Poison Tongue (18 page)

He reached behind me, one hand roughly grabbing my asscheek and spreading me open. A moment later the cool petting of his slick finger….

I yelped and he used that opportunity to slowly push his cool, wet finger inside me.

“Oh,” I said breathlessly.

Monroe chuckled but kept pressing his finger inside, deeper. “Have you done this before?”

Unable to do anything else, I leaned forward, rested my forehead against his shoulder, and nodded.

After the briefest of pauses, Monroe asked, “Who?”

I could barely find my breath. Monroe’s finger pressed all the way inside me, stretching me, an invasion to my body. And then, just as slowly, he pulled back out. And then in again. The slow burn of the push and pull stole all my attention, every last thought I could muster.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Monroe pulled his finger out, only to push another one back in alongside it.

“Levi,” he said quietly, patiently. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Who?”

Breathing heavily, I said, “A boy I know from secondary school. Why?”

Monroe pressed both of his fingers deep inside me. When they couldn’t go any farther, he curled his fingers, brushed the small bundle of nerves inside me.

I gasped. He licked up my jaw to my ear and whispered, “So I can kill him, of course.”

I closed my eyes and moaned his name. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to come out as a plea or scolding, but right then, to me, his name was gospel.

“You’re pretty when you moan,” he said quietly. He grabbed hold of my erection with his free hand and rolled a finger against the drop forming at the tip. He began to pump up and down to the painfully slow melody his fingers set.

The moment I thought I wouldn’t be able to take the slow torture any longer, he pulled away from me. A quiet sound of rustling, ripping of foil. Then the rounded end of him pressed against me, pushing carefully inside. He groaned deep in his throat as I slid down onto him, inch by inch.

When he was fully inside, he kissed my jaw, whispered my name. His hand began stroking me again to the same rhythm his hips rolled. I breathed heavily, looking inside his clear eyes, him looking back into mine.

He tipped his head back and I pressed my palms flat against his chest and began kissing a trail from the divot in his collarbone up to the bottom of his jaw. His fingers flexed a little more tightly, and his pace quickened.

“God,” I said.

Keeping the slow, methodical stride, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was hotter than the fire on my back. It was unhurried, sure of itself, as though we’d kissed like that every day since the dawn of time. He slid his tongue into my mouth, brushed against my lips.

Among all his kisses, touches, and the deep-rooted feel of all he drove into me, something else crept, tracing after his touch. Smooth, gritty shards raked against my skin, scratching in the wake of a gentler touch.

Monroe deepened the kiss, whispered crude comments sweetly in between breaths.

It started as a tickle on the side of my thigh. A gentle kiss of a feather, light and delicate. Then the watery feeling of scales moving against my bare flesh. It traveled from my thigh up to my hip bone, pausing there. Then around my stomach, against my belly button, higher still.

The end of its tail brushed the side of my asscheek. A gasp escaped that Monroe stole for himself.

“Monroe,” I said as the serpent moved up, trailed across my nipple, to the top of my shoulder.

“There’s not a part of me that doesn’t want you.”

With a shift of his hips, he moved a little quicker, pressing against the spot inside me that made my throat close.

I tossed my head back, my eyes still closed. The snake slithered its way around my neck, once, twice, the edges of the scales sweeping across my bottom lip. The pressure inside me began to build, like a pot about to overflow.

“Fuck, Levi,” he hissed.

He pressed his forehead against my throat. I cracked my eyes open, and even in the darkness of the room, I watched the black serpent move from my throat to Monroe’s, wrapping around both of us, squeezing us together.

It was the coldness of the scales, the feel of Monroe’s ragged breath against my chest, the almost painful constriction around my throat that tossed me over the edge. I came with a small cry, Monroe’s hand on me speeding, then slowing. And then I felt his body tense below me, and he followed close behind.

I AWOKE
quietly. Strong arms wrapped snugly around me, Monroe’s warm body pressed against my back. The room was dark. Only the moonlight shone in through the bedroom window. We’d come upstairs after Monroe had put the fire out downstairs.

