Cursed fs-1 Page 24

  “Is it the only pack you’ve known?”

  Zack nods, his expression grave. “It didn’t take long, after walking away from my old life, to realize that walking away wasn’t enough. I needed to walk toward something. I needed to find meaning.”

  “And you found it with them?”

  “For a while. It felt like home.” Zack shakes his head and with it the melancholy seems to lift, replaced by something else. Resolve. Determination. “Wade is the worst kind of wolf. Sarah can’t go back there.”

  I feel a flush of compassion for Sarah. “What are you going to do?”

  Zack kisses me on the forehead and plucks two of the chopsticks from my pocket. “Eat. Worship every inch of you. Figure out the Sarah problem tomorrow.” He dives into the shrimp pad Thai.

  His ease with casual affection is enviable. I’m out of practice. For good reason, I remind myself. I pop open the container of drunken noodles and give the contents a pensive stir. My perspective concerning Sarah is shifting. She’s desperate and afraid, torn away from all she’s known and facing life alone in a strange place. Something I’ve experienced a thousand times. Perhaps—

  “Emma?”

  Zack’s voice pulls me back. He’s said something and I’ve totally missed it. I try for a smile. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

  He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “Something else is on your mind. Out with it.”

  I bite back the urge to deny and deflect and go for the truth. “I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. You or Sarah.”

  It’s the truth. But I’m also thinking of more than pack politics. I’m thinking of Demeter. I blow into the container. It gives me a place to focus.

  Zack turns sideways in the love seat. “I know how to take care of myself. I was trained by the best. But I also know my limitations, when to walk away, when to get out.” He reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. “I did the right thing leaving South Carolina. I’m glad I did.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” I tell him in a rare moment of candor, even though I know I will, know it’s inevitable.

  “You won’t,” he assures me. “Listen, Emma. I get it. You’ve been in a relationship that ended badly—am I right?”

  The intuitiveness of his unexpected observation cuts me to the quick. But it also makes me realize I have to stop pretending that our relationship can end any way but badly. Our fate’s sealed. Still, I nod, slowly.

  “That guy, whoever he was . . . he’s not me. That relationship is not this relationship.”

  “I don’t do relationships. Not anymore. I’ve been on my own for more years than you can possibly imagine. I’ve grown used to being on my own and—”

  Zack cuts me off. “Isn’t it the guy the one who’s supposed to be commitment-phobic?”

  He looks amused. He has no idea how serious this is and I have no idea how to explain it without placing him further in harm’s way. His statement about knowing when to walk away doesn’t reassure me. Zack Armstrong is not the kind of man who backs down when the stakes are high. He’s a lover and a fighter.

  I don’t want to have this conversation. I want to get lost in Zack. I want him to explore my body with his mouth, to fuck me fiercely, to bring me to the edge of blissful oblivion, to that place where there’s no need for penance and no fear of punishment. Where I don’t have to come to terms with how selfish and reckless I’m being for just a few more hours of happiness. I blink back tears.

  Zack’s brow furrows. “I understand your hesitation. I can’t blame you. I’m a man with a dangerous past. I have a lot of regrets. I’ve made mistakes. So many that I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be able to make up for them. Maybe we should go back to pretending, play it safe. Is that what you want?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He reaches out and cups my face in the palm of his hand. “I just don’t think I can. I don’t want to. This thing that’s building between us, I want to see it through. Don’t you?”

  I kiss the inside palm of his hand. “More than anything.” I’m speaking purely from my heart because the decision’s been made. It’s as if the weight of the world has lifted from my shoulders. Demeter can’t—won’t—deny me these last moments of pleasure. “Make love to me.”

  Zack leans over me and covers my mouth with his, drinking me in and enveloping me in his arms. The kiss is leisurely. He takes his time and I savor every second, letting the passion build until my heart is pounding.

  He pulls back. “Say please,” he murmurs, his tone light, teasing.

  A Siren never begs. I can have any man at any time. I’ve conquered kings, seduced holy men and rakes, driven the famous and infamous to desperation with want. I’ve fallen in lust and I’ve fallen in love. But I’ve always been in control.

  I swing one long leg across Zack’s lap. Rising onto my knees, I straddle his hips and slowly unbutton the shirt I’m wearing. His erection grows under me and I wantonly begin to ride it. Seeing the desire build in his eyes emboldens me, giving me the confidence to try something I’d never done before.

