Master of Salt & Bones

by Keri Lake

  “You knew the two of them? Personally?”

  “Oh, yes, but not long. Amelia died only a few weeks after I started. So, so sad, what happened to them.”

  “Wait … so they know what happened to Roark, then? I mean, I thought he disappeared? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  The smile on her face is empty, as if she’s holding it simply to be polite, while her eyes study me. Perhaps she’s gauging whether, or not, to say anything. Wondering if I’ll take the information and spread it around Tempest Cove, like Aunt Midge would do.

  “You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

  “Isn’t really my place. But you care for Mrs. Blackthorne, right? Maybe she’ll tell you.”

  The woman who thinks her possibly dead grandson is alive? Sure. “It’s not important for me to know.”

  “You’ve met Lucian?”

  I’m beginning to think everyone keeps asking me about him to see what I think of him, like he’s some kind of deal breaker for me. Devil, or not, he’s not scaring me out of this job. “I have. He’s … pretty intense.”

  “Yes. Very. But not so bad, once you get to know him.”

  “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

  “He’s not a people person. Assuming you stay, he’ll warm up eventually.”

  Warm up? I can’t imagine that. I found the guy’s personality frigid enough to replenish the polar icecaps. “It seems I’m not expected to stay long.”

  With a sigh, she glances around my room again. “This place isn’t for everyone. Some find it depressing. Morose. Maybe even a little frightening, at times. It’s a matter of perspective, I suppose. It can be a peaceful place for some. And drive others absolutely mad.”

  “You find it peaceful, then?”

  “Sure. It’s sort of like ... sitting in a cemetery. Being surrounded by death can either make you feel incredibly vulnerable and alone, or it can make you grateful to be alive.”

  Giulia’s is a personality that I can’t quite place in our first meeting. A part of me appreciates her perspective, as I’ve always had a sort of fondness for the macabre. A cracked dead rose. A spider web in morning light. Even a cemetery. Yet, I find her demeanor almost oddly un-genuine, unlike Nell’s. It’s as if she’s hiding something.

  “I met Sampson, as well,” I tell her.

  “Oh, he’s a big sweetie. Scary looking, but a sweetie.”

  “Scary, for sure. He looks like he could devour a person in under a minute.”

  “Minute and thirty, actually.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her head kicks back on a quiet chuckle, and even that strikes me as somewhat fake. “I’m joking. I’ve only seen him go after the occasional trespasser. We get them more often than not. Folks who like to dig up dirt on the Blackthornes. It’s troublesome, the way people behave, sometimes.”

  “I agree. My asking about Roark was merely curiosity. Nothing else.” My gaze falls to the shiny cross clasped around her neck.

  “I didn’t think anything bad of it. I’ve just grown accustomed to not talking with anyone about it.”

  “I’m sure you’ve had a lot of people pry. I promise I’m not one of them.”

  “Good. Also, I should let you know that this place can get pretty unsettling at night, sometimes.” She reaches for her cross in what is perhaps a mindless gesture, drawing it back and forth along its delicate chain. “Think it’s the wind coming off the cliff, but it can sound like someone crying. Freaked me out, the first few nights.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get settled. If you need anything, just holler.”

  “Or I can just knock on the door.”

  “I won’t answer if you do. Just holler. I’ll hear you through the vents.”

  “O. Kay. I’ll do that.”

  “Oh, and you may want to lock your door at night.”

  Chapter 7

  Lucian

  Sixteen years ago …

  My father comes home today. With Jude having left, on his way back to school, there’s nothing to keep me distracted from that thought. Blowing out an exasperated breath, I fix my gaze toward the tall ceiling in my bedroom. Adorned with gods of war, there isn’t an inch of it that isn’t painted with men in armor, clashing in blood and battle. Somehow, my parents thought staring up at it night after night would turn me into a complacent and obedient teenager.

