Masquerade of the Lyon

©Copyright Tuesday Morrigan, 2008

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author, Tuesday Morrigan. 

Prologue

Curse of the Lyon

Ostfold, Norway

A year ago…

Damn the Saints! The curse was getting worse.

Aero’s massive fist landed with a boom on the desktop. Pain speared through his head as the sound echoed through his mind. He grimaced, stood, and stumbled to the letter he had just received. With shaking hands he opened it and reread it.

It was all there. The serum had not worked. Worse, the researcher believed that the serum was a catalyst that increased the rate of a neuron’s speed.

Aero groaned and placed a hand to his broad forehead. He should have waited until the researcher gave him the okay to drink the serum. But he had been too anxious, too eager to rid himself of the Lyon curse. And now he had made it all worse.

Not for the first time he thought of calling his wife. If only just to say goodbye.

“No,” he growled as he shook his head. His wife was too smart. She would demand to know how he knew his time was up. And then he would be forced to tell her all. All that he knew of the curse.

And he could not have her living with that kind of guilt.

He braced himself against the pain as the thoughts of all those who lived in the ancient castle bombarded him. He felt his psyche breaking under the pressure. He would not last long. Aero could already feel his heart rate climbing.

Frantically, he searched for his diary. He had already called the solicitors. All was well with the estate, but he had to leave a note for his sons. He had to let them know why he had done what he had done.

God, he hoped they would not be angry with him, hoped that in time they would forgive him, but he could not let his sons suffer the same fate. He could not let the Lyon curse break them like it had broken him.

Chapter One

Welcome to the Circus

The time will come when the wrongs I did in darkness will shine in the light…

-Excerpt from Aero Asdis’s diary

Jagger Asdis stared at the screen in front of him as he dressed, pulling on a pair of simple black nylon shorts. “Are you sure she’s the one?” he muttered to the man sitting behind him.

His Uncle Alastair sighed. “Yes, she’s the one. She fits the criteria. She’s one of the chosen and an heiress. Her husband would stand to make a profit of over a hundred million dollars from the wedding.”

Jagger grimaced as he heard his uncle’s words. He was deeply uncomfortable with the fact that he was forced to go bride hunting and for a heiress no less, but hearing the man put it in such terms…

“You have to get used to it. You’re shopping for a cash cow. Consider yourself lucky that this one is charming and beautiful.”

Jagger turned and grabbed the white sleeveless shirt laid out on his bed and pulled it over his head. “I hate it when you do that, you know?”

His uncle smiled, flashing him straight white teeth. “I know, but it’s not like I can turn it off. It’s a gift or a curse.” Alastair shrugged. None of the Lyon men had ever figured out whether their ability to read the emotions of others was a good thing or a hell to be suffered.

Jagger’s mind stumbled upon something his uncle had mentioned. “You met her?”

The older man shrugged, a deceptive movement of tight, rippling muscles. “I had to check her out, make sure she was satisfactory. Do you have any idea how many women I’ve checked out who looked good on paper, but in person…” Alastair shuddered dramatically.

Jagger strode over his uncle and clasped the man on the shoulder. He grinned at him. “I get the point. You did me a service I greatly appreciate.”

“You better appreciate it…enough to get me a Maserati as your wedding gift.”

Jagger grinned. Every one who met Alastair knew of his infatuation with the luxury car. “I thought I was supposed to be the one getting the gifts.”

“Not when I’m the one who’s done all the work.”

Jagger groaned. “I would gladly go through this hell without a single complaint if I knew that my brothers would be spared from the ordeal.”

Alastair grimaced. “I love my brother but I still can’t believe he made it so that you lose everything if you and your brothers don’t marry women of Jewish ancestry.”

“You can’t believe? Gabriel, Dara, and Acharon were so mad, all three of them refused to speak to anyone for months.”

“Don’t remind me. I remember all too well the Plague of Silence. I thought your mother was going to have a heart attack.”

Jagger ran a hand through his pale blond hair. His mother still wasn’t the same. She had loved their father with her whole being and felt that the old man’s will demanding that his sons marry women of a specific ancestry was a betrayal she just couldn’t forgive.

He didn’t blame his mother. He too didn’t understand why his father had come up with the notion that marriage to a “chosen” woman would remove the curse that the Asdis men had endured since the beginning of time.

To make matters worse, his father had spent almost all the money the Lyons had accumulated over several generations trying to find a cure.

The family was on the brink of bankruptcy. He had to get married and to a woman that could save both his family’s wallet and his soul.

The last few months had been hell.

His gaze drifted to the LCD screen that took up almost half of the wall. The enormous picture of his future bride smiled back at him. Jagger analyzed it critically.

Alastair was right. The woman was beautiful. Her dark brown eyes were bottomless pools, her cheekbones were high and lightly tinted rose, her lips were full and her teeth were straight and white. She had that look of culture and breeding that came when one had generations of money behind their name.

She was lovely, but he didn’t feel anything as he stared at her picture.

“Well, I suggest you learn to get it up before the wedding night.”

Jagger turned to his uncle, hands on his hips. “That was just uncalled for.”

