by Jodi Redford
With that bittersweet declaration suspended between them, she broke, the orgasm both delicious and agonizing because he was offering her everything she’d ever wanted.
And everything she could never have.
Chapter Eighteen
Logan frowned at the lone hovering cloud as the Harley cruised past the congested beach traffic heading the opposite direction. Today was too damn perfect, too ripe with possibilities, to allow even a single cloud to mar the horizon. Too bad Mother Nature hadn’t gotten the memo about such things.
No matter. He wasn’t about to let it put a damper on his mood. Granted, he hadn’t been thrilled sleeping by his lonesome last night. But he’d understood the necessity. He’d laid his cards out on the table for Clarissa when he’d told her he wanted to marry her and begin a family. He’d taken one look at the panic on her face after they’d made love and known she’d needed breathing room to let it all sink in. Hence the reason he hadn’t balked when she’d declined going home with him yesterday. But now he needed to ensure she hadn’t freaked and skipped town. Which was why he’d hopped out of bed the minute the sun crested in the eastern sky.
He knew he’d rushed it yesterday, but there’d been no preventing it. There was no way in hell he could have gone another day without making his intentions crystal clear. She was his world. From this day forward, his status as her familiar and convenient lover was being upped to that of lifetime mate—something that’d been in the making for seven years.
Destiny was about to come full circle.
Gunning it to full throttle, he roared onto the highway. Fifteen minutes later, he coasted into the coven house’s driveway and cut the engine. He yanked off the helmet and was bombarded by the buzzing drone of cicadas. Other than the incessant lullaby of the insects, it seemed eerily quiet compared to yesterday’s festive hoopla. Relief washed over him when he peeked in the garage and spotted the Miata. Unless Clarissa had decided to hitch it, she hadn’t hightailed it out of Dodge. That was a good sign, at least.
He jogged up the porch steps and made his way into the house. Just as he was about to take the stairs to Clarissa’s bedroom, he noticed that her office door was closed. Pretty much the only time she shut it was when she was in there, hiding. Mostly from him. Rerouting his path, he ventured down the hall and rapped on the door.
Her muffled “Come in” leaked through the solid oak, and he twisted the doorknob, stepping inside.
He met her unwavering gaze, his heart plummeting a notch as he took in her cool aloofness. He wasn’t entirely surprised by her reception, but it didn’t ease the sting of his disappointment. “You’ve pulled up the shields.”
She frowned. “Pardon?”
“You can stop pretendin’ you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. This is you and me, Rissa. We’re done playin’ these games.”
He stalked forward and planted his hands on her desk, looming over her. As expected, she didn’t much like being placed in a position of perceived weakness. After scooping Izzy from her lap and lowering the puppy to the floor, she lurched to her feet. “What the hell were you thinking, bringing up babies?”
“I also brought up us gettin’ married. Get used to it. I’m gonna be talkin’ about those two subjects a lot. So many damn times you’re gonna get sick of it and eventually say yes just to shut me up. Then I can be the happiest fuckin’ bastard on the planet.”
Her eyes welled up and her lips trembled. “Please don’t do this to me.”
“I have to, baby. If I let you be, you’re gonna just keep retreatin’ into that shell. There’s no room in there for me, and I damn well can’t live without you.”
“You have to.” She shoved shaking fingers through her tangled hair. “I’m leaving. And you’re right—there’s no room for you where I’m going.”
He stared at her, confused. When her words finally sank in, he felt like he’d been sucker punched. “What the hell do you mean you’re leaving? For how long?”
“Forever.”
He couldn’t even comprehend the word. Not when it didn’t include him. Them. “You’re the goddamn mistress of this coven—”
“Not anymore. I resigned the position last night. Fiona is the new mistress as of this morning,” she explained calmly, as if she weren’t babbling a stream of nonsense that made the blood pound in his eardrums. “She’s going to need a lot of help adjusting to the newness of her responsibilities. I trust you’ll step up to the plate in the interim.”
“I’m not her familiar. I’m yours.”
