If You've Got It, Haunt It: A ghost romance (The Peyton Clark Series Book 4)

by H. P. Mallory

  He intimidated me. And not just because of his abilities, either. He had an intense energy surrounding him that was both pervasive and formidable. As a spirit, he was a challenge to be reckoned with. I could only imagine what he was like in real life.

  “Tell me why you have come, Peyton Clark,” he said as he eyed me narrowly.

  “I’m concerned about reports I’ve heard regarding paranormal items disappearing at the hands of deceased children. I’ve also come to ask you what you know about a witch in the French Quarter, one throwing snakes into bars.” I took a breath. “I was also told to come here for information.”

  Lafitte nodded but then frowned. “I know of no such witch.”

  I was shocked and in disbelief. “How could you not know?” I figured Lafitte knew all there was to know in the supernatural world.

  Lafitte pushed my glass closer to me, indicating he wanted me to take another sip. He lifted his glass in a toast. I did the same and swallowed another sip. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the taste. It took me a moment to recover, but Lafitte looked unconcerned.

  “Are you lying to me?” I asked.

  Lafitte shrugged. “There are those who have power over the spirit and the soul. Their secrets must be kept.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about and my confusion showed on my face. “Who has that kind of power?” I asked, shaking my head because I didn’t understand what he meant.

  Lafitte studied the table surface as if he were conflicted as to how much he could or would say to me regarding the subject.

  I let out a gale-force sigh. “All right, what can you tell me?”

  Lafitte met my eyes again. “You’re looking for a different type of smuggler.”

  “Maybe a child?” I asked.

  “Oui,” Lafitte finished as he then finished his glass.

  “Can you tell me the identity of the children?”

  “Non.”

  “Can you tell me who they work for?”

  “Non.”

  “Can you tell me if the witch with the licorice wands is somehow involved or related to the robberies?”

  “I believe you can answer that question for yourself,” he said as he eyed me knowingly.

  “I came here because I can’t answer these questions for myself and I was told you would have the information I’m after.”

  “Information is never free, mon chaton,” he said with a knowing smile.

  I felt my eyes widen. “Why… why did you just call me that?” I demanded.

  “No reason,” he said with a frown and shrug.

  “No, there was a reason. That’s… that’s what…” but then I decided I didn’t want to tell Lafitte that Drake called me by the same affectionate term because he obviously already knew. “Is that your way of telling me you do know more than you’re letting on?” I asked as I leaned in closer and glared at him.

  “You will make of my words what you choose to.”

  “You said information doesn’t come free,” I continued. “Then if I pay you, will you tell me what I need to know?”

  “Your money does nothing for me, ma minette,” he said, leaning back into his chair until the front legs were airborne. He laughed and the acidic sound bounced around the inside of the tavern.

  “Name your price.”

  He came forward, the sound of the chair’s legs hitting the wooden floorboards below. “I want to know what it means to live again,” he whispered.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said as I leaned away from him.

  “Oh, but I think you do, mon cherie,” he continued.

  “Don’t parse words,” I said. “Say what you mean.”

  He leaned closer and I pulled further back. “I want you to take me into yourself. I wish to live within you the way your French policeman lived within you. I want to taste food again, and drink. I want to witness the world outside and I want to know what it feels like to touch a woman’s body.”

  I was quiet as I watched him and he grew quiet as he watched me.

  “No deal,” I said. There was no way I would willingly allow another spirit within me again. Drake was one thing—this guy I didn’t trust as far as I could throw him. And, given that he was a ghost, that wasn’t far.

  He leaned back into the chair but something about him was off—he suddenly seemed in a hurry maybe, and was no longer nonchalant and flirtatious.

  “Then thus ends our evening, Peyton Clark,” he said.

  I stared him down and he stared me down right back. “Jean Lafitte, the man responsible for winning the War of 1812 shouldn’t be scared of anyone.”

  “Nobody scares me.”

  “And yet, you were nervous as soon as I mentioned this witch. You must have information you’re keeping from me because you’re afraid; but what are you afraid of?”

  “I know enough to protect what I have left, and I will not risk it unless the payment in return is too good to turn down,” he said, coolly.

  “That payment being me willing to allow you to possess my body?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “I don’t understand,” I continued. “An incredibly strong ghost like you should be able to possess anyone he wants.”

  “Alas, things do not work quite so easily, do they?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I wish for a different type of domicile,” he answered quietly. I didn’t understand what he meant but I figured there was no point in furthering this conversation because the stakes were too high. I wasn’t willing to give him what he wanted so he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted.

  “Then we’re at a stalemate?” I asked.

  “I imagine so.” Then he stood up—so abruptly he rocked the table and the Absinthe sloshed out of my glass. “Good evening to you, Peyton Clark,” he said. “If you should change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Before I could respond, he simply disappeared. I blinked once, then twice.

  The raucous and loud crowd instantly returned and I found myself sitting alone at a booth at the far end of the room. I turned around and saw Ryan facing Christopher but neither of them were talking. Instead, Ryan caught my attention and immediately stood, coming towards me. I also stood up but the world tilted, forcing me to grip the table to steady myself.

