by Morgan Fox
“Are you calling my daughter a liar?”
Abigail Drake strolled from around the corner, literally appearing out of nowhere. “Yah, Tristan,” she hissed his name like a slithering snake, stepping around the table and directly in front of him. “How dare you call me a liar.” She slapped his face. Hard.
The taste of copper filled his mouth. “Abigail,” he breathed.
He’d recognized her the moment he’d seen her. She’d attended the same college, and strangely she seemed to be in every single one of his classes.
Her long midnight-black hair draped around her face, hiding everything except a small portion of her eyes, nose, and mouth. The glow of her pale white skin made her have the appearance of death. So did her excessive gray-and-black eye makeup and her plump, bloodred lips.
“So you think you can just have your way with my daughter and not be punished for your misdeeds,” Esriel asked as she began mixing something in the golden chalice. “I’ve got the perfect solution for our problem.”
Abigail nibbled on her full bottom lip, glaring at him with a longing he’d seen in the eyes of his former lovers. He shuddered as he started putting the pieces together, and she was deluded if she thought he had feelings for her.
He held Abigail’s lust-filled gaze. “You’re fucking crazy,” he bit out, leaning to the side to glare at Esriel. “The both of you are.”
Esriel laughed. The sound made his skin feel like a million spiders were crawling all over him. Abigail leaned close. Her black-painted fingernails clawed up his thigh, over his abs, and chest. She cupped his face in her hands and pressed her vile mouth over his, kissing him. He twisted his face, trying to break away from her hold. He spat on the ground at his side. If he could’ve washed his mouth out with soap, he would’ve.
“Hold his mouth open,” Esriel told Abigail.
“Are you sure this will work?” Abigail asked, inclining her head to look back at her mother.
With a wicked gleam in her eye, Esriel answered, “Of course it will. I’ve made it extra strong.”
She poured the contents she mixed in the chalice into a vial and came to stand beside him.
“What the hell is that?” He began shifting in his seat, struggling to free himself.
“Hold him,” Esriel barked.
Abigail placed her hand on his forehead and another on his chin, forcing his head back as far as it would go. Esriel poured the solutions down his throat, and Abigail pushed against his jaw to close his mouth. She pinched his nose until he had no other choice but to swallow the liquid.
The fiery wetness burned as it worked its way down his throat and into his stomach. His body began to tremble, shaking with an uncontrollable intensity. His body broke out into a cold sweat, his vision blurring. Then the tremors ceased, and he closed his eyes. His limbs felt as if they’d weighed a ton, and he was unable to lift them. The weight of his head was too much for the muscles of his neck and shoulders to support. He slumped over in the chair, his lungs burning from lack of oxygen. Slowly the warmth of his body left him as did his final breath.
Tristan gasped as the visions of that wretched night slipped from his mind. Lydia was still beside him, her eyes wide and her face paled with fear. He clasped his hand in hers. His breathing finally returned to normal.
“They poisoned me,” he told Lydia.
“Who?”
“Esriel and her daughter, Abigail.” He stared at the dark-haired woman in the doorway. His eyes were open wide, and he didn’t blink. The moisture in his eyes dried up just like the air that didn’t seem to fill his lungs. He licked his dry lips and caught Lydia’s bewildered expression. His chest squeezed tight. “Lydia, she said I raped her.”
Chapter Four
Lydia’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach, and the acid rolled around, forcing a wretched taste to rise up at the back of her throat. Her mind couldn’t focus, and she couldn’t hear a thing over the pulse-pounding blood that rushed in her ears.
Rape?
No, that would never be Tristan. Why would he do something like that? He’d never had trouble with women, and she’d known him since they were kids. Tristan wasn’t a violent man. He was sweet and good. Even when his snobby friends gave her the cold shoulder during their years in grade school, he’d always protectively put his arm around her. He’d tell her not to listen to them and that they were acting like jerks.
On many occasions Tristan told her that he thought she was cool for being smart. In fact, he even went as far as telling her he thought it was sexy.
