Chapter 29
Kat
But I couldn’t just wait for them. I contemplated running over to Mary’s and telling her what I saw, but I didn’t want to risk leaving the house.
When the fire burned out, I didn’t even want to head out to the woodshed to get more logs for the fire, so I went around lighting all the candles I could find with sparks from my fingers.
Then I got on my hands and knees and washed the blood out of the floor, trying not to be sick. The terror still has a hold on me, and if it wasn’t for the blood, I would think that I dreamed the whole thing.
But it was real. He came into the house, wanting me. Whether to defile me or kill me or both, I don’t know, but it was me this time that he wanted. It was only by pure luck that I was able to conjure that energy in time.
And yet, it’s not like he turned away and ran. He walked off like I had just asked him politely to leave. Which meant he might come back. So I decided to gather up all the salt in the house and start sprinkling it around all the entrances, hoping it might bar him.
Now I’m sitting on the chair in the living room, a lit candlestick by my side, jumping at every noise. By the time the clock ticks midnight, my mother and Famke are still not home. I’m starting to get worried. What if the horseman attacked them too?
But the idea of leaving the house and looking for them in the cold night is too terrifying to bear, so I stay where I am.
Then I hear a tap.
Another tap.
I slowly get to my feet, picking up the candlestick. The flame dances. The house seems to seethe with darkness, the shadows thickening. My skin tingles with fear all over.
What is that?
I hear it again.
It’s coming from my bedroom.
My chest tightens with fear.
Another tap.
There’s something at my bedroom window.
I stand in the sitting room, filled with fear so acute that it makes my knees shake.
Another tap, louder now.
A rock hitting the pane.
Could it be?
I dare to take a step forward, then another, until I’m pausing in my doorway.
At my window, underneath the elm tree with its autumn leaves, is Brom.
Despite my reservations, I find myself being pulled to the window like a magnet. I push it up, cold air flowing in.
“Brom,” I say in a breathless gasp.
He stares at me, his eyes midnight black, and I’m brought back in time to the last night I saw him before he disappeared. How could this man be any different? How could this not be the Brom who I know?
“Can I come in?” he asks. His voice is gruff, but the tone is soft.
I hesitate, my mind reeling over Brom’s counterpart, the headless horseman.
“Please,” he says.
There’s desperation there, and with one look into his eyes, I see how tortured he is. My Brom, who always felt too much, wore his heart on his sleeve. I can’t say no. I’ve been pushing him away all week, leaving him in the cold, and the guilt is getting to me.
I step away from the window, and he climbs through with ease.
Gets to his feet beside me in the bedroom, and I feel all will and resolve, even fear, melt away.
Because this feels like us. His large body, that immense power in his muscles and bones, the darkness inside him that’s always been there from day one.
He sucks in his breath, the candle in my hand flickering, and I feel the air leave my lungs. The tension between us is a tight line of energy that crackles like a lightning storm, the intensity rising until I can’t breathe at all. The hair on my arms rises, heat building in my core.
This man is my thunderstorm.
“I’ve missed you,” Brom whispers, taking a step forward, his hand at my cheek.
I close my eyes, leaning into the familiar feel of his palm. Warm, calloused, protective. This is him. This is the man I know. This is the man I’ve been waiting for.
“I’ve missed you so much, Daffodil,” he says.
My eyes fly open at the sound of my old nickname. I gaze up into his eyes, and I’m swept away by the storm in them, how dark they are, how beautiful.
He leans in, brushing his lips over my cheek. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers again, his voice raw, and the candlestick starts to tremble in my hand, the flame flickering.
Goodness. How will I survive him?
“Brom,” I say, but then he’s kissing me. His mouth is warm but tentative, unsure, as if he’s holding himself back. He parts my lips with a dip of his tongue, and I can’t help but moan into his mouth.
The candlestick falls to the floor, the flame going out, and Brom runs his hands up into my hair, holding me in place. His kiss deepens, licking into my mouth, long, slow strokes of his tongue that give me goose bumps, that make my whole body shake.
He’s so different from Crane in this way. While Crane is composed and aloof most of the time, he is wild in his fucking. While Brom is wild and moody most of the time, he is sensual in his kiss.
And it feels so good to be kissed by him.
Something both familiar and new. I grab his shirt, my fingers wrapping around it and holding tight as I realize I finally have him back.
