“I don’t know how I let you talk me out of this,” he mumbles, turning onto the narrow, muddy, winding road toward my family’s farm.
That makes two of us, dude. Although, it appears whatever newfound powers of persuasion I possess clearly have a limited time span, which doesn’t bode well for the girls or Hunter.
When we reach the front of my house, he parks and runs over to the passenger side, opening the door for me. I try to protest when he lifts me out, but he’s having none of it. “You’re sick, babe. Let me look after you.”
I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, welcoming the familiar scent and feel of him. The seriousness of everything that’s happened tonight hits me like ten tons of bricks, and tears prick my eyes. I squeeze my boyfriend harder, clinging to him, and normalcy, wishing I could rewind the last few hours. Wishing that we’d left the store five minutes later than we did. Wishing that I’d never bumped into that … that alien thing, because this all started when he touched me. He did something to me. I’m convinced of it. I just don’t know what or why.
He has changed me, and I need to find out why.
I’ve never been the type of girl to keep up a pretense.
Or one to dwell on all the what-ifs.
I’m more of a “face up to it” type of gal.
Problem is, I don’t know what I’m facing.
Only that it’s nothing good.
Chapter 5
Mom comes dashing out of the kitchen the minute she spots me nestled protectively in Jensen’s arms. “What’s happened?” Her alarmed gaze bounces between us. “What’s wrong, Victoria?” My parents are the only ones who ever call me by my full name. Everyone else has called me Tori for as long as I can remember.
“The girls were in a car accident on the way home,” Jensen tells her. “But Tori is insisting she doesn’t need to go to the hospital.”
“No hospital.” Mom’s tone is urgent, and it brokers no argument. Jensen stops, pinning her with a wary look. She waves her hands about flippantly, laughing a little, but it sounds forced. “I hate hospitals. All sterile and cold.” She feigns a shiver. “Unless it’s life threatening, we can take care of Victoria here.”
Some of the tension in my chest loosens. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Where does it hurt?” Her softly lined face exudes concern.
“I’ve injured my shoulder, and I think I have a bug or something. I feel like crap.”
She expertly masks the panicked look on her face, ruffling my hair and leaning in to press a kiss to my temple. “Get into bed, and I’ll come up with the medical kit and some pain pills.”
Jensen carries me up to my room, laying me down gently on the bed. He removes my ballet pumps, one at a time, placing them at the foot of my bed. I shimmy out of my jeans, and he pulls them the rest of the way down my legs. His gaze trails a path from my feet up my legs, and I recognize the sheen of desire in his gaze. I throw a pillow at him, and he slants me a sheepish grin. “One minute you want to cart my ass to the ER, and now you want to ravish me?”
He sits down on the edge of the bed, alongside me, grinning. “Let’s get one thing straight, sweetheart.” He brushes hair back off my face. “I’m not always a regular guy, I know that, but when it comes to you, I’m no different to any other dude my age. I’ve got sex on the brain twenty-four-seven. Ravishing and you are synonymous in my mind; one doesn’t exist without the other.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “So, I can’t help wanting you when you’re lying here semi-naked in front of me. But, you’re sick, and I love you and respect you, so I can make do with my hand and a cold shower.” He winks mischievously, and I giggle. “Until you’re well, and then all bets are off.”
I palm his face, grinning too. “I love you, inventor boy, even if you are a total horndog.” He smiles at the familiar nickname. Jensen has been obsessed with inventing stuff from an early age. His dad manages our farm, so he practically grew up with me, and I loved watching him experiment with inventions in the garage at the side of his house, cheering when something worked and commiserating when something flopped. I coined the term “inventor boy” during one of my superhero phases and the name stuck.
He chuckles. “Love you too, babe.”
Mom comes bustling into the room, carrying a tray with a glass, a pitcher of water, some crackers, a medical kit, and a packet of pain pills. She sets it down on my bedside table before turning to Jensen. “Tori needs her rest, Jensen. Thanks for bringing her home safely, but I think it’s time for you to say goodnight.”
