"Dylan, wait."
I only stopped because Kaylia wanted me to. Not for them. They could go to hell for all I cared.
My mother caught up with us and smiled tremulously.
"We were just surprised dear."
"Yeah, right."
My father wore a stern expression on his face.
"You didn't tell us you had a friend Dylan."
"She's my girlfriend, Dad. And I want to bring her home with us for Thanksgiving in the morning."
"We'll have to talk about that first. In private."
"Dyl- it's fine. I have to go see Gran anyway."
Kaylia turned stiffly to face my parents. I could tell how much it cost to her to look them in the eye. She held her head up like the brave girl she was.
"It was very nice to meet you."
I glared at my folks, utterly disgusted. I wanted her with me over the break. They had just ruined everything.
Not to mention the way they were acting made me wonder if they were a little bit racist.
"I'm going to walk Kaylia back to her dorm. I'll see you in the morning."
Kaylia
∏
"Dylan. It's fine."
Dylan raked his hand through his hair beside me.
"No, it's not Kaylia."
"They aren't going to let me come. You know that. Just let it go. It's only five days."
He stopped walking and turned to face me. I sighed heavily at the look on his face. Just because Dylan was wonderful, didn't mean his parents were. He took my shoulders, pulling me towards him.
"I want you with me."
"They don't approve of me, Dylan. Of us... You aren't going to be able to change their minds. I can tell."
"Why wouldn't they like you? It makes no sense."
I shrugged. It didn't matter why really. There was no way around it. My boyfriend's parents had taken an immediate dislike to me.
It was easy to understand. I was the mousy girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Why would they want their rich, handsome son to choose someone like me?
But he had chosen me. And there was nothing they could do about it.
We were just going to have to work around them.
I had to get him to understand. Nothing would tear us apart. But we needed to pick out battles.
"It's okay, Dylan, I need to see my Gran."
He looked crestfallen. As if he'd been ready for a fight. Looking forward to it, even. I knew he didn't like to be away from me for a whole day, let alone almost an entire week.
"You're sure?"
I cupped his cheek, trying to reassure him. He was upset enough as it was.
"Yes, I'm sure. I couldn't have come for more than a day or two anyway."
He stared into my eyes for a long minute then nodded. He pulled me into his strong arms and kissed me passionately, standing in full view of anyone who walked past my dorm.
It reminded me of the way he had pulled me against his side after the game. It was almost like he was showing off. Claiming me.
He picked me up and twirled me, making me let out a squeal.
"But you're coming home for Christmas with me. I'm going to spoil you rotten."
I giggled against his shoulder. He set me down again, staring down at me intently.
"Promise me, Kaylia."
"Okay, I promise."
I sighed as I watched him walk away. He looked back over his shoulder at me. Twice. I knew how he felt.
I was going to miss him too.
Chapter Nine
Dylan
♛
I stared open mouthed at my father.
"You knew this could happen?"
After three days of sullen dinners and barely talking, my father had brought me into his study for 'a talk.'
I was surprised as hell at what he had to say.
My father poured himself another bourbon and stared out the window of his study. My dad didn't usually drink so much. He was the kind of guy who liked to stay in control at all times.
It had never occured to me before that he might have a very good reason for that.
He took a deep swig of the drink and then another. Clearly he needed courage to get through this conversation. Now I understood why.
"We tried to keep you from it Dylan. To protect you until you were ready- old enough to understand. As my father protected me."
I stared at my father's back, trying to control my temper. It didn't work. I jumped up, grabbing the older man's shoulder and turning him around.
"You knew this could happen and you didn't warn me?"
Garret Westen held up his hands in surrender.
"How could we know you would find one of - of them? There are so few left. I thought they were all gone. And our line has been diluted over the years. Deliberately, I might add."
"One of what, Dad?"
My father backed away from me slowly.
"That girl. The one you've been seeing. Don't tell me she isn't involved in this."
I clenched my fists. He was bringing Kaylia into this. That made my anger triple almost instantly.
No. It quadrupled.
"What about her?"
"She's trash, son. She's just a low class witch."
I rushed forward, looming over my father. Suddenly he seemed very small to me. Weak. He'd never turned. He didn't have an ounce of my power.
"Never speak about her that way again."
I lifted my fist and grabbed my fathers shirt, yanking him forward. Bourbon splashed all over the rug. I was on the brink of beating the living crap out of my dad.
God knows he deserved it.
"In fact, never speak of her at all."
"Dylan! Garret!"
My mother's voice cracked out like a whip.
"Let go of your father this instant."
Slowly, never breaking eye contract, I lowered my fist. I turned and saw my mother looking at me sternly.
"Come. Now."
She turned and left the room without looking to see if I followed. I was tempted to leave. Just go and never come back. Kaylia and I would be fine without my family money. We'd manage somehow.
