Blood of the Wicked (18 page)

It was warm, much warmer than she expected. Sunlight filtered down from the hazy sky far above. She tipped her face up, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. The thick underscoring of sulfur merged with something warmer in her nose. Something hotter, smoky, like wood charred to a black finish. It seemed, despite the conflicting fragrances, fresh somehow. Refreshing.

So serene. So . . .

Quiet. It was quiet, with none of the hum and chaos of the city to break its solitude. No police sirens, no screaming, no violent, wild music. No hum of constant electricity.

Jessie bit her lip as she stepped off the porch, awe sliding once more through her. She followed a pretty collection of smooth stepping-stones, noted the deep carvings etched into each surface. Protection. Peace. Christ, even the ritual symbols for
home
.

That emblem had once marked the first of the flagstones in her mother’s parlor. They’d lived there for only a month when she’d been killed.

Tears welling hot and sweet in her eyes, she paused halfway to a wall of rock and oddly lush fronds and struggled to collect herself. Everything had officially been upended. She needed to find a balance, and she needed to do it before she found Silas.

Jessie turned, shading her eyes against the light.

And felt it,
saw
it, click into place.

There’s a green house under a violet sky
.

Oh, God. There it was. Jessie wrapped her arms over her chest, cupped her elbows, and held herself as icy shivers ran down her spine.

She smiles inside that house, Jessie, but her eyes are diamonds and her bones are clay. If you let her, she’ll show you how to die
.

Caleb’s voice rose sharply in her mind, edgy and impatient. In her memory, in her mind’s eye, he gestured wildly at her. Argued with her.

We can stop this one
, he’d insisted. Paced their rat-hole motel room in shades of fury and fear. His lanky hands splayed in the air; he’d fought so hard to convince her.
Run when you see the joker. Don’t go into the tomb. And for God’s sake, Jessie, don’t go near a green house and don’t accept her help
.

She swayed in a sea of mist. Of memory.

You follow the path she points to, and then you’re standing in a broken bowl, in an ocean of red. The sky ignites, and you’re burned to death, Jessie. Burned alive. Screaming my name
.

But she’d dismissed him. Flung her scorn and disbelief at him, so angry with it all. Frustrated with the years of running and hiding and arguing. He’d gone silent. So silent.

As she had lain awake that night, Jessie thought to apologize. To puzzle it out with him, do whatever she could to remove the shadows from his eyes.

But Caleb was gone in the morning.

Jessie stared at the charming cottage. Its somewhat slanted beams were rough, its patchwork details evidence of how tough a woman Matilda really was. The coat of dark green paint lent a charming elegance to a house cobbled together at the seams.

And it lent an eye-catching contrast to the sea of violet flowers that climbed the cliff wall behind it, a floral bower that swayed like an awning of sweetly scented purple silk.

The green house under a purple sky. That was three for three.

And she wasn’t surprised. Not now, as the world settled around her. She’d already known it was coming, knew it from the night she’d met Silas.

Was it only two days ago?

It seemed like forever. An eternity of being hunted, of running, of lying and omitting and—
Shit
. In Silas’s arms, Jessie found at least a moment of respite. Of peace. The same feeling that touched her here, in this strange valley.

She scraped stiff fingers through her hair, wincing again when it pulled the wide scab at her hairline.

Caleb’s prophecies never lied. Jessie took a deep breath. Set her jaw. Death was coming.

Coming fast, it seemed, and Silas was there for every sign. He’d been the one to fight the man with the leering jester tattoo. He’d been the one to find her in the abandoned church under the frozen clock, to fill her body and her mind at her most vulnerable.

He’d been the one to bring her here.

Integral to every sign.

Would she die at the hands of the man she knew she was growing to love? Is that what this all meant? Burned alive by the witch hunter who seduced the beating heart from her chest?

Because that, Jessie figured as she turned away from the neat house and floral sky, would be sadly hysterical. Fittingly ironic. Death, just another word for peace.

And she wanted peace. God, she wanted peace.

Every cell in her body quivered with anxiety, with exhaustion. Raw nerves. Reluctantly squaring her shoulders, she followed the path to the left.

Chapter Nineteen

S
he saw Silas before he saw her. The trail of sand twined through the leafy foliage hugging the rock, fanned out from the path. Its smooth surface touched the lip of water that gleamed in shades of green both vivid and surreal.

The water rippled, lapping against the sandy shore, and in the middle of it, Silas’s body gleamed in strong, lean lines.

The man was wildly, intoxicatingly appealing.

As Jessie stepped off the path, his dark head turned, arrowed in on her as if he’d been waiting. Watching. She saw the worry, the relief, wash over his features even from where she stood. He raised a long, tanned arm and headed for her.

Richly defined muscle flexed and rippled as he cut powerful strokes through the shimmering water. It took moments for him to reach the shallows, and as he strode up the sloping ground, she couldn’t help but be deeply aware that he was naked. Completely, unabashedly naked.

A slow, wicked heat unfurled low in Jessie’s belly. She couldn’t, didn’t want to stop her eyes from feasting on every inch of his rugged body.

For this moment in time, Silas Smith was hers to admire.

