What the hell was he doing?
Glancing at the screen on his cell phone as he approached the side of her house, he saw it was almost eleven. Maybe he should just send her a text message. Though he had no idea what it would say.
Hey, you’re in danger, though I’m not sure from what. Your ex-husband is a demon, and the ghost in your house is my crazy nineteenth-century client and lover.
Somehow he doubted she would think anyone was crazy but him.
Which maybe he was.
What did he really know about Camille or Alcroft’s intentions? Nothing. He just knew something was off, something was in motion, and he couldn’t let Regan be hurt.
Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he looked up at her house, at the balcony overlooking her courtyard.
And would have had a heart attack were he capable of such a thing.
Regan was sitting on the balcony railing, legs dangling over the side down toward the cobblestones of the courtyard. She was in a nightgown, her dark brown hair not controlled the way it usually was, but whipping around in the wind.
Jesus Christ. Felix started running, afraid to call out to her and startle her, but terrified that she could slip and crash down onto the ground below. Tugging at the gate, he knew it was locked even as he rattled it back and forth. Regan was meticulous about locking all her doors. Keeping an eye on her, just perched there so still, hands gripping the railing, Felix reached up and grabbed the gate, pulling himself up the length of it.
Regan didn’t seem to be moving or looking at anything. She was just sitting there, not even reacting when the wind grabbed the bottom of her nightgown and lifted it, exposing her thighs and a flash of panties. Grateful for his immortal strength, Felix scaled the top of the fence, slicing his hand on one of the spikes but ignoring it. He dropped down onto the stones of the courtyard and ran for the interior stairs that led to where Regan was dangling.
She didn’t seem to see him, and Felix realized she had to be sleepwalking. Slowing his pace at the top of the stairs, he approached her as quietly and swiftly as possible. He hesitated, not sure how to grab her in such a way that she would fall backward with him, and in no way did he want to startle her so that she struggled with him and fell forward.
Breathing hard, he actually surprised himself by offering up a quick prayer. It had been a long, long time since he’d done that.
Reaching out with both arms, he got them positioned around her middle and whispered, “Regan.”
She didn’t respond, and he moved in closer to her, tightening his grip on her. “Regan, you need to wake up.”
Suddenly her head whipped around, cracking him in the temple, the unexpected pain causing his grip to loosen. She wobbled and screamed and Felix panicked, her hair blinding him. He squeezed her against him, and felt her sliding down the front of the railing.
“Regan, lean back!” he yelled, her motion propelling him forward so that he slammed against the railing.
The iron fencing rattled against his weight, and she screamed again as he yanked her as hard as he could. Her one knee hooked on the railing and she was dangling upside down, her nightgown falling over her chin, arms flailing, but he had her on the right side of the balcony. Swearing, heart pounding, he dragged her the rest of the way until they both thumped onto the wood floor.
“Holy shit,” he said, sucking in a few breaths as he pulled her so that her head and shoulders were lying on his leg.
“Felix?” she asked, her eyes glassy with sleep and confusion as she stared up at him. “What’s going on?”
“I think you were sleepwalking:” He brushed her hair off her face and leaned over to tug her nightgown down over her bare br**sts. He couldn’t get it past her waist because of the angle but he didn’t think it mattered. She was wearing panties and they were deep enough into her courtyard that someone would have to be staring pretty intently from the sidewalk to get a flash.
And he wasn’t exactly feeling sexual at the moment so she had no worries from him.
“I was sleepwalking? I never sleepwalk.” She shifted and winced. “Oh, my leg hurts.”
“I’m sure you’re going to have a hell of a bruise tomorrow, but at least better than the one you would have had if you’d fallen off that railing.” The image of her sitting there, vacant, was replaying in his head. God, if he hadn’t been walking by ...
“I never sleepwalk,” she said, still looking dazed. “I came outside?”
“Yes. Come on.” He nudged her gently. “Let’s get up and get you back inside.”
Regan struggled to her feet then yanked her nightgown down. “Sorry.”
“For what?” Felix stood up, forcing his shoulders to relax.
“For my nightgown.” She gestured to indicate it had been bunched up, her pale cheeks staining pink.
“Give me a break. I wasn’t even looking,” he said, irritated.
“Of course you weren’t,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked back at the balcony. “What happened?”
“I was walking by and I saw you sitting on the railing, facing out. You almost gave me a f**king heart attack. Were you dreaming?”
“No.” She frowned, shaking her head. “Not that I remember. I was watching TV and I fell asleep. That’s all I remember.”
“Alright, let’s get you back in bed and we’re shoving a chair in front of the door so you can’t leave.” Felix put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her toward the doors to her bedroom.
When they stepped into the room he smelled it immediately.
Demon.
The scent was cloying and overpowering in her room. Felix grabbed the back of her nightgown and brought her to a stop. “Hold on. Stay here.” Going into the room, he did a quick sweep and saw no one.
But there was no denying the smell ... a demon had been in her room and had left something of himself behind to create that kind of stench. But Felix didn’t see anything obvious or out of the ordinary.
Then his eyes landed on the chest of drawers and what was resting on top of it. “What is this?” Felix moved toward it, the very bureau Regan had to have found the journal in, the one that had been in the room the night he had been here with Camille.
He ran his hand over the marble top of the chest of drawers, remembering it with candles burning on it, the shadows dancing over its handles and glossy finish. Only now it held a wineglass with a piece of mailing envelope crammed in it, red droplets spattered over its marble surface. A pen lay next to the glass, and the envelope she had ripped a piece out of and shoved into the wine was lying carelessly beside it. “What is all this?”