Brush of Shade ((YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy) The Whisperer's Chronicles)

by Jan Harman

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Shade yelled, sounding alarmed.

  Hands grabbed me around the waist and scooped me off the ladder. The mobile clattered to the floor in a tangled heap.

  I was set down hard on my rear next to my crutch. A curious mixture of expressions from alarm, to anger, to pity flowed across Shade’s features. “Of all the foolish ideas. You’re lucky you didn’t topple over.”

  The tips of my ears burned. I didn’t need his pity or him telling me what I could do. With my hands on my hips, I retorted, “I could’ve done it. The ring was too thick for the hook.”

  A brow arched. He spun about and scooped up the ring, easily holding the mobile clear of the ground. Next, he climbed only the first two steps, and with a pointed glance over his shoulder at me, slipped the ring onto the hook.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “It was heavier than I expected. Plus, I’m height challenged compared to you.”

  Hattie chuckled.

  “This isn’t funny,” Shade said, raising his voice to her. “You know perfectly well that I gave you that broom to direct my work. Olivia’s trying to make a good first impression. What’s your excuse?”

  “Don’t yell at Hattie. It was my decision.” He rolled his eyes, expressing his opinion of my reasoning skills. With a dramatic toss of my hair—mainly it was to get it out of my eyes—I grabbed my crutch, intending to get back to work and ignore Shade for the remaining minutes. Stiff and sore from all the bending and twisting, not to mention ladder climbing, my leg protested further abuse. Muscles clenched and my knee needed to be coaxed into moving. I crunched into a ball, trying to breathe through the sudden, shooting pain.

  Gentle hands slid under my legs and behind my back. “I’ve got you, Little One,” a voice like velvet said in my ear.

  I meant to complain about the mode of address, but the full impact of Shade’s shattering, crystal eyes hit me, and I forgot to be upset. Breathing became optional. He deposited me on the work table, paused, and then confiscated my crutch.

  “Hey!” I said.

  “You’ll get this back when it’s closing time.” He looked at the clock over the door. “Ten minutes. Think you can sit still for that long?” Not waiting for my answer, he took off, whistling softly.

  Unlike Trent’s spotless truck with all the latest options, Shade’s old beater had a layer of dried mud sprayed across the lower third of the hunter green F150 and a load of split wood piled in the bed. He’d left it parked behind the shop just off a narrow alley that cut the block in half.

  “Here, let me help you,” he offered, easily lifting me up onto the seat. Next, he tucked my backpack down by my feet and neatly stowed my crutch on the back seat. “You look beat. Sit back. Close your eyes. I’ll have you home in no time,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper.

  The ride was surprisingly peaceful, possibly the most calming moments I’d experienced since arriving in Spring Valley. Shade expected nothing out of me, not even conversation. Which was probably just as well, I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of his strange reaction towards me at the church. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was touched in the head when we were just starting to become friends. Country music played softly in the background. I drifted off to sleep at about the same time the dusty, hard-driven truck left town.

  A light pressure across my neck bothered me. I stirred in my sleep and tried to roll onto my side. The space was cramped. My legs couldn’t move, and my body was curled at an uncomfortable angle for my bed. Not a bed, my sleep-gripped mind realized, supplying a horrific image. Out of nowhere the quiet struck unleashing nameless fears that plunged me straight past panic into paralyzing terror. I dreamed of: metal squealing, gravel crunching, glass shattering, blood dripping, and breaths rasping. And a voice.

  My throat closed. I fumbled with the seatbelt, tugging frantically, but it wouldn’t come free. A scream burbled forth.

  “Olivia, you’re safe,” Shade reassured as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  I buried my face in warm flannel that I soaked with my tears. Gentle hands stroked my back, waiting patiently until my trembling stopped.

  “I’m sorry. I got out to unlock your front door. You looked so peaceful. I was going to carry you inside.”

  I couldn’t seem to find my voice, so I settled for groping behind me for the handle to my door. Warm hands closed about mine.