Broad shoulders tapered to lean hips, muscles cut sharply from arms to chest to the ridged beauty of his abdomen. Strong thighs flexed with every step. Scars and healing wounds peppered his skin, marred the etched perfection of his physique. She swallowed hard, forcing back the sympathy, the tide of heartache for the pain each must have caused him.

This was his job. The scars that had healed, pale against his tanned skin, and the bruises and wounds that mottled his chest in thin lines, in sweeping contusions or ragged furrows from stray bullets; all of it was his job. A job she despised.

But knowing it, reminding herself, didn’t ease the wicked curl of lust, of passion, that spread languidly under her skin.

Water rolled off him in rivulets, dripped from his dark hair. As he came closer, she allowed her gaze to lazily sweep back up his body, meet his eyes head-on and without embarrassment.

She wanted him.

Those gray-green eyes darkened. Without a word, with nothing more than a low, rough sound, Silas grabbed the hem of her borrowed shirt and drew it over her head. Before it had even cleared her arms, he brought his mouth to hers. Claimed her lips, her wanton, encouraging moan.

He tasted clean and wild and masculine, all aggressive power and leashed need.

Jessie helped shed her skirt, using her feet to peel the fabric down over her legs. The soft cotton of her underwear followed, and Silas locked a forearm around her back. She stumbled into him. Let him catch her.

Hold her.

Magic writhed beneath her skin. Hungry. Desperate.

No falsehoods
.

Wrenching his mouth from hers, he pressed hot, wet kisses to her cheek, the sensitive spot under her ear. Feathered them across her collarbone as he lifted her off her feet.

Where his lips touched, her skin burned. Where his hands held her, she felt weightless. Secure.
Safe
. She wrapped her legs around his waist, thrust her fingers through his wet hair, and covered his lips with her own. But he wasn’t a man who let anyone have that control, and Jessie reveled when he nipped her lower lip hard enough to make her gasp.

His chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrated against her breasts. Against her mouth.

Dimly she heard splashing. She opened her eyes to find he’d carried them back into the green water, and then gasped in mingled surprise and pleasure when he sank into it. Warmth spread through her limbs as the water climbed over her legs, her thighs, her waist. Heat soothed her ribs, jolted her as it pooled between her legs, and then sent her arching with delight when he found that hot, wet core of her and slipped in one finger.

She locked her arms around the back of his neck as he stroked her. He slid a second finger into her damp flesh and crooked both. Almost rocketing out of her skin, battered by waves of warmth and need and joy, Jessie twined her fingers through his hair and welcomed the sudden rise of pressure and tight, roiling release building inside. Welcomed it with unabashed relish, practically preening as he watched her ride his fingers. Felt her slide herself along his body, skin to hot skin.

He wanted her, too. It darkened his eyes, as shrouded as the mist that swirled around them. He spoke, low, tight words of approval, encouragement, coaxing more from her.

Her climax rippled from toes to forehead, burned inside of her as she cried out in the calm and quiet. Silas palmed the back of her head with his free hand, brought her lips to his and swallowed her wild gasps, her long, wicked moan. Hungry, demanding, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with himself, with the hard muscle of his erection.

Before the shockwaves ebbed, before her brain could regroup, he entered her body. Claimed her, her mouth, her soul.

Claimed the witch he didn’t know she was.

Practically floating in the heated water, drifting in the spectacular bloom of a second, sinuous climax, Jessie clung tight to Silas’s shoulders, his waist. Rode him as he thrust inside her, withdrew, thrust again. The water rippled, lapped at her skin, and she felt the rising flush of liquid heat in her chest. In her cheeks, roiling under her flesh.

Saying nothing at all, his eyes heavy-lidded and half lost in her, Silas spanned her waist with both hands, tilted her hips just so, and her world fragmented in a pool of glassy green.

It wasn’t until she remembered to breathe that she realized he’d held her the whole time. Kept her safe in his arms, above the water.

She turned her head, pressed her lips to his shoulder.
Thank you
. Closing her eyes, she hid the veil of tears that clung behind a thin veneer of control.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

T
hey floated lazily in the water, naked and warm. Silas watched her when she wasn’t looking, and every glossy inch of her sent his heart thumping erratically in his chest.

She was so beautiful. Wild and slippery as a fish when she glided past him, splashing.

He wiped water from his eyes, smiling despite the crushing fear that weighed him down. It wouldn’t last. This peace, this tranquil spot in time, was going to fracture.

She was going to fracture.

How could she not?

“So what’s the deal with the water?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Volcanic,” he explained. At her inquiring eyebrow, he grinned, kicking his feet to push himself farther to the middle of the pool. “We’re somewhere in the Old Sea-Trench. It goes deep, far enough down to crack open a few vents into the earth’s crust.”

Jessie treaded water awkwardly, expending more energy than she needed. Maybe he’d teach her, later. Take her to that beautiful Florida beach and show her how to swim with minimal—

What the hell was he thinking about? Later? After she finished cradling the body he was going to put in her arms? Fuck. Silas palmed his face. Viciously stomped on his own thoughts before his mind could paint any more pretty, unreachable pictures.

