Again, he thumbed on the flashlight and shone it on the flashlight.
“Wow,” Erielle said.
“Yeah.” These symbols were not subtle. In fact, he wondered if she’d added them after the fact, and then painted over it again. “Reminds me of when I was in college and I took this graphic design class and they taught us to look for subliminal messages. I’m, like, surprised that even as a kid you didn’t see this.” His finger hovered over the painting, tracing the air above it.
“I didn’t pay a lot of attention to it.”
He picked it up, ready to hang it back, but she put her hand on his wrist to stop him.
“Let’s leave it down, see if she puts it back.”
He slanted his gaze at her. “But we’re not staying here tonight, right? I do not want a repeat of last night.”
“No. We’ll check in the morning,” she assured him.
“Well, while we’re here, why don’t you pack a bag for the night?” He nodded toward her open suitcase. He wanted to ask for more than that, but the wall she’d built was pretty high. He had to take it down grain of sand by grain of sand. “We can drop it off at my place before we head to Rumrunners. I’m not crazy about staying here one minute past sunset.”
Erielle rubbed her hands up and down her thighs as she forced herself to pay attention to the swamp as Samson drove her back to his cabin after her shift at Rumrunners. For the past few weeks, she’d made an effort to avoid looking for the columns of light she’d heard about since she was a girl, but now that she knew that ghosts were real, she wanted to see them. But…from the safety of the car. Not up close and personal like last night.
She wasn’t crazy about the idea that she was driving into the swamp where restless spirits roamed. Sam promised he’d never had an issue, and he didn’t have sigils etched around his place.
On the inside, anyway.
Hm. She wondered. His mom was a witch. Had she put a protection spell on the place? Erielle would ask him about that later. He was still pretty shaken up by the revelation. She didn’t want to raise more questions before they went to bed.
Heat rose up her neck. Last night had been adrenaline and terror and turning to each other because they’d needed a connection. Tonight was…calmer. Would he expect to share again? Did she?
It wasn’t about needing anymore. It was about wanting.
The only other person who understood what she was going through sat inches away, knuckles loose on the steering wheel, jaw shadowed by dashboard light. Part of her ached to lean against him, to let the steady warmth of his shoulder keep her anchored against her spiraling thoughts.
She didn’t spot a single column of light before the truck bounced over the ruts into his clearing. Relief and disappointment—she couldn’t decide which was stronger.
Sam cut the engine, the night rushing back in with a chorus of frogs and crickets. He’d been subdued all evening. At the bar, he’d been drawn into a game of pool with Pirate. He’d needed the distraction, she could see, that low laugh rolling across Rumrunners, his shoulders uncoiling. He needed to get his mind off the mess she’d pulled him into.
Although, if she thought about it, he’d been the one to insert himself into her life, hadn’t he? So he’d brought it on himself. Still, she felt guilty. If she hadn’t needed so much help, his life wouldn’t have been shaken up like a snow globe today.
That had to be why tonight’s ride was as quiet as last night’s, silence stretching taut between them.
She followed him into the cabin, setting her bag down on the end of the couch while he crossed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.
“Want one?” he asked, holding one toward her.
“Ah. No. Thanks.”
He put the extra bottle back before twisting the top off his own. He drained it and crumpled the plastic. He motioned for her to sit at the table, which was the last place she wanted to sit. She was still antsy about their sleeping situation, and he wanted to…what?
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said. “And I don’t think I can sleep until I do.”
Twenty-Three
Sam had putthis off long enough. He should have told her before, or even last night after it happened, but he hadn’t found the words. Now, the need to confess pressed on him.
He sat, elbows braced on the table and stared at his empty hands. If he hadn’t chugged his water so fast, he could at least twist the cap, peel the label, something to do while he talked. He looked around the cabin, searching for distraction while he told her.
Finding nothing, he folded his hands together on the table and forced his gaze to hers.
“I saw her before. Last night wasn’t the first time.”
