Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3) (9 page)

“Why?”

“Because you’re talking about my
sister
.” Carly snaps, her tumble of red-gold curls only highlighting her pallor as she rips herself from the circle of Styx’s arms to get to her feet. “I’m not listening to this bullshit anymore. I trust Mom. I trust Jett. And so should
you
.”

She flings the words at Ana like a gauntlet. Then Carly stalks from the room, hair rippling like a flag behind her.

Ana
starts to rise, then thinks better of it. “Styx?”

“She doesn’t want me right now.” He bows his head, his hair giving off an alien silvery sheen in the lamplight. “Just leave her be. Maybe she’s right. Did you ever think of that?”

“Seph’s dead, Styx. Jett killed her. In what universe is that okay?”

“I don’t know, but Carly is not the sweet, little village idiot you’d like to pretend she is.”

“I never—“

“You do,” he growls, getting to his feet. “You pat her on the head and dismiss her as sweet and dim, just like you do your mother. I think you’re underestimating them both.” There is the low roll of thunder overhead, the stink of ozone in the air. Ana stares at him, her mouth half-open. I’ve been on the receiving end of Styx’s displeasure, so I can totally sympathize with her dazed look. Tyr puts a hand on his sword, his gaze sharp. But our resident monster is apparently done with my sister.

“As for you” —Styx turns to Jack, his eyes like spinning gold coins— “I better not regret helping you, or there will be hell to pay.” Lightning flashes outside the window as Styx turns and heads for the stairs.

“What was that all about?” Ana snaps as soon as he is out of sight, her voice a bit breathless. “What did he mean by helping you?”

Jack lifts an eyebrow. “Let’s file that under ‘none of your business.’”

Her eyes narrow, but she just gets to her feet, moving to the mantelpiece, picking up one of her sculptures—a stately grandfather clock with rabid, snarling mice in the midst of tearing it to shreds—and turning it round and round in her fingers.

“Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. Maybe Cerunnos was using magic to force Jett to—“

“Ana.” Jack’s voice is gentle. “You know that’s not possible. No such spell exists; you can’t enchant someone to commit murder.”

“But—“

“It doesn’t matter why she did it.” Stephen’s voice is dangerously quiet.

“How can you say that?” Ana again, her words almost shrill.

“Because it doesn’t.” The bruin’s face is hard, totally unforgiving. “Not to me. As for you, Frost—”

Jack dodges the first punch—he is one of the fastest creatures alive after all—but Stephen makes contact with the second. The crack of fist striking bone is so loud it makes me jump, not that anyone notices. I don’t know how Jack keeps his feet, but despite a slight list to one side, he does.

“Is this the sentencing portion of the trial?” Jack’s tone is biting.

“You could’ve warned me,” Stephen snarls.

“Are you fucking serious?” I can tell Jack’s resisting the urge to rub his jaw. His fingers are twitching, but he won’t give Stephen the satisfaction.
Men
. “I can see how well that would have gone over. At least now you know the truth.”

“The lie was easier to live with,” he mutters before telling Ajax that they’re going home. Immediately.

Ajax gets to his feet at once, Syana somewhat slower, her face blank. She looks at Thomas, but he’s making eye contact with no one, especially her. He looks grey, ill again, like all the healing of the last few months has been undone.

The bruin turns to Jack again just before they leave. “The wolves?” he snaps tersely.

“I’ll take you to them, as promised. Just say when.”

“I’ll call as soon as we gather a hunting party.”

Ana goes to shut the door behind the bruins, but before she can, Thomas is there.

“I assume I’m free to go, then?”

Ana nods, but reaches out a hand. “But you’re always wel—“

“No,” he says, avoiding her outstretched hand. “I’ve had enough. I just want to go home. Back to where things are normal and sane.”

He pushes past her in his rush to get out. Jack steadies her automatically, but Ana jerks away with a hiss.

Holding his hands up, Jack takes a step back. “I’m not the enemy anymore.”

“I’m not convinced of that, Frost. Not yet.”

They both turn toward the doorway. Thomas is already out of sight. It’s the midnight hour, quiet and still. The neighborhood looks sharp and perfect in the streetlights, a world too real to be real. I wish I could step back into it, race after Thomas and tell him it’s going to be okay. But even if I could, I wouldn’t.

