Crimson Cove (5 page)

              And then, I’d taken it all away.

He’d tasted sweet on that decade passed day, like mint and sugar, and I’d wondered if his skin was as delicious as it looked, and if it would be as sweet as his tongue. Would it give me a head rush? Or more?

              I’d wanted to ask him a thousand things back then, in that empty classroom. I’d wanted Bane to know that I’d give anything to kiss him, that I had laid in bed some nights and thought about how he’d feel hovering over me, inside me, that sometimes those thoughts lasted all night and I had to spell my room from any sound so that my parents wouldn’t hear me crying out as I masturbated to thoughts of him.

              But that day in Matthews’ class I hadn’t told him any of that. I couldn’t, not with him stepping closer, with him backing me up against the wall next to the door. Not when he pulled the door closed with a flick of his finger and with his attention fixed on my face. 

              “Gotta be honest. I’m not sure what you want...” he’d almost stammered.

              “Just one thing.” He’d looked confused when I said that, maybe a little taken aback that I wasn’t like most of the other girls in the covens, the ones who were looking to make Bane Iles, and by extension his money and power, part of their Marry Well and Wealthy plan. 

              “Just one?” he’d asked, tilting his head like he knew there was a plot brewing behind my dark eyes. He hadn’t seemed all that bothered that there might be. 

              Bane had come to me so easily that day—a tug on his face, my hand at the back of his neck and he’d relaxed against me. He hadn’t fought the touch of my fingers on his face or how I moved our positions so that he was the one against the wall. He hadn’t moved when I brushed my fingers over that beautiful face because it couldn’t be helped. Those lips, those high and chiseled cheekbones, that jaw line—his features were symmetry in motion, classic, something that didn’t seem to fit with a time of smart phones and email. That face seemed ancient, something that would have made even Michelangelo’s David ache with envy.

              And because I’d taken that now or never-ever moment like I’d owned it, just then, for just a moment, Bane belonged to me. A small brush of his mouth against mine, that smooth, slow movement of his jaw relaxing, his hands smoothing up my back, holding me still while I’d moved his face between my fingers. We’d become a rise and fall, breath full of so much potential, so much possibility that the sensation of it all had staggered me.

              “Jani,” he had whispered against my lips and, “Yes, God yes…” had become a prayer I hadn’t thought Bane meant to speak aloud. But it hadn’t been the heat collecting in the room or the soft echo of our moans, or our breaths becoming the only sound we’d heard as I’d deepened the kiss that froze us in that moment. It had been more. Much, much more, and I hadn’t recognized what that more meant, not until it was too late to back away from it.

              I’d left the Cove behind. I had to. I’d buried Bane’s memories, pretending to let him bury mine, but the truth lingered, always, even though it was now so deeply shut away. Whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not, I’d claimed him at eighteen and no matter how many men I let take me, no matter how many times I told myself I felt something more than attraction, deep down I knew I’d never be satisfied with anyone but Bane. We were bound together, connected.  He knew me. No one in my life, save my twin, could say that. Mai and Bane—one I could never have, the other I could never be rid of even if I wanted it—were the only ones who knew who I truly was.  

              But that had been ten years ago. One brief moment when Bane’s and my nexuses melded, touched and tantalized. When we’d claimed each other. But I’d concealed it, had taken it back from both of us, so why would he still gravitate toward me? Those years since among the mortals, skimming just outside the touch of magic, only flirting with it when it was needed, had taught me one thing: Surround yourself with laughter and lust, humor and pleasure, but the faces would always be void; the friendship, always forced. Loneliness doesn’t come to us because we are alone. It comes because we never let anyone see who we really are.

              One day, a long time ago I’d let Bane see who I was and today, as I rested against the car window, trying my best not to let his warmth, his scent, his presence, penetrate too deeply in my mind, I promised myself he would not see me like that again.

Not ever again.

There is a rhythm to magic. It is the raw thud of the strongest, surest heartbeat. The same kind of beat that pumps beneath the earth. It is the one that each being alive on this planet echoes inside their bodies. And it was that beat drumming inside my skull as I lay sleeping.

              I was dreaming. Logically, I knew that. Only in dreams does fog have weight and in this one, the iridescent sheen of sweat coated my body, my arms as I ran and ran. I was just another creature looking for an escape. Was it a fire? No, the air was too clear for that. My breath came in and out too easily. Not a fire then, but something that still chased us all…me, the animals, the weres and creatures that scurried at my side from the forest and…the light. The red, thick light that felt like fog—light I could see. Light I could feel.

It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere and I knew, without reason, that it wasn’t simply light. It wasn’t energy. It was the ley lines, the magic flowing from the lines, pumping, rolling, coursing, screaming, filling my mind, my lungs, the forest floor, the fur and scales and feathers of the animals around me. It coursed, it flooded, it drowned us completely until I could only scream. Until my throat ached. Until that thick red light filled my lungs, suffocated my throat, stole my voice.

And then…I woke.

Alone.

Sweating.

Unsure where I was or how I got there.

My skin felt cool, as though my body had just fought off a fever. My face wet, hands shaking. Where was I? And who the hell was yelling?

