Hear Me (16 page)

“You possessed him,” she said, as if saying the words made it any less bizarre. “You made him attack.”

He chuckled then, and raised his hands in surrender. “It is hard to remember what one should or should not do in the thrall of dark magic. Won’t you kiss me, Ivy Potter? I seem to want you to very badly.”

She shook her head, to convince herself. She couldn’t kiss this black-eyed thing. “What happened to your clothes?”

“Why do you care?” The corner of his mouth turned up, but the smirk didn’t look the same on his face. “You like my body bare.”

She flushed all over. “I…”

“Can’t deny it,” he finished, triumphant. “Come and kiss me. It was good for you last night.”

Last night. Last night he had kissed her before he’d said a word, almost out of instinct, and his eyes had turned normal again. The more he’d touched her, the freer he’d grown from the darkness wrapped around his soul. And when they’d made love in the greenhouse, he’d been released entirely.

Of course, her greenhouse had been the one to pay the price. What would have happened if he had come inside her?

But he wasn’t nearly so dark then as this wild thing that stood before her. Every time Archer let himself be overwhelmed by his own dark magic, it seemed to consume him more. If she let him touch her, it might choose her instead.
 

But even if it did, she couldn’t leave him here, suffering, crying out for her in this odd, twisted way.

“What do you mean, you had no choice about Trapper?” she asked him.

Archer turned to look at the sleeping animal. “We were shot. I could have left, but without my magic, he would die. You were there—so sad, so sad.” He turned back and cocked his head at her. “You didn’t want him to die. I huddled in close and kept him alive. The time passed very quickly, I must admit.”

“That would be the anesthesia.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to find a place to look at Archer that didn’t either freak her out or turn her on. Below the waist was totally off limits, and bare chests and hands were causing problems, too. But his face—it scared her, not least because it didn’t scare her as much as it should have. “You are telling me you possessed the dog to keep it from dying.”

“No,” he replied. “I possessed the dog because it was causing problems. I remained inside to keep it alive.”

“I think possessing an animal is generally a bad idea, Archer.”

“You only say that because you’ve never tried it.” He grinned at her. “You have never torn out the throat of a hare with the bite of a wolf. You’ve never soared through the night on an eagle’s wings, or unhinged your snake jaw to swallow a rat whole.”

Bile rose in her throat. Had Archer done all those things, in training to tackle the bells? Was this what her town had driven him to? “That sounds terrible.”

“Even the eagle?” He raised his eyebrows over coal-black eyes. “How can you lie like that? Every man ever born wished that he could fly.”

“I’ll take a plane,” Ivy said. “It costs less than the price you pay.”

“But then you’re trapped inside a metal tube.”

She lifted her chin. “And what are you trapped inside of?”

Archer fell silent for a moment, and looked down.

Ivy already knew the answer. He was trapped in himself, a web of dark magic that twisted every thought, every word, that made him insult and frighten her even as he knew she was his only salvation.
 

“Come and kiss me, Ivy Potter,” he repeated, staring at his hands. “Please.”

It was the “please” that did her in, that broke her resistance like a twig snapped in the wind. She came a step closer, then another. He reached for her, and she stilled.

“Hands at your sides, please.”

His arms dropped, balled into fists near his hips. But she wasn’t looking at his hands, or his hips, or the cock that jutted between them, semi-erect and pointing right at her.

She swallowed as she reached him, and grazed his jaw with the side of her hand. He winced as if burned, but did not move.
 

Somewhere inside lay her Archer, her sweet and laughing boy. Somewhere behind this darkness, underneath this cruel creature. It was him who called to her, who begged her to touch him, to kiss him.
 

“Shall I close my eyes?” he teased. “Or will you have me like this?”

“Hush,” she whispered, and stroked his face again. The rosy hairs on his cheek were soft and downy, not scratchy like most men’s stubble. She brushed her knuckles against it like petting a cat, and his eyes fluttered closed, a sigh bubbling up from his chest.
 

“You are stalling,” he said softly. “Do I disgust you so much?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Their lips fit together the way petals enfold a rose, and as she sealed her mouth over his, his breath caught in a gasp. She slid her tongue inside his bottom lip, gently, slowly, and lingered, her head tilted up to his, hanging on as if the kiss kept her upright. And maybe it did.
 

She squeezed her eyes shut as his memories assaulted her senses.
The burning pain of bullets, the dog’s amorphous terror, the urge to flee, and then… Ivy’s hand on his head, his neck, her words soothing shapeless into the animal’s mind.
 

His arms twitched as if to grab her, but stayed locked at his sides.

She pulled away and blinked up at him, as if coming out of a dream. “Archer…”

His eyes were closed, his face still.
 

“Look at me.”

“No.” The word slipped out on a puff of air.

Ivy’s hands ran along his shoulders, squeezed his arms. “Look at me, Archer.”

He took a shuddering breath, and then another, as the muscles in his arms bunched and flexed, as every sinew of his body drew taut as a bow. He was hard as a rock, now. She could feel his length against her thigh, and a throbbing began between her legs in response, a gush of wetness she’d bet anything that Archer, with his forest senses, already knew about.

As if to prove it, his nostrils flared, and his lips parted, but his eyes stayed stubbornly closed.
 

She lifted on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his again, and this time the tip of his tongue slipped out to meet hers, and she moaned in surprise and pleasure.
 

“Yes,” he hissed against her lips. “Do that again.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” she promised, the words rumbling between them. Her legs felt weak, as if they would not be able to bear her weight, but she knew she was strong, stronger than the curses he used, stronger than the darkness shrouding his soul. Ivy wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer. “Just come back to me, Archer.”

