Never Again (23 page)
“Lucy,” he said as he moved on top of her. “You are beautiful.”
“You make me feel as if I am,” she said. “That’s enough.”
He parted her thighs, and she knew it cost him to be gentle. Maybe later they could take each other like ravenous beasts—tearing and clawing and screaming. But now, she wanted this slow conquering.
With one hand, he captured her wrists and raised her arms above her head. With the other hand, he steadied himself over her. His cock filled her, his motions steady, and tender. Oh, so tender.
“I’m not going to last,” he said. “It’s been too long for me. And you . . . I can’t resist you.”
“We have all night, remember?” She scored his buttocks with her nails. “More, Gray. Give me more!”
He pounded into her, his strokes deep and sure. Still he held her wrists, his thumb pressing against her erratic pulse. She bucked against him, her clit throbbing as pleasure built swiftly once more. He was panting, trying to hold on, but she didn’t want him to. He’d given her enough. . . . Now she wanted to give to him.
“Come inside me,” she begged.
His eyes flew open and he stared down at her. He sucked in air between his teeth. Sweat dripped off his brow. “Lucy,” he murmured. “Lucinda.”
His face went tight and he stilled, groaning as he buried his cock deeply. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him as he spilled his seed within her.
Her body was awash in need, desire. A buzzing climbed her spine, then zipped down again—sensation after sensation vibrated from her core.
Gray let go of her wrists and held himself up. “You’re close again, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “I can’t seem to help myself.”
He grinned as he sat up and knelt between her legs. “Touch yourself.”
“What? Where?”
“Hold your breasts. Play with your nipples.”
Even though they were both naked and sweaty, and all kinds of messy, Lucinda felt her face go hot. She’d never touched herself intimately like that . . . not with someone looking at her with such anticipation. Gray wanted to watch her, and the idea that he wanted to . . . unexpectedly turned her on.
Everything about Gray turned her on.
She was beginning to realize what a terrible and selfish lover Bernard had been.
“I’m not frigid,” she said.
Anger flashed in his eyes. “Did Bernard tell you that?”
“I never had an orgasm with him. He told me it was because I’m . . . broken.”
“You are not broken,” he said evenly. “Touch yourself, Lucy. Let me take you over the edge.”
Tentatively, she cupped her breasts and squeezed.
Gray groaned. “I’m getting hard again already.”
“You like it.”
“Hell, yeah.”
She grasped her own nipples and experimentally pinched them. Twin bolts of lightning arrowed straight to her core. She looked at Gray, dazed. “That feels good.”
“Keep doing it, baby.”
He leaned down between her thighs and suckled her clit. Little fireworks started going off right then.
Lucinda rolled her nipples between her fingers, tugging on them, while Gray alternately sucked her clit and rapidly flicked the swollen nub with his tongue.
Pleasure exploded, and she screamed Gray’s name as she fell into the glorious fire once more.
He crept out the back door of the sheriff’s office and shut it quietly. The lock snicked in place—and he smiled. No one would ever know he’d been creeping around inside after office hours.
He’d set up a spell trap on the sidewalk in front of Gray’s house. If anyone left the house carrying the eye, he would know who. It had galled him to buy the trap from an online vendor when he should’ve been able to make his own. Even with the amplification of the objects and constant practice, he could barely tap into the energies.
Soon,
he promised himself,
very soon.
Soon,
he promised himself,
very soon.
Still. Nothing pleased him more than to see it in the sheriff’s possession.
It was just past one a.m. The alley was a through and through, and even though it was the long way, he didn’t want to walk past Ember’s. She was too damned smart, and far too sensitive to the shifts in the balance. He couldn’t chance her looking out a window, or even stepping outside. She wasn’t predictable, and that made him uneasy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t control the situation. He was in
complete
control. No, it was only that he was careful.
complete
control. No, it was only that he was careful.
Always.
So, he went left and took a stroll. He patted the front pocket of his pants, reassured.
The eye was his again.
