Miss Nobody Draft 24 Ch 1 Foundling

Chapter 1

FOUNDLING

The rocks crunched under my boots like bones. A dry sound dampened by the fog slowly swirling across my boots. I didn't know my name but apparently I knew the sound of bones breaking.

A raven's garbled caw echoed from the forest that surrounded me.

Not creepy at all.

If I had a phone I would've called Dr. Ortega and asked her why she sent me to Elvira's Mountain Retreat for Emotionally Unstable Women in the middle of nowhere. But I already knew the answer.

She thought it would keep me safe.

I pushed through the chills sliding down my spine and kept walking.

The taxi had dropped me off at the end of the quiet lane. "Up that way'll take you to Moonlit Mountain Lodge." The driver said before speeding away like I was contagious.

I wasn't. Amnesia was my diagnosis. And whatever, whoever, had put me in a three-week coma, left me black and blue on the side of the road. That was an unknown attack, not a communicable disease.

I ignored the look of fear in the driver's eyes as they darted between me and the road on the drive up here. I didn't have a choice to run away from the unknown. Everything about my life before the past two months was unknown to me.

I was early to Moonlit Mountain Lodge.

No one expected me. Not a day early anyway. It's not like I wasn't invited here. The news had nicknamed me 'Miss Nobody', so I suppose it was fitting. Caught in the inbetween. No name. No family. No home. And too early. Or was I already behind?

I shifted my small suitcase to my left hand and pulled open the heavy glass door that led into the massive log hotel.

A jingly bell rang above my head. A cheerful sound. Violently normal in a place where spirits were surely summoned. I couldn't see a seance table, but something like that would have its own room, down some dark hallway, only to be unlocked on full moons.

I shivered.

A woman's happy voice sang out, "Coming!" She emerged from a door behind an antique wood desk. Her blonde hair shimmered like it was caught in a sunbeam. Her perfume was sharp in my nose like citrus, and her smile was just as bright. Her front desk uniform was form-fitting, like it had been stitched together by soft hands while she wore it. "Oh, you must be Jane?" She said with a wide welcoming smile.

I nodded. Too sunsick to form words.

"Mr. Zantana," she called sweetly over my shoulder. "I thought you said she was old."

I turned toward the footsteps behind me.

Everything in me lit up. My skin flushed, face heated and I prayed the dim, flickering lights would hide it.

He stood to his full height when he noticed me. Black hi-tops. Black jeans. Black jacket and a black beanie covered his head, like he wanted to disappear into the dark. Tattoos crept up his throat and wrapped around his hands. I wanted to know what other skin had been inked with sin. He gestured with a nod, casual, like we were old friends.

My body lurched forward like he pulled an invisible thread deep inside me.

Fuck. Me.

Jonny Zantana was not the old man I'd, for some reason, pictured. His sister, my doctor, hadn't told me much about him before sending me here. Just one warning, whispered as she tucked me into the taxi, "He's charming when he needs to be. Don't fall for it."

Right.

I swallowed hard. I had never seen a more perfect man. At least... not that I could remember. I sighed, frustrated with myself, you've been out of the hospital less than 12 hours, get a grip, and headed in his direction.

"You're here early." He pulled his beanie off and rubbed his hand over his short dark hair. "I was supposed to pick you up." His voice, warm, deep, a hint of an accent, low enough to echo in places I didn't want to wake up.

I understood why Dr. Ortega had warned me. I didn't need to be just another notch on his bedpost, not that I was his type anyway. I imagined a tall, thin, model that wore designer everything and nails filed to sharp points. They would have beautiful babies...

Jonny closed his eyes briefly and let out a low laugh. Like he was in on a joke no one else was a part of. An, if I don't laugh I'm going to cry, type of laugh. A phone rang from behind him. "That's probably my sister." His bright playful smile was back as he pulled a cell phone from his back pocket. His free hand moved to my lower back as he guided me away from the front desk and deeper into the Lodge.

Barely there. But my body noticed. Something heavy pooled deep in my stomach.

Traitor.

"Hola Hermana," he said into the phone.

"¿Ya la recogiste? ¿La ves?" Dr. Ortega asked.

"Ella llego temprano."

"¿Estás seguro de que es ella? ¿Está realmente allí contigo?" His sister sounded worried.

"Nunca me dijiste que era bonita."

"Maldita sea, Jonny, déjame hablar con ella."

He chuckled.

I understood a few words here and there in Spanish but not enough to follow the conversation.

His sister's voice was clear through his phone, "Stay away from her, Jonny, or you..."

He hung up the phone quickly and put it in his back pocket, grinning.

She said that part in English. She wanted me to hear. To remind me of my promise to her, that I would stay away from Jonny Zantana.

And I knew that was going to be a problem. How was I supposed to work here and stay away from my boss?

I followed him further into Moonlit Mountain Lodge. A huge stone fireplace stood on a wall full of windows that held back the forest like a secret too wild to let in. Hunting trophies of large Elk, Deer and other woodland animals scattered the log walls, glass eyes casting quiet judgment. Leather couches and worn armchairs clustered in living-room like nooks. Like they were waiting for the ghostly gossip.

