Crane (15 page)

17

Ireland

Ireland couldn’t remember how or when Noah returned, nor did she really care. All she knew was she was reveling in every minute of his attention. Her hands traced over his back and further down, rising with the soft curve beneath. He moaned against her neck, his mouth nipping and kissing its way back to hers. Her lips parted, allowing an appreciative sigh to escape. Noah’s lower lip teased across her mouth, tempting her to be the first to dive into the deep pool of need brewing between them. Her back arched beneath him. The skin-on-skin contact only fueled their building urgency. Both unwilling and unable to wait a moment longer, Noah shifted himself on top of her. His unspoken offer would deliver what she longed for the most—a journey to that blissful brink. It took both hands and every ounce of willpower Ireland had to push him away, thereby denying herself the gush of release she yearned to lose herself in. Nonetheless, this wasn’t right. Not yet. For him, she would demand perfection and accept nothing less. With a gentle finger pressed to his lips, she shushed him. The heat radiating from her stare confirming to them both that this interlude was most definitely to be continued …

Ireland
woke with a groan, sexually frustrated but sporting a naughty little smile from her dream romp. Only then did she remember her house guest. She giggled and bit down on her lower lip, sincerely hoping she hadn’t weirded Rip out by making her dream tryst audible. Rolling onto her back, she threw one arm over her head—and found Rip sitting at the foot of her bed, wide-eyed and shaking like a nervous Chihuahua.

“
What the shit, Rip
?” Ireland bolted upright, clutching the edge of the comforter to shield herself.

“Had to stay awake, had to tell you,”
he chanted, slowly rocking back and forth. No sooner did the words leave his mouth then his stare went blank and his body toppled straight back like an axed tree. He only fell a few inches before jerking himself awake and resuming the off-putting sway. “Had to stay awake, had to tell you.”

“Just when I think you c
an’t get any creeper, you astounded me by reaching a whole new plateau. What did you do to yourself? You’re twitching like a meth head.”

“
Went into the kitchen. Consumed any products that claimed to boost energy. Ate a bowl of those disgusting brown rinds.”

“
Rinds? That’s coffee, dumbass. You’re supposed to brew it.”

Rip rambled on as if she hadn’t spoke
n, which—judging by his herky-jerky gestures—he might not have been aware she had. “Then I drank your last three of those products involving some sort of red bovine, followed by half a dozen vials that claim to bestow energy for an allotted period of time. Every part of me tingles. Quite honestly, I think I could fly if the moment required it.”

“
Let’s not test that theory,” Ireland replied, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “I don’t know what ingesting all of that at once will do to a person, but it’s safe to say you’re a walking, talking science experiment now.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Rip’s voice rose
to near hysteria that he quickly tried to rein in with a few calming breathes. “I had to tell you. You must know.”

Ireland
recoiled, her hands rising to steady him, or fend him off—she wasn’t sure which. “Easy, I’m right here. Whatever it is, just go ahead and tell me.”

Rip’s mouth creaked open
. His gaze fixed, pupils dilated. Straight back he went, crashing to the floor with enough force to shake the house.

Ireland ignored the lack of modesty offered by her tank top and short
s as she leapt to her feet and ran to his side. “Rip? Come on, buddy!” Each word was punctuated by a slap or shake. “After a warning like that I’m gonna need a little more info. Plus, I
really
don’t want to explain a catatonic homeless guy in my bedroom to the paramedics.”

Rip
woke with a start, sucking in a deep gulp of air like a man free from submersion. His hand locked around her wrist in a vise grip; his breathless voice wavering as he rasped, “It’s … you. You
are
the Headless Horseman.”

“Oh, well that’s just ridiculous
.” Ireland’s hand slipped from behind Rip’s head.

His melon bounced off the wood floor just as sleep claimed him
.

Ireland
sat at the breakfast nook and sipped her tea, albeit a bit begrudgingly since Rip had polished off the last of her coffee. Her fingernails drummed against the countertop as she waited for him to wake up. No sooner did he rise up on shaky legs that threatened to buckle beneath him, then she launched into the speech she’d mentally rehearsed during the hour he’d been out. “I packed a bag full of food, water, and even threw in a little cash. The temperatures are going to be dropping soon, so if you want to carry on with this squatter lifestyle you’re so keen on, I’d suggest you head south to avoid the dropping temperatures. There should be enough money there to get a bus ticket.”

“Miss
, I implore you—”

She silenced him with one hitched brow and a glare. “I’m not mad. Actually, I blame myself. Life has sucked
balls lately. Maybe I thought a little …
strange
would shake things up. Whatever it was that caused my bout of crazy is officially over. It’s time for you to go.”

