by Kresley Cole
I buried my head in my hands. “I don’t want to!”
“I understand that now. Something comes over you. It’s still you, but you got a problem. Peekôn, look at me.”
I glanced up.
“If you got a problem, I can work with that.”
I wasn’t convinced. “Being with you hurts.”
“But sometimes it’s good. Real good between us. You thought my kiss was ‘perfect.’ ” His gaze flicked from my lips, to my neck, to my collarbones . . .
“I never told you—” Realization dawned. “Oh, my God.” My jaw dropped, my earlier suspicion confirmed. Yep, just as humiliating as I’d feared. “You took the Alchemist’s recorder!” Which contained the tape of my life story.
Jackson flashed me a shameless grin. “Ouais. Been listening to it for days. That was one reason why I got held up that morning in Requiem. I was sourcing for some earphones, so I could listen under my hood.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I played a big role in that tale, wanted to make sure you got me right.”
“That’s why you’ve been so up and down?” The angry looks, the troubled looks. The smirks?
“Some things you said pissed me off.” Expression darkening, he grated, “Had to listen to you talking about your boyfriend. Bad enough the first time around.”
Brand had been a good guy. Immature, maybe, but he’d had a good heart. His and Jackson’s personalities had been as different as day and night. The two had hated each other.
“But then you’d turn around and say something good. Like when you were nice to Clotile. You smiled at her and waved hello, when not another person in school was kind to her.”
I could’ve been nicer to her, wished I had been.
“Or when you described our kiss at the pool at Selena’s house.” Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “I must’ve worn a groove in the tape listening to that over and over.”
The way his lids went heavy and he shuddered, you’d think he’d had an eargasm. My breaths grew shallow in reaction. And suddenly I was very aware of my nakedness, of the cooling water. Of Jackson peering at my damp skin.
“That tape was private!”
“You’d tell this Arthur guy, a stranger, our story?”
“By that point, I was fairly sure he would never tell another soul.” My skin began to glow with remembered fury, glyphs winding along my arms, across my chest. Were my eyes turning green?
Jackson stared at the changes in me. “You showing me these . . . these glyphs to scare me off?”
Huh. He had the lingo right.
“It woan work. That tape let me wade into this Arcana thing, let me learn about it little by little. Like you did. And I heard you say that I was your anchor.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You pulled back from killing that Irish kid—once you saw me. Do you deny that?”
At length, I shook my head.
“You need me, and now I know it,” he said. “You warned me it wasn’t ever goan to be easy with you. I’m still signing on.”
“Why would you? This is deadly and weird and terrifying.”
“So is this whole world!” He shoved his fingers through his wet hair. “Here’s how messed up in the head I am: I can accept this game better than I can your secrets. At least now I know what I’m up against.”
Part of me was delighted that he wanted me. Part of me thought anything between us was doomed. “Let’s just be realistic about our chances—”
“You wanna know what I’m feeling? Lemme tell you, bébé. Amusement. You’re acting like we got some kind of choice in this matter. You’re just as screwed as I am—because we’re both too far gone for the other.”
I bristled. “Liking me is akin to being screwed? I thought you were smoother than this, ladies’ man, with all your gaiennes.”
He shrugged. “The other night after we kissed, I told myself to just keep walking. That this shit was too heavy for me and none of my business. I told myself not to think about you.”
I’d told myself the same and had just as little success.
“Hell, you expected me to desert you anyway. But I got sicker with each step, like someone had strung up my guts with barbed wire. And I realized you got me by the balls. Stupid to fight it. Doan give a damn what you are.”
“Be still my heart,” I said in an arch tone, but I was softening toward him, as ever.
Yet then I remembered more of what I’d said on that tape. Such as how jealous and hurt I’d been when he’d flirted with Selena. Or how I felt like I’d lost my ever-living mind when he’d kissed me.
