“RJ told me about your sixth sense for wolves,” I said, changing the subject before it got out of hand. Already, the back of my knees were sweating—something that hadn’t happened since I was in high school. Maybe not even then. “That’s how you knew about Mason. And Bernard.”
It wasn’t a question but Alex nodded, staring down at the top to his water like it was a grenade. “I felt it… for all the good it did,” he said.
I looked up at him, puzzled. “But you saved me.”
Alex grunted, a self-deprecating noise. It silenced me. From the moment I’d met Alex, I’d been struck by his confidence. His self-assuredness. But now, suddenly, he was berating himself. Blaming himself. For nothing. I was safe. We both were.
“Sam…” Alex hesitated and then abruptly set the water aside and rounded the bar to stand in front of me. He didn’t stop until he was so close, I was forced to part my knees to give him room. Close enough to touch. I stared at the rise and fall of his chest. The way his sweaty shirt clung to his shoulders and chest. He didn’t even smell bad. He smelled…like Alex. Exerted. Dangerous. Delicious.
Going against everything the new Sam stood for, I leaned in.
“I should have been there sooner,” he said and his hot breath washed over me like a witch’s spell. I was transfixed by his intensity, by the way he looked at me like it pained and pleasured him all at once. “Or I should have not let you go at all.”
“Alex, you couldn’t have forced me to stay behind,” I said. Although, I suspected he probably could have. If he’d been looking at me like this. Had anyone ever looked at me like this?
So slowly my lips ached, he leaned closer. I arched up to meet him.
His lips brushed mine and a thousand pins and needles pricked the underside of my skin. I sat straighter, trying to rise higher, to get more of him touching more of me.
He leaned lower and the pressure of his mouth increased against mine.
Magic. There was no other word for it. An explosion of senses, of pleasure that was almost pain, went off behind my half-closed lids. I sighed and it was like a silent signal to us both.
Alex stepped closer so that his hips butted against my open thighs. His hand came up, cupping my cheek. The other landed on my shoulder and all I could feel was skin on skin on skin. And lips.
My hands reached for the hem of his shirt and shoved upward on the thin fabric. I ran my hands down the smooth skin of his washboard stomach, my fingertip catching on a short, raised scar. The feel of his warm skin underneath me sent tingles through my hands. Alex shivered at my touch, only making me want more.
When his tongue slid out to lick a lazy half-circle across my top lip, I whimpered. And there was a difference. Old Sam would have removed her shirt right about now. New Sam couldn’t think past THIS: Alex’s mouth.
Finally, he eased back and I shivered.
“That was…” I searched for the word and came up empty. Kissing had always been fun. I mean, I’d enjoyed it before… but nothing had ever felt like that.
“Listen, I know I told you what Mason said about me last night,” I began, feeling suddenly awkward about how to define or even quantify my actions just now. “But that was the old me, and I—”
“Sam.” He cupped my cheek and his eyes bored into mine. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Not ever. I like you just the way you are. Old you. New you. All of you,” he said meaningfully.
My lips curved as my chest swelled with something I hadn’t experienced in over two years. Probably longer if I was being honest. Feelings. Holy shit, I had actual, real feelings for Alex Channing.
“Alex, I—”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said and just like that, the spell was broken.
I blinked as I registered the guilty expression he wore and leaned away. “What is it?”
“My being here in Half Moon … it’s about more than taking some time away from my work.”
“What’s it about then?” I asked.
He looked away, his gaze flicking around to everything but me. Holy shit. There was no mistaking it. He was about to admit to something he’d been hiding. The something. I could hear it dripping off his words. The way he seemed to brace himself. And his guilty gaze not quite meeting mine. It was like a splash of cold water to the face.
“I’m sick, Sam.”
“Sick? What do you mean…I don’t understand. You look fine.”
“Thanks,” he said wryly but I shook my head, still too confused to process humor of any kind.
My heart was pounding even though I had no reason to be alarmed. Lots of people got sick. Didn’t mean it was serious. But the way he looked when he said it said otherwise. “Did you go to the doctor?”
He hesitated and then said, “Yes, but not the kind you’re thinking of. This is not a human illness.”
“Werewolf venom,” I said, echoing RJ’s words from earlier.
Alex nodded. “It usually kills hunters within hours, but I have a higher tolerance. Still, it’s weakened me to the point I can’t work. I’ve been all over looking for a cure. But nothing has worked. Mirabelle was last on my list of possible solutions. Her access to old magic...”
He shook his head even as my expression began to shutter. “I know you don’t believe in it, not really, and neither did I. Probably why I left her for last. But there is enough legend left about hunters and werewolves and where we all come from and from all I’ve seen since I came here, I know witches are real. And I’ve known my whole life that magic is real. Especially earth magic. But this is different. Old Magic, they call it. The kind that humans wield. The kind that has power over venom—among other things. And Mirabelle knows of it.”
“Okay, isn’t that good news? I mean, what’s the issue? She helped you, right? When you met with her that first time… Is that why you went to see her?”
