Infinity Chronicles Book Three

by Albany Walker

  Infinity Chronicles Book Three

  A Paranormal Reverse Harem Series

  Albany Walker

  Albany Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Albany Walker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art Designed By Maria Spada

  Editing Done By Elemental Editing & Proofreading

  Proofread By Briana Bressman

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  25. Chapter 25

  Also by Albany Walker

  About Albany Walker

  Chapter 1

  I shake my hands to dispel the static charge, which is making my fingers feel numb. I’ve been working on controlling my abilities for the past two weeks, two long ass weeks, and I’ve hardly made any progress.

  “Remind me why I need to do this every day, you guys barely even use your powers.” I’m hot, sweaty, and annoyed with myself. We do the same thing daily with the same results.

  “We’re doing this, so you don’t turn into a human sparkler at school, and so you can learn control,” Milo tells me. I take a deep breath. He doesn’t deserve my snark, I’m mostly mad at myself.

  “Why can’t I get the hang of it?” I’m more tired now than I was when I was going to school and working five days a week.

  “You’ll get it Laura, it takes time,” he promises. “Now, try closing your eyes and thinking about which ability you want to call forward.”

  I sigh but close my eyes anyway. “No more electricity, I feel like my insides are vibrating,” I address Milo, peeking at him with one eye slit open.

  “Do you want to try shifting?”

  My eyes snap open and I glare at him. “No, I don’t want to try shifting. Who knows if I can really shift, and what if I do and I can’t figure out how to get back? No.” This has been a sore topic with us ever since I realized the itching feeling I’ve had since I bonded with Dante is another ability trying to manifest.

  Milo lifts his palms in surrender. “Okay, not today. But you will have to do it soon.”

  “Not if I can help it,” I mutter under my breath, already closing my eyes again. I reach for the darkness I associate with Ares. I let the cool tendrils of inky smoke wrap around my center, taking a deep breath and sucking in my stomach as the power coils within me. Ares’s ability comes the easiest, since it never really leaves me. I think it’s because we’re already bonded. It feels almost natural to seek out the shadows dancing in the corners of the room, hidden in all the crevasses. Coaxing the shades from their resting spots, I call them to me. Even with my eyes closed, I can tell the light shining from the chandelier above is dimmer. I haven’t managed to shadow walk, but if I’m practicing with Ares or he’s near enough, I can astral project.

  After a few seconds of holding the darkness, I release it and my breath. I wipe away the new sweat beading on my upper lip and at my temples.

  “That was fantastic Laura, you called the shadows right to you,” Milo praises, sounding pleased. “I think you’re done for today.” He hands me an icy bottle of water. Before cracking the lid, I run the cold plastic over my forehead.

  “How did you draw the short straw? You worked with me yesterday.” I bump my shoulder into Milo. He’s solid as a rock, but I don’t mind. Milo is the most reserved of my guys, so any chance I get to touch him is okay with me.

  “I volunteered.” He looks down at me while we’re making our way down the hall from the downstairs gym.

  “You did?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” He stops before reaching the stairs and tilts his head at an angle.

  “Because even I don’t like myself when I have to train.” I know I can be a pouty brat.

  Milo rolls his eyes, but a smirk lifts his lips. “You’re not that bad.” I give him a side-eyed look, letting him know I think he’s full of shit.

  “I’m going to grab a shower,” I inform him once we make it to the top of the stairs.

  “Okay, I’ll let the guys know.” Milo stops near the entrance of the kitchen. I can hear Ollie and Dante, their voices mingling with the television.

  I almost just walk past him, but at the last minute I decide to lean up on my toes and give him a peck on the side of his jaw. “Thanks Milo.” I don’t stick around to see his reaction, instead I rush down the hall heading toward our room.

  In the solitude of the shower, I find myself thinking about how much has changed since I moved to Canton. In some ways, my life was so much simpler before I came here, when I was clueless about who and what I was. When I had no idea my mom’s crazy, paranoid behavior wasn’t anything more than her own brand of insanity.

  Finding out I wasn’t the normal girl I’d been living as my entire life—well, as normal as I could be with a reclusive mother who insisted that I be invisible—hasn’t exactly been easy. Finding out my mom really did have reasons to move us around every three months, and to hide us like she was on the most-wanted list, was even more of a shock.

  We’ve been running from the man who should have protected her my entire life. A man who decided he wanted my mother to himself and all the power that came with her. A man that might be dead.

  Being a Synergist to an Infinity is supposed to be a blessing. We are the catalyst that bolsters our pairs’ powers, and tempers their abilities when they become more than they can handle on their own.

  Synergist don’t develop powers of their own. Instead, we are made to act almost as a filter for our pairs’ abilities. Once we meet the men of our group, our power manifests. Typically, a Synergist will only have one ability, but I, however, have two—so far.

