shadowland Read online

  Synopsis

  In a world on the far edge of desire, two women are drawn together by power, passion, and dark pleasures. When Kyle Kirk embarks on a daring exploration of her most secret fantasies, she finds that Dane, the stranger who guides her on the journey of self-discovery, awakens something far more dangerous than her senses. In the dark hours of the night, when passions rule and the barriers of convention are stripped away, both Dane and Kyle are forced to confront the true nature of what has long lain buried within their hearts.

  shadowland

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Praise for Radclyffe’s Fiction

  “…well-plotted…lovely romance…I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough!” – Ann Bannon, author of The Beebo Brinker Chronicles.

  “…well-honed storytelling skills…solid prose and sure-handedness of the narrative…” – Elizabeth Flynn, Lambda Book Report

  “…a thoughtful and thought-provoking tale…deftly handled in nuanced and textured prose that is both intelligent and deeply personal. The sex is exciting, the story is daring, the characters are well-developed and interesting – in short, Radclyffe has once again pulled together all the ingredients of a genuine page-turner…” – Cameron Abbott, author of To the Edge and An Inexpressible State of Grace

  “With ample angst, realistic and exciting medical emergencies, winsome secondary characters, and a sprinkling of humor…a terrific romance…one of the best I have read in the last three years. Highly recommended.” – Author Lori L. Lake, Book Reviewer for the Independent Gay Writer

  “Radclyffe employs…a lean, trim, and tight writing style…rich with meticulously developed characterizations and realistic dialogue…” – Arlene Germain, Lambda Book Report

  “…one writer who creates believably great characters that are just as strong as mainstream publishing’s Kay Scarpetta or Kinsey Milhone…If you’re looking for a great romance, read anything by Radclyffe.” – Sherry Stinson, editor, Outlook Press

  shadowland

  © 2004 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-250-4

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

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

  First Edition: March 2004

  Second Printing: October, 2004 Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  Third Printing: February, 2005 Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Executive Editor: Stacia Seaman

  Production Design: J. Barre Greystone

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Romances

  Innocent Hearts

  Love’s Melody Lost

  Love’s Tender Warriors

  Tomorrow’s Promise

  Love’s Masquerade

  shadowland

  Fated Love

  Turn Back Time

  Promising Hearts

  When Dreams Tremble

  The Lonely Hearts Club

  Night Call

  Secrets in the Stone

  The Provincetown Tales

  Safe Harbor

  Beyond the Breakwater

  Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

  Storms of Change

  Winds of Fortune

  Honor Series

  Above All, Honor

  Honor Bound

  Love & Honor

  Honor Guards

  Honor Reclaimed

  Honor Under Siege

  Word of Honor

  Justice Series

  A Matter of Trust (prequel)

  Shield of Justice

  In Pursuit of Justice

  Justice in the Shadows

  Justice Served

  Justice For All

  Erotic Interludes: Change of Pace

  (A Short Story Collection)

  Radical Encounters

  (A Erotic Short Story Collection)

  Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.

  Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments

  Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love

  Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions

  Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games

  Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery

  Acknowledgments

  This book exists solely because so many dedicated and persistent readers asked (perhaps insisted, begged, and bargained would be more truthful terms) that I expand the web version of shadowland for publication. The original story was conceived as a personal exploration of a subject that fascinated and intrigued me, and that, more importantly, challenged me to expand my vision of romantic love.

  Contrary to first appearances, this is very much a love story as well as an exploration of a particular form of erotic expression. I was fond of the characters and their passion with the initial telling, but it wasn’t until I delved more deeply into their lives during the revision process that I realized just how much this work means to me. Therefore, I must thank first and foremost those readers who believed in this work and who urged me to give it the attention it deserved.

  Stacia Seaman edited the manuscript with a sensitive understanding of how the story needed to be told, and my beta readers, Athos, Eva, Diane, Denise, JB, and Tomboy, provided me with constant encouragement, insight, and support. Their in? uence is evident on every page.

  Sheri was another of those true believers who always loved the story, and the cover is inspirational, even when measured against her always brilliant visions. Thank you so much for capturing the heart of the work with such elegance and power.

  Lee graciously accepted my absence, mentally and often physically, for almost six weeks while I revised the manuscript eight hours a day. There was supposed to be a vacation in there somewhere, but I think I might have missed it. Thank you, love, for always understanding what it is I need to do. Amo te.

