Naked on the Staircase
A Time Guardian Halloween Tale
A demon stalks Druidess Aron MacKintosh, trying to use her to gain control of the timeline in present-day Scotland. Time plows toward Samhain when the doorways open between the Now and the Happy Otherworld. She finds herself in a strange alliance with an unusual time guardian, Cowboy. The duo struggles to defeat the demon. If Cowboy can’t earn her trust, the integrity of the timeline could be endangered. Only Cowboy’s charm and southern idea of chivalry has what it takes to leave an ancient evil bound NAKED ON THE STAIRCASE.
Chapter 1
Central Scotland, Ronat Castle
Gods, how did he get caught up in saving an old woman in this 2084 rehash of Noah’s Flood? Cowboy doubted he would ever actually see his way to saving the Druidess in the torrential gale. He knelt in the storm’s darkness, squinted at the rain sheeting across the outside of his blister armor’s bluish surface, and grated his teeth.
Being dry and invisible was good. And bulldozing right through the drenched compound looked like the best route to locating the Sister. But where was she?
Getting inside the compound had been easy cloaked with the
Sea God’s fairy armor. There was nothing like being cast as the invisible cowboy. But finding the Druidess would be harder than riding a cactus bareback. And alone? Shit. Without the rest of the Death Squad for backup and a decent understanding of time-travel mechanics, he was screwed. Royally.
And the Order promised him a payoff.
He laughed outright. "Stupid, stupid boy. Must have been from the years you grew up under the baking Texas sun. Colorado boys aren’t quite so naïve." Or were they more John Denver-like than Texans? Hell, his being both obviously clouded his judgement. And made him talk too much. Thrusting his fingers through his short stiff hair, he doubted any reward awaited his return after he swept out the entire sixty-room Ring Master castle.
What else could a cadet expect? From his stint in the French Foreign Legion, he knew a man couldn’t trust anyone during entry-level training. Including chivalrous time-traveling mentors.
But he did know his way around Ronat Castle. At least, the layout in 2001. Unfortunately, it was 2084. "Damn the bastards."
What else could go wrong? His target was definitely old. Some Brother’s widow. Certain to prattle endlessly like an ancient hag. Or make him talk endlessly. He gulped.
He wouldn’t go back to that yammering phase of his life. How could he with a woman in tow? Aron MacKintosh. Purty Aron had a talker’s name alright. She had to be a crone by now. Probably had a big hairy wart on her nose. The Ring Masters undoubtedly lied about Druidic beauty like their big show of how he was being sent to save the timeline. With what? Grenades? Oh yeah. Don’t make a scene was the last thing he heard as the lights flicked out inside the stone circle. And now he was off to save some lost wrinkled widowed Druid who didn’t have a chance in time-travel Hell of returning to her time of origin without her spouse’s time-travel key.
The rain slowed to a soft patter. A few lit windows took form through the precipitation.
Aron was beyond those shimmering panes of glass. Somewhere right before he turned left, stepped through a closed doorway, and got back to wrestling his buddies.
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"Get to it," he commanded, flinched at his superfluous babbling, rose, and strode through puddles inside his dry blister void as if he walked in another world, which wasn’t so far off the mark. The God’s armor pulled its user into a pocket between worlds. Between the Otherworld and Here. What he’d give to be dead in the Otherworld surrounded by babes. No crones. Those toothless lovelies had to reside in Hell. Not the Celtic Happy Otherworld. What a joke it would be to find the woman a walking corpse.
The dark outline of a door took form through the rain.
No need for doors. He painlessly passed through the exterior whitewashed wall, stepping into a large library illuminated with solar lighting.
Books under the lights. "Lotsa books." Good to see the kidnappers worried about the environment since they weren’t into maintaining the timeline’s integrity. Who needed to heed environmental issues when pushing the paradoxical nature of snatching a Druidess from her duties to alter history?
The empty library rung with silence.
He stepped past a brown leather couch toward the closed door, reached for the doorknob out of habit, waved off the action, and passed through the dark wood into a shadowy hallway. The passageway hadn’t changed since his time of departure.
A light brightened the end. He hurried toward the lit hall.
