Remembrance: (New Adult Paranormal Romance) (Heart Lines Series Book 1)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  Alex was an asshole.

  I frowned and started typing again:

  The Big Bad Wolf is a metaphor for the psyche present in the male predator archetype throughout folklore. Most often exhibited while preying on “innocent” females. Most likely, to teach women a lesson or to act as a warning to protect ourselves.

  The rest of the paper poured out easily then. Over the next thirty minutes, I finished the draft, spell-checked, and saved it for final review tomorrow. At least Alex Channing was good for something.

  Now, I just had to change and get through my next shift at Oracle.

  Tuesday morning’s class sped by. I also logged a new high score in Gardenville. One might have had something to do with the other. When I arrived at Oracle, a note from Mirabelle sat on the front counter. I flipped a light switch and scanned the messy handwriting, sighing in relief:

  Alex has the day off. Please feed Rafiki.

  As Mirabelle would say, “thank the goddess for that little blessing.” But who the hell was—

  Squawwwk.

  I hurried into Mirabelle’s office, following the screech, and pulled up short inside. A circular wire cage sat on the center of Mirabelle’s desk. It was occupied by the largest and most colorful bird I’d ever seen.

  Oh my God, Mirabelle had a parrot.

  Squawk. It studied me with beady black eyes from the floor of its cage. I could only stare between the bird and the layer coating the metal underneath its feet.

  On Mirabelle’s desk, a spot had been cleared away for the cage to sit, but the remnants of Mirabelle’s latest herb project hadn’t been given enough clearance. The bird had evidently used its beak and dragged several large bundles of dried lavender inside with it and spread it around the space. The purple ends had darkened so it was hard to tell what was dried herb and what was parrot droppings but the bird seemed quite content with the natural carpeting.

  Of course this bird was a hippie.

  Mirabelle’s shelter animals were weird but this was the strangest yet.

  Granny meowed at my feet, sliding along my leg before rounding the desk in her usual lazy patrolling. Rafiki’s eyes jerked from me to Granny.

  Squawk. “Dinner.”

  I blinked. “No one is eating Granny for dinner,” I said and then searched the room for something hopefully labeled parrot food. Rafiki fussed at me, and I picked up the pace. A few minutes later, I found a bag of what looked like trail mix for birds. I filled the dish near the top of the cage, checked the water, and retreated to the front of the store, making sure to take Granny with me.

  Rafiki quieted. I hoped that meant he was eating. And that he wasn’t staying long. After dealing with hamsters, gerbils, and literally dozens of cats—sometimes at once—that parrot was easily the most demanding animal I’d cared for so far.

  The next few hours passed quietly. Several regulars came in for refills on their favorite items. Sage, candles, and a new deck of Tarot cards for one. A scrying bowl and moonstone for another. I sold the last of Mirabelle’s South American quartz, ordered more, and restocked the essential oils. By the time I was done, long shadows sprawled over the shelving and floors as the sun set behind the tree line outside. I checked the time. Hopefully, no one else would come in and I could get out right on time to beat the dark. Save some cab fare. Brittany had cheerleading practice or I would have commandeered her car. Maybe Kiwi would let me borrow hers while she was in Guam. Of course, then I’d have to tell her why.

  No matter what, I was not walking or biking anywhere anymore. I wasn’t taking out the trash either. Probably ever. Mirabelle would have to dock my pay or hire a trash assistant or something.

  Just thinking about it made my heart thud. I couldn’t even look at the back door. I’d only walked that way once and it was to double check the dead-bolt. Theoretically, the danger was gone. With Bernard no longer around, and the distinct lack of attacks on my life these last few days, it was fair to assume Bernard had also been the one to follow me home that night from the park. Still…

  I wasn’t willing to assume anything anymore.

  The bell over the front door dinged, echoing loudly in the silence.

  Startled, my head whipped up. I craned my neck to see the visitor. And my heart sank. Alex.

