Before I can counter, he overpowers my lips with his, pulling me closer, melding our bodies into one. I push against his chest in an attempt to make him stop, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he yanks me tighter against him. My mind is reeling with so many emotions. I try to stop him, I really do, but the moment he realizes my lips aren’t moving against his is the moment his fingers wrap around my throat again, constricting my airflow.
“Kiss me,” he murmurs against my lips, nipping at each one until educing a response.
I shake my head a little, not really able to move it much while in his grasp.
He squeezes harder, growling through his teeth. “Kiss me.”
Opening my mouth to speak is useless. The airflow is slow-coming, and I’m starting to see spots. Oh God. Maybe this is the real him, the merciless version of the Ben I know.
Let go of me! Everything’s going black.
Good, he says, jovial. Kiss me and it won’t.
Stop it! This is crazy!
Kiss me, he repeats.
Ben—
Kiss me.
Ben!
Kiss me, Candra.
So, I do. I don’t hold back, either. I kiss him for the times I wanted to kiss him and couldn’t. I kiss him for saving my life, even though he turned against his family. I kiss him for the hate I feel towards his birth into the Conway family, ruining our destiny.
As I think about these things, about the way he tastes on my tongue, a slow, aching blaze spreads the entire length of my body, from head to toe. My heart beats hysterically inside me, and I feel the steady pulse of it in other regions. All I can think about is what it’ll feel like to have his body pressed against mine, my legs and arms wrapped around him, his mouth trailing kisses on my bare skin. I can almost smell the sweet sweat; feel the chilled air against my impassioned body, sending quakes of necessity down my spine. I think about our future together, as one. I envision children and happiness and growing old. The truth has always been there, lingering in the dark, waiting to be unleashed: Ben and I, we were meant for each other.
Do you feel it? he asks, waking me from my daydreams. He releases his claim on my lips long enough to float directly above them, waiting for my response.
Feel what?
“Us,” he responds.
So, I’m not the only one. That’s good. At least I’m not losing my mind.
I nod.
“Well, now that the marking is official . . .” he mumbles, a low hum vibrating against my skin.
I open my eyes wider, but this weakness for him is keeping them half-lidded. “What do you mean ‘official’? I thought we were already marked because of the pillow.”
A devious grin peels back his lips, showcasing his white teeth. “I just sealed the deal.”
I pull backward, away from his mouth, away from him. “What are you talking about?”
“I figured they told you about being marked and what it means, but I doubted whether Jana told you the whole story.” His eyes flash with amusement. “Oh, we could throw possessions back and forth all day, but we would’ve had the chance to undo the enchantment. Now, because we’ve kissed—” he puffs out his chest, chin angled up in the air “—we must live happily. Ever. After.” He drops the animation immediately. “Except we can’t, because we’re enemies.”
“The hell?”
“Yeah, my exact thoughts, too.” He’s actually mocking me. He has the audacity to stand here and tell me he doesn’t want this, yet he chose this path for us, knowing I had no clue.
“Um, wrong, Princess. I do want this. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have forced you to kiss me. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, one that’ll pay off. Trust me.”
Stop reading my mind!
“Can’t. Comes with our new secret power.”
I could seriously scream right now. I’m not even joking. This means I can visualize flash images of him and the Conway’s and their Followers, while he can see me and my family and the Watchers. There’s no privacy.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask through clenched teeth. My hands are balled into fists at my side, ready to punch him. But, of course, he can probably predict when that’s coming.
He grins, but his look is elsewhere, someplace I can’t see. The grin fades and is replaced by a frown. His eyes meet mine, and he reaches up, twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers. “Because I don’t want to ever be away from you for any length of time.” He pauses, then says, “Unfortunately, our time’s up today.” He snatches my hand, loosens my fist, and presses his lips to my row of fingers.
“What? Wait!” What does he mean ‘our time is up’? The guy freaking bends time, so why does it matter?
I guess that’s what happens when someone can freeze us and disappear at will. Nobody knows he stopped everything dead in our tracks, meandering down the stairwell and out the front door. We all view it as continual, while Ben and I grasp the real truth.
He glances over his shoulder as he leaves my room, never uttering a single word. I glance over at the clock, which still reads 4:02 p.m. Is it broken? Right as the thought crosses my mind, the outer digit rolls over to a three. 4:03 p.m. So, the whole visit was timeless. How I wasn’t stationary, I don’t know. And all of this for what? I mean, it’s been months since I last saw him. What was the entire point, to just waltz into my room and mark us? If he stopped time for this . . . this . . . whatever you want to call it, then that means restraining me on my bed was only because he wanted to, not because he was actually trying to keep me quiet.
Ugggh! The nerve! He better watch it; I have experience throwing guys with the last name of Conway through windows.
The cherry on the icing will be dealing with my family. Becoming linked to Ben is one thing, but explaining this to friends and relatives—those who have protected me for months from the same flesh and blood I can now speak mentally to—is not going to be cake. It’ll be like walking on glass—full of sharp points and deep cuts, and there might be blood.
“Candra!” Beth calls from downstairs. “Jana and Blake are here.”