Too many questions. I needed answers.
He blew out a breath and I knew this is where the story was about to take a turn. “I did ask her for help and while she has an idea what it would take, she can’t stop it on her own. She’s not connected enough to the magic.” His voice went hoarse and I could hear the disappointment.
“I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
“Mirabelle is an oracle. She can see things. But I need a healer. A more powerful healer than apparently all of the ones I’ve gone to see combined. Mirabelle says I need a witch from the original blood line. Someone connected to an energy source greater than the power of the werewolf’s venom. Mirabelle thinks…”
“Mirabelle thinks what?” I asked.
He stopped pacing and his hand went to his abdomen before falling away again. “Mirabelle says there is only ever one woman with access to that connection at a time. She’s been researching it for years along with your aunt, apparently. Searching for that person. And she thinks she’s found them. She thinks that is who can cure me.”
“You, Sam. You are of the original blood line.” He sighed and stared straight at me, resolved to some hard reality I couldn’t see. “She said the cure is only possible if it comes from you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sam
My head shook back and forth hard enough to make my brain rattle. “No.” I grabbed the counter to keep from toppling the stool with the force of my head shaking. I felt a little bit like a toddler but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “No, no, no, no, no,” I repeated over and over.
“You can tune it out all you want,” Alex said, but I just talked over him.
“No, no, no, you’re lying,” I went on, shouting louder.
A freaking child. That’s what I was acting like. But I couldn’t seem to stop it. This was ridiculous. I was broken. PTSD or selective amnesia or maybe I really had that lobotomy Mason had mentioned but not this. Not utter insanity that included the only guy I’d made a connection with in two years. It was too much.
And without him, without this, I had nothing. With Mason still out there an
d possibly still salivating to kill me, I had less than nothing if I walked out of here now.
“Sam!” Alex grabbed my face in his hands and yelled, silencing me from the surprise of his touch. “Listen to me. You have forgotten things. Important events that—”
“I know that,” I hissed, yanking away from him to glare. “You think I don’t know that. I am trying my best to figure it all out, okay?”
He rounded the island, and slammed his palms down on the countertop in front of me. “Try harder,” he said through closed teeth.
“Ugh. You’re such an ass. You think intimidation will somehow scare me into remembering?” I shot to my feet and leaned forward, my temper hot enough to match his. “I do try harder. As hard as I can, I try to remember whatever my brain is blocking me from. But when I get close, my brain gets foggy and my palms get slick and then only thing I come away with are balls of freaking fur coating my palms.”
He cocked a brow. “Which is clearly not magical in any way.”
I bared my teeth, mad enough to scream. “It’s fucking weird,” I agreed. “And it might even mean something. But this—you making things up that I’m what? Some sort of magical healer? A witch? And why? To make me feel better? It doesn’t even make any sense. If I was a healer, I wouldn’t be broken.”
As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. Or, more accurately, I regretted the tears that pooled at the corners of my lids and threatened to make a mockery of my white-hot temper.
I freaking hated crying.
“Sam…” Alex’s expression softened but I refused to meet his gaze. This is not how I wanted to win. Crying was not victory. Nor did it make anything better.
“What exactly happened to you as a kid, Sam?”
“What?” The question caught me off guard enough that I stopped crying as I looked up at him.
“You said something last night about how weird things happened to you and you spent your childhood hiding them from people…
I squinted at a foggy memory. At the park with my mother. An injured bird on the ground. Me reaching for it and then… nothing. The memory slipped through my fingers like water—evaporating before I could fully see it. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it,” I said, frustrated at myself.
“But there’s something,” he insisted.
I didn’t answer, unwilling to admit I’d forgotten something else. The tears slowly stopped. When my eyes felt dry and Alex still hadn’t spoken, I finally looked up and found him watching me. “You’re not going to try to convince me again?” I asked.
“I don’t need to,” he said but there was hesitation in his words that made me shiver.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Mirabelle has been having you take something. An herbal supplement?”
“Yes,” I said, eyes narrowed. “How did you know about that?”
“Apparently, she’s begun adding another ingredient to help you with the fog you mentioned. It seems to be working some, but I don’t think it’s strong enough.”
“What makes you think it’s working? I’m still—”
“Because you remember last night. And you remember Bernard attacking you before that, but you don’t remember Halloween.”
I frowned. “Of course I do. I remember seeing you as I was leaving Dave’s for that pickup Mirabelle had me do.”
“And the part where you almost fell out the front door of Dave’s shop in your panicked attempt to flee? Or the part where I only barely caught you and then held you while you sobbed because something traumatic had evidently happened inside? Do you remember that?”
I stared at him, willing the fog to clear as I tried to recall the picture he painted. My mouth went dry as images—more like impressions of images—danced and rolled through my memory before slipping away.
“What happened in the store?” Alex pushed.
“I don’t…”
Alex picked up my phone from the counter between us and held it out to me. “Call Dave.”
“What? Why?”
“You have his number right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Have you talked to him since that night?”
