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  FOREVER MIDNIGHT

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, September 2004

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  PO Box 787

  Hudson, OH 44236-0787

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0026-9

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  SILVER CUFFS © 2004 KATE HILL

  SHADOW-TIME LOVER © 2004 R. CASTEEL

  A MATTER OF DUTY © 2004 ELIZABETH JEWELL

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Briana St. James and Martha Punches.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Forever Midnight

  Silver Cuffs

  Kate Hill

  Shadow-Time Lover

  R. Casteel

  A Matter of Duty

  Elizabeth Jewell

  Silver Cuffs

  Kate Hill

  Prologue

  New Hampshire

  January, 1785

  The wolf growled, his eyes blazing and his teeth gnashing the cold night air. Ice and snow flew beneath his paws. His heart throbbed with the insatiable need for vengeance.

  Another more foreign emotion pulsed through him. Fear.

  A shot exploded. The wolf shrieked as pain ripped through his shoulder. With a mighty lunge, he pounced on the cloaked, musket-toting man fleeing in the distance.

  The wolf dragged the man onto his back and placed his paws on the heaving chest. Savage eyes stared into his captive’s terrified blue ones. Unable to speak in words, the beast’s look demanded its desire. Where is she?

  “I don’t have her, you evil bastard. Look for Stratford. He’s the one you want,” the man bellowed.

  The scents of other people filled the air. Hoofbeats thudded across the snow-packed countryside.

  Then he caught it. Her scent. Turning in the direction of the woods, he saw her.

  The wolf left his captive panting in the snow and raced for the dark-haired, brown-eyed woman. As she ran for him, a storm of bullets pierced the night. The wolf’s high-pitched cries of agony stunned his attackers. Those shrieks were far too human.

  Gunfire ceased. The white snow beneath the gasping wolf turned red with blood and his vision blackened.

  “No, no, no,” she cried, her hands caressing his face.

  Opening his eyes halfway, the wolf saw through the dimness and blur of impending death that her clothes were stained red.

  He tried to speak, but the words would not come. Still, his emotions shone in his eyes. I love you.

  “I love you,” she cried and buried her face in his thickly furred neck. “I love you.”

  Chapter One

  New Hampshire

  2004

  Pierce Durant’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the paperwork on his desk.

  “It’s all finally yours, Pierce.” Lee Smith grinned. “It took some doing.”

  “Everything can be bought,” Pierce said, leaning back in his chair and glancing out the window of his office. Surrounded by buildings, it was nothing like the quiet, pleasant New Hampshire towns he’d visited as a child. His mother had left when he was six. Once in his father’s care, Pierce’s old life had been brushed aside like a fading dream. The finest schools, the best material things, and years of performing in the corporate circus had taken the place of his middle-class environment. For the past twenty-seven years, Pierce had learned the value of the almighty dollar. No matter how he’d worked and studied to please his father, it had never been enough. Only in death had the old man revealed faith in his son by leaving him in charge of the business he’d spent his life building. That was five years ago.

  Since then, Pierce had tripled the company’s profits. He’d done more than the old man had ever dreamed of doing. If his father had been considered a tyrant, then Pierce was a demon and proud of it.

  If there was something he wanted, he’d stop at nothing to get it. Early in the year, he’d spotted acres of property that would be perfect for condominiums. Real estate was how he made most of his profits. With land as inexpensive as those acres, he could almost smell the cash return. The only problem had been some stupid pre-revolutionary war mansion stood right in the middle of the land. The local historical society protected the place like it was built of gold.

  Though it took longer than Pierce would have liked, he’d pulled some strings, cut through the red tape, and was now staring at the deed to the house.

  “We can bulldoze the hovel and get on with the condos,” Pierce said. “It’s about time.”

  The intercom buzzed and Pierce’s secretary said, “Mr. Durant, Tabatha Lane

  from the Philmore Historical Society is here to see you.”

  “I told you what to do with her,” Pierce growled. The last thing he wanted was to talk with some lumpy, old, sock-and-sandal-clad yuppie bitch whose only purpose in life was to preserve useless, broken-down buildings.

  “She won’t leave this time, Mr. Durant. Shall I call security?”

  “Tell her to call the police,” Lee said. “We should press charges for trespassing.”

  Pierce shook his head in his lawyer’s direction, his brow furrowed with annoyance. “I’ll talk to her, Ms. James, and see that this time she leaves for good.”

  Standing so abruptly he almost knocked over his chair, Pierce strode to the door. He flung it open, glaring, his voice just short of a growl. “Where the hell is she?”

  “Mr. Durant, I’m so glad to finally meet you.” Tabatha stepped forward, her hand extended.

