“Aw, come on, Will. Asheville wasn’t all bad.”
“Maybe not for you—Lucky Logan’s little brother.”
My jaw locked at the mention of my old nickname, given to me by my high school football coach. I hadn’t liked it then, and I definitely didn’t like it now.
Lucas chuckled. “Like that mattered. He’s always been better at everything. No one even noticed me.”
“I noticed you.”
“No way. I noticed you first. Everyone noticed you.”
Lucas and Willow hadn’t always been friends, and I never paid her any attention until she’d started hanging around Lucas—but by then she’d been hard to miss. She’d gone from being virtually invisible to the one and only twelve-year-old in town with a nose ring and dressing in anything that would draw attention to her—typically the most flamboyant, ridiculous getups she could find. Lucas quickly followed suit, first with the attention-seeking clothing and then later with the self-mutilation.
Our father’s reaction to Lucas’s lip rings still instilled the same amount of fury in me that it had initially. He’d only laughed at Lucas, called him a few colorful names, and went back to his booze. But if it had been me that had come home with lip rings, they would have been ripped straight from my face, and that would have been the least of it. Lucas liked to make it sound like he’d had it rough, when, in reality, no one had ever expected or demanded a single thing from him. He’d been free from all of our father’s expectations… and condemnations.
“Not in a good way,” Willow replied. “Everyone hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you.”
“You don’t count. You like literally everyone.”
“No. I just don’t hate everyone.”
“I don’t hate everyone. I just don’t like everyone.”
They laughed softly, their laughter eventually fading into comfortable sighs, sounding so goddamn in sync with one another that every muscle in my body tensed with the sudden urge to destroy something. Yet, I remained as I was—stock-still and glaring at the wall and feeling so goddamn empty. Gapingly empty. Like my chest was a cavernous hole. And angry, too—helplessly angry, unsure if I was angry because I felt empty or if I felt empty because all I could seem to feel was angry. Whichever it was, I couldn’t get a handle on it.
Was this how my dad had felt—constantly angry and empty? Were those feelings why he’d never had a kind word for anyone, and why he’d drunk himself into a nightly stupor? A brief pang of pity for the man quickly mutated into a hot, roiling wave of disgust. I would not be wasting a single second pitying that piece of shit and I’d be damned before I allowed any part of his poisonous existence to take root inside me.
I took a deep, shaking breath. I needed to clear my head, and the only way that was going to happen was if I could have some real time for myself—more specifically, time away from Willow. My thoughts spun in circles—this farmhouse was safe enough, wasn’t it? It was definitely the soundest structure we’d come across in months. Maybe I could leave them here to scout ahead for a few days? The more I thought about it, the more attractive the idea became.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t ever left them on their own before.
And they were adults, after all, right, Willow?
Willow
“Go over it one more time,” Logan demanded.
It was dawn, the sun just barely cresting on the horizon. Everything was wet and covered in debris from yesterday’s storm; mud and leaves and broken branches as far as the eye could see. The three of us stood on the crumbling walkway in front of the farmhouse—Logan strapped in full gear, alert and eager, while Lucas and I were slumped and disheveled, having just rolled out of bed.
Logan had woken us just minutes ago, informing us of his decision to scout ahead on his own. This wasn’t entirely unheard of; Logan had, on occasion, left us alone in order to do some solo exploration. Yet, there was something that felt distinctively off about this; it had come out of nowhere and Logan never did anything without careful, calculated consideration.
“We need to stay in the house as much as possible,” Lucas replied cheerfully, despite having to repeat himself for a third time at Logan’s behest. “And keep our weapons on us at all times.”
“And be quiet,” Logan added.
“And only sleep inside and make sure the room is barricaded while we’re sleeping.”
“And be quiet,” Logan growled.
“And make sure to boil the water before drinking it.”
“And be fucking quiet!” Logan exploded.
“Bro, that’s the opposite of quiet,” Lucas replied lightly, giving his brother a friendly knock on the shoulder.
