Immortal Bride. Lisa Childs
She froze on the shore, unable to move—her gaze locked with his
Damien could see her.
This was what she’d wanted, Olivia reminded herself, as panic choked her. She had wanted him to see her. She needed him to see her in order to exact her revenge.
But when he lifted his arms and reached for her, the panic turned to fear. With dread, she turned to the lake. Every time she went back in, she had to fight harder to reach the surface—to leave those icy depths. But while she’d wanted him to see her, she wasn’t ready yet—she wasn’t strong enough to face him.
Even now, knowing what he had undoubtedly done to her, she wanted him….
LISA CHILDS
has been writing since she could first form sentences. At eleven she won her first writing award and was interviewed by the local newspaper. That story’s plot revolved around a kidnapping, probably something she wished on any of her six siblings. A Halloween birthday predestined a life of writing for the Nocturne line. She enjoys the mix of suspense and romance.
Readers can write to Lisa at P.O. Box 139, Marne, Michigan 49435, or visit her at her Web site, www.lisachilds.com.
Immortal Bride
Lisa Childs
Dear Reader,
I am a voracious reader myself, and my favorite books are romances, of course. I was just eleven when my mom and grandma introduced me to romance novels. I fell as in love as the heroes and heroines in the books I read. I love a good love story—a story of the kind of love that withstands time, that withstands life and death.
Damien Gray, a modern-day warrior, has that kind of love for his immortal bride, but theirs is no simple romance, because one of them is alive and the other is dead—murdered, perhaps at the hand of the man she loves.
I hope you enjoy the story of Damien and Olivia’s immortal love.
Happy reading!
Lisa Childs
For my parents, Jack and Mary Lou Childs,
whose amazing love story has spanned sixty years of marriage. Thank you for your guidance, love, support and inspiration. Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!
Love,
Lisa
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Prologue
Centuries ago…
Crouched on the boulder on the rocky shore, Gray Wolf’s image reflected back at him from the moonlit surface of the Lake of Tears. The stripe of white had widened in his black hair, but other than that, he didn’t look much older than he’d been before the lake had formed.
Remembering the ravine that water had filled, he winced as he felt again the rocks and branches tearing at his skin as he’d dropped into what his people had believed a bottomless abyss. Yet the rocks and branches had not inflicted the scar that shone faintly on his deeply tanned skin, on his chest, where an arrow had pierced his heart.
He had been dead long before the arrow had killed him, though. The same shaman who’d shot the bow had killed the mother of Gray Wolf’s son. But Gray Wolf hadn’t known, so he had blamed invaders from a far off land and himself until those invaders returned with the woman. Anya—with her hair like moonlight and her eyes like chips of a light blue sky.
The shaman had called her a sorceress, and although he hadn’t admitted it, he’d been fearful that she was more powerful than him. So the Wise One had ordered her death as necessary to protect the sacred land of Gray Wolf’s people. Only on their land grew the special herbs that could be used in potions that induced supernatural powers. Anxious to redeem himself for what he’d considered his failure to protect his people, Gray Wolf had accepted the mission to kill her.
Instead he had fallen in love with the flaxen haired, pale-skinned beauty. As her touch could bring slain warriors back to life, it had brought him back to life. Twice. First from his self-imposed death due to guilt and remorse and then from genuine death. She had filled the ravine with her tears, so his body had floated to the surface. She’d dragged him onto this very boulder on which he crouched and had brought him to life again.
And to love. He had never loved another like he loved his Anya. And he never would…
Water splashed as the surface of the lake broke. Arms, as pale as moonlight, glided like ripples through the water, bringing her to him. He gazed down into her light blue eyes, and his once-wounded heart clenched with love. “Anya…”
“My warrior…always protecting me,” she said with a wistful sigh.
Even impaled with the arrow, he had saved her from the shaman—throwing her crude dagger and killing the Wise One. Yet Gray could not help but feel the man’s spirit lurked, waiting to seek his revenge against Gray Wolf’s descendants. But Gray wasn’t the gifted one. Anya was, as was a female from every other generation of her family. They had no children together—just his son whom she treated like her own. Gray wished for his son, and all his descendants, to find a woman like Gray had, a sorceress, who could save him from the vengeance of the shaman and whose love would create their own Legend of the Lake of Tears.
Chapter 1
She fought her way from the murky depths of the lake, kicking against the skirt of her gown. The wet tatters of material wound around her legs like the tentacles of some monster of the deep, trapping her beneath the icy water. Help me! Help me!
She could only utter the words inside her head. Her voice, shaking with fear and desperation, echoed inside her mind. She blinked back the water and tears that blinded her. Faint light guided her toward the surface, yet she could not break free. But she could see the world beyond the lake. She could see him.
With the ripples in the water, his face wavered in and out of focus. He crouched atop a boulder on the rocky shore, the wind ruffling his hair, which was all black but for a thin streak of white in the lock falling across his forehead. He leaned out over the lake and tossed long-stemmed roses like stones across the water.
Frantically thrashing her arms and legs, she finally broke free to the surface. But no water splashed. She didn’t create so much as a ripple.
His shoulders hunched and head down, he didn’t even glance toward her. His face, with sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes, reflected in the lake. But her face—none of her—reflected back from the water. Because she no longer existed. He had made certain of that.
“Are the flowers for me?” she asked him through the bitterness and anger choking her.
He lifted his head, as if listening. Then he pushed a slightly shaking hand through his hair, which was long, nearly brushing