He was very proportionate to his size. She knew, because she studied him from every angle. He didn't like clothes, and he didn't like to get tangled in the covers. She'd never been close to a man's naked anatomy, although she'd seen plenty of pictures when they insisted on educating her on the subject of murder--and sex. She decided, after studying his penis several times, that he was too large to fit inside a woman. At rest he was too large, so how could he when aroused? More, in the pictures, she thought men's packages were quite ugly. She didn't think that at all about Trap's. She found herself wanting to know it very intimately.
"Stupid," she whispered. "You let him know you were going into the house. You shouldn't have done that. They'll be waiting now."
She shouldn't go. It was insanity. Suicide. But she could barely breathe for the fear moving through her. Her mind felt chaotic. What if she'd given him too much venom? He hadn't responded like Pascal and Blaise Comeaux. They'd come around, disoriented. Sweating. Grouchy as all get-out, nearly picking a fight with each other, but it had only been a couple of minutes before they'd come around.
She could still hear Wyatt's voice when the brothers managed to stand up and wade into the water to step into their boat. Of course, she was listening for his boat. The moment the brothers had cleared the area, she was on the move, rushing to follow Trap and Wyatt back to Wyatt's home.
She leapt from the couch back onto the floor, digging her toes into the thick carpet. She knew she was going to go check on Trap. She had patience, discipline and restraint when it came to any other person or situation, but with Trap she couldn't stop herself. She knew she shouldn't go, that it was far too risky, but there was no staying away from him.
What if he stayed away from her? She'd kissed him. Given them both that. At first she told herself it was because she was curious, but she knew that wasn't the truth. She had to taste him. She had to feel his body against hers. She could lie to him and tell him she wanted him to stay away, but she couldn't lie to herself. She didn't want him to stay away. She craved seeing him. She needed to see him in the same way she needed air to breathe. She couldn't keep away from him. She didn't understand why, with her discipline, she couldn't train her mind away from thinking about him, but it was impossible.
Shivering, she took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm. If something had happened to Trap the men would be swarming the swamp looking for her. She had silken lines everywhere, so thin most wouldn't notice. They certainly wouldn't care about breaking one as they rushed through the thick brush. She'd be warned. Over the last few weeks, she had set her alarm system wider and wider, around the building, through the trees and even farther into the swamp itself.
Each silken strand was so thin, nearly transparent, that it blended into the surroundings. Dew and rain could cling to the strand, giving it away, but she took care to always make her work look like that of the local spiders. She was good at web art and could reproduce any spiderweb shown to her.
She wandered over to the small dresser in the corner of the room. Sliding through the layer of webs, she ran her finger along the surface. It was silly really, that they'd put a dresser in the small apartment. Trap knew she was staying there and there was no doubt in her mind that he'd done it for her. She didn't have any clothes. Two stolen pairs of jeans. Two camisole tops and a sweater. One shirt she had from before that she didn't wear, but wanted to keep. And his jacket. That was it. That was the extent of her wardrobe. The rest of her own clothes had long since been ruined in the muddy swamp.
People making their homes in the swamp and bayou didn't have tons of money. Stealing from them was not only immoral, but risky. If a woman only had a few clothes, she knew what those precious clothes looked like. Cayenne didn't dare go into town and shop with the money she'd stolen. She was afraid someone would recognize what she was wearing. In any case, the idea terrified her. She wouldn't know how to go into a store or make a transaction like that. She had no experience.
Sighing, she skimmed her finger over the polished wood. Still, she loved the dresser. Carved wood. So beautiful. Heavy. She wished for a little box, just like the one she'd seen on Nonny's dresser. Her hand hovered just above the sturdy piece of furniture, as if she could touch that box. She mimicked opening the lid with her fingers. The box made music, a soft song, the notes filling the air around her when she'd peeked inside. Her heart had stuttered in alarm when the notes drifted into the room.
Hastily, she replaced the lid and thankfully the music had stopped. The woman Trap called Nonny stirred and then rolled over and looked toward the dresser. Cayenne was already up in the corner, clinging to the ceiling, holding her breath and whispering softly for Wyatt's grandmother to go back to sleep. She'd never dared open the box again--but she wanted to. She thought about it a lot.
There was no more stalling. She had to go. She had to see for herself that Trap was all right after she'd stupidly and childishly injected venom into him. He wasn't going to ever kiss her again. Cayenne touched her lips with the pads of her fingers, found them trembling, and hastily leapt up to the vent to exit the building. They'd even done things to the ventilation system, installing doors every so many feet inside the pipework. She knew eventually those doors would be locked with a security code. So far, that hadn't been done, but it soon would be, and the ventilation systems were her exits and entrances.
She moved quickly through the narrow shaft to where she emerged just outside the building and very close to the high chain-link fence. At the top was razor wire. She detested that stuff. This exit was the closest to the fence of all the ventilation doors. She could practically leap from the opening and catch the chain, it was that close.
Cayenne went up and over the fence in seconds. She didn't leap over it like she'd seen Trap's team do, but she could go over it just as fast. She knew the way and went unerringly. Trap's workers had opened a trail through the swamp, cleverly concealed, but since she'd watched them, she knew exactly where the faint trail was and she used it, rather than the boat, to make her way to the Fontenot property.