  He strolled through the store; the laid back set of his shoulders a direct contradiction to his eyes. Intense. Stormy. Determined. He looked pissed as hell or just plain violent.

  “Been trying to call you,” he said flatly from the other side of the counter.

  My mouth went dry. Not out of fear—but I was pretending not to notice my body’s reaction to the sight of him. He was a killer. A killer of rabid werewolves trying first to kill me—but still a killer nonetheless. To top that off, he was clearly furious with me. And he lived in a world I wanted no part of. And yet, the shape of his jawline made it hard to look away. Not to mention his broad shoulders and strong arms and—

  No, Sam.

  “I’ve been busy,” I said, forcing a shrug.

  Alex’s eyes narrowed fractionally. My breath caught. I did not want to have the conversation I knew was coming. And more than that, I did not want to be admiring the curve of his jaw. Good Lord, what ever happened to my fear of male predators?

  Despite being attacked by a feral werewolf, I knew without a doubt, Alex was the scariest predator I’d ever met.

  “Sam, I’m—” He sighed. Just like the other night in the truck. Like he knew what he was about to say would be too much. “How are you?” he said finally, and with emphasis on every word. Like he cared.

  Which made absolutely zero sense. He’d made it clear nothing was going to happen between us.

  “Oh, I’m fantastic,” I said brightly. “And you? Enjoying your day off?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not enjoying my—Look, I’m sorry about the other night. It was too much, I know. I just want to make sure you’re processing everything okay.”

  “Is that what’s happening here,” I shot back. “Processing. Huh. Well, in the past few days, I’ve processed the fact that you lied to me from the moment we met about who and what you are, intimidated me for no reason because you were—well, I still don’t know. Grumpy? Forced me to commit a felony with you. Oops. Make that two. And now have shown up to my job to harass me when I don’t return your call.”

  “This is my job too,” he said, a muscle near his eye twitching.

  I was either winning or he was about to actually lose his temper.

  Something outside the window moved, scratching along the glass loud enough to draw both of us out of our argument.

  I glanced over Alex’s shoulder, immediately on edge, and found nothing and no one on the street. Maybe I was being paranoid. Then again, full darkness had obscured anything outside the beam of the street lights. Great. Guess I was calling a cab after all.

  “Sam,” Alex said, turning back to me, and this time, his tone was hard, urgent.

  I blinked and refocused on him. “What?” I snapped.

  “I just called your name three times,” he said. “You didn’t hear me?”

  “I—” I frowned. Three times? It had only been like two seconds.

  Again, the window pulled at me. Something was out there… I was almost sure of it. Or extra crazy. Out of nervous habit, my hands fisted. Clammy. Tight. My pulse sped, sending a soft rushing sound into my ears.

  “Are you okay?” Alex asked, standing closer than I remembered. When had he moved around to my side of the counter?

  “What? Yeah, I’m fine.” I looked up at him, winded from panic. From how much I liked looking at him. From exhaustion—I was sick of feeling like something was waiting for me. Something ugly. “I just need a little space to deal with all this. You can’t spring all that on me and expect me to bounce right back.”

  “I don’t expect that,” he said and something about it felt too genuine.

  “What do you expect?” I asked, head tilted to meet his gaze.

  “I know
how overwhelming this must be,” he said, his words slow and measured. He frowned. “If it gets to be too much… I just want you to know I’m here.”

  His closeness brought a scent with it. Whiskey. Cologne. Pine. Each one potent and separate yet somehow belonging together…

  Déjà vu swept over me, rocking me back on my heels. I opened a palm to grip the counter and a ball of fur fell out of my fist. It floated softly to the ground. I knelt quickly to swipe it up and straightened. Alex’s eyes met mine and held.

  “Sam,” he said simply, but it was a warning. A command to stop fucking around.

  “Shit,” I said, eyes rolling to the ceiling as I blew out a heavy breath.

  “Start talking. Now. What is going on with you? Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

  The bell above the front door dinged and I exhaled. Saved.

