Swamp Magic (Crimson Romance)

by Romans, Bobbi

  A beautiful, black baby grand piano sat in one corner. Beautiful artwork ornamented the cave walls, and Persian rugs, sure to have been made of the finest threads, covered the floors. Even a crystal chandelier adorned the entry. She always had an Alice in Wonderland feeling when first entering the chamber.

  Then the dream changed one day. Where once she’d only been able to glimpse the unique home, the dream grew, became longer, more alluring, and far more erotic in nature.

  A figure would emerge from the shadows, large and at first appearing menacing. Later, when the shadowy figure stepped into the candlelight, the form of a man would become clear. A very large and quite naked man. One hundred percent naked, and a true vision of a perfect male specimen. The vision never allowed a clear view of his face — only his glorious body covered in strange, erotically placed tattoos.

  He never spoke, and Beth didn’t think he was even aware of her presence. However, he always seemed to scan the area as if looking for something or someone. An aura of sadness and longing surrounded him. Though his eyes searched, he never spoke, nor did she, as she remained too enraptured to dare make a sound. His demeanor seemed to beckon her.

  The sense of foreboding radiating from him always left her quivery from its sheer intensity. He’d been hurt. Betrayed by someone, quite badly, and so he had locked himself away from the world and pain. Beth wanted nothing more than to soothe his aches and hurts away. Longed to run her fingers down the delicious, tawny skin covered in intricate art. Wanted to knead his firm ass in her hands and to run her tongue over the ridges of rock-hard abs. But the dream never allowed such a thing. No sooner that she gathered the courage to approach him, the vision would once again morph, leaving Beth with her.

  Her being the evil bitch who took the sexy tattooed man’s spot.

  She, with her midnight black hair and beady black eyes. She who appeared to be around age forty with an intense angry look on her pinched, pissed face. The room changed as well. No longer was it a beautiful cave, but instead she and prune face sat rigidly in a small canoe filled with strange jars and containers of different sorts. Beth had no doubt this was the woman behind the strange chants. Evil clearly hovered around this bitch, and she absorbed it. Ate it raw, relishing every dark morsel.

  Unlike the mystery man, Beth knew the bitch sensed her. Beth didn’t understand how a freaky vision or possible dream could become real, but this evil woman knew she was there. As always, right before the dream ended, the woman turned and stared right at her, shrieking some ungodly, high-pitched sound. A clear and definite warning for Beth to steer clear of the tattooed man.

  Then she’d awaken, covered in sweat and drenched in fear. Fear for herself, fear for what lay in her future, and fear for one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen.

  Now, after meeting Moss, she realized the so-called dreams had truly been visions, and somehow she and her bog man were truly tied. She’d been meant to get lost in the swamp, and he’d been meant to find her. Fate had thrown them together for a reason, and she now understood she held the key to something bigger than both of them.

  She just wasn’t sure what the hell it was. But it was damn sure much larger than just a one-night hookup, regardless of what his sorry ass might think.

  She sat there unconsciously tapping her fingers against the desk, deep in thought. Maybe solving the mystery of what the visions meant, who the strange evil woman was, and what exactly her ties to Moss were, would help lead her to Moss and get him to open up and trust her. At the very least, she could find him to grant her closure of sorts.

  No, she wasn’t so desperate as to beg, but the more she thought about Moss’s peculiar actions, the more she was beginning to feel that Moss’s disappearance wasn’t about him wanting a quick wham, bam, thank you Ma’am, but rather his fear of being hurt again or betrayed.

  If she interpreted the visions correctly, then Moss feared betrayal more than anything else, even loss. She’d have to prove she was trustworthy, and that she’d never hurt him.

  Who’d hurt him so badly, and how had he come to be the way he was? Part man, part reptile? The woman in the visions was connected, and Beth wondered if the swamp witch of old legends might be true. It would make sense.

