Chapter 24
Kat
Crane runs a hand through his messy black hair and starts pacing back and forth in the stall like a restless horse. I know the information I just gave him is probably overloading his system, his brain working overtime to try to put all the pieces together.
“So you told Brom about your tryst with this Joshua Meeks, and then the next morning, Meeks is dead. Apparently, a victim of the headless horseman. Correct?”
I nod, tugging on the ends of my blouse. “Yes.”
“And you were with Brom when the constable was there?”
“Yes. I looked at Brom, and he seemed surprised by it all, yet he knew what I was thinking. When we rode here together—”
He stops, his eyes fierce. “Just a minute now. You rode with Brom to school?”
“Of course. He had stopped by the house to ride with me.”
“Well?” he asks, coming closer. His hair is wild now from his hands constantly tugging on it. “What did you talk about? And how could you ride with him after everything that happened last night?”
I shrug. “I didn’t want to.”
“You weren’t afraid?”
On one hand, how could I ever be afraid of Brom? I’ve known and trusted him my whole life. On the other hand, I don’t know what the past four years have done to him.
“After finding out about Meeks, I was wary,” I concede. “But I didn’t know what to say or do. And anyway, Brom knew what I was thinking. After we were on our way, he told me he didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“And you believe him?”
“I have to. It’s Brom.”
“People change, Kat. That’s when they’re the most dangerous, because you’re easily fooled.”
I throw out my arms, frustration rolling through me like thunder.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore! What does this mean?
Is he connected to the Hessian soldier? Is it a coincidence?
Why else would Meeks be dead? Is Brom…” The lessons from this morning’s class come into my head.
“Are Brom and the Hessian connected like the way you were talking about? Could there have been some blood ritual that bound them together?”
Of course, that only leads to the questions of who and why.
“Maybe,” Crane says, tapping his fingers against his chin. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s more simple than that.” He pauses, his eyes lighting up. “Maybe it’s possession.”
I nearly laugh. “You think Brom is possessed by the ghost of the headless horseman?”
“Do you have a better idea?” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
“No,” I admit. “And no, I don’t think he’s possessed.
When I was riding with Brom earlier, it was Brom.
” A bewildered Brom who was adamant that he had nothing to do with Meeks’s murder.
It was impossible not to take him at his word.
I knew he was telling the truth, and I just have to make a decision and trust that, otherwise I’ll go insane.
“You yourself said he’s been different. Violent.” The muscle in his jaw tics. “Cruel.”
“At times, but that doesn’t mean I think he’s possessed. I think he’s confused and angry and…”
“It’s not a coincidence, Kat. Those two are linked.
Brom might not even realize it, or perhaps he does now.
But if he truly doesn’t remember anything, then I don’t think this can be explained.
” He looks away, trapped in his thoughts.
“We need a way to reach him. I need to get inside his head.” He glances at me.
“Is he still on campus now? I don’t know if he’s in my afternoon classes today, but perhaps… ”
“Now that he knows about us, I doubt Brom will want to talk to you again,” I tell him.
He gives me a dry smile. “So I’m not the only one with jealousy issues, then?”
“No,” I say, and I hate the little thrill that runs through me and makes my stomach do somersaults.
The fact that Crane is jealous of Brom and Brom is jealous of Crane is both overwhelming and intoxicating.
Both men I care about deeply, both men carrying darkness in them.
The biggest difference is that one man makes me feel safe, and the other is starting to terrify me. And yet, I want them both the same.
What a dangerous path desire is.
Crane’s eyes turn molten for a second as he stares at me. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice going low.
I shouldn’t tell him. I should stay focused on Brom and what we need to do about him. But there’s so much energy and anxiety coursing through my veins right now that I fear what will happen if it doesn’t have a place to go.
I hold his gaze and let the fire burn between us.
Then I take a chance.
“I’m thinking about you,” I tell him carefully.
“About how safe you make me feel. All I ever wanted was to feel safe and protected and to have someone on my side and looking out for me and…” I pause, feeling more and more vulnerable, like my ribs are opening up so he can get a glimpse of my heart.
“And I do. I have you. Or at least I think I do. Do I?”
