A Lost Kitten by Jessica Kong

understand his meaning. “Are you saying the ghost who assaulted me was Jasira?”
    “Yes,” said Yudit. He addressed the soldier. “Please escort Seacat McCall back to his old room.”
    “Yes, my lord,” said the guard as he bowed.
    Yudit looked at John. “Goodnight, Seacat.”
    John stood from his seat and followed the guard in a trancelike manner. The night’s events repeated themselves in his head. None of it could be real. How could Jasira be the ghost? He had believed she was real and his room held a secret passageway. He arrived in his former room and entered without acknowledging the guard.
    If Jasira was a ghost, then she needed no passageway to enter his room. John sat on the bed. His senses were right all along. There was a large population living within the walls of the city and the castle—a large population of spirits.
    Dena arrived to build the fire. She directed the men who brought a tub to the room to place it before the fire. John secretly watched her as she poured the buckets of steaming water into the tub. She was indeed an attractive woman and a skillful kisser. He could easily forget himself in her arms if it were not for the mind-boggling kiss he had shared with Jasira.
    Jasira…is a ghost? He was having a hard time accepting it. How could he have shared the most amazing kiss of his life with a spirit? It was not possible. He must be dreaming. John rubbed his face with both hands. It had felt so real.
    As long as his eyes remained closed and he kept his hands to his sides, Jasira was real. Her touch, her scent, her taste—he experienced them all like he experienced Dena’s and all the women before her. John shivered. It was eerie, yet his soul longed to experience it all again.
    Dena spoke to him. “Your bath is ready.” Her eyes roamed over him. “Do you need help?”
    John did not respond. He needed to forget what happened. He needed to forget Jasira. He slowly stood from the bed. He allowed Dena to aid him in removing his jacket. She folded the jacket and placed it on a chair.
    John was halfway done with unbuttoning his shirt when she returned. Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she smoothed her hands over his bare chest, stomach, and arms, slipping the shirt off him. John wished he felt the same. What he felt was dirty.
    He sat back down and allowed Dena to remove his boots. She knelt before him and eagerly reached for the buttons down the front of his pants. One by one, she slipped each button through its hole. John carefully watched her. Her breasts seemed desperate to escape their confinements. His hands stayed at his sides. He could not bring himself to touch her as he had before.
    John allowed Dena to caress his manhood over his pants. The only thing that rose was a feeling of guilt. Dena licked her red lips. He recalled their taste. They were nothing compared to another set of lips that made the fire in him blaze out of control. Dena slipped her fingers beneath the material and parted the sides. Her fingertips brushed his placid member. John grabbed her wrists and stopped her.
    Her eyes questioned his. “Are you all right?”
    John regarded Dena carefully. Her arousal reached his nose. There was a time when he would have forgotten the world around him and lost himself in a woman’s call to mate. As he sat there, keeping Dena from touching him, his senses compared her scent to another woman’s call.
    Jasira. Her perfume was more alluring, arousing, and intoxicating. John’s world had tilted off its axis when her fingers wrapped around his erection. Dena’s arousal had no power over him. Her touch fell short. His fingers tightened around Dena’s slender wrists. He read the concern on her face.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Why didn’t you tell me there are ghosts here?”
    Dena shook her head. “Ghosts?”
    John vaulted off the bed, away from her touch. “Don’t start with me!” He stopped in front of the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames. “Why didn’t you tell