Darknight (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 2) (15 page)

Stupid prejudices. I allowed myself a quick glance up at Connor’s fine profile, dimly highlighted by the frosted glass fixtures overhead. He was amazing in so many ways, and yet my family couldn’t seem to see past him being a Wilcox. Maybe in time they’d come around, but it frustrated me that I had to tell myself to be patient. What was so hard about seeing someone for who they were, and not where they had come from?

I was still brooding on the subject after we’d said our goodbyes and gotten in our respective vehicles. Sydney and I had finished most of the second bottle of wine, since the guys were driving. I wouldn’t say I was exactly tipsy, but I wasn’t as steady on my feet as I could be as Connor helped me up into the Cruiser and then went around and slid into the driver’s seat.

We were heading back down Main Street when he said, “You’re very quiet.”

“Am I?” I watched the shops and restaurants passing by outside the window. “Just thinking about Anthony and Sydney. Her dad doesn’t like Anthony because he’s Native American. How stupid is that?”

“Pretty stupid.” He slowed to let someone cross Main Street from the public parking lot to Bocce, which had a line out the door, even though the thermometer on the FJ’s dashboard indicated that temperatures were already down into the upper 30s. “Do I keep going on this street?”

“Yes, until you get to Clarkdale Parkway. Then turn left.” I readjusted the seatbelt, which suddenly felt too tight, too constricting. “Just about as stupid as everyone in my family looking at you like you’re a leper or something just because your last name is Wilcox.”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

Since he was concentrating on the unfamiliar road, he couldn’t turn to look at me, but I caught a quick sidelong glance before he focused ahead once again. “It’s not as if the Wilcoxes are exactly blameless. I’ve tried to lead as good a life as I can, but it hasn’t always been easy. So your family’s reaction is….” He trailed off, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, as if he wasn’t sure of the right word.

“What?” I demanded. “Justified? Okay, I could kind of see them feeling that way if I’d showed up with Damon in my pocket. They have every reason to dislike and distrust him. But you haven’t done anything wrong!”

“You know that, and I know that, but they don’t. Angela, you’ve had time to get to know me — ”

“ — intimately,” I put in.

He did crack a smile at that. “Yes, intimately. We’ve gotten to know each other, learn things about one another. You know I only went along with Damon’s whacked-out plan because it would bring you to me. You know I didn’t go on that raid on your house.
You
know all these things, but they don’t. So I’m not sure you should be judging them as harshly as you are.”

“Watch it,” I said. “You keep up with that kind of talk, and I might have to nominate you for sainthood.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

For a few seconds he didn’t say anything. We’d come up to the turnoff for Clarkdale Parkway, so he made the left as I’d instructed and then slowed down a little, since we were coming into Clarkdale’s tiny downtown area. “Anyway, if I were in their position, I’d probably be feeling the same way. That doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy walking around Jerome tomorrow and having people look at me like I’ve got horns and a tail, but at least I understand it.”

I tried to wrap my wine-muddled brain around his words. On some level, I did get what he was saying. On the other hand, the stubborn part of me kept thinking,
But I’m the
prima
. The clan is supposed to accept my decisions, whatever they might be.

Apparently there was a line, though, and in being with Connor, I had stepped right over it.

We didn’t say much after that, except for me to give him a few terse directions on how to get back to the house. When we pulled up, I halfway expected to see “Wilcox go home” spray-painted on the garage door or something, but the place looked undisturbed. The ancient door was on my list of things to get replaced, but I hadn’t done it yet, so I had to slip out in the freezing darkness and lift the heavy thing so Connor could pull into the garage.

After he parked, he got out and met me outside, then shut the door. Since the property was so old, the house and the garage were separate buildings, and I led him up the path through the small garden at the rear of the house to the back door.

Everything inside was as we had left it, of course. I was being foolish to think that my family would have done anything to disturb the place. They might be disappointed and angry with me, but they would never do anything to damage my house.

