The Realm

Chapter 2

Samantha rose from the water sputtering and glanced around in consternation. Where the hell was she? Yanking off her glasses, which she thankfully hadn't lost in her plunge, she rubbed them with the edge of her soaking robe, which didn't do much to help them. Perching them back on her nose, she squinted through the wet streaks, but the view remained the same. Instead of seeing her familiar living room crammed with worn furniture and books, Samantha found herself standing waist deep in what seemed to be an ocean. Gentle waves lapped at her back and the briny scent of the ocean carried on a light, warm breeze, made her nose twitch. Overhead, squawking gulls circled and directly in front of her stretched a white, sandy beach.

Samantha closed her eyes and pinched herself hard - time to wake up! Even with her eyes clenched shut, she could feel the water lapping at her body and hear the raucous cawing of seagulls. Talk about a vivid hallucination. Opening her eyes again, she almost fell over as a vigorous wave smacked into her. Not fair. If she was going to hallucinate then why couldn't she be dressed in a ball gown dancing with a prince?

Product of her overactive mind or not, lamenting her situation while getting buffeted by water wouldn't get her anywhere. Besides, now that the initial shock wore off, the same curiosity that kept her up until three am to finish a good book made her want to explore. To see what else her mental hallucination had in store for her. How about a handsome prince? A dragon with a hoard of gold? Pixies?

Or even better, some dry clothes.

Trudging through the water, quickly losing her slippers in the sucking sand, she reached the beach and took another peek around. Now what?

The sun bathed the horizon in a rainbow of colors, but not knowing where east lay she couldn't decide if it was rising or setting. To her left, she saw the beach extended a hundred feet or so before curving out of sight. To her right, it ran about another thirty feet and ended in a pile of large rocks and boulders. A great look out spot if you didn't mind a bit of ocean spray. Throw in a lounge chair, a nice, frothy drink and a muscled surfer and you could call this paradise.

Shaking her head at the direction of her thoughts, she continued her perusal. Directly in front of her the sand stayed level for about ten feet before sloping upwards into a large dune with long grass waving at the top. Craning her neck and standing on tip-toe she thought she could see what appeared to be thatched rooftops. And further than that, visible over a thick wall of jungle treetops, stood a dark castle.

Wow. Maybe it was time to lay off the historical romances for a while.

Samantha racked her brain trying to think what one of the heroines from her books would do in a situation like this. Should she explore first? She'd spotted roofs which meant buildings, so that must mean people and shelter, but then again there was also a castle with perhaps a prince in need of rescue. Samantha giggled at that thought. Who'd ever heard of a librarian saving a prince?

An odd squeak made her glance up and she let out a loud, totally un-heroine like squeal. Backpedaling in fright, she promptly fell into the water on her butt with a big splash. In her clumsy defense, she had good reason.

Peering over the top edge of the sand dune was a green face with large luminous eyes. Definitely not human. Quite possibly alien, but, either way, it freaked her out. The creature chittered in a high, piping tone as it clambered over the dune and approached the water's edge. Samantha scrambled backwards in the water, her heart racing. The creature c****d its head at her and chittered again. As if called, suddenly there were almost a dozen green faces gazing down at her from the top of the dune. Please let them be friendly, she prayed. Although with her luck, they'd end up being librarian eating carnivores.

Think good thoughts. Brave thoughts. She needed to remember she was dreaming. Nothing could actually hurt her. Permanently at any rate. Now was her chance to be just like one of her heroines. Time to act brave.

"Um, hello?" she squeaked as she nervously pushed her glasses back up onto her nose.

The chittering increased in treble as did the size of the green crowd ogling her, their swelling numbers making her tremble. The little creature who had first climbed down moved closer giving her a clearer view.

While it possessed a human like shape, all resemblance stopped there. She took stock - a lithe body covered in what looked like shimmery, green scales and a humanoid visage with a flattened look to it. A vague impression of a nose consisting of a slight bump with holes. As for its eyes, they were huge and appeared completely black. Even freakier, it didn't seem to blink. Around its waist the creature wore a shiny loin cloth, and its feet, which looked to be more like flippers, were bare.

The creature opened its mouth and made some more undecipherable sounds while waving its arms. Samantha stared aghast at the large number of very sharp teeth crammed in its mouth. All the better to eat me with, she thought, swallowing hard.

The green entity splashed to where she sat in the water and stared intently, studying her. It turned to his comrades and a rapid conversation took place while Samantha wondered how she'd dreamed up this mess. That's it - no more Spielberg movies.

Tired of being ignored - this was her dream after all - she cleared her throat. "Does anyone speak English?" she asked hopefully.

A warbly "Hello," startled her but not as much as the fact that a second green Martian like creature came sliding down the dune to approach her. Dressed in a sarong with a crinkled green face, she could have passed as Yoda's mother.

"Come, come," said the creature, showing a lot of pointed teeth in what Samantha prayed was a smile.

