Isaiah
My mother used to say that I’d come into the world crying and not stopped until I was thirteen years old. I believed her. There hadn’t been a lot to be happy about when I was a child. That had also been the time they’d presented me with John. I hated his father. He was a nightmare on top of a nightmare dressed up as a nightmare. All around bad guy. But I’d liked John.
He’d come in and I’d decided we could be friends. I hadn’t had a lot of those up to that point. Single mom kept us on the move to follow bad jobs. She was a kind woman, and beautiful, but hell, she had the worst taste in men.
John’s dad, he must have looked pretty good to my mom in the beginning. Steady job. Owned his own place. Drove a sensible car.
But looks could be deceiving and John Senior’s fancy car and steady job were the only things about the man that weren’t absolute garbage.
I had no idea what John’s life was like before my mom and I came into it, but from the hard-edged glint in his eyes, it hadn’t been good.
John walked ahead of Whitney and me, his shoulders tensed while he studied the forest. I never would have thought, through all the years we were best friends, that we would end up here. And I didn’t just mean the zombie part, though who in their right mind ever saw that coming? But here, as in, no longer friends. Life was hard before John and his father came into my life, and it was hard after they came into it. But the difference was John.
I survived it because of John.
So it fucking sucked that we could not get out of each other’s way to be brothers again.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Whitney, and she nodded as I jogged toward John.
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “What?”
It seemed a little much to just start in with—let’s be best friends again! So I started with the problem at hand. “Dante’s not telling us something.”
John snorted, perfect aquiline nose wrinkling. “No shit. Dante’s a master secret-keeper. But enlighten me, oh mellow one, what’s he not telling us now?”
Every piece of me wanted to fire back at him, but I stuffed it down. If I wanted to make a change, I had to start with myself. I couldn’t wait for John to make the first move, because the only person as stubborn as me was him.
“Dex. Whitney. Gil. There’s something here. Brandon told us about Gil. Why would Whitney’s brother work with the guy?”
John shrugged. “Do you think I have any clue on the inner workings of a healthy father/son relationship?”
Laughing, I shook my head. “I guess not,” I replied. “Neither of us would. But Brandon told us how Gil treated Whitney. He ruthlessly beat her down—and like we saw—he didn’t stick to emotional abuse. I think we can safely assume he did the same thing to Dex.”
“Point?”
“My point,” God damn, he wasn’t making it easy to have a conversation that didn’t end in a throat punch, “is that Whitney wants nothing to do with her father. And Dex is stealing Whitney’s boyfriend to get her back. Dante knows why that is.”
“You think Dante knows why Dex kidnapped Brandon, and you think Brandon was kidnapped in order to get to Whitney.”
This wasn’t a Rubik’s Cube. “Yes.”
John nodded. “I agree.”
That was that? He agreed? I waited as if he was going to say something else. When he didn’t, I had no choice but to speak again. “I think we should bring Carson in on this.”
“For sure. Unless you want to, you know, just ask Dante what the hell he’s hiding.”
I sighed. “In an ideal circumstance that is what we’d do, but we both know we’re getting nowhere with Dante if he doesn’t want to budge. He won’t tell us a thing until he thinks the time is right, and he’ll do all of it to protect the group. He’d go to his grave—again—keeping his secrets. But Carson had a way of seeing things differently than the rest of us.
“Do you think Dante will fess up?”
He shook his head slowly. “No way. Hey, not to change the subject, but you’re really okay? All of us… dating Whitney.”
I blinked at the rapid change of topic, as though I’d been swept away in a whirlwind of subject shifts. John wasn’t usually so scattered. “I thought you weren’t participating in this. You just said us.”
“Answer the question instead of the semantics.” His gaze challenged me to argue. He really did seem to want the throat punch.