  “There’s no hurry.”

  “I’ve got to start dinner. My aunt will be home soon,” I said, rushing the words. A cold sweat broke out all over my body. I had to get out of the truck. The feeling that came over me was more powerful than that. But I didn’t know how to put it into words. I scrambled back across my seat. His fingers grazed my shoulder. I shoved open the door, putting all my weight into it, forgetting in my panic that I didn’t have my crutch and the truck was higher off the ground than a car. I started to fall. He was there, his arms supporting me.

  “I’ve got you,” he reassured, tucking me securely against his broad chest. With one arm around my waist, he reached inside, grabbed my backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Just as easily he fished my crutch out of the back seat.

  Like an idiot, I blinked up at him as he helped me inside. No matter how many times I ran the scene through my head, I couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten to me so quickly. Finally, I rationalized the situation. The explanation made sense although I didn’t like the image it painted in my head of awkward me. In my panicked state, I’d only imagined my lumbering body moving quickly and easily. I turned my face into his shirt before he could read the confusion in my eyes. One of us questioning my sanity was enough.

  “What’s on the dinner menu?” he asked, as though depositing a panic-stricken girl on a kitchen chair was an everyday event. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the chicken pot pie. “This looks good,” he said in an easy conversational tone, when all I could manage was to follow his movements with my eyes. He moved on to the oven, set the temperature, and slid the pot pie onto a rack. “What time is your aunt due home?”

  “Maybe ten minutes,” I whispered.

  Strong fingers tipped my head up. “You’re going to scare your aunt if she comes in and sees you like this.” He headed back to the refrigerator and dug out the orange juice. “I want you to drink all of this,” he announced, before he set the tall glass in front of me.

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “All of it.” He pushed it closer and threatened. “I could hold it to your lips.”

  “I don’t like you. You’re bossy.”

  “Drink.”

  I returned his glare. In the end he won because I couldn’t let my aunt find me in this state. We’d spend another evening discussing my coping skills.

  “Now that wasn’t so hard,” he said, grinning at me from the sink.

  “At the wake, why did you just take off?” I blurted out. His expression turned guarded. The light in the room faded with the downturn of his lips. What I wouldn’t have given for a backspace button for my mouth.

  He rinsed my glass under the faucet and set it with a clink upside down in the sink.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” He turned and leveled a disapproving look upon me that made my voice falter. I fought back the urge to squirm as his gaze lengthened.

  “Privacy is respected in the valley. In your case, latitude is given for curiosity. I came to share your pain. I don’t think your aunt will appreciate finding me here, so I’ll be on my way.”

  A touch of sadness had crept into his voice. Questions hovered on the tip of my tongue. His admonishment kept them there.

  “You should probably splash some water on your face or maybe pinch your cheeks or do something to put color in them,” he suggested.

  “Aren’t you full of complements? I can’t look that bad.”

  Creases formed across his forehead and he looked as though he meant to argue. Instead, he dug out his keys. “I’ll give you a ride home from work tomorro
w.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” I asked, trailing behind him to the front door.

  “Why not? It’s not out of my way.”

  “Crazy girl, remember?”

  “There’s a big difference between being terrified and being crazy.”

  Halfway out the door he paused, and looked back over his shoulder. In the dusky light, the white glints in his eyes were more pronounced, resembling ice patches on a glacial lake. His fingers drummed on the door frame, and his shoulders drew back as he straightened to his full height, filling the door. The tension about his jaw had flattened his lips to harsh, white lines. He let out his breath with a loud whoosh.

  “I’m already yours to command. I gift you my undying loyalty,” he said with such solemnity that it left me speechless.

  Perspiration dampened my back from the sudden wave of heat traveling up from my chest to my face, like I was having a hot flash. My eyes watered. Shade spun his key ring around his finger; its jangling and clinking grated on my nerves. I wanted to reach out and snatch it out of his hand. A trace of burning leaves wafted into the house through the open door. I stood straighter and had the strangest urge to run straight into the next cold gust of wind to strip the excess heat from my body.

