Poor man.
“I’m sorry,” I interjected, seeing Rosa’s mouth opening for another long diatribe. “But I’m really not sure why I’m here, much less where I’m meeting Mr. Boucher. Would you please-“
“Of course! Oh, of course, how silly of me, honey! Please, please…”
She ushered me through the dark entryway, past the desk, and through high, wooden double-doors into what looked like an old parlor. It was lavishly decorated, but showing it’s age—purples, reds, and deep green from the pillows to the wallpaper gave the room a rich feel, complete with gilded sconces, and a large, carved wooden mantelpiece over the fireplace, now cold, but with wood waiting to be burned. The table lamps had scarves draped over them, giving the room a sensual feel.
“Now, where Quentin got off to, I can’t be sure-“
“I’ll take it from here.”
A sultry voice from the darkened doorway stopped Rosa in her tracks.
“Here you are, and here is your lovely guest, you devilish boy,” she said.
She reached up and planted a kiss on each cheek of the figure in the shadows, who bent down to embrace her.
“Thank you, Mama. Please tell the others to meet us here, yes?”
“Bien sur,” she said, squeezing his arm.
She bustled out of the room, and the tall stranger closed the door behind her. He turned and held out a glass of iced tea, grinning like a fox in a henhouse.
“Your drink, Cher,” he said.
In that moment, I found myself frozen, staring, wide-eyed up at the most drop-dead gorgeous man these eyes have ever seen. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen my share of hot guys—I’ll admit to watching Dirty Dancing and Top Gun more times than is probably healthy--but in the flesh, right here in front of my sweaty self, this man was in a league all his own.
Laughing brown eyes met mine, so dark and rich, they were almost black. A strong-looking hand ran back through a mop of dark hair, sweeping it away from a face that looked like sin—dimples and stubble framing a wolfish smile that made a shiver run up my spine. He looked confident, almost cocky, like he didn’t have one doubt in his mind that he could turn any woman inside out in the bedroom… but at the same time, his dark eyes looked like they held secrets. Like he’d known pain in this lifetime, and it had left its mark, just beneath the surface.
Quentin wore an odd combination of fitted slacks, and one of those tank-top undershirts, spotted with mud. He had a pair of work gloves tucked under one arm, and I couldn’t help but notice his strong, wide shoulders, and muscular chest, gleaming slightly with a sheen of sweat, as well as the taut abdominal muscles, barely visible beneath the dirty cotton. Apparently, this rogue was no stranger to hard work, even though he’d look more at home at a poker table or a bar, instead of hammering a nail.
“Ms. Gordon?”
I shook my head, willing myself to snap out of it.
Close your mouth before you drool on his floor, I thought.
I felt myself blushing as I reached forward and took the glass. Our fingers brushed briefly, his rough and callused against my soft, white skin. A thrill went through me at his touch.
I looked up, and saw his eyes widen, noting his breathing as it caught, then came fast and shallow.
Did he feel it, too?
For God’s sake, Trix, get a grip! For all you know, he’s mixed up in more trouble than a weasel in a henhouse.
Why did I have to act like such an awkward schoolgirl in front of this man? I’d always been an introvert, but now, I felt like I’d never interacted with the opposite sex before. When he laughed and smiled down at me, I felt my heart do a belly flop, and felt my cheeks heating beneath a furious blush.
“It’s Trixie. I mean, Trix. Well, I mean, my friends call me Trix... And if you want, you… I mean, there’s no need to be so formal, is all.”
I cleared my throat, and took a sip of tea, my inner voice swearing furiously. I looked down at my shoes, needing to get away from that penetrating stare. It’s not like I’d never talked to a man before, but something about this Mr. Boucher had my head spinning. Something about him was so intense, like he set the very air around him crackling with electricity.
He chuckled, and shook his head, grinning in a way that made my knees feel like Jell-O.
“Trix it is, then.”
“Mr. Boucher…”
“Quentin,” he said, gesturing toward a low settee.
