Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  It seemed to take Cara less than a minute to compose herself, it took Liam a good while longer. He was still struggling with his temper as she slid off Gregg’s lap and headed for the bathroom.

  “She’s really something special, isn’t she?” Gregg asked softly, his eyes on her retreating figure.

  Liam didn’t trust himself to answer. She was special, damn it, and maybe one day he’d get to tell her that himself. But, in the meantime, “I have to get out of here.” It wasn’t a request, it wasn’t a challenge, it was a simple statement of fact – and a last ditch attempt to save himself from blowing his cover, and his case, straight to shit. If he stayed here much longer, he’d end up doing something stupid – like putting his fist through Gregg’s face.

  Gregg smiled understandingly. “I guess you probably still want to see your friend, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Liam muttered. “Yeah, I do.” It was as good an excuse as any. In fact, hell, maybe he would go and see Chenoa. If anyone could pull his tattered psyche back together, she could.

  Gregg nodded. “Tell me some more about her, before you go. I really want to meet her. Soon. See if you can’t convince her to come back with you.”

  “I’ll do that,” Liam promised, knowing damn well he’d do no such thing. “I’ll ask her tonight.”

  * * *

  Chenoa stood at her window, watching as her brother slipped across the street and faded into the shadows. She shook her head and sighed. “Damn it, Chay, where are you going now?” He wasn’t headed back to Erin’s place, that much was certain. And, not really a surprise, either. Despite his assurances, she’d gotten a clear sense that, whatever he’d been up to tonight, he wasn’t done with it yet.

  She only hoped that, whatever he was up to, he didn’t end up back on her doorstep like he had last night; cut and burned, his torn clothes covered in blood. It was hardly Chay’s fault, of course, that he’d gotten injured. And it was lucky for Nick that he’d been there to save him. Still, Chenoa had thought her brother was growing up, settling down, spending his nights at home – like a normal person. She was almost tempted to call Erin and talk to her about it. Maybe if she explained a few things to the woman..? But somehow, she doubted her brother would appreciate her interference.

  The irony of her position wasn’t lost on Chenoa. So, she had discernment now. Big deal. What good did it do for her to see things clearly, if no one bothered to take her advice?

  Maybe that’s why Chay had been in such a hurry to leave. Maybe he thought she would try and tell him what to do. Hunh. As if. “Chay, you dumb ass,” she muttered as she let the curtain fall back into place. “You ought to know better than that.”

  Even if that was what he thought, it still wouldn’t have hurt him to stay a little while, would it?

  She was still worked up from her ceremony; still buzzing with excitement. She’d actually been glad when Chay had turned up in the park so unexpectedly. She thought she’d have the chance to discuss her experience with someone who could understand, or at least appreciate what it was like. “Have a seat,” she’d told him, when he’d followed her upstairs and into her apartment. “I’ll put on some tea and then we can talk.”

  But Chay, it appeared, had other plans. “No thanks,” he said, as he took a quick look around, opening doors, poking his nose into corners, looking for all the world as if he’d expected to find someone here. “I can’t stay long. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay here.”

  Chenoa stared at him in surprise. She’d surrounded the place with a bubble of light. It was secure. Protected. Safe. The only way evil could enter now was if she allowed it in. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

  Chay shrugged. “No reason, I guess.” The slight frown that furrowed his brow gave lie to his words.

  He’s up to something, Chenoa thought, as she watched him; but what? “A cup of tea won’t take you very long, Chay. Surely you can spare a few minutes?”

  Chay shook his head. “Another time,” he said as he gave her a brief hug. “I have to get home.”

  Now, as she turned away from the window, she was conscious of a deep feeling of disappointment brewing inside her. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, bro,” she sighed.

  She shivered a little as she surveyed the room, it seemed so... empty. Apparently Chay’s survey had convinced him that everything here was as it should be. But, it was having the opposite effect on her. She was left with the uneasy suspicion that nothing was as it seemed.

