Page 16 of Possess Me at Midnight
Without a word, I reach up for the beautiful witch. Our eyes lock, a silent exchange that carries more gravity than it should. For one mad moment, as she lowers herself into my waiting arms, I wonder if she feels the inexplicable pull between us, too.
I catch her around the waist. Slowly, she slides down my body, her soft curves dragging against me with agonizing friction. Every centimeter of contact brands me like fire.
I close my eyes so I don’t gape at her breasts, mere inches from my face, barely covered in thin lace. It doesn’t help. The forbidden glimpse is branded into my memory, and I can’t escape the silken softness of her skin as her intoxicating scent surrounds me.
Desire for her thickens my blood, growing and swelling. So does everything south of my waist.
Get your mind off the princess. Get her to safety!
Once Sabelle finds her feet, the backpack that contains the diary securely strapped to her back, she wraps her chilled fingers around my arm in silent thanks.
I’m surprised that she noticed my efforts to shield her, but her acknowledging them utterly stuns me. The princess has always been surrounded by those determined to protect her. Why should my actions stand out? Yet something in her touch suggests they do. But keeping her alive and well is my sacred duty. I expect nothing in return. She must know that.
Together, we pause, listen. The fog now cloaks the valley in a pea-soup haze, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The forest falls quiet as a grave, the once-distant shouts of the Anarki on the other side of the river fading away. I clutch Sabelle’s hand tighter, afraid of losing her in our murky surroundings.
Then a freezing drizzle begins, seeping into my bones. It’s the sort of weather that steals warmth with ruthless efficiency. Against my side, Sabelle starts to tremble.
She can’t freeze to death. I can’t allow it.
I peel off my brown sweater, ignoring the bite of the December chill. My jumper will be too big for her. And it smells like me. I have nothing else to offer her, though. But isn’t that a metaphor for everything between us?
“Take this.” I hand her my well-worn jumper. “Put it on.”
Shock sweeps across her face. “You’ll freeze.”
Who cares about me? She must know that no one will. “Don’t argue. Slip it over your head.” When she hesitates, I growl. “If the moonlight hits your skin, and the Anarki are near…”
With a reluctant sigh, she takes my warm sweater. I watch with a perverse thrill as she dons it. The garment is miles too big, so it nearly swallows her whole. But the fact that it’s gone directly from touching my skin to sliding over hers makes me harder than an iron pike.
Bloody stupid bastard. She’s surviving, not letting you put some stamp of ownership on her.
Scooping up handfuls of mud, I rub it across my torso and pour some down my back; instant camouflage in case anyone on the other side of the river spots us fleeing. I wince against the cold sludge but apply it as evenly as possible. Sabelle watches me, blinking and stunned.
“We need to get Bram,” I mutter, pointing to the neighboring tree where her brother lies concealed.
She nods. “I can help.”
“I’ve got him.”
Grimacing, I reach for Bram, carefully lowering him from the tree and hoisting him over my shoulder once more. As much as I resent the miserable bastard, I know all this jostling isn’t good for him. But it can’t be helped. Damn bad luck that none of us realized that, when Mathias briefly possessed the Doomsday Diary before Sydney stole it back, he had a witch write the tracking spell in it.
I give Sabelle a bob of my head. “We should go.”
“Which way?” she whispers beside me in the shadows.
Since we have no time to waste, I take Sabelle by the hand, hating like hell that to guide her, I have to touch her with my dirty hands. “Tuck your hair inside the sweater, princess. We’re going to run for it.”
Quickly, she does as asked. Then I crouch and begin to run. Sabelle mimics me, staying low to the ground as we trek north, away from the river. Away from Mathias.
We put one foot in front of the other for a minute, two, three, five…slowly wending our way out of the fog-laden valley. Behind me, Sabelle begins to pant. We have at least another three kilometers to go, and I pray she can endure. I could use my powers to carry both her and Bram, but since the Anarki can trace the book via teleportation, I fear using any magic around the Doomsday Diary—at least until I know what Mathias’s witch wrote.
Suddenly, a series of flashing lights penetrates the fog ahead.
“Down,” I growl, pulling her down and against me, doing my best to protect her from the muddy ground.
Through the mist, dark shapes move in formation—more Anarki, methodically sweeping the valley. They haven’t seen us yet, but they’re between us and the village.
As I watch their movements more closely, a chill runs down my spine. These aren’t random patrols. The Anarki are moving in a distinct pattern, gradually closing distance between search parties. They’ve not spotted us, but they’re narrowing down the area—like hunters tracking prey by elimination rather than sight.
