by Ivy Simone
Ryan’s hand traces down my hair, the other around my waist, holding me close. “Where are you?” he murmurs.
I pull back, looking up into his eyes. “Logan’s house.”
He nods. “I figured.”
“Can you help me? I’m stuck there, he won’t leave me alone.”
My body wavers, going from solid to transparent. My hand slips through his arm and he glances down. Last time this happened it was because there was a noise or some kind of distraction where the original me was.
“I have to hurry,” I say, my voice fading.
“Willow.” Ryan’s grasps for me again, but he can’t touch me anymore. “I can’t go on his property. It’s blocked from other paranormal beings. Can you get out?”
“I don’t know. Ryan, I can’t. Please‒”
“Stop. Willow.” His gaze holds mine. Steady. “You can do this.”
“Can’t you leave? Leave Shadow Hill for tonight so we’re not all here?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. You have to get out.”
“I can’t. He won’t leave me alone‒”
“You’re resourceful. You can do this. Willow, look at me. You. Can. Do. This.” He nods. “You have to.”
I reach out, trying to make that connection again, but I’m jerked away. I land back in the bathroom. I hear footsteps out in the hallway and hurry to flush the toilet. While I wash my hands in the sink, I even my breathing and search my brain for a solution. I have to get out of here.
How am I going to get past Logan? Trick him? And how do I do that?
After drying my hands, I walk back to the kitchen where Logan is waiting. He lifts his eyebrows at me as if to say, Everything go all right in there?
“I’m curious about who did the initial spell‒curse,” I say. “If I knew who did it, something they used or what kind of spell it was, I’d be able to figure out more. I’d know what I’m supposed to‒”
“Why are you so eager to figure this out all the sudden?”
I avoid his gaze by walking back to the hallway. He follows me all the way to the library and catches my elbow at the door.
“Willow.”
I turn around. “I don’t want to be stuck in your house forever, okay? As nice as it is, I have a life. I…” I try not to say anything that will make him angry or suspicious. “You’re going to let me go, right? After I do this for you?”
A muscle works in his jaw and he settles his hands on his hips. “You really think I’m the bad guy, don’t you? That I’m going to use you and then‒what? Dispose of you? Kill you maybe?”
Those words make me pale. I don’t think he wants to hurt me, but when he says those words out loud, it doesn’t make me feel better.
I walk into the library, trailing my finger along the table I’ve been working at. When I spot the letter opener, shiny and pointed in a wooden box on the end, I straighten.
Logan comes after me. “Listen, Willow. I’m not going to hurt you.”
When I turn around, I let my hand fumble over the surface of the table to grab the letter opener. He says he’s not going to hurt me, but I can’t say the same. I might have to hurt him.
“Do you believe me?” he asks, gripping my shoulders. His eyes are intense, starting to black out like they do when he’s trying to influence me. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I dip my chin, staring at his shirt. “You shouldn’t try to make me believe that if it isn’t true.”
“No, I’m not‒” His jaw clenches and he grips my chin, lifting it so I meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to, sometimes I can’t help it.” His eyes return to their usual shade of blue. His fingers soften, brushing over my cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to do this. You’re the only one who can.”
Oh, shit. He’s being nice‒he’s actually trying to comfort me, and now I have to go and ruin it. The letter opener is only inches away. All I have to do is grab it. And stab him.
“I believe you,” I whisper at the compelling look in his eyes.
“Good.”
He lingers, thumb brushing my cheekbone. He won’t kiss me. He won’t because he promised me, and I believed him. I still believe him because he’s holding back, making me lean in.
My lips part. I can distract him this way. I can get under his defenses, and then I can escape.
I slide my hand over his shoulder and up to his neck. I grip his hair in the back and he yanks in a breath. But he still waits for me to make the first move.
With a moan, I fuse my lips to his. I can hardly draw a breath before he pulls me to him, hard, so the entire length of our bodies touch.
“Willow,” he groans. His tongue mingles with mine, making desire shoot through me.
My hands clench on his shoulders, digging into his muscles. He grips my thighs and hikes them up, setting me on the table. Logan attacks my mouth again, lips like a fever against mine. He’s touching me everywhere, slipping his hands over my thighs and then running them up under my shirt.
I arch my back, chest pressing against his. I grip the bottom of his shirt and pull. He lifts his arms as I yank it over his head. His body is a feast, toned and strong and tan. My hands are like magnets to him, racing across his chest, and then down his abdomen.
And when he smiles at me, I almost forget the letter opener. I almost forget everything.
Then I feel the fire building inside.
Logan’s hands go for the button on my jeans, fingers dipping inside the material.
“Logan,” I say, voice breathless.
“Hmm?” He’s focused, eyes on his task.
“Be careful.”
His hands freeze on my zipper. “What?”
I try to force my heartbeat to slow down, for the flames to subside. “I just…”
Realization dawns in his eyes. “This isn’t…” He props his hands against the desk on either side of me. “Are you a virgin?”
“No. No,” I say again, my voice coming out in a laugh. “It just‒didn’t go well for the other guy last time this happened.”
His eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even look confused. Instead, he brushes my jaw with his knuckles. “What happened?”
“The fire,” I say simply. “He tried to force me and I…I couldn’t control it.”
Logan leans in. He sets his hand low my back and scoots me to him, so my legs are on either side of his hips. “I’m sorry.”
There’s unexpected tenderness in his voice, enough that I lower my chin to compose myself.
“You can’t hurt me like that,” he says. “It’s okay.”
“I caught you on fire pretty easily yesterday.”
He smiles. “And I’m fine. See?”
He’s right. There’s no scarring or redness on his arm. I didn’t hurt him. At least not permanently.
Logan takes the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and over my head. His eyes dip to my breasts, covered by a simple black bra. He curls his finger under one strap and draws it off my shoulder.
His lips make a slow path across my collarbone. I can feel the flames inside, but they’re only simmering. Almost as if the slower he goes, the less chance they have of coming out. I reach to unbutton his pants, and find the zipper. They ride low on his hips and I can see the definition in his abdomen all the way down.
He cups one breast, hiking down my bra so he can brush his thumb on the nipple. Then he takes it in his mouth, tongue flicking back and forth and pushing me closer to the brink.
“Logan,” I gasp.
He reaches down and yanks on my jeans, leaning me back against the cool wood of the table.
“I want you,” he whispers, fiddling with the lip of my underwear. Tugging it down just slightly. “I want you here. And upstairs. In the shower. Over and over again.”
His hands grip my wrists and pin them to the table. And then his mouth begins the slow descent down my neck, over my breasts, and to my stomach, where he lingers. The whisper of breath on my skin
makes me shiver in ecstasy.
“Tell me you want me,” Logan says. His lips brush the skin above my underwear.
“I want you,” I say. It’s true, I do.
But even as I say it, my hand moves to the letter opener.
He eases my underwear down and his lips touch my center. When his tongue comes out, heat against heat, I arch my back, losing my grip on the letter opener. He splays his hands against my hips, tongue moving back and forth.
It builds inside me, the heat and the fire, so fast I can’t stop it.
Fire bursts on his shirt at the floor, and then on the jeans he’s still wearing.
“Shit!” Logan straightens, hands leaving my body.
I grab the letter opener and sit up. While Logan’s on fire, the temperature so fierce it singes my arms, I rear up. With both hands on the letter opener, I plunge the blade into his back.
Chapter 13
A cry of anguish tears from his throat.
My body is still quaking from Logan’s lips against me and the roll of ecstasy he brought me.
And now there’s a blade protruding from his back.
He twists, trying to remove it, and I grab my jeans and shirt. His hand catches me and I yelp.
“No!”
When he growls and tries to stop me, I fumble into the pocket of my jeans, suddenly remembering the necklace. I whip it out and hold it in front of me.
Logan winces, tosses up his hands like I’m trying to shoot him. He groans in pain and sinks to his knees.
I race from the room.
“Willow!” Logan yells.
I run faster, straight to the kitchen, my clothes still clutched at my chest. I yank on the handle of the back door and to my surprise, it opens. I burst out into the night, gasping when I see the moon already starting to rise in the dim evening.
I don’t stop to put my clothes on until I reach the gardens. I keep the necklace clutched in my hands and then listen.
There’s no sound but the wind in the trees. Keeping to the bushes, I circle around, trying to reach the front of the house. I need a road, something to show me how to get away from here.
Rustling in the trees to my right makes me gasp. Slapping my hand over my mouth to keep quiet, I listen for more noises. When nothing else sounds, I tell myself to calm down. It was just a rabbit or some other animal.
The chill of the night air seeps into my bones, penetrating my short sleeved shirt. I don’t even have shoes on. Just my socks on the forest floor. At least I’m quieter this way, though I have a feeling hearing might be one of the heightened abilities Logan possesses.
I run toward the front of the house in the cover of the trees. Farther out, I don’t know how far away on the road, I see headlights. They’re moving swiftly like someone is passing by. But at least there are people out there. I can flag someone down, or jump in front of their car if I have to.
My breath is coming out in short spurts, my heart is racing, and my feet keep crunching on twigs below me, but I’m almost to the road. I clutch the necklace to my chest, afraid to look behind me.
When I step in a hole, twisting my ankle, I cry out as I fall to the forest floor. I try to scramble to my feet, but someone grabs me around my waist.
I start to scream and a hand closes firmly over my mouth.
I’m ready to bite down when I hear a familiar voice in my ear. “Willow, stop. It’s me.”
When I whip around and see Ryan, I’m so grateful he’s here, I let out a sob. “Ryan.”
“Are you okay?” His gaze travels from my bare arms to my pants which I didn’t even take the time to button, and my shoeless feet. “What the hell?”
“I’m okay,” I choke out. “Please‒he’s coming.”
Ryan grips my arm, then shoots me an alarmed look when my step fumbles. “What is it?”
“I twisted my ankle. It’s fine, we have to go.”
He locks his arm around my waist and helps me run, guiding us toward the road. I see a mass of darkness in the distance.
“Please tell me that’s your truck,” I pant.