  Pierce experienced an unaccustomed jolt of surprise. This had to be a mistake. The stunning black woman who’d approached him wearing a pleasant smile on her lovely face was not the dog-show champion he’d expected. Her dark brown hair was arranged in a loose French braid, her smooth, rounded face lightly touched with makeup. He guessed she was somewhere in her late twenties to early thirties. Her wide-set, dark brown eyes were so beautiful he could have stared into them all day without getting bored. Though plump, her body was well proportioned with full breasts, flaring hips, and a stomach that looked like a soft, smooth place to nestle against. The scent of her floral perfume hovered around him like angelic mist.

  His cock leapt in his pants. It wasn’t like Pierce to go for a woman who so obviously reeked of middle-class, but what the hell? There was something refreshing about her flowing, pink and yellow flowered dress and multi-strapped high-heeled sandals on the prettiest feet he’d ever seen.

  “No, I’m pleased to meet you.” He smiled easily and accepted her handshake. Her grip was firm, her hand soft and warm. He continued holding it as he gazed into her eyes. “I’ve been quite busy lately.”

  “Yes, I know. Busy buying Whittle House.”

  “Yes. You should get a good look at it this week, because next week it’ll be bulldozed.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her smile faded and she tugged her hand from his. “I don’t think you understand the full value of that house.”

  “Perhaps you’d care to tell me over dinner?”

  Her eyes widened a bit. “Yes. I’d like that very much. Where and what time should we meet?”

  Pierce’s smile broadened. He didn’t give a damn what she had to say about the house, but he definitely wanted a date with her. Some people might consider his tactics dishonest and seedy, but dishonesty could go a long way in the world.

 
“I can pick you up at six, if you like?”

  “All right.”

  “We’ll go to the Royal Hill Room. Just leave your address with my secretary.”

  A pleased expression brightened her face. “I’ve never eaten there before. I hear it’s excellent.”

  “It’s the finest, like my dinner guest.”

  She laughed. “Mr. Durant, you flatter me.”

  “Flattery can be a very pleasant thing, Ms. Lane

  .”

  With a fading smile, she turned from him to his secretary who supplied a pen and paper for her to write her address as Pierce stepped back into his office.

  Lee asked, “Did you get rid of her?”

  “I made a date with her.”

  “A date?”

  “I haven’t seen a woman that cute since… Come to think of it, I’ve never seen a woman that cute. More beautiful yes, but definitely not as cute.”

  “Oh, shit, Pierce.” Lee wrinkled his nose. “We spend all this time and money securing that property and now you’re going to leave the house standing where our condos should be?”

  “The house is going to be, as they say, history. Have you ever known me to be influenced by anybody?”

  “No, but there’s a first time for everything and that’s what scares me.”

  “Do I look like an idiot?” Pierce dropped into his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. “I don’t care what kind of bleeding heart story she gives about the historical value of that dump. All I want to see is if I can get that hot little piece of ass between the sheets. Trust me, she’ll be a lot easier than bartering for that property was.”

  Chapter Two

  “I don’t believe it,” Tabatha said as she walked into the Philmore Historical Society’s little one-room office. The meeting with Pierce Durant had her tingling from head to toe. She told herself it was because she’d finally breached the man’s corporate defenses, but deep inside their encounter thrilled her on a more intimate level. Though she wasn’t usually attracted to white men, especially obnoxious, greedy ones, something about him seemed to latch onto an unexplored region of her soul. The sensation was creepy yet compelling at the same time. “I never imagined he’d actually talk to me about the house.”

  “Over dinner at the Royal Hill Room?” Sean Owens, another Philmore volunteer and Tabatha’s good friend raised an eyebrow in her direction. During a conversation on their cell phones, she had told Sean the details of her confrontation with Pierce. “Good grief, sweetie. The man obviously doesn’t care about the house. He just wants to get you on a date.”

  “Me? What for when he has his pick of rich, eligible women? Wasn’t he voted Bachelor of the Year last year or something?”

  “No. The Country’s Richest Bachelor. He has offices from coast to coast and more money than a god. Sweetie,” Sean stood and placed a delicate hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let this SOB screw you, not even over the Whittle House. It ain’t worth it. Trust me. I’ve had my heart broken enough to not want the same happening to you.”

  “He’s not going to break my heart, Sean.” Tabatha smiled, shaking her head. “I can see right through him. I know he only wants one thing. He thought I’d be impressed by having him give me a second look and offering to take me to the best restaurant in the state. I’m going to use this opportunity to try to save Whittle House. Nothing more.”

  “You have a good head on your shoulders, that’s for sure, but from what I remember about the bachelor article, he’s damn good-looking.”

  She shrugged. “He’s all right.”

  Sean raised an eyebrow again. Tabatha couldn’t even lie well about Pierce’s handsome appearance. No one should have brains, money, and looks, but Pierce Durant had all three. The man was very tall and lean, his neck powerful and his shoulders incredibly broad. She doubted she’d ever seen legs quite that long. Thick, wavy brown hair topped his head and dusted his firm jawline with five o’clock shadow. His smile had been pleasant, though it hadn’t reached those shrewd, beautiful, blue eyes.

