Three Times Torn

by Felisha Antonette

I crack the window and let the wind blow in my face to settle my rising temperature. “You wanted to stay?”

  “No, I didn’t want to go. I wanna know.”

  “Well, we were getting on your and my nerves. Glen can’t focus or stand. And I feel like I’m catching the flu. So, I just decided I’m going to kill Nathan because this is not fair,” I say, flustered. “But none of us could stay there like this.”

  “Oh. . .” he trails off.

  NATHAN’S HOUSE IS QUIET. I’m grateful for the silence with how bad my head’s hurting. I talked Taylor into making us some sandwiches, hoping the food will settle my nerves. It doesn’t. Olar leaves us going to Nathan’s room after we eat, and Glen and I follow. My legs tremble as I climb the stairs, and with each step, I feel my energy draining. Olar lies on the bed, exhausted. Glen kicks off her shoes and lies next to him. Their bodies don’t touch, but she lays her head on his arm and instantly knocks out. He squints, an inquisitive glance flicking from Glen to me. I shrug, answering his silent question. My brain doesn’t feel like processing that right now.

  Snatching a shirt from Nathan’s laundry basket and a pillow from his bed, I stuff the pillow in the shirt and sit on the floor. I cut on the TV, mute it, and stare, seeing nothing. Just blurs after the black fades from my sight each time I blink.

  Someone knocks.

  “Huh?” I whisper with my head buried in the pillow, shivering from the repeat of chills scattering through me. I’m too hot to cover up, but I can’t convince my body of that.

  Little Nathan walks in and flops down on the floor beside me. “Hey.”

  I drop the pillow in my lap. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Checking on you.” He looks over the bed. “Those two are knocked out.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  He adjusts himself and snags the remote from my lap. “You feeling okay? You’re freezing.”

  “I don’t know how. I’m burning up! But I feel my skin cold. I’m clammy and achy, and I can’t shake this fatigue. But I’ll be okay. I can fight it.” I lay my head back against the bed, throwing Nathan’s pillow back in my face, taking in the small scent of him it provides.

  “You want me to leave?”

  “No. Stay here,” I drag, placing the pillow beside me. “How are things going for you?”

  “Better for now.”

  “Good. A little relief is better than none.”

  “Yeah.” He lays his head back too.

  I blink, and my head swims. Becoming lightheaded, I let my eyes close and become victim to the darkness.

  A warm draft blows across my face. Sighing, I find relief in the subsidy of the flu-like symptoms.

  “Good.”

  I twist around faster than humanly possible, wrapping my arms around Nathan’s neck. His arms wrap around me tightly and, I place my face in his neck breathing him in, filling my nose with his musk I’ve missed. Wincing, I pull back. “I’m sorry. Last night. I don’t know what happened.”

  He reels me back to him. “Don’t worry about it. Can you tell me why you were asleep in my brother’s lap and Glen was sleeping, practically, on top of Olar.”

  “That’s not how I remember it. . . At some point, I passed out, and my head must’ve fallen on his shoulder. As for Glen, I’m not sure. She had a bad day and may have been slightly delusional.”

  “How was your day?” He adjusts me, cradling me in his arm. I bend my legs, propping my feet on the bench of the gazebo, enjoying being held.

  “It’s getting better.”

  “I’ll assume that I have something to do with that. You should thank me.”

  Snorting, I tease, “I would if that wasn’t a cocky thing for you to say.” He smirks and his brows jump. “How was your trip?”

  “It wasn’t a trip. Trips are enjoyable, and I enjoyed none of it. But I’m alive. You’re alive, and no one here is hurt, which is good. But my time away was hell, and I’m not looking forward to doing it again.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “That’s not the appropriate word to use.”

  I blush. “You know what? I’ve decided I am going to kill you.”

  “I doubt it,” he retorts with a single laugh.

  “No, really, I am. For putting me through this. These last few days have been hell.”

  “I know, Sparks. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t leave me anymore. You leave, I leave. If not, you stay,” I order. “Everyone but you gets the option to stay back. I don’t like it.”

