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

by Jan Harman

  “I get that you’re upset. So it was a bone-head move taking you out there. But honestly, it never occurred to me that you’d freak out. Out there it’s all about the car and the driver. It helps even the playing field in this skewed place.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You’ve got a muscle car. You’re not deprived.”

  “Come on, don’t be mad. I won’t do it again.” He covered my hand with his and moved them onto his right thigh. “At least say you’ll come to tomorrow’s game and cheer me on.”

  He chatted as though it was a done deal, going on at length about the team’s chances of winning tomorrow until we pulled into my drive. He pressed a button. Ambient lighting bathed the floor and cup holders, giving off just enough light so I could see anxious, hazel-brown eyes searching my face.

  “You’re still so pale. Sorry. Please don’t tell your aunt.” He stared past me towards the dark yard. “About Shade, according to my older cousin, who went through high school with him, he was quite the player. Talk about laying on the whole romantic mystique. The girls, hell the women of this valley, salivate if he so much as looks at them.”

  “Sounds like a great piece of gossip for the town, based on what proportion of fact?”

  “Don’t be naïve. Be careful around him. Better yet, keep your distance.”

  “We work in the same shop.”

  He tugged his jacket zipper down and turned to face me. “I wish you’d believe me when I say you don’t need to work, ever. Don’t glare,” he said, his hands raised in surrender. “Not another word about money. Just play it cool with Shade. A guy like him will get bored and find another girl.”

  “Shade’s not into me. I’m still in high school. You’re just sore because he’s coming by here to make sure I got home in one piece.”

  Trent shook his head and scowled. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you get your heart stomped on.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?”

  “You’ve lost your parents and been uprooted to a town that clings to tradition. Right now you’re feeling lost and lonely. See, I do get it. You’re vulnerable. I can’t compete with the brooding Prince Charming.”

  That description hit close to the mark. I forced a light tone to go with my weak smile. “Now that’s a line, Mr. Football Jock, I’ve got half the girls in school mooning after me.”

  “More than half.” He grinned and slid a hand behind my head. “I’ve got charisma, and I feel a powerful need to practice some of my charms right now.”

  His lips pressed against mine, molding ours together. A hand drifted down my back, stopping to tease the sensitive skin at the curve of my back where my top had ridden up. The tip of his tongue traced my bottom lip as he eased me back against my seat, leaning over me, deepening the kiss. My head whirled. It was too much too soon. I wasn’t even sure how much I liked him. He’d been attentive, but he’d also been a show off and inconsiderate of my feelings. Alright, so he was a typical high school guy, an incredibly good-looking guy who happened to be an excellent kisser, I thought, melting into the seat.

  Kisses trailed down my neck while his fingers slid fabric off my shoulder. I pressed my hands against his chest. “It’s getting late and this is new for my aunt.” And for me.

  “It’s early. You don’t really want me to stop.” Twin beams of light shone into the car. Trent’s head jerked up. “Ass.” He flipped Shade off, and then lowered his head for another kiss.

  Headlights flicked to high beams.

  Trent punched the headrest. “Just who does he think he is?”

  “Let it go.”

  “Tomorrow, after the game, there’s a celebration party at my place,” he said by way of asking me on a second date. “I’ll pick you up at the gym’s street entrance.”

  The moment he opened my door, I tried to slip past, anxious to be out of the middle of whatever drove him to aggravate Shade. Trent caught me about the waist and maneuvered me against the car, cradling my neck, drawing me in tight for a last kiss.

  “That’ll give him something to think about,” he announced after several last kisses.

  I pushed his hands down. “Is that what this was all about, Shade’s response?”

  “Just telling him to stay away.”

  “And me?”

  “I think I’ve shown you how close we’re going to be,” he answered very low in my ear.

  “Your ego is working overtime.”

  “I’ve got to stake my claim before someone else does.”

  “I’m not a gold mine,” I said, my tone as hard as the stone that came out of the ground.

