Finite: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Sephlem Trials Book 4)

by Felisha Antonette

  Nathan

  I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. Kicking my bedroom door closed, I fall onto my mattress and wish I could fall asleep. She’s kept me up for the past three nights. Turning onto my back, I grab my phone and scroll through the pictures. One I took of her last night before shit got too crazy. There’s a wrinkle in her eyes. It slices through the glee that I’d expect would be inside of a girl like her.

  Tracey looks like she’d be spoiled by parents who’d be paying her way through college. She’d be coupled up with a guy she’d been dating since her Junior year of high school, and a chick best friend who she’d been kicking it with since grade school. They’d have this double dating thing going on. Her gloomy personality doesn’t match her style. I get it, she’s hit a few hard walls; rather, those hard walls have hit her. I just expect more from a girl like her. I can’t see how she’s so fucking interested in me. I’m a complete stranger to this girl and she’s clung to me without doubt or a question like she’s meant to.

  Shit . . . I guess I may have too.

  Her olive, warm-toned complexion is smooth as butter, but scars from events I don’t want to know of and creases from possible sadness I can’t stand for her to relive through informing, plague her outer beauty. She’s still beautiful. Only a type of beauty that takes being seen through. Her heart’s dark and her touch is rough. She claims humanity, but her eyes tell me otherwise. It’s sensible to leave her alone and move on without discovering what lies beneath that pain, but I want to reach that beauty and watch her happiness overshadow her darkness.

  I text her, scheduling miniature golf later tonight.

  When we’re together, I’m lighter and it’s pleasantly obvious she is too. I’ve wanted that in a friendship for as long as I can remember. Tracey, I can tell her everything and not feel guilty and tested by doing so. It’s easy with her and though I said it’d be good for us to not chill, I didn’t mean that shit. Friends are hard to come by being Burdened and unable to trust people. Tracey. . . She’s easy, like a late drive going nowhere, or the angelic tunes of a rhythm that make my toe tap, and I do not even know it. And selfishly, I want more of that simple—effortless living.

  I meet Tracey at Parrington Park where there are plenty of activities we can partake in, but I am about to kick her ass in miniature golf.

  “If I make every hole in one,” Tracey says, “pizza is on you.”

  Laughing, I bat back. “And if I win, the next round is on you.”

  “Bet.” She hunches over, clutching the club between her hands. Drawing back, she putts like she’s smacking a baseball, hitting the ball way over the windmill meant for the golf ball to pass through, not over.

  “Great shot!” I say, clapping. I turn a bit toward the line behind us and encourage them to clap along with me and cheer her attempt.

  She lifts the club in front of her face and scampers behind me. “Just take your turn.”

  “It’s all about control, Tracey.” I putt the golf ball and sink it. “That’s one nothing.”

  “No need to rub it in, Tiger.”

  Shit talking and golf ball hitting, we work our way around the course. I’ve never laughed so much in my life; laughing with and at her. We reach the last hole and she finally sinks one. Jumping up and down with her fist and club in the air, she whoops and cheers her praise, getting a round of claps and “Yays” from those behind us. Tracey throws her hand out, and I high-five her.

  “Good job,” I join them.

  “I’ll go pay for another round,” she says, running into the building near the course. I follow behind her, meeting her in line. “That was so much fun!” she exclaims, bouncing on her toes.

  Nodding, I agree. “Before we start round two, you want to grab a bite to eat? I’m starving.”

  “Yeah, sure!”

  We leave the line and Tracey trips over the golf club she drops. I lift my gaze to what’s behold her and have to clench my fist to keep the beast withering within me from making a public appearance.

  I step a foot before Tracey to guard her from the impersonator.

  “Tracey?” he calls in question, moving in on us. I shake my head, telling him not to, and with regard, he stops. “What is this?” he asks, face contorting. “Nathan?”

  “What are you?” I ask, keeping the threat at bay. As this thing looks more afraid or confused by me. “Whatever you want, we need to take it outside.”

  He throws his hand to his chest. “What I want?” Charging forward, he shoves me. “What do you want? Get the hell away from my sister!”

