Gathering Darkness: A Paranormal Romance Collection

by Anna Zaires

  As they approached, the wall of the pod simply disintegrated, creating an entrance for them. Mia blinked in shock, but followed Korum inside the aircraft. Once they were in, the wall re-solidified, and the entrance disappeared again.

  The inside of the pod did not look like any aircraft she could have ever imagined. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling were transparent—she could see the ivory color of her surroundings, but she could also see the world outside. It was as though they were inside a giant glass bubble, even though Mia knew that the structure was not see-through from the outside. There were no buttons or controls of any kind, nothing to suggest that the pod had any kind of complex electronics. And instead of seats, there were two white oval planks floating in the air.

  “Have a seat,” Korum said, gesturing toward one of the planks.

  “On that?” Mia had known that Krinar technology was far more advanced, of course, and she had expected to encounter some unbelievable things. But this . . . this was like stepping into some fairy realm where the normal laws of physics didn’t seem to apply—and she hadn’t even left New York yet.

  He laughed, apparently amused by her distrust. “On that. You won’t fall, I promise.”

  Warily, still clutching his hand, Mia perched gingerly on the plank. It moved beneath her, and she gasped as it conformed to the shape of her butt, suddenly turning into the most comfortable chair she had ever occupied. There was a back now too, and Mia found herself leaning into it, her tense muscles relaxing, soothed by the strangely cozy sensation.

  Grinning, Korum sat down on a similar plank next to her, and Mia stared in amazement as the white material shifted around his body, fitting itself to his shape. She was still holding his hand with a death grip, Mia realized with some embarrassment, and she let go, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible when confronted with technology that seemed exactly like magic.

  Korum nodded approvingly and waved his hand slightly.

  Softly, without making a sound, the pod lifted off the ground, rising swiftly into the air. With a sinking sensation in her stomach, Mia looked down at the see-through floor, watching New York City shrinking rapidly beneath them as they gained altitude. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel nauseated or pushed into her seat as one might expect during such a swift ascent; it was as though she was sitting in a chair at home, instead of rocketing straight up.

  “Why don’t I feel like we’re flying at all?” she asked curiously, looking up from the floor where she could now see only clouds.

  “The ship is equipped with a mild anti-gravitational field,” Korum explained. “It’s designed to make us comfortable by keeping the gravitational force at the same level as you’d experience normally on this planet; otherwise, accelerating like that would be very unpleasant for me—and probably deadly for you.”

  And then she could see clouds whizzing underneath them as the pod traveled at an incredible speed, taking her to a place that few humans could even imagine, much less visit in person. Never in a million years could Mia have thought that a simple walk in the park could lead to this, that she would be sitting in an alien ship headed for the main Krinar colony . . . that she would feel like this about the beautiful extraterrestrial who was sitting beside her.

  A couple of minutes later, they seemed to have reached their destination, and the ship began its descent.

  “Welcome home, darling,” Korum said softly as the green landscape of Lenkarda appeared beneath their feet, and the ship landed as quietly as it had taken off.

  Mia’s new life had begun.

  THE END

  About the Authors

  Anna Zaires is a New York Times, USA Today and international bestselling author of sci-fi romance and contemporary dark erotic romance. She fell in love with books at the age of five, when her grandmother taught her to read. Since then, she has always lived partially in a fantasy world where the only limits were those of her imagination. Currently residing in Florida, Anna is happily married to Dima Zales and closely collaborates with him on all their works.

  To learn more, please visit www.annazaires.com.

  Dima Zales is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of science fiction and fantasy. Prior to becoming a writer, he worked in the software development industry in New York as both a programmer and an executive. From high-frequency trading software for big banks to mobile apps for popular magazines, Dima has done it all. In 2013, he left the software industry in order to concentrate on his writing career and moved to Palm Coast, Florida, where he currently resides with his wife, Anna Zaires.

