Lightning Strikes: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Storm Book 1)

by Ripley Proserpina

  Dad jumped back right before sick splattered onto the floor.

  Dr. Karlton wasn’t so lucky. For a doctor who dealt in pain, he wasn’t real comfortable with sickness. His face paled, and I laughed, wishing I could bring my hand to my mouth.

  “You’re right about her, Gil.” Dr. Karlton took a deep breath through his mouth. “This is going to take a while.”

  “I can’t help feeling a little proud of you, Whitney.” Dad raked his fingers through his hair. “Though you frustrate me to the point of distraction.”

  I laughed again. What else was I going to do? Tears ran down my face, and into my mouth.

  Then Dr. Karlton grasped my hand with his and squeezed.

  13

  Dante

  I woke up and knew I had to vomit. This was highly unusual considering how long it had been since I had eaten anything at all. Maybe a decade? I rolled over, grabbed the closest bin, and I puked into it. Or retched, since there really wasn’t anything in there for me to unload. I really hoped that wasn’t the case. Not that it mattered. But no, my insides stayed where they were.

  The feeling stopped, and I pulled myself back. That was when reality dawned on me. My heart beat. My lungs breathed. I… worked. I covered my mouth as I cried out, and suddenly John was by my side. His eyes were huge.

  “You, too? You feel it. Heartbeats. Air. The pain.”

  I nodded fast. The others were still out cold. “What is happening?”

  “Whitney. I traveled to her. I can’t explain it. I was with her. They’re hurting her. It’s like I can feel it myself. How is this happening?”

  I didn’t know. The only time I’d had a connection to another being was when I was Controlled. And I didn’t remember anything from that time, which was probably a blessing, if I believed in such things. I would have been mentally joined, somehow, to the leader of the Controlled. The sick son of a bitch, who through some trick of fate, directed the hordes. He said where they went, what they did.

  But whatever link he’d had to me was long gone.

  Still, that wasn’t the most pressing thing right then. I looked around. All my friends miraculously breathed, but I couldn’t get my mind off of what John said. “They’re hurting her? And you saw it?”

  As though asking the question propelled me forward, I suddenly stared down at Whitlee. She’d always be that to me. I just knew it. They shook her, hard, and from the way her hand swelled I’d say they’d broken it in several places and maybe her wrist, too. My own hand jolted in pain, but I ignored it. So we were feeling what she did. Why?

  How?

  And what the hell was I going to do about these assholes putting their hands on her?

  “Tell us what you know. Where are the awake still Infected?” The man shook her again. She moaned, but didn’t answer.

  I wanted to strike the fellow but my hand passed right through him. Dammit!

  “Whitlee.”

  Her eyes flew open. She reached out with her good hand. “I don’t understand this.”

  I drew her to me, but it was going to be temporary. Whatever this was, it was going to be short. This kind of sustained mental connection couldn’t last, not like this.

  “I sent you back here to get help, but they’re hurting you.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. “I won’t tell them anything about any of you.”

  My long-dead heart ached for her. “Whitlee. You don’t know anything. Whoever is doing this has no other goal but to hurt you.”

  Her blue eyes filled with tears, and I saw the idea had never occurred to her. She assumed she was being hurt because she knew something important.

  The truth was she’d never find her way back to Zero. And she had no idea how many of us there were or why we were Uncontrolled. Hell. I didn’t know why we were Uncontrolled and I’d been this way almost as long as Isaiah.

  Whitlee glanced over her shoulder at her prone body and the men who spoke in low voices. “Dante,” she whispered and turned back to me. “That’s my dad.”

  I was suddenly back in my workshop, my hand throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

  “Fuck!” I yelled. Storming to one of the closets, I searched for the tools I’d need. Bulletproof vest, knife, pistol. Did I even have bullets? I rummaged through the bottom—yes. Bullets.

  “What is going on?” Brandon looked sick. It stopped me in my tracks. His skin had a sheen of sweat, and he cradled his hand close to his body even though, like my own throbbing appendage, it was uninjured.

  “Whitlee’s father is hurting her. I don’t know why. I don’t care why. I’m getting her out.”

  “I’m coming, too.” Brandon went to the same closet I’d left and came out with a hunting knife. “This was all there was left.” He pulled it from its sheath and studied it. “I think I know how to…” His face shuttered, eyes going blank, and he collapsed to the ground.

  “What fucking witchcraft bullshit is this?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “But I think Whitney is calling to us.”

  14

  Whitney

  I was alone now. Dante had disappeared as soon as I’d told him about my father. Maybe it was too much and he couldn’t handle it. The look in his dark eyes when I told him who’d hurt me… He’d been enraged.

  I walked a little closer to my body. Was I dead? Was that why I was alone now?

  But no, my chest rose and fell with jerky, shuddering movements, and I blinked as my father yelled at me. It was like his voice was a radio, coming in and out of range.

  “How long has Brandon been in control? Who else was there? How many were there?”

  His face got redder and redder, but I didn’t answer. Of course, I didn’t. I was here, watching the whole thing.

  “Whitney!”

