The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (30 page)

A crackling noise caught my attention. I peered deeper into the darkness, searching for the source. Six red embers in a far corner blinked, like eyes, near the ground. One-by-one, the embers went out.

“Please let that be rats,” I said.

In the center of the dining room, where we had drawn the summoning circle, I spotted movement. A gray filmy mist rose up from the floor. It swirled into a tall column, like a skinny cyclone, within which a human figure appeared––a beautiful young woman with dark hair and chiseled brows. Her eyes slid to me, her fair complexion unlined and untroubled.

Juliana Benbridge.

We might have gotten her out of Harvest Home, but she wasn’t done with me yet.

A smile touched her lips. She inspected me, long and deliberate, before her hands suddenly padlocked around her neck. I watched in horror as she floated towards the staircase that led to Shane’s apartment. As she entered the stairwell, she evaporated back into the darkness.

What did she want from me? She’d broken my heart by showing me Shane’s marriage certificate, she’d tried to snatch my baby, and was now toying with me again.

I jiggled my bag, wondering if I had the key.

“Maggie!”

I jumped. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Eve waving at me from across the street. She held my son at arm’s length, as if he were toxic.

Juliana Benbridge would have to wait. I took a reluctant glance back inside, then returned to Eve and Montana.

“Dirty diaper?” I asked.

“Worse. He tried to nurse.”

I glanced down at my sister’s Double Ds. “Is it any wonder?”

“These are for entertainment purposes only,” she said, tramping off to the car.

“And you have enough to entertain a battalion,” I teased, keeping pace.

We left downtown, with Eve declaring that she’d never have kids, while I silently ruminated over what I’d seen in Dip Stix: three sets of red eyes and the image of Juliana, clutching her neck as she disappeared upstairs.

Into Shane’s apartment... where Jillian had once lived... and my father probably visited.

“NEED HELP?” MICHAEL asked, stepping into the nursery.

I was wrestling with Montana, trying to wrangle him into his pajamas. He screeched when he saw his dad, twisting onto his side to get a better view. I backed away from the changing table, slapping my powdered hands to my thighs. “He’s all yours.”

Michael took over, quickly finishing up without a struggle.

I handed Michael a bottle. “You might as well feed him, too,” I conceded.

Michael hummed a lullaby, looking into the eyes of our son as he fed him. The sight was so sweet it nearly broke my heart. Montana had a real relationship with his father, and as much as that man annoyed me, I wouldn’t take it away from my son, for anything.

“You’re becoming a real boy now,” I teased Michael. “How’s it feel?”

“Well, Geppetto, not too bad, though I haven’t gotten rid of all the wood yet.” He lifted a mischievous eyebrow and a sideways grin.

“Oh, gross. You had to ruin it, didn’t you?”

“I don’t think you’re grossed out at all. In fact, I think the idea may have intrigued you.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“No light bulbs burst.”

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to stand under a bigger light bulb.”

Michael burped Montana, then laid him down in his crib.

“The wood I referred to was my thick skull, Maggie. Get your mind out of the gutter. Unless...” He grinned again, this time unmistakably naughty. A thick dark curl fell over his eye. My body stirred, although my heart and mind knew better.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be bad to find solace in a random body?” I mused. “Let another man take my mind off the one I really want.”

His smile faded, leaving a sterling intensity in his eyes. “Don’t toy with me, Maggie, because you know I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“I said random.”

“I can be random. In fact, I can be anything you want.” He tucked a blanket under Montana’s chin, then joined me at the door. “Just say the word.”

“It wouldn’t bother you?” I asked, leaning into the doorframe. “Knowing I was just using you?”

“I promise that one night with me will make you forget all about anyone else.”

I bit my lip. I hadn’t had sex––real sex in a real world––since I left Woodhaven. And I was lonely. Visiting Dip Stix had only intensified the feeling. More than anything, I just wanted to forget, if even for a night.

I looked into his eyes, considering.

“What do you say, Maggie.” He drew closer to me, close enough that I could smell his familiar aftershave. It’s amazing what smell does to the mind––how it reminds us of the past and employs our sense of nostalgia to work against us. “One night,” he pressed. “For old time’s sake?”

His mouth hovered near mine. His hand reached out to brush my hair. My body warmed, defying my heart.

I glanced towards our son, who was now sleeping soundly in his crib. I flipped off the light and moved into the hall. “Michael...”

“You don’t have anything better to do, do you?”

“I need to sleep,” I weakly protested.