  Maybe Chay knew something she didn’t? He’d lied about going home; maybe he was lying about everything?

  It took Chenoa a few minutes to recognize the real source of her discontent. She was used to being alone. Used to being self sufficient, on her own, left to her own devices. It wasn’t often she felt lonely. But, she did tonight.

  The pipe was an awesome gift, and a true honor. But, as far as company went, it left a lot to be desired.

  * * *

  Wispy, pale clouds gathered silently in the sky above Chay’s head as he made his way through the silent forest. It was unusual for the evening fog to be moving in so late. But then, everything about the weather had been strange this season. It had been neither excessively wet nor particularly dry, but changeable and cool, and slow to settle into Spring.

  The silence was unusual, too. Most evenings, the woodlands that surrounded Oberon teemed with life. Tonight, they appeared to be mostly deserted. He could feel the gaze of a small, gray, ghost owl as it tracked him from its perch high amid the branches of a Sycamore; but he could sense no other animals roaming the forest. They had all gone to ground.

  He wasn’t sure why that surprised him so much. If he could feel the wrongness here, the growing darkness in the woods around him, surely so could those creatures who made this their home. He was more comfortable in the wilderness than most people were, but he was still a visitor here. His home was with Erin, and he desperately wished he was on his way there now. But he had responsibilities to deal with, mistakes to correct, promises to keep. And, right now, like it or not, those had to come first.

  Nick had asked him to search the area around the old Gilchrist mansion, and look for anything that might appear to be a tunnel. That’s what he had been attempting last night. And it was a good thing he was. If he hadn’t been there, he had no doubt that Nick, and possibly Liam, too, would have died.

  Yet, in the last message he’d left on Chay’s answering machine, Nick had warned him away from the place. Whatever had changed his mind, it appeared to related to the cult that was currently housed in the mansion, and to the cult’s leader, in particular.

  Which is why it had come as an unpleasant shock to learn that Liam was living there now.

  Chay shook his head. He didn’t like hearing that, not one little bit. He had a real bad feeling about it, in fact. But then, he didn’t like anything to do with what had happened last night. There were too many coincidences, too much that was unexplained. He didn’t like Nick’s change of heart. He didn’t like the questions that surrounded the so-called accident. He didn’t like the way Liam had appeared on the scene, so unexpectedly, and at just the right time. In fact, the only up side he could see to Liam’s involvement with TLV, was that spending all his time out there might keep him away from Chenoa.

  His sister had enough on her plate, at the moment. She didn’t need any more distractions, right now, than she already had.

  Chay sighed aloud in frustration. If he could be in more than one place at a time, he’d be there, too; dogging Chenoa’s footsteps, following her every move until he was sure she was out of danger. But, how much could one man do?

  He loved his sister. And, even though she was several years younger than he, he honored her abilities, her wisdom and her skills. But he worried about her, too. The pipe worked on its carrier in strange and subtle ways. He’d seen it humble many who were older, wiser, and more experienced in its ways. His sister had always been brash and assertive. Slow to ask for help and even sl
ower to take advice, that was Chenoa. With someone like her, he imagined the pipe would first put her ego to the test. The chances of her falling prey to overconfidence, delusion and denial were particularly great. And, with so much else at risk, right now, particularly dangerous.

  * * *

  Gregg was seated on the bed fingering his knife when Cara emerged from the bathroom, still toweling her hair from the shower. She froze at the sight of the gleaming blade in his hand. Her shoulders sagged. She shook her head wearily. So, it’s going to be one of those nights. I should have known. She sighed in annoyance and then felt her eyes grow wide as she realized that was all the emotion she could summon up. She thought about it for a moment. She didn’t feel sick or disgusted or frightened. She didn’t feel any of the things she usually did. After all the other crap she’d been through today, she was now just really…annoyed.

  She sighed again, and went back to rubbing her hair. There was an odd gleam in Gregg’s eyes as he studied her expression, but although she couldn’t keep from noticing, she could scrounge up neither the energy or the interest to wonder what it might mean.

