Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology)

by Chrissy Peebles

  "I love Chinese food. Thank you for this."

  He smiled and kept a steady eye on her. "You're welcome." After another quiet moment with only the sounds of food being enjoyed, he asked another question. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale."

  Sam nodded gently, her mouth too full to speak. "Yes, sometimes I get these bad headaches." He'd been right, she was feeling slightly better. The headache, although not gone, had receded slightly. To change the subject, she nodded to several pictures upside down on the table. "What are those?"

  He flipped the pictures over and spread them out.

  Four different pictures of snake and leaf designs lay in front of her. Interesting. She leaned forward to study them.

  After a few minutes, Brandt shifted his position. "Well?"

  "Hmmm."

  "What does that mean?"

  Sam looked up at him. "It means they're close, just not the same as the one I saw."

  "How can you tell?" Brandt leaned forward pushing the papers closer. "They're all so similar."

  She took another bite of noodles.

  "Similar but not the same. In the left one, the snake wraps around the outside of a leaf, not a cloverleaf. In the right one, you can't tell if it's a snake or a rope or something similar."

  Brandt, shaking his head, collected the pictures together.

  At her nod, he stacked the pictures into a pile. "Have you had any more visions or seen anything else?"

  "No, nothing yet."

  They continued to eat in contemplative silence for a few more minutes. The corners of Sam's mouth slid downward and her eyes closed. God, she was tired. She put down her half-full plate.

  "Are you sure you can't eat a little more?"

  She shook her head without opening her eyes. "Sorry, it's my headache. Let me just close my eyes for a few minutes."

  "No problem. Lie down and rest. I'll clean up."

  Sam was past arguing. With a warm full tummy, fatigue drew her in, and she slept.

  Chapter 15

  10:05 pm

  With the dishes washed, Brandt sat on the couch opposite Sam. Now what? Should he leave her alone to sleep? Odd to be so unsure. Staring at her, he had to admit, the idea of staying and watching over her was winning. He glanced at the pile of blankets on the floor. Picking one up, he opened it and covered Sam.

  There was something wild about her. Not necessarily in a good way. Maybe untamed was a better description. She appeared awkward in crowds, uneasy in close confines, and hated confrontations – she wouldn't walk away from a fight if she thought it mattered. She could hold her own.

  She was trying to improve her life now, but what had brought her so low? Had it been the last incident with the deputy? He frowned. Had that car accident long ago wiped out her savings or had she been unable to work afterwards because of her injuries? He surveyed the small room. He doubted she'd had insurance. There was no sign of money here. In fact, poverty had moved right in. She dressed in oversized thrift store clothes that would fit any large man.

  She needed a keeper. Someone to make sure she ate and rested. If there was no one else, then maybe, just maybe the job fell to him. That he'd even had that thought showed how far he'd come. A few weeks ago, he'd have run at the thought of caring for someone like her. This was stupid. He needed a decent night's sleep himself. He should be home in his own bed, not here keeping an eye on her. Still, it was early yet, and she'd looked wiped when he'd arrived. Staying awhile wouldn't be a hardship.

  Moses slept on the floor in front of Sam and Soldier sat on guard at the end of the other couch – watching him.

  Brandt peered into the blackness outside the window. Moments later he closed his eyes, too tired himself to muddle through the confusing array of reasons for staying there.

  An odd muffled noise woke him.

  Brandt turned his head, groaning as pain exploded through his neck. "God, what did I do?" Rolling his head from side to side, he leaned forward, trying to remember where he was. A muffled cry from the couch had him bolting upright, now wide-awake.

  Sam jerked her legs out straight and arched her back. Her mouth opened, the muscles on her face and neck clenched into long cords, straining with effort. She screamed – silently.

  The hairs on Brandt's neck stood straight up.

  Sam jerked, her back bowed even tighter.

  Brandt reached out to wake her from the nightmare, then hesitated, his hands inches from her shoulder. How many times had Stefan told him not to touch someone in a trance? But how did he know whether she was in a trance or a nightmare?

