Page 26 of Hunted by the Headless Horseman (Roars and Romances #5)

JACK

An hour later, Belle begins to wake with her head on my chest, her hair like a mahogany halo all around me. The scent of rose oil and vanilla fills my senses this time. And my pipe smoke, of course.

Her warmth nestles against me as I remain upright with my back against the bed frame, the pipe balanced between my lips, glowing faintly with each inhale.

It’s become a pattern to bathe her after she’s passed out—a pattern and an honor to care for and cherish her.

This time, I made sure to rub healing oil into her anus and sweet quim.

The necessary darkness, thick and absolute, presses in from every side like a blanket drawn over us.

Belle’s soft breathing mingles with the rhythmic crackle of my pipe. Smoke unfurls and twists in the air, tracing lazy spirals around my face, a face she cannot see.

With one arm draped around her, I stroke soft circles along her back.

The sheets rustle as she shifts closer, her right arm coiling around my lower chest.

She can’t quite reach around.

Too petite compared to my height and muscles.

My fingers pause as her soft breasts rub against me more, the nipples hardening.

My God!—how I love her touch.

Like lightning skittering along my skin, the chemistry between us shivers up my spine, a subtle thrum pulsating through me.

I can almost imagine, can nearly feel my heart beating in my chest like little rolls of distant thunder.

The aftermath of our lovemaking still heats my veins. I’ve never felt more at peace—more at home.

She is my forever home.

The taste of tobacco mingles with the faint saltiness of sweat on my lips, and I savor it, grounding myself in the sensory details of this moment—her warmth, the scent of her hair, the way her breath hitches as she places tender kisses along my chest.

“You’re so sexy smoking that pipe,”

she murmurs, scraping her teeth along my right nipple. My staff twitches.

“Woman, let me rest and enjoy this moment,”

I chuckle and lower my head to kiss her brow.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Your fault…”

she teases, licking around the tip.

Fuck, if she keeps doing that, I’ll never get any rest. It will take nothing to rouse me.

Through the dim light, I can make out the sight of her hair, how beautiful she is.

Her hair is damp and mussed from the bath, eyes half-lidded, her lips slightly swollen as she trains them along my flesh.

She is a living ember, glowing, and I bask in that warmth.

I draw in inhales of her along with my pipe tobacco, feeling her heat seep into my bones.

And sending more blood to my cock.

But despite her appetite, Belle requires rest, too. Her needs come first. Her wants come second. She is mine. And I care for what is mine.

“How do you feel?”

I ask her, tracing slow circles along her back again.

“Hungry.”

I roll my eyes at her sweet little moan and take another drag of my pipe, diverting attention from my hardening length.

“You will tell me how you feel, Belladonna.”

She stiffens at my stern voice, the voice of her “Sir”.

A moment later, she melts against me, sighing heavily. How she submits so easily—as if I’ve trained her for years vs. weeks—never ceases to awe me.

I smirk at the bit of stubbornness she shows when she bites her lower lip, hesitating before she says, “I’m…sore. But in a good way,”

she adds quickly.

“I took you like a beast, my Belle.”

I lift my hand to comb my fingers through her hair.

“Mmm. My beautiful beast.”

She lifts her head to kiss my neck, prompting a vein there to bulge.

“A just punishment for you disobeying my express command,”

I say, reminding her of my note.

She pauses. The tension between us thickens. Her breaths grow quicker as she must be remembering earlier events. Silence stretches, and I allow her to gather her thoughts.

“What happened, Jack? What did you see?”

Fear etches her voice, but concern is more prominent—concern for me.

Setting my pipe in the ashtray on the nearby end table, I cup her chin, appreciating her hard swallow. This small gesture is enough for her to bow to me.

“Your safety is my duty and honor, Belladonna Moore. You do not require the details of the lengths I will go to protect you.”

She sucks in a deep breath.

“Did anyone see you?”

“I know how to avoid prying eyes.”

I rub my lips against hers, granting her an added measure of assurance.

“And keep myself in the shadows.”

“Did you…did you see him?”