  “Now don’t get testy. This is just a thing guys do.”

  “Until you can prove yourself, this mine is closed. I’ll let you know tomorrow about the party,” I said, determined not to feed his ego. When he opened his mouth to try another line, I lied. “My aunt is at the window. I’ve got to go.”

  I waited outside until both vehicles had backed out of the drive. Lights were still on in the living room. I groaned. Facing Aunt Claire while my cheeks were flushed would raise more parenting conversations and quite possibly new rules. Dry leaves crunched as I paced along the edge of the drive, making sure to stay in the shadows.

  “Before you go in, you might want to do something with your hair,” a voice said unexpectedly at my side.

  I whirled on Shade with a hand pressed to my chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? It would serve you right if my aunt came charging out here with her shotgun.”

  “Your aunt has a shotgun?” he asked, sounding amused by the concept.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “A tone like that after what I did for you? How ungrateful.”

  “Sneak up on me again, and you’ll get more than tone.”

  “I’m intrigued. Shall I call your bluff?”

  I got the impression that beneath his light teasing that he was hurt. Did he honestly come here expecting to be thanked for stepping in? It had all been harmless fun. Sure, delude yourself, I told myself. Not one moment of hyperventilating and paralyzing fear had been fun. I set the crutch in a chipmunk hole. Strong hands caught me about my waist and pulled me tight against his side. A tingling sensation danced up my arms. Tension drained from my body as though he gave off a soothing vibe. Maybe I should cut out the chick flicks.

  “Perhaps we could continue our conversation from the safety of your porch and its comfy swing. Not that I’m complaining. I’m happy to be of service as your handy post or whatever else you might require,” he said in his deep drawl straight out of a classic western film.

  Had I honestly just thought that? He was angling us towards the porch. Bad idea. The anonymity of the shadows was safer.

  Without missing a beat, he turned just as abruptly as I, matching his long strides to my awkward gait as we headed back up the drive. I had this insane image of us snuggling close together. My crutch left behind on the porch, an unnecessary support when I had his strong arms to make me feel feather light. Now whose ego needed a reality check? Obviously I was still suffering from an overload of stress hormones. Either that or I was turning into a silly heroine from an 18th Century romance novel. Get a grip. Focus on the ground. Forget his firm, strong body, the soothing vibes, and his icy . . . I refused to allow myself to consider the qualities of his disconcerting eyes. I had the unsettling feeling that he could stare his way into my thoughts or my soul. My fingers brushed against the soft nap of his shirt. He made flannel sexy.

  “How about I start?” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry for intruding on your date. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Cassidy’s attitudes bother me. Chalk it up to ancient history, a family thing.”

  “The feelings seemed mutual.”

  “Fine by me. I like knowing where I stand. Trust me, neither of us will lose any sleep over it. All I ask is that you keep an open mind as things unfold.”

  Not understa
nding the sudden tension in his voice, I squinted up at him, trying to read his expression obscured by the shadows. “I don’t want to be caught in the middle of something.”

  “I figured Cassidy couldn’t resist showing off, so I checked out his favorite racing spot. I didn’t think. After the other day in my truck, I felt responsible for you.”

  “You’re not in charge of my life.”

  “I get that here,” he said, tapping his forehead. “It’s just that you’re delicate.”

  I turned aside, grinding my crutch into the ground. Don’t cry until you close the door in his movie-star, perfect face.

  “Olivia, please. Livi,” he said, shortening my name.

  It was difficult to ignore how beautiful my name sounded as it rolled off his tongue. While I wavered between staying just to hear it again, he stepped forward, blocking my path to the porch.

  “Hang on, don’t be mad.” He rubbed his temple. “I’m making a mess of this. I don’t mean you’re delicate physically.”

  “Great, so I’m crazy. Thanks. That makes me feel empowered. Go home, Shade.”

  “Don’t say that,” he said in a clipped tone.

