Never Again (15 page)
Anthony still lived with him. He was nineteen now, and really liked working with the land. Ant created gardens, all kinds of wild landscaping. It was like living in Wonderland. Of course, the farm was no longer a farm. Taylor sold off most of the land and the cattle. They had the big house, a small barn, and several acres, and that was enough. Good thing they had the barn. Ant collected strays. The more wounded, sick, and ugly, the better.
Yeah. It was just him and Ant in that big ol’ house. It was quiet most days, and calm. And lonely as hell.
“Shit.” Taylor rubbed a hand over his face. What was with all the going down memory lane? The past was the past. He couldn’t change it. His belly twisted. He couldn’t get rid of that bad feeling, and he knew it meant something was gonna happen that fucked up his world.
He got up from the desk, and went to the window. Thanks to Arlene, everything in the office sparkled. She hired out for the windows, and she could spot a smudge from a mile away. So he resisted the impulse to lean against it. He stared at the empty streets. Most days were like this . . . days filled with small disputes, the occasional ticket, lunch at Ember’s, and paperwork.
The sheriff’s office had been in the same building since the founding of the town, though there had been updates and changes every now and again. Other than his part-time deputy, Terrence—whom everyone called Ren—he was the only law enforcement in town. Both magicals and mundanes had held the position over the years.
Taylor was proud to be sheriff of Nevermore.
His gaze shifted down the street to the darkened windows of the Piney Woods Café. It was diagonal from his office, bearing the cornerstone of the first building erected in Nevermore. Thanks to Cathleen’s neglect, it was looking its age. He couldn’t believe that Gray had closed it. He didn’t like Cathleen Munch—although he wasn’t sure shutting down the café was the right action to take. Just another point of business he needed to discuss with Gray.
The door of the café swung open and Cathleen, dressed in a blue sweat suit and white sneakers, marched across the street. He tensed, watching to see if she would have the raw nerve to go into Ember’s place and cause a ruckus.
The woman didn’t even glance at the tea shop. She strode down the sidewalk, a woman on a mission, her gaze fixed on her destination.
The sheriff’s office.
Damn it. Taylor turned away from the window, and returned to his desk. He picked up his empty coffee mug, and sighed. No Arlene. No coffee. No time to go hide in the bathroom.
He heard the front door bang open, and the squeak of Cathleen’s shoes on the hardwood floors.
“Sheriff!” she screeched from the small lobby. “I demand justice!”
Chapter 6
Gray sat on the beach, and watched Lucinda walk out of the water. The lavender drops dotted her pale skin like candy sprinkles on white frosting.
He wanted to lick her.
Just a dream,
he told himself. When he woke up, he wouldn’t feel anything except pity for Lucinda. That was all he could afford to feel for her. It wasn’t like they could be anything to each other.
he told himself. When he woke up, he wouldn’t feel anything except pity for Lucinda. That was all he could afford to feel for her. It wasn’t like they could be anything to each other.
Here, he would make her feel special, feel safe. When they returned to reality, he couldn’t give her anything but protection. He would ask Ember to give her a job, and he would find Lucy a place to live. If Bernard Franco stepped a toe into Nevermore, Gray would be happy to show the heartless bastard the meaning of true power. Bernard would never bother Lucinda again.
“It feels like we’ve been here forever,” said Lucinda. She sighed contentedly and sat next to him.
His gaze dipped into the cleavage of her tiny bikini top. The water had already dried, leaving only acres of pale, perfect skin. Was she really this beautiful? Or had he created her dream body to satisfy his desires? He hadn’t been able to resist giving her a sexy bikini—and she hadn’t protested. And, thank the Goddess, she’d ditched the robe.
“They don’t talk.”
Gray blinked and looked at Lucinda.
“What?” he asked.
She cupped her breasts, which of course made him look—and want—again. “They don’t talk. You looked as if you were hoping to have a conversation with them.”
Just a dream.
He dragged his gaze from her boobs to her face. “I do,” he said.
He dragged his gaze from her boobs to her face. “I do,” he said.
The humor in her gaze faded. He saw the wariness first and, underneath, the desire. She wanted him. He knew it from the first time she entered his dream. He could hear her thoughts . . . and oh, he could feel the way lust burned through her when she looked at him.
“It wouldn’t mean anything,” she said. Her tone was uncertain, as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted it to mean something or not.
“I’m conflicted,” he admitted. He should drop it. Toss her in the water again, but . . . Shit. He wasn’t a stand-up guy. “Nice” wasn’t an adjective that had been used to describe him in a long while.
He cupped her heart-shaped face and looked into her eyes. “Eventually we’ll wake up, and it won’t be same. We won’t be the same. I can’t be with you. I can’t give you anything.”
She studied him, her expression softening. He wondered what she’d seen in his face that could merit such a look of compassion. What secrets had she discerned? What pain had he not hidden?
He dropped his hands, but she wouldn’t let him move away. One of her small hands grasped his knee and stopped him from getting to his feet. He wanted to run away from whatever was unfolding. He wasn’t in control of it. And it pissed him off that she made him feel this way.
Her fingertips danced over his jaw. The light touches held him hostage, as did the intention that glittered in her green eyes.
She leaned in, and then she kissed him.
That small, intimate brush of her lips sent fire racing through his veins. She was so gentle, so careful, he felt humbled by her. How could she give him even this small part of herself? She treated him like she could care about him. Like . . . maybe she already did.
He leaned back, his heart thundering. It couldn’t be like this. Not so fucking sweet. Hard and mean, yes. Lust burning and bruising . . . tangle of limbs . . . sweat and moans . . . oh, hell yeah.
