Bayou Heat (7 page)

His hold on her changed. He still held her captive, yet now she held him too, in her
own way. He couldn’t stop touching her.

No moon filtered through the trees. Her eyes were black, bottomless, but he didn’t
have to see them to know she was responding to him. He could feel it, pulsing under
his fingers, beating in his ears, thrumming in his groin. He could smell it. Wanted
badly to taste it.

His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders. He
exerted just enough pressure for her to know he wanted her closer but didn’t wait
and stepped in closer himself.

“Erin.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said on a shaky whisper.

The admission shot a hot thrill through him. “What am I like,
chèr?
”

She stared at him, her face cast in deep shadow. The silence between them stretched
out, the only sound that of the earthy throb of the
maman
drums as they echoed through the trees. Teague felt that beat deep inside his belly,
and lower.

Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she spoke.

“Dangerous. To me.”

“Why? What do you think I’m going to do to you, Erin?”

There was a pause, then her voice stroked him again. “It’s not what I think you’ll
do, it’s what I want you to do.”

“What is that, Erin?” He took another irreversible step forward and lowered his mouth
close to hers. “What do you want me to do to you, Erin? Tell me.” He brushed his lips
against hers. “Tell me.”

“Teague.” His name was no more than a gasp.

“That’s right,
ange
.” He touched his lips to hers. “Say my name again.”

“I don’t—”

He kissed her then, slowly, completely, swallowing words he should probably hear but
didn’t want to. She stilled. He took the kiss deeper, pressing his tongue past
her soft lips, twining it with hers. Not admitting, even now, that he was inside her
mouth, pulling her body tight against his, that it might go beyond that. That
he
wanted it to.

When she lifted her hands to his arms, grasping his biceps, digging her fingertips
into the twitching muscles there, he felt something drop hard into his stomach, leaving
him almost light-headed. Lighthearted.

Something beyond sexual pleasure, beyond the carnal knowledge of her that his body
was screaming for.

She leaned into him and relaxed her mouth, granting him an invitation, one he took
to heart.

And that is exactly why he pulled away.

They stood staring at each other, their breathing audible in the small space between
them. Teague felt something shift inside him. Around him. As if this moment somehow
defined a very important change in the world. That nothing would ever be the same.

“He’s my half brother.”

Erin was obviously as nonplussed by his declaration as he was for blurting it out.

“Who is?”

He could still taste her on his tongue, felt her there as he spoke. It made his skin
heat and his body even harder. “Marshall. You asked what my connection is to him.”

He waited while she absorbed that information. It was common knowledge in the parish;
she would have heard anyway. He was surprised she hadn’t just asked Marsh. But somehow
him telling her was like a declaration. Of what, he was afraid to ask himself.

“Are you close?”

Her question took him by surprise. She’d asked sincerely, honest interest clear in
her tone. He wondered if she’d forgotten she was holding his arms. He hadn’t forgotten
anything.

“No.”

Silence fell heavily between them. Her gaze dropped to where she touched him. He felt
her fingers tense on his skin, then she carefully relaxed her grip and let her hands
fall away.

Only when she moved back enough to put pressure on his own hold, did he find the will
to drop his hands as well.

“This is the first thing he’s asked me for in a very long time.”

“Well, I’m grateful he asked, and more grateful you agreed. Whatever your reasons.”

He didn’t want her gratitude. But that begged the question of just what it was he
did want. He refused to think about that.

His reasons for being here, for bringing her here, precluded his ever answering that
question.

“We’d better move.”

At that instant the drums stopped. The sudden cessation of the beat, the final echo
through the trees, froze them both momentarily in place.

Before Teague could move, the underbrush rustled to his left. Without thought he turned
toward the noise and pulled Erin behind him. There was a whisper of sound, then in
the next instant, they were surrounded by at least a dozen
hounsis
, all dressed in white cotton
shifts. The glow of their clothes against the dark background was surreal, almost
otherworldly.

