The Lebrus Stone (20 page)

"What are you doing?" He came over to me quickly, considering he had been meters away.

"Painting my toes."

"What?" He sounded horrified. I needed to work on my sarcasm with him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I rubbed my swelling little toes and blew on them.

Cray didn't respond. The sun was behind his head, concealing any facial expression. I imagined he was grimacing at my stubby toes.

"Wear the correct footwear and you wouldn't have a problem," he grumbled.

I was right. He was grimacing at my feet. I saw it when he stepped away.

He crouched beside the basket where I could see him properly. His cheeks were slightly pink and his hair around his neck was damp and sticking to his collar. He took off his shirt, leaving himself in just a white tee. He opened up the picnic basket and brandished two glasses and a bottle of white wine.

I didn't have the nerve to tell him I could have done with a can of Sprite.

"Why have you brought us here?" I asked. "Couldn't we have just had a picnic in the woods near the house?"

He was pouring two glasses of white wine. For the first time I was being encouraged with underage drinking, and openly. Maybe he did it often. Nobody could probably tell we were underage, anyway. "This isn't just any woods," he said.

"Oh."

He handed me my glass of wine.

"It's Sky Meadows," he added. "It has one point one three two acres of land." He sipped on his wine.

I tried not to get too excited at how he was making conversation with me.

He sat with his legs crossed, balancing his arm on his knee while holding his glass from the rim.

"Besides." He wiped his moist forehead with the back of his wrist. "Today is the Delaphane Strawberry Festival."

"That's not until a few weeks," I said, trying to sound educated.

He looked at me like I had dough on my face. "You're thinking of the Apple Blossom Festival."

"Oh. right. Well I didn't realize you were such a fruit lover."

"I'm not." He sounded deeply offended, like a vegan accused of being an anorexic. "It's Memorial weekend."

I nodded. "In memory of what?"

He frowned as though I had double dough on my face. "In memory of the 11,600 soldiers who died to keep this country free."

I swallowed my wine loudly, but otherwise I remained silent, appreciating how he hadn't sounded scolding, only mildly dismissive.

He finished his wine and scooped out a blanket from inside the basket and opened it out onto the grass to place plates of fruit, cakes, and homemade sandwiches on top. He could be quite hospitable when he wanted to be.

"Thanks," I said, moving to sit on the blanket as he pushed my plate toward me.

I bit into my muffin, trying not to touch it with my fingers. A few parents and their children were making their way through a gated entrance to what must have been the Strawberry Festival. They didn't seem to understand why we were having a picnic smack bang in the middle the field.

"Aren't you hungry?" Cray asked, startling me.

His plate was almost empty. He'd filled his glass again. His ochre eyes peered at me over the rim as he took a sip.

I spread my fingers. "I don't like rubbing my hands on my feet and then eating with them."

He dipped his hand in the basket and threw me a packet of wet wipes.

I muttered thanks and then we ate in silence.

"Why are you here?" he asked eventually. The question seemed to fall from the sky.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you come here? To Blacksville?" If I hadn't known any better, I would have detected that same treble in his voice.

"I was invited."

"It doesn't mean you had to accept." The sun was shining behind him, concealing his face.

"I know." I shrugged. "I was curious."

"Do you know what happens to people curious?" he asked, a little too playfully for my liking.

"No. Why don't you enlighten me?" my voice squeaked.

"Another time." Now that the sun was shining behind him again, I couldn't see his face, but I sensed he was smiling.

"No. I want to hear your theory on my choices," I said, suddenly finding my confident voice. "You seem so, I don't know, bare-faced smug about it. I don't think someone should say something if they can't back it up with the courage to say what they mean."

The sun moved to his left, revealing his face. To the world he wasn't smiling, to me, it was clearly visible in his expression.

"Good comeback. It's a shame I have to disagree with you."

"Everyone's entitled to their opinion."

His smiled, properly, but bit his lips to suppress it. "And their mistakes?" he asked, his eyes holding mine a fraction longer than usual, all golden and simmering with what looked like red disappearing into his pupils.

I forced my lips to part. I had to quit imagining these things about him. "Is that a question or a remark?"

"Both." He held my gaze as I thought about it. It did weird things to my stomach.

"Then, yes, they are."

"They are, or they will be entitled to it?"

I was forgetting the question, and losing my mental grip. He didn't want me in the way that I unwisely hoped. He didn't really see me. I would have been an idiot to think it.

I tore my gaze away from his, afraid I was giving away too much. "Both."

He nodded "Then I wish you luck, Crystal."

It was the first time I'd heard him say my name. It seemed as though it had struck his tongue at first. But I liked how it sounded on his lips in the end. My name had never been said with such humility and deep-rooted meaning, no matter how brandished with fear.

But had I imagined it? Was I hearing what I wanted?

I glanced at him and noticed he was still watching me. My heart thrummed like a harp.

"Cray." Saying his name out loud was like breaking a spell, a wall that had bridged a gap between us. I could hear him inhale a ragged breath. I wondered if I should continue. "Is it me or have we met…before?"

"Why?" His voice was uneven. "Do you recognize me?"

"No. I just, I mean. I feel like I do. Only I don't remember how. And I doubt I would forget someone like you." I bit my lip. I had definitely said too much.

This time, his eyes glazed pure white, until he had no pupils, only the iris.