Carefully I slid from Monroe’s grip. After circling around the bed, I walked over to the window, pressed my fingertips against its cool glass, and looked out into the calm, dark swamp.

I closed my eyes and listened. The swamp waters were singing. And they were singing a love song.

Chapter 12

SOMETHING WASN’T
right.

I jumped awake with a jolt, like a hot cattle prod had been pressed directly into the center of my chest. I gasped for air, unable to breathe. Static sang in my ears. My heart raced too quickly. I could barely keep up with it.

The room remained still and dark. Monroe’s room. Only a few rays of morning light glistened in through the window. Other than my breathing, the room sat silently. Nothing moved, no creatures loomed in the corners, everything remained silent, calm. The stacks of car magazines were right where they’d been the night before. The discarded clothes still hung over the bottom right bedpost.

And yet, I knew something was wrong. But I couldn’t place my finger on it. My mind was full of cotton. My stomach flipped and turned and heaved.

Feeling childish, I turned toward Monroe. It had been a lot of years since I’d woken from a nightmare and not remembered what it had been. And rarely afterward did I feel like I needed reassurance. But I shook, unsteady.

It was when I reached out to put my hand on his shoulder that I noticed it—noticed what was wrong.

The blood.

Beneath him—no, beneath both of us—pooled giant floral patterns, blossoms of blood against the white sheets. It took me two horrified seconds before I grabbed Monroe’s arm and shook him hard. “Monroe!”

When his sleep-heavy eyes opened and he looked at me, a weight was lifted off my chest.

“Monroe,” I said uneasily, my voice shaking.

He sat up and cupped my face in his hands. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Unable to speak, I pulled away from him and jumped off the bed. The moment I moved, his gaze dropped to where I’d been lying. A huge, soaked bloodstain sat beneath me. It was still bright, fresh. Streams of it dropped down the sides like long, red claws.

“Jesus!” Startled, Monroe jumped off the bed. He scrambled around, wrapped his arms around me, pulled me toward him. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I said against his chest.

He pulled away enough to look me over, making sure I wasn’t hurt. He ran his hands up my arms, turned my head back and forth, my neck side to side. The worry on his face could’ve broken my heart.

“Monroe,” I said quietly. “I’m okay.”

He stared into my eyes for a moment before letting out a deep breath. “Fuck. I was so afraid—scared I’d done something terrible—”

“You didn’t,” I said quickly.

Slowly, feeling foolish for being almost shy, I reached out, took his hand, and laced our fingers together. That simple touch seemed to calm him. His shoulders relaxed. His other fist unclenched.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“I’m fine.” He stared at the crimson sheets from where we stood next to the bed. “Maybe it’s not blood.”

“What else could it be?”

He snorted. “Blood ain’t making much sense either, right now.”

“We have to call the sheriff.”

Monroe didn’t seem to hear me. “Who would put this here? Who could put this here? While we slept?”

“Monroe,” I tried to get his attention. “Where’s your phone?”

He paused a moment, stared at me. “In the kitchen.”

“Go call the sheriff.”

Dazed, Monroe left the room. I listened to his bare feet patter down the hallway and then the stairs.

The blood covering the white sheets felt dry to the touch. I looked myself over, checking for stains, marks on my skin. There was nothing.

The room had been dark when we’d come in last night. Streams of moonlight hit the white bed sheets. They’d been white then. I was positive. But now they were tarnished, covered in an act of crime neither of us had committed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the swamp. And when I closed my eyes and listened closely, I could hear it laughing.

“Levi.” A hand gently touched my shoulder.

Monroe stood behind me, mouth agape, telephone loosely pressed against the side of his face. The dial tone buzzed loudly in the background. For moments I looked at him, listened to that dial tone.

“What happened?” He stared at the bed.

The sheets were white. Stark white. Painfully white. The sunlight danced across them, proud, unaware of what had been there moments before. There wasn’t even a speckle of blood that touched the sheets.

“Did you change the sheets?” Monroe pressed.

“No.”

His jaw locked. “The blood was there. We both saw it. How the hell could this—”

We stared at the bed, neither of us having any words to describe what we’d seen, what we felt. Monroe’s fingers lacing again with mine was the only small comfort between us.