"You want me to follow you?" Samantha asked. She eyed the green creature a little dubiously. Should I follow it? If this is a dream then I've got nothing to worry about and I bet you it's the kind of brave thing one of the heroines in my books would do. But what if they intend to make me dinner? I'd probably make a good meal with all this extra padding.

The alien creature kept smiling and gesturing. Samantha took a deep breath. Gathering up her courage, along with her sopping wet bath robe, she stood while trying to appear dignified. Could one look dignified in wet flannel? That question became a moot point as a wiggly little fish chose that moment to flop itself out of her pocket and splash in to the water below. High pitched barking greeted her, as red-faced, Samantha slogged through the waves to the beach.

Great, now they're laughing at me. Mortified, Samantha now hoped this was real instead of a dream because it would really suck if her subconscious was the one doing this to her.

The wizened green creature, who only came up to Samantha's waist, took her by the hand and led her up the dune, her palm not slimy as Samantha feared, but instead dry and rubbery. Some of the creatures at the top of the sand pile raced off, but most stayed and followed as they made their way into a village. As they drew near, to Samantha's surprise, she realized that the houses she'd glimpsed from the beach were of a familiar sort, if in an older style, made of stone with thatched roofs and stout wooden doors. They even had windows covered in a strange translucent material. Could they have built these?

In front of several of the houses were miniature versions of the creatures playing with some colored rocks. Pausing in their game, their big liquid eyes stared at her as she passed. Samantha wrapped her arms around herself tightly. Okay now I'm getting more than just a little freaked out. I never should have watched Children Of The Corn.

In between the line of houses, there were log benches surrounding a stone statue of a very large and ugly fish. The old one swept out a hand towards one of the benches and Samantha sat down. A group of sarong-covered creatures who stood gawking nearby were sent off with loud chitters. They soon emerged from one of the homes bearing a platter bordered in green leaves with a mound of what looked like fruit. Yoda's mother offered the platter to her insistently, but Samantha hesitated despite her hunger. How can I be sure they aren't just trying to fatten me up for the cook pot? Those sharp teeth certainly don't belong to vegetarians. But this is a dream right? That or I've stepped into the Twilight Zone. Doubt and trepidation. Her two biggest obstacles when it came to living life. Take a chance for once, she chided herself. Throwing caution to the wind, Samantha picked up a plump pink fruit and bit into it.

Oh, pure ambrosia. Juicy with a texture similar to a peach, but fuchsia colored. And the flavor - a naturally produced kiwi/strawberry. Taste buds ecstatic, she ate the entire fruit plus a second one. Pity this wasn't real - she'd make a fortune on these if she could sell them.

Her guide returned holding a basin. She wrung out a cloth floating in it and offered it to Samantha. Grubby and a little sticky from the fruit, she took the offering and washed her face and hands. It didn't take care of her body though. The gritty sand on her skin mixed with her soaking jammies made her quite uncomfortable, but judging by the primitive conditions around her, she guessed a bath was out of the question.

Losing their initial timidity, more of the creatures approached, their green, rubbery hands reaching out to touch her. Are they checking to see if I'm real? A commotion at the edge of the village, where a jungle began, saved her from the patting hands. Conversation ceased and the creatures around her scurried away to make room for someone or something. As long as it wasn't a giant ape!

Samantha slowly stood, clutching the folds of her robe to calm the trembling in her hands. Wake up, wake up, wake up, she chanted under her breath. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, the air filled with an expectant hush. Then He arrived.

Oh, my dear God. Her jaw dropped before she remembered to snap her mouth closed. Inwardly Samantha cursed her bedraggled state .What a fright she must appear, standing there staring in dumbstruck awe at the man, or should she say hunk, frowning at her.

Finally her subconscious had gotten something right, conjuring up her idea of male perfection. Six feet at least, or so she judged by his towering presence, he possessed broad shoulders that stretched his white linen shirt. Thick, muscular arms showed below his rolled up sleeves, while snug black pants tucked into high black boots molded his corded thighs. Yummy!

Peering at his face, she held back a sigh. Slightly rumpled, thick black hair fell almost to his shoulders framing a perfect face. Clean-shaven with a square, rugged chin and a straight nose below dark, arched brows, his long lashes and dark mesmerizing blue eyes completed the package. Oh God, there should be a law against men this hot.

Samantha's self-consciousness grew as he continued to scowl. She pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, her version of armor. Steeling herself, she held her head high and stared back, trying desperately to pretend she wasn't meeting this male Adonis while dressed in a dripping, ragged robe never meant to be seen by anyone. A confidence hard to fake with wet, straggling hair clinging to her head and shoulders.

"How did you get here?" he asked coldly, his gaze flicking up and down her body, taking in her deplorable state.

"I-I don't know" she stammered, taken aback at his harsh tone. "I was reading a book when I got dizzy and then suddenly found myself on this beach."

