Raisonne Curse (12 page)

He shouldn’t answer, but he couldn’t look into her sincere, pretty green eyes and not tell her the truth. “Pain. We pay during the night with pain.”

“And if your brothers don’t get here, you what?”

“Pay all by myself.”

“That’s not fair.” Her voice was hoarse, her expression horrified. “You’re helping people. I don’t understand why in the world you’d have to pay for doing the right thing. Breaking hexes is right.”

“We don’t just break them, we absorb them. And we can only release them here.”

“And that causes pain,” she murmured. “You can’t turn people down, so why not put the word out? Most folks around here are wonderful and would never want to hurt you guys on purpose.”

“Our father believed that’s what killed his father. They tried to spread the word and it was like turning everyone down at once.” He gave her a tired smile and reached out to pull a few small bits of bay leaves from her hair. “You’ll need a shower to get all these out of your hair.”

“I don’t care about my hair.” She looked down at his knee. “That looks really rough. What do we need to do to help you?”

“There isn’t anything you can do, except maybe help me get upstairs to bed. I need to lie down.”

Without any show of embarrassment, Elita stripped off her bra and underwear, let the water out of the tub, then climbed in to wash the leaves off her skin.

Pryor wasn’t too tired to enjoy that show. He leaned his head against the wall, enjoying the water pouring down her back, the graceful arch of her arms as she lifted them to wash her hair. The river of darkened red hair down her back made a stunning contrast against her skin. He could look at her forever and he loved that she seemed matter-of-fact about her own body—that she washed and didn’t seem to worry what he was thinking. Either she was too concerned about him or she accepted herself fully. Either way, he loved that about her.

Loved.

There it was—the word he’d been dancing around since the moment she’d stepped foot in his home. He’d fallen hard for this woman. He watched her, knowing this moment would stay in his memories in vivid color for the rest of his life.

She turned and the red in her cheeks could either be from the heat of the water or the knowledge that he watched her. Those green eyes locked with his and he guessed the latter. He knew that she would be able to read his desire for her easily.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she could read the love.

Elita woke and knew she was alone before she even opened her eyes. Groggy, she wondered what woke her because her body told her she needed a lot more sleep. Strange aches and pains plagued different areas. She much preferred the last time she’d awakened in this bed. On top of a warm and sleepy Pryor.

There were no sounds coming from anywhere in the darkened house. She glanced at the digital clock next to his bed, having to blink like crazy just to pull it into focus, and realized she’d been sleeping for hours. It was close to ten.

She hadn’t planned to fall asleep.

Snagging Pryor’s pillow, she pulled it under her nose and breathed him in. Damn. The man had a pull on her that was unlike anything she’d felt in her life. It was something close to the pull she felt for this place—her home. No matter how far away she’d tried to run from the curse, her longing for the basin was like a constant dull throbbing ache.

Pryor was tied to this place more than most.

And she knew without a shadow of doubt that she was in love with him.

Not just attracted to or attached to or any other kind of to. This was a
with
all the way. In. Love. With. Pryor.

She thought of the way he’d looked before she’d drifted off. Sleeping and in…

Pain.

Holy shit!
She was daydreaming here—doing her usual groggy wakeup—and he was probably out there somewhere, suffering. Or maybe his brothers had gotten home?

She jumped out of bed, nearly hitting the floor when the sheets tangled around her legs. She grabbed on to the side of the bed, kicked off the sheets and looked around for something to wear. Spotting a thin flannel robe on a hook in his open closet, she grabbed it, then stuffed her arms in the too-long sleeves. She ran out of his room and down the stairs.

“Pryor?” she called out.

Nothing but silence.

Not even the whispers of Pryor’s ancestors came to her now. Startled, she wrapped the robe fully around her, tied the belt and stood still and quiet at the base of the stairs. Closing her eyes, she turned her senses inward, realizing that even the weight of the curse was gone. She opened her eyes and waited for that slinky, oily smudge that often showed up in her peripheral vision.

It didn’t.

That didn’t mean the smudge man was gone. But she didn’t even feel the presence of another around her. Not a ghost, nothing. And especially not Pryor.

His lime bath had worked.

But she didn’t feel good about this at all.

She flipped on the light next to the stairs and looked at the claw marks on her legs. They looked months old instead of hours. Thin, silvery scars she had a feeling would be there forever. Whatever he’d done to help her had been powerful. And he’d done it alone.

Terror raced through her and she ran into the room he’d called the parlor, not really expecting him to be lying on one of the uncomfortable-looking couches, but it was the closest room. She continued on to the living area and didn’t find him on the more comfortable pieces, so she turned and ran into the kitchen. No Pryor. Just the faint smell of lingering smoke.