  To sign up for the new release email list and learn more, please visit at www.dimazales.com.

  Turn the page to find Bonus Material!

  The Time Stopper, A Mind Dimensions Story, by Anna Zaires & Dima Zales

  The Time Stopper

  by Anna Zaires & Dima Zales

  A Mind Dimensions Story

  I can stop time, but I can’t change anything.

  I can access memories, but not far enough.

  My name is Mira, and my life is about finding the Russian mobster who killed my family.

  CHAPTER 1

  “It’s so smoky in here; it’s like someone set off a bomb.”

  As soon as I say the stupid line, I Split into the Mind Dimension, and time seems to stop.

  Victor is squatting over his chair, about to sit down. If this was still the real world, his legs would hurt in a minute or so. As it is, he’s as aware of his muscles as a wax statue would be. Shkillet, a guy at the poker table, is frozen in mid-stare at my body—a position I often find men in. The other players are similarly stuck at what they were doing when I Split. The strangest thing in the room is probably the thick cigar smoke that’s no longer moving. It looks eerie, like frozen clouds on an alien world. I don’t smell the smoke now, which is a relief. I also don’t hear anything other than the sound of my high heels clicking on the floor as I walk around the room.

  I look at these men, these dangerous men, and an inner voice tells me, “Mira, no sane woman would voluntarily be here. Not even to merely observe this poker game, let alone play with these savages.” It’s funny how this inner voice usually sounds like my mom.

  “You’re dead, Mom,” I mentally reply to the inner voice. “And I’m here to find the fucker who killed you. Can’t we have an imaginary conversation without all this nagging?”

  The inner voice sneers—but that’s me. Mom was too nice to sneer.

  The Mind Dimension makes it safe for me to walk around the room and peek at my opponents’ cards without them being the wiser. When I’m in the Mind Dimension, everything stops in a single moment. No matter what I do here in this alternate world, when I get back to my real body—the body that’s still sitting at the table—I’ll still be in the same situation as I was before I Split: still being stared at by Shkillet, and still having just said that line about the bomb.

  When I first learned I could Split, I was a little girl, and I thought my soul was leaving my body. But that was back when I believed in such things as souls, and God, and goodness—words that are meaningless to me now. Back in those days, I also believed in silly things, like the fact that there is a purpose to life.

  I don’t any longer. Not since that day.

  Since that day, I haven’t believed in anything but myself. And sometimes—a lot of times—not even that. That little girl who believed in souls would certainly think I’m a stranger if she met me today.

  And maybe, she would think I’m a monster.

  Of course, that day did not just dispel my childish illusions. It also taught me more practical things, such as how impotent I am while in the Mind Dimension. How truly powerless. No matter how much I want to, I can’t change anything in the real world. Like a ghost, I don’t affect the world of the living. Maybe that’s what I became that day—a ghost of my former self.

  That day. Why does thinking about it always hurt the same way, no matter how much time passes? Why is it so vivid in my mind at
a moment’s notice?

  For that matter, why does trying not to think about something bring that very thing into focus?

  My mind flashes to that day as though I’m Reading other people, but it’s as if I’m replaying my memories instead of someone else’s.

  I see myself walking home from school, my backpack heavy on my shoulders. I relive the excitement of seeing my dad’s car in the driveway when I get home. He hasn’t driven away yet, I think joyously, so I’ll get a chance to say goodbye. That last line will be singed into my mind forever, but I don’t know it yet.

  And then I see the car explode.

  I see it go up in flames.

  I hear the most horrible sound.

  Then... silence.

  I open my eyes.

  The fire is standing still.

  The explosion had scared me so much that I automatically Split into the Mind Dimension, as sometimes happens under extreme stress.

  Now in the Mind Dimension, I’m standing next to my other, frozen-in-time, self. She looks as terrified as I feel. I know that if I touch the exposed flesh on her/my body, I will leave the Mind Dimension—and the explosion will continue its destruction.