* * *

Layla Simpson stared at the bright red blinking screen in front of her as she silently cursed her inability to come up with a believable lie under pressure. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had told her great aunt the truth she wouldn’t have been there, confused as hell as to which one of the many buttons she should push on the elliptical machine to make the damned thing work.

She really hated weddings, hated the fact that she always felt forced to lose twenty to a million pounds in order to look like an acceptable member of the female sex.

To make matters worse her great aunt had dragged her into town a full month before the joyous occasion.

Layla should have just told the old bat that she was going to be out of the country on a business trip.

It wasn’t like she and her cousin were close!

“Miss, may I help you?”

Her eyes lifted to catch a bewitching, sea green gaze.

Her cheeks heated up with embarrassment. “I can’t seem to figure out where the start button is?”

One long, corded arm reached across the chasm that separated them, brushing against her breasts, and pointed to one of the more inconspicuous buttons. “Here, it is.”

Her nipples hardened with desire. “Thank you,” she muttered before turning away and ignoring the fluttering butterflies in her belly. She had learned long ago to ignore beautiful men.

They seemed to have no trouble ignoring her. With her plus size figure, outrageously curly dark auburn hair and light mocha skin, she was not the woman men sought out on Friday nights.

And she had accepted that fact.

Layla fitted the headphones of her mp3 player into her ears and started her current favorite playlist. If she was going to die to look good she was going to play something she could listen to. Something that would drown out her agony. She pressed the start button and blinked at the words that appeared. The damned machine demanded that she choose a program. “What the hell is so hard about “Start”?” she muttered as she jabbed at several of the buttons. “Thirty…maybe forty five minutes is all I actually want.”

With a groan the machine started. She shrieked softly and grabbed onto the wildly moving arms. After about five minutes, Layla found she was sweating profusely. The elliptical machine’s pace was difficult, but not impossibly so. She was getting a good workout.

Ten minutes later she realized she had placed herself on a collision course to hell. The arm and leg portions of the machine were moving way too quickly, and the resistance was too high. She pressed a big black button. Too late she realized that it wasn’t a stop sign she saw, but a mileage ticker. Layla jerked when the machine picked up its pace, almost doubling its speed.

She looked around her wildly, more concerned with the fact that everyone might have noticed her stupidity. But no one was watching her. There wasn’t a crowd watching her flail around on the damned elliptical machine.

Which made her beg the question of who was going to help her out of her damned mess.

Her gaze snapped back to the instruction board. She quickly read down the enumerated instructions, huffing and puffing with every word. Not a single one of them mentioned how to shut of the elliptical.

She closed her eyes and groaned. I knew I should have gone for the older machines.

Too bad she had gotten caught by the flash of the newer, bolder model. A machine whose directions read like her 11th grade chemistry lab book.

She tried to analyze each and every one of the dozen buttons on the screen, but found it difficult to keep her eyes open with the river of sweat that poured from her forehead.

Wildly, Layla wondered why she hadn’t purchased one of those ridiculously chic tennis-style headbands for her workout excursion.

Her gaze landed on a tiny red button with stop written in white. She reached for it, only to snatch her hand back and grab the elliptical’s handles.

Layla stared at the machine in horror as it blinked up at her. “Optimum Five mile stretch,” it read. And according to the screen, the machine’s already fast pace was about to increase dramatically in increments.

I am going to die on this damned elliptical from a heart attack!

Just as she had begun to think it was all over a dark voice caressed her nape. “Do you know where the stop button is?”

“I…I…I can’t press it,” she puffed out as she clutched the handles. “It’s the small red one in the bottom middle.”

One long, tanned finger pressed the button. The machine jerked to a stop.

Layla sent up silent thanks to God and turned to her savior. Her breath caught in her throat.

He was incredibly handsome with golden shoulder length locks, a broad forehead, a straight nose, full soft looking lips, and bright blue eyes. And he was looking down at her with concern etched on the hard planes of his face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She gave him a soft smile. “I’m been through worse.”

He watched her for several seconds. His crystal clear sapphire eyes traveled over her sweaty face, her heaving breasts, and her legs before returning back to her face.

“I think the machine is broken.” His voice was hoarse and thick. He coughed and turned away. “I’m going to make sure that management is informed.” He turned and walked away.

Layla sighed and reached for her mp3 player. It was obvious that the Norse god was done talking to her. She stepped off the machine and promptly felt her legs give way under her.

If not for the Norse’s quick movements she would have landed on her ass. She stared up at him in shock as he cradled her in his arms. “I don’t think you should be walking,” he murmured and strode towards the gym’s large glass doors.

Halfway to the exit, Layla realized she couldn’t let this unknown man take her away from the relative safety of the gym. She struggled against him.

“Relax, love,” he purred. “I’m just going to take you somewhere to lay down.” His gaze lifted. “Right there,” he said with a lift of his dimpled chin.

Layla followed his gaze and saw that at the corner of before the entrance to the gym sat a padded bench.

He lightly placed her on it. Her gasp cut through the air when his hot, tender hands landed on her skin and began kneading her strained muscles. “How does that feel?”

“I…I don’t even know your name,” she groaned as she sunk under the allure of his relaxing touch.