His tongue delved deep into her mouth at that, drawing out another rewarding moan, and he pressed his advantage, angling his mouth against hers and taking everything she offered. Lost in the kiss, she barely registered when his hands grazed her sides, and only moaned more as they ran up her body to cup her breasts. His thumbs flicked at her nipples through the weave of her dress, then pinched hard to bring them to bud.

“Gentle, Archer…” she begged, and he turned her in his arms and pushed her up against the wall of shelves. Glass jars rattled at her back and the cabinet knobs dug into her spine. His cock nestled between her thighs, his hips pumping ever so slightly, just a steady, subtle friction.

“Open for me,” he demanded, his voice low like distant thunder.
 

She kept her legs closed and held his face in her hands, tangling her fingers in his wild curls. His tongue battled with hers now, taking her mouth in a crude imitation of what he so clearly wanted to do. His hands slid down and gripped her ass, then yanked up the hem of her dress and found their way inside.

At the touch of his fingers between her legs, she pulled away, reality crashing down.

Archer dropped his head to her shoulder, panting hard. “You’re so wet.”

Her legs trembled beneath her and she gripped his shoulders, but it was no use. Her thighs were parting as if of their own accord and he pushed his fingers in deep. She gasped.

 
“You want me,” he said, thrusting his fingers in and out. “Feel how much you want me.”

“I do,” she admitted, as his thumbs brushed the sensitive nub between her legs. “I do want you, Archer. Ah—!” Ivy jerked as he rubbed too hard. “Wait. Stop. Archer…”

“Why should I stop?” he asked pleasantly, nudging his knee between her legs, “When every cell in your body begs for my touch?”

Ivy forced herself to breathe, to take a heartbeat or two and remember what this was all about. “Look at me. Please.”

He raised his head and stared at her, a smug, little smile twisting his lips. His eyes were black as pitch.

Ivy shoved him away and pulled down her dress.

“Do you think you can cure me with a kiss?” Archer asked now, his tone cold and triumphant. “Foolish girl. I’ve cut curses so deep, they’re etched on my bones. Every touch of magic burns more of my soul. If you really want me, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

She stared at him, breathing hard, her body vibrating like a plucked string. Her thighs were wet with want, her mouth bruised, her mind screaming his name.
 

“Come along, Ivy Potter,” he sneered at her. “I thought you’d do whatever I wanted. And they say we forest folk are the fickle ones! What’s a bit of black magic to scare you away?”

“I’m not scared,” she said, and hoped it wasn’t a lie. She could hear the desolation lurking just below his words. Her Archer was in there, and the only thing that scared her is that she might not be able to get him out.

The deacon claimed what he and Ernest Beemer and her father had done to the town and the forest was done out of love. Love for her, love for money, love for tradition — but Ivy knew it couldn’t be true. The barrier was black magic, and if fairy stories taught you anything, it was that black magic held no power in the face of true love. Lust it might abide, but she and Archer were more than that.

 
“You’re terrified,” he shot back, mocking her. “You saw the gift I left in the greenhouse. You know what I’m capable of.”

“The bramble-men tree,” she replied, in a voice as calm as she could muster. “Yes. It was… enlightening. As a student of forest botany, I’m glad to know their origin at last.”
 

He laughed mirthlessly. “That lesson nearly cost you your life.”

Ah, so he’d seen something of her day when he’d kissed her as well. That made things simple. She wouldn’t have to spend any time telling him about it. “I worry less of that than the effect it’s had on the townsfolk. They are determined to resurrect the barrier.”

That hit home. She saw him quake, saw the cracks at his seams. He’d risked so much to stop the bells, but it hadn’t made a difference. A second later, the darkness rallied. He stood straighter than before, and smirked at her.

“Maybe they’re right to fear the forest’s magic, after all. Give us half a chance, we’ll tear you to pieces.”

Ivy’s heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to remain calm and spread her hands. “And yet here I stand.”

“Yes.” He snorted. “And what will you do?”

She took a deep breath.
I am Puss in Boots. I am Jack the Giant-Killer.
“I told you. Anything you want.”

He blinked—a flash of green—and seemed to stumble, though he hadn’t taken a step. A frown crossed his features.

“I love you, Archer.”

He flinched, and the shadows buzzed violet-black around him. “You can’t even see me. Blind, idiot townie girl. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“You’re right.” She nodded. “But you’re Archer. So I don’t care.”

Now it was his turn to step back, to retreat until he hit the tea counter. She seized the opportunity, coming right up to him and cupping her palm around his face.

He pushed his cheek against her hand, his black eyes widening in wonder. “You love me,” he whispered in disbelief. But it wasn’t a question. They weren’t playing games.

“Yes.”

His hand closed around her wrist, tight, frantic. “Then save me.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Archer kissed her again, deep and desperate, as if she were a remedy and he were drinking her down. By the time he pulled away, Ivy could hardly breathe. Her skin felt on fire, and she shook with a need so base, she didn’t care what color eyes he had or what kind of enchantments shivered along his skin and flowed through his veins.

“Take your dress off.” He stepped back, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. His chin tipped up in challenge.
 

She crossed one arm over the other as she took the hem in her hands and pulled it off in one long movement, tossing it to the floor and standing before him, naked.

His gaze seemed to travel the length of her body, but it was tough to tell in that sea of black. Her nipples hardened beneath his perusal, and the air cooled the wetness at the juncture of her thighs.

“I am glad to see you’ve lost your taste for underthings.”