  “Shade?” I said unsteadily, thinking maybe I should’ve stayed in the kitchen. My nightmares had never triggered such bizarre reactions in my body.

  “It’s nothing. Just a local way of offering support in times of difficulty,” he replied, explaining his unusual statement that I’d all but forgotten in the confusion. The expression on his face was peculiar as though he wasn’t sure what to make of me. “Olivia,” he began in that incredibly deep voice, “anytime you need a shoulder I’m available. Anytime.”

  I stared out the door for some time after his truck pulled away, replaying his strange offer. He didn’t know enough about me to know whether I was terrified or crazy. For the most part, the incident in his truck had an explanation, not the one he thought, and certainly not one I’d risk revealing. I’d been traumatized. I’d had a concussion. It was only natural that I would’ve imagined . . . But then how did I explain the voice in my yard or the one in my head that not even my music could keep drowned out? I hugged my arms across my chest. Crazy was the only explanation that fit. No way would I ever reveal any of this to him. His offer would amount to empty words once my truth came out. I’d be booked on a one-way ride to a mental institution.

  Chapter 3

  My stomach dived to the vicinity of the floorboards. I swore I could reach a hand out the window and touch the guardrail. Trent’s Mustang gained speed and swerved suddenly into the other lane. “This is insane.” I shrieked as we shot past two cars. He laid on the horn, running a third car off onto the narrow shoulder. “Trent,” I shouted, peeling my hand off the arm rest.

  “Relax. I’m an excellent driver,” he said, shooting me a wide, confident grin that looked crazed by the glow of the dashboards lights. “My friends and I do this all the time.”

  My heart palpitated out of my chest. If I didn’t get out of this car before I came unglued, Trent would have a nearly catatonic date. The Mustang whipped back into our original lane. Tires spun, skidding on gravel. No matter how much I sucked in air, it wasn’t enough.

  “Pull over,” I demanded my voice weak and quivering.

  “What are you getting so worked up about? We’re just having fun.”

  “Now!”

  “Alright already.”

  He beeped his horn and peeled off onto a narrow side road that dipped sharply. We picked up speed. Headlights illuminated the steep canyon and the hairpin turn moments before Trent jerked the wheel. The Mustang swung wide until it straddled the center line. Oncoming lights bathed the road. A dark shape barreled down on us just as we came out of the turn.

  Both vehicles swerved. Tires spun kicking up dirt as the Mustang dropped down partway into the ditch. I screamed and clenched my eyes, tensing so hard that muscles ached. My fingernails gouged into my palms as I waited, bracing for the explosive boom that would resonate right through me, for the piercing ripping of metal, for the tinkling of shattering glass, and for the cries that ended too abruptly.

  The passenger door was wrenched open and my seat belt undone. “Olivia, open your eyes. You’re safe. Everything is alright,” Shade said, his velvety voice cutting a swatch through the chaos and silencing shrill screams.

  Crumbs tumbled out of shredded memories. I tried to snatch them up. A whiff of butterscotch curled my shoulders. Branches tapped the car, knocking loose more glass shards. Dad’s lips moved. Danger! Shattered images dissolved in the confusion of enraged male voices, stealing my answers.

  “Of all the irresponsible moves. When are you going to grow up, Cassidy?”

  “Mind your own business. She’s not hurt. I was in control the entire time.”

  “You went too far. You can’t worm out of this one,” a steely voice threatened.

  My eyes popped opened when Trent jumped out and charged around the front of the car. It took my battered brain a second to digest the balled fist and angry glare that included me. I shrank against my seat, wondering why he was mad at me when he was the one who drove like a maniac. Shade stood, angling his body in front of my opened door, hands braced against the frame, forming a barrier against Trent.

  “Get lost. She’s my date.” Trent shoved the car door against Shade’s back. “Move.”

