Funny, she didn’t hear it break through the ceiling, let alone start to float. “Huh” was all Addie said. Did she do that?
What a stupid question. Who else around was a shifter-witch hybrid, with a father who was so powerful he was one of the world’s seven high warlocks? Just her. It was also probably the reason Clay wanted her. He knew she was different, knew she wasn’t like the others, and not because her shifter side was still caged.
What did he say?
Addie slowly dropped her gaze from the book, following her mother to her feet. Her mother would not stop staring at the book above them; it was lodged in there good. It was clear the book wasn’t going to fall, even with gravity pulling it. Someone would have to get a ladder, or a chair.
Or maybe everyone could just not look up.
“Mom,” Addie spoke, recalling Clay’s words of another one, “are you sure there aren’t any others out there like me?”
That got her mother’s stare to fall to her right quick. “Like you?” Sarah echoed, confused. “Believe it or not, honey, I’m not in charge of the world’s magical beings. People will be with whoever they’ll be with. Are you special? Yes, of course. Even if your father was human, you’d be special. Can I say that you’re the only one in the history of the world? You know I don’t particularly like making generic blanket statements, but…I think you are.”
“I think Clay wants me,” Addie said, keeping to herself the another one thing, because maybe she was overthinking this, “because I have a better link to my shifter side. With you, that’s all there is. I’m able to communicate with my wolf, to meet her and talk to her—not like she talks back, but you know what I mean.”
Sarah crossed her arms. “Honey, that makes it more dangerous for you to stay.”
“I have to stay, Mom. I can’t go. This is…this is where I belong. I know it.” It was insanely hard to tell her mother that this—the place Sarah had run from all those years ago—was exactly where Addie was meant to be. With Maze, Dylan, and Landon, with Forest as her alpha, with this pack behind her back.
This was her new home.
Her mother engulfed her in a bear hug, practically squeezing the life out of her as she said, “I’m sure you’ll be alright. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you, though. You know me, I’ll—”
“Worry till the sun comes up, and then goes down again,” Addie said, having heard her mother say it before, countless of times. Even though her mother was hugging her, her gaze was still tilted upwards, staring at the book.
Right. Addie should probably get it down, somehow.
Sarah sluggishly let her go, eyeing her in a new light. Maybe she looked more like her father, suddenly, now she was able to use some magic. She was pretty sure she already had his hair, minus the pink streaks. And her eyes, they were greener than her mother’s hazel. Maybe she had his eyes, too.
Not that she wanted to look like him. Not that she cared. It was just something Addie wondered, because why not?
Addie flicked her gaze to the bookshelf. She could find a ladder and get the book down, or she could continue to practice. Common decency told her to get the book out of the ceiling, but common sense told her the opposite. Now, she finally had time to practice her magical skills. None of the guys were near her, so her wolf wasn’t begging to be claimed. Her mother was here, helping her practice. She might get impaled by a book if they continued, but practicing was better than not practicing, right?
It was just like studying. Addie had to put her mind to it, put her all behind it. Soon enough, she’d be able to levitate a book no problem. Hopefully she’d be able to control where it went, too. She wanted to be a pro at this by the end of the day.
“Let’s do some more practicing,” Addie said, moving to the bookcase, choosing a paperback this time. Three hundred pages, no hard spine. Surely this couldn’t do much damage. Maybe a scuff on the paint, but that’s it. “Then I’ll get that one down.”
And she knew she would get no practicing done when the guys were around. They were too…well, distracting. With their muscles and their smiles, their heated looks and whispered words. Not to mention the dimples. Oh, yes. If one of them walked through the front door, her concentration would be done with.
Her mother knew better than to argue. Arguing with Addie when her mind was set was like arguing with a bull. Just impossible. Sarah would know, because it was the same way with her. Addie had inherited her stubbornness, just like she’d inherited the wolf.
One was a boon, the other, a boon only sometimes.
