Phantom Pleasures: Sexy Paranormal (Book 1, Phantom Series) by Julie Leto Read Free Book Online

dead. Pity if such an enchanting female perished only to set him free.
    On bended knee, he reached to touch her, but stopped before his fingers made contact with her alabaster cheek. Her hair, pulled back tightly from her face, gave him pause. How many centuries had elapsed since the Gypsy woman had warned him that a woman with flames in her hair would be the instrument of his destiny? Her predictions had thus far proved ominous. He’d married his wife, Anne, partially because of her station and dowry, and partially because her burnished tresses garnered renown among the whole of King George’s court. He’d been so curious to see if the Gypsy’s prediction would prove true, he’d sacrificed his bachelorhood.
    Yet despite the fire in her hair, Anne had proved as cold as the Thames in winter. He’d then found himself with Renata, his mistress, drawn by her passionate mien and crimson curls. Too late he’d learned she’d used henna the first night they’d met and changed her hair color on a whim. Sweet natured and warm, Renata had been a welcome distraction during his sojourns to London, but she had not affected his destiny in any way.
    Except on the night of his imprisonment, when he’d thought—for a brief, insane instant—that Rogan had trapped her in a painting.
    He glanced from the woman on the floor to the portrait on the wall, now devoid of subject. On the night of his sister’s disappearance, there had been a redhead in the portrait. In a corner shadow. In a doorway that did not exist. She’d lured him in and yanked him out of his time and into this new world where machines flew in the sky and women, like the one now crumpled on the floor, ordered men in uniform about as if she were queen.
    At that thought, he touched her. A lock of hair had escaped the severe queue she’d tied at the nape of her shapely neck, so he merely brushed the hair aside. She moved, made a sound quite like a cat’s mewling.
    He looked up.
    No, it was only Rogan’s cursed cat.
    Golden eyes ablaze, the flat-faced feline leaped out of the portrait, landing on its paws with a skilled bounce. The infernal animal stared at him accusingly, as if to suggest that Damon had once again developed a soft spot for a woman with red hair.
    Despite the animal’s uncanny presence, Damon dismissed its omniscient look. He cared nothing for this woman except that she had somehow freed him.
    She was, admittedly, beautiful. And before the force of the magic had knocked her unconscious, responsive. He hadn’t missed how her nipples had hardened beneath her blouse or how her breathing had changed when he’d entered her mind with his sensual suggestions. She might have made a worthy conquest, if not for the fact that he had only one thing on his mind at this moment—escape.
    “What do you think, beast?” He scowled at the animal, still unsure after all these years if the animal was friend or foe. “Is she the one who shall be the instrument of my destiny?”
    The cat replied by licking its paw.
    With a frown, Damon stood and assessed his surroundings, his eyes drawn instantly to the door across the great hall.
    “Or perhaps she already is.”
    He strode down the stairs, invigorated by the stretch of his muscles, the power in his thighs and shoulders. He breathed in deeply and the smells of the sea were unmistakable. With a backward glance, he noted that the woman who had freed him remained on the floor. A pang of something he assumed was guilt nearly caused him to pause, but he managed to push the intrusive emotion aside and concentrate on his goal.
    Freedom.
    Nothing would delay him.
    Nothing and no one.
    Not even the beautiful flame-haired woman who’d freed him from his prison.
    At the top of the stairs, the cat howled.
    Damon continued to the door.
    He grasped the latch but didn’t yet pull. What manner of insanity existed outside these castle walls? He touched his waist. His sword was long gone. Machines that flew might be just one