The Golden Key Chronicles: A Time Travel Romance (The Golden Key Series Book 1) Read online

  Books by AJ Nuest

  Fantasy Romance

  The Golden Key Chronicles

  Rowena’s Key

  Candra’s Freedom

  Caedmon’s Curse

  Braedric’s Bane

  The Golden Key Legacy

  A Furious Muse

  The Sacrifice

  A Wizard Rises

  A Time of Reckoning

  Romantic Suspense

  The Dirty Deeds Series

  Dirty Deeds

  Dirty Little Secrets

  Down and Dirty

  Contemporary Romance

  Jezebel’s Wish

  A Million Reasons (formerly titled She’s Got Dibs)

  The Golden Key Chronicles

  Complete Collection

  AJ Nuest

  eBOOK EDITION

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Publisher: Mystical Press

  The Golden Key Chronicles

  Copyright © 2017 by AJ Nuest

  Copyedits by Arial Burnz

  Cover by Flirtation Designs

  eBook Edition License Notes

  This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give or sell this e-book to anyone else. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, you are depriving the author of her rightful royalties. Please pay for your copy by visitingAJNuest.com to access current buy links. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except for small excerpts for review or media purposes.

  * * * * *

  This eBook is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, places, events or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  For LillyBelle

  Faery Princess of Love and Light

  Part 1—Rowena’s Key

  Chapter One

  What, in the name of all that was holy, had ever possessed her to buy such a butt-ugly armoire?

  Rowena stepped back, wading through bubble wrap and sheets of plastic strewn across her bedroom floor. Shaking her head, she propped her fists on her hips in disgust.

  Cracks split the wood nearly a quarter of an inch in several places. The legs were fuzzy with mildew and the back panel warped in a protruding bow. A hard knot of resentment built in her throat, and she gritted her teeth against the ache that had shown up ever since the delivery men had pulled to a stop outside her apartment building.

  Seriously. Was it really asking so much for just one piece? To own one tangible memory of the life she had lost? Apparently so, all thanks to her fathe—

  No. She slumped. She couldn’t blame him. Not this time. This time, the bad decisions lay solely on her.

  Snatching the glass of Pinot Grigio off her nightstand, she downed a generous swallow. Purchasing such a high-ticket item online—from a seller in England, no less—had to be one of the dumbest things she’d ever done. She was supposed to be the best antiques dealer in Chicago. She was renowned for having the sharpest eye in the business.

  So much for her cloying need for instant gratification. She huffed. Obsession was more like it.

  Six years, she’d been scouring the internet. Six years, tracking down every twig on her family tree. She scrunched her nose at the god-awful smell.

  Hanging anything inside would be out of the question. If “inside” even included a hanger rod. Twenty minutes in and, already, the lingering odor of a tainted campfire had her antsy for a hot bubble bath and a good scrub with her Loofah.

  Returning her wine to the nightstand, she closed the distance, twisted ornate brass handle and tugged.

  Nothing.

  Yep, that seemed pretty much par for the course.

  Grasping the handle with both hands, she braced her knee against the opposite panel and pulled only to get the same result.

  Perfect. She dusted the rusty flakes off her palms and swiped them along the thighs of her jeans. Oiling the hinges would be the first step. Hell, at this point she wasn’t above using a crowbar on the dumb thing. But she wasn’t about to traipse to her studio in freezing October rain only so she could end up at the doctor’s office for a heavy round of antibiotics. Whatever skeletons waited inside would just have to wait until tomorrow.

  Backing to the edge of her brass bed, she plopped to the mattress. The iron coils of the box spring groaned and squeaked in response. Ornate scrollwork edged the top of the armoire. At one time, the center oval had undoubtedly held a plaque of some kind. And based on the deep gouges carved into the wood, whatever had been originally affixed to the spot had been pried off with a sharp tool.

  Approaching the armoire a second time, she rose on tiptoe and swept her fingertip along the deep groove in the oval’s frame. Someone had probably been after the gold inlay that was generally used as decoration. To match the faded fleur de lis panel on each door.

  Or maybe…

  She smoothed two fingers to the center and pressed. An internal whirring sounded and a small hidden door sprang open, disguised by a square rosette above the top-left hinge.

  Thank God. She dropped to her heels. Hopefully, the eight grand she’d pulled out of her 401K wouldn’t be a complete loss, after all.

  Tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, she pushed the door back and reached inside, eyelids squeezed tight in case she stumbled across a spider web. Or, worse yet, the shriveled remains of a dead animal.

  Her fingers snagged on a heavy object, and she withdrew her hand to find a long gold chain ending in a thick brass key.

  Huh. Far as she could tell, the armoire didn’t have any locks. So, what the heck was this key for?

  Swinging the door closed, she returned to her bed and scooted back against the pillows, reclaiming her wineglass before flipping the key over and back in her palm.