I sat, awkwardly trying to straighten my skirt, so it wouldn’t cling to my hips. I only succeeded in hiking it up my knees a little, drawing a glance from Quentin as he sat across from me on an antique sofa, tossing his gloves on the coffee table between us. He bit his lip, his eyes traveling over my legs, then seemed to remember himself, and sat back, looking me square in the eye.
“Quentin,” I said, my body heating beneath his gaze. “Good. Okay.”
“Thank you for meeting me in my home, Cher,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”
I nodded, thinking about Grandma’s letter, tucked into my purse. People were dying in this town, and this man had something to do with it. I had to keep my cool, even if he did smell like warm spice, leather, and a tantalizing hint of sweat.
“I found a letter,” I said, my voice coming out rather small and weak, beneath that dark gaze.
I cleared my voice, and continued, stronger.
“While I was clearing out my grandmother’s things, I found a letter she was about to mail to me. It looked like it was unfinished, but it did mention that there have been… murders…”
“Oui. And what else?”
He leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, his face eager.
“She also told me that the old stories were true… That there was a curse… And that she needed me to come down to lend my help.”
“You are a Healer, no?”
I sat back, assessing him. How much did he and my grandmother discuss? And how much was it safe for me to say about my Gift?
“I help those I can.”
He laughed, and cocked his head, watching me, his hair falling back over his face. He brushed it aside.
“Your grandma said you do much more than that, Trix. She said you’re special. That you were able to see a cunja put on a man… That you could see dark magic, and maybe even do somethin’ about it. Is that true?”
His words brought back a memory of grandmother in her kitchen, grinding black pepper corns up with her mortar and pestle. She hummed as she worked, singing words as they came to her. I’d held her skirt and looked up at her as she added cinnamon, then ginger, and the dried lavender she kept hanging about her windowsill, cut from her garden.
I’d asked what kind of cookies she was making, confused by the smell of the spices mingling together with each turn of her wrist.
“I’m making something else, child,” she said, laughing. “I’m making up a gris gris.”
She shook the powder from the mortar onto a piece of wax paper, then carefully shook it into a small red flannel bag, the size of my palm, then asked me to pass her a small charm she’d set aside. It was in the shape of an eye, its blue gaze wide and startling. I dropped it into the bag, and she pulled the strings tight. When I asked what it was all for, she ran a gentle hand through my hair.
“Why, protection, little one. Gotta ward off evil when we can.”
I watched her hang it over the front door of her house, and imagined that eye staring inside the bag, wondering what things it saw, there in the dark…
“I don’t know about all that, Mr. Boucher.”
“Quentin.”
“Right. Quentin… I don’t know what all you and Grandma discussed before her passing, but I can assure you that I’m not all that special, nor am I some kind of Glenda-the-good-witch-wannabe. If you want someone to wave a magic wand and solve all your problems, then I think we’re wasting one another’s time…”
I put the tea down and grabbed my purse a little tighter, ready to walk out, if this didn’t f
eel right.
“Trix, please,” he said, leaning over and putting a hand on my knee.
The heat from his touch made me suppress a shiver, but I didn’t pull away.
“It’s not like that. Please, hear me out?”
His thumb caressed my knee, sending sparks through my thigh straight to my most intimate place. I looked into his eyes, and saw him staring back earnestly—not a man flirting, but a man on the verge of desperation. A man, who, despite his swagger, was deeply, deeply afraid. He needed me.
I nodded, and let up my grip on my bag a little.
“You see, your grandmother did some research for me. On something that’s affected my family for two generations, and is growing more powerful by the day. That’s why I came to her in the first place, after… After the first one died.”
He squeezed my knee, his eyes urging me to understand, to listen without mocking or bias.
“We are cursed, Trix. My brothers and I. We are cursed, and we need someone to help us lift this black mark before the next full moon. We need a Healer. I hear from your grandmother that you may be one such woman.”
