Chapter 16 Marble and Crows #2
"What else?" he asked, a whisper against the sensitive skin of her neck. She was reminded of that night in the woods when he caught her on Midsummer. Tonight the same reaction ricocheted through her.
"Do you have super hearing?"
"Yes," the word a strong caress and she closed her eyes as a heavy breath escaped her mouth.
"How did you save Bess? And Lady Macbeth?"
He paused, their eyes holding each other in the mirror.
"I bit her. Bess. I had to pull the dark magic used on her out of her system."
"And that wouldn't turn her?"
He shook his head. "To turn someone requires many bites over time. And I prefer consent before I take away someone's mortality."
One side of her mouth pulled up. "And our beloved raccoon?"
"I gave her some of my blood to heal her. That wasn't magic."
She nodded letting that mingle with vampire lore she'd collected. "Are there any other vampires in Salem?"
His pause this time was heavy. "Not that I have seen. If there are, I would not reveal their identity unless they are a danger. Just like witches, there are many who wish our existence did not mar their world."
Another question was on her tongue, but she sensed a boundary so she smiled playfully.
"Do you turn into a bat when you want to get away from someone?"
A low, rumble of laughter pressed against her skin and she felt it pull something low in her belly, her legs becoming weak as he pulled her more fully against him. "Yes."
Her eyes popped open in surprise looking at him holding her in the mirror. "Really?"
"No. I just walk away," he responded and she could both see and feel the smile tugging his mouth and she wanted to see him smile fully, face to face. She thought it might be a religious experience if just the side view of it made her heart pulse.
"I can see you, but can you see yourself in the mirror?"
He turned his head then, his eyes with their dark intentions colliding with hers in a moment of absolute electricity that she felt throughout her body.
Without closing his eyes and tilting his head just enough that he could hold her eyes, he reached up with one hand and ran long fingers over the skin of her neck, lightly pushing until her head obeyed their command and she tilted with his hand's command, his touch leaving fire.
And then, eyes still on hers, he leaned in and touched the skin there with his mouth.
Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, her knees gave out and he caught her against him easily as his tongue lightly licked the skin there and she had to bite her lip to hold in uncontrolled sounds.
She'd been turned on, of course, but from this? From a mere touch of lips and stroke of tongue on her neck? Never.
She'd had uncareful lovers. She'd had fast and impatient. She'd had very little experience with this and she wondered as he whispered something she couldn't translate against her skin, if this was seduction.
But then all thoughts stopped as he promised something. A carefulness, a vigilant touch that would keep her safe. Or perhaps he whispered that he would burn her alive while keeping her safe. It didn't matter, because her mind had shut off.
And she could do nothing but tilt her head further in invitation.
Met with a pause. A hot breath from his mouth. A new connection of their eyes in the mirror and then he wrapped strong arms around her holding her up against his solid body as his mouth took her neck. She felt a scrape that startled her heart, but her sensibilities were not afraid.
Somehow without speaking the words, he promised not to be careless, and she believed him.
She wasn't sure she'd ever been handed this kind of promise:
To be handled with care.
To be taken into strong hands capable of great destruction and treated with featherlight intention.
Was this what hundreds of years gave a man? The ability to know his strength and needs and hold them captive so that he could attend to the weakness and needs of a lover?
She was in his arms for a time that once again escaped her calculation.
But somewhere along the way her small hand had wound up and behind her to slide into his thick hair, her short nails lightly caressing his sharp jaw and cheek drawing out a low rumble from his mouth against her neck that made its way into her blood until she was grasping his silky, thick strands of hair, holding him against her.
The sound of a whistling pop pulled her out of the fog he'd put her in, her eyes opened she gasped as he lightly nipped her, not breaking skin, but leaving behind something dark and delicious.
"I could see myself making you melt into me just fine," he answered a long-ago question she couldn't remember asking.
His smile was smug and almost taunting as he stepped away from her once he was sure she could stand again on her own.
Another pop sounded, drawing her attention to the thickly curtained window as she remembered that it was the fourth of July and one of her favorite shows of the year was starting outside.
"You won't be able to see them from here."
