Of course, all of that depended on his answer to a one particular question.
As the door opened, Julia’s heart jumped. She turned quickly, elated to see him standing there.
Roman wore a black collared shirt, tight blue jeans, and a smirk on his lips that made Julia melt. Why was he always so damn good looking?
“You came,” she said lightly, only now realizing how afraid she was that he wouldn’t show.
“Of course I came,” he said, closing the door and walking toward her. “You asked me to.”
“I wanted to see you.” She walked toward him as well, quickly bridging the gap between them.
“Obviously,” he answered. “What about?”
She bristled at his curtness but soldiered on. Maybe he was upset about something. Or, more likely, everything. Maybe she needed to remind him of a time much less emotionally charged.
“I remember when I didn’t need a reason to want to see you,” she said, looking him up and down.
“And I remember a time when your left ring finger was bare.” He cleared his throat. “Things change, Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Don’t call me that.” Julia balked, surprised at how quickly and sharply the breath caught in her throat.
“Why not?” He looked away from her and ran his finger along the edge of an old wooden table. “That’ll be your name soon enough.”
“You know what that’s about,” she answered, swallowing hard. “I have to marry him. It’s not my choice.”
“The hell it isn’t,” he muttered.
She narrowed her eyes. “Care to repeat that a little louder?”
“You heard me,” he answered, turning back to her. “I’m through giving you a free pass. You can say all you want about duty and family and all that shit. But the truth is, you’re a grown woman, Julia. And, if you wanted, you could do whatever you wanted.”
Julia couldn’t believe her ears. Roman had been all for this. He understood what she was doing this for, and he didn’t blame her for it.
Until now.
“You know that’s not true. You can’t hold me to that standard.”
“Why not?” he asked, scoffing loudly. “I hold myself to it. When we were together, I wanted to leave with you. I begged you to go. We could have been together. Fuck the feud. Fuck our families. Fuck all of it. But you couldn’t handle it. They were more important to you than I was. And then…oh, and then…” he said bitterly, shaking his head. “The icing on the cake. You left anyway. Without me.”
Julia couldn’t stop herself. She reared back and slapped him across the face. It was the first time she had ever struck him, and the first time she’d ever wanted to.
“Don’t you dare!” Tears swelled in her eyes. “You have no idea what I went through. You have no idea what you meant to me!”
“Meant?” he asked, shaking his head and touching two his reddened cheek as if the sting were nothing more than an afterthought. “See, that’s the difference between you and me, Julia. For me, it still isn’t over.”
He turned and walked toward the door.
“Did you kill her?” Julia asked to his back.
“Jesus,” he muttered, stopping where he stood.
“Aria,” she said. “The woman who was like a grandmother to me. I’m sure you remember her.”
He spun around, marching back toward her quickly.
He stopped inches from her face, looking at her like he had never seen her before.
“Look at me, Julia. Look at me, and tell me what you think.” He blinked hard. “Did I kill her, Julia? Could I kill her?”
Tears pooled in her eyes.
“Of course not,” she said, looking him square in the face.
He seemed relieved as he released a deep breath.
Leaning in and cradling the back of her head in his hand, he kissed her on the cheek. “Goodbye, Julia Fairweather.”
He pulled away, but she grabbed his hand, stopping him.
“Don’t do this,” he said, looking at the door instead of her. “Just let me go.”
She held tightly to his hand. “No.”
“Just let me go, Julia,” he said, but he didn’t try to move.
“Look at me,” she said. “Look at me and tell me that you want to leave, that you want me to let you go.” She pursed her lips. “If you do that, I’ll—”
“Goddamn it,” he screamed, whipping around toward her. “What the hell are you trying to do to me?”
She stepped back, letting go of his hand. But he advanced on her.
“Do you think this is easy for me? I already let you go, woman. And it nearly killed me. I was on a rooftop. I was going to jump off a fucking building. That’s how bad off I was when you left.” He shook his head.
She was against the wall now, her palms pressed against the cool metal.
Still, he didn’t stop. He was right on her, his body pressed against hers.
“But I pulled myself together. I made a life for myself. It wasn’t a great one or even a good one, and God knows I thought about you every second of it. But at least I wasn’t on the ledge anymore.”
He looked her up and down.
“Now here you are, back in town like the most fuckable tornado in the world. And still, you’re not mine.”
“I’m not anybody’s,” she said, her voice trembling along with her body.
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” he answered. He grabbed her hands and pinned them against the wall over her head. “In the end you’ll belong to somebody. If not me, him.”
He moved his hand, but hers remained magically pinned to the wall. Once again, she was helpless against his desires. And once again, her body ached to fulfill his every wish.
“So what is it, Mrs. Wheeler?” he asked, running his hands over her shirt and cupping her breasts. They perked up at his touch, her nipples hardening, standing at attention. “Who do you belong to?”
She breathed heavy, sweat trickling down her spine.