Was that what he’d been smirking over? “I still can’t believe you’d violate my privacy like that!” In school, when Jackson had wanted to see my journal, he’d stolen it. When he’d wanted to listen to my messages to my boyfriend? He’d stolen Brand’s phone.
Jackson kept running roughshod over me, and I was sick of it. “You need to leave.” My glyphs were so vivid, they lit the room more brightly than the fire. “I want to get dressed.”
“Doan let me stop you. I ain’t leaving until you admit how you feel.”
“You’re going to blackmail me?” Now it was a matter of principle. He’d crossed the line by listening to that tape, and now he expected me to reward him for it?
“You can always go.” He propped his boots up on the table, easing back to balance his chair on two legs. With a smug grin, he put his hands behind his head.
He was so cocky, I wanted—nay, needed—to wipe that grin off his face. I’d reached my limit. I could die tomorrow, and I refused to spend my last night on earth getting manipulated by a moonshine-guzzling Cajun.
Besides, I wasn’t too shy. I’d worn my skimpy cheer uniform to school in front of slavering teenage boys, and my best friend Melissa had pantsed me routinely. “Fine.” I twisted in the tub to rise with my back to him, then stepped out and marched to my clothes—
Wham! He’d crashed back in his chair?
Stifling a grin, I wiped myself semi-dry with my old T-shirt, then pulled on the panties.
“E-Evie?” His voice sounded strangled.
I reached for my bra, might’ve showed side-boob, didn’t care. When I had the strap fastened, I glanced over one shoulder.
Next to the overturned chair, Jackson knelt with his lips parted, breaths ragged. His high cheekbones were flushed, and his muscles were tensed—like he was about to lunge at me. “You . . . you stood up?” He swiped a shaking hand over his mouth, and again, his eyes dark with lust. “Never thought you’d stand up, ma bonne fille.” My good girl.
With a shrug, I reached for my jeans. “If you can’t take the heat, stay out of the cabin.”
He swallowed audibly. “Brûlant.” Sizzling hot. “And believe me, cher, I plan to take that heat.” Then he was on his feet, coming for me, those heavy boots pounding the wood floor. His every step multiplied my anticipation. He was going to kiss me again, and just the idea filled me with energy.
No, no, no! This was wrong. I didn’t want him to hit on me just because he was drunk and hard up.
Before I could put on my clothes, he’d spun me around, looping his arm around my lower back. “You swished that pretty ass in the wrong direction, bébé. You should’ve come to me when you were all naked and wet.”
“Don’t you dare make moves on me! You’re just going to accuse me again of mesmerizing you.”
“I realized you didn’t have all your powers when I first started wanting you.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because if you were mesmerizing back then, all them Sterling boys would’ve been panting over you instead of Clotile.”
Chin raised, I said, “Hey, I didn’t do too bad, Cajun.”
“For true. When I saw you that day alone in the school courtyard, in your cheer skirt . . .” His expression was smoldering. “I wanted to lay you back on that table and take you right there, Evangeline.”
I shivered at the way my name rolled of
f his tongue in that accent. Irresistible. I knew this, because I was struggling to resist.
He was right; I was gone for him. Stupid to fight it. I gazed up at him, whispering, “Just, just don’t hurt me again. If I kiss you, and then you get disgusted . . .”
He gave a low laugh, moving his hips against mine. “Does it feel like I’m disgusted?”
I gasped. “Jackson!”
“You smell like honeysuckle. You likin’ ole Jack now?”
“I never stopped liking you. Even when you were warding me away with the power of Catholicism.”
“Can’t help the way I was raised—anything supernatural is supposed to be either a miracle or satanic.”
I rolled my eyes. “And you’re still trying to figure out which I am?”
“Non. I’m trying to figure out if I’m still Catholic.” He grinned that heart-stopping grin.
Gorgeous lips. I wanted them on mine.
Just before he kissed me, he said, “You might be different from what I thought, but I’m goan to protect you anyway. I’m goan to try to accept all this. But you got to accept me.”
“Accept you? What are you talking about?”