“That never stopped you before.”

“Hmm, true. But I liked you before.”

“You liked the sex, too. Admit it.”

 
“Shhh...” The walls had ears in this house.

“Let’s go to your room where we can discuss this in private,” he suggested.

I paused, exhaling audibly. “We can’t, Michael,” I said simply, walking to my room.

“I think we can. It’s been awhile but I remember how.”

“You do?” I laughed, stopping at my bedroom door, trying to remember if I knew how. “It’s like a jigsaw puzzle, right?”

“Yep. The pieces just snap together.” He led me gently inside the room, locking the door behind us. My heart quickened and I didn’t protest. “Satisfaction guaranteed,” he smiled, unbuttoning his shirt. “Or your money back.”

“Can I get my money back on all the other times?” I joked.

It was late and I was exhausted. I knew I should turn him out, but I hadn’t been touched by a man in a very long time. Still, nothing good could come of this union.

“I’m going to bed,” I announced, backing away. I went into the closet and changed into the bulkiest, fuzziest, pajamas I owned. Pictures of adorable sleeping sheep covered me from neck to ankle. All I needed to complete my “not ever interested in sex” motif was an old-fashioned sleeping cap and some cold cream on my face.

“Sexy?” I asked, emerging from the closet and flopping onto my unmade bed.

“You can cover up all you want, Maggie Mae, but I know what you look like naked. You can’t mask those memories with your lambie-pajamies.”

I looked doubtfully down the length of my body. I might have been attractive once upon a time, but not anymore. I now had stretch marks, lopsided breasts, and a soft layer of padding around my hips. “I don’t look the same, Michael,” I admitted, feeling somehow ashamed.

He sat down beside me. “You’re beautiful, Maggie. Stop putting yourself down.”

“Well, men do keep running away from me,” I laughed bitterly. “It’s hard to rally after that.”

He put a finger to my lips. Then, without warning or permission, he lifted my chin. Suddenly, we were kissing.

“See?” Michael whispered between kisses. “It’s not bad at all.”

The terrible realization of my deed slapped me in the face. I was a wanton woman without morals––an unfaithful Jezebel.

But there was no one to save myself for, except maybe a ghost.

It was all too horrible, too funny, and too surreal to wrap my mind around. I was 28-years-old now. Would I really go the rest of my life without another man’s touch?

I needed escape.

My shoulders relaxed and soon I gave in to the need, into the pain, and to everything in between.

I moaned as our lips met again, and again. When my moans became groans, Michael laid me on my back, climbing on top of me, his kisses like fire, his hands lost in my tangled hair.

“Oh God, Maggie. I’ve waited for this for so long.”

His lips were warm and familiar and kind. His hands were both gentle and insistent as they traveled across my belly, pulling at my pajamas as I finished unbuttoning his shirt. Topless, we pressed our bodies together, staring into each other’s eyes.

“You feel good,” I admitted, my fingers traveling over his back and broad shoulders. He was more muscular than I remembered. Soon, I was gasping for breath as his hands roamed and inspected every inch of me. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the sensation, consumed by the physical pleasure and the reprieve from reality. Would it darken my soul to sleep with a man purely to vanquish my grief?

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he whispered reassuringly when he felt me tense up. “It can just be sex.”

“Yes,” I agreed, moaning as his fingers kneaded my bare thighs. I moaned again, parting my legs. A little.

My body burned as if I were on fire. He kissed me, his entire mouth covering mine as I writhed beneath him.

“I need you,” he said, biting my neck.

“I need you, too,” I whispered back, lost in nothing but his touch and the raw emotion. I felt like I was floating away.

His mouth traveled to my ear. “I love you, Maggie.”

I was in a dark place now, but there was sunshine ahead. A man with soft gray eyes smiled at me in my mind.

“I love you, too,” I said. “I’ll always love you, Shane.”

I DIDN’T SLEEP with Michael.

When I called out Shane’s name, Michael’s entire body stiffened on top of me. We laid there, pressed against one another, neither speaking, both hardly daring to breath. At last, he peeled himself from me and handed me my pajama top.

“You’re burning up again, Maggie,” he said, letting us both off the hook.

He left my room, returning with a glass of water, ordering me to drink. I complied like an obedient child. He watched from the rocking chair, his elbows pressed into his knees, his fingers pressed into his temples.

It wasn’t a lie when he said I was hot. Fever had overcome me and I took the pajamas off completely, no longer caring if he saw me. Really hot. We had missed my fever in our delirium.