by J. L. Weil
And that was my top priority. I needed to find Dad, Mom, and Monroe. If they were out there, I would do everything I could to locate them. What else was I supposed to do on my own? Did they have schools here? Where did they get their clothes?
My mind was going off into a hundred different tangents when the shower automatically shut off, and I groaned. Apparently, there was a time limit, and fifteen minutes hadn’t been nearly enough.
I sighed, staring at the once-white, now-shredded dress that had once been fit for a princess. The last thing I wanted was to put it back on, but the alternative was my birthday suit. I was feeling pretty good right about now, but not enough to go streaking.
Toweling off quickly, I yanked the dress over my head and stepped out of the shower, shaking out my wet hair with the balmy evening breeze. I peered over my shoulder, and there leaned Dash, shirtless with a lopsided grin. “Did you die and go to heaven?”
That was one way of putting it.
My mouth watered. The rich tone of his tan skin gleamed with beads of water, dark hair glistening. He had a towel in his hand, and a thrill danced in my belly, seeing the line of curls disappear into his pants. My gaze traveled upward, following a scar that ran over his chest in a diagonal from the left side of his torso to his right pectoral. It appeared to be an old wound, and I was curious how he had achieved such a warrior mark.
My curiosity overtook propriety, and I twisted, my hand reaching out toward him. With a light touch, I traced the tips of my fingers along the scar. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing.” His voice was rough, the sinister grin slipping from his lips.
Realizing I was touching his skin, I snatched my hand away and met his gaze. “It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like something tried to gut you.”
He gave a nonchalant, one-shoulder shrug. “Close enough.”
I searched for a quip or something flirty to say, but the intensity in his eyes scattered any coherent thought. He leaned down, and his fingers lifted my chin toward him.
My lips parted slightly. Was he about to kiss me?
Confusion flashed in his eyes as his thumb traced circles along my jaw. “I can’t figure out what it is about you,” he said, barely above a whisper.
My heart fluttered, anticipation welling up inside me. This was insane, but then again, so was everything that had happened to me so far. Kissing a hot guy just might be the sanest thing.
Lightning cracked in the sky, striking close enough to feel the energy on my skin. It was followed by the booming snap of thunder roaring overhead. Dash jerked back, breaking the trance that held us both. I sucked in a sharp hiss. My body was still tingling and missing the warmth of his. Disappointment churned in my stomach.
Dash’s eyes moved over to my battered dress. “Let’s get you something to wear. I don’t know how much longer that dress is going to hold up.”
I swallowed, his implication making my cheeks flush. “We’re not going to the mall, are we?”
A soft chuckle shook his shoulders. “Hardly, Freckles. Knowing Cyan, he would have had someone drop off something for you to wear. Call it a care package.”
He was right.
It was only one room but with two small areas designated for sleeping. The beds were piles of fur layered onto each other, and on the far left one laid a pair of pants, a shirt, and boots. It felt like Christmas morning.
Dash was watching me. “Might not look like much, but it will keep you warm and there are no snykers hiding in the corners.”
“It beats the hell out of sleeping in a cave,” I replied, already inspecting the clothes.
His lips twitched. “Sure does.”
I spotted a divider at the back of the cabin. Gathering up the clothes, I went into the tiny bathroom, just big enough for a mirror and a pot that resembled an old-fashioned toilet. I changed into the fresh pair of tight black pants—I barely managed to squeeze my butt in—and a T-shirt that was a tad loose on me, falling off the shoulder on one side. The best part wasn’t even the clean clothes; it was the socks. My feet sighed in relief as the soft material covered them, before I slipped them into the boots.
Running my fingers through my hair, I twisted it into a messy bun and secured it with a strip of fabric from the dress. A girl had to get creative in apocalyptic times. Satisfied I was almost human, I stared at myself in the mirror.
No way am I ever going to get used to this.
My eyes were so … freaky? I didn’t know how else to explain them. The center of my irises was divided up into each color, one blending into the next, from violet to pink to blue to green. As I studied my new look, a pit knotted in my stomach.