"Book? What book? Who are you? What do you want?" he barked, his voice getting louder and louder as he spat his questions at her. Grabbing her arms in a painful grip, he lifted her until their eyes were level. My God, he must be strong to lift me as if I'm a featherweight.

"Oh my God, why are you so angry?" she squeaked, scared out of her wits.

"Because people don't just appear on this island. Someone sent you and I want to know who and how."

"But that's just it. I don't know how I got here. Wait, that's not entirely correct. I think it was the book."

"A book?"

"Actually, it might have been a diary." At his knitted brows, which practically joined together in his confusion, she tried to explain. "See I went into this shop I found by chance on my way home from work. There was this guy there."

"Who was he?"

"How would I know? He never gave me a name, just asked me what I wanted to read. He said he dealt in books people needed. Next thing I knew, I had a book in hand, which he wouldn't let me pay for, and he practically shoved me out the door."

"And you just took this tome? You didn't ask questions?"

"Well, no. It was a book. A free book."

"A store giving out free books?"

"I know. Not exactly the best business practice and I tried to hand it back, but he insisted I keep it."

"And you have no idea who he was?"

"No." She could tell the hunk was skeptical. She couldn't blame him. It did sound kind of farfetched.

"Continue with your tale, starting with how you believe this book brought you here."

"That's just it, I don't know. All I did was read it and poof, here I was."

"It can't be that simple," he mused, not relenting in his grip.

"I know it sounds weird, but it's true. And trust me when I say it's a first. I mean, I work for the local library and in all my years, I've never had that happen before." She offered a timid smile.

He still glared. "You work for a library?"

"I do. As a matter of fact, I'm the head librarian. You can even check me out online! We're on the net now," she babbled, talking quickly in an attempt to answer all his questions and placate him. Being lowered to stand on her own two feet would be nice too.

As he stood there listening to her, his expression went from harsh to sneering. "A librarian! Of all the people to show up finally in this cursed place, I get a curator." He snorted. "Useless."

Instead of dropping her as she feared, he lowered her gently down. She felt momentarily grateful until she realized by his tone and words he disparaged her profession. Well, she'd just set him straight.

"Hey," she said rubbing her arms, a sullen pout on her face. "I'll have you know that being a librarian is very, um - " Samantha paused for a moment trying to think of a word to describe her job that didn't sound boring - she didn't think he'd fall for dangerous. "Educational." Even as she said it she winced. Lame!

Apparently, he thought so too, judging by his incredulous countenance. "Are you for real?"

"I am, the question is, are you?" Ridiculous, of course. Just like this conversation. Her hallucination had taken a wild turn, an exciting one, but still, if she was going to conjure up the hunk of all hunks, did he have to be such a jerk?

Snorting again, he shook his head as he grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like stupid ditzy woman. Pivoting on a heel, he walked away, heading toward a well-worn path leading into the jungle beyond the village. With his broad back receding quickly, Samantha shot a quick sidelong glance at the quiet Martians who had watched their exchange. She made a snap decision and went stumbling after him.

"Hey, wait a second! Where are you going? You can't just leave me here."

"I can and am," he replied without slowing his pace.

"But - But - I don't even know where we are. Or how to get back," she cried. Sure, she'd eventually wake up, but in the meantime, it seemed she was stuck in this vivid dream.

So vivid, she even felt pain.

The narrow dirt track stung her bare feet as she tripped along behind him. She had almost caught up when he turned around suddenly and stopped her with a look.

"Would you stop following me? I have no interest in listening to any more of your lies."

"Lies? But I've told you nothing but the truth."

"I highly doubt that."

"Why are you so mean?"

"I'm mean? Why don't you talk to your mistress about cruelty? She's the one who placed me here, so unless you're here to let me go, bugger off."

"But that's just it. No one sent me. Why won't you believe me? This is the stupidest dream. I just want to wake up."

"Dream? You call this nightmare a dream?"

"Fine. Product of my imagination. Hallucination."

"I only wish this were a mirage that I could dissipate," he said in a bitter tone.

"Then help me. If I wake up, this ends."

"And what if you're not sleeping? If this is real?"

She wrapped her arms around her wet body and shivered in her damp clothes. A knot formed in her throat as tears clogged it. "If this is real, then I have no idea where I am, or how to get home, and that's really scary." Where she found the courage to speak to him so forthrightly she didn't know. Yet dare she did, her usual shyness not making her stammer or duck her head as she usually would. Something about him sparked her courageous side.

He sighed. "Oh, by the Higher Powers. Why me? First off, I'm real, you're real, this place is real. You are not dreaming. Neither of us are."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

She bit her trembling lower lip. "So what am I doing here and how do I get home?" Something about the situation nagged at her, but she ignored for it now in favor of getting answers.

"That is the question. Until we discover the answer, I guess you'll have to come along with me. But - " His expression turned from exasperated to dark in an instant. "I'll warn you now that you'd better not be lying to me about who you are or why you are here. I don't like traitors."

