Dark Sacrifice (19 page)

Air rushes out of her in a huff of annoyance, and I use her distraction to twist around until I can use her belly as a pillow. Her hands push at my head with a cry, but she doesn't put much effort into it. She sighs again and trails her fingers through my hair. Her fingers massage my scalp, and the headache that always lingers behind my eyes starts to fade.

“How about if we share?” I ask drowsily.

“I'd like to sleep by myself.”

“I didn't say anything about sleeping.”

“Oh, Lordy.” Mala's off the bed in point five seconds and halfway across the room in two.

I follow her to the second bedroom and peer inside. It's not as cool as the master, but hell, it's still awesome. Mala lies in the middle of the bed—fuming. I can almost see smoke spiraling out of her ears. I make a running leap onto the bed. The other room was more visually stunning, but the mattress on this bed conforms to the shape of my body. I sink into it. I don't think I'll be able to get out without help. I close my eyes. My body rocks sideways.

“This bed is nice too,” I say.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

“Haven't you figured it out yet? Where you go, I go. I'll deal with it if you've changed your mind and want to be platonic again, but I won't leave you alone. Not after what Acker did to you this afternoon.”

“That's a big change of heart, Landry.”

I trace a finger down her cheek. “I'm new to this whole relationship thing. I'm learning, but I'll probably make a few more mistakes along the way.”

“So what you said in the woods about me being with Georgie—”

“I thought I meant it at the time, but I changed my mind. How can he protect you when he doesn't even know what he has to keep you safe from? You've never told him about your connection to the dead, have you?”

“I'd be crazy to. Hell, he already thinks I lost my grip on reality after Mama died.” Her mouth turns down at the corners. “I can't handle seeing it verified in his eyes.”

“Plus there's the fact he's your brother.”

“Ugh, don't remind me. It kind of grosses me out whenever I think about it. But he's not blood. George Sr. adopted him.” Mala lightly runs her fingertips down my arm. “Why do you think I still like George?”

I stare up into her eyes. “He was your first love. That's hard to get past, but I want you to know how I feel. I won't leave you hanging anymore. The decision is yours. If you decide you want a normal life with Deputy George, be my guest. Doesn't mean I'll vanish. I still plan to protect you.”

T
he refrigerator yields an interesting mix of stuff. Yogurt, eggs, Canadian bacon—my nose wrinkles at the sight of the round pieces of meat. They look like mini pieces of ham. I like bacon. Real bacon. Ham…not so much.

Landry places his hands on my hips and steers me out of the kitchen. “Why don't you find a movie and rest? You've had a hard day. I'll cook for you.”

I snicker. “Call me when you're in over your head.”

“I have many skills…” He waggles his eyebrows. “Prepare to bow down to the master chef as I rock your world with my culinary abilities.”

Heat floods into my cheeks, and I rush from the room, afraid he'll see. He's got me all befuddled. His earlier declaration of intent keeps running through my mind. He called me his “girlfriend.” Says he wants to be with me. I believe he's telling the truth, and I'm terrified now that it looks like I'll finally get what I've wanted.

Stop overanalyzing and go with the flow.

I wrap myself in the thick blanket thrown over the back of the sofa and sink onto the leather. It's cold, but once I tuck the blanket around me, I snuggle in. It takes several tries to figure out how to use the universal remote. Apparently it works the overhead lights, the radio, which is set on the jazz station, and the widescreen television. I wonder where Mama has gotten herself off to—not that I'm complaining, since her absence gives me some alone time with Landry—but she and Gaston are supposed to be tied to me. I'm surprise she hasn't popped in yet. She'll freak the first time she watches her soap operas on the huge screen.

The smell from the kitchen makes my mouth water. I want to go see what Landry's cooking up, but I'm too comfortable. The effort of rising has gone way beyond my skill level. It involves too many coordinating skills, like walking. Not crashing into a wall because I'm sleepwalking.

Next thing I know, I'm waking up to the sun shining in through the open balcony door. Landry must've carried me to bed. Blankets pulled up to my neck make it difficult to turn. I lie there, taking in the breath-stealing vision of the large bedroom in the daylight. It's even more magnificent than the night before, and I pinch myself to be sure I'm not still dreaming. The heat warming my backside shifts, and I freeze. I slide a hand beneath the blanket and feel behind me. A hip conforms to the cup of my palm, as does the smooth skin of a bare, muscular back. I trace a finger up the knobs of a spine.

Landry moans.

My heart races like I've just outrun the gaping maw of a gator. I roll onto my side so we're face to face. I can barely calm my breath—all because of the assault on my senses. I inhale the crisp scent of Irish Spring soap and a musky scent that makes me clench my knees together. I wiggle closer and let out a heavy sigh just so I can fill my lungs again.