Erin tugged at the arm he’d wrapped around her, trying to step past him. He turned
and pulled her forward, so they were side by side, staring down the silent wraiths.

“Initiates?” Erin whispered.

“Yes. Followers of Belisaire,” Teague answered back, keeping his voice low.

She looked at him, then turned back as the trees rustled once again. A small figure
eased into view, almost as if she had been part of the trees, but now stood separate,
alone. Also dressed in white, the woman was small, both in height and build. But the
power radiating from her was almost palpable.

“Teague.” The woman’s voice was strong, commanding, and, he knew, surprising to those
who had never heard it before.

He glanced down at Erin, needing to see her reaction, as if it would somehow make
everything that was to come understandable. He knew it wouldn’t. And yet he didn’t—couldn’t—look
away. The only time in his life he’d known Belisaire’s presence not to hold his full
attention.

The creeping dawn helped to illuminate Erin’s face. Avid curiosity and sharp awareness
lit her eyes. Her even expression couldn’t hide the almost tangible excitement he
swore he felt growing in her. Strange, hypnotic.

Teague worked hard to shake the unsettling feeling.

“Belisaire is the
mambo
.” He turned to face the woman. She did nothing but stand there, yet she commanded
the attention of all those in the clearing. Including Erin.

“She is also my
grand-mère
Comeaux.”

Erin swung her gaze to Teague. “Your grandmother?”

“Yes, Dr. McClure,” Belisaire answered for him.

Erin turned back to her. The woman had somehow managed to close the distance between
them without a sound. She stuck out her hand. “I’m very honored to meet you.”

Belisaire studied her proffered hand, then laid her small dark-skinned hand over Erin’s.
The slow scrutiny of her black-eyed gaze was more than a bit unsettling. Erin had
been subjected to examinations before, by chieftains of little-known aboriginal tribes,
leaders of warriors in countries still more untamed than civilized. None had made
her feel so exposed. She felt naked to her soul.

After what felt like hours, but was certainly only seconds, the priestess lifted her
hand and spoke. “You have faced the darkness before, Erin McClure. You will face it
again. Here.”

“Yes,” Erin answered. “I am very grateful for the opportunity.”

A smile split the woman’s dark features, rocking Erin with its unexpected whiteness.
Here was Teague’s grandmother in the smile they both shared. And, Erin realized, the
darkness that lay beneath the blinding smile.

“I hope you still feel that way when your time here is done.” The woman turned slightly,
as if to leave, then stopped. “But be warned, Erin McClure. The darkness I spoke of
isn’t what we do here in the bayous in the full of the moon. It resides in you and
one other. Make no mistake, Erin McClure. The choice will be yours. May you both find
the light.”

This time she faced Teague, completely shutting Erin out. Belisaire lifted her hand
to caress the side of his face as one would a small boy. So incongruous to the woman
of a second ago, so … grandmotherly …

“It takes too much to bring you to me,” she said to Teague, who stood still under
her touch.

Erin was captivated by the notion of Teague being raised by this woman.

“But this time I forgive your long absence.” She dropped her hand to his and covered
it tightly.

Teague leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You forgive too much, Grand-mère.” He grinned.
“And I’ll always let you.”

The older woman smiled in return, then her features tightened, and just like that
Belisaire the
mambo
was back. Teague straightened, but she held his hand.

“You will have a choice to make too,
chèr
. My only guidance is to trust your heart. It is time.”

Her whispered words were meant for Teague alone and just barely reached Erin’s ears.

“The only heart I have belongs to you alone, Grand-mère.”

She dropped his hand with a sharp snap. “Then you are already lost.”

Teague’s smile vanished, and his voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Are you just now
accepting that, Grand-mère?”

She just turned and walked away, melting back into the trees like a wraith. Erin looked
around and realized she and Teague were alone once again. Or were they?

She shivered. “Quite a woman, your
grand-mère
.”

