Swamp Magic (Crimson Romance) (6 page)

Ever since she was a child, she’d dreamt of a man whose back appeared to glow. She’d never seen the face of the man, only sensed his gentle soul and caught the peculiar glow of what she guessed were tattoos on his back. She hadn’t put two and two together until this morning. When, after having the dream again, she remembered that just before she fell asleep, when Moss had turned to climb into bed, the moonlight hit his tattoos. How the combination was so bright, the tats almost glowed. She awoke excited and a bit nervous to explain why she’d thought he felt so familiar.

Giving up her battle, she let the tears flow, streaking down her face as she settled into the canoe, longingly searching the area one last time for her mysterious Bog Man.

After a full day of sulking about, Beth’s anger at the so-called Bog Man kicked in. How dare he walk away like she’d been nothing more than a one-night stand, regardless of how damned good the
one night
may have been? Yeah, highly pissed described her current emotion. After all these years of dreaming of him, and he was nothing more than your typical SOB male out looking for an easy lay.

She wadded up yet another fouled attempt at trying to type her thesis. She’d tried to tune out her anguish enough to proofread, but each time she printed and read, another typo sprang up from the page as if taunting her at her failure. She tossed the crumpled paper and missed the wastebasket.
Pfft, freaking perfect.
Working or studying right now was slap out of the question, as too many questions lingered regarding Moss. Her mind kept flittering back to when the dreams — or visions, as she thought of them now — had first begun.

They’d been downright horrifying at first. But as she grew older, curiosity outweighed the fear. Mostly about the one that reoccurred so often. Later on, one of her professors had suggested the dream stood for something her subconscious wanted her to deal with. Possibly an underlying fear of being left alone, which did tend to make sense, since she always got a bit jittery when becoming lost.

Through the years, the nightmare had sort of reshaped itself. More accurately, her maturing mind did. She only remembered the fear being replaced by something else. Something more erotic in nature. Of course, by this time her raging hormones and lack of dates more likely explained the change.

The dream always started the same. The sense of terror, her trembling, lost in a swamp at night. Frantically trying to find her way out while a strange, green, hazy, thick mist with an evil glow rolled in, encasing her. The panic of suffocating would hit. As if on cue, a strange, mysterious chanting would start. Like someone taunting her in an evil, singsong
way. Hostility was evident in every sung syllable. Even though she never, even to this day, could make out the words, she always sensed the evil nature of them.

Then the dream would slowly morph into her being in a strange cavern, her sheer, white gown plastered to her, making wading through the bogs quite difficult. Within the cavern, she would find a magnificent home. Not an average home where one found normal household fixtures and furniture. No, this one was extraordinary
and exotic
.

A beautiful, black baby grand piano sat in one corner. Beautiful artwork ornamented the cave walls, and Persian rugs, sure to have been made of the finest threads, covered the floors. Even a crystal chandelier adorned the entry. She always had an
Alice in Wonderland
feeling when first entering the chamber.

Then the dream changed one day. Where once she’d only been able to glimpse the unique home, the dream grew, became longer, more alluring, and far more erotic in nature.

A figure would emerge from the shadows, large and at first appearing menacing. Later, when the shadowy figure stepped into the candlelight, the form of a man would become clear. A very large and quite naked man. One hundred percent naked, and a true vision of a perfect male specimen. The vision never allowed a clear view of his face — only his glorious body covered in strange, erotically placed tattoos.

He never spoke, and Beth didn’t think he was even aware of her presence. However, he always seemed to scan the area as if looking for something or someone. An aura of sadness and longing surrounded him. Though his eyes searched, he never spoke, nor did she, as she remained too enraptured to dare make a sound. His demeanor seemed to beckon her.

The sense of foreboding radiating from him always left her quivery from its sheer intensity. He’d been hurt. Betrayed by someone, quite badly, and so he had locked himself away from the world and pain. Beth wanted nothing more than to soothe his aches and hurts away. Longed to run her fingers down the delicious, tawny skin covered in intricate art. Wanted to knead his firm ass in her hands and to run her tongue over the ridges of rock-hard abs. But the dream never allowed such a thing. No sooner that she gathered the courage to approach him, the vision would once again morph, leaving Beth with
her.

