Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  “Leggings!” Greg exclaimed. “What did you dress as, Robin? Damn, I should have been Batman.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny. Are your eyes closed?”

  “Yeah, they are. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

  Sam opened the door a bit more and peered out. Wassily stuck his nose through the crack and pushed his fat body out into the hall. The knob slipped from Sam’s hand, and the door flew open. Greg stood in the middle of the hall, eyes squeezed shut. He was wearing the same jeans and tight t-shirt he’d been wearing all day.

  “Hey!” Sam exclaimed. “Where is your costume?”

  A mischievous smile spread on his lips, but as he opened his eyes, his playful expression turned into one of shock.

  “Wow,” he said in a low exhale. His clear blue eyes scanned the length of her body, stopping at all the right places.

  A feverish blush sent her cheeks into unheard-of heat levels.

  “You look . . . beautiful and . . .” Greg shook his head as he searched for another word, “ . . . and hot.”

  “Thank you,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, then gathering her indignation at the fact that she was decked out in a sexy-little-devil costume, while Greg was wearing plain clothes. “Where is your costume?” she demanded again in a clipped tone.

  “I’m wearing it,” he said, reaching a hand toward her head. “Nice horns,” he added and wiggled her diadem.

  She slapped his hand away. “Answer my question, Greg.”

  “Are you wearing a tail?” he asked suggestively, as he tried to look behind her.

  Sam crossed her arms and scowled.

  “Chill out,” Greg said, putting his hands up, “I’m wearing my costume.” He pointed at several candy wrapper attached to his jeans, which she hadn’t noticed before.

  “What kind of lame costume is that?”

  “I’m a Smartie Pants. Get it?”

  Sam rolled her eyes. “Oh, how clever. Smarties’ candy wrappers and clothes pins is your idea of a costume?” She tried to hold a straight face but couldn’t help the snicker that ensued.

  “I knew you would like it.” He pulled her in for a hug.

  “You have a real costume, right?” she asked, sure he wouldn’t, couldn’t, do this to her.

  “Of course I do.” He let go of her and kissed the top of her forehead. “It’s in the car. The mask is stifling, so I took it off.”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and walked her down the hall. Rose was curled up on the sofa, wearing a blue Snuggie and reading a novel.

  “Look at you!” Rose exclaimed. “That’s a bit . . . sexy, don’t you think? Don’t let James see you like that, or there’ll be no trick-or-treating for you tonight.”

  “I guess we’d better leave before he gets back then.” Greg walked toward the door.

  “Don’t stay out too late,” Rose said, going back to her book.

  After they got in the car, Sam looked in the back seat to make sure he indeed had a costume with him.

  “Just a mask?” She sighed. “It’s hideous. What is it supposed to be?”

  “Zombie guy, I guess,” Greg said as he cranked up the engine.

  “Very creative.”

  He winked and drove them to Brooke’s famous Halloween bash. Every year, her parents went all out with decorations and let their only child put on the wildest party of the year. The first time Sam was invited ten years ago, she’d gone as Raggedy Ann. It was a wonder how she’d now progressed to sexy devil. What had she been thinking when she let Brooke talk her into these red leggings and doll-sized satin dress?

  “Oh, crap. Looks like we’re the first ones here.” Greg parked on the empty street.

  “I knew we’d be early, but I didn’t want us to be first.”

  He cleared his throat. “We don’t have to be.” He snaked his muscular arms around her waist and pulled her closer. “There’s plenty we can do in here to pass the time.” He kissed her cheek lightly.

  “Is there?”

  “Mm-hmm,” he mumbled as his lips inched closer to hers.

  “Sounds very entertaining.” Sam turned her face. Her lips met his, and her heart started racing as it always did.

  Greg’s arms tightened around her as the kiss grew deeper and deeper. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt like she could die in his arms. His insistent mouth left her and traveled to her cheekbone and from there to her earlobe.