  I closed my mouth, relieved I wouldn’t have to come up with something just yet. I really didn’t want to argue anymore, but I also couldn’t hold him to his promise to help me either. It was way too confusing, his hot-then-cold approach.

  A gust of fresh air washed over me and Alex stiffened. His eyes blazed and he spun toward the door. Alarm bells went off in my head. Whatever was out there—maybe this was it. Maybe it had come for me.

  A pair of broad shoulders appeared around the shelving. And a familiar face. I sighed in relief and let the adrenaline wane.

  “Mason,” I said. And for the first time in over two years I was glad it was him.

  Alex didn’t relax.

  Mason caught sight of him and his smile vanished. They eyed one another, sizing each other up as they faced off. I shook my head. I could write another paper on this: the male psyche response to another of its species. Ridiculous.

  Alex didn’t move or say a word. The moment stretched, already moving past awkward to tense. I shot Alex a weird look, hurrying around the counter toward Mason to diffuse… whatever this was.

  “Mason,” I said again, deliberately stepping between him and Alex. “What are you doing here?”

  He looked down at me but still, the tension in his expression remained. “I remember you said you get off around this time. Figured I’d walk you home.”

  I smiled at Mason as genuinely as I could. “I would love that,” I said. A little too much cheer coated my words. Mason’s brows shot up and I could practically hear Alex mouth-breathing behind me.

  I ignored him and slipped around to grab my coat and bag. Mason didn’t say a word to Alex or ask me why he was here and I was leaving. I followed Mason and was almost out the door when I remembered Rafiki.

  I doubled back and found Alex still stewing by the counter. “You can feed Rafiki for me and then lock up behind you when you go. Thanks,” I said, zipping away before he could argue.

  I smiled to myself as I joined Mason on the sidewalk. A high-maintenance bird for a high-maintenance guy. It was a perfect match.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alex

  Mirabelle’s office was dark and I didn’t bother with the switch. I moved soundlessly, on edge for a reason I couldn’t name. Nothing seemed out of place and I didn’t have a single goose bump, at least not since Mason had walked out, but I had the sense of something breathing.

  Squawk.

  “Fuck!” I yelled and hit the light switch, willing my heart to continue beating as I stared at the large, brightly-colored bird inside the cage on Mirabelle’s desk.

  Its head cocked left then right in jerky movements as it studied me with beady black eyes. Squawk. “Dinner.”

  This had to be Rafiki.

  Why a parrot had appeared in the owner’s office at Oracle Herbs & Crystals was beyond me. Mirabelle was the strangest woman ever.

  I searched for something resembling bird food and spotted the bag on the floor beside the desk. I reached for it and the stack of papers underneath caught my eye. Sam’s name, handwritten in cursive, jumped out at me. I tossed the bag of food aside and scanned the documents.

  It looked like a journal entry but as I read further, I realized it was a letter. Or maybe a spell. I’d never seen one before so who knew.

  It was clearly about Sam. And it kept referencing the healer. Someone of the blood. Whoever that was. The words “venom” and “virus” caught my eye and then some more gibberish about balance that I didn’t understand. In the margin, someone had drawn a picture of a hand with a hair ball in the palm.

  So I wasn’t the only one who knew about that. Interesting. I glanced around at the rest of the room, debating. Maybe there was more here that would help me understand if Mirabelle’s claims about Sam were true. Maybe I hadn’t been through enough in my investigation of the oracle herself.

  Squawk

  The parrot startled me and I snarled at it, shoving the papers into my pocket for later. I could always come back when the bird was gone and hunt around for anything else useful.

  Grabbing the bag of feed, I tossed some of it into the cage and then hit the lights on my way out. I’d been here too long already and I definitely didn’t trust anything that sprouted fur and four legs around Sam. Werewolves in close proximity to that girl had a knack for losing their humanity. Me, I only had to worry about losing my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sam

  The park was empty this time of night. I didn’t mind. Being with Mason offered a layer of security that meant I could enjoy the solitude for once. Except that Mason kept looking at me like he wanted something that I wasn’t offering. I brushed that thought aside and focused on the cool air, the aroma of flowers, and the peaceful quiet of an empty park with no werewolves chasing me.