I shrugged. “We’re all dead. You know that right? Something abruptly changes and we fall to our deaths instantly. I can’t explain why we’re walking around. Maybe Dante can, but he’s not talking. You think I want to get hung up on details? A beautiful, smart girl I never met during my living years wants to spend some of her time with me and you think I’m going to be bothered that she wants to spend some of her time with my five other favorite people? Yeah, no I don’t have a problem with it. And no one is forcing you either way.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Do we really think we have a chance in hell to save Brandon?”
Now, that seemed more of a John question. I smiled at him slowly. “I do. I don’t know why, but I do. And it all has to do with Whitney.”
I was so wet now, I didn’t even bother wiping the rain out of my face. But somehow I was warm. My body felt more like a furnace than it ever had when I was actually alive. “Are you warm, John? Like really so?”
He moved until he stood right next to me. “I am, actually.”
“Hey, Whit,” I called out to her. “Cold?”
She shrugged, but I could see that her lips had a blue tinge I didn’t like. Was she going to die somehow keeping us all alive? How could I stop this? Were we parasites feeding off her life? “I’m fine. I think we’re almost there.”
Dante put his arm around her, pulling her against him. Had he seen it too or was he always just two seconds ahead of the rest of us? They said I was the leader, but did Dante listen to anyone but himself when it came down to it?
I hurried to catch up to Dante and Whitney. Just as I got next to them, I caught Whitney slide her hand across Dante’s stomach, under his shirt. I was certain the move wasn’t sexual, she was shivering, and her teeth chattered, but my friend froze.
“Sorry,” she said and quickly took her hand back.
Idiot. Like Dante could read my mind, he gave me a rueful shrug over Whitney’s head. Arm still around her shoulder, he dropped a kiss on her head then straightened and scratched his chin with his free hand. “We need to hurry,” he said to me. “Whitlee can’t take much more of this.”
“She’ll warm up the faster we go,” Nick said, ever sympathetic.
“It’s not that—” Dante scratched his chin again and stumbled. He dropped his arm from Whitney and spun, striding away without another word.
Whitney stood trembling, watching Dante. “Should I go after him?” Her words stuttered, and her whole body shook.
“No,” I replied. “I’ll go.” I jogged over to him. “Dante! You just said we needed to hurr…” I forgot what I was about to say as Dante turned toward me.
Of all of us, Dante’s body was in the worst shape. He’d done his best to fix his injuries, but he’d been a long time on his own and as a result, sort of jury-rigged himself. One of the most obvious of his self-improvements was a thin curve of metal along his jaw and chin. The dull metal which he now held in his hands.
I flashed from his hands to his face, and then back again. “Holy shit, Dante.” He dropped the metal to touch his chin and encountered firm, unblemished flesh. His fingers traced the bone from his chin along his jaw to his ears.
“Isaiah.” He stared at me. “I can’t see it. Is—What does it look like?”
“Like a face, my man,” I said and felt a smile grow on my lips. I started toward him, hand outstretched to feel the new, healthy skin. When I touched it, it was warm and supple. The bone beneath the skin hard. I pressed down and my fingertips blanched his skin, but it soon regained its color. “It’s a perfectly normal, healthy face.
Ugly as hell, but normal.”
Dante threw his head back and laughed. His white teeth gleamed as he continued to explore his face.
For the first time, I really studied my friend. I was so used to him looking like the tin man, but now, I could see the man beneath the injuries. Square jaw, tan skin.
“Fuckin’ A, Dante, you have a dimple.”
The son of a bitch had a deep dimple in the center of his chin. A hand shot past my shoulder and grabbed Dante’s chin, turning it from side to side. “Huh. Butt chin,” Nick said. “Cool.”
John and Carson approached, the latter holding Whitney’s hand. As I glanced back at her, lightheadedness moved through me. She was pale, worryingly so, and swayed from side to side.
“Carson.” I wasn’t going to reach her in time. My friend grabbed her as she lost consciousness, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. My heart fell into my stomach. What were we doing to her?
26
Whitney
I walked through a green pasture, the sun on my head. Warmth flooded me. On the hill, Dante stood. He wore khaki pants and a light blue button-up shirt with the first three buttons undone. He extended his hand, and I took it.