“So it’s all heated by lava?” She ducked under the surface, came up again with a sound of uniquely feminine delight. “It’s like a tropical slice of heaven.”

“Lava or steam.” Silas wrenched his brain to the subject at hand. It was an easy subject, lava and heated mineral pools. A harmless, innocent subject.

Which Jessie was swimming in, every inch of her body naked and wet and warm and—

“Damn it.” He ducked under the surface, let the water close over his head for a long count of ten. The world was murky green, barely visible past the reach of his arms. It was quieter, calm. Somehow soothing.

When his lungs clamored for air, he bobbed back up. Water splashed over the back of his head.

“Show-off.”

Silas turned, feigned menace in his expression. “Okay, that’s it,” he growled, and lunged through the green water. Jessie shrieked, tried to back away, but he caught one slender foot in his fingers and jerked her back. The water closed over her golden head, and he used the opportunity to fold his arms around her.

She came up sputtering, her water-darkened hair plastered and dripping over her face. “Cheater!” she accused, laughing. Undaunted, she twined her arms around his shoulders, fingertips grazing through the hair curling on the back of his neck.

Their legs bumped, and Silas curled his hand around her thigh, guided her knees around his waist. He couldn’t get enough of her mile-long legs, especially when they locked around him. “So,” he murmured, tracing the wet line of her back. “I didn’t take you for a tattoo enthusiast.”

Her eyes crinkled. “I’m not.” When his hand splayed over the bar code on her back, she moved a pale, feminine shoulder in a half shrug. “I’ve always had it, ever since I could remember.”

And how strange was that? “Your parents didn’t tell you?”

“No.” She sighed, twining her fingers around the back of his neck. “We only ever knew our mother,” she added, with such honesty in her summer eyes that he couldn’t keep himself from leaning in to tongue the full curve of her lower lip. Kiss away the matter-of-fact way she spoke about a history that made his chest twist in answering sympathy.

She hummed something sweet, throaty, and he knew he was a sucker. Seduced by honey and whiskey; what the hell was he doing?

And why didn’t he stop it?

Because he’d almost lost her. The thought didn’t hover too far away. Ever circling. He’d almost lost her, and to magic. God, if only the seal had been stronger. If only he’d been able to stop the spell from overwhelming him.

To block it, somehow.

Jessie smiled into his eyes, smoothed one finger back over his whiskered jaw. “Matilda said dinner was in an hour.”

“Was this”—he eased out a breath as her pelvis nudged him in the current of their bodies—“before you got here?” he managed.

“Yup.” Her eyes gleamed in the light, reflecting back the shimmering depths of the green water.

“I don’t suppose you’re hungry?” Silas tilted his head to find that sensitive spot at the base of her ear, the one that made her body vibrate in his hands. On cue, she let her head fall back. Hitched a breath.

He was starving. Silas imagined she’d be famished, too, but the feel of her body was too good, too solid and real and goddamned
good
against him to lose it now.

“We should eat,” she said, her body shuddering as he tongued that sweet, silken spot. “Silas, stop, I can’t think.”

“Good.” But she was right. Reluctantly Silas raised his head. He tilted her chin up with a finger and covered her mouth with his, poured every ounce of hunger, of need, into that kiss.

Knew he’d hit home when her arms and legs tightened around him.

But she only laughed shakily when he kicked toward shore. She uncurled from his waist, eyes gleaming, and held his hand as they made for land. “You are going to regret that,” she promised as they climbed the sandy slope.

Silas turned, trapped her hand in the small of her back, and kissed her again. Hard and fast. God, she even tasted like sunshine. How the hell did a woman taste like sunshine?

Half drunk on her, half gone already, he stepped back and shook his head hard. He noted the same dizzy lust in her expression and knew he was in deep, deep trouble.

“Let’s go eat,” he said.

They wriggled into their clothes. Silas kept a surreptitious eye on her as she bent to retrieve hers. His gaze swept over the long sweep of her back, her long legs. He liked the view a hell of a lot more without those tiny gold shorts she’d worn before.

A lot had happened between then and now. He’d almost lost her, almost killed them both under a witch’s spell, and he knew it could happen again. He’d have to leave her.

Damn it, she’d never understand.

No, he corrected himself. He gave her more credit than that. She’d understand. But she’d never agree. The argument in the truck had made that perfectly clear.

How could he make her see how much every bruise, every cut and ache and scar that ripped at her tore at him, too?

And when the
fuck
did he end up over his head?

Except Silas already knew the answer to that one. The instant he’d laid eyes on a bare-legged, red-lipped brunette with honey in her eyes, he’d sunk. The moment he’d kissed her in a dark, rainy alley, felt her body arch into his.

“Should I dance?”

Silas jerked his attention back to the present to find Jessie eyeing him, a slow smile curving her wide lips. He could have her again, if he wanted. He knew it.

She did, too.

Way,
way
over his head. “Food,” he said roughly, firmly, and headed for the cottage.

She chuckled. When she caught his hand, twined her fingers with his, something in his chest went supernova. Silas stared straight ahead, swore viciously and silently while his traitor hand held hers.