Landry lies flat on his stomach with his arms folded beneath his pillow to prop up his head. Black hair with a slight blue tint in the morning sunlight falls over the white pillowcase. He looks younger, more innocent asleep. His lips are slightly parted. My gaze lingers on his plump bottom lip then moves upward.

I rub my aching chest. My eyes burn, but I don't let my tears fall. He removed the eye patch before bed. A scar bisects his eyebrow, the eyelid, and part of his cheek. I did that to him. I'd sacrifice myself a thousand times if I could undo what I've done. If I could give him back his sight.

But I can't. What's been done can't be undone. I have to live with the regret. And it burns…an unquenchable fire, radiating outward to burn me from the inside out. I bet this is how it feels to spontaneously combust. Excitement races through me with each breath. Landry's a freaking pheromone factory, and I'm the spiraling bee.

My finger trembles as I reach out to trace the raised edges of the scar. My heart twists. Mama always kissed my owies “to make them better” whenever I got hurt as a child, and I swear, she had some potent smooches. Course she was usually feeling guilty for being the one who gave me those bruises. Logically I know the pain didn't really vanish. What made me feel better was she wiped away the hurt by reminding me of her love with those kisses.

What if my kisses have the ability to heal Landry?

Maybe not the external pain, but the internal. God, I hope so. 'Cause if they do, maybe his have the ability to heal me too.

I brush a soft kiss across his eye. The light touch only whets my appetite. I lick my tingling lips. Landry brings a craving up from deep inside of me. He tastes like the sweetest chocolate…the kind you savor in tiny bites that melt on your tongue so the ecstasy lingers. No matter how much you eat, you want more. Like an Easter egg junkie, I press another kiss against the arch of his high cheekbone.

Landry's breathing quickens. His back arches as he lifts his head to stare at me with an eye of pure silver; no thunderclouds darken his gaze. He rolls onto his side as a hand slides from beneath the pillow. The tips of his fingers trail down the side of my cheek, then wrap around to cup my face. I slowly lean forward, and his breath catches. A slight smile reveals his dimple, but it's hidden as our lips touch. His grip on my face tightens when I try to pull back, and his other arm wraps around my waist. With a quick roll, he pulls me flush against his bare chest. I gasp, and his tongue steals into my mouth.

Oh God, he tastes so good.

The kiss deepens as his heat soaks into me. I slide my leg over him, and he groans, pulling my body even closer. I can feel each breath, each frantic beat of his heart, and I know he can feel mine because we're connected in a way I never imagined possible. Never had any idea sensations like this existed, like our souls blended.

How sappy…
the thought drifts through my mind, but swiftly disappears.

Cold prickles race across my back, and I shiver.

“What?” Landry whispers huskily against my mouth.

I kiss him hard in answer. His chest heaves as he chuckles but we don't stop kissing. His palm warms the indentation in the small of my back, which contrasts starkly with the ice seeping into the rest of my flesh. I stiffen, pulling away. My jaw quivers as I try to keep my teeth from chattering.

He stares at me with a concerned frown. “Seriously, what's wrong?”

“I don't—” Instinct flares, and I twist.
Crap!
“Mama?”

Landry rears up, and my forehead cracks against the bridge of his nose. Pain rocks me backward. I reach for Landry, but he's too busy holding his bleeding nose to catch me before I fall out of the bed in a tangle of blankets.

I stare up at Mama from the floor. She sits in the chair across from the bed with her legs drawn up beneath her nightgown and her chin propped on her knees, like she's lounging in front of the television watching a romantic comedy.

“Don't stop on my account,” she says with a wicked smile.

Landry grimaces. “M-Ms. Jasmine, it's not what you think,” he stutters, crawling from the bed. He has his nose pinched shut with two fingers. A trickle of blood spills across his lips and drips onto the sheets. I peek beneath the blanket and sigh. Thank God, I'm not naked. Nor do I have to do the walk of shame. I didn't do anything wrong.

“Oh God, I'm so embarrassed.” I bury my face in the blanket.

“Don't look at me,” Mama says. “I'd be a hypocrite if I said you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

My lip pokes out. “You just said it, Mama.”

“Wouldn't be my place to warn you about catchin' sexually transmitted diseases and unwanted pregnancies from havin' unprotected sex.”

“Mama!”

“Whatever? I didn't say anythin'. I'm respectin' your right to do what you want. 'Sides, I'm dead. Not like I can stop you from making a huge—”

“AAHH!” I scream, covering my ears. “Tell her nothing happened, Landry.”

Silence fills the room. I glance at the bed, but it's empty. The bathroom door slams shut, and Mama laughs. “See, it's like a man to leave a woman high and dry in this sort of situation.”

“I'm not abandoning her,” Landry yells from the bathroom. “I'm fixing my nose so I don't bleed to death. And nothing happened. We slept…and shared a few kisses, but that's it. Not that I wouldn't”—his voice rises in a strangled squawk—“Ms. Jasmine, get out of here.”

