He ignored me, walking to the refrigerator. “Cereal… or pancakes?”
“Ugh!” I groaned. “Toast.”
“Of course,” he murmured, grinning.
Chapter Twelve
I wasn’t used to having anyone wait on me, and I moved to the counter next to him, reaching for the loaf of bread.
“I can make my own breakfast, West.”
He looked down at me. Standing next to him in my kitchen, I took in the full reality of his height and stature. He was physically the strongest person I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t help the way my heart fluttered at his incredible build.
“I’ll make some coffee, then,” he said easily, brushing his hand over the back of my head before turning toward the coffee pot. The natural gesture, so relaxed and ordinary, forced me to fall into the easiness between us.
He had a cup of coffee as I attempted to eat the toast I’d made. He was focused on something on his phone, and after a few moments, lifted his eyes to mine. “Are you feeling up to learning some self-defense? We’ll start with something simple.”
“Yes. I’ll put my contacts in first, though.” I put my plate in the sink, gesturing to the door downstairs. “Let’s go down in the basement. There’s more space and I need to throw these sheets in the washing machine.”
He nodded and lifted the hamper that I had by the basement door, and I jogged upstairs and tried to be efficient.
I tried keeping my mind from wandering to what was happening to my life.
I tried not to think of West.
When I met him in the basement, he was surveying the area approvingly. The basement floor was concrete but covered from wall to wall with a gray, padded mat. A weight bench, elliptical, punching bag, and treadmill lined the walls. Small, rectangular windows at grass level let plenty of sunshine in to brighten the basement.
“You have an entire gym down here. And you don’t ever use it? You’re in good shape.” He assessed me with a head-to-toe glance, and I tugged on my shirt nervously.
“I study a lot. And I prefer the pool. Swimming uses so many muscles. Morgan uses the stuff down here, and my dad used to. We’re all so busy now…”
“This is exactly what we need.” West dropped the hamper by the washing machine, taking a punch at the bag suspended from the ceiling. “Okay, get the washing machine going, and then come here.”
I nodded, turning on the water.
The blood diluted, and I blinked, staring at the dark bloodstain.
“West?”
“Hmm?” He adjusted the punching bag an inch lower.
“I’m not… due… and my bleeding stopped. Did I bleed… because of the dream?”
My voice was barely audible over the loud washing machine. He turned to me, and the compassion in his expression was clear. “You will have physical reactions to the dreams,” he said, so tenderly that my eyes burned with sudden, unexplainable tears.
“Great,” I whispered, flushing.
“The Soul Alter will have them too. Dreams,” he clarified.
“Really?” I tossed my sheets into the rushing water.
“They are just as vivid… and convincing.” He rolled his sleeves up to his forearms, and I couldn’t help but stare at the coordinates on his arm. “You once said that the dreams were more like hallucinations. Yours are to give you insight into our relationship, and to the past. His are to convince him to want to kill you.”
I gripped the washing machine for support. The blood rushed from my head, and I tried for even breaths. “I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Alice in really crappy Wonderland.” I slammed the lid of the washer, brushing my hands on the back of my yoga pants.
When I turned to him, he was staring at me, his eyes an endless blue sea.
“Come here, Alice.”
I rolled my eyes, letting a giggle escape. “What am I going to learn first?”
“Let’s start with the other day, at the football field. I grabbed you from behind.” West walked behind me, wrapping his arms around my chest firmly.
I felt like he’d touched me all over my body, all at once. The coordinates on his right arm tucked securely under my breasts, and my back flattened against his chest.
I squirmed, trying to buck backwards. “Let go,” I tried, struggling against him.
“Stop. He would expect you to resist, and if you think about it, you’re only helping him get a better and closer grip on you.”
As he spoke, he tightened his hold. I closed my eyes, thankful that I wasn’t facing him. My entire body lit beneath his touch, and I exhaled in quick, uneven breaths. “What… should I do?”
“Grab my left wrist.” He took my left hand in his right. “Use your left hand, and then jab your right elbow into my ribs.”
“Left to left, right elbow,” I repeated.
“Try it.”
I did as he told me, gently though. “Like… this?”
He nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t satisfied with my effort.
“What if you were in front of me?” I asked.
“We’ll get there. Say I’m trying to grab you or touch you. You do not want that. From anyone, remember?”
I tucked my head to the side, crossing my arms over my chest. “Are you going to tease me? Are you even qualified to be teaching me this?”
“You’ve never seen me fight,” he replied, his expression grave.
I straightened, rolling my shoulders back. “I don’t want you to touch me,” I repeated, putting my hands up to block my body.
He advanced, and instinctively I backed up. He followed me until I was flattened against the concrete wall. In one movement, he had both of my hands pinned above my head. I struggled, but his entire body pressed to mine. “Now, you have zero room to counterattack.”
