Swamp Magic (Crimson Romance) (17 page)

Wordlessly, she took Moss’s offered hand and they turned for the cabin. Just as they were about to enter, Moss grabbed her from behind, his hands firm and near bruising as he swung her around and laid one on her.

The kiss sucked all the air from her lungs, left her legs wobbly, Jell-O like, heating her blood as her heart pumped to catch up.

Her tongue gave back as it received, as did her hands as she groped the firm curve of his ass and pulled him into the cradle of her pelvis. Her clit rode the bulge behind his zipper, and she hissed at the delicious friction. His body seemed to shake under her hands as he pressed her firmly against the cabin’s wooden door. For a split second, she thought to raise a leg over his hip, an offering, a pleading for more
.

But there was much riding on what was to come.

Their futures.

Moss lifted his lips from hers, letting them linger them on her forehead before brushing gentle kisses above each eyelid.

“I will always love you,” he vowed.

“And I you,” she returned, knowing he could not promise himself entirely to her until he at least got to see what the world had to offer. It wouldn’t be right, no matter how badly it would hurt.

Grace opened the door as they stepped back to let them know everything was prepped for the ingredients they’d found. They were nearly ready for battle.

Thick, harsh smoke billowed from Octavia’s cabin, no doubt from the strange herbs they’d discovered growing in baskets hanging from each corner of the porch. When they arrived, they’d found Octavia gone, but she’d left in a hurry as the stinky potions bubbling and steaming indicated. No one doubted they’d missed her by mere minutes. Why had she left? Had she been tipped off about their plan?

The first step of their plan was to obtain the
Book of Souls
. The book Damien had briefly seen but overheard much about. In this book were the names of all those Octavia had captured and turned. Beth hoped the bitch had made notes of what became of them. If a cure existed, it would be within the pages of this book. The cure for Moss and Damien was close, but not close enough. If they found it, Beth would make it her own personal goal to attempt to aid all the swamp creatures not born as such. Reflecting on what she’d learned of her aunt’s betrothed, Beth supposed some might choose to remain as their animal or reptile counterparts.

Damien and Grace kept watchful eyes for Octavia’s approach, while Beth and Moss scoured the place for the book. They grabbed any book that looked important. Or, in her opinion, creepy. Later, when they had more time, they would study the contents. Right now, though, they needed to search until they found the
Book of Souls
and the potential cure.

Step two of the plan was to destroy all magical things associated with Octavia. Her resources, strange ingredients, and every damn glass jar with funky shit inside. Essentially, they hoped to give her magic a severe handicap, and themselves an advantage. Step three if they succeeded in accomplishing the first, two was to douse Octavia in the brew Grace concocted. The potion should render her unable to perform any and all magic. Whether dark or light, she’d either be a powerless old woman, or there was the possibility that without her magic, she’d shrivel away to nothing.

Beth glanced out the window and caught her aunt studying Damien as he scanned the area. Both had been oddly quiet and distant since they’d arrived at Octavia’s cabin. Had Damien been in love with the witch? Was he still? Grace seemed in awe of the warrior who carried his scars within. Something had tortured him emotionally
.

Beth prayed his peculiar behavior was the product of the prospect of a cure and not some strange, twisted loyalty toward Octavia. He’d been with her for a very long time. Been a devoted and faithful companion who once thought himself in love with her. It would be strange if some sense of responsibility didn’t linger. Why this thought only now came to mind Beth couldn’t be sure, but suspected it had something to do with the way her aunt looked so longingly toward him. Beth caught an image in her aunt’s mind of Damien embracing Octavia. The vision made Grace’s stomach churn, then — poof — her link with Grace broke. Beth caught Damien stealing quick glances at Grace, a strange look on his face, as if he’d read her mind. Beth turned away from the window. She didn’t have time to contemplate her own relationship, much less theirs.

Beth went to search for Moss when a strange feeling came over her. Strange, powerful and familiar. He’d gone into Octavia’s bedchamber to pilfer around in the hopes of finding a secret compartment hiding the
Book of Souls
. She tried to call to him, but her vocal cords refused to cooperate. The sensation of ice pumping through her veins spread, freezing her to the core. It began at her throat and made its way rapidly procession to wrap its icy grip around her heart.

