The Curse of Redwood (Ivy Grove #2) - Jaclyn Osborn Page 0,73
a bus. I had been dehydrated, nauseous, and weak.
Waking up that morning in Redwood Manor was worse than that.
I groaned as I opened my eyes. What a day for the sun to finally make an appearance after nearly a week long hiatus. I pulled the blanket over my head and squeezed my lids shut. The pounding in my head was so bad I was sure it would kill me.
“Good morning,” Zeke said, putting a hand on me. I felt the coldness of his skin through the thin blanket.
“More like a horrible morning,” I mumbled. “Don’t look at me. I think I’m going to puke.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he responded, slowly pulling the blanket away from my face. The room looked darker, and I realized he had closed the curtains.
“Wait. What do you mean you’ve seen it before?”
“I cleaned up your vomit from last night once you fell asleep.”
Though it was vague, I remembered puking in the floor when all that crazy shit was happening. “Oh god. Kill me now.”
Was it possible to die from humiliation? Sure felt like it.
“Apart from your hurting head, how do you feel?” he asked, placing a cold hand on my forehead.
I leaned into his touch. His hand was like an icepack and felt amazing to my throbbing skull.
“Better,” I answered, relieved that the nausea had passed at least. The longer I was awake, the more the headache faded too. I sat up, going slow as not to further irritate my head. “What time is it?”
“Just after ten,” he said.
“Shit. I have to go to work. I can’t call in sick again.”
“Do you think that wise?” he asked, sounding like a stern father. “We still don’t know what happened to you last night.”
“I’m sure it was nothing.”
“You were screaming, Carter. That’s not nothing.” Zeke gripped my chin and brought my face closer to his as he scrutinized me. “Something’s different about you. Your eyes… I can’t explain it… but it seems like the light I adore so much is fading.”
“I feel fine now,” I insisted, despite me still having that sense of wrongness inside me. Why was I lying to him? “Stop worrying.”
He kissed me. It was raw. Desperate. As if he was putting everything he couldn’t say into a single, soul-altering kiss. I whimpered against his lips as fear struck me square in the chest—fear of losing him.
If I could freeze time and stay in that moment forever, I would have. Because I feared what would happen once we broke apart.
“When you leave, you mustn’t return,” he said, tearing from my lips. “Too many times I’ve seen tragedy befall those I care for. I refuse to see the same of you.”
“You don’t want me to come back?” I asked, as my heart cracked.
“Want has nothing to do with it, little dove.” His fingers slid through my hair. “You mean too much to me. I have been selfish long enough and must let you go.”
“Why?” The crack in my heart widened.
“The sickness of this mansion has seeped into you,” he answered, as sadness penetrated his gaze. “Last night was proof of that. Darkness moves over your skin, searching for a way inside. You mustn’t let it. It’s not too late to change the path you’re on and leave this place behind you once and for all.”
“How come you always stare at me like you’re ready to say goodbye?”
“Because I am,” he said, resting his head on mine. “Just this once, please do as I say.”
“We’ve already been over this.” I pulled back and peered deep into his blue eyes. “Being with you is worth the risk, Zeke. When will you see that and stop pushing me away?” My voice cracked, just like my heart, as I then said, “You are my home.”
A sound escaped him, a mix between a whine and a soft cry. He clutched the back of my head and pressed his cool lips to my cheek. “And you are mine. Which is why I cannot bear it if something happened to you because of this dreaded curse. I would live a thousand years and still never be able to forgive myself.”
A tear slipped from my eye, and I held him as close as possible. He had finally confirmed what I knew in my heart; that we belonged together. However, cold then shot down my spine, and I shoved him away from me.
“You beast,” I spat, my entire body shaking with rage. The action—and words—weren’t mine. It was a lot like in my