  Three initials were crudely stamped along the side, and she bolted upright so fast, wine sloshed over the lip of her glass and splattered her white eyelet duvet.

  R—A—L… Rowena Analiese Lindstrom.

  Holy shit. She snapped her gaze to the armoire. What were the chances of that?

  Forget a crowbar. Excitement and a healthy dose of trepidation flooded her belly. First thing in the morning, she’d attack those doors with a chainsaw, if need be.

  * * * * *

  Old buildings settled all the time, and the one she lived in was no exception. That had to be the reason for the strange creak coming from the corner of her room.

  Rearranging the blankets around her shoulders, Rowena curled her fists into a tight ball under her chin. The ticker tape in her brain picked up where it had left off, right before she’d draped the key around her neck and flicked off the lights in hopes of getting some well-deserved sleep.

  Despite downing a second glass of wine, it seemed like hours had passed as she’d tossed and turned, her brain playing out one scenario after the next in some lame attempt at trying to explain the appearance of the key.


  Another creak broke the silence of her bedroom—longer and louder than the first. Her eyes popped open, and she frowned as the usual, comforting glow of the streetlight outside her bedroom window was stronger than normal.

  Oh, for God’s sake. Now what was the problem? She flipped to her other side and the chain tumbled to the opposite curve of her breast.

  The armoire door hung ajar, and she bolted to sitting over the way a thin brittle triangle of light spilled across her hardwood floor.

  An internal lighting mechanism? Somehow connected to the door? But electricity didn’t exist in the fifteenth century. And wait a second… She’d never plugged a cord into the outlet.

  Scrambling from under the blankets, she stood, heart racing and her jaw clenched. Okay. Either she was having the most vivid dream imaginable or someone was obviously trying to mess with her head. Sliding the heavy, silver hairbrush off her dresser, she silently crept forward. But if that were the case, they were about to get rude awakening. No one showed up in her bedroom without an invitation. Especially some creepy old dude she’d Skyped with from that estate sale in Kent.

  Lifting the brush over her shoulder, she reached for the door, curled her fingers around the edge and tossed it open.

  A large gilded mirror swung loose and slammed against the wood. Warm light flooded the room. Inside the frame, a man sprang up from a desk and stumbled back, arms flailing, and tripped over his upended chair.

  His black leather boots swept the glass, and he executed a backward roll on one shoulder, landing on both feet, knees bent in a crouch.

  Rowena extended her arms, shifting her weight and gripping the hairbrush like a loaded handgun. This was no mirror. More like a flat screen television or a computer monitor of some sort. The image so clear, there wasn’t the slightest drag in the feed or pixel in sight.

  The man held up his palm but he didn’t straighten, and his chest expanded and contracted in the same labored tempo as her own. “Whatever spell you intend to cast, witch, be first counseled I am a warrior prince of King Austiere’s realm, duly sworn and sheltered under Wizard Fandorn. Despoiling me constitutes an act of war.”

  Wait, what? “Despoiling you?”

  Dropping her arms, she screwed up her face in a grimace. Was that even a word? And what was he talking about, an act of war? Not to mention, no one had called her a witch since she’d tossed that lying, cheating, good-for-nothing Brad out on his ass five years ago.

  Her teeth met with a loud clack. A second later, she blinked and then sputtered.

  All right. That was just about enough. Exactly how dumb was she supposed to be? Tonight’s speed-dating video chat was courtesy of her acquisitions manager and best friend, Oliver…or so his business card said.

  Clamping her hand over her mouth, she looked toward the ceiling as her shoulders shook through a round of muffled laughter. Well, no wonder he’d been texting her every half hour, driving her nuts until the piece finally arrived. He’d set this whole thing on up purpose, hoping to force her out of her dry spell before it spanned a full decade.

  Wow. Talk about a swift kick in the pants to finalize her Match.com profile. Lowering her chin, she released another soft chuckle. For months, he’d been bugging her to get back on the horse. But, hands down, Ollie had really outdone himself this time.

  Wherever the broadcast was coming from, what appeared to be authentic animal skins lined the gray, slate floor. Along the far wall, a flickering fire crackled and snapped in a wide stone hearth. That beautifully carved oak desk sat a few feet away and, as she went up on her toes, a quill and several rolled parchments came into view, red sealing wax and a lit candle. For God’s sake, he’d even made sure frost etched the corners of the narrow, stained-glass windows.

  Holy cow. Bravo to his production crew and a definite high five for their hours and hours of research. Not a detail she could find was out of place.

  Metal sang through the air, and she shifted her eyes left as the man tossed a jewel-encrusted scabbard aside. Cautiously sidestepping, ankles crossing, he brandished a sword and inched to the center of the screen.

  Right. In typical Ollie style, he’d probably held auditions, searching the entire theatre circuit for the hottest guy she’d ever seen.

