The Witch of Stonecliff

by Dawn Brown

  And surrounded by rumors she murdered men.

  “Have you—” he hesitated, searching for the right words, settling on “—done this before?”

  Her eyes narrowed. Pink flush tinged face. “Of course I have,” she snapped. “I’m not some thirty-year-old virgin.”

  “Right.” And if he could have chosen a worse moment to ask her, he couldn’t think of it. “Sorry.”

  Without taking his gaze from hers, he tucked her bra beneath her other breast. Her breath caught. Her eyes darkened.

  Uncertain she might be, but she wanted this, wanted him and he was only too happy to oblige.

  * * *

  Kyle’s mouth closed around her breast, and Eleri’s knees nearly buckled. She grabbed on to his shoulders, managing to steady herself before crumpling to the floor. Lips sucked and teeth tugged at her turgid nipple only to be soothed again by his tongue. Need flamed through her limbs, licking at her frayed nerve endings. She could almost forget that embarrassing exchange.He’d known. Something she’d done or more likely hadn’t done had given away her lack of experience.

  She closed her eyes, let her head fall back and pushed her troubled thoughts aside, focusing on the tiny trills coursing through her, the steady pounding low in her core.

  Kyle’s hands slid over her ribs, leaving trails of shivery heat. Her breath quickened. Clever fingers traced her hip then pulled at the button fastening her trousers. She tried not to stiffen, not to behave in any way that might imply she didn’t do this sort of thing all the time. Then her trousers were gone, nothing more than a pile of dull gray fabric around her ankles, and she was standing before him in only her panties. Even her bra had been pulled back leaving her breasts visible.

  She’d never been so exposed, so naked in front of anyone before. Even with Griffin, it had been dark, their meetings fast and secret, never leaving them the opportunity to completely undress.

  Kyle ran his hands down her legs. “What could you be thinking hiding this.”

  Despite the strangeness of it all, his words sent a thrill trickling over her. She felt attractive, sexy, even, and it had been so long since she had.

  He slid his hands up her legs, thumbs trailing the inside of her thighs then grazing the cleft between her legs. Her hips jerked, sensation jolting her system. A whimper escaped her lips.

  Kyle smiled slow and predatorily.

  “You’re wet.” His raspy voice prickled her skin, but before she could respond his mouth closed over her core. Even through her panties, his hot breath and probing tongue nearly sent her over the edge. Need spiraled tight inside her like a coil ready to snap. She moaned, grasping his hair to keep him close. If his previous observation pleased him, he must be absolutely thrilled by the flood of wet heat surging between her legs.

  Kyle grasped her underwear at the hips and tugged the fabric away. She tensed, waiting, eager for him to continue his onslaught. Instead, he eased back and stood. Disappointment swirled inside her. Had she done something wrong?

  “Lie back on the bed,” he said, tugging his T-shirt over his head.

  Maybe she should have taken his clothes off him. Maybe she should help him now. She didn’t have clue, so she lay back on his bed, sinking into his covers. Besides, he seemed to be doing fine on his own.

  Shirt gone, his chest was bare, giving her a first look at him. He was all lean, sinewy muscle. He yanked his jeans from his narrow hips, shimmying out of them and his boxers at the same time.

  Instantly, her gaze shot to his penis. For God sake, don’t stare. He’ll think you’re a pervert. But she couldn’t help herself. His erection stood long and thick from a thatch of brown hair. A mix of excitement and apprehension welled inside her.

  He crawled over the bed, over her. His length was suspended inches above her body. Heat radiated from his skin as he settled over her, fitting his hips between her legs. His body was hot silk over steel. The tip of his penis nudged her opening.

  She arched up, desperate to have him inside her. He grasped her hips, holding her to the mattress.

  “Soon,” Kyle murmured, and pressed his mouth briefly to hers. “But I want to taste you when you come first.”

  His mouth left a hot, wet trail between her breasts over her belly. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her fingers curled into the covers.

