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

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “That’s not possible.”

  I gave her a meaningful look. “You of all people should know anything is possible.”

  Sam’s forehead creased and I could see her trying to wrap her head a round what I was saying. The impossibility of it. The betrayal. “But… you knew all this time and you didn’t tell me.”

  My body tensed, because I knew any minute now, her entire demeanor would shift and that would be it for us. She’d never look at me the same way again. “Mirabelle has tried working with you to open the channel, unblock the energy on your own. I waited because… I wanted to see if there were any way you could do this on your own but… you can’t. Because you weren’t the one to put it there in the first place.”

  She didn’t say a fucking word.

  “The people who… Well, I’ve called them here to help. And… well, anyway,” I faltered as the reflection of headlights washed over us through the front window. Outside, a car engine grew closer and then shut off. “They’re here,” I finished hoarsely.

  Her head jerked up, her eyes so wide they reminded me of a panicked animal caught in the crosshairs of a shotgun. “Who is?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Instead, I stared at my feet, the pain in my chest worse than anything the venom had given me.

  Mirabelle spoke gently into the silence. “Who caused it isn’t important, Sam. The point is that we have answers.”

  “Answers?” Sam’s voice had gone flat but Mirabelle went on, anyway.

  Mirabelle shot me a look, her lips thin and tight in clear disapproval. Get in line.

  Outside, car doors opened and closed.

  Mirabelle looked back at Sam and said, “When your memory was tampered with, the Old Magic inside you created an energy rift. A barrier. It means you weren’t able to process the supernatural world properly.” She offered a tight smile.

  Footsteps sounded on the porch steps.

  My heart thudded loudly.

  Someone knocked on the front door and Sam jerked at the sound, blinking as if she’d just woken. In a way maybe she had. The illusion was gone, I realized, as I looked at her. No more lies. No more secrets. Once I opened that door, she would see everything and everyone. Except for me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sam

  When the knock sounded, Alex backed away. Fine by me. I had no idea what to do or say to him. He’d known who did this to me all along? And he’d waited until now to mention it? To make it right? I couldn’t believe it. But there wasn’t time to process it before the knock had come.

  No one else moved. Like they were waiting for me to make the decision. Whoever was here, they were here for me.

  I took a deep breath and walked to the front door. It was already open and at the last minute, I ducked my head, too afraid to see the face of the visitor. This was it. This changed it all.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I tugged on my borrowed dress, gathering fistfuls of it as I stared at the hardwood and my gaze flicked toward the open front door. As I watched, a pair of heavy boots hit the hardwood. Heart racing, I raised my head to look.

  A tall, muscular body clad in dark jeans and a leather jacket blocked the doorway as he stepped inside. A lump formed in my throat as I spotted the familiar auburn hair. Holy shit. I knew him.

  “Hi, Sam,” Wes said.

  My mouth fell open and before I had a chance to respond a second visitor crowded in behind him.

  “Tara?” I heard myself say in a strangled voice.

  “Hi, Sam,” Tara said. “It’s good to see you.” She made no move to hug me or come forward.

  They both stood uncertainly in the entryway as if not sure whether they were welcome here. Frankly, I wasn't sure if they were. But suddenly I knew this was it. This was what Alex had been keeping from me. This was what was wrong. They had done this to me—my childhood best friend and her boyfriend—and they knew how to make it right. I didn't know whether to be happy to have the truth out or pissed as hell that my own friends had held the secret all along.

  My eyes narrowed as my thoughts swept right past happy and processed through to rage.

  “May we come in? We’d like to talk to you,” Wes said. “If that’s all right.”

  Without a word, I turned on my heel and stalked into the living room.

  I walked as far away from the couch as I could get and leaned against the wall, folding my arms over my chest. With hooded eyes, I watched as one by one they filed into the room. Wes and Tara sat close together on the couch, every bit the connected couple that I remembered from high school. They both looked a couple of years older. Tara’s hair was the same brown that I remembered, longer now. She’d gained some muscle in places, and a few laugh lines around her mouth.

  She looked more and more like her mother. And less and less like my best friend. The familiarity—a thousand childhood memories. Shopping. Cheerleading. Double dates. Sleepovers. And then…nothing. She’d done a one-eighty and began living a completely different life. A life in which I no longer fit. Until whatever had changed me … and then I hadn’t fit anywhere either.

  The changes in her physical appearance were only evidence of all of the milestones in her life that I had missed. That she had to shut me out of. And I had a feeling she was about to tell me why. And that it was going to be a reason that I did not like.

  Mirabelle and RJ stayed in the back of the room, and I was glad. If anyone tried to comfort me or ask if I was all right, I knew I would lose it.

  Something moved on my right and I looked over to see Alex hovering in the doorway from the kitchen several feet away. He was looking around the room without actually meeting anyone’s gaze. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and he looked ready to bolt.

  Tara shot him a warm smile but Wes only glared before looking back at me. “Sam, do you know why we’re here?” Wes asked.

  “I have a feeling you are about to tell me,” I said.

  Tara gave me a wry look. “Same old Sam,” she said.

