Swamp Magic (Crimson Romance) (8 page)

“So what are you saying? She’s a horny old toad?” Beth couldn’t stifle the erupting snicker. But she noticed her aunt didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile. To the contrary, she sat stone-faced, and the cocked eyebrow not a good sign. “What? I was kidding. You don’t seriously believe some horny-ass old witch in the swamp was stealing men and turning them into toads, do you?”

Beth realized what she’d questioned. How did she doubt anything supernatural after what she’d witnessed firsthand with Moss? He’d turned into some sort of a reptilian type of creature right before her eyes, and she was going to doubt the plausibility of a witch turning virile men into toads? Her mind drifted back to Moss, and the image alone had her nipples puckering to tight, sensitive nubs as a slow warmth pooled in her center. Well, hell, Beth supposed she could understand the draw of anyone wanting to keep Moss all to themselves. Especially if that someone was a supposed conniving, horn dog old witch.

“You originally said you suspected who he was, yet when you started the story you said his name was never mentioned. What did you mean?” Beth asked, remembering her aunt’s choice of words.

“You always were quick.” Grace beamed. “And yes, you are correct,” she continued. “As far as the legend goes, no name has ever been applied to the fearless young leader. However, local historical archives list one Mr. William Francis Markley as unaccounted for in the records of one Mrs. William Francis Markley. Only a note referencing the death of her husband turned up. No records reflect a Mr. Markley settling here. But there are a few vague mentions of the young Mrs. Markley, keyword being the Mrs., not widowed, but Mrs. Markley being added to towns register and church records. A few years later, another brief note declaring her husband, Mr. Markley, as deceased. Back in those days, all records would detail the husband’s assets and possessions, limiting a wife’s access. Understand that the rules were much different back then on what women could own without the aid of a husband. By all accounts, the only Markley mentioned with purchases, including the purchase of a piece of land, was a Mrs. Markley. Consider for a moment — if no Mr. Markley was around, why a death notice so many years later?”

Beth rolled the information around her mind a bit. It would make sense his widow would need to stay a Mrs. in order to retain the respect needed for making substantial purchases. The laws may have changed, or maybe rumor had it wrong and she’d fallen in love with someone else, thus declaring her husband dead.

“But as much as this does make sense, given the era when women had little to no rights, what makes you so certain this mysterious Mr. Markley is my Bog Man, or even the young leader who disappeared?”

“I don’t think I know. That’s who he is. I’ve seen him in my visions before.”

“You’ve had visions of him?” Beth hadn’t seen that coming.

“Sort of. Vague ones, mainly of his emotions and inner torments, and not just his. Sadly, others as well. Though his emotions have come through the strongest. Even after all these years, he’s never forgiven himself for drinking too much and losing the children and his wife.”

“But he didn’t lose the children. You said they returned the next morning.”

“And so they did. But, sweetie, he never returned. Therefore, he has no idea the children were all returned unharmed. To his knowledge, due to his indiscretion with alcohol, he not only lost the children but also lost his young bride. His pain and anguish have reached me many, many a night.”

A sudden ache stabbed her heart. She now understood why Moss had walked away. He feared hurting her, or worse, losing her — too great a risk in his mind’s eye. Hell, he still believed he’d lost his wife and the children and been the cause of their deaths. No wonder he seemed so confused and hurt. Technically, he was the one lost in the swamp, never making it out.

She had to find him. Prove the children as well as his wife had walked out of the swamp unscathed. Show how their lives had gone on, and how only his hadn’t. No one had died on his watch or while under his care, and he needed to stop blaming himself for something that had never happened in the first place.

“Okay, what can you tell me about this supposed man-stealing witch causing all this bullshit?”

“She is quite old, strong, and extremely vengeful. Legend speaks of a sultry she-demon named Octavia. If the rumors are true, she isn’t one to challenge lightly.”

“Okay, warning taken. Now tell me how I find the ole hag and stop her.”

“Very carefully, honey, and most certainly not on your own. We will have to plan carefully before making any moves toward her.”

