Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Was she always like that?” Alaric asked. He’d waited until they’d left the cemetery, falling easily into step with Roz as she stomped out the gate and down Main Street. Times like these called for serious magic to improve her mood.
“Like what?” Roz asked.
“I can think of several words that would have put me in the gallows as a youth,” he said. Roz sighed and stopped, turning to Alaric.
“She just wanted to make sure the Graves line continues,” she said.
“She was the matriarch, and she never had children of her own. When Delia and I didn’t show obvious skill at necromancy as children, she decided it was her job to teach us.
Delia at least had her decay, but I had nothing. She was just afraid.”
“That’s a kind thing to say about someone so cruel to you.”
“That’s just…how she was. To everyone. I learned not to take it personally,” Roz said.
“May I be honest?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Roz spun away from him to march back down the street, but he was quick to cut her off. “You don’t have to protect her.”
“I’m not,” she said, stepping around him. He moved again, blocking her from advancing down the street.
“It can be true that she was cruel to you, and it can be true that she did it out of fear for the Graves name. Still, it does not give her an excuse. Even now, you refuse to malign her. It speaks greatly about your character.”
“What? That I’m a pushover?” Roz asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Would a pushover flaunt that her accidental magic was stronger than her aunt’s intentional magic?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“That did feel good,” she admitted. She glanced up in time to see Gertrude, the town gossip, staring right at her.
Gertrude might have been all of four-foot-nine and look older than Pumpkin Hollow, but she was spry when it came to spreading rumors.
How did Roz look just now, weaving on the sidewalk, talking to herself?
They all knew she was a failed necromancer, she didn’t even have a potential ghost to hide behind.
“Shit,” she cursed. Alaric turned to follow her gaze, frowning. “She can’t see me?”
“No, I suppose it’s just the necromancers,” Roz sighed.
“For now,” he said.
“For now? We’ve only a week until the Pumpkin Festival. Do you really want to strengthen the tether that much more?” Roz asked.
Alaric stared at her for a long moment, considering.
He was back to looking surly, assessing her quietly.
She squirmed under his gaze, wanting so desperately to know what he was thinking.
She barely knew him, she realized. She couldn’t read his expressions, she had no idea what was going through his head.
A wave of insecurity crashed into her. He’d been alone for three hundred years and was just clinging to her because he was lonely.
He didn’t actually like her, he was just horny and there was no one else around.
When the Pumpkin Festival came and the barrier between the living and dead was the thinnest, they’d break the curse and he could pass on… see that woman he’d loved so long ago.
And then Roz would be alone again, with the cemetery. Avoided by the townspeople, unable to leave and abandon her sister and duties. She didn’t want kids, didn’t care about childbearing age bullshit. But having someone around to talk to, to sleep with…it was nice.
“Out with it,” Roz said, waving her hands. She couldn’t stand the awkward silence as he stared at her.
“I’m considering my words,” he said. “I have been told I’m too quick to speak.”
“That’s never good,” Roz muttered.
“What?”
“That whatever you have to say, you have to do it in a way that won’t hurt my feelings.”
“I worry more about frightening you,” he admitted. Roz didn’t know what to say to that. What could he possibly say that would scare her?
“I will think on it some more. Where are we going?” he said at last.
“I was going to the bakery,” she said. “I need a cinnamon roll.”
“Town favorite,” Alaric remarked.
“Did you have them in the 1690s?”
“Love, we drank home-brewed alcohol.”
Roz’s face heated at being called love. He didn’t mean it on any deeper level. It was like being called “bro” or “dude,” but in the 1600s.
“Then how did you know it’s a town favorite?”
“Sometimes I sit in the bakery and watch. They sell out of cinnamon rolls more often than not.”
Right. She’d forgotten about his nomadic confession, that he would sit amongst the people of Pumpkin Hollow just to feel close to them. It filled her with an awful sadness, and then a sense of urgency. They should be trying to break the curse, to let him loose, to get him out of his purgatory.
She pushed the door open to Wicked Whisk, holding the door open for Alaric.
Rowan sat behind the counter, his elbow resting on top of it, his head piled on his hand.