“Tell me,” he said. He rested his palm flat against her stomach and moved it down the front of her jeans. Ignoring the boundary of her panties, he slid his fingers into her, moistening her as he drove his index and middle fingers past her entry point.
She threw her head back, biting her lip and feeling a rush of heat titillate her body.
She tightened around his fingers, sending even more shockwaves of pleasure through her.
Still, he asked the question.
“Who do you belong to?”
Silence. She should just answer him; it wasn’t as if she didn’t know. But not answering him had always been part of their game. What made them…well, them.
He removed his fingers from her and yanked her jeans and panties down before literally tearing her shirt from her body.
Buttons flew everywhere, exposing her perky breasts and aroused nipples.
He looked at her hungrily, but there was something else in his glare; an anger that she knew he was having trouble controlling.
“Who do you belong to?” he asked again, his voice nearing a growl.
Throwing himself against her, he slid his tongue across her skin, flicking her nipples until they were so pert and hard that they hurt.
Then, when she felt as though she would pop, he moved away, kissing her stomach all the way to her naval.
He moved down her body, sliding his tongue across her lower lips. They engorged at his touch. His tongue flickered around them as she got wetter in response.
As moisture begin to soak her skin between her legs, she felt a hint of embarrassment. But it was assuaged as his tongue darted against her clit and his fingers massaged between her legs.
He pushed her lips apart with his hand, driving deeper into her and causing her to clench and release in pleasure. His face nuzzled between her legs, his lips teasing, tongue flicking with a steady beat and pressure that kept her right on the edge.
She felt herself nearing climax, and she ached for that sweet release. But he must have known it t
o, because he pulled away from her, leaving her frustrated and begging for it.
He stood, removing his shirt pants, and boxers.
His thick, hard cock twitched, and in that moment, there was nothing more than she wanted than the connection and release that came with being with him.
But there was that question, the question he was still asking.
“Who do you belong to?”
A different kind of heat passed through her, an anger that mixed with the passion.
She pulled at the magic he’d placed on her hands, releasing them.
She pushed toward him, naked, vulnerable, and as aroused as she had ever been in her life.
“Me!” she said, slamming into him. “I belong to me.”
The two knocked into a table. He landed on his back, pulling her with him so that she came down to straddle over him. He pulled her body down, guiding himself into her as he did, and she moaned loudly as he thrust into her.
She ran hands through his hair, pulling hard at it and jerking his head backward.
He clutched at her ass, pushing him toward her and working himself deeper. Without notice, he stood and slammed her again the wall, pinning her there with his body. Soon, they were sliding up it, floating in the air with the wall to brace them.
She swayed her hips, moving against him faster, her clit rubbing against pelvis as his cock rocked into her. They rose higher off the ground.
Suddenly, he flipped her hard toward the middle of the room and mounted her with nothing but open air beneath her. Her hair hung in loose tendrils as Roman pumped in and out, penetrating her all over again with every stroke.
She looked up at him, at that face that had held so many of her dreams. He was looking at her, too. The anger, the passion—it was as evident as ever as they floated so high that they pressed against the ceiling.
And then, just like that, he pushed off the ceiling and sent them back toward the ground. All the magic melted away, and in that moment, it was just them. Unfiltered, no magic necessary, Roman thrusting into her until finally she rocketed over the edge and into an orgasm that made her entire body shiver.
Only he could bring both the woman and the witch in her out like this.
Roman climaxed as well, spilling his seed inside of her and, for the first time, kissing her mouth. He rolled off of her and they both stared up at the ceiling ofr a long time before Roman tilted his head to face her.
“You might say otherwise, Julia Fairweather. You might even marry someone else. But you are mine.”
His hand moved down to her pussy, his fingers grazing against her all-too-sensitive pussy. “This is mine.” He kissed her again. “And you will always belong to me.”
18
Roman
Roman spent the rest of that day with his head spinning. The idea that Julia believed in him gave him strength. Even if April might have believed he was capable of doing something like murdering that Aria woman, Julia didn’t.
And that meant everything.
April might have given up on him and Julia. But they hadn’t given up on each other, and that was all that mattered.
He toured the streets of Savannah, looking at the people and places that lined River Street for what might have been the first time in years. This place had always been his home and, like one is known to do, he had begun to neglect it.
This place, with all the beauty of the old South, had become run-of-the-mill to Roman. When Julia had left it, it was as though she had taken all the light with her.
But now she was back and, with her, everything that made this place special, everything that made it sparkle.
The sun began to set, hanging low over the river. Crowds were beginning to firm on the streets. Savanah had always had a hell of a nightlife, and he had always been part of it more or less. Roman was never one to turn down a stiff drink and a loose woman. Even when he had been with Julia before, he could have been found guilty of allowing his eye to wander a time or two.
Now however, things were different. He felt secure and content—as if no other person in the world mattered but her.
And along with that clarity came another realization: He had to keep her safe.