  My eyes narrowed and my temper flew. “Oh, is that what you think?” I asked.

  Tara’s attempt at a smile vanished. “Relax, Sam, I just meant—”

  “Oh, I know exactly what you meant,” I said. “You’re the one who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You don’t know shit about me anymore. Although, you would if you’d stayed in touch or been around the past couple of years.” Tara’s face reddened and I went on, glad that I was getting to her. Glad she had to hear it—finally. “I am nothing like I used to be, and I am so sick of trying to pretend that I am.”

  West shot Tara a look and she just shook her head.

  He turned back to me his expression going for friendly but I knew better. They were handling me. Which only made me more cautious. And pissed. “Sam, do you remember the last time you and I spoke?” he asked.

  “I … saw you leaving Tara’s house as I arrived for a sleepover. The last time I ever went to that house,” I said, packing all the hurt and accusation into my words that I’d felt over the past few hours. After that night, everything had changed between us. We’d never been close again.

  Wes shifted his gaze back to Tara and then finally back to me once again. He shook his head. “That’s not the last time,” he said quietly.

  My eyes widened. Mirabelle rose and ushered RJ from the room, leaving only Alex hovering near the kitchen looking like he was facing the firing squad.

  “Tara? Is that true.” My best friend from high school, the only girl I’d known to change more than I had since junior year, sat five feet away, nodding in confirmation.

  “Alex told me what happened, Sam. What’s been happening,” Tara said, her tone low but somehow still full of unspoken knowledge. Information. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having problems?”

  The question hurt me so I went with pissed. “Maybe the same reason you didn’t tell me you knew something about it,” I snapped.

  The tension in the ai
r kicked up a notch until the air felt stuffy. Tara sighed. “That night of the sleepover,” she said as if giving in under a heavy weight.

  “What about it?” I asked, grabbing a fistful of my dress and squeezing it against the growing tension inside my body.

  “There was an attack. Werewolves,” she said and then waited, eyeing me critically.

  “I know about werewolves,” I said, still not cutting her an inch of slack.

  “Good. That makes this easier.” She was quiet for a beat and then went on, and I could hear the nerves in her voice as she said, “They attacked you and Angela, trying to get to me. Alex saved you both and brought you to Wes’s house. Do you remember that?” she asked.

  “Not the house, no, but I remember Wes. I’m not completely wiped. I remember the things that don’t matter,” I said and she winced.

  So did Alex. It gave me a small amount of satisfaction.

  “No one was hurt, but it was pretty scary,” Tara continued. “After the attack, you freaked out, Sam. You went into shock and then hysterics. You were traumatized. We tried everything to calm you down that night, but nothing worked. You only got worse. I didn’t—I couldn’t bear to see you losing it like that. And you weren’t getting better. So, I… ”

  “I spent the night at Wes’s house?” I asked, looking back and forth between him and Tara. “And Alex was there?”

  Tara nodded.

  I shot a look at Alex but he was impassive and staring at the far wall.

  “Yes. We all were. Angela, you, me, and … and George.” She cleared her throat and cut me off before I could ask about that one. How her ex came to be in the same house as Tara and her boyfriend. “What I’m trying to say is that you scared me, Sam. I held myself responsible for what happened to you. I didn’t know what to do for you and, in the end, I did the only thing I could.”

  “You made me forget,” I said, my tone twisting. “Tell me how.”

  “Some … supernaturals have extra abilities,” she said slowly and Wes squeezed her hand. I shot a look at RJ, remembering that he’d told me that before. “But who—?”

  “Wes is a werewolf, Sam. And … so am I.”

  My gaze jerked up, but not to Tara or Wes. To Alex’s. I was surprised to find him finally looking back at me. And my shoulders sagged at the truth reflected. More and more secrets. He knew. He’d known all along about Wes. And Tara. And werewolves. And what had happened to me. I had no doubt of it. All this time, he never said a word. It hurt me almost more than Tara’s deceit. Almost more than whatever had happened to my brain.

  I looked away and felt the separation of our eyes like a physical loss. I wondered if Alex did too.

  Tara continued, slowly, treading carefully. “Some werewolves have special abilities beyond simply changing form.”

  “Like magic?” I asked and it came out a whisper.

  “More or less.” Tara nodded. “Wes is able to—Well, once a month he can read minds, but mostly, all the time, he has the ability to manipulate memories. So, we… I asked him to erase your memory. Of that night. Of your knowledge of werewolves. Completely.”

  I was numb. Unable to feel. Barely able to process what she was saying. I shouldn’t have been capable of surprise. Not after everything I’d seen. But I couldn’t believe it. That this kind of power existed. That it had been used on me. By my best friend.

  “Wes did this to me?” My voice sounded strange. Not my own.

  “I couldn’t stand to see you hurting,” Tara said in a pained voice. “You were… I felt responsible.”

  “I was what?” I asked her, genuinely needing to know. Desperately, in fact.

  “That night you were in shock but by the next day you were a mess—getting worse, not better, as time went on. Screaming. Crying. Falling apart at the seams. It was too much for you and I was afraid you’d … I couldn’t be responsible for ruining you.”