  Leaving would’ve been a cowardly choice, a choice I didn’t even think to make at the time. I would later regret that bravery—or rather, lack of imagination.

  Instead of leaving the Mind Dimension, I run toward the car.

  The flames are frozen. Unreal. As if they’re made of red and yellow silk.

  The full horror of the situation hits me only when I see the expression on Mom’s face.

  She looks white, or at least the parts of her face that aren’t burned do. Her blue eyes are wide open, her irises almost black from her dilated pupils.

  I open the car door and try to pull her out. In her body’s rigid state, she’s like a human-sized doll. As I’m straining under her weight, I know that this is futile. I’ve never been able to change anything in the real world by what I’ve done in the Mind Dimension. Still, I’m hoping that today will be different. That Mom will be out of the car in the real world simply because it matters so much to me.

  Except the universe doesn’t give a fuck what matters to me.

  I quiet my mind and touch her face. I begin the Reading process, another brave action that will later haunt me. Like always, Reading her shows me the world through her eyes. I lose myself in her head. For that minute, I become we. The horror of my mom’s last moments becomes mine—so it’s me, too, who’s beginning to realize we are about to burn alive.

  Later, I will think about who caused the explosion and wonder if I can ever un-live it, but right now, I just leave her head and look into the car again.

  Dad’s face is free of burns. I will later hypothesize that the explosive was on the passenger side. His mouth is half-open in an expression of terror that contorts his whole face. I take all this in and am overcome with another idea that I will later regret.

  I run to the side door and touch Dad’s face through his open window, not really thinking about what I’m doing. Except I do know what I’m doing. I’m bringing him into the Mind Dimension. That’s what touching another Reader does—and that’s what Dad is, a Reader, like me and my brother.

  Unlike Mom, who doesn’t have our abilities.

  As soon as I touch his skin, another Dad, a screaming Dad, shows up in the back of the car.

  “Nyyyeeet!” He switches to Russian as he always does when he’s stressed. Then he registers me and screams, “Mira, honey, no!” His accent is heavier than usual.

  “It’s okay, Dad,” I soothe. “We’re in the Mind Dimension.”

  “It’s true. We are.” He looks around, terror replaced with a different emotion on his face. A darker emotion that I can’t exactly place. “Where is she?” he says after looking at the passenger’s seat.

  “I took her outside. I was hoping she’d stay outside.”

  Not saying anything, he gets out of the car and looks at Mom. “She’s already burned.”

  “I know,” I say thoughtlessly. “I Read her. She’s in a lot of pain.”

  My dad looks like I flogged him with those words, but he quickly hides his reaction.

  “In the real world, where are you standing, sweetie?” he says. “Tell me. Quickly.”

  “Over there...” I point. “Too far to help you.”

  “That’s good.” His shaking voice is filled with relief. “The blast shouldn’t reach you there. But you still have to fall on the ground when you get back to your body and cover your ears for me. Promise me you’ll do this. It’s important.”

  “I promise, Dad.” I’m beginning to understand what I have done to him. By pulling him out, I made sure that he could see himself dying in that car. That he could reflect on it. Dwell on it.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice also begins to shake. “I shouldn’t have pulled you in.”

  “Don’t say that.” He smiles at me. It’s one of the last smiles I’ll have from him. “I’m glad I’ll have a chance to... a chance to say good-bye.”

  I remember my thought right before I Split into the Mind Dimension and realize I had created something like an evil omen. A part of me knows that the idea is irrational, but I feel like I brought all of this on with that prophetic thought. A chance to say goodbye.

  I squint as though I’m going to cry, but no tears come out.

  “Don’t.” Dad reaches for me. “Let’s spend the time we have left remembering the good times. Your Depth is only about a half hour—not enough time to spend on anything but happy memories.”