  She’d never done this. Not with Griff. Not with anyone. In a sense, when it came to this sort of intimacy she was the virgin Kyle accused her of.

  Please don’t let him notice.

  Please don’t let him stop.

  His tongue crested her opening, and she nearly shot off the bed. She grasped his hair, desperate for something to anchor her. He grunted softly then his mouth closed over her and any trace of coherent thought fled. She was lost, swept away in a torrent of sensation.

  He sucked and lapped, tongue probing. She whimpered, hips undulating as if of their own accord. Delicious tension stretched inside her, swelling, pulling until she finally shattered, broke, flew apart in a thousand different directions.

  Kyle’s mouth drove her on, through her orgasm, teasing, tasting as the aftershocks rippled through her. Finally he lifted his head and shot her a smug grin.

  Eleri couldn’t work up the energy for a reaction. Every muscle inside her had turned to hot wax. Besides, he had every right to look smug. No one had ever made her feel like that before.

  Vaguely, the crinkle of plastic reached her ears, and seconds later Kyle stretched over her. His mouth catching hers, hungry and demanding, her own tangy flavor on his lips. Renewed heat flared in the pit of her belly. Good Lord, how had he managed to reawaken her need so quickly?

  His hips nudged her legs wider, erection grazing her sensitized cleft. She moaned, grasping his backside and urging him on. He pushed deep, filling her. A low groan rumbled in his chest, mingling with her soft gasp. He was inside her, wrapped around her, consuming her. She lost track of where she ended and he began.

  He started to move, slowly at first. Thin ribbons of pleasure rippled through her. His pace increased, his hand sliding under to grasp her backside, kneading her flesh as he pushed deeper, harder. Then she was lost in a frantic, primal pace. She was aware of little more than his warm flesh pressed against her, the slap of their bodies coming together and the exquisite tightening at her core.

  She shattered a second time like fine crystal against jagged stone. Kyle groaned, pushed deep and stiffened. His body trembled until he finally collapsed on top of her.

  They lay together for a long time, their breathing ragged, their hearts slamming against their chests. Finally, Kyle lifted his head and stared down at her. Those light green eyes almost glowed in the low light, his expression impossible to read.

  “What’s wrong?” Oh, God, had she been lousy? Was he looking for a way to get her out of his bed? The pleasant, languid sensation wrapped around her vanished.

  He grinned and swept a lecherous look down at her body before kissing her. “Nothing, believe me.”

  The humor in his tone brought a smile to her own lips, emboldened her. She pressed her mouth to his, playing the role of aggressor for the first time, and he let her. When she nipped at his lips, he parted them, allowing her tongue to sweep inside his mouth and explore. She traced a finger over his chest, followed the ridges of his stomach muscles, over his hip…

  He sucked in a breath and jerked back, mouth curling into a smile. “My God, you could tempt a saint. Unfortunately, there’s something pressing I need to take care of.”

  He eased away from her and stood before padding to the door, probably to be rid of the condom. She propped up on her elbows admiring his broad shoulders and firm backside until he disappeared down the hall.

  What was happening to her? She collapsed back into the pillows. One sexual encounter and she was behaving like some sex-starved nymphet. Was it any wonder? It had been almost ten years since a man had touched her, looked at her with anything besides fear.

  She’d missed physical contact, and not just s
ex, any contact. Hell, even eye contact was a refreshing change. Still, as pleasant as all of this had been, she couldn’t confuse it for something it wasn’t.

  They were two people caught in a lousy situation enjoying each other. That was reality and she needed to accept it. A good place to start would be getting out of his bed, dressing and going home. And she would, as soon as she worked up the energy to open her eyes—let alone sit up.

  The mattress dipped beside her and Kyle slid between the sheets, pulling the covers over them both. She opened her mouth to tell him she should go, but all that came out was an unintelligible mumble.

  “Shh,” Kyle murmured. He pulled her against him, so her back was cradled against his chest, his long frame wrapped around her. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck just beneath her ear, and she fell into oblivion.

  * * *

  “Do you really believe he’ll tell you anything this time?”

