Lost Girl (Rosewood Realm Book 2)

by Dee Garcia

You did that. You put that sadness there.

  I know I did, which only makes it harder to see. I never should have come back here. My reason for leaving doesn’t even feel like a valid, logical reason anymore. It was nothing more than a product of consuming fear and an unclear, tired mind. But I had an out, the opportunity to leave with Tinksley was there and, in hindsight, I can see how she was waiting for me to come to my senses, but I didn’t...so she left, leaving me to deal with the consequences of my senseless actions on my own and come to realize what a grand mistake I’d made when it was too late.

  “You can always come back, you know.” Tinksley’s offer dangles right before me, but the telltale ding of the elevator brings me back to the here and now as the doors slide open. With a heavy heart, I make my way out and peer down both sides of the corridor. There isn’t a soul in sight, thankfully. My steps come quietly, but I move quickly, ambling to the end of the hall where that planter still sits.

  Another peek over my shoulder, and I’m bounding up to it, shoving my hand into the soil like my life depends on it. I don’t feel anything other than the cool dirt, though, even as I rotate the pot and anxiously dig through different spots in search of it.

  Why isn’t it here? Why the hell isn’t it in here? Did someone find it? No, there’s no way. I’ve had that key in here for years without incident. Why would someone just randomly stick their hand in here? Unless someone knew?

  C’mon, c’mon!

  Clumps of dirt spill over onto the floor as I dig deeper still, my nails scraping the bottom of the pot. I’m about to give up, right there on the verge of saying screw it and simply walking away, when life tosses me a bone and I finally feel it. I know I don’t need to do this, that what this city believes about me should be closure in and of itself, but I throw my head back and sigh in relief, pulling the key free.

  Now let’s hope said key works with the locks.

  I waste absolutely no time shuffling to the door, not five feet away. The yellow sign still hangs on its surface, but I don’t dare look at it, keeping my eyes on the prize. Aligning the key with the top lock, I inhale a steadying breath and hope for the best as I shove it in. Much to my surprise, the damn thing glides like butter. Not a kink as I turn it, either, the latch releasing as smoothly as it always has.

  Yes. Yes, yes, yes!

  Spirits renewed, I move onto the bottom lock, flipping the key upside down to shove it back in...until I’m startled by the lift’s bell dinging down the hall.

  “Fuck!” I hiss, hands shaking at the possibility of being caught, my gaze hopping nervously between the lock and the lift bank.

  From my peripheral, I catch someone stepping out into the corridor, but the key finally slides in, and I crank the knob, rushing my way inside. Closing the door as quietly as possible, I throw the locks in place and spin around, deflating against the worn wood as I suck in heaps of air, my mind racing in circles.

  God, what the hell am I really doing? Breaking into my flat like this? What if I wouldn’t have gotten that key in? What if I would’ve gotten caught?

  There’s no time for this. Just do what you need to do and be done with it.

  It’s right then as my eyes scan the small, dainty living room in uncertainty that I truly realize I’ve made it in here.

  That I’m home.

  It’s dark as hell, but from what the moon illuminates, it’s obvious everything still looks the same, only dustier. Unloved. Forgotten. The furniture, picture frames, my bookcase, it’s all here. Feels like I’ve gone back in time like it’s just another day, and I’ve just gotten in from a long shift at the hospital. I would’ve set my purse down on the small table beside the door and kicked off my trainers. Would’ve gone straight into the kitchen and served myself a glass of wine, downing the first one in a long gulp. And those final weeks when Peter was here? I would’ve jumped into bed with him and gotten lost in the sheets before taking a walk through the park.

  My skin crawls just thinking about it, but I force myself to thrust those thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand. I don’t have time for this. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m not quite sure what all I’m hoping to find, other than saying goodbye to this place on my own terms. Regardless, I keep it moving.

  From the front door, I tread carefully through the living area, gently hopping past the floorboards that squeak into the kitchen. My table is still here, browned, shriveled rose petals covering the top, wilted stems hanging over my Nana’s vase.