No matter what Carly thinks, I’m pretty sure that would be a lie.

With a sigh, Ana shuts the door.

“So this visit of Oriane’s,” Jack says without looking at her. “It was a couple days before Yule?”

Ana moves down the hall. “That’s right.”

“She talked to you and Carly, and presumably Jett, but not Seph?”

She stops at the archway to the parlor, looking back at him. “Yes.”

“And I thought I was cold,” he mutters. Ana stiffens but doesn’t rebuke him. Or defend Mom. Explaining our mother to outsiders isn’t easy at the best of times. This is far from the best of times.

“Why won’t you tell me what she said, Ana?”

Her eyes skitter away from him. Tyr’s still in the parlor, but my sister ignores him, heading for the stairs.

Jack follows at her heels like a dogged shadow, his voice rough. “Loyal still? Even with one sister dead and another on the run?”

Truth or not, that’s a bit cruel, Jack.

Ana obviously agrees, turning around to stab a finger into his chest.

“First of all, I don’t care if you worked with her or not, Jack. You don’t
know
our mother. Or what she’s capable of.” She wraps her arms around herself.

Jack shrugs. “Witch magic.”

I glare at the back of his head at his tone even though I know exactly what’s he’s doing. Master manipulator at work. But Ana cut her teeth in our world during the court of Louis XV, which from the tales I’ve heard makes
Game of Thrones
look like summer camp. She laughs in his face.

“Nice try, Frost, but forget it. Some secrets are for family only.” She turns away again. “I want you to stay here tonight. Take Seph’s room. I’ll walk you up, though I’m pretty sure you already know the way.”

Jack raises an eyebrow and so do I. She knew about Jack sneaking in to see me—and she never stopped it?

Hmm, maybe even nosy big sisters choose to butt out now and again.

She heads for the stairs, taking them swiftly before Jack’s next words slow her down.

“I’m sure the sudden hospitality has nothing to do with keeping an eye on me. I sympathize. But I am not here to hurt you or Carly.”

“Just Jett.” She turns at the landing, watching him draw level with her. Ana is just as short as I am, but even looking up at Jack, there is something regal about her. Something cool and untouchable. The ice queen. Elsa with a side of bitch. My sister never lets anything go.

And she’s wondering why Jack did. “You knew she’d run. Why not take steps to stop her? I’m sure you thought of a thing or two.”

“Now was not the time.” Jack doesn’t elaborate, but Ana’s lips tighten as she realizes what I already have.

Jack
wants
Jett on the run. So he can corner her himself. Alone. He doesn’t intend to finish it in front of my family, but there’s no question he intends to finish it. A pang stabs through me. I’m beyond furious with Jett, and confused and hurt, but…

I don’t want her to die.

“The wards are still in force,” Ana says, with a level look. “I could keep you here indefinitely.

Jack leans against the wall, folding his arms. “Maybe a few months ago that would’ve worked, but not now.”

I watch my sister shiver as we both remember Jack’s little display in the parlor. I don’t know why, or how, but Jack’s magic is growing. My mother’s wards are smothering his magic, but given enough time and temper, I’m pretty sure he’d break free.

Ana obviously comes to the same conclusion.

“Maybe Jett believed the prophecy.” Ana swallows hard. “Maybe she thought this was the only way.”

“Do you think that matters to me?” Jack’s laugh is low and bitter. “I don’t give a damn about the prophecy anymore. Or saving the fucking world. Seph died thinking I killed her, Ana.
Expecting
me to kill her. It took everything I had, but I kept the magic from hurting her. Seph never knew that, she never—” He swallows and turns away. Ana stares at him, her mouth half-open.

Oh, Jack.

They finish the walk down the hall together in silence and stop in front of my door. Ana’s eyes slide over it. “It might be a bit musty in there. I …I never go inside.” Her voice catches, but she soldiers on. “If you need anything, I’m down the hall.”

“I’ll be fine, except—could you lift the wards again?” Jack puts a hand on my bedroom doorframe, his shoulders hunched. “It would be nice to be able to breathe properly.”

“Shit. Sorry—” She catches herself, looking at him in consternation before calling her magic with a snippet of that eerie French rhyme. 

“Feels strange to be civil to me, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, it probably won’t last long.”

Ana’s answering laugh is strained.

