Shadow Lover by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online

And the ever-shifting memory of the night he died.
    She'd lost the ability to separate truth from her dreams. There had been a time in her early twenties, when she'd been in her final year at Bennington and the nightmares had grown to unmanageable levels, that she'd finally sought help. The therapist had suggested she write down her dreams, and then write down everything she remembered from that night, and compare the two. The effort had proven a dismal failure. She had gotten to the point where she doubted everything that she ought to remember; where reality, memory, and nightmares all blended into one psychedelic swirl. Finally she'd just learned to let go of it, refusing to think about it all. There was no way she could make sense of it, no way she could ever learn the truth of what happened that night. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know. She just wanted to be free of the dreams.
    And she had been. Until a man claiming to be Alex MacDowell had appeared out of a freak storm and set her life on end.
    The dream started as it always had. They were in the old house in Edgartown, on Martha's Vineyard . It was late at night, after
midnight
, and she was asleep in her small bedroom at the back of the house, over the kitchen—part of what used to be the servants' rooms. But in the summer Constanza and Ruben stayed in an apartment over the garage, and the rooms had been made over into cheery little bedrooms. Carolyn slept in one of them.
    She was almost fourteen at the time. She'd heard them arguing, the sound muffled through the walls and ceiling, but they hadn't bothered to lower their voices. Alex must have done something wicked again, she'd thought sleepily, putting the pillow over her head.
    He was the bane of her existence, a spoiled, selfish creature who was utterly wild. He drove Aunt Sally to distracted tears, he tormented his cousins, and he taunted Carolyn with a lethal combination of casual bullying and seductive charm that was far too potent for a young girl to handle. And she wasn't sure which she hated more—the charm or the bullying.
    She heard him in the room. He was silhouetted against the moonlight flooding in her uncurtained window, and he looked taller, almost like an adult in that shadowy light. He was standing at her dresser, rummaging through her things.
    "What are you doing?"
    He turned at the sound of her voice, but she hadn't managed to startle him. "I'm getting the hell out of here, Carolyn," he'd said in a strange voice. "I need money."
    "I don't have any."
    "You have this." He held a handful of gold jewelry in one fist, and she sat up, a cry of protest strangled in her throat.
    "You can't," she said. "Those were presents from Aunt Sally. Listen, I'll see if I can get you some money—"
    He shook his head. "I don't have the time. She'll buy you more. My mother has no problem buying love with her checkbook." His voice was cool and bitter.
    "At least leave me the charm bracelet." She shouldn't have admitted that weakness. Each year Sally had added a new charm, something whimsical, charming. It had marked her years with the MacDowell family, and it was the most precious thing she owned.
    "Can't do it. Sorry, kid. If you have any sense you'll get the hell away from here as soon as you're old enough. They'll destroy you." He sounded odd to her, distant, as if he'd already left.
    "They're my family," she'd protested. And immediately regretted the words.
    He came up to the bed, looming over her in the moonlight. "No, they're not," he said. "And be glad of it. They eat their family alive."
    He reached out his hand and touched her face in the moonlight. "Too bad I can't take you with me, Carolyn," he said. "But you're too young, and I'm not into jail bait. Take care of yourself." And he kissed her.
    He'd never kissed her, apart from brief, dutiful pecks on her cheek when ordered to do so. This was on her mouth, but it was no Prince Charming awakening the sleeping beauty. It was rough, hurried, and