“…complete and utter bullshit and you know it!”

“You might want to remember who the hell you’re screaming at, Cari.”

“I know damn well…”

I tried to block out the noise. The woman’s voice was shrill, made my ears ache and from the deepening of Bane’s angry growl, I understood that the sound wasn’t all too pleasing for him either.

There was a soft rapping at my door, and I jerked up from where I had been sleeping, hair tangled in my face, knotted against my shoulders as I left the bed. I cracked the door open just an inch. It was the guard who had accompanied Bane to New York.

The man peered through the small opening I had made, his eyes bright and alert. Even with the raised voices outside, he looked more relaxed than he had on the flight back to the Cove. The stoic, silent manner was mostly gone, and his smile came easier. I couldn’t help but notice that he appeared to be in his early thirties with a handsome, slightly rugged face and a thin layer of ginger hair stubbed over his jaw.

“Miss Benoit, I’m sorry to bother you.” His British accent was thicker than it had been during the brief one word replies he’d given Bane on the trip home and I detected a slight slowness to his words, as though he’d had a whiskey or two in the hours since.

“Not like I can sleep with all that racket.” I moved my head toward the dark hallway where the screaming continued.

“Yes, about that,” the guard said, pulling a silver chain from the pocket of his leather jacket. There was a small turquoise stone fastened at the end and the faint light from the den glinted on its surface. “I’ve taken the liberty of fashioning a silencing charm for you since Mr. Iles has warded the cabin against any spells save his own.”

“Pardon?” The guard, at least, looked embarrassed. He should. His boss had made it virtually impossible for me to protect myself with my own magic.

He frowned when Bane’s cursing took on a few choice insults that had even my eyes widening. The guard shook his head. “I cautioned Mr. Iles that you might find his ward insulting.”

“You don’t say?”

“Well now,” he continued, ignoring my attitude, “he is a bit…”

“Stubborn?”

“Ah, I was going to say, overly cautious.”

Another wave of shouting filtered down the hallway and I swung the door open, tired of straining to hear the guard over the noise. “Come in so I can actually understand what you’re saying.” He hesitated only for a moment before I grabbed his elbow and ushered him inside. “What’s your name?”

“I apologize,” he answered, giving me a quick bow that was more cursory nod. But his smile was warm, friendly and despite the thick make of his frame and the intimidating stretch of his shoulders, I thought the wizard seemed friendly. “I’m called Prosper Lennon.” He offered me his hand, which I took.

That accent seemed to exaggerate the more relaxed Lennon became and I tilted my head, wondering why Bane would hire someone not local. “Obviously you’re not native.”

“No, Miss Benoit. I’ve only recently come to Crimson Cove a few years back.” He didn’t elaborate further and I made a mental note to do a little recon on the guard just to satisfy my own curiosity. “As I said, would you care for the charm?”

“No, I’m fine.” Rarely did I trust anyone else’s spelling. I was perfectly capable of twisting my own craft. Besides, you could never be completely sure what you were getting when you used someone else’s magic.

Actually, I was more than a little miffed that Bane had set a ward in the first place. Oh I got why—he had just been attacked with dark magic—but that didn’t mean I was okay with him leaving me unable to protect myself.
I
hadn’t attacked him.

Lennon lowered the offered hand and shoved the charm back into his pocket. That professional, friendly smile faltered a little with my rejection, but I wouldn’t coddle the wizard. That wasn’t in my job description.

Through the closed door that shrill female voice rose even higher and for a second I contemplated changing my mind and using the charm if for no other reason than securing a good night’s sleep. But something about the entire situation niggled with me, something that made me a little cautious about accepting help from Lennon or Bane.

That didn’t mean my
boss
wouldn’t hear me doing a little screaming of my own when I saw him again. “Just so you know, I fully intend on having words with Mr. Iles about the wards. I don’t like being unprotected.”

“Mr. Iles would never allow any harm to come to you, Miss Benoit.” He might be big and burly but Lennon did come off as being slightly uptight. There was more than simple concern in his expression when he spoke; he was genuinely worried.

“Really, stop with the formalities.” I wanted to put him at ease a bit, maybe distract him for the pending argument I was sure his disclosure had caused. “Call me Jani. And your boss has a funny way of showing his idea of protection. Why the hell would he ward his property against me?”

Lennon stretched his neck, adjusted the jacket he wore so that the sleeves bunched up. “If I’m not mistaken, he wanted your protection to be his responsibility.”

Control freak. Yeah, that fit. Bane had always been a little mean, but I thought that attitude had been reserved for the mortals in our school, not for magical folks and certainly not towards me. I guessed, though, in a situation like this, Bane wanted to exude control and composure regardless of who was watching. Or, more frustratingly, maybe he really did think I was pathetic and wanted to make sure I didn’t get myself killed. That idea rankled.

“Because he didn’t think I could take care of myself?”

“Because,” Lennon said, stepping a bit closer; there were green flecks in his hazel eyes and his smile had turned friendly again, “he wanted to make sure you didn’t have to, Miss.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t wait for the words to sink in completely. One curt nod and Lennon left my room, but not before I heard the sharp “Stop your screaming, Cari,” spill out from the den. I blinked, shaking myself from my own imagination and impossible thoughts about why Bane would want to handle my security on his own or why the hell he’d insisted I stay here instead of with my family.

