Chapter 14 #2
Why was she here? Lying in his bed like it was the only place she felt protected?
Why was she running around Shrouded Lake, trying to stand up for it and its inhabitants as if they belonged to her?
And most importantly why was she still running?
From her emotions, from her family, from the betrayal?
“I’m simply here sleeping with the enemy because if feels right to do so; nothing more, nothing less,” she said, unwilling to reflect on any iteration of his question or her own.
Still running, her conscious whispered, and she endeavored to be honest with him if not fully with herself.
“I’m just here trying to exist without pain, Stillwater. Sometimes that’s the best we can do.”
He was quiet for so long she wondered if he’d fallen asleep before her response.
“In my experience, people only sleep with their enemies when they don’t believe they have any other choice; or when they don’t believe they deserve a better choice. You’re real vocal about how much you value yourself and your choices.”
She snorted.
“But you go ahead and make me the enemy if you need to, but I reckon when you gather the courage to face the one that hurt you? You’ll sleep easy in your own bed again.”
“Ones,” she said after a few moments.
“Hmm?”
“The ones,” she admitted, turning away from him.
There was now a large enough space between them to fit a soundproof wall; still she held back her tears because even in the darkness she didn’t want Santi to hear her crying.
Soft. Firm. Warm.
Squeezing and releasing; kneading insistently but gently. Even in sleep he knew his hands had to be gentle. But his dick…his dick didn’t know any such thing as it ground into plush warmth seeking a wet heat it knew awaited if it could just get to it.
The softness nestling his dick pushed against him seeking the penetrating thrust that his dick—
An urgent moan rattled against his chest.
Santiago froze, eyes popping open instantly awake and oriented. A skill he’d developed from a lifetime of being in the military.
Prying his fingers from Lauren’s breasts, he slowly slid his arm from beneath her and when his upper body was free, he went about the more difficult task of pulling his dick from between the juncture of her thighs. To be clear, what made it more difficult was the fact that he didn’t want to do it.
He’d learned his own truths a long time ago, and just between him and the coming dawn, he wanted to be seven inches deep in Lauren with some room to grow.
He wanted to fuck her beyond her chaos and anger, beyond her grief and sadness, he wanted to fuck her until he reached her—peace, satisfaction, and healing…and silence, because the damn woman even talked in her sleep.
Creeping from the bed, he retreated from the room like a lake mist. Moving through the house, he disengaged his security system and walked to the water’s edge. He shed his boxers on the smooth stones. Across the lake, St. James’s desk lantern glowed in the misty dawn.
The first bite of icy water crept over his skin like a salve extracting poison.
Swimming seventy-five meters out, he sank into the waters, reached for his still throbbing erection and worked to extinguish the volcanic fire she’d exposed inside of him.
Lauren snapped awake the moment she heard the beep of the alarm. Instantly she knew where she was and got out of bed. Stepping into her fluffy orange slippers, she tracked the earth and water scent of the man who should’ve been lying beside her but wasn’t.
Outside, the sun had broken over the horizon but was still dim and distorted by the thin layer of fog resting over the land.
Lauren watched Santiago from behind as he shed his boxers and stepped into the water, which must have been freezing.
It couldn’t be any more than fifty degrees outside.
Stepping out onto the porch, Lauren rubbed her hands over her upper arms and shoulders, as if to generate enough body heat to somehow protect Santiago from hyperthermia.
Drawing closer to the lake, she watched, teeth chattering, as Santi swam out with strong strokes, tread water as he faced the horizon, then sunk like a stone into the water’s depths.
Recalling that Lina called Santi “little fish,” Lauren wasn’t immediately concerned. She shifted her gaze to her new house and shivered, not from cold but because she felt like it was looking back at her. No threat, just observing.
Turning her eyes to the right of her, she saw Julian St. James walk down his porch, moving toward her. She estimated she had a good five minutes before he reached her.
Turning her gaze back to the lake, she scanned and still saw no sign of Santiago. It had to have been at least two minutes since he went down, and she saw no signs that he’d resurfaced somewhere else.
Heart thumping fast, she waited one minute, two minutes, then three minutes that felt like two hundred.
When she’d watched Santiago step into the water, she’d waited, expecting to see him walk out of the water like some naked, bronzed-skinned, black-haired Poseidon. Instead she was beginning to panic.
She wasn’t the greatest swimmer but that didn’t stop her from kicking off her Garfields—the bite of the freezing stone was painful—but she took one step, then another toward the water’s edge, willing him to surface. He never did.
He could be dead. Could’ve become tangled in something, attacked by something, and she’d just stood here watching, trusting that he would return as she lost herself in fantasy when he could literally be fighting for his life.
Throwing caution to the wind, she ran toward the water only to be caught up in stony arms that pulled her back just as she stepped into the lake. She screamed from the biting pain of freezing fucking water that felt like encroaching death.
Julian held her around the midsection and swung her around, away from the water as if she were a rag doll.