She smiled shyly at the memory and finally cleared her thoughts.
“There is no way you did what she claims you did.” Lydia grabbed his hand in hers. “Did you and Abigail date?”
He shook his head and distorted his face as if he’d smelled something foul. “Have you ever seen Abigail Drake?”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed as she shook her head no.
“Well, she’s not exactly the kind of girl I’d go out with.” He inhaled deeply and released it. “She’s…scary.”
Lydia arched a brow. “You think? She’s accused you of rape, and she and her mother may have poisoned you. I’d say she’s more than scary. She’s fucking crazy.”
Tristan snickered. “Yah, what you said.”
Lydia’s heart beat hard and fast in her chest. Her body began to warm and tremble in that flight-or-fight sort of way. Esriel and Abigail had done something to Tristan. Trouble was they had no way of directly asking them what it was. If Esriel and Abigail had the power to do what they did to him in the first place, maybe they could do even worse.
A chill rushed up her spine.
She and Tristan had to figure out exactly what they gave him. If Esriel and Abigail poisoned him, but he was still acting like a living, breathing person, then maybe there was a counteragent that would reverse the zombie-like effects.
She prayed they still had time. She didn’t want to tell him, but Tristan wasn’t looking so good. His skin had darkened to an off-gray shade, no longer white and pasty. The bluish gray discoloration around his eyes was now a deeper purple, but he was still her Tristan.
“We need to talk to Tim. You said he was the one who sent you to see Esriel to begin with, right?”
Tristan clicked his fingers together as if finally excited that they had a direction to follow. “Yes. That night he approached me…we were hanging out at the bar just off campus. He said he’d gone to see her and she’d amazed him with how much she knew about him.” He swallowed hard. “He convinced me to go.”
Lydia nodded, grinding her teeth together angrily. She wanted to rip Tim’s head off. Her belly spasm, the one that told her when she should or shouldn’t do something, was twitching like a bitch.
“Do you know where Tim would be right now?”
Tristan gently grabbed Lydia’s hand and flipped it so he could see the time on her watch. “Yes. He’s at swim practice.”
Lydia shifted in her seat and put the car in drive. They were going to confront Tim. Well, at least she was. Right now she had to keep Tristan out of sight. She couldn’t afford to let anyone see him, especially Tim if he was involved in something as heinous as being an accessory to murder, or almost murder.
What would they do to Tristan if they saw him walking around?
She drove to the school and parked far enough back to keep curious eyes from lingering on Tristan. She grabbed the handle of the car to exit, but he stopped her, placing his hand on her arm. She glanced down at the fingers wrapped around her forearm, and her heart immediately dropped.
Tristan was fading. His body was showing all the side effects of a decomposing body. His flesh color, his eyes, everything physically about him was different. She was running out of time.
“I can’t ask you to do this for me,” he stammered, his words scraping against his throat. His outward fatigue made her heart flutter nervously.
She wrapped her hand over the top of his. His skin was colder than the last time she’d touche
d him. Oh, please, God, we need just a little more time. “Tristan, nothing in this world could stop me from helping you.” She leaned into him, pressing her lips to his. No matter what he looked like, she’d cherish him forever. “Besides, you don’t have to ask me. I’d do anything for you.” She kissed him again, her warm mouth capturing his so hungrily she couldn’t believe it was her instigating the kiss.
Why did we wait so long to find each other?
Easing back from the kiss, she forced an unrevealing smile.
“With all that’s going on with me”—he flipped the sun visor down to look at his reflection in the mirror—“I’m surprised you haven’t run away screaming.”
She slapped the visor back up, closing the mirror. With her index finger pressed gently under his chin, she brought his attention back to her. “I thought we covered this,” she said, staring into his beautiful gray eyes. “Tristan, I want us to have more than a few measly hours together. I want a lifetime, and if there is any way I can get that with you, I’ve got to try.”
Tristan sighed, his eyes brightening just a little. “Thank you,” he said, cupping her face in his hand.
