My Beautiful Sin Read online

  My Beautiful Sin

  (Beautiful Sin Saga, Book 1)

  by Heidi Lowe

  Published by Heidi Lowe Books, 2015.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  MY BEAUTIFUL SIN

  First edition. February 23, 2015

  Copyright © 2015 Heidi Lowe

  _________________________

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  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  SINNING AGAIN - PROLOGUE

  OTHER BOOKS BY HEIDI LOWE

  BLURB

  ________________

  ONE

  “Are you sure you have enough paint on you?” Petr asked, giving me the once over.

  I looked down at my formerly white T-shirt that was now a multicolored canvas of paint. There was probably more on me than on the actual canvas.

  “When I go home like this, I know it's been a good day,” I said.

  Petr laughed then flicked his paintbrush at me, adding another dollop of red onto my top. “You've got some in your hair, too. Bet your new look won't go down well with the old lady.” He wiggled a mischievous and perfectly-trimmed eyebrow at me. Surprisingly he'd managed to stay relatively paint-free. He always did. I often made teasing remarks that 'real' artists got messy. He often told me I was full of shit!

  “Don't remind me about her.” I checked myself out in the cracked little mirror above our studio sink. Of course there were specks of different colored paint clinging to strands of my brunette hair, which I'd tied up loosely to keep out of the way. There were even smudges of paint on my cheeks and forehead. Wow, I'd really gone to town today.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Petr asked, appearing behind me in the mirror, and pulling faces.

  “When isn't there trouble in paradise with me and Hilarie?” I wet my fingers and scrubbed at the patches on my face. “The only time we ever get on these days is when she's at the hospital and I'm here. When we're together it's mayhem.”

  “Still arguing over silly things?”

  “She just splurged on this hideous, expensive beige couch. Didn't even consult me when she threw out the old one, can you believe it? The first thing I'm gonna do when I get home is jump on that monstrosity, roll around and get a rainbow of paint all over it.” I laughed wickedly.

  “You don't have the balls.”

  “No, you're right. I think she would actually kill me. Throw me out at least.”

  Petr grabbed my shoulders in support. “You could always come stay with me. It would be fun.”

  “Yeah, right. I'd rather not wake up every morning to find every gay guy in Lox Ridge, or heck, the rest of the state of Indiana, walking around naked!”

  He chuckled, his face turning red because he knew it was an accurate description of what would happen. He'd insisted that he was bisexual, but in the six years I'd known him I'd never seen him with a woman. He loved men the way I loved women – with a debilitating passion that often impaired our view and made us do stupid things. Hilarie was my current stupid thing.

  “That wouldn't happen every morning, Lissa. What do you think I am?” he asked, taking mock-offense.

  “You're the guy with the common name and the really annoying spelling.”

  He sighed as if to say “here we go again”. It was a subject I kept bringing up. I'm ashamed to say it, but I'm not very open-minded, and I'm pretty particular when it comes to popular convention. As a punishment from the gods, I'd ended up dating a woman who couldn't spell her own name properly, and my best friend's name was missing an 'e'. Petr's name pissed me off more than Hilarie's, though, because it had been his choice to remove the letter. Did it at eighteen, in a ridiculous attempt to feel more connected to his Czech ancestry. But the guy was as all-American as they came, from his varsity-style jacket and big non-prescription glasses, to his Converse sneakers. I didn't know who he was trying to fool, but I guess it worked for his lovers.

  “Sometimes I think you just like arguing with me for the sake of it,” he said.

  “That's because I win when we argue. There's no winning with Doctor Hilarie.” I rolled my eyes. Most people wouldn't have, but then again most people didn't have to date Hilarie – a slightly pedantic, slightly anal snob with a God-complex.

  Petr spun me round to face him, now serious. “You really can leave. Rent a place of your own. That anonymous buyer that snaps up most of your stuff has set you up for a couple of years.”

  I could have left any time, sure, but I didn't. The relationship had been good for six months – the first six months – and not so good the last two years. Yet I always stayed. Why? Because for someone like me who'd been alone since the age of twelve, having someone, anyone, was better than having no one at all.

  I never told Petr that, but I didn't have to. He knew all about my past. About my mom splitting when I was seven, just upping and leaving one day, as though we meant nothing to her. He knew about me growing up in care after my father was murdered. And he knew about my younger sister being adopted and me being left on the shelf like a broken toy.

  I moved away from him, grabbed my coat and purse. “No talking about feelings and relationships and doom in the workplace, remember?” I laughed it off, though it wasn't easy to do. From every window of our little top floor studio, I could see that darkness had descended outside. The streets were pitch black. We lost track of time in that studio – shut away in our own little world. “This is our happy place.”

  “That rule's stupid, and it always gets broken.”

  Right, because in the fourteen months that we'd had the space, I couldn't remember a day that I hadn't bitched about my failing relationship.