  Sam collapsed, her legs sprawling at awkward angels. Her breathing stabilized, returning to a more even pace, slowly picking up a normal rhythm again.

  Just when he thought she was fine, Sam's face twisted, her eyes opened wide with an opaque glassy look. Brandt bent over and stared directly into her eyes.

  "Sam," he whispered. "Sam, wake up."

  Sam arched again, then jerked spasmodically as if struck by invisible blows.

  Jesus. Brandt backed up a step and stared at her. Ice raced through his body. What the hell was going on? He searched her face, watching every nuance, every tiny expression – it was easy to see she wasn't really here. She was seeing something, experiencing something that Brandt couldn't. Brandt had never seen any nightmare like this one. He wasn't sure he'd ever want to, either.

  He glanced at his watch. 2:30 am. He must have fallen asleep. He could have sworn he'd been out for only a couple of minutes.

  Sam made a gurgling sound, arched once, then twice before collapsing into a shuddering tremble. Then she fell silent. Brandt stared in horror. Cuts appeared in the blanket. He reached out, the raspy wool scratched his fingers. When he'd covered her up, the blanket had been tatty but whole. He couldn't see it completely from the awkward way it lay over her, but he could see several slices in the thick fabric.

  His jaw dropped. More cuts appeared even as he watched. He leaned forward, shock making his hands tremble. This could not be happening. This was not possible. His rational mind knew that, yet his eyes wouldn't stop receiving the images. There, another cut over her abdomen appeared. No way. He leaned closer and sat again as bile rose up into his throat.

  Blood seeped slowly from the last cut. Impossible. Brandt sat in horror as blood slowly oozed from the dozen cuts, soaking the blanket covering Sam. Was she hurt? She couldn't be – the cuts had just appeared. Only there was nothing there that had caused the injuries.

  Soldier arrived at the couch, a high whine sounding from deep inside him.

  "Easy boy. I don't know what's going on either."

  Brandt studied his hands, not surprised to see them shaking, shudders even now moving up his arms. Christ, no one would believe this. Hell, he could hardly believe it himself – and it was happening right before his eyes.

  His gaze dropped to a second blanket on the floor. Reaching down, he shook the folds loose and went to fling it across her form, when Stefan's warning drilled through her. Never touch a medium when they are in a trance.

  The blanket dropped to the floor. He didn't know if a blanket counted as a touch and decided he didn't dare take the chance. A sudden thought jolted him. No one would believe him, just like no one believed Sam. Oh God. His stomach knotted and bile seared his throat, threatening to make him sick. Is this how she felt?

  He watched in fascination as the blood dripped and ran to pool on top of the blankets beside her. Her face paled to a milky white, making his nerves jump again. Shit. He wanted to call for an ambulance. But what could he tell them? He knew logically there was no rational explanation. And he could be killing her by leaving her alone to bleed. Shit. Doubt paralyzed him.

  Soldier stuck his nose closer to Sam, sniffing the blood. He whimpered.

  Brandt grabbed his cell phone. Stefan, Goddamn it, please be home.

  "Hello?" A thick sleep-filled voice growled at him.

  "Oh thank God. Stefan, this is Brandt."

  "Brandt." A
thick throat-clearing cough bounced through the phone. "What's the matter?"

  "It's Sam."

  "Sam? What's wrong?" His voice turned businesslike.

  "I'm in trouble."

  "What else is new?"

  "No, I'm here with her now and she appears to be caught in a vision."

  "And?"

  "Stefan. I've seen a lot of things in my life, but I've never come across anything like this. It's happening right now." Brandt took a deep breath and willed some stability into his voice. "There are cuts appearing in the blanket that's covering her and there's blood. Oh my God, there's so much blood. It's dripping on the floor." Brandt drew a shaky breath. "There's no weapon, or anyone, just the slashes without reason."

  "But she's still in the vision?"

  "That's what I'm saying. It's like she's experiencing someone else's attack. As I'm watching, she arches and reacts as if being stabbed, then slashes appear in the blankets around her. Within seconds, blood appears and drips to the floor. Christ, Stefan." Brandt bent, dipping his fingers in a pool of blood. He rubbed his fingers together. "The blood is real. It smells real, and it feels real."