“Not anymore. I’m absolving you from our contract.”
The thunderous whoosh of fury and fear exploding in his head was almost deafening. “Like hell you are.”
Her lips formed the sacred words that would break the contract and sever the threads of their witch-familiar link. An anguished roar ripped from his throat, but it was too late. Already he felt the fibers of their connection unraveling. His inner wolf howled, clawing like a desperate, wounded beast, prodding him into action. He leapt around the edge of the desk, intent on getting her to see reason. To not give up on them. He slammed into an invisible wall and stumbled back, falling against another. Clarissa scooted sideways, and he made to follow, only to discover he was boxed in on that side too.
He glared at her. “You can’t whammy me anymore, so you resort to the next best thing? Turnin’ me into a fuckin’ mime in a glass box, only with sound?” Muffled, as it were.
“I didn’t want it to come to this.”
Tears were spilling down her cheeks. Even in his infuriated state, the sight of them still twisted his insides. “Then let me out of here, baby. We’ll get through this. Whatever it takes.”
She inched forward, her eyes so watery they could have passed for miniature green lakes. “My whole life I’ve known what it’s like to want something I can never have. I never wanted to make anyone else feel this way. You deserve to have those babies. Sweet goddess, I wish I could be the one to give you them. But I can’t.” Her fingers aligned with his, the invisible barrier keeping them from truly touching. It was an ironic reflection of their entire existence together. “Please, don’t waste the rest of your life like I’ve done. You’re wonderful and loving and any woman w-would be lucky to have you.”
“There is no other woman for me, Rissa.” He pressed against the shield, cursing it to hell.
“Yes, there is.” Her hands slid away and she backed up.
“This coven won’t survive without you. I won’t survive without you.” He yelled the words, despite knowing they fell on deaf ears. Frustration cramping his chest, he watched as she turned and ran from the office.
Clarissa didn’t know how long it would take her coven sisters to discover Logan or to break the spell for the holding box. Guessing her time was limited at best, she floored the gas pedal until she hit the city limits. She’d given most of her goodbyes, the most painful being the one she’d just fled from. Now she faced the last difficult one.
The Lafayette nursing home came into view and she slowed, waiting for the traffic to clear so she could swing a left into the service drive. Three minutes later, she parked the car and made her way to the entrance. No one was manning the registration counter, so she walked down the corridor to her dad’s room. Rather than snoozing in his bed, he was sitting in the chair in front of the window, staring at the bank of azaleas on the other side. There was something about the stoop of his shoulders and the haggard lines chiseled extra deep in his face today that disturbed her. When he glanced her way, she finally determined what it was.
His eyes weren’t vacant. In fact, she couldn’t recall ever seeing them look so clear. The misery pooled in their depths pinched her heart.
“I remember.”
Oh, sweet goddess. No.
His hands shook like they were palsied, and she waited for him to lash out at her for what she’d done, for what she’d driven him to.
“Rissy…” His voice broke and a cracked sob escaped him. “The hell I’v
e sentenced you to. Jesus, it should be me.”
She hurtled forward and dropped to her knees, hugging his frail, trembling frame to her. “Don’t ever say that.”
“It’s true. My stupidity and selfishness brought that monster here. I called it. Not you. All because I wanted to remember her differently. Me differently. Something better than what we really were.”
She blinked at him, slowly digesting his anguished admission. Like pictures being torn from a photo album, flashes of memories came spinning at her. The countless times her father had rambled on and on about the days before her mother left, not once mentioning their twisted past. She’d always just accepted it as a part of his Alzheimer’s. But now…
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she squeezed his hands. “Dad, are you saying that you asked Seven to make you forget?”
He nodded, and she wanted to weep at the pain and wretchedness that would lead him to barter such an existence in return for his soul.
“It was wrong of me, Rissy. I see that now. But I thought that if I could convince myself I hadn’t been such a horrible person and pathetic excuse for a father, I wouldn’t die hating myself.”