She made certain to come downwind of the dogs so they wouldn't catch her scent. If they did, she was putting out more of a spider vibe than a human one. They might grow restless, but they wouldn't sound the alarm. She studied the seemingly and very deceptively dark home. It looked as if the occupants were all asleep.
No one appeared to be in the laboratory, which Trap and Wyatt often spent many nights in. She didn't bother to enter the house when they were working, and she'd never found an entry point into the lab in order to see what they were doing. She could guess, though. Wyatt's toddlers were cutting their teeth and they all had venom, much like she did, but they were babies and theirs was snake venom.
She studied the house. They were aware that she bypassed their security, and they wouldn't like it. She'd woven a few webs inside the extremely narrow chimney on the roof. She knew men wouldn't consider that a human being could make oneself so small they could fit in such a place. She was also very curvy and men tended to look at her curves, not realizing how limber she was, how her body could flatten itself, her bones soft, allowing her to become so much smaller.
She knew they had someone on the roof. It was a matter of locating him. These men didn't make mistakes. There was no restless movement. No cigarette smoking, or whipping out a cell phone and playing on it. They remained still and silent for hours on end. Normally, she liked the thrill of pitting her skills against theirs. It kept her sharp and she thought of it as a game.
She could move slow or fast, go up impossible angles and extremely high buildings. She possessed the same stillness and patience these men had. It was fun to slip past them and enter the house, knowing she could. They were highly trained and motivated to keep the girls safe. If she was being strictly honest with herself, she identified with everyone in the house--especially those little girls. She watched over them as well, but she would never admit that to anyone.
She went up and over their security fence.
It wasn't that difficult. She knew they sometimes ran electricity through it, but never unless they were on high alert. They didn't want stray animals or a neighbor to get hurt. The moment she cleared the fence, she stayed very still, crouching low to the ground. There was a long, open stretch that was the most difficult area to get through leading to the house itself.
Like most places in the swamp or bayou, the Fontenot home was built up to keep from flooding when the river rose. Made entirely of cypress, she knew it would withstand the water and elements for many years. She could see the craftsmanship and the loving hands in the work. Everything about this place appealed to her.
She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. These people were like her. Different. Pepper and the three little toddlers had spent their lives--like she had--in a laboratory. Although Pepper had a different education and had been allowed out much more, they weren't like other humans, and they never would be. She had never felt that more acutely than she did right then.
She wasn't part of the GhostWalker team, but she was no longer in her cage. She didn't really fit anywhere. She didn't know how to act. She had to watch others and follow their examples. She often made mistakes. Her training helped her to quickly cover those mistakes, but she learned fast to minimize her contact with locals--other than when she went hunting. She had to eat, so she had no choice but to get money someway, although she went hungry for long periods. She wasn't about to sleep with men like the Comeaux brothers for money, and her particular skill sets weren't very marketable. That left robbery.
Trap didn't like it, but he wasn't the one with the empty stomach. She was up near the edge of the roof and she rested her forehead against the eave. Trap. He really detested that she'd robbed others. His disapproval made her feel ashamed and dirty. She didn't like the feeling at all.
Taking a breath, she eased her body up and peeked over the roof. Scanning. She didn't see anyone close, but she felt him. She shouldn't do this. It went against her training--against all logic and common sense. She was allowing something she didn't even understand to control her, but she knew it didn't matter. She was compelled to see for herself that Trap was alive and well--that she hadn't harmed him by injecting too much venom. Sliding carefully onto the roof, she flattened her body, maneuvering beyond what anyone would think possible. She knew it would be impossible to spot her when she wasn't moving. She would look part of the roof structure.
Cayenne let the cool breeze drift over her for some time, reaching out into the night for scents and movement, but none came. Whoever was on the roof--and she was certain someone was up there with her, she just couldn't locate him--was every bit as adept at hiding himself as she could be.
If she was going to do this, she had to take the chance of getting caught. The chimney was only a few feet from her. Cayenne began to inch forward. Slow. Barely moving. Making certain not even a whisper of her clothes sliding over the roof gave her away. For the first time, entering the Fontenot compound, her heart was in her throat.
She made it to the small chimney and folded herself inside. Once crammed into the pipe, she felt relief. Someone had definitely been on the roof with her. His energy was low, but very, very dangerous. There was a part of her that suspected he might have known she was there, but let her through anyway. The familiar elation was gone, leaving her anxious and afraid of Trap's rejection. She'd sought that, even demanded it, although she knew it was really the last thing she wanted from him.
Cayenne resisted the urge to slip into Nonny's room. She needed to--for some reason the room comforted her, and more than any other time, she needed comfort. She didn't know anyone who could give her comfort--hold her in their arms like she'd seen Wyatt do Pepper. No one cared that much. She needed that more than she needed to stand in a beautiful room pretending.
In Nonny's room she could and often did pretend she had a family and a grandmother who loved her. Someone. Anyone. She swallowed hard and made her way through the house. She might have had the chance with Trap if she hadn't been so afraid and sent him away. Worse, if she hadn't embarrassed him in front of his friends and maybe actually harmed him.