Then he wouldn’t have to listen to his conscience.
He didn’t resist when she kissed him again. She held his face carefully, as though he were fragile glass. Her mouth was a butterfly, flitting, flirting, landing oh, so briefly before moving away. She flicked her tongue against the corners of his lips.
“Let me in,” she whispered.
He opened his mouth, and accepted the slow sweep of her tongue. He felt undone by her tender regard. He’d wanted to tumble her, to take her . . . and she was giving something to him. Something he didn’t even realize he needed.
No.
He wouldn’t let her do this. He wouldn’t feel this way again. Gods-be-damned! Betrayed by his own body . . . manipulated by another Rackmore witch.
He wouldn’t let her do this. He wouldn’t feel this way again. Gods-be-damned! Betrayed by his own body . . . manipulated by another Rackmore witch.
Disgusted with himself, he pulled away and stared at her. He saw nothing calculating in her eyes, only warmth and need. A need he could fulfill. Her berry mouth was swollen and ripe. He wanted those lips on him, everywhere. She still cupped his face, and he liked how she held him. He liked how she treated him—he just didn’t deserve it. Worse, he couldn’t trust her actions were genuine, and not designed to elicit a particular response.
However, he knew one thing right down to his soul.
She wanted him. And he wanted her.
He wouldn’t pretend it was anything but sex.
“What are you doing?” he asked sharply.
Her eyes widened, and he felt like a jerk when she let go of him. Her gaze shuttered. “I thought I was kissing you.”
“Well, don’t.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I want you. But I want you hard and fast. I want to be inside you, driving you wild, making you scream. I want us tearing each other apart.”
I’d like that, too.
Her thought drifted through his mind. Triumph flashed through him, and he leaned forward, ready to pounce.
If he cared, even a little. But I’ve been used enough.
Her thought drifted through his mind. Triumph flashed through him, and he leaned forward, ready to pounce.
If he cared, even a little. But I’ve been used enough.
Gray stopped cold. He felt like she’d punched a hole through his chest. “Lucy.”
“I’d like to take another swim.” She rose to her feet, and offered him a small, trembling smile. “This dream will be over soon.”
Translation: It was over now.
He watched her walk into the waves until she was hip-deep, and then she dove under the purple water and swam away.
Way to go, prick.
Why didn’t he just give her what she wanted? Was she so different from any woman who wanted a little romance, a little tenderness? It wouldn’t have been real, but she understood the rules here. . . . Didn’t she?
Why didn’t he just give her what she wanted? Was she so different from any woman who wanted a little romance, a little tenderness? It wouldn’t have been real, but she understood the rules here. . . . Didn’t she?
He was scarred and bitter and distrustful. He couldn’t drop his guard long enough to make love to a beautiful woman. He’d told her there were no secrets here, no need to protect their hearts.
He’d been wrong.
He owed the witch his thanks.
Her pathetic attempt to save Marcy had been an unexpected boon. The Guardian was thoroughly distracted now, and that was good. He needed time—to find the object, to create the spell, to fix his mistakes.
Ah, but the witch had given him another gift, as well. She was on the run from Bernard Franco. He could easily trade her location for the Raven’s help should he need it. However, Franco’s gratitude might turn to treachery, and he couldn’t risk having anything else out of his control.
Even so, he was so pleased by this new development that he’d decided Lucinda’s death would be quick. Yes, she deserved his mercy.
And his pity.
He stood next to the table and stared down at the magical items. Only one, the most important, of course, was missing. Marcy had stolen it. He’d underestimated his timid little lover. When he found out she’d been in the basement of the café spying on him, he’d lost his temper. He thought her sufficiently cowed, but instead he’d made her bold.
Too bad Lennie had been fended off by the witch and hadn’t retrieved the eye. Oh, how he’d whined about getting scalded. The man had no tolerance for pain at all. On the upside, all it took to shut him up was a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
While his friend nursed his wounds, he’d managed to get into the old clinic long enough to search the body and the items the sheriff had bagged as evidence.
The eye wasn’t there.
The good news was if Marcy didn’t have it, that meant Lucinda Rackmore did. The bad news was that she was in the Guardian’s house, and not even he could break through the protections there. He had to plan for multiple scenarios. If the witch trusted Gray with the eye, the man’s ingrained sense of duty would surely make him give it to the sheriff. But if the witch kept the eye a secret . . . well, that was another issue altogether.
Despite his confident prediction, the portal had not opened. He’d sensed the frailness of the barrier and he’d been so sure it would peel away and allow him to call forth Kahl. Gray Calhoun was like all the others in Nevermore. Everything just fell into his lap—he wasn’t Guardian because he deserved it. He’d been born a Calhoun, been raised a Dragon, and simply waltzed into town to take his rightful place.
I have a birthright, too.
No one had known the truth, and those with an inkling—like those old-bat librarians—buried it. Everything had been taken from him. His parents. His magic. His identity.
No one had known the truth, and those with an inkling—like those old-bat librarians—buried it. Everything had been taken from him. His parents. His magic. His identity.
Fury lashed at him.
It was too bad the portal hadn’t opened. It probably would have if he’d gotten all the objects in place and the spellwork finished. Instead, the barrier had solidified, and now he would have to start over.
He beat back his anger, tamped it down flat until every wisp of it was gone. Nothing worked smoothly the first time. Or even the second. There was more work to be done—which included getting his little treasure back from the Guardian.
But first, he had to do some cleanup.
Taylor wished his head would just explode already. The pain pulsing in between his eyes went up a notch every time Cathleen spoke. She sat in his office across from his desk, lolling in one of the leather wingback chairs that creaked every time she moved. And she moved a lot.
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