Page 14 of Under a Wicked Moon
This kind of memory flash wasn’t new. At first, it’d been disturbing, but now she accepted the glimpses mixed with blackouts inside her brain as normal.
It’s not normal.But it was her reality.
She needed out of this place.
“Are you back?” he asked. “Lost you there for a minute.
“Just a couple of bad memories. They come back in scattered bits.”
“Of last full-moon night? I’m sorry if I was an asshole.” He raked his hand through his long blond hair, staring above her head as if afraid to look directly at her. “It’s because you drive me nuts, not that it’s an excuse to be an ass. I swear this isn’t usually me.” He held his head in his hands. “I’ll do better tonight. Promise.” His voice broke on the last word.
“You weren’t an ass last time.” The fact that he was struggling—over her—made something constrict inside her chest. “What do you mean I driveyounuts? That can’t even be possible. You were about as cool as they come. I tried everything to get you riled up to a fight when I was pissed about the world, but you wouldn’t take the bait. It was annoying.” She leaned her head against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re the one who drives me crazy.”
When her words were met with silence, she turned her focus back on him. His lips cracked with a hint of a smile. “I must’ve been in better shape to be able to resist you. Believe me, beautiful, I may be exhausted as hell, but I’m still aware of everything about you.” His hot gaze wandered south over her body. “Everything.”
A tremor of lust jolted straight to her core. She wanted him. That hadn’t changed.
He stared at her dead-on, serious, for a moment before he pulled his hair back with both hands as if pretending to secure it behind his head. He rested his head on the wall with eyelids shut again. “Being in here brings out the worst in me. I think they tried some experiments on me. Something about mind control. You know anything about that?”
“I get flashes, but I can’t…” She gripped her head. “Ahh, hurts. I can’t remember everything.”
“What’s wrong?” His hand was on her knee where he knelt in front of her. The touch was respectful and reassuring.
She wanted him to pull her in against him. In the past, she’d never been the girl who needed a man to take care of her, but she craved safe, warm contact with another living being. Okay, that was a crap lie. She wanted to feel the hardness of him, the reassurance only he could give her despite the fact it’d be an illusion. The moment would be worth the fantasy.
“Hurts to try to remember.” She glanced up, her nerves fired up as terror washed through her when she pushed her mind to remember but found only a blank space. “You think they’ve been doing something to manipulate my mind?”
“Maybe. You’ve been here a long time. They seem to keep you in a lot better shape than me somehow. You appear bathed and well fed. I don’t think they can control me enough for them to trust me with something like a bath. I think they just hose me down every now and then.”
Oh God.They used mind control to make her do things like eat and wash? That was creepy.
She whispered, “I don’t want to have blanks in my memory anymore. The thought they messed with my head scares me. I don’t want to forget, especially in here.” She massaged her temples against the prickle of pain. “I want to eat real food again and remember it.” She gripped his knee tightly. “I want to choose what I do.”
In Gaelic, she asked, “How do we get out of here?”
He responded in kind: “I have a plan. We’ll try in a bit.” He moved away to rest his back against the wall across the room and switched back to English. “Once out, I could cook for you. I took it up a while ago.”
“You cook?” she asked skeptically. She couldn’t see him slaving over a stove or measuring herbs.
“I’m good. Really good.” His lips tweaked up at the corners. “I misspatatas bravas.It’s a spicy Spanish potato dish.”
“Do you have a cuisine you specialize in?”
“I’ve learned many. I’m better at savory than baking, but I can hold my own with a tart or cake. Pies still elude me, though.”
She dissolved into giggles. “You cook tarts but not pies? Even I can turn out a decent pie. I can’t see you in a kitchen, wearing an apron. You’re messing with me, right?”
“I’m passable at cakes, but pies…” He blew out a long sigh. “I’ll get them one day. It’s all about the crust, which is a bitch to get evenly cooked and perfectly vented without burning it. Latticework, crimping, fluting…” He shook his head.
She laughed harder and wiped at her eyes. The image of him frustrated over latticework on a pie… “Do you even like pie?”
“It’s a favorite.”
“What type do you like best?” She pushed some hair behind an ear and found herself leaning forward for his answer.
“Traditionalist here. Apple.”
“Me too.” She grinned. “Sounds like we’re pie buddies.”
