And the rage of goodbye, because that monster would take her from him if he could. And that was Jack’s fault. Fuck! He punched the wall, pain chasing away the despair and anger so he felt—not better—but different.
“He won’t hurt her,” Rachel said from near the door. He’d almost forgotten about her. Turned his back on a vampire. Christ. He was fucking worthless.
His voice sounded pulverized. “He’s already hurt her. It’s his fault she’s here. That we’re all here. We’re going to die here because of this hare brained scheme.” Then he turned, stalking towards her. She didn’t move overtly, but there was something that made him think she was on her guard.
Why? An unarmed, puny human that she could kill whenever she wanted to. Another glaring example of how stupid he was. How weak. Since the day his parents had died he’d been cautious. He had always double checked everything. When the odds were impossible and death was likely, one was damned careful. That was the only reason he had lived for so long.
Now he was out of his depth. Not acting, but reacting. And failing.
Jack caught that almost imperceptible flinch on Rachel’s face, and it made him brave. You like her being afraid of you. And that fucked up thought rekindled his anger so that he continued towards her, watching almost hungrily as her back pressed harder into the door. He boxed her in.
She took a shaky breath.
His hands slapped the wood on either side of her head. He looked into her face and let the anger—his only constant friend—boil to the surface.
More anger, more disgust for himself and this thing with her. Her eyes were wide. As if she were afraid. And he wondered if she was mocking him. Pretending to be worried before she laughed at him.
Her lips were smooth and full, her eyes vivid, cheekbones almost sharp. She looked like an actress. Not a model, who would take beautiful photos from one angle and look odd from another, but icy perfection from all angles. And that brittleness that lurked under the surface.
Vulnerability.
But for what?
His instincts as a hunter, as a killer, honed in on that weakness, like a cheetah finding the sick gazelle in the herd. Isolate her. Take her down. Easy prey. The closer he got to her, the easier she was. “Do you think we’re going to die here?” he asked her with a lover’s tone. Gruff and intimate, searching for the smallest sign of trickery on her porcelain face.
“No. I think we’re here for a purpose,” she said. Too loud for how close he was.
“What’s that? So he can drink her blood and kill her? So you can have mine?”
She ripped her gaze away, and he felt the victory of that. Like he was right, and acknowledging it made her weaker.
“The Fey will come for us. When the Fey want you, you don’t escape. There is no running from them.”
He stepped in a little closer. Close enough to see a tiny freckle on her neck. “You say that like you’re afraid.” A whisper.
“I am. We should all be afraid of the Fey. Lucas especially. They’re the bogeymen, the monsters under the bed that made vampires frightened,” she said, staring over his shoulder.
He couldn’t help but see the rise and fall of her chest. “And you’re afraid. You’re worried, is that right? Every time I see you, you’re different. One day you’re confident. One day you taunt. The next day you burn. And now you’re afraid.” Is there anything real about her?
She bit her lip.
His anger coalesced, had a target now. Her response to him and that he liked it made everything worse. Made him feel dangerous. The flip side to self-loathing. “Every day is different, and every day is false. Why would Lucas come here if it’s so dangerous to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s bullshit. You know,” he said, hand smacking against the wood, right next to her ear. It sounded like a gunshot and she reacted the same way—jumped, trembling with a desire to run away.
He lifted his hand and he could feel her terror and indecision. His hand cupped her jaw, holding her in place, trapping her with her own desire for him. The barest touch and she froze. He didn’t need to be a vampire to compel her or beat her, all he had to do was touch her and she crumbled before him.
If it’s real.
She made the faintest sound, almost of despair, her body trying to sink further into the wood, as she let him overpower her.
Because that was the truth, and they both knew it. She could kill him, escape him, hurt him with her physical strength. And yet she seemed paralyzed. Weak. Like he was the one with all the power.
She was tall. So tall that her mouth was perilously close to his.
“He hates us,” she said. A bare breath of sound.
Jack put his hand on her neck.
“He hates vampires. Hates them all. And I think, at first, he wanted the Fey back so that they would kill us for him. But Val is a wild card.”
His grip tightened when she said Valerie’s name and she jerked her head lightly, as if in pain.
Jack let go, saw white marks from his fingers. Had he hurt her? Did he hurt women now? No, he hunted and killed monsters. Just because she plays nice now and again doesn’t change what she is.
She turned her head, looking away from him to the far wall, sucking her body in even tighter against the wood—but not escaping.
“He only wants her because she’s an empath,” Jack said.
Rachel looked back at him, and a flash of pity crossed her face. “No. He wants her for more than that.”
“What?”
“Everything.” She gave a sad smile, like he’d have no concept of what she really meant.
“I’ll kill him if he tries to turn her.”
“And her too? You’d kill her too?”
He pushed away from her angrily. He saw her shoulders relax, her hands tighten and loosen, then her arms crossed over her chest as she straightened. Still standing in front of the door.
“Don’t be stupid, Jack. You know, you must understand how strong he is. You can’t be so foolish as to-”
“Die for love? Die at his hands to keep her from him? She wouldn’t love him then.”