  “You were in there long enough,” he growled, giving a nod toward the bathroom.

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Me? What are you talking about? I was waiting for you. I thought you two were going to be out here all night. Couldn’t you have gotten rid of him any sooner?”

  Gregg frowned. “Maybe I didn’t want to get rid of him. Maybe I wanted him to stick around and watch while I fucked you.”

  “Oh.” Well, that was something she hadn’t thought of. She never could understood why anyone would want to do that, but she guessed it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered anymore. Still, Gregg was staring at her intently, obviously waiting for her to say something and she wasn’t dumb enough to disappoint him. “So, what changed your mind?”

  “Who said I changed it?” Gregg snapped. “I said maybe that’s what I wanted. Maybe what I really wanted was for him to fuck you while I watched. Or, maybe I wanted you to fuck us both.”

  Cara nodded, surprised she hadn’t thought of any of that, either. She was worried enough about it earlier, wasn’t she? She remembered distinctly how frightened she’d been at the thought of the two of them touching her, stripping her clothes off, holding her down. Using her without any concern for what she wanted; as though she meant nothing to either one of them.

  She wanted to be more special than that. She wanted to be important enough that they’d be more likely to fight over her, than share her. She’d been on the verge of tears at the thought of what it would be like to be treated like that, so tense her stomach had ached from the fear. But now? Did she really care? Would it really be any worse then what she’d already endured?

  She tossed the towel aside, put her hands on her hips and shrugged. “Well, fine, then. Call him back, if that’s what you want.”

  “Come here,” Gregg said, still gazing at her with that strange, almost puzzled expression. He took hold of her arm as she approached, grabbing her just above the bandage on her wrist, and drew her closer, until she was standing right between his legs. “What game are you playing tonight?” he asked in that silky soft voice that so often hinted at something unpleasant.

  Cara waited for the familiars skitters of fear down her spine, but they didn’t come. Nothing came. And, in its absence, she felt a giddy relief. She found herself smiling. “I dunno, Gregg. What game do you want to play, huh?”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. She watched disinterestedly as he lifted the knife and toyed with the ribbons at the neck of her gown. One slip, and this would all be over. She’d be dead, stabbed through the heart. She waited, watching, wondering what the outcome would be, wondering what she wanted it to be. The blade grazed along her skin as he ran the point up her chest and then used it to lift her chin. His gaze was dark, intense, hypnotic. His voice was still as smooth as syrup as he asked, “Do you want me to get him back here for you? Is that what this is about?”

  Did she? She tried to think about Liam – how she felt, what she wanted – but all she could think of was that look on his face, and how small he’d made her feel. You had to let someone into your heart, before he could hurt you that badly. She’d made that mistake with Seth, and now, apparently she’d done the same thing with Liam. So, no, she didn’t want him back. She didn’t want to take the chance of being hurt like that again. She’d rather have Gregg – at least she had no doubts about how he felt about her. She shook her head. “No. I’d rather be with you.”

  The point of the knife dug into her chin, forcing her to lift her head higher. She gasped in surprise.

  “I think he wants you, though,” Gregg murmured, even more softly than before. “I think he’d be very disappointed to hear you say that.”

  Cara very much doubted that was true, but disagreeing didn’t seem like the brightest thing to do, at the moment. “Sucks for him,” she said, instead.

  Gregg chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess it does, doesn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh,” Cara agreed, sighing with relief as he withdrew the knife. She lowered her chin until she was once again looking him in the eye. Gregg let go of her arm, but continued to study her face. She waited, feeling distant, disconnected, detached, not even wondering what was coming next. What did it matter?

  Finally, Gregg gestured toward her uninjured wrist. “Give me your hand.”

  She started to comply. She knew he was going to cut her and she didn’t care. A thrill of excitement rushed through her. She loved that she didn’t care. It made her feel strong, powerful, safe. She was curious to see just how far she could push herself, how far she could stretch this new mood before it snapped. “Don’t you want to heat that thing up first?” she asked, pointing at the knife in his hand.