"I swear I'm not lying to you." For good measure she held her hand over her heart. "Scout's honor."

Gazing at her oddly, as if he didn't understand what she meant by that, he motioned for her to follow. Samantha tried to keep up, really she did, however, with his long-legged pace and her bare feet - not to mention shivering on a rocky uphill path - it wasn't long before disaster struck. Stepping on a particularly sharp stone, she yelped and wrenched her foot which set her teetering. Being naturally klutzy, of course she fell, face first, into the dirt. Could this day get any better?

Squinting through her bedraggled hair, she saw his black booted feet turn around. Anxious not to embarrass herself any further, she tried to get into a sitting position. It didn't work out so well. Somehow, she got tangled in her robe and landed on her chin. Ouch!

Smelly, wet strands of hair plastered against her face, making it impossible to see, and to her horror, she felt tears spill. This is so unfair. Why was she always so clumsy?

With a loud sigh, he grabbed her with his big hands and pulled her upright. He didn't stop there. He swept her up into his arms and resumed his trek along the uphill path effortlessly.

Finally, a perk to this stupid dream. She moved all her hair out of her face and blinked back tears. Despite his assertion, she refused to believe this was real. People did not just magically teleport to islands with handsome guys.

Dream or not, she planned to enjoy the moment though. This is much more like it. She snuggled against him. God, he felt nice, and he smelled delicious and sexy and. . . He wasn't real. It was her turn to sigh. Hearing it, he peered down at her briefly, but she ducked her head to avoid his scrutiny.

When they'd gone some ways up the trail, feeling a little guilty, she pushed at her glasses and said, "Thank you. I'm feeling fine now. Really. You can put me down if you want."

"You're welcome, and no, I think it would be safer for all involved if you stayed where you are," he replied with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

Samantha gave an internal hurray. She hadn't really wanted him to put her down, but it seemed like the polite thing to say. And he was right, it was probably safer this way.

"Um, I hate to be a bug, but can you tell me where we are and who you are? My name is Samantha by the way, Samantha Jones."

"I am Sinclair Griffonaire, and I am, or was, a white wizard for the High Council and this island we are on is my cursed prison."

"A wizard?" She giggled, really, this was too much. "Oh boy, have I been reading way too much fiction lately. Wow, I never knew I had a secret yen for wizards, though. It has to be that whack on my head from when I fell reading that book."

Sinclair looked down at her frowning. "What are you babbling about? I thought we ascertained this was no hallucination. I'm starting to seriously think about dumping you back on the beach, woman."

"No you won't," she stated confidently. "I know this might be a shock to you, but you're a figment of my imagination and as such, ultimately you'll do whatever my subconscious wants you to do, even if you think you're doing it, it'll be me actually controlling it." She trailed off as his eyes got bigger and bigger.

A rumble from his chest made her realize he laughed at her. "Oh, this is good. I can assure you that I am certainly not a figment of anyone's imagination. And when I do something, it will be because I choose to," he emphasized. "As for my being a wizard, I don't see the humor. I studied for many years and had to go through some rigorous training before I ascended to my rank."

"Training to do what? Wiggle your fingers and shout abracadabra?" Samantha giggled again, then bit her lip trying to stifle another as she imagined this gorgeous man in black robes covered in moons and stars, waving his arms, chanting and prancing about trying to do magic. The mental image it invoked was too hilarious, though. She lost the battle and snorted.

He didn't bother responding this time to her mirth. He carried her in silence and she wondered if she'd offended him. Apparently he'd been thinking, because when he spoke again, he asked her a question. "Don't you have wizards in your part of the Realm?"

"What realm? I'm from Canada, where wizards don't exist, well, they do but they're called magicians and they use illusion and trickery to entertain crowds. Everyone knows magic isn't real, which is how I know all this isn't real, although I have to say this is definitely the most entertaining dream I've ever had," she replied.

"Canada? I've never heard of this town. Where is it situated?"

"Town? Canada's a country." His blank look made her continue. "Oh come on, what are you, European? Canada's the big country right above the United States. Surely even you know where the USA is?"

Sinclair's eyes widened as he listened, and when he spoke, his voice held an element of wonder. "Impossible. By your words, if what you say is true, then you come from beyond the Boundary, but that makes your being here even more unlikely."

"Why?"

"Because there is no magic outside the Realm."

"Well, duh. Didn't I just say that?"

He chuckled, a low laugh punctuated by his head shaking lightly. "Sorry to tell you this, Samantha, but I can definitely assure you that you are no longer in this Canada place. Welcome to the Realm, where magic is real and wizards do exist. I think it's safe to say that you and I have much to discuss, starting with how you, a person with no access to esoteric forces, was able to penetrate the curse that surrounds this island."

Samantha wanted to ask him to explain more about the Realm, magic and even her little green friends from the beach, but they'd arrived at the stone castle she'd seen from the water, and he let her down in the cobblestone courtyard in front. Samantha started shivering in her wet robe, the loss of his warm body making her aware once again of her own damp situation.

