Read Online I Married the Third Horseman (Paranormal Romance and Divorce) by Michael Angel - Free Book Online Page A

Performance In Session . From behind those
doors, I heard the applause of a large, enthusiastic audience.
    I felt a presence nearby. I turned. My
stomach went into a triple-axel spin.
    My husband stood a few yards away, dressed in
an elegant white tuxedo and crisp bow tie.
    “It’s good to see you again, Cassie,” he
said, with an air of quiet menace. “It’s time that I took you back
home.”
     
     

Chapter Fourteen

     
    Mitchel had found me. Finally caught up to
me.
    His razor-sharp cheekbones and taut,
sun-bronzed skin looked the same. But his eyes were those of a
predator. Like a snake that had locked onto its prey.
    Cue the musical sting.
    Freeze Frame.
    What did you ask, therapy buddy? ‘What’s a
sting?’ Oh, let me explain.
    A sting is a short bit of music that
filmmakers use to ‘punch up’ the mood of a scene.
    Which kind of sting are we talking about
here?
    Well, it sure as hell wasn’t the
‘wha-wha-wha’ that’s used to punctuate a pratfall.
    If Mitchel had been standing over me with a
knife, ready to do his version of the shower scene in Psycho , then it’d have been one of those hair-raising glissandos done on the violin. The kind all the hack
directors use when the serial killer’s about to pounce on and
fillet the young couple making out in the cabin by the haunted
lake.
    “Cassie,” Mitchel said, “let’s talk first.
We’ve got things to discuss.”
    Okay, no string-shrieks, then.
    Mitchel sounds like he’s about to reveal
something new and possibly unsavory. So we need the sting used when
the plot’s about to thicken: Dun-dun-DUN!
    Mitchel approached me slowly, hands out, as
if he were approaching an easily startled animal. But as he came
within arm’s reach of me, I took a step back. I honestly don’t know
if it was a conscious thing, or my nervous system had been
hot-wired by my recent experiences to stay the friggin’ hell away
from him. He saw my movement, sighed, and put his hands down by his
side. He still spoke in the rich tones of the Lexus and whiskey ad
pitchman, this time tempered by a slight tentativeness in his
voice. The sound of a reproachful, sorry husband.
    The question remained: was any of it
real?
    “Cassie,” he began, “I’m glad that I found
you. I’ve been worried.”
    “I’m sure you have,” I said flatly. “How did
you find me?”
    “I didn’t bug your car, if that’s what you’re
thinking. Nor did I set up surveillance cameras in secret,” he
said, alluding to what I’d done back at our condo. Yeah, like I was
going to feel the slightest bit guilty about that. “Since
our marriage, we share a bond. My family and you. It pulls at us,
directs us to one another over time.”
    I remembered how I’d felt some kind of bond,
like a little filament of fishing line, tugging like an invisible
leash at my neck. It made me shudder to think about it. Mitchel
must have seen the dismay on my face, for he quickly moved to
smooth that part over.
    “It’s a very subtle thing,” he said
soothingly. “It’s not like your species’ GPS, after all. It won’t
tell me or my brothers exactly where you are. I came across your
scent in Burbank, of all places. Knew you’d been to see the Sphinx.
Since Circe’s long been her closest friend, it was logical to try
and find you out here.”
    “Okay, you were right,” I shot back. “Good
for you. You get a gold star. So what?”
    “So what? Cassie, I want you back. In a way,
it makes me glad that you did see Circe, that you talked with the
Sphinx.”
    “Oh? Why?”
    “Because now you’ve met others of my kind.
The eternal. The immortal.”
    “Only because I forced the issue,
Mitchel!”
    “I know, and I’m truly sorry.”
    I let out a snort, crossed my arms and turned
my back on him. Mitchel crossed the gap between us and laid his
warm, strong hands on my shoulders. I closed my eyes. Smelled his
familiar, reassuring, masculine scent, the light musk of the
cologne he used each and every day. His hands