Now or Never: Wizards of Nevermore (12 page)

So she’d accepted her loneliness. She’d tried to build a life. It may not have been glamorous, but she’d been okay. Sometimes, though, when she woke up in the middle of the night, her chest aching, her heart pounding, a nightmare crimping the edges of her memories, she wondered if she’d inherited her mother’s insanity.

“Our lives are a series of choices,” said Sarah kindly. “Not always our own. There’s so much you don’t know, sweetie. So much you must learn before your thirtieth birthday.”

Norie stared at the ghost. “Why?” she mouthed.

“The spell that’s bound your powers and your memories will disappear. You will know your destiny then. There are very difficult things ahead for everyone, especially for you. But you must have courage.”

Sarah was echoing the speech of the raven in her dream, the one she’d had before she woke up chained to a stone. Black Robe had also talked about her destiny. She was tired of strangers telling her what her life should be like. She’d listened to her own mother map out Norie’s life in a way that only a crazy person could.
You’ll know, Norie. You’ll know. And then he’ll know. He will know. And you won’t be safe. Have to keep you safe. Pack! Pack now!

And off they’d go. To another city. To another ratty apartment. For a while, her mother’s mind would settle
enough to get a job, to build a home, and then a couple months would go by…and it would start all over again. Goddess or not, Norie would not be beholden to Her will. How could she serve a deity who hadn’t helped at all, ever, during the constant hardships of her nearly thirty years?

“Sometimes, you choose,” said Sarah. “And sometimes, you are chosen.” She laid her fingers against Norie’s brow; her forehead tingled. “In the morning, you will have some answers.”

Norie didn’t want to go back to sleep. She wanted to get out of this bed, out of this house, and out of whatever trouble she was in.

“It’s not wise to leave,” warned the ghost, as if she’d read Norie’s mind. Huh. Maybe she had. “If you venture outside this house’s protections, they’ll find you. You’re cloaked here. Safe. Understand?”

Fear skittered like snakes up her spine. She nodded, suddenly chilled.

“Good.” Sarah smiled. Then she slowly faded into nothing.

Norie slowly sat up and stared at the space where Sarah Mooreland had stood looking all motherly and concerned. Something flickered in her mind, a memory she couldn’t quite grab hold of. She chased it for a minute, but it eluded her too well. Was it weird that she found the sight of a ghost familiar? She had seen one
before, but it was a feeling of surety, rather than actual memory.

She looked around the room, approving of its loveliness. She was glad to be here, safe and sound, rather than in the company of Black Robe and his asshole cohorts. She had no idea if she was embedded in a similar pit of vipers, but she doubted it.

Oh, how she wanted to go back to her old life, but she knew it was gone. It didn’t matter now if she returned to California. Would she be on the run for the rest of her life? And for what? She didn’t understand why Black Robe needed
her
. She was no one.

No one at all.

Norie figured the best thing to do was to rest. At least in her dreams, she was safe.

Taylor held her hand and led Norie through the garden. The trees were cut in whimsical shapes, the flowers as lush and beautiful as any she’d ever seen, and the path was lined with smooth, black rocks.

“Here,” he said. The small clearing was surrounded by a wall of verdant trees, these with long thin leaf-covered limbs that drooped to the ground like a lady’s wrinkled ball gown. “Weeping willows,” said Taylor. “My favorite.” He glanced at her, smiling. “Not that I walk around thinking about trees a lot.”

Norie laughed.

He squeezed her hand and took her to the checkered blanket. She saw the wicker basket, and beside it, two wineglasses and a bottle of Chablis.

He waited for her to sit, and she realized she was in a long dress, the same white one she’d worn in the raven dream. Her heart tripped, and fear shot up her spine like cold lightning.

“You’re all right,” said Taylor. “It’s okay.”

The fear receded instantly. He poured the wine and handed her a glass. “To us,” he said, tilting his glass in her direction.

“To forever,” she said.

They clinked glasses.

Later, they lay on the blanket, hand in hand, and she listened to the low, comforting sound of Taylor’s voice. She couldn’t discern the words, but it didn’t matter. Not really. She was where she belonged.