Mama's voice comes from inside the bathroom. “You ain't got nothin' I haven't seen before, boy, so stop actin' all modest. Look me in the eye and swear nothin' happened. I can tell if you're lyin'.”

I back away from the door so they don't hear me laughing. I grab my toiletry bag and a change of clothing and hustle off to the second bathroom. By the time I finish showering and dressing, I've recovered my composure. In the living room, Landry sits in a slump on the leather couch engrossed in a movie—a Syfy original involving a creature that looks like they genetically spliced a piranha with a crocodile—
Croconha
. Extremely cringe-worthy.

Landry doesn't bother to glance away from the screen, but the back of his neck and ears turn red when I cozy up next to him. I wrap his arm around my shoulders then stare up at his face in fawnlike adoration. A quick glance down at me and the blush spreads to include his entire face.

“Hi, sexy,” I croon huskily, blowing in his ear.
This will teach you never to abandon me again.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Uh…”

I run my hand down his thigh and squeeze.

Landry throws a wild look over his shoulder and grabs my hand. “Don't…Ms. Jasmine said if I touch you, she'll—”

A deep rush of warmth fills my chest. How does he expect me to keep my hands to myself after he says something so sweet? “Thank you. You've no idea how much it means to me, knowing that you respect Mama. People looked down on her for the choices she made her entire life. I know she's trying to do right by me.” I lay my head on his shoulder. “But I'm not a child anymore. She doesn't get to dictate how I live my life.”

Landry snorts. “Big words from someone who fell off the bed trying to get away from me.”

“I panicked. Old habits die hard.” I stare at his mouth, willing it to move toward mine. A corner of his lip rises in a half smile, and I lift my chin. His mouth brushes across mine, and I groan, pressing against him. “Kiss me, please.”

The ding from the elevator brings us both off the couch with darting looks.

“What time did Magnolia say she'd be coming for us?” Landry asks, running his hands through his tangled ebony locks. He's wearing his eye patch again, plus a pair of dark denim jeans and a T-shirt that matches his storm-cloud eye. He looks so hot.

I fan myself. Overheated. It's my own fault. If you don't play with fire, you won't get burned, right?
Silly girl.

“Mala, are you okay?”

“Fine, I'm cool.”
Not.

What had he asked? Oh, yeah, Magnolia. I have no idea what time she said she'd come. My memories of the night before are hazy. I spent most of it in a daze. Overwhelmed by everything that happened. Today I'm reminded that there is a price for the luxury I'm enjoying. I just hope it's one I'm willing to pay. Auntie Magnolia seems more mafia boss than philanthropist. If I don't fulfill my obligations, I wouldn't put it past her to start cutting off body parts to use in her spells.

But I put myself in this situation. Granted I didn't have much choice—death or slavery—and dying hurt, so I agreed to her terms. Landry didn't. He's in this mess because of me, so I'm responsible for whatever happens.

The opening door interrupts my frantic thoughts. I'm not expecting to see the man standing in the elevator. Hell, I wouldn't expect to see him anywhere but on a movie set. He looks so much like Taye Diggs that I almost squeal like a fangirl, but subtle differences exert themselves as I study his chiseled face. None of the differences detracts from this guy's beauty and commanding sense of presence. My mouth waters as I drink in the muscular frame standing in front of me. Midnight velvet skin shines beneath the overhead lights.
Whoa, so yummy
.

Guilt curdles my stomach as I remember Landry. I glance over to see if he's noticed my short, minuscule bout of infatuation. He's staring openmouthed into space, like a dehydrated spaniel. Surely he's not mesmerized by the guy's hotness. Then I realize the Taye clone isn't alone in the elevator, and my gaze moves to the woman standing next to him.

She has skin the color of rich mahogany, silky smooth and without blemish. The kind of skin I wish I could have but never will because I've never used moisturizer in my life. I glance down at my callused palms and broken nails. With a grimace, I shove my hands into my pockets.

The woman studies me with greenish gray eyes emphasized by thick black eyelashes and wavy hair that hangs past her shoulder blades. “Malaise LaCroix” —she arches an eyebrow, then nods— “and Landry Prince.”

“Who are you?” I ask, breathless.

They step together out of the elevator, and Landry and I are forced to shuffle back. A crackle of energy radiates from these two. It raises the hairs on my arms and sets off every alarm within my body. It's a force I've come to recognize. Power. These two are full of spiritual energy.

Landry tips his head down and whispers, “They're not ghosts. No shine.”

The woman laughs. “No, we are very much alive.” She gestures toward the man. “This is Ferdinand, and I am Sophia. We are servants of Queen LaCroix. Which means for today, we obey your commands.”

Servants?
“Why do I feel like I've been sucked into the Middle Ages? Did I fall through a time rift or something while sleeping?”

“I wondered why you were playing with the flux capacitor,” Landry mutters. I elbow him in the side. I'm totally serious.