One side of the lobby was lined with tall wooden bookcases, stuffed with cracked leather-bound volumes and dusty hardbacks. A few antique desks were scattered around for the guests to use.

Jonny led me down a long corridor lined with heavy wooden doors. The soft sound of his shoes echoed like we were the only ones alive in the whole place. He unlocked a door with a thick iron key, a ribbon with the room number dangling from it. The room was small but tidy.

He placed my suitcase on the fold out luggage holder and made a slow sweep of the space before making sure the window was locked and closing the thick curtains. "It's old but clean. You'll meet Cherry tomorrow, she's been with the Lodge for a few seasons and does a good job keeping everything... clean." He opened a narrow door in the corner. "Bathroom."

"Thanks. For everything. I really appreciate you doing all this. Once I save up some money, I'll be out of your way-"

"You can stay as long as you need. Anyone important to my sister is family. Time on the mountain tends to move slower, you don't need to go-" He cleared his throat like he needed to stop the words. "There's no rush."

"Thanks," I said again, softer this time.

He stepped closer and handed me the room key. Our fingers touched and light flashed around me.

I stumbled backward through the tall grass glistening red under the moonlight. My bare feet sank into the wet earth.

A marble angel rose behind me, wings unfurled, eyes blindfolded, arms outstretched like she knew what was about to happen and blessed it anyway.

Long dark hair fell into his eyes, his chest rose and fell like he had been chasing me across lifetimes. His hands circled my waist, rough and familiar, and something inside me opened. Like we had danced under this moonlight many times before.

"Please-" I tried.

He cut off my plea with his mouth, lips pressed into me like he was reclaiming a territory, not asking permission.

I melted into him.

His teeth grazed across the pulse in my throat.

Pleasant chills cascaded down my back. I moaned, too loud for the quiet cemetery. Too loud for the dark. Too loud for the time.

He caught the sound in his mouth like a secret. He was speaking a language I didn't understand, syllables dripping with need.

I didn't need to understand the meaning. My body reacted for me.

He pulled my long skirts up slowly, reverently between us, as if giving me time to say no. To push him away. But his bare skin brushed against mine and left me aching for more. The night air left kisses on my naked thighs where his fingers trailed. Up. Up. Slowly Up. His fingers found my ache, like they belonged there, like it would be a sin to ever leave.

"You're already so wet for me." He whispered, "Like you've been waiting for me."

My head fell back, knocking a carved stone finial off the edge of the gravestone I was pushed up against.

He guided my hand into his pants, the leather warm from his body, the bulge thick and throbbing.

I wrapped my fingers around him.

"Feel that?" he growled into my hair. "That's what you do to me. When I see you at the market. When you're hidden behind a book. When you don't fucking look at me across the fire."

I whimpered.

"Take it out," he whispered. "Please, Bridget, free me from your torture."

I stroked him, slow and firm, and his breath hitched. He pushed his hips against me, sliding the tip of his cock over my clit in maddening circles, teasing me.

"I belong inside you," his voice was a spell.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted him inside me.

He growled, low and rough, and pressed his cock into me, bare, deep, too much and just right. My nails dug into his shoulders.

The angel above us leaned forward slightly, like she was listening. Waiting. Like she was watching. Like she was wanting.

He thrust into me, slow at first. Measured. Worshipful.

And then harder, like he was angry at time itself for keeping us apart.

I clung to him, to the rhythm of our skin, to our sound, our breath. I was unraveling beneath him, on silent stones and sacred ground.

"Mine," he whispered against my mouth. "You will always be mine."

The orgasm hit me like lightning through bone. I cried out, biting his shoulder, tasting salt and blood. Sacred.

And then, just as he came inside me, just as I whispered something that wasn't English, something ancient...

I was back in the hotel room with Jonny. Only a fraction of a moment had passed.

Jonny nodded but didn't leave. He studied me. "I need to go... off the property." He finally said. "Look for Chef in the morning and he can get you situated." He stepped closer to the door. Tattooed hand on the doorknob. "I'll leave you to it." He paused as if to drag out the moment. "Welcome to Moonlit Mountain Lodge." He shut the door behind him.

A finality I wasn't ready for.

I slid the small brass chain lock with a quiet click, the metal scraping softly like it hadn't been moved in years. Old fashioned security for an old fashioned place.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the faded floral wallpaper like it would tell me my secrets if I stared long enough. My thoughts collided too fast to untangle and the heat of Jonny Zantanas presence lingered over all of them.

Handsome.

Charming.

The kind of man you'd have a one night stand with and never call you back.

I didn't have time for regrets. My mental to-do list built itself like a coat of armor: find clothes that fit and would be appropriate for snow. Find a wallet so my new ID wasn't lost and forlorn like me, open a bank account. Figure out where the nearest town was and how the hell I'd get there. My future was logistics and survival.