“Jack?” He’s already shutting the door, but he pauses at the sound of his name. “I’m sorry. It’s taking a while for this all to sink in, but…you really loved her, didn’t you?”

Instead of answering, he just looks at her. Ana opens her mouth to say something further, then stops, pressing fingers that tremble slightly to her lips before walking away as quickly as she can.

With what sounds like a very weary sigh, Jack shuts the door.

He
doesn’t bother with the light. A nearby street lamp casts everything in a yellowish glow.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, he takes off his boots, then reaches back and pulls off his shirt. I suck in a breath. Even now, that hard, rangy body has the power to make my undead little heart go pitter-patter. I want nothing more in this world than to be able to put my hands on him. To rub away the tension I can see in the hard corded muscles of those broad shoulders; to wipe away this clusterfuck of a night; to press my lips to that hollow just below his ear that drives him nuts and make him forget everything. To feel his arms come around me and yank me close enough that I can feel his heart beating against my ribs. 

His grey-green eyes roam the room, taking in every detail as he runs a hand through his hair. The faintest smile curls his lips when his gaze lands on a picture next to the window. Me and Sy at Lutsen last winter. Both of us with cheeks whipped pink by the cold, but god did we have fun that day. I don’t think I’ve ever skied so fast. It felt like the wind was carrying me down the mountain in its arms. My eyes widen in sudden suspicion.
No way—

When he speaks, it makes me jump. “It feels like you could walk in here any minute. I don’t know whether I love that feeling or hate it.” My ghost heart is pounding, but of course, he doesn’t see me. He’s talking to my memory, the
me
in that picture.

Not the me that he has no idea is watching him right now, eyes filling with tears that no one will ever see and that I can’t even feel.

He lies back in my bed, not bothering to pull the candy-striped duvet down, staring at the ceiling.

“I miss you, princess,” he whispers into the still dusty air.

“I miss you, too, Jack,” I whisper back, slipping closer to the bed, mesmerized by the sight of him. Jack’s eyes close, one hand curled just below his ribs, his fingertips resting on that tantalizing line of dark hair that dusts his smooth walnut skin. In the next instant, he’s fast asleep.

I watch his chest rise and fall, rise and fall, not feeling the least bit sleepy myself. Not that ghosts actually sleep anyway, but I do fall into a kind of stupor most nights. But watching Jack sleep, I’m more awake than I’ve been in months.

Maybe it’s because we’re getting somewhere. Or Jack is. He got his trial. And survived. The problem is as satisfying as it was to see Jack vindicated and my sister forced to confess, I can’t help but feel awful for Jett. The look on Stephen’s face was chilling. Then there’s Ana and Carly… My family, as I knew it, is pretty much gone. No Mom, no me and soon, no Jett.

I don’t want to watch Jack kill my sister. But that’s about all I can do. Watch.

I’m so fucking sick of it.

Dawn is just lightening the sky outside my balcony windows, a pale pink light blushing through the thin white curtains. Gods, how long have I been sitting here, watching him? His jaw is thickly shadowed now, his hair mussed and falling over his eyes. He takes up most of the bed, his arms spread wide, jeans low on his lithe hips. All that raw masculinity should look out of place on my candy-striped duvet, but Jack looks perfect there. Not to mention absolutely delectable. My earlier urge to touch comes back threefold.
What the hell
.

I slide up the bed and over his body. Trailing my fingers over those broad, inked shoulders, down the deep planes of his chest with its dark smattering of hair, memory almost gives me the feel of him.

Almost.

I curse and make my way lower, tracing each ridge of his stomach, craving the feel of those delicious muscles tightening under my touch, just one more time.

That’s when I notice he’s hard.

Oh
my
. I swallow, feeling dizzy. Well, it is morning. He is a guy. But I can’t help remembering the last time Jack was hard in my bed. I was so close to giving in. Closer than he probably thought.

Or maybe not. He’s a cocky bastard, my Jack.

Except he’s not mine now. He’s alive, and I’m not. Frustration fills me again, furious and hot. Memories pummel my psyche, of all the things Jack and I did together. And all the things we never got to do. I’ve lost so much. Losing this, too, pisses me off.

Stubbornly, I let my hand trail down and tug at the button of his jeans. Completely stunned when it pops free.

What the fuck? How did I do that?
Did
I do that? A tingling feeling teases the back of my neck, almost like a warning. I ignore it.