He stares at me with disbelief in those stormy eyes, and for a moment, I’m afraid he’ll say something that will make all sense of safety disappear.
Then he takes two long strides across the stall and grabs my face in his large, warm hands, and instead of holding me there like he did this morning, he leans down and kisses me.
It’s a hard kiss, a surprising one that nearly knocks me off my feet, and his hands are so strong, fingertips pressing into my cheekbones to keep me in place.
His tongue is demanding, slipping into my mouth, and I open to him, and he takes all he can get.
He moans at my taste, and I gasp as his tongue probes deeper, velvet soft and hard, and it feels like he’s using his tongue like he’d use his cock inside me, and I’m hit with a wave of desire that nearly drowns me.
My toes curl, and heat floods between my thighs, and suddenly, my clothes feel suffocating, the high neck of my blouse too tight around my throat, my skirt too long and bulky to feel any hardness from his body as he presses it against mine until I’m flat against the wall of the stall.
He pulls his head back, breathing hard, and rests his forehead against mine, the tip of his nose brushing against the tip of mine.
“Here’s the thing about feeling safe, sweet witch,” he says, his voice rough.
“It’s a baseline. A starting point you can always go back to.
I will always take you back to where you feel safest. You can trust me on that. Will you trust me?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I nod anyway because I do trust him. After the way he protected me when the horseman came after us, I know I can trust him with my life.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
A wicked smile curves his lips, and I’m struck by how easily this man vacillates between being a good and proper teacher and a man who’s a slave to lust. “That’s what I needed to hear. Just remember that you trust me, and I trust you to let me know when you’re uncomfortable with something.”
I blink at him as his hands wrap around me to the back of my neck, fingers curling over the edge of my collar. He fingers the buttons there gently. “What would I be uncomfortable with?” I ask, my voice shaking slightly, but I’m scared and excited, my heart rate increasing.
“Letting me use your body,” he says, his gaze dropping to my lips. “Letting me fuck you until you’re rendered senseless. Letting me be in control of how you come and when you come and trusting that I’ll never let you leave unsatisfied.”
With a sudden display of power, he rips the collar of my blouse at the back, the sound of buttons popping and fabric tearing as the cloth falls away down my arms, leaving me exposed in my corset and chemise.
“Crane!” I admonish him. “What are you doing?”
“Being impatient,” he says, and with my neck exposed, his mouth goes to my skin, and he starts sucking. I gasp, my eyes fluttering back, my body immediately flooded with sensation. “I can’t stand how many layers you women wear, but I’ll rip them all off you if I have to.”
“Is this where I tell you I’m uncomfortable with this?” I ask.
He glances up at me, his eyes glimmering and devious. “Oh, no, my sweet witch. This is nothing compared to what I’m about to do to you.”
But instead of ripping my chemise or tearing through the laces of my corset, he just yanks them both down until my breasts bounce free. My nipples harden in the cold air, and his lips are on them in seconds, warm and wet, giving long swirls of his tongue.
“Oh my goodness,” I cry out, my head going back. I gasp for breath and squeeze my thighs together as electricity flows from my breasts and through the rest of my body, tightening a hot coil in the center of me.
He takes my moans as encouragement and switches between my nipples, biting and sucking, making me squirm and writhe under his touch.
His hands trail down my body, squeezing and kneading over my corset until they reach the waistband of my skirt, where he raises it up, bunching it up around my waist, and I’m left in just my stockings, garters, and drawers.
I blush, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but the heat between my legs is impossible to ignore.
Crane gets down on the ground and kneels in front of me, his eyes dark with desire as his fingers trace the lace of my undergarments, teasing the slit in the crotch of my drawers where I’m bare underneath.
His gaze flicks up to mine before he leans in and disappears under my skirt. He presses a kiss to my inner thigh. I gasp, my hands scrambling to find something to hold on to as he trails kisses up my thigh, getting closer and closer to the heat that’s pooling between my legs.
Then he pulls his head out from under my skirt, his hand kneading into the tender flesh of my thighs.
“Do you want this?” he asks me, black hair a mess, staring up through his dark lashes.
“Please,” I beg, my voice barely audible. I can feel energy swirling through me, potent and hot, wanting to do magic, waiting impatiently to be released.