Bayou Fairy Tale (12 page)

“Don’t move,” Corentin said and pressed a hand to Taylor’s lower back, holding him steady.

There was a flick of metal through the silk of the rope, and Taylor’s legs parted as the bonds at his feet fell away. Corentin nudged Taylor off his knee and helped him sit up against the log. Taylor narrowed his eyes and frowned as Corentin stabbed the hunting knife back into the dirt behind the log.

“How else was I going to untie you in a hurry?” Corentin said with a grin.

“Not cool.” Taylor growled and then chomped on his lip to hide the start of a smile.

“Then why are you smiling?” Corentin asked.

Taylor cussed under his breath. Of course Corentin would catch him smiling that he liked it anyhow. “Just warn me next time.”

“As you wish, princess,” Corentin whispered and Taylor shivered with the words warming his chest.

“Spread your legs,” Corentin commanded as he stood. He effortlessly returned to the scenario.

“What are you going to do to me?” Taylor asked angrily, falling back into character.

Corentin stepped away to rummage through his pack, and Taylor caught the glint of a foil condom wrapper and a travel bottle of lube. Corentin tossed the bottle and then snatched it out of midair. He gave Taylor a wolfish smile. “Be a gentleman, of course.” Corentin returned and dropped to his knees between Taylor’s legs.

Taylor blushed as red as his freshly spanked rear when Corentin uncapped the bottle, then squeezed a generous swirl of the clear liquid onto his fingers. Taylor jerked his hips and fought to wiggle away from Corentin’s hand.

“No! Don’t,” Taylor mock-fussed as Corentin spread the cold lubrication around Taylor’s needy entrance. Taylor gasped as the shocks of pleasure ran over his skin. They watched each other as Corentin worked Taylor open. Moaning with each breath, tears filled Taylor’s eyes. “Yes, yes, please…,” he croaked and pushed against Corentin’s fingers. He shrieked when Corentin’s index and middle slipped inside.

“Not protesting as much now, are you?” Corentin purred as he moved in a gentle rhythm inside Taylor.

“Mmmno.” Taylor pressed his lips together and rocked his hips against Corentin’s hand. “Deeper,” he whispered in a long sigh, and Corentin obliged by slipping in up to his knuckles. Taylor crowed with the throb of exquisite need.

“Princes don’t fuck princesses like that, do they?” Corentin said, then chuckled.

Taylor licked his lips as he guided the pace against Corentin’s hand. His thighs shuddered with the effort. “Princes don’t fuck princesses like huntsmen do,” Taylor whispered and tossed his head back with a strangling gasp. “Zee’s waking.”

The trees shivered under Zee’s rumblings, and the lake bubbled with the oncoming tempest. Corentin had led him out to Chapel Rock on purpose. Taylor could lose control of his own body, as well as of Zee, without the damaging consequences of obliterating kitchen appliances, vehicle tires, or dairy joy windows.

Corentin laughed under his breath and then ripped open the foil packet with his teeth. “You will learn to tame her,” he said as he rolled on the condom. “Just as I will tame you, dragon princess.”

Taylor let loose a needy cry as Corentin readied himself at his entrance. “Hurry,” he begged. “Fuck me….”

Corentin smirked, and with a deft shove, entered Taylor with little resistance. Taylor shrieked at the intensity and fullness.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Corentin said as he bucked into Taylor. “I’m going to ruin you.”

From Taylor’s lips, Zee roared.

May 4

The Devereaux-Hatfield Home, Sullivan, Maine

AS 3:25
a.m. crept steadily on to 3:30 a.m., Corentin blinked awake and noticed the blue flickering glow from the upstairs den from the safe shadows of the darkened bedroom. Taylor was up again, and Corentin frowned because he was trying to numb himself enough to sleep. They rarely kept the same sleep schedule, Corentin had learned. Taylor’s insomnia was a growing concern, and it was baffling how he functioned on fewer and fewer hours of sleep.

Corentin listened as Ringo and Taylor chatted among themselves. Ringo seemed eager about something, and Taylor would grunt on occasion.

Corentin pushed from the bed. He’d never quite fallen asleep to start with, and his thoughts ran in a muddled mess about the old journal. He had hidden it earlier in the secret compartment behind the medicine cabinet, in an attempt to keep it from himself. Out of sight, out of mind, and it would be out of his thoughts next Monday night. It was already Wednesday morning, and if he could resist the pull of the journal’s magic, he’d forget it was ever there.