“I’m a nineteen-year-old bayou boy. I got a fondness for liquor. I’m goan to say stupid shit. Doan you go getting your feelings hurt at the drop of a hat.”
I laid my palm against his face. “You’re going to get more than your feelings hurt if you stay with us. And it will be my fault because I don’t want to separate from you. You wanted me to let you go.”
“That was before I realized something this week. I wasn’t goan to live a long life even before the apocalypse. Before there were Baggers, cannibals, and plague. Now I figure I’ll spend my limited time left doing what I want.”
“And what do you want?”
His grin deepened. “You’re what I want, and I’d like to be doing you.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to mine.
At that contact, the rain began to pour down at last, pelting the cabin’s tin roof. I hadn’t heard that sound since the night I’d gone to Jack’s home in the bayou.
He drew back. “Christ, your lips are sweet. Douces comme du miel.” Sweet like honey. He yanked off his shirt, revealing his damp chest, the rosary around his neck. I’d missed seeing him like this.
My fingers skimmed over the raised scar on his arm. How I loved that mark. If he hadn’t been getting that wound tended to the night of the Flash, he would’ve died like most everyone else.
His hands landed on my ass, giving it a possessive squeeze. “T ’es pour moi, Evie. You’re mine. Every part of you.” He leaned down, took my lips once more. Between kisses, he said, “I told you once and I’ll tell you again: there is nothing that can happen to you that we can’t get past. Just give me a chance to get to you. Promise me.”
“Jack . . .”
“Promise me. You doan leave me again.”
“I promise.” Staring at his lips, I said, “Would you always come for me?”
He drunkenly murmured, “Chase you like a junkyard dog.”
I laughed. How could I feel this much happiness in our situation? “I’m glad I don’t have to hide this any longer. No more secrets then—for either of us.” Wait. Had his eyes darted? “Do you have something you want to tell me?”
“Non, rien.” No, nothing.
“Are you . . . are you lying to me? Jack, nothing is more important than trust right now. Considering this game, this whole world, we have to be able to depend on each other.”
“I’m not lying. You can trust me alone, Evie,” he said more firmly. “I got no secrets, peekôn. Except for how bad I want you.”
Relieved, I gave him a shaky nod. “I believe you.”
“Good.” He swept me up, cradling my body against his chest to head for the bed. “That night by the pool, you would’ve let me have you if I’d gone slower. I’ll do that now. Nice and slow, me.”
“We can’t be together like that. What if I hurt you with my powers?”
“What a way to go, ma belle.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He strode toward the bed, dipping his mouth to mine for brief, wicked kisses, blanking my thoughts. “You love me too much to hurt me.”
I didn’t bother denying it.
“Now, hush. We do best when we doan talk.”
Brows raised, I tilted my head. Because he had a point. I leaned up for more of his lips. Our kiss grew deeper, tongues tangling. I’d heard the phrase “drunk from his lips.” I literally was from the moonshine.
There was French kissing, and then there was Cajun French kissing. Spicier, harder, wilder.
That’s how it was with Jackson. Burning out of control. Probably just as destructive as an inferno. And I didn’t care.
He drew back and tossed me on the bed—
The blanket collapsed; I was plummeting into a pit, arms flailing. At the last second, I snagged the edge with my fingertips.
Jack dove for me. He snatched my wrists just before I lost my grip. “Jesus! I’ve got you!”
I could barely hear him. An ear-splitting foghorn sounded from the roof of the cabin.
A signal for this . . . trap?
As Jack lifted me back into the room, I gazed below. Rusted rebar jutted from the ground at least ten feet down. He yanked me against him, cupping the back of my head protectively.
There’d been no mattress; someone had spread a thin layer of foam across a bed frame, then camouflaged it with a bright blanket and pillows.
“Dear God,” I muttered when the horn died down. In my panic and confusion, I thought I heard wolves howling in the distance.
He hugged me tighter until I could feel his every shuddering breath. “I . . . I could’ve killed you.”
