Tempted by Nightmares

By Lola White

After agreeing to help find a missing woman, Rebecca’s sanity is pushed to the breaking point...

Aiden Parnellis is a private detective with a reputation for finding the impossible to find, but he’s had no luck in locating his missing sister. Out of traditional options and losing hope, he agrees to meet with Rebecca Sterling.

Resolved to putting her talent to good use, Rebecca works with the police, but her visions are starting to merge with reality. She begins to need Aiden in a way that terrifies her—his body, his strength and his determination to protect her. And when Rebecca becomes the next target of a monstrous man, Aiden is all that stands between her and insanity.

Tempted by Nightmares was previously published as 'Monster's Chains'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lola White
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310800252

Lola White

Delve into the emotions, dive into the erotic. An extensive traveler who loves to incorporate various legends from around the world into her tales, best-selling author Lola White likes to twist reality at its edges in her stories. She likes delving into the emotions of her characters, finding their strengths and weaknesses, and seeing (and showing) how they get themselves out of whatever trouble has found them—if they can.

Book preview

Monster’s Chains

Rebecca Sterling is a psychic who sees crimes from the perpetrator’s point of view. Resolved to putting her talent to good use, she works with the police, but her sanity is pushed to the breaking point when she agrees to help find a missing woman.

Aiden Parnellis grew up protecting his sister in an abusive home, something Rebecca is forced to witness the first time she touches him. A private detective with a reputation for finding the impossible to find, Aiden has been searching for his missing sister for the past year – with no results. Out of traditional options and losing hope, he agrees to meet with Rebecca.

Her visions of his sister’s kidnapping become confused with the strange dreams she’s been having. Dreams of a monster who is also a man, intent on stealing both her freedom and her sanity. Aiden is all that stands between Rebecca and madness, his submission to her sexual dominance fueling a lust that battles back the horror of what she’s seen. She needs him in a way that terrifies her – his body, his strength and his determination to protect her, especially when it becomes clear the kidnapper’s next victim will be Rebecca, her nightmares becoming reality when she’s caught in the monster’s chains.

Monster’s Chains

Lola White

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Lola White. All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means existing without written permission of the author.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase a copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual places, events or people, either living or dead, is completely coincidental. Literary license has been taken. This book contains sexually explicit content intended for mature audiences over the age of 18. The author hopes you enjoy this book.

For more information on the author please visit www.lola-white.com

Cover art by Carey Doucet www.ebookcoverdesignsbycarey.com

Chapter 1

"Don’t touch her!"

The detective’s bellow echoed through the cavernous room, soaring high above the cacophony. All around her, men and women looked up from their desks, the wild clacks of their typing dying as their fingers froze over their keyboards. An officer paused mid-step, hand clenching around the arm of his prisoner. Heads swiveled toward her, taking her in while conversations stopped, leaving the precinct silent but for the incessant ringing of phones.

She refused to give in to embarrassment. She’d left that emotion behind long ago. A woman like her, who’d seen what she’d seen, felt what she’d felt and done what she’d done had no room for such a thing. She lifted her chin and ignored the stares.

The guard in front of her hesitated, raised his hands and grinned. He knew the drill – touch was her enemy. He reached for the metal-detecting wand and passed it over her body while she snatched a breath, trying to still the tremor of unease that had been with her all day. As soon as she could, she turned to the detective hurrying toward her.

Hey, thanks for coming. He stumbled but caught himself quickly. Good God, you okay? You look exhausted.

She pressed her lips together in irritation, unsurprised by his comments on the half-moons beneath her eyes. There was nothing she could do about it until later that evening though, so she only nodded. I want it on record, Frank. I’m here under duress.

Detective Frank James rubbed the back of his neck as he cast a harried glance around the busy police station. "You’re not exactly here."

She looked around pointedly. Really? Then where am I?

This is unofficial. Come on, Interrogation Room Three. I’ll explain there.

She followed him, her mild sense of panic growing with every step. As she walked, some of the officers called out greetings, some glared and the rest turned away, ignoring her. They were all used to seeing her but that didn’t mean she was a crowd favorite.

Detective James held the door for her, standing far to the side as he waved her through. She squirmed past him, careful not to brush against him. She came to a hard stop less than a foot inside the room as another man rose from a chair.

He unfolded his frame and her heart started pounding, interest heating her blood. He was long and lean, shaggy golden hair shining under the awful fluorescent lights overhead. His face was sculpted, nearly too pretty. His saving graces were a slightly crooked nose and a faded, jagged scar crossing his left jaw. She almost checked to see if she was drooling but the look in his ice blue eyes had her libido easing off, waiting for a full evaluation.

