Now embarrassed, she nodded. Her knees felt like gel when she climbed to her feet, and she held onto the desk for an extra moment as an excuse while she closed her computer screens. She also didn’t want Luke to see her momentary weakness. He’d already seen too much. “I’m fine. Heading to bed now.”
Legs stronger, she pushed past both men, only to run into the two servers in the hallway. Taylor, a twenty-something girl with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, stared, while Christy, older by a good couple of decades, blinked up at Rowan from her top height of five-foot even. “You okay, darling? That was quite a shriek.”
Rowan took a breath, feeling stupid. “Fine. Just a dream.”
“Hell of a dream.”
The warmth of her face had her nodding and turning toward the stairs. Her fair skin flushed much too easily. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m okay. Really. You all have a good night.”
****
Sonny watched the young woman disappear through the door leading to the stairwell. “Maybe that girl needs a little protection.”
“From bad dreams?” Luke dropped into the office chair, still warm from Rowan. His insides trembled from the woman’s scream, but the rest of the staff didn’t need to know.
“A little gris-gris never hurt anyone. Maybe this place is getting to her.”
“I sure wouldn’t want to stay here overnight,” Taylor pointed out, and Christy hummed in agreement.
Fixing his gaze intently on all of them, Luke raised his brows. “There’s nothing here that would hurt her. For God’s sake, she had a nightmare.”
In the almost three years he’d been living at the tavern, he’d never felt threatened by any of its inhabitants. He’d been truthful with Rowan the night Robert had performed his odd display of welcome. The ghosts in the tavern were benign, as far as he was concerned. The memory of that night brought an image of her in a sleep shirt, flashing a lot of leg and hefting a flashlight bigger than she was. He bit back a smile.
“What about Jimmy?”
The weight of a stone fell into his gut. He hadn’t discussed the circumstances of Jimmy’s death with any of them before. “What about him?”
Sonny frowned, his gaze darting around the office, unable to fix on Luke. He shot a glance over his shoulder as if to confirm that Rowan O’Herley had indeed gone upstairs. “Well, you know…”
Luke stared at Sonny and waited.
“I know you feel safe here, but I dunno … what if something here doesn’t like her? Like it didn’t like Jimmy?”
He supposed Sonny’s assumption was a fair one. He’d heard the rumors, as did practically the rest of the whole damned city, but Luke was the one who saw the body and everything in his gut screamed it was something beyond The Goose. “It wasn’t the bar. I think Jimmy might have gotten himself into … something else. He just didn’t tell me about it.”
That knowledge burned him. He might have been able to help, but he’d been forced to watch the old man pull away from everyone and everything for months before his death. And Jimmy never said a damned thing. Luke didn’t know if he’d been trying to protect him or perhaps was too terrified to let him in.
“How do you know Ms. O’Herley isn’t being affected by … whatever … Jimmy was involved in? It’s not normal for a girl that age to be sporting that kind of eye baggage. Her sleep must be crap.” Christy crossed her arms over her chest, her expression stern. Luke had a feeling her two young kids shriveled under that look.
“Look, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll keep an eye on her.” The words stumbled out and his heart turned leaden. He would watch out for her, but he wouldn’t be able to help himself. So much for not getting involved.
“I thought you didn’t like her.” Taylor peeped over Christy’s shoulder, reddening when Luke stared at her.
He shook his head and waved an impatient hand. “Go home, everyone.”
Chapter Eight
Balance.
It was too easy to push too hard, too fast in his zeal. Not keeping balanced could prove dangerous for both of them.
He’d forced himself to pull back to concentrate on building himself up nutritionally and spiritually. Not an easy bridge to erect. His energy continued to wan, a slow leak without end unless he could rectify things, but if he moved too fast, he could lose the girl to a mental break. She’d still be useful but nowhere near to the extent of a healthy mind and body.
