Kallie gave McKenna a grudging nod. One that the nomad didn’t return. “Just don’t screw this up,” she growled instead.
And I did say maybe.
Squaring back her shoulders, Kallie glanced at Angélique. “I’m ready.”
“Ça c’est bon,” the traiteur said, going over to the cabane’s door and pushing it open. The soft and wavering light of many candles spilled onto the porch.
“We’ll be out here, keeping you safe, child,” Divinity promised.
“Merci bien.” Kallie stepped over the threshold, Angélique and Merlin right behind her.
FORTY
The Sacred Fire
Layne was waiting for her inside the night-sky-painted cabane. Clad only in his blue boxers, he stood beside a low bed that looked like little more than a sheet-covered mattress carried in from somewhere else and placed in the middle of the floor.
The sight of him in the flickering shadows of the candle lit room—long and lean and muscle-cut, his unknotted dreads coiling to his waist—flooded Kallie with a heat that she saw reflected in his green eyes. Her pulse quickened.
Angélique and Merlin led her across the cypress plank floor to the bed. Once Kallie was standing in front of Layne, he clasped both of her hands within his own, his thumbs rubbing across her knuckles, a soothing motion for them both, she suspected.
“Hey, sunshine,” he greeted.
“Hey back, and here I am without a bucket of water,” she teased in an effort to calm her nerves. “Y’know, in my dream, you were wearing a kilt.”
“A kilt, huh? In my dream, you were wearing a coin bra and a hip scarf. Not that I’m complaining.”
Kallie felt a smile curve her lips. Felt her nervousness fade. “Me either.”
Merlin leaned over the bed and pulled back its rose-and lavender-scented sheets while chanting, “Upon this bed, you shall burn, your passion a pyre of all-consuming light, lip to lip, and hip to hip. Her breath shall be his breath; his desire shall be her desire; her pleasure shall be his pleasure. Entwined together, a single pulsing heart, he and she shall create the sacred.”
“By the forest Mother, let it be,” Angélique murmured. Separating Layne and Kallie’s hands, she led them to the consecrated bed and sat them down upon it.
“We’re going to go now and leave you to it,” Angélique said. “We’ll be back each hour to check on you to see if you need anything.”
Layne nodded as though it was the most natural thing in the world to have people wandering in and out during sex. And, for all Kallie knew, in the nomad world it was.
“Remember,” Angélique said as she and her husband headed for the door. “Each chakra in turn.” The door closed with a solid thunk behind the traiteur and her shuvano.
Hour One
From outside, Kallie heard the rhythmic throb of drums begin, an earthy beat tapped out with fingertips and palms and the hard heels of hands.
“Kallie.” Low and husky and compelling.
She looked into Layne’s eyes—potion-dilated pupils surrounded by a pine-green corona—and her nervousness faded as that familiar electric shock of connection once more arced like mad-scientist lightning down her spine, between her legs.
Kallie cupped Layne’s face, bringing it down to her and lacing her arms around his neck. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, his lips warm and tender and passionate upon hers, his hands on her hips. She tasted the aphrodisiac on his tongue—strawberry wine and oranges—and deepened the kiss with a soft and hungry moan.
Merlin’s potion unfurled within her, igniting like napalm in her veins, tracing along her nerves, pounding in time with the drums thumping beyond the cabane’s walls.
Kallie burned, a single flame stretching up into the moon-painted night.
With one hand on her hip, the fingers of the other entangled in her hair, Layne lifted Kallie up and onto his lap. She felt him grow hard and taut underneath her. Heat pulsed in her belly, pooled between her legs. His mouth devoured hers in a searing and breath-stealing kiss.
She wanted more of him. All of him. Now.
Opening her eyes, Kallie curled Layne’s dreads around her fingers. Then she twisted off his lap, pulling him down with her, still kissing, and on top of her. She pushed at his boxers, kneaded his firm ass, his erection like heated steel against her belly.
Layne’s hot, rough hands were everywhere—unbelting her robe, trailing up the inside of her thigh, cupping her breast. She felt the sensuous kiss of air against her tingling skin as he opened her robe.
