Black Curses Brewing, page 16
“Only damn near?” Had she felt more of a connection to him than he’d felt? Had she nearly croaked from passion overload, and he thought it a hit-and-run? Her head weighed a ton, and it lolled on his shoulder. Her parched skin itched, and a bone-deep exhaustion glued her to the bed.
“One wasn’t enough.” His chuckle vibrated against her pounding skull as he kissed her hair.
“One, what?”
“Condom.”
She giggled, wincing at the headache. “Got it. Same page.”
He squeezed her close until they were one. “There’re other ways.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t right now.” A long tremble worked up from her toes. “I want to, but I don’t feel so hot.” Her wrist tickled, not so much a sting this time. She withdrew her arms from around his neck and gasped. “Lucky, look.”
The Wicked Wrist vines had braided together. They danced limp and dull in the air and teeny flowers dripped onto the bed.
“Oh, snap.” He combed tangled hair off her face. “Do you want me to get Sage, or Marjorie?”
She couldn’t stop her arm from drooping to his chest, couldn’t even enjoy the feel of his firm chest or his slick skin. “No. I’m just so tired. I’m so sorry. It was epic.” Sleepiness overcame her. “I want more epic.”
Before he responded, she zonked half on top of him, one of the most natural places in the world for her body to land.
Aspen snoozed for an hour, before brainstorming potions, curses, and everything in between jolted her out of a fitful nap.
“Lucky?” Her voice sounded raspy from a dry throat.
“Hmmm.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Want to research and experiment with alchemy?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
They spent the next few hours dissecting, creating, and researching, until they both fell onto the bed exhausted. Although desire took second place to their accomplishments, falling into bed together was more natural than Aspen cared to admit. The intimacy of the act of sleeping together sated her more than the idea of making love again.
Chapter 18
Shadowy light filtered through the sheer window coverings in the guest cabin. Aspen shook her groggy head, froze when pain radiated down her neck. Every inch of her arid skin itched like crazy, her lips bone dry. The tattoo on her backside tingled in fresh places. What next level of hell invaded her body? Had epic sex with Lucky reduced her to a voodoo doll? The pins sticking in her were palpable. Speaking of… she rolled over on the bed, groaning when every muscle in her body screamed bloody murder. An empty bed met her gaze.
A slant of light leaked through the cracked bedroom door. “Lucky?” Had sex sucked so bad that he’d left her? Or had she ruined the night by wanting to do research afterward? She tried to lift up on her elbows but her dead-weight body sank to the pillow-top mattress. Maybe Lucky had been a dream. No, the slight soreness between her legs proved a different story. A story more than mere sex. The link to him filtered through her core, toying with her paltry, rejuvenated witch-water. “Lucky, are you here?”
Footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door, and it slid open, bringing two bright rays of beauty in Lucky and the morning light. “Hey. I’m here.” He carried a glass of her favorite strawberry-banana protein smoothie. “Found this on the porch with breakfast.” He eased his butt on the edge of the bed and positioned the straw to her lips. “Can you sit up?”
“Not easily. Can you call Sage?”
“Already did. She’ll be here in a few. She summoned Marjorie too.”
Aspen sipped the smoothie, and the thick liquid clogged her scratchy throat.
“I wanted to show you something outside, but we can see it later.”
“What is it? I can’t take more bad.”
“It’s beautiful, but it’s not good.” He winced.
Arms languid, she swept aside the covers, not caring about revealing her near nakedness to him. He’d seen it all last night. Thank the fashion gods she kept herself groomed and wore pretty-in-pink lacy underwear. She found a pair of leggings in her overnight bag and slid them on. The juice sloshed in her hollow belly, and she didn’t think she could drink more and keep it down. Whose cup did I pee in for this revenge?
Although desire sparked in his eyes, he snagged one of his blue pharmacy T-shirts from his own suitcase and helped her slip it on. “Guess my dad dropped off an overnight bag last night. It was on the porch too.”
She sniffed his shirt, the clean-laundry smell mingling with the faintest hint of his fresh sea breeze cologne, and stored the scent in her senses. “Do you work today? Can you even leave the property?”