The end of the passageway mushroomed, revealing an ascending staircase. A chain dropping down from the ceiling halfway up the stairs attached to a-
"Shit," he blurted.
A nude woman struggled with her cuffed wrists at the end of the chain. His footsteps froze.
She was no crone with her lingerie model’s body. He had the perfect frontal view the way she faced him, her arms stretched over her head as she studied the shackles at her wrists.
Man, he had erred. The Brothers sent him to a heaven where sweet curvaceous angels hung about ready for plucking.
The woman seemed to teeter, glancing back and forth between her feet and hands. Something bothered her more than the simple fact she was manacled. More than her nudity.
Her loose copper hair hung down to her knees.
Gods, the crinkled mass swung seductively. Touched her in a way a man should. He needed to get her off the damned can she stood upon. Hack the chain in two with his nidium Bowie knife. But opening his cloaking armor would reveal his presence.
She grunted, wriggling, focusing on the chain, yanking at the golden links with desperate fingers.
A man had two choices. Continue with his duty. Or cut down the maiden. What the heck. Duty was duty. And Ring Masters promoted chivalry. Weren’t Cowboys twentieth-century knights-in-shining-armor too? Boy, his twelfth-grade English teacher would love to know he recalled that scholarly tidbit.
Her body flinched awkwardly. She gaped at her feet. "Oh-h?" Her whine curdled.
What was she doing?
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Her body jerked. Metal clanked at her feet. She choked back a scream, closing her eyes as she jolted at the end of the chain. A coffee can tumbled to the base of the stairs and rolled to a stop at the wooden baseboard.
Criminey. He took the stairs three at a time toward the dangling woman.
She kicked at a wooden step, toed a hold, then lost the grip.
The woman fell so quickly he expected her arms to rip from their sockets. He was there before she cried out. "Open," he commanded.
The blister armor rifted from the wooden steps upward, allowing the artificial lighting to whiten the view. Her blue gaze met his.
An eerie unnatural blue gaze. Druid eyes. He gulped, swung his Bowie knife at the gold chain, and reached for her.
"No," she snarled, falling backward. Her body thumped against the burgundy wall. She managed to catch herself with her feet and glared at him.
"You’re a Druid," he stated, thrusting his knife back in its sheath at his hip.
"Touch me and die," she spat through grated pearly whites.
Footfalls drummed in the distance.
Someone was coming. He had to hide her. He focused on her squared red eyebrows. He doubted she meant her warning. But the comment suited the situation. "Honey, I wasn’t sent to give you a massage."
Her eyes flared copper with rage. "Bastard."
"Most folks would agree with you. But for now, I’m going to save you." He reached for her raw cuffed wrists.
She grabbed his arm and sank her perfect white teeth into his tanned skin.
"Shit." He jerked his arm away from her and rubbed the stinging beads of blood.
The footsteps stomped into the hall below.
"Stop," yelled a muscular man dressed in black leather.
Something shoved his arm. The woman toppled past him.
This was no time for cat and mouse games. He leapt after his fleeing charge and fell onto her slim stiff frame.
She grunted.
He grabbed her falling body nonetheless. But his momentum set them tumbling further in a mass of flailing limbs.
A small contingent of black-dressed men stomped toward them.
Someone had to do something fast. With a flick of his wrist, he settled the blister armor around their rolling bodies. "Close."
The armor sealed tight, closing out the bright lighting with its blue mottled transparent surface.
They rolled another full circle until clearing the bottommost step and stopped in a jumble of arms and legs. The babe felt too soft. Too amazing. He gazed down into her blue eyes.
"Let go of me, you bastard." She punched at his shoulder.
Why did he want to hold on? She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. That’s why. Mean as a pit bull too. But exquisite with perfectly chiseled features. And those eyes were so big and helpless. Until she squinted with malice.
She socked his cheek. "Curse you to bloody Hell. Let me go."
Maybe not helpless by the fire burning the side of his face. Inside the safety of the blister void, they could never be found though. He released the sexy pit bull and shoved onto his knees.
She scrabbled
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Criminey. He took the stairs three at a time toward the dangling woman.
She kicked at a wooden step, toed a hold, then lost the grip.
The woman fell so quickly he expected her arms to rip from their sockets. He was there before she cried out. "Open," he commanded.
