by J. L. Weil
His footsteps were quick to match my strides. “I take it we’re no longer going to get tacos?”
How could he think of food at a time like this?
“We’re going to his house,” I declared, feeling alive for the first time in days. It was time I acted. My brooding days were over. No more feeling sorry for myself. “He can’t avoid me forever. If I did something to upset him, then he can be man enough to tell me to my face.” We raced out of the doors and into the parking lot.
“Damn straight. Get it, girl,” Beck cheered.
I rolled my eyes. “Just get in the car.”
“Are we going to make it back before lunch ends?”
“Probably not.”
Beck thought over what I was requesting of him, skipping classes and who knows what else. “Let’s do this,” he finally said with purpose. “I’m your emotional support. Detention can suck it. My friend’s sanity is on the line. That trumps perfect attendance.”
I don’t know what I would do without a friend like Beck.
Chapter 13
Skipping my afternoon classes was becoming a bad pattern I was going to need to break . . . once I rid myself of death.
“We can always grab tacos after,” Beck offered, a compromise on getting food.
My appetite might be shot, but Beck was a bottomless taco pit. The shifter could eat every day, all day, and I wasn’t about to stand in between him and tacos.
“Sure. We’ll confront Torent and then bury my problems with Mexican food.”
“Drama queen much?” Beck murmured, making himself comfortable in the passenger seat.
I shot him a glare as my car stopped at the main road. “I think I’m entitled to a moment of self-pity.”
Looking left and right, I bit my lower lip. Some impatient junior with road rage honked at me.
“Why aren’t we moving?” Beck asked, staring at me.
I glanced in my rearview mirror to see a line of cars starting to pile up behind me.
“I don’t know where he lives,” I admitted, realizing I’d never been to Torent’s house before. If I was going to be his girlfriend, I needed to step up my game.
His nose wrinkled in his disbelief face. “How is that possible?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Make a left and hit the gas before the angry mob behind us decides to get hostile.”
Punching the gas, I whipped the car to the left. I was a bundle of nerves when we pulled up to the Starks’ house. And what a freaking house. Torent seemed to have failed to mention his family was loaded, not that it mattered to me.
A combination of burnt bricks and mahogany wood covered the exterior of the house. Bright windows lined the two stories. A three-car garage curved around the side of the house. I parked my car behind a Jeep similar to Torent’s but was a cherry red with plates that read FLAMIN.
Cute.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Beck asked, breaking the silence that had descended.
My eyes swung from the house to Beck. “I can’t go into the demon’s den alone.”
I was pretty sure the Starks were mostly civilized, but it couldn’t hurt to bring a wolf just in case.
He let out a squeal of delight. “I’ve been dying to get inside Torent’s bedroom since the fifth grade.”
Together we walked up to the front door. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, telling myself I had nothing to be nervous about. There would be a reasonable explanation for Torent ghosting me. I really wanted there to be a reasonable explanation, one that wasn’t him breaking up with me.
My lungs tightened. Holy crap. I was petrified he didn’t care about me anymore. I had let myself fall hopelessly in love with him. If he rejected me, it would do more than sting. It would crush my heart into a million tiny pieces.
A part of me wanted to dash back to my car and run home. If I didn’t confront him, I could avoid the rejection, but it wouldn’t change the torment of not knowing. That would continue to plague me.
So here I was. Still in the same predicament, and I couldn’t forget I needed Torent’s blood.
“Have you changed your mind?”
Beck’s voice jerked me out of my head. It was a dark and dangerous place to be at the moment. No more overthinking or overanalyzing. It was time for action.
Schooling my face into a neutral expression, I extended my arm and pressed the fancy iron doorbell. What would I find behind the door of a demon’s house? Dungeons? Black candles? Shag carpet? Chains? To be fair, his mom was human. It had to take a brave and confident woman to marry and make a life with a demon.
I steeled my chin. It wouldn’t matter what I found behind this door, only that I saw Torent.
I might be scared shitless to meet his father, but nothing about Torent frightened me, other than losing him. Still, I really, really didn’t want his father to answer the door. Mr. Stark was a different level of supe.
Relax. He’s probably at work.
Footsteps sounded from the other side, followed by a deep voice that was muffled by the thick wood between us.
What kind of job did a demon have? Lawyer? Drug lord? Executioner?
Judging by the looks of their house, papa demon made good money doing whatever unethical thing it was he did with his days . . . or nights.
I was being stereotypical, but it was because I was nervous as hell.
The door opened, and I held my breath, waiting to see whose face would appear. Torent? His father? Or . . .
My mouth went dry.
Or neither.
A young guy answered the door. He was shirtless, his jogger pants hugging low at his hips. A fine sheet of gleaming sweat glistened on his skin, as if I’d interrupted his workout. My eyes ran up the bare chest to a face that was equally as impressive as the flat abs. He leaned a lazy hand on the doorway, regarding me with a lopsided grin and a twinkle of wickedness in his violet eyes. They looked so much like Torent’s that my heart cartwheeled. Those eyes collided with mine.
“Please tell me you’re too old to be selling cookies,” he said in a deep, hypnotic voice that made my cheeks flush.