  “Well I'm beat. I suppose I should head home now. Go sully her couch, maybe order take-out and eat it in bed, then leave all my clothes on the bathroom floor.” I grinned mischievously as we switched out the lights and headed out together.

  “If I don't hear from you tomorrow, should I just assume you were murdered by your OCD girlfriend?”

  We laughed as we said our good-byes, exiting the building. Then we walked off in opposite directions.

  The air was chilly as I made my way home. Nothing stirred on the streets. Not unusual for the town of Lox Ridge, Indiana at ten in the night. The nightlife was almost non-existent – we had to go to the next town across if we wanted any real fun. I pulled my coat tighter to keep the chill out, but in vain. The chill started to numb my cheeks and hands.

  Home – that is, Hilarie's apartment – was a fifteen minute walk from the studio, and pleasant both ways. That was Lox Ridge for you – a safe, family-friendly town. A great place to raise your children. Yeah, apart from the fact that, like most towns in the country, it was home to vampires. Not many, thanks to legislation that introduced a statewide limitation, stipulating the maximum number of vampires allowed to inhabit each town. Three had been deemed a suitable number. None would have been my choice. Still, it made a difference to have
a limit. When too many of them assembled, things got ugly. People died. Since the limit was introduced ten years ago, there hadn't been a single vampire-related death in the state. Or so the mayor claimed. Too little, too late for me, however. Too late for my father. He was found in his car one night, following a date, his throat practically torn out, and his blood drained.

  The wind whistled past my ear as I sped up. No time for strolling in this weather; I wanted to get home asap.

  I heard whispered voices, muffled in the distance yet close enough that I could make out the sound. Male voices. I peered around and couldn't see anyone. There were a couple of lights on in the terraced houses along the street. Opposite them, on my side of the street, was the Lox Ridge Woods with its huge, scary-looking trees. Were the voices coming from there? I didn't like it one bit. Suddenly my safe town, which had never really been safe, had just gotten a whole lot scarier.

  My steps hastened, so too did my heartbeat. I reached into my purse to feel for anything that I could use as a weapon.

  That was my first mistake.

  Taking my eyes off the street, I didn't see the two men jump out from behind the trees. Before I knew it I was being dragged kicking into the woods, my screams cut off by a rough hand pressed over my mouth.

  “She's stronger than she looks,” one guy said, struggling with me, trying to restrain me and drag me deeper into the woods.

  “Or you're just a weak piece of crap that's being overpowered by a bitch,” the other said, then slapped me across the face, hard.

  A part of me wanted to be unconscious through whatever attack they had planned, but the fighter in me waited for her opportunity to strike or run, whichever possibility presented itself first.

  They threw me down in a clearing, close to a brook, where a big flashlight rested on a large rock. I got a glimpse of their faces, and I knew then that they had no intention of letting me go once they were finished with me. Kidnapping 101: don't keep the victim alive once they've seen your face.

  What did they want with me? All right, I'm not bad to look at; long eyelashes set around big, emerald-green eyes – my mother's eyes – giving me that innocent look. I knew I looked younger than my twenty-three years. But still, these guys were young, attractive, and by the way they spoke – with a pompous, private school air – I could tell they came from money. I guess I bought into the whole idea that assault against women was an ugly, poor man's crime, even though I should have known better. One of the guys, the sneering one, had a familiar face, though I couldn't place it.

  “Let me go, you assholes!” I shouted. Then I started screaming for help, but received a blow to my face that felt like I'd been hit with a bag of rocks. I cried out in pain.

  “I don't know about this, man,” the unfamiliar guy said. “Are we really going through with this?” His voice was shaky, his eyes full of panic.

  The other guy – the leader – tutted, shot him a murderous look. “Yeah, we fucking are.” He started unfastening his belt. “I'll go first. You hold her down.”

  That was my cue. I wasn't going to be a victim, to make it easy for them. I scrambled to my feet and tried to make a run for it as the friend came toward me, but I wasn't quick enough. Leader guy grabbed me from behind and, with a rough yank, flung me down. I don't think it was his intention, because when my head hit the rock, I heard them both say “Oh shit.”

  However, that wasn't the last thing I heard or saw before I fainted. Just before my eyes fluttered shut, I saw a shadow stalk out from behind the trees. And then I heard screaming. Lots of it.

  I welcomed unconsciousness.

  TWO

  I didn't recognize the room. That was my first thought when my eyes sprung open. I didn't recognize anything. It was huge, spacious, like one of those Victorian-era rooms that were the size of whole apartments in New York. Even the bed had an antiquated look to it. Whatever, it was the softest bed I'd ever slept in, and a part of me didn't want to get up.

  I felt my head with both hands. A bandage was tightly wound around it.

  I probably should have stayed lying down, because when I went to sit up, a sharp pain shot through the side of my head, like someone was drilling into my scalp.

  “Ahh!” I cried, the pain so strong it brought tears to my eyes.