Still fatigued, frustration clawed at him, but control was tantamount. He’d only day-walked to the girl once, relegating most of his communication to the dream world. Subconscious prodding was important, but experience dictated the necessity to insinuate himself into her conscious mind as well. And that took much more strength. The constant drain worried him, but by comparison, today was a better day. His time was limited so he would need to take advantage.
The man rose from his cot, choosing hydration and protein, not paying attention to taste or texture. On a cognitive level, he knew his body needed fuel, but he also knew he now ran on a different kind of raw energy. Survival. There was nothing left otherwise.
If he contemplated too much, he’d feel sorry for the girl. She was only a pawn after all, but vengeance sought blood. He found it much more palatable to think of her as a tool. James Broussard had run scared and tried to call it all off, which had been unacceptable. Ady never anticipated the old man’s betrayal, and that knowledge enraged him. He should have seen it coming, but the path had turned murky, perhaps a taste of reprimand from the gods for his ego. Marcus had paid penance for his limited vision and Jimmy had slipped into a very unpleasant death. It had taken months of torment and Ady still had not been able to collect the debt. Marcus shook his head at the memory. Stupid, stupid man. If Broussard had known his niece would pay for his betrayal, would that have changed the outcome? Ady couldn’t say. Some men had more honor than others.
At the time, it didn’t occur to him that the tavern held protection. Broussard’s soul had been lost to him because of an old spell. Age didn’t make it any less potent. Annoyed, he still wondered about the origins. It could have been purposeful, but then again it could have been the result of a curse that bounced back. Marcus hadn’t personally heard of such an event, but knew it was possible. Over the years, he’d learned never to underestimate the gods or those who communicated with them.
Not that it mattered now. Ady acquiesced to facts. Yes, Broussard had managed to elude him. The girl, however, would not.
It was time to reach out once again.
On shaky legs, he stepped into the back room, careful to avoid the lines of the intricate diagram he’d constructed. Against the far wall, a bookshelf filled with jars of standard ingredients, plus many taboo, met the eyes. Every single one had had its use. Some white. Some black.
Removing two jars from the top shelf, he ingested a pinch from the first before returning it to its home. He left the other within reach as he lit candles to join the points of the diagram on the floor. Holding the second jar with a shaking hand, he positioned himself in the center of the drawing, crossed his legs, and let out his breath, controlled and steady. Dipping his fingers into the liquid, he painted symbols upon his naked skin, his motions robotic, trancelike. The murmurs rose from him. Sometimes he was aware when they did, sometimes not. The tongue would not be in a language discernible to any local. Afterward, he would have little memory of it. But he would remember the result.
As he slipped under, Marcus Ady smiled even as his eyes glazed.
Chapter Nine
Luke needed to ride.
He’d been balancing his obligatory watch over Rowan with his aversion to getting too close for too damned long, and the effort left him tense, wired, and ready to snap.
As far as he could tell, nothing more had plagued her in the last few weeks and he could admit he was happy for it. He didn’t need the extra worry. On the other hand, this now well-rested, gorgeous woman was always under foot with a flurry of ideas and activities to impr
ove the Goose. Luke could barely move without bumping into her in one capacity or another.
In frustration, he’d made the short hike to storage and now opened up the muscular Fat Boy, heading east.
Last year he’d paid cash for the bike, much to the shock of the salesperson. A rare indulgence he didn’t regret. Especially during times like this.
There was no specific place he had in mind, but the sheer act of speed pushing his hair back and throwing his thoughts to the wind brought him into a state of peace as close to contentment as he could ever get.
Early-morning sun barely dusted the horizon, which meant little to no traffic. Between Louisiana and Mississippi, everything was wide open. It also meant his chances of earning a speeding ticket were also wide open. But didn’t bother him. It would be worth it.