“I like this shirt on you.” He straightened the T-shirt on her that hung down her thighs. “Remains to be seen if I can leave. I already called my dad and told him I won’t make my shift. We have other part-timers who fill in.”
Aspen perched on the edge of the bed, steadying her heavy legs. “I don’t want to interrupt your life.”
“I want you to interrupt my life. Hoped I proved it last night.”
“Despite me falling asleep on you?” She covered her face with one hand. “I can’t believe I did that. Please don’t take it as a reflection of you.”
“I don’t.” He sobered. “I know this magic is hurting you. We’ll have other nights, right?” His back stiffened.
“Nights, days, mornings.” A wan grin conveyed her lack of energy. “I’m in. I’ve wanted this since high school.”
His large hand landed on her arm, and he massaged her skin. The vines shifted out of the way of his hand until they disappeared up the sleeve of her shirt. “Me too. That’s why I’m not leaving you unless you want me gone. I’m never walking past you in a hallway again with my head up my ass.”
Multiple footsteps stomped on the porch. The calvary had arrived.
“Ugh.” Aspen tried to hand-comb her hair. “I’m a mess.” She scanned the room. Lucky had already cleaned up the clothes they’d tossed on the floor. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to glean they’d slept together, considering she wore his shirt.
“Aspen.” Sage entered the room. “Marjorie’s on her way.” Rafael stood behind her, her ever stalwart watchdog. And now Aspen understood their absolute loving and protective devotion to one another. She wanted the same with Lucky. Damn, how, after only a couple days? Sex cemented her renewed and budding feelings for him. This time the buds had bloomed.
Sage plunked a tote bag on the dresser. “I brought more things from your lab. Wasn’t sure what you’d need.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think my potions or charms will help, except for pain.”
Sage approached, knelt beside the bed, and flipped over Aspen’s wrist. “The vines wove together. Your skin is dry, pale, like your witch-water didn’t regenerate overnight.”
“I know.” She hid a smile.
“Did you two have sex?” Sage whispered.
Aspen slapped her forehead. “Why did your thoughts glom on to sex?”
“The vines are twisted, and you need to see the gardens.”
“Oh, son of a lime-green donkey ball.” Aspen pushed off the bed, wobbling on her legs. “Help me to the bathroom.”
At least she could comb her hair, brush her teeth, and apply lip balm to her paper-dry lips. She didn’t care how she appeared to Lucky, when normally she’d be freaking out and wanting to slather foundation on her pallid skin and look her best for a new love interest. Lucky had already seen her worst. He’d already experienced her most hopeful avoidance for four years, and yet he remained in the here and now.
Lucky wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her upright as they walked to the porch. Her stomach twisted, and she drew herself inward, leaning against him. The hydrangea sticks that had shown the barest hint of green yesterday had leafed out, and full purple-blue, pink, and white blooms adorned the plants. More flowers than she’d ever seen on them. They skirted the entire foundation of the cabin from the front porch and down the sides. A multitude of other shade flowers had sprung up overnight, spanning the circumference of the cabin in reds and pinks. Many flower stems coiled together, celebrating Lucky and Aspen’s night. Not one morning glory vine appeared.
A clammy tendril of horror snaked its way up Aspen’s throat, constricting her airway with wintry fingers. She leaned against Lucky, the horrifyingly beautiful sight a bigger eyeful than she needed that morning. The significance of the braids created havoc within her ravaged body.
“I can’t with this.” She retreated to the cabin.
Aspen perched on the edge of the couch, and Sage rolled up the back of her shirt. Her gasp chased the willies down Aspen’s chest. Rafael’s grip on her shoulder tightened.
Lucky perched on the sofa and took her hands in his. “Look at me.”
Her eyelids flicked up, and she took in his high cheekbones and a narrow nose that flared ever so slightly. “How bad is yours? Let me see.”
He stood to his full height and rolled up his shirt from the hem. The vines snaked around his torso and formed a heart on the left side of his chest. More flowers grew along the vines, in pinks and whites, joining the ever-present purple.