Corentin’s strategy had already unraveled. The journal was calling to him in hissing whispers and groans. Strong dark magic soaked through the pages. He assumed it was his own magic. He’d learned through his notes that the power waned, and the more he used it, the more he was slowly killing himself. When he had met Taylor, he’d been on the last seconds of his borrowed time. He didn’t expect their true love’s kiss on Mackinac Island to save his life. The curiosity clung to him, pulling him toward the bathroom. Corentin yanked himself away, escaping the journal’s near physical grip.

He rubbed his bleary eyes and instead headed to the den, then remained quietly in the doorway.

Taylor slumped on the couch with his legs spread in a manner most unbecoming a princess, even a male one. His PJ bottoms rode low on his hips, and the strap of his tank top—six sizes too big for him—hung off one shoulder around his forearm. Corentin tilted his head to better survey the surroundings. Ringo sat on Taylor’s head, likewise mindlessly staring at the TV.

The latest syndicated rerun of
Shark Tank
had captured Taylor and Ringo in its capitalist spell. Taylor leaned forward and took his Super Big Gulp of chamomile tea from the coffee table. Ringo shifted to keep his balance on Taylor’s head as he leaned back while taking several long sips through the purple straw.

“Oh, oh,” Ringo said and pointed at the TV. “We should buy that. A shammy that cleans any surface. We should get that!”

Taylor sighed and held out his hand to the TV. “See? Look. Even Mr. Wonderful ducked out. It won’t work.”

Ringo huffed. “Oh pish, Mark Cuban will pick it up. He has so much money to burn, he tosses stacks of hundreds in the fireplace to keep him warm and cozy at night.”

Taylor pointed as if to an idea and smirked. “My bet’s on Lori. She’d sell a fuckton on QVC.”

They waited as the shrewd investors bickered over the fate of the poor product designer’s invention.

Ringo wiggled on top of Taylor’s head. “Five bucks says Cuban takes it.”

Taylor raised his fist to Ringo, and Ringo bumped his tiny fist to Taylor’s knuckle. They withdrew and fanned their fingers in unison. “Fah-lah-lala-lah,” they said together.

Corentin smirked as they sealed their pact.

They sat in silence as the investors continued to bicker. The product designer might or might not have already shit his pants at the amount of money being tossed around and taken away.

Corentin didn’t know if he should interrupt them and ruin the moment. They were cute this way. Ringo had been Taylor’s fairy godfather and conscience from birth. He was a terrible, albeit hilarious, enabler and the bad best friend whom parents warned their children about.

The investors seemed to near the end of their bickering. Ringo crossed his fingers, followed by his arms, and then his legs.

“C’mon, Cuban. I’ve got five bucks riding on this. Daddy needs a new shammy,” Ringo growled.

“Lori’s got it. Give it up. I’ll take those five bucks now.” Taylor gave a lopsided grin.

“Shh!” Ringo ground his heel into Taylor’s scalp. “You’re just trying to psych me out.”

“Bet you ten it’s Herjavec,” Corentin said, finally breaking the moment from the doorway.

“Pfft!” Ringo waved a dismissive hand. “You might as well kiss that good-bye. I can get two shammies for that.”

Corentin furrowed his brows. “Why do you even
need
a shammy?”

“Taylor knows.” Ringo crossed his arms and turned up his nose.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Taylor explained without looking up.

“Damn right.” Ringo gave a decisive nod.

Right when the investors were about to reach a decision, Taylor lifted two fingers like a mock gun at the TV. “Aaaaannnnddd…,” he said in a singsong, and as the dramatic music reached a fever pitch, the
Shark Tank
graphic of great whites circling above a dollar bill cut in. “Commercial,” Taylor said and mimicked his finger gun going off.

Ringo tossed up his hands. “Dammit! Suspense!”

Corentin finally entered into the hallowed ground known as the living room turned gambling hall. He stood off to the left of Taylor because Storyteller forbid Ringo miss a moment of TV. Corentin held out his hand to Taylor, they linked fingers, and Taylor gave him an amused once-over. Corentin studied Taylor’s face as he made a childish swing with their hands.

Taylor was a strange beauty. His soft face made him look younger than he was. And his peach-pink eyes were such a stark color, they looked bigger than they were. But he was all elbows and knees elsewhere. Lithe, but not bony, and not a hint of muscle on him, yet Taylor had a consistently mean right hook now that Corentin had taught him. Taylor had a hidden strength wrapped in a deceptively small package. Corentin licked his bottom lip as they watched each other.