He’d said they paid out there in the water.

Remembering the massive flashlight Pryor kept in the last cabinet, she grabbed it and turned it on to make sure it worked.

Shoes. She needed shoes.

She found them in the bathroom where he’d given her the lime bath. Stuffing her feet inside the damp tennis shoes made her grimace. She’d end up with blisters but she didn’t care. She hit the kitchen back door and was down the steps before she could second guess running out here in the dark again. At least this time, there wasn’t a storm. Still, she glanced at the sky often as she raced down the path to the outbuildings. By the time she reached his pier, she was panting like she’d run miles. No surprise roots had come out of the ground, no hands wrapped her ankle. For the first time in her life, she felt lighter. The curse was truly gone.

But what had taking it away done to Pryor?

A panicky sob lodged in her throat and she aimed the flashlight toward the airboat, waving her other hand in front of her face when a million gnats and mosquitoes zoomed in on the light. The boat was still there—crashed into the pier, mostly on its side. Something plopped heavily into the water to her right and she swung the light that direction and stared for the longest time. Nothing moved there, but the croak of a bullfrog made her jump and turn the other direction.

Fear skittered over the surface of her entire body, making her skin feel prickly and tight. She turned around and eyed the small outbuildings. He wasn’t in any of those—she knew it.

Something told her he was out there somewhere in the water.

Moochon’s bark confirmed it, though he sounded like he was far away. She ran, trying to keep to the path because running so close to an unfamiliar part of the swamp was crazy. When she ran out of path, she stopped, took a deep breath and made sure to shine the light near her feet, with the occasional swing up into the trees. She’d had a snake drop out of a tree onto her when she’d been sneaking around at night as a kid. Shuddering, she held her breath and hoped Moochon would make more noise.

But the dog stayed silent and it didn’t take long for Elita to feel lost. She stood at the edge of the water, aiming the flashlight out over it. Her heart stopped in her chest when that light landed on Pryor.

He just stood out there, water glistening on his arms in the beam—his back to her.

“Pryor?” His name came out as a hesitant croak from her suddenly dry throat. Something about his stance had the hair standing on end all over her body. “Hey, Pryor!”

He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her at all. He did, however, start moving away from her toward a huge tangled knot of stumps. The water reached past his waist.

“You can’t be in the water like that—you know that! Pryor!” She walked along the edge, working to hold the beam of light on him.

He didn’t flinch even when she yelled, just kept sloshing away from her. She moved the light to the water in front of her. She could go after him, but his robe could be a danger—could weigh her down, tangle around her legs, and make it hard to move if a gator came after her.

Not that she’d be able to get away fast enough naked if one did.

But something was wrong with Pryor. A sob lodged in her throat. Pure terror made her shake as she took off the robe and left it on the ground. Naked, wearing only tennis shoes, she waded into water still warm from the earlier hot day. It grew colder as she went deeper. She held the flashlight high, trying to keep it on Pryor’s back as she also tried not to fall because of her sneakers and the slippery rocks under her feet. She hoped there weren’t any tangled lines or old pipes in this area—trash left to rust in the water by the oil and gas industries. Though she doubted they’d been anywhere near this Bernaux part of the swamp.

She really, really hoped there weren’t any hungry critters anywhere around her either.

“Pryor, please!” Her teeth chattered so hard she could barely get the words out. She wasn’t sure if it was from fear or the sudden cold she felt as she went deeper into the water.

Her foot abruptly got caught between some rocks and she fell forward. The flashlight made a loud splash as it hit the water and though she tried to hold on to it, her balance was off and she hit the water right behind it. A sharp pain speared through her ankle and she cried out, splashing in the water, trying to kick her way free of the rocks.

When she finally was able to stand, water poured in rivulets down her face from her hair and she rubbed it out of her eyes, blinking in Pryor’s direction. “Pryor!” The damned flashlight was gone but she could still see him in the moonlight as he slowly turned toward her. Something was wrong with his face. It was too dark to see him completely, but everything in her froze as the moonlight shone onto what looked like…bone.

She’d thought she’d hallucinated the night before when his face looked strangely more like bone than skin.

Had that been real?

He began to sink in the water.

“No!” she screamed, lurching toward him. She screamed again when more moonlight shone on his face and all she saw was a skull.

He disappeared under the water as he had last night. But this time, it didn’t seem like he’d done it on purpose—this time it was like he had no choice, like something moved him.