“Still glad you did this?” His voice caressed me, while he lowered his head to my shoulder. I loved the feeling of his skin against mine. That was when I realized I was also quasi-dressed up. My summer dress showed more skin than I was usually comfortable with. Still, this was Dante. I’d trust him with anything, even my own body.
“I’ll never regret it. Look at you. All bathed in sunlight like you were always meant to be.”
He flared his nostrils. “You have to start letting us share. It can’t be give give give all the time. I know you let Carson help. We all have to.”
I put my hands on my hips. “How am I to do that when John says no and Brandon is missing?”
He brushed my hair off my shoulder. “You’re not alone, Whitney. It doesn’t have to be complete. It just has to be. Make it reciprocal or it’ll be parasitical. And I can’t lose you. Not now that I’ve found you. None of us can. Wake up and take what you need. Stop assuming we don’t want what you want. We do.”
I jolted awake, my head in Carson’s lap. His hand stroked over my hair slowly. We were under a tree. The sun tried to come out from under gray clouds, and in the distance, I could see Dante, Nick, Isaiah, and John flat on their stomachs behind a bush looking at something through the binoculars Dante had constructed.
“You’re awake.” Relief sounded through Carson’s voice. He smiled down at me. “We’re all worried about you.”
Remnants of my dream still flooded me. Did they all want what I wanted? “Carson, can I kiss you?”
His eyes widened, and he visibly gulped before he nodded. “Please.”
I sat up, and before I could overthink it, I brought my mouth gently to his. He sighed against me, pulling me closer so that I was on his lap, my breasts flush against his chest. The movement caused my nipples to harden. With our wet clothes, there was no hiding any of it. He massaged the back of my head. We stopped to breathe only for gasps of air. I couldn’t get enough of Carson.
He tasted sweet, warm, and alive. He was mine. I knew that last thought was crazy and yet there it was. My ears buzzed, and my skin tingled. Kissing him, I felt alive, too.
I’d been so cold and empty. Each step I took through the woods to my brother took more energy than I had left in my body. But now? Now I felt like I could run a race. And then hit like a million home runs.
Carson’s hair was damp and soft, and I tangled my hands in the strands. He gripped my hair, pulling just a little to tug me back. His dark green eyes met mine, and he stared at me with something like confusion and wonder.
“I keep thinking that you’re mine,” I whispered, more than aware of the others.
Carson’s eyes widened, and I waited for a freak-out or something like, we just met, how about you dial it back?
But he didn’t. He studied my face and then leaned forward, touching his lips to mine again. “I feel like yours,” he said as he drew back. “But you feel like mine.” He widened his eyes. “Ready to run, yet?”
It was just the sort of comment I needed to take away the seriousness of the words I’d uttered. Assured I hadn’t scared him off with my possessive comment, I sighed, let my forehead touch his, and slowly shook my head from side to side. “No.”
“Hey,” Nick whisper-hissed. “Come over here!”
Reluctantly, I pushed away from Carson and army-crawled over to Nick and the others. When I got there, Nick surprised me by touching my back and rubbing in circles. “I was worried. You’re feeling better?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“There—” He pointed. “Is that your brother?” He handed me the binoculars, and I looked through them, squinting in the direction he pointed. For a moment, all I saw was magnified grass and leaves.
Then Dex’s face came into focus.
And Mace’s. He didn’t look good. His face was sweaty, and a little green.
And— “Oh my God. Brandon!” My voice came out louder than I meant it. I tried to push to my feet when someone grabbed my arm and yanked me back down.
“You’re going to give us away!” Nick said.
“He’s hurt! You have to let me go!” The binoculars lay forgotten in front of me as I stared at the tiny figures in the distance. “You didn’t see him.”
Nick grabbed them and brought them to his face. “Shit.” He drew the vowel out before placing them in John’s open palm.