  “Sparks, I—”

  “Nope, not trying to hear it. I’ve said my peace.” I shift my gaze to the dimly lit fountain in the middle of the gazebo, now with carnations surrounding it. The light shines through the peddles, casting colors of orange, yellow, and red on the white furniture.

  “You’ve gotten bossy lately.” He slides his hand across my cheek and turns my head to face him. “I said I’m sorry. Forgive me, okay?”

  I stare into a clockwise mixture of emerald and chocolate, nodding. “I missed you,” I breathe, getting lost in his eyes as they swirl to another color. His soft breaths flutter across my face. My gaze drops to his slightly parted lips. Those soft lips fall onto mine, and I sink into the sky. His sky. Submerged in a cloud of love, I fly home, settling in my comfort zone.

  He leans up, bringing me with him. I sit upright on his lap and his arms loosely wrap around my hips. My body doesn’t alight, but my heart blisters. Roughened beats attack my aching chest, causing my breaths to catch. Seconds hold the oxygen hostage before staggered breaths expel from my lungs against Nathan’s face. I gasp, panting—nervous. My hand’s are clutched around his neck, and it’s not until I let go, do I realize how tightly I was squeezing him.

  He breaks away from me, confusion thick in his eyes. “What is that?” he mutters to himself, an edge of agony in his voice. He rubs his hand along his neck, and my nail prints slowly disappear.

  I reach for my chest, gritting my teeth against the ongoing pain. It doesn’t last long, but it’s hurting like hell. It lets up, and through a sigh, I ask, “What just happened?”

  Exhaling, he thinks before answering, “You’re mine.” He places his hand on my chest, feeling our heartbeat. “My defensive shield’s wrapped around your heart.” His hand rises to his chest. “It’s harder now. More of a solid thump instead of a beat.” Moving my hand to his chest, I compare it to the beat I remember. “That is going to take some getting used to,” he adds.

  My heartbeat feels choked. Instead of the rapid double beat, it’s a single thump with a three-millisecond count before I feel it beat again. Thump. Thump. Thump. I don’t know what to make of it. “Why?”

  He shrugs. “For completion of us, maybe. My coming over you. Imagine how it’ll feel when we’re made.”

  “Married?”

  “Yeah. It’ll happen in the future. You think you’re just going to stay my girlfriend and we keep doing this the wrong way? Nah.” His brows jump. “You’ll be my wife, and all our actions will be legit.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I say, sealing the space between us. Bright, orange-brown eyes swirl before me. I love that color in him.

  “Me too,” he murmurs, cupping my face in his hands. He kisses me with the same softness as before. It feels right like everything is finally perfect if only for a moment.

  “Wait,” I draw back and hurry to speak before he can read it. “Who do you feed off?”

  “Who the hell told you that?” he asks, slighted, brows knitting, darkening the shadow over his deep chocolate eyes.

  I press my lips together, taken aback by his animosity toward my question. “Why does that matter?”

  He clears his throat, and his eyes swirl hazel. His discrete color that helps make him unreadable. I don’t like it when he blocks himself from me. “When I fight, I will. Sometimes,” he says shamefully.

  “Am—.” I pause, thinking of his answer before I ask the question.

  “No, Sparks. It’s nothing like
that. I don’t want to feed off you. I’ve stolen enough from you, wouldn’t you think. You expect me to take your being too?”

  “No. But I want to know if I’m good enough, or why you wouldn’t ask, or I don’t know. Why you might’ve been holding yourself back from something you need.”

  Shaking his head, he corrects, “Burdened’s don't need to feed. We survive fine without it. Feeding is giving into your demon; the demon needs to feed. Feeding off your mate is just wrong. And it hurts. I’d get nothing but high and then feel bad that I used you.”

  “Taylor says she feeds off Justin, and Scott feeds off Glen.”

  “So what?” he scoffs, disgusted and annoyed by the topic.

  Pulling my brows together, I study him. “You feed, just not off me?”

  “Just sometimes. I don’t like that. Not anymore. Don’t worry about that. Bonding is enough. I don’t need to nearly kill you and leave you hanging onto life by a string while I’m something six times worse than stoned and over fueled. That shit doesn’t sit well with me. You’re my lady, Sparks. You know how I felt about bonding; how I feel about it, let’s not make this shit worse for you than it is.”