  “All right, he’s gorgeous, but he’s nasty, Sean. I can see it in his eyes.”

  “If he’s nasty, then why waste your time trying to convince him to leave the house alone?”

  “Because I have to. No one from Philmore has gotten an opportunity to so much as talk to him. Now I’ll have an entire dinner date to let him know how much this house means to the town and to American history itself.”

  “Well.” Sean sighed. “Good luck, sweetie. You want me to go along to chaperone?”

  “No.” She laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

  No matter how attractive she found Mr. Durant, she intended to keep this dinner strictly business. The man might stir her, but she hadn’t exaggerated about his mean streak. No one got as far as he had without stepping on anyone who got in his way, including innocent historical society volunteers.

  * * * * *

  Tabatha took a sip from her water glass. Her heart pounded and her mouth felt dry.

  Pierce sat across the intimate table for two in the softly lit Royal Hill Room. His dark blue gaze fixed on hers in a most unsettling manner. Aside from blatant lust, she could read nothing of his emotions. Those eyes, though physically beautiful, were hard and cold. How could she possibly hope to convince such a man to spare Whittle House?

  In spite of her dislike of him, he aroused her. He possessed sexual appeal such as she’d never seen before. His expressions and the way he moved his tall, big-boned body with masculine grace made her belly clench with desire. Beneath her silky slip and simple black dress, her nipples tightened as she watched his large, long-fingered hands butter his bread. What would those hands feel like on her flesh, stroking, teasing, rubbing…

  “You look beautiful tonight, Ms. Lane

  .”

  “Please, call me Tabatha.”

  “All right, Tabatha.” He spoke slowly, his deep voice caressing the words in a way that made her pulse race out of control.

  “As you know, I’ve come to talk about Whittle House.”

  “Why don’t we just enjoy the evening, at least for a while?”

  “I won’t enjoy the evening until I discuss the house.”

  “All right.” He placed his bread on his plate and leaned back in the chair, his intent gaze fixed on her. “Talk to me.”

  “I assume you’re familiar with the Whittle family who owned the house?”

  “No.”

  “Not at all?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you planned on telling me.”

  “Well, if you don’t know the house’s history then how can you possibly place any value on it? Let me explain. Allen Whittle came to America in the mid 1700s. He was a wealthy merchant, one of the richest men in early America. When the war broke out between Britain and the States, his loyalty remained with King George. Of course he believed his only son, Samuel, would also be on the side of the crown. Unbeknownst to the Whittle family, Samuel’s circle of friends included many patriots. It was rumored that he was part of the Boston Tea Party. He joined the army in 1776 and fought until freedom was won. Only once did he return home. He’d been badly wounded and came back to New Hampshire to recover. His father was dying, but even then he would not make peace with his son. He cursed Samuel for his choices. Wounded both physically and emotionally, the patriot decided to return to battle right away. There was a heavy winter storm that year. As Samuel made his way through the snowdrifts, he was attacked by a wolf. Somehow he survived. He rejoined his patriot brothers and became part of Knowlton’s Rangers.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Goodness, Mr. Durant, don’t you know anything about American history?”

  “What’s the point of knowing history? It can’t do anything for me now. And call me Pierce.”

  She sighed, exasperated. “History is more important than you realize.”

  “About the rangers?”

  “Knowlton’s Rangers were an intelligence group used by Washington to perform danger
ous missions. Samuel Whittle was one of them.”

  “I see. So because he lived in the house, I shouldn’t knock it down, is that it?”

  “According to legend, it wasn’t a normal wolf that bit Samuel, but a werewolf. It was said that when the moon shone, he turned into a savage beast, though not one completely unintelligent. Supposedly he attacked the redcoats in the dead of night. He was what some called Washington’s secret weapon—though of course most people think it’s just a story.”

  A smile played around his finely drawn lips. “And you don’t?”

  “Do I look like a fool, Pierce?” His attitude irritated her so much she forgot how gorgeous he was. “Of course I don’t believe in werewolves, but I believe in preserving history. Samuel Whittle was not only a war hero, but a local legend. Haven’t you ever heard the poem?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  She recited—

  “His father was loyal

  to the British crown

  Rebellion, said he,

  it must be put down

  Our comforts come

  from across the sea

  Any Whittle son

  must be a Tory

  Samuel denied

  his father’s will

  For freedom

  his blood would spill

  He joined the ranks,

  to follow Washington

  The rift was dug

  between father and son

  Wounded in battle

  Samuel returned

  Still was by

  his family spurned

  His father cursed

  A demon heard

  Samuel left

  without a word

  In the snow

  the young soldier fell