  Her aunts had always warned her and Robby as children about venturing into the swamp. But their backyard was the swamp, and to forbid anyone from going too close to the woods was an asinine, unrealistic request. So why then had her aunts been so adamant about them never venturing too close or too deep?

  Beth grabbed her notepad and jotted down some quick notes. First, she needed to call Aunt Grace. Next, she should contact Professor Jacobs, whose hobby was urban legends. And to round up the research, she needed to go to the library and attempt to read about when the legends of the Bog Monster had first started.

  She’d leave Moss alone for now. She’d work on solving the mystery, and once she’d solved it, she would return to the swamp, find her bog man, and help him heal … emotionally.

  Chapter Eight

  Almost a week had passed since Moss’s sudden departure from her life and she still hadn’t learned all that much about him, or rather, his alter-ego, the Bog Man. Whoever the hell had penned the quote “time flies” could kiss her ass. For her, time had frozen. Minutes crept by like days as she’d attempted to unravel the mystery surrounding Moss only to keep coming up empty-handed and frustrated.

  Her professor, claiming to be current with most urban legends, had only read of the legend in local papers, but knew nothing about the origin. Yes, she’d discovered countless articles about him in the library’s database, but nothing more informative than the typical “Billy Bob experienced brush with death in the swamps, having had a run-in with the legendary man-eating Bog Monster.”

  Man-eater, her ass. He ate … shit, even thinking of what he did and how made her blush.

  Lucky for her, Aunt Grace was due back in town any time. If anyone had information about the town, legendary or not, it would be Aunt Grace.

  • • •

  Moss hated having to meet the dangerous old bitch. But when the she-demon herself called, he had no choice but to answer. She’d even sent him a graphic vision of what would befall Beth should he attempt to avoid responding.

  Yes, he’d made numerous attempts to ignore her calls, which launched pinpricks of apprehension across his skin and twisted his insides. No matter how he’d tried to avoid responding in the past, Beth’s safety took priority now; he had to obey.

  Skillfully, he skimmed through the murky waters until he arrived at her dark abode. He forced himself toward the door. Her evil laugh proved her aware of his torment. No matter — he would do whatever he needed to do in order to keep Beth safe. It mattered not that he’d never be with her again, even for one lone night. To ensure her happiness and safety would be well worth all the evil bitch would call on him to do and endure. He turned the rusty knob and pushed open the ancient door. Octavia stood at the hearth, as a fire raged strong enough that a blast of heat assaulted him with his first steps into her weathered, but spacious cabin.

  The witch handed him a tarnished brass goblet containing some strange, smoking brew. “Drink,” she commanded.

  Warily, he accepted the goblet, already knowing the drink would be laced with something. With what had yet to be determined. But he had no choice. He drained the contents in one gulp.

  “Come, Moss. Kiss me,” she beckoned, dropping her robe. The sheer material floated to the floor around her feet, exposing her nude body.

  Moss staggered backwards, shaking his head for clarity, repulsed by the images she broadcast at him. His surroundings began to become fuzzy and unclear as she shook her head and body in a fierce fashion. Back and forth she shook, hair flying about. Confusion took hold of Moss as she went from being a witch to an exact replica of …

  Beth.

  As she sl
unk toward him, he tried again in desperation to clear his mind. He knew it wasn’t Beth, but everything spun so fast, and he continued to see her. Even heard the soft lilt of her voice and the sweet murmurs she’d made during their lovemaking.

  Her lips claimed his as those memories overtook him. Of Beth’s skin against his, slick with sweat as their bodies rubbed and slid against each other’s. Her aroused scent as he pounded into her welcoming, tight, hot sheath. His lips parted, allowing her tongue to engage with his. He needed to taste her again, needed to be balls-deep within her. The heady scent of her desire permeated the air, mixing with his.

  Yes, he needed her, and needed her now. He pulled her roughly against him, wrapping her in his bulging arms before backing her toward the wall for support. He didn’t stop until her back jarred against the wood.