Her being the evil bitch who took the sexy tattooed man’s spot.

She, with her midnight black hair and beady black eyes. She who appeared to be around age forty with an intense angry look on her pinched, pissed face. The room changed as well. No longer was it a beautiful cave, but instead she and prune face sat rigidly in a small canoe filled with strange jars and containers of different sorts. Beth had no doubt this was the woman behind the strange chants. Evil clearly hovered around this bitch, and she absorbed it. Ate it raw, relishing every dark morsel
.

Unlike the mystery man, Beth knew the bitch sensed her. Beth didn’t understand how a freaky vision or possible dream could become real, but this evil woman
knew
she was there. As always, right before the dream ended, the woman turned and stared right at her, shrieking some ungodly, high-pitched sound. A clear and definite warning for Beth to steer clear of the tattooed man.

Then she’d awaken, covered in sweat and drenched in fear. Fear for herself, fear for what lay in her future, and fear for one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen.

Now, after meeting Moss, she realized the so-called dreams had truly been visions, and somehow she and her bog man were truly tied. She’d been meant to get lost in the swamp, and he’d been meant to find
her. Fate had thrown them together for a reason, and she now understood she held the key to something bigger than both of them.

She just wasn’t sure what the hell it was. But it was damn sure much larger than just a one-night hookup, regardless of what his sorry ass might think.

She sat there unconsciously tapping her fingers against the desk, deep in thought. Maybe solving the mystery of what the visions meant, who the strange evil woman was, and what exactly her ties to Moss were, would help lead her to Moss and get him to open up and trust her. At the very least, she could find him to grant her closure of sorts.

No, she wasn’t so desperate as to beg, but the more she thought about Moss’s peculiar actions, the more she was beginning to feel that Moss’s disappearance wasn’t about him wanting a quick
wham, bam, thank you Ma’am
, but rather his fear of being hurt again or betrayed.

If she interpreted the visions correctly, then Moss feared betrayal more than anything else, even loss. She’d have to prove she was trustworthy, and that she’d never hurt him.

Who’d hurt him so badly, and how had he come to be the way he was? Part man, part reptile? The woman in the visions was connected, and Beth wondered if the swamp witch of old legends might be true. It would make sense.

Her aunts had always warned her and Robby as children about venturing into the swamp. But their backyard
was
the swamp, and to forbid anyone from going too
close to the woods was an asinine, unrealistic request. So why then had her aunts been so adamant about them never venturing too close or too deep?

Beth grabbed her notepad and jotted down some quick notes. First, she needed to call Aunt Grace. Next, she should contact Professor Jacobs, whose hobby was urban legends. And to round up the research, she needed to go to the library and attempt to read about when the legends of the Bog Monster had first started.

She’d leave Moss alone for now. She’d work on solving the mystery, and once she’d solved it, she would return to the swamp, find her bog man, and help him heal … emotionally
.

Almost a week had passed since Moss’s sudden departure from her life and she still hadn’t learned all that much about him, or rather, his alter-ego, the Bog Man. Whoever the hell had penned the quote “time flies” could kiss her ass. For her, time had frozen. Minutes crept by like days as she’d attempted to unravel the mystery surrounding Moss only to keep coming up empty-handed and frustrated.

Her professor, claiming to be current with most urban legends, had only read of the legend in local papers, but knew nothing about the origin. Yes, she’d discovered countless articles about him in the library’s database, but nothing more informative than the typical “Billy Bob experienced brush with death in the swamps, having had a run-in with the legendary man-eating Bog Monster.”

Man-eater, her ass. He ate … shit, even thinking of what he did and how made her blush.

Lucky for her, Aunt Grace was due back in town any time. If anyone had information about the town, legendary or not, it would be Aunt Grace.