Wow, even if Ben hadn’t visited, they wouldn’t have left me any time to nap. Maybe this is why he said our time was over; Ben knew they were coming. So strange.
“I’ll be right down!” Okay, so, for now, I won’t be telling them anything. There will come a time when I have to, or karma will bite me on the ass for not speaking up. But today isn’t that day. I have too much to worry about with my birthday tomorrow, and what it means for me tonight.
Downstairs, Jana and Blake have congregated with the rest of my family in the kitchen.
Beth places a dish into the oven, glancing up at me after she closes the metal door. “Ah, we were wondering when you’d join us.”
“Had to freshen up,” I lie. Changing the subject, I ask, “So . . . casserole?”
“Chicken pot pie casserole,” she affirms. “From scratch.”
Blake rubs his belly. “Sounds delicious.”
Mom and Dad huddle together in conversation on the other side of the room. Every few seconds, Mom glances in my direction.
“What are you two whispering about?” I smirk.
Mom fumbles for words, while Dad looks to Mom for a response. I raise one eyebrow, waiting.
“Your father and I need to discuss some concerns with you,” she says. “About tonight.”
Naturally they do. I’ve been waiting for this little meeting to take place. What better way to have it than right now, with everyone in the same area?
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Let’s sit in the living room,” offers Beth. We follow her lead, taking our seats in the appropriate places, like this has been choreographed and performed a hundred times before.
Mom and Dad don’t vacillate from enlightening me. Randy and Beth occasionally join in, as do Jana and Blake, but it’s mostly my parents. Words are discharged, floating in muddled clouds around my head and ears, like morning fog roving through the English countryside. My min
d isn’t wholly grasping what all is being said, but the gist is there.
Transformation.
Pain.
Relief.
I get it. Most of it, anyway. I’ll never be human again, unless I choose to be. For most, the human body is capable of so many things, from healing itself to embracing others with emotion to pushing the limits in a marathon race. Above all, though, time is the undying marathon race with humans. When will they draw their last breath? Will they have time to tell their loved ones how much they cared?
For me, however, it’s not the same. Tomorrow, at 12:01 a.m., I’ll begin my switch. The Candra Lowell I know will be long gone. She’ll be fresh and new . . . and hopefully still alive. There are some who don’t make it through the process, some who give it their best and hope their body won’t fail them. But we don’t know who lives or dies until the change. At least, that’s what I’m being told.
“I’ve only known of two in my lifetime,” explains Beth, eyes downcast. “It’s not for the weak, Candra. You must know that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Beth’s been leaning forward, arms latent atop her knees, but she gracefully moves, resting her right side against the arm of the couch. “They were sick. That was the only explanation. When your body is going through such a strenuous change, it needs all of its vitals working properly. If you don’t have that, there’s a strong chance you won’t make it.”
I try to swallow the knot in my throat, but a sharp twinge reminds me it’s still there. “What else?” My parents, Randy, Beth—all of them—stare at me, speechless. “That can’t be the only reason. I mean, if I wake up at midnight with a sudden cold, you’re telling me I’d die? There’s no freaking way.”
Mom shifts around on the loveseat, while Dad clears his throat. “Sweet pea, I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he says. “You’ll do just fine.”
I scoff. “Oh, please. If something is even remotely close to going awry, then I want to know what my options are. You guys promised after my incident with Ethan you wouldn’t keep any more secrets from me. I’d say now’s a fantastic time to dish.”
“We just want you to pull through,” says Mom. “We know how tough this can be on any seventeen-year-old, and we don’t want you to worry. I think . . .” she begins, but her words hang in the air, unfinished.
“You think I have good odds with surviving? You think I might not pull through? You think you can’t keep secrets from me any longer? Just tell me!” I’m so disgusted with their clandestine ventures and plucky lies that I want to leave this town and never return. But I’d be alone on my eighteenth birthday, and I might not make it. Coping with this key transformation in my life, on my own, is asinine.
Mom tsks me. I mean, really and truly tsks, enunciating every letter. “Candra, stop it. We only want to see you through this, not lie to you about the outcome. We’re telling you ahead of time, so you know.”
The woman has a point. But then there’s a part of me, the unremitting part, saying this is a bogus scheme. I saw Ben prove Jana wrong about the marked concept, so this could easily be a cover up, too. Why, though? Why can’t they just tell me? What are they hiding?
“You’re right about this, but there are other things—” I lock my eyes with Jana’s “—that have been withheld from me, things that would’ve been helpful had I known. It’s too late for that now. In time, you will all know the truth.”
“What are you talking about?” asks Mom.
Everyone’s faces are as blank as a new page of sketch paper.
I shrug. “You’ll see.” I don’t know if there will be a perfect time to say, Oh yeah, by the way, Ben and I are coupled forever, but I get the feeling I might want to wait. Maybe keep this personal, as they’ve done with so many aspects of my life.
“Okay.” Beth’s eyes scan the room, and everybody, finally alighting on her knees. “No more cryptic matter. We’ve got to stick together, and we need Candra to do that.”
“Agreed,” says Blake. “Jana and I need our partner in crime. How are we supposed to stake out the bad guys without you, Cee?”
“You can’t,” I reply, so close to grinning.
