8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Crossword Puzzle

Somehow Cormac and Daisy fall away. It occurs to me that I should check on her. That I should confirm that she won’t have to pay any kind of price for helping me tonight. The way he looked at her—it wasn’t safe.

It reminds me of the way William looks at me.

Or the way he used to.

Now his expression is more opaque, his eyes dark.

He’s harder to read.

That pisses me off. He should be an open book by now. When you’ve torn yourself apart over a man, he shouldn’t get to be a mystery.

He leads me up the stairs, and I’m too boneless to argue the point. Or to wonder where we’re going. It’s the bell tower. There’s still a thick metal bar across the top with a welded-on circle for a chain. No bell, though. I wonder when they decided to remove it. And how it even got out of here without them demolishing the tower.

The open space in the floor where it would have rung has been boarded over long ago, from the state of it. There’s a bed in the corner, on the floor, the sheets mussed. I wonder if that’s where he was when we showed up. I wonder if he saw us coming from the stained glass windows. They paint him in a blue light that removes any hint of remorse, if he even had any to begin with.

The air is thick with dust and the scent of old stone, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the campus below. The heavy glass windows filter in an eerie blue light, casting everything in a dreamlike glow. It’s as if we’re underwater, trapped in a forgotten world where time has no meaning.

“Ahhh, softly now,” William murmurs, his voice closer now. I can feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his presence. “You’re all right.”

“All right? I’m not all right. You let me believe you were dead.”

“I know.”

“You let me mourn you,” I say, my voice broken.

“Yes.”

“How could you?” I whisper, my voice echoing in the hollow space.

“The Society needed to believe I was gone. It was the only way to keep you safe, to keep us both safe. It had to be real.”

I wipe away hot, angry tears. “So this was planned?”

“Not at first. I thought I was being careful. Not careful enough, apparently. I got a call from Brandon’s mother. She sounded distraught. She told me that Brandon was in trouble. I ran into a trap.”

“And…what? You worked with the Shakespeare Society to fake your death?”

His eyes darken. “How could you ask me that?”

I pull out the black envelope, now crumpled from my anxiety and the journey. We made it into hell, me and this piece of vellum. “You sent this, right? You’re the one who threatened me.”

“It wasn’t a threat. It was a warning.”

“Oh good. That’s less ominous.”

“If you kept looking into my death, wanting to know the location of the grave, then they would have guessed it was a ruse. And moreover, it would have made you a target. They already proved they were capable of murder.”

“You know what would have made me not look for your grave?”

“Anne.”

“If I didn’t think you were dead. ”

“I wasn’t working with the Shakespeare Society. Don’t think that for a second. I was working against them, fighting them, but I was getting too close. And they were getting too powerful. I couldn’t risk you.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Yes, it would be terrible if I knew a secret. I meet so many Shakespearean scholars in Port Lavaca. I would surely have been unable to hold it inside. It’s so much better that I cried for months.”

Sympathy flashes across his eyes.

I can’t stand sympathy.

“Did Brandon know?”

He pauses. A fatal pause.

“He did. So your brother knew. Brandon knew. Did the New York Times know? Maybe it was in their crossword puzzle. The Shakespearean professor who may or may not be dead. Everyone knew except me.”

“It was only them.”

“Oh, only them.”

“They’re family.”

That hurts worse than sympathy.

I’m not his family. I knew that.

So it shouldn’t feel like I’ve been poisoned, like I’m lying on the ground, needing a paramedic. The fight leaves me. The righteous indignation? Gone.

There’s only the desolate acknowledgment that yes, of course.

I wasn’t important enough to tell.

“Great,” I say, turning toward the stairs.

He pulls me back. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like? Did you sit around laughing about it, the clueless kid who thought she mattered? I’m sure it was great entertainment. The Taming of the Student. ”

“Stop.”

“No, you’re right. It wasn’t funny. It was more like an experiment. It would make a great paper. Tragic Romance in Modern-Day Women. What happens if she thinks her lover dies? Does she or does she not kill herself?”

