Drawn Into Darkness by Annette McCleave

Author:Annette McCleave [McCleave, Annette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Paranormal, General, Romance
ISBN: 0451227808
Google: LbNCnugJghYC
Amazon: B002N83HEI
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2009-08-31T22:00:00+00:00

Lachlan sat back on the hard wooden stool. Rolling his shoulders, he attempted to relieve the tightness that had developed at the base of his neck.

Despite the vast number of candles dripping wax onto the stone floor, the light in the room was annoyingly dim. How sweetly he’d been seduced by modern technology. He could barely believe he’d once accepted this flickering murk as the norm. Add in medieval gall ink faded by time and endless pages of yellowed parchment, and it was no wonder his eyes protested at the abuse, demanding he shut them.

But he couldn’t rest.

There was too much to learn. He hadn’t yet cracked the spine on either of the two grimoires perched on the corner of the table, but the book of ancient lore he was currently perusing had already turned his known world on its ear.

The gods were not what he thought.

To hear Death talk, one would think her supremely capable and infinitely powerful. In fact, she was weak. While God and Satan were consummate deities imbued with an extensive range of powers, Death was not. She was a lesser deity, a demigod, and as such she had only limited abilities. The Gatherers suffered with a poor portfolio of primals, not because she deigned it so, but because it was all she could provide.

The book was quite fascinating. Indeed, the moment he’d turned the first crinkly page, he’d been enthralled.

He glanced at his watch.

And frowned.

The silver hands on the black face insisted the time was two twenty, but that couldn’t be right. That would suggest he’d been lost in the tome for twelve hours. Unlikely.

“Stefan,” he hollered.

A moment passed. Then the mage stuck his head around the purple curtain. He was munching on a chunk of crusty bun slathered with butter. “What?”

A tantalizing waft of spicy spaghetti entered the room with him, and Lachlan’s stomach growled.

“What time is it?”

“Seven thirty.”

“Bloody hell.” Not quite as bad as losing twelve hours, but still a shock. “My watch has stopped working.”

“Oh,” Stefan said, wrinkling his nose. “Did I forget to mention that? In here, none of your modern gadgets work.”

“Where is here, exactly?”

The mage stood taller, sweeping the room with a proud, fatherly look. “Castle Rakimczyk, Hungary, fifteenth century.”

“A real castle, in the real fifteenth century?”

Stefan beamed. “Yes.”

“Impressive. A family inheritance?”

“I guess you could say that.”

Lachlan glanced at the darkened arch to the left, the one with a circular stone staircase leading up. “Can someone from this time walk in on us?”

“Not without a lot of heavy digging. The castle above has been burned to the ground. The locals weren’t too happy with my ancestors. Blamed them for every milkless cow and festering boil.”

“Why work here? Couldn’t you find a more pleasant spot?”

“No choice. The books are spellbound to this room and this time. Can’t be moved. If I want to use them, I have to use them here.”

“Vexing.”

“To say the least. Keeps them safe, though.”

Lachlan’s nostrils flared as he caught another whiff of spaghetti off the mage’s clothes.

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