His breath tasted like spearmint against my mouth. I swallowed hard, shaking my head and turning my face away.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, sounding every bit as helpless as I felt. His eyes were dark, and his breathing accelerated. Alarmed by his glare, I fought; something about him seemed out of control. I shook my head again frantically, the only part of my body that I could move. “West!”
He dropped me abruptly. I almost fell to the floor, catching myself just in time. “You don’t want to give your attacker the chance to pin you.” His voice was curt, and I hurried to the center of the mat to meet him.
“Did I make you mad?” I asked, rubbing my wrists. My skin was red from his grip.
“No.” He held his arms out at his sides. “I’m going to come at you again. This time, I want you to stomp on my foot. Hard. Shove my chin back with the palm of your hand, like this.” He pointed at my foot, and I stepped on his tentatively. He grabbed my hand, pulling my arm to meet his chin. “Hard, Roam. Like you mean it.”
“I don’t want… to hurt you.”
“You can’t hurt me. You’re a stubborn kid and an easy target for anyone, especially the Alters. Not learning to defend yourself tells me you’re not as smart as you think you are. Now hurt me.”
His words infuriated me. I stomped on his foot as hard as I could, thrusting my palm upward. I sent his neck snapping backwards.
When he looked back down at me, he was laughing. “That’s more like it. So, the only way to make you fight is to insult your intelligence?” He reached for me, but I backed away angrily. “Oh, don’t sulk. Come on.”
I turned around to head toward the stairs. He came up to me from behind, gripping my chest. I instantly grabbed his wrist- my left to his left- and delivered a powerful elbow to his ribs.
When I turned around, he was on the floor, holding his side. I sauntered over to him, bending over, face to face with him. My hair fell over my shoulders in waves. “Do you feel like laughing now?”
In one move, he had me in his arms, turned over and pinned on my back to the mat. His hands were brutal, gripping my wrists painfully. “What did I tell you about witty banter with the enemy?” he warned. I whined, flexing my fingers
.
“You’re hurting me!”
“Hurt me back,” he ordered. “Get me off of you.”
I was pinned. I tried to knee him in the groin, but he only grinned, knocking my knee back down to the mat.
Finally, I moved my face as close to his as possible.
And I screamed.
I screamed until my throat tasted like copper. I could see beads of sweat break out on his forehead, his eyes darkening in pain.
Finally, he moved his hand to cover my mouth, and as soon as he did, I stopped screaming.
He pulled his hand away from my lips.
I exhaled quickly. “This is the part where I would poke you in the eyes, but… I won’t do that.”
I could feel the effortless way that he held himself over me. God, he’s so strong. “Your screaming is bad enough.”
His eyes darted to my lips.
“I know, torture, screaming,” I murmured, trying to lighten the mood and with a contrived look of pity. “I think you have some PTS.”
He moved closer, his mouth circling mine.
Oh God.
My stomach clenched, and I pressed my thighs together at the sudden rush of wetness. I moved beneath him restlessly, recklessly needing whatever he was willing to give.
Holding my breath, I searched his dark eyes. Waves of wanting coursed through me, and I gasped as he moved even closer, his lips barely touching mine.
Time seemed to stand still, and then accelerate all at once.
Closing my eyes, I reached for his kiss.
My senses exploded. He groaned, his tongue diving into my mouth. A gentle humming settled in my ears. I writhed beneath him, a myriad of emotions taking over inside my body. Tears slid down the sides of my face and dripped to the mat. He released my wrists and I reached for him, wrapping my arms around him and pushing my fingers into his hair. The texture was the same as it was in my dream. I cried out softly, my fingers tensing on his scalp.
He moved his mouth to my neck, nuzzling, kissing, his tongue touching my skin, just barely. I gasped, my heart thundering inside my chest. This was more than Logan and I had ever done. I tried to convince myself that it was wrong, but his fingertips tracing my inner arm dissolved me into a pool of euphoria. I wanted whatever he could offer me, no matter how wrong, and the taste of his lips threw me into a comforting oblivion.
I know this man. The simple realization was life-changing, earth-shattering, and came fleetingly to bond itself to my heart.
His hips fit snugly between my legs, creating an incredible friction that dizzied my mind. As his mouth returned to mine, he began to rock against me with every thrust of his skilled tongue. His arm slid beneath me, and he lifted me against him, pulling away just slightly to gaze down at me with those deep, blue eyes.
“Take me with you,” I begged in a broken whisper, gripping his shoulders. “Please don’t go without me.”
“I will,” he promised, his mouth on mine again.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe.
He moved along my jaw, and I closed my eyes at the sudden panic that wasn’t his fault, and yet couldn’t be explained.
Death. Lifetimes together, all ending in darkness and pain.
“I’m so afraid… I don’t want to be away from you, West,” I whimpered as he kissed my earlobe.
“Never,” he whispered, his hand sliding down my side, touching the hem of my t-shirt. I gasped, shaking my head furiously. He ignored me, his hand flattening under my shirt, over my bare stomach. “Roam.”