  Tracey jumps between us, and I put some space between me and the two of them. “I’m confused,” I say, and would swear I was looking in a mirror. “He’s your brother,” I say to Tracey. “He fucking looks just like me! You never mentioned that.”

  “You actually look like this?” The boy asks me, pointing. He grabs my hand and looks over its side before I can remove it from him. “You don’t know who I am?” He throws his arms around me.

  I pry them away. “You gotta back off, guy.”

  “That scar on the side of your hand, you got that one day we were playing in the backyard with one of those pearl arrows Roseland made. Rose was shooting it and you tried to catch it, missed, and it went straight in my arm.” He rolls up his left sleeve, revealing a star-like scar.

  I shrug. “Never seen you in my life, guy.”

  “It’s not Nathan,” Tracey cuts in, tugging his sleeve down. “I’ll explain everything when we get home.”

  “No,” he blurts. “I can feel it. Nathan, it’s me. I’m your brother. Nearly thirty years we’ve been together, you can’t forget me.” Confusion burns in his eyes as he’s crying, “It’s me. Nathan. We’ve got the same name, named after our father. Taylor, Roseland, Rose, Nicholas, you, me. All of us. What the hell, Tracey?”—he flicks his gaze to her—“Nathan!” he continues, advancing on me as I’m retracting.

  Confused, myself, I’m at a loss for words. “Help me out here, Tracey. I don’t mean to hurt the kid’s feelings.” I mean, I’d claim he was my long-lost twin or something, but I had a sister. She died a long time ago.

  Muttering ‘remember whens’ and ‘don’t you remembers’ Tracey tries to calm him down. She yet, though, has tried to convince him otherwise of his assumptions but does say that I’m not this Nathan he believes I am.

  “I’ll explain it when we get home, Little Nathan,” she says again.

  “No,” he objects, and the two fall silent.

  Squeezing the back of my neck in my hand, I try to fight off the despair coming over me. Last night was a piece of shit, battling that damn Nemanite. Those eels always think they have to keep an eye on us in a poor attempt of ‘keeping us in check.’ I’d find great pleasure in killing all of them, but the time doesn’t call for that. I’ve been working on being able to coexist with those eels, but the jerk last night showed me it’s not possible. All Burdened Sephlem know it’s a horrible idea to mate with a human since the death vision revealed itself hundreds of years ago. Now, I guess, the eels don’t even want us to friend them either. I’d hoped Tracey and I could move forward without the outside drama, but it’s not possible.

  “I’m getting out of here, Tracey. It was fun,” I say. “A lot of fun. But, you’ve got a lot going on and after last night, this morning, and now this, you’re right. We should kick this.”

  “Wait, Nate. Let me explain. Would you mind taking a ride with us?” Tracey’s eyes sadden but are also hopeful. If they’re hopeful for my agreement, I give that to her. They don’t lift. “I’ll explain on the ride to our house.”

  The Hardest Thing

  Tracey

  How could this perfect night turn so bad so fast? Living without Nathan was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Walking away from him would be detrimental and if us being together takes me revealing him to our family, fine. I just didn’t want it to be like this. Nor do I want to pay the cost of never having him.

  I explain to
‘Nate’ how it’s a possibility he’s my dead mate, which he declines, but listens to every word without argument. I leave out smaller details about how he may have died, but explain that the people we’re about to see are his family.

  Little Nathan calls everyone who lives with us to make sure they’re at the house when we get there. I hate bombarding Nathan with so many people at once, but I lost the battle against what was good for him when Little Nathan so aggressively reminded me that he is his brother and despite what relationship I had with Nathan, blood trumps bond.

  I can feel it, by doing this, that I’ll lose Nathan. He’s going to hate me for not telling him why I was so willing to hang out with him, or worse, telling him and disrupting the perfect happiness he’d believed he lived in. His presence has shifted to a heavy discomfort, and he’s not into it at all, yet he pushes onward.

  Nathan enters the house behind Little Nathan and me. In the living room, we meet a crowd of hopeful Newcombs. When they see Nathan, they cry.

