Read Online Thirteen Chances by Cindy Miles - Free Book Online Page B

helmeted figure. She blinked, unbelieving. A massive man—she guessed it was a man, anyway—dressed in … some sort of medieval wear, with dark pants that had laces crisscrossing all the way up a pair of thick, muscular thighs, dark boots that came to roughly just between the shin and knee, some sort of shoulder and breast plate with a silver cross in the center, and armbands that looked like fingerless gloves, secured with leather, that went up to his elbows. Bare biceps—
huge
biceps—looked marked, or tattooed.
    Just then, the figure began to move toward her, long, powerful strides that seemed to eat the space up between them in seconds. Those two enormous arms reached over his shoulders and grasped the biggest pair of swords Emma had ever seen. A hissing sound accompanied the movement. He stopped, no more than a few feet from where Emma stood, swords completely free of their sheaths. She could do little more than hold her breath. She couldn’t even blink.
    A pair of slits in the silver helmet, at the level of the eyes, seemed to glare furiously at her.
    Then what happened next, happened all at once.
    “I … said … leave!”
the warrior’s deep voice thundered. Then he lifted both swords above his head, and with a vicious yell, thrust them into Emma’s body.
    With a scream that would curdle anyone’s blood and make a B movie queen hang her head in shame, Emma hollered until she ran out of breath. She grabbed her stomach and stared, her mouth dry, fear squeezing her throat closed.
    Then, in the blink of an eye, the figure vanished.
    Right before Emma’s wide-stretched eyes.
    The next thing she remembered was her breath leaving her in a long
whoosh,
and then the cold, hard dirt and gravel floor beneath her not-so-pliable body as she slumped down …

Chapter 7
    Emma’s eyes flicked open. The cold, damp floor seeped into her sweater, and she shivered.
    Then everything rushed back. Surprisingly, she was
angry.
    So, there really was a ghost.
    And he was a
jackass!
    Hurriedly, she pushed herself from the floor and checked her camera bag. She growled as she gently pulled out the contents and checked the lens and moving parts. “You’d better be glad nothing’s broken,” she mumbled. Satisfied that nothing had been damaged, she stood.
    It made her even angrier when she glanced around and found herself alone.
    “Hell-
ooo!”
she hollered. “Hey! Angry guy with swords! Come back here!” She walked to the center of the keep, looked in every corner, the roof, and turned in a circle.
“Ex-cuse
me? What’s your problem?” She waited, but, as she expected, nothing happened.
    So this is what her months-long obsession and night-filled dreams sent her packing to Wales for? To be bullied by a dead guy in need of an anger management class?
    Precious.
    She cupped her hands and shouted into the air. “I’m not leaving, Mr. Arrick. Do you hear me? I’m not scared of you or your stupid fake swords!” She glared at the ceiling, since there really wasn’t anything left to glare at, shouldered her camera bag, and stomped out of the keep. Mumbling naughty words. Honestly, she couldn’t help it. She was furious.
    In the courtyard, Emma stopped, her mind flashing ideas of just what to do next. Should she really leave? Sure, she shouted at the sword-ghost that she wouldn’t, but why would she stay? What little scenery she’d witnessed in the last few days was in fact gorgeous—and she’d barely scratched the surface with her photography. Or should she tell the sisters? They obviously knew the brute existed. In their defense, they
did
try to tell her. Maybe they had pull with the bully-ghost and could at least tell him to back off while she salvaged something of her insane overseas trip.
    Why was she so mad? Was it because she’d had some ridiculous idea about finding something … life-altering at Arrick-by-the-Sea? Well, she had—she discovered that ghosts really did exist. But in all honesty, that was sort of a