  Radclyffe 2005

  Dedication

  For Lee,

  For the Adventure

  Chapter One

  The setting sun pulsed red where ocean and sky bled into one as the rider slowed the big bike and turned off the narrow, winding highway onto the overlook. She brought the motorcycle to a halt along the shoulder, well away from the few cars whose occupants had stopped to watch night eclipse day. With a long leg planted on either side of the heavy machine for support, she cut the engine, pulled off her helmet, and absently ran a hand through her dark, wavy hair as she stared out over the water. The rocky coastline far below, battered by plumes of angry surf, lay cast in half-shadows as the dying sun slipped away, leaving darkness in its wake. The steady rhythm of the waves breaking against the base of the cliff was unexpectedly soothing in a wild, untamed way. Odd, how something so violent can be so calming.

  She loved to ride this stretch of coastal highway, even though it was often crowded with sightseeing tourists who slowed the Harley’s progress. The road was demanding, and she could lose herself for miles in the steady drone of the engine and the hypnotic ribbon of macadam sliding beneath her headlights. While her conscious mind was occupied with the mechanics of driving, her unconscious thoughts came to the forefront, and often the solution emerged to some problem th
at she hadn’t even been aware was bothering her. When she’d described the phenomenon once to a friend, she’d been told it was a form of meditation. Maybe it was. She didn’t question the process; she rarely questioned the workings of her own mind, allowing instinct to guide her instead.

  Tonight had been different. She hadn’t lost herself in the challenge of maneuvering the twenty-mile ride filled with tight, tortuous turns, nor had she discovered the source of the simmering unrest that had plagued her for weeks. Always most comfortable with action, she found her present introspection unsatisfying and frustrating. Sighing softly, she reached into the left inside pocket of her leather jacket for her cigarettes. She fingered one out of the pack and held it lightly between her lips while she fished the black and gold lighter from the right front pocket of her tight black leather pants. The tiny flare of flame lit her features for an instant as she touched it to the tip of the cigarette. A chiseled profile, square chin, and straight, slightly high nose were highlighted briefly by the flickering orange glow. As the lighter snapped shut, the image disappeared, and her figure became a long, lean silhouette against the deepening sky.

  Kyle Kirk hunched her shoulders slightly against the cold wind blowing in from the sea and focused her gaze on the shifting shoreline where land and sea struggled endlessly for dominance in a war never won. With the roar of the surf so constant it verged on silence, all she could hear were her own questioning thoughts.

  What the hell am I doing out here tonight? And where am I going?

  It had been many weeks since she’d last made a Friday night journey into the city, seeking company in one club or another. She went for the comfort of women, for the irresistible sight and sound of them. For the mystery and wonder of them. More often than not, she returned home alone in the still, dark hours before dawn, her soul inexplicably soothed by the memories that clung to her during the long ride home. Sometimes, when she needed more than memories, she unlocked the second helmet she always carried on the side of her Harley and brought a woman home to fill the emptiness in both her body and her spirit for a few hours on either side of morning.

  Tonight, she hadn’t intended to go out at all, but as soon as she went into the house from her workshop, she had set about getting ready to go out again. Without considering her destination, she’d showered and donned a crisply ironed white shirt and black leather pants that encased her muscled thighs like soft, warm flesh. She tucked a slim leather wallet, contoured to her form from years of use, into her right rear pocket with her license and enough cash to last the weekend. A fresh pack of cigarettes went into the left inside pocket of her favorite leather jacket and the lighter into her pants. She pulled on the jacket and zipped it partway up as she headed through the kitchen. It was as she switched on the floodlights subtly tucked under the eaves of the house and carport that she realized she was setting out for the city. Still, she had driven twenty miles before she had allowed herself to think about why.

  For the last few days she’d been unsettled and short-tempered, and as she thought about it, she admitted that she hadn’t been herself for weeks. It wasn’t the solitude of her life that disturbed her—she’d grown used to that in the five years since her last serious relationship had ended. She had several good friends, which was more than most people could say, and work that she enjoyed. Her sex life was as fulfilling as she needed it to be. Not constant, perhaps, but she could have had more if she’d cared to. She didn’t. Recently, though, she’d become aware of an uneasy sense of dissatisfaction, as much emotional as physical, that threatened to disrupt the comfortable routine of her life. And what made it so frustrating was that she couldn’t define just what she wanted, or needed, or lacked.

  Kyle took a last drag from her cigarette and dropped the butt near the toe of her boot. Carefully she dug a little hole in the gravel of the turnoff and pushed the bit of trash into it. With her heavy black boot, she meticulously covered it with a small mound of stones and tamped it down flat again. Satisfied that no trace remained, she pulled her left leg up onto the curved tank of her black bike and rested her chin on her knee.