If what I’d learned about the mist was true—that the exposure altered your DNA—I wouldn’t be able to ignore the fact that these eyes meant I was different. The knowledge of who I might be, or what I might be capable of, was nerve rattling.
With a deep sigh, I opened the door, telling myself I was prepared to take on this new world and the trials it brought my way.
But it was a lie.
Nothing could have prepared me.
Chapter 6
The scent of stale beer and grease smacked me in the face. Yuck. Trying not to inhale too deeply, I moved behind Dash, sticking as close to him as possible without tripping him. My stomach was having a fit, both in hunger and revolt, unable to make up its mind.
The Odd Hill was like the mess hall, lined with old wooden tables and chairs. It was the only place to get a decent meal, and by only, Dash meant the one and only.
We moved around the edge of a group at a table and headed toward the bar. Most of the patrons were dressed like Robin Hood—leather pants, flimsy material buttoned loosely at the neck, each with a weapon of some kind strapped to their hip. I recognized Cyan from the few guys already situated on the stools. His overall robust stature gave him away. Dash pulled out an empty seat, leaving me the one sandwiched between him and Cyan.
I scooted my butt onto the stool, folding my hands on the tabletop. Cyan dwarfed the seat beside me, and I was afraid the poor stool wouldn’t hold him.
“Gunner,” Cyan summoned the guy behind the bar. “A round of drinks and two house specials for Dash and his lady.”
“She’s not my lady,” Dash muttered, scowling. I swore he wore a frown like a permanent fixture.
My eyes narrowed at how quickly he had shut down the idea. I didn’t want to be his anything.
Cyan only grinned.
Gunner winked at me. “Good thing.” He was on the shorter side with pale skin and neon-blue lips that curled sardonically at the edges. It was obvious he’d been touched by the mist. His eyes looked over me for two full seconds before dropping to my chest.
Typical.
Some things never change, not even after a hundred years, like the ability for a guy to see a girl for who she is instead of what size is filling her bra. The loose top wasn’t helping matters. I shoved it back up my shoulder for it only to slip down again. Sighing, I gave up.
Dash cleared his throat, and Gunner gave me a cheeky grin before turning to get our drinks.
I’d been so distracted with the bartender and his wandering gaze, I hadn’t noticed Dash had company. We’d only been here a few minutes, but it had been long enough for Dash to catch another girl’s eye. She had long chestnut hair tied in braids that swept up on her head in an intricate design, accenting high cheekbones. Her skin was the color of mocha, creamy and flawless. Big, blue, sultry eyes purred at him behind enviously long lashes.
He said something that made her throw her head back and laugh. She took the opportunity to touch his arm and move closer to him so that her perfect breasts were touching him.
Ugh, that was so not on my list of things I wanted to see tonight—some floozy flirting with Dash.
What do you care? I berated myself. The only thing I cared about was food and finding my family. So what if not that long ago he was almost kissing me? It’s not like I wanted him or anything. He was
free to do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted.
I didn’t know what was worse: her overpowering “I’m desperate” perfume or the rancid stink of the spilled, stale beer.
On a huff, I turned my back to them as Gunner placed a frosty mug in front of me. I didn’t even ask what was in it, just downed the cool drink at brain freeze speed.
“That’s my daughter, Harper, making a fool of herself,” Cyan informed, his head nodding the direction of the two-bit floozy.
I quickly lightened my frown and plastered a smile on my lips, trying not to gag on my drink, which was darn addicting. There was definitely a kick of something alcoholic. I took it there wasn’t a drinking age anymore.
Cyan wrapped a brawny hand around a glass bottle. “She has a thing for the slayer, as many of the girls do,” he said, with a hint of fondness in his deep timbre.
It took me a second to realize he was talking about Dash. It was of no shock that Dash didn’t lack for female attention, but Cyan had referred to him as the slayer, and I could see it. There was a dark precision to his keen eyes and an aura about him that warned others to back off.