  Disaster with the fire extinguisher aside, homecomings with my father are never something I look forward to, but this one promises to be exceptionally bad, as I understand negotiations didn’t go as he’d hoped. Which means his shitty mood will permeate every corner of this castle before the night is over. I’ll get the brunt of it, as usual, but so will everyone else.

  Perhaps even Solange.

  At the flash of her tits, I screw my eyes shut and run a hand down my face. After spending the entire night battling the most horrific case of blue balls I’ve ever felt, I’ll now be forced to tamp down the raging hard-on she’s incited once again.

  A knock at the door stiffens my muscles. Surely, my father hasn’t arrived home already.

  I lift my head, waiting to see if he’ll slam through the door cursing my name, like the last time I got in trouble.

  Another knock arrives, instead.

  Likely not either of my parents, since my mom would’ve pushed her way in by now.

  “Yeah?”

  Instead of an answer, I get another knock at the door.

  Groaning in frustration, I clamber out of bed, and with quick strides across the room, I throw the door open.

  Solange stands outside my room. “Forgive my intrusion.” Her voice is like an intoxicating poison made for a slow death. “May I come in?”

  After a quick glance around, I step aside, allowing her entry.

  “I have to admit, of all the rooms I’ve seen, so far, this one is my favorite.” She points to the ceiling and smiles. “Nothing sexier than gods in battle.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You disappointed me the other night. I was a little … how you say … humiliated.”

  “What’d you expect, after screwing my friend in front of me?”

  “Did you like the taste of my pussy?”

  Setting one hand on my hip, I rub my jaw with the other to keep from grabbing my straining dick in front of her. “Nothing I haven’t tasted before.”

  Amusement flickers in her eyes as she licks her lips, and her gaze nosedives toward where my groin must look like I’m smuggling tennis balls. “I’ve got a secret, young master.” She, somehow, manages a slow and easy saunter back toward my bed, and runs her fingertips over the duvet as she comes to a stop alongside it. Eyes on mine, she kneels and reaches beneath the bed, a smile lifting the corner of her lips as she pulls something from beneath and rises to a stand. “What would your mother think of this?”

  Frowning, I focus on what she holds up in front of me. Porn, based on the cover of the magazine that shows a couple fucking, but not just any porn. These two are clad in leather, and the woman is tied up. The expression on her face, twisted up in fear, makes it look like rape.

  “That isn’t mine.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “I’m serious. I’ve never seen that before.” Jesus Christ, if this is Jude’s little prank, he’s a dead man the next time I see him. My mom would have a heart attack if she got her hands on this.

  On a slow saunter back toward me, Solange doesn’t lower the magazine from my sight. “The question is, do you like what you see?”

  I don’t answer that. Of course I like what I see. Any guy who says he doesn’t fantasize about forced sex on occasion is a fucking liar.

  Would I act on it, though? No, I’m no rapist.

  “Would you like to do that, say … to me?”

  “I already told you. I don’t do sloppy--”

  She slaps a hand over my mouth, and she’s lucky I’m already in the shithouse with my father, or she’d regret laying a ha
nd on me. No one touches without asking.

  I pry her fingers from my lips and throw her hand off to prove that point.

  “I want you to meet me down in the cave tonight. I want to show you something.”

  This chick is relentless. She’s got to be ten years older than me, at least. What the hell does she want with me?

  “I’m sure I’ll be grounded.”

  “Oh, poor baby.” Testing my limits again, she sets her palm against my chest. “Do they lock your crib at night, so you can’t crawl out?” Not even giving me the chance to make a smartass comment, she leans into me. “I wanted to show you a trick.”

  “What kind of trick?”

  Something brushes the head of my dick through the slacks, and my stomach knots up. My mom could come through the door at any second, and this woman doesn’t seem to care. “You’ll have to come, if you want to find out.”

  Pressing the magazine into my chest, she guides my hand to take it from her.

  “A gift from me,” she whispers, and steps past me. “Enjoy.”