  Another sign of a life that is no more.

  Given the lack of a smell, I’m assuming the fridge has been cleaned out...but then I smell it, a unique stench, and it’s not coming from the kitchen. It’s coming from the bedroom just a few feet away.

  Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to discern what exactly that smell is.

  Every drop of blood in my veins runs ice-cold, and yet despite knowing what it is, my legs carry me toward the bedroom of their own accord.

  Hand falling to the familiar knob, I twist it and push the door open. The stench hits me immediately, but it’s not as powerful as I was expecting, leaving me to wonder for a fleeting moment how it was strong enough to carry through to the kitchen to begin with. Strong or not, that decayed smell triggers all the memories I wish I could forget. I’ve not even stepped a foot inside, and I feel it all coming back to me in an overwhelming wave. I squelch it down, but I know it won’t be much longer until the dam bursts open.

  Much like the rest of the place, the room is almost completely intact. The only thing missing is the sheets, the mattress, and bed frame left behind. I take inventory of everything as I make my way in, scoping every inch of the space.

  And that’s when I see it—the dried crimson puddle that will forever stain the ivory carpet. That’s where the smell seeps from the strongest, billowing up my nose and down my throat.

  I’m gagging around it and, unlike the day Tinksley took me to Peter’s, seeing that festering plash catapults me back to that night...

  Venom drips off her words, so much that I swallow deeply. Audibly. “How do you know my name?”

  “The question you should be asking is, why didn’t you know mine until right now?” This Tinksley girl seems to take great pleasure in the way I consider her query. “It’s not important, really. Only serves to reiterate my point. He just liked to fuck me.”

  “Tinksley, stop.” Peter croaks, snapping her stare back on his form.

  “Why? Afraid I’ll tell her about your dirty little secret?” she snickers.

  “Stop,” he tries again, clearly panicking. About what, I’m not sure.

  Fingertip skating the white iron frame of the footboard, she starts making her way to his side of the bed. “Think she’ll still love you then, Peter?”

  Huh?

  “Peter, what is she talking about?” I’m clinging to his arm, stare boring into the side of his chiseled face.

  “STOP!” he barks at her, making way to stand should she get too close.

  In a flash, the man she came with moves from his spot before the window and briskly yanks me onto my feet. His hand slaps over my mouth from behind, muffling the shrill shooting out from my throat. “I’m going to need you to stay where you are, or your little dolly’s pretty blue nightgown might get a bit dirty.”

  “Stay away from her,” Peter grates, his eyes flicking to mine as my heart thrashes.

  “Then watch how you talk to what’s mine,” the man growls, tightening his hold on me.

  From that moment right there.

  I should’ve known from that very moment right there that my life was minutes away from being turned upside down.

  But the truth hadn’t come to light yet, and even when it did, it would take quite some time for naive little Wendy to realize the verity of it all...

  “Why do you keep laughing?” My voice quakes in uncertainty.

  “Because this just keeps getting better and better.” Tinksley shakes her head. “In all fairness, his mother was killed, and
technically, he was ripped out of his home, but it wasn’t her murderers who took him.”

  “Then who?” I’m gawking at Peter as I ask this.

  “He’s the murderer.” Hook grinds wickedly, stealing the air from my lungs.

  “That’s right, sweet Wendy. Your man killed his mommy, all so your daddy couldn’t have her. You know, in the name of love and all of that,” Tinksley throws back flippantly.

  Even then—she’d outed him then, and all I could think was they were lying, that there was no way my Peter was capable of the atrocity they claimed.

  He was capable of so much more, though, so much more, and if Tinksley had never ended him that night, I’d probably still be living obliviously beside him, thinking he was the greatest love of my life.

  That thought mixed the stench of his demise drops me to knees, my stomach churning around another dry heave.

  “Why did your father come for him?” I ask Tinksley.

  “Tinksley, DON’T,” Peter pipes up suddenly.

  Eyes narrowing, a gratified smile carves itself on her lips. “Because he’s his father, too,” she decrees.

  Sneering it.