CHAPTER 6
Cayenne made her way down the stairs like a human being, not a spider. She shouldn't do that either, but she often did when she was in the house, because it made her feel as if she could belong. Walking like a human rather than clinging to the ceiling and making her way was dangerous because she was so much easier to spot, but tonight--tonight she needed to be real. A human being. Someone else. Someone not her.
Deep inside her, something was building--something big and terrible. With every step she took she felt the heavy weight of that dark force gathering. Her breath hitched and her chest felt tight. Tremors racked her body, so much so that she knew if one of the GhostWalkers found her, she wouldn't be able to fight her way free. She kept walking toward him--toward Trap--because she had to.
She knew the way to his room, but even if she hadn't, she would have been able to find him. The pull was so strong in her that she always knew where he was. The thought that she could have caused him real harm stabbed at her heart relentlessly. Her stomach knotted. She pressed a hand over her churning belly, over those tight knots, took a deep breath and put her hand on his door.
Trap. She whispered his name. Her nemesis. The man who made her want to be human. The man she wanted more than anything in the world but knew she couldn't have. She didn't dare have him. She wouldn't know what to do with him, and when she was overwhelmed and scared, she could easily make a mistake.
She half turned away, her breathing ragged, coming in little hitches. She didn't know what that was either, only that it was uncomfortable and totally unfamiliar. She needed someone. Needed them. Not just someone, she needed the man she'd injected with toxins. The man she'd told to go away and stay away.
She hesitated and pressed her forehead against the door and slid her hand high, to the height his head would be, as if she could touch him. She pushed her body against the door as if his arms were around her and she could feel his body against hers. She tried to pretend that he was holding her, but there was no way to make that real for herself. No way.
She had rarely been out of her cell. She had despised her captors, and yet, if they were still alive, still around, she would have gone back because life outside that cell was terrifying. She had not wanted to believe them, that she wasn't fit to walk around with everyone else, especially when she saw inside of them, saw how ugly and cruel they were, but they were right.
She was different. Not human. Not salvageable. She had all the knowledge in the world inside her mind, but not a single bit of practical experience. She didn't know how to do anything but kill. The only person who had shown her any kindness, she'd struck out at and harmed.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, but she remained there, pressed tight against the door for a short while, trying to will everything to go the way she wanted. The problem was she was so confused she had no idea what she wanted. She wished . . . She stepped back from the door and dropped her hand to the knob resolutely.
She didn't have to open the door more than a crack to slip inside. Instantly, she inhaled. Deep. There he was, and the terrible churning in her stomach settled. The knots were still there, but the relentless coiling ceased. He was wide awake, head turned toward her, his gaze on her. She froze a foot from him. His hands were linked behind his head, and his eyes were as cold as ice. A blue flame burned beneath that ice. Once his gaze locked with hers, she couldn't look away. She was his captive as sure as if he had put her in shackles.
Every nerve ending in her body came alive. Her heart pounded and her stomach fluttered. Deep inside, something hot and wild moved. Persisted. She recognized that now, because every time she was near Trap, it was there, smoldering like a red-hot ember, ready to burst into flame at the slightest provocation.
Right then, even that flame didn't matter, because the terrible, vicious storm that had been building with every step she'd taken to get
to him was close--too close and that terrified her. She couldn't catch her breath. Her eyes burned like fire. Hot and uncomfortable and there was no way to stop it. No way to shove away the force that had to find a way out before she shattered into a million pieces.
"Ezekiel spotted you, Cayenne," he said.
Cayenne. Not baby. His voice was neutral, not soft and caressing. She'd really blown it. She needed him. At least she needed the fantasy of him. She just needed, and this was the only human being she trusted enough to go to for . . . what? What did she expect from him? She didn't even know, yet she'd come for something. Something she was desperate to have. His eyes were arctic cold. So cold she found herself shivering.
She shrugged as if it didn't matter. Maybe it didn't. If she didn't have him . . . If she didn't have this . . . What was there for her? She may as well have been terminated there in that cold, dark basement. She couldn't look away from his eyes. Those eyes that saw everything, saw right past her armor. Right past her fight. Right into the heart of her, where she was most vulnerable. He saw her. He had to know what she was--not human. Made for one purpose--to murder. That alone should have had her running, or killing him.
She did neither. She stared at him while her vision blurred and the burning in her eyes worsened. Her throat clogged until she was fighting for air. She pressed a hand to her knotted stomach.
"Come here, Cayenne."
There was hard authority in Trap's voice. She didn't accept authority. Not from anyone. People manipulated and corrupted. She didn't trust anyone enough to recognize them as an authority. She had vowed she'd never do anything anyone said. She'd been five years old and so tired of the needles and the fear and the punishments when she had first made that vow.
Her captors didn't like her. She was nothing but a specimen. Not human. Nothing. A throwaway. They made certain she knew it, and she despised them all. And herself. She despised that she couldn't get away from them, that they'd taken all her power from her and made her helpless. She'd vowed never to be helpless again. But here she was. In Trap's room. The last place she should have gone. Feeling helpless. Lost. Completely lost and very vulnerable.
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