“You don’t want to do that,” he said.
She struggled to free herself and pushed him away.
“You don’t understand, Santiago’s been underwater for over five minutes, he hasn’t resurfaced!” She moved back toward the water but he ran in front of her, blocking her off.
“If he doesn’t come up in the next four to five minutes, then we can both panic,” Julian said. “This is what he does, Ms. Green. Everyday. He’s safe in the water, you wouldn’t be. Not this close to shore.”
In her panic she’d forgotten about the lake’s history.
“The spirits in this water aren’t very nice to people who aren’t from one of the three bloodlines.
If you trust anything I ever say, trust me when I tell you Stillwater is just fine.
The first time I saw him strip naked and go in the lake, he had to have been in there seven or eight minutes before I ran in after him.
I made it out because Santiago came to my rescue.
Not because I couldn’t swim, but because I saw them, saw flashes of them dying, being killed, felt their rage and grief, their need for vengeance.
..and I panicked; began screaming like water was air.
Even for the descendants, you gotta be a strong person to wade in those waters.
Even for a man who writes about death and horrible things…
” His hands slipped inside the pockets of his well-creased chinos and they watched as the sunlight made the surface of the water look like fire.
“Why would he put himself through that every day?” she wondered.
“I’m not sure he experiences the same things as we might. Stillwater probably survived horrors like that more times than either of us could count. When you’ve lived with terrible things during your waking life, sometimes you get numb.”
Lauren knew Santiago had been in the military, but she’d never considered what he’d experienced. Never wondered why he so adamant about maintaining peace and calm around him.
About thirty feet away from shore, the water rippled, rolling toward them. The ripples looked like they were caused by something much larger than a man.
“Uh...are there alligators in the lake?”
St. James laughed. “No Ms. Green—”
“Lauren.”
“No Lauren, that’s a beast of another nature.”
And like some ancient spirit, Santiago emerged from the lake with the power of the morning sun covering him in a new light as mist and steam radiated off of him.
Lauren’s breath caught, eyes widened, as water sloshed off his hips and hard thighs, and the erection he displayed had her walking forward as if she were summoned by a siren.
Ghosts be damned, she treaded into the water up to her calves, and he didn’t stop advancing until they were chest to chest. Soft pelvis to hard pelvis.
His fingers grazed her jaw. “Are you hunting me or haunting me, Lauren Green?”
“Neither. I’m just trying not to touch you,” she said, fighting to keep her eyes glued to his when they wanted to stray farther down to the glistening appendage that seemed to be demanding adulation.
He grunted and her eyes fell to his lips.
“Again. You mean you’re trying not to touch it again.”
“Please don’t touch his dick. I may be a voyeur of life but that would be a bit too much,” Julian said.
Santiago laughed. Lauren leaned closer. The man’s rumbling laughter was mesmerizing. How hadn’t she ever heard him laugh like this before?
She stepped backward, suddenly feeling betrayed by her emotions, because what the hell was she thinking? The last man she wanted had only pretended to want her. More accurately, he wanted someone else more than he wanted her but didn’t have the balls to say it.
“Keep your beautiful bewitching dick away from me, Santiago Stillwater,” she said, backing away with a scowl. She began powerwalking toward her house now. “I’ll see myself into town today,” she called over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of you doing your job and all.”
“You literally can’t seem to stop getting in the way,” he called out, sounding frustrated as she was now running to her house.
“And next time I’m not gonna try and save you if you drown.”
“You come into my waters, and you won’t be able to save yourself.”
She threw up a middle finger, though based on all she learned, she knew he was probably right. He was just so arrogant about his rightness.
Jogging up the back porch of her house, she snatched open the screen door, turned the nob and shoved her back door open. She paused and took a breath as the screen door clattered shut behind her.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. What the hell was she doing? Why the hell did she keep fucking running? What the hell was she even running to?
“Where are you going, Lauren?” she whispered to herself.
But that was the point, wasn’t it? She wasn’t going anywhere, just blindly running away. She had to stop this shit; stop running; stop fighting; and just learn to accept her feelings and pray that one day it would lead to releasing them and moving on.
Heading toward the stairs she paused, frowning as she realized she’d left all her belongings over at Santiago’s.
Including her keys.
Her frown deepened when she realized her backdoor had been unlocked, that the alarm hadn’t been activated.
Her backdoor had been unlocked; the alarm disabled.
Taking small steps backward, she reached for the doorknob wanting to believe something supernatural was going on. But it didn’t feel supernatural. It felt like a human violation. And irrationally she wondered if Deborah was okay.
Grabbing the cylindrical metal vase by the door, she moved forward cautiously, planning to exchange the vase for a butcher knife when she reached the kitchen.
Santiago and Julian were close enough to come if she needed them. She just didn’t want to need them. She wasn’t a damsel in distress. She was proud, stubborn, a fighter, not some ill older woman incapable of defending herself.