Taylor arched a brow. “Really? Again?” he asked flatly.

Corentin blinked out of his daydream. “I wasn’t thinking about that. Seriously.” He swallowed, halfway baffled that Taylor misread him—or perhaps Taylor read him correctly.

Taylor narrowed his eyes and then made a pointed glance at Corentin’s crotch. “Uh. Huh.” He made a wide, sarcastic grin. “I swear you just like fucking my mouth more than my ass.”

Ringo slapped his hands over his ears. “
Fahlalalalalalaaaanotlisteeeeniiiing
!”

Corentin flushed from the idle thought. “Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going back to bed. I know it’s useless to tell you not to stay up too late.”

Taylor licked the end of his straw in a purposely sexual way and slurped his chamomile tea. He tilted his head back with a moan and licked his lips.

Corentin’s stomach tightened, and he clenched his teeth. “Knock it off, dammit. I actually need sleep.”

Taylor pursed his lips into a pout. “Spoilsport.”

Corentin groaned in frustration, sexual and otherwise, as he stalked away. “Had I known you’d have a raging sex drive, I would have rethought taking your virginity.”

Taylor puffed a sigh. “Do you think I like getting turned on at the drop of a hat?”

Ringo blinked at the TV and took his hands from his ears. “Ooh! Ooh! It’s—”

“Considering how many sex toys we have hidden around the house, I think the princess doth protest too much,” Corentin said as he headed back to the bedroom.

“Fuck!” Ringo squeaked and slapped his hands over his ears. “Happy place. Happy place.”

Taylor seemed to give him a proud smirk, like he knew something Corentin didn’t. “I wouldn’t look at page 696 in your journal with anyone looking over your shoulder, by the way.”

Corentin pressed his lips together in confusion. He gave a slight shake of the head.

“There’s pictures.” Taylor winked.

Corentin tossed his head back with a loud, annoyed groan. “Good night, Taylor. Please don’t fuck me in my sleep.”

“Is that a hint?” Taylor asked a little too eagerly.

“Maybe,” Corentin said, pointing a finger as he looked into the bedroom. But his gaze went to the adjoining bathroom, and the old journal’s whispers beckoned.

Over his shoulder, he heard Ringo mutter, “Is it safe yet? I swear to Storyteller, guys, if Honeysuckle and I didn’t live here, you’d be walking around with your wangs hanging out 24-7.”

Taylor guffawed. “What can I say? It must be a princess mating season thing. I could be in heat or something, y’know?”

The fact that Taylor’s tone seemed like he was asking a serious question startled Corentin away from the journal’s whispers.

Ringo grunted. “There’s no princess heat thing,” he scolded. “You’re just a constant bundle of hormones.”

“I think you’re full of shit,” Taylor said. “There is so a princess heat thing. Because I say so. Corentin will back me up on it. Right?”

Corentin heard Taylor say something, but it was just a wave of dull noise. In place of Taylor’s voice, the hissing whispers and the click-clacking of fanged maws urged Corentin toward the bathroom. His fingers twitched with spasms, as if already feeling over the words. Step by step, the journal dragged him on.

“Right?” Taylor called again, his voice like a beacon, pulling Corentin out of his darkness.

“Right,” Corentin called back over his shoulder, unsure what he was agreeing about. He turned the bathroom doorknob and took one step in.

“Aw hell naw,” Ringo whined in the distance. “Herjavec totally invested in the shammy!”

With a careful click, Corentin shut the bathroom door behind him. The darkness took hold. Corentin’s silhouette watched him from the mirror. The fingers on his right hand bent and flexed, wracked with seizures. He bit his lip. It wasn’t that he wanted to read the journal. His fingers insisted on touching the words of a man he couldn’t remember. Corentin kept his arms at his sides and concentrated on keeping the right one still.

In the mirror, his reflection grinned. His smile gleamed like a scalpel. He crooked a finger, beckoning Corentin closer.

Corentin swallowed hard and flexed his fingers. The spasms shot up his right arm, into the elbow. His hand shot forward under its own power, yanking a self-aware Corentin with it. It flung the medicine cabinet open, and Corentin used his left to protect the mirror from shattering into the wall.

His thoughts were his own, but his hand had declared mutiny. Corentin gnashed his teeth, holding in his panic.
Slam the cabinet shut
, he told himself.
Walk away. Leave it!