  “So you fixed me?” I snapped, thinking back to how often I’d referred to myself as broken. Ruined sounded much worse. Especially coming from a friend.

  Tara didn’t answer.

  For a moment, no one spoke and the silence cut like a back-stabbing knife.

  “Crying. Screaming. Falling apart…” I snorted. “Did you know that I have done all of those things almost every day since then?” I asked, my anger a quiet buzz inside my skin. A volcano just before it erupts.

  “No,” she said in a small voice.

  “Did you know for two years I’ve had some strange sort of amnesia that I couldn’t quite put my finger on? That I’ve gone to therapy. Dropped out from lack of answers. Hidden in my dorm closet, crying for no reason. That I avoid people. Men and dogs, especially.”

  Tara didn’t answer but I didn’t want her to. I wanted to vent, to purge it and lay it at the feet of the guilty party.

  “That weird shit is constantly happening to me. That I attract weirdness and unexplainable things. That I feel constantly watched but when I look, no one is there. That I don’t have friends because I’m afraid they’ll see my crazy. And on top of that, someone is trying to kill me and I don’t know who or why because I can’t remember what is apparently the single most important event of my life to date. And that one memory wipe has caused others so I don’t know what I’m missing anymore.” I paused, gathering more willpower to remain calm when all I wanted to do was use my rage to light the match that would burn the entire place down around me. “And you had the answer this whole time.”

  “I—” she began.

  “I’ve been trying to call you,” I added.

  She stared down at her hands. “I know.”

  “You aren’t really in politics, are you?” I asked, thinking about the lobbyist bull shit she’d fed everyone senior year.

  “Not human politics, no.”

  I shook my head and way too quickly, I was out of questions. Except for one. The only one that truly scared me; because no matter what the answer was, I’d been betrayed. “Why did Alex wait until now to call you?” I asked—and then braced myself.

  At my question, Alex went still. His booted heel, which had been bouncing up and down, abruptly stopped moving. And he looked out the window, turning his back on the room.

  I found Tara watching him, her expression contorted with sadness and worry. “I... He… I’ll let him explain that,” she said finally.

  I gritted my teeth. “Right. Because Sam is always the last to know shit.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Save it, Tara. You must think I’m such an idiot. A helpless, air-headed girl who can’t handle reality.”

  “No—”

  “No? Is it just that you think you’re better than everyone else then? Allowed to manipulate anyone as you see fit?”

  “Sam, I care—”

  I snorted. “Can Wes reverse it or not?”

  There was a long pause and then, quietly, she said, “Yes. It’s why we’re here. Wes can restore what he took.”

  Instead of celebrating, the hot coils of energy inside me flickered and then went out. She’d said “restore.”

  “But I don’t know if that will fix everything else,” she added.

  I nodded distractedly. That didn’t matter. Wes was going to give me my memory back. And with it, possibly restore the old me. I was about to get the one thing I wanted—needed—most. So why did I feel as if everything I knew and loved was crumbling in around me?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sam

  Candles flickered across the living room ceiling, tossing frantic shadows across the bare floor and up the beige walls. Furniture had been cleared and shoved against the walls, leaving an open space and plenty of room to work. Mirabelle had insisted. Wes had acted like it didn’t matter either way. I had a feeling his methods were slightly simpler than hers. But he wasn’t about to argue. He stood talking to Tara near the stairs in voices too low for me to hear over the light music.

  I still couldn’t believe Tara and Wes had done this to me.

  But
now, everything about Alex made sense. He’d known, all along, and he’d been trying to keep it from me. That explained the hot and cold. Always keeping me guessing. And it had worked. I was such an idiot.

  Alex still stood by the window. He wore his cargo pants and boots, and I knew from experience that both were hiding various weapons. His muscles strained as he crossed his arms and stood scowling violently at the room; he looked ready to kill something. I wondered if he was angry with Tara and Wes or with me—for forcing him to out his own lie.

  Had any of it been real? Or just a way to continue the cover-up?

  He watched me with hooded eyes as I carried out Mirabelle’s instructions for setting up the space. He was brooding. I couldn’t understand why—unless you counted the fact that he had betrayed me by lying to me about the most important thing in my life since the minute we met. Or maybe it was that he was still dying and his only hope was me. The girl he’d just wrecked.

  I still had no idea how this healing business was supposed to work. But I’d decided to take one impossibility at a time. First, let Wes do his thing. Get my memory back. Be me again. Then, I could try to wrap my head around the lies and from there, maybe the magic.

  Still, it was all I could do not to keep looking over. The pull of Alex’s very presence was a distraction. I had to keep reminding myself he was the enemy now. But my heart wasn’t hearing it.

  Trying my best to ignore him, I lit the last of the candles, completing a full circle of white pillars on the floor, and retreated inside the borders of the space, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood in the white dress Mirabelle had apparently convinced me to put on hours earlier. I tried not to think about the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra and Alex was four feet away. Or the strange white stone—Epidote—that lay in front of me on the sock I’d stored it inside.

  I still hadn’t touched it. Or, not that I could remember, anyway.