  “Please, Zack. Please—” The rest of my sentence is swallowed in a gasp.

  • • •

  I’m standing in the living room, staring out the patio doors. The ocean looms black and restless under a star-filled sky. The pounding of the waves crashes down on me, as relentless as my eternal despair.

  Zack is right, this case may not have gone the way we anticipated, but Amy, Isabella, and the others are home safe. That counts for something, but not enough.

  “Will it ever be enough?” The sound of my voice is swallowed by the wind. But I know she hears it. She hears everything. I don’t expect an answer. Nothing has changed; I feel it to the core of my very being. The words Demeter uttered thousands of years ago hold the same power over me today as they did then.

  “You will live as mortal, but love will be denied to you, and you will rescue girls until I, Demeter, think you have done your penance. I will be watching. Always watching. Cross me, your lovers will die, and your penance will increase tenfold. All because you didn’t save my daughter.”

  Her words, crushing, brutal, echo in my head. I feel empty. I’m so immersed in my unhappiness I don’t know Zack has come up behind me until I feel his arms slip around my waist. I want nothing more than to turn around, bury my face in his chest and remain forever locked in his embrace.

  But that’s not going to happen.

  That can’t happen. I’ve already seen to it.

  After we’d made love, after Zack drifted off to sleep, I got up, showered, and dressed. I scrubbed out the shower and sink, rinsing away any trace of me, of my scent, of my perfume. Then I raced down to the kitchen to clean the dishes, toss away the empty food containers. As soon as I heard the shower running upstairs, I went back up and stripped the bed, put on fresh sheets. The ones that smell like me are now spinning in the washer.

  I’m prepared for questions.

  Questions that he’ll soon forget asking.

  He nuzzles my neck, sending shivers racing up my spine.

  When I don’t move, don’t respond to his touch, Zack puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him.

  “Are you all right?” he asks. “You’re dressed. And the bed’s made.” He waves a hand toward the house. “You cleaned up the kitchen. Are you leaving? I was hoping you’d stay.”

  I look into his face, press my palms into my thighs to keep from reaching up and pulling it closer, to keep from kissing him. Instead I release a sigh. “I think I’d better be getting home. The week is finally catching up with me.”

  His head tilts to the side, his gaze intent. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong? We’re okay?”

  “Absolutely,” I say, my voice full of reassurance. “I could sure use a cup of coffee before I go, though. I hope you don’t mind, I made some.”

  He smiles, a slow, sweet smile. “Running low on caffeine? Come on. Sit down. I’ll pour you a cup.”

  I reach out and take his hand. “Let m
e get it.”

  He takes a seat at the dining room table. I feel his eyes on me while I gather cups, spoons, creamer from the refrigerator, and the sugar bowl. I place them on the table, then make the trek back into the kitchen for the coffeepot. The pot feels unbearably heavy in my hand. I pour the bitter brew into his cup and watch the steam rise and dissipate.

  He adds the sugar and cream to his coffee and gives it a stir. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Never been better.” I force a smile, then on impulse, lean in and cover his mouth with mine. The kiss is soft and sweet and takes my breath away. “This is real, isn’t it?”

  Zack cups the side of my face in the palm of his hand and traces my lips with the pad of his thumb. “Yes. Are you positive I can’t persuade you to stay?”

  The certainty in his voice, the tenderness in his touch makes my heart ache. If I let him persuade me to stay, we’ll both be lost. There is no denying it. I can’t pretend. I’ve fallen in love with Zachary Armstrong. What’s worse, I fear he’s falling in love with me. Liz is right. I need to fix this. I can’t let it continue.

  I won’t let it continue.

  I wait and watch as he takes a few contented sips of his coffee.

  Then, because I can’t bear the thought of watching the transformation, I leave the table and wander back outside.

  The moon, although not full, is still high and bright in the sky. The ocean sparkles beneath it. The air smells of salt. Some things never change. Tears sting my eyes, but I stubbornly wipe them away. I did what I had to do.

  Zack’s chair scrapes back from the table. I steel myself for what I know is coming. He comes outside and joins me at the wall that separates the back deck from the beach. We are side by side, arms folded on the wall, not touching. He’s brought his coffee with him.

  “Beautiful morning,” he says.

  I close my eyes for the briefest of moments. I can hear the difference in his voice already. No intimacy, no closing of the space between us except for a friendly shoulder bump. “Quite a week, huh?”

