may be up to our heirs to complete this task.” Her lips twitched. “Poor Debbie. She’ll never believe it, you know. Not unless she’s suddenly faced with one of your slavering demon hounds. You’ll have to drag her kicking and screaming through the gateway.” “Not me. My heir. Those beasts will have to kill me first before I’d let them reach you.” This time his kiss was hard and demanding. She responded in kind then with reluctance allowed him to return to the planning council. He had reached the door before she stopped him. “Do the demons hide from the light in this world?” she called. “They’re only slowed by it now. As they did in your world, they adapt all too fast.” She nodded and turned her steps to the room prepared for her. Writing this letter was not going to be easy. But amazingly facing the prospect of her own death made her feel more alive. She devoted considerable thought to her task. It took over an hour but at last she set the finished pages aside, leaned back in her chair and stretched. Her poor cousin would think her totally insane when—or if—she ever read it. And then she would think herself insane when she encountered one of the demons.

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She stood and paced to the window that looked across to the portal. Torches burned at frequent intervals along the great wall so the giant hounds looked like drifting shadows as they paced to and fro. And silent. So silent. Why didn’t they howl or snarl? This eerie quiet disturbed her more than she would have thought possible. It was almost as if they sought to keep their secrets. As if they didn’t want to give advance notice of their intentions. The time to worry, she supposed, would be when the baying started. The stones beneath her feet trembled. She’d been feeling it for some time, she realized but so slight it hadn’t registered on her awareness. It did now. The trembling repeated with greater force and lasted a longer time. A low dull rumbling accompanied the next shaking. An earthquake? She peered through the gloom. She could just make out movement near the stretch of fallen wall blocked now by wagons and siege engines. Did the soldiers already move their massive equipment into the enclosure? Except the movement came from the inside. The wall rumbled again under the onslaught of hundreds or even thousands of demonic hounds hurling themselves against the already weakened stonework trying to widen the tumbled section. Trying to break out into this world. How much longer could it stand against such a force? If she and Kerrick didn’t succeed on this attempt they might never have another chance. Why couldn’t she have something more constructive to do than just wait and worry? She could make out individual shapes prowling below her now. The stars seemed dimmer too and the sky had lightened from near black to that deep soft shade of predawn blue. Morning. Kerrick would order their offensive to begin soon. Behind her the door opened and she turned to see him, tall, grim and so dear to her it took her breath away. He strode across the chamber and without speaking took her into his arms and held her close. For a long minute she clung to him, breathing in his scent, feeling the stubble on his chin pressing against her forehead. 100

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“When?” she asked at last. “They’re already getting into position.” She nodded. “Let me change.” She shed the beautiful robe and dainty slippers in favor of her t-shirt and a kilt similar to Kerrick’s she found draped over a chair. Then she laced up the running shoes she had donned in her apartment an age ago. He led the way through the courtyard, through his own room and into a wide corridor with other doors opening off it on one side and windows looking down over the enclosure on the other. Then a curving staircase brought them to the ground floor that teemed with soldiers in leather armor. A hushed tension hung over the hall broken by the incautious scrape of a metal weapon touching stone or an occasional cough. Ahead of them stood a bulwark as tall as a man and at least twenty feet long. Guards armed with both spears and swords surrounded this. Beyond it lay a double door that showed signs of recent and energetic repair. This must have been where the hounds broke through when they pursued Kerrick into her world. The officer who had spoken during the planning session strode up to them. He bowed his head to Sharla then addressed Kerrick. “At your orders, Lord.” Kerrick nodded. “Begin.” Then to Sharla he added, “As soon as enough hounds have been drawn toward the far breach we’ll go through this door.” Her hold on his hand tightened. It felt so strong. So capable. “Will it work?” “We’ll have to make it work. There’ll be at least a dozen of the demons guarding the portal that won’t let themselves be drawn off. We’ll have to fight our way through them.” “We?” Did she sound as horrified as she felt? A devilish grin lit his eyes. “There’ll be guards with us.” Of course. He wasn’t a fool.

