“They tasted awful!” I groaned, squeezing my eyes closed, unleashing a river of tears to pour down my face. “Like sour milk.”
If Isaiah found my comment amusing, he wisely didn’t show it. He knelt beside me once he was certain I was finished. “Arms up,” he murmured, taking hold of my top.
“What—?”
“Don’t!” He grabbed my chin before I could look down to see what he was doing. “Arms up.”
Staring into his eyes, I raised my arms. He never looked away, never blinked or stole a glance as he nimbly swept the shirt off my back. The wind blew against my bared skin, gelling the sweat and raising goose bumps along my arms. He continued to stare into my eyes as he used my shirt to wipe my mouth, my neck and collarbone, but went no lower. I saw a lot of red where my shirt had once been white before he tossed the shirt somewhere into the distance behind me. Without missing a beat, he slung off his own shirt, also stained with blood, but not nearly as bad as mine was, and pulled it down over my head. I pushed my arms through the sleeves. The smear of crimson marring his otherwise flawless abdomen caught my attention.
I gasped. “You were shot!”
He glanced down at the stain, face grim. “The bullet is already gone.”
My gut twisted at the sight. I was wiping before I could stop myself, needing to remove all traces at any cost. I used the hem of his shirt until there was nothing left, except a tiny indent where the bullet had gone through. It was disappearing fast.
“I could smell it.” Emotion thickened the words pouring free. “When he shot you… it was all I could smell. It made me crazy.” I stared down at the bits of dried blood beneath my nails and gagged, remembering the way my nails had sunk into Johnson’s flesh, tearing it open; the gurgling sound, like water bubbling over the top of a fountain.
Isaiah covered the evidence with his fingers. “I know where we are,” he said, helping me to my feet and walking me away from the puddle of sick, away from my demons. “We’re about eight hours from your father’s place,” he turned to me. “I want to know what you want to do. I’ll be with you whatever you decide.”
“Is Garrison dead?”
He looked down, shook his head. “He’ll recover.”
“And come looking for us again.”
His gaze rose up and met mine, dark and fierce. “He’ll try.”
“I don’t want to hide forever,” I whispered. I looked at our sneakers. “But I don’t have anything out there for me either, except you,” I met his eyes timidly. “And I don’t even really have you.”
His touch against the side of my face was feather soft. “You’ll always have me.”
I shook my head. “You know we can’t be together, don’t you?” His image swam behind my tears. “Not after what that psycho did to us. What he did to his own daughter,” I shuddered. “What do you think he meant she could see the dead? Do you think that’s how she’s been able to communicate with me? Do you think she’s a spirit herself? Or was she really sick like he says?”
“She wasn’t sick,” there was that certainty in his voice again. “Garrison just didn’t understand that she was different until it was too late. Later, he made it his life’s mission to create his own army of genetically engineered mutants.”
I shifted uncertainly. “Do you think there’s a way to change what he did?”
With a gentle tap beneath my chin, he tilted my face to his. “If Garrison can play God, I think we can find a cure.”
“What if we do and it’s not real?” I hadn’t meant to voice my greatest fear. “What if by fixing it, whatever we feel goes away?”
He smiled a little, his fingers sweeping my hair back from my face. “We’ve found each other in two separate lifetimes. I somehow don’t see that happening now.”
I leaned into his touch, into him, and was rewarded by the circle of his arms around my middle. “Do you think my—Ashton can help us?”
“I know he’ll try.”
I nodded slowly. “I want to try.”
He lowered his head and touched his forehead to mine. “Me too.”
Acknowledgement
I never thought the day would come when I would actually get to thank all the people who made TOUCHING SMOKE possible, but here we are and here we go.
For my family, for always reminding me that life is an adventure. You make everything possibly just by loving me.
For my three best friends, Kelly, Nicole & Diane, for your unfaltering love and support, and for the smack upside the head when I sorely needed it. You guys are a reminder that I’m not alone in my twisted world. Thank you for always understanding me, even when I don’t.
Linda, for being my Fairy Godmother. TOUCHING SMOKE would most likely have never seen the light of day without your assistance, without your patience and without your generosity. Bless you!
My Darling Readers—thank you for your support, for your time and your love. I wish every one of you all the happiness, peace, wealth and immortality in the world. May you always be blessed.
I love you all!
Happy Reading!
About Airicka Phoenix
Airicka Phoenix is the author of TOUCHING SMOKE (Touch Series Book #1). When she's not hammering away at the keyboard, she can be found banishing pirates or crawling through the attic looking for lost treasure with her kids. She loves baking, gardening and reading. She also likes to travel and take pictures of everything she comes across. When asked, Airicka describes herself as a sarcastic basket case that has an unhealthy addiction to chocolate, old movies and really bad jokes. She loves to laugh, make friends and write. If she could have one wish granted, it would be to spend one day as a fly-on-the-wall inside Stephen King's mind. If she could have two wishes granted, she would ask for a castle dedicated entirely to her overwhelming collection of books.
For more about Airicka, also on how to win giveaways, read author interviews and reviews, visit her website:
http://airickaphoenix.com/Author/?cat=10
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