Minutes flew by. Every time I blinked, I half expected to open my eyes to the sight of maroon-colored sheets.

“It’s the curse,” I whispered.

“My curse,” Monroe corrected me.

“Your curse. It’s mixing with whatever I… am. With my love for the darkness, with my desire to wallow in the swamp. From us being near, evil is slipping into this world from the cracks in hell.”

Monroe stared at me, looking more and more angry as the seconds passed. “Don’t say shit like that, Levi. What we are together isn’t like that.”

Unable to bear another moment of enduring the way he looked at me, I turned away. “You know I’m right. You know when we’re together there’s evil brewing. We can both feel it. I can see it. The darkness in your soul is darker when I’m around.”

“Maybe there’s evil—” Monroe grabbed my hand. “—but there’s good too. The only good I’ve felt in ages.”

“I’m afraid of what we’ll do when we’re together. What we’ll become. You are too. I can see it in your eyes.”

“And I can see in your eyes that you know there’s something good here.” He put his warm hand on my bare shoulder. Slowly he traced my neck, ran his hand up my throat, stroked my jaw, and tilted my head back to meet his gaze.

I smiled sadly. “I think when we’re together, evil runs wild. The fire in your garage, the blood on your bed. Me wanting to drown myself in the swamp.”

Monroe pressed me against the wall, leaned in close. “Then I’ll burn this town to the ground, and use the wood of this house to start it.”

There was a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. He looked at me so intently, so earnestly, it might’ve broken my heart.

This could never work.
We
could never work. We were two sides of the same coin. I was fuel to his fire, the devil on his shoulder. Together we would be a walking disaster. The worst part was, in my heart, I wanted nothing more than to let his darkness consume me. I wanted nothing more than to beg the curse that wrapped itself around his soul to hold me under the swamp water and kiss me until I drowned or disintegrated.

“I know I ain’t good enough for you, Levi,” he said solemnly. “I know I ain’t the man you deserve. But give us a chance—give me a chance. I will try so damn hard for you.”

“I’m sorry.” I ducked under his arm and slipped away.

He dropped his arm, smiled at me sadly. “It’s not worth the chance?”

“No. It’s not.”

The ceiling drew his attention. He didn’t try to stop me.

Before leaving the house, I grabbed my clothes from the dryer and pulled them on. As I did, part of me hoped that Monroe would rush downstairs and pull me into his arms. Another part of me wished I’d never see his face again.

Outside, birds chirped. The wind blew gently against my face, through my hair. The sun beamed its hot rays down on the bare skin of my arms. By all counts it was a beautiful day. But to me the world had become sepia.

My heart ached when I thought of Monroe’s gentle kisses from the night before, when I thought of his hands against my skin. It wasn’t fair that it was him my heart wanted. I tried to reason with myself, tell myself I was lucky that I’d at least been warned by Gran that something like this would happen. But a warning about wanting someone as broken as Monroe Poirier was entirely different from experiencing it. I’d been expecting a rainfall, and I’d been caught in a hurricane.

I might’ve been walking for minutes or hours or days. Eventually I found myself in the one place I knew Ward would be.

Bright yellow sunflowers smiled up at me, even from a distance. I envied their joy, their wild color, their simplistic beauty. Their petals were soft as I reached out and ran my fingers along them. Part of me wanted to lie down in the field of sunflowers and sleep. Another part of me wanted to rip out the roots of each and every one.

He stood in the middle of the field, looking toward the sky. Hands in his pockets, back straight, unmoving. His loose tank top slapped gently in the breeze. His dark eyes focused on a cloud above our heads, but he knew I was walking toward him.

I stopped next to him, our arms brushing. He didn’t acknowledge me at first, and for that I was thankful. Times like these need moments, maybe years, of silence.

Eventually, without looking at me, Ward said, “Do you remember, years ago, when you were young, and we snuck out of the house one night?”

I smiled at the memory. “Yes. The bonfire, right?”

“Yes.”

“All the seniors at school were talking about it. Some massive bonfire they were having out in the field behind Kevin Andrew’s house because his parents were outa town. I must’ve only been about ten.”