Bayou Moon (The Edge #2)(24)
Author: Ilona Andrews

William looked at her one last time and moved off into the living room. He pulled the cushions off the couch, made a makeshift pallet on the floor, and lay down, blocking the door. The Mirror had a man in Sicktree, Zeke Wallace. Officially he was a leather merchant and taxidermist. Unofficially he worked for Adrianglia and smuggled contraband in his spare time. According to Erwin, Zeke would provide him with up-to-date intelligence on Spider: where he and his crew had been seen, whom they contacted in the Mire, and so on. Zeke could help identify Cerise, but that was about it. The rest was on him.

Think. You’re a human, too. Think.

He was still trying to come up with something, when sleep mugged him.

003

THE sound of faint steps tugged on William through his sleep. He opened his eyes in time to see Cerise’s bare ankles as she slipped past him outside.

Running out on him. I don’t think so.

William rolled into a crouch and followed her out. The dour lake stretched placidly under a morose gray sky. At the dock Cerise waded into the water up to her knees, still wearing her long T-shirt. He followed her, moving silently across the grass to the dock, padding across the boards until he could see her face. Her eyes were closed. She lifted her head to the dreary sky and stood, her arms out slightly, as if welcoming someone.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders in a glossy waterfall. Her face was sad.

William sat on the edge of the dock. What the hell was she doing now?

CERISE breathed in the morning air. She’d slept badly. Once she woke up because she dreamed that they had gotten to Sicktree and Urow was dead. The next time she’d dreamed the house was attacked. The dream had been so vivid, she actually got up and went as far as her doorway. From that point she could see the dining room and the living room, both dark, and William asleep in front of the door, barring the way for any intruders. In his dreams, the hard edge faded from the blueblood. He looked peaceful and calm. Watching him reassured her and she went back to sleep.

It was morning now, and she was awake, but the anxiety refused to go away. It saddled her and dug the spurs in. The responsibility for the whole family now lay with her, and it dragged her down like an anchor, so heavy, she wondered if she would sink if she dived into the lake.

Life was so much easier when she only had to obey Dad’s orders. So much easier. She missed him and Mom so much, it hurt. If she didn’t find them, the family would crumble. And Lark . . . She didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to Lark.

I will not sink. I will float.

Cerise took a deep breath and let herself fall into the cold water softly. It picked her up and carried her along. She stretched, weightless, her long hair streaming around her in a soft veil. She had done this ever since she was a little girl. The water never failed to soothe her.

Failure happened. The trick was to accept the risk and try anyway.

The water lapped at her, washing away the jitters. Calm came.

She opened her eyes. The pregnant dark sky threatened rain. The dark boards of the dock slid past her. William’s face swung into view, peering at her from the dock.

He stared at her with utter amazement, like a kid who had stumbled on to a bright odd-looking bug.

"Hi," she said.

"What are you doing?"

"Floating."

"Why?"

"It’s relaxing. You should try it." Too late she realized that sounded like an invitation. Great. Just great. Would it have killed her to think before she opened her mouth? Jump in with me, Lord Bill, I’m swimming here, half-naked . . .

William shook his head. "No."

Wait a minute. What did he mean "no"? "Why not?"

"I don’t like water."

"Why?"

William grimaced. "It’s wet. And the pel . . . the hair stinks like fish for hours afterward."

Cerise blinked. Was he serious? "Swimming is fun."

"No, swimming gets you from point A to point B. What you’re doing isn’t swimming. You’re not going anywhere."

Full of opinions, Lord Bill. "Swimming is good for you, and you could always shampoo your precious hair afterward. Your hair looks good after you wash it."

He grimaced.

"I bet the women from the Weird tell you that you have great hair all the time, Lord Bill." She bet they told him he was handsome as sin, too.

His face turned grim. "Women from the Weird tell me nothing. They don’t talk to me unless I pay them."

Well, that was neither here nor there. William peered at her. "If you’re finished splashing in this muddy puddle, I’d like to get to Sicktree now."

Cerise raised her eyebrows. "Muddy puddle?"

"To you it might seem like a giant crystal-clear mountain lake, but trust me, it’s a dirty little pond. I bet the bottom is squishy slime, too. I suppose trading the rotten spaghetti stench for the fish one is an improvement …"

He was going to take a dive into this lake. He just didn’t know it. Cerise rose, finding footing in the soft mud. The water came up to just below her breasts and her wet shirt stuck to her body. William’s gaze snagged on her chest. Yep, keep looking, Lord Bill. Keeeeeep looking.

Cerise raised her hand. William leaned forward, poised over the water. His strong dry fingers closed about hers. She smiled, gripped his hand, and bent her knees, hitting him with her full weight, trying to pitch him into the lake.

The muscles on William’s arm bulged. He flexed and she felt herself lifted out of the water. He plucked her out and held her above the lake for a moment.

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. Nobody was that strong.

A hint of a smile curved William’s mouth. Carefully he set her on the pier and caught her by the shoulders. "You okay?"

He was standing too close.

Cerise tilted her face up. "Fine."

He had a peculiar look on his face, a slightly hungry, possessive expression. His hands on her shoulders felt dry and warm.

If he took a small step forward, his chest would touch her breasts.

Say something, you idiot. Snap him out of it. "So do you often rescue hobo queens from filthy puddles, Lord Bill?"

"William," he told her quietly. It sounded like an intimate request.

"How’s your side?"

He let go of her long enough to raise his shirt. The dressing was gone – he’d probably taken it off, the ass – but the cuts had scabbed over. That was some fast healing.

William dipped his head, looking at her. There was nothing threatening in his gaze, but she had a distinct sense of being stalked by a large, careful predator. They had to get out of the damn swamp and into town, where there would be other people and she could leave him . . .