Immortal Eclipse by Sherry Soule

Author:Sherry Soule [Soule, Sherry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: k'12
Publisher: Disenchanted Publishing
Published: 2013-11-26T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Later in the evening, I go upstairs, but don’t feel like reading. Filled with restless energy, I find an unused room across from my bedroom sparsely furnished with only a table and two wooden chairs, and I convert it into a workroom for my photography equipment. Once I’m satisfied with my new workspace, I begin cleaning the many cameras I own.

“What are you doing?”

I turn around, startled. Dorian stands just inside the doorway watching me, looking both amused and curious. I didn’t even hear him approach. The guy’s got major ninja skills.

“Cleaning my camera.”

He moves closer to the workbench. “Eaten dinner yet?”

“Yup. I think Emma left a plate for you in the kitchen. Why?”

“I’m worried about you, Skylar,” he says.

I turn my attention to him. “Why are you so concerned for my well-being?”

“I can’t seem to help it.” A flush of embarrassment creeps across his cheeks and his gaze shifts from mine.

“Why? I can handle myself.”

Dorian pushes a strand of hair off my forehead, and a flash of heat shoots through me at his gentle touch. He steps back with a start, as though he’s been burned, too.

“I know, but for some reason, I feel protective of you. Especially after you were attacked last night.” His tone is soft, and there’s a weary note to the sound. “And after what happened to Moesha this afternoon…”

I sigh. His concern is actually sweet.

“How was William’s service?” My voice softens, too.

“Sobering.” He shifts his weight. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing, or is this the part where you tell me to get lost?”

I resume wiping the camera lens. “I just needed a distraction for a few hours. To not think or worry about everything, and doing this helps.” I gesture toward the paraphernalia scattered across the table.

Dorian doesn’t respond.

After a minute, I turn to stress that I want to be left alone, but the blue-eyed Adonis isn’t there.

Now I’m twitchy. It doesn’t help that when I go downstairs and upload my photos to Uncle Gerard’s laptop that I discover the faint outline of a girl in the second-story window. A girl who shows up in a photo, but not in real life. My nerves feel raw and strained, and suddenly, little things seem difficult to logically explain. And big things like this? Impossible to rationalize.

My lip quivers and tears sting my eyes. Just stop. Bawling won’t do any good, I need to remain composed. But have I been seeing my own doppelganger—in the bathtub, the mirror, in the fog, and now captured in a photograph? And what the heck does it want?

Outside, the rain falls in oversized droplets and the wind whines fitfully, then changes to a roar, shaking the mansion like an angry fist demanding admittance.

Dorian walks into the study. “Do you suppose you’re up to walking to the stables? I want to show you something.”

“I’m fine,” I reply automatically and sniffle.

“Wait here.”

He returns with two raincoats and we go into the kitchen. When the heavy shower eases off, we run out the backdoor for the stables.

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