She scoffed. “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t had a chance to kick Tim’s ass.” She giggled, slipping from his touch and out the car door in hot pursuit.
Tristan told her that Tim would be at the pool. As a swimmer, he spent hours training each day. As she approached the Olympic-sized swimming pool, she noticed a group of Speedo-wearing jocks hanging out near the diving boards and another small group at the opposite end. She narrowed her eyes searching for someone who might know Tim or at least point her in the right direction.
She blushed, feeling like a Peeping Tom as she glanced from one nearly naked man to the next.
One of the swimmers who’d been standing near the diving boards finally noticed her and made his way over. His dark, wet hair and crooked grin did little to deter her wide-eyed gaze from inspecting the blue Speedo he wore and the bulging package beneath it.
Seriously? How did that thing even stay on? Lydia’s face heated. Oh. My. God. Stop staring at the swimmers’ crotches.
“Can I help you?” His buttery, sweet voice rang in her ears as he spoke to her.
Lydia’s mouth formed a small O as she struggled to find the right words. She really needed to stop being so damn innocent. Technically, the stud swimmer was still wearing clothes.
What would Tristan say if he knew what I was thinking? She arched a brow and answered her own question. He’d probably laugh and show me his package without the Speedo covering it.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m looking for Tim,” she explained.
The swimmer’s hazel eyes softened. “Sure,” he said, twisting to point at the diver about to jump from the high board. “He’s right there.”
Splash.
Tim landed in the water to the sounds of clapping from his other teammates and most likely his coach, who started giving him praises the moment he exited the pool. Apparently Tim was an excellent diver.
“Hey, Tim,” the swimmer shouted. “You’ve got company.” He jerked his thumb up over his shoulder, indicating Lydia.
Tim’s eyes locked onto hers. Grabbing a towel to dry himself off, he headed toward her. Lydia moved to stand beside a row of bleachers, giving them a little privacy away from the rest of his teammates.
“Hi, Tim. I’m Lydia. I was wondering if you could help me with something. I’m friends with Abigail Drake.” She reached out her hand for him to shake, but he just stared at it.
“So?” he replied sharply.
Lydia wiped her hand on her thigh as if there’d been something on it. “She told me that you knew Tristan Davis.”
“So?” he repeated, his tone growing sharper, more annoyed.
She felt a pulsing energy ignite between them. Tim had the same kind of electricity funneling through him that she’d felt at Esriel’s shop. Maybe it was because he’d been there or maybe they’d done something to him, too. “Do you know what happened between Tristan and Abigail?”
His entire body became rigid, and he glanced around them, lowering his voice as if afraid someone would hear them, he asked, “Who did you say you were again?”
The skin on her body felt tight on her bones as Tim stepped closer to her, crowding her in. “Lydia,” she breathed, his gaze burning into her like a red hot poker.
His eyes narrowed, studying her. “Well, Lydia, if you’re friends with Abigail, then maybe you should ask her.”
“But I thought you and Tristan were close. Like best friends even.”
She hated that there was a hint of nervousness in her voice. She had to be tough for Tristan. She had to discover what happened to him.
Again Tim’s body language was strange. He was shifting around, stretching his neck as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. “And who told you that?” he asked, crossing his lean arms over his chest.
Lydia sucked in a calming breath, slowly releasing it. “Tristan did.”
Tim’s gaze softened. “You knew Tristan?” Lydia nodded. Suddenly Tim’s eyes glistened, and he sat down on the bleacher beside her. “How well did you know him?”
Caught off guard by his sudden change, she moved to sit beside him. “I’d say I knew Tristan better than you did.”
Tim’s gaze snapped to meet hers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She clenched her jaw tight as she said, “It means I know for a fact he didn’t rape Abigail.” A hot rush of blood surged through her veins. Her entire body quivered with the need to extract every detail Tim knew about those evenings’ events. “I also know you lured him to Esriel Drake’s shop and that was the last time Tristan was alive.”