Addie and her mother sat down, and they got back to it. This time, Addie noticed, her mother sat a few feet farther back, watching her with suspicion, as if she thought the book was going to fly toward her this time.
Yet another reason Addie chose the paperback.
Time passed in a blur as Addie did her best to control the levitating. She refused to look at the clock to see how much time had gone by, because she knew if she did, she would only be disappointed, because this, her training session, was not going according to plan. If anything, it just grew worse.
A boisterous and loud set of feet pounded up the steps of the porch. Maze let himself in, since this was his house, walking into the living room when he saw Addie and her mother were on the floor. He smiled a dimpled smile, saying, “Forest said it was a-okay for your mom to stay…” And it was at that time he noticed.
Nearly a dozen books, all jammed into the walls. Four in the ceiling, in various spots. The rest were in the walls. Some lodged into the wall that hugged the stairwell leading upstairs, a few of them on the wall where the mantle was. Luckily, the windows were all intact, but somehow one did wind up on the side of the nearest and lowest cabinet in the kitchen.
Addie wasn’t sure how that one happened.
“What,” Maze started, obviously at a loss for words if his quiet, ajar mouth meant anything, “what happened? Hurricane? Tornado?” He shook his head. “Dylan is going to kill you. Those were all his books, you know. Yeah, he’s so going to kill you.”
Addie got to her feet, moving toward him. “It’s not what it looks like.” She wasn’t even sure why she said it, because it was exactly what it looked like.
“Good,” Maze whispered, his dark eyes fixating on her, making her feel all sorts of things beneath the embarrassment she had about the books littering the walls, ceiling, and cabinet. “Because it looks like you decimated the living room with Dylan’s books while practicing your magic stuff.”
Ah, so he hadn’t seen the one in the kitchen yet. She’ll save that one for a surprise for later. “Okay, well, it might be what it looks like,” Addie started, refraining from the urge to correct him—because she didn’t do magic stuff. She did spells, and saying the word magic in front of it was repetitive and useless. All spells were magic. Duh.
“Yeah, I’m getting that,” he said dryly.
“But,” she continued, “I didn’t do any of it on purpose.”
“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse,” Maze muttered, and just like that, the dimples were back, making her feel…feelings.
Yeah, real descriptive on that one, but she found herself losing track of her thoughts, standing so close to him. Her wolf was oblivious to the fact her mother was in the room; her wolf wanted Maze to lay her down and introduce every inch of her skin to those dimples.
God. Addie wasn’t even sure she knew what that meant.
“She’s powerful,” Sarah commented, crossing her arms and looking stern, very much the mother she was, “if she can fling a trade paperback through a two by four. Keep that in mind, should you get handsy.”
Addie closed her eyes at her mother’s words, feeling a new wave of embarrassment sweeping through her, this one worse. When parents were involved, the embarrassment was always tenfold, somehow. The special, almost magical ability of parents.
And then, Maze being Maze, said something that made the situation a whole lot worse: “I don’t know. I think I c
ould get down with playing rough.”
Oh, my God, Addie thought. I’m dead.
Chapter Eleven
Her mother, since she had nowhere to sleep, was going to stay with them. Maze and Dylan had both offered her their beds, but she’d declined them, saying she’d take the couch. She didn’t want to disrupt the household further, although she also peppered in a few threats here and there, saying if anyone so much as hinted about going into Addie’s room while she slept, she would hear, and the repercussions would not be pleasant.
Everyone knew better than to question her on it.
Landon practically ignored everyone all night, didn’t say a single word when he came home and saw the books sticking out of the drywall. He went straight to bed, even though it was barely dark outside. Clearly they hadn’t bonded in her room earlier. Her fantasies about him, if one could go so far as to call them fantasies, were quashed.
Probably better this way. Her mother was in the house, after all. There would be no hanky-panky, and definitely no hanky-spanky. Was hanky-spanky a real thing? Her wolf seemed to want it, but her wolf seemed like a bona fide slut—not that there was anything wrong with it, because there wasn’t.