I tried to speak from the initial shock of seeing them change so drastically. They began to glow then transpire into invertible colors. I had to be imagining it. I looked away and got to my feet, suppressing the need to panic.

"What's wrong?"

He sounded concerned. I brushed it away as being in my imagination, too. I felt as well as heard him stand behind me. "What are you hiding?" he asked all too delicately for someone usually so guarded.

I made myself turn. His eyes were turning black, then a honeycomb brown. I closed my eyes; a soothing breeze blew my hair across my face. When I opened my eyes again, Cray was kneeling on the blanket, collecting the plates of food.

"We need to get back," he muttered, throwing everything into the basket.

"What about the festival?"

"There'll be more."

"But I won't be here."

He paused. "Where else will you be?"

I didn't answer right away. I wanted to memorize the moment he seemed so apprehensive to ask me that question. However wrong it was to hope of the likelihood of it meaning more. However wrong it was to want someone who had tried to harm in my dreams.

"I'll be home, with people who
really
care about me."

I didn't know why I said the last part, until his face seemed to have shattered in two, corroding into a look of incompleteness.

I realized it was the response I wanted, but not attached to so much hidden beyond his lips.

His eyes became the clearest blue, like the tears that had washed me during my death in my dream my first night at the manor. And something told me he knew about the dream, that he experienced something similar.

"Do you believe in magic?" he asked. I turned. Thankfully, his gaze was on the ground.

"No," I said, finding the question odd.

"In fate then?"

"Not really."

He lifted his eyes to mine and stole my breath with the sadness I found in them.

"Do you believe in anything…like that?" he asked, his voice sounding like a plea for me to understand.

"I…I only…" My voice trailed off as he stepped closer.

When I forced myself to look at him, he lowered his gaze to my chest, at my birthmark peeking over the neckline of my top. I hid it with my hand.

He cleared his throat and I think he blushed. Cray Locke was blushing.
Because of me?

"Forget it." He was about to turn, but I blurted, "Wait!"

He paused and his shoulders tensed. I think he was just as surprised and afraid of what I was about to do.

I wanted to talk. I needed someone, anyone, and he had been the person to see to it. Isobel told him to, but he was here all the same. He didn't have to listen to her.

"If I've done something wrong you have to tell me," I said.

He turned and walked over to me slowly, keeping his eyes locked on mine, hypnotizing me with their depth. My heart stopped then hammered against my ribs. He stopped so close to my face, I could taste his cologne, the nicotine imbedded in his shirt. He was all the more handsome up close and in broad daylight. His skin was flawless, slightly aglow, even dewy. The cupid's bow of his full lips had a sensual shape. They were undeniably kissable. I swallowed hard and he heard me. His frown deepened.

"Am I supposed to make an effort to talk to you?" he began in that deep husky tone of his that seemed to vibrate in my chest. "Am I supposed to think of you as important because you're my father's great niece?"

I shook my head. My tongue lay flat in my mouth, making it hard to respond. I shook my head.

"Then what are you expecting from me?"

Right now I expected him to scowl, but his expression turned intrigued.

Forcing myself to look away, it hit me how rude he was being. How I shouldn't be standing for it.

"Nothing," I rasped. "What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

He blinked a few times, like dirt had flown into in his eye. Maybe it had. Or maybe no one had ever stood up to him. The thought made me feel proud of myself.

"I can just imagine what kind of girls you hang out with," I said without thinking.

His eyes narrowed, all the more intrigued.

"I'm no cheerleader type, but I probably have more between my ears."

Oh no.
What was I saying?

I caught him smirk before frowning. He inhaled deeply; his mouth had been tense the whole time.

"Do you imagine who I hang out with often?" He cocked a brow.

"Pfft…as if."

He smirked for a moment again. I couldn't help but like it, I couldn't help but notice how much more handsome he looked when he allowed another emotion other than disgruntled to take over his face.

We stared at one another after that. It was discomforting, but only because he was looking so intently into my eyes. It had me wondering what he was thinking, what he could see, what made him so interested to stare for so long. My pulse raced. I grew hot. Everything swirled around me. I think I was going to faint.

His face reddened. I told myself it wasn't for the same reason as mine was. But a naive, confident side was screaming in my head that it could be.

Before I knew it, his thumb was smoothing across my lips.  A gasp escaped me before I could stop it. He leaned in closer, perhaps taking that as a signal, awakening me with his masculine, fresh scent.

Were we about to kiss?

I became woozy at the thought, as though intoxicated. I guess I was, by his spicy cologne, his natural sweet scent and his nicotine laced breath. And when his mouth pressed to mine, it felt as unreal as I imagined: warm, moist, and with lips easily pliable between my teeth. His tongue teased mine as my eyes rolled back and I moaned; a light-headedness had me leaning into him, needing the support, to be held, touched, wanted, and most of all, desired.

His hands weaved into my hair and his heart thudded wildly against mine, our breaths became labored as our arms coiled around each other, hungrily, possessively.

But then he let go and pushed me away. I stumbled and almost fell on my butt.

His hand was out in front of him, but I realized it was just a way to keep me away, not bring me back.

He was breathing heavily. "I can't," he said. "I can't do this."

~ * ~

The ride home was excruciatingly awkward.

I couldn't forget the kiss, no matter what Cray had said afterwards. It was beyond what I could have ever expected, and it only made him all the more fascinating. It only made me want him more.