  Just then, the door swung open. A lady walked in carrying a tray of food. She was a small, fragile-looking woman with a friendly face. The tray looked as though it weighed more than she did. And I could see why. It was loaded with food. A large bowl of prepared fruit, orange juice, a mug of coffee, a generous fried breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns, mushrooms, several slices of toast. A bowl of porridge. If I ate that I probably wouldn't have to eat again for three days!

  Breakfast? So how long had I been out for?

  “Where am I?” I said, unable to take my eyes off the tray as she set it down in front of me. “Who are you?”

  “Eat up, hun. You need to get your strength back.” Her Deep South accent was extreme and melodic. She went to the large windows and pulled open the curtains. Sunlight poured in.

  “I'm not eating anything until you tell me where I am and how I got here.” Even though my stomach was grumbling and I was hungry enough to eat two horses, I had to stand my ground.

  “You're at the Posey Mansion,” she answered with a smile, and was gone before I could grill her further.

  The name meant nothing to me. I'd never heard of the place. And who was this Posey character? Was he the one who'd saved me and brought me here? And what of my attackers?

  At first I ate cautiously, but the food tasted so good that I gobbled everything down and said a big F.U to caution.

  With my head still throbbing, my stomach now full, I didn't even attempt to get up again and explore my surroundings. I was out again minutes later.

  I couldn't remember a time I'd ever slept so good. Since losing my father and my old life, my sleep had always been restless. Broken, just like me. That was what the family who adopted my younger sister had said anyway. “We hate to separate them, but Lissa, the older one, she's just too broken. Too damaged.” I overheard it. I didn't understand it then and I still don't, but nevertheless I'd internalized it.

  It was dark outside when I woke for the second time in the strange room. Outside my door, a heated argument was taking place.

  “Keep your voice down, would you.” A woman's voice – well spoken, English, and a little agitated. “You'll wake her.”

  “I don't give a damn!” This woman sounded local, and furious to go with it. “Why did you bring this trash back here? You never bring morts back unless you're fucking them. What's so special about this one?”

  I didn't like eavesdropping, but now I couldn't resist. What did she mean by morts? I'd never heard that term before, and I was certain she was referring to me. Was it derogatory?

  Still light-headed, I slowly climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. The English lady's voice was much lower, more difficult to hear. For some reason I couldn't explain, I wanted to hear her. I wanted to know what she had to say.

  “She was hurt, you know this already,” she explained calmly.

  “So take her to a goddamn hospital.”

  “It was easier for me to bring her here. Why are you making such a fuss?”

  I already loved the way she spoke. Authoritative, collected, sexy. Was it possible to be in love with a voice within only a few seconds of hearing it?

  “I'm making a fuss because you brought another woman into this house without telling me, and now I find she's sleeping in your bed!”

  “It's not as if I sleep in it myself.” I heard the impatience in her voice.

  “You know what, Jean? One of these days I'm gonna leave and never come back. Who'll run your businesses then, huh? There are plenty of others who would be happy to have me. Who appreciate me.”

  “I appreciate you, I just... Robyn? Look, where are you going? Robyn, come on, you're overreacting.”

  Moments later I heard a door s
lam downstairs, and then a car screech away.

  Guilt set in. I didn't want to be the reason for a break up, or whatever that was that I'd just heard. They sounded like lovers and business partners. I didn't want them to fight over me.

  I had to leave. My head felt slightly better, though it still throbbed. I waited ten minutes for the feeling of nausea to fade, then I slipped my shoes on and crept out of the room. Jean's room. Crazy! Why had she put me in her room, in her own bed? Surely there were plenty of empty rooms in this mansion.

  The hallway was bright and large. Everything sparkled, from the chandelier to the banister. The stairs were huge and winding. I held on to the banister as I crept along. Such a long way down, I thought, peering over the edge, my head throbbing and kicking.

  Just as I was about to descend the stairs, I was attacked by a dizzy spell and lost my balance. But I felt hands around me before the long descent ever began.

  When I looked up, I was staring into the palest, most beautiful face I had ever seen. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd seen her before. She had the reddest lips, the darkest eyes – a color that matched her long hair. She didn't seem real. Had I died and gone to heaven? Was she an angel?

  For a moment, we stared at each other. Her eyes were so soft, though slightly mournful.

  “H–how did you catch me so quickly?” I managed to say. Had I even blinked since she'd come into view? I was afraid that if I did she would disappear.

  “I have good reflexes.” She smiled. I didn't think it was possible for her to get more beautiful, but with the smile she managed it.

  I was still in her arms, and I could smell her sweet scent, like strawberries and cinnamon. I wondered whether she would ever let go of me, or if I ever wanted her to.

  But something hit me. Logic. Good reflexes wouldn't have given anyone the type of speed she'd used in saving me. And the way she held me, like I weighed nothing, despite us being roughly the same build, that wasn't normal. She wasn't normal.