Well, to put it more accurately, the
prima
’s house.

I flicked on the kitchen light, then the lights in the hallway just outside, and went to the closet downstairs and took off my coat. Connor followed me and did the same. After he’d hung up his coat, he looked around the newly decorated interior and nodded, apparently in approval. On our earlier tour of the house, we’d moved quickly, and I hadn’t allowed Connor much time to give me any feedback.

“You’ve done a really good job with this place,” he said. “Updated, but still respecting the lines and the character of the house.”

His approval sent a flush to my cheeks. “Oh, well, I hired a decorator,” I said deprecatingly.

“You hired a good one. And you still had to approve her selections, didn’t you? It’s not as if you just let her do anything she wanted.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because it still feels like you.” He came to me then and took me in his arms, bent down to brush his lips against mine.

That kiss felt so good, warm, strong, tasting sweet and dark from the last glass of wine he’d drunk. I waited until he pulled away, then said, “I guess that’s why I like your apartment so much. Because it feels like
you
.”

“I know something else I want to feel,” he murmured, his hands running up under my jacket, smoothing over the curve of my hips and up to my waist, then higher….

“Hmm,” I replied, even as the heat flared in me again. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, and I wanted him, wanted him like nothing else in my life. I reached up and ran my fingers over the bulge straining against his jeans. “Me, too.”

In response, he bent and gathered me in his arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing at all. I let out a little squeak of surprise and then giggled, burying my face in his neck, feeling him carry me up the stairs, take me to my room, and lay me on the bed. For a second he stepped away, but only to point at the wood piled up in the fireplace, setting it alight. The seasoned oak blazed up at once, banishing the chill of a cold December night.

“I like that,” I said, bending down to unzip my boots and pull them off.

“So do I.” He came back toward the bed and kicked off his own shoes, not bothering to unlace them. “I may even forgive you the claw-foot tub because of that fireplace.”

“I’m glad my house has some redeeming qualities.”

“Some,” he agreed, bending down to undo my belt, and then the button and zipper of my jeans below it.

When I’d changed, I’d also put on some of the underwear from my stash here at the house, a satiny red pair of panties with black lace trim and a matching bra. Connor’s eyes widened when he saw I wasn’t wearing the practical but oh-so-boring cotton bikinis of the past few days. A little growl escaped his throat.

“I like that.”

“There’s more,” I said, pushing up my T-shirt so he could see the bra underneath.

His green eyes warmed and seemed to darken. “I think there’s only one thing better than seeing you in that.”

“What’s that?”

“Seeing you without it.”

He reached out and grasped my T-shirt and pulled it off, then found the front clasp of the bra and unlatched it, warm, strong hands descending to cup my breasts. The need was building in me now, strong and insistent, and I let out a sigh as he lifted his hands from my chest just long enough to tug the underwear down and toss it to one side. Then his fingers were there, touching me, stroking me, and I let myself surrender to him, to his touch…to everything about him.

Somewhere deep inside I’d worried a little about making love with him here in Great-Aunt Ruby’s old room, but her spirit was long gone, and, as Connor had said, I’d made the place mine. It felt right now, to pull him down onto the bed next to me, to touch him, feel his strength and heat, have him inside me, filling me again as I sank down on top of him, watching the heavy lashes brush against his cheeks as he closed his eyes in ecstasy.

And it felt even more right to have him hold me afterward, to lie in the strength of his encircling arms and know that he loved me, loved me enough to come to the heart of his enemies’ territory, to risk my family’s retaliation, just to show that when it came to the two of us, it was just as Sydney had said.

We weren’t Wilcox and McAllister, but only Connor and Angela.

And that was as it should be.

W
e dozed off
, then groggily got up about an hour later and went in to brush our teeth, taking turns because the antiquated bathroom only had a small vanity with one sink. Then we fell asleep for real, snuggled up against each other, letting the dying fire lend its own warmth to the room. My wistful fantasies had come true; I finally did have Connor lying here next to me in the big king-size bed.