  Leaving me utterly speechless as a gust of wind billows through the room, whirling a deluge of emotions about. Silence falls in its wake as I look to Peter in disbelief, and he, in turn, bores into her.

  “That’s right, Wendy—Peter’s my brother. Well, half brother, but still, we share the same blood, nonetheless. I didn’t know this—oh no.” She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t find this out until recently. Peter, here, though—he knew. He knew I was his little sister, and he still fucked me, filled me with his weak cum, took my goddamn virginity.”

  “T, ENOUGH!” Peter grits murderously through his teeth, shocking me out of my skin. I’ve never heard that tone from him. Ever.

  “Oh, I’ve had enough. That’s why I’m here. Tell me, Peter… Did you like fucking me? Did you like fucking your sister?” She takes precise, predatory steps toward him.

  “Stop,” he grits again.

  “Why, because you don’t want to admit it aloud? You don’t want your little wench to hear how much you liked fucking your younger sister”—another step—“How you lied to me, how you fucking used me, how you left me, how you fucking broke me!”

  “Please st—”

  The rest never comes to be.

  She’s on him in a single breath, a vicious growl impeding the airwaves. “I fucking killed myself over you! Sobbed for you until I nearly cried my eyes out! I loved you, and the worst part is, you let me love you despite knowing it was wrong!”

  I can’t hear anymore...

  “Please, let me go,” I simper, sniffling through the silent tears now streaming down my face. “Please, I didn’t know any of this.”

  “We know, but witnesses are an issue,” she snaps, never once letting her gaze stray from Peter.

  “I won’t tell a soul, I swear on everything,” I plead.

  And I wouldn’t have because who in their right mind would ever have believed me anyway? You imagine me ringing the police after Tinksley and Hook left, claiming that vampires held me down while they murdered Peter in cold blood? They would’ve thrown me in a padded room and called it a bloody day.

  With my strangled moans erupting in waves, Hook’s fangs still lodged in my neck, I watch Tinksley smile wickedly, pointing the sword at her man. “Don’t kill her. I want her to see this.”

  Hook unlatches immediately with a content sigh, locking his fingers into my hair in a tight fist, matching crimson rivers pouring down his chin and my neck.

  The scent of blood, that chilling stench of death wafts around us, it makes me sick. Especially when I note the state of Peter. He’s nearly limp, whimpering, and… Oh. My. God… He’s… He’s missing his member.

  Dropping the sword to the ground, Tinksley drags him onto his feet and pins him to the wall, her breaths ragged. “Once upon a time, I loved you. Now, I absolutely detest you. Even as I’m watching you bleed out, struggling to breathe, I feel nothing but regret. You are the biggest mistake of my entire life, and I hope you rot in hell for the rest of time knowing that.”

  And then she shoves his bloodied dick down his throat.

  So far down there is no gasping for air. He simply slips from her grip, and right as he’s falling, she makes quick work of retrieving the hooked sword, slicing it through the air, and severing his head from his body. Nothing but a moment ticks by when a double thud resounds through the air, both pieces of his being hitting the ground.

  “Don’t scream, or you’re next,” she says to me, pointing the sword in my direction.

  Hook’s brow quirks in confusion. “Weren’t we going to ki—”

  “We will, eventually.” She holsters the bloodstained weapon once more. “But I have a better idea for now.”

  And we all know what that better idea was now.

  I’m sobbing, full-on sobbing as the entire scenario replays faster and faster each time, reminding that my most of life—at least the parts that included Peter—was a lie. A giant lie. He may have loved me before he murdered Clara, but if fate has proven anything to me, it’s that what’s meant to be is always meant to be, and Peter was always meant to be a monster.

  Just like he was meant to die for his sins and I was meant to pay off the interest because, in doing so, I’d meet Tavi—and Tavi was always meant to be mine, much like I was meant to be his.

  Peter wasn’t my forever. Tavi was.

  And I want my forever back.

  Stars.

  That’s all I see when I open my eyes. Stars, a clear night sky, and the tops of those beautiful trees. There isn’t a need for me to examine my surroundings; I know exactly where I am.

