Swamp Magic (Crimson Romance)

by Romans, Bobbi

  Her voice trailed off, growing so soft Beth could scarcely make out her words. Tears welled as Grace told of her heartbreak.

  “I knew, though. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I knew he was alive if nothing else. I felt that much. But I couldn’t convince anyone else of this, and all searches were called off and he was declared dead. His death was ruled accidental.”

  Beth watched as Grace turned toward Moss and Damien, caught the hope written on her face that just maybe they’d heard how his life had been. Or maybe she thought they might know what had caused him to give up? What animal had he become and chosen to remain as? Could they communicate with it? Him? Had they already done so? Were they friends? At least those were the questions she thought she’d have, if she were Grace.

  Both men locked eyes with one another as a silent agreement passed between them. Moss solemnly spoke.

  “I never met your Henry, but he sounds like a fine gentleman. If, as was told to me, he became one with the swamps, I assure you of his happiness, for he has a place to belong. You cannot know the anguish of not belonging somewhere. Being stuck in between worlds, being able to call neither your own, is a hell in itself.” Beth saw Moss’s sorrow-filled eyes, while taking in her aunt’s demeanor as his words sank in. Words meant to help ease Grace’s pain, and Beth appreciated him all the more for them.

  Damien chimed in next, but he did so privately. He stood while still clasping Grace’s hand and urged Grace to follow him. Beth started to rise as well, but Moss shook his head subtly in a plea for her to remain behind.

  She waited until Damien and Grace disappeared out onto the porch and into the setting sun before turning to ask Moss what was up. “What is it you two aren’t saying?” She feared what he’d say.

  “Some of us — of the swamp, that is — know of each other. Some of us, as in the case of Damien and I, have even met. But there are some who are more legend than real. Henry was one such legend. A legend I’m afraid didn’t have a happy ending.”

  “But you said … ” she began, feeling quite confused.

  “I know what I said, but I saw her pain, and as I’ve no proof to the rumors, I didn’t want to add to her heartache,” he answered with a tone that implied his own painful memories were still in the forefront of his mind.

  “Okay, go ahead and tell me then. What did you hear about Henry?”

  “He did find the key to her spell, the key that allowed him to become one with the swamp. More specifically, becoming fully, the inner animal he’d carried inside. That much is true. However, she used her other swamp slaves to hunt him down, luring him into her trap. Her rage was like none had ever seen. He was never seen again. Neither the man nor the beast.”

  “Oh. shit. But there’s no proof she killed him, right?”

  “None, I’m afraid. I know your aunt needs closure, but I cannot give her any. That said, Damien knows others like us and can ask if anyone has heard anything as of late.”

  “There truly is a whole other world going on out there in the swamps, isn’t there?” she murmured, awestruck at how clueless she’d been.

  “Yes, there is, though it’s a very sad and obscure world for the most part. The swamp holds beautiful and mystical qualities. Gifts from nature herself, but there is also the dark side. That is where Octavia rules.”

  He laid a calming hand on her knee, and it was then that she realized she’d been swinging her crossed leg in tune with her mind. Which, at the moment, happened to be racing with ideas on where to start in her plans for vengeance. Of course, her mind was also out on the porch wondering what was going on between Grace and Damien. Like whether her aunt was okay. Whether Damien offered her comfort and exactly how much comfort he offered.

  Then Moss gently squeezed her knee, grabbing her attention. Though they’d just nearly died, and for the most part had broken up, her libido spiked when she saw the spark in his eyes and the flare of his nose as he seemed to be … smelling her?

  “Moss, I really think I need to explain … about earlier, with Damien.”

  “Damien already did. I acted like — what did you say? A pompous ass?”

  “Yeah, uh, that I did.” She didn’t add all the other names she’d considered.

  “The thought of his hands … his eyes on you, I can’t explain. I just lost it.”

  “I really, truly thought I was with you.” Gah, she didn’t want to go into details at just what she’d done, thinking she was with him.

  “I was hard-headed. I did know what Octavia was capable of. Damien acted rightly. I wouldn’t have wanted you in pain or medical danger. The man chose well, and I owe him.”

  They’d been through so much, and the timing was shitty, but she needed him, and now. Glancing out to the porch, she could tell Grace and Damien were deep in conversation, so she turned to Moss once more. She saw the fire and hunger raging within and gently pulled him to standing. That was all the encouragement he needed.

  “I need you, Beth. I need to be with you, in you.” There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice. It shook with need, and warmth flooded her center. She needed him too, she admitted as she led him to the guest room.

  So much had been revealed this night, and Beth knew deep down by the time it was over, none of them would ever be the same again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Grace leaned against the wooden rail of her back deck, wrapping her arms about her waist, soaking in the serenity of the moonlight cascading over the still swamp waters. Her emotions were still unstable from the fresh pain of ripping open old wounds.

  Where would life have taken her if things had been different? Would she have had children? Girls or boys? Maybe she would have been lucky enough to have one of each. Whimsical thoughts of what life might have been like began to engulf her. Visions of a dream family gathered on the deck enjoying all the mysterious beauty of the swamp.