And reach for another button. And another.

Apparently, I’d make one hell of a succubus.

Jack shifts in his sleep, muttering something under his breath as his hips roll. The last button pops free. I catch a gasp against my teeth. The man’s cock is as gorgeous as the rest of him, thickly curving over those to-die-for abs. I want to touch. Fuck, yes. But not nearly as much as I want to taste. I could lick him like a damn Popsicle right now.

Death is the antithesis of life, a perfect vacuum devoid of all sensation. The memories try to fill it, but they aren’t life. And nothing screams
life
more than hot, dirty sex.

I want sex, goddammit. And orgasms. Like a hundred of them. All in a row.

I don’t think he’s completely awake—his eyes are still closed—but Jack’s fingers curl around his shaft, stroking slowly. I let out a breath that is half a moan. I already know I can’t satisfy myself (Yes, I’ve tried, don’t judge. Ghosts just want to have fun, too.) But that’s not going to stop me from enjoying the view.

I can’t help leaning in, trying to catch his scent even though I know it’s hopeless. But then it’s there, wood smoke and pine, faint over the scent of my own sheets. I almost fall off the bed in shock. It was a memory, that’s all. I lean in again just below his throat and inhale. The smell hits me again, but this time there’s more. My lips hover over his skin, right above his collarbone. And I can feel the warmth of his skin, hear the beat of his heart.

I start to shake. Then Jack’s fingers slide into my hair, making me go absolutely still. The feeling of being touched is too much. It brings tears to my eyes.

And this time I can feel them.

I don’t know what the hell is happening, if it’s Jack dreaming about me so hard, me needing to touch him so badly or a combination of both, but I’m terrified to break the spell. And completely captivated.

Jack is moaning my name now, low and rough. He twists his hand around himself once more from root to tip, but the other is still tangled at my nape, his big, heavy palm cupping the back of my head, gently but insistently guiding me down. This is not possible. I know it’s not, but it feels so real there is no way I’m going to stop to question it.

Hesitantly, I put one hand on his stomach, gasping when I feel the warm, satiny ridges there, the ones tensing hard enough to bounce a quarter off of. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him even if I wanted to. He’s like a magnet, drawing me in.

In every way possible. 

Unable to resist, I dig my nails into his skin and look up warily, but his eyes remain closed, thick lashes sealing away those icy depths. Either Jack always has one hell of an imagination—or he’s as reluctant for this to end as I am.

His shoulders clench as his hips suddenly buck, working his length through those tightly clenched fingers. I can’t resist any longer. I put my mouth on him.

Instantly, Jack comes in a hot burst, stifling a shout. The exquisite feelings start to drain away at once. All of them. The smells, the taste of him. Until nothing is left. Just me staring down as Jack’s eyes fly open. For one second I swear those misty green eyes look right into mine. A shiver slides down my spine like a swiftly melting ice cube. Then he blinks and it’s gone.

All gone. I’m invisible and amorphous once more.

I stumble back off the bed as Jack bolts upright, his throat working as he looks wildly around the room. His chest is sheened with sweat, muscles still jumping visibly in his arms, the protective runes inked along them shimmering in the gathering shadows.
What the hell just happened?

“Seph?” he croaks, his voice thick from his orgasm and filled with a soul-deep sadness that tears at my every cell. I flee, unable to stay in that room another second. I crash headlong into my dresser. Being a ghost, I don’t actually
crash
, but before I know it, I’m free-falling right through the wall and tumbling through the early morning air to land softly on Mrs. Rudd’s sidewalk. It doesn’t hurt, of course. Nothing hurts a ghost, not physically. But my heart doesn’t care about logistics, it feels crushed all over again. Just like the instant I died.

“Where the hell have you been?”

It takes me a minute to place the furious voice. I haven’t quite transitioned from the whole giving-my-ex-lover-a-psychic-blowjob deal, so it takes my mind a bit to realize our batshit-crazy neighbor is talking to
me
.

My eyes trail from the carpet slippers to the stout, stocking-covered legs and up.

Yup. She’s staring right at me, her hands on her ample, robe-covered hips.

“Shut that mouth, Persephone Nancy Gosse, or you’re gonna be catching more than cocks with it. Get off your ass and come inside. There’s no time to lose.”