Free Black 21: (Golden Hills Legacy of Black 21 Book 1) by Nancy Glynn Page B

you,
James,” she replied.
    Christian
walked down the steps and pulled her into his arms. “You smell good, like
Lilacs and oranges,” he said, holding his face to her hair.
    “Thanks, I
guess?”
    He gave a
raucous laugh and grabbed her hand, guiding her up the steps. “So how did you do
it? How did you get him to let you come here to stay?”
    She couldn’t
tell him what happened with Dane. “I just thought it might be easier for
everyone, and Uncle Joe agreed,” she half lied, giving a crooked smile.
    He cupped her
chin to meet his gaze. “Damn, you’re cute." He kissed the tip of her nose
and smiled, staring into her eyes. “Let me show you around and then...your
room.”
    “Your house,
Christian...oh, my God,” she said in awe, taking it all in.
    “It’s been in
the family for a couple of centuries." His voice dropped. “One day to be
all mine.”
    Then she
remembered how they got it. It wasn’t any ordinary house. It came with blood,
tears, and sacrifice.
    A grand
ornamental chandelier hung from the center in the foyer with a few other
smaller ones hanging in different spots, illuminating the main floor. The
glamorous double staircases with the elegant banisters led to the upper floor.
Interesting murals covered the walls of more gargoyles and goats with horns and
wings.
    One oil
painting caught her eye. “Who are those people? They look so in love,” she
asked, pointing at a picture on the second floor landing.
    “Those are my
parents, William and Lana, in the nineteenth century,” he added, looking for
her reaction.
    They appeared
to be standing in a dungeon with sconces on the walls holding fire. Their
apparel was definitely of that time period. “She married your father after his
first wife died?" She was mesmerized by their obvious love for each other.
    “You’re getting
it now. He made himself be the age of twenty-one again and had the first ball,
at least here in Golden Hills. She was the love of his life and lived for two
centuries with him until...” his voice drifted off.
    “…she killed
herself five years ago?”
    “Yes." He
stared at the painting with narrowed eyes.
    “But how could
she if she was also immortal?”
    “I lied about
her hanging herself.”
    “What’d she
do?”
    “She had missed
her son Leon and wanted to join him, but my father always begged her to not
leave him. After my girlfriend, Tara, had died, she couldn’t take it anymore so
she went to the altar of God she had made for herself when she would sneak me
off to pray there, and asked for forgiveness for all the evil in her life,” he
paused to remember the details, looking down at the floor, sighing heavily.
    “It’s okay,
Christian. You don’t have to explain,” she whispered. She reached out and
touched his hardened jaw.
    He looked up at
her, continuing his story in a softer tone. “She blessed the blade of a Bowie
knife in holy water and walked to the altar, praying one last time. She begged
God to take her soul and to take her away from this darkness. So, she plunged
the knife into her heart, and she was found clutching her cross pendent across
her bloody chest with a peaceful look on her face.”
    Daisy gasped
and pulled him into her arms. She rained kisses on his face, feeling his pain
through his words. “I just know she’s your angel, Christian. She protects you
from...”
    “Myself,” he
finished for her. He smiled and kissed her, his hands pulling her closer to
him, growing more insistent as he tasted her mouth. “Daisy,” he murmured. “I
need you so much.”
    She tore
herself away and smiled. “Finish the tour, please,” she dictated.
    “Ugh, fine,” he
said, giving in, showing her more paintings, more family history, stopping when
she let out a small scream. “What’s wrong?”
    “What is that?”
    “Why…does it
seem familiar?” he teased.
    “Christian, is
that what happened to me at the hayride? Was that what was behind me?" A
scaly, green monster with wings sprouted