Cari, I thought, pulling a fluffy blanket from the bed to stand in front of the glass door that opened onto the patio. I’d bet two month’s rent that “Cari” was Caridee Rivers, the witch Bane was supposed to marry. As the two oldest and highest ranking families, it was the Rivers and the Grants who were responsible for maintaining the magical balance in Crimson Cove. They were the strongest covens. Naturally, they’d want to join their families. It was well known that Bane, being the last direct descendant of Carter Grant, his uncle and current head of the Grant coven, would be married off to whoever the Rivers clan decided was best suited for an alliance. Small problem with that, as far as I could see: Caridee Rivers was a raging bitch. Always had been. I couldn’t imagine Bane, no matter how much this town and his coven meant to him, settling for someone like Caridee.

But, that wasn’t my business. Finding the Elam was. That’s all, nothing else.

Unfortunately, the screaming only got louder and when Cari called Bane an “unemotional, robot bastard,” I decided to duck outside and onto the patio. The screaming echoed in my head and I slipped my boots on over my knee-high wool socks, but not before pulling out the flask of bourbon that I had hidden inside one of them. When the insults got louder, became ruder, I tipped back the flask, not caring to hear any threats or insults to Bane’s manhood. By how loud Cari’s voice was growing, I got the feeling manhood insults were next. I really didn’t want to hear her criticizing any of his
abilities
. 

The patio was still wet and a slow trickle of rainwater fell from the pitched roof onto the brick floor. It was early October and the chill of fall hadn’t quite settled in, but the storm that had come through earlier still rustled in the wind and lowered the temperature.

The air smelled of wet leaves and that earthy, bitter scent that a storm leaves behind, but wild winds from earlier had finally quieted and the threat of the storm seemed to have passed.

Nostalgia never worked on me, it never made me itch to return home. Others may opine on thoughts of
home
, but in my mind, the pine needles in the Cove took ages to disappear from the ground, the sap always stained car roofs and windshields and the gardenia blooms set off my allergies. The maples that circled the cove bled red leaves for months and were a curse on my memory. Their red and orange leaves, the bend of their brown barks were like some sort of silhouette stuck in my mind, a warning that the way to Crimson Cove led to tedium. I was far past picturing the place in even faintly romantic terms.

But there was always the quiet hum of magic I felt pulsing around me that held my attention, made me feel wanted. Being this close to the ley lines, which I could hear humming above the small orchestra of sounds around me, filling up the black forest—wolves, or shifters, howling up at the moon, owls hooting their steady refrain, and the throaty chorus of crickets singing back and forth, made my skin prickle and vibrate. I hadn’t heard anything like it in so long. New York was wonderfully loud and active, a sort of urban forest on its own and I generally loved it. But it was only here, in the forest, in Crimson Cove, beyond the swamps and marshland, hidden from New Orleans and that great city of activity and life, that I’d ever been able to keep my thoughts in concert with the earth, with the ley lines and that low, comfortable music that the forest made, that only we supernaturals could truly hear.

Above the forest sounds, pulsing in the distance, I heard the lines, their steady thump swishing around the blackness, and even though my nexus was dim, twisted by the distance of the city, I still felt at my core its raw, ancient power. Magic called to me like a siren, weaving through the trees and the wet, dark earth until I could feel the tips of my fingers tingling from the lines’ breath whispering into the night.

It was hypnotic, the sensation of that raw magic heavy in the sky, brimming closer and closer like a raw nerve aching to be mended. And just then, I knew it would not take long for the Oracle to sort out my block. I could already feel the hint of the lines around me, urging that quiet, primal voice in my head to rise up, to be who I would, to forget my mission, the client and the family I meant to protect and just…become—with the lines, with the magic they held.

I knew it was a greedy, selfish voice that called to me, that the magic was always, at its heart, hungry and wanting. Yet the most basic part of who I was wanted to run from that cabin, from the still arguing voices I could just make out behind those closed doors. It wanted me free from the life I loved and the one that could be mine if I succeeded in my task and found the Elam. All I had to do was step off of that brick and run toward the lines. It was tempting, sensual, far more erotic to me then than any man had ever been. Even more tempting that the smell of Bane’s skin and the pulsing, delicious pout of his bottom lip. 

It would be easy,
that ancient voice told me.
So easy to forget. Come. Just be.

It wasn’t the first time the song of the ley lines had sung to me. But it had been years, ages, since I had heard it so strongly, and just like that day in Matthews’ classroom, that voice tickled against my mind, flirted with my heart. I’d wanted it then. I’d wanted what it promised could be mine. I’d wanted so much.

I’d wanted Bane and the life that the voice had promised could be ours. Who we were, how we found our center, the source of power, the link to life was a very tangible thing. Like a war cry or a school chant in the middle of the big game, finding that center, that link, which bound us together and that coursed through every magical creature—witch, wizard, were, whoever they were—with a sudden, sometimes blissful affect, was a tantalizing and at times almost overwhelming pull.