"Welcome to my home." He swept his arm towards the castle. "Your temporary abode as well while we clear up the mystery of your appearance. My servant will show you to a room where you may bathe and change. We will speak again in a short while." And with that he strode through the front door away from her.

What a high-handed jerk! Giving her orders like she was his chattel. She had half a mind to march back down to the beach just out of spite. But hadn't he said something about bathing? Hmm, toothy green Martians or arrogant, handsome jerk with bath? The bath won.

Entering through the double front door, she found herself inside a large entranceway with doorways off to either side and a grand staircase in front of her. Another of the green Martians appeared, this one dressed in half pants. In halting English it said, "If Miss please, me follow." Having said that, he offered her a toothy grin and went up the stairs, beckoning her.

Samantha followed more slowly, trying to take in the details of the castle. The stark walls around her had no pictures of any kind nor were there any decorations, just unadorned dark grey stone. Boring - someone was in dire need of a decorator.

The staircase wound up and up until they reached a wide corridor with doors leading off on both sides. The creature went to a nondescript portal in the center and opened it, and motioned at her. Samantha went in and glanced around.

Talk about big. The room was probably larger than her whole apartment, with ten-foot high ceilings and a large, bare-of-curtain window. For furniture, a huge, dusty looking four poster bed along with a night stand filled some of the space, but nothing else. Wow, did this castle need a make-over, even a little color would go a long way.

The little Martian went to a wall and pushed a black protrusion. Silently, a section of the wall slid sideways, a pocket door set in stone. How cool.

"Bath, Miss, here is," he said with a pointy grin.

"Thank you. My name is Samantha by the way. What's your name?" she asked, remembering her manners.

"Kaar am I." Out puffed his scaled green chest.

She smiled. "Thank you, Kaar. " But now what?

As if he'd read her mind. "Clothes, get I." He scurried out of the room closing the bedroom door behind him.

Alone, Samantha prowled the chamber, but not seeing anything interesting wandered into the bathroom, pleasantly surprised to see a large claw foot bath and an old-fashioned toilet with the tank high above and a chain to pull for flushing. At least she wouldn't have to pee in a pot.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the washbasin and grimaced. What a fright! Her hair closely resembled that of a bird's nest and her face was filthier than a puppy who'd discovered dirt. Sniffing the air, she gagged, realizing that the pungent fishy smell emanated from her. Gross! Apparently her robe had absorbed a lot more than just water.

Eying the bath, which had a colored stone above the spout and nothing else, Samantha remembered how Kaar had opened the door. Pushing on the colored stone, she laughed in pleasure when warm water began gushing into the tub. Hot water! She peeked at the open bathroom door but couldn't see a mechanism to close it. She really wanted to wash the grime of the sea and sand off, as well as the dirt all over her face, but Kaar had said he'd back with clothes. What to do?

Samantha wasn't the exhibitionist type, but this was a dream, right? And Kaar didn't actually exist and she really, really wanted a bath. Taking a deep breath, she quickly stripped off her wet clothes before she changed her mind, and climbed quickly into the tub, sinking blissfully into the warm water. Oh God this feels so good. A nice deep bathtub is so much better than that skinny shower stall of mine. She sighed in sheer pleasure.

Taking off her glasses, she gave them a rinse before placing them beside the tub. Then, reaching up, she pulled out what remained of the pins holding up her hair so that it tumbled around her shoulders in a tangled, wet mess. What she wouldn't give for a gallon of hair conditioner right now. Looking around, she did find some soap nestled in a tiny alcove beside the bath. Grabbing it, she vigorously scrubbed herself, getting all the salt water and grime off until she her skin shone pink and clean. Her hair was another matter though. She used the soap on it and rinsed it as best as she could under the tap.

While the warm water felt great, and she'd managed to get clean, she had to admit her curiosity made it hard to sit still. Who knew when she'd wake up from this fascinating dream? Peeking around, she realized she couldn't see a towel. Dumb! Why on earth hadn't she checked before jumping in? She stood up in the bath, the water streaming off her body and peered myopically around for a towel. A rustling sound in the doorway had her whipping around expecting to see Kaar. But no, to her intense mortification, she wasn't blind enough to miss seeing Sinclair in the doorway, his eyes roving over her nude body. Without her glasses, she couldn't be sure, but could that be appreciation she saw in his expression? Hmm. . . could be. It was her dream after all.

But if it wasn't a dream? Samantha felt herself go pink and dropped down into the water again. Sinclair chuckled, a low throaty sound that made her stomach turn over and her body tingle.

"Get out," she squeaked, feeling the burn in her cheeks. The water didn't quite cover her so she slapped her hands over her boobs only to realize her kitty was still in plain view. Why wouldn't he leave? Or at least turn around? It's what a true gentleman would do, the jerk.