There were just some things that took priority over her wolf being claimed, like dealing with Clay.
Addie waited until the others were out for the night before tiptoeing to the shower. She shed her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair—which reminded her, she’d have to go home and pack up some more stuff after everything settled down—before stepping into the tub. She turned the water on, turning the temperature as hot as it would go. Not good for the pink in her hair, but there was something about hot showers she loved more than life itself.
Had a bad day? Wash it all away with a nice, steamy shower. Had a good day? What better way to end it than with the relaxation only hot water from a showerhead could bring? If Addie could stay in the shower for hours, she would—or at least until the hot water tank ran low and the water turned cold.
Addie was about to wash herself with whoever’s soap sat on the ledge, but something odd stopped her. The water felt…different. Thicker. And—she glanced to her hands in the water—it wasn’t clear. It was pink. Her gaze followed the water from her hands as it dripped to the floor of the tub, swirling around the metal stopper. Almost like she was washing blood from her body.
Which was stupid. She wasn’t injured. Did she get a nosebleed again? Was it from all of her magical practicing?
As she reached up to her nose, she happened to glance up. The showerhead spewed an instant, thick spray of a dark red liquid, a hundred times darker than the pink water she’d seen. It got in her mouth, in her eyes, up her nose, coating every part of her instantly, a sheer waterfall of gore.
Her eyes were quick to close, and she clumsily reached to turn the water off. Heck, who was she kidding? This wasn’t water. This was Freddy Krueger’s come to town water, AKA a fancy title for blood.
She stumbled out of the shower after yanking the curtain open. Her feet, doused in red, stepped on the mat sitting on the floor directly outside of the tub, blood running off her skin, soaking into the fluffy mat. She grabbed for whichever towel was nearest—she’d make apologies for it later, because clearly, right now, there were other things to worry about, like the freaking blood coating her entire body. She wrapped herself up, wiping off her face to get it out of her eyes. Her vision was tinted pink no matter how hard she rubbed, but it would have to do for now.
Her throat felt too wet, the taste on her tongue too metallic. She went towards the sink, leaning over to spit, to hock a loogie, to get it out of her throat, but she was only able to get out two good coughs before something came up, lodging itself in her throat, hard and thick.
Great, so much for her plan about screaming for the guys. Addie wouldn’t be able to do anything with this thing in her throat.
Addie’s gaze met her reflection’s—God, was she a miserable, gory sight—and she spotted a lump in her neck. Whatever blocked her airway was right there, so thick she could see it.
Feeling like she couldn’t breathe while simultaneously needing to breathe was the worst feeling in the world, on the opposite end of the spectrum from warm, steamy showers. Although, after this most recent one, she might have to rethink that one, too.
Whatever the damned thing was, she had to get it out, and since she couldn’t inhale to cough it out, she had to go in another way…with her fingers. Hopefully her gag reflex would cool it.
Addie reached her two longest fingers in her mouth, opening it as wide as she could, given the situation. Her vision started to blur, her lungs practically bursting in her chest. She had to get it out, had to slide it up and out of her throat so she could finally breathe deeply once again. Breathing was an action she would never take for granted again after this, assuming she made it and didn’t choke and die right here.
Her fingers brushed the bottom of her uvula, and she gagged, though nothing came up. Her mouth was open as wide as it could be, which thankfully was wide enough to shove most of her hand in. Addie hoped it would be enough for two fingers to reach in and pull it out, otherwise she’d die in this bathroom covered in blood with her own hand in her mouth. Talk about a weird way to die.
Fingers reaching down her throat—something she never thought she would have to do—Addie felt the tips of her fingers brush against something cold and hard. Whatever was lodged in her throat was most definitely not food, because it was not chewed up at all. At this point, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know what it was, but the need to yank it out overcame all her yuck factors.