  “Greg,” she said, his name a hot breath from her lips.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Forget the party. Let’s go to my place.” He continued to kiss her, getting more daring by the second.

  “Brooke will get mad if we skip.”

  It felt overdue for their relationship to move to the next level. Greg had never said this much, but Sam could tell by how quickly his kisses moved from calm to hungry and desperate. Not that resisting the temptation was easy for her, but she was still struggling with unwanted baggage.

  “You can ask for forgiveness later,” he said, letting one of his hands drop to her knee.

  Sam’s heart stopped, then started beating a crazy rhythm that seemed to boom inside her head. His touch was exhilarating and distressing at the same time.

  Placing his other hand on the back of her neck, Greg pulled her in for another intense kiss. His lips were warm and fit hers perfectly. His hand moved from her neck to caress her earlobe, sending a wicked chill down her spine and a pounding hammer into her chest. At the same time, heated fingers ventured up her leg to heights he had never dared explore. She gave a little, involuntary sigh.

  Greg’s lips slid down her neck, igniting her skin. Conflicting emotions played inside her. She had told him no so many times, even as the word yes hung from her lips.

  After Sam had watched Danata rip apart her vinculum with Ashby, then watched Ashby die as a result, the feeling that she was somehow incomplete had hounded her day in and day out. She had been joined, fated, to two boys: Ashby, her Companion, and Greg, her Keeper. The abrupt separation from one of them had left her body and some deep part of her soul aching with a dull quality as if the emptiness would never go away. At first, surviving was a one-day-at-a-time ordeal, and happiness had seemed impossible. With time, the ache subsided and the sensation that something was missing diminished. Still, a certain reticence and guilt lingered, as well as her constant pondering and angst over her severed, dangling vinculum.

  But her feelings for Greg were strong, and that didn’t help. She wanted to be honest with him, and she felt it would be duplicitous to move forward when these worries lingered. Then there was the guilt. Her other half had been ripped away from her, and the idea that she could have done something to prevent what happened to her Companion cast a shadow over her relationship with Greg.

  Sometimes, it seemed like this indecision would drive her mad. Only Greg’s patience and support kept her this side of sane, which made her feel like she was taking advantage of him, and piled the guilt on like heavy layers of icing on a ready-to-collapse cake.

  She had improved, though. At first, Greg hadn’t even been able to kiss her without triggering a near-nervous breakdown. Recently, however, she’d been able to control herself, delaying the refusal long enough to almost get to second base. Still, he deserved so much more than this, even if all he ever asked for was to be allowed to stay by her side.

  “That outfit is driving me crazy,” Greg said in a breathy whisper against her lips.

  Let’s go, she wanted to say. Let’s go to your place and . . .

  She nearly spoke the words out loud. Instead, what came out of her mouth was a resounding, “No.”. The refusal erupted from her lips of its own accord, accompanied by a pair of hands pushing him away.

  In the dark, she didn’t see his expression. She peered at him, desperately trying to see his reaction. Already she knew there would be hurt in his blue eyes and a small crease between his eyebrows. She had seen the disappointment in his features a few times in the past two months. But had she gone
too far this time? Would this be the time he got fed up with her split personality?

  Frustration roiled in a sour mess inside her stomach. When would this reluctance go away for good? Would these lingering instincts ever stop going against her heart’s desires? She wanted to be with Greg. From the beginning, he’d been the one her heart chose, and yet her Morphid side still resisted.

  “Greg?” she said, trying to find his hand. “I’m sorry. I . . .” Sam touched his hand, but Greg pulled away.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, though his tone suggested she should worry. And plenty.

  A set of bright headlights broke through the darkness as someone parked in front of them. Sam caught a glimpse of Greg’s expression just as it changed into a nonchalant mask.

  “Well, we don’t have to be first anymore.” He smiled cooly, but Sam didn’t buy it, not after seeing his wounded expression just a second ago.

  “I don’t mean to be like this—” Sam tried to explain.

  “I know,” he cut her off.