With him.

Above them, two stars glowed in the night sky. It was odd, thought Lenore, that only two stars should be visible. They looked like eyes
gleaming in the dark, but she wasn’t afraid.

Destiny,
said a voice that sounded like the white raven’s.

The garden faded.

Now they stood in the middle of the
nemeton,
the ancient stones buzzing with energy.

She was naked.

And so was he.

She turned in Taylor’s arms and kissed him, mating her tongue with his, reveling in his gasp of breath, his tightened embrace.

“I want you,” she whispered. Whoa. Was she really doing this?
Love me,
she wanted to say.
Love me.

But the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. She couldn’t bear to ask for love, only to receive judgment and rejection. Just like so many times before.

She couldn’t say it. No. But she could show him. She kissed the strong column of his neck, the rough line of his jaw, the dent in his chin. “Taylor.”

He took her hand and lowered it to his cock. Her heart pounded fiercely as she encircled the smooth, warm flesh, then trailed her fingers from the base to its tip.

Taylor tipped her chin so that she would look at him. “I want you so much.”

“Then take me,” she said. “I’m yours.”

He lowered her to the ground then and used his hands, his mouth, to give her such pleasure. She gave the same to him. Touching his muscled flesh, stroking, kissing—it was beyond what she believed possible.

And when he finally rose above her and slid inside her, she thought,
I belong to him.

“Lenore. Oh, Lenore.” He clamped on to one of her tightened nipples and sucked. Bliss bubbled through her. She wrapped her arms around his hips and matched his strokes. She wanted to reach that promise of pleasure that felt so close. Her body trembled; her heart pounded.

“More, Taylor,” she said. “More!”

Her breath caught in her throat when he abandoned her breasts and pounded into her, his head cradled in the crook of
her neck. Sweat rolled down her breasts, but all she felt was the great need filling her belly, the spark he ignited.

“Lenore,” he muttered. “Lenore!”

She shattered. Her hands grasped his shoulders, her nails piercing his flesh.

Then Taylor found his pleasure. He held on to her, shuddering. Only when he lifted his head and looked at her did she see the utter desolation in his gaze.

Norie woke up and shoved off the covers. Her body was suffering the aftereffects of such a vivid dream.

Wow. She had it bad for her rescuer.

But there something about…What did the stars mean? And why had Taylor looked so desperate?

She put her head into her hands. She knew the price of falling for someone. Every guy she’d ever dated, whoever had the misfortune of being with her for longer than three dates, ended up hurt—literally.

Her mother had told her, numerous times, that she had to wait for the key.
Only the key can be yours
, she’d muttered in some of her most insane moments.
Save yourself for him. He’ll save you. He’ll save the stars!

Oh, Mom. Norie shook her head. Whatever voices had infiltrated her mother’s thinking, whatever crazy thoughts spun in her head, she’d been right about Norie’s luck in love. She wasn’t allowed to have a relationship.

Well, she wasn’t going back to sleep. Who knew what else her brain would come up with?

She eyed the opened door to the bedroom and then shoved off the covers.

It was creeping toward four a.m., well past the witching hour and edging into the territory of time owned by roosters and farmers. Trent Whitefeather, knee-deep in his uncle’s office crap, kept glancing in Elizabeth’s direction. It was almost as if he needed to make sure she was still there and that she was still his.

He stopped pretending to work and just watched her sort through the stack of paperwork that had never made it into Uncle Atwood’s poor excuse of a filing system.

“Can you stare at me
and
work?” she asked, her tone teasing. “Not that I don’t enjoy digging through garbage service receipts. I found one from 1952. How long has Atwood owned this place?”

“Family biz,” said Trent, trying to sound nonchalant. He was embarrassed she’d caught him acting all moon-eyed. He needed to keep it cool. “The Stephens were one of the founding families in Nevermore. Started out as just the go-to people for the newspaper. When the Guardian decided to add in garbage services, the Stephens ended up with that duty, too.” He snorted a laugh. “To hear my unc tell it, nobody wanted to be responsible for picking up the town’s trash—even with extra incentive money for trucks and workers. He said all the business owners had to do a lottery. My great-great-grandfather ended up with the short stick.”