“It’s Jagger, Jagger Asdis.”

“Mmmm…I’m Layla.”

“Nice to meet you, Layla.” His talented hands snaked under her shorts and rubbed the tense muscles there. She jumped at the intimate touch. Her gaze caught his.

“Feels good doesn’t it?”

She stared at him surprise. If she didn’t know better she would have said it was desire that darkened his gaze until his eyes were a scalding shade of indigo.

“It um…Yes!” She groaned when his fingers found a hard knot of flesh beneath her knees and massaged the kinks out. Layla bit her bottom lip as his long, callused fingers worked their magic on her thighs. She sighed when he placed one hand above each of her knees and moved his hands in a circular motion, kneading the muscles in a way that brought his fingers perilously close to her inner thighs.

His touch was slightly indecent. Her thoughts were decadent. But Layla couldn’t help lying back and allowing Jagger to work out the strain in her leg muscles. Unfortunately all the touching was creating another strain…between her thighs.

Her pussy moistened and her vaginal muscles clenched in frustration. It had been too long since she had been with any one. And even longer than that since she had found satisfaction with a man.

She closed her eyes and imagined Jagger’s fingers touching her there. She would probably explode at the first touch.

“There you are, Layla.”

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her mother’s voice. She groaned in frustration. She had gone to the gym in the hopes of avoiding her mother. A quick glance at the woman fairly running towards them confirmed her fear. Her mother was dragging an eager looking young man behind her.

Once again Layla was going to be paraded in front of every eligible Jewish or African American man in the area.

“Thank you.” She pulled her legs around Jagger’s thighs and attempted to stave her mother off. She had no intention of forcing the blond to witness what she knew was coming.

“Good afternoon, Mother.” Layla strode towards her and wrapped her arms around her mother’s thin shoulders, attempting to alter her direction. Leanne dug her heels into the carpeted ground. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your nice friend?”

The gleam in her mother’s cognac eyes struck fear in Layla’s heart. She smiled at the man beside Leanne. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your guest?”

Her mother eyed her for several moments. A smile spread over her lovely face. Layla immediately understood that she had done something wrong. Her mother only got that look when she snuck Ben & Jerry’s from the freezer when she thought her father wasn’t looking.

Leanne looked like the cat that caught the canary.

“Layla, this is Jacob. Jacob, this is Layla.” Leanne made the introductions in a rushed breath. “Now, introduce me to your friend.”

“He’s…” Layla started to forcibly turn her mother away when Jagger’s dark voice cut through.

“His name is Jagger and he is very pleased to meet you all.”

The way he said the last word made Layla shiver. She didn’t get the feeling that Jagger really was all that happy to see the man standing beside her.

But that didn’t make sense. He didn’t know her from the girl down the street. He couldn’t be jealous.

Leanne turned the full watt of her smile on Jagger. “I didn’t know you brought along a friend, dear.” She made the comment to Layla without breaking Jagger’s gaze. “How long have you known my daughter?” she asked before Layla could formulate an answer.

Jagger smiled, flashing her mother his perfect white teeth. “I’m afraid I’ve only just had the pleasure of meeting your lovely Layla.”

Impossibly her mother’s smile brightened. “Would you like to get to know her better?”

“Christ. Mother!” Layla hissed shocked and embarrassed. She grabbed her mother’s arm, threw “Excuse me,” over her shoulder and pushed her mother into one of the intimate enclaves that dotted the gym’s entrance.

“How could you say that? Why don’t you just offer him my services on a platter?”

Leanne looked pointedly at the hand curled around her arm. Layla snatched her hand back. Her mother dug in her purse and pulled out a handkerchief and a tube of lipstick. Confused, Layla watched her mother with hesitant eyes.

“A girl at your age, Layla, can’t be too cautious.”

“Or picky apparently.”

“My dear you do realize you’re almost thirty? And single.”

“Thanks, Mother,” she retorted through clenched teeth.

Leanne stood on her toes and dapped at the sweat beading on Layla’s forehead.

“You’re a pretty girl, Layla, but no man wants to see a woman sweat. It’s just not attractive. Here,” she murmured and shoved the tube of lipstick into Layla’s palm. Leanne looked up at her. “I only want what’s best for you, Layla. You’re such a good girl. But you’re so quiet and always concerned about your designs. I worry you won’t get you head out of those books in time to find a good man.”

“Mom, I’ll be…” Layla looked down at item in her hand. “For the love of God!”

“You know better than to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

Layla groaned and rolled her eyes. Sometimes her mother could be so…

Leanne turned and strode straight towards Jagger. “It was so lovely to meet you. Are you from Miami Mr. Jagger?”

“No, and it’s just Jagger.”

“Well in that case I’m just Leanne.” Layla’s mother pretended to be thinking very hard on something. “If you’re in town this weekend, you should stop by our little party. We’re having a costume ball.”

 “Really?” Jagger’s gaze strayed to Layla’s heated face. When she got her mother alone…

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Inside Layla groaned. She couldn’t help wondering if the Norse god realized that he had just signed himself up for one hell of an ordeal.

The Steinberg parties were notorious. And not in a good way.

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