There was a beat of silence while Logan glowered at something off in the distance and Lucas tried to nervously smile everything away. I could only stand there with my arms folded over my chest, neither glaring nor smiling, wishing Logan would leave already. I was sick of him, but also sick over what I’d said to him.
And maybe you should stop acting like your father! Replaying the moment over in my head, I inwardly cringed. Their father had been a cold, cruel monster of a man and although Logan wasn’t exactly a warm and friendly person, I would never call him cold or cruel. Room temperature, maybe; grumpy as hell, definitely, and with all the personality of a bologna sandwich… but not at all like their father. Not even close.
“We’ll be fine,” Lucas said. “It’s not like you haven’t left us on our own before.”
“And how many times have I shown up just in time,” Logan bit out. “Because I’ve lost count.”
I had to fight against the urge to roll my eyes. In Logan’s warped mind, every little thing Lucas and I did constituted as a near-crisis. Like the time Lucas had fallen into a dried-up creek bed and sprained his ankle—nothing else had happened, and we hadn’t been in any immediate danger. Three summers later, Logan was still bringing it up.
“We’re not kids anymore,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
Two sets of ocean blue gazes shot to me, one narrowed in accusation, one wide and imploring, begging me to back off.
“Then fucking act like it,” Logan snapped back.
“I would if you’d let me!” I yelled, nearly stamping my foot. Lucas hurried to grab my hand, squeezing it tightly. “We’ll be fine,” Lucas said to Logan, still squeezing my hand. “Right, Willow?”
“Yes,” I bit out. “We’ll be fine—just go.”
Logan’s expression hardened considerably, his cold gaze turning downright icy. “Sleep inside,” he said, facing Lucas. “Barricade the damn door. Boil the water. Keep your weapons on you at all times and be fucking quiet.”
Ever the peacekeeper, Lucas flashed Logan another placating smile. “Barricade, boil, be quiet—you got it. And you be safe out there, okay?”
Logan gave Lucas a single sharp nod before turning away. As he started down the overgrown walkway, I ripped my hand free from Lucas’s and rushed back inside the house. Climbing inside my sleeping bag, I ducked my face beneath the soft, raggedy material and closed my eyes. I was glad to be rid of Logan, happy that Lucas and I could be on our own for a little while—only instead of reveling in those feelings, it was my guilt that was taking center stage. And wasn’t that just like Logan—leaving me too upset to even enjoy his absence.
The familiar thud of Lucas’s steps preceded him down the hall; entering the office, he sat down on the floor beside me, leaning into me. “He’s just going through something,” Lucas said. “I know he’s worse than usual, but he’s just stressed and… and going through something…” Lucas trailed off, sounding helpless.
We were all going through something—the whole goddamn world was going through something. But that didn’t give Logan the right to keep treating me as if I were an inconvenience. As if he wished I wasn’t here at all.
Pushing the sleeping bag away from my face, I looked up at Lucas. “Do you ever think about going our own way?” It wasn’t the first time I’d conjured up th
e idea of ditching Logan, but it was the first time I’d voiced it.
Lucas blinked. “What—like away from Logan?”
“I’m not saying we just up and leave him in the middle of nowhere,” I hurried to amend. “Just that once we find somewhere decent, maybe we could venture out on our own. Luke—we’ve never been on our own. Remember all our plans—we were going to travel the world!”
The girl I used to be reared her rebellious head—the girl who’d been trapped inside a small stifling town, governed by a set of rules that had never made sense to her. That town and those rules were long gone and yet I was still feeling trapped—trapped by Lucas’s stifling big brother and governed by another set of rules that also didn’t make sense to me.
“It’s not like we can just hop a plane to Europe. It’s really dangerous out there.” Lucas shook his head, his eyebrows tangling into a deep frown. “And where would we even go? And how would we stay in contact with Logan?”
I opened my mouth only to close it, my chest deflating along with my excitement. “You’re right,” I replied mutely. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Feeling the sudden urge to cry, I ducked my head back beneath the sleeping bag.