“No. I understand dying for love. I understand sacrifice for pleasure, when devotion turns to anger. But you have to look at this clearly. Lucas won’t turn her into a vampire. He hates what he is and he wouldn’t do that to her. She’d be different. She’d probably break. Having to take life to survive, that’s not what he wants for her. That’s not his goal. The only reason I’m alive—” she broke off.
Wait. His head cocked to the side. “Why is he keeping you alive?”
Her words were quick. “For this. To help with the Fey.”
No. She’d given something away. He just had to find it.
“What else? What could his goal be, that he would leave you alive? Why would he need a witch?” He seemed to be thinking it over, trying to find the pieces, and then he gave her an evil smile.
A smile only one person had ever given her. Dark knowledge, a smile of pain and bitterness. Marion’s smile. And it had the same effect it always did. It made her hot, made her want to surrender.
Dammit, she wanted to move away from this door. She’d run outside, run away screaming, bury herself in the deep snow until her blood became as sluggish as an Alaskan stream. Anything but this terrifying heat.
Jack came towards her again, stopping in front of her.
Too close.
She was in her own personal horror movie. The villain sneaking up on the unsuspecting woman, knife raised, while his victim watched it all happen.
Let it happen.
She was transfixed as he prowled back towards her, settled his arms on either side of her body, hands on the smooth wood.
Oppressing her.
She could smell him. Smell his skin, which smelled like the sun. His blood, which smelled like cotton candy and would dissolve on her tongue. And then there was the scent of his anger— smoky and woodsy. And under that, deep under that, but rising to the
surface, was the perfect scent of lust.
His voice snapped her back to the present.
“You tried to kill him. And he’s killed others for less. But not you, and not Marion, solely so he has a hold on you. I want you to tell me why.”
And then she almost moaned in frightened lust, bit her tongue to keep herself quiet, as he lifted a finger and traced it down her cheek. The warmth of his skin seeping into her. There was blood on his hand. Almost dry, from where he’d punched the wall and split the skin that covered his knuckles. He scared the hell out of her. The temptation of a good man brought low.
She’d do anything to kiss his hand, lick it better. To have his blood inside of her and have him take her in return.
Her mouth filled with saliva, her body already liquid desire. And he knew. His hatred for her and for himself was clear. And that shook her back to herself. As though he was the vampire and she was breaking his compulsion.
Well, Fuck Him.
He hated her, was manipulating her in a pathetic and obvious way. She knew it. And yet, she was still vulnerable. Still wanted him badly enough that he had the upper hand.
“That’s not my secret to tell,” she said. Then she leaned forward, so her breath hit his lips, “And I’m a lesbian, so the odds of you being able to fuck the answer out of me are pretty low. And the chances of you being able to beat it out of me are non-existent. Now get the fuck away from me or I’ll rip your dick off.” She raised her body off the wood, bringing it closer to his, almost certain that if her body pressed up against his, that she’d feel his cock, hard as a steel bar.
Jack jerked away from her and she had to hide a tremble of joy and loss that he’d left her alone.
He could own her. He’d hate her, fuck her, hate himself and they’d both be destroyed by it. Their rage and despair was like a river of golden honey before her. She could eat that negativity, feed her abilities forever on all the fucked up misery they could make come out of each other.
And all she had to do was be herself.
Lucas and Val eventually returned. Jack looked them both over from head to foot and had to look away. It was possible that the cold had put that flush on her cheeks. Possible, but unlikely. Yet, she was still alive. What the fuck was he going to do?
Lucas held the door open, inclining his head and Rachel followed him. Leaving him alone with Valerie. The fire crackled and Valerie jumped a little. What could he say to her? I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. I’m sorry I’ve failed you. I fucked up.
“Did he hurt you?” he said instead, hating the sound of his own voice.
“No.” She blushed.
Jesus Christ. And it was his own fucking fault.
Chapter 29
The night was tense. The fire was steady, the only sound it’s faint, periodic crackle. There had been a moment of confusion when they all had to decide where to sleep.
Lucas and Rachel didn’t need to sleep, and that was part of the problem. Knowing that they were there, looming over them while they were at their most vulnerable. Well, the truth was that Jack was worried— Val felt safe enough and knew she’d sleep like a baby.
A hungry baby.
When Valerie had come in with Lucas, things had been weird. Tension so thick it wouldn’t cut with a knife. Tension like resilient Jell-O. Val knew she had problems with Lucas, but, she wondered if maybe Jack really did have his own problems with Rachel.
Lucas had said as much.
And so she’d watched them. Watched how they didn’t look at each other. At least not when the other might have the faintest chance of seeing it. But as soon as one of them turned away or was distracted, the other looked, absorbed the other’s form with the intensity of a desperate prospector sifting for gold.
Did it hurt? Hell, yeah, it hurt. But how much? That was the question. The answer was somewhere between a little and a lot. She wanted to throw Rachel out—okay, no. She wanted to kill Rachel. There was a time and place for pacifism. Rachel didn’t deserve a stay of execution. She also wanted to make Jack notice her, keep his devotion on her and yet….
