Aeromancist, The Beginning (SECOND EDITION): Prequel (7 Forbidden Arts Book 2) Read online

  He leaned back into the shadows and watched her from his post. The females were unaware of his presence. Mrs. Sullivan, a romantic arts professor who brought a group of students in on Thursdays, touched the redhead’s arm and said something. The group made their way to the library. Everyone except for her. She lingered in front of the statue of Teresa, staring at it in a way that made Lann wish he were that statue. Then, as if sensing his gaze, she looked up, and their eyes locked. For a charged second neither of them blinked or moved. Nothing but the moment existed, and then she flushed a little and hurried after Mrs. Sullivan.

  “Alfonso,” Lann called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes from the retreating form of the female.

  “Yes, Sir?” Alfonso said from the door.

  “Who’s that woman?” Lann followed her progress until the library door shut behind her.

  “The redhead? She comes every week with the student group, Sir.”

  Well, hell. All this time she’d been right under his nose. It was enough to make him believe in fate.

  “Every week?”

  “Yes, Sir. Comes in with Mrs. Sullivan. They arrive at ten, leave for lunch between one and three, and she’s gone with the group at five.”

  Lann turned. “When the group leaves, keep her behind and bring her to my office. And find out under what name she signs in.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Alfonso said as if Lann had asked him for nothing more extraordinary than heating up his cold tea.

  Kat was waiting her turn to sign out when a man dressed in a black suit approached her.

  He inclined his head and said softly, “Excuse me, Miss. Mr. Dréan requests a word with you before you go.”

  Trepidation filled her. There were many rumors about the owner of the monastery, but she also felt a spark of curiosity, and excitement, which she promptly stomped out.

  Feigning nonchalance, she asked, “What about?”

  “He did not say, Miss.”

  Kat turned to Marianne Sullivan with an unspoken question. Instead of reflecting Kat’s concern, Marianne looked enthusiastic.

  “That’s a first,” Marianne said under her breath. “No one has actually met him.”

  “Why would he want to see me?” Kat whispered.

  Marianne shrugged. “I’ll wait for you.”

  The man leaned in, joining their discussion in a hushed tone. “It won’t be necessary to wait, Mrs. Sullivan.” When both women lifted their heads quickly, he continued, “I assume it may take a while.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Marianne said. When Kat still hesitated, she nudged her with an elbow. “Go on.” She added with meaning, “Call me tomorrow.”

  “This way,” the man said, motioning to the hallway door.

  The last person had signed out and the women piled through the door. It shut with a soft click, and then there were only her, the receptionist, and the man standing with his hand extended in the air, indicating the exit she was to follow. The building suddenly seemed very quiet. The receptionist said nothing as she gathered her bag to leave for the day. One look at the man’s stony face told Kat he wasn’t going to budge, so best to get this interview, whatever it was about, over and done with.

  They entered the hallway that ran around the inner courtyard. Stone pillars threw long shadows across their path. She always found the inside of the building tranquil, but now it seemed eerily still. Only their footsteps sounded on the polished terracotta tiles as the man escorted her down the southern street-facing hall that formed one leg of Mr. Dréan’s museum of religious arts.

  No matter how many times she saw it, she could never get enough of the beautiful building that was a mix of Romanesque and Neo-Gothic architectural styles. During their first visit, Marianne had organized a tour. The guide had explained that the church and monastery had been founded in 1648, but that the building had been greatly damaged in an earthquake in 1730. In 1817 it had housed the liberation army, and had been reconstructed in 1845 by the architect, Antonio Vidal, hence the mixture in styles. Since its last construction, little had been done to maintain the grounds, and the bell tower was especially in need of repair. All of that had been undertaken by Mr. Dréan, who seemed to harbor a passion for antiquarian buildings and books.

  They went all the way to the end of the hallway, turned right, and passed the library. At the end of the corridor, they turned left and took the stairs. For a reason she couldn’t explain, her skin broke out in goosebumps as they climbed the creaking wooden steps with the ornate balustrade to the first floor, past the ‘Private’ sign. From upstairs, she had a clear view of the neglected garden and restoration work in progress on the church. They turned left onto a landing directly above the library that overlooked the pool at the back.

  The man knocked on the first door. He didn’t wait for a reply, but pushed it open and made a slight bow, motioning for her to step inside. She did so cautiously, and jumped when the door closed behind her with a bang.

  A man who sat behind a large desk came to his feet. She swallowed. Just as she’d thought. It was the man she’d caught a glimpse of that morning. She could tell from his clothes and his height. His face had been in the shadows however, and Lann Dréan was nothing like people said. The descriptions didn’t do him justice. Apparently Mr. Dréan didn’t like publicity, because he never allowed his photo to be taken. Now she stood facing the man himself, and nothing could have prepared her for his physical appearance.

  He was tall and dressed immaculately in grey slacks and a white dress shirt, no doubt privately tailored because the clothes perfectly fitted his lean, muscled body. His long, blond hair was braided down his back, his sideburns extending down a strong jaw. His distinctly Arian features were off-set by almond-shaped eyes, eyes that were almost yellow, like amber flecked with gold, and lined with long, blond lashes.

