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Praise for works by
CHRISTINA SKYE
TO CATCH A THIEF
“Fast-paced action, vivid detail, a touch of the paranormal, and hot lovemaking will please readers of adventure romance, while fans of Skye’s Draycott Abbey and Code Name series will enjoy this clever union of the two.”
—Booklist
CODE NAME: BIKINI
“A fun, antic read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fast-paced action, flashes of humor, and futuristic flavor typify this romantic action-adventure. Fans of the Code Name series will enjoy this delicious addition.”
—Kristin Ramsdell, Library Journal
CODE NAME: BLONDIE
“Romantic thrills and adventure from the expert.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Skye is terrific at writing fast-paced adventure romances…a tantalizing addition to the compelling Code Name series.”
—Booklist
CODE NAME: BABY
“Thrilling…fans should eagerly await the next in the series.”
—Publishers Weekly
THE DRAYCOTT LEGACY
“Christina Skye’s delightfully haunting Draycott Abbey tales…pass the test of time, as they remain some of the better romantic fantasies available.”
—Harriet Klausner
Christina Skye
Bound By Dreams
CONTENTS
PART ONE
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PROLOGUE
Sussex, England
Draycott Abbey Summer
THE NIGHT IS ALIVE, restless with dreams.
Almost two decades have passed since he walked this soft grass. Touched these worn stones of Draycott Abbey.
The name flows off his tongue, rich with history. Near his hand a mound of lavender stirs, cool with dew and perfume. The scent he remembers well, along with his hours of peace in the abbey’s shadow.
Every detail of the great house is branded into his memory.
For twenty years he has not come back to these green hills. The danger is too great, carrying the threat of what he once was…and can become again.
The wind draws him to the moat’s edge. He smells the tall grass, feels the brush of young leaves on his skin. Somewhere in the darkness a hunting bird calls sharply.
The night flows around him. Then the past rushes in with a surge of bitterness. The pain slams down.
He remembers the betrayal and lost hope. From his innocence had come death.
His muscles flex. Tendons move, blood sings. Power slides down like swift moonlight spilled across endless seas. The life he’d left behind rushes in, carrying the slap of the wind, the harsh rhythm of an old Gaelic curse.
He remembers the hammer of callused hands at his neck and then the cold taste of blood.
His own blood. From wounds that had left him dead, or close enough to call dead.
He slips off his shoes.
Thyme and mint crush beneath his feet, just like the last time he was here to visit his oldest friend.
Sweat glistens on his bare skin. The night is cool, but to him it is warmth enough when the wind calls. Better to run, to hunt. It is safe here, because darkness is his home and haven.
Roses brush his arm, scenting the air with perfume. His skin burns. The time of power floods through him.
Muscles flex, changing to match a new shape and all its strength.
His hands clench. He touches the low iron fence. One hand grips the cool rail as the power snaps. He lets down the final wall, feels the explosion of dark strength that surges through him.
He remembers another night, too many years ago to count. His first taste of power—and the death it carried. He remembers a boy’s raw, bone-wrenching terror, understanding nothing. That night there had been no control, no confidence, no hope. Only death.
Old history.
Dead