Curiosity piquing, Aspen peered inside the neckline of her T-shirt. No vines on her front-side. “I need to see.”
“Later.” Sage rolled the hem of her shirt down. “More flowers in pink and white. They’re heart-shaped.”
“Oh, joy. Putting my sex life on display.” Aspen poked at the vines on her wrist, dying to poke her eyes out.
“Did you bond him or he you?” Sage rooted through the tote she’d lugged in. “Marjorie said to take these.”
“I’m not ready to bond a warlock.” Aspen vehemently shook her head. “No offense, Lucky.” Sage handed her pain and energy potions.
“None taken. I need to learn more about bonding.” He straightened his shirt and began clearing their dinner dregs off the table.
Aspen drank the potions, smacking her lips for her peppermint oil lip balm to mask the bitterness. Rafael elevated her legs on the cushions, and Sage draped a velour blanket over her. She drank more of her smoothie for the hydration and calories, but couldn’t stomach anything else, not even dry toast. She hated that day, hated the attention. The only thing that made it worthwhile was the night with Lucky. It was worth all the water in the ocean.
Marjorie arrived, escorted to the cabin by all three of her cousins. They fawned over her, but Sage shooed them away. All hands were on deck to discover a solution to the magic attacking their world. Sage assigned Eden to use her telepathy to drill into the mind of Andre’s son for the first time since he had arrived.
After Marjorie examined her, she drew Sage and Rafael aside. Lucky hung behind and sat on the floor beside the couch, holding her hand.
“I’m so sorry sex was such a burden.”
Aspen noticed a tease in his voice, and she fixated on it for sanity’s sake. “Can’t wait for round two.” She maneuvered onto her side to see him better, blasting through the exhaustion ravaging her from head to toes.
“Might kill you.”
“You’re that good?”
“I’ve got more tricks up my sleeve.” He grinned. “Awesome tricks.”
“But do you have more condoms in your wallet?”
He tipped his head back and groaned.
“Just so you know, we entertain overnight witches and their warlocks a lot. Or at least we did before our lockdown. There’s a guest supply closet in the upstairs hallway of the house. Know what I mean?”
He gave her a thumbs-up. “I can wait until you’re better. I still feel like I’ve caused all this.”
“You probably did.” Rafael strode back into the room.
Sage whacked his arm. “I believe it’s a combination of black spells you both created with Pierre’s magic. If he’s Andre’s son, he may be using old black magic our spells can’t fight.”
“She’s right.” Marjorie rejoined them. “I’m positive it’s black magic. What I’ve read so far is eye-opening, and we should’ve never lost this knowledge from before the war.”
“It’ll never happen again,” Sage announced, giving Aspen the nod to continue her black magic experiments.
“Lucky and I might’ve found a counter-spell last night. An expansion of the first solution I brewed. We’ll spray the vines on Pierre’s cell door and walls and kill them off.” Aspen paused. “But I might be missing something in the potion to make it permanent. I need more time to work on it. What about a tracking spell to trace the magic? Can’t Ethan or Evan use their black magic weaving to reverse-weave? Rafael, can you weave?”
Rafael studied his boots, created an opaque thread between his hands, shooting off opaque rays of blue and green. The thread dissipated into a spray of sparkles dusting the floor. “That’s about all I can do.”
“What did you do?” Sage’s eyebrows knitted together.
“Nothing. That’s my problem. I can make one thread for a few seconds, but it doesn’t do squat.” He sank onto the arm of a tufted chair opposite Aspen.
“Wait. What?” Lucky gawked at Rafael. “I’ve been doing threads for years, then. Didn’t know what it meant. Thought it was just fire play.”
Sage and Marjorie rounded on him. “Show me.” Sage wore a mask of curiosity and irritation.
Lucky stepped back as if Sage had grown pointy horns and planned to ram him. “Okay. Chill. Give me a sec.”
“Marjorie, examine his aura. I’ll concentrate on sensing his magic.”
“What about me?” Aspen asked, feeling abandoned from her own life.
“You recover,” Rafael ordered. “You have no magic to deplete.”