  Dante finding and introducing me to my three other pairs has been the only thing in these last few months that has kept me from losing my mind. Without them, I still wouldn’t even know what I was, nor would I have any chance of figuring out what happened to my mom. Despite my mom never telling me what I was, I have to wonder if she brought me here so I would be able to discover my destiny.

  “Hey Muenster, you almost done?” Ollie calls into the bathroom.

  I shut the water off, then reply, “All done.” Reaching past the shower stall I grab a fluffy black towel from the shelf, bringing up to my face first. The door is closed, but that doesn’t mean much around here. I’ve been walked in on, and walked in on someone, more than I care to say. I make quick work of drying my hair and wrapping the damp cloth around my body.

  “Dinner’s ready. Do you want me to wait for you?” Ollie’s voice is muffled through the door.

  “Yeah, just a second,” I holler, loud enough so he’ll hear me. “What are we having?” I slip my legs into a pair of buttery soft black leggings and snag the t-shirt I stole from Dante’s section of the closet, before slipping it over my head and pulling my hair free. “You can come in.”

  T
he door opens in the next second and Ollie leans against the frame, his arms folded over his chest. “Hey, what’s for dinner?” I repeat, thinking he didn’t hear me, or I didn’t hear his response.

  “Rosa and Gloria made a pasta dish, not really sure what it’s called.” I watch Ollie in the mirror as I drag the brush through my long hair. He looks relaxed, but I can see the swaths of darkness under his eyes, and the slump of his shoulders.

  “You okay?”

  A grin immediately lifts his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He shakes away my concern, leaving the doorframe and heading in my direction. “I’m good, how are you?” I track his movements in the mirror as he sets his chin on my shoulder.

  Spinning to face him, I search his eyes. “It shouldn’t always be about me Ollie. I worry about you guys too.”

  Looking back down at me, he grabs a chunk of my damp hair and examines it. “I know Laura,” his use of my real name shows me he’s taking me seriously, “but I’m fine, better than fine. I promise.” Before I can push him further, he leans in to steal a kiss. His lips are soft, pillowing over mine. Ollie is a tease when he kisses, always pulling away right when I think he’s going to deepen the kiss.

  I know he’s distracting me, but I don’t stop him. I lean into him, returning the affection. His palms slide up over my bare arms to cup my shoulders, heat trailing behind his touch. A shiver makes its way up my back, following the wake of the burn.

  I sigh, enjoying his warmth and kisses. He doesn’t push any further, doesn’t move his hands from my arms. He’s content with just kissing. Knowing he’d never press for more than I was ready to for puts me at ease. I place my hands on his chest, feeling the softness of his t-shirt under my palms, and his tight body beneath.

  Ollie has the physique of a swimmer, all long lines of sinewy muscle. He drags in a breath as I run my hands up and over his shoulders, pulling him closer. “Damn you feel good,” he confesses, nipping my bottom lip. I don’t say it out loud, but I feel the exact same way. Heat flows between us and any moisture on my skin evaporates, but the humidity in the room doubles, making it feel hard to breathe.

  Way too soon he pulls away, and his eyes are closed as he places his forehead against mine. Once he catches his breath, he wraps his hands around my back and draws me into his embrace. I tuck my head under his chin, rest my hands low around his back, and hold him just as tightly.

  “Hungry?” Ollie prompts when I let go.

  I shrug, since food is no longer high on my list. “I could eat.” I give him one final squeeze before stepping back. When I look up at him, there’s a flush to his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes have lessened. Guilt settles in my stomach. A few kisses and he looks ten times healthier, I need to manage my time between the guys better. I’ve been neglecting him. Probably Milo too.

  “Wanna play a game after we eat? We could try that new one. Milo likes that one, right?” I offer, thinking a few hours sitting between them while playing would be good for all of us.

  “Sure, lets go before someone comes looking for us.”

  The slamming of several textbooks closing pulls me from my thoughts. It’s Friday, and I only have one more class before I can get out of here for the weekend.

  While school isn’t as terrible as it used to be, it still sucks, just for different reasons now. I don’t have to wander the halls like a ghost, but the notoriety of being close with three of the most popular boys at school has its drawbacks.

  I think the closeness of our group has the school more confused than anything else. No one knows why I, of all people, was accepted by them so quickly. It doesn’t help that Ollie is hanging all over me half the time, and the other half I’m either staring at Dante like he hung the moon, or Milo like he’s my own superman.

  The halls are loud as everyone rushes to their final class of the day. Thanksgiving is next week, so we only have classes on Monday and Tuesday, I think everybody is already in vacation mode.

  Making my way to art, I feel a sense of excitement. Spending time with any of the guys alone is a rarity, and knowing I’ll have Dante all to myself for the next hour puts a skip in my step. Not that we’ll really be alone, but at least his parents won’t be there.

