Chapter 33

Piper

Zander's arm was dead weight over my waist. We'd spent the day together, eating, and playing like the days before. After a huge lunch we heated up from Vivian's plethora of meals, we'd taken a nap.

Zander liked to lay with me, and it made me more anxious to break the curse. I wanted that every night. Forever.

But no matter how good he felt around me, and the feeling of trust I had for him, an umbrella lingered over me from the night before.

A reminder that my life waited on me.

I'd made my choice.

Hands down.

I chose Zander.

Then I heard my dad's voice, and it plowed into the guard I'd built when I made my decision, and cracked the foundation.

Dad was looking for me in the bayou at night.

He heard the beast. I didn't want him searching around the bayou. I wanted him to go home, but I knew my dad enough to know he wouldn't, only just added to the issues we already had.

Zander stirred beside me, his heavy breaths an invisible blanket over my skin. Moving from beneath him, I slid off the bed and stared down at him. He was beautiful lying without a shirt, the lines of his body looked etched out of stone, and his handsome face peaceful. My gaze moved to his cracked closet door, where the glass container held his heart.

I knew looking at it wouldn't help anything, only make me anxious, so I walked toward the library to grab a new book for that afternoon. The castle was eerily quiet, the sounds of my footsteps and the pounding of my heart heavy in my ears.

The heavy wooden door creaked when I pushed it open. I inhaled the smell of books, a smile tugging at my face. Climbing the ladder resting against the top bookshelf, I placed the book he ordered into a space on the top, and scanned the row.

I could have spent hours in that library, but I knew Zander would be up soon. Snagging an old copy of A Separate Peace, I hurried down each rung, and turned toward the door.

I halted, my breath caught in my throat, and fear climbed my body, cementing me into place. The little boy from the bayou stood in the doorjamb, staring at me with big fairytale brown eyes.

He couldn't be more than eight or nine.

There were white markings on his face that reminded me of tribal symbols, and he wore a pair of dark worn khaki shorts, his dark skin vibrant considering he wasn't alive.

I should have screamed for Zander, but I didn't.

I stared, waiting on this ghost to do something. I wasn't even sure ghosts did anything.

"Are you lost?" I asked.

He smiled, reminding me of the time I saw him in the bayou. Slowly, he turned and walked out of the doorway. I scurried after him, curling my new book to my chest, I glanced down the hallway both ways, seeing him disappeared around the corner that would lead me to one of many parts of the castle that we didn't visit.

This one would lead us to where Zander grew up. Part of me, the rational side, said to go back upstairs and take cover under Zander's arm.

And the other said follow him.

He held answers that Zander wasn't offering up.

Biting my lip, I jogged down the hallway and turned the sharp corner. The little boy had disappeared, but Zander's door was open. Looking over my shoulder, I walked down the hallway and into Zander's childhood room.

Just as before, there wasn't much in there. It looked as if Zander and I had two completely different childhoods. My room was full of 90s boyband posters, and MP3 players, while Zander's was full of becoming an alpha.

I stepped inside, the cold floor worked the hair on the back of my legs, and up to my neck. The blue comforter looked untouched, and I regretted following a ghost into the room, when I felt the chill return.

She stood in the doorway when I looked back.

The voodoo queen. She looked the same as before, only dressed in a long multi-colored skirt and braids down her shoulders. She looked more real than her son, even more vibrant, her coco colored skin smooth and flawless.

"Li móde ou," she said.

My fingers worked their way up my neck. "He did bite me," I answered, not knowing how I understood, but knowing she controlled it.

Her eyes blazed a deep yellow that reminded me of the beast. She took a step into the room, a sweet flower scent traveled with her, twirling in the air around me. I didn't dare move, I waited for her to make it to me, and I swallowed the fear I knew she sensed.

"But you don't love him yet," she said, tilting her head. "That's good, Little One. Because you don't know the true Zander Blackwood either."

I dared to meet her eyes. "I've not known him long, but I do know I care about him. I feel the pull of the mate bond."

When she didn't deny it, I felt relieved that I didn't sound crazy. If I told anyone else, they would think I'd lost my mind, most likely from being stuck here. "You need to know before you decide. "Ki son Ki yon mons Zander vréman se."

"He's not a monster," I snapped, feeling defensive. "He's been nothing but kind to me."

"To you," she said, disdain in her voice. She reached out and stroked her fingertips against the mark on my skin. "He is kind to you, because he needs you to break the curse. Who is to say that his true colors won't shine once he's free? Did he tell you?" she asked, lowering her hand. "Did he tell you what he did?"

The anger she held inside, rolled off her skin, and gripped my throat. I felt it begin to strangle me. To corner me against her and the walls of his room. "Or is he going to let me do the honors?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words formed.

She smiled, a singsong laugh escaped her, and she folded her arms over her chest. "Typical Zander Blackwood. Letting everyone else do his bidding. Not a damn care for anyone but himself."

My eyes closed, a single tear raced down my cheek.

"Now, now, don't cry. I'm going to take you on a little journey, and show you just what your precious alpha did to me. What he did to my son."

My bare feet began to lift from the ground, and they swung wildly. I grasped my hands around my neck, and tried to speak, tried to scream, but nothing came out.

Priscilla watched as I struggled, a pleased look on her face. The world around me began to blur, and change into the castle, but it wasn't the castle as it was now.

"St-op," I begged.

Priscilla stood in front of me, the room changing to the front steps, time sucking at my skin like a leech, pulling me backward, but I didn't want to go.

"Help," I managed to whisper.

Priscilla's face morphed into anger, into wrath, and she barred her teeth like a vampire. "He killed my son," she whispered. "I'll make him pay. You'll pay, Little One—,"

Thunderous footsteps broke the vision, and Priscilla whipped around, turning to face Zander forming in the doorway. He stopped several feet from us, while I dangled in the air, and Priscilla faced him.

"You stupid cunt," he said. "Let her go!" he screamed.

She laughed, the best evil laugh I'd ever heard in real life, and with one finger twirled my body around in the air. Zander launched forward, soaring through her body as she disappeared, and caught me as I fell to the floor.

I gasped for breath, holding my throat and coughing. Zander's rough hands glided over my skin, burning a path of life into me. "Are you okay, Little One?" he asked. "Dear God. I haven't seen her in—it doesn't matter. Tell me what happened."

"No," I said. "You tell me why you killed her son."

Zander's grip on me tightened. His eyes heated to a honey color, and his lips pressed together. "She told you that?"

I sat up, removing myself from his grasp, and pressed my back against his bedframe. "Yes. Tell me why you killed him. Tell me what happened. Tell me ... it was an accident," I choked out.

Zander climbed to his feet, his fingers tangling into hair while he began to pace. I watched from the ground, my stomach twisting into heavy knots. The man in front of me wasn't nervous, he was guilty.

"Tell me, Zander," I said loudly, climbing to my feet. "Tell me what happened or I'm leaving right now."

He stopped, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're going to leave anyway, after I tell you what happened. Please come with me to the kitchen. I can't tell the story in here. There are too many memories."

I scoffed. "Worse than killing a child?"

"Sometimes there are things worse than death."