I drummed my fingers on the side of my glass, wondering what secrets Dash was hiding. Maybe I could pump Cyan for details. “Dash is a slayer?” I prompted, fishing for information. I wasn’t sure what that meant here, but it didn’t sound nice.
Cyan tilted his head to the side and frowned. “It’s a nickname he earned. There isn’t a single guy or girl for that matter who would be dumb enough to challenge Dash Darhk. Not unless they were looking to commit suicide.”
Were we talking about the same Dash? Yes, he could be rough around the edges, but since I’d opened my eyes, Dash had done nothing but make me feel safe. “He kills people?” I asked, astonished.
Dash? A hit man?
I wasn’t buying it, but there was no denying the caution in the eyes of everyone in the bar, avoiding Dash like he was the big bad wolf.
“Not for fun.” Cyan wasn’t a world of help on the gossip front. “You were touched by the mist,” he commented, staring into my eyes. They weren’t hard to miss.
I blinked. “I guess so.” It was an awkward topic for me. I didn’t know what to say about the rainbow eyes.
His voice softened—well, softer for him. “You’ll find that most everyone in Hurst is a misfit cast away by the Institute.”
He was trying to make me feel at ease, and I appreciated it, but I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to this world. However, I started to take notice of little things I’d been too preoccupied to see about the people of Hurst. Gunner’s neon lips. Cyan’s bear-size form. The guy in the market with his milky eyes. The mist had altered us all in some way or shape.
The Institute was still a foreign entity for me. I didn’t fully understand the inner workings of their role in this world. “Are they gathering an army?” I asked, half-joking.
“You’re pretty quick for someone who just recovered from the slumber. You would be wise to keep off the Institute’s radar, stay off the grid. Those eyes of yours aren’t just pretty to look at. I have a hunch the Institute would love to get their handcuffs on you. Have you figured out how this mist mutated your cells?” Cyan asked, taking a swig from his bottle.
To my left, Harper threw back her head and let out a husky laugh, disrupting my train of thought. I wanted to shove a sock in her mouth, but only shook my head at Cyan’s question. “No, I have no clue.” And it was fine by me if I never did.
The dim yellow light cast shadows over Cyan’s hairy face. “Well, you’ll find out sooner or later. We always do. It’s best Dash found you instead of the Night’s Guard.”
“Why is that?”
“There’s nobody in Starling Heights more capable of outmaneuvering the Institute than Dash. The things they put him through. …” A shudder rolled through Cyan as if he had firsthand experience with the Institute.
I wanted more deets. How had Dash escaped the clutches of the Institute? Was he a misfit, thrown away like the others in Hurst? But that didn’t make sense. Why were the Night’s Guard hunting him? What had the Institute done to him? It was bad, of that much I was sure. I thought about the scar on his chest. Was that from his time with the Institute?
A twinge of sympathy squeezed my heart. “They experiment on people?”
Cyan’s eyes hardened to glass. “Experimenting is too bland of a word to describe what they do in the cages.”
WTF.
I was tempted to give Dash a kiss on the cheek for saving me from such a fate, but then I remembered Harper. I didn’t want to be accused of cramping his style.
Leaning my head on my hand, I attempted to block them from my eyesight. I suddenly felt utterly alone, and my chest panged with a longing to see my mom. “Did you and your daughter wake at the same time?”
Cyan lifted a finger, letting Gunner know he was ready for another drink. “No, it took me six months to find her, and if it wasn’t for Dash, I’d probably still be looking.”
“Are you a tracker?” I asked, thinking maybe I could enlist his services. He looked the part and appeared more than capable.
Cyan’s eyes sparkled, and his busy mustache bobbed as he chuckled. “I only oversee the settlement—keep things running smoothly and in order, make sure the Institute doesn’t bust down our doors. It’s a demanding job. If you’re set on finding your family, you already know the best tracker in the Heights. No one knows this land better than the slayer.”
Dash?
I traced the water drip patterns on my mug with my fingertip and chuckled. He was exactly what I was looking for, but not once had he offered to help me find them, only to bring me here and to go our separate ways.
