The May Queen Murders by Sarah Jude Page B

and
    tighter.
    “You’re Sheriff’s son,” I persisted. “That’s gonna be your job some-
    day.”
    He looked at our hands, blinking behind his glasses. “I dream the
    goat’s blood turns into a puddle beneath our feet that gets so big it
    sucks you down. I look but can’t find you. Then we both drown in
    blood. I sound like I’ve lost my mind.”
    A whimper peeped through my lips.
    “No,” I said, “you sound like someone who’s seen something aw-
    ful. But you can’t run away, Rook. I don’t want you to go.”
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    He stiffened. Every inch of him tensed. I unwound my fingers
    from his before placing my hands on his shoulders, broad shoulders
    he had yet to grow into and yet seemed like they could withstand the
    chaos inside me. His neck bowed forward. A wisp of his black hair
    fell and twisted into mine.
    Stay, Rook.
    “The Glen can be safe again,” I promised. “Our families built this
    place to keep the outside world away. What’s happening now? It’s
    that monster in the woods.”
    “Birch Markle?” Rook scoffed.
    “They said the Devil got him,” I said. “He could’ve come back.”
    “More reason to get away from here.”
    I dug my fingers into his shoulders and fought the lump in my
    throat. “You can’t go ’cause I can’t stand the idea of you leavin’, of you
    bein’ with someone else!”
    I clamped my hands over my mouth. I’d said too much. He was
    with Heather, not me. Guilt flooded my blood, dizzying me. Rook’s
    eyes widened. That hint of movement was the only indication he’d
    heard me. His face was like a full moon, haunted and stripped of all
    its shadows. But me? My skin burned from my chest all the way up
    to my ears.
    Then Rook took my hands. “What d’you mean? You don’t want
    me with anyone else?”
    “Just ignore me. It don’t matter.” My face was so hot, and I tried to
    pull my fingers from his to fan myself, but he didn’t let go.
    The tip of my nose grazed his cheek as his forehead pressed to
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    mine. His breath drew in. I ached to feel his mouth, to fold my lips
    between his. I didn’t want to hold back, but going forward would be
    wrong.
    He tucked my hair behind my ear and balanced his mouth over
    mine. I turned my face. “I can’t.”
    “What’s wrong?” he asked.
    “I know you’re with Heather.”
    “No, I ain’t. I wanna be with you, Ivy.”
    I sniffed. What? “Wait. Heather was with someone in the stable.
    Wasn’t it you?”
    He furrowed his brow. “No. Of course not.”
    My heart pounded in my ears, and I stared at him in disbelief.
    What I’d thought was true, how I’d been hurt so badly, it was all a
    mistake. His fingers stroked down my neck, twisting the cord of Au-
    gust’s necklace between them, and right before he found the acorn,
    I tucked it inside my shirt col ar. I should’ve never taken it from Au-
    gust, but it was nice at the time.
    Rook’s mouth skimmed mine. “I like you, Ivy. I’ve always liked
    you.”
    His lips were gentle as they touched mine. It took several passes
    of our mouths before we warmed to each other. His hands cuffed
    my arms and then slipped around to my back. He eased me onto
    his lap and kissed me again. And again. Everything I ever wondered
    about how his lips felt — the truth was softer, wetter than I imagined.
    His hands wandered down from the middle of my back to my hips,
    to my thighs. My chest rose from holding my breath, but his lips
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    didn’t leave mine. This time, I didn’t hold back and allowed the kiss
    to widen. The relief of knowing I’d been wrong kept me floating. The
    way he touched me grounded me, held me stil .
    We sat with Rook’s arms draped around me, my body tucked
    against his. I reached up to stroke the back of his head, pull him in
    for another kiss, and my fingers threaded through his dark hair. Be-
    ing next to him felt good. Better than good — as if my body smiled.
    Rook’s head rested on my shoulder. “About two years ago, you left
    your sketchbook