"I came across Kaar on his way back up with these things and brought them for you," he said holding up a towel and some dry clothing. She didn't appreciate the amused gleam in his eyes as he watched her contorting in the tub. Hiking her knees up and crossing her arms over her chest, she finally managed to hide all her pertinent body parts.

A dimple appeared in his cheek as he grinned, and what an amazing transformation. He went from the handsome haughty ass she'd met down in the village, to a very attractive, boyish looking man. What a shame he was a cad!

"Okay, you've brought me the stuff, so could you please get out now?" she asked, hating the pleading tone in her voice.

"I'll leave the clothes on the bed." He draped the towel over a hook on the wall next to the tub. "Kaar will return in a short while to guide you to the library. I'm looking forward to our talk." And without a word of apology for barging in, and one last lingering look and smile, he left.

Samantha sat in the tub fuming for a second. The nerve of the man, coming in here like that and then staring at me like some kind of delectable treat! At that thought, warmth sputtered to life between her thighs, a heat which rose in temperature as she wondered how he kissed. She sat up straight in shock. Kiss! Oh please tell me I'm not attracted to that overbearing ass? Sure he was handsome, but, his general demeanor left a lot to be desired. Tell that to her libido. Just the thought of his dark eyes drinking in her naked body had her n*****s tightening and a tingling heat spreading through her lower regions.

Shaking her head in disbelief at her body's reaction, she jumped out of the tub and grabbed the towel he'd left behind. She vigorously toweled herself dry and then picked up the clothing he'd left her, almost laughing aloud. The clothing turned out to be rather old fashioned with a thin, white, sleeveless linen chemise that fell to mid thigh, and a woman's gown in a pale green that laced up the front with short cap sleeves, tight waist, and a long, loose skirt. It took a little figuring out, but she wiggled into it. It proved a tad tight in the bodice and hips but at least she felt decent again, ready to go face the lord of this castle. No shoes accompanied the garb, though, so she remained barefoot. Thank God for the warm climate or her feet would freeze on all the stone floors.

Once dressed, she perched her large glasses on her nose. It was then she spotted with delighted a silver brush and comb set sitting on the night stand. She used first the brush, then when that proved useless, the comb, to try and free up the tangles in her long, damp hair. After wincing and cursing and finally yanking out a hopelessly snarled tuft or two, Samantha was satisfied. With the brush, she gave her hair a final smoothing, but attempting to pin it back up in its usual bun proved to be a lost cause as most of her pins had gone for a swim.

Ignoring her mother's voice in her head, she left her hair down, its tips almost touching her waist. It felt nice not to have all that weight pulling on her head nor the pinch of pins trying to hold it up. She'd just have to make sure she stayed away from any machinery, she thought, patting her short spot.

As she waited for Kaar to return, Samantha paced. Is it possible I'm not dreaming? She really had to wonder. Even with all the books she'd read, could she really have imagined all this? The details, the creatures, the situation. And what about Sinclair? Her mind didn't have the guts or imagination to create him. However, if this was real, then why had she been brought here, and just who was this mysterious hunk with his talk of magic and prisons? Again, a stray thought nagged at her. Actually, I did read a book recently that might account for this. A book with a wizard by the same name as her host who ended up stranded on an island. Is this part two of his story?

A knock at the door ended her musings. Opening it, she saw Kaar waiting there with his toothy grin. He beckoned and she followed him back downstairs through an archway into the coolest looking library she had ever seen.

Nestled on the ground floor within one of the castle's fat turrets, the library resembled something out of a show for the rich and famous with its vaulted ceiling crisscrossed with thick black beams. The bookshelves, carved out of dark wood, stretched floor to ceiling, curving around the room following the rounded shape of the turret. Ladders on runners gave access to the higher shelves while three, large, evenly spaced porthole windows let in lots of natural light, making the room airy and bright. And the books - hundreds of books of varying sizes, colors and textures lined the many shelves, and still there remained a lot of space to expand. The books themselves, when she wandered close, actually reminded her of the little book shop where she'd found the black diary that got her into this mess. The strange titles hinted at magic, like one titled 101 Uses for Unicorn Horn and another called The Arte of Wizardry.

While she would have loved to spend more time perusing this fascinating collection, she couldn't avoid the master of this castle forever, no matter how embarrassed she still felt at the naked incident. Turning and taking a deep breath, she faced the center of the room where there were several comfortable chairs placed around a large oval table. Seated there, staring with an enigmatic expression was Sinclair.

She tugged at the skirt of the gown nervously. "Um, thank you for the clothing," she said when he didn't speak. She suppressed an urge to kick herself. Why do I sound like such an i***t whenever I talk to him?

"You're most welcome," he replied, the hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth.

Samantha's tummy gave a little flip. Stop that right now, she warned it. Feeling nervous and a little afraid to get closer, she wandered around the outer edge of the library, pretending interest in the books. She almost jumped out of her skin when his voice whispered softly beside her ear.

"What are you looking for, Samantha?"