  Rough, too rough. Must be easy.

  Reaching down, he urged her thigh over his to allow for easier access. Instead of complying, she pushed back and flipped him around, so his back leaned against the wall. Shocked, yet pleased by her sudden aggressiveness, he yielded.

  He closed his eyes as her eager hands undid his pants. She jerked them down in one rough, swift movement that freed his engorged cock from the binding restraints. God, he needed to take her, but first he would allow her to explore his body as she wanted.

  Finally, her mouth took him. The slow, warm sweep of her tongue had him groaning. Images flashed through his head. Extreme need and desire warped his thoughts as less than gentle ideas flared through his mind. Confusion set in, and he became nervous to touch her. Frightened he’d do what his mind showed him — grab her by the back of her head and force his cock right down her throat. Though aroused, he felt jittery and off.

  Beth toyed with him, something far too dangerous for her to be doing right now with such aggressive thoughts racing through him. She ran her teeth around the rim of his cock before then running her tongue over the slit and engulfing him once again.

  Moss fought the sense of confusion sweeping through him as well as its accompanying wild compulsions. Struggled against the darkness threatening to take a firm hold. But everything he tried proved futile. Dark erotic images, like none he’d ever thought, consumed him in a tighter grasp. His skin burned as if flames engulfed him and only his release would squelch them.

  Almost against his will, his hands dropped to grasp each side of her head as he jerked forward, thrusting his cock deep. He heard her gag as her hands flattened against his thighs. She pushed against him, desperate for freedom. Yet he could not stop — was driven by some all-consuming force. Even as his mind screamed at him to stop, for this was his fragile and beloved Beth. Yet his need for release built as he continued to pump in and out, and as her oh, so hot, tight little mouth stretched to take all of him.

  He roared as he exploded. His body jerked as his seed shot down her throat. Only then did the demons release him to view the extent of his rough deed.

  Her eyes were swollen, her mouth red from being stretched so forcefully. Worse yet were, her damp, tear-stained cheeks as she lay on her side gasping for air. Her frail body trembled from his abuse and now no doubt in fear of him.

  Guilt assaulted him over what he’d done. What he’d forced on her. Losing the energy to fight, he allowed the lethargic aftershocks to consume him. He sank into the darkness, sliding down the wall, in utter despair over his ruthless attack on the woman he loved.

  He truly was the monster so many claimed him to be.

  • • •

  “What in heaven’s good name has spooked you hard enough to be perched up here on my doorstep with that kind of frown?”

  Beth looked at her aunt, realizing she must look like complete shit. She took a deep, steady breath, before plowing forward. “I need some of your worldly advice.”

  Oh, yeah, those words would pique her aunt’s interests into helping her before unpacking from her latest gambling trip in Biloxi .

  “Pfft. It’s man troubles, isn’t it? Sweetie, let me tell you. You can’t live with ’em, and you sure as hell can’t live without ’em. Trust me, I’ve been alone long enough to understand the latter,” she stated with a wink and clucked her tongue.

  Yep, Aunt Grace always had the ability to read someone in five seconds flat. You never went to her place when trying to hide something. She could get blood from a turnip, should she decide she wanted to.

  “Yes, man troubles it is,” Beth rushed out with a heartfelt sigh.

  “Well, sweetie, you came to the right aunt. I’ll fix us some of my special tea while you tell me all about him. And honey, I mean everything. Don’t leave out the juicy good stuff.”

  By special tea, she meant her signature spiced tea. Earl Grey meet Jack. Jack Daniels.

  Leaning over, Beth grabbed the overstuffed suitcase out of her aunt’s hand while Grace unlocked her front door. She followed her aunt inside the warm home, hope springing with each step she took. She prayed Grace would be able to help her, as she sensed time was running short.

  Chapter Nine

  The swamp’s numerous frogs croaking coupled with the crickets chirping obnoxiously loud drew Octavia achingly back to the present. She’d allowed Moss to leave as she lay heaped, humiliated, and more than a little angry.

