know.”
“I never met you before the other night!” She scoffed.
“I’ve watched you for more years than you have in your memory.”
She shuddered at his whispered words. “You’ve stalked me?”
“I never stalked you, Evangeline.” He heard the fear in her tone and granted her a tight-lipped smile. “Years ago, I was assigned to babysit.”
“Hell,” she snapped. “My dad wouldn’t have let you through the door, so you couldn’t have been my babysitter! We’re too close to the same age!”
“Your father had nothing to do with what I did.” He shook his head, his expression mocking. “I can only tell you I did look after you.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Don’t.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can tell you, Evangeline Keegan, that I know you. I know your past and present. If I delve deeply enough, I can predict your future.”
�Eva was uncertain about what made her more uncomfortable, the image hovering in the mirror, or the information Luke Angeles held! Granted, a person could discover all sorts of background on anyone, all thanks to the damn Internet, and she had used the cyber-world more than once in her researching needs. If given the correct information, the almost intimate details of any person's life became common knowledge.
That is, unless you were looking for information on Lucien 'Luke' Angeles.
“You ran away from home when you were seven,”� his soft voice made another chill sweep over her, despite the appealing warmth of his apartment. Whatever she had been about to say froze, and she stared at him with cautious eyes.
“How do you know about that?”�
“You were downtown, lost, in the pouring rain.”�
Eva nodded, incapable of doing much else. The memory was foggy, dim shadows of years gone by.
“You weren’t frightened, as you should have been,”� Lucien continued, his voice evolving into a smoky whisper. He began to rock on his heels and she sensed his agitation.
“I wasn't frightened,”� she admitted, dazed.
“There was a reason why you didn't show any fear.”
“I…”��
“Look at the glass,”� he instructed gently. “Look and you will see the man within isn’t some manufactured form of trickery.”
Feeling tethered to a marionette’s fragile strings, she turned. The tarnished mirror was before her, the warm glow of lamps evident in the reflection. She clearly saw her image, the warm beige of her sweater and tailored black skirt in the forefront. Lucien stood a few feet behind her, his figure barely discernible due to his dark attire.
The figure sent a new wave of goose flesh over her skin. The sepia colored outline wavered and flickered, resembling a dissipating puff of smoke as it hovered in the air. She blinked, afraid to close her eyes, fearing the figure would dissolve as rapidly as it appeared. Some part of her rationalized the image wasn't an illusion, especially when his face creased into the slow semblance of a smile.
The spirit was that of a young man, his ridiculously skinny figure, and angular features familiar. There was a soft blurring around the edges of his face as he wavered in the air, and his body turned questioningly to the other male occupying the room. Eva followed suit and stared at Lucien. He returned her perplexed regard, his expression bland.
Her eyes wandered back to the reflection. She paled and her face reflected a flood of indecipherable emotions. Awe and confusion were evident, mingled with a startled disbelief.
At first, uncertain, fear ran through her. Her heart jumped and she squinted, the chill increasing. The supernatural figure at her side didn't move, becoming more solid, while the air about her grew frigid. Again, she glanced toward Lucien, struggling to regain the normalcy of her accelerating heartbeat.
Her freezing hand sought the smoothness of the back of her neck while she stared at him in confusion. She shuddered, knowing her eyes were shadowed with emotion, although they didn't bear the slightest resemblance to his darkening gaze.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. As her lashes rose, an unexplainable soft radiance filled the room. With each passing second, the glow brightened, throwing the far corners in deep shadows. In the brilliance, the fathomless steel grayness of Lucien’s eyes vanished, replaced by impenetrable obsidian.
As their gazes met, she felt her legs would buckle. She shuddered while he continued to stare at her, his face devoid of emotion. His lips tightened and the last remaining vestige of color drained from her, her soul drawn into the unholy hue of his piercing regard.
Lucien was the first to break the hold he held over her, and the room swirled while