The next morning I was awoken by a metallic buzzing sound. Connor’s phone. He’d left it on the nightstand, and apparently it was set to vibrate.

I reached out and picked it up without looking at the screen, and dropped it on his chest. “For you.”

“Wha — oh.” He sat up, grabbing the phone before it fell down in the depths of the rumpled bedclothes. “What time is it?”

“A little past eight,” I replied after a quick glance at the clock on the mantel.

A sound of disapproval escaped his throat, although I thought it was directed more at whoever was contacting him so early in the morning. He brushed his finger across the screen to unlock it, then scowled.

“That good, huh?”

In response, he angled the phone so I could read the text displayed there. Just four words, in all caps.

ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?

“I guess Damon finally figured out where you were,” I commented. It was a lot easier to be blithe about one of Damon’s rages when he was safely miles and miles away. “I thought you said he doesn’t like using phones.”

“He doesn’t. But since this is pretty much the only way he can get hold of me right now….” A little light began dancing in his eyes as he started tapping in a reply.

I craned my head to see what he was writing, but the angle was wrong, and all I caught was a glare off the screen.

When he was done, Connor helpfully turned the phone so I could see what he had just typed in.
Crazy, yeah…crazy in love. Talk l8er.

The “crazy in love” line sent a warm shiver down my spine. Even so, I grinned and asked, “So which part of that message is he going to hate more…the ‘in love’ part or the text-speak?”

An answering smile lit up Connor’s face. “Hard to say. But I figured I’d throw both in, just to really piss him off.”

I leaned over and kissed him. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“I have a vague idea, yeah.”

“So what are you going to do about Damon?”

“Nothing.”

Shooting him a dubious look, I said, “Nothing?”

His shoulders lifted, and I let myself admire the shift of the muscles under his smooth, warm-toned skin. “Well, it’s not as if he’s going to come down here and get into it with me. So he can stew in his juices until we get back to Flagstaff.”

“And what then?”

“We’ll deal with it then. But I’m thinking it’s about time I told him to back off and butt out.” He leaned across me and dropped his iPhone back on the nightstand.

This display of bravado surprised me. No, I didn’t exactly think Connor was under Damon’s thumb completely, but their previous interactions had seemed to indicate that Connor usually let his older brother get his way. Where this new confidence had come from, I wasn’t entirely sure. I didn’t want to take all the credit myself, but….

Mary Mullen had told me Connor was lost. At the time I’d wondered at her remark, but didn’t have much opportunity to pursue it. Maybe it was simply that he’d lost his way, allowed his brother to control his life because he didn’t have many other options. It was possible that being with me now had given him the chance he so desperately needed to separate himself from his brother’s whims and ambitions, to make his own future.

I hoped so. He’d been through enough already. It was time for him to shine.

But first things first. I leaned over and gave him a kiss…on the cheek, because I could tell from the set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes that he was not in the mood for anything else. “Do you want to shower first, or should I? Because I know if we both try to get in that claw-foot tub at the same time, we’re just asking for trouble.”

H
e let me shower first
, and then went in the bathroom when I was done. I didn’t know if Damon had replied while I was out of the room, and I got the feeling I really shouldn’t ask. So I didn’t.

Instead, while Connor was showering I went downstairs and went to take stock of the refrigerator to see what I could make for breakfast. There was an untouched carton of eggs, and an unopened package of applewood-smoked bacon. I recalled that I’d planned to make Adam a big breakfast the day after — well, the day after we were going to spend a night together. A night that never happened, thanks to Damon Wilcox.

I couldn’t even be angry about that. Not anymore. Not when his little plot had brought me to Connor.

But then I thought,
Adam
, and shook my head. I really, really hoped that he wasn’t around, that I wouldn’t have to see him. Cowardly, I know, but I also knew that him seeing me with Connor would only hurt him, and I didn’t want that. I wanted some time to pass so he could get a little distance, move on, maybe — I hoped — meet somebody else, and realize he shouldn’t have to settle for someone who didn’t really love him, not in the way he deserved.