My insides are burning up as he kisses me deeper now, this slow pull of our mouths, like we have all the time in the world.
I never want this kiss to end. I want to drown in this sweet desire.
I want to revel in our return to each other.
“Kat,” he says against my mouth as he pulls back slightly. “I never stopped thinking about our night together.”
Our lips break away, my breath hard, and I look at him in surprise. “What do you mean? Do you remember thinking about me?”
He gives his head a small shake, his eyes squinting in anguish.
“No. I don’t remember. But I know. I know I was.
How could I not? I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since I came back to Sleepy Hollow.
” He presses his forehead against mine, his hands leaving my hair and ghosting over my neck, my collarbone, over my breasts, my nipples pebbling under my thin nightgown.
“We were so much younger than we are now, but you left your mark on me. And now you’re fully a woman, Kat, and I want you.
I want you like I’ve never wanted anything before. You make me such a desperate man.”
He continues to slowly rub my nipples through the fabric until the heat between my legs pulses hungrily, and he leans in, kissing my collarbones. It feels like being brushed by butterfly wings. “I think I might die if I can’t have you for my own,” he murmurs against my skin.
My eyes roll back in my head. I swallow hard, unable to stop from speaking the truth. “You can’t have me for your own. I belong to Crane too.”
He tenses, his fingers pinching my nipples hard as I bring my gaze to meet his. His nostrils flare, eyes flashing with contempt. “I had you first.”
His mood is like mercury.
“And you will always be my first,” I tell him. “But you know I’m with Crane.”
His upper lip curls. “I will make you forget him.”
I nearly laugh at how possessive he’s being. “You can’t make me forget him, Brom. You’re the one who…” I stop myself, licking my lips.
One hand goes to the back of my neck, gripping me there, the other grabbing my waist. “The one who what?” he says, his voice hard, his grip harder.
“You’re the one who has forgotten,” I tell him, feeling like this should be something Crane tells him, but at this point, I’m not sure how that will go.
“You know Crane. You’ve met him before. In New York.
You were in New York City, and you were calling yourself Abe, and you were with him. You were with him.”
His eyes widen briefly, like two black moons, and then his brows meet, and he shakes his head. “No. No. You’re mistaken. He’s mistaken!”
“Brom,” I say as his hand grows tighter at my neck. “I know you don’t remember, but that’s what happened. You were his lover.”
“Shut up,” he sneers, letting go of my neck and pushing me to the side. He goes to my bedroom door and closes it, and my heart jumps. He turns to face me. “I don’t know what game you’re playing.”
“Me?” I cry out. “You’re the one playing games here! Just before you showed up tonight, the headless horseman came into my room! He came in holding a head. Am I going to find out tomorrow that it was a result of your jealousy?”
His chin jerks in, indignation working his brows. “You think I’m the headless horseman? You really think I’m the murderer?”
“Well, are you?”
He strides toward me, and I back up until the backs of my legs hit the bed.
“Whore,” he snarls in my face.
“What?” I exclaim in shock.
He growls and grabs me by the throat, squeezing. “Dirty fucking whore,” he says.
Then he kisses me. The tenderness of earlier is gone. This kiss is deep and brutal. He’s taking and taking, tongue plunging in deeper, fucking my mouth.
My body betrays me. I should push him away for calling me that word, but some hidden part of me likes it. It wants to feel his wrath. It wants to be insulted. I can feel how wet I am already, the inside of my thighs damp. The thrill of danger is too beautiful.
He pulls at my neck until our mouths break apart and I can barely breathe, and in his eyes, I see a storm of lust that terrifies me.
“You couldn’t even wait for me,” he rasps.
“You had to get someone else’s cock to satisfy that greedy hole of yours.
” He brings me forward again by the neck, the pressure getting tighter, and I gasp, our eyes inches away from each other.
“I’ll fuck them out of you. You belong to me, only me. And tonight, I’m claiming you as mine.”
My stomach twists, and I’m panting under his grip.
“You like that, don’t you?” he growls. “Little slut.”
And then he pushes me onto the bed. Before I can right myself, he’s lifting me by the neck and flipping me around so that my knees are on the bed and I’m pressed with my breasts against the wall.
“Put your hands up on the wall,” he warns, his voice gruff and hard. “Don’t move.”