  A full head of sable hair skimmed his broad shoulders, so sleek and wavy she would’ve gladly spent hours combing her fingers through the strands. Dark scruff covered the sharp line of his jaw and framed a pair of lips that could’ve easily brought any sane woman to her knees. His white shirt hung open, the puffy sleeves and ruffled cuffs a little on the feminine side for her tastes. But she had to admit they were historically accurate based on the age of the armoire.

  Brown leather breeches rode his tapered hips, the sides unlaced and the fit gloving every contour and flex of hard muscle.

  Dang. She hummed low in the back of her throat. The guy needed to ease off the Keto diet. Those raised veins disappearing inside his waistband more than proved his body fat content hovered right around zero.

  If not for two problems, she would’ve happily spent the rest of the night staring at that delicious view. It really was a bummer she never hopped in the sack with complete strangers, and as one of Ollie’s theatre friends, the dude probably wasn’t all that interested in members of the opposite sex.

  Lifting his sword in both hands, he angled his wide shoulder toward the mirror, the cranked tendons along his torso easing in and out with each controlled breath. “If you scheme to divert me with your alluring attire and guileless stare, I’ll have you know I shall not be so easily swayed.”

  Alluring attire? She glanced down at her gauzy nightgown, nipples beaded against the material in the cool air. Or, then again, maybe he was into girls. She crossed her arms even though doing so seemed sorta stupid. And props to Ollie since she had nothing but a solid two thumbs up at that piece of news.

  “Careful now.” She took a slow perusal of the delectable landscape back up to the challenge in his rich chocolate gaze. “Or I’m apt to get busy with some serious despoiling all up in here.”

  “Enough, Sorceress.” He lunged forward, the blade of his sword slicing the air as he aimed the silver pommel at the screen. “Let us be done with this trickery. Name your demands or I shall smash the glass and ensnare your bewitching guise for an eternity.”

  Sheesh, talking about living a role. Take the drama down a notch.

  Rolling her eyes, she stepped close and ran her hand around the frame. The signal had to be streaming live, but damned if she could find wire or a microphone… Heck, there wasn’t even a screw in sight.

  Okay, fine. After all Ollie’s hard work, the least she could do was bite…as long as he promised not to make her the laughing stock of the entire restorer community on YouTube.

  “So, you’re extremely gorgeous and very talented. We should probably just get that out of the way. And same when it comes to your English accent. Seriously, your diction coach is way underpaid. The thing is, I don’t really have any demands.” She snorted and bobbled her head. “I mean, I guess I could think of a few, but I’m not entirely sure they’d be appropriate given its two in morning and I have to get up early for work. So-o-o, yeah. Tell Ollie I said good job, the production crew outdid itself and I’m nominating the wardrobe guy for an Oscar.”

  There. That should call the evening a wrap. She grabbed the door and his shoulders wrenched at the same time the color drained from his face.

  “You wear Rowena’s Key.”

  She froze…and then tentatively eased the door back open.

  Chapter Two

  The barrier between their worlds gradually parted, the dark shadows receding to reveal her enchanting face. Narrowing his eyes, Caedmon steeled his heart lest he be too late.

  He had been warned. For centuries, the tale of her arrival had been foretold. Even as a young boy, he’d been taught to recite the legend by rote.

  But no mere words scratched to parchment could have prepared him for the ethereal vision staring ba
ck at him in the glass.

  Floating on a background of deepest night, she arched a brow as if doubting his very existence. Beneath the gossamer layer of her gown, the rosy tips of her breasts, the curves of her hips hinted at her perfect form. Golden hair cascaded past her shoulders, the strands shimmering as if they’d been kissed by Helios, himself. Eyes the green of a summer glade calculated his every move.

  ʼTwas a cruel trick, the way her fair skin so easily outshone that of the Nine. A distraction which tightened his gut, threatened his focus, and made a bead of sweat trickle a slow path down to his shoulder blades.

  Seduction had never been his forte. He’d left those indulgent pursuits to his brother and wisely so. But time was of the essence and Braedric undoubtedly had his cock buried between the legs of some courtier. His fingers, mayhap two more.

  Though she would conjure every advantage to retain what rightfully belonged to his family, to prove himself worthy, Caedmon’s best course would be to gather as much information as possible for the Council.

  Snagging the golden chain on her fingers, she retrieved the key from the top of her nightdress and dangled his kingdom’s most precious relic in the air.

  As if it were no more than a trinket. A slight curiosity which barely warranted her concern.

  “How did you know I had this key?” Her shoulders fell. “Aw man, are you telling me Ollie actually went to the trouble of hiding it in the armoire? Come on, guys. I appreciate a good prank as much as the next girl, but that’s just plain mean.” Sweeping the chain over her head, she tossed the key outside his view.

  What was this? Some subtle scheme to make him drop his guard? The more time he spent in her presence, the more he risked falling under her charms. But none had ever accused him of lack of bravery, and this chance to cast aside the taint of his bloodline might never return. “This Ah-lee you speak of. Is he your familiar? Or one of your insipid gods?”