When the door closed, he jerked upright, straightening his apron.
His red-rimmed eyes took in Roz, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
“Hey,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.
“Hey. Can I grab a few cinnamon rolls?” Roz asked.
“They’re almost done…can you wait, like, fifteen minutes?” he asked.
“Sure,” Roz agreed. Rowan’s cell phone rang and he looked at her apologetically. “I gotta take this.”
“No worries,” Roz said to Rowen’s retreating form. “He looks kind of awful, huh?”
“I’m sure he has a lot going on,” Alaric said evasively.
“Like what?” Roz asked, turning to look at Alaric. He slid his arms around her waist before she could, his mouth lowering to her ear. A delicious shiver ran down her spine.
“How long do you think he’ll be away?” Alaric asked. She was aware he was intentionally changing the subject but realized she didn’t care.
“Why?” she breathed.
“Just want to know how long I have alone with you,” he said, pulling her tighter against his body. His hard cock pressed into her lower back.
“We’re in public,” Roz chided.
“And I’m invisible,” he reminded her.
“I’m not,” she said.
“Hmm,” he said, pushing her hair to the side to expose her neck. His teeth lightly scraped the skin there, and she swallowed a moan. Rowen would be back any moment.
“Put your hands on the counter,” he said into her neck.
She obeyed instantly.
His hands slid from her waist to her thighs, pulling up the fabric of her dress. It climbed upward slowly, her pulse ratcheting up with every inch.
“Someone could walk in,” she said, chest heaving.
“I’ll be more discreet,” he said. He dropped the fabric of her dress and pulled her across the lobby to a table and chairs.
He guided one of her feet onto a chair, pushing her knees apart.
He knelt before her, pulling the dress up and ducking under the fabric.
This was no more discreet than her ass entirely on display, but at least she was turned away from the windows.
If someone looked in, they’d see her back, her leg hiked up on a chair with her dress billowing out in front of her.
In the shape of a man’s head.
She couldn’t think more about it once his mouth closed over her clothed pussy. His teeth scraped over her clit, and she wasn’t able to swallow that moan. Roz covered her mouth, pressing her palm tight to quiet herself.
Alaric sucked and nibbled on her through her panties, then pushed them aside to slide two fingers into her. She sucked in a breath, her gaze darting around the empty bakery.
Anyone could come in at any moment.
Rowen could come back.
It terrified her, but also set her nerves on fire.
She’d never done anything this risky before.
Roz’s life had been a series of safe choices, of doing what she was supposed to.
She could have left town when she realized she wasn’t a necromancer like the rest of her family. She could have done anything.
Instead, she stayed.
And now she was getting eaten out by a ghost in the lobby of a bakery.
“Alaric,” she groaned, muffled by her palm.
He didn’t answer, too intent on sucking on her clit, curling his fingers inside of her, ratcheting her arousal higher and higher.
The orgasm that followed was the best one of her life.
It tore through her core, exploding outward.
Alaric didn’t slow his mouth or his fingers, guiding her through each wave that pulsated through her body.
If it weren’t for Alaric between her legs she would have collapsed, her legs shaking with the effort of keeping upright.
He slipped his fingers from her at long last, replacing her panties over her slick pussy. When he reappeared from under her dress, he wore a look of pure satisfaction.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“I need a minute,” she said. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into him, supporting her as she caught her breath.
“Have you always liked public displays of affection like this?” he asked into her hair.
She laughed, tilting her head up to look at him. “This goes beyond a public display of affection. And I guess, I’ve never…” She trailed off, unwilling to admit that she’d never had sex outside of a bedroom before.
“Never? Truly?”
“You sound pleased.”
“I rather enjoy figuring you out,” he said. “And being a first for you.”
“First ghost,” she said with a breathy laugh.
“And last,” he said.
She stepped back from him, frowning. “Last?”
“Well, I don’t intend for there to be another—ghost or mortal—intimate with you.”
Roz opened her mouth to ask what he meant when Rowen appeared from the back of the shop, holding a bag before him. He was still on the phone, his head tilted to press it into his shoulder and keep his hands free. He nodded to her and mouthed “sorry” before disappearing into the back once more.