He could be a killer. He was, after all, in a police interrogation room, waiting for her. Frank had done worse in the few months he’d known her. Not often, but still there were times his need for answers overrode his ingrained code of honor.

Rebecca Sterling, Frank let the door slam behind him, meet Aiden Parnellis.

The man held out his hand. Rebecca let her eyes run over him again, appreciating and appreciative. No wedding ring. The possibilities swirled in her mind, but she pushed the unruly thoughts aside. She held her own hands up, showing him the thick gloves covering them.

I don’t shake hands.

Frank put his fists on his hips. I told you, Aiden, you can’t touch her.

The man quirked a brow and tightened his lips, the movement doing interesting things to the sensual curves. Without a word, he sat back down. Rebecca eyed the two remaining chairs, one grey and one blue, opposite the table from the golden god. She didn’t trust those chairs.

I’ll be standing, Frank.

The detective waved toward the blue chair. No, Bex, this is new. Fresh out of the box, I promise. Aiden wasn’t comfortable doing this anywhere else, so I did the best I could for you.

I’m not comfortable doing this at all, the other man practically growled. The sound of his deep voice had Rebecca’s libido stretching in fascinated curiosity, but she forced it back, still waiting for the reason she was there.

The detective ran a hand over the dark fuzz covering his scalp. Aiden, you’re out of options. Trust me, she’s good.

And she finally caught on, relaxing now that she knew the stranger wasn’t a killer. Rebecca sighed heavily and folded her arms over her chest. I think you’re my nemesis, Frank. Every time you call, it’s nothing but bad news. At least you usually bring me to people who are willing to believe.

Frank’s brows lowered. He’s desperate enough to try. Let me explain.

By all means. I’d rather not stand here all day.

Aiden’s an old friend of mine. He’s not here in an official capacity, but–

"No. The other man shifted to the edge of his chair, leaning toward Detective James and tapping a demanding finger against the cold, steel table. Let her prove it."

The detective looked between the two of them, his cheeks flinching with unease. He could barely meet Rebecca’s eyes, letting his own slide back to his friend’s instead. Do you have something of hers, Aiden?

I won’t touch it, Rebecca stated flatly. Not here.

Briefly, Detective James closed his eyes. Bex, come on, I got you a chair.

No, you know the rules. I won’t see it here.

Did you tell her, Frank? Aiden glared at her, ignoring his friend’s vigorous head shake. Do you know why you’re here, Miss Sterling?

Frank sighed, running his hand over his hair again, looking like he’d rub it right off if he pressed any harder. I didn’t tell her anything.

Rebecca waved her hand. Someone’s either missing or dead. Possibly both. It’s the only reason Frank ever calls me here. Her eyes shifted to bore into the detective’s. But he knows I won’t touch anything in the precinct. The rules, Frank.

Every awful year on the force was suddenly visible on the detective’s face. Rebecca prefers to do these things in a safe place, where she’s more comfortable.

Where there’s no chance of me touching something here and– She bit off her own words with an uneasy glance at the stranger.

I don’t like wasting time. Aiden did growl then, and Rebecca fought to hide the shiver his dark voice produced. She licked her lips, waiting. Wishing.

Detective James’ pursed mouth tightened more, until it was nonexistent in his dark face. He turned back to Rebecca, pleading. Could you touch something of his, then?

That won’t work, Aiden argued. I’m sitting in front of her. She’ll just read my body language or something. Like all the other fakes and phonies.

Sad anger poured through her, nearly knocking her off balance. His tone held a wealth of disbelief, which she didn’t fault him for, but it struck too close to home. She’d spent her life hearing that attitude, that level of disdain. Nearly half of all the people she’d ever met had taken that tone with her. The other half spoke to her with pity.

She much preferred the angry skepticism.

Rebecca took a deep breath as she raised her chin. This was the part she hated. This was where insults were hurled and all but the most desperate went running for the hills. She took a step back mentally, away from her emotions, tucking them into the protective bubble she’d found within herself years ago. Do you know what psychoscopy is, Mr. Parnellis? Or psychometry?

No.

Objects, especially objects that hold great sentimental value or objects that have witnessed great trauma, can hold energy.

A golden brow lifted. Objects can witness great trauma?

Yes, but so can people of course. That’s my curse. I touch someone or something, and I see the connected history. If a person has been victimized, that’s what I see. Her lips twisted in bitterness. Very few people in this world have never been a victim of some sort.

Psychometry, Bex? Frank shook his head, finally taking a seat. Is that what Dr. Balaur is calling it?

She shrugged. At least he’s got a name for it. That’s more than any of the others.

Aiden slouched back in his chair, gaze watchful. Without touching me, what do you see?