  The situation was dangerously close to crossing some line between them. I wet my lips, determined to put a stop to this. Older, and with better control over his temper than a high school guy, I focused my attention upon Shade. Streaks of white dissected his irises, forming raised ice like wedges. My mouth clamped shut, cutting off the strangled cry. After all these hard weeks, a display of male stupidity had finally sent me plunging into the abyss.

  Don’t be this. Look away. Find normal.

  “Back off,” Shade warned in a chilling tone that echoed ominously within the car’s tight interior. “Do you think scaring your date to death is a turn on? The two of you could’ve been killed. How dare you risk Olivia’s life,” he yelled, silencing the younger male’s adrenaline hyped string of repercussions. Shade’s fisted hands clenched and unclenched as though he was fighting to regain control of his temper.

  Trent’s feet shuffled near the door that banged once more into Shade. “I said get lost.”

  “With pleasure. I’ll drive Olivia home,” Shade replied, his voice, like his stance, far from calm.

  “No, way. I’ll take her home. When we’re ready,” Trent retorted.

  “Not a chance. You brought her out here knowing she spent months recovering from a car crash that killed her parents. Either you’re a cruel bastard or you’re just an insensitive jerk. Either way, she doesn’t need you.”

  “Like she needs your sort.”

  “Stop arguing.” I’d tried to shout over their voices, but it seemed I’d left my voice back on one of the curves. At least I had their attention. “I’ve got to go home with Trent. If I don’t, Aunt Claire will hound me until she finds out what happened. Please, she’ll go back into smothering mode.” I ducked my head, sending strands of hair falling across my face and sticking to my damp brow. The real reason, my crazed reactions, would have me back on heavy medications. I clutched my purse to my chest. I’d been doing so well finding normal.

  Gentle fingers tucked my hair behind my ears. Like touching metal in the dry indoors, multiplied by ten, the charge tingled through my body. I sucked in a startled gasp. Ice crystals sparkled and Shade’s mouth dropped open. Towering icebergs melted.

  Don’t make this a thing. It was just a reflection caused by the interior light.

  Trent elbowed Shade to the side. “We weren’t in any danger. I know every curve of these roads.”

  Shade snorted. “One of these days, Cassidy, you’re going to go too far. Only because I don’t want to frighten her aunt, will I allow Olivia to ride home with you. Don’t think
of making any detours. I’ll be swinging by the Pepperdine Manor on my way home just to be sure.”

  Trent’s nostrils flared. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

  “Cross me,” Shade said very quietly in a way that raised goose bumps on my arms.

  Surely I’d imagined the implied threat. I stared from Shade’s determined, angry expression to Trent’s belligerent stance. It was clear the gauntlet had been dropped, and somehow I was caught in the middle. “Trent, just get in the car,” I pleaded, tugging on his arm.

  “Are you sure about this?” Shade asked, holding my door open. “I’ll take it real slow.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, my index finger tracing across the scar. “I can handle it.” His dark expression said otherwise. I was inclined to agree, but he stepped to the side, allowing us to leave.

  “Can you believe that guy?” Trent fumed, his tirade getting louder now that we were on the main road.

  “That guy helped push your car out of the ditch.” I took a long slurp on my slushy, noisily sucking up the last of the sugary grape drink Trent had bought me on the way out of town. “So that was your idea of hanging out with friends?”

  “I just wanted you to see . . . Forget it.”

  “See what?” I asked snippily. The fright had left me exhausted and nagged by questions. This one didn’t seem to be all that hard.

  “It depends.”

  “On?”

  “On what date your father set down to release some or all of your trust.”

  “Not that, you’ve got money thing again.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Have you seen the state of our house? The list of repairs grows daily.”

  “I’ve got to say your aunt puts on a good show. I’m not talking just about money. Spring Valley is full of surprises. Your aunt is probably afraid of shocking you after what you’ve been through.”

  “At least someone is,” I replied, staring out into the dark with my arms folded across my chest.