Beneath the heel of my hand, I feel her pulse kick up a notch, the concern swelling to a near-panic. The trauma he dealt her was great to elicit such a response. And it has my other hand clenching against her back, envisioning all manner of ways to make him suffer. Slowly. Excruciatingly. She is the heartbeat of my soul. But violence courses through my blood. Retribution, not revenge. Justice. Punishment.

Shifting her until she is beneath me, I take her mouth in an insistent kiss, opening her mouth. There’s my good girl, arching her back. The perfect distraction for her. I will shower her with pleasure until she forgets these questions, this burden which is not hers to bear.

A flush spreads through her, rousing me all the more until my cock throbs against her lower thigh. Once my kisses gravitate from her mouth, I lick my way down her throat, reveling in her hips lifting.

“Jack!”

she gasps from my capturing her erect nipple, her heat growing.

Licking circles around her pronounced bud, I grind against her, hungrier at the wetness from her center. I’ll fucking eat her out all night if it will lessen her trauma.

I cut my teeth on her nipple. Belle cries out, “Jackson Elias Moore! I know what you’re doing. Please…”

Her hands grip my dark hair, her fingers digging into my neck and jaw.

“As much as I want this, please stop. I need…I need…I won’t be able to rest until we talk.”

Muttering a ‘damnation’ under my breath, I shift until I’m on my back again, tugging her closer.

“You should and do not need to talk about it, Belle. You need not remember it.”

“Jack.”

She sucks in a deep breath and exhales.

I know her thoughts are about to form some clever, coherent response to persuade me otherwise. Gods, she drives me mad. Catharine was not like this at all. She’d unleash all her emotions and opinions and curse my name as I pleasured her to a forgetful oblivion. Belle is shrewd but gentle. Fucking undoes me with her sweet pleas. More than intelligence, she is wise beyond her years.

“I’m your wife now, right?”

she points out.

“I am your equal.”

“Superior,”

I growl, taking her chin again.

“I put you on a goddamn pedestal that rises beyond the highest level of heaven.”

She chokes on a breath.

“Okay, then, talk to me. Did you see him?”

My jaw hardens.

“I did. Why do you wish to know, Belle? Do you still have feelings for him?”

I tense, knowing my tone is more aggressive than it should be.

“I-I thought I did, but I knew he didn’t truly love me. But please, Jack…he didn’t see you, right? If you got close to him, he could have…”

She shivers after trailing off.

“Bloody bastard may have the senses of a fox,”

I snort, “but it matters not. I’ll sink my teeth into him like a fucking hellhound.”

She squeezes me tighter, rubbing her face against me.

“What if it won’t matter? What if he crawled right out of hell? What if he’s a hellhound, too?”

I grip her hair, fisting it, and giving her a little shake.

“What the devil are you talking about, woman?”

“I’ve seen things. Felt things.”

I remember his words in that meeting hall.

“I’ve seen things in these mountains. Black things, ancient things. But none of them are blacker than me.”

The ancient magic of the Appalachian mountains, the sense of witchcraft in the air, the knowledge of Samhain, and the thinning of the barrier between worlds all pulse through my blood. Cautious respect for that magic is necessary. Despite how much I believe that Thaddeus is simply a man of flesh and blood, I cannot deny the darker forces of the world, given my curse.

“I need to tell you something. Because I saw something I wasn’t supposed to.”

I narrow my eyes but loosen my grip on her hair, returning to stroking it, imparting what comfort I can.

Belle’s blood is mine, and I’ll carve my name into her skin and soul if I have to.

The memory claws at me. I’ll rip him apart, piece by piece.

“He left in the middle of the night during that first week of our…honeymoon.”

A bitter hurt steeped in that last word. It cuts through me like a blade.

“But I followed him.”

A tremor shudders through her, and I smooth the curls of hair from her face so I may brush my knuckles along her cheek.

“Thaddeus went to the old ruins bordering the town, and he and the Brothers were gathered in this crumbled pavilion. What I saw…it was the nail in the coffin that led me and Mimi to get me out.”

“What did you see, Belle?”

I cup her chin.

“If that masked fool thinks he can take her from me, he’ll learn that I am the devil in these hills.”

After pursing her lips, she trembles. The gentle caress of my fingers contrasts with the fury simmering in my blood.