He pulled his hand back, and I felt its absence like a cold spot.
“Is that true, Trix, or have I, as you say, wasted your time?”
I chewed my lip, eying him as he sat across from me. He didn’t sweat, fidget, or avoid my eyes. He gazed at me, blinking and waiting, as I assessed him.
Well, whatever this Quentin Boucher was, he was no liar. At least, not about this.
“Tell me more about this curse.”
***
I stared at the yellowed pages in front of me, my mouth hanging open like a fool. The tome on the reading stand must have been over two hundred years old, but it was lovingly preserved, under glass, the red-leather journal opened to a page covered in crude illustrations as well as the remarkable words now roaring through my mind like a runaway train.
“Werewolves?”
“We say ‘Rougarou,’ but Oui. It’s the truth.”
A crude charcoal drawing leered at me—a man shrieking, his face a hideous mixture between man and beast, flesh rending as he went through a terrible shift. My stomach churned, and I looked away, my mind reeling.
“And you believe all of you have this… this curse?”
“I do not believe, Cher. I know. My brothers and I have lived with this evil for longer than you can imagine.”
I ran a shaking hand through my hair, glancing around the sprawling old library he’d led me to. Dark bookshelves covered every wall, and old wooden ladder on a track gathering dust next to the podium where the journal was displayed.
“Are you saying you’re… you’re responsible for the, um… the murders?”
My throat suddenly felt very dry, and the shadows even longer, here alone in this rambling old house. We must have taken three turns and two sets of stairs to get to this room, and now I wasn’t so sure I could find my way out if I needed to leave in a hurry.
“It’s… complicated.”
I could feel Quentin’s body heat from where he stood, just beside me, watching me as I looked down at the journal pages. I didn’t want to look him in the eye, didn’t want to see a lie there when he answered me. Instead, I reached back, and touched him, sliding my small hand into his. His warmth enveloped me, and he let out a low sound, almost like a growl, at my sudden touch.
I knew he must think I was crazy, reaching for him after such a statement, and a virtual stranger, too, but touching people has always been the way I access my Sensitivity, and boy, did I need it now.
I had to get inside that head of his. If I’d made a mistake coming here, seeing into that handsome head of his may be my only chance to survive. Know your enemy, and all that.
I took a deep breath, and shifted my attention, moving my focus out of my own head, down my body, through my arm, and up into his body through our connected palms. When I reached his mind, the familiar tingling began, filling me, as I surrendered to it, sinking into him, becoming him. There was a rushing of noise and light, and then, I was in.
I was inside Quentin Boucher’s mind.
What on earth this girl be thinkin’, putting that sweet hand in mine after I all but told her about dem killings?
Mebbe she thinks I’m crazier than a sprayed roach, and she tryin’ to distract me? Hell, with a body like she’s got, it don’ take much, and that’s for true.
If I’d been in my body, I know I would have blushed again—felt the blood rising to my cheeks—but thank the Lord, I wasn’t. You’d think I was a nun for all the blushing I’d done since I met this damn man!
Yeah, she is sweet as pie… But oh, Lord, what will she think, when the truth comes out? But little girl has to know... She gotta know why she’s here. You have to tell her, Q, an’ sooner rather than later!
Gotta tell her about the envie, that hits when the moon is getting’ swole up, and we’re about to change. Gotta make her understand it wasn’t always like that, that we weren’t always… killin’. Lord, I’ll hate to see the look in those big, blue eyes when she sees me for what I am, but there ain’t no other way, and no sense in stallin.’
What I wouldn’t give to keep those beautiful eyes free of tears, and away from the evils of dis place. Girl like that doesn’t come around here often. Hell, I ain’t never seen one so damn fine, so well built, with a face like an angel, and a body made for sin…
My mind was on a roller coaster, plunging into the depths of his fear and anxiety, then rocketing upward on waves of lust so intense, they left me reeling. I could only stay for a moment more, or he’d get suspicious, so I rode it all, soaking it up while I could, eavesdropping like a cat burglar on a window ledge.
