Reckless Times: A Paranormal Romance (Paragon Society Book 1)

by Michelle Hercules

  3

  Andromeda

  “Ouch! What are you doing?” I complain when Fatima, my governess, pulls my hair back too tightly.

  “I’m trying to get rid of all these tangles. It wouldn’t hurt as much if you brushed your hair once in a while.”

  “Ugh. This is torture. Why can’t you just let my hair be?”

  “Because your parents are hosting a party for their closest friends, and it won’t do if their only daughter shows up with a bird’s nest for a hairdo.”

  “Who cares what I look like anyway? All everyone can see is my blindness.” I cross my arms.

  “That’s not true. You’re beautiful, Andy. You should see the effect you have on the opposite sex.”

  “I should see that. Great idea,” I reply mockingly.

  Fatima freezes for a second, and her breathing changes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it literally.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it.” I pull my knees up and hug them, dipping my chin. “It doesn’t matter if guys notice me. I don’t need their attention to boost my self-esteem. I know who I am.”

  The overprotected, secluded daughter of a Hawk City magnate. Yippee-ki-yay. There’s gotta be more to life than this gilded cage.

  It takes five minutes to comb my hair free of knots, then another half hour to finish whatever hairstyle Fatima picked. The only thing I know about my hair now is that it’s long and, if Fatima didn’t lie to me, currently dyed lavender, like I asked. My memories of my appearance are foggy at best. I remember white-blonde straight hair and light gray eyes. My vision went completely dark when I was four years old. It’s a genetic mutation, the doctors said. So rare among Idols that, most likely, I’m the only one cursed with it.

  “It’s done,” Fatima declares. “You look like a princess.”

  “Yay! My goal in life. Mark that off my bucket list.”

  “Ha-ha. You complain now, but when the young bachelors start to fight over you tonight, you’ll thank me.”

  I press my hand over my chest. “Oh my stars. How did you know that was what I was hoping for all along?”

  “Of course, you’ll have to keep your sarcastic comments to a minimum if you don’t want to scare them off.”

  I roll my eyes. Once Fatima puts something in her head, no one can distract her from her goals, not even my caustic comments. She has selective hearing.

  “Oh no, we don’t want to do that.”

  “Now comes the best part. The dress!” she squeaks.

  “It’d better not make me feel like a sausage.”

  “Sheesh, of course not.”

  I take off my T-shirt and sweatpants, and then she helps me get into the dress. She totally lied. The bodice is so tight, I can barely breathe.

  “What nightmare is this?” I run my hands over the tight fabric, feeling every steel bone in the structure of the corset.

  “It’s the latest fashion.”

  “Fashion? You call this fashion? It’s torture!”

  “Oh, you’re always so dramatic. Now, let’s get going. The guests should be arriving already.”

  She waits for me to put on my flat slippers—I should be thankful she doesn’t make me wear heels on top of the haute couture dress—and ushers me out the door.

  My chains are wrapped tightly around my wrists but hidden to all. Through them, I can grasp my surroundings and the people around me. It’s almost like they’re the negative of a photograph. It’s amusing to sense them react when I don’t trip over anything, walking with confidence as if my eyes weren’t useless.

  I smile, despite my displeasure at attending the party. My parents’ events are always a bore, filled with their phony and snobby friends. I hate how everyone always talk about me as if I’m not in the room. I’m blind, not invisible.

  “You’re grinning. Perhaps the reason is a certain young man who will be attending tonight’s festivities?” Fatima asks, hopeful.

  I snort, knowing exactly who she’s referring to. “Please.”

  “Patrick O’Neill comes from a good family. I’m sure your parents would be thrilled if you two were to become an item.”

  “Stop, Fatima. You’ll make me barf in my mouth.”

  “Manners, child.”

  “Whatever. I’m not going to become an item with anyone just to please my parents.”

  Especially not someone like Patrick O’Neill. I was forced to interact with the guy on a few occasions while growing up, and I wasn’t impressed. He puts the “ass” in “asshole.”

  “Besides, I’m a big girl. I don’t need a man to feel complete.” I curl my hands into fists, feeling the power of my chains concentrate around my wrists.

  “Fine. A woman, then,” Fatima continues.

  “Ugh! Not a man or a woman. Stop trying to play cupid with me,” I say through clenched teeth. I usually don’t bother keeping my voice down, but this conversation is too humiliating. I don’t want anyone to eavesdrop.

  The atmosphere changes completely when we arrive at the ballroom in my parents’ mansion. The variety of sounds multiplies, which means more than half of the guests have arrived. I pick the different noises apart one by one, an automatic action. There’s the band on the stage, playing a mellow song meant to fade into the background. Several high-top tables are spread throughout the room where clusters of four to five people chat politely.

  I strain my ears to pinpoint my parents in the grand ballroom so I can veer in the opposite direction. But when I finally hear their voices, it’s too late to escape. They’re next to me.

  “Ah, there you are, Andy,” Dad says. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Why? I just got here. Whatever disaster happened, it wasn’t me.”

  My father laughs, a fake reaction to hide his discomfort from the guest standing next to him. With one intake of breath, I know who he is.