Tim jumped to his feet. His eyes held a defensive glare. “What the hell are you implying?” His fists balled at his sides.
Lydia stood. Her short five-foot-two height was nothing compared to Tim’s towering six feet. “I think you know exactly what I’m implying.” She poked him in the chest, her nail digging into the muscular tissue. “You helped the Drakes poison the man you called friend. Why would you do that?” Lydia’s voice shook.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, falling back onto the bleacher as she shoved against him.
Lydia’s heart raced. She couldn’t stop herself from pursuing the truth. She needed to keep digging for Tristan’s sake. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Tim. Did Abigail come to you crying that Tristan had hurt her? Were you acting out of chivalry?”
Lydia was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though she had a deep suspicion that it went much deeper than that.
Tim shook his head. “No,” he blurted. “I can’t talk about this.”
Lydia blocked him from standing, placing her tiny body so close to him that she forced him to look up at her. “Can’t or won’t? Tim, what do you know?” She barked the last words, her body erupting with a pulsing heat that had him staring at her with fear in his eyes.
His voice was no louder than a whisper as he asked, “You have magic, too?”
Lydia scrunched up her face. “What?” What was he talking about?
What magic?
Then she remembered the energy that she’d felt at the shop and then again radiating out of Tim. She had a sneaking suspicion that something wasn’t right and hopefully now she was about to find out.
Tension filled Tim’s body as he nervously glanced around. He snaked hold of Lydia’s hand, dragging her to the backside of the bleachers. “Is this some kind of game? Did Abigail send you to see if I would talk? Why won’t she leave me alone?”
Lydia wrapped her warm fingers around his wrists. Immediately there was a connection between them that startled even her. A pulsing energy flowed through her, sucking the air from her lungs. She knew he felt it, too, judging by the astonished look on his face.
“What are you?” he asked, eyes wide
“I’m just someone trying to figure out what hap
pened to the man I love.”
Tim swallowed. “You loved Tristan?”
“With all my heart,” she breathed. Her chest rose and fell with vigorous breaths. Nervous jolts pummeled throughout her body, vibrating like an electrical current. The feeling was frightening, but she didn’t dare let go.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave me alone. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then you never should’ve taken me to Esriel’s shop.” Tristan’s voice was low and abrasive. Even with the presence of decay looming over him, he still carried a strong, powerful visage.
“Holy shit, man. You’re supposed to be dead.” Tim flinched, trying to break away from her hold, but he couldn’t sever the connection. “What the hell’s going on?”
“You tell us,” Lydia said, watching Tristan as he slowly made his way to stand beside her. “Tim, as you might have guessed, Tristan is very much alive. We know that the Drakes did something to him, but we don’t know what.” Lydia’s hands warmed, burning the skin on Tim’s arm. He hissed, and she finally let go, startled by what she’d done.
“They’ve got supernatural abilities,” Tim muttered. “Like you.” His eyes darted to Lydia and then back over to Tristan. “Abigail told her mother you raped her. She was jealous that you never wanted to hook up with her. She used me to get you to go to her mother’s business. Please believe me…I didn’t know what they were going to do to you. I didn’t know they planned to kill you.”
Deep in the trenches of her mind, Lydia had guessed it was jealousy. There was something off about the way Tristan described Abigail. Why would she simply lure Tristan to his death if not for something major? Why convince her mother of a crime that any woman would find unforgivable?
Jealousy.
Now that they’d figured out the why, they had to figure out the what.
“Why would you do this to me?” Tristan asked, leaning into Lydia for support.
Tim rubbed his face against his shoulder, wiping away a fallen tear. Guilt can be a bitch. “Abigail put some kind of hocus pocus bullshit on me,” he confessed. “She was crying, and her clothes were torn. She told me that you did it to her. Raped her because she was different from the other girls you’d been with and you wanted to show her just how different she was.” Tim shook his head as if disgusted with himself. “When I told her I thought she was lying, she forced me to drink this liquid.” His voice raised an octave. “She fucking shrunk my dick.”