  His sensual lips pulled into a beautiful but practiced smile, exposing faint laugh lines around his eyes. It came as a strange disappointment that he used a gesture with her he’d probably used with countless females, all as defenseless to his good looks as she was right now. Even so, politeness dictated that she returned the smile. As she continued to stare, he took his time to round the desk and cross the floor until they stood face to face.

  He was composed, too controlled, as he took her hand and brought it to his lips, letting only his breath caress her skin. Long, strong fingers grasped hers lightly. She could have easily pulled away, but she was mesmerized, studying his impeccably manicured hand, the gold band around his thumb, and the ruby ring on his pinky.

  The monastery owner released her hand and took a step back. “Thank you for meeting me,” he said with a very appealing Russian accent. “I’m not sure if I should say, Miss White … or Miss Clark.”

  At the mention of the false name, her smile faltered. Thrown off balance, she gripped the chair back next to her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected Mr. Dréan to discuss with her, but it wasn’t this.

  “Do you need to sit down?” He moved to a lounge area facing a fireplace and pulled out an armchair. “Please.”

  It wasn’t an invitation. She walked to the chair on shaky legs but with a straight back, and sat down on the edge, eyeing him warily. “How did you find out?”

  He took the sofa opposite her and poured liquor from a crystal decanter into two tumblers. “I’m a member of the flying club.” He offered her a glass. “Scotch?”

  It wasn’t a question either. She reached over the low table to accept the drink, even if she had no intention of drinking it. “I’m not a security risk, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He gave her an amused smile. “No?”

  “How do you know about my, um, other name?”

  “First things first. Let’s get the formal introduction out of the way, shall we?”

  “I know who you are, Mr. Dréan.”

  “Please, call me Lann.” He added with humor, “I’m not sure what I should call you, Ms. White. Maybe you prefer a pseudonym?”r />
  She ignored the sarcasm. “Katherine. Everyone calls me Kat.”

  “Who is Delia Clark?” He watched her intently as he sipped his Scotch.

  “It’s just a name I made up.”

  “Why?”

  “I love flying, and I’m not supposed to.”

  “Why not?”

  She contemplated not answering the question, but under the circumstances she supposed she owed him an explanation. “I promised my parents and my godfather, who also happens to be my mentor.”

  When she fell silent, he said, “I’m listening.”

  She’d done as much explaining as was needed. “I don’t see how this is any of your business.” She moved to get up, but his words stilled her.

  “What you’re doing is illegal. You may even face charges.”

  She left her glass on the table. “What are you threatening me with?”

  “I don’t make threats, Katherine. If I wanted charges laid, you’d be arrested by now.”

  She went cold. So, Lann wasn’t a reasonable man. She could only hope he was compassionate. “Why are we having this conversation, Mr. Dréan?”

  “Because I don’t want you to find out from your godfather that I called him. I wanted to tell you in person.”

  Her trepidation turned to anger. “You called Charles?”

  “I’ll call him first thing tomorrow morning, and then your parents.”

  Perplexed, she asked, “Why would you do that?”

  “I don’t know if you can be trusted. I can’t allow people I can’t trust in my home.”

  Her hope of Lann being compassionate dwindled. Fear took over. She needed his books for her thesis. Without this material, she had as good as failed.

  “If you tell Charles that I’ve broken my promise, he’ll cancel my scholarship and make me go home.”

  “Give me one good reason why he shouldn’t.”

  “Look, Charles made me agree to the stupid condition. He promised my parents not to give me the scholarship unless I agreed not to participate in dangerous activities.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, indicating that he was waiting for her to continue.

  She cleared her throat. “My parents are protective, that’s all. There have been some … incidents.”

  “Is getting involved in dangerous activities that lead to incidents a habit of yours?”

  “I don’t consider flying more dangerous than driving.”

  He traced the rim of his glass with a finger. “Tell me, Katherine, what do you enjoy about flying?”

  What did that have to do with anything? “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Try.” He fixed her with his unsettling eyes.

  She lifted a shoulder. “I guess I like that I don’t have to be in control.”

  Something in his expression shifted.

  Did she say something wrong? “Mr. Dréan, I didn’t lie about my identity when I signed in at your library. I swear I’m not a security risk. If you call Charles, he’ll feel obliged to tell my parents, and they’ll only worry unnecessarily.”

  “Your parents have a point. You have the reputation of a daredevil at the club.”

  She frowned. “What’s this to you, anyway? I can’t imagine you’re concerned about my safety.”

  His eyes tightened even as his lips tilted into a semblance of a smile. “Oh, but I am.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to promise never to fly with anyone at the club again, unless it’s with me.”

  She opened her mouth and then shut it again. It wasn’t the fact that he was a pilot that took her by surprise. It was common knowledge that the wealthy monastery owner piloted all kinds of planes. It was the strangeness of the request.

  Finally, when most of the surprise had worn off, she only managed, “You?”

  “I’m the only person I trust.”

  Wow, he truly meant that. The conviction in his eyes said so.