“Hey, Zaren,” Beck purred as he stepped out from behind me.
Zaren lifted a brow.
“Beck,” he greeted. His eyes were quick to flicker back to me.
Zaren was one of Torent’s roguish older brothers. Where Torent’s hair was dark as sin, this Stark had streaks of auburn woven into his locks.
I cleared my throat. “Is Torent here?”
Zaren folded his arms like he had all the time in the world. “You must be the girl. My little bro always did have good taste.”
“In girls or cookies?” I chided.
Those full lips spread into a smile that would make girls everywhere tremble. And he had the Stark dimples. Damn them.
“Both,” he replied, those dimples flashing on either side of his cheeks.
Beck might swoon next to me. His hand landed on my shoulder to steady himself.
“Dear God,” he whispered under his breath.
I shook off the dazzling effect from Zaren’s grin and blinked. “So, is he here or not?”
“Sadly, he is not, but I am sure he is going to be disappointed he missed you.”
My heart sank. If he wasn’t here, then where the hell was he?
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked, doing my best to not sound desperate . . . and probably failing miserably.
Zaren’s sparkling eyes dulled. “He’s been avoiding you, hasn’t he?”
I nodded.
“My brother is an idiot.” Zaren opened the door wider and gestured Beck and me to come in. Together we stepped over the threshold. “I don’t entirely know what my baby brother is up to, other than it was important. He left Friday in a hurry and gave us few details.”
Why would he leave without saying goodbye? It didn’t make sense. This sucked.
“If you talk to him, could you tell him I stopped by?”
“Sure, love.”
“You h
ave no idea where he went?” Beck inquired.
Zaren shook his head. “I wish I could help.”
“He isn’t in danger, is he?” The question sprang from my lips.
“With Torent, it’s hard to say, but if he was in any real danger, I would know. My brother might be reckless at times, but he is smart. He would reach out to one of us for help.” Zaren seemed so confident in the fact that Torent was alive and safe that he left little room for argument.
The problem was, I wanted to argue, to demand he call Torent and let me speak to him, but I refused to succumb to the title of desperate girlfriend.
“Thank you,” I said to Zaren. “Will you tell him I came by?”
Zaren grinned. “Of course.”
Leaving the Starks’ house with virtually nothing, I felt worse. I turned in the car, angling my body inward and blurted out to Beck, “Now what? Got any brilliant ideas?”
My best friend looked at me, his brows creasing together. “Road trip?”
“We don’t have the faintest idea where to begin looking.”
“Shit.” Beck cursed. “We could ask Zaren for his blood. He’s not his brother, but he’s mostly a decent guy and half demon. Ticks off all the qualifications.”
Very true. And I should have probably marched back up to the house and asked him to come into the woods with me so I could use his blood to break a hex. I wouldn’t sound crazy at all. At the moment, I didn’t care about my mental state. But asking Zaren would mean explaining why I needed his blood, and I didn’t want to have to go into the long-winded story of my family’s history.
So that left me at a crossroads.
My foot tapped on the floor of my car. Without demon blood, I was screwed. If word got out about my hex to the Court of the Sun and the Moon, the rulers over the supernaturals . . . I shuddered to think what would happen.
Chapter 14
I stayed in bed through dinner that night, unable to muster an appetite. Mom and Gigi didn’t pester me about my sullen mood, and I was relieved. I wouldn’t be able to get the words out without losing my shit.
With Torent gone, I had to devise a backup plan. Soon. A shadow of darkness swirling inside me was growing stronger, digging its phantom claws into my soul. I was spiraling down a dark hole.
Near bedtime, a soft knock sounded on my door.
“Mal? Honey? Are you okay?” It was Mom.
I rolled over in my bed and closed my eyes, evening out my breathing. The door creaked open, and I continued to pretend I was asleep, saying nothing. After a few moments, she shut the door and padded quietly down the hall to her own room.
I lay awake until past midnight, contemplating my options and trying not to let my emotions get the best of me. Round and round I went—an endless circle. I had to undo the hex. To do that, I needed demon blood. The only viable option was to ask a complete stranger. Zaren was my best shot.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Frustration stung at my eyes, a film of tears blocking my vision as my fist hit the pillow, taking out all my aggression and misery. When I’d exerted myself and felt no better, I pressed my face into the pillow, a bone-deep sadness coming over me.
The dried tears were replaced by a dull ache behind my eyes. Then came the anger. It was so intense my body was vibrating. This was my father’s fault. If I hadn’t hated him before, I did so now with a fervent loathing.
Morning stirred before I got the chance to sleep, and getting out of bed was a chore—one I didn’t want to do. To rise would mean I had to deal with the fact it was time I told Mom what was wrong. She and Gigi were already suspicious and knew something was bothering me. They were watching me.
Mom came into the room, and I was still in bed with the covers pulled over my head, shutting out the sunshine. Who needed light when I was filled with nothing but darkness?
She sat on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dipped under her weight. With gentle hands, she peeled back a corner of the blanket.