Thick foliage pressed in from both sides of the highway and he could imagine everything lurking within. Gators that wouldn’t be going into hibernation quite yet, black bears, raccoons, coyotes, and who knew what else. Maybe even the Rougarou roamed to keep Cajun kids in line. Hell, he’d been one of them. Whenever he’d acted up, grand-mère threatened him with the legend. It worked up until he was about seven. After that, he’d tried to be good out of respect. Failed miserably at times, but still tried. She’d always given him points for that.
He pushed the bike a little faster, thinking how she would have kicked his ass for not wearing a helmet, and allowed a closed mouth smile around the image to avoid bugs between his teeth.
It fell away the moment his mind shifted and he let out an oath the wind blew right back at him. He hadn’t wanted to think about Rowan O’Herley, but there she was, once more, hanging out on his periphery, taunting him.
Anger flared inside, any enjoyment of the impulsive ride shriveling into nothing.
Luke didn’t want to picture her. He didn’t want to think about the glow of flawless skin, the tumble of hair the color of burnished mahogany, and how those soft gray eyes would sharpen into flint when they were cast his way.
He certainly didn’t want to imagine pressing her up against the closest wall to discover how that rosebud mouth tasted or what it would be like to explore the satin of her flesh with his tongue and lips.
There was no way in the world he could put himself through that kind of anguish again. The more intense the love, the harder the fall. It was a lesson he didn’t dare challenge a second time. Losing everything once had been enough.
So far, she was only a beautiful woman with the fire of barely contained temper simmering beneath the surface. He could still walk away from that, even as intriguing as it was. But he sensed something else. Maybe it was his imagination or some kind of deep desire to connect, but he thought he saw sadness in those mystic eyes, even a sense of isolation. An outsider, not unlike him.
And that was what threatened him the most. What had put that sadness there? What had perpetrated that sense of being alone?
Shit, shit, shit!
It was a sure indication that it was time to move on. Overdue, actually. He’d been suspended in nothingness for far too long. Maybe he should gather the two or three things that meant anything to him, hop on the bike, and head north. He had no concrete ties. Especially now that things had quieted down at the Goose.
The thought roamed in his head as he rode. No, no concrete ties. No ties at all, not to mean anything, at least. But he didn’t have any anywhere. He and his mom weren’t close. Not really. He’d make an annual pilgrimage to see her just to be uncomfortable and awkward. He was a painful reminder of husband number two and his mother liked to reflect on how much he looked and acted like his dad. Sometimes to the point of popping an Imitrex and laying down when the migraines struck. Husband number three would slide into a melancholy sulk whenever this happened and cast pointed, accusatory stares at Luke.
Like it was his fucking fault his father died in a wreck when he was two. Like it was his fucking fault that the woman was subject to hell headaches. Sometimes he had to quell the urge to drag his stepfather up by his paisley suspenders and give him a good shake. The only thing keeping him from doing it was a detached sense of gratitude. It was mostly because of George that Luke spent so much time with his grandmother growing up. “Getting the boy out of the house” was best for a sickly and nervous woman. As an adult, it meant staying away for long spans of time until the inevitable guilt-prodding phone call came: “Why don’t you come up and see your mother once in a while?”
God, it was maddening.
He supposed he had a marginally better relationship with his half-sister, but she lived in Dayton with her accountant husband, their two-point-five kids, dog, cat, white picket fence, and Slip ‘N Slide. Although Tina always kept the front door symbolically unlocked, the idea of venturing too close made his teeth ache. Luke chose not to acknowledge it hurt on another, deeper level.
Hell, maybe he should try somewhere like Wyoming or Montana. Someplace with a less dense population and crisp winters, where a man could breathe.
Right.
Luke was a southern boy and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
The vibrant image of a smoky-eyed redhead broke through his mental ramblings once more and Luke gritted his teeth.
Allowing a low growl that echoed deep in his chest, he opted to exit the freeway and make a U-turn toward home. His brief moments of Zen were now ruined.
****
The tepid shower hadn’t helped. It had sloughed off the road dust but did little to shift his mood.