  There was silence for a moment.

  "How can she survive something like this?" Brandt needed Stefan's reassurance. That it wasn't forthcoming, made him more nervous.

  "Is she breathing?"

  Brandt, his heart racing at the thought, bent over Sam. "Christ, she'd better be." He checked her chest for the telltale rise and fall movement. There. Ever so faint. He placed his hand to hover above her mouth. Yes. A faint waft of air. "Yes, she's alive. But not by much."

  "That's okay. The deeper her trance, the more her body vitals slow down."

  Brandt checked her over again. The blood had settled in, staining the gray material to rust. The smell flared his nostrils – the same metallic odour he knew all too well.

  "Can you see any damage to her body, or are we just talking blankets and blood showing?"

  "Is it safe to touch her? Hell, Stefan, how many times have you pounded it into me not to touch you when you're in a trance?"

  "Lift the blankets and don't touch her body."

  "Why is it I can't touch her again?" Brandt stared at Sam, trying to figure out a safe corner of the blanket to lift without touching her body.

  "You'll snap her connection to whatever energy she's attached to. She could stay over there, snap back here, or get caught somewhere in between."

  Brandt winced. "Right." Working carefully, he shifted a corner of the blanket away from her shoulder to peer at her slight body below. A slice deep into her abdomen made his gut clench. He groaned softly, sadly. She was dying, and he'd done nothing to help her.

  "Christ, her abdomen is split open."

  Stefan's voice remained calm and patient. "That's fine. Is she still experiencing new injuries?"

  "That's fine! What the hell, Stefan? She's dying."

  "No, she's not. In about twenty minutes, she should be almost as good as new. Check again. Are new injuries still appearing?"

  Brandt stared at Sam, trying to check all of her at once. After a moment, he answered, "I don't think so. I think that part is over."

  "Good, the blood should stop seeping too."

  "It will?" Brandt studied the welling blood. Relief washed over him. "Actually, it appears to be slowing."

  "Good. She should wake up soon."

  "Should? I need her to wake up now!"

  "Don't touch her." Stefan's voice was sharp, leaving no room for arguing. "When she wakes, she could be groggy, disoriented, and possibly scared. Give her both time and space. Try not to startle her, just watch as she recovers."

  "Right. I guess that makes sense." Brandt moved over and sat across from Sam. "I'll call you in the morning. Or in a few minutes if she doesn't wake up."

  "She'll wake up. Trust a little more." Stefan hung up.

  Brandt tucked away his cell phone, Stefan's final words ringing in his ears – time to recover and heal. The heal part blew him away. If she experienced the same physical damage as these woman, then no wonder she looked like she could use a good square meal. Her body had to burn calories at a horrific rate doing something like this.

  Sam stirred. Brandt rushed over to her side. She rolled her head from one side to the next before coming to a stop. A deep heavy sigh worked its way up from her chest. She opened her eyes, ones that widened in shock when they landed on him.

  "It's okay Sam. It's just me. Take it easy. Take your time."

  Understanding seeped into those beautiful eyes before she closed them again, drifting off into a light resting state. She licked her lips and whispered in a voice so low he had to bend to her lips to hear it. "I'll be fine in a couple of minutes."

  Soldier whined and flumped down at her feet protectively.

  Brandt ran a hand through his hair, relieved to hear her talking, but having trouble with the concept that she'd could be okay that fast. Was that possible? He wouldn't be – how could she? He watched her carefully. Could she recover from something like this on her own – without a doctor? How? Did Stefan go through this as well?

  In amazement, Brandt watched as the blood thinned and actually appeared to be less. He leaned forward. The droplets on the floor remained. The slices in the blankets remained. What about her? Getting up, he gently lifted the corner of the blanket and checked her abdomen. Even as he watched, the wound shrunk down. It was only a couple of inches long now. He shook his head. He'd never have believed it. And he was open-minded about this stuff. He couldn't imagine Kevin's reaction.

  "Brandt?"