Then his mouth left hers, sliding hot, wet kisses down along her throat, before closing around her stiffened nipple and sucking. Kallie gasped, arched her back. He kissed a path from her breast to her belly, his tongue darting into her belly button, his dreads snaking across her soft skin. She shivered as molten heat flared in points just south of his exploring mouth.
Ah, but Layne’s fingers—his fingers whispered up the insides of her thighs, then in between. Kallie moaned—a moan he echoed—as he slipped first one, then two fingers inside of her, stroking carefully, rhythmically, as his mouth continued its journey south.
Layne paused, then carefully scooted Kallie down to the edge of the bed. She watched as he slid off the bed to kneel between her legs, his dreads slithering like silk across her thighs, his eyes darkening as he drank in the sight of her.
Sliding his free hand underneath her ass, he lifted her to his mouth. At the first hot, swirling touch of his tongue, Kallie came in a sudden intense rush, arching herself against his mouth, demanding more-more-more as pleasure throbbed through her in tight circles, intensifying her arousal instead of quenching it.
Layne answered her demand, her scorching need, with his talented tongue and clever fingers, and Kallie cried out as another orgasm rocked her, and felt something open deep within her, unfolding like the petals of a flower.
Fire braided around the base of her spine in molten coils.
Angélique’s instructions returned: Each chakra needs to be opened in turn, a sevenfold path to the sacred fire.
“Goddamn,” Kallie panted. “There’s one. Chakra, I mean.”
Layne kissed the insides of Kallie’s thighs, and she shivered, still aching with renewed—no, make that still burning—need as he kissed his way back up her body, pausing to suckle first one nipple, then the other, before brushing his lips against hers.
“Good,” he whispered.
She felt Layne’s erection rock-hard against her. Liquid heat rippled through her belly. Cupping his face, Kallie kissed him thoroughly, tasting herself on his tongue. She reached down with one hand and pushed impatiently at the waistband of his boxers.
“Off,” she murmured against his lips, snapping the elastic.
Layne rolled onto his back, lifted his hips, then shoved off his boxers. Tossed them to the floor. Kallie’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of him—gorgeous and pagan, all wild masculinity—and the knotwork dragon inked into his very hard length, its tail curling up toward his flat abs.
What she’d glimpsed beneath the material of his wet boxers during the contest hadn’t been an illusion or a lie. She reached for him, sliding the palm of her hand along his tattooed length, reveling in the feel of him—warm smooth velvet over steel—pleasure coiling into her belly at the sound of his indrawn breath.
Leaving her robe on the bed like a fallen red rose, Kallie straddled Layne on her hands and knees, playing adventurer, discovering the new world of his lean-muscled body, tracing the contours of his tattoos with fingers and lips and tongue—tasting male musk and cinnamon and cloves on his skin—and claiming her territory.
Sensation and the slow-building throb of pleasure blurred Kallie’s thoughts, made it difficult to focus beyond the feel of Layne’s skin, his taste, the musky scent of his manhood, the sound of his ragged breathing and low moans.
His fingers entwined in her long, thick hair and his breath caught in his throat as he released, muscles cording. “Holy shit,” h
e gasped. “Does it feel like fire curling around your spine?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Kallie murmured against his belly. She kissed her way to his nipples, tracing the concentric circles inked around both hardened nubs with her tongue. Then it was her turn to gasp as his fingers found her, exploring once more, and claiming the role of bold adventurer.
Hour Two
As Kallie played with Layne, he played back, cupping her breasts with his road-callused hands, sucking her nipples, his erection straining against her—demanding she give herself.
A foil package crinkled beneath Kallie’s knee, reminding her of the treasure trove tucked into the pocket of her robe. She tore the package open with her teeth. Carefully unrolled the condom over Layne’s breathtaking length.
Kallie eased herself onto Layne, bit by bit, his hands on her hips. She was so aroused, she felt only a little pain, but in a good way, a pain that quickly faded. Layne groaned low in his throat. As she rocked down, he thrust up to meet her, and they both cried out in pleasure.