  Rosewood.

  Fear filters through me almost immediately. Dream or not, the last time I was here, it didn’t end well. All around me there’s nothing but silence, though, prompting me to pull myself up from the cool grass.

  A quick glance around proves I’m alone. Surely that won’t be for long, the whisper should find me any moment now, but at least there isn’t an angry mob demanding I leave.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Making way to take a single step, I freeze in place, wondering if everything will pick up where it left off once my foot touches down on the ground. What am I supposed to do? Stand here until I wake up? What if I never wake up or I can’t unless I move?

  Just do it, I chastise myself.

  Jaw grit, I go for it, shoulders shooting up to my ears as I wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  But nothing happens.

  Another step and still nothing.

  Okay?

  I won’t lie, I’m confused, steadily awaiting something to take me by surprise. Why am I here? What is the point of this? Didn’t they want me to—

  A howl. I hear it loud and clear, not far away at all. I recognize it, too. It’s Tavi, but it’s not a howl of urgency. There’s immense pain behind it, propelling me toward the sound faster than I can process. I’m not even shocked that I have free range of motion again.

  From a walk to a run, I speed through the forest, following his cry, and when the thicket opens up to the cliff’s edge, I see him.

  He’s on the ground, snarling viciously, clearly struggling against some invisible hold. Claws exposed, he swipes his paws through the air, trying to nail whatever is keeping him on his back.

  My heart instantly lodges in my throat.

  The phantom weight.

  The same weight now keeping me rooted in place, leaving me no other option but to watch my wolf struggle in the darkness. It’s not long before those snarls turn into whimpers, whimpers I can’t bear to hear.

  “Stop it!” I screech, voice echoing around us. “Don’t hurt him!”

  But as always, I go unheard, which only adds urgency to the matter, especially when those whimpers turn into full-on cries. Whether it’s the same weight that has held me down or not, he’s actually hurting,
wriggling around on his back as he takes blow after invisible blow.

  What’s not invisible?

  The crimson streams that begin pouring from his sides, drenching and tainting the grass beneath him.

  No.

  That’s when the hold releases, and I’m able to bolt for him, forcing my legs to move. If I get hurt in the process, so be it. Better me than him. He doesn’t deserve this. This darkness, this evil that’s been hellbent on torturing me, it belongs to me.

  Not him.

  He shouldn’t have to endure this, too.

  Dropping to my knees, I shield him with my body, something that goes unnoticed on his part. I’m here, but I’m not really here. He can’t feel me, can’t see me, can’t hear me, not even when tears begin streaming down my cheeks at the agony I hear in his cries.

  “Tavi, please,” I beg him to hone in on my presence. “I’m here, love. I’m here.”

  But again, I go unheard, unseen, unfelt.

  He’s thrashing about beneath me, bordering on convulsing. My body follows every one of his movements, hands fisting his dark fur, and yet it does nothing to soothe him.

  Doesn’t deter the phantom weight either.

  From one moment to the next, Tavi’s cries and howls of misery grow to an excruciatingly deafening degree. He’s yelping right in my ear, forcing tears to stream down faster behind my cinched eyes. I hug him as tightly as possible, hoping and praying that everything will just stop.

  And soon thereafter, it does.

  Tavi’s cries, his movement, everything falls under an eerie stillness.

  Eyes snapping open, I ease back and find him staring at me. I don’t know if he sees me, but he’s staring right at me, his eyes glowing in the same way they did during my last episode. His breaths come harsher by the second, and that’s when I notice just how much blood he’s lost.

  How much he’s still losing, the grass beneath him no longer green.

  It's not just around him, it’s all over me, coating my front like a thick red paint.

  “He’s going to die…” The whisper emerges, voicing my worst fear. “Stop thinking about Rosewood, about coming back. There won’t be anything here for you except people who hate you. They hated you then, and they’ll detest you now for bringing down the Chief’s son. Forget Rosewood, Wendy. Forget it all…”