Page 78 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
“How can I believe…? My curse…what am I supposed to believe, Belladonna—after what I saw?
She huffs. She dares to huff and throw her hands up in the air. “You’re such a fucking jackass.”
The name slams against me, stunning me. “What did you call me?” My frustration mounts, blood growing hotter.
“Jack—ass. Look it up. It’s an ass that begins with “Jack” with a capital J.” Closing in, Belle grips my hand holding the cane while lifting her other to my face. “So, you saw me kissing him back so I could distract him long enough to plunge the goddamn scissors into his shoulder.”
Blood soaks her hand. His blood. Now, coating my face.
“You didn’t see when I tried to grab my taser. You didn’t hearme call him amonster. You didn’t feel how revolted I was. You didn’t feel how scared I was—because I had to shut it all down because I knew it was the only way I could escape. If I tried to fight him, Jack, he would have knocked me unconscious and taken me by force. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Emotion chokes her voice. “You couldn’t feel how much I hoped and prayed you would burst into the bookshop and save me. But how much more terrified I was at the thought of him hurting you.”
Something carves my insides, a blade forged of my own guilt and idiocy. How could I have doubted her? Her words steal the very breath in my lungs until all my muscles bulge in fury—fury at myself.
I chuck the cane. Close the distance between us. Let my hot breath drift across her face. And say, “Iama jackass.”
When I lift her into my arms, Belle gasps, and I crush my mouth to hers, hauling her so close, she’s melting into me. She wraps her legs tighter around my waist, kissing me back, kissing me harder and needier than ever. She fills my mouth with her moans and grips my hair, tearing it from its leather tie.
A guttural sound leaves my throat, evidence of my own hunger for her. But the thoughts come creeping in again even as I push her against the nearest tree, hiking up her dress and clutching her luscious thigh.
My chest swells with the love I hold for her. A jealous, all-consuming love that commands me to touch every part of her, body, heart, mind, and beautiful soul. Then, she’s clutching her chest, touching her pounding heart, gasping for breath.
“I won’t let her die of a broken heart, Mr. Moore.”
Mrs. Kravitson’s words slam into me, breaking me from the kiss, hovering above my Belle’s lips. The ring in my pocket feels like an anchor, a millstone tied around my neck, dragging me under.
“Belle.” Concern fills my voice.
“It’s okay. I’m okay…”
No, her breaths are still sharp and rushed.
A deep ache invades my chest with the knowledge of what I must do to protect her. Lowering her to the ground, I thread my fingersthrough her curls, imagining this will be the last time to feel them. “I will escort you to the town hall. There, you will meet with Mrs. Kravitson. She has made arrangements with the county, and reinforcements are coming to handle the Covenant and protect you.”
“Okay, but we have to keep searching. We can’t stop. Take me tomorrow morning.”
“Fuck, Belle!” I turn and swing my fist, driving it into the tree, taking a layer of bark off and tearing my gloves. Her breath hitches. Turning and moving toward her, I take both sides of her neck, thumbs rubbing her jaw. “I cannot protect you, Belle. When dawn comes…thunderation!—no head. No speech. I’ll be as good as a goddamn ghost.”
“We’ll figure it out together.” She lifts her hand to touch the back of mine. “I’m not letting you go, my headless horseman. Remember: your heart is my heart.”
“My heart is gone, Belle. Fucking lost. And yours is…”
“What?” A clear edge in her tone.
“Do not deny it. We both know the state of your heart. And I will not jeopardize it by binding you to this curse for a full year.” I sweep my knuckles across her cheek, smoothing away locks of hair. “You require a calm and fulfilling life as you have had for the last nine years before I came into your life.”
“You didn’tcomeinto my life. I summoned you. And remember what you said? October 1st is not a coincidence.” She slides her hand into mine and lifts my palm to her lips. “You are my life, Jack. And I am your wife. I am Belladonna Moore.”
“No.” I cup her cheeks, maintaining a firm hold because this is the last time I will touch her like this, hold her like this. “You are Belladonna Holloway. It was a dream. In time, you will heal. It has been one mere month since you summoned me. I will be like a chapter in a tragic, gothic romance you love, a dream that lasted but a month in the magic of autumn and the witchcraft of Samhain. I will leave tonight and never return. And you will lead a long and beautiful life in the bookshop you love with the people who love you. That is the life you deserve.”
“No.”
One word. Simple and absolute in its finality. Unbending. Unmoving.
“God, Belle! I am trying to save your heart!”
“You’rebreakingmy heart!”
The words hover between us—their gravity is a force stronger than a tempest sucking us into its eye, ready to rip us apart. Or crash us together.