“Oh God! Pryor!” Not sure whether the terror ripping through her came for him or from him, she still couldn’t leave him out there like this. She tried to move faster in the water, not even stopping when something brushed by her leg. Spotting the light under the water, she held her breath and plunged underneath to grope for the flashlight. When she came up and aimed it his direction, there was nothing. Frantic, she splashed toward where she’d seen him last.

Her light caught on something moving in the water and she swung it fully that direction only to see the reflection of eyes staring back at her. Glowing eyes just above the surface of the water meant one thing.

This time the panic that flooded her body nearly paralyzed her before she turned and dropped the flashlight so she could swim faster. The whole time she kicked out, she expected the stab of sharp alligator teeth. Sobbing, she reached the land and she didn’t stop there.
To hell with the snakes!
She reached for the thickest limb, finding a weird sort of seat carved into the tree and curled up on it. Alligators had short legs, but they moved damned fast. She’d be safer waiting here.

The moonlight didn’t penetrate this part of the swamp, so she could hardly see. Something rippled in the water where she’d been and she stared hard at the small area of light left by the flashlight she’d dropped. Something swam over it, momentarily blocking the light and a part of her hoped it was Pryor, but she knew it wasn’t. Especially when the dark seemed to last long enough to be coming from an alligator that had to be at least seven feet long.

She stared out over the water. Pryor was out there. Hurting. She knew it.

Elita knew she should wait, but she couldn’t leave Pryor out there to suffer. She climbed back down, grabbed the robe and ran, not even bothering to put it on until she was close to the house. All the lights still blazed and she had the back door open and was halfway through the kitchen before she realized someone was in the room.

Two someones.

His brothers had finally arrived.

The tallest, biggest one slammed his hands onto the island counter and yelled.
“Ce que l’enfer qui se passe ici?”

Chapter Twelve

H
is, ‘What the hell is going on here?’ boomed so loud, Elita skidded to a halt, her wet tennis shoes making a squeaking noise on the tile floor.

“English, use English,” the other brother said before he made a sort of gulping, choking sound.

She stood, mouth open, breathing hard, before she saw that both men stared at her wide-eyed. But not at her face.

“Oh shit,” she muttered as she looked down and saw that she hadn’t bothered to tie Pryor’s robe closed. She did so fast. It stuck to her wet body like a second skin and she knew it didn’t hide anything. She pushed her heavy, wet hair out of her eyes. “You’re Pryor’s brothers.”

They didn’t even have to answer. The resemblance was strong even though one of them had to be closer to half a foot taller and a lot broader. And Pryor wasn’t a small man. Pryor had told her that his brother, Mercer, had the beard, so she knew which was which. Mercer was also the biggest, with broad shoulders and thick arms that stretched the seams of his long-sleeved red shirt. His fierce expression put her back up instantly, so she looked at the other brother.

This one, Wyatt, looked so much like Pryor her heart ached. His face was different, squarer, and his cheekbones were sharp like the oldest brother’s. But he had the same sandy brown hair with blond, the same friendly expression—though his was tinged with worry.

“Wyatt, right?” She moved forward, put her hand on his arm. “You guys have to hurry. Pryor’s out in the water and I couldn’t get him to move. Then he was just gone! There are alligators out there. One chased me!”

Mercer’s hand hit the counter with a loud smack. Again. “Fuck. He promised. Tell us what he did.”

The fury lacing his deep voice took her aback. “We don’t have time for that. Didn’t you hear what I said? A fucking alligator chased me out of the water!”

“You were in the water with Pryor?” Wyatt asked.

His voice was so low and scratchy, she immediately looked back at him. He did remind her of Pryor with the hair and body shape, but his chin was different and his eyes were nothing like Pryor’s. They were a deep, dark brown. Both brothers were older, Pryor had said.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Please. He could be drowning.” The fear tearing through her began to hurt. She clenched her hands into fists as she blinked back tears. “Please, I’m so scared for him!”

Mercer came forward and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. A tender gesture that completely belied the ferocity in his expression. “You have to wait here while we go get him—”

“No!” she cut in. “I’m going with you. I can show you exactly where he is.” Her mouth snapped shut when his expression turned almost brutal.

Brown eyes, like Wyatt’s, glittered angrily. “The last thing we need is to be worrying about you out there in the swamp at night. It wasn’t a request. We know where he is.”

She had no intention of sitting here waiting when she could help. She narrowed her own eyes and realized something about Mercer in that moment. She was seeing anger when she should have recognized fear. No, not just fear but outright terror. The man loved his brother something fierce. She sighed, took a calming breath, then tried to smile at him.