“Aw, come on, Will, don’t be like that—things will get better soon, I promise.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered from beneath the sleeping bag. “Just tired.”
Lucas fell quiet; several minutes passed in silence, the temperature inside my sleeping bag growing uncomfortably hot. Just when I thought I couldn’t take another stifling breath, Lucas suddenly got to his feet. As the door to the room clicked shut behind him, I shoved out of the sleeping bag. Glowering up at the ceiling, I wondered if Lucas was going to want to follow all of Logan’s ridiculous rules, leaving us trapped inside this hot, musty hellhole for however long it took for Logan to return.
The office door banged open and I shot upright; Lucas stood in the doorway, wearing only his boxers and untied boots, balancing what looked to be a cupboard door in his hand. He had a dirty dish towel draped over one arm and several hastily pulled wildflowers trapped between his teeth, the dirt-covered roots dangling near his chin.
“No, nmpo, waitmn, noj,” Lucas mumbled around the mouthful of flowers.
“What was that?” I laughed, grinning as he placed the cupboard door on my lap. Nestled into the cupboard’s decorative indentations, a handful of grapes and two chocolate cake rolls awaited me.
Pulling the flowers from his mouth, he held them out in offering. “Je m’appelle, Lucas,” he said, mimicking a French accent. “Tu t’appelle comment!”
“I have no idea what I just said,” Lucas continued. “It’s all I could remember from French class. It sounded fancy, though.”
Laughing, I raised the flowers to my nose. “I’m pretty sure you just asked me what my name is.”
He flashed me a suggestive smile, a single dimple popping in his left cheek. “Well, what is it?”
Tossing a grape in my mouth, I tapped a finger to my cheek. “Hmm—”
“No, don’t tell me!” he interrupted. “It’s Williemae, isn’t it? Yep, it’s Williemae—you look like a Williemae.”
“I most certainly do not!” I exclaimed, throwing a grape and hitting him square in the forehead. About to throw another, Lucas caught my hand and leaned over me, pressing a kiss to my lips.
“Guess what?” he whispered.
I smiled against his lips. “What?”
“Logan’s not here… so we don’t have to be quiet.”
“But didn’t he say, and I’m quoting here, to be fucking quiet?”
Lucas chuckled. “Who’s gonna make us?”
“You rebel!” I laughed, shoving the tray aside.
We kissed eagerly; Lucas’s hands skimmed my sides before gently pushing me onto my back. Climbing over top of me, he hooked his fingers into the straps of my tank top, sliding them down my arms while trailing soft kisses across my neck and breasts. Tangling my fingers into his long waves, I closed my eyes.
This was Lucas in his purest form—gentle and loving and forever thinking of me. I swallowed hard, hoping that this one time he might be a little less gentle with me. That perhaps, instead of softly stroking the curve of my hip like he was, he would grab it, squeeze it even, and hold me still. Or maybe, instead of the way he was tenderly fusing our bodies together, he might roughly spin me around, his body colliding with mine in a heated frenzy.
Opening my eyes, I found Lucas looking down at me, his gaze filled with lustful adoration. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips splitting into a smile that was almost shy.
Swallowing back my desires, I cradled his head in my hands and pulled his mouth back to mine.
“How do you think they died?”
Swinging our legs to and fro, Lucas and I sat side by side on the tree branch that had grown through the master bedroom. Empty grapevines and torn cake roll wrappers cluttered the floor beneath our feet.
It had been two days since Logan’s departure, and after another lackluster search of the house and an unfortunate run-in with a wasp nest in the attic, we’d run out of things to do. I wasn’t complaining, though—I was more than content to bum around for a few days, and damn near ecstatic that Logan wasn’t here to bully us about it.
Gazing at the skeletal remains on the bed, Lucas chewed on his lip rings. “I don’t know. I’m betting they weren’t bitten.” He shrugged. “So maybe they were sick with something? Or maybe they stumbled across this place just like we did. Only when they got here they decided that they didn’t want to live in a world like this.”