  “Are you all right?” Ryan asked, offering me his arm.

  I took it and let him help me back to where Christopher was seated.

  Flickering patterns in my peripheral vision told me that the room was filled not only with the living, but many of the dead, intermingling with the solid shapes—jeans and petticoats, ballroom dresses and bell bottoms; an intricate backdrop, but not reality.

  “So?” Christopher asked.

  “So, I met Jean Lafitte, the owner of this place and a famous smuggler and pirate but he wasn’t much help.”

  “Sometimes the spirits choose to be difficult,” Christopher said with a sigh.

  “I’m ready to go home,” I said to Ryan, more than eager to leave this place and Christopher. My meeting with Lafitte rattled me—not because Lafitte seemed intimidating but rather because he seemed scared. If a big, bad, pirate feared this witch, I sensed I should fear her as well.

  ###

  Twenty minutes later, Ryan and I were seated in his truck with the heater blasting. All my previous concerns were forgotten at the moment. Before pulling onto the packed street, he leaned over, collected me in his arms and kissed me.

  “I want to apologize,” he started.

  “Shh.”

  He dipped his head so his lips were less than an inch from my ear. “I love you.”

  It was exactly what I needed to hear. All the nervous trepidation that had been my constant companion over the last few days leaked out of me. At that moment, his words were the most profound I’d ever heard, beautiful in their simplicity.

  I found myself examining his face, as I contemplated what it meant to truly love someone—to see them through youth into old age, to turn to them f
or comfort and happiness. We’d work together to create something, populating our world with tiny humans and together we’d be happy. We’d make something of our lives and ourselves.

  His face represented the future, the past and present, everything I wanted. My being cried out in a resounding chorus. Family, stability, everlasting love!

  “I want to be alone with you,” he said.

  “We are alone,” I whispered back, not fully grasping the meaning of his words.

  “I mean really alone with you, without Maggie, without that creepy doll, without the dog, without Angharad and Lovie and definitely without Christopher. I can’t take it anymore, Peyton, I...”

  “Let’s go to your house,” I interrupted.

  I wanted to be alone with him too.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I was entirely focused on Ryan, watching the way his arms flexed when he turned the steering wheel. Every few seconds, he’d look over, and say something, but I wasn’t listening to the words. The sound of his voice was enough to get my blood simmering.

  The heat between my legs became a burn when he pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine. He opened his door, shut it and ran around to my side. I didn’t waste any time in opening my door and unfastening my seat beat before he pulled me into his arms like I was light as a feather. Then he carried me to his front door, bride-style, while I looped my arms around his strong neck.

  All at once, I wanted him like never before. The passion inside me was more than just a burn. I couldn’t have repressed the urge if I wanted to. But I didn’t want to. I needed and wanted him now.

  Setting me down on my feet, he simultaneously kissed me as he unlocked his front door. Then I was up in his arms again as he carried me inside, kicking the door closed with his foot. His dogs bounded up to say hello but he ignored them, carrying me up the stairs to his bedroom. He threw open the door with the force of a man on a mission and gently lay me on the bed, before returning to the door and ushering both dogs out. When he locked the door behind him, he was already undressing himself on the short walk back to his bed.

  Then he was on top of me, surrounding me with his scent while his lips explored my face, my neck and my cleavage. But, that wasn’t enough. I ached to feel him inside me. Tugging at his belt and then his pants with a fury I hadn’t felt for a long time, I was thrilled when he did the same. He began tearing off my top and bra before his lips and tongue found my nipples. His hands undid the button on my pants and then he lowered the zipper. Before I knew it, I was wearing only my lace panties and a few seconds later, those were also gone!

  Spreading my legs apart, in less than one second, I felt his rock hard penis at my opening before he shoved himself deep inside me, burying himself as far as he could, which was unlike him. Usually he was much more careful with me—overly so. I couldn’t help screaming while in the midst of pure rapture. My voice sounded far away to my overwhelmed ears, almost like it wasn’t my voice at all.

  Every thrust grew deeper and harder—but they still weren’t enough to satisfy me. My desire was all-consuming, a hungry beast, fueled by the ceaseless need for more. I sensed Ryan was wrestling with the urge burning inside me, soothing it with his lips, his cock, and everything else he had. But still, I craved more.

  Give yourself to him, the thought echoed in my mind. He owns you. The two of you will be together forever.

  I wanted to give myself to him, body, mind and spirit. To enact a sacred rite, uniting more than just the sum of our parts; two beings beyond corporeal intercourse, truly melding with one another. Feelings and thoughts that seemed so foreign to me but somehow, made sense in the heat of the moment.

  “Map mange ou sans sel!” I opened my mouth and the foreign words blurted out, pulled from somewhere deep inside me. They flew out of my mouth like giant raindrops, landing on the concrete. Another language besides my own, yet they were not foreign. I was confused although I understood their meaning at the same time.