"Oh," she tugged on the hem of his shirt when his eyes ran down her body. "Um, thanks. For the clothes. And shower. And dinner."
"Would you like to see the fireworks?""Oh, I don't think going back to the festival," her words trailed off as she signaled to herself, though the voice of insecurity had been quieted, and instead she simply felt full of radiating heat and excitement she wasn't sure she wanted to put on public display.
But he held out a hand and said, "I have somewhere we can watch them. And I made pie."
"You made pie?"
A nod.
"Like, to eat?"
He tilted his head and he looked at her with an amused question.
She laughed at herself and took his hand. "Alright. Show me to this exclusive fireworks spot with pie. That you made."
When his large hand wrapped around hers gently she had to take a steadying breath.
Her heart skipped, her chest heated. She felt the memory of his sharp, lethal teeth lightly graze her skin again.
A thought stopped her and she paused telling him to wait outside the room as she forgot something in her jeans pocket.
When she was in the bedroom, a quick look thrown over her shoulder ensuring that he was out of sight, she lifted the fluffy duvet on the bed.
She hid a smile when she saw dried, muddy sheets still on the bed as she rejoined him in the hallway.
But it snuck out again as she thought of him sliding into them later tonight to be tortured by her scent.
She had never been the source of a man's torture. She liked it.
And then he was behind her on a narrow iron spiral staircase with one hand softly guiding her in front of him as his other hand balanced a blueberry pie.
The rooftop was about the size of his kitchen simply outfitted with a bench and a potted apple tree. The wide space sat in a clearing of trees giving them the perfect view of bursting fire in the sky as they sat on the bench and ate straight out of the pie dish.
The blueberries were perfectly ripe, and he had put an almond crumble on top. She felt the best kind of on edge sitting there next to him on his rooftop bench, watching the fireworks. She cautiously looked over at him taking in his strong profile that was tipped up toward the night sky show.
She had two thoughts.
He was beautiful. And she was about to drown in him.
When he turned his head and looked back at her he asked her what she was thinking.
How do you tell someone you feel something you've never felt before, without sounding crazy?
How could she express to him that he might be the most lethal creature she'd ever been around, but she'd never felt safer? Or more alive?
So she simply smiled and shifted an inch closer to him to watch the fireworks dance for the stars. She thought about it before she did it, but then she gingerly laid her cheek on his shoulder. It was the first physical move she made toward him, her first bid for affection.
And she was scared.
But he drew her into him further and kissed the top of her head and she thought that that head kiss was the most intimate kiss she'd had underneath the July sky.
She found herself reluctant to say goodbye as Theo stood three steps below her at The Lost Souls House, his hand wrapped around her small one.
There was a gentleness about this man that caught her breath. She realized she'd known mostly men whose strength was loud. The world often allows us to be quiet, and it takes great strength to listen, either uncomfortable with the silence or needing badly to be heard.
She looked down at this man and recognized a different breed of strength. It answered something inside of her she wasn't sure she could name, but it felt like wandering through a forest without fear and intention.
He kissed her hand and told her to lock the door and as she was closing that door an unseasonable wind caught her cheek in a kiss of warning. The brightness of it shocked her warm skin and beckoned an alertness inside of her that gave her pause.
Their town was about to step up to a line of which no one quite understood but they would start feeling soon. But Salem was no stranger to challenge. The question in the wind tonight was, how would they show up this time?
That evening, a story broke out on every Salem news outlet, every paper, every town blog, and every radio station.
Through various reporters and journalists, words and opinions all of them went something like this:
The peach shortcake at the Fourth of July festival made people act oddly, with reports of too-loud laughter and sparks flying when they touched hands with anyone else who had taken a bite. Was it magic? Their town was under investigation for unnatural occurrences.
Salem was about to find itself on a slippery slope of intolerance.
As all governing bodies know, to point a finger in any direction with the intention of silencing, runs the threat and promise of more fingers and more pointing.
Rules and regulations.
No more magic.
No more unnamed oddities would go uninvestigated.
This is a warning to those who would put a bad name on a good town.
This is a warning to The Lost Souls Coven.