His eyes flash. “ Stop. ”

There are too many feelings inside me to stop. Anger and fear and grief. Leftover grief, so much of it that I’m not sure it will ever leave, even now that he’s alive. There’s nothing left to grieve, except my trust.

“I hate you.”

“Good,” William says, his voice a low growl.

“I hate you so much.”

“You should hate me. I’ve cursed your name every night that I’ve spent alone in this tower. You should hate me the way I hate you. Hate me so hard it feels like love.”

“Never.”

Anger surges within me, a hot, pulsating force that demands release. I step forward, my hands reaching for his collar, my fingers gripping the fabric tightly.

He doesn’t resist, doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he leans into me, his hands cupping my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that stream down my cheeks.

“I would do it again,” he murmurs.

That breaks my heart.

It’s what he’ll always do—break my heart.

I kiss him then, angrily, fiercely. My lips crush against his, my teeth nipping at his lower lip. It’s a kiss born of fury and frustration, a kiss that demands retribution, that seeks to punish.

And he lets me.

He takes it, absorbs it, his hands soothing me, his touch gentle even as my kiss is not. “It’s okay,” he whispers against my lips. “I’m here. Don’t cry, brave heart.”

Tears stream down my face, mixing with our kiss, the saltiness a stark contrast to the sweetness of his lips.

His hands move to my hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, a slow, sensuous dance that sends shivers down my spine. I can taste his desperation, his hunger, his need. It mirrors my own, a frantic, clawing desire that demands to be sated.

I push him back, my hands fumbling with his shirt, my fingers trembling as I unbutton it. He helps me, his hands steady, his gaze never leaving mine. His shirt falls to the floor, a puddle of white against the dusty stone. His chest is bare, the muscles taut and defined, the skin smooth and warm.

His hands reach for my shirt, his fingers mirroring my earlier actions. He undresses me slowly, reverently, his eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin. I stand before him, bare and vulnerable, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of his gaze.

“Touch me,” he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. “Feel me. Punish me if you have to, anything but leave.”

I reach out, my fingers tentative, brushing against his chest. His skin is warm, the muscle beneath firm. His heart beats steadily under my palm, a rhythm that grounds me, anchors me in the present.

He’s alive. He’s truly alive.

A sob catches in my throat, a mix of relief and lingering disbelief. I press my palm flat against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, letting it resonate through me. His hands cover mine, his fingers intertwining with my own, squeezing gently.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m right here.”

I nod, swallowing hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. I need to feel him, to reconnect with him, to reassure myself that this is real. My hand slides down his chest. I form a claw, scratching my way down, leaving red marks. I’m not gentle. I want it to hurt.

The clock hands above us cast heavy shadows, frozen in place, a stark reminder that for us, time has stopped.

William’s hands are on me, urgent and insistent. He traces the curves of my body, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake, gentle where I’m sharp. I gasp as he lifts me, setting me down on the dusty table that sits beneath the frozen clock. The wood is cool against my bare skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his touch.

He kneels before me, his eyes never leaving mine. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing them apart, opening me up to him. I’m exposed, vulnerable, but with William, I feel safe. I feel wanted.

“So beautiful,” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. His fingers trace the edges of my folds, teasing, tantalizing. I squirm, trying to press myself closer to his touch, but he holds me firm, his grip strong and sure.

He leans in, his breath hot against my core. I shiver in anticipation, my fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer. He doesn’t make me wait long. His tongue delves into me, a slow, sensuous exploration that has me gasping for breath. He licks and suckles, his tongue tracing intricate patterns that leave me writhing and moaning.

Pressure builds, a coil tightening deep within me, an otherworldly pleasure. His tongue is relentless, his mouth devouring me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Professor,” I gasp, my voice echoing in the hollow space. His name is a plea, a prayer, a desperate cry for release. He answers, his fingers sliding into me, his mouth suckling my clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud.