  “No. I don’t want it. Just curious why you’ve never mentioned it.”

  He nods. “One day, I’ll show you what it’s like for me to feed on a human. You’ll be incredibly disgusted and think less of me as a man. But if you’re that curious. . .”

  “Uh. Nate, is there anything else I’m missing out on with this? My Sephlem notebook is getting full.”

  He laughs. “Ah, maybe.” Waiting before he continues, he says, “Stop listening to my sister. She’s darkening, Roehl’s seizing her mind and I’m sure there’s some shit she’s holding back on telling us about what happened. Don’t let the shit these other couples do spark your interest. Seriously, I care about you in a way that’s different from the way other’s care for their mates, from the way a husband cherishes his wife, more than the way humans desire the thought of eternal life. So I don’t use you to stay leveled, or happy, or filled. I’m here with you because without you, for me, there’s no fight—I’m nothing if you’re not with me. Maybe it’s because you hold my heart in your chest, or because every time you breathe I inhale your air, or see through your eyes. Maybe because I feel your flesh on mine and I’m forced to cherish you in a way that requires I do because without you I’m barren.” He grumbles. “I just mean, I don’t want to hurt you. You asked me not to murder us. I’m trying my damnedest not to do that, Sparks.”

  I blush. “I didn’t think you heard me ask that.”

  He nods, leaning his head back with his eyes closed. Tilting forward, I kiss his lips, saying, Thanks for caring more about me than you do yourself.

  Our relationship may have been forced, our love may even have started forged, but I want us to be comfortable, steady, a force, not ruled by fate or desire. But nurtured by devotion and acceptance.

  Dammit, I love you.

  A terrified scream blares from the house.

  Nathan and I jump up, sprinting for the back door.

  There’s never a dull moment.

  We race through the kitchen to the hall, searching. We round the corner to the living room, finding it empty and then down the hall to the great room. Pounds and ruckus from something falling on the upper level shake the walls. We charge for the stairs. Glen’s cry for whoever to stop rattles my panic.

  Halting in the doorway of Glen and Scott’s room, I swallow hard.

  A man built like a monster troll stands over my friend’s cowering body. Olar and Scott struggle against a hold that has them pent against the walls, one I assume has something to do with the over-sized man’s arms being splayed out at his sides, aimed in their directions.

  NATHAN PUSHES ME BEHIND him. Don’t—

  I know, I cut him off. Don’t speak. It annoys me when he does this.

  Glossy eyed and awed, the stranger takes in Glen as though she were a delicious slice of ham instead of a trembling human begging him to don’t. He leans over her, tongue extended.

  She screams, piercing the air with her banshee-like wail. Scott must’ve forgotten to mention the be quiet around enemies aspect of our relationships. I still don’t get the full gist of it, but I know it makes another’s mate more desirable.

  Nathan shoots forward—fast as my blink—tackling the intruder to the floor before his saliva-drenched tongue could touch Glen. Nathan’s half his size, tumbling with him against the wall. Olar and Scott drop to the floor.

  Freed from the beast, Glen jumps from the bed, running over to me. Scared out of her mind, she drags her arms and hands over her face and neck, drying where the man has already had the chance to slide his tongue over her skin.

  I strip off my jacket and use it to wipe her off. It’s not just her face and neck, but arms and hair. Her clothes are drenched. I wonder if, instead, it’s his sweat.

  Her lips part to speak and I shake my head, placing a finger to my lips. Mouthing, don’t talk, I push her chin up to seal her lips. She nods, taking my jacket and wipes her arms.

  Nathan soars through the air, smashing onto the floor a couple of feet from us. As he stands, he lifts his hand, palm facing me.

  I stay back, calming myself. I hate seeing him battle. I have no doubt that he’ll win every fight, but when he lets people hit him, or he’s shoved hard enough they knock him off his feet, it gets me going.

  Thrown to the ceiling, Olar cracks it and falls to the floor. Pieces of ceiling crumble around him, and it takes him a second to get up.

  “You children cannot take me. I am Top!” The gorilla man roars.

