Page 103 of Serpentine Valentine
They did report that Dylan Morgan was on an unpopular trail in the depths of the forest when he had the misfortune of coming across the den of one of North America’s mostly deadly predators.
A Timber rattlesnake.
The details were unclear, but after sustaining four bites to his person, Morgan must have lost consciousness and died sometime in the following four days before he was found off trail by another hiker.
Lex arrived home the day before he was found.
She flew in and out of Boston for a conference there on the works of Socrates. No one looking would have been able to track her movements after dark when Dahlia lent her a beaten-up Honda that she drove through the night hours to reach the state park. No one would have known that she’d connected with Morgan in an online chatroom two years into his prison sentence and that he’d agreed to meet Hermione Rogers that Sunday morning at the trailhead.
No one could have known that Haley had been taking care of Chrysaor or that Lex picked him up on the way to meet the man who’d almost ruined so much for her.
I was there waiting at Heathrow when her plane landed, holding a bouquet of lilies because they were funeral flowers, and I wanted to show Lex in every way I could that I loved her. I supported her. Not just through the good times, where she smiled easier and laughed freely, but through these times as well, when dark vengeance surged through her system and demanded its own retribution.
The smile she gave me was full of gratitude and relief so stark itnearly took my breath away.
When we returned home, I kissed every inch of her body and sucked each of her fingers as if I could pull the taint of blood off them with my tongue. She’d cried afterward for the first time in a long time, gentle rolling sobs as I cradled her against my chest.
But after, she’d seemed lighter even against my own body, bones purged of leaden marrow, cleansed so clean she seemed to float.
The next morning dawned gray and drizzling, but most days in England were clouded and damp, and I’d adjusted to the bone-chilling air after three years in Cambridge. Lex liked to tease me about my copious layers––today I was in a cashmere turtleneck, thickly knit fisherman’s sweater the same color as my eyes, an overcoat, a massive scarf, and a beanie pulled low over my ears––but it was necessary even in late October, especially because my girlfriend insisted on spending time outdoors.
“Come on, Lux,” she called to me, humor rich in her husky voice. “It’s practically balmy out.”
I watched as she raked the leaves in the yard of our small but also adorable stone cottage. Her movements were brisk and efficient, yet there was still a graceful sensuality there. In the four and a half years since we’d been together, I’d never once seen Lex without it. Her sexiness was as much a part of her as her big, beautiful brain, and I was wildly in love with both.
She cocked her head, dark curls spilling behind her shoulders, and fisted a hand on her hip. Unlike me, she was only wearing a black velvet mini dress over a white turtleneck and a short black peacoat open over the ensemble. I traced the line of her cocked hip, the length of her patterned-tight-clad legs, and wondered if it was too soon after our morning lovemaking to beg her to take me again.
“Get your mind out of the gutter and come help me with this, lazy bones,” she scolded, but a little smile was wedged into the left side of hercheek.
“I was contemplating my next exhibition.” I sniffed, still cupping my big mug of Earl Grey tea in both hands, raised to my mouth so the steam could warm my face. “If you must know.”
“Sure,” she agreed, but there was wickedness in the slow grin that claimed her face. “Are you finally planning on sharing the many,manynude photographs you’ve taken of me over the years? Because you have your sex face on right now, my love.”
How could I be irritated with her, even playfully, when she called me her love?
It never failed to wow me that I’d won the deep and abiding love of someone so inspiring. It had been years, and I still found myself swooning over her beauty, shivering at a simple touch of her hand, in awe of every beautiful thought inside her head. She made me want to be better just by being herself while simultaneously showing me that I was perfect to her in every iteration of myself.
Love, they called it.
How simple a word for such a complex and stunning structure built between two hearts and souls.
“I don’t want to disturb Shakespeare,” I told her, stroking a hand down the soft fur of the King Charles Cavalier Spaniel we’d rescued the moment we landed foot in Cambridge.
A dog, Lex had said,is an important part of our new British aesthetic.
I loved that she went out of her way to live the kind of life that brought her pleasure, and Shakespeare had been such a welcome addition to our family that a year later when we bought our cottage, she declared a cottage couldn’t be called such without a cat to curl up near the fire.
Virginia was inside doing just that.
Between the dog, the cat, and now Chrysaor, whom she’d just brought over to England, we had quite the menagerie.
Quite a family.
“Get your sweet buttocks over here, Luna,” Lex warned. “The family will be here for dinner in an hour, and I have plans.”
“Your mom and sisters are always late, and you know it.”
“So you don’t care if I don’t have time to take you apart with my fingers, teeth, and tongue before they arrive?” she taunted with a raised brow.