  I sighed. “You’re not making sense.”

  “Do you want an explanation?”

  Again with the tension in his voice that made no sense. He’d taken several steps towards the road. Sideways to me now he paused, staring straight ahead, trying to avoid upsetting the broken girl. At least delicate had a gentler connotation than crazy.

  “That’ll do,” he said at long last under his breath, taking my silence for an answer.

  Still waiting for him to say something that made sense, I crossed my arms. “That was your cue to fill the silence.”

  His lips twitched, but when he spoke his tone was serious. “The crutch is a constant reminder of your current difficulties, an embarrassment, and even a symbol of weakness. Once its purpose is done the tool will be discarded. The world will think the frail girl beneath the surface is healed. They’ll be wrong because your mind, like your winter coat, is stuffed full of insulation. This mental buffer is just another crutch, one stitched out of your profound sadness. It keeps the cold in. It allows you to go through your days stifling who you were and who you were becoming under those bulky layers. You just do or say whatever to get through the moment.”

  “I don’t.” Liar. I’d just broken my first date rule by staying in the car because going along was easier and in the end nothing mattered. He just didn’t know that yet. I checked the time on my watch and asked, “Should I be expecting a bill in the morning?”

  “You’re the one who wanted to know why I stepped in. It’s not my fault if you don’t like what you hear. Take my advice, rip out the insulation. Put your head up. Face your life.”

  “No oozing of sympathy. How refreshingly honest.” I waved off his advice and headed for the porch.

  Two long strides and he invaded my space. “Don’t you have any fight left in you?”

  “I see, a couple rides in your truck and now you’re an expert on me,” I retorted, my voice cool and strong. I kept walking, forcing him to step to the side.

  “A show of real temper, finally. That’s an improvement over the tears and self-pity.”

  I stared at the ground, breathing hard, determined not to cry. “You’re mean. Go home.”

  I expected another insightful reply. When he remained silent, I looked up through my lashes. The spot where he’d been standing was empty. I swung my head about. I was alone. I stared up the drive, listening for the sound of an engine starting. I waited ten minutes, unwilling to admit to my hope that he’d suddenly reappear. I had no idea what I’d say if he did.

  Chapter 4

  As it turned out, I had an excellent excuse to avoid the football game. Our long awaited moving truck arrived around mid-morning. I called Trent’s house and left a message. Twenty minutes later, in the middle of maneuvering a box of my aunt’s private papers into her closet, I heard tires roll to a stop on the gravel drive. By the time I got to the window, Shade was assisting an older gentleman out of a black sedan parked behind his dusty, green pick-up truck. Swell, like today wasn’t hard enough, now I could look forward to more of Shade’s insights. It would serve him right if I ignored him. Hard to do when your pulse sets out to betray.

  Halfway down the hall, I recalled the streak of dust from my chin to my right ear. I pulled up a corner of my T-shirt and rubbed. Voices floated up the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen. Aunt Claire had probably offered to make tea, obligating me to speak with our guest. I collided with something solid at the top of the landing and bounced back a step.

  “We don’t have time for a trip to the emergency room today,” an amused voice drawled. “Heads up.” Shade picked me up and whisked me to the side.

  Two burly movers angling my aunt’s king-sized, four-poster bed up the stairs and around the corner squashed us against the far wall. One of the posts dug into Shade’s back; he grunted.

  “Sorry, folks, we didn’t think anyone was up here. We could try backing up,” one of the movers said.

  I squeezed into the corner, trying to take up as little space as possible. “There’s room,” I said, not sure how I felt about being this close to Shade or the sudden decrease of oxygen. The movers twisted the frame further onto its side. Shade’s lips pinched together. “Move.”

  Crystal-blue eyes tightened and dropped to mine. I nodded and he slid forward another two inches, flattening my back into the corner. With his forearms braced on the wall on either side of my head, he curled his long muscular frame around my body.