  A throbbing ache swells behind my eye socket, and I set an ice pack there to numb the pain as I sit on a boulder inside the cave. A fist to the eye is nothing to me. Besides growing up with a violent bastard for a father, I got into more fights than I can count in school. This one’s just another chip against my dwindling self-control. The truth is, even if Solange didn’t invite me down here, I’d have ended up here eventually. It’s where I go when I need to escape the prick. My mother had conveniently already swallowed back her valium before he arrived home. Not that she’d have stopped him. Sure, she’d have protested, like any mom, but she isn’t stupid. Griffin Blackthorne would’ve happily doled out the same punishment to her, so it’s better she didn’t get in the middle of it. Asshole didn’t even seem all that pissed about the fire extinguisher, so I’m guessing I merely served as a punching bag to his frustrations over a botched business deal.

  Second one in the last couple of months, which means the old man is losing his touch.

  Shadows at the mouth of the cave draw my attention to where a lithe form stands at the entrance. I daresay she’s a welcomed sight right now, as I solemnly nurse the wounds that’ll ultimately leave me with a black eye. I lower the pack of ice, confirming that I still can’t see out of my left eye, and she rushes toward me, falling to her knees before the boulder.

  “Mon bébé! My sweet boy, what happened to you?” Her fingertips brush over the bruise, and even the slightest pressure intensifies the ache.

  Sweet boy? She hardly knows me.

  “I’m fine.” Pushing her hand aside, I catch the pout of her lips, telling of her disappointment.

  “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “I didn’t come for you.”

  “Are you not attracted to me?”

  “What does it matter? You’re too old for me.”

  Her eyes flinch at that, as if I’ve slapped her. “Old,” she echoes, and pushes to her feet. “May I show you the trick now, young master?”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” The dismissal in my tone is the result of the increasingly aching throb behind my eyeball. What I wouldn’t give for some weed to help dull the misery.

  Like she senses as much, she hooks her finger beneath my chin, tipping my head back. “You’re in pain?”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  Reaching down into her shirt, she pulls a silver flask out from between her breasts. “I’ve brought you something that might help.”

  Accepting the proffered drink, I open the cap and take a sniff of what’s undoubtedly liquor, but sweet, like sugar. “What is it?”

  “Rum. Have some. It’ll help take the pain away.”

  With a sniff, I throw back the flask on a long swill. A burn slides down my throat, warming my chest as it makes its way to my stomach. I tip it back again.

  Solange chuckles and sinks to her knees before me, wedging herself between my thighs. Running her hands up and down my legs, she smiles and licks her lips. “Such powerful legs. You play sports?”

  For a second, her face blurs, and I double blink to bring her back into focus. “Lacrosse and swim.” The slur in my words is unexpected, and with a frown, I lift the flask again. “D’you spike this w’something?” Two sips of liquor would’ve hardly left me feeling this woozy so fast. At school, Jude and I did tequila shots when we played cards, and I still won eighty percent of the time.

  With a devious smile, she leans forward and licks the shell of my ear. “Yes,” she whispers.

  My muscles turn weak, lax, with that fireplace coziness that makes me want to lie down somewhere. I don’t even realize I’ve slid down the rock onto the sand until Solange straddles my thighs, lifting my arms above my head as she removes my shirt.

  Should I be doing this? What’s happening?

  Without protest, I let her undress me, as I stare up at the ceiling of the cave. There are brief moments of blackness, like a long blink. A cold sensation. Then warmth. I lift my hand to rub my eyes, surprised to find it’s already raised, and I follow the path of my limb to a pair of handcuffs that bind my wrists together, and a rope tied to an old, rusted post that used to be a ‘Danger Stay Out’ sign. It’s somehow weathered years of high tide, though the actual sign popped off a while back.

  Long blink.

  My muscles jerk, and I’m staring up at the rope tied to the post. I tug, but it doesn’t give.

  Long blink.

  A spasm rocks me awake. Something cold tickles my feet. I lift my head to find the water splashing around my legs.

  Rising with the tide.

  Panic freezes my veins. I tug at the rope again, to no avail.

  Long blink.

