Sienna Mynx_-_Phantom(1).pdf

The Divas Pen LLC Publication

http://thedivaspen.com

Phantom

ISBN 9780983381259

Cover art by PickyMe

Electronic book publication July 2011

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Prologue

They say that the eyes are the windows to your soul. Lazar had learned many things over

the centuries, and one fact remained; there are many windows to one's soul. Take for instance the

reflective jewel of truth before him. How many moons have passed in which he's searched for his

beloved upon its dark deceptive surface? How many glimpses has he had of Aleksandra's

daughters? There have been too many disappointments to count. Still he can never let go of the

hope that during this century his sweet love will return.

Lazar lifted his hand and flexed his shadowy fingers near the candle flame. Not quite

solid, there was little feeling or lifeblood coursing within his translucent palm. There were times

when he could recall his life and more vividly his death. The acrid smell of his own flesh burning

as heat dissolved tissue from muscle, and hell’s flames boiled his bones to ash. Afanasiia's dark

promise was only fulfilled in his suffering. That was his price. Aleksandra's was greater since

she remained in purgatory beyond his reach. It was wrong to lust for his humanity now when

she suffered so. Life would forever remain beyond his grasp.

Here he can exist, but only when the moon grants permission. Most nights he remains

the shadow that haunts the scant traces of light along the lower squalid halls beneath the theater.

Each day the beast in him that was born in darkness grows stronger. He vows to control it and

honor his promise to the children of Afanasiia. Only then will he be allowed to reunite with his

dearest Aleksandra. However, the creature lurking inside is a lustful host. From the moment

Lazar laid eyes on a descendant of his dearest, he longed to sample her purity.

These predator urges weren't his true nature. When he rediscovers love with this beauty

named Christine, he will prove it. This time. This is his vow.

Darkness crept closer and Lazar inhaled the cold dank aroma of the creatures stirring in

the lower cellars in the night. He is the unseen, but one blink from him and they scurry to their

corners, hissing, glaring with red beady eyes. He beckons them, his children and the followers of

Afaniisa to wait, except for his favorites. Ninka and Mikalieh are to follow Ivanski and do his

bidding.

On a full moon like tonight, he can sense her desires once more. Taking a deep drag of her

atmosphere, he detected her floral fragrance and it's peppered with the sweet musk of her

perspiration and the heady feminine aroma moist between her thighs. It strengthened his arousal

over the aria she is to perform. It is a wonderful scent that is all her. The lovely flavor of her

essence swirled beneath her skirt as she approaches the microphone under the blaring glare of

studio lights. Her pulse raced, and a flutter of excited breath escaped her small nostrils. Another

deep inhale revealed the most pleasurable truth. She has not been touched. A woman, touched by

another, pheromones are elevated and her suitor's mark on her heart always leaves a trace. He

smelled no one else. This was just her. But the mirror has misled him before. This time, he needed

to be sure. Once again, he trained all his senses on the lovely image before him. Aleksandra's

mirror was now the window to Christine Madison's soul.

Lazar swallowed the smirk forming on his lips and restrained the beast in him. It awoke

after one whiff of her lovely innocence and clawed at the inner walls of his cursed soul to be free.

But he was a master of control, and no harm would come to her if she became his willingly. Not

to this lovely daughter of Aleksandra.

Lazar rose from his chair and approached the mirror. His reflection was nothing more

than a shadow moving behind a dark veil of smoke. Focusing on her, and the promise made that

cost him his soul, he was able to welcome the light found in her voice. It's full of life. It's burning

force returned him to a solid state, chasing away the phantoms and bringing him forth.

She walked across the theater floor where a piano awaited; her skirt swayed around

shapely hips. Her hair was shorter than he cared for, reaching just beyond her ears with layers

and long bangs that cascade over her brow into her eyes. He had seen it before even on the

darkest of beauties, a modern look not suitable for women of his time. The piano player said

something and she laughed, sending her fine dark tresses away from her cheeks. Her skin was a

lovely hue of brown. It appeared as if it had been brushed in ginger and covered her long slender

shapely legs and delicate arms. She laughed and the beast in him calmed from the mere sound of

her happiness. His madness abated. For a brief moment, he felt normal in the shadow of her light.

Today, she wore a yellow dress with a splash of pink along the trim. She's petite, but her

heavy bosom and feminine curves gracefully define her womanly allure. He is certain she is a

descendant of his fair Aleksandra.

Lazar clasped his newly formed hands in front of him. His dark cloak pooled at his feet

and his porcelain mask covered half of his face. Some say a woman knows her heart, and once she

chooses for it, the love can be everlasting. That was true of his Aleksandra but not of her many

descendants who turned away from him. They had chosen men before he could make his claim.

Yet, his burn to know them brought about a darkness that ended tragically for each, including

Christine's dearly departed mother.

But she wasn't like them.

Christine was pure.

Lazar’s head dropped to the left and then the right. He rolled his neck, now feeling his

body stitch together bone and sinew, as his lifeblood began to course through his veins. When she

sings as the piano player plays, his transformation will complete.

"Oh yes, Christine, you are the one: my Aleksandra."

Chapter One

Berezdiv, Russia

“Chris, wake up.”

It’s so cold. Three words hammered her brain, as the warmth and comfort of sleep

slipped away. Christine Madison lifted her head from the condensed window. Her

usually stylish hair felt limp and damp with strands plastered to the side of her face.

"We're here already?" she yawned, then wiped the drool from the side of her mouth,

ignoring the blank taste and dryness coating her tongue.

"Yep, we sure are. Look for yourself."

She did, just as they passed a sign in Russian announcing the village of Berezdiv.

There wasn't much to see, especially from her cramped position in the back seat. She

shifted forward against the worn cloth cushion, in discomfort. Sleep deprivation

brought on the worst case of grogginess. She could blame it on the time difference or

the long flight next to her jabbering best friend, who only granted a few winks of silence

for sleep.

"You awake now?" Taj chirped in her left ear. Too loud. Too cheery.

"Huh? Yeah, um yes, I am."

Why did she ever agree to a job in Russia? Why hadn't they sent a limo for them?

The cramped confinements of the ruddy old taxi car they travelled in wasn’t only

absent of comfort but heat as well. She could see puffs of air escape her nose when she

exhaled. Resigned to the journey, she worked the tension from her neck, kneading three

fingers into the tight tendon that stretched up the inside curve. Relief came and went.

She knew the reason for this impromptu trip: fame . Still, Christine found it hard to trust

in the sincerity of this opportunity, even one that rained money into her depleted bank

account. Why deceive her mentor and travel so far away from the security he provides?

Who goes to Russia to debut? A nobody , that’s who. It’s like going to Burger King for a

steak. Dumb.

It was too late for second thoughts. She was here. Check cashed, bags packed.

Problem was, she didn't know exactly what awaited her. Their benefactor had chosen to

remain anonymous, sending his creepy assistant to extend the invite.

Christine dropped the side of her head against the cool passenger window. The

roads were a slushy mix of mud and snow. The box cab pitched them forward and

shook them both in their seats as it accelerated along the hills. She inhaled the stale

sample of misty wintry air outside that made everything grey and drab, muting the

daylight beyond the window. She was forced to grip the headrest of the passenger seat

in front of her to stay away motion sickness, because the ice-paved street had more dips

and curves than a Great Adventure rollercoaster. Come one, come all to the dreariest place

on earth! This was a far cry from the relaxed life in Cardiff or the beauty of Venice or

Milan. The dark overcast sky was like a shroud over the snowcapped cottages and

empty hills.

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