  “A lot safer than Frank,” he continued. “You agree? Good. Then it will save us both a lot of unpleasant explanations.”

  Just like that. She opened her mouth again to argue, but he got up, indicating that the matter was closed for discussion. Well, she didn’t really have a choice. He was blackmailing her into not flying with anyone else but him, and she couldn’t fathom for what reason. She didn’t believe for one minute it was about her safety. He didn’t know her and had no reason to care about the remote possibility of her dying in a plane crash.

  He lifted his eyes to a wall clock and smiled faintly back at her. “It’s almost dinner time. Would you care to join me?”

  The invitation took her further aback. What was she to make of it? He’d just exposed her as a fake and a liar. A man like him couldn’t be interested in a woman like her, especially not since he’d indicated he didn’t trust her. Maybe he was just trying to be polite. What did she know about his foreign customs?

  She got to her feet. “Thank you, but I have to go.”

  “At least let me show you the part of the monastery that’s not open to the public. You’ll find the restoration interesting.”

  Turning down the offer would seem rude under the circumstances. Showing interest in his project was the least she could do. After a beat’s hesitation, she accepted the arm he offered.

  His muscles flexed when she placed her palm in the crook of his arm. His forearm felt hard and strong. Touching him through the thin barrier of his shirt felt way too personal. Being so close to him was disturbing. She tried not to show her discomfort, which was difficult, as she noticed from the corner of her eye that he was staring at her as they walked.

  Despite her reservations, she did find the renovation interesting. He explained the work of an architect specializing in the restoration of historical Chilean buildings. Soon, she was enraptured, enjoying not only the subject, but also the musicality of his accent. He was an exemplary tour guide, putting her at ease and making her feel silly for doubting his intentions.

  After they’d visited the upstairs rooms, Lann took her downstairs to the pool deck where a table was set for two. He pulled out a chair and stood waiting.

  She adjusted the strap of her handbag on her shoulder, trying to think of a polite way to reject his insistence, and settled for a direct approach. “As I said, I can’t stay.”

  “Do you have another engagement?”

  She wasn’t going to lie for her convenience or his benefit. “No.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Then please join me. I’d be delighted not to dine alone.”

  A man like Lann never had to dine alone. The list of volunteers would be long. It felt like a mistake, but she let the handbag slip from her shoulder and stepped toward the chair. After all, he had access to information he could use against her. As long as he held that sword over her head, she’d have to dance to his tune.

  Like a true gentleman, Lann seated her and draped a napkin over her lap before taking his place. Almost immediately, the man with the black suit appeared, carrying a tray with two plates.

  “This is Alfonso, my right-hand man,” Lann said. “I know you’ve met, but I’m not sure you’ve been properly introduced.”

  Alfonso inclined his head and served them.

  When he left, Lann poured the wine. “Seared tuna and Roquefort-pear salad. I hope the menu is to your taste.”

  Instead of answering, she took a gulp of wine. While she was squirming in her chair, wracking her brain for something to say, Lann seemed at ease with the silence. He waited for her to start eating before he picked up his knife and fork.

  “What is your thesis about, Katherine?”

  She swallowed the bite of fish she’d taken and dabbed her mouth with the napkin. “Daemon lovers.”

  “Interesting.” He studied her with an intense expression, seeming to take in every detail of her face. “Please do elaborate. I’d love to hear more.”

  She shifted. “Most people find it boring.”r />
  “Try me,” he said with a patient smile.

  She cleared her throat. “All right. My argument is that the daemon lover is the male form of the muse. I’m using literature to demonstrate how he has showed up in legends as vampire, beast, prince, or angel, and what his role was in the development of female sexuality, creativity, and spirituality as expressed in modern literature.”

  “Now I understand why the books in my library would be useful to you.” He regarded her as if contemplating a puzzle. “Mrs. Sullivan mentors romantic art students. How come you’re with her group?”

  “She’s a friend of Charles. He asked her to take me under her wing.”

  “How long since you arrived in Santiago?”

  She dragged her fork through the lettuce on her plate. “It’s only been a month.”

  “For how long are you staying?”

  “The program is for one year.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Good. Then we have time.”

  She stilled in the middle of bringing a forkful of salad to her lips. “Excuse me?”

  “I would very much like to get to know you better.”

  What? Her heart skipped a beat. Why would he want to get to know her? Why did any man want to get to know a woman? Trepidation tightened her stomach even as a spark of curiosity kindled a lick of a flame of excitement. But no. There was no way they were getting to know each other beyond tonight. Lann Dréan was far too dangerous. He was too enigmatic, too handsome, and too worldly for a sentimental and overly romantic girl like herself. Intuition told her so, and most of all the part of her that always got her into trouble where men were concerned—her heart.

  Her tone was polite but decisive. “Tonight will be all the getting to know each other we’ll be doing.”

  He put down his cutlery. “Then I’d be wise to make the most of it. Since this may be the only opportunity I’ll ever have, tell me about yourself.”

  The way he stared at her made her feel as if no one else existed. It was hard not to feel flattered, and at the same time, intimidated.