Page 27 of Her Cruel Dahlias
“Seems I do.” He chuckled.
Cricket looked farther down the row, finding Mistress Eliza kneeling over a grave. The necromancer stood, shaking her head as she continued passing headstones. Not long after, she came back with her lips set in a tight line. “I’m unable to do a damn thing. Finish filling the grave, and don’t get caught.”
As Mistress Eliza left them alone, they worked faster to cover the grave back up, to provide Phoebe eternal peace.
Once the task was completed, Cricket straightened, and her body swayed. As she leaned forward to grab her lantern, she stumbled, and Zephyr caught her by the waist.
“Is it your curiosity?” Zephyr asked.
It wasn’t flowers trying to peek through her but exhaustion. “I’m not feeling well.”
“When’s the last time you ate or drank something other than a few sips of liquor?”
Cricket mulled it over. “Only the rose petal and a small bowl of stew for lunch when I chatted with Anika.”
“Damn it. Don’t fight me on this.” Zephyr scooped her up, and she gasped, but she didn’t have the strength to fight him even if she wanted to. As she swallowed, small granules of dirt scratched her throat. She needed water and should’ve brought some back when she’d retrieved Mistress Eliza.
Zephyr rushed Cricket to the caravans, the wind mussing his hair as she peered up at him. He opened the door to his home, carried her into the small space, and sat her on a wooden chair in the corner. She hadn’t been inside his home, but it was cozy, everything neat, and smelled of woods, like him. On the walls hung various swords and daggers, his own museum of weapons. At his past performances, when she attended with Anika, she remembered how he could easily throw daggers with his vines or hands and hit their marks.
He set a basket of food beside her on the night table and handed her a full canteen. She guzzled down the water until her thirst was quenched.
“I’m getting your chair dirty,” she said as she took a piece of jerky from the basket.
“Get anything dirty you want.” He smirked.
Cricket rolled her eyes, wondering how many women he’d brought to his bed, whether performers or customers, as she chewed the salty meat. Envy crawled through her, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. But why did it matter to her? “Have you ever been in love?” she asked, wishing she could reel the question back into the nosey depths from which it came.
“Love?” he asked, incredulous.
“It doesn’t have to be true love. Just close enough to where you wanted to see the person’s face again after they left.” She’d always wanted to see Bram’s face again, but perhaps it was the same kind of friendship love she’d held for Anika because she’d always wanted to see her face again, too.
He paused, tucking his lip between his teeth. “No, but I suppose I fall into lust easily. I was young when my sister and I came to the carnival, and we travel, so I never saw a point in offering anything beyond a night in my bed. There’s been a performer here and there, but nothing serious.”
“Like Autumn?” Cricket asked, thinking about how easily her hands had touched Zephyr.
“Not in a long time. She’s only a friend.” He moistened his lips, studying her with an impish grin. “You’re very inquisitive tonight. Makes me wonder if you’re growing fonder of me.”
“I was only wondering.” Heat flooded Cricket’s cheeks, and she took a plum from the basket, avoiding looking into his curious hazel eyes.
Zephyr’s fingers brushed her chin, turning her head so their gazes fastened. “I’ve never been in love,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I never will be.” He took the plum from her hand, his digits trailing against hers. With a smirk, he brought the fruit to his lips and took a slow bite before giving it back to her.
She didn’t shy away as she placed the fruit between her teeth, precisely where he bit. Its juiciness filled her mouth, and she couldn’t control her devilish thoughts from imagining Zephyr’s tongue tasting the sweetness, then how that sweet tongue would feel against hers.
“I think I better go and get whatever rest I’m able,” she said, her voice husky.
“You can always stay here. I’ll even sleep on the floor and won’t touch you unless you ask me to.” His grin grew wolfish, tempting.
Even though she wanted to tell him that would never happen, she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth, so instead, she said, “Goodnight, Zephyr. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter Twelve
Too exhausted to bathe in the frigid lake, Cricket discarded her filthy clothes and fell into bed. For what was left of the night, she took turns staring at the lantern’s flickering flame or the ceiling above her, unable to sleep. Cricket wondered if one of the victims had been awoken, would they have seen the murderer as she had with Clancy, or was this person trickier? Her gut believed the second choice especially since there had now been four murders linked to the same person in such a short time frame, and nothing seemed to bring the authorities closer to finding the bastard. Either way, answers wouldn’t be coming from the dead any time soon, no matter how much she wished they would, so Cricket decided she needed to come up with something else.
Through the window, the night was ascending, and the day creeping in. Shoving away the blankets, she balled them up in the corner of her room to be washed later. She then sifted through her wardrobe until she found a comfortable, simple dress to wear after bathing in the lake. As she opened the door, an array of bright colors embellished the sky. With all the devilish things going on, there was still beauty in the world, in nature. Unable to stop herself, she peeked at Zephyr’s caravan as she passed it. She thought about their conversation from the prior night, how he’d never been in love, how he bedded women on his travels, most only for a single night. Then she couldn’t help but wonder if he was still asleep and how he slept. Did he leave his trousers on or off? And did he cover himself with his blankets or let his bare skin feel the air? A sensual feeling pooled low in her stomach. Enough of that.
A gust of wind blew past her, carrying the scent of pine and earth. Twigs snapped, and leaves crunched just ahead before Stormy pushed out from the woods, her dark hair in a wet plait. She carried a large satchel over one shoulder, and a black and white checkered full-body one-piece hugged her curvy form.
“The water’s freezing this morning,” Stormy said, her teeth chattering. “Juniper’s somehow managing to stay in there and not turn into ice.”