His words tightened the knot in her stomach, and she dropped her head to his chest, her tears soaking his terry robe. A moment later, she felt his fingers in her hair, combing through the strands. “I used to do this for you.” His voice shook with wonder, as if suddenly remembering.
“Yeah, you did.”
“I’ve missed it. I’ve missed a lot of things.”
She lifted her head and gave him a tremulous smile. “Me too.” Hugging him to her again, she rocked them gently. Soon enough, he dozed off, apparently exhausted from the emotional revelations heaped on him after all these years. Kissing his wrinkled forehead, she straightened and headed toward the door, knowing that if she stopped to look back, she’d break down again.
From this moment on, there would be no more looking back.
She returned to her car. This time she didn’t need to rely on the GPS. Funny how the knowledge that your life was crumbling before your eyes made everything so much more crystal clear—even the damn directions lurking in her mind. Exiting the parking lot, she drove toward Seventy-seven West Seventh Street.
And her inevitable future.
Logan figured he hadn’t spent much more than an hour banging on the damn spell box, but his raw throat from his endless shouts and curses made it feel like it’d been an eternity. In the end though, it was Izzy that inadvertently rescued his sorry hide. The puppy’s incessant scratching and whimpering at the office door must have finally attracted some attention, because the dog suddenly stopped its fussing and scooted back as the door swung open. Ms. Peach waddled inside and stooped, reaching for Izzy.
“Would you help me out of this fuckin’ thing?”
Ms. Peach yelped, jerking her hand back. She stared at Izzy. “Holy shit. You can talk.” Her eyebrows knitted together. “But why do you sound just like Logan?”
“Because it is me, damn it. Over here. By the desk.”
Her focus swerved to him and her eyes widened. “Sweet ghost of Elvis. Did an ET put you in there?”
“No. Clarissa.”
She looked sort of disappointed with his answer. Scratching her chin, she approached the box. “Hm, I don’t think I’ve got enough spell-breaker juice in me for this job. Why’d she shut you in there anyway?” An interested sparkle lit her eyes. “Is this some kind of kinky sex game between you two?”
Apparently Constance had let the cat out of the bag. “No. I suspect it was ’cause she didn’t want me runnin’ after her,” he said dryly.
“Oh. Told you she was leavin’, did she?”
“Yeah. But you can count on one thing. Soon as I’m outta this damn thing, I’m trackin’ her down and cartin’ her stubborn ass back here.”
Ms. Peach gave a decisive nod. “Sounds like a good plan to me. You wait here while I go gather the troops.” She blinked. “Guess it’s not like you can exactly go anywhere.”
“The troops,” he reminded to get her mind back on track.
“Oh right.” Her head bobbed again, and she scurried from the room. A few minutes later, she returned with Fiona and Constance. After running through his spiel again about what’d led to his current predicament, the three witches set about dismantling the box.
“Damn, is Clarissa’s magic made of Teflon or something?” Fiona wiped the sweat from her brow. “I’ve never seen wards this tough to break through.”
Constance plopped her hands on her hips and gave the box another inspection. “Maybe rather than us working on separate sections, we should concentrate on just cracking one of the side walls.” She glanced at Logan and gnawed her bottom lip. “You’re not wearing a protective cup by any chance, are you?”
He stared at her. “No.”
“Guess we’ll just have to be extra careful with our aim.”
“Uh…”
Constance’s lips twitched into a grin. “Relax. I’m only messing with you. Your groin is perfectly safe. Mostly.”
With that disturbing disclaimer hanging in the air, the trio of witches combined all their whammy power, sending a barrage of green, red and orange thunderbolts pummeling into the shield. The side wall facing them shimmered, putting up a tenacious resistance, just like its pig-headed creator. Finally a visible hairline crack snaked across its surface, rapidly radiating outward like a concentric series of spider webs. Fiona, Constance and Ms. Peach ceased their firepower as the wall dematerialized with an angry crackle. Freed from his invisible prison, he barreled from the office.