Kallie looked into Layne’s eyes as he drove into her and the electric shock of connection crackled between them once more. Saw his eyes widen and knew he felt it too. Pleasure fluttered in heated waves through her belly and something wheeled open within her again—a chakra blossom—and another strand of fire braided itself around the base of her spine.
Layne’s arms wrapped around Kallie and he rolled her onto her back with him still buried deep inside of her. Panting, she laced her legs around his waist and met him thrust for thrust. Another sudden and intense orgasm rippled through her in powerful waves. And it was only the beginning.
Hour Four
Something besides the wind plucked at Belladonna’s hair. Something dark and hungry and hoping to break her concentration as she stood in front of the cabane, one point of the protective human pentagram’s five. But she ignored it and kept her eyes closed while she chanted prayers of protection to Saint Joseph, Saint Michael, and Papa Legba.
Belladonna didn’t need to see the shadows and shades to know they were there. She felt them. Smelled them—mildew and rot and emptiness—as they tested each human ward guarding the pair joined together inside the cabane, irresistibly drawn like flesh-hungry piranhas to the life force Kallie and Layne were busy generating.
If the errant spirits broke through the ring of light that she and the other hoodoos had encircled the cabane with, nothing but shells would remain of Kallie and Layne.
“Gracious Saint Joseph, protect me and my friends and all present from evil,” Belladonna prayed in a near-whisper. She continued to visualize channeling pure, white light down through the top of her head and into her veins, flooding her body with a radiance that she linked with that of the other two-legged wards.
“Jesus Christ! Something just touched my ass!”
Belladonna felt the circle of light waver. She opened her eyes and slanted a glance at the tall, skinny root doctor from Houma who stood at the cabane’s left front corner—with her on the right as the pentagram’s bottom two points.
“Lucky you,” she drawled. “Now keep focused, keep praying.”
Nodding, jaw tight, the root doctor closed his eyes and resumed his quiet prayers. Above them both, branches creaked and groaned as wind tore through the trees in another savage gust. Rattled at doors and shutters like an angry and locked-out husband.
Belladonna shivered and shut her eyes again. Hurry, Kallie, she prayed.
Hour Six
Caught in layne’s embrace, Kallie became aware that someone else moved around them, speaking in soft and soothing tones. A damp cloth cooled her bliss-fevered forehead. Someone pressed a cup against her lips and she parted them. Water poured down her parched throat, followed by more strawberry-wine-flavored potion. Someone else kneaded fragrant oils into her weary muscles.
Then she and Layne were alone, joined lip to lip and hip to hip, their sweat-slick bodies sliding together once more.
Hour eight
Drums pounded and pulsed, the bayou’s dark, primal heart. Time spun away.
Kallie clung to Layne in exhaustion, her arms laced around his neck, as he sat in the room’s only chair with her astride him, the thrust of his hips an urgent and steady beat. He kissed her, one hand cupped against her face.
Layne’s final chakra had irised open some time ago in a breath-stealing explosion of ecstasy, but Kallie’s remained stubbornly closed. And she was terrified they wouldn’t be able to coax it open in time.
She’d lost count of the number of orgasms that had swept her body—each more intense than the last. But even though her body practically vibrated with electric pleasure, quivering at Layne’s every touch, the taste of his lips, the feel of him inside her, her weary mind kept slipping into a near dream state—no, make that a near nightmare state—every time she was about to scale that last peak.
Like now. Pleasure looped around her, drew tight, then unraveled as her treacherous and dreaming-while-awake mind splashed an ugly image across the darkness behind her eyes.
Mama pulls the gun’s trigger and the side of Papa’s head explodes in a spray of blood and bone. He slumps down in his chair, a bottle of Abita still in his hand, his purple eyes wide and blank.
Kallie stands in her bedroom doorway, frozen. Mama turns and faces her, aims the gun carefully between her shaking hands. Her hands shake, but her face is still, resigned.
“I can’t,” Kallie mumbled in frustration against Layne’s lips.
Layne’s rhythm slowed, but he didn’t stop, just eased into a gentle rocking motion. He brushed Kallie’s hair back from her face. “What’s wrong, Kall? You need me to do something different?”