“They were…oh, god, they took off their black robes and stripped down to nothing. It was so cold that night, but they didn’t care. Especially with the roaring fire. And they wore these grotesque animal skulls. I swore they looked like monsters, real monsters—like their eyes were hollow with no soul. Thaddeus the most.”

I coil my hand around her neck, providing a grounding anchor for her. I feel her everywhere. Her fear is so intense, it strangles my throat, pulsing more bloodthirst through my veins.

“They chanted in some foreign language,”

she says.

“I’ve done research over the years, Jack. Those words are seared into my mind. But I have never found anything that remotely sounds like that language. It felt like my ears were bleeding. But no, they were the ones bleeding. Because they…”

Another tremor rocks through her. I strengthen my grip on her neck, clenching my other hand at my side.

“They whipped themselves. Self-flagellation. Oh, god, Jack, I was so scared.”

Her fear seeps into me, dark and unyielding, feeding the primal, protective rage ripping through me. It takes everything in me not to break, not to let that rage take over and lash out at the darkness that had tried to swallow her whole.

“I don’t even have words for how horrid it was. They spilled their blood into bowls. They passed the bowls around and drank from them. Some even howled in pain. But not…”

Not Thaddeus.

“He was still. So still.”

She shivers as the tears spill down her cheeks.

“He shed more blood than any of them, but he never made a sound! Then, he poured the blood over himself.”

The thought of her witnessing such horrors, of Thaddeus standing there drenched in blood, unmoving, emotionless—it boils my blood with a hatred I’ve never known. One as equal to the horrors of my family’s torturous execution.

“He walked to the fire. And I have spent my entire life trying to deny what I saw as a trick of the firelight or my imagination going wild. But it was raw and real, so real. He walked right into the fire, Jack! Not just the edge of it. He walked through it. And he wasn’t burned.”

She unravels, and I swear something breaks inside me. Her sobs vibrate through my chest. I let them.

Finally lifting her head, she continues, “I felt like I was staring at something that wasn’t human. More than ever because it got worse. So much worse.”

My soul burns at the thought.

“They brought someone to him. Someone from the outside. Homeless, I think. Thaddeus…”

Her breath quickens. Her pulse thunders beneath my fingers.

“He cut him. Over and over again, while the other Brothers chanted. The screams were too much. I ran as fast as my legs could take me. Because if he knew what I’d seen, I knew he’d kill me. When I got back, I prepped my go bag like Mimi trained me.”

She practically tries to crawl on top of me, seeking me with every ounce of strength she has left. I won’t let her fall.

Moving her until she’s on her back, I hold her here, surrounding her with my body, anchoring her arms on each side of her head, and positioning mine on top of them. More tears and a nod confirm it’s what she needs. Confinement is her trauma. She relives it and reclaims it whenever I hold her down at the silent behest of her will, her strength. I kiss her brow. Light, tender touches.

“It was the worst night of my life because I had to keep pretending, acting like a doe-eyed, blushing bride on her honeymoon. Brothers’ and Elders’ wives care for them in every way. He woke me up and made me tend to his wounds. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I shake anytime I think of it. My heart…”

Her breathing grows quicker, ragged, and she arches her throat.

“Stop, Belle,”

I command her sternly.

“Fucking stop. You’ve said enough.”

Aftershocks of shudders quake through her. I press my forehead to hers, letting her feel my breath, steady and deep, in contrast to her desperate gasps.

“I’ve got you. I’m here, Belle. Always here,”

I whisper the vow.

“You’re safe.”

I’m drowning in her pain. I will show Thaddeus the true devil of these mountains. Whatever pain he dealt her, I will return tenfold.

“Don’t underestimate him, Jack,”

she begs.

“Never go back there. Just stay with me. If he finds me, if he takes me, it won’t ever end. He will never let me go. So, you can’t let me go.”

“I never will,”

I say firmly, resolute.

“And now, I will prove it with the greatest distraction of your life until your screams are heard beyond the mountains.”

As I kiss every inch of her and lick her to a bewildered oblivion, Thaddeus’s words thunder through me. Whatever happens, I will protect her. Belladonna Moore will never become a casualty in our war, as my family was all those years ago with Edmund Thorne.

“If I can’t have her, no one will.”

I’ll never let him take her.