It would be better with just the two of us anyway.
I cursed and followed my mother out of the house. I owed her the chance to speak her peace. Plus, I wanted answers.
"Here."
My mother handed me an axe.
"What's this for?"
"You look like you need to destroy something. I need this Rose of Sharon removed. Then we can talk."
I stared at her, then took the axe. Twenty minutes later I was covered in sweat. The ten foot bush was gone, and so was some of my rage.
But nowhere near all of it.
My mother brought out a tray of iced tea and sat in one of the adirondack chairs under the huge oak in the far corner of the yard. I walked over there, dropping the axe at her feet. She said nothing, just raised an eyebrow at me and held out a frosty glass. I took the glass from her grudgingly.
"You're burning up."
I shrugged, finishing the cool drink in one gulp.
"It's hot out."
"It's forty degrees outside."
She pulled her jacket closer around herself and stared up me.
"Sit down for Christs sake."
I grunted and did as she asked. I knew that if I was going to get any straight answers, they were going to come from my mother. Pamela Westen always did wear the pants in the family.
"Your father is the same way. Always hot. I used to think it was romantic, like having my own personal furnace. Until your grandmother told me why."
I said nothing. I just waited. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what I heard.
"Listen, Dylan. You have to believe we had your best interests in mind. We were trying to protect you. The family has carefully bred itself for centuries to weaken the strain. Obviously it's more potent than we thought. Or maybe you'
re something special. A throwback."
She took a deep breath.
"But I don't think it can be stopped. "
"It?"
"The blood. It's something in the blood. That's why you've only seen one doctor since you were born, son. We didn't want anyone to treat you like some sort of a freak."My lips twisted in a sardonic smile.
"But I am a freak, mother. I'm a monster. And only one person can help me."
Her hand came down on my forearm, cool and soothing.
"No. You are a wonderful boy. You always have been. This... disease doesn't change that. But now that this thing is unleashed... well, there's nothing that can be done."
She sighed deeply.
"You've changed already?"
I nodded.
"I think so. Maybe not completely. Not when I'm awake."
"The dreams... your father had them once. A beautiful woman was there with him. He used to call her name in his sleep. But he never admitted it when he was awake. Still, I knew. I hated her for a long time."
She laughed bitterly.
"Then I got the doctor to give him sleeping pills."
She put her hand on my arm, serious again.
"But you've chosen to face the dreams... and you'll need the girl to do it. I don't know how long you'll be able to keep her safe but without her, the strain will take over. You won't be able to control it."
"What do you mean 'keep her safe'?"
"I thought your father told you-"
"What do you mean, Mother?"
I felt rage bubble up from my bones. My teeth were sharpening, my muscles starting to bulge. I growled at her, needing to know the answer, fear clawing at my insides.
My mother shrank back in her chair, clearly terrified. But she didn't run. She must have known I wouldn't hurt her.
"The girl. She's in danger too."
"What do you mean?"
"There are others like you son. They would do anything to have a key like her- like Kaylia. There are so few left."
"A key?"
She nodded. I stared at her, shocked at what I was hearing. Kaylia was part of this... a bigger part than I'd imagined.
"That's what she is. She's from a long line of potent witches. She must have unlocked the strain. She probably can do other things too, though I doubt she knows any of it. Her kind has been descimated by the Western Tribes."
"Tribes?"
"There's so much that I don't know son. We didn't need to think about it. Your father's curse was never triggered. He never sought out the woman from his dreams.
I stared at her, my mind in a whir. One thing I did know, my mother was telling the truth. And she seemed truly sorry.
In fact, she was acting like I was already gone.
"I'm so sorry. We thought about not having children... or adopting. We didn't want anyone else to suffer."
She looked at me, her cool hand cupping my cheek.
"But we wanted you so badly. And I don't regret it. Truly. I just wish I could tell you more."
I stared at my mother. She was telling the truth. She was on my side. Her reaction to Kaylia had been born from that.
My father on the other hand... I had a feeling he was jealous that I'd embraced my dreammate. Something he'd never had the courage to do.
"That's all you know? Is there anyone else I can ask?"
She shook her head.
"Not since your Grandmother passed. I do know that there are others and that they are dangerous. Far more than you can imagine. They killed your grandfather, Dylan. It was... incredibly gruesome."
I closed my eyes. This was worse than I imagined.
"What do they want with Kaylia?"
"They will want to use her to awaken the next generation. And the next. Her kind have hidden themselves for a reason, just like we have."
"So I'll protect her."
"It might already be too late. They aren't like you, Dylan. They aren't good. They're cruel, ferocious. There are dozens of them. They haven't fought the disease. They've embraced it."
She looked at me solemnly.
"They thrive on the kill."
Kaylia
♛
I stood in the center of my tiny, cozy room. Everything was the same as it had ever been, even my quilt. I'd brought it home with me, unwilling to leave it unprotected in my dorm for even a few days.