“I suppose it’s a better method than ‘Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.’ ”

Trent looked up and grinned. “Yeah. But not by much.”

She grinned back, her eyes going soft, and that look…
Oh shit.
That look was what set his heart to pounding and his dick to hardening. He wanted to bend her over the desk right now. Claim her in the space that was his legacy. Give himself, too. To her. Show her that he understood there was something special between them. She was Mordi to everyone else, but to him, she’d always be Elizabeth.

“What will you do with the businesses?” she asked.

“Carry on,” he said absentmindedly. It seemed weird to be trying to organize Atwood’s things. He kept thinking his uncle would barrel in, demanding in that hoarse huffing voice just what the hell Trent thought he was doing. He’d attempted to put some order to the madness before, and every time, he met with furious resistance from Atwood. Why the man liked living in such a horrific mess was beyond Trent’s comprehension. His own room was neat as a pin, as organized and clean as Atwood’s living and working spaces were disorganized and filthy.

Still, he’d happily live in this crap hole forever, just as it was, if it meant he’d get his uncle back. They’d never been too close, at least not before he’d moved to Nevermore. He always got the feeling that Atwood didn’t
necessarily approve of his sister hooking up with…Well, a nonwhite was probably the kindest way to think about it. Not that Atwood ever messed with him. He’d like to think his uncle actually loved him.

Trent’s dad had been a Cherokee, and Trent preferred to follow the tenets of his father’s people. There were magicals in the native peoples of this continent, just as there were magicals in any race. And Atwood didn’t seem particularly fond of magicals, either, though he lived in a town with them. And yet, he hadn’t hesitated when Trent’s parents died, coming to Oklahoma to pick him up and give him a home, a purpose.

His uncle hadn’t tried to interfere with his magical studies, either. Trent practiced his gifts with the same intensity and purpose he had when studying for school or for crushing on Elizabeth. He barely managed to stop the goofy grin that wanted to crease his face as his thoughts returned to her.

He couldn’t believe that Elizabeth liked him the way he did her. Sure, they were young, but young didn’t mean a person couldn’t commit to another, or shout from the rooftops about falling head over heels for her. They could marry. Have children. Run the garbage service, and the newspaper, and the cemetery together.

He stared down into the dark drawer he’d opened. He’d been emptying it absentmindedly, and now that there was nothing in it, he used it almost as though it were a crystal ball. What was their future? Would it
eventually end? Or would it go on, as he hoped, until their dying days? Maybe they’d share a nursing home room together. They’d be old and wrinkly and wouldn’t care. Love didn’t see with the eyes, only with the heart.

“What’s so funny?” asked Elizabeth.

She was staring at him now, her expression etched with an emotion he couldn’t quite discern. Shit. He’d been doing the goofy grin after all as he imagined their future together. But that expression of hers…He shivered. The way she was looking at him made him uncomfortable. That look so subtly carved on her face was somehow caught between love and regret. He felt his heart drop to his toes, and his throat closed. Was something wrong already? Was she going to let him go before they’d even had a chance to really explore what could be between them?

He couldn’t breathe.

“Trent.” She moved from the floor where she’d been sitting and crossed to the desk chair he occupied. She sat on his lap and kissed him gently. “I’m yours,” she said simply.

His lungs filled with air, his heart with tenderness, and his mind with plans for a future with sweet, sweet Elizabeth.

“Lenore.” Taylor lay on the grass, naked and aroused. Above them was the night sky, and all around them were the huge blue stones that guarded the
nemeton.

Lenore’s small, pale, perfect body lay next to him. She was trembling, her gaze luminous. What emotion glittered there?

Lenore offered him what he wanted—not just her body, but sharing a life together.

You can’t save her.

The hell,
he said to the voice that echoed inside his skull.

Her hands slid up his chest, making him writhe under her touch. He slid his hands over her breasts, those perfect, beautiful breasts, and nearly died from the sensation.