She couldn’t call to Moss or anyone else. She remained frozen in place and in fear.

• • •

Moss turned the room inside out. He and Beth had already gone through every nook and cranny and come up empty handed. Short of the fact they’d at least destroyed much of Octavia’s magical wares, this trip was a total bust. Yet he knew deep down the book was here. Its power called to him.

He stopped. Opened his senses and rescanned the room. Haunting memories of times past flooded back. Times best forgotten. Nights with Octavia in this very room, doing revolting things. Those dark memories rooted deep, caused horror to seep into his soul.

The first time he’d been with Octavia had been magical. He’d thought himself so beneath her. Though she’d used him as nothing more than a glorified slave, his heartbreak had driven him to consent to her every wish and twisted sexual fantasy. He’d thought her his savior — and now to learn she’d been the reason of the heartache … He’d followed her like the lamb to the slaughter.

She’d been beautiful. Exotic in every sense of the word. Long, lean, shapely legs … the type any man visualizes wrapped about his waist. Her long, dark hair cascaded about her like a midnight cloak. When she’d allowed him to undress her, he’d grown hard as a diamond. Her body was exquisite. Taut belly, firm breasts with mocha-tipped nipples. Mocha? He thought harder of that night. Of her appearance, trying to remember any flaw he’d overlooked. Shit, how had he not realized? He remembered now, quite clearly, the tiny, faint slivers of silver striping her belly.

Faint as they’d been, he’d seen them. Proof Octavia had a child. A child or, heaven forbid, children somewhere? Could he himself have fathered a child with her during one of their many trysts? And if his reasoning was on target, where were her children?

He turned to announce this possible bit of information when a floorboard creaked beneath his boot. Moss stepped back and forth over the area until a slight give in one of the boards, under the edge of the bed and against the far wall, revealed which one had creaked. Had he not gone so far, he’d never have found it.

Kneeling down, he ran his fingers about the board until he found the tiny rise separating the piece from the rest. With a gentle tug, the board sprang up. Hearing stones scraping together, he turned in time to see the fireplace jut from the wall an inch. The board itself was merely a trip lever for the hidden opening. He approached with apprehension and awe. In all the times he’d been in this room, he’d never known the secret passage existed.

“Impressive, Octavia. Impressive,” he mumbled pulling the mantel back until there was enough space to allow his entry.

Though the passage was pitch black, his nocturnal eyes adjusted with ease until he made out a long, narrow passage leading to God only knew where.

He figured it best to get Beth before continuing and turned to yell for her when the wall behind him began moving until the doorway once again closed.

Now he had no choice but to continue along the corridor to wherever he ended up. Beth would discover his disappearance and seek Damien and Grace. One of the trio would realize what had happened. Would figure out he must have run across a passage such as this. Moss wondered if Damien had forgotten about it, or conveniently kept the information from them.

His unease about Damien skittered back. Had Damien truly gotten past his fixation with Octavia? The man had come forward and denounced his former lover, but his announcement at such, came while he’d been in front of Beth. Had it all been for show? Later, Grace had entered the picture and Moss knew beyond doubt the man wanted Grace. Damien’s pheromones shot off the charts each time Grace came near him. Not to mention the times he’d caught Damien having to adjust himself. The man’s raging hard-on was obviously quite uncomfortable. But his desire for Grace didn’t prove his innocence.

Continuing down the dank, dusty, narrow corridor, he couldn’t shake the distinct feeling of being watched, and his predatorily impulses peaked. He realized he was headed straight for a trap, but he had no way around it with nowhere to go except forward.

Silvery threads from the abundance of low-lying cobwebs wove themselves through his hair, and more than once the tickle of spider legs moved across his neck.

Fucking hate spiders.

A sulfuric scent burned his nose, clouding all other scents. He slowed his pace, crouching low, ready for an attack. Octavia was up to something. Only she would understand how strong his sense of smell was and know sulfur would mask his ability to smell potential danger.

Damn the old witch to hell.