But if you don’t tell her about Nancy’s idea for curin’ soon, you’ll lose her. She’ll run, thinkin’ you lied to her… set her up. Tough though it may be, you have to tell her about the mating, and see how she reacts. If she’s the one, it may shock her, but it won’t drive her away.
I just pray she stays. Lord, we need her. Only an angel like that can save a devil like me.
I pulled back, the tingling growing fuller, then fading away as I passed again through the noise and light, back through the length of his arm and mind, and up again into my head, occupying my own mind once more.
What in Sam Hill was that all about? Did he say ‘mating?’
I took my hand back, and looked up at the man who’s mind I’d just invaded, and smiled sweetly, trying to hide my thoughts. What I’d heard left me flabbergasted.
Was he referring to me with all that mating talk? Because if he was, he sure had another thing coming… And to think that my own grandmother might have something to do with it! It was just too much.
I needed to cool off. I needed to hear more. I needed to get the hell away from this man who wanted me, and thought I had the face of an angel…
“I know this is a lot to take in,” Quentin said, startling me. “But there’s still more to show you, if you’re going to help us.”
“If,” I said, looking up at him.
His deep, brown eyes met mine, then glanced down at my hand. He took it once more, and I sucked in a breath, his touch still electric, sparks coursing through me as his skin met mine. He looked me over in a way I can only describe as hungry. His eyes lingered on my breasts, taking in the way the linen dress stuck to my body, the couple of buttons I undid in the heat giving him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. His thumb caressed my palm, and I moaned softly, then pressed my lips together, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“Trixie,” he said. “If you keep an open mind, there is so much we can learn from one another. Do for one another.”
My eyes widened at that, but I didn’t pull away. I was afraid, yes, but it also felt so damn good, being touched by him, that I felt good sense slipping away. His scent filled my nostrils, and I breathed deeply, a warmth spreading between my legs as our eyes met once more.
“Stay for dinner, tonight, Trix. Meet my brothers, and l
et us tell you our story. If you want, you can verify my claim in whatever way you think is right. Your grandma did, but I am thinkin’ you want to do this your way, no?”
I grinned, looking down at my hand in his. He seemed so open, so eager to put me at ease. Even in his own mind, he tried to talk himself into doing the right thing (whatever that was), awkward as it may be for him. Despite the strangeness of the circumstances and this creepy place, I trusted him. I couldn’t help myself.
Evil people didn’t give a shit about the truth. They only cared about their own comfort, and lying to get what they wanted. At least, that has been my experience, and if I couldn’t trust my gut, then my Gift was worth less than tits on a boar.
“Alright,” I said.
Quentin smiled, his dimples making my stomach do a little flip. Lord, but this man was trouble with a Capitol T.
He led me out of the library, into the dark labyrinth of the house. This time, I tried to count my steps and mind the turns. I may trust him, but I’m no fool.
In cases of the supernatural, you had a better chance of staying alive if you were always on your guard.
***
Fireflies twinkled like stars just outside the screened porch where we sat, the long wooden table set with candles, flickering in the slow night breeze.
I nursed a longneck beer, enjoying the cool of the condensation beneath my fingertips, as Quentin spoke in hushed voices with Rosa in the kitchen. Candide banged through the screen door carrying a platter of ribs, and the other two soon followed, with salad, beans and cornbread. After the table was set, Rosa squeezed my hand and said a cheery “Bon nuit,” before she and Candide headed out into the darkness beyond the porch.
“Aren’t they joining us?”
“No, they live just up the road a ways. Like to give us boys our privacy.”
“But didn’t they do the cooking?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Well, yes, but that’s what they do. They are caretakers, Cher.”
“I thought you referred to Rosa as your Mama? Did I hear you wrong?”
Fed to the Wolves, Part 1: Bad Moon Rising: A Southern Werewolf/Shifter Romance (Cattail Creek) Page 2