This feud had gone on too long. That was for sure. But it wasn’t the feud that worried him. Blood feuds between coves were a dime a dozen. They usually simmered under the surface with nothing more than hard feelings and discouraging looks to show for themselves. But this feud had erupted into war. And it was a war that Roman felt responsible for.
If he hadn’t gone to the gypsies, if only the Crawley hadn’t given him that horrible task—if only he hadn’t accepted it—perhaps Adam would still be alive. Perhaps the entire world wouldn’t be on this downward spiral. Perhaps the promise of happiness wouldn’t seem like a cruel joke.
Roman stooped at a Greek place, the one he used to sneak off to with Julia. He loved their gyros, buy he hadn’t been there in over a year. Something about the place made it feel as if he was betraying her. Now that she was back, now that he knew for sure that she wanted him, the place practically called his name.
He ordered a gyro without onion and took a seat. He could still taste her on his lips feel her on his fingertips. She was everything to him. But she had made no promises; technically, she was still engaged to another man. He was ready to admit that to himself now. And damn of he didn’t like the freedom that came with that admission.
As he dug into the sandwich, dipping the loose meat into a cup of extra sauce, his mind went to work.
Something wasn’t quite adding up for him. Something about the death of Aria Fairweather felt off. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on what it might be.
If it hadn’t been him that offed the old witch (and it hadn’t), then who did? It couldn’t have been anyone in the Blackwood coven. He’d have known if it was. His father would have brought him into the conversation if he was planning on a hit that big.
That left the possibility of a rogue witch within their ranks, someone who went out of turn to make a name for themselves. Somehow, Roman doubted that. His father was a hard ass—one of the worst the coven had ever seen. No one would have the stones to risk pissing him off and, if they did, they certainly wouldn’t do it now. This was war, and everyone knew that, in wartime, you take orders.
There was also the chance that this was unrelated—that Aria had made an enemy or two in her long life and one of them had finally decided to come calling.
Though that was more likely, he still didn’t believe it. The coincidence was too big.
Perhaps some assassin or far off coven leader decided to take the opportunity to frame the Blackwoods for such a high profile killing. After all, who better to pin a murder on than the people your target is currently at war with?
But even that line of thinking took Roman’s father out of the equation. Anyone who wanted to frame his family for something would pay with their life and the lives of their loved ones. Everyone knew that.
And besides, it still didn’t feel right.
Roman couldn’t shake the feeling that this was connected somehow, like the murderer was hiding right under his nose.
But who?
Another possibility dawned on him as he finished the sandwich.
He may have started all of this, but he wasn’t the only reason it was happening. Things had changed quickly when Julia returned. The landscape was already shifting, and there had been no bigger shift than those bayou bastards coming up from Louisiana to stick their troublesome noses into Savanah witch business. So what if they had something to do with it?
Even thinking it, Roman knew it was a reach. He thought about what April would say to him. She would tell him that he was just upset Julia was engaged to marry one of them. That was why he was laying blame on the Louisiana coven without even a shred of evidence.
And maybe she was right. His sister was smart, after all. And Roman was too close to this to be able to think his way around it rationally. He knew that. But he also k
new his gut, and he knew when it was trying to tell him something…like it was right now.
Those backwater witches had something to do with this. He couldn’t prove it yet, but that’s what evidence was for.
He was just going to have to get some.
Common sense told Roman that the Wheelers were likely staying in one of the secondary Fairweather estates. There was a small chance that they would be in the manor, but Roman didn’t want to think about Julia and Paris living in such close quarters. Not yet—not ever.
Besides, times were dangerous, and Roman doubted Julia’s grandfather would allow guests as prestigious as the Wheelers to wake and sleep in harm’s way. No, they would be as safe and sound as a time like this would allow. And they would also be in the lap of luxury.
Knowing this made finding them relatively easy.
The Fairweathers had three estates in Savannah in addition to the houseboat that Roman had singlehandedly destroyed. The nicest of them was Crescent House. It was well over a hundred years old and—while a few miles away from town in Hardeeville—it was almost comparable with the family manor in terms of size, stature, and luxury.
This is where the Wheelers were. Roman had no doubt.
He pulled to a stop a quarter of a mile away from the house. Using the baking soda, fresh cut violets, and duck liver he brought in his backpack, he cast a shielding spell.
It was simple magic. Clean, but effective. It would do the job of allowing him to fly under the radar as he watched the Wheelers from a distance.
He pulled up to Crescent House, his new car under the shield of the spell and parked across the street. He had an unobstructed view of the estate and—with the magic in place—he didn’t have to worry about being seen. This was an old-fashioned stake out, just like in the movies his grandfather used to watch with him when he was a kid.
The characters in those movies always had a partner though—a sidekick to help pass the time. Roman had no one like that anymore. His family wouldn’t approve of this action, he lost most of his friends when he started dabbling in dark magic, and it wasn’t as if he could take Julia along for this. No. He was on his own here. Luckily, he’d remembered to pack an iPad and a Snicker bar along with the magical supplies.
Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Page 14
