Poison Princess (12 page)

“I woan
let
you go back to that boy—not until you give me one
bec doux
.” A sweet kiss. Then he reached forward, unlacing the ribbon from my hair.

“What are you doing?” I murmured.

“Souvenir.” He put it in his pocket, and for some reason that struck me as the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

Energy began filling me.
Sick and tired?
No longer. I felt excited and alive for the first time in months.

Where was the
meh
I'd been feeling about kissing and boys and sex?

At that moment, I was
dying
for this Cajun boy to kiss me. I didn't care about my reputation, the friends I'd disappoint, the popularity I'd lose, or the bragging rights he'd win.

I had to know what the look in his eyes promised.

He was staring at my lips, and before I could think better of it, I'd wetted them.

“That's it,
bébé
,” he said in a coaxing rasp.
“Ma bonne fille.”
My good girl.

He wrapped one of his arms behind my back, cupping my chin with his free hand. “Evangeline, I'm goan to kiss you until your toes curl, until we're breathing for each other.”

That
was the promise. . . .

As if from a great distance, I heard someone yell, “Jack!”

He ignored the voice, inching even closer to me.

“Jack!”

Our lips were about to meet—

“JACK DANIELS!”
I realized Lionel was yanking on his arm.

As Jackson turned, he flashed Lionel the most frightening look I'd ever seen on a man.
“What you want?”
he thundered.

“Time to go, podna.”

Jackson shook his head hard, his arm snaking tighter around my lower back.

“We're done here. Time—to—go,” Lionel repeated.

Whatever that meant. Yet Jackson was listening to him.

Lionel said to me, “They're looking for you inside, Evie.”

“Oh. Oh!” I shimmied out of Jackson's grasp, but I couldn't stop from glancing over my shoulder.

When I bit my bottom lip, I thought he might come after me, but again Lionel hauled back on his arm. Jackson growled at his friend,
“Want a taste of dat girl, me.”
The look in his blazing eyes . . .

Lionel said something I didn't hear.

Something that made Jackson scowl. “Go on, Evie,” he snapped. “Now! Go back to your friends.”

His curt dismissal stung, bewildering me even more. I hurried back inside, pressing my fingertips to my lips. Oh, God, I'd almost kissed another boy. I'd nearly cheated on Brandon, who didn't deserve that.

I stopped in my tracks.

Clotile was slinking up to Brand, and he looked thrilled, holding out his hand for her. My jaw dropped as he helped her do a keg-stand, with all the wardrobe malfunctions that entailed. Football players cheered.

The humiliation! And in the midst of this embarrassing crisis, one mental plea stood out from all the rest:
Please don't let Jackson see this.

I shoved through the crowd toward the keg. When Brandon caught sight of me, he flushed red, helping a giggling Clotile down.

I was mortified that everyone had just witnessed this scene—and pissed off. Feeling reckless, I gazed up at Brandon. “Hey, big guy. Why don't you give your
girlfriend
a kiss?”

“Here? In front of everybody?” he asked.

Hesitating? “Yes.
Here.
”

Finally, Brandon leaned down to slant his mouth over mine, once and again. With a stifled groan, he deepened the kiss, and I let him for a second, let him cover half of my ass with his palm. Then I smiled against his lips, nipping his bottom one with my teeth.

But instead of chuckling, he drew back, his lids heavy. “Ah, Evie, you don't know—”

“Walk me to the river?” I interrupted.

With a dazed look on his face, he murmured, “Girl, I'd follow you into hell itself.”

Outside the mill, my satisfaction over my little victory dwindled—because now I had a drunken, hard-up boy to deal with.

As soon as the water was in sight, Brandon pulled me close. “You smell so good, Eves.”

When he began to kiss my neck—urgently—I peered up through the fog. I'd found my
meh
.

No, Evie, be smart about this.
I reminded myself how easy it was to read Brandon, how open he was, how carefree. He was the type of boy I
needed
in my life.

I couldn't lose him. Especially not to another girl. “Hey, hold up.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn't hold up.

I grabbed his face with two hands and made him meet my eyes. “I've made my decision.”

His body shot tight with tension. “Yeah?”

“I've given the matter a lot of consideration, and I—”

Sirens blared.

A chorus of screams rang out:
“Cops!”

My eyes went wide. The sheriff was here? “Oh, shit! Brandon!” As the music went dead, I swayed on my feet.

He caught my elbow. “Eves, I've got this! I'll tell the sheriff that it was just me and some other football players, and the party got out of hand.”

“They'll arrest you!”

“Doubt it. My dad plays golf with the sheriff. Everything's gonna be fine! You were
never
here.” He cast me a drunken grin.

In that instant, he looked utterly heroic to me.

“Just wait right here. I'll find Mel and tell her to meet you.” He turned, jogging away.

“Brandon?” I called. When he glanced over his shoulder, I started to say
I love you
, but all that came out was: “You're the best.”

He gave me a wobbly salute, then set off for battle.

Alone, I nibbled my lip. Could Brandon keep this under wraps? I half expected more sirens to wail, or maybe a convoy of big vans to show up for arrests.

My first impulse was to call Mel, but my phone—along with all my stuff—was locked in her car!

A cool breeze swept over me, clearing the fog and sending leaves cartwheeling across the surface of the river. I rubbed my arms, suddenly freezing in this outfit.

On the heels of that wind, angry clouds moved in. An approaching thunder boomer? In Louisiana we got microbursts all the time. I wasn't too concerned, would love to have the rain.

No, not too concerned—until chills skittered over the back of my neck.