  “Please, Greg. I just—”

  A loud tap on his window made her jump.

  “Get a room, you love birds,” Brandon Ellis said, then laughed.

  God, talk about nail-on-the-head comments.

  “I tried,” Greg mumbled, as he opened the door and stepped outside.

  “Yo, dude, what’up?” Brandon performed their inane, complicated basketball handshake.

  “Sweet,” Greg said, pointing to his friend’s Dracula ensemble.

  Sam seethed in her seat and worried at the hole that had already appeared on her leggings. Their male antics had never seemed stupider than at this instant.

  Brandon poked his head through the open driver side door. “Let me see you, girl.”

  She sighed, trying to rein in her emotions, forcing herself to see the situation with logic, since her heart and instincts were useless. It didn’t help.

  I make no freakin’ sense.

  As she exited the car, Greg retrieved his mask from the back seat, and Brandon came around.

  He wolf-whistled and said, “Holy cow, you look like a damn supermodel.”

  Greg walked up, twirling the mask in his index finger.

  “Sorry, bro, but she’s hot,” Brandon said. “Seriously, she could, like, be on the cover of a magazine or something.”

  Greg seemed unimpressed, indifferent actually.

  “Cut it out, Brandon.” Sam wished he’d shut his big mouth.

  “Remind me not to ever give you a compliment,” he said.

  More cars arrived and, quickly, their occupants filled the street with loud cries of excitement as they moved en masse toward Brooke’s front door.

  “Let’s party,” Brandon said, whirling so that his black cape billowed in a wide circle.

  Greg wasted no time and followed in his friend’s steps.

  Sam reached out and grabbed him by the crook of his elbow. “Wait, we should talk.”

  He turned and slipped on his mask. “Don’t worry.” His expression as he said this was, once more, lost on Sam. “You don’t need to explain anything. I get it. I understand.”

  True, he had dealt with something similar when he realized that, as a Keeper, his feelings for her were completely inappropriate. He’d fought his attraction and lost. He even tried to stay away, but his protective instincts brought him back to her. Still, even with all of that, he truly couldn’t get it. It wasn’t the same. She had been severed from Ashby and watched him die horribly, right in front of her eyes.

  “You keep saying that, Greg, but I don’t think you can possibly understand.” She knew her words sounded harsh, but she’d wanted to say them for a while. She looked up expectantly, wanting to rip that absurd zombie mask off his face.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t.” His tone was cool, unaffected, and Sam thought there was no way it could reflect the way he really felt about this situation.

  “Take that stupid mask off.”

  After a few long seconds, he pulled it off and let it fall to the ground. “So much for being in costume,” he said, surprising Sam with the impassiveness of his features.

  “So I take it you don’t wanna talk?”

  “No. I’m tired of talking,”

  “You’re being unfair. You can’t pressure me into—”

  He let out a dry chuckle. “Pressure you? Maybe if we were human this would be about me trying to pressure you. I wish it was that simple. Nah, my problems are bigger than that.” With that he walked away and headed to what was already starting to sound like a rowdy party.

  Sam stood on the lawn listening to the loud music and excited whoops of her classmates. Past memories and emotions of what it had felt to be human assaulted her. At the time, it had all seemed so complicated, but now she couldn’t think of a simpler existence.

  The discarded zombie mask ogled her from the ground, its bloody grin mocking her. She picked it up.

  Smartie pants zombie, she thought with a sad smile.

  She unfocused her eyes and looked up. She did her best to ignore the severed link and zeroed in on the one that connected her to Greg. It floated above her, glowing brightly, and disappeared somewhere above Brooke’s house. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes, as she wondered where Greg would be right now if he wasn’t tethered to her.

  Probably ten thousand miles away.

  If only she could figure out how to break through this barrier that stood between them.

  Chapter 4 - Veridan

  With each step, the soles of patent leather shoes against stone floors announced Veridan’s presence. He squinted against the sunlight that shafted downward from small, round windows high on the walls.