It was worth the risk he’d taken earlier in the day—dosing Arlene’s tea and locking her in the bathroom. He liked the old gal, and he didn’t want to hurt her, not unless he had to.
Again, he’d purchased the magic he’d needed to turn off the safe’s spellwork. The slow-degrade add-on had been expensive, but he’d needed the protections to fade over twelve hours so that no alarms, or Mooreland’s uncanny senses, were triggered.
He grinned. Getting into the sheriff’s office to retrieve his possession had been a cakewalk. He’d placed a marble into the bag and left it. Oh, the oversized glass orb wouldn’t fool the sheriff if he opened it, but if he just checked the safe, he’d have no reason to believe the eye wasn’t in its bag. There was no way to replace Gray’s protections, either, but hopefully Mooreland wouldn’t notice. If he did, he’d probably just ask the Guardian to reinstate the protections, and that would be that.
He had no idea how long it might be before the sheriff realized the object was gone. A day. A week. It didn’t really matter. He’d covered his trail. No one would be able to follow.
It was time to start his work again.
Thirteen days until the new moon. The portal would be frail again, and this time, he would call forth Kahl and make the bargain. Gray Calhoun in exchange for his magical birthright.
He would have the power he deserved. What good was knowing all that he did about magic and yet not having the fullness of it to work with? All the objects he’d spent years gathering, unlocking, coaxing into his possession. All the time and effort he’d used up learning about things he could never do.
But soon . . . soon he would come into his powers. And then he could right the wrongs of his past. An injustice had been done, and he would make sure the debt owed was paid.
The alley spilled onto Silver Lane, which connected to Main Street and, farther down, Dragon’s Way. On his right was the town square. In the middle of the paved circle lined with its moldering benches and overgrown bushes was the full-sized bronze statue of a dragon, its wings extended as it stood on its hind legs, snout pointed toward the sky.
On the other side of the circle, several yards beyond the statue, was the Temple of Light, which was locked up most of the year. Gray opened it only for his grandstanding. He remembered how the place used to be open year-round, available to anyone who wanted to go inside and commune with the Goddess. The temple had gotten vandalized several times, and Grit finally shut its doors. Faith was a tricky thing: hard to gain, easy to lose. No one had faith in Gray—especially now that he’d married a Rackmore.
He frowned. Then he turned away from the town square and headed toward Dragon’s Way.
He hadn’t expected the marriage. Not that he was particularly worried. He’d done his research and learned how Franco had cursed his mistress’s thaumaturgy. The witch was weak. Hardly a threat at all—not even as the wife of Nevermore’s Guardian. No, he didn’t need to worry about them. And he always had his ace: Franco. One call to the Raven and he’d give the newlyweds all kinds of headaches.
Might come in handy if things didn’t work out with Kahl. Oh, he had no doubt he could call the demon lord forth. He knew the spells, had the right kind of objects, the necessary tributes. But having a backup plan was never a bad thing. Franco had contacts. He could open doors into all sorts of places. It wasn’t the same as having the gratitude of a demon, but it was close.
Even so . . . it might not be a bad idea to give the sheriff and the Guardian something else to worry about. Mooreland was too smart for his own good. And relentless as hell. There wasn’t much crime in Nevermore, so the sheriff had plenty of time to devote to Marcy’s murder. Of course, her murderer was already dead, so in a way, Mooreland owed him for taking out the trash. Then again, the damned fool hadn’t seemed satisfied about Lennie’s death. His intuition was too finely tuned. The sheriff was the kind of man that followed hunches, no matter how strange.
Yes. He definitely needed to send them scurrying off in another direction. Keep ’em busy so they didn’t have time to think about Marcy or Lennie.
His footsteps clicked against the brick street as he went down Dragon’s Way. A block later, he turned right onto Brujo Boulevard, passed the dark and empty Archer’s Dry Goods and General Store, and entered the alley between it and the Piney Woods Café. Five years ago, he’d financed Cathleen’s new brick wall, which cut off access from the Sew ’n’ Sew and the building that housed Atwood’s offices and apartment. Not only did the fat ass run the town’s waste-removal services; he also put out
Nevermore News
every month. Like the world needed to know about another calf birth or the plight of the school’s FHA program.