She let her eyes run over him again. She took in his posture, knees spread wide, taking up so much room. She saw the well-made – but not expensive – jeans and t-shirt, the subdued belt buckle. She saw the scuffed boots on his feet. Looking back up, slowly following the lines of his body, she noticed the definition of muscle, the tension in his broad shoulders. His hands were scarred and chapped, long fingers used to rough work. Reaching his face, she saw the scar – faint with age – and the hardness of his unusually pale eyes.

Eyes that watched her with a mixture of skepticism and interest as ice blue turned to molten silver. She’d seen that look before, but she’d never had it heat her nerves the way it was doing now. Especially when his gaze tracked down over her body before leisurely climbing back up to narrow on her face.

I see a man who likes to take control of his own fate. He works for what he has and doesn’t need any more. I also see a victim. You all have the same look in your eyes. After the horror has faded, the anger moves in and stays.

His jaw worked. Hmm. Who’s to say you’re right?

Rebecca’s inner rebel raised its head and snarled. With impatient speed, she jerked the glove off her right hand and extended her arm in challenge. He looked at her hand for a long moment before meeting her eyes.

Well? she prodded. Dared.

He took her fingers in his calloused grasp.

Light and color swirled around her. The room swayed, dimmed. Emotions rose up, seeping from him to her, a sense of honor and protectiveness, a need to offer safety and comfort. It was overwhelming, but for once not terrifying. She struggled to breathe as impressions rolled over her, as his history filled her vision.

Her point of view shifted, snapping away from the interrogation room to a tiny, dim house. She watched the unfolding scene through eyes that were blurry with drunkenness. She saw a young boy wrapped around a girl. The room wobbled as she walked – she couldn’t find her balance. Before she could get her bearings, she was ripping at her waistband, jerking a wide belt through loops that were nearly too tight to let the leather slide free.

She was rolling the belt around her fist. Around and around as her lungs labored and sweat coated her forehead. She felt sick, she felt drunk, she felt powerful.

There it was – her true enemy. The sense of power that would linger long past its meager welcome was, above all, the worst part of her visions. It rushed through her veins like fire and pounded need into her heart. Her soul cringed away but not for long, falling under the intoxicating whispers that drove her on and filled her with arrogance and greed. The hot flow drowned her vulnerabilities until she could pretend they didn’t even exist.

The power was too sweet to resist.

In her mind, Rebecca was the wrath-filled bully facing the children, but her soul plagiarized the emotion as it reluctantly glutted on the sensation of domination. The rage of the bully fueled the vision, which in turn fed the unwanted power flowing through her. A brutal cycle.

The belt snapped out, cracking the air. The edge of the leather landed hard on the boy and Rebecca’s shoulder twinged with the action, muscle pulling, remembering the force. The boy tucked himself into a ball, fitted around the girl, even as he stared Rebecca down with defiance glowing in his silver eyes. The boy took it without a whimper.

Deep in her mind, Rebecca applauded the child. He was strong, a fighter, a martyr. He knew what was coming and refused to flinch. She understood. She dealt with something similar every day.

But, as the man she’d locked into, she was also outraged at the child’s arrogance. He disobeyed, he baited, he provoked. He had it coming.

She felt the leather leap from her hand again. The small body before her shuddered, but didn’t break. Instead, Rebecca’s heart broke – shattered completely – and she tried to struggle from the vision. She strained against it, but it tightened around her, darkening her mind until it was all she knew.

It wasn’t done with her yet.

Rage blazed higher, stripped all rationality. Power surged, a hot sticky mess clogging her veins. Her throat constricted, her vocal cords laboring against words that wouldn’t come. She shifted the impromptu weapon in her hand, barely aware of what she was doing or which end she was holding.

The belt whipped at the child a third time. The leather slammed against that fragile shoulder but the angle was off. The metal piece flew up, knocking into a delicate jaw. Skin split and blood gushed.

Rebecca’s belly heaved, her heart stopped working. Fiercely protective instincts welled up, snapping viciously, tearing at her sanity. This memory would now be hers forever and, while she’d seen worse, there was something truly awful about the boy’s silence.

Screams filled the air, but it was the girl. The boy clenched his jaw, making the blood flow faster as he stared at Rebecca, hate darkening his icy eyes. There was a noise behind her. She turned to see a woman watching. Unconcerned, sporting her own black eye, she took a drag off her cigarette and turned away.

It was the last straw, the last thing her brain demanded to see. Beyond the scene was a black void. Rebecca pushed at the vision and prayed for deliverance. She fought the sticky pull, drawing in more of that awful power as she drowned beneath emotions that were both hers, and the bully’s.