Luke stared into the mirror fogged by the heat of his shower. His distorted image wavered back at him and he had the feeling that might be the true him. Hazy, disconnected, not there. A ghost of a man.
Maybe that was why he stayed in the old bar. He felt right at home. He wasn’t dead, but he didn’t feel like he was living either, so he split the difference.
He wasn’t sure when Rowan would be back, so he hastened to shave, thoroughly rinse the sink, and pack up his toiletries. He never left a trace if he could help it.
Throwing his shirt over his shoulder, he stepped from the heated fog of the bathroom into the cool bedroom. Her bed was unmade, a tank top and pajama bottoms carelessly thrown across the foot. No long t-shirt this time. A tiny smile twisted his lips the night she’d been introduced to Robert the ghost. She had nice legs. He would have liked to see more.
Fleeting warmth turned cold and his smile morphed into a glower. Darkness pushed out the flicker of light, bringing him back into his comfort zone.
Luke started to pull his shirt on as he left the bedroom, freezing at the creak of the door.
Rowan stood inside, hand on the knob. She’d gone running. Sweat darkened her top, shining against her brow. Now staring at him through narrowed eyes, a frown crinkled her normally smooth brow. As her gaze swept over his torso, the appearance of irritation quickly dissolved, replaced by widened eyes and her mouth dropping open.
Heat bloomed under his skin and he quickly yanked the shirt over and down, blocking further perusal. With a stiff nod, he strode past her.
Luke could sense those misty eyes searing into his back as he retreated, and he could barely contain his temper when he let himself into office to start the day.
He was such a fucking idiot. He should have been more careful. It had no doubt been inevitable, but that knowledge did nothing to take the bite out of what happened.
He despised feeling so fucking vulnerable. At one time it held him in its powerful grip for months, but that was a long time ago. He thought he was done with it.
What was it about this girl that made him feel so damned exposed?
Luke booted up Jimmy’s ancient CPU and opened the morning books, only to stop and stare at the far wall in thought. A tiny part of him recognized that Jimmy’s swimsuit calendar had disappeared in lieu of something with Japanese woodblock prints, but most of him studied Rowan’s face in retrospect. Of all the reactions he could have perceived, the one thing he didn’t read from her was pity.
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Chapter Ten
The low roar of dozens of conversations with the occasional guffaw overtook the crooning of Tim McGraw from the jukebox. Tim would soon be silenced in favor of live musicians as the band set up on the tiny corner platform. Christy and Taylor sped from table to table, while Luke tended the bar with efficiency she admired, even if it didn’t always include a smile. Rowan had hired a couple of part-timers to help out on weekend evenings and Rowan did a quick search, finding Zoe taking an order at one of the booths, and Justin serving something fruity and colorful to an old lady dressed to match the drink.
For a moment, she caught herself drifting back to watch Luke, the memory of his scars etched permanently into her brain. Darkened skin and mottled, puckered flesh spread down his right shoulder, arm, and a third of the way across his chest.
Burns. The aftermath of second and third degree burns.
Jesus. What had happened to him?
He caught her staring and she looked away when his gaze hardened.
The band had almost finished setting up and unexpected nerves shook through her. She pulled in a deep breath to release it slowly. The tavern was busy and more people were finding their way in. It would be fine. Her gamble on live musicians would pay off.
Chanting her inner pep talk, she walked up to the bar and leaned against it. She did her best to ignore Luke, unwilling to embarrass them both.
Rowan’s instincts told her he wouldn’t appreciate her compassion anyway. Instead, she nodded to Justin.
She tried not to cringe as the man loped her way like a big, earnest Labrador retriever puppy. He was about her age, but had the open face and gawkiness of a high school junior. “What can I get for you, Rowan?”
And he always used her first name in every single sentence. He was one hell of a bartender though. “Mix me up a hurricane?”
“The biggest and best, just for you, Rowan.” His huge baby blues held hers, grin widening as she watched. She half-expected it to engulf his whole head.
Soul Reckoning Page 5