“Look, you can scowl at me all you want but there is no way I would just sit here while the man I lo…like an awful lot is out there in pain. And he was in serious pain. I saw it in his face earlier before we fell asleep. Together. Do you understand? We were in bed together and whether you want to believe it or not, we’ve come to care about each other kind of fast here. I already know more than you probably like.” She stopped and tightened her lips when his frown deepened. “I know he shouldn’t have done that spell today.”

Wyatt grabbed her arms. “He did a spell today?”

“Wyatt, she said he’s out in the water.” Mercer growled the words.

Her mouth fell open at the utter panic that spread over their faces. She nodded. “Yeah, he’s done several, but the one today did the trick.”

“Which one?” Wyatt asked.

Heat raced into her cheeks but she didn’t pull her gaze. “A lime bath.”

“Fuck!” Mercer yelled. He certainly seemed to like the word.

She barely held back another flinch. The man’s voice was loud. “I know he shouldn’t have done it, but he was scared because I’d crashed the boat and wouldn’t wake up. I never would have let him do it if I’d been awake and—”

Mercer cut her off with a slash of his hand in the air. He ran toward the back door, stopped, then came back. “I’m truly sorry that we have to meet like this.” He suddenly ducked and lifted her over his shoulder. “And for what I have to do.”

“Mercer, just let her go,” Wyatt yelled. “There’s no time!”

“Let her go and what? Think, Wyatt. Go on ahead. I’ll be there as fast as I can after I put her in the guest house.”

“Put me in the—” She pounded her fist hard, right under his kidney. “You’re not putting me anywhere, you stupid caveman, except down. Now!” She kicked her legs, thrilled when her foot connected hard and he let out a pained grunt.

“I get that you’re stubborn and that you’ve come to care about Pryor in, like you said, a very, very short time, but you’re right. We don’t have time for this. Please, Miss Raisonne, don’t fight me. Not now.”

She thought about what she knew of his brothers taking on the backlash of the spell work and went still. The sooner he put her down, the sooner he’d be with Pryor. She had no plans to stay put either.

Mercer jogged across the backyard, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. She could feel the tangle of strong emotion seeping from him and it sent her fear for Pryor skyrocketing. So did the silence of the bayou night. She’d never realized the noise that had driven her crazy as a kid could now be such a comfort. It felt like time stopped here—like they were caught in some kind of warped place that shouldn’t exist. And being carried by a Neanderthal wasn’t making any of this better.

His harshly muttered, “Stay.” As he set her on her feet in the guesthouse made her blood boil.

Seeing the key he pulled from his pocket sent shock in after it. “You’re going to lock me in? You can’t do that!”

“Have no choice. Don’t leave this room. No matter what you hear.” He stepped in, crowding her into the wall. “Do you understand me?”

She knew he was reacting out of fear—she did—and she even understood because if one of her cousins had been out there in the water suffering, she’d be feeling the same way. But he still didn’t seem to get that Pryor was damned important to her already. She didn’t appreciate him crowding her and using his size to intimidate. She stared up into his sharp features, sure he’d grown the beard to try and soften his face. “You know what? You’re an asshole and I’m not going to introduce you to Ava, beard or not.”

Confusion flickered over his expression briefly. “Look, I truly am sorry for all this, but I don’t have time to make it right.” And with that, he turned and hurried from the room.

The sound of that key turning in the deadbolt made her scream in fury. “What kind of people put deadbolts that lock from the outside on their doors, huh?” She yelled and pounded her fists on the door. “I’ve seen crime shows. I know what kind!”

She heard his heavy steps on the stairs then nothing. She ran to the window and saw him running faster than she thought a man that big could. He headed in the right direction, like he knew exactly where Pryor was.

Fuming, she ran at the door and slammed it with her shoulder. “Holy crap,” she muttered as she went blind with pain and fell to the floor. She’d had no idea that would hurt that much. Turning onto her back, she moved the robe off her legs and started kicking the door. She slammed her shoes into the wood over and over and all she got in return was one creak that fooled her into thinking she was close to breaking it. So she went on.

The muscles in her legs had turned to jelly when she finally slumped fully onto her back to catch her breath. She had no idea what that door was made of, but it was too strong for her to budge.

She lay there, breathing fast, a bit dizzy from how hard she’d been working her legs against the door. Again, the quiet of the night filled her with such a sense of wrongness, she squeezed her eyes shut tight. She listened for some noise—any noise—to give her a desperately needed sense of reality. This was like being sucked into a Twilight Zone episode or one of those nightmares that kept a person under longer than it should have.

Rolling onto her hand and knees, she took a deep breath, then stood on wobbly legs to walk to the window.

The flimsy, white curtains fluttering in a soft breeze let her know it was still halfway open from the time she’d pried it that way before. She pushed the material aside completely and nearly shouted in happiness when she saw the huge tree limb a few feet from the window.