  Life was a bitch, and the bitch had landed a full-out whammy on her. But what happened, happened. She thought she’d run out of tears years ago. How wrong she’d been.

  Damien sensed her turmoil and pain as Grace, deep in thought, stared out into the swamp. Quiet, he approached and brought his hands to her shoulders, giving them a tentative squeeze on the knots forming in her muscles. When she made no objection, he began kneading the stress from them. Her small sigh of pleasure was all the thanks he needed.

  Grace’s head lolled from side to side as Damien worked pure magic into her aching body. The stress melted away, leaving her boneless. Something about this man spoke to her on a level she hadn’t experienced since Henry. Different, almost mythical. If only they’d met at another time in her life, preferably when she’d been younger and not as cynical.

  • • •

  They’d made love and reconnected. They’d both needed it. That something which she could only assume, placed his scent on her once more. In comments from Damien, she’d known he’d detected some imprint from Moss but hadn’t felt he’d had a choice but to ignore the others warning. Even still, and beyond the sexual need, Beth understood Moss’s desire to lay claim. Relished in the fact he’d still wanted to after everything that had happened.

  Being with Moss again was every bit as euphoric as it had been before. His cock embedded deeply within her, his large body caging hers within his, and that freaking amazing tongue of his. Wow. He nuzzled into her neck, and she suspected he wanted to bite her again but then his teeth merely grazed the area, rather than actually bite. Either way, that little nip where the shoulder and neck meet, lit every nerve on fire as everything within her exploded. Her thighs had gripped his hips as the purposeful pace he’d kept spiraled into an all-out frenzy of mating. Once spent, they’d laid in each other’s arms and simply took solace in the moment. Neither knew what the future would hold, but for now, they were together.

  Beth knew it was only a matter of time before Grace and Dami
en would come knocking soon, but they’d needed the bonding.

  Moss rose, a bit distant, and dressed in silence. One moment rage filled his face, and in the next, sorrow rose, tinted with traces of happiness. Bittersweet. His breathing grew ragged, as if on the verge of panic. Too many emotions too fast she realized as he paced the room looking very much the tiger in a very small cage.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Beth said. He worried her.

  “All these years of believing I had committed a wrong against the poor children and my wife. Now to learn their lives went on. Do you … ”

  Even though he’d trailed off, she knew what he’d been about to ask. Did she have information about what had happened to his wife? Yes. She knew a little, but she wouldn’t be able to tell him if his wife had experienced any joys. It would be a complicated answer at best. He wouldn’t relish the fact she’d survived their nightmare in the swamp only to pass away a few years later from probable heartache.

  “I need some air. I’ll be back in a while.” His voice was gruff and left no room for debate. Not that she would, as he needed his alone time to process his past. She did too, as she tried to push away the hurt of his aching for another. No matter how she wished to help him, this was a ghost he had to make peace with for himself.

  She gave him a silent nod, realizing she’d become the last man standing, so to speak. Heading out to the deck to check on Grace and Damien, she made a quick U-turn when, at the storm door, she noticed the intimacy between the two. She found no need to interrupt the duo. If her aunt needed Damien’s massage and some male sympathy, more power to her.

  With everyone preoccupied, the cabin fell deathly silent. She decided a little research was in order and veered toward the hidden library housing the special books. The location was a secret and only shared by immediate and competent family members.

  The closet door in Grace’s room opened on silent hinges, and Beth gave a hard whack to the interior wall. There was a faint, familiar creak as the secret passageway opened up before her. Moving by memory, Beth wound her way through the dark to her favorite place as a child.

  The small, circular room housed the books of their craft, a small reading table, and one comfy sitting chair. On the table sat an antique oil lamp and a small box of matches. Nothing whatsoever had changed in this room, as if time had no meaning or place here.

  She lit the lamp and began searching for one particular book. The book of mirrored magic. Mirrored magic contained unbinding spells. In layman’s terms, the book contained spells to counteract dark magic.

  Finding the well-worn, ancient book, she blew the dust off its cracked bindings and curled up in the plush chair. It wasn’t long before she began drifting. It had been a long few days with very little sleep, and though she hadn’t planned to, she nodded off.

  She awoke with a start and a sense someone had awakened her on purpose. She could have sworn she’d been shaken. Stretching, she sat up and took note of the mirror book’s marked page. Odd — she didn’t remember leaving the book open. Stranger still was the spell on the opened, dog-eared page. The spell of redundancy — a strong spell with multiple methods and purposes. There were also a few eraser spells handwritten among them, however, those appeared to be in a different language. Beth hoped Grace would be able to elaborate further on the contents and sort out the helpful ones. A shiver sped through her, as if someone spied on her. Beth couldn’t shake the sense that more than chance played a role in her waking to find the book open to those two pages.

  She’d exited Grace’s closet, spellbook in tow, when a vision hit. Though clouded and vague, it left her with a gut-wrenching sickness. Beth had been able to make out Octavia, Grace, and Damien. All three were back in Damien’s cave and two were battling, fiercely so. Sprawled across Damien’s bed, the lifeless body of Moss lay face down in bloodied sheets. Taking in the paleness of his body, Beth feared him dead.