Gah. If Dash was my best bet at finding my family, then I was going to have to make him help me. Lifting my glass to my lips, I downed half my drink.
Speaking of the devil, his arm brushed against mine as he leaned toward me at the bar, silver eyes finding mine. “Whoa, slow down, slugger. That stuff can hit you pretty hard if you’re not careful.”
I swallowed a huge slurp, and my cheeks flushed from the potent drink. Or so I told myself it was the drink. “What is this stuff?” I asked, my limbs feeling relaxed and light. My eyes shifted over Dash’s shoulder. Harper was nowhere to be found. Couldn’t say I was disappointed.
Dash leaned back, a hand on the bottle of his drink. “You ever have a margarita before?”
“I’ve drank alcohol,” I retorted dryly, like I was a pro. Truth was, I’d snuck a few wine coolers with my friends and had a few sips of champagne on New Year’s Eve, which had made me pucker, but other than that, I was a booze virgin.
“Uh-huh,” Dash replied, like he knew I was embellishing.
Damn him.
Just to prove him wrong, I held my glass up to Gunner. “I think I need a refill.”
Gunner grinned, happy to oblige.
Dash shook his head. “Suit yourself, but I’m not holding your hair when you start puking up your intestines.”
I scrunched my face. “I wouldn’t let you touch me, not even drunk.”
He arched a challenging brow that said he could prove me wrong. Leaning his face close to mine, he whispered, “Should I prove you’re a liar, Freckles?”
The warmth of his breath tickled my reeling senses, causing a series of cartwheels in my belly. Oh wow. I needed to slow down on the booze. Things were happening inside me that I couldn’t control. My teeth caught my bottom lip. I was such a liar. If he pressed his mouth to mine right this second, I would gladly sink into him. I swear, I could almost feel the smooth texture of his lips as they glided over mine, as if we’d kissed before.
His eyes darted to my lips and darkened. Tiny shooting stars glowed in his irises. The tavern faded into the background, leaving only Dash, his dimples, and his totally kissable lips.
I think I might have leaned forward. Our noses might have even brushed, but I was so lost in the humming of my body, I wasn’t sure of anything.
And Dash rocked back, a victorious smirk on his lips.
Asshat!
I couldn’t believe I almost fell for it. Only moments ago he’d been flirty with another girl, and here I was drooling over him. I shoved at his shoulder. “You’re such a jerkwad.”
His smirk turned downright wicked. “Everyone has to excel at something.”
I rolled my eyes, relieved that the food had showed up. If I was stuffing my face, I wouldn’t say something I’d regret and risk Dash not helping me. Turned out, I hadn’t needed to worry. Harper appeared, weaseling her way between Dash and me.
“You’re the new girl everyone is buzzing about. Rainbow Brite.” There was a sneer under the sweet girl charm.
She wasn’t fooling me. This girl was trying my patience, and I had never been very good at keeping my cool. My first reaction was to reach over and grab her by her long, dark locks. The hair pull had been my signature move in high school. Something about her rubbed me the wrong way. “Charlotte. My. Name. Is. Charlotte.”
She let out one of those annoying high-pitched giggles, followed by a twist of her hair around a finger. “Cute.”
I pasted a smile as fake as her boobs on my lips. “Do you work here?” I asked, returning the sweet-as-apple-pie tone.
Her body language was clear. She didn’t want me moving in on her territory. Her pink lips curved. “Cute and funny. Don’t worry. It won’t last long.”
My cute factor or my sense of humor? Or Dash’s interest in me? Not that I cared either way. I'd dealt with girls like her in high school—the top bitch on a power trip who thought she ran the place. “Kind of like your phony personality.” The drink was making my tongue a bit looser than normal.
“Watch out. Or you might find yourself eaten up by this place. Nice meeting you, Rainbow Brite.” An evil gleam lit her expression before she flipped her braid in my face and strolled off without looking backward.
I watched her go, wondering what kind of chaos I’d walked into. Drama was nothing new to me, and it seemed to have followed me into the next century. Flipping fabulous.