“I know this is hard to believe,
but you must listen!” Rip stomped his foot, his face reddening. “Last night, you rose from your bed. I saw it with my own eyes. I watched as you ventured down into the basement and came back wearing clothes from the trunk. A black cape concealed your head. A sword hung from one hip, an axe on the other. Where you got those, I haven’t the slightest. You vanished into the night, Miss Crane. And when you came back,” he glanced down at his hands, obviously seeing something there she couldn’t, “blood covered your gloved hands. Shoo me off if you must, it will not make whatever this is go away. Sooner or later, you
will
have to come to terms with what is
fact
.”   

“Can
you hear
you
? I mean the ridiculousness of that claim isn’t lost on you, is it? The
Headless
Horseman. By title alone I am instantly disqualified because of one, very noticeable, trait.” Ireland circled her head with her hand. “If that were true, and we’re talking pigs flying out of my ass probability here, where would my head factor into this equation? Does it come off? Hang in a satchel at my waist? Oh! Maybe it bursts into flames like in that Nicholas Cage movie!”

“I understood
shockingly little of that.” Rip’s mouth pinched in a tight scowl. “However, as words are often hard to believe, I prepared a back-up plan.”

With
a wide, determined gait he strode through the kitchen, rounded the utility area, and disappeared down the basement stairs. He returned a brief moment later, toting an axe.

Ireland sprang to her feet, her hands rais
ing defensively while she inched toward the door. “Okay, maybe I was being unreasonable. Why don’t you put the axe down and I’ll make an extra effort to put on my listening ears?”

“The time for words has passed.” Rip stalked toward her, the axe gripped tight in both his hands. “Now
, you must see.”

Ireland shrank back, her eyes squinting shut
just as Rip whipped the axe … and presented it to her handle first.

“The
re’s a partial handprint left on the handle, in blood. Look at the small, narrow shape of it. It’s undeniably female.”

Cautiously, Ireland accepted the axe—mostly because she wanted it out of Rip’s hands. The
crusted, red print was of the side of a hand: the pinky, ring finger, and part of the palm. Matching her hand to the print, she found it a close fit. Fortunately, not close
enough
to add merit to Rip’s claim. Weighing the weapon in her grasp, she
did
feel an unexplainable stir of familiarity. Instinctively, her other hand rose, curling around the wooden hand in a standard two-handed hold. The flashes hit hard and fast behind her eyes. Memories, which she shouldn’t have, sent her stumbling back with their blind force.

Charles Van
Tassel cowering against the side of his freshly polished car, his arms raised to shield himself.

Mason
Van Brunt casting a terrified glance over his shoulder as he sprinted toward his house … and its promise of safety.

A slumped figure she’d hit from behind tumbling to the ground at her feet.

And the blood—pools, sprays, and geysers of it. Her sweet reward for a job well done.

The axe slipped from Ireland’s grasp and clanged to the floor
. Her legs folded beneath, her breath coming in choked gasps. “Oh … dear God, I remember. I …
how could I
? How could I do that? Mason was just a
kid
. He had his whole life in front of him and I—”

Rip crouched
beside her, cocooning her in wiry arms that no longer smelled like the back end of a water buffalo thanks to the shower Ireland had allowed him to take. “It wasn’t you,” he soothed. “Not really.”

“
It was me!” Ireland argued, her hands clenching around his shirt sleeve in white knuckled fists. “I remember … enough to know that. How could this happen?” Her voice cracked and faded to a barely audible whisper. “I had no control. I never would have … any of it …
ever
.”

“Actually, I gave that quite a lot of thought
after you returned, while I waited for you to wake. I think it has to do with your talisman mark. Whoever gave that to you knew
exactly
what the consequences would be. Its lone purpose
wasn’t
to cancel out the other talisman. On the contrary, that inked symbol acted as a formal invitation allowing the Horseman’s spirit to enter you. It’s quite fascinating really. Almost a shame Irv isn’t here, this would’ve been a prize discovery to him.”

Finding h
is cavalier approach too much to bear, Ireland shoved his arms away and scrambled to her feet. “I have to go. I have to turn myself in. People lost their loved ones and need to know what happened to them.”

Snagging her purse and keys off the counter
, she stomped toward the door, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she lacked crucial things like shoes and pants. Rip darted in front of her, slamming his back against the front door before she could turn the knob. “I really have to object to that. Perhaps we could wait a beat? Let cooler heads prevail?”

Ireland pivoted on her heel and strode straight for the slider. “I appreciate you trying to protect me, but I’m a monster. I fully deserve whatever they do to me.”

“Noble as that would be, I’m not trying to protect
you
,” Rip shouted after her, a mix of desperation and panic raising the octave of his voice. “The Horseman takes hold during your times of rest. Think of what will happen to those locked in a cell with you when that transformation takes hold.
Do you want more blood on your hands
?”

Ireland stopped
. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Then what do I do?” Her desperate plea cracked as a hiccupped sob forced its way through. “Kill myself? I’ll do that before I let myself hurt anyone else.”