  “Andy hasn’t changed much since we were kids, has she?” Patrick replies, already grating on my nerves.

  “Andy is standing right here,” I reply.

  “Yes you are. And what a vision.” His voice becomes uber seductive, making the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Is he flirting with me, and in front of my father to boot? Gross.

  “Well, if you don’t mind that unique hair color,” my mother retorts.

  I smirk. So Fatima didn’t lie to me after all. She did dye my hair the color I wanted.

  “I like the hair. It suits her,” Patrick replies.

  “Andy, why don’t you entertain Patrick while your mother and I do our rounds?”

  Of course, he doesn’t wait for my reply, and Fatima already made herself scarce, which means I’m at the mercy of Patrick and his bogus attempt to be nice.

  “So, Andy, what have you been up to?” Patrick asks.

  “Besides terrorizing my folks, not much.”

  “You don’t go to school?”

  “I’m homeschooled.” A fact that you very much know, asshat.

  “Pity. I suppose you don’t go out much, do you?”

  “Nope. My parents think I’m a china doll. If they could, they would lock me up in my room for all eternity.”

  “That’s not right. Maybe I can take you out sometime. We could go see a movie.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. Here we go again.

  Someone snorts nearby, earning my attention. I whirl around and let my chains loose a bit to investigate. A sharp citric cologne fills my nose, almost too strong but, weirdly, also heady. It gives me goose bumps—the good kind.

  “What’s so funny, Silverstone?” Patrick asks, annoyed.

  “Nothing,” a male voice replies. “I’m just amused at your inability to hold a conversation with someone without offending.”

  “How did I offend Andy?”

  “Hmm, if you don’t know, then I’m not going to point it out.”

  Silverstone. I’ve heard Dad mention someone with that last name, but it was business talk and didn’t really hold my interest. But this gu
y sounds young, early twenties is my guess, so he can’t be the one my father was referring to. Maybe it’s his son?

  “Who are you?” I ask bluntly.

  “My apologies. It was rude of me to butt into your conversation. I’m Stephan Silverstone.”

  Good grief, his voice is like whiskey poured over ice, and he’s not even trying to sound seductive. Of its own accord, my heart begins to beat faster, putting me in a foul mood. I don’t like one bit the way my body is reacting to this stranger.

  “Yes, it was definitely rude to interrupt. And Patrick didn’t offend me at all. I can go see a movie.”

  “Of course you can. I’ll leave you two alone since it’s clear my presence is displeasing you.”

  I sense Stephan’s retreat, but he’s still within earshot when Patrick calls him a douchecanoe. Now I’m annoyed at my escort. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Stephan. Patrick is not a prize.

  But for whatever reason, he’s stuck to me like an old chewing gum glued to the sole of my shoe. No amount of obnoxious comments on my part scared him away. Why is he suddenly making an effort to get on my good side?

  When I discover that we’re seated next to each other during dinner, I know my parents are also involved in the conspiracy. Fatima’s words come back to haunt me. She wasn’t trying to play cupid; she was giving me a hint.

  Shit on fucking toast.

  My parents are trying to set me up with Patrick. It would be extremely beneficial if the Belfors and O’Neills merged their businesses. And there’s nothing better to seal a deal than a union through marriage.

  I can’t believe this. I just turned eighteen!

  Patrick asks me a question, but I’m too wrapped up in my fury to hear what he said. My chains rattle around me, still invisible to all but not silent.

  “Did you hear that?” he asks.

  I push my chair back, making it screech, and get up. “Excuse me, I have to use the ladies’ room.”

  “I’ll escort—”

  “I can make it on my own!” I snap.

  He’s lucky that’s all I do.

  4

  Andromeda

  Someone is following me. Whoever it is, they’re making sure to stay far away enough that I can’t pick up their scent. I know it’s not Patrick; he’s not intelligent enough to be that careful.

  I turn a corner and hide behind a potted plant. Sure as shit, the person enters the same corridor as I did.

  Son of a bitch. It’s Stephan Silverstone. Why is he following me?

  Only one way to find out.

  I wait until he’s closer to send one of my chains forward, keeping it invisible. The spear pierces the opposite wall, and the chain becomes a tightrope at ankle level. This little trick takes no more than a couple of seconds, not giving Stephan enough time to investigate the noise. He trips over, but instead of hearing the sound of him hitting the floor, all I get is a groan from him.

  “What the—” I jump from my hiding spot.

  “Nice try, Andy.”

  Whirling around, I try to find him. I can smell his heady cologne, but I can’t pinpoint his exact location. It’s like he evaporated.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m right here,” he whispers in my ear.

  Faster than lightning, I strike, but my knuckles collide with nothing but air.

  “How are you doing this?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He chuckles.

  “Why are you invisible to me?”

  I finally hear the sound of his feet landing softly on the marble floor. Before he disappears again, I throw my chains in his direction, not bothering to keep them concealed now. My core warms up, infusing me with energy. Stephan doesn’t try to move out of the way, and my chains wrap around him completely. Their glow covers him from head to toe, allowing me to see more of him than before. He’s tall, a little over six feet, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. The details of his face are murky, but I can make out the upturn of his lips.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “You can sense my amusement?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  “And these chains?” He drops his chin for a moment, and the brightness of my weapon intensifies, letting me see his face more clearly.

