His Lost Mate (A Steamy Paranormal Romance Novel) Read Free

menacing shadows over the face. A large square nose, a straight slit for a mouth and two circular shapes for ears completed the form. Amazing. The sculpture was probably over a thousand years old. She imagined an old man with calloused hands chiseling the stone into the beautiful carving and wondered what the carver would say if he had known his creation would be admired by archaeology students centuries later.
    Lauren whistled. Her musical warbling echoed eerily. Now that she saw the carving, she was ready to leave the chamber and go out into the daylight. As she turned away from the carved face to walk back to the entrance, she felt the whisper of a breeze. She froze, wondering where the draft came from. Then something brushed her shoulder.
    It felt like a hand.
    Lauren cried out, spun around and jerked the light back and forth.
    Nothing. No one was there. The small pool of light offered little reassurance. She listened but heard nothing. Swearing, she scolded herself for getting spooked and imagining things.
    She continued down the tunnel toward the entrance. It couldn’t be much farther. Again she strained to hear movement or breathing, but only heard the sound of her footsteps. A chill skittered up her spine and raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Shouldn’t she be able to see the light from the entrance by now?
    Then she heard a man’s voice next to her ear.
    “Cimi,” he whispered.
    Lauren screamed and stumbled over the uneven surface of the floor as she scrambled down the tunnel. This time she heard his footsteps and what sounded like beads clinking together.
    Then he touched her arm.
    She jerked away, dropped her flashlight, shattering the bulb. Darkness engulfed her.
    * * *
    Dr. Chandler watched Justin and Kyle as the two young men clad in hiking boots, T-shirts and jeans wandered around the base of the massive pyramid and headed toward a trail that led into the jungle. “Gentlemen, stick around. We’ll be heading back soon.”
    The two men stopped and spun around.
    “The ruins are wicked, Dr. Chandler,” Justin said.
    “Can we check out the view from the top?” Kyle asked.
    Dr. Chandler waved them on as the two young men scrambled up the steep steps of the pyramid.
    Pacing outside the burial chamber, Dr. Chandler contemplated the uncertainty of the excavation at El Zotz. He couldn’t afford to shut down the field school now. The students depended on him and he hoped he wouldn’t disappoint them.
    Besides the academic advantages of the field school, the project offered valuable data for his research. El Zotz might hold the key for proving his theory on what caused the Mayan civilization to disappear. He was close, he knew it. For the benefit of the university, his career and also for his parents and all the sacrifices they made for him, he felt obligated to make a great discovery.
    If he could prove his theory, unlimited funds would surface and he wouldn’t have to depend on his main source of funding—Charles Bradford, president of the Harvard Peabody Museum board of directors.
    Along the edge of the Great Plaza, the size of a football field, Deven noticed Sylvia Bradford, the curator of the Peabody Museum, standing in front of a stela, a seven-foot tombstone-shaped carving. She flipped open a sketchpad and started drawing with long swift stokes the eroded image of a god or ancient ruler. Tight-fitting white shorts and a green tank top drew attention to her very slim, almost too slim, figure. Her long brown hair swayed in the breeze.
    According to Sylvia, the camera didn’t capture the intricate details that her drawings could. She preferred to do both for her museum’s documentation.
    “How are you coming along with the drawings?” Deven asked.
    “Very well, Dr. Chandler.”
    “Dr. Chandler? Why so formal today?” he asked.
    She shrugged a shoulder. “So what do you think?” She held up her pad.
    Deven studied the drawing for a moment. “Nice representation.”
    “Thank you.” She