  “Yes. It’s been quite a week,” I say, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “It’s late. I think I’d better get home.”

  Zack smiles. “Past your bedtime?”

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  I glance over at him. Neither did Zack. But he doesn’t remember. His memory of what happened between us last night is gone. Like so many others, it’s been replaced by new ones. Safe ones. I wonder what scene is playing in his mind right now.

  He takes a last pull of his coffee, sweetened with sugar and a spell to guarantee his security. Zack sets the cup on the sea wall. He drapes an arm casually over my shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.”

  When we’re at the car, he opens the door. “See you at the office on Monday.”

  He waits until I’ve secured my seat belt and started the engine to turn back to the house. Then, with a wave, he’s gone, disappearing through the front door and pulling it closed behind him without a parting glance my way.

  I sit for a moment, staring after him. The empty envelope in my jacket pocket crackles when I lean forward to release the emergency brake. I take it out, crumple it, and toss it on the passenger seat. Loneliness like the cut of a razor slashes at my gut. I wish Liz could cast a spell that would make me forget these last few days. But she can’t. I tried using magic before, to forget other tragic losses, or as Demeter would call them, mistakes. Remembering is part of my punishment, the penance Demeter exacts. I can feel the goddess watching, feel the chill of her smile of satisfaction that I will remember every moment Zack and I spent together. That I will remember how Zack felt inside me and how my body responded to his touch. But worse, I will remember how good we were together. I will think of it every time I look into his eyes and see reflected there not love, but the casual concern of one coworker for another. Mirroring that indifference will be torture. Suddenly I can’t breathe. I roll down my window.

  Air rushes in, so cold it burns my skin. I close my eyes. I know what this means. Demeter is here. Her voice comes to me as frigid as the web of ice that now covers my windshield.

  “You did the right thing, Ligea.”

  Demeter stands on a sheet of ice between Zack’s front door and the car. As she walks toward me, frost spreads across the ground, following her like death’s shadow. Her cobalt eyes are as unforgiving as ever, but her sword is sheathed.

  “How many more? How many more will I have to save?”

  “Until I am satisfied. And I will be watching you, watching you with this man.”

  “It’s over between us.”

  Demeter smiles. “For now. He’s different. You and I both know it.”

  My phone buzzes. There’s a text message coming in. But the tears clouding my vision prevent me from reading it. When I look up, Demeter is gone. I squeeze my eyes shut, count to ten, then look again at my phone. The message is from Johnson.

  Sorry to interrupt your weekend, I read. But there’s a girl missing. We need you to come in.

  I get ready to reply when Zack’s front door opens. He’s rushing toward me, coat in one hand, cell phone in the other.

  “Glad you haven’t left,” he says. “Johnson sent me a text.”

  “Just got one, too. Looks like we’ve got a new case.”

  “Never a dull moment or a day off.”

  “Regretting that transfer yet?”

  Zack shakes his head and buckles his seat belt. “Nope. Hey, a little luck, your special skill set, and my combination of strength, guile, and boyish charm, we might even solve this one.”

  To Zack I say, “Let’s go, partner.” To myself I repeat the words I always say at the beginning of every case.

  Redemption could be one rescue away.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  S. J. Harper is the pen name for the writing team of Samantha Sommersby and Jeanne C. Stein, two friends who met at Comic-Con in San Diego and quickly bonded over a mutual love of good wine, edgy urban fantasy, and everything Joss Whedon.

  Samantha Sommersby left what she used to call her “real-life” day job in the psychiatric field to pursue writing full-time in 2007. She is the author of more than ten novels and novellas, including the critically acclaimed Forbidden series. She currently lives with her husband and cocker spaniel, Buck, in a century-old Southern California Craftsman. Sam happily spends her days immersed in a world where vampires, werewolves, and demons are real, myths and legends are revered, magic is possible, and love still conquers all.

  Jeanne Stein is the national bestselling author of The Anna Strong Vampire Chronicles. She also has numerous short story credits, including most recently the novella Blood Debt from the New York Times bestselling anthology Hexed. Her series has been picked up in three foreign countries and her short stories published in collections here in the U.S. and the U.K. She lives in Denver, Colorado, where she finds gardening a challenge more daunting than navigating the world of mythical creatures.

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  S. J. Harper, Cursed fs-1