  I gasp. This has never happened before.

  “What about them?” I try to hide my surprise.

  “Do you make it a habit of attacking your father’s guests?”

  “You were following me.”

  “Was I? How do you know?”

  “Weren’t you?”

  I retract my chains, not because I regret attacking him but because I’m freaked out. Of all the people to get a proper glimpse, Stephan was most definitely the worst choice. I liked what I saw, which is a problem. He’s a feast for at least three out of the five senses: toe-curling voice, intoxicating scent, and panty-dropping face. I’m betting that he tastes like he sounds, and that his touch is incendiary.

  Whoa. Where the hell did those thoughts come from?

  “Actually, you caught me. I was following you.”

  It takes a moment for my lust-infused brain to process his words. “Why?”

  “Because you looked distressed, and I wanted to see if you were okay.”

  He sounds sincere, but his words raise alarm bells in my head. In an instant, thoughts of tasting and touching him vanish. My entire life, every time someone tried to get closer to me or become my friend, has been because they were after something. It was never about me. I was always the means to an end.

  “How kind of you.” My voice drips sarcasm. “Please don’t tell me you’re also one of the contenders for my hand.”

  “Uh, what?”

  Damn it. His surprise is genuine. I can tell by the slight pitch in his tone. Heat rushes to my cheeks. What if I jumped the gun and Stephan knows nothing about my parents’ scheme to find me a husband?

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “So, you’re good?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. You can return to your dinner. I’m sure your date misses you.”

  He snickers. “Thanks for assuming I have a date. See you later, Andy.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? Is he implying he can’t get a date? Or did his comment have something to do with my inability to see? Shit. Why am I obsessing about his words now? I sound like a typical teenage girl suffering from a crush.

  I continue toward the ladies’ room, which was not my original destination, but it’s now a necessity. My face is still on fire thanks to my exchange with Stephan. I splash cold water on my cheeks as I attempt to forget what he looks like and the effect he had on me.

  Not in the mood to return to the ballroom yet, I take a detour through the gardens. The beautifully manicured landscape is designed in a maze-like layout, which would make them forbidden territory for me if it weren’t for my chains. No one expects to find me there, so the gardens are my go-to stop when I want to be left alone.

  It’s the beginning of August, so even at night, the heat is intense. That’s Hawk City for you. The evening gown Fatima selected is sleeveless, but thanks to its tight bodice, sweat begins to pool between my breasts. Yuck.

  Two minutes into my stroll, I hear male voices coming from ahead and recognize one immediately. It’s Patrick. The other two guys I can’t place, but by the tone of their conversation, I can guess they’re friends.

  “How fast does the new Ferrari go?” one of the guys asks.

  “Two hundred and twenty miles an hour. I got here in like two minutes. It’s the sweetest ride I’ve ever had.”

  “Sweeter than Lola Gutierrez?” the other friend asks.

  “Bitch, please. No pussy can compare to a Ferrari.”

  I roll my eyes. Boys and their toys. I bet his dick is the size of my baby finger.

  “Now, give it up, Patrick. What are you doing sniffing around that blind chick? She’s not even hot.”

  My spine goes rigid in an instant.

  “And she’s
a bitch,” the other friend adds.

  Patrick lets out a heavy sigh, but I pick up the fakeness in it. “You know the drill in my family. Sacrifices have to be made for the good of the business. My father wants a merger with Belfor Industries, and the quickest way to achieve that is through marriage.”

  “Better you than me, buddy.”

  “Well, at least she’s blind. You can probably bring hookers to the house and fuck them in broad daylight and the freak won’t even notice.”

  I curl my hands into fists as I try my best to control my rage. I don’t give a fuck if they find me ugly, but calling me stupid is another matter.

  “True that.” Patrick laughs.

  “But aren’t you worried your kids will be blind too?”

  “If they’re defective, they won’t live long enough to embarrass me.”

  My chains rattle around me loudly, a display of my fury. Keeping them from showing is an effort.

  “What’s that noise?” one of the assholes asks.

  “I don’t know. I heard it earlier in the ballroom too,” Patrick replies.

  “Let’s get back inside. This place is giving me the creeps,” his friend says.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of ghosts, Rocky.” Patrick and the other douche chuckle.

  “Fuck off. I’m not afraid of anything.”

  Their steps retreat, but not my anger. I’m fuming and could literally raze this garden to the ground. But once I can’t hear their hateful voices anymore, I have a better idea where to direct my rage. With large steps, I veer toward the street where the guests’ cars are parked.

  I don’t sense anyone around, so I search for Patrick’s beloved Ferrari without fear of being spotted. Finding the sports car through its shape only would have been impossible since I don’t know what it looks like, so I let my nose guide me until I pick up Patrick’s scent.

  My lips curl into a wicked smile. “There you are.”

  With a grand gesture of my arms, I let my chains loose, and then all I hear is the supreme sound of destruction.