Every rustle or animal call around me seemed amplified. I turned in a circle, but saw no one. Still I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Just paranoia? Just another symptom?

Then came that tingling sensation once more. Oh, no, no!
Ignore it. Resist it—

A lightning bolt forked down not twenty yards from me.

I screamed, temporarily blinded, waiting for the deafening crack of thunder. None came.

When another silent bolt landed even closer, it zapped the ground with so much force that soil and sparks erupted into the sky.

I stared, dumbfounded. Smoking specks of dirt wafted on the breeze, the sight rousing me into action. I took off running, sprinting down to the river's edge.

A third bolt drove me closer to the water, into the moccasin-infested reeds. “Shit, shit!” My footfalls landed in the muck, the shallow mud sucking at my boots. I shifted my steps, running on my toes.

As more lightning struck, I realized it seemed to be
following
me.

This couldn't be real. Because instead of bolts, I now saw spears—like javelins. They were sparkling silver, engraved with symbols, but they exploded like lightning upon impact.

Not real, not real,
I repeated hysterically, pumping my arms for speed.
Reject the delusion!

One sizzled just inches from my last footfall. Someone was trying to kill me! I lurched around, heading back toward the mill. I'd rather be arrested!

“Oh God, oh God!” I blundered around trees, dodging branches that seemed to be going out of their freaking way to reach me, to hold me still. “Ugh!”

I risked a glance over my shoulder. Someone, or
something
, was definitely after me. I noticed that my thorn claws had returned, almost more upsetting than the—

I ran right into a man's solid chest.

I nearly bounced back onto my ass, but a taped hand caught my arm. I craned my head up.

Jackson. “What's wrong with you, girl?”

I gazed up at his face, catching my breath. “There's l-lightning!” I curled my fingers to conceal my claws, waiting as they slowly returned to normal.

“You got spooked by a little lightning?” He looked at me peculiarly, like he was disappointed in me. “I knew you were soft, but damn, Evie.”

That look stung. I backed away from him, fearing that I was about to cry in front of this boy. “The bolts were so close.”

“Shouldn't expect nothing else from a Sterling girl.”

“No, this was different! It was . . .”
Like lightning, but not. Electric and sizzling, but cool.
Yet when I looked above me, the sky was clear, the night still.

“You out here alone?”

I gave a shaky nod. “I'm supposed to meet Melissa.”

“Everybody's scattered.”

“Then what are you doing back here?” I actually felt safer in his presence. I didn't sense a threat from him, and he
was
a hardened criminal with lots of experience fighting. I knew he'd landed at least some of his hits. “I thought you left.”

Gazing down at me, he said, “Maybe I came back to claim my taste of you.”

Between gritted teeth, I said, “Again, I have a boyfriend.”

“Again, I couldn't tell. Seems Radcliffe ditched you in the woods. If you belonged to me, I'd never let you out of my sight—much less leave you alone out here.”

What was his fixation on girls
belonging
to boys? “Brandon went back to smooth things with the sheriff!”

In a voice dripping with scorn, Jackson grated, “Of
course
he did.”

“I'm going to find my friends.”

“Now, wait a minute. You can't go back there, no. You'll get pinched.” At my blank look, he added, “Arrested, on roll call, gaffled.”

“Wow, you expect me to speak Cajun
and
Juvie.”

He raked his taped fingers through his hair. “I doan s'pose I can leave you here.” He started squiring me away from the mill. I thought. I was so turned around I couldn't get my bearings.

“Why are you being decent to me?”

“I'm not. I just want to get you on my bike, with you in that skirt. Where am I driving you to?”

I blinked at him. “I live here.”

“You live on
this
farm? In that eerie mansion up the way? No wonder you're touched in the head.”

I didn't deny the eerie description—or the touched-in-the-head comment.
Fair's fair.
“You've seen my house?”

He gazed past me as he said, “I saw it from the road once, after harvest. When I was little.” He scrubbed his hand over his mouth, clearly wanting to be somewhere else. “I'll take you home.” I realized we'd stopped near his bike, parked in the woods.

Where were
his
friends? Where was
Clotile
? “Wait, I can't go home! I've been drinking. I'm supposed to spend the night with Mel.”

He raised his brows with an
I should care about this why?
look. “Two choices,
peekôn
.”

I frowned.
Peekôn
meant “thorn.”

“I can drive you home. Or I can leave your ass here. Alone.”

What if there was more lightning? I didn't want to be out here by myself, at least not until I reached the cane fields. But I couldn't ride a roaring motorcycle home. “Neither of those choices will work for me.”

He took a pull from his flask.
“Nothing
else
will work for me.”

“Then leave.” Surely he wouldn't abandon me.

“Bonne chance, peekôn.”
He turned and strode toward his bike.

“Wait, Jackson! I can't ride with you! My mom hates motorcycles, and she'll hear me trying to sneak in.” I studied my muddy Italian boots as I mumbled, “Will you walk with me? Just as far as the cane fields?”

He exhaled with undisguised irritation. “I'll stay with you that far.” He disengaged the kickstand, pushing his bike.

Tendrils of fog drifted in as we walked in silence.

Though he was buzzed, Jackson somehow seemed alert. He was also so clearly begrudging that I was tempted to snap, “God, just leave!”

But the lightning still had me spooked. Even if it hadn't been real.

I hated that I was afraid. I hated that I wanted him close by.

As we continued, I peered up at him from under my lashes, struggling to understand the excitement I'd felt when he'd been about to kiss me—versus the
meh
I'd felt when Brandon had
actually
been kissing me.