She shook her head. “It just keeps slipping away from me. Why won’t it open, goddammit? I’m pretty sure we’re almost out of time …”
“You’re exhausted, we both are, and you’re feeling the pressure. We’re almost there, sunshine. Don’t give up on me now.”
“I ain’t giving up, goddammit. I’m just”—Kallie’s breath caught as his hands cupped her ass and lifted her up to the tip of his erection, then dropped her down again—“trying to figure out why all of a sudden I can’t …”
“Can’t what?” Layne murmured, easing her up with agonizing slowness. He caught her stiff and swollen nipple with his lips and sucked it into his mouth.
“God,” Kallie whispered. She was caught between his wet mouth and his hard, gliding length—a willing prisoner—as he lifted her up, then down, then up again.
Liquid heat pooled in her belly, ignited like napalm. She moaned.
But darkness seeped in at the edges of Kallie’s vision like floodwater under a door, and another memory unscrolled through her mind.
Gage lies on his belly in her bed, his face turned to the side. Blood masks his fine features, glitters in his black curls. All color has drained from his espresso-brown skin. His empty, unblinking eyes tell her that he is dead.
Kallie forced the image away, but it was too late—the memory demolished her slow-building pleasure like a wrecking ball. She stiffened in Layne’s embrace. Buried her face against his shoulder. Desperation burned through her. “Dammit.”
“You need to tell me what’s going on, Kallie,” Layne said quietly.
“Memories,” she replied, throat tight. “Of my father, of Gage … it’s like I’m dreaming with my eyes open. I can’t seem to control it.”
“Too tired or too haunted,” Layne said. His fingers traced heated trails along her back, her hips. Kallie shivered. “I know about haunted. And I know what to do. Hold on, beautiful. When I stand up, wrap those legs around me.”
Layne rose from the chair, still inside of her, and lowered Kallie to the floor in one fluid move. He moved up along her body, his dreads snaking along over her belly, her breasts, teasing her nipples, then he flipped her legs over his shoulders and drove in deep. Kallie arched her back and gasped.
“The best way to forget about being haunted”—Layne’s hands found hers and pinned the
m together above her head—“is to fuck.”
Heated flutters rippled through her belly. “But that’s what we’ve been doing for hours.”
“No it ain’t. We’ve been performing a ritual, exploring, playing. I’m talking about down-and-dirty, no-time-for-thought, primal fucking.”
And before Kallie could say another word, Layne pounded into her with a savage and demanding urgency that blanked her mind of thought, erased all words. Her wrists bound together in his steel grip, she was once again his willing prisoner. Heat shimmered through her belly. She arched up to meet his thrusts, and pleasure shuddered through her in a molten wave.
Moaning, Kallie looked into Layne’s eyes as the orgasm racked her body and suddenly saw a galaxy of tender and passionate possibilities in the unguarded depths of his green eyes.
Traveling the road with him and his clan, teaching hoodoo to their son …
Staying in Bayou Cyprés Noir, a cottage of their own, his Harley in the yard …
Him traveling, her staying, and the hot, sweaty acrobatic nights whenever he returned …
Layne drove into her, hard and fast, whispering her name as he came, pulsing inside of her. And triggered by his, another orgasm spiraled through her. Kallie gasped, and the last reluctant chakra pinwheeled open inside of her, clearing the way for the energy she and Layne had created with each kiss, each touch, every joining.
The snake of feminine fire looped at the base of Kallie’s spine uncoiled and shot up in a blazing path of energy through her opened chakras to merge with the molten column of Layne’s rising masculine fire.
Something writhed and twisted at Kallie’s core, trying to escape, sank fangs into her heart. She cried out in pain. She felt something dark and oily swirling along her spine, only to disintegrate in the white-hot river of energy rushing through her.
Incandescent light starred out from between her and Layne, spiking into them both with a heated radiance, enveloping them.
Sacred fire swallowed the cabane.
Outside, thunder rumbled, drowning out the drums, and a voice boomed, “Time be up, Kallie Rivière.”
Black Heart Loa Page 32