Clarissa might have severed their familiar connection, but she hadn’t counted on the other thing that still tied her to him. His wolf. If there was one thing a lupine was proficient at, it was tracking its mate, even across thousands of miles.
He sprinted upstairs, ripping off his clothes along the way. Thoroughly stripped by the time he reached her room, he transformed into his wolf form and leapt onto her bed, his claws sinking into the comforter. He buried his muzzle into the bedding. Her scent swirled in his nostrils, heady and intoxicating. A zip-line of energy arced down his spine and he raised his head, a triumphant howl trumpeting from his chest.
With her scent still heavy in his nose, he jumped from the mattress and bound from the room. The stairway a blur, he ran for the front door. Luckily someone had the foresight to leave it open. Unluckily, they hadn’t done the same for the screen. He tore through it, shaking himself from the mesh, and galloped down the drive, his muzzle leading the way.
He took the less traveled route, bounding through abandoned cotton fields and the occasional swamp. The going was rougher than if he’d taken the open road, but less perilous for a wolf in broad daylight, particularly since there were plenty of hunters in the area who’d salivate at the idea of stuffing him for their trophy collection. He came to yet another tract of unused farmland and stopped, snuffing the air that whistled through the clumps of snakeweed.
She was close.
Victory singing through his veins, he raced onward, leaping over the rusted carcass of a long-forgotten tiller partially imbedded in the baked earth. A few minutes and several acres later, he wiggled between the spires of a wrought-iron fence. Once on the other side, he trotted forward, cautiously eyeing the exterior of the imposing Greek Revival mansion that stood before him. His hackles lifted, instantly putting him on high alert. He didn’t like the vibe of this place.
What the hell was Clarissa doing here?
His senses tuned for any possible threat, he snuck around the side of the mansion. A noise rustled and he instinctively froze, the tufts of his ears cocking flat in warning of danger. A field mouse suddenly jumped from a crevice between a cluster of rocks and scampered out of his path. He released his rigid stance, his ears popping back to normal. Under different circumstances, he would have been mightily ashamed letting a pipsqueak mouse get the better of him. Chuffing through his nose, he crept closer to the fr
ont of the building. He spotted Clarissa’s Miata, its presence verifying what he already knew. She was here. And likely somewhere in that house.
He stared at the empty, wide expanse of the porch. It was even bigger than the one at the coven house, but it didn’t hold a lick of furniture or any other sign that the mansion’s occupants ever used it. The big red door was like a beacon calling him. There was no way around it. The only way he’d get to Clarissa was through that door.
And from the looks of it, he’d be doing it nekkid, since he doubted whoever greeted him would be willing to let a wolf stroll into their house. Course, they might feel a little funny about inviting in a naked man, too, but he’d have to take his chances. Transforming from his canine shape, he hoofed it up the steps and rapped on the door. In less time than he’d been expecting it swung open and a silver-haired dude in a butler’s uniform peered out at him.
“I’m sorry, but we’re not interested in solicitors.”
He gaped at the butler, wondering where the hell the fella thought he could possibly be stashing whatever goods he might be selling. “I’m here for Clarissa. Tell her to get her ass out here. Now.”
The butler looked like he was on the verge of slamming the door in his face, so Logan quickly wedged his shoulder into the opening.
“Let him in, Harrison.”
He stiffened at the unmistakable sound of Clarissa’s voice. How long had she been standing there? He pushed his way past the butler and stared at Clarissa. “What the hell are you doing in this place? What’s going on?”
“You look angry.”
He was pretty damn sure his incredulity had to be written all over his face. “Angry? Hell, shug. I can’t imagine why. Maybe it has somethin’ to do with you lockin’ me in a box and then skippin’ out. Or perhaps my fifteen-mile chase just now has my tail a little tweaked.”
Clarissa licked her lips. “I guess that explains why you’re so sweaty.” Her eyes turning smoky, she sashayed forward and ran her fingertips along his pecs. “Not that I’m complaining. There’s nothing more arousing than a sexy man drenched in perspiration. Gets me all hot and bothered.”