  “Am I hurting you?” he demanded.

  My damp palms gripped my thighs and I could barely speak. “I’m a little squished.”

  Biceps bulged. Wood squeaked.

  “No, stop!”

  Muscles relaxed, but he didn’t relinquish the room he’d made for us. Heat from his body seeped into mine. The confined space filled with the scent of the forest, fresh and earthy with a hint of pine. Lungs expanded deeper with each breath. Knots loosened and muscles unclenched, freed from months of fears that crowded into every minute.

  Men and bed cleared the landing. Footsteps faded, leaving behind an awkward silence. Shade pushed off the wall and asked, “Are you doing ok? It wasn’t too claustrophobic for you?”

  “How did you know?” I asked, not minding that he’d figured out this truth.

  “Pinned inside a car in the dark for hours. It wasn’t a stretch to think you’d find tight places . . . uncomfortable.”

  “I’m fine, really.” It was then that I realized my earbuds had fallen out of my ears. No music. No voice. No tension eating at my stomach. So this is what normal felt like. I’d forgotten. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying for casual interest, knowing cruel reality would crash over me any moment, knowing I’d have to pretend even harder for the next few days, knowing he’d see through my charade.

  He studied my face, giving my chin a gentle squeeze. “Wide shoulders, remember? You can talk to me about anything. Now as for why I’m here, the bed you’ve been using and your aunt’s fold out cot and dresser belong to my family. I’m half of the pickup crew.”

  “Only half?” I thought of the older gentleman. Surely he wasn’t up to moving furniture? It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen the driver of the sedan exit the vehicle.

  “My brother got conscripted. I came upstairs to make sure you were out of the way.”

  “I’m not a child underfoot.”

  “Just a rather slim, young woman who’d be sporting several bruises had you collided with that four poster.”

  I remembered his groan. “Speaking of bruises, do you need some ice?”

  His smile melted my bones. A warm hand closed about my arm. “Let’s get you settled into the kitchen.”

  “Isn’t this cozy,” a voice very much like Shade’s said from the top step. “I can see the attraction. She’s a pretty little thing. Shame on you, brother, for
holding out.”

  I was staring. It was justified. Who would’ve thought a small community like this could produce two such utterly gorgeous guys?

  “You can call this miscreant, Shadow. We’re twins,” Shade said.

  Except for the yellow blond hair styled to form spikes across the top of his head and warm turquoise eyes instead of cool, crystal blue, Shadow was practically a mirror image of his brother. I realized as soon as he stepped onto the landing that Shade was the taller of the two, while Shadow was heavier built across the chest, although he was by no means stocky. Where Shade had opted for jeans and a simple gray, crew-neck shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his twin in his button down, cotton shirt and khakis looked overdressed for moving furniture.

  “Now don’t go giving Olivia the wrong idea. I’m a fine, upstanding member of the community,” Shadow said, his tone neutral but his eyes took me in and seemed to harden.

  Shade snorted.

  I held out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you. My aunt and I appreciate the loan of the beds.”

  Shadow nodded and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Just doing our duty.”

  “Speaking of which, make yourself useful; start taking the bed apart. Come on, Olivia, I’ll introduce you to my Grandpa Fern,” Shade said, holding his twin’s gaze as we past.

  “Anxious to be of service, exalted one,” Shadow muttered under his breath.

  Shade started to turn around. I gripped his arm as though to steady myself. His jaw worked, but he guided me away. I waited out his mood until we were outside the kitchen door. “You didn’t mention having a twin brother.”

  “Guess it didn’t come up. Technically we haven’t had that many conversations.”

  “Any other siblings I might run into around town?”

  “Nope.”

  “Kind of unusual names,” I said when he put his hand on the door.

  “Think so?”

  “Of course not. I can’t begin to count the number of people I’ve met around the world with the names Shade and Shadow.”

  “Why polite, Olivia, is that sarcasm?”