Southern Witch - Would-Be Witch Part 25

"From Johnny."

"Of course," he murmured, bending his head. He ran his tongue between two columns of hanging beads, setting my skin ablaze. He kissed me, sucking on the skin lazily before leaning back. "I'm going to buy you a lot of dresses from him." He didn't look up and make eye contact. It was like he was having a conversation with my legs.

"When?" I asked, trying to draw his attention up.

He shrugged, still focused on my legs. "Whenever I feel like it." He ran his lips over my knee then upward as his hands slid under the dress. "You have the most amazing skin." His fingertips caught the edge of my panties and slid them off my hips, down, down, down to my ankles. I stepped out of them and walked away from him, dipping my tongue into the mostly empty gla.s.s. I stood at the edge of the bed, staring up at the skylight. The black sky was dusted with glittering stars, seemingly ready to rain down on us.

I felt the power first, then felt his body touching mine. He leaned and his mouth was near my ear. "Did you walk away from me to see if I'd chase you? I can end the suspense. I always will," he whispered. My body hummed, making my head swim.

I heard the fabric slide off his skin and closed my eyes, feeling him take the gla.s.s from my hand. He turned me toward him and drew us onto the bed.

"How do you feel about roller coasters?"

I opened my eyes, seeing his face just above mine. "Never been on one."

He smiled softly as he slid the edge of my dress up. "Hang on." He didn't move fast, but time seemed to be lost. One minute I was one person, aware of the world around me. The next, he was inside me, part of me, and the world closed in and slammed through me.

Our hearts beat like a drum in my ears, pounding under my skin, then I was like a peach he'd bitten into, dripping juice, bursting with flavor. I tried not to be torn apart. Something tried to turn me inside out, and I wrapped my arms and legs around the only bit of the solid world still left.

I tried to hold the power. I wanted him to share it with me.

Energy exploded in the room, fire and water, searing, quenching, and I fell and fell and fell.

Bryn roared. Glossy with sweat and blazing with energy, his aura glowed white-hot, and I had to close my eyes or go blind.

"Stop," I whispered hoa.r.s.ely, but I doubt he heard me.

My body was slack, burned up and drowned at once. I heard him fling open a door and turned to see him on the terrace. He stretched his arms out and shouted a spell, cursing into the night. The house shook with a countershock, and the lights flickered and went out.

I lay limp and exhausted, but in the distance I heard him laugh. He sounded so happy it was near impossible to be sorry I'd lost the power struggle.

Chapter 24.

I woke later to the sound of shouting. Sunlight streamed in from all the gla.s.s windows, and I rolled onto my side and saw Zach slam Bryn into the wall. Bryn ducked as Zach's fist smashed into the plaster.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Zach stalked over to the bench and grabbed a crystal tumbler. "You had to get her drunk?" He whipped the gla.s.s across the room, and it shattered against the wall.

I wanted to say something, but didn't know what. It didn't matter since Zach didn't look like he wanted to talk anyway.

"You want to stay here?" he demanded, looking down at me.

"Yes, she wants to stay," Bryn said. He was dressed in jeans and a white s.h.i.+rt. He looked ready for the day.

I felt like a Ford F-250 had run me over. I put an arm over my eyes.

"I don't feel good," I mumbled.

"I hope the f.u.c.k not," Zach said, scooping me up. The sheet slid off my bare legs. The world lurched, and I squeezed my eyes shut as I pushed my dress down to cover as much as possible.

"Get out of my way," Zach ground out. I opened my eyes to see Bryn standing in the doorway.

"Tamara, do you want to stay or go?"

I felt like a prizefighter the day after the big fight. I rested my head against Zach's shoulder.

"Go."

"There are only ten left. The others were cast out. We did that," Bryn said.

Ten what? Werewolves? How? Had he used our combined power to cast a killing spell? That seemed, well, kind of wrong. Sure I'd been all fired up to shoot them, but killing them from a distance seemed unfair, like we should have gotten a penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct.

The room was slightly blurry, but I focused on Bryn's face. "I'm tired."

He reached a hand out toward me, but stopped short.

"You touch her, and I'll set her down long enough to knock your head off your shoulders."

Bryn smiled. "I'll let him take you because he doesn't have much time left with you. When you feel better, pack a bag, because the next time you find yourself in my house, you'll be staying longer than the night." Bryn stepped aside.

I felt myself s.h.i.+fting. Zach was going to put me down to fight with him.

I clutched Zach's shoulder. "No, take me home."

I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until I told Zach to pull the car over so I could be sick. When I was finished, he put me back in, silently. He stalked back around to the driver's side, and I could feel the accusation in his stiff movements.

I'd betrayed him. I knew he wanted to shout and smash things, but I was in no shape for it. The silence was so thick it was hard to breathe.

And worst of all, it was already afternoon on Thursday, October twenty-third. I had less than twenty-four hours left, and I didn't have the energy to lift my head, let alone to cast a spell. Not that I could be trusted to spell-cast. Astral projection was supposed to have taken me to the locket, not made me channel Edie, causing my body to house my soul and part of hers. I couldn't deny that it had felt great to be as bold and fearless as Edie, her twenties slang dripping from my tongue. I'd been drunk with power and confidence, overconfidence actually.

Bryn was right. I should never have cast spells without training. Now I'd had my fun, and I would pay for it with Edie's soul and a guilty conscience that wouldn't give me peace for the rest of my life.

Zach's little brick house feels a lot like home sometimes, but not when we're fighting. I dropped down on the lumpy blue couch and tipped my head back, resting my neck on the cus.h.i.+on.

Zach went into the kitchen, and five minutes later, bacon and eggs were sizzling in the frying pan. He came out and handed me a gla.s.s of sugar water. We'd figured out in high school that eating a packet of sugar is a good way to recover from a hangover for some reason. I swallowed the sweet liquid, not sure at all that it would work for a magical hangover, but, twenty minutes later, I felt better and sat down at the old Formica-topped kitchen table.