Beth began her trip home, going over and over all the things she’d learned and tried to formulate the best plan. Should she find
Moss and attempt to convince him of the truth first, or remove the threat itself first — the threat being the witch. Millions of questions and possibilities began running rampant in her thoughts.

She wasn’t sure of anything except her desire to help Moss and experience his passionate touch again. She needed to make right that which had been made so terribly wrong. But how? Where should she start?

Lost in thought, she rounded one of the many sharp bends in the dirt road leading away from Grace’s place. She was way out in the heart of the bayou when her sixth
sense kicked in. A strong sensation of wrongness enveloped her. So intense, nausea had her stomach bubbling and her vision swimming. The lightheadedness too severe to continue driving, she attempted to brake and pull over. Smashed the pedal over and over with no reaction. The car, if anything, seemed to be speeding up. Panic assailed her mere seconds ahead of the sudden impact. She was in trouble, big trouble.

Her car plunged nose first into the swamp. She had a fleeting thought about the airbag recall notice she’d received and ignored before her skull careened with a jarring impact into the steering wheel. The incredible pain so shattering, tendrils wrapped around her entire body. Vibrating through each muscle and every bone. She was struggling to overcome the intense pain when the sounds of gushing water pierced her consciousness, but she couldn’t breathe, much less think about escaping. The darkness enveloped her in a pain-free embrace.

Beth came to when the warm, murky swamp waters rose past her neck. She knew panicking wouldn’t help, but damned if she didn’t anyway. She was trapped in her car, in pain, and about to drown in what would no doubt end up being her watery coffin.

She freaked the hell out, screaming like a banshee as she lashed out toward the windshield before turning her frantic measures toward the driver’s window. If she ever got out of this, she was never buying a car with electric windows again.

Her life began flashing before her eyes as she thought about all she’d wanted to do. Things she’d done and wanted to do again, like being in Moss’s arms, wrapped entirely in hard, male love.

Luckily, before she began swallowing the not-so-appealing, thick, pea-green swamp water, a strange inner calm settled and brought with it an inner strength. She knew then she would not just sit there and die. Fuck that. If she was going out, then she would at least go out fighting. Okay, and maybe with a bit of screaming and cursing too.

Following her instincts, she started kicking on her door. Now that the car had fully submerged, the pressures should have equalized, making the door a more feasible route. She made a vow to never again tease Robby about watching all those “Survivor Man” type shows. She also vowed to pay more attention to them when they were on.

Seconds before running out of air, the strange sensation surrounding her grew stronger and with one last shove, the door opened with more velocity she would have thought possible. Shooting out of the car, she swam to the surface, gulping in the blessed swamp air. Never had humidity tasted as good as it did now.

She only had a few minutes of profound relief before thoughts turned to what might be lurking in the water with her. The soundtrack to
Jaws
began playing in her mind, and every nearby splash had her life flashing before her eyes again. Best she get on land fast.

Dragging her trembling body up onto the closest bank, she clawed her way farther from the water’s edge. Gritty dirt embedded painfully deep under her nails as she distanced herself from the water’s edge and any hungry gators lying in wait. She lay there trying to gather her thoughts and wits about her, her breath still coming in short, ragged bursts. She’d defeated death, but just barely, and was smart enough to know it.

• • •

“Did you really think you could do something like that and I’d just let you walk away?” The question dripped evil. Its hiss rolled through the swamp, causing a menacing echo. Though he couldn’t see her, he felt her anger rumbling in her words.

If Moss had hackles, they would surely have raised. Instead he had scales — or, rather,
sometimes
had scales. Even so, he couldn’t quite stop the slow, rising smirk he knew he sported as he remembered the humiliated state he’d left the bitch left in. Especially the knowledge that the incident had been all the old hag’s fault. Once her spell wore off, clarity had kicked in, along with the thankful realization it hadn’t been his Beth he’d been so brutal with, but the evil bitch herself.

How many others shared his fate? Were there only a few, or were there hundreds of others like him? Held captive for her own perverse sexual pleasures? After all this time, surely he would have encountered more than just Damien, the only other one like him he’d ever encountered, if there were.