“It is.”
There’s the sound of footsteps and branches cracking close behind us.
“No, Ryan‒”
“Hurry,” he says, hauling me forward so fast I can barely keep up. My ankle twinges with each step.
We reach his car and he yanks the door open for me. I get in, my eyes racing through the darkness at the same time, searching for Logan. Once Ryan is on the other side, he shoves the keys in the ignition.
Before he can pull away, Logan wrenches my door open. His eyes are as black as the night and there’s blood on his bare chest.
“No!” I scream, shoving the necklace in his direction. “Go, Ryan. Go!”
The stone from the necklace glints in the light of the full moon and Logan cringes. Ryan peels away from the side of the road and Logan can’t find a grip on the door before we’re racing from him.
I catch the handle, hauling the door closed before we take another turn. My hair tangles around my cheeks and I exhale. My hands are shaking, still clutching the stone as though it’s a life preserver.
Ryan touches my knee, hand firm and warm. “You’re fine. You did good.”
“The moon is out,” I whisper. “Do we have time?”
“Take a breath,” he suggests. But his face is troubled.
I see headlights behind us and whip around. “No, that’s not‒”
“I don’t think it’s him. Willow. Breathe.”
I try to, but my body won’t cooperate. I close my eyes tight against the image of the letter opener sinking into Logan’s upper back. I can still feel the way it buries into the muscle, and hear his growl of pain.
“I stabbed him,” I whisper, eyes still closed. “With a letter opener.”
Ryan doesn’t answer. When I look over, his gaze is glued to the road. We’re rushing along the pavement, making record time to the border.
I press my lips together tightly, forcing myself to calm down. I’m okay. I did what I had to do. And Logan will heal. I didn’t kill him, just hurt his shoulder. He’s a vampire. He’ll probably be fine by tomorrow.
When we screech around another corner, I grip the handle on the door. Up ahead I see the town welcome sign and remember driving past it on my way into Shadow Hill.
Ryan’s jaw is tight, determination flickering off his face from the light of the moon. It’s higher now, and bright and full, mocking us.
The tires screech on the asphalt when he stops. He throws his door open and I do the same, jumping out and meeting him at the front of the truck.
“Do we still have time?”
He casts a quick glance to the moon. “I don’t know. We have to try.”
I nod, turning to the road again. Ready to try to leave Shadow Hill.
“Willow,” Ryan says.
I look back, and to my surprise, he brushes my cheek with his thumb. “Thank you.”
I swallow sudden emotion, overwhelmed with the entire night. I manage a nod before I walk away.
“It’s just a few more feet,” Ryan says.
I wish I could see some sort of physical barrier or a mark that tells me when I’ve made it, but the road looks normal, shrouded in darkness.
Another step. Then another.
When I take the final step, something slams into me. It feels like I’ve run into an electric fence. My entire body goes rigid, charged with thousands of volts of electricity.
Then I collapse.
“Shit.” Ryan races to me, careful to stay away from the invisible border. “Willow.”
My eyelids flicker. My whole body is buzzing, muscles useless. Then my breath stalls.
“Willow!” Ryan leans his mouth close to my ear. “Keep breathing. You can do it.”
I force myself to pull air into my lungs, even as it catches. My heart is stuttering and all I can do is lie there, stunned.
“There you go,” Ryan says. He glances around as if looking for something. “
We need to get out of here.”
I clutch his arm and finally find words. “It didn’t work.”
Relief races across his face even as he curses. “No, it didn’t. Come on.”
He scoops me up into his arms. As much as I try to help him, to hold on, I can’t. My limbs are still charged and tingling and my muscles don’t want to function. “You’re fine,” he assures me. “I’ve got you.”
He settles me into his truck, tucking the seatbelt around me and giving my shoulder a squeeze before hopping in on the other side.
When he starts the truck, I feel my hands begin to function again. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “It’s not your fault.”
“But…I didn’t get out. Why can’t you leave?”
“Only witches can travel outside the cursed area since they’re the originators of the spell.”
He’s still driving quickly, clearly trying to get away from something. Or to get to something.
“Now what?” I ask, shifting in the seat, flexing my hands.
“We get somewhere safe.”
“I mean, now what I do about leaving? Try again tomorrow?”
He doesn’t answer.
My stomach clenches. “The next day?”
His hands tighten on the wheel. “No, this was your only chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“All four original families were inside the town border when the full moon came out. The first part of the reversal of the curse has been completed.”
“Meaning?”
He glances at me, eyes unreadable. “Meaning you’re stuck here now, too.”
~ ~ ~
I must have closed my eyes and dozed because when I open them again, the truck is stopped and Ryan’s opening my door. He reaches inside, unbuckling me and lifting me off the seat.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice hoarse.
He settles me to my feet, but doesn’t let go. “Let’s get inside.”
“Are we safe in there?”
“Yes. How’s your ankle?”
I sigh. “It feels better.”
But still, he nearly lifts me off my feet in his rush to get me up the stairs. He fumbles with the lock and shoves the door open.
I step inside. “Is it true vampires can’t come in without being asked?”