  Her sporadic visions didn’t always come true, and never provided a time frame. What she’d seen could have been a year from now, or even tomorrow. Beth had no idea, and that was the worst thing about her visions — the uncertainty of when.

  Shaken by the gore she’d witnessed, she didn’t realize Moss had been standing in the doorway, or that he’d come to stand in front of her, until she shook off the vision and saw him.

  Startled, she screamed and dropped the book. “Oh, my God,” She choked.

  “What?” he urged. “You’ve gone pale.” He grabbed for her hand. “And clammy.”

  She looked him in the eyes, thought about lying about what she’d witnessed, and knew to do so would be pointless. As dangerous a threat as Octavia had become, not telling him about the graphic imagery she’d seen, wasn’t an option.

  “I think I saw your death.” Speaking the words brought tears to her eyes and crushed her heart as bad as if someone reached into her chest and gripped it within a mighty fist.

  “And this brings you such sorrow merely saying it?” he whispered.

  “Damn it, Moss … what do you think?” she spat, angry he’d ever question such crap. Her flesh rose as goose bumps spread over her, and she began to shake uncontrollably.

  He drew her into his arms. “Ssshh, do not cry. We will defeat Octavia together. I shall not allow further harm to come to you. I want nothing more than to protect and cherish you.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about. I don’t want to lose you.” She sniffed. Wow, so not a sexy sound. “But feel free to cherish me all you want.”

  She nuzzled into his chest, situating herself better in his embrace. Soon, her tremors subsided and a firm hand at the small of her back pressed her body into his. He’d needed no further signals to figure out what she wanted … again.

  Oblivious to where they were, they fell into a perfectly timed rhythm with one another, each feeding off the other’s movements like a well-choreographed tango. His lips claimed hers, and she accepted his claiming, longed for it as badly as he.

  Beth felt the wall smack her in the ass, as he had somehow maneuvered them against it. Sex up against a wall would be a first and one she couldn’t wait to try. She snickered wickedly at the decadent thought as the terror from earlier dissipated. Moss, paused at her little snicker, his own naughty thoughts reflected from his eyes, his previous intense demeanor gone. They were lost in the here and now with no haunted past taunting them.

  His arms bracketed her body, and he leaned forward, keeping her immobile. His fingers went to her jaw and urged her head up until she opened her eyes.

  She looked questioningly at him, mewling at the desperate need to connect with him again as she tossed a leg around his and gyrated her hips. The vision had shaken her badly, and she wanted to feel every inch of him. Prove he was here, alive and safe with her. Yet he refused to budge. He froze, pinning her effectively between the wall and himself, and simply stared into her eyes. Sought something within hers.

  Then the corner of his mouth curved upwards, and the green in his eyes darkened, becoming predatory. His body never moved an inch from hers, yet he dropped his hands to her dress and began inching the fabric up. One hand curled around the cotton fabric, holding it at her waist, while the other fisted the string to her thong and, with a small yank, ripped it clear off.

  Instinct had her climbing his thighs to wrap her legs around his.

  “You. Are. Mine,” he growled before he pulled back enough to enter her swiftly and in one hard stroke.

  She let go of all the negativity. Let go of every inhibition she’d ever had. Clasped onto Moss and all the strength and security he offered. More than anything, the love he now revealed to her.

  Nothing else in the world mattered at the moment except knowing what they shared went far more than just a one-night stand. And she was fairly certain he now believed her about his wife and the children’s survival that night. Maybe within that truth he could re
lease his past enough to embrace his future.

  Their future?

  Another deep thrust jolted her to serenity. His tongue engaged with hers, taunting it to come play. Her lips slipped back and forth across his as she nipped him playfully here and there, before sucking in his bottom lip and shivering when he moaned.

  He shuddered around her as he fought to remain in control. She bit her own lip to keep from crying out. How quickly Moss could bring her to the edge still mystified her. Hell, when he shot her those hungry looks of his, she grew wet on the spot.

  “Let go,” he whispered when her inner walls began fluttering, the sure sign of her impending release.

  His husky words proved too much. She bit the palm of her hand to prevent the scream that so wanted its freedom, remembering at the last moment they weren’t alone. Damien and her aunt were somewhere in the cabin, or just outside.

  Her legs clamped tightly about him, and her nails suddenly bit into his shoulders as she thrashed in the throes of ecstasy. Only then did she feel him let go and the beast rise.

  While she’d fought for quiet, he had no issues with such. Grunts and growls erupted as he unleashed a mating fury.

  He whispered how the beast recognized its mate. Through his panting, he managed something about needing to mark her … and then he bit into her shoulder. Hard enough her shoulder would reflect his mark, but shy of breaking the skin.

  Granted, it shocked her a bit, but the possessive nature of the bite caused another orgasm to slam into her. She knew she was being claimed and loved it.

  After all the years of feeling second rate, second best, she’d been chosen.

  She — was — first.