If Gran had seen me, she would have had something saracastic to say. Something about gathering wool and foolishness. But she was already in bed, reading one of her cozy mysteries that she loved so well.
She also didn't know how frightened I was.
I stared at my bed, chewing my bottom lip nervously. I was tired from traveling all day to get home to Gran. But I was also afraid to go to sleep.
For the first time in my life, I was afraid to dream.
I didn't want to see him again. The creature with the gray streak in it's fur. He was visiting me every night now. And lately, he'd been bringing others.
His eyes were wild but intelligent. Cunning. He wasn't just an animal. None of them were.
They were werewolves.
There was no use lying to myself about it now. Werewolves were real. And I was in love with one of them.
The way the ghost faced wolf looked at me though... there was no kindness there. He wanted something from me, and he didn't care who he hurt to get it.
I knew all that, just from looking into his eyes.
I peeled my jeans and t-shirt off and stepped into my old flannel nightgown. There was no use hiding from him. But maybe, if I was clever enough, I could find out who he was. What he wanted.
Why he was haunting me.
Not just haunting.
He was hunting me.
Despite my misgivings I was asleep in what felt like an instant. I'd always been that way. My head hit the pillow and I was out. Of course, I was very much aware of what was happening when I slipped out of my bed and body.
This time I didn't hesitate. I walked swiftly through the dark countryside toward the dark house where the stone room was hidden. I'd figured out that it was North. Maine maybe. Or Canada.
Dylan wasn't the one drawing me this time though. I could feel the difference in the energy that pulled me. It was dark, seductive, greedy.
It was him.
The ghost faced wolf.
Before I knew it, I was in the house again, wandering it's dark halls. It was a stone house, at least two hundred years old. It might even be older than that.
I was turning toward the cellar door when I heard it. It was just a faint echo but it hit me hard, making me sway on my feet. Even in the dream, I could feel my heart hammer in my chest.
A woman's voice.
Singing.
Hush little baby don't say a word...
I held perfectly still, afraid to believe what I was hearing. I knew that voice. I knew it because it belonged to my mother.
Papa's gonna buy you a mocking bird...
My mother was here. Somewhere in this house. Catherine Thomas was here.
She was alive.
I took the steep stairs at a run. There was no effort involved. I practically flew up the narrow steps. All I had to do was exert the slightest control. The singing got louder as I floated up towards it. And then it stopped.
I looked around at my surroudings. I was in the top of the house. A turret. Or the attic. Boxes and old furniture were everywhere. I wandered through it, forcing myself to slow down. My movements in the dream were too large, too fast. I didn't want to get lost, or worse yet, lose her.
Finally at the far end of the attic I saw a small room. There was a heavy door with an enormous lock barring the entrance. It was obviously meant to keep something out.
Or keep something locked in.
I reached for the door but it wouldn't budge. For the first time in my life, I couldn't go somewhere in my dreams. I pulled on the knob in frustration, rattling
the door in it's frame.
"Who's there?"
I gasped, the voice touching my heart, making me freeze in place. It was my mother. There was no question in my mind now. It was her.
I hadn't been imagining things.
"Mom?"
Pattering footsteps ran toward the door.
"Kneel down, quickly. Look through the keyhole."
I did as she asked. A beautiful brown eye blinked back at me.
"Scoot back so I can see you."
I moved backwards a foot and smiled, tears of relief washing over my face. My mother... she was here. She was alive.
"Oh my sweet girl... You are so beautiful, Kaylia. I never thought I'd see you again."
I reached out, laying my palm against the door.
"I never thought I would see you again either."
"You have the gift? You can dream walk?"
I nodded.
"Ever since I can remember."
"There is so much I want to teach you."
"Please. I want to see you. Why are you here? Why didn't you come home to us?"
My mothers voice cracked.
"You can't. You have to leave. Quickly, before they find you!"
"You scoot back so I can see you."
"Alright, but quickly. Then you have to go."
I pressed my eye against the door and stared. The room was clean. There were books everywhere and a large bed covered in white blankets. A large window looked out over the countryside. And standing in the center of the room was a slim, beautiful woman in her forties. She looked like a girl, until you saw her eyes.
Her eyes were sad. Tired. Not the eyes of a young girl after all.
My mother.
Then I noticed the white streaks in her hair. No matter how well she looked, she had aged. Or something had changed her.
"You're really alive."
She nodded.
"I'm so sorry my love. I tried to get back to you but they wouldn't let me leave. I tried so hard. I never forgot you."
"Mom, we have to get you out of here."
In a flash Catherine was back at the door, bringing us eye to eye again.
"No, Kaylia. You have to leave. Now. And never come back here. You have to learn to hide your gifts. Snuff them out, like Gran did."
The Hidden (Heartfire) Page 5