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The soldiers filed out of the hall through a different door. Circling around the enclosure wall to the breach, she supposed. How many of them would fall to those fangs and claws before the portal could be sealed? Even one would be too many. She could only pray she and Kerrick would encounter as few problems, as few delays as possible so this might be over soon. At least she had her dagger. But she’d already discovered its drawbacks as a weapon against these monsters. If only she had… “A spear,” she announced. “I want a good long spear.” Kerrick’s sexy devilish grin flashed again. “A short one or it’ll be too unwieldy for you. Guard.” He caught one of the men who stood near and sent him on the errand. The spear didn’t feel as awkward as she’d feared she decided a few minutes later. She hefted its weight. Quite light really. She tried several tentative jabs with it. Easy to move. She wouldn’t have minded a few practice sessions with it though. But then she’d never used a dagger prior to her encounters in the museum and the old house. And just look how that had ended, she reminded herself. With her throat half torn out. Bugles rang out, muffled by walls and distance. The hounds gave tongue at once, answering with a volley of howls and barks that threatened never to cease. Did those monsters rush to meet the challenge? Sharla wished she could see what happened just beyond that doorway. The soldiers had to draw the demons through the breach but at the same time maintain the density or maximum capacity or whatever it might be called within the enclosure to prevent more of the beasts from invading this world. Difficult logistics. She could only be glad it hadn’t been up to her to figure out a solution. Minutes passed. Then more minutes. What happened out there? “Open the door,” Kerrick said at last. The guards surrounding them pressed forward. The porters eased back the heavy crossbeam that held it shut and pushed it outward. The early dawn air struck them,

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warm and sickening with the smell of sulfur. Sharla shifted her grip on her spear and hoped their escort would prove capable enough so she wouldn’t have to use it. “The hellhounds are headed toward the breach,” breathed one of the guards in relief. But was their mass being replaced? She couldn’t tell. Lights shimmered along the portal’s arch but nothing flared. Would anything flare? she wondered. Or had she been watching too many science fiction shows? Kerrick stooped, kissed her hard then his gaze met hers for a long moment. The light of purpose, of an adrenaline rush gleamed in his eyes. Or was it just the light of the sheer joy of battle? Damned men and their testosterone. She could use a dose of it herself right now. He turned to the soldiers who waited. “Let’s go.” At least a dozen rushed forward into the enclosure. Sharla found herself moving after them, pushed along by those who followed. Some fanned out so they surrounded her completely. Then other people came too, not soldiers but servants without armor and holding everything from brooms to what looked like kitchen knives. Every occupant of the fortress, she realized, was helping to prevent more demons from entering through the portal. Some of the demons turned on them, heads lowered between their pointed shoulder blades, fangs bared, eyes flaming and stench unbearable. The lead guards fought, swords swinging, connecting, some missing. Both men and hounds fell. Sharla clutched her spear in both hands stabbing where she could, distracting the beasts so the experienced soldiers could complete their kills. And always they moved forward closing on their goal. Was it just coincidence, she wondered, that the words “spear” and “fear” were so similar? Only a scant handful of guards accompanied her now. Where was Kerrick? Had he—could he—have fallen? No. She caught a glimpse of his profile as he swung his 103

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sword and another hound fell at his feet. He turned and met her searching gaze. Even from this distance she could see his grin and felt an answering one rise within her. That tarot card really had been right. She was a Keeper and the thrill of that purpose flooded through her. Now they just had to reach the portal so she could fulfill it. It lay only a few dozen steps away now, gleaming, sparks flying from it. A roaring as of a hurricane force wind filled her ears though the air didn’t seem to move. As she drew closer lightning crackled and shot from one side of the archway to the other then back again. It recognized her, she realized. Or at least the key she bore. Was this its greeting or a warning to keep clear? Low growls brought her attention from the portal to its demonic guardians. Only about ten of them remained. The rest had already been drawn into the battle. For a long moment they focused on her, heads dipping lower, fangs dripping their poison. Then they charged. Only four guards clustered about her. She caught sight of Kerrick, his sword swinging, demons falling before him. Another soldier fell at her side before she could stab the monster in the back of the neck. The other soldiers fought to clear the way for her. But three hounds remained at their posts, snarling, their eyes swirling with fire. Their horrific stench caused her to gag until she thought she would choke. The roaring of the nonexistent wind, the crackling of the lightning deafened her as she forged ahead another slow step, her hands aching with her grip on her spear. Kerrick— He was there, fighting his way toward her. For a moment their gazes meet in a caress as comforting as a kiss. They were together. They shared this. He lunged forward onto the dais itself, his sword severing the neck of the nearest of the three remaining hounds. The other two sprang and Sharla’s spear pierced one. Only wounded, she realized but out of action. She turned to the third which stood at bay, snarling. The portal itself was only a couple of steps from her now, so near she shivered