  As she sat, darkness slowly lowered a veil between her and the cars steadily streaming along behind on the highway. She slid her hand into her jacket pocket and removed a small folded square of paper. There wasn’t enough moonlight yet to read by, and she didn’t bother opening it. She already knew what it said.

  Leathers – Where women hold the power

  719 S. Van Nye

  The chain of events, so un-noteworthy at the time, that brought her to this place on this night had begun with a magazine she’d picked up as an afterthought in a women’s bookstore where she’d gone in search of the newest novel from her favorite author. Disappointed to discover that the book was still on order, she’d grabbed a few magazines at random rather than return home empty-handed. Once at home, stretched out in front of the fireplace with a brandy, she’d looked through her purchases. The cover of the second magazine immediately caught her attention.

  A woman, her bare back boldly scripted with a black Celtic tattoo between her shoulder blades, knelt with her forehead pressed to the thigh of another woman, who stood above her with legs spread wide and arms akimbo. A black leather vest, all the standing woman wore above tight leather pants, barely covered small, firm breasts. The faint swell of a phallus nestled in the curve of her thigh just millimeters from the supplicant’s cheek brought Kyle up short. As she stared at the image, her blood had raced hot, and a knot of arousal had fisted in her stomach. She’d imagined the feel of smooth leather, softened by the heat of flesh, sliding against her face, had seen herself press her lips to the subtle bulge restrained against a muscled thigh, had heard the distant groan of approval and need.

  Stunned by the unexpected beat of desire between her thighs and the first sweet rush of lust, wet and hard, she’d opened the cover with shaking hands to the first article. Quickly she discovered that the short stories, essays, and poems contained some of the most graphic erotica she had ever read. All of it, in one way or another, explored issues involving sexual power, and she’d been instantly captivated. She was no stranger to the allure of love between women. But those glimpses of the dark edges of desire had left her aroused and almost insatiably curious, as if she’d caught a glint of long-lost treasure only to have it quickly disappear. She’d read the magazine cover to cover and a few days later had gone back to the bookstore to pick up the two previous issues.

  And then she’d found the story that wouldn’t let her go.

  The Edge of Trust. She’d read it enough times that she knew every word.

  “Keep your eyes on me.”

  Silently, she swallowed and stared straight ahead at her lover, who was seated in the large leather chair ten feet in front of her. She had to look down slightly, not only because of her height, but because she was standing on a raised platform. She was also completely naked.

  Her lover, on the other hand, looked totally at ease in a turquoise silk shirt that was almost the same lustrous color as her eyes. The fact that it was unbuttoned its entire length and she was wearing nothing else appeared not to faze her. She reclined slightly in the depths of the soft cushions, her arms outstretched along the curved arms of the chair, her legs parted only enough to reveal a faint hint of dusty gold.

  Her lover waited until she met her gaze, until she was in her power, before she spoke again.

  “Restrain her.”

  Not knowing what to expect, she tried to keep breathing, to concentrate on the reassurance in her lover’s face, as another woman she couldn’t quite see moved quickly around her in the semidarkness. In a moment she found herself spread-eagled, arms and legs held out by wide, soft leather shackles attached to short chains which ran somewhere beyond her vision. A padded pole was at her back. Her lover was all she could see. When she shifted slightly, the chains grew taut. She was exposed, helpless. Her lover’s eyes were hot. She shivered almost imperceptibly with a combination of fear and the beginn
ings of arousal.

  “She has a beautiful body, doesn’t she?” her lover remarked almost clinically. “Run your hands over her—see for yourself.”

  Just as the stranger smoothed a hand over her torso and belly, she watched her lover flick the shirt off her chest and slide her fingers lovingly over her own breasts. Seeing her lover’s nipples stiffen, her stomach muscles twitched, first in surprise, then with quick jerks of excitement.

  She didn’t look at the stranger who touched her; only her lover mattered. She knew what that long taut body—that smooth, hot skin—felt like beneath her hands, and her clitoris stiffened at the sight of her lover sensuously circling her breasts, then stroking slowly down to her navel, hips lifting slightly to greet the touch. The bound woman leaned forward, unconsciously offering herself, all the while imagining her hands claiming her lover.

  Then her lover smiled, eyes dreamy but voice commanding. “Now her nipples.”

  “Oh!” she cried softly as fingers grasped, then twisted—first one, then the other. Her hips convulsed as the sensation shot ruthlessly between her legs. Moisture began to seep between her thighs. “Lover?” she questioned uncertainly, voice unsteady, as her body responded to the stranger’s manipulations. I can’t help it. It’s making me wet.

  “Squeeze harder,” her lover instructed huskily, both hands palming her breasts, pushing them together, fingers tugging the reddened nubs.