Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) by Audrey Godwin

little sign kept digging into her mind, reminding her she’d heard it before—somewhere. She could hear the words, even see the lips moving. If she hadn’t heard it from the men in front of Cheney’s Market, where—
    All at once she thrust herself forward, abruptly sitting up in the wobbly swing. It came to her. She knew. He had said it. The man in her dream. They were out on the ridge and even now she could hear the shriek of the wind, feel the sea spray on her face, and the warmth of his cape as he enfolded her inside. She closed her eyes, hearing the echoing voices whirl in her mind.
    Where am I…am I…am I…
    You're on Cat's Paw…Cat’s Paw…Cat’s Paw…
    Slowly her eyes opened, and she looked back at the tattered little sign asking herself, What did Cat’s Paw and her dream man have in common? The porch swing gave off an eerie squeak as she stood, her eyes narrowing on the little sign.
    “Cat’s Paw,” she murmured. Of course. The words must have come to her in her dream because she’d read them on the sign. After all, she saw the little sign every time she stepped out of her house. Why wouldn’t she dream it? While in the shade of her porch, she saw the fuzzy, early morning sun coming up, its blurred brightness laying a carpet of gold along the road, and tipping the trees and bushes with its incredible beauty. As usual, it seemed to purposely skip the little road, leaving it in its eternal shade.
    Looking at the road that taunted her, she wondered why she felt so determined to kill this dragon. She was itching to see what was up there all right, but she didn’t know why. Maybe it was because of all the rumors she’d heard, a new plot for a book, or maybe it was just plain old curiosity. So what if she did go up there? What would she find?
    At the most—a boneyard and an old hermit.
    At the least—nothing but a winding old road.
    One thing she kept asking herself was, if no one ever came back, how could anyone know what was up there? Like they say, a dead man can’t tell tales. That alone seemed to prove that it was only rumor. If there was something up there, whatever or whoever it was wasn’t bothering her, so why would she want to bother them? Just because a few snuff-sucking old men threw down a challenge? They didn’t know what they were doing.
    They didn’t know her.
    Time’s a-wastin’, she finally thought, and quickly turned, slammed through the front door, ran upstairs, and threw on her jogging suit.
    A short time later she stepped out on the porch, her writer’s curiosity pumping through her veins. Was she being foolish? Would any sane person do what she was about to do after the stories she had heard? Maybe not, but nothing would make her turn back now.
    No gossip—no rumors—no horror stories—nothing.
    In a way, she was excited and couldn't wait, but as she hesitantly walked toward it, apprehension reared its ugly head, giving her nerves a workout. Determined not to let it stop her, she kept walking—away from her cozy little world—and into another.
    Stepping over what seemed to be an imaginary boundary line between the normal world and this strange little road was like stepping over into the Twilight Zone. As she looked around at the dim wilderness, she felt the little road’s chilling welcome, and knew she would not be forgiven for intruding on this evil little patch of obscurity. If she was smart, she would turn back before she ever took a step, but instead she looked up into the wild mass of tangled trees and found herself surrounded by a heavy gloom that strangely embraced her like an eerie dream.
    The little road seemed narrow because of tree limbs that hung heavily over the path, forming a rustic passage into the unknown. As she began the long-awaited trek, she looked up the trail as far as she could see and noticed that it wound crazily up through the jungle of trees. The deeper she went, the darker it got. The strange looking trunks leaned in every direction with