Page 12 of A Hunter Cursed
They walked through Crescent Park, listened to live music, checked out local artists, and found some great new out of the way places to eat lunch. Occasionally, their hands would bump together as they were strolling along, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for them to entwine fingers. Jeremiah never pushed for more, nor did he reiterate his argument that he might be immune to the curse. It was wonderful, arguably some of the happiest days she’d ever experienced, and at the same time, it was terrifying because, despite Keegan’s best efforts to remain just friends, she was pretty sure it was already too late. She had fallen head over heels in love with Jeremiah Durand.
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Jeremiah was laughing his ass off. They’d both bought ice cream cones, and while he’d had no problem eating his before it melted in the heat, Keegan was having a harder time, melted strawberry dripping over her fingers and down her wrist as she cursed.
“I’m going to need a shower after this,” she laughingly told him but Jeremiah was no longer paying attention, too distracted by a storefront and the display of jewelry in the window.
“Do you see something you want?” Keegan asked, busily scrubbing at her sticky hands with a tiny paper napkin that was practically shredded at this point.
“I have money,” he blurted, needing to get it out there and see her reaction. He'd intended to tell her eventually, ease into it, but, well, the display had reminded him of Cara and how she’d drop hints that he should buy things for her. The funny thing was, if Keegan had seen something she liked and pointed it out to him, he probablywouldhave rushed in to buy it for her.
Nervous, he looked into her eyes. Would he find a glint of avarice, a hint of cunning? Instead, she blinked, and said, “Oh, okay,” and then turning back to the display, she frowned. “But if you need a new watch or something, I know a cheaper place.”
He exhaled a huge and rather loud breath of relief before he wrapped her in his arms and hugged her so tight her feet left the ground.
Keegan squealed at the unexpected embrace and laughed, but when he set her back on her feet and stepped back she shot him a wide-eyed look of bemusement. “What was that for?”
Jeremiah shook his head, a relieved smile still on his lips. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
Confusion crinkled her brow in an expression that he found cute as hell. “What? That I know a cheaper place? Sure. We can head there right now if you want.”
“No, not that.” He quickly explained about Cara and how she’d only been interested in him once she found out he had money. “I don’t even want the money,” he grumbled. “It’s there for the pack, for emergencies.”
“I get it,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I inherited money from my parents and then my foster family set up a trust for me as well. I mean the money's there if I need it which is one less thing to stress over, but really, I don't need a lot. You know? And I've never understood that whole buying someone's affection thing. Their character is so much more important than the size of their wallet.”
Jeremiah knew he was standing there staring at her with a dopey look of affection, but he couldn’t help it. She got it, got him. She really was perfect.
“But,” she said sternly, holding up a finger. “We’re not dating.”
No, they weren’t – not technically. She was still holding on tenaciously to her insistence that they were just friends, refusing to admit to what was clearly happening between them. He understood why she did it. He even accepted her reasons. But she couldn’t fully hide her affection for him either. However long it took, he’d wait because he knew without a doubt that Keegan Bishop was worth it.
Chapter Seven
Since his beast of a rig was parked over on the next street, it was quicker for Jeremiah to cut through the alley after having bid Keegan goodbye at her car. She still wouldn’t let him pick her up, insisting on taking her own car wherever they went so their outings couldn’t be classified as dates. If that made her more comfortable, he was fine with it.
He was whistling, twirling his keys around his finger, in an overall great mood thanks to the progress he’d been making. Keegan was stubborn, but so was he. She was also interesting and smart, cute as hell, and she brought out his protective instincts like crazy. She thought she was cursed, but he was going to do everything in his power to prove to her that she wasn’t. She’d had a run of shitty luck was all. Soon, she’d come to realize that and accept what they were to each other.
A cracking sound followed by a hiss had Jeremiah slowing his pace and looking around. He spotted it a moment later, a nasty crack in the pavement about six inches across with jagged chunks jutting upwards, like something underneath was trying to push its way out. As he stood there, studying the rift, a black, oily ooze began to leak from it.
“What the hell?” he mumbled, squatting down for a better look. Extending his hand, he dipped two fingers into the slime. He expected it to be the consistency of motor oil but it was sticky like tar and it clung like a second skin to his fingers.
And the smell… Christ! Jeremiah jerked his head back and quickly scrubbed his fingers off on his T-shirt though it resisted coming off. He practically had to scrape it with his fingernails and it still left a gray stain behind, the black having settled into the whorls of his fingerprints and around his nails. He could still smell it. Like burned hair and decay. His T-shirt would probably have to be burned.
As he straightened up from the hole, a teenager with a grease-spattered apron tied around his waist strode out from a side door, a bag of trash gripped in his hand.
“What the hell have you guys been dumping out here?” Jeremiah snarled. “Toxic waste?”
The kid rolled his eyes. “Dude. Dumpsters in the summer heat,” he said, motioning to the containers. “What did you expect? Roses?” Lifting the lid on one of the aforementioned dumpsters, he tossed the bag with a muttered, “Dip shit.”
Lifting his lip in a snarl, Jeremiah pointed at the ground. “I’m talking about this,dip shit. What the hell is this?”
The kid looked down with a confused frown. “What the hell is what?”
Disgusted, Jeremiah snapped his arm out and pointed again, only to follow the gesture with his eyes to see that the crack, as well as the slime, was gone. He blinked, barely hearing the teenager’s muttered insults about Jeremiah’s mental state.
It was impossible. The pavement was smooth, not even the tiniest indication that it had been broken and buckled mere moments before. Jeremiah looked at his fingers. The grayish stain was still there, as was the streak of black on his T-shirt. He could also still smell it, the putrid odor seemed to have taken up permanent residency in his nose. So where was the crack? It had disappeared like… magic.
Shit. A witch was playing with him. Had to be. Some sort of practical joke with him standing there making a fool of himself while someone was probably looking down at him from one of the windows above, laughing their ass off.