  Ice cold liquid crashes against my face, and I gasp, kicking myself back. The water has risen up to my chest, my legs fully submerged. Perched on a boulder off to the side is a black object that doesn’t immediately come into focus until I squint. It’s a bird. A black bird. I zero in on the missing eyeball. The bird I shot with Jude.

  Its caw echoes through the cave, and a fist of salt and fury smashes against my face with an incoming wave, kicking my head to the side. The sea is rough tonight.

  “Help me!” I manage to call out, the sound of my voice bouncing inside the empty cave. “Somebody help!”

  The bird flies off.

  Long blink.

  “Tell me more about swim.” Solange kneels beside me, looking down on me, and warmth engulfs my exposed cock as she curls her hand around it. To my surprise, it feels good. So fucking good. When did she pull down my pants? I tug at the rope, but only for leverage, as I arch into her strokes.

  “The water … it gets deep.” Before I can finish the thought, a wave crashes against my face again, and I shake my head, snorting the salt that shoots up into my sinuses.

  “Your mother told me you had an accident as a child. You almost drowned.”

  It’s true. When I was three years old, I fell into the pool. Fortunately, we had a number of staff, and someone managed to pull me out before I officially kicked the bucket. It was traumatic enough to keep me from the water for years, though, until my father demanded that I join the swim team.

  Therapy, he called it.

  Might’ve helped my fear of water, but it didn’t help my fear of drowning.

  “The tide’s strong. We have to get out of here.” My voice is weak, and I feel my consciousness waning again, the darkness on the fringes closing in.

  “We will.” She runs her hand up and down my tenacious hard-on. “After you come.”

  “I can’t. N’when we’re about to drown.”

  “You’re already halfway there, from the feel of it.”

  The water rushes over my head, and I hardly have the opportunity to suck in a breath as it washes over me, pulling me when it retreats.

  She strokes faster. “Come for me, Lucian.”

  I want to tell her to fuck off, to push her away, but I can’t. I’m too caught up in the feeling of
her palm, the precise pressure of it as she pumps her fist.

  “If you refuse, you’ll drown. Here, in this cave.”

  “So will you.” I groan, the sound vibrating in my chest, punctuated by sheer bliss as the water provides a wet slide. Cold, but not frigid.

  “I’ll go before it gets too deep. I’ll leave you here to die.”

  She’s fucking crazy!

  Another wave crashes over me, this one lifting my body up off the sand and pulling at the binds when it recedes.

  Coughing up the fluids from my sinuses, I brace for another wave.

  Her strokes hasten.

  My body hardens.

  The salt burns as it floods my nostrils again, the waves coming faster than before. Higher than the last.

  Another wave.

  My muffled shouts beneath the water pound through my ears, over the muted crash against the rocks. Bubbles expel the last breath, but the sensation between my thighs diverts my attention from everything else. Once again the water is yanked away, and I suck in as much air as I can.

  The next wave doesn’t retreat this time.

  I kick against her hand pressing into my thigh, while the other works me to orgasm. The breath I managed before the wave punches at my chest for release. The desperate pull for air leaves me arched underwater. Panic reaches its height. My body eases into the next phase. Drowning. I’m going to be the next kid to drown in this fucking cave.

  But somehow, somehow I don’t care, because even as the ocean rubs its palms for another sacrifice, I’m still in tune to every incredible rub of my dick.

  Dizziness settles over me while she plays with my balls, and the sensations clash together, the fear, the panic, the excitement, tightening my muscles, until I have no choice but to let go.

  More bubbles expel from my mouth, light crashes behind my eyes, and for a split second, I wonder if I’m dead.

  The next thing I know, I’m sitting upright, the water reaching my neck, my body cold and shaky, the way it feels just before a person passes out. Coughing and gasping for air, I turn to the side, while the next wave pummels my face. Tucking her arms beneath mine, Solange stumbles forward, knocking into me, but I kick back and push to my feet. Still coughing, muscles loose with weakness, I hobble toward the entrance, the water up to my thighs, as we round the mouth of the cave and climb the slope.