Cuckoo in the Coven

CHAPTER ONE

CORNWALL, ENGLAND. Present day.

Moonlight spilled through the open window into the bedroom.

Sunny stirred in her bed. Her eyes fluttered open.

Had she drifted off, had she been dreaming again?

She looked at the window, where the curtains lifted in the summer breeze. The sky beyond was lit by the full moon. Sighing, she willed herself back into the recurring dream she’d recently been having—lucid visions about a mysterious stranger.

“Who are you?” she murmured.

The dreams were so delicious she wanted to go there again—to lose herself in his fierce embrace.

Her eyelids lowered, sleep beckoning her.

Through the ether, her own name whispered through her mind, as if a familiar voice called to her. The call was sensed rather than heard, instinct tugging on her to recognize the intimate, beckoning command.

It was him, the seductive stranger.

Coiling under the open window, the midnight mist entered the room, crossing the space, wavering over her body. Mystical and entrancing, it wore a man’s image, taking his form as it moved against her exposed skin, teasing her with fey kisses.

Her body pulsed with desire.

Physical recognition flooded her and she reached out for him.

Her emotions dipped and soared.

The presence coaxed her gently, caressing her with the most intimate of lover’s touches.

She fought through her slumber, moaning in response to his call, her limbs tangled in the sheets. He was there, she could sense him, but still she couldn’t touch him or hear the words he whispered. His face grew more distinct as he closed over her, riding the night to be with her. Intense blue eyes flashed in the moonlight, the fall of thick dark hair over his brows materializing. His lips moved, as if he were calling to her, but the words whispered away on the night breeze, never to be heard.

Powerful arms surrounded her, and her fingertips danced over a chest so real—so vast and strong—she cried out with longing.

Twisting amongst the sheets, she found herself caressed, adored, driven to the brink of madness with desire so vivid she panted with need.

The midnight lover claimed her, and Sunny gave herself up, embracing the dream man, welcoming him. Only the night itself witnessed the muted sounds from her lips when waves of pleasure climbed inside her, threatening to drown her in a tide of ecstasy. Finally, they rose to a peak and then crashed over her whole body. She floated, weightless. A final surge of spasms flowed through her, and she awoke.

Sunny lay stunned and confused, until she began to realize what it was, what had happened to her. Never before had the recurring dream been so intense. She closed her eyes tight against the familiar surroundings and tried to recapture the image of the mystic man who had brought her such pleasure.

Only a vague shadow of him was discernible, but in that moment he had seemed so real, as real as the energy and heat that still flowed through her body.

DURING THE DAYLIGHT hours, remembering those naughty dreams amused Sunny, but she couldn’t help being curious. Why was it happening to her? She’d never had dreams like this before she’d moved into her grandmother’s Cornish cottage. It made her wonder if the place was haunted. It felt a bit like that, but not quite. Besides, she wondered, what would a ghost be doing climbing into bed with her? She laughed at the idea of it, but continued to mull it over while she went about the renovations.

Energized by her latest nocturnal adventure, she worked on the room she planned to use as her office. Her efforts only seemed to reveal more layers of history as she went. Stripping the multiple layers of wallpaper felt a bit like going back in time. As did her dreams. Her mystery dream lover was certainly not of this world. Was it because there was so much history here?

The cottage she’d inherited was at least two hundred years old, potentially a lot more, although no one was sure of its exact build date—a fact that annoyed her immensely. Sunny was tenacious in her quest for knowledge about the building and had been hoping to discover some clue as she gradually renovated the place. The wallpaper in this room alone charted the past eighty or so years and, as she worked, her thoughts traveled into the time when it had been new, wondering about who had lived there and why.

Stepping back, she assessed her progress. “It’s no good,” she muttered. “I’ll have to wait until the wallpaper steamer arrives.”

She rested her forearms on the windowsill and brea

thed deep the heady scent of roses and honeysuckle from below. This was the room she used to stay in as a child, when she visited her grandma during the holidays. It overlooked the front garden and the old stone wall marking its perimeter, the wrought iron gate and the meandering stone path. It was a magical, lush garden with well-established shrubs, ferns and flowers, and a lawn that looked deep and luxurious enough to sleep on.

Ever since then, she’d connected with the natural world here in Raven’s Landing. It called to her, and she felt more at home here than anywhere in the world. It was the fairytale quality she loved most. It was also why she decided to set up her office in the upstairs spare bedroom, so she could spot her visitors arriving and enjoy the view while she worked.

At the back of the house was a large, unkempt vegetable garden and orchards that went on for acres, but it would be a long time before she got to grips with it. She had to get her office up and running as soon as possible. Her web clients wouldn’t wait around for her to make over her new house before they got their updates.

Above her head a bird chirruped somewhere in the thatch. She craned her neck but couldn’t spot its hiding place. That was another job for the list. The thatched roof needed an overhaul, and soon. The cottage was less than a mile from the rugged Cornish coastline, and she’d have to be ready for the onslaught of winter. However, right now it was time to wrap up for the morning, eat, and head into town to get some supplies.

She sipped a large glass of iced tea while she zapped some leftover veggie risotto in the microwave. She couldn’t be happier, well, she almost couldn’t. She had everything she desired, but it’d be nice to have someone to share it with. A soul mate, a lover. If only he were real, she mused.

Ever since she’d first visited Cornwall she’d felt the magic of the place, especially at night. The Cornish peninsula was a beautiful, wild and pagan land—a land of legends and myths, where even the mists rolling in from the sea seemed to whisper about the infinite possibility of dreams and magic. It had certainly brought magic into her life, and in the most unexpected ways, because since moving there Sunny felt she had become a true sensualist. Recurrent erotic dreams about a mysterious stranger left her with a heightened awareness of her own sexuality and desires—dreams that left her hankering for more. Every time she thought about it she felt restless with curiosity.

The sound of the phone ringing snapped her back from her thoughts. Putting down her iced tea, she reached for it.

“Hi, how’s it going up there on the far hill?”

It was her friend Celeste’s voice, mellow as honey. A local in her mid forties, Celeste had known Sunny’s grandmother well. Celeste was a rather eccentric type, Sunny had to admit—a bit of a hippie, with a strange, esoteric worldview and a knowing way about her. She had a rolling Cornish accent, the friendliest smile on the planet, and time for anyone. Sunny had made friends easily with her new neighbors when she moved down from London, many of whom remembered her as a child, but it was Celeste most of all who’d made Sunny feel part of the community. She kept her up to date with gossip, laughing with her when the going got tough with the house renovation.