Again debatable. But it definitely would’ve hurt. “Wh-who would do this?” I asked, though I knew. That blaring signal had been like a quitting-time horn for a factory—or for a mine.
“Cannibals.” Jack grabbed my clothes, shoved them into my arms. “If this is their trap, they’re goan to come running. We got to go, bébé. Fast.”
11
DAY 257 A.F.
IN CANNIBAL COUNTRY, APPARENTLY
“Why do they call it a downpour,” Finn mused as we climbed in the pitch dark, “as opposed to an uppour?”
The rain came down so hard it drummed our heads, had since we’d fled the cabin three nights ago.
I’d grown up in Louisiana; I knew thunderstorms. I’d never felt rain like this. Why had I wished it would pound down from the sky?
Finn swiped a muddy hand over his face. “For the record, dealing with cannibal crazies on top of Arcana crazies blows goats.” He melodramatically raised his fist to the sky. “Serenity now!”
Matthew piped up. “Cannibal Arcana!”
“Yeah, yeah, thanks for reminding me that some can be both.”
Though midnight had come and gone, we continued to flee, clawing our way uphill, digging into the mud, into the ash I hated. Streams of gushing water sluiced all around our ankles, threatening to trip us with every step. Tree trunks toppled over left and right, pushed down by rivers of runoff.
But now Jack was there to help me through it.
The threat of cannibals had us charging forward into the night. Even the specter of Bagmen hadn’t motivated us to run like this. Yes, Matthew had told me I’d never “known terror” like I would when the rains came.
We were being hunted by people who wanted to eat us—it didn’t get more terrifying than that.
With no stars to guide us and no sun during the day, we couldn’t pinpoint our position, just kept heading south. We hoped.
After that foghorn, we’d all scrambled together outside the barn; even in the midst of our panic, the three other Arcana had noticed that Jack kept my hand clasped tight in his. With his chest bowed proudly, he’d announced, “Evie’s with me now.”
Matthew had tilted his head. “Not Arcana.”
Finn had grinned, and Selena h
ad looked gutted. But she hadn’t said a word then or since, had seemed to stoically accept it.
Now when we came upon a rushing stream, Jack said, “Come on, you.” He scooped me into his arms, hugging me against his chest as he trudged through the knee-deep water.
I was shivering, miserable, would have given anything to be warm and dry.
“We’re goan to get through this, Evie. And just think, at this pace, we’ll be at your grand-mère’s in no time.”
Now that we were officially together, Jack’s attitude had changed. He was even fiercer, even more determined, as if he had something to fight for. For three days we’d been stealing kisses, whispering conversations.
In one, he’d solemnly told me, “After we bring down this game, I’m goan to rebuild Haven for you, ma belle. You see if I doan.” In another, he’d admitted, “By the pool wasn’t our first kiss. When I returned for you after the Flash and you were knocked out in your bed, I’d never seen anything like you, all soft in sleep. I stole a bec doux.” A sweet kiss. “I was gone for you, even then.”
Last night we’d camped for a few hours in the cab of an old logging truck. With Selena on watch, Jack had finally fallen asleep with me in his arms. Drifting off, he’d pressed his lips to my hair, inhaling. In French, he’d murmured, “Honeysuckle. Even now, I could die a happy man.”
Whenever I was freaked out more than usual, he would tease me. Yesterday he’d trailed behind me for long moments. “I meant what I said about you not being human.”
Just when I was about to flare, he’d said, “Evie, that ass of yours—um, um, UM! C’est surhumain.” It’s superhuman.
On the other side of the stream, he set me on my feet, but lingered with his arms around me, resting his chin on my head. “We’re goan to find us a place to hole up, then pick up where we left off.” His voice was husky, sending shivers all over me.
Even amidst so much hardship and fear, I found myself imagining what would’ve happened if the cabin hadn’t been a trap.
Good money said I’d no longer be a virgin. “Jack, I don’t know h-how many more miles I have in me.”