  I looked up into Ryan’s eyes and found him staring at me. His expression revealed his understanding, like he knew what the words meant too—and they weren’t foreign to him either. I had the distinct impression that my feelings and thoughts were the same as his at the moment. I lost myself in his gaze, looking at one golden flecked iris to the other, going around and around, the whole world spinning.

  “Map mange ou sans sel,” he repeated the same foreign words that sounded so familiar. I didn’t bother to ask what the words meant because I knew them already, although I did not know how I knew them.

  “Map mange ou sans sel,” I replied. The words rang out as I stared up at Ryan. He was moving inside me with an urgency I never experienced from him before, writhing and twisting, his flesh pounding hard into my flesh.

  Draw blood, the thought rang through my head and I clenched my eyes shut as I gripped his broad back and sank my nails into his flesh. I pulled them down and he winced above me before driving into me with renewed ferocity.

  I opened my eyes and released him, bringing my fingers to my face as he watched me. My fingers were red with his blood.

  Consecrate, I told myself. Touching my forehead with my index finger, I drew a line down to my nose. Then I drew my finger from the left of my forehead, to the right. Ryan watched me with a filthy smile.

  That was when I noticed that his eyes were glowing white. I must have been partially aware because I did not notice them prior to that second.

  “Map mange ou sans sel,” he said.

  Ryan hastened his rhythm, and sweat poured off his forehead as he gripped my thighs with both hands and drove himself deep inside me with a determination I never witnessed in him before. My breath panted at the same sickening pace, and he moved even faster. His thrusts grew more and more aggressive, as if he were trying to reach higher, to penetrate the barrier that prevented him from becoming one with me.

  Ryan’s eyes were still glowing white, and blinding in their beauty. Yet, there was something inside me that was shrieking while trying to break the control overtaking me. I began to shake my head as a sense of fear infiltrated my stomach. Ryan seemed to notice because he looked down at me with a stern expression.

  “Map mange ou sans sel,” he said, his voice deep and accented. Forceful. The words were a command and my body obeyed them, the fear instantly fading away. He repeated the words again and again, whispering in a voice that no longer belonged to him. As I watched him shoving himself inside me, I could not pry my eyes away. His eyes continued to glow white, but his face began to change its shape, until he did not look like Ryan at all.

  At first I didn’t know who he was. His skin turned black as night and his eyes glowed with such intensity that all I could see was a cloud of white light above his nose. Then the whiteness began to fade as the color blanched away from his skin, lessening until his complexion was olive.

  “Map mange ou sans sel,” he said again, but this time, he spoke the words as Drake.

  At first I was shocked to see Drake above me, let alone, to feel him inside me. But the shock soon gave way to the thrill. Drake looked down at me and smiled. Shoving himself deep inside me, he gripped the sides of my head, forcing me to stare into his glowing white eyes.

  “Map mange ou sans sel,” Drake said before he exploded inside me.

  “What does that mean?” I demanded.

  “I will eat you without salt,” he answered, grinning.

  ###

  Light, my worst enemy, was sent down from heaven purely to torment me. I tried to roll over and cover my eyes, but immediately regretted it. I felt so sore, I could barely move, and as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I realized I wasn’t in bed at all. No, I was lying on my side in the middle of my… garden?

  I braced my hands on either side of me and tried to sit up but fell back as soon as my head clouded and I got dizzy. My throat was raw—like I’d been screaming for the better part of the evening.

  What the fuck, I thought to myself as I tried to understand why I woke up
in my garden, feeling like I just survived WWIII.

  I managed to lift myself into a seated position, but when I rolled onto all fours, my knees buckled. I eyed the rear of my house with a nervous anxiety. I wondered why I was out here and how I ended up in the grass. The only thing for sure was that I needed to get back inside. But, with my body wigging out at the moment, that task proved inordinately difficult.

  If I can’t get to the back door by walking, I told myself. I’ll have to crawl.

  With unflagging resolve, I shifted myself forward, feeling every muscle as they screamed at me singly. Every inch brought another pang, and it didn’t get better. I had to stop numerous times just to catch my breath and rest.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I didn’t know. And having no answer was reason enough to worry.

  I could see the dining room window next to the French doors. I hoped I wasn’t hallucinating, but I swear Lizzie was looking out the window, staring at me. I lurched forward and felt like I would puke. My stomach heaved, but nothing came up.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to remember. But got nothing—just a big, empty space in my head from when Ryan and I left The Old Absinthe House. Everything after The Old Absinthe House was a blank gap and a mystery.

  It made no sense.

  Still crawling, but finding it more than difficult, I dragged myself up to the veranda, past the patio table, and to the back door. At that point, all my energy was drained and I feared I was steps away from death. That feeling of complete exhaustion, when your body can’t comply with your brain’s demands.

  I glanced up at the doorknob, wondering how I could reach it, since I doubted I could stand. Barely managing to keep myself upright, I opened my mouth and called for Maggie but no sound came out. I collapsed on the patio floor, closed my eyes and drifted away.