My lips fight a twitch as I notice her eyes scanning my bare legs. Jensen has been banned from my bedroom since we were twelve and Mom walked in on him kissing me for the first time. We didn’t start officially dating until we were fourteen, but he’d stolen his fair share of kisses before then. My parents would freak out if they knew I gave him my virginity eight months ago, but I haven’t an ounce of regret. We had planned it carefully, and we took the necessary precautions. Having sex for the first time with the guy I love to the ends of the earth and beyond was magical and something I will always cherish.
“Of course, Mrs. King.” Jensen presses a chaste kiss to my forehead before standing. “Message me later if you’re still awake. Otherwise, I’ll drop by in the morning to see how you are.”
“K. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Mom smiles that dreamy smile she always has on her face whenever Jensen and I publicly profess our love. Our moms have the wedding already planned. She gives him a quick hug on his way out the door. “That boy is a keeper,” she says for, like, the umpteenth time as she settles down beside me. She smooths a few stray strands of hair back into her neat bun. More strips of gray run through her dark hair, reminding me that both my parents are getting on in years.
Dad has been in semi-retirement since he damaged his back a while ago, and Jensen’s dad pretty much runs the whole dairy farm now. I hate the thought of my parents getting old and dying, especially because they are older than most of my friends’ parents. My parents met and married later in life, and, although they started trying for a family straightaway, it wasn’t meant to be. Mom suffered seven miscarriages in a row before deciding to pursue adoption. I was only a few weeks old when they took me home from the orphanage.
“And I’m so glad you have him. He takes such good care of you,” she adds, pulling me out of my melancholy mood.
“He does.” I sigh contentedly, forgetting recent events until Mom starts pulling at my sweater.
Her expression turns serious. “Let’s get this off so I can take a better look.” My shoulder aches like a bitch, so I let Mom remove my sweater, lying down on the pillow and avoiding looking at the hideous wound. Her face pales, and worry lines crease her brow. “How did this happen, Victoria?” Her voice is soft as the breeze.
I hate lying, but it’s not like I can tell her an alien freak cut me with some unseen weapon. “It happened during the impact. I guess I cut myself on something sharp.”
She peers into my eyes, and I can’t tell if she believes me or not. “And you were feeling unwell before the accident?”
I nod.
“How come? You’ve never been sick a day in your life.”
“I don’t know, Mom.” I shrug, deliberately averting my eyes. “I started feeling unwell after we left the mall.”
Her face looks paler than usual. “What are your symptoms?”
“I think I have a fever, and I vomited, and I feel weak.”
Utter panic flits across her face, but she quickly contains it, sending me a fake reassuring smile. Placing her hand on my brow, she frowns. “You’re burning up. I think you’ve definitely got a fever. You need to drink plenty of fluids, and the pills should help reduce your temp.” Squinting, she leans in to examine the wound in my arm. Her lips purse, and she sucks in a sharp breath.
Sitting upright, I brace myself before taking a peek. I gasp, clamping a hand over my own mouth in horror. The discoloration now occ
upies a much larger part of my skin, stretching from my shoulder halfway down my upper arm. I don’t know if it’s progressed or it’s just uglier under the bright light of my bedroom, but it looks a million times worse than it did earlier. The strange bruising looks more than skin-deep, like its penetrated tissue and bone, and the liquid oozing out of the open wound is a dark purple color, not red, as it should be. Fear has a vise-grip on my heart, and I’m terrified to articulate my thoughts.
Mom composes herself when she sees the transparent terror on my face. Grasping my face in both her hands, she looks clear into my eyes. “This is nothing to worry about. I’m going to fix it up, give you some strong painkillers, and when you wake tomorrow, you’ll feel much better.”
I’m not sure if she’s trying to convince herself or me.
“Mom. What’s—”
“Shh, sweet girl.” She cuts me off with her words and a censorious look. “You let me worry about this, and you just focus on getting better.”
Swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, I nod. With tenderness, she presses me back down on the bed, and I stare at the ceiling, biting back my moans as she cleans my injury and bandages it. She helps me into clean pajamas and tucks me in. I duly eat the crackers and then take the prescribed pills. They’re my father’s. The doctor gave them to him for his back a couple months ago, and I remember him saying they were strong enough to knock a whole herd on its ass.
Mom kisses me on the cheek before wrapping me up snugly in my comforter. “Sleep, sweet girl.”
“Night, Momma.”
“If you feel worse during the night, just come get me.”
“I will,” I say, stifling a yawn. “Love you.”
“Love you too, honey. So, so much.” She switches off my light, standing in the doorway for a few minutes with a strained look on her face. I want to offer her words of assurance, but none come to me. It isn’t long before the medication takes effect and darkness consumes me.
I wake sometime in the early hours of the morning drenched in sweat. My pajamas are stuck to my skin, and the sheet underneath me is damp. Sweat is dotted across my brow, and strips of hair are plastered to my skin. My body is on fire, and my shoulder wound is excruciatingly painful. The effort involved in pulling myself upright in the bed is massive. I switch on my bedside lamp, gulping down the entire pitcher of water, but I’m still parched. I stagger out of bed, stumbling toward my en suite bathroom. Switching the shower on, I turn it to the coldest setting, strip off my gross PJs, tuck my hair into a shower cap, and step under the cold water, half-expecting my skin to sizzle upon impact. I cry out as the water cascades over my bandaged shoulder and trickles down my arm. The bizarre bruising has extended beyond the edge of the bandage, creeping over my elbow and inching its way down my forearm. Dark purple stains have color washed the bandage as liquid continues to ooze from the wound, even through the dressing.
I imagine, if I had the capacity to puke, I’d be puking right about now.
But I’ve never, ever thrown up before today. Never even felt a twinge of pain at any other time in my life.
There is no doubt in my mind that that alien freak is responsible for all this. He did something when he touched me, and whatever he stabbed me with is making me sicker.
No normal medicine is going to cure this.
I don’t know if anything can.
At that hideous thought, I get out of the shower, wrapping myself in the large fluffy white towel. My entire body is shivering now in place of the previous red-hot warmth. I scrub my face and clean my teeth, staring at my reflection in the mirror and wondering who exactly is staring back at me. I sit down on the lid of the toilet, burying my head in my hands. I don’t know how long I sit there, freaking out, but the longer I’m out of bed, the weaker I become. The towel slides to the floor, and I grab a clean, flimsy tank and light pair of sleep shorts from the shelf and somehow manage to pull them on.
The door slams against the wall as I stumble out of the bathroom, almost tripping over in the pitch-black bedroom. A sharp stabbing pain crawls over my arm, and I sink to my knees on the floor, curling into a ball as I cradle my aching arm. Stay calm, Tori, I coach myself. Panicking will not get me anywhere.
Prickles of awareness wash over me, and the energy in the room suddenly transforms. My heart starts racing as I push off the floor. I survey the dark room, scanning the space slowly from left to right. When my legs threaten to go out from under me, I grip onto the end of my bed, attempting to smother this new layer of fear. Every nerve ending in my body is on high alert, and that same strange electrical current zips through my veins again, except this time the sensation is soothing, like being wrapped in a comfort blanket.
Invisible strings stem from my chest, as if they’re emanating directly from my soul, searching, seeking, probing, looking for the other pieces of me. The air distorts, and my hair stirs as a subtle breeze wafts around me. The strings go haywire, extending in all directions, and the soothing sensation accelerates, settling my nerves and eradicating my fears.
I’m composed when I speak. “Who’s there?” I ask the darkness.
A shadow darts in front of my face, and a hand reaches for my neck. I feel a tiny prick, and I gasp, my eyelids instantly drooping as my bones become heavy.
Then I’m falling.
And it’s the last conscious reaction I have before my world turns black again.
Chapter 6
Cooper
She collapses against me, and I scoop her up, cradling her to my chest. The profound sense of contentment I’d felt the closer we got to Eaton Lake is no match for how it feels to finally share the same air space as her, to finally hold her in my arms.
My protective instinct is strong, and that I understand.
