My boots crunched on the gravel on the dirt road. The air was cold, and when I exhaled my breath came out in a long, frosty plume. An icy wind slapped my face as I paced up a short rise in the road. But I was warm. Walking nonstop with determination for about a half-hour would do that to you.
I felt pumped. Energized. Ready for anything.
I crested the hill. Below, at the end of the winding road, was a large campsite. Thirty, possibly more, log cabins that could be considered large family houses were spaced out in vast sites, all surrounded by tall trees and shrubs. In the middle of the cabins sat a much larger building that resembled an inn or hotel. Allegheny Tionesta Creek Camping was quite beautiful. And if I wasn’t so mad and in a hurry, I would have taken the time to look around and marvel at the beauty of this place. People milled about, none of them Marcus from what I could see.
I put on speed as I made the descent to the site, my thoughts on Ruth’s face and how she looked so disheartened and frail aiding my way down.
I hadn’t thought about what I was going to say to Marcus when I saw him. There hadn’t been any time. He’d just have to deal with whatever was going to fly out of my mouth. It wouldn’t be pretty, but I didn’t care.
The topography flattened as I reached the campsite. Trails of smoke billowed from the chimneys of some of the cabins. The smell of wood burning filled my nose in a stark contrast to the cold, brisk air from before. My gaze darted to a pile of ashes the size of a small house. When I got closer, I spotted what looked like the remains of wooden chairs, a few big trees, a couch, and tables. Dark gray smoke drifted from the still-red ambers.
I walked around the great pile of ashes and saw five large trees that could have been oak or maple (impossible to tell without the leaves) lying on the ground nearby. Some were uprooted, and some were split in half as though hit by lightning or like a giant had taken his ax to them. As I neared the cabins, I noticed some had windows smashed, some were missing their front doors, and one’s entire front porch and wooden posts had collapsed.
Weird. Either they were just hit by a giant storm with the help of a tornado, or something more sinister had happened here.
I turned my attention back to the log cabins. I had no idea which one was Marcus’s. It’s not like the spell provided an address—I would have to work on that—and the people I had seen moments before had all but disappeared. Since I couldn’t ask anyone for his whereabouts, it looked like I was going to have to go through all the cabins.
But when I got closer, I realized I wouldn’t have to.
A burgundy Jeep Grand Cherokee sat in the parking lot of cabin number two.
Marcus’s Jeep.
My heart did a little jig. “You better be in bed dying,” I growled as I marched toward the cabin in a very Dolores kind of way. When my gaze flicked to the smoke that was shooting out of the chimney, more anger rose, and I balled my hands into fists, well, into mitts.
“It’s okay. It’s fine. Ruth needs him. Not me,” I reminded myself, more like trying to make myself believe it if I spoke it out loud. Ruth truly did need him. Me? Well, I’d get over this. Just like everything else in my life. Life had made me hard, and I was okay with that.
Time didn’t heal all wounds. You just got better at dealing with them.
With my heart in my throat, I climbed up the steps to a wraparound porch where a pile of wood logs leaned against the wall next to the front door. Before I knew what I was doing, I knocked on the cabin’s front door with my fist. Hard. Harder than necessary.
I stepped back and waited.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
And waited.
Still nothing. I thought about leaving. Maybe he wasn’t in there? But his Jeep was parked right outside. Maybe he went for a hike? This was what people came here to do. Right? Even paranormals. Hike and becoming one with nature, blah blah blah.
I couldn’t stay out here in the cold. Sooner or later I would become a witch popsicle, and I still had to manage my way back to the source of the ley line. If I couldn’t move, I couldn’t get home.
My gaze moved to the bigger inn-like cabin. “Maybe someone in there knows where he is.”
Just as I turned around, a voice sounded through the door, unmistakably female, and throaty and sensual.
The air slipped out of me, and I couldn’t seem to make my lungs move to pull more in. Marcus had left his town to do the nasty with some woman?
That’s it. It was time to pull out the castration charm.
Anger, my familiar winning emotion, took hold of me. I faced the door as my breath hissed out again. In a quick motion, I grabbed the doorknob and turned it. Seeing it wasn’t locked, I pushed in.
Moans and groans sounded around me like I’d just stumbled into a live porn movie.
A couple was having sex.
Scratch that. Marcus was having sex with some woman.
Betrayal bubbled up, making my stomach clench. My heart sank as I stood there, unable to move, trying to put my thoughts together into something that made sense. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, like I was seeing something happening through someone else’s eyes.
Just as the heartache started, it ended abruptly. I was shaking—not from the cold but with anger.
Emotions poured over me, frightening in their rapidity: anger, betrayal, dismay. Still, I wasn’t about to break down because of a man. Besides, Marcus and I weren’t exclusive. In fact, we weren’t anything.
I focused on why I made the trip. The one person who mattered here was Ruth.
Ruth needed Marcus, but he was too busy exchanging bodily fluids to care or even notice.
I stood on the threshold, staring like a Peeping Tom—or a serial killer. The intertwined couple hadn’t heard me come in. No wonder, with all the noise she was making. The woman’s back was to me, as she bounced up and down like a cowgirl at a rodeo.
I couldn’t see Marcus’s face, but I recognized that golden skin I’d seen and felt. The same strong arms that had held me were holding tightly on the woman’s waist.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” she moaned. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
That’s it.
And the first thing out of my mouth was, “She’s faking.” I said it loud and clear. I think I might have even shouted it. Couldn’t be sure.
The woman screamed at the top of her lungs and flung herself over and off the bed in a tangle of sheets, still screaming—she had some serious lungs—leaving her partner exposed and erect.
My eyes widened as my jaw fell open. Not because of the large, erect penis that was hard to miss, but because I stared at a not-so-handsome face topped with short brown hair, small beady eyes, and thick beard.
Oh dear.
“You’re not Marcus,” I said, my voice high as a nervous giggle bubbled up. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
“Who the hell are you? What the hell do you want!” the dude bellowed, his face red and sweaty, not even bothering to cover up his manly rocket.
“Not Marcus,” I said again, as another wave of giggles hit. Damn. I was losing it.
The woman glared at me from the floor next to the bed. “I wasn’t faking.”
Another giggle burst out of my mouth. “The fact that you had to clear that up suggests otherwise.” Why was I even talking to her?
When I screw up, I screw up big.
Time to go.
I raised my hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, wrong cabin.” I laughed as I backed away in a half bow. “Carry on…” I added, somehow seeming appropriate.
“Tessa?” came a familiar voice behind me.
I spun around.
A broad-shouldered man with a tussle of black hair stood on the front porch. Gray eyes framed with dark eyelashes focused on me. He had a square jaw, a perfectly straight nose, and full, kissable lips.
Marcus.