Shaking that off for now, I realized that everything I’d bought was still fresh enough to use. After all, it hadn’t even been a week yet. Or rather, I’d bought these items exactly a week ago, just the day before I’d been taken from this very house and my entire life had changed.

For the better, although I certainly hadn’t looked at the situation in that way at the time. Now, though….

I glanced upward, more or less in the direction of the bathroom. In the background, I could hear the faint metallic sound of water running through the pipes. If I even turned on the tap right now to start some coffee, I knew I’d hear Connor yelling a few seconds later, since the antiquated water heater couldn’t handle the load. So much I’d planned to do here, so much that still needed to be done. Would it happen? I had no idea. I didn’t know where Connor and I were going to end up permanently. It seemed unthinkable that I would abandon my clan, leave Jerome, but I didn’t know if I was strong enough to live with their censure day in and day out.

Well, worry about that later
, I told myself.
Baby steps. Like getting breakfast together first.

That seemed logical enough.
Never make big decisions on an empty stomach
, my aunt had told me once, and although she apparently wasn’t speaking to me right now, that didn’t mean her advice wasn’t sound.

The water turned off upstairs, which meant I could make myself some much-needed coffee. I slipped a hazelnut cream pod into the Keurig and then pulled out the ingredients to make a batch of biscuits. Mixing and sifting the flour and baking powder helped to take my mind off my problems, and so did the smell of bacon once I got that going. Nothing like bacon to take your mind off your woes.

Being male, Connor was drawn to the smell of that bacon like a moth to a flame. He came into the room a few minutes after the scent began to drift out of the kitchen and through the house. His nose twitched appreciatively.

“Bacon? Seriously? I was sure we would have to go out and then get glared at by every McAllister within a fifty-foot radius.” His hair was still damp; obviously he’d just blotted it and hadn’t bothered with much else. He was fully dressed, but I noticed he’d wandered down in his socks, leaving his shoes upstairs.

“I wouldn’t subject you to that. Coffee? I know it’s not your French press, but I’ve got some flavors that aren’t too frilly. Italian roast, maybe?”

His gaze flickered toward the coffeemaker, and for a second I thought he might make a crack about pre-fab coffee. But then he nodded. “Sounds good.”

I went and got it started for him, and went back over to the stove so I could flip the bacon. “I forgot to ask last night — you’re not going to be sticking pins in voodoo dolls or something to make sure you can get a room at the Weatherford for Anthony and Sydney, are you?”

A grin. “Wow, you still have such a low opinion of me, don’t you?”

“No, but….” Damn, had I offended him?

“It’s okay,” he said, relenting. “No voodoo dolls. But a Wilcox cousin owns the place, and he generally leaves a room vacant in case anyone in the family needs it for business or something.”

That sounded fairly innocuous. “Okay.” I hesitated, then asked, “How much of Flagstaff does your family control…really?”

The Keurig beeped, and Connor went over and poured his coffee into the mug I’d already set out for him. He settled down on one of the rickety chairs at the kitchen table before replying, “Not as much as you probably think, but…we’ve been there for more than a hundred years. Of course we own a lot of real estate in and around town, same as you McAllisters do here in Jerome.”

Logical enough, I guessed. It was time to get the eggs started, so I decided to let it go for now. “How do you like them? Scrambled? Over easy?”

“Scrambled.”

A boy after my own heart. Runny eggs were one of my irrational dislikes. I cracked half a dozen into a bowl, put in some milk, and beat them to a froth before pouring them into a skillet I’d had preheating.

“I could get used to this,” he went on, watching me as I worked.

“To what? Me in the kitchen? I guess next it would be barefoot and pregnant, right?”

His expression went dark. “No, probably not that.”