“No. Mirabelle hasn’t had any deliveries for me since then.”
“She hasn’t had any deliveries for you because of what happened to you there. I’ve been doing the deliveries.” I was silent. “Call Dave. Ask him what happened in there.”
Slowly, I picked up my phone and dialed Dave’s number. My heart thudded in my chest. Alex was lying. This would prove it. And then I’d have to walk out of here—even more alone than I’d been before. It wasn’t fair.
Dave picked up on the first ring. “Sam?” He sounded surprised. Worried. “Is that you? Are you all right?”
“It’s me. I’m fine,” I said, wandering to the window to stare out at the yard. Sunlight washed the grass and hedges—tiny flowers, a cheerful shade of pink lined a cobblestone driveway in what looked like a cul-de-sac. I didn’t remember any of it from last night but then I’d been distracted. “I called to ask you about… Halloween,” I said.
Dave was quiet. There was shuffling in the background. Muffled voices. A door closing. Utter quiet. And then, “I had a feeling you’d call eventually. I’m so sorry you had to see him like that. Bernard wasn’t himself, obviously, or he never would have attacked you that way.”
“Attacked me?”
“And the weird thing with his veins,” he went on like I hadn’t spoken. “That wasn’t anything I’ve seen before but Mirabelle said she’d look into it. You know, mystically speaking. I haven’t learned anything on my end about why those black lines looked like your face. Did Mirabelle see something?”
I stood frozen, staring blankly out the window. Bernard had attacked me? In Dave’s store? “No, I… Mirabelle hasn’t said anything to me,” I managed.
And what the hell did he mean about my face?
Dave sighed and he sounded beaten down. “Kid, you should know that Bernard… Well, he died, kid.”
“What?” How…?” My voice was too high-pitched. Too guilty.
“We tried to move him to a more secure location and he got away from us. He… apparently he drowned.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as the reality of it all came crashing down around me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s not your fault. I just wanted you to know. We’re going to put together a Celebration of Life next week. I gotta run, but I’ll let you know about the service once the details are worked out, okay?”
“Yeah… Okay.”
“Take care of yourself.” Dave hung up and I lowered the phone, letting it clatter against the counter in front of me.
My hands were numb. My brain… what was wrong with me? I’d had this whole encounter with Bernard on Halloween. Dave had been there. Something about black lines and my face on his chest?
And I’d forgotten it all.
I whirled to find Alex watching me beside from the barstool I’d vacated. “How do you know all of this?” I asked. I was almost sure there were more important questions to be asked, but I could not for the life of me figure out what they were.
“Mirabelle,” he said grimly. “When I first went to see her, she did a reading for me. The answers, she said, were in the next healer the goddess spirit was raising up. That healer, according to her, is you.”
I swiped a tear from my cheek. “Dammit,” I said, sniffling.
“What?” he asked, nerves showing through in the way he jumped a little. It might have been funny … not today.
“Something RJ said. About the truth explaining all the crazy.” I sighed, playing over the little things I could grab more easily. Memories that made sense now. Aunt Kiwi’s phone call—all her questions. Mirabelle’s strange reaction to me when she’d asked about my delivery that night. How easy she’d been about giving me a couple of days off, not to mention no more deliveries since then. She’d known and she hadn’t told me. So had Alex for that matter.
I
sniffled and swiped at my cheeks to dry them. “What else?” I asked.
“What else what?”
“What else have I forgotten?”
Alex studied me, head tilted. “Do you remember what Dave told you now or do you just accept his words as true?”
“Why does that matter?”
Alex shook his head. “I can’t tell you, Sam. My experience with all of this is limited, but that I do know. You have to do it on your own.” He started to say something more and then stopped.
“That’s ridiculous. It would save us all so much time. Don’t you want to skip to the part where I can magically heal you?”
Alex winced and I immediately felt guilty. “Shit, that was mean. I’m sorry, I’m just… freaking out.”
“It’s fine.” Alex ran a hand over the top of his head and then down his face. “Look, I’m going to shower. Give you a chance to digest all this. When I get back, we can talk about what you want to do next.”
I didn’t answer and he didn’t wait.
I listened to the creaking of the stairs as he climbed them and then the quiet that followed. A moment later, the pipes in the ceiling filled with the sound of rushing water. I bit my lip and hugged my arms to myself, doing my best to try and sift through it all.
Werewolves were real. That had become enough of a reality that I’d moved past the disbelief and panic. Alex was a Hunter. Supernatural but human and uber-strong. Also a real ass when it came to honest communication. But still, there was that strange familiarity—and a sense that he still knew more about me than he was telling.
Then again, he’d saved my life last night. So he was trustworthy to some degree.
Was Mason the presence I felt lately every time I stepped outside? Like something was watching me? Or had that been Bernard? And what did all these werewolves have to do with me and the weird show of nerves I had that always ended up in handfuls of fur?
Remembrance: (New Adult Paranormal Romance) (Heart Lines Series Book 1) Page 17