She shot him a death glare and picked at the fringe on the blanket. “You suck.” Since she had a hard time even lifting her forearm, she followed Rafael’s orders. Life sucked ass. It was easy to bury her head in the sand concerning her physical ailments. But she refused to think the worst, not when she had so much more to uncover. Hope existed, and she held it close to her chest.
Lucky paced the room, waggling his arms to deplete his negativity. “I need to concentrate. Haven’t done this in a while.”
“Prove it.” Sage’s sarcasm didn’t fly over Aspen’s head. Holy mother of the goddess. Will the guy ever get a break? If Sage pissed him off, he’d exit stage left on Aspen’s life. After last night, it’s the last thing she wanted. The memories of his hands, his mouth, his other body parts touching her created a new flare of desire low in her torso. She crossed her legs to keep her squirming in check, an exquisite ache radiating from her hips to her purple toenails.
Lucky shot her a questioning glance, and she waved his attention away. Oh, goddess on high, did their connection give him insight in what she was feeling? Hello, mortification, I’m here. Steal me away.
After focusing a few moments, Lucky drew forth an opaque thread of winding magic, a ball-shaped outline between his hands. Another thread materialized and braided the first one, both cracking and sparkling in the air. Lucky lurched toward the door as if controlled by marionette strings.
Sage clutched her neck. “Oh, my, goddess. The magic’s tugging you.”
“Yes.” Sweat popped on Lucky’s forehead, and he followed the magic to the door.
“Keep following it,” she ordered. “Marjorie, are you feeling what I’m feeling?”
Marjorie fisted her pendant as if deriving strength from her crystals. “He—”
“His aura’s the same as Pierre Charlemagne.” Aspen’s mouth hung open.
“Yes.” Marjorie nearly yanked her pendant off her neck.
Sage nodded. “Identical.” She trailed after Lucky who’d tuned everyone out as he followed the threads lugging him to destinations unknown.
Aspen lifted off the couch, but Rafael’s gentle hand on her shoulder pressed her down. “I don’t want you hurt if this goes assbackwards.”
“But I want to go!” She slapped her curled fist on the couch, such a listless, whiny gesture, it almost made her cringe. “This is my life this black curse is screwing to hell and back.” But her intuition told her the magic was towing Lucky to the house. A place she couldn’t go, but neither could Lucky if yesterday’s events forecasted an ongoing state of being. “Son of a witch’s boiled toad,” she cursed aloud.
Rafael skedaddled after Sage, tossing over his shoulder, “Marjorie, please stay with Aspen.”
Aspen wilted onto the couch. “I hate this.”
Marjorie scooped up the top research book from the coffee table. “Let’s get to work. Which ones have you gone through already?”
From the sofa, Aspen visually examined the four books. “Ancient Witchcraft, top one. It’s all white magic. No black magic. Useless.” Marjorie set it aside. Where had the middle book come from? She didn’t remember having it out in her lab, nor had she packed it. “Let me see the middle one.” Enchantments and Hexes: Unraveling the Secrets of Witchcraft and Curses. Marjorie handed her the heavy tome, and it thumped against her sore breasts, a painful reminder of her condition… and making love with Lucky. She flipped the book to the worn leather cover.
Marjorie left and returned with a bottle of water and a plate with a butter-slathered scone and bacon. “Drink. The more you drink, the better off you’ll be. Then you need to eat.”
Aspen scratched her arm, and dry skin flaked onto the couch. Although her appetite had fled, she needed to maintain her strength and fuel her body against the magic attacking her. “Where did this book come from?” She devoured a piece of bacon, which tasted good in her mouth, but her belly held another opinion.
“I believe it was in the stack of books Brianne packed for you last night.”
“Where did she snag it from?”
“I’m not sure.” Marjorie held out her hand. “Let me see it.”
Racking her brain for the inventory of books in her office and bookcase, Aspen nudged it toward Marjorie. “Wait a minute. I had my great-grandmother’s old copy of The Grimoire of Moonlight and Shadows: A Witch’s Spellbinding Handbook on my desk, which I packed to take to your house. What happened to the grimoire?”