Shit
. We’d danced around the issue, left it alone, hadn’t addressed it after I’d assured him that the little charm I mentally uttered every time we had sex would be enough to protect me. And it would — or so I’d been told. Even so, I could still hear Margot Emory’s words echoing in the back of my mind.

The wives of Jeremiah’s line would never live to see their children grow up.

“Sorry,” I began, but he shook his head.

“No, we should have talked about it before this. It’s out there, waiting. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said, trying to sound reassuring, but I didn’t believe my own words. The Wilcox curse had been claiming its victims for the last hundred and thirty years or so — who was I to think that Connor and I could possibly come up with some way of circumventing it?

“Damon hasn’t had much luck with that,” Connor remarked bitterly, and sipped his coffee.

“I know, but….” A sudden thought occurred to me. “When I was told of the curse, the words were ‘the wives of Jeremiah’s line.’ So what if we just stay, I don’t know, shacked up together and never make it official?”

“You think that wasn’t tried?”

“Was it?”

“Oh, yeah.” He drank some more coffee, while I hurried back to the stove and flipped the bacon, then started pushing the eggs around in the skillet so they wouldn’t get too brown. “Jeremiah’s son, Jacob, he had a child with one of his cousins out of wedlock. She went insane and threw herself out of a second-story window.”

Although the kitchen was warm, it felt like someone had just dragged an icicle down my back.

“And that son, Jonah, he thought maybe it was just a coincidence, and convinced his childhood sweetheart — a third cousin — that she should also be with him without the benefit of matrimony. She was knocked down by a runaway horse and killed a week after she moved in. So Jonah got himself a nice biddable second cousin, had a son with her — and then she died of scarlet fever a few months later.”

“Stop it,” I said. I wanted to put my hands over my ears, but I was busy with the food — and Aunt Rachel had trained me so well that I didn’t even think about not tending to it.

“I wish I could,” Connor said, eyes glittering. “But you need to know the truth. I love you, and it kills me that something terrible could happen to you. If we don’t ever have a child, maybe —
maybe
you’ll be safe.”

I didn’t want to think about that. While I certainly wasn’t eager to have a baby anytime in the near future, I’d always thought one day I would have a family. It’s just what the
prima
did — married her consort and had children and lived out her days as the matriarch of the clan. Acknowledging that such a future might not be viable for me was not something I wanted to face.

“Well, maybe it’s just the whole
primus
thing,” I said. “What about the children of the men who were of Jeremiah’s line but were the younger brothers?”

“I don’t know,” Connor admitted, and his dark brows pulled together in a frown. “After Jeremiah — he did have family who came with him, three brothers and a sister, and their children — all of the
primuses
were only children. Until now…until me.”

“Really?” I asked, startled. I had to turn away from him then, since, as with most meals, everything was ready at once, and I had to get the eggs dished up and the bacon draining and the biscuits out of the oven before they went from golden brown to just plain brown. Once everything was ready, and I’d taken the food over to the kitchen table, I went on, “So what does that mean?”

He shrugged. “No one knows for sure. I told you everyone thought it was strange that my mother lasted so long after Damon was born. They thought she’d be gone within the year, just like all the other
primus
wives had. But she seemed to be all right, and time went on, and then…then there was me. The miracle baby.”

This last was said in such dry tones that I knew he thought the exact opposite, that he wasn’t such a miracle after all. I would beg to differ, but I wasn’t about to get into that argument right now.

“Well, then,” I said, “maybe the curse doesn’t apply to you. After all, you’re of Jeremiah’s line, but you’re not the
primus
. It could be okay.”

“Do you want to risk it?”

The question hung, heavy in the air. I swallowed. “Not right away. No, of course not. But I think it means there might be some hope.”

“Hope.” He was quiet for a moment, considering. “That would be nice. But my family history doesn’t have too much hope in it.”

No,
I thought,
not much hope at all. Suicide and madness and untimely death. Not a very good basis for family planning.