The blister armor rifted from the wooden steps upward, allowing the artificial lighting to whiten the view. Her blue gaze met his.
An eerie unnatural blue gaze. Druid eyes. He gulped, swung his Bowie knife at the gold chain, and reached for her.
"No," she snarled, falling backward. Her body thumped against the burgundy wall. She managed to catch herself with her feet and glared at him.
"You’re a Druid," he stated, thrusting his knife back in its sheath at his hip.
"Touch me and die," she spat through grated pearly whites.
Footfalls drummed in the distance.
Someone was coming. He had to hide her. He focused on her squared red eyebrows. He doubted she meant her warning. But the comment suited the situation. "Honey, I wasn’t sent to give you a massage."
Her eyes flared copper with rage. "Bastard."
"Most folks would agree with you. But for now, I’m going to save you." He reached for her raw cuffed wrists.
She grabbed his arm and sank her perfect white teeth into his tanned skin.
"Shit." He jerked his arm away from her and rubbed the stinging beads of blood.
The footsteps stomped into the hall below.
"Stop," yelled a muscular man dressed in black leather.
Something shoved his arm. The woman toppled past him.
This was no time for cat and mouse games. He leapt after his fleeing charge and fell onto her slim stiff frame.
She grunted.
He grabbed her falling body nonetheless. But his momentum set them tumbling further in a mass of flailing limbs.
A small contingent of black-dressed men stomped toward them.
Someone had to do something fast. With a flick of his wrist, he settled the blister armor around their rolling bodies. "Close."
The armor sealed tight, closing out the bright lighting with its blue mottled transparent surface.
They rolled another full circle until clearing the bottommost step and stopped in a jumble of arms and legs. The babe felt too soft. Too amazing. He gazed down into her blue eyes.
"Let go of me, you bastard." She punched at his shoulder.
Why did he want to hold on? She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. That’s why. Mean as a pit bull too. But exquisite with perfectly chiseled features. And those eyes were so big and helpless. Until she squinted with malice.
She socked his cheek. "Curse you to bloody Hell. Let me go."
Maybe not helpless by the fire burning the side of his face. Inside the safety of the blister void, they could never be found though. He released the sexy pit bull and shoved onto his knees.
She scrabbled away from him, scanning the mottled bluish boundaries of the fairy armor, and clutched her arms over her breasts.
FOR REMAINDER OF CHAPTER
http://blog.skhyemoncrief.com/2008/04/09/naked-on-the-staircase.aspx
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FYI, all my stories count toward entering the Sony E-reader contest in Tarah's previous blog post.
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=980
And note that this month is paranormal month at The Wild Rose Press. So, my stories are an additional 10% off. If you buy three books in a purchase, you can enter the contest three times! Check out the list of participating authors to learn whose stories count! Skhye
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My free read VOW OF SUPERSTITION: DRAGON'S BLOOD is here: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=180&products_id=840 It's a little dark and bloody. Since this is October, that shouldn't bother folks.
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Thanks Skhye for the free ebook.
I downloaded it to read later.
Is it a short story?
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Great cover. This sounds like a very good read. Lots of action in this one my type of read. This is now on my wish/want list
Hugssss
LindaH
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Thanks, Linda! Skhye
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Oh, this sound gooooood.
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oh wow this book sounds great I love a good scary story
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this would be a great book a little romance with a little scary cool
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Thanks, Dina, Shirley, and Tena. I'm glad everyone had the time to stop by. We need more down time in our culture! Maybe we should wait until sunrise to wake and go to sleep at sunset... Wait! That's what normal creatures do. Unless they're nocturnal. We're such odd creatures, us humans, almost vampiric! Or loving the night enough to defy nature. Wha ha haaaaaaaaa ~Mistress Skhye
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I admire what you have done here. It is good to see your clarity on this important subject can be easily observed. Tremendous post and will look forward to your future update.
Thanks
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I all see a common staircases every time
and I am flying down does staircases
and the worst part is that I'm naked
Well, this dream is a very old one
I no more see itbut the staircases I used to see in my dreams...I was very much shocked to see those very same staircases when I first saw my college.Those staircases of my college are the same as those in my dreams
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