She clawed at the air as screams echoed inside her skull, tried to draw back but she was caught too tight to disengage easily. Breath ripped from her burning chest. The screams in her head poured from her mouth as her lungs unlocked. Her spine was shot with fire as she folded up, desperate for equilibrium.

Rebecca!

Jesus Christ!

Rebecca’s knees buckled. Bile rose to choke her as her entire body went icy cold. She clutched at the strong arms holding her up, the hot hands that beat back the chill covering her. She pressed against the heat source, horror receding as ugly power surged forward.

Power, awful power. Her horror, her pain, immediately altered into something more primal. It was a need to dominate, to punish and provoke. Or a need to be punished and provoked.

She could still feel the impression of the belt in her hand, the need to use it stretching her muscles. Dominate or dominated, the power didn’t care. It swelled and rolled through her, confusing her senses and her brain, bringing perverted needs of pain in some shape or form. It would rip her apart if she didn’t find an outlet.

Her moral core fought back, transforming it into a need to touch and lick and take. Dominance of a different kind. Perversion shifted into something the ethics of her soul could handle. Her lower abdomen melted. She pressed against the man, mindlessly rocking into his body, luxuriating in the hard press of hot muscle.

She was cold straight through, needing his heat, the sense of safety rolling off him. Absorbing it, she tucked her body into his, his cologne intoxicating her even as it pierced her need. Her rational sense returned in a rush. Rebecca took a deep breath and fought back her instinctive reaction to crawl inside the man who held her.

You were so young. A baby, maybe seven years old. The words nearly choked her.

Slowly, she lifted her head to stare into ocean blue eyes. Aiden’s gaze skated over her face, lingering on her lips. He looked at her for a long moment, emotions warring in the paling depths of his eyes, his lips drawn into a white slash, pulling at the scar and twisting it.

Of its own accord, her hand lifted, delicately dragging a fingertip over the mark. "Your father beat you with a belt as you wrapped your small body around a little girl. The metal hit your jaw. There was a woman, smoking, black eye. She didn’t care. She should’ve cared."

His eyes flew wide before they narrowed. He shifted her against him, pulling her hard to his chest until she bit back a moan, even as she wriggled closer still. Rebecca was surprised when he lifted a hand to catch the tears she hadn’t known she’d been shedding.

Could have been an easy guess, he whispered.

I felt drunk.

My father was an alcoholic. He only hit us when he drank. He would go on benders, then spend the next few months on the wagon. Then he’d fall off and the whole process would repeat.

Rebecca, Detective James hovered next to her, watching her carefully. Are you all right? Do you need some water?

I’m– She took another deep breath and pushed away from Aiden to stand on her own. I’m all right.

Aiden didn’t let her step away. His hand rose to cup her elbow and she braced herself, but there were no new visions forthcoming. Only a shadow of swirling color, easily blinked away. Her brain was too tired to process more.

Why are you crying? he asked.

She shrugged. "It was sad. You were so brave and, if I had kids, I would never let–" She bit her lips, holding back the words.

Frank says you’ve seen murders, people being tortured. But my… what you just saw, that upsets you?

They all upset me. But children are harder to watch. She looked at Frank, pleading with him. I want to go home now.

He needs your help, Bex.

She sighed, weighing the options. You said he’s an old friend of yours?

He is. One of the best men I know, too. Trustworthy and dependable, Rebecca. He deserves to have someone like you help him.

She studied Aiden for a long moment before she replied. Do you believe me, Mr. Parnellis? Do you think I can help you find who you’re looking for?

His shoulders lifted as if it didn’t matter, but his eyes were conflicted. Like Frank said, I’m out of options. Let’s see what doors you can open.

Chapter 2

Rebecca glared at the blue metal chair as if its presence offended her on the deepest of levels. And it did. An innocuous chair had the power to bring her to her knees, if she was caught off guard. Here in the precinct, every object became a predator, ready to leap up and sink sharp teeth into her sanity.

Hesitantly, she raised her hand to the chair, laying a single shaking fingertip against its cool surface. Vague impressions swirled through her mind, the residue of impersonal factory workers with no attachment to the object. Easily sorted through and forgotten.

Her shoulders slumped in relief. You did good, Frank.

You’ve got to learn to trust more, Bex. He grabbed a short tower of plastic cups from the edge of the table. With a careful grip on the first cup, inset into the one beneath, he removed it and held the remaining stack out to Rebecca.

Says the cynical cop. She eased onto the chair and removed her remaining glove. Folding the pair together on her lap, she used her fingernails to pry the next cup from Frank’s stack and waited for him to pour her some water from the accompanying carafe. Okay, I’m ready.

Aiden shook his head, pale eyes wide as he stared at her grimly. Even chairs bring the visions?

"Anything that’s