I shatter, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, my voice echoing through the bell tower, a symphony of ecstasy and relief. The world spins, the blue light swirling around me, the shadows dancing and shifting.

As the waves subside, I collapse back onto the table, my body limp, my breath coming in ragged gasps. William stands, his eyes dark with desire, his lips glistening with my release. I reach for him, my fingers tracing the lines of his face, the stubble on his jaw.

“Daisy,” I murmur, suddenly remembering that we’re not alone in this place. William chuckles, a low, wry sound that sends shivers down my spine.

“They won’t bother us,” he says, his voice a husky growl. “Cormac will take care of her, make sure she gets back to her dorm room.”

“Did you know he was going to bring me here?”

“No, and he shouldn’t have taken the risk. But I can’t regret that it happened. Not if I get to hold you tonight.”

“Aren’t you worried I’m going to tell someone?”

A low growl. “I always trusted you.”

“Daisy knows, too. Are you going to silence her? Is Cormac?”

“No, damn it.”

“You went through a lot of trouble for secrecy.”

“Yes, because my plan only works like this.”

“What is your plan?”

His silence pulses in the blue-black room. It’s a bruise, this tower. A physical manifestation of pain. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“Right,” I say, my voice hollow. “You still don’t trust me.”

“It’s about risk. The fewer people who know, the better.”

“You’re allowed to endanger yourself, but I’m supposed to sit in ignorance. As if that even makes me safe, when I have to go to class every day with Professor Thorne.”

He tenses. “Steer clear of her.”

“Oh, sure. That’ll be easy to do.”

“I’m serious. Go to class. Keep your head down. Don’t talk to her any more than you have to.”

“Too late.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

I tell him about the fake manuscript, my idea for exposing her as a fraud, my little retribution for his death. Now that I found out he’s alive, I’m not exactly going to take it back. She deserves it, anyway.

He’s quiet for a moment. I’m waiting for him to chastise me.

When I look over, he’s fighting a smile. “Damn, brave heart.”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“Of course I am. I don’t want you in harm’s way.”

“Too bad. We live in this world, the dangerous one.”

He swears, a mixture of modern terms and old Shakespearean curses. “You can’t tell anyone you saw me, Anne. You know that, but I’m making it explicit. You have to act natural. However you were yesterday and the day before, that’s how you have to look.”

“Fine.”

“And you can’t attract their attention. Not for any reason.”

He’s being autocratic. I shouldn’t find it hot. “Yes, Professor.”

“Call me William, for God’s sake.”

“Then stop looking at me with that stern professor face.”

“Call me William when I’m fucking you.” He leans down, capturing my lips in a fierce kiss. I can taste myself on him, a heady, intoxicating mix that sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through me. His hands roam my body, rekindling the fire that burns within me.

There’s more to ask. More to wonder about.

It can wait.

He enters me in one swift thrust, filling me completely. I gasp, my body arching to meet his. He begins to move, his hips pistoning against mine, his cock sliding in and out of me in a rhythm that leaves me breathless.

“I came back so I could fuck this pretty little cunt.” His voice is a low growl, the filthy words spilling from his lips like a secret, a promise, like Shakespeare. They are without artifice. They sound like truth. “Came back from the dead so I could fuck you one more time.”

I shudder, the words wrapping around me, the rhythm of his body pushing me higher and higher. The coil tightens again, the pressure building, the world spinning.

Blue light swirls around us, a midnight ocean.

“William,” I gasp, my body tightening as another orgasm crashes over me. He groans, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing within me as he finds his own release. I watch his face, the lines etched with desire, the muscles taut, the eyes dark and intense. He’s handsome, vital, alive. But beneath it all, there’s a shadow, a lingering danger that refuses to fade.

His body collapses onto mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against my chest. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, refusing to let go. We lie there, our bodies entwined, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating.

Beating, because we’re alive.

Despite the blue tint of our skin, alive.