“Candra—” Beth’s face slips back to seriousness “—do you have any questions about the chair?”
The chair. I hate that apparatus, and I haven’t even sat in it yet.
“I know what it does—holds me down while I change. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”
“So, you don’t want to know what it’ll be like tomorrow morning, how it’s going to feel?” Beth presses.
I’ve heard this a million times already, mostly from Jana and Blake.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Dad grabs Mom’s hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. In this instant, their faces tell me a different story, one that hasn’t been expressed before. Fear. They’ve put on a good charade so far. But that facade is crumbling to bits and pieces, struggling to endure.
Chapter Five
Sleeping is not an option. Not on a night like this.
Since it’s my almost birthday, Mom and Beth made cupcakes—chocolate with blue cream-cheese frosting and confetti candy sprinkled on top. One of the round treats, which has a single blue candle pressed into its surface, unlit, rests on the tablecloth in front of me.
“Want me to light it?” asks Jana. Her entire vibe radiates at the mention of helping out.
“Um, I guess,” I say. Barely uttering the words, the wick lights on its own. “How . . .?” Then I recognize Jana’s power. Fire. She’s a flame bringer, a wielder of heat and burn.
My expression must say it all because Jana giggles. “Better late than never, right?”
“Sure,” I mumble, surprised. I knew I’d find out sooner or later what her, and Blake’s, powers were.
“Candra, make a wish,” Beth encourages. Jana is the only one sitting down. Blake, Randy and Dad went downstairs to double check the chair will withstand me, and Mom and Beth are gathered at the kitchen island.
I wish . . . I wish . . . I don’t know what I wish for . . .
Of course you do, says the all-too-familiar voice.
Get out of my head, Ben.
Can’t. Remember?
“Candra?” Mom’s face bears a semi-smile, but the confused look she’s giving me questions my sanity.
“Don’t know what I want,” I say, hoping they won’t catch on.
Yes, you do, he says. Think really hard about this. What have you wanted most since you moved here?
Besides you? Oh God. Did I just say that?
There’s a long pause.
Besides me.
Um . . . for our families to get along.
Now you’re getting somewhere.
I smile despite wary observation. “Just thought of something,” I say, dodging quizzical glances. I lean forward, close my eyes and create my wish.
I wish everything would return to the way it was, before this war began, before the Lowell’s and Conway’s existed, when all was peaceful.
Nice.
Oh, and I wish for some quiet time from this crazy guy in my head.
Not nice. You shouldn’t have kissed me, you know. Then you could still be the same Candra Lowell we’ve all come to know and love.
Not funny. Get out!
If you say so. He pauses, then adds, By the way, good luck tonight.
Thanks. I’ll need it.
Nah, it’s not that bad. Once you get past the blood, sweat and bones breaking, it’s fine.
What?!
He ignores me, of course. Oh, and Candra?
Yes?
Happy birthday.
Mom, Beth and Jana clap as I blow out the candle.
~*~
Later, after the males have given the OK for the chair, we all group on the back porch . . . despite the frigid weather. Above, the moon watches over us, alluring and harrowing, a white orb on a sinister canvas. I stare back at it, wondering if it’ll
become another enemy to add to my ever-growing haters list.
Beth waitresses a tray of mugs filled with hot chocolate, while the rest of us gather round the fire pit—which Jana lit, by the way—each grabbing a cup. The warm, sugary drink feels wonderful on a night like this; its tepidness courses through my body, heating me from the inside.
After sitting, Beth raises her mug in the air, toward the bonfire. “To Candra. May you live as long as you desire and may all your wishes come true.”
I nearly choke on my hot chocolate. If only wishes did come true . . .
“Thank you. All of you, really,” I say. “I hope I’m a help to our family, ending the Conway’s and their Followers.”
A unison of “hear, hears” rises from our small circle, and everyone sips their drink.
“What time is it?” I ask. Not that I should be inquiring, as this will only add to my anxiety.
“Ten past nine,” answers Blake.
The question and response earns a silent reaction. Quietly, we all swallow our beverages, waiting for the right conversation starter. I can’t think of anything except three hours. In three hours I’ll be transitioning into my werewolf form, praying for death. There’s a good chance those prayers will be answered, too.
“Well,” Beth begins, breaking the awkward calm, “at least it’s not snowing tonight.”
Weather? Really?
Mom chimes in. “It’s unusual this time of year. I’m surprised we’re not buried under eight feet of snow.”
“My dad always makes me get out and shovel,” says Blake, which garners a few laughs.
“Yeah, but I help,” Jana adds.
“You do, babe, and I’m eternally grateful.” He leans over and kisses her forehead.
“Okay, well, besides the weather and relationships, I’m glad everyone’s doing well,” I say. “Mind talking about stuff that eases my nerves?”
Jana frowns. “You’ll be okay, Candra.”
I raise one eyebrow, questioning her.
She continues. “I’m serious. If we all made it, you should be fine. And you don’t have a cold so . . . I mean, at least that helps, right?”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
She sighs. “Candra, it’s fine.”
“Well, we’ll know in a few hours, won’t we?”
Black Moon (Silver Moon, #2) Page 4