  “I’ve never been here at night before,” I said. “It’s nice.”

  “Glad your first time could be with me,” Mason said.

  I glanced over at him and then away quickly, avoiding his stare. I knew that stare, but I pretended I didn’t. “Me too,” I said lightly. “Have you done anything else since moving here?” I asked, sticking carefully to my half of the wide sidewalk.

  “Class. Football practice. That’s about it,” Mason said. He stopped walking and sat on the low wall that separated the walking path from a large bed of Yerba Buena.

  “Have you met a lot of people?” I asked, not excited about the way he’d slouched onto the wall’s ledge and gestured for me to join him.

  I continued standing.

  “Not really. Just the guys on the team,” he said. “Haven’t had a chance to hang out as much as I’d hoped.” He gave me a pointed look. “We still haven’t had that study date.”

  “Right. I know. Work keeps me really busy.”

  Also, I’ve been out burying the dead bodies of friends and all that…

  I shifted my weight to the other foot and looked out over the darkened tree line that bordered the dog park. It was suddenly really empty out here.

  I added, “In the meantime, there are some clubs that get together for sightseeing and beach trips and stuff a couple of times a month. You could—”

  “What happened, Sam?”

  “What?” I blinked, hoping he wasn’t talking about what I thought.

  “With you. What happened?” he repeated, which meant he was talking about exactly what I’d hoped he wasn’t. Dammit. “You were outgoing, fun, and into me. And then one day, it’s like you woke up from a lobotomy or something.”

  He leaned forward and I backed away, flinching on the last word.

  “I’m still me,” I said softly, hating that I already wanted to cry, but Mason was clearly intent on getting it all out.

  He shook his head. “You’re not you. The Sam I remember would have jumped into my arms when I showed up at her dorm. She’d be making out with me right now. And she definitely wouldn’t be wasting her time working in a weird-ass witch store and hanging out with that lowlife back there.”

  I blinked, feeling the rush of warmth that came with being instantly pissed. Temper did wonders at drying my eyes.

  “Let me get this
straight,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even with liquid fire heating me from the inside out. “Because I don’t throw myself at you or make out with you, I couldn’t possibly be me anymore?”

  He shrugged. “You make me sound like some sort of chauvinist, but that’s who you were before.”

  “What? Shallow? A slut?” I shot back. “Is that what you thought of me?”

  “Whoa. I didn’t say that,” he began but I cut him off.

  New Sam and Old Sam were united—and we were both pissed. “We dated for about five seconds in the grand scheme of things. Obviously, that’s still long enough for you to get confused so let me make something clear: We are over, Mason. We’ve been over. We’ll continue to be over. I have no interest in you that way. And frankly, you showing up here is creepy. So when and if you can convince me you didn’t transfer all the way across the U.S. just to be near me like some sort of stalker, that’s when we can be friends. But only friends.”

  I didn’t bring up or defend Alex. That was asking too much right now.

  He stood and, for a moment, I thought he would walk away and leave me there. But then he doubled back, shaking his head, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets. “This is the new you talking,” he said but his tone had twisted into something wrong. Angry. “Something made you change into …this,” he said, his lip pulling back in disgust. “But it’s not you. You wanted me, Sam. You were into me. And we were damn good together too.”

  I snorted. “I was a lot of things before, Mason. Into you was not one of them.”

  His gaze hardened.

  Despite my boiling temper, I was suddenly hyper-aware of Mason’s size. His muscled shoulders and broad chest were intimidating and he was using them now, standing straighter, looming over me. The danger of my situation hit me in a burst of panic. Just because I knew him did not mean Mason Harding wasn’t dangerous. He was a man. And it was dark out. That’s all my senses needed to suddenly begin screaming at me to get out of there.