She closed her eyes, listened, and this time she heard the rustle of wind in the leaves. That was what she needed. Some damned sound.

It took several minutes and more overuse of her muscles before she could get the window up enough to fit through. She tried getting the screen out, but it had been painted in, as well. She kicked it out, then eyed what now seemed like a huge amount of space between her and that tree. It was a thick, solid limb that would obviously hold her—if she managed to grab it just right.

And the only way that would happen was if she crawled nearly all the way out of the window and used her feet to push off the side of the house in a jump. She looked down at the shadows on the ground below her. It wasn’t that far. It wouldn’t kill her if she fell—just probably break her leg.

A horrifying and long scream of pain ripped through the night air—from the direction the brothers had gone. It stabbed into her heart.

She knew without a doubt now that came from Pryor and whatever he felt, whatever caused him to make that horrific noise, was worse than anything she could imagine. Her lips tightened in bold determination.

She didn’t have time to be wishy-washy here, so she tied the robe as tight around her as she could and hoped the small windowsill would hold her weight. It was broad enough, she could get both her feet on it, but by then, she was leaning against the outside of the house and her heart was beating so hard, it freaking hurt. Fear had her shaking like crazy, so she closed her eyes and worked to calm herself down.

Another sound of suffering rent the air and she eyed the limb and jumped. Since it was slightly lower than the window, she landed on top of it, quickly grabbing on with her arms and legs. The robe bottom had flown open and the rough bark scraped the insides of her thighs raw. A sharp splinter dug into her right breast. But she held on tight, eyes closed, and worked to slow her heart rate before she scooted back on the limb. She sat a moment, catching her breath and winced when she pulled the splinter from her flesh. Her blood looked black in the dim moonlight. She used Pryor’s robe to soak it up, then climbed down the tree. Her tired legs threatened to give out when she reached the ground.

She had no intention of running around in that water in this heavy robe, not when swimming fast could mean life or death, so she walked fast on still-shaky legs back into the Bernaux house and up the stairs. She shoved off her shoes and found a pair of basketball shorts with a tight elastic waist and grabbed one of Pryor’s white tanks.

One glance in the mirror showed her she should find a darker shirt that didn’t show her obvious bra-less state, but she didn’t give a crap what those men saw. She only cared about Pryor.

By the time she made it to the spot by the water, clouds had covered the scant moonlight. She thought about going back to find another flashlight, but could see the one she’d left still there, not too far from the shore. She tried to see out over the water but nothing moved out there.

Nothing moved anywhere. Even the breeze had gone away.

A shiver worked over her body as she hoped the alligator had moved on. She slowly sloshed through the water, grabbed the flashlight and went back to the side. She swung the beam slowly over the surface of the swamp, her panic growing as none of the men came into sight.

She needed to be out on that water and she remembered seeing a small pirogue propped against the side of one of the outbuildings. She hurried in that direction, keeping the light on the ground in front of her so she didn’t trip in the darkness. A scream ripped from her throat when something jumped out from between the trees around her. She whipped the light onto it.

Moochon parked his butt on the ground and panted at her.

Relief sent her to her knees and she hugged the dog. “You scared me to death. Want to go out on the water with me?” The dog would be great for things like chasing away snakes and barking in warning for anything bigger. He followed happily along as she reached the outbuilding she was pretty sure Pryor used as a shop. Sure enough, a gray, filthy pirogue was propped against the outer wall. She shoved it over and shone the flashlight all over it, looking for obvious reasons it would not be in use—holes or cracks. It seemed fine, so she began the incredibly hard job of tugging it toward the water. It wasn’t far, and the canoe was probably only about a hundred pounds or so, but it was bulky and awkward. She grunted and tugged and had to pull it around two trees to get there. Once it was by the water, she realized she’d need an oar.

For a moment, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. It didn’t take another pain-filled cry to spur her on this time. No, this time, Pryor’s dog nudged her toward the boat. “I know, sweetie,” she said to him, keeping her voice down because it seemed to echo in all the eerie silence. “I have to find oars.”

She remembered seeing some on the airboat. Knowing this was the dumbest move ever, she went onto the half of the pier still standing and eyed the boat on the crushed end. Trying to figure out the best way to climb into the precariously placed boat took too many precious minutes and she nearly fell over in relief when she caught one of the oars floating in the water in her flashlight beam. She lay down on the pier and stretched her arm as far as she could to get it.

Moochon suddenly jumped over her head, causing water and algae to splash up onto her face and into her mouth. She spit it out and just shook her head as the dog grasped the handle of the oar and began swimming toward the shore.