My mental to-do list was already full. No time for dating or flirting or any of the soft... dangerous things that came with letting someone in. But still the memory clawed its way back.

Pinned against the gravestone, breathless, aching.

That had never been part of the nightmares before. At the hospital they were disjointed, creepy hallways and someone chasing me.

But this dream... fantasy? I'd been awake. But it felt like a memory... how could I explain it?

The man in that moment wasn't Jonny, but he wore the same smile, the same... aura. Except his hair had been long, and his skin unmarked by modern day ink. A fantasy dredged up from my broken brain? Some twisted way to make sense of the graveyard that I'd run to for safety in the nightmares?

Or was it something older, something remembered?

Eventually I made my way into the bathroom and ran the water cold in the shower. I washed the lingering fumes from the hospital off me and traded it for the smell of the hotel. The bathroom was small with antique fixtures like the rest of the Lodge. Clean towels stacked near hotel toiletries arranged like offerings.

I pulled back the blankets to inspect the bed before getting comfortable. I sank into the mattress and slept.

I stumbled backward through the tall grass glistening red under the moonlight. My bare feet sank into the wet earth.

A marble angel rose behind me, wings unfurled, eyes blindfolded, arms outstretched like she knew what was about to happen and blessed it anyway.

Long dark hair fell into his eyes, his chest rose and fell like he had been chasing me across lifetimes. His hands circled my waist, rough and familiar, and something inside me opened. Like we had danced under this moonlight many times before.

"Please-" I tried to beg.

He cut off my plea with his mouth, lips pressed into me like he was reclaiming a territory, not asking permission.

I melted into him.

His teeth grazed across the pulse in my throat.

Pleasant chills cascaded down my back. I moaned, too loud for the quiet cemetery. Too loud for the dark. Too loud for the time.

He caught the sound in his mouth like a secret.

He was speaking a language I didn't understand, syllables dripping with need. I didn't need to understand the meaning. My body reacted for me.

He pulled my long skirts up slowly, reverently between us, as if giving me time to say no. To push him away. But his bare skin brushed against mine and left me aching for more. The night air left kisses on my naked thighs where his fingers trailed. Up. Up. Slowly Up. His fingers found my ache, like they belonged there, like it would be a sin to ever leave.

"You're already so wet for me." He whispered, "Like you've been waiting for me."

My head fell back, knocking a carved stone finial off the edge of the gravestone I was pushed up against.

He guided my hand into his pants, the leather warm from his body, the bulge thick and throbbing.

I wrapped my fingers around him.

"Feel that?" he growled into my hair. "That's what you do to me. When I see you at the market. When you're hidden behind a book. When you don't fucking look at me across the fire."

I sucked in my breath. I knew he had been watching me. I was always the first to look away.

"Take it out," he whispered. "Please, Bridget, free me from your torture."

I stroked him, slow and firm, and his breath hitched. He pushed his hips against me, sliding the tip of his cock over my clit in maddening circles, teasing me.

"I belong inside you," his voice was a spell.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted him inside me.

He growled, low and rough, and pressed his cock into me, bare, deep, too much and just right. My nails dug into his shoulders.

The angel above us leaned forward slightly, like she was listening. Like she was watching. Like she was wanting.

He thrust into me, slow at first. Measured. Worshipful.

His slow thrusts became harder as he kissed me. And then harder, like he was angry at time itself for keeping us apart.

I clung to him, to the rhythm of our skin, to our sound, our breath. I was unraveling beneath him, on silent stones and sacred ground.

"Mine," he whispered against my mouth. "You will always be mine." He pulled back but it wasn't him.

"I can't stop thinking about you," Jonny whispered, pressed up against me. Kissing me like he knew me. Like time would rip us apart if he left my skin.

I melted into him. The scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his mouth. Real. Present.

Jonny's weight pressed me into the mattress. The hard metal springs groaned and poked into my back. A sharp pain that made me pause.

The wallpaper peeled around me. Brocade and velvet bled through the walls. A mirror caught my reflection, red corset to match my flushed cheeks, stockings up to my thighs, red lipstick smeared across my lips. My auburn hair was pinned in 19th century curls. It was me but not me. "No," I whispered and my reflection whispered back.

I ran from the room. The hallway outside was narrow, filled with perfume and hushed moans. Hearty laughter and old time piano music echoed from downstairs. I ran barefoot, heart in my throat. A door at the end opened by itself, light poured through. I rushed through it.

Graveyard. Again.

The angel statue loomed ahead, overgrown and hidden, barely visible under the choking vegetation. I rushed to it breathless. My hands tore at the vines, clawing at the crumbling marble until my nails broke.

The finial, missing from its corner. Just like in the dream. I didn't scream this time. I pressed my hands to the stone. "This is real." I pulled. "This is real. This is real."

The gravestone revealed itself.

The engraving in the stone too worn to read. "I've been here before." I laughed. Relieved that something made sense. But nothing really made sense at all.

"Hello there," a man's voice called from behind me.

I turned expecting it to be my cemetery lover.