Nevermore News
every month. Like the world needed to know about another calf birth or the plight of the school’s FHA program.
Sometimes, he felt suffocated by the smallness of Nevermore. It was disgusting how satisfied some people were with so much nothing.
The alley was too narrow to fit a car, so no one really cared about the addition, except Atwood, of course. He’d complained about it interfering with pedestrian convenience, but since the café owned the land, Atwood couldn’t do much about it.
Old windbag.
Whatever. He’d needed to discourage folks from taking shortcuts and noticing things that they shouldn’t.
Old windbag.
Whatever. He’d needed to discourage folks from taking shortcuts and noticing things that they shouldn’t.
Soon, he wouldn’t have to hide anymore. Everyone in Nevermore would be grateful for what he’d done. They would be happy he was the Guardian. And they would be amazed by all his magic.
He entered the café using his own key. He knew the place well enough that he didn’t need lights to maneuver around the tables and chairs. In no time at all, he was behind the counter and in the kitchen.
He thought about the way Cathleen had acted at the wake. He knew she hated the Calhouns—almost as much as he did. Her reaction to Gray marrying Lucinda was unexpected. Why did she care? Eh. The cover of the café was too good to give up. Cathleen’s vitriolic personality and revenge-mindedness suited him just fine, especially since no one would believe he’d have anything to do with her. He needed to control her better, that was all.
After he opened the door to the basement, he flicked on his penlight and walked down the rickety wooden stairs. He pulled out the key to unlock the entrance to his special place.
He turned on the lamp on the worktable. He carefully replaced the eye in the empty middle space, the honored gem among all his treasures. “You’re home,” he said.
It glowed.
He pulled up a barstool and sat, looking at all the magic. Placed in a certain order, with the right spells in the right location, the items would work together to unlock the planes between earth and the underworld. It wouldn’t last very long, but it would be strong enough to summon Kahl.
Then he’d take his revenge on those who’d denied him his true birthright. And his power—oh, he’d take that, too.
My magic,
he thought as he touched the objects one by one,
mine.
he thought as he touched the objects one by one,
mine.
Gray awoke in a cavern. His heart nearly heaved out his chest as he recognized the lair of Kahl, the very place where Kerren had stabbed him in the heart and offered his soul to her new master.
It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t chained to the slab. No. He was standing next to it, dressed in a black robe, the same as Kerren had been that terrible night. In his hand, he held a silver dagger.
“Sacrifice her.”
The darkly sensuous male voice echoed through the cavern. Gray looked down at the slab and saw Lucy bound there. She was naked—her wrists and ankles clasped in enchanted irons. His heart thudded dully. No. He didn’t want to be here. Not ever again. “It’s okay,” he told her. “It’s okay.”
Her wide green eyes stared at him, filled with betrayal and hatred.
“You know how it works,” said the voice. “Remember? It’s your turn now. You have the power.”
Fear chilled his blood. The knife felt cold in his hand, like he was gripping a shard of ice. “No!” He spun around, looking for the owner of the voice. “I won’t.”
“You are bound to me, servant. You took something that was mine to regain your life. Now you must pay your debt.”
“I owe you nothing!”
“She would kill
you
,” he offered slyly. “Has she not the same foul blood as her sister? Would she not do anything to save her own life? What a fool you are, Gray Calhoun, to give your heart to another Rackmore witch.”
you
,” he offered slyly. “Has she not the same foul blood as her sister? Would she not do anything to save her own life? What a fool you are, Gray Calhoun, to give your heart to another Rackmore witch.”
Doubt flickered. Gray looked down at Lucy, at the tears that tracked her cheeks and dripped onto the bloodstained stone. Her chin cocked in that stubborn tilt of hers, her gaze determined. She wouldn’t ask him for mercy, he realized. She would take the knife to her chest rather than beg for her life.
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