“And at times a real pain in the ass,” Teague muttered.

Erin was dying to ask him a hundred questions about the older woman, not one of them
having to do with her research. “I take it the evening’s festivities are over?”

Teague turned his attention to her. Erin felt it like a live thing, touching her.

“No. We follow. The invitation has been issued.”

Erin laughed. “Then I guess it is a good thing you’re along. I never would have deciphered
that as an invitation.”

Teague didn’t respond. He simply studied her for several seconds, the heat creeping
back into his dark eyes.

It filled her just as swiftly.

He stepped closer. She didn’t move.

“Your first choice is now, Erin.”

She curled her fingers into her palms against the sudden need to touch him. To connect
with him in a physical way, as if that could diminish or explain the connection she
felt with him on an entirely different plane.

“And what is that?”

“Follow me into the swamp. To Belisaire. Enter my world.”

Erin shivered. It was a delicious sensation she didn’t want to stop. She wanted him
to touch her, run his hands over her sensitized skin, prolong it.

“Or?” She struggled to keep her voice even.

“Walk away, Erin. There are things you don’t understand.”

“That’s precisely why I am here, Teague. To understand.”

“I’m not talking about voodoun rituals and plant medicine.”

“Well, that’s the only thing I’m talking about.” If he believed the lie, then maybe
she could too.

“Your decision is made then.” It wasn’t a question.

“It was made long before I met you, Teague. I have to do this.”

“Already ignoring Belisaire’s advice. I learned long ago the folly of doing that.
She is never wrong.”

“I
want
to do this. My
choice
.” She stepped back, a clear statement of her independence. “My responsibility as
well.”

He studied her for another long moment, then turned and walked away. “Follow me.”

She did. And it was both the most difficult and the easiest thing she’d ever done.

Teague watched, bemused, as Erin entered the small house Belisaire used as her
hounfour
, her center for worship and healing. There were a lot of memories tied up in that
house. The summer after his mother took her life, it had been his refuge. When he
didn’t get his act together fast enough to suit Belisaire, it became his prison. Confinement
he’d desperately wished had been solitary. Not filled with people who wandered in
and out at all hours of the day and night. He’d spent many a night in the small airless
second-floor room, plotting his escape. From his father, from Belisaire, from Bruneaux.

Belisaire had eventually prevailed. Teague stayed in school. Stayed out of trouble.
Or at least made damn sure he didn’t get caught. The only thing she’d never gotten
him to do was see his father again.

And, after four years, at age eighteen, Teague had escaped.

Now, more than a decade later, he was back. The woman who had saved his life at fourteen
was in trouble, whether she believed herself to be or not.

“Stubborn old lady,” Teague muttered under his breath, but there was more than a trace
of affection and respect in his tone. She’d long ago earned both. The door closed
behind Erin. Teague shook off the curiosity,
the need to stay and observe how these two women who so fascinated him dealt with
one another.

That he felt so certain Erin would hold her own with Belisaire made him smile even
as it made him uncomfortable.

But he had no time for this. He shut off thoughts of Erin stepping into this part
of his life, a part no one in his new life knew about, and turned them to the reason
he’d come here tonight.

He quickly disappeared into the trees until he came to a small dilapidated boathouse
that was more of a covered mooring. He stepped inside, smelled the cigarette smoke,
and breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Skeeter, what do you have for me?”

Erin stepped from the porch, nodding politely as several white-clad men and women
walked past her into the small house. Apparently this was a common occurrence at any
hour.

She paused several feet into the clearing and breathed deeply. Thick and heavy with
the scent of the bayou, it actually felt good. Maybe she’d get used to being here
after all. A grin spread across her face and she gave in to the urge to hug herself.
The meeting with Belisaire had gone better than expected. So much so that Erin could
barely contain her excitement. Belisaire understood what Erin’s interests were and
was willing, on her own terms, to help her. In fact, she’d made the whole meeting
seem preordained, as if it were her idea.