She whipped around to confront him, only to find him still seated casually in the center of the room. At her look, he raised one eyebrow.

"I - ," she halted. "You. . . Okay, I don't know how you did that, but don't do it again. That was freaky."

He just smiled at her, lounging back in his chair, completely at ease.

"And could you please not look at me like that?"

"Like what?" he drawled, a faint dimple appearing in one cheek.

Like you're going to eat me, she thought, but said a little tersely instead, "As if you're laughing at me!"

At her defiant words he rose and approached. Samantha backed up to keep her distance. The bookcase behind her halted her attempt. He reached her and placed a hand on either side of her shoulders. As he leaned toward her, his face hovering only inches from hers, she felt his breath when he spoke, and shivered.

"Oh, I am most definitely not laughing," he said, his tone serious, his gaze intent.

Flustered by his intense scrutiny, she glanced away, but she could still feel him there. Feel the heat radiating from his body. His intense presence. Her insides warmed - almost burned - and her pulse quickened. She fought an urge to lean into him. Ducking under his arm, she stepped away. She couldn't think coherently when he stood that close.

"So, um, any ideas on why or how I got here?" she asked, pretending to study the books again.

"Some," he replied, "but I'd like to hear what happened to you first before I form any conclusions. Come here." He took her by the arm and guided her to one of the chairs by the table. "Sit. This may be a long discussion. Might as well be comfortable."

Not another talk. After the first one down by the beach, she wasn't sure she wanted a second round. But she doubted she had a choice. Samantha sat gingerly on the chair, hands clasped in her lap, head ducked down so her hair covered part of her face. He sat across from her, his knees brushing hers. Samantha shifted her legs sideways. Touching him, even slightly, distracted her way too much and she needed all her wits.

"I would like to know more about this book you were reading, the one you say brought you here."

Thankful to have something to talk about, Samantha started recounting her encounter with the shopkeeper, the words tumbling out in a rush. She told him what the odd man had said about someone named Chance wanting her to have the book, how she'd taken it home and read it. "The entire thing seemed just plain weird. Even my accepting it. I mean, I never take gifts from strangers. My mother raised me very conservatively." Samantha could still hear her quoting her rules on proper behavior, "Never accept anything from a stranger. Charity is for lazy people." And on and on. Samantha often wondered if her mother had been raised in another century. Many of her etiquette rules seemed straight out of the eighteen hundreds.

"Go on," he said bringing her back on track.

Peeking up at him while recounting her unbelievable story, she caught him staring at her avidly, hunched forward, elbows on his knees. Meeting his eyes briefly, she flushed and ducked her head again to continue her tale. She no sooner began telling him about the book's story about the wizard when Sinclair suddenly jumped up and pulled her roughly out of the chair.

"Who told you that story? Just who are you, and why are you here?" His hands gripped her arms painfully.

"Ow! Let go. Geez, it was just a silly story about some wizard guy who. . ." Looking at him, she recalled her earlier musings and put two and two together. "Duh!" she almost shouted. If she'd had her arms loose she would have smacked herself in the forehead for being so dense. "That book was about you, wasn't it? You're the wizard from the story! "

Sinclair growled in reply. He let go of her abruptly and paced, his body tight with fury.

Ooh, someone has anger issues. Then again, I can't really blame him, not after what his fiancŽe did to him. "Did you want me to tell you the rest or not?" she asked as her eyes tracked his back and forth trek. She didn't want to piss him off further. He already appeared like a black thundercloud ready to explode.

He stopped and glared at her. "I think I know how the story goes."

"Don't get mad at me. I didn't write it. I just read it. I'm sorry, I guess it's got to be kind of embarrassing to have something like that published for the whole world to see," she blabbered nervously, pushing up her glasses.

"Silence!" he shouted, his teasing smile gone. The harsh man from the village had returned. "By the Higher Powers, must you prattle on about this? I know you didn't write it and I most definitely never chronicled the most humiliating and humbling experience in my life. Yet, I also can't see who would know enough details to do so other than Melisante." At her puzzled look he said, "Melisante is the sorceress who placed this curse upon me, and believe me, she is not the type to sit down and write about it. I highly doubt any mortal wrote that book. It's obvious - someone or something is meddling here."

"But I still don't understand what that has to do with me," said Samantha. "The man in the shop said the book was meant for me. That some Chance person wanted me to have it, whatever that means. But who is Chance and why on earth would he think I'd want to read about you? I mean," she stammered realizing that sounded really rude. "I'm sure you're a nice guy, but I'm just me, Samantha Jones, small town librarian and book-lover. It's not as if there's anything special about me." By the sounds of it, Sinclair needed a real heroine. What bad luck he got stuck with her.

When he said nothing, she peeked at him and caught him frowning. No real surprise. She quickly ducked her ahead again waiting for another outburst, but when he spoke, he did so softly.