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with its flaring energy. Its thunder and crackle filled the early morning, drowning out the more distant sounds of battle, the baying of the hounds. “What will happen when I use the key?” she shouted. “The intruders into this world will be dragged back to their own.” A chill shot through her. “That will include me.” They stared at each other, his longing for her as palpable as hers for him. “And the gateway to the old house?” “That will be sealed as well.” Her jaw clenched. “It must be done.” The words came out on a whisper as she forced herself to accept their truth. But could she bear the consequences? To have found the perfect man only to be separated forever from him? But as she had said, it must be done. Both their worlds would be destroyed if she failed to complete her role. A broken heart was a cheap price to pay to keep these demon hounds out of her world. And out of Kerrick’s. Still she hesitated, wanting to touch him one last time, unable to make that final plunge that would take her from him. He looked away from the demon he faced and met her tormented gaze. All the words they would never be able to speak, all the love they would never be able to share filled the space that separated them. A snarl dragged Sharla’s attention back to her present danger. The wounded hound had lumbered to its feet again and lunged for her as the other sprang for Kerrick, latching onto his sword arm, its fangs sinking deep into the muscles. Kerrick’s own growl of pain and anger galvanized Sharla. She jabbed at the demon’s face then ran the last two steps, dragging the torque from her neck. With an inner wail of loss she inserted the key into the opening that burned suddenly bright. The ground trembled, throwing her from her feet to land on the marble dais. She rolled away as lightning flared from the archway. Overhead the stars blazed in the morning sky then faded.

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Silence surrounded her. After the din of the hounds, the clamor of battle and the roaring and crackling of the portal the absence of sound was deafening. She rose on one elbow, looking around. She lay on the dais, she realized. The hounds— She lifted herself higher so she could see. The hounds were gone. Every trace of them. With an effort she dragged herself to her feet and ran the few steps to where Kerrick had been knocked backward from the dais to the grass. She dropped to her knees before him and he fell against her, holding her in his arms, his breath coming in heaving gasps. “I wasn’t pulled away. I belong here,” she cried, not quite believing it yet. She held him as tightly as she could. “How?” He sat back, cupping her face in her hands, his gaze devouring her. “My ancestress came from this world. I guess I could belong in either one, whichever I chose.” “You’re giving up a lot,” he warned. His fingers traced their way down her neck and he pressed a kiss in the hollow of her throat. “Coffee or you,” she murmured. “Gee, tough choice.” He was making it hard for her to focus on their words, on anything other than the sensation of his hands clasping about her rib cage and his thumbs stroking the sides of her breasts. He eased his fingers beneath her t-shirt and slid it up so nothing but the lace of her bra separated her nipples from his searching fingers. “No regrets?” “The tarot card said I’d be giving myself wholeheartedly to a new endeavor.” “And to me, I hope.” “Especially to you.” His caresses sent a message of reassurance that went straight to her libido, causing the moisture to pool between her legs in a surge of desire. His slow sexy grin played about the corners of his mouth. “Every moment of every day? That’s quite a commitment you’re undertaking. And not just to share in the guarding of the portal against any future incursions. You are my mate.”

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“Am it?” she breathed. “And I’m not waiting a moment longer to claim you. Here and now. And before everyone.” “You’ll make a declaration?” “If you like. But I’ve always heard that actions speak louder than words.” He scooped her from her knees into his arms then laid her on the cool grass. He straddled her then eased down to lie between the legs she eagerly spread. “You are mine.” He smoothed the hair back from her eyes and his mouth covered hers. “And I am yours,” he finished when he could speak again. “Then what are you waiting for?” She tugged their kilts aside. “Or will people be coming to find us?” “We’ll tell them this is an important part of the ritual to seal the portal,” he said. “It’s certainly important to me. And I do have a key that’s throbbing to fit into your lock.” His mouth sought the sensitive skin at her throat and a soft moan of joy escaped her as his cock thrust into her waiting depths.

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About the Author Elyssa Lynne firmly believes that life ought to be one long fantasy—and the more fantastic, the better. She loves the quirky, the magical, the romantic—and the tyrannical furry beasties who dominate her home. She is also firmly convinced that her computer runs on chocolate chips instead of silicon chips. Under her own name she has written numerous books and won several awards, but she has only just discovered the delights of writing for Ellora’s Cave. She feels she has embarked on a joyful new adventure, not only in her fiction but also in reality.

Elyssa welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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Also by Elyssa Lynne To Cure an Obsession

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