Was it stupid to say it was like a purse? A purse she’d wanted forever and ever but then had finally gotten and found that maybe the opening was too small or it slid off her shoulder when it was supposed to stay put. Reality wasn’t as good as the fantasy.
And now she was here with Lucas, in this tiny space, with his blood coursing through her body. And those tiny molecules of her own blood in him. She felt different, slightly disconnected from herself, like part of her soul was dangling in front of her, an umbilical cord to Lucas so that her own person was no longer just her own.
She would swear her heart was beating differently, too. Almost more pronounced. The thud was a little more resonant, as if she was in perpetual meditation or that moment before one faints—a second before everything goes black.
And so she found herself looking at Lucas when she knew she should be looking at nothing. She watched him and everything he did. When he put wood in the fireplace and wiped his hands. When he stood in a smooth gesture and absently ran a hand through his hair. And occasionally he rolled his shoulders, like he was tense.
He watched her back. Not obviously, but she was aware of it and suspected he wanted her to know that he was thinking of her. She’d see him watching her under his lashes, or he’d give her a brief smile, a quick flash, a quirk. And then once, when he seemed to be very distracted, he’d blinked back to himself and given her a nod, as though he couldn’t remember quite who she was or why he was here.
No conversation, no talk about food or drink. They’d just laid down and pretended to sleep. She wanted to lay next to Lucas, curl into his body or put her head on his thigh as he satleaning back against the wall, but couldn’t. Jack was unpredictable and she worried about setting him off again.
There had been a moment where they’d made eye contact and she’d remembered Hawaii. The few nights they’d slept wrapped in each other’s arms.
It made her sad on a fundamental level and that wasn’t only because something had been lost during those few days, but because of the futility of it all. They’d held each other so tight, not even a sheet could slip between them.
Every morning she’d had a crick in her neck because they’d clung to each other so tightly. Her heart seized in her chest a little. There was no reason to bullshit herself. She knew why they’d clung to each other so desperately. Because their relationship was fleeting. It wasn’t something they were going to get comfortable with and she’d hoped that if she’d slept close enough, grasped him tight enough in the midnight hours, that she’d always be able to remember what it felt like to be in his arms.
Or that maybe it would have worked.
She felt a tear splash on her hand and a handkerchief instantly dangled before her face. She looked up through a glaze of tears and saw Lucas, his golden hair blurred so that it looked like a halo.
She took the cloth and pressed it to her eyes, turning away from Jack and Rachel in hopes they’d leave her alone. She knew they’d notice. She never got away with tears when she really needed to.
The cloth was fine, ironed and pressed, made of linen that smelled like rosemary and sandalwood. Just a hint of a pleasurable smell from another time. And really, when was the last time someone had used a handkerchief anyway? 1960?
Lucas slid down the wall and sat beside her. Not moving towards her or doing anything to rile Jack, which she was grateful for. But his hand was open and beside her, a bare inch from her thigh and she knew she could take his hand, that he was offering a hidden comfort. A way to be touched without the others seeing and she wanted to— so much that for a moment she felt a ghostly handshake on her palm.
But she left it alone. Turned her head away and stretched out, laying on the ground. Pillowing her head on a little cushion that had been left behind.
By who?
Chapter 30
Valerie knew she was dreaming. She was back at the pond that Lucas had dragged her ou
t of, but now he was nowhere in sight.
“Will you go in now?” Cerdewellyn asked her, gesturing towards the water.
“Why?” Val asked.
“You must go to the island and get the flower, then bring it back here to me.”
“Which flower?” In the middle of the pond was a small island, a single tree and some scrub bushes crowded together. She didn’t see any flowers.
He inclined his head and she looked again. A beautiful flower, like a bird of paradise was there, all on its own. How had she missed that? Val walked towards the water but he stopped her with a word.
Had he called her name? She couldn’t remember what he’d said, as though he hadn’t said anything aloud. His hands were on her back, undoing the laces of her long gray dress. His touch was impersonal, so light and quick that if she hadn’t felt her dress sag she wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
“The dress is too heavy. It will pull you under the water. Do you understand?” he asked.
She nodded and the dress pooled at her feet leaving her in a shift. She wondered if she should remove that too, but didn’t want to and she felt him tell her ‘no. ’
Was that right, she’d felt it?
“Where is Lucas?”
The hands on her back stilled. “He will not interrupt again. Not here. Although, his connection to you is stronger. You must stop taking his blood or you will never be free of him. The more you drink from him, the more you will want it. And it is the same for him. With each exchange he will crave you more and more until he devours you. But now that you are here I can protect you.”
The meaning of his words slipped off of her as she stepped into the water and stepped deeper. The cold murky water licked up her body, almost parting for her, caressing her as she swam to the little island.
It didn’t take very long, twenty strokes, maybe a few more, and then she could touch the bottom near the island. The ground squished unpleasantly, mud and sharp rocks poking at her. One of the stones embedded in her foot and she yelped, hobbling to the shore. She sat down on the bank, cradling her foot in her hands. A small white rock protruded from her heel.
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