  I turn up my nose. That’s his name?

  “I have come for one, but will leave with two! Die trying to stop me!” he threats.

  A low growl, one I’ve grown familiar with spikes my hearing. A shade darker than pink, Scott takes on his demon, darkening by the second. Nathan shakes his head, deterring him from turning into the animal-like beast that morphs his face and scares the crap out of everyone. Scott ignores him, shifting. The bones in his neck and face crack and pop as his skin stretches over his form that’s now a mix between a panther and gorilla. His snout allows visual of dangerously sharp teeth, canines a threatening point ready to pierce the skin of Top. Crouching, he snarls.

  Glen gasps, snatching up my arm. Top’s head whips around, Scott going forgotten. Lured by the sound of a single gasp, Top jumps to his feet and trudges toward us. His heavy steps shake the floor.

  Scott pounces, fast as a cheetah, knocking Top to the bed. It splits, and they hit the floor. Olar rushes to them and Nathan jumps in front of us. He pulls us to his chest, blocking our sight. We push him to move, but he doesn’t, not a step—holding us tight enough we’re unable to break free.

  Flesh ripping and blood gushing and squirting from someone are loud in my ears. I may as well be seeing it! Grunts, grouches, and snarls drown out the revolting sounds of their fight.

  Top screams out, closed mouth. His sound is distinct, deep and gravely. Something lands behind Nathan. We’re released when Nathan turns around to see what’s nearly hit him.

  Glen screams, staring at the severed, Titan-sized arm missing a body.

  In the next second, Scott’s smashing into the wall and Nathan’s blasting forward, meeting Top halfway to us. With a wrestling move—one armed and a bloody mess—Top’s lifted off his feet and smashed to the floor. By the way his arm was removed from his body; it leaves the shoulder bone exposed with severed veins hanging from the opened wound. Fighting with Nathan, he holds his ground even with his right eye hanging from his eye socket, swaying and slapping his cheekbone as he moves.

  My stomach heaves and requests I throw up everything I ate today. That I just stand here and barf at my feet, watching Top look like something that has exited the set of a zombie apocalypse movie.

  Nathan gets Top by the arm, pinning it behind his head. Watching them, I wonder why they waste their time fighting these people, especially under
these circumstances. He could simply turn Top into a useless pile of ash and be done with this. But he never does that, he fights and will fight to the finish if needed. I’ve not figured out the method to his madness, but Nathan’s anomalous way of thinking gets me every time.

  Top’s dropped to his knees. Knocked unconscious, he falls to his stomach with a heavy thud and slight jiggle to his blubbery body.

  Glen and I breathe.

  Nathan, Scott, and Olar bend over to pick up a comatose Top. Olar’s lip turns up as he disgustedly stares at the right side of the man. “Why’d you have to remove his arm like that? That is some sick shit.”

  “Shut up,” Scott retorts, wiping his chin on his shoulder, removing the remainder of Top’s residue. What’s nastiest about that, before he leaves, he’s going to kiss Glen. The three of them strain to pick him up as they lift his body from the floor. I can only imagine how heavy he is, watching the three of them take a side. Olar on his left, Scott on the right having the hardest time gripping the bloody side of his body, and Nathan at his feet with his arms wrapped around either leg. Glen and I move from their exit, and they maneuver him out of the door like a couch.

  “Wait.” Olar stops. “He’s not going straight through. Scott, lift a little bit on your side.”

  “The most I can do is hold him. If I try to turn anything he’s dropping,” Scott says.

  “Well, I can’t get him through the door on my side.”

  “Why don’t you move to his shoulders,” Nathan says. “And after we get him out the door, move back. This Top is too damn big for you to be playing.”

  “Why’s his name Top anyway?” Olar asks, strategically moving to Top’s shoulders without needing to drop him or put more weight on Scott’s end.

  Glen’s trembling. Fear and another feeling I can’t place puts worry in her eyes. When Top’s out of the house, I ask, “Are you okay?”

  She shakes her head, eyes wide and nervous.

  “It’s okay. They’ll take care of it.” I look around their room. “Looks like you two need another new room.”

  Knitting her brows, she gives me a confused look. “Another?”