Blackwater (20 page)

I look back at him standing in the field with his pants around his ankles and his shirt torn from his body. He looks remarkable in the moonlight.

"Of course it was my first time, I don’t just sleep around, Whit. We talked about this. I'm not that kind of girl. You of all people know how I was raised." I stand in the dead grass and struggle to pull my pants up as he comes towards me holding my boots. I do my pants up and take my boots one at a time.

He has his pants on but his naked torso is distracting me. He has tattoos I never noticed before. I've never seen him without his shirt before - I don’t think I have. If I did, I must have been hopped up on my sex drive. I force my eyes away from the black ink that trails up the side of his ribs and the under side of one of his arms. The other arm had a band around it. They all look Scottish, or Celtic. I don’t even know how I missed them when I was ripping at his clothes so many times.

"I think we should talk about this." He looks upset. It’s filling me with warmth and bitter happiness. "You have to give me a second chance. I was too turned on, I've waited forty-eight years for you."

I grin and pull my boot on and turn away from him.

He grabs my arm, "Wait."

I rip it from his grip, "No, thanks." I smirk back at him, "You got what you wanted from me, Whit. Now leave me alone. We aren't doing that again, not ever."

His face is angry again. He gets angry fast. Like Emily.

He sputters things I don’t understand but they all sound like Och and loch. He has a Scottish rage like I've never heard before. I don’t know what Och means but I think it's bad. He grabs his hair and pulls on it and then finally speaks calmly, "If you think that’s all I ever wanted you're mistaken, lass." He froths and points at me, "I can have that any night of the week. That isn’t the part I want, Lorelei."

I feel like he's kicked me in the stomach.

His mouth drops open when he sees my face.

"I meant your heart. I want your heart." He puts a hand up, but I run. He can't catch me. I can hear him yelling at me but I don’t care. My hate is fresh all over again.

Luke points and rattles on, "So the whole basement has been dug out and we stripped away the asbestos boards and pipe lining. I have been able to preserve some of the clapboard. The kitchen and butler's pantry have been stripped and everything is down to the studs. Some places the whole wall is being replaced. We've drywalled and built rooms in the basement again. Some even got doors on them."

I watch him talk and try not to notice his lips and the sensual way they move.

I look around and smile, "It's amazing how much better it is with the mold and plants and cracks gone."

He nods and crosses his thick arms. "I've also ordered the slate for the backsplash and the floor. Not matching, but keeping in a theme. And I was thinking maybe those cool old-looking Viking appliances. Then they would be modern, but not too modern for the feel of the house." He gives me a dimply smile and my dead heart flutters.

I smirk at him, "Someone has a little flare for the design side of things. Maybe I'll cancel the designer coming in from New Orleans."

He nods and looks around, "I'm a full service contractor, Lorelei."

I grin and let it be a dirty comment. "I'll keep that in mind." My mind has been nastier than anything since the dirtiness with Whit in the field.

He slaps the old walls and brushes them, making dust linger in the thick night air, "Keep it in mind and consider us designing the house together. I really think we can."

I look up and my stomach quivers. I know it's not hunger. I won't be hungry again for a month. It's want. I want him. I can feel it. I don’t sense he feels the same way. He likes the old house. He's nervous around me but not in a sexy way.

My sister's voice breaks the awkward silence, "You must be the contractor Lorelei has spoken so highly of."

I cringe and turn to see her walking toward us. She is dressed in a white vintage flapper dress and very high heels.

"You goin’ to a costume party, Emily?" I smirk.

She grins and nods, "Sort of." She holds a hand out. I grimace as he takes her hand. It appears solid. He can touch her. It's not just me; she is like a real person. I'm still freaking out though.

He grins like a schoolboy, "Luke. Luke Derringer. Pleasure to meet you."

She bats her fake lashes, "Charmed, Mr. Derringer. My sister seems to have forgotten her manners. I'm her younger sister Emily. Emily Huntington."

He blushes and watches her, "Pleasure, Miss Huntington."

They look at me and I'm lost in a million thoughts. She is a ghost ain't she? Am I hallucinating? Is he turning red and flirting with her?

He stammers and clears his throat, "Well, I was just telling your sister here that we will be replacing the windows. It's a sacrifice to the character but we have to. The heat bills will be outlandish with the old frames. And the plaster in the kitchen and tin ceiling in the dining room are gonna have to go." He talks fast around her, like he's nervous.

I watch her responses and expressions. She is genuinely interested in him. I can see it in her eyes. She looks at him the way she did Greg. She likes him. In all the weeks he's been here she's been hiding out, but I wonder how long she has been watching him.

They ignore me completely and he starts taking her on a tour of the house.

I look back at the old staircase in front of us and marvel at how far his guys have come in a few weeks. I look back to where Em has gone with Luke. I hope he'll be okay with her. I take the first few steps and try not to remember my last night in this foyer. I touch the banister and shudder.

When I turn around Whit's there. He sees the look on my face and knows. He knows I'm thinking about it. He's standing in the front entryway watching me. He leans on the newly fixed doorway in fitted jeans and a charcoal grey V-neck T-shirt. He looks thick and sexy and exactly like I remember him from that night. His stare meets me with the same heat and intensity as it did that night. I sit on the pile of wood and watch him.

We don’t move or speak. We don’t have to. We have had these conversations a million times. Just not with the other person there. I know what I want to say to him. I know what I want to do to him. I want to rip a stake from the boards on the floor and stab him in the heart, like I did his friends at the hiding house. Only I want him to live through it all and let him ravish me, the right way. Not rushed and brutal but slow and sweet.