"I am not mad at you, just this whole situation in general. I do not understand why the god of Chance has sent you here to join me in my exile. It would seem that the Higher Powers are at work here, but as usual, they cannot be direct."

"The god of Chance? Don't tell me you believe in deities?"

"And you don't?"

"Don't get me wrong. I think there's probably some basis to the whole God thing. I mean, there are too many religions for me to completely dismiss the possibility. But more than one? That's kind of farfetched."

"What a fascinating world you must live in if you don't have to deal with shenanigans. Here, they enjoy playing with mortal lives. Think of them as puppet-masters, pulling strings so we will dance to their tune."

"And you believe, this god of Chance is playing with you?" Someone needed a tin foil hat.

"Him or some other higher power. Unfortunately, they never reveal their plans. It is up to us to figure out what your role is. If the gods indeed maneuvered to bring you here, then I suspect you are somehow supposed to help me."

"Me? Help you?" She peeked at him with incredulous eyes. "But I don't know any magic. I can't even cook. How am I supposed to help you? And for heaven's sake, who is this god of Chance? You talk about him like he's some kind of omnipotent being or god. If he's playing some kind of game with you, then why don't you tell him to leave you alone?"

Sinclair didn't reply for a minute, his face pensive in thought.

"How little you know. Chance, to answer your question is a Higher Power. One of many in the Realm. Telling him to cease meddling in my affairs would be like telling the sun to not rise. His involvement, however, means I now have hope. As for what your role may be, we will have to wait until things become clearer. In the meantime, though, I have a task for you."

"A job?"

"Indeed. One well suited to a person of your talents. I find myself in a quandary. I have access to all these tomes, however, the previous owner was not very organized. I wonder if perhaps you would tackle the chore of cataloguing as well as do some research for me?"

"Let me get this straight. You mean you want me to read and organize books?" she asked slowly, trying hard to contain her glee.

He nodded. Samantha smiled widely. Gee, a chance to read books and hang out with a real hottie in a tropical paradise. I must have died and gone to heaven.

"A research assistant," she said. "This makes total sense now. That Chance guy sent me to help you find a way to escape. Oh wow, this is going to be great. I am a super fast reader and in college my professor always used to say my research was overly thorough. When do we start? What am I looking for?"

At her rapid, exuberant onslaught, he reeled slightly, his face stunned. "I'm glad you like the idea and I appreciate your enthusiasm. Tell you what," he said, walking backwards towards the door. "We'll discuss it over lunch which I'll have my cook prepare for us shortly. Why don't you get acquainted with the castle while I talk to the chef."

Samantha nodded happily and kept smiling as she watched his tight butt flex as he strode out the door. Hard to tell which view she enjoyed more - front or back.

Stop it, she told herself. They were now partners, or maybe employer and employee, and while he certainly held the title of sexiest partner she'd ever been paired with, her libido would have to stay quiet so they could get the job done. He counted on her to help him. So, no more inappropriate thoughts. With this stern admonition to herself she wandered around the library again, the cataloguer in her emerging as she studied the books and their titles more closely. She'd have to ask him about writing implements so she could take notes.

Wandering out into the hall, she took advantage of his suggestion to check out her new, temporary home. Crossing the tiled entrance floor, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She whipped around to look. No one was there, just a mirror showing her own startled reflection. Still, the itch between her shoulder blades made her jump at every shadow.

Is the castle haunted? It was certainly old, and judging by what she'd seen so far, ghosts did not seem impossible. Or she could blame the chill and sensation of someone watching on her overactive imagination.

Nothing moved or shouted boo. Shrugging off her unease, she continued her exploration, starting with the room across the hall. It turned out to be some kind of living room, or as such rooms were called in historical romance books, a parlor. It was huge with large windows that overlooked the front courtyard area of the castle offering a beautiful view of the jungle with its brilliant blooms and vivid green foliage. A large, overstuffed, burgundy sofa sat against one wall. A matching love seat sat across from it, while a white mantled fireplace with four wing chairs placed in a semi circle in front, offered additional seating. Over the fireplace hung an oval silver mirror, its frame etched with a pattern of vines and leaves. Other than those few items, the room appeared bare. Impersonal. The usual knickknacks and clutter that most homes accumulated in their main living space not in evidence.

This room definitely needed a woman's touch. A patterned rug on the floor to cut the cold stone, some bright prints on the wall and fresh flowers, lots and lots of bright jungle blooms to give warmth to this sterile space. Samantha mentally kicked herself. Why did she care if he lived in starkness? She hadn't come here to redecorate, much as she itched to.

Having looked her fill, she turned around to exit the room and again caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of her eye. Whipping around, once more she confronted nothing other than her own reflection in the large mirror above the mantel. Great, my own reflection creeps me out.

Leaving the parlor, she stood in the center of the main hallway trying to decide which room to explore next. A loud TWANG, sounded from above. Glancing up, she saw something big hurtling down right at her! And like an i***t she just stood there, like a deer frozen in headlights, gaping at it.