The 13th Hour

By Julie Harrington

The Road To Hell...
Ella Harper's problems are disturbingly earthbound – cheating husband, crumbled marriage, messy divorce. With the smoldering ruins of her past life firmly in the rearview mirror, all she wants is to start over – with a new job in town of Grayburn – and finally put down roots to build a real home.

Damon Cross knows what it's like to try and put the past behind you. He's spent centuries trying to do just that. Only in Grayburn for a spell, he's hell-bent on achieving one goal: find a new wife.

...Is Paved With Invitations
A chance encounter sparks a chemistry they can't deny. But when past and present collide inside the walls of Rookfall Castle, resurrecting an enemy out for revenge, Ella discovers that Damon's sitting on a Hell of a secret and – before the clock strikes midnight – they'll all be laid bare.

Will their newfound love stand the test of time, or will the truth cost Damon his last chance at Forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Harrington
• Release date: May 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310973727

Julie Harrington

A love of reading led to a love of writing for Julie Harrington. With eclectic tastes in genres (not to mention music, hobbies, and purses), her writing career produced a mystery/paranormal/horror and mystery novel before bringing her full circle to her first love: Contemporary Romance. Her first and second romance novels, "Ship Shape" and "Tinsel", take readers from the beautiful, sunny, sexy islands of the Caymans to the cold, dark, winter streets of Chicago. "Something To Talk About," her third novel - and finalist in the Romance Writers of America's Golden Heart Contest - was released in April of 2012 by The Wild Rose Press. Julie believes that falling in love should always be an adventure, and that reading a book should always take readers on an adventure they'll love.

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The 13Th Hour

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An Original Publication of Julie Harrington at Smashwords

Copyright © 2016 Julie Harrington

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author, Julie Harrington.

Smashwords eISBN: 9781310973727

First Smashwords Edition April 2016

Smashwords Edition License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional 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.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Fonts used: Garamond, & Stonehenge

Cover design & eBook formatting by StormCloud, Montana, USA

Cover photo © Kornilovdream | Dreamstime.com

Visit Julie at JulieHarrington.net

The 13th Hour

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Copyright

Inside Cover Page

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

About the Author

Other Books by Julie Harrington

Connect with Julie Harrington

Chapter One

If Hell ever spawned a night, it was this one. Thick fog draped low across the countryside, turning its once recognizable landmarks into ghostly shadows. The haze seemed to absorb all light from the full moon above, illuminating the mist from within and lending it an unearthly bluish-silver glow.

On a normal night, Ella Harper would have appreciated the poetic vista. At nearly midnight, however, driving the high cliff roads, and already late for her hospital shift – the same rotation she’d worked for the last two weeks – the inhospitable October night promised only two things: her supervisor would give her hell for being late (again) and the emergency room would be crammed to the ceiling. Sure, the hospital would get the normal car accident, heart attack, and occasional hit and run victim, but tonight it would overflow with flat out nutbars. It never failed with a full moon. Add in that Halloween was just a few days away, and every flake in Grayburn would come out of the woodwork.

Ella checked the dashboard clock and cringed. Definitely going to be late. How the hell was she supposed to know that this pea soup would churn in off the harbor waters? She automatically glanced toward the cove on her left, barely able to make out the jutting shape of the mansion on the island in the inlet, and definitely not able to make out the horizon.

Was this weather normal for this town? God, she hoped not. She’d only lived in Grayburn a few short weeks, started her job in even less time, and this? She cringed again. Yeah, this wasn’t helping her make a good impression at Grayburn Community Hospital at all.

She dragged her attention back to the road. The glow of her headlights bounced back in a harsh glare off the ever-thickening fog. Her frown deepened. Easing her foot from the gas pedal, she guided her car around a particularly sharp turn. The reflective disks on the guardrail flickered amber – demon eyes waking briefly to watch her pass.

And then it was there – a hulking, black, four-legged beast in the middle of the road – dead center between her headlights.

Ella stomped on the brake and jerked the wheel hard to the right even as the realization that she was going to hit the animal fired through her brain. The tires locked, then squealed. The stench of hot tire rubber punched through the air vents. The car snapped sideways, performing a compact hundred and eighty degree arc that apparently missed the animal, but not the guardrail.

Metal screamed against metal. The rear window exploded and, predictably, the airbags deployed in a deafening rush. A second later, Ella’s seat belt snapped tight across her shoulder and yanked her back in her seat.

Then it was over.

Trembling, her fingers locked tight around the steering wheel, Ella stared through the windshield. The guardrail had somehow risen up and wrapped around her car hood like a fat, steel boa constrictor. Its heavy metal coils squeezed the hood and front bumper together as if trying to stem the engine’s strange hissing moans. The headlights bulged outwards, casting the twin beams in opposite directions – one toward the ground, the other toward the sky. A hubcap rattled as it rolled away from the car and then collapsed to the pavement with a clatter.

Ella still didn’t move.

Shock numbed her, stealing all sensation – along with reason – for a full five seconds. Then the first twinge came, a pain in her shoulder, a stiffness on the left side of her neck. She forced her fingers to release their death-grip on the steering wheel. Her hands slipped off the leather and dropped to her lap.

Groaning, she fumbled to release the seat belt, already diagnosing herself. Possible whiplash. Superficial cuts and scrapes. No broken bones, thank God. She hadn’t even hit her head on the dash or windshield. In fact, she assured herself, forcing back a wave of panic as she pushed the safety strap away, she was probably more shaken than actually hurt. The diagnosis seemed to confirm itself as she crawled across the seats to the passenger door to get out.

Stiff, a little slow, and a lot wobbly, Ella lowered her feet to the damp pavement. She tightened her grip on the door and used it to steady herself as she stood. The shock faded fast, logic and control flooding in to replace it, bringing the clarity that always made her good in a crisis.

She dragged her fingers through her dark brown hair as she assessed her damaged car. The whole frame sagged before her, making her suspect that – should she check the other side – she’d find the tie rod snapped and the tire canted in toward the wheel well. Combine that with the fact that her engine wasn’t running, yet her car was still hissing, and that the steam billowing out from beneath the hood carried a distinct sulfurous smell, and Ella concluded her radiator was most likely cracked.

Damn it, she groaned as she slammed the door shut. Glass tumbled from the broken back window, tinkled as it hit the ground and, to Ella, sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Anger fired through her. She turned on her heel, dropped her hands to their natural position on her hips, and glowered at the road behind her. The fog roiled around her while the specters hidden within continued to creep and crawl. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the inky blackness until — There!

Ella froze. Her breath caught. Her heart stuttered.

There it was! A phantom black shape with strange, pointy, horn-like protrusions from its blunt head – a beast escaped straight from hell to prowl the lonely road – still sitting in the middle of it as if nothing had happened.

She squeezed her eyes shut, gave her head a sharp shake to mentally kick the horror movies her mother warned her not to watch as a kid, but that she had anyway, to the curb. Monsters didn’t exist. At least, not the kind on four legs. Real monsters walked on two.

Her lashes lifted.

A goddamned dog.

Her eyes narrowed. Her breath released on a long, low sigh. Thanks a lot, she muttered. The dog still didn’t move. Ella cocked her head and arched her brows. I don’t suppose you’re insured, huh?

Cerberus. Come.

Ella jolted at the low, gruff, male voice. Automatically, she stepped back. Her elbow whacked into her car’s side mirror.

The dog grumbled as it rose and then trotted through the fog – not closer to her, but toward the other side of the street – its nails clicking on the pavement like hail against the side of a house.

Ella lost the animal for a moment, found herself searching the night for it. Then form broke from shadow; a slow, distorted