  Nathan grabs my hand and stands back from them. “They look at me like they know me,” he whispers.

  “They think they do,” I say, and add with a shrug, “To them, you’re a cousin, a brother, an uncle.”

  His fingers slip between mine. “A mate.”

  My heart double beats and the earnest of hope makes me chew on my bottom lip to stop its trembling. Looking down at our clasped hands, I nod. “A mate.” I meet his eyes.

  Nathan looks away from me and breaks our hold. “Hi, everyone,” he greets with a smile. “I’m sorry I’m not the guy you think I am, and I really wish I was. I’ve always wanted a family this big.”

  “It’s bigger than you think,” Olar says.

  Taylor crosses the room. Color refills her cheeks, and the darkness has lifted from her eyes. She smiles. “I don’t care if you don’t remember us. It’s enough just knowing that you’re alive.”

  Nathan looks Taylor over and says, “You look like you could be my sister.” He hugs her and holds her for a while. They hold each other. “She was murdered by a Nemanite a long time ago, for mating with a human.” He draws away from her. Taking the stone of Taylor’s necklace between his fingers, he asks, “Where’d you get this?”

  Clearing her throat, Taylor says, “It belonged to my mother. My brother gave it to me.” They bond over the necklace.

  I look past them to Olar, holding Lana to, maybe, wait. She shakes her head and tells him, “If he doesn’t remember you all, then what’s the point. So, you tell him today and he’ll forget you tomorrow. You all should let the idea of having him back go.”

  “What’s your problem?” Olar asks, lip turned up into a disgruntled scoff.

  “It’s stupid.”

  I cross the floor to them. “It’s not stupid,” escapes me quietly enough to not alert the others. “You know how big this moment is for us. Being a part of our family, you know what Nathan means to each of us.”

  She snaps in a whisper, “Maybe. But that’s not the Nathan you all think he is. So, he means nothing. You can’t go up to him and ask him to kiss away your depression. Taylor and Little Nathan can’t remember childhood memories with him. Olar can’t walk up to him and have friendly banter as if they’ve been best friends forever. I can’t thank him for what he did for Olar and expect him to know what I’m talking about. When we’re all done staring at him, he’s going to go back home and not be the least bit concerned with how him leaving hurts us.”

  I look over my shoulder at Nathan, pandering just how right she is.

  “He’s not Nathan,” she continues. “He’s just another look-a-like that feels good, and all of you need to accept that.”

  Meeting Lana’s cold eyes, I shake my head. “Why are you being so negative?”

  With a soft smile, she layers on another reality, “I’m not, just being helpful so you’ll accept the inevitable a little bit easier.” Leaving, she keeps Olar from embracing her. Maybe a touch of reassurance, a request for comfort. He’s right, Lana’s changed.

  “What’d she mean by, he won’t remember us tomorrow?”

  Olar shakes his head. “No telling. She’s been different. I can’t touch her, she won’t talk to me. Nothing is how it used to be since before he left.”

  “Forget what she says. Go talk to him. She’s right. He doesn’t remember us, but that doesn’t change you’re actually talking to Nathan, and yes, you can feel he’s really him. And he’s really nice,” I smile and waggle my eyebrows.

  Olar presses his fists together and grinds them over each other. “I don’t know, Tracey.” He tenses up. “Have you done anything to get him to remember you?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start.” I pull him from being seated and shove him toward his cousin. “Go.”

  They each find something to bond over with Nathan. Carmen, Courtney, and Cartel talk about movies and football. Taylor talks about Jason, and Jason joins in, telling Nathan about how much he loves going to the park and playing in the lake. Little Nathan talks about school and the greater education of graphic design and engineering. Olar, his and Nathan’s conversation is the funniest; their disgust for ‘eels.’

  Nathan spends hours with them. I’m impressed.

  All is well until Laine walks in.

  Nathan snaps up, a cold disgust washes over his face, and he looks us over, all calmly seated in the living room.

  Flabbergasted, Laine mutters, “Na-Nathan.”