  I spun and was caught up in familiar arms. “Brandon.” He’d come for me. He and his friends, for whatever reason, came to me in what I now knew had to be my last moments on earth. “Thank you for being here.”

  Brandon’s eyes turned a deep blue, and he looked so sad. I placed my hand on his cheek, grateful I could feel. “It’s okay.” Something trickled into my face, and I removed my hand from his skin to wipe at my face. My palm was stained red with blood.

  My gaze darted from my palm to my prone body. Dr. Karlton had sliced open a cut on my forehead. Or maybe he’d just undone what Dante had when the man had fixed it the day before. I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. The blood welled from the cut, into my hair and down to my ear.

  Brandon gasped. The sound startled me, and I stopped staring at myself to examine him.

  He had a similar injury on his forehead, and it now dripped down his temple and along his cheek.

  “He’s hurting you, too.” Dante had cradled his hand close to his chest. He had done that because my hand was hurt. I didn’t know how, but each time my father and Dr. Karlton hurt me, it somehow transferred to Brandon and his friends.

  His friends? I was lying to myself. They were in my life now, too. My friends.

  “Brandon, I think they’re going to kill me.”

  He approached me slowly. “No, they’re not. And someday I’m going to kill your father. I’m telling you right now. I’m putting it out there so you know.”

  In that moment, I didn’t care. “Kill him right now if you want.”

  “If only I could.” He walked closer to me, taking my good hand in his. He squeezed. “Listen, tell them something. They’re torturing you to break you. But your father has said this is to get info. Get it. Pause them in this long enough to give you a break. Then we can figure out what to do.”

  I sniffed. “What should I tell them?”

  “I don’t know how long we have so word for word, repeat after me.”

  15

  Brandon

  I’d been in love with this woman almost all of my life. And if I wasn’t careful, I was going to watch her die. Her father was a sick bastard. The worst there ever was. He wouldn’t make this stop. Murd
er was power, and he might be lost in the joy of holding her life in his hand.

  Disgusted, I forced my attention back to our dilemma. “Tell him that you know where we are.”

  “But I don’t.”

  I clenched my teeth. “You do. Because I’m going to tell you.”

  “Brandon, I won’t throw you to the wolves.”

  I could hear in her voice that she meant it. “Trust me. I’m not asking you to go that far. Trust me.”

  Her hand left mine and on the table, she blinked.

  “I know where they are.” Whitney’s voice was barely a whisper. It really did sound like she was breaking.

  The man helping her father stilled his hand, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a look of disappointment crossed his face.

  “Back up,” Gil said. He rolled a seat next to the cot, as if it would be too much work to stand there while she spoke. “Where are they?”

  A tear rolled down Whitney’s cheek, tracking a clean streak inside the rivulet of blood that had dried on her face. “Near the Roanoke River. I met Brandon there. It’s our spot. It’s west. I walked back this morning, followed the sun east, so it has to be west.”

  Her father smiled, and he touched her hair. The movement made me sick, but I was powerless to stop him. Whitney’s eyes flicked to my form and then back to her father. From this angle, I caught Gil glance over his shoulder, but he didn’t see me.

  “And how many were there?”

  “Tell him,” I said, but my voice sounded hollow. I was being pulled away from her, and I wasn’t ready.

  “What happened?” Two hands gripped my shoulders and shook me. I stared at Dante. He had the same injury Whitney had, except his oozed sluggishly. As I looked around the workshop, each one of my friends were injured in a similar way, except their wounds looked to be in various states of healing.

  John’s cut was merely a red line, while Carson held a cloth to his forehead.

  “I gave her information to tell him. He wasn’t going to stop. I don’t know if it will even help.”

  Nearby, Nick swore and kicked a chair. “We can’t even fucking go after her because each time one of you go to her, you’re a fucking zombie.” He laughed. “Ironically. We can’t wake you, can’t get you to move.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. If I had to be ripped apart, piece-by-piece by a Controlled, so be it. The only thing I cared about was stopping her father. “I don’t know how long she has. I don’t know if what I told her will stop him.”

  “I’m good with that,” Nick said. Dante was already outfitted and at the door.

  “Do we all agree?” he asked, hand on the doorknob.

  “Yes,” I answered. My sentiment was repeated by each of my friends.

  Rushing outside, we grabbed what few weapons Zero had.

  “Where are you going?” someone yelled.

  “Stay here,” John yelled, ever the commander. “And be ready to fight.”

  “Controlled?” the man asked.

  “No,” John replied. “Living.”

  We hadn’t hit the border of Zero before Carson paused. His eyes glazed over, and he stared at something we couldn’t see. “Leave,” he whispered, just before he went motionless.

  “You heard him,” John said, though he studied the forest for danger. “We go.”

  Isaiah opened his mouth to argue but then shut it with a snap. “You’re right. We all agreed.”

  We had, but it didn’t make leaving him any easier. The only thing I could hope was he would help Whitney.

  “Same rules apply,” John said, and I moved to the rear of the group.

  Whenever any of us went out, we did our best to hide the trail we made from Zero. Rarely did we leave the safety of our community, but whoever directed the Controlled knew where we were. They’d cut huge swaths of tracks to Zero if we didn’t cover their tracks.