I squinted and groaned. My body sunk into the bed like it was a tanker truck loaded with iron. Everything hurt. My head. My bones. My muscles. My heart. I had no energy to move and barely enough to open my eyes, but I forced them to part.
Concern flickered in her thickly lashed eyes. “Rough couple of days, huh?”
My gaze took her in. She looked good, the best I’d ever seen her. Her skin was creamy, soft, and flawless. The dark circles and light wrinkles were missing from around her eyes, and there was even a rosy flush to her cheeks. I nodded, my throat closing up. She was happy, and I wasn’t ready to be the one who put the shadow of gloom into her eyes. She had enough of it in her life.
“You want to talk about it yet?”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
My emotions screamed.
I shook my head. “It’s just cramps and a headache.”
We both knew it was bullshit. She kissed my forehead, tucking my hair behind my ear as she studied my face. “Take a mental health day. Work through what is bothering you, and if you want to talk tonight, I’ll listen. You never know, I might even have some solid advice for the first time ever in your life.”
I forced what could pass for a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
Giving my hand a squeeze, she eased to her feet, but paused in the archway leading into the hall and glanced over her shoulder. “Things are turning around for us. I never thought that Havenwood Falls would be home again, but it always was.”
Mom needed me to be happy, so I gave her the best encouraging smile I could, not wanting her to spend her day worrying about me when she needed to be concentrating on her job. She was content. For the first time in her life, it wasn’t because of a guy. How could I burst her bubble?
I made the decision to keep my secret a little bit longer. I’d take the day to nurse my broken heart, then the time to feel sorry for myself came to end.
Curled up on the couch with one of Gigi’s knitted blankets in the colors of the sea, I sat in front of the TV, watching reality trash. It made me feel slightly better about my own life . . . just a smidge.
Gigi was out doing volunteer work at the local animal shelter. Once a month she dedicated her day to helping Isa Hilton, the local vet and owner of the shelter, with the stray and abandoned animals of Havenwood Falls. I was grateful to have the house to myself.
An hour went by, and I hadn’t budged from my spot on the couch, not even an inch, and I was satisfied to stay here for the rest of the day, doing nothing but watching mindless entertainment. I must have dozed off for a little bit, the lack of sleep finally catching up to me.
I dreamed.
I dreamed I was walking through my house, down the carpeted hallway into the kitchen. Something was off about the way I moved. It was me but it wasn’t me. I didn’t know how else to explain the feeling of knowing your body moved but you weren’t controlling its movements.
Stopping in the middle of the kitchen, I twisted my wrist in the air, and a knife from the butcher block wiggled before unsheathing itself completely. The blade hung in the air level with my nose.
So simple. It had been like snapping my fingers, summoning the knife to do as I bid. The power I wielded often frightened me. In my dreams, none of that fear lived, only a desire for more. My power filled me with the strength and roaring of the sea.
I smiled, twirling the blade in circles.
Knock. Knock.
My eyes glanced at the hallway that led to the front door. Someone was there. Who could it be? This was a dream, after all. The grin on my lips widened.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Knuckles rapped against the front door in a more persistent rhythm.
I glided down the hallway with the floating blade in tow. This version of me had a thing for knives. I didn’t like how I was feeling inside, the strange elation swimming in my veins. Something wasn’t right about it. Something foul was at play. Something dark loomed inside of me.
I closed my fingers over the doorknob without looking outside, but when my hand touched
the metal, a surge of heat pulsed from the other side of the door. I hesitated, my hand paused on the knob. The glint of the silver blade at the corner of my eyes reminded me I had nothing to fear. I wasn’t powerless or defenseless.
I brought the hovering knife forward, so it would stand between whoever was behind the door and me. One hell of a warm greeting.
My fingers fumbled with the locks, and I whipped open the door, expecting to see the face of my father or someone equally menacing. Instead, a white light burned around the figure, making it impossible for me to see their face.
What the hell? What was this?
Rotating my fingers in the air, I commanded the knife to move forward, closer to the flickering form radiating heat in waves.
“Show yourself,” I demanded.
“Mallory,” the light spoke my name.
I cocked my head to the side, regarding the figure. Was it dangerous?
Yes, a dark voice in my head replied. Eliminate.
The blade was still in the air, just waiting for me to give the order. One quick twitch and it would be over. Blood would spill.
“Mallory,” the voice behind the blinding light shouted.
It was so familiar . . . yet, I couldn’t recall the face the voice belonged to, or a name.
My shoulders shook. I looked away as the light grew brighter, blinking. Color swirled behind my eyelids. Then it burst, leaving me shrouded in darkness. My breath came out in short pants, the sound echoing in my ears.
“Mallory?” a gentle voice whispered.
I blinked, realizing my eyes had been shut, hence the darkness. My hand gripped onto the doorframe as I steadied myself, trying to make sense of what was happening. The sun warmed my face from the open door, and a cool breeze blew over my cheeks.
I went rigid when I noticed the blade hovering a few feet in front of me, and I paled seeing who it was pointed at. Torent. He glowered, staring at me with an odd expression. My mind blanked, then I was assaulted with an onslaught of emotions.