  So he wanted to play rough, did he? Well, so be it. Rough he’d receive. She would teach Moss to respect her, fear her, even worship her.

  She tapped her finger against the floor as an idea formed. Yes, she knew exactly how to achieve his punishment, thus bringing him to his knees and killing two birds with one lovely little spell.

  The Beth woman she’d seen in his memories, whore that she was, would just have to die. But not before being tortured, painfully and long, all in the presence of Moss. Yes, the mere thought of executing her plan almost made up for the brutal assault he’d bestowed on her mouth.

  Snatching a towel from the cabinet next to her, she wiped her mouth as she stood on legs still a bit wobbly from the extreme encounter. To say Moss was well endowed didn’t come close. He was huge and left her feeling like her jaws had come unhinged.

  She made a quick mental note to use less pickerelweed in the next batch of lust-inducing brew.

  • • •

  Beth watched as Grace filled a teakettle and turned the antique porcelain knob to high. Her aunt had never aged. She couldn’t count how many times they’d been out together and men had hit on her. Her fair hair and light eyes drawing them like bees to honey. Yet never once had her aunt taken any seriously.

  She’d smile, make polite chatter and then keep going to wherever she’d been heading. Beth always sensed an underlying sadness behind her aunt’s bright eyes and warm smile. As if a long ago, tragedy had left its scars on her soul. Healed, and though faint, the silvery threads were still there. Oddly, Beth had never heard mention of anything horrific happening to her.

  “Well, let me see, where do you want me to start?” Beth asked settling in at the kitchen table.

  “At the beginning?” Grace suggested with a wise gleam in her eye.

  “Well, aren’t we ever the wise elder?”

  Grace wasn’t really old or offended. Beth always teased her overly age-conscious aunt. Grace was classic. She had that old Hollywood natural beauty thing going on but with a most un-classical twist.

  Grace had a special knack for reading people instantly. Which was unfortunate for most; if they didn’t wish to be read. The sheriff’s office even called her in as a consultant at times, though they did so reluctantly, afraid the local media would catch wind of it. Lord help them if the town thought the local boys couldn’t handle shit without the need to call in a psychic. It was a small town, where everyone knew everyone and local law enforcement officers came highly revered.

  Beth settled into the well-worn wooden chair and accepted the hot, spiced tea Grace handed her before beginning h
er much-edited tale of becoming lost in the swamp. She purposely left out Moss, and instead concentrated her story on the trouble she had finding her way out. She wove in her theories on the Bog Man legends. Her aunt listened quietly to the entire story, appearing deep in thought.

  Finishing her tale, Beth sat back, anxious of what her aunt thought. After several long, silent minutes, Grace shook her head, sighed, and began her own tale.

  “A very long time ago your Great-Great Grandmother Mirabelle used to tell bedtime tales of the Bog Monster. According to her, a monster he was not; in fact, she claimed him to be angelic. She credited him with bringing back a group of young campers who had gotten turned around out in the swamp’s ever-winding paths.”

  “He saved them?” Beth asked, awed but not the least bit surprised.

  “According to her, indeed he did. And apparently he still does. Many people return from the swamps claiming to have lost their way, and many have claimed to have seen the swamp come alive to show them their way out.” Sipping her tea, she told of salvation to those who had been lost and frightened out in the harsh, dangerous swampland. She spoke of grateful parents dropping to their knees in sheer and utter happiness at their children being returned to their arms.

  “Is there nothing of who he is or what happened to him?” Beth asked hopefully.

  “Honey, you talk like he’s real, and you’ve met him. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  There was no point in lying. If anyone would believe her, understand her desperation, that person would be Grace. So she took another deep breath and filled in the gaps of her previous story, leaving nothing out.

  Well, almost nothing. She blushed.

  “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. And I understand how unrealistic and rash it may sound, but … ”