  It’s been a little bit of a struggle always having Rosa, William, and Mal around. Don’t get me wrong, I like them, and they’ve accepted me as if I was one of their own. But it’s been a huge change from only ever being with the guys to always having parents around, and it’s not just Ares and Dante’s parents, because Milo and Ollie’s families are stopping by all the time too.

  Their relationships with their parents are not the typical teenager and parent arrangement. With the males gaining their full abilities and identifiers at sixteen, it’s the equivalent of a norm turning eighteen. You’re considered an adult, ready to move out, start a life of your own.

  One bonus about Rosa reclaiming her house was that Mia was able to find the perfect house to rent within a day of their return. Coincidence, not likely.

  Setting my backpack on the floor I slide onto my stool, watching the door for Dante’s arrival. I know he’s coming before I see him. Ever since our bonding I have a keen sense of him, I get this tingle under my skin when he’s close.

  His eyes meet mine the moment he rounds the door, he doesn’t have to look for me, since he knows right where I am. A blush steals over my cheeks, I still get a little breathless knowing he’s mine.

  Dante’s deep brown hair is a little wild, like he used his hands to push it back all day. It’s gotten a little longer since I first met him, but it suits him. His amber eyes are focused on me and I almost squirm, all that attention can be overwhelming. I watch as his broad chest lifts while he drags in a deep breath, his eyes closing slowly as he does. His steps never falter as he continues over to me.

  His blink is slow when his eyes open again, and he bites his bottom lip, his straight white teeth a little sharper than what someone would consider normal. I know it’s part of him, part of his tiger, no one else would notice the small difference, but I do.

  Dante leans forward and pulls his stool out from under the desk we share, his forehead bumps against mine. To anyone else paying attention, it might look like an accident, like he just got a little too close, but I know it’s his way of greeting me.

  “Hi.” My voice is a little breathy, but I don’t even care.

  He pulls his seat a little closer to me so once he sits our arms are touching from elbow to wrist, and his big hand covers mine. The noise he makes, a low rumble, is his response.

  Mr. Adams calls for the class’s attention after the second bell rings. We’ve been working on clay for the past week. “If I haven’t given you a rough grade, I need to see your projects before you leave this afternoon. We only have two days next week if you are glazing or painting to get your final mark.”

  My sad excuse for a mug is lopsided, I can’t seem to get it smooth, but Mr. Adams gave me a B plus for effort, if nothing else. I still have to put the final coat of glaze on it and place it in the kiln, but I think I should get a B on the final too.

  Dante is working on a small lantern. He shaped the top like a pagoda with four holes on each side, and it’s large enough for a small candle to be placed inside. Apparently, his artistic ability extends beyond drawing.

  When Mr. Adams is done speaking, we all head to the connecting room to gather our projects, and it’s a tense time for most of the kids in the class. I don’t think a day has passed where someone’s clay hasn’t been damaged. Often, it’s because they didn’t cover it well enough, or because it dried out too fast. If it wasn’t for Dante helping me, mine would have been among the casualties.

  It’s hard to focus on my work when he’s beside me, but I force myself to pay attention to my mug. I’ve picked out a sage green glaze that looks milky when I paint it on. I can only hope it will turn green once I’ve fired it, right now it looks pretty bad.

  Dante has already done his final glaze firing, so his proj
ect is done. After a quick inspection he gathers his lantern and takes it up to the teacher’s desk. Mr. Adams picks it up and looks it over very closely. He traces his finger over the seam where two colors he’s painted on it meet, nodding his head in approval.

  Dante pushes his hands deep into his pockets and his shoulders round out a bit, making him look a little smaller, a little unsure. He looks more like the seventeen-year-old boy he actually is, more so than he usually does. It’s easy to forget how young he, Ollie, and Milo are.

  Making myself look away I continue painting my mug. It’s not long before Dante returns to our desk, his project still in the teacher’s hands. “Need any help?” he offers, glancing at my sad little mug.

  His question reminds me of the time Mr. Adams asked him to help me with my portrait. “Oh, so you’re willing to help me now?” I bump my shoulder into his playfully. I don’t need him to know how humiliated I felt that day.

  Dante’s eyes narrow slightly, like he’s thinking about them same thing. “I wanted to help back then too.”

  I pause my painting and look up at him. Dante’s face is close to mine and he looks sincere, maybe even a little sheepish. “It sure didn’t seem like you wanted to help me.” I force some lightness into my tone.

  Dante’s hand lands on mine when I begin painting again, stopping me. “I was afraid to get too close to you.” His voice is pitched low and he’s leaning over my shoulder. Anyone watching would assume he’s helping me. But what he’s really doing is frazzling my nerves.