He began to make out a glow in the distance, and other senses kicked in, screaming warnings. As the shadow forms became a tad more solid, he sprang back, but not quickly enough.

The three entities had him pinned and chained on the ancient floor before the last of his reptilian shift occurred.

• • •

“You’ve been rather lost in thought. Is everything okay?” Grace asked Damien, missing the warm warrior she’d grown fond of.

“No problems here,” Damien bit out gruffly.

“You seemed a bit quiet, is all,” Grace offered.

“Not quiet, observant.”

She nodded, though she suspected his withdrawal stemmed from more than his being observant. Something had changed, but his one- and two-word answers proved he had absolutely no intentions of sharing what.

She followed the sudden jerk of his head, looking for whatever had caught his attention. Watched as he sniffed the air and seemed to bristle in response to what he scented. Nothing out of the ordinary came into sight, but she knew enough about Damien to believe his hackles didn’t rise over nothing. They were no longer alone, and Damien was fully aware of this.

“What do you see?” she whispered.

“Nothing yet, but someone’s watching us, and their scent is odd.”

“Their scent?”

“Yes. You know I’m different. Where Moss has reptilian qualities, I have those of the armadillo. One of those differences is an acute sense of smell,” he stated almost defensive, as if he thought her to be accusing him of something.

Oh, Grace thought, the
armor up, old chap
comment Moss had made back in the cave made sense now. “Didn’t doubt you for a minute, but what should we do?”

“Go and warn the others.” Again, his tone and demeanor seemed chilly.

Grace paused. He was off, and she needed to find out the reason for his sudden change. He might be a danger to them all right now. He may very well be their enemy.

“Go,” he all but barked as his eyes took on an ominous appearance.

Deciding the best option was to go ahead and alert the others to the possible monkey — err —
armadillo
wrench in their plans, she took off to warn Beth. With her back to Damien, Grace couldn’t help but feel like the hounds from hell rode her heels.

She went sailing through the front door, slamming the rickety thing with more force than intended and took a few deep, safe breaths. Her back against the door, she gave her very human eyes a minute to adjust to the dim interior.

Once they had, she was aghast at what was before her.

• • •

Livid he’d fallen for such an age-old trap, Moss struggled against the chains binding his arms. He’d been drawn up tight against the cave’s wall, but struggling was useless short of making a clamor and cutting his wrists. He’d go nowhere any time soon. His shirt had been removed, as had his boots. He was thankful he’d at least been left with his pants, or what was left of them. After the near strip search, they were ripped in areas and sagging in others. What had pleased him even less had been where Octavia’s eyes kept drifting. Her minions snickering as she lowered her gaze to the golden swatch of hair on his belly and lower still, until settling on his cock.

“You thought you’d just up and walk away, did you?” She ran her fingers, nails polished black, down his abdomen.

“That was the plan.”

“Cocky boy. You thought what? I’d let you just whisk the slut off into the sunset and live happily ever after? Really, Moss, I’m surprised at you.” Octavia all but purred as she fingered the outline of his flaccid member. If she anticipated getting a rise out of him, she’d be sorely disappointed.

“What I may or may not have thought is none of your damned concern. I will no longer be your lackey, Octavia. This ends now.” Moss sneered.

“Well, someone ate their Wheaties this morning, didn’t they?” She laughed. A true, mad, evil laugh, and nothing could have pissed him off more at the moment.

“Oh, did I bruise your tender male ego? Poor dear, I do tend to forget how sensitive you men can be.”

Moss made out the three faint, shadowy shapes behind her in each corner of the room. Whoever or whatever they were, they stood motionless and cast no recognizable scent. That alone alarmed him more than any other shit she pulled.

“What evil things have you called upon now?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, batting her eyelids in coy fashion.

“Playing stupid isn’t becoming of you. Who are your newest lackeys? The ones hiding behind you?”

Octavia whirled around toward the closest shadow being. Once she’d reached him, she ran her palm over his abdomen, tracing around his entire middle until she reached his back. Then from behind him she toyed with his nipples, and no matter what she did, Moss noted the wavery figure never moved a muscle. Her hands continued to the bulge standing front and center, visible as darker than the rest of him, and stroked him with methodical intent.