  “What are—”

  “How are you here?” Laine cuts him off. “Is this for real?” he asks, directing his question at Little Nathan.

  “As you and I.”

  Discomforted, Nathan heads from the living room. “It was nice to meet you all. I’ll be on my way. Tracey?” he nods toward the door.

  Passing Laine, I ignore his questioning glare. Closing the front floor behind me, I offer, “I can drop you back off at the arcade place.”

  Nathan shakes his head, “I’ll find my way back. You should stay here. They may need you more than me.” The optimistic eyes he once viewed me with have dimmed out. Now, in them, lies skepticism—betrayal. “You have a nice family, Tracey.”

  “We do.”

  His head bows in regret. “I should not have come here. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  Stepping to him, I look up and discard his regret. “I know it was wrong, but if I had the chance to do it again, I would. Every time. And I’m sorry about that. So sorry. But, it’s so hard to live without you.” There’s a relief with finally saying that to him, but it’s clear it’s not something he wants to hear.

  He releases a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe I’m mated. It’s impossible.” He grabs my hand and places it over his chest. “You feel that?”

  Shaking my head, I say, “I feel nothing.”

  Hitching his finger in a come here motion, he says, “Listen.”

  I place my ear to his chest. It’s silent. “How is that possible?”

  “It’s a curse. A while ago I was marked by death and as a result, a Mulen-mixed-witch froze my heart. I walk and breathe by the likes of the curse, but really, I’m empty inside. I can’t love, I can’t mate, I impersonate care, but I feel pain.”

  Whatever happened to Nathan, whoever did this to him, from stealing his memory to freezing his heart, if that’s even a thing, it has to be a load of crap. I wish there was a way to undo it. Lana echoes in my mind, he can’t kiss away your depression, but what if a kiss could change it all? A kiss makes people fall in love, can it remind the mind of love too?

  As if Nathan was on my same page, he slips his crooked finger under my chin and tilts my head back. His lips fall onto mine with ease.

  I live. I come to life for the first time in a long while. A volcano erupts in my chest and drives scorching lava through the vines laid against my skin that are trembling, as goosebumps scatter along my flesh. I clutch his shirt in my hands and force the only thought I can from my mind to his.

  Nathan’s warm lips mold against mine before they pa
rt just enough for our tongues to graze. He cups my cheek and draws me closer, kissing my entire life, eliminating the doubt and my insecurities. My body curves against his, and I can’t contain the soft sigh that escapes me.

  I’m weightless when he breaks our embrace.

  He says, “I feel nothing.”

  My heart sinks and his words knock the wind out of me, though I stay upright. “O-okay,” with a fake chuckle. “Maybe we’re wrong.” I turn my back to him and pant the hurt away. I felt so much, and the heat’s still rushing through my veins and flowing in my chest.

  He grabs my waist and asks, “We’re good right?”

  I turn back, nodding, and do what I can to smile.

  “Good. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He strides to the sidewalk without a glance back. I have to stop myself from calling after him, or racing to the end of the driveway and stopping him from leaving.

  But, as he gave me the freedom to choose him, I need to offer him the same choice. If he doesn’t come back, I may have to live with that . . .

  My bed’s cold. I expect myself to cry a river, laying here, washed in the dreary moonlight. My cheeks are dry. I expect my anger to be so heavy that I’ll sink to the bottom of the mattress. I’m light.

  I hold the pillow to my chest and count down from one hundred, because, while I don’t cry, it’s just because I can’t, not because I don’t want to. While I don’t sink, it’s because I’m empty.

  My phone chirps.

  I jump from my bed and scavenge my jean pockets for the device.

  Finding it, I unlock it to find a text from Nathan. It reads, ‘Streaming movies and popcorn. My place at eight. Bring soda.’

  I sigh.

  Yes, my life may be a wicked disaster of ups and downs but dammit, it’s this that makes my ugly darkness beautiful.

  I reply to the message with a thumbs up emoji.

  He doesn’t have to be my mate, I’ll take movies and laughs, just as long as he’s in my life. That’s all we need.