  Kyle looked over at Eleri, but her gaze remained fixed on Mel Barber’s farmhouse through the windscreen, her expression difficult to read.

  “He will,” Kyle told her, flatly. He wouldn’t leave until the man told him everything he knew about the people who had taken him.

  When Kyle had woken that morning with Eleri’s body fit perfectly to his, need reignited inside him. He’d wanted to run his hand over her small curves, taste her skin and wake her so he could get inside her again.

  Until his gaze had fallen on her bruised neck.

  Cold reality had blown through him like a frigid wind. She could have been killed and it would have been his fault. He’d been so bloody focused on getting his answers, justice, he’d never stopped to consider what his actions meant for Eleri.

  Not so different from when he’d been writing his articles about The Witch of Stonecliff.

  Not him, Jack.

  But he was Jack and Jack was him.

  He wanted to believe that the self-serving bastard he’d been was gone, dead and buried, bled out beside The Devil’s Eye. But he was using Eleri again, just like Jack had done. Only instead of furthering his career, he’d dragged her into a scheme that could get them both killed.

  That was fine for him. He’d made his choice. He couldn’t go on the way he had, looking over his shoulder. He needed to know what had happened to him, who had tried to kill him, and if he died trying, so be it.

  It wasn’t fair of him to drag Eleri into his mess.

  “The Devil’s Eye is through those woods.” She pointed to a cluster of trees at the far end of Barber’s fields. Long grass swayed and bowed with the wind like green waves.

  He nodded.

  She faced him, expression incredulous. “You ran all that way with your throat cut?”

  Tingling crawled along his neck and he nodded again. “I did.”

  Fear and adrenalin had kept his feet moving, the pain at bay. Maybe lingering traces of GHB had kept him dull-minded enough he hadn’t grasped the damage done to him.

  He tugged Eleri’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

  “Maybe it’s better if you talk to Barber alone,” Eleri said, eyeing the little cottage. “Look what happened with Grady.”

  Not a chance. Kyle shook his head. “Grady’s a drunk and a nutter.”

  “You said yourself, he thinks I’m one of the people who tried to kill you. He might be afraid to talk if I’m there.”

  “I’ll see that he talks,” he said, with more conviction than he felt. After all, he didn’t plan on shoving bamboo reeds under Barber’s fingernails or anything. He was hoping a good dose of guilt would be enough.

  “But—”

  “Two nights ago someone tried to choke you in your bed.” Kyle took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “I’m not leaving you alone, so no point in arguing.”

  He gave her hand a gentle tug and she reluctantly allowed him to pull her toward the house.

  “I still think you’re making a mistake.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Wind whispered through the long grass in the fields and carried the soft bleating of Barber’s sheep dotting the hills. But aside from the wind and sheep, the farm was oddly silent. Kyle followed a narrow stone walk to the cottage’s front door and knocked. No answer. He tried again.

  “Maybe he’s not here,” Eleri said.

  “His truck is.” He nodded to the rusted heap parked in front of the barn. It was the same one Barber had driven him to the hospital in.

  He tried the door and the heavy wood swung wide. Unease crawled up his back like tiny, frigid insects.

  “What are you doing?” Eleri hissed.

  “Looking for Barber. Come on.” Kyle took Eleri’s hand, and she followed him inside.

  Unlike Grady’s cottage—which had him considering updating his tetanus—Barber’s was neat, tidy and smelled of lemon. The furniture was well worn, but homey and clean.

  Eleri moved to the framed photos on the fireplace mantle. “This must be his wife.”

  “I didn’t even know he was married.” Kyle came up behind her and looked at the woman with steel gray curls hugging her head, a demure smile pulling at her round cheeks.

  “She died,” Eleri said, thoughtfully. “About ten years ago. Cancer, I think.”

  Kyle straightened and called out, “Barber.”

  Silence except for the ticking clock next to the picture of Barber’s dead wife.

  “I don’t think he’s here,” Eleri said, softly.

  “His front door was open and his truck’s out front.” Kyle wandered into the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway.