A bright orb appeared and without warning burst into a bright, blinding flare. When his nocturnal sight adjusted to the sudden intrusion, Octavia stood before him, and she wasn’t a happy camper.

“Well, smile while you can, my love, for it will be short-lived. I’ve left you a gift in the southeastern end of Bog’s End. One I’m sure you’ll enjoy.” With her parting shot, she vanished. Simply vanished, in what appeared to be a puff of red smoke.

Her whispered promise oozed revenge, and he knew without a doubt she’d killed yet another innocent to prolong her worthless, miserable life. She loved nothing more than to flaunt her powers and, more to the point, her power of immortality. For that alone kept him bound to her, never to be free to go on to his family and beg their forgiveness. If he could even gain entrance into heaven. He knew, for the crimes he’d committed, he shouldn’t be. No honorable or worthy man should even think to ask forgiveness for such a heinous crime as forsaking one’s own wife for the lust of another. He hadn’t meant to follow the devious Octavia that night. But when he’d caught sight of the beautiful woman, wandering about when looking for the children, he’d assumed the woman lost herself. But the way she’d toyed with him. Luring him, flirting as she had … he’d become enchanted and lost track of time. Didn’t matter he’d been ensnared by a spell, he should have never followed in the first place.

A roar soared past his lips as hate, anger, and regret seethed from within at the very prospect of having to obey her command. After what he’d done to her, through no fault of his own, he knew what waited would be bad. He would be punished for acting out, though it had been her spell that caused it. Worse, he would not reap the physical end of her torture. No — instead she would force him to bear witness to her destruction of someone else.

Beth came to with a pounding headache and no real recollection of anything short of the vague memory of a crash and dragging herself out of the swamp.

What the hell had she missed, between sighing in relief on the muddy bank she’d crawled onto and now? Peering downward, she realized she lay on a cold, wooden floor clad only in her underthings and an over-sized T-shirt. Her hands and arms were bound above her head to something resembling a wrought iron towel hook. She would have screamed her anger, frustration, and pain, but damned hellfire, she’d been gagged. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She fought the panicked urge to begin gulping in air. Figured if she did while gagged, she’d hyperventilate — the last
thing she needed to add to her
oh, shit,
list right about now.

Right then the she-devil came into view, starting from the bottom of a shimmery black silken train to wind upwards to a shapely yet slim pair of hips. Beth craned her neck to look farther, her gaze skimming past tits to the face of pure evil.

If not for the stone-cold look in the dark abyss of her eyes, Beth would have proclaimed her beautiful, exquisite even. Kind of like one of those fine porcelain dolls. Pretty, but damn well creepy as shit too.

But those eyes. You couldn’t miss the evil lurking within them.

“So, you’ve awoken. Took you long enough. I would ask how you feel, but your dreadful appearance speaks for itself, and it’s not as if you’re able to answer me, anyway.” The bitch shrugged as if Beth were an afterthought and nothing else. Her voice sounded like a cross between a purr and a hiss, with far more emphasis on the
hiss.

“Damien, come to me,” she cooed in a singsong voice that seemed to get caught in the gentle swamp winds and carry on and on. The type of sound so irritating you wanted to claw your ears out.

Beth no longer had any doubts about what she should do first. Taking out the witch became her first objective, since finding the bitch was no longer an issue. That made explaining the truth of the past to Moss secondary — after she found him, of course.

“I can’t begin to understand his attraction to you. You look like a normal, boring little mortal female to me. And not even an attractive mortal. I would have thought him to have better taste than this.”

Beth narrowed her eyes and thrust her chin out in defiance. The bitch damn well wouldn’t get any begging from her, she fumed. Had she not been gagged, she would have spat back that she might not be as glamorous, but at least she was still young enough to count as warm blooded, unlike the bitch before her. Octavia might appear stunningly beautiful, but it was a false illusion no doubt thanks to some mirroring spell.
If not for her magic, I bet she’d pay a fortune in cosmetic surgery.
If the stories Grace told were true, the old bat ought to be mummified by now.