“You haven’t ever thought about that, have you?” I asked slowly.
“No,” Lucas replied, making a face. Glancing at me, his expression quickly sobered. “You?”
There had been times when I’d wished for death—but they were tangled times, trapped inside a multitude of trauma and pain. Thinking back, I found I couldn’t always differentiate between what had been real and what had been something my overloaded brain had simply conjured up. So I didn’t discuss them, not even with Lucas.
“No way!” I replied with a bit too much forced enthusiasm. “Can’t die before I get to go to Europe, can I?”
Lucas watched me closely for several seconds, his gaze softening. “Hey,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “Wanna get out of here for a little bit? Go exploring?”
I shot off the branch, tugging Lucas down with me. “Yes, please, let’s get out of here!”
“We can’t go too far,” he warned, as I was pulling him down the stairs. “And we definitely can’t tell Logan. Willow—are you listening to me?”
“Nope!” Dragging him across the office, I climbed up onto the windowsill, leaping into the grass below. Lucas landed beside me, both of us scrambling to our feet.
“Tag!” I yelled, punching Lucas in the shoulder as I took off running. “You’re it, Lucille!”
My heart thumping wildly in my chest, my legs and arms pumping hard and fast. Yet, despite my best effort, Lucas quickly gained on me, his long legs eating up the distance between us with infuriating ease.
“Tag!” He laughed, his warm breath tickling my ear as he leaned in and tugged on my braids. Passing me, he called over his shoulder, “Gotta be quicker than that, Williemae.”
“Don’t call me that!” I shouted after him. “Locus-Pocus!”
Lucas passed the garden shed, disappearing behind a grove of thick oaks and bushy pines. I followed after him, the forest canopy making the air refreshingly cooler. Slowing, I sucked in deliberate breaths, breathing in the woodsy scents, much preferable to the stale, musty air inside the farmhouse.
We carried on running, weaving around clusters of blooming magnolia trees, leaping over dried creek beds, our surroundings quickly becoming little more than a blur of browns and greens. It felt so good to run—to be so well rested and well fed that we had the energy to even want to run.
“Up ahead,” Lucas panted, pointing. “Do you see that?”
&n
bsp; Following his finger up a steep hill, where light was pouring in through a break in the forest, I grinned and nodded. We turned together, where I managed to shift into first place for only a moment; the higher the hill, the slower I ran. Lucas flashed me a smug smile as he loped ahead, once again reclaiming the lead while I only continued to slow, cursing after Lucas as he ran through the opening into the light. I laughed.
And then he was gone.
Just… gone.
One second Lucas had been just ahead of me, grinning over his shoulder, and the next he wasn’t. I blinked, my steps faltering, only to find myself face to face with a Creeper who’d stumbled out from behind a nearby tree. Staggering backward, just barely missing its grasping hands, the Creeper heaved forward once more. Another near miss.
I danced around it, pulling my blade from my belt holster, and quickly struck the base of its skull. The sharpened steel slid easily into the soft, fleshy rot and the Creeper ceased moving, its prone body dropping to the forest floor.
Turning toward the light, I called out for Lucas, receiving a garbled growl in response. Spinning around, I caught sight of another Creeper; squirming on its stomach, both its legs dragging uselessly behind it, it was clawing its way across the ground through the grass.
Cursing, I ran for the light, breaching the tree line only to come skidding to a stop. Tottering at the edge of a cliff, my arms pinwheeled as I desperately tried to reclaim my balance, causing me to lose my grip on my knife. As I fell backward onto my ass, the ground crumbled and gave way beneath me, revealing a ravine as deep as it was wide… and teeming with Creepers.
While my blade vanished below and I scrambled for safety, bits of dirt and rock flying in every direction, dozens of milky gazes swung upward. Growls and snarls wrought the air as the Creepers clambered forward, trampling one another in a frenzied bid to reach me. My frantic gaze swept up and down the ravine; there were hundreds of them—Creepers as far as the eye could see.
The Blood that Binds (Thicker than Blood Book 3) Page 5