  A single plate sat on the table, a pot and casserole dish on the stove.

  “His dinner?” Eleri asked, from beside him.

  “From how many nights ago?” A layer of white fuzz dusted the remains of congealed beef stew.

  “Something’s off,” she whispered.

  Kyle nodded. Had they found a moldy plate of food in Grady’s cottage, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but here, where things were so neat and orderly…

  He searched the remainder of the cottage, but found no sign of the man in the bathroom or bedrooms. Nothing appeared disturbed or strange, except for the rotting food in his kitchen.

  “There must be an explanation,” Eleri said, arms wrapped around her middle. “Maybe an emergency, and he had to rush out.”

  “Without his truck?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Someone could have picked him up.”

  He wanted to believe her, to believe that the man was fine, that something horrible hadn’t happened to him. Yet he couldn’t shake the dread gnawing at his insides with jagged teeth.

  “Let’s check the barn.”

  They left the house and crossed the dirt drive. Cold wind whipped across the fields, fat gray clouds sweeping across blue sky and dappling the pasture with shadow and light.

  With Eleri’s hand gripped in his, Kyle lead her around the side of the rickety barn. Both wood doors stood open. Inside, the barn was dark, the low light from outside brightening the floorboards nearest the door.

  “There has to be a light.” He released Eleri’s hand and felt along the beam behind the door for a switch. His fingers slid over a smooth plastic plate and he pressed the switch. Two bare bulbs mounted to the wide beam overhead flickered to life and cast hard, white light over the squat body dangling from the highest beam.

  Kyle’s blood turned icy. A quick gasp slipped from Eleri’s lips before she pressed both hands to her mouth as if to hold back her scream.

  The hanging man turned slightly on the rope, pinning Kyle with sightless bulging eyes. Barber’s round, purple face—pink foam dried around his protruding lips—was barely recognizable.

  III

  “Courier brought a package for you.”

  At the sound of a voice in the otherwise silent room, Kyle’s heart jumped into his throat. He started, the back of his hand knocking over his cup of tea that had long ago gone cold. Brown liquid splashed across the antique oak desk and Kyle yanked aw
ay his laptop. Why he worried, he didn’t know.

  He’d set his computer up on the old desk by the window in the den—the same one he and his brother and sisters had all done their homework at when they were children—under the guise of getting back to work, back to normal. Not for the magazine, of course. He’d never write for them again, but maybe some freelance work, or that novel he’d always told himself he’d write. But nothing had come to him, and he spent hour after hour playing spider solitaire.

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said, coming to stand next to him. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

  Kyle hated the regret in his brother’s voice almost as much as the soothing tone Tom—and the rest of his family—used whenever he spoke to him now. Like he was a nervous wreck on the verge of a breakdown. Though, the cold tea creeping across the desk would imply they were right.

  “No worries,” he said, trying not to wince. His new voice, low and raspy, still sounded strange, like someone else speaking for him. He set his computer on the floor, then snatched his hoodie from the back of his chair and mopped up the mess. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

  “There’s a package for you.” Tom held out the plastic UPS bag.

  “Thanks.” He took the package, heart thudding. Who would send him something? Immediately his head filled with images of dark robes, flickering flames, blood. His skin turned clammy.

  It could be from anyone. A co-worker. A friend. Why did anything out of the monotonous routine of his day put him in a cold sweat?

  It had been months, nearly a year. He should be over this. He should be better. His throat was better, or as good as it would ever get. Why couldn’t the rest of him catch up?

  He fingered the plastic. Despite the excessive wrapping, there was only a small box inside. Small enough to hold an ear, teeth, a finger or two.

  He shuddered

  “Are you all right?” Tom asked.

  “Fine. I need scissors.” Kyle yanked open the desk drawer, avoiding his brother’s gaze. With his head bent, digging through the mess of miscellaneous odds and ends, he could feel Tom studying him. The same way the rest of his family did—like he was some strange creature they’d never encountered and weren’t sure what to do with.