I knew what it was he saw. Brandon. White as a sheet. An open wound on his head and dark purple bruising along his cheekbones. His arm held at an unnatural angle, one shoulder higher than another.
I shut my eyes, but all I could see was the blank look on his face and the way he seemed to shuffle in front of my brother.
I was missing something. It prodded the edges of my mind, but for all I was trying to find it, it kept slipping away. As I stared at the forms, cold began to seep into my fingers and toes. I shook them out, trying to get the circulation back.
It didn’t help, and I gave up trying. All of my attention was focused on Brandon. I needed him to feel better, and I needed it now.
Dante lifted his head just a bit. “Fix him, Whitlee.”
Fix him? How did I do that? I wasn’t some magical…
Except suddenly I knew how. I lifted my cold hands. Carson’s kiss still warmed inside of me. He’d made me feel alive; he’d given me something. I turned my head slightly to regard him. Had it been too much, whatever I’d done? He looked fine. Not strained or sick. I brought my attention back to Brandon.
First thing I needed to fix was that wound on his head.
I drifted, leaving my body behind me until Brandon was in front of me. Brandon’s eyes widened when he saw me.
I put my finger to my mouth. He needed to be quiet or we’d all get caught. Giving him no other time to react, I kissed him just as I had Carson. I put all my love, all my confusion, all my utter horror at what was happening into my kiss. He closed his eyes.
In the real world, I imagined everything kept moving. Brandon walked in front of my brother, but the sluggishness and limp disappeared.
I opened my eyes. I was right. The wound on his head closed. His color flushed to a healthy pink. Thank God. I let out the breath I held and leaned forward one more time to whisper in his ear. Maybe I needn’t have bothered, but I wanted him to know. “We’re here. Stay strong. We’re coming.”
He opened and closed his mouth before nodding. Good, this was going to be okay.
I was yanked back into my body, coming to in to a rush of pain.
Dante was suddenly right by my side, sliding to the ground. “You’re okay. It’ll get easier. Using muscles for the first time hurts. You’re also famished. You need time.”
His mouth met my own, stopping me from asking him how he knew any of this stuff. I would get answers from him and soon. But it didn’t matter right the
n. I drew in his affection like it was feeding me warmth.
Finally, he stopped. I ran my hand down the stubble on his healed face. “Amazing.”
“Right. I can’t take any credit for it.”
I should have felt embarrassed, but I didn’t. As if I needed to torture myself, my eyes sought out John’s. He wasn’t looking at me, his gaze fixed through the binoculars. “They’re moving him to the largest housing unit. I think we’d better grab him now.”
That sounded like a plan. I shook with fury. “One thing. Mace is over there. I’m going to suggest you leave him to me.”
27
Dante
Whitlee glared at the tiny figure of Mace in the distance. If she’d had laser eyes, she’d have zapped him dead.
Too bad she didn’t have that sort of power.
My lips still tingled where they’d met hers. The girl had no idea what she was capable of, and while I understood some of it, there was so much more that was a mystery.
That was the thing about science—part of it was reason, but the other part—the part that had hooked me as a child and still held me in its grasp—was that science was also miraculous. What other explanation could there be for a combination of events or reactions that were so specific, if just one tiny thing hadn’t come to pass, nothing would be the same?
Life wouldn’t be the same.
When it came to us, the line between alive and dead, Controlled and Uncontrolled, Connected and Unconnected, got very blurry.
When I’d finally broken free and again had reason and self-awareness, it had been in the middle of a lightning storm. Talking to John, and then Isaiah, and Nick, and Brandon and Carson, it was the same for all of them. Lightning struck, and they woke up.
The guys joked about me looking a little like Frankenstein’s monster, and they weren’t far off. Amazed, I touched my chin again. I could feel the newly formed bone and skin. I wasn’t the monster anymore.
Still, I wondered what my friends would say when I told them they were closer to the truth than they realized.
Lightning Strikes: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Storm Book 1) Page 15