  For just an instant she saw disbelief in Gregg’s eyes, right before it darkened into fury. Without a word, he grabbed her and tumbled her down onto the bed. He rolled to cover her, pinning her in place, with one hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back. Once again, his knife was at her throat. “Why are you doing this? Are you playing with me?”

  She gasped for breath, feeling squashed beneath his weight, but still surprisingly devoid of feelings, as though she’d moved to a place beyond emotion. Beyond tears or fears or... anything much. “I don’t know,” she answered, honestly.

  “You don’t know?” The words emerged as a growl, the knife bit deeper into her flesh. Blood poured from the wound, she could feel it start to trickle down her neck. But all she could think was how glad she was that she’d worn black tonight. At least it wouldn’t show the stain.

  “Do you want me to burn you? Is that what you’re saying?”

  She shook her head, though it pulled at her scalp and she felt the blade slice across her skin with every twist of her head; back and forth, back and forth. “No. I- I thought you did.”

  “I want to cut you, too. Are you saying want that now? What else do you want? Do you want me to bleed you? To gut you? Just say the word, pet, and I will. Now, tell me. Is that what you want?”

  Was it? It would hurt, but it would be fast. And then it would be over. “M-maybe. I- I guess... ”

  “Maybe?” Gregg’s breath shuddered. “I’m not playing around now, bitch. I will do it.”

  Bitch? She’d been called that before, and worse, but this time, for some reason, it was more than she could stand. “Then, yes,” she hissed angrily, tilting her head back further, exposing all of her neck. “Yes! Okay? Just do it, then. Do it!”

  She closed her eyes and waited. For a moment, nothing happened. And then, she heard the knife clatter to the floor. Gregg grabbed her head with both hands, pressed his lips hard against hers and kissed her.

  Cara’s senses reeled. She thought about punching him, scratching him, kneeing him in the groin. But that all seemed like too much effort. So, instead, she kissed him back; a harsh, jarring kiss. Open-mouthed. Angry. It started with their teeth scraping against each other, and ended
with his lower lip trapped between her teeth. She bit down harder, hard enough to draw blood. He reared back, pulling away, coming all the way off the bed. He stood there, staring at her. His face was flushed, he was breathing hard. His eyes burned as they locked with hers, as he licked the blood from his lip.

  She licked her own lips, and returned his stare. His eyes broke contact with hers only once, when he pulled his blood-stained shirt over his head. And then he was bending down to retrieve his knife.

  She waited. What would it feel like to die, she wondered. How long would it take? Where would the first cut come?

  It was not where she expected.

  Gregg raised the knife and slashed diagonally across his own chest, just once. Cara gasped in surprise. He dropped the knife again and swarmed onto the bed, gathering her close, pressing her mouth against the bloody wound.

  She struggled for an instant, appalled and repelled by what he wanted. But his hands tightened on her, his fingers bit into her flesh, and it made her angry. So, why not give him a taste of what it felt like?

  She opened her mouth and bit down again. Hard. Gregg groaned loudly, as though in pain. The sound ignited something deep inside Cara’s heart and mind. Something dark and ugly, something that wanted to hurt, to kill, to make him suffer.

  Without lifting her head, she pushed at his chest, rolling him onto his back, climbing on top of him, straddling him. She could feel his erection pushing against the front of his pants, and she rubbed herself against it; letting him feel what he couldn’t have. What she wouldn’t let him have. Not now. Not unless she wanted to.

  Gregg groaned again and arched his back. Cara leaned forward, far enough to slide one forearm against his throat. A shudder ran through him, he was breathing harder now, faster; she could feel each beat of his heart, each swallow against her arm. Yes, she thought, viciously, laughing silently as she bit down again and again. Yes. Feel that. Feel that, you sonofabitch. “Oh, God,” Gregg moaned, holding her tighter, rocking his hips frantically against hers. “Oh, God. Oh, God... ”