  He hugs me and tells me stories, determined to be with me for as long as I can stay, until I run out of Depth and become Inert—unable to go back into the Mind Dimension for a while. As I catch myself enjoying his stories and being with him, I hate myself more and more.

  I’ll later wonder what kind of bitch I was to extend such a moment for my father, but for now, I’m just happy to have him with me a little longer. For as long as I’m allowed.

  “We’re running out of time.” Dad is trying his best to sound cheerful, but I know he’s pretending. “You did the right thing,” he says. “I’m really glad you pulled me out.”

  He’s lying. Like my brother, Dad repeats lies to make them sound more convincing.

  “To live even a few more minutes, to see you, is a treasure.” His eyes look earnest, but I can see the truth. He isn’t glad. He’s terrified because he knows that as soon as my time runs out, he’ll be taken out of the Mind Dimension and pulled back into his frozen body.

  Into the explosion.

  “There’s nothing you can do for us now, Mira,” he says. “Please take care of your brother; he’s all you’ve got—”

  I don’t hear him finish that sentence because my time runs out. I will later grow to resent this limitation, my Depth. This finite amount of what-if time.

  If only I could’ve stayed in the Mind Dimension forever. Then Dad and I could’ve talked forever. Or we could’ve explored that frozen-in-time world. Instead, I’m back in my body and the explosion is in my ears again, ears that feel like they might bleed. I fall on the ground, like I promised Dad I would. I welcome the pain of the fall because it numbs the pain from knowing that I don’t have parents anymore.

  With herculean effort, I pull my mind back to the present. To the poker table and the Russian thugs surrounding me. I really have to get it together. My Depth’s being wasted as the seconds turn into minutes. If I run out of time, I’ll be Inert for a while—which means no more Reading and having to play fair in this poker game, to boot.

  I shake my head and try to focus, determined to forget Mom and Dad for the moment. I try to focus on something else.

  Anything else.

  To distract myself, I think of how strangely I experience emotions in the Mind Dimension. For example, if I cry there, because my face is dry once I get out, I don’t feel as sad anymore. Sometimes things work the other way. I can be terrified when I get into the Mind Dimension, but o
nce there, I’m much calmer. Probably because there I’m safe. So if I get any tears now, they would be gone when I’m back at that table. And tears should be falling down my face right now, but none come. Just like on that day. The worst one of my life—

  I have to stop thinking about that day.

  So I try to picture talking to my brother about emotions in and out of the Mind Dimension. He would want to study this phenomenon, as he—ever the scientist—would call it. It makes me feel somewhat better. Thinking of Eugene always helps take me out of the darkness, if only for a moment.

  “I do take care of him. The poor bastard would’ve starved long ago without me, Dad.” I’d say that to my father if I believed he was listening to me from Heaven. Of course, my father is not in Heaven or Hell—those are just constructs people make up to dull the pain of losing their loved ones. I know that, in reality, he’s just gone, and nothing I say can reach him.

  And that means I need to stop dwelling on what might’ve been and focus on the task at hand.

  The fucker who put the explosive under my family’s car might be in this very room right now.

  I take a deep breath, finding comfort in anger and the violent fantasies of what I plan to do to him.

  “It’s time,” I say out loud—though, of course, the frozen people can’t hear it. “Let’s see if any of you fuckers are thinking of explosions.”

  CHAPTER 2

  I’m hoping the guy I’m looking for, the guy who deals with bombs, will be primed by my words and think of setting up one specific explosion. I’ll be the first to admit that this tactic is a long shot, but it’s the only option I have since my Depth allows me to go back only a few minutes into their memories.

  Not for the first time, I envy more powerful Readers. Those like the legendary Enlightened, the most powerful Readers of all, who have enough Depth to relive whole months, if not years, of someone’s life. Someone like that would get the answer directly without any gimmicks, but I can’t. There are no shortcuts for Readers like me. Given that Depth is spent at twice the speed when you Read, I have to be careful about running out of my measly half hour.