Zach set down two plates of food, one in front of me and one for himself.

"You're bleeding again," I said, seeing a small red spot that had soaked through the s.h.i.+rt's maroon bloodstain from the night before.

He didn't say anything, just got to shoveling food into his mouth.

"Zach, I'm sorry." I paused. "I feel better, so if you want to yell at me, go ahead."

He ignored me, going back to the skillet for more bacon.

"I didn't do it to hurt you."

He looked over and fixed me with a hard look. "That just makes it worse, doesn't it?"

I opened my mouth, but couldn't think of what to say. He'd have rather I'd done it to make him jealous or something than because I'd wanted to do it. "I just meant-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Me either. I hated seeing him in pain.

"I think you need to go to a hospital in Dallas. If that wound keeps bleeding, you need to be in a place where they can give you another blood transfusion."

"There's trouble in Duvall. I ain't goin' anywhere until that's settled."

"The sheriff and the others can handle it. You said they have backup."

"You need to wash all that s.h.i.+t off your face. If you're done eating, get to taking a shower. I need one too before I go to work."

"Zach, you could bleed to death."

"Then bury me next to Momma at Lakeside," he said flippantly. He finished his food and tossed his dish in the sink.

"There's no talking to you!"

He walked over and picked up the newspaper from the counter before proceeding to the living room with it. I followed him.

"Why did you even bring me here if you don't want to talk about things?" This was so typical of Zach. No problem at home was too big to be ignored. When he didn't answer, I walked over to where he'd sat down and s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper from his grasp, crumpling it.

"Girl, I'm at my limit today. Don't push me."

"I can take a shower at my own house. Just drive me home."

"I'm not dropping you off looking like some tramp who's been turning tricks for tequila shots. Now, go on in and take a shower."

"What do you care what my neighbors think? I'm not your responsibility. We're divorced!"

"I said for better or worse, and I meant it. Gettin' divorced was your idea."

"When we were married you barely knew I was there!"

"First off, that's a h.e.l.l of an exaggeration. Second, today's maybe not the best day for you to get on a high horse about anything." His tone was hard and flat, and it cut me deeper than a steak knife could have.

I clenched my fists. "We're not married, you and me. I can do whatever I want."

"You best hope I do bleed to death then, 'cause otherwise you're going to have a big problem with me from here on out."

"It's none of your business."

"I married you, darlin'. You'll be my business 'til we're both dead."

"There's no talking to you."

"Then stop tryin' to," he said, yanking the paper from me and nodding toward the hallway where the bathroom was.

I marched down the hall and slammed the door closed. I nearly shouted in surprise at the sight of my black-smudged reflection in the vanity mirror. The aftermath of three coats of mascara is a good reason to stick to one.

I showered, scrubbing myself with soap and water, then went to his room and threw on one of his Cowboys jerseys. It hung to my thighs and was just about the length of my dress from the night before. I found an old pair of my jeans in the bottom of the closet and slid into them.

After Zach took a shower, he walked into the room naked except for the towel he had pressed to his chest.

I walked over immediately. "Sit down, and let me see it."

"Gonna kiss it and make it better?"

"No."

"Then I'm not interested."

He walked to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. He tossed the b.l.o.o.d.y towel on the bed long enough to pull on a pair of boxers and jeans. Blood dripped from the wound, and he mopped it up just before it reached the waistband at his hips.

I dug through a box on the closet floor and pulled out an Ace bandage we'd used on his knee a couple of times after football injuries.

I tossed the bandage on the bed and went to get some gauze pads. When I returned he was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting.

I didn't say a thing. I taped the gauze in place and then wrapped the bandage tight, pressing on it, relieved when the blood didn't seep through.

"Does it hurt a lot?"

"Been hurt worse."

I looked into the denim-colored eyes that were studying me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He slid a hand up and into my hair, pulling my head down. A moment later, I was flat on my back with him on top of me. We kissed for a few minutes, and I could feel that not all of him was mad at me.

When he finally rolled off me, we were both breathless.

"Glad we understand each other," he said.

He got up slowly, holding out a hand to me. I let him pull me up, and we stood toe to toe.

"Where you want to stay while I'm at work? TJ's? I don't want you at Kenny and Georgia's until Kenny's home." The look on his face told me that he wasn't going to drop me off anyplace where I would be alone, and his brother TJ, like all the Sutton boys, had a house full of guns that he wouldn't be shy about using if trouble came knocking.

"TJ's is fine."

The Sutton boys, as they were known growing up, were all named after U.S. presidents, GW the oldest, for George Was.h.i.+ngton, of course. TJ for Thomas Jefferson and Zach for "Old Rough and Ready" Zachary Taylor.

They'd all married young, but continued to raise h.e.l.l despite that. Owing to a very bad example set by their hard-drinking father, they liked to stay out all night in bars, drinking and swapping stories, and sometimes getting reckless. To this day, I couldn't even talk to Zach about the time TJ had wrecked a new car while they were drag racing. Zach just shrugged things like that off. When I said I worried that one of them might end up really hurt or dead if they didn't knock that stuff off, he just grinned and kissed me and said they'd be all right. There was no talking to the man.

It was too bad they'd all been cursed with good looks and easy charm, or they might have stood a chance at staying single, but, as things were, the women they couldn't resist couldn't resist them either. Me included.

I'd been warned. My future sisters-in-law, Sherry and Nadine, had taken me aside right before my wedding shower, and Nadine had asked, "Do you love him?" I'd been startled, but replied quickly enough, "Of course." Sherry had shaken her head and said, "We're sure sorry to hear that, but welcome to the family."