But the possessive instinct, the one that chants “she’s mine” on a continual loop in my head, is a complete mystery.
I look down at her, consumed with unfamiliar, almost overpowering emotion, as Dane switches the bedside lamp back on. Now that I can properly see her, I’m awestruck on a whole bunch of levels. “She’s stunning,” I rasp, unable to tear my eyes away from her. Even sick, she’s the most beautiful female I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“You’re not here to hook up, Casanova,” Maddox growls, folding his bulky arms across his chest.
“Remember who you’re speaking about,” Dane snaps. “Show some respect.”
You’d swear my compliment was an insult listening to those two buttheads.
Beckett crosses to the bed, peeling back the covers. “Put her down here so we can check out her arm.”
“Mad Dog,” Dane says. “Take care of her parents. We can’t be disturbed.”
Maddox scowls at Dane before dutifully exiting the room. Beckett opens the medical kit, carefully placing items on the table.
Still cradling her in my arms, I gently brush damp strands of her hair back off her face. I can’t stop looking at her. My every instinct draws me to her, and everything about her steals my breath and quickens my heart. Her presence is hypnotic, even when unconscious.
“Coop.” Dane’s curt tone contains ample warning. That guy seriously needs to get laid. He acts like he’s seventy, not seventeen.
Reluctantly, I bring her to the bed, gently laying her down. Her gorgeous blonde hair fans out around her, and she glows from head to toe, although her aura is fading thanks to the poison. Her chest rises and falls under the thin material of her top, and trickles of breath seep out of her lush lips. The urge to sweep her back into my arms is almost insurmountable.
Beckett stares at her with the same awestruck look that’s on my face. His hand hovers in the air, as if he’s afraid to touch her. “Beck. Perform the checks,” Dane instructs, his voice steady as always.
Nothing fazes him.
Not even the discovery of the girl we’ve spent our entire lives searching for.
“Now,” Dane adds, when Beck still doesn’t move. “Look how quickly the poison has spread.” We all look at the trans
parent evidence of the Tianore infection ravaging her body. “There is no time to delay.”
Beck nods, gulping nervously as he secures the slim silver analysis patch to her temple with trembling fingers. The small square device in the medical kit floats through the air, powering up as Beckett reaches out for it. The machine starts computing her vitals, and he scans the data, frowning a little.
“Well?” Dane asks, impatient as ever.
“We’ll need to give her a large dose, but we got here in time.”
“Thank the stars,” I say as Maddox reenters the room. Dane quirks a brow at him.
“They won’t be waking up any time soon,” Maddox confirms. “And they were asleep when I administered the shot, so they’ll be none the wiser.”
“Good,” Dane replies.
“How is she?” Maddox asks.
“I’m just about to start the procedure. She’s going to be fine.”
Maddox sighs in relief, and we all feel it.
Dane ushers us away with a flick of his hand, and we take a few steps back, lining up at the end of the bed while he goes to work. I stand with my fellow protectors, all three of us staring at her unconscious form while Dane attends to her. They won’t admit it, but they’re as smitten as I am. The extent of our innate reaction to her is unexpected but not unwelcome.
At least not to me.
My craving for her is like nothing I’ve experienced before.
Dane cuts the bloody bandage open, tossing it aside. With more tenderness than I knew he possessed, he adheres the tube to her wound, checking it’s secure before fastening his lips over the end and sucking. Slowly, he draws the toxin out of her bloodstream, stopping every few seconds to empty the Tianore onto the magnetizing plate, repeating the process over and over until all the poison is gone.
His face is devoid of color as he flops into a chair, his exhaustion evident. Although the Tianore didn’t touch his lips, even inhaling the fumes is enough to weaken our kind.
I hand him a bottle of water, which he quickly guzzles while Beckett removes the tube, bundling it into a bag along with the desensitized Tianore and the soiled bandage. Wordlessly, Beckett hands it to Maddox to dispose of. Dane holds up one palm. “Clean up the scene while you’re at it, and be careful. The weapon is still out there somewhere.”
The Lost Savior Page 4