  "I'm here, Sam. Take it easy."

  "I'm almost there. Just another minute and I'll be good."

  "Right. Like I'm going to believe that." He snorted and sat on the coffee table across from her, accidentally nudging Soldier who lay protectively in front of Sam.

  Soldier lifted his head, his lip curling at Brandt.

  Brandt glared down at him. Soldier glared back.

  "No, I'm almost there. Wait, let me check." She lifted her head to look at him. And cried out in agony, her body curling into itself.

  Instantly Brandt was at her side. "Jesus, Sam. What the hell?"

  Sam gasped for breath her face slowly gaining color with the effort. "It's okay. Honest."

  Frustrated, he fisted his hands on his hips. "How? How can this be okay?"

  He crouched down beside her, reaching out a hesitant hand. He desperately wanted to give comfort, yet was scared of hurting her further.

  She opened her eyes to stare at him again.

  "Oh God, Sam." Brandt breathed her name almost in prayer. The depth of her suffering and pain hurt his soul. Her eyes had gone black from her agony.

  Helpless, he could only watch. "I'm so sorry, honey. What can I do to help?"

  A tiny smile peeped out. "Wait."

  He didn't think he could do it. "Sweetheart, there is blood everywhere."

  The smile disappeared as she shuddered once, then twice. "Always is."

  Brandt sank into a crouch beside the couch. "God, how can you do this – day in and day out?"

  Her answer, so succinct and so honest blew him away. "Easy. I have no choice."

  ***

  3:48 am, June 20th

  Sam found the shift through transition harder this time. Having someone watch while she healed and returned to normal reality wasn't exactly fun. Self-conscious or not, she couldn't move before it was time. Shifting her glance to catch Brandt's expression, she winced and stared up at the ceiling. Barely concealed horror still rippled across his face.

  She closed her eyes. She couldn't help him deal with this. It took everything she had to deal with it herself.

  The research she'd done said that blood rarely manifested in visions. But in special cases, people woke up with their hands or bodies stained with the stuff. For her, the blood appeared wherever the injuries manifested, but less blood than if she'd truly been the one attacked. Apparently, the amount of physical manifestatio
ns should decrease as she learned to control her gifts. She could only hope.

  Gently, Sam swung her legs over the side of her couch and sat up. Feeling dizzy, she took several shuddering breaths before fixing her gaze on Brandt.

  Wild eyes stared back at her. She couldn't blame him. This stuff came straight out of a horror movie. She wanted to curl up and hide in shame. She'd hoped he'd never see her like this. Never see her so exposed, so...freakish. She could only imagine what he thought of her now.

  A few last tremors worked up her spine. It was almost over. Her eyes still burned, swollen and dry. Even her bones ached.

  She focused on Brandt instead of the pain. His rumpled hair looked adorable – at total odds to his eyes. She glanced at the clock, yawning at the same time. It was close to four in the morning. He must have stayed all night.

  She slid her gaze over him again. He still appeared shell-shocked. It said much about his perception. He'd never be able to accept this part of her. The pain from her vision was nothing to the sudden pain in her heart.

  Brandt sat down suddenly. She studied his features. In truth, it looked like his belief system, his very foundation of existence had been ripped out from under him.

  Sam couldn't handle any more. Tears of shame burned. Freak.

  "Christ." Brandt's whispered words were a soft prayer for understanding.

  Sam knew how he felt. She also knew her prayers had never been answered. "What's the matter?"

  He snorted, rose, and reached to poke a finger through one of the many slices in the blanket covering her. "This is what's the matter." He stuck his fingers through a bigger cut and waggled them.

  Confused, Sam watched emotions whisper across his face.

  He stared at her. "Does this mean...?"

  Her bottom lip wobbled and she nodded. "It means another woman has been murdered."

  Hearing her own words broke the dam holding back the anguish in Sam's soul. Brandt sat on the couch and tugged her into his arms. Sam went. Hurt, she curled into his chest and let her tears pour. Brandt rocked her gently, her broken sobs so soft they could hardly be heard. The pain behind them could hardly be ignored.