Her fingers moved to the sides of her throat, and she had to dig her nails against the object to get a firm hold of it, and then she pulled it out, feeling it tear her esophagus on its way up. Addie coughed as she pulled it through her mouth, flinging it out, onto the sink as she heaved over and over, trying to catch her breath and calm down. The item clinked in the porcelain sink, but she was too busy, too worried about the lingering pain in her throat to pay much attention to it yet.
Her throat felt as if it were on fire, burning with the flames of agony and pain. Like she’d swallowed a dozen knives without knowing, tore herself all to hell. Addie held a hand around her neck, putting pressure on it as if it were an open, bleeding wound. It was then, of course, her gaze fell to the object in the sink.
Small, now that it wasn’t lodged in her throat. Ivory in hue, though it was twinged with pink. A shape she’d maybe only seen once in her life, on the skeleton in the corner of her high school health class.
A bone.
And, what was even weirder, Addie knew it was a hand bone, right from the palm. How in the world did she know that? Seemed a bit of information no one would know, unless one specialized in corpses…and she knew only one person who did.
Clay.
“Clay,” Addie shouted, her voice sounding awful. She stumbled out of the bathroom, looking down the hallway, which seemed rather long on both sides, as if someone took the house and stretched it out. Her hand dropped from her throat, and as it did, she noticed something off, something different. Call it intuition, or call it obvious—or call it a giant, gaping wound.
Either way, hard to miss.
Like someone had plucked out her bone and put it in her throat. But…how? It was something she would’ve felt, something she would’ve been aware of. Addie could not stop staring at her hand, at the red hole inside its palm. She could see her ligaments, her muscles and her tendons. Strangely enough, the wound did not bleed, did not hurt—totally unlike her throat, which still hurt like a bitch and a half.
Addie turned down the ever-long hall, moving toward the stairwell, her feet dragging. It took her far too long to reach the stairs, even longer to bring her feet down along them. Why didn’t she go to the guys’ rooms? She couldn’t say. She had the feeling, though, they weren’t in there. If they were, they would’ve come out when she’d cried Clay’s name.
Where the heck wer
e they?
Her feet drew her downstairs, and she rounded the corner to the living room, where her mother was camped out for the night. She knew all she would have to do is lift up her hand, show her mother her wound—not to mention the teeny, weeny fact she was drenched in blood—and her mother would be up and about, freaking the flip out.
But it wasn’t just her mother in the living room. Moonlight shone through the windows in the room, illuminating a large, darkly-dressed figure looming over her mother’s sleeping form. Sarah was motionless, utterly still on the couch. The figure above her was anything but.
Addie couldn’t see what the figure was doing to her, and it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, wasn’t good. She shouted, “Mom!” She wanted to say more, but as she ran closer to the couch, she froze, no other words escaping her wounded, aching throat.
Her mother’s blonde hair was across her face. She couldn’t see her at all, but Addie could see the blood particles seeping through the air, traveling straight to the figure literally hovering above her like some kind of freak alien spider. The figure was a man, though he had no skin. No nose on his face, no eyelids. Everything on him, other than his clothes, was red and veiny. Still, somehow Addie knew; it was Clay.
Clay was sucking her mother’s lifeforce dry to regain himself.
Before she could take another step closer, an invisible force swatted her like a fly, and she flew through the air, her back colliding with the bare wall beside the mantle. She would have a front row seat to watch him finish her mother, drain her dry. Yet again, the alien spider analogy would work.
Her anger grew. He would not take her mother. He would not take another shifter. Clay’s destructive, murderous reign over this pack was over, and Addie was going to stop him. She had to. She was the only one who could even hope to stand at his level.
Addie focused on her anger, letting it build and grow as her eyes watched Clay continue to suck her mother’s life out. Like that mummy guy, only worse because this was real and not crappy nineties’ CGI. Something inside of her snapped, breaking through whatever power held her against the wall. Her feet fell to the floor, and she yelled with all her might, “Get away from my mom!” Not the coolest thing to say, but she didn’t have time to think up a one-liner.
Undying: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (Crystal Lake Pack Book 2) Page 8