• • •

Moss hated having to meet the dangerous old bitch. But when the she-demon herself called, he had no choice but to answer. She’d even sent him a graphic vision of what would befall Beth should he attempt to avoid responding.

Yes, he’d made numerous attempts to ignore her calls, which launched pinpricks of apprehension across his skin and twisted his insides. No matter how he’d tried to avoid responding in the past, Beth’s safety took priority now; he had to obey.

Skillfully, he skimmed through the murky waters until he arrived at her dark abode. He forced himself toward the door. Her evil laugh proved her aware of his torment. No matter — he would do whatever he needed to do in order to keep Beth safe. It mattered not that he’d never be with her again, even for one lone night. To ensure her happiness and safety would be well worth all the evil bitch would call on him to do and endure. He turned the rusty knob and pushed open the ancient door. Octavia stood at the hearth, as a fire raged strong enough that a blast of heat assaulted him with his first steps into her weathered, but spacious cabin.

The witch handed him a tarnished brass goblet containing some strange, smoking brew. “Drink,” she commanded.

Warily, he accepted the goblet, already knowing the drink would be laced with something. With what had yet to be determined. But he had no choice. He drained the contents in one gulp.

“Come, Moss. Kiss me,”
she beckoned, dropping her robe. The sheer material floated to the floor around her feet, exposing her nude body.

Moss staggered backwards, shaking his head for clarity, repulsed by the images she broadcast at him. His surroundings began to become fuzzy and unclear as she shook her head and body in a fierce fashion. Back and forth she shook, hair flying about. Confusion took hold of Moss as she went from being a witch to an exact replica of …

Beth.

As she slunk toward him, he tried again in desperation to clear his mind. He
knew
it wasn’t Beth, but everything spun so fast, and he continued to see her. Even heard the soft lilt of her voice and the sweet murmurs she’d made during their lovemaking.

Her lips claimed his as those memories overtook him. Of Beth’s skin against his, slick with sweat as their bodies rubbed and slid against each other’s. Her aroused scent as he pounded into her welcoming, tight, hot sheath. His lips parted, allowing her tongue to engage with his. He needed to taste her again, needed to be balls-deep within her. The heady scent of her desire permeated the air, mixing with his.

Yes, he needed her, and needed her now. He
pulled her roughly against him, wrapping her in his bulging arms before backing her toward the wall for support. He didn’t stop until her back jarred against the wood.

Rough, too rough. Must be easy.

Reaching down, he urged her thigh over his to allow for easier access. Instead of complying, she pushed back and flipped him around, so
his
back leaned against the wall. Shocked, yet pleased by her sudden aggressiveness, he yielded.

He closed his eyes as her eager hands undid his pants. She jerked them down in one rough, swift movement that freed his engorged cock from the binding restraints. God, he needed to take her, but first he would allow her to explore his body as she wanted.

Finally, her mouth took him. The slow, warm sweep of her tongue had him groaning. Images flashed through his head. Extreme need and desire warped his thoughts as less than gentle ideas flared through his mind. Confusion set in, and he became nervous to touch her. Frightened he’d do what his mind showed him — grab her by the back of her head and force his cock right
down her throat. Though aroused, he felt jittery and off.

Beth toyed with him, something far too dangerous for her to be doing right now with such aggressive thoughts racing through him. She ran her teeth around the rim of his cock before then running her tongue over the slit and engulfing him once again.

Moss fought the sense of confusion sweeping through him as well as its accompanying wild compulsions. Struggled against the darkness threatening to take a firm hold. But everything he tried proved futile. Dark erotic images, like none he’d ever thought, consumed him in a tighter grasp. His skin burned as if flames engulfed him and only his release would squelch them.

Almost against his will, his hands dropped to grasp each side of her head as he jerked forward, thrusting his cock deep. He heard her gag as her hands flattened against his thighs. She pushed against him, desperate for freedom. Yet he could not stop — was driven by some all-consuming force. Even as his mind screamed at him to stop, for this was his fragile and beloved Beth. Yet his need for release built as he continued to pump in and out, and as her oh, so hot, tight little mouth stretched to take all of him.