  He passed Xasdia, who stood atop a small ladder, running a dusting wand over a large tapestry. The girl gave him a quick, dirty look before doing an awkward curtsy.

  Veridan ignored her. She was nothing but a servant girl, who thought herself more because she slept with that stupid young apprentice, Perry Hambleton. Once more, Veridan made a mental note to have her fired. She was so inconsequential, he kept forgetting. Too bad the girl was a Singular, else he would have had Danata take care of her. The more, the merrier.

  After traveling through several corridors and encountering a few servants who actually knew their place, he stopped in front of the large wooden door leading to Ashby’s bedroom. He rapped three times, then, knowing he was expected, entered without further preamble.

  Regent Danata stood by the window, looking out onto the south gardens, her angular nose made more prominent by a trick of the light. He went to stand by her side. They watched the topiary below in silence.

  The early afternoon sun hid behind a thick blanket of gray clouds, marking the last day of Danata’s disregard for her duties. What he held in his amulet would set things right and would make the Regent turn back into her old self.

  She needed to refocus on the important issues, if she was to remain in control. The Regency was slipping away, but she was so caught up in this uncharacteristic bout of motherly affection that she barely seemed to notice. Veridan hoped that what he’d brought to her today would set her straight. He couldn’t have her rights to the Regency challenged. She was too important.

  “I believe the incantation is ready,” he finally announced.

  For the last two months, while he’d searched the inner reaches of the nebula, he’d lied to the Regent, saying a spell was needed in order to accomplish this. She need not be aware of the exact details. That she was the source of his ever-growing power was something only he needed to know.

  Danata’s breathing halted, then resumed with an ill-concealed sigh of relief.

  “If it is so, Veridan, then I am in your debt.”

  He nodded, eyes fixed on the perfectly round shape of one of the shrubs below.

  Danata turned with determination. Her long hair was loose and hung down her back in wavy locks. Her skirt rustled as she moved with the same grace that had once captured Mateo’s attention,
as well as his own. Veridan shook his head, displeased at the way these memories of his old friend kept resurfacing. He pushed them away.

  The Regent moved toward the large four-poster bed that dominated the room. A shape lay under heavy covers, looking small and wasted. Danata’s grieved expression still looked out of place on her face. Veridan would have never thought it possible, not after all he had seen her do this past fifteen years.

  On the bed, the boy looked gaunt and sallow-faced.

  “Will it work?” Danata asked. “Or will he be like that fool, Bernard? Will he be a Void?”

  Her tone as she pronounced her brother-in-law’s name held even more contempt than usual. Not only that, it also held a healthy dose of fear, which was rather well-placed. Bernard’s miraculous recovery two months ago had been a terrible, terrible setback. He had been reconnected to his Companion, Roanna, and had found her shortly thereafter, tracing her to Modena House, a forsaken human asylum the mentally infirm.

  If only Danata had killed him, instead of letting him roam the castle babbling stupidities and sowing turnips. With a severed link, he had been but an empty husk that got in everyone’s way. The ripping process always made essenceless creatures out of those strong enough to survive the shock of separation. They became Voids, simpletons who deserved the mercy of a swift knife to the heart. But Danata had deemed his death unnecessary, and now, due to her misplaced sensibilities, her Regency was in danger, and Veridan’s quest for more power in need of expediency. All thanks to that girl and her Keeper.

  “No,” Veridan answered. “He should be just fine. I expect him to make a full recovery. I have . . . my means.”

  “Heal him, then.” Her violet eyes grew hazy as she regarded the figure on the bed.

  He hadn’t expected her weakness for the boy. Maybe she was also struggling with past memories of Mateo. Odd how after all these years, they each seemed to be developing a conscience.

  “Heal him!” she repeated. “Give me back my son, so I can return my full attention to Bernard and Roanna.”

  “As you should.”

  Veridan sat on the bed, more than ready to put an end to her nonsense, not to mention his own daily chores of administering nourishing spells to keep the boy from wasting away.