But I can't. That night is no longer the blur it was. Being in this house with him makes some memories clear for me - his lips on mine in the hidden shadows of the corner of the foyer - his dark blood greasing my lips and filling my throat. It had already coursed through my veins and made me stronger by the time I was running for the hiding house. It made my senses stronger. I ran faster. I moved quieter. I moved like a predator.

But when the sun set, I became a predator. I changed alone in a bathroom stall of an abandoned roadside diner. Days had passed and I didn’t know how long it had been. I just knew I was hungry in a way I had never been. My throat burned to the point of me screaming and stumbling through the woods. I stumbled out into the night, trying not to cry out in agony. I passed out in the woods and woke to the worst pain I've ever felt in my life.

The rising sun.

My body told me to run.

I scrambled up and ran away from the line of the sun. I ran until I reached an old cabin in the woods. I kicked the door in and hid under a bed. I slept and when I woke I ate the two old people in the house - a man and a woman. I ate them and I never felt bad. They tasted good. It was the best thing I'd ever eaten.

I knew then what I was. I knew what he had done to me and what he was. I knew I would never be the same again and I had no one left in the world who would care either way.

I ran.

I glance up at him now and can't feel the sex in his stare any longer. I feel nothing but distrust and betrayal. All that he left me with. I finally feel the right things.

"If I could take it back I would. I would have changed you alone in a beautiful place and helped you." It's as if he's read my mind. "I panicked. I ran out of time."

I look at him and shake my head, "I don’t really want to hear it. I just want you gone."

He looks broken and it hurts me, "I have two things to show you. I told you that. I promise to stalk you from a distance the minute I explain those two things."

I roll my eyes, "I think you're full of shit."

He shakes his head, "I'm not. You need to see them to understand everything."

I sigh and point at the door, "Fine. Let's just get the things you have to show me over with, so you can go back to leaving me alone."

His words stumble from him, "I never left you. I was with you every step."

I grin, "You were a step behind."

He shakes his head, "I have watched you for forty-eight years, Lorelei. Almost everyday. I found you as you were getting on a plane and flying to France."

I frown, "Why didn’t you speak to me? How were you with me?"

He looks crushed, "I'm your maker. I made you, so I know where you are at all times. You’re the only one I've ever made so I can follow you easily. My maker couldn’t distinguish me out of the many he's made. He wouldn’t be able to pick me out of the crowd. But you are my only one."

I stand and walk to him. I walk past him and out the front door.

I scoff, "If you were so busy stalking me why did you assume I wasn't a virgin?"

He follows, "I don’t know exactly what's going on in your head. I just know where you are or if you're panicked. I'd know if you're running terrified or needing help. But sex is like feeding. I assumed you were having sex when you ate the ones you liked. I can only sense small things to help you if you need it. That’s the point of the master connection."

The word flares anger inside of me. I spin and point a finger at him, "You are not my master. You are my murderer."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and walks past me, "Let's just do this before I lose my fucking mind." He never swears.

I follow him to the truck and try not to notice the way he makes me feel.

He mutters, "Forty-eight years, Lorelei. You can't hold a grudge for half a century."

I shake my head and look out the window, "You have no excuse for killing them. I saw you. I saw you slash your hand across his throat. I saw his blood shoot across the room and splash everywhere. It hit me. I never even got to process it properly. You killed me inside and my emotions wouldn’t attach to their deaths. So forgive me for not giving two shits about whatever you have to say."

He sighs and we drive in silence.

He turns onto a bumpy road and instantly my stomach is in my throat. My skin crawls.

The world slows down as I press my face against the glass of the truck when we drive past it. My breathing speeds up. If I had a heart beat it would be going crazy too.

The trailer's roof has fallen in and the whole thing is covered in moss. It's decrepit and it's as if I can see the arms of the swamp it sits on, reaching out and pulling it into the water. The black water.

Flashes of the present mix with memories of the past and I can't seem to focus. One second I'm in the car with Grandmamma and my granddaddy is standing there with his pit stains and disgusting green pants. He has greasy thinning hair that’s combed over his sweaty head. I think for a second he knows who I am. I'm transparent and terrified. I'm terrified he is gonna grab me and the swamp is gonna drag us both into the black water. I'm scared it will suck my soul out like it did my momma's.

The next second he is gone and I almost wish he was still there.

My granddaddy, who is as undead and dead as I am.

Nonexistent.

The truck bumps down the road and I feel lost. The memories have stirred up my own black water and my granddaddy's face is floating inside my mind. He is dead for real and that piece of my history is gone. He was the proof I was real once. Proof that I once had a heartbeat. Pretty sad when even the granddaddy that I never knew is dead. I have no one. No kin. I have Tessa, whose elevator only stops on one floor, the crazy one, and my ghost aunt and my ghost sister.

I glance at him and know he took it all away. My love for him ruined everything. I can hold this grudge for another forty-eight years easily.

The truck stops and he hops out.

I mutter, "Grandmamma Holt's cottage? Why are we here? Surely she is dead. She was seventy when Ramón died."

I climb out and notice the cabin's life is still there. Its internal heartbeat is still ticking, the swamp is held back by that. Louisiana swamps can't claim things that people still love. This cabin is loved.

It's small and brown and quaint. I've only been here with Ramón and I feel weird without him.

I stumble past Whit and brush my fingers against the hard door. The short brown door is etched with flowers and a pond. My fingers trace the flowers. I know a black tear has slipped down my cheek.

He grabs my hand and looks nervously at the door, "You're here by her request. I've never explained this, at her request. I'll be out here, for you."