  Whitney, we’re coming for you.

  Somehow.

  16

  Carson

  Assessing the situation wasn’t hard, considering that I’d had it explained to me three times by three different people. Somehow, Whitney had brought us back to life and connected us together. Now, her father was torturing her, and because we were linked to her, we were feeling that, too. We needed to help her survive this.

  Only Whit could see us. That worked to our advantage.

  Her eyes were huge when she stared at her dad. I stepped toward them.

  She had yet to look at me or acknowledge me when she spoke to her dad. “Um…”

  The girl was hesitating, trying to hedge for an answer. There was no need. “Tell him the truth, Whit. A man like your father, he can scent a lie. Just tell him the truth and trust us to manage it. We’ve left Zero. If need be, we can evacuate the whole thing. If you don’t know something, tell him you don’t. If you do, tell him the truth. End of story. Easy.” I moved until I stood next to her, linking our fingers together.

  She met my gaze with sad eyes. “I’m sorry I’m causing this.”

  “You’re not.” She smelled fresh, like strawberries, which was amazing because a: I couldn’t scent things anymore and b: she’d been through hell. “You didn’t cause anything. We’re not even sure what this is yet. Tell him the truth. Let’s start with that.”

  “They’re run by… well, I’m not sure. I know that sounds like I’m lying, Dad, but who is in charge seems to be sort of uncertain. One second you hear it’s one person and the next it’s someone else. Two men. I can’t tell which one of them leads.”

  I snorted. She’d hit the nail on the head of a long-standing issue without even knowing she’d done it. “That’s because John says he’s in charge and Isaiah started the whole thing so everyone instinctively looks to him, even if he’d prefer they didn’t. They’re stepbrothers. Or they were. I don’t know if those human relationships matter anymore.”

  She stared at me wide-eyed, and I shrugged again. “Maybe don’t tell them that. I don’t know if their relationship is widely known.”

  Her father clicked his finger in her face. “If you’re lying to me, I won’t just kill Brandon again when I find him. I’ll torture him. Day in and day out. I’m sick to death of these zombies.”

  He stormed from the room, and I took the chance to climb up next to her on the medical bed. Without her father there, the other man turned his back and became busy pretending to look at his instruments.

  “I’ve been searching for a man, Whitney Lake.” Next to me, Whitney tensed. “He’s tall. Dead. Completely brilliant. I want you to tell me if you saw him.” The man spun quickly, stabbing her in the neck with a syringe before she could breathe. Her terrified eyes locked on mine, and I squeezed her good hand. Immediately I felt the pain. How she didn’t scream was a mystery, because my insides were on fire. The man began to shout questions. “Dante Shelley! Did you see him? Is he alive?”

  Whitney said nothing, though she must have been in agony. I wished I could take her pain from her so she felt nothing.

  The burn reached a zenith, and I clenched my jaw to keep from yelling, but Whitney relaxed. “What did you do?” she asked, observing me like I was something wonderful.

  “I need to keep you right where you are,” the man said, but she wasn’t talking to him.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she went on. Her voice was breathless, like she’d run a race. “Thank you.”

  The man’s face paled and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. It ran down his temple. I understood his fear. He thought he’d killed her when he was only supposed to torture her.

  Ha. Only torture. No big deal, just a casual Wednesday at work.

  The pain was making me punchy, because it did not abate. It stayed steady and blindingly hot.

  Whit pushed herself up with her good hand, cradling her injured one to her chest. I wondered if I could help her even more. I was no doctor, but I knew how the body worked. I’d seen and helped Dante splint and brace broken bones enough times.

  My heart slowed as I conce
ntrated on Whitney’s hand. I imagined the bones aligning and calcifying. I imagined her pain as my own and took it into my body. Whitney gasped and so did the man. He stumbled backward as Whitney held out her hand, unclenched it, and wiggled her fingers.

  Whipping toward me, she ignored the man and studied me. “What did you do? Oh, no.”

  I stared at my hand. It was bloodless, but it didn’t hurt. In fact, nothing hurt. I didn’t feel anything.

  I felt myself fading, but it had been worth it. I wanted to stay with her, to be here if they hurt her again, but I couldn’t hang on another minute. “I’m coming for you,” I told her. Tears filled her eyes, but she smiled.

  She took my hand in hers and lifted it to her lips. From the corner of my eye, I saw the thin man frown and narrow his eyes. It must look to him as if she was holding air. Eyes on mine, she lowered her head and kissed my hand. “I’m waiting.”

  I came to in the forest. Alone. My friends had done what we’d agreed to do if one of us went to Whitney. They went on without me.

  My legs were leaden, and my heart beat sluggishly. It made it difficult to get moving. I felt as though I’d woken up after being sedated and nothing worked quite right. My brain, however, worked just fine.

  As an attorney, I prided myself on my quick thinking, and right now, I needed to find my friends and tell them what I’d discovered. Whitney had saved us, but we were just as capable of saving her.

  17

  Isaiah

  I had mixed feelings about this trek. The truth was when I was alive, I’d really tried never to get mixed up in other people’s problems. And the same was true when I transitioned into this non-life.