Images of the cottage by the beach flooded my mind. Good morning, baby.
“So soft,” he murmured, lowering his lips to my stomach. I struggled for breath, lost in a drugging mix of sensations.
The washing machine suddenly stopped agitating, sending the basement into utter quiet. I heard a car door shut and jumped. He must have heard it too; he was off me in seconds, helping me to my feet.
“Is it Logan?” I asked, borderline-shrieky.
He looked out the window toward the driveway. “No, the neighbor.”
I covered my mouth with both palms, relieved tears blurring my vision. “I can’t believe this! I can’t believe I- I did this! I am a terrible person,” I moaned, sinking to the floor and burying my face in my hands.
“No, you’re not.” He ran his hand through his hair, buttoning his shirt. Two of the top buttons were opened. Did I do that to him? “I’m sorry… Roam, I’m so sorry,” he urged, kneeling to my level and putting his hands on my shoulders. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this with you. Like I said, it ends badly. Every time.”
“I know,” I managed shakily, trying to control myself as guilt kneaded my stomach. I held my abdomen, willing the churning to settle.
“I don’t want you to be alone at night. The dreams will only get worse.”
I covered my mouth with my hand, unable to imagine that they could possibly be worse than the one I’d just had the night before. “Worse?”
“No one can know about the numbers. You have to keep them covered.”
I stared at the ceiling before closing my eyes, lost in my guilty thoughts. “Okay.”
“Roam.” When he said my name, my entire body reacted. I met his eyes and realized that they were darkened. Hungry. “If there is a night that your dad won’t be here, I need to know. You can’t be alone.”
“The dreams… will I have them every night?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. They will lessen and then become infrequent... in time.”
I nodded. My feelings of jealousy toward Logan and Abby surfaced. I couldn’t imagine hurting Logan. He was intuitive, and I was a terrible actress, as he had pointed out. I thought about the last few moments, on the floor, in West’s arms. I had no control over my mind or my actions. I was completely at his mercy. If he hadn’t stopped, I wouldn’t have stopped.
“You should go.” I started to say more, and then stopped. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
He stood. I cleared my throat, standing to face him.
I could still taste him on my swollen lips.
“Please call me when you wake up?” His gentled tone reassured me. Patiently, he waited for me to consider my feelings.
“I will, West,” I promised, looking up at him. Urgency burned my gaze, and I narrowed my eyes “You have to take me to Russia with you. If you’re really going, I’m going too. Otherwise, I walk. Away from all of this. I want to find Troy before he finds me… and I want to be ready for him.”
I pictured Troy’s face. His menacing mouth had sneered as he stuck the knife in my throat.
West’s jaw tightened, and I watched the muscles on his arms stiffen. He is all muscle, I thought, and then bit my lip and turned away from him before my idiotic body reacted to that observation. “Roam, seeking revenge will get you killed. You can’t kill Troy. You don’t want to go searching for him.”
“But I can trap him. Trick him,” I clarified.
“How?” I could tell that he was just entertaining my ideas, but I took advantage of my open floor.
“With something he wants.”
“He wants to kill you.”
“He wants to end the world by ending our child. Our child that will save this world.” I tightened my right hand’s grip on my left. “If we succeed in going back to one of our lives, we have to make him think that he’s killed me… and our child. Just long enough for the child to be born. Troy becomes mortal, and we end him.”
He was shaking his head throughout my entire dramatic solution. “Absolutely not. There are too many questions, too many variables that we don’t have answers for yet. We can’t play games with him. I need to keep you alive.”
“For how long? Until Troy finds me again? I can’t be afraid of him for the rest of my life. Any life.” I pulled on my hands, taking a breath to steady myself. “This can work, West.”
“I know you’re afraid.” He spoke so softly that I could barely hear him.
I caught my reflection in
his amazing eyes, looking down quickly. “I’m trying to be brave here.”
“You want to try this plan, if we succeed in finding this door?”
“We’ll try until we fail. Our last chance will be now. This life.”
“Go get some rest,” he ordered, moving to the stairs. “Call me.”
I nodded. “I’ll stay down here for a while.”
He turned around to reach for me. I stiffened as he gathered me into a gentle hug. “Never again, Roam.”
I nodded. He sighed against my hair, brushing his fingers against mine. I watched him turn and walk up the basement steps, waiting until I heard the front door close before I buried my face in my hands.
Chapter Thirteen
Logan came over to my house again that evening. We sat on the couch beneath my favorite afghan, a giant bowl of popcorn between us. He immediately turned to the History Channel, handing me the remote. I placed it back in his lap.
“Just pick a movie, please.”
“Anything in particular?” he asked, shifting to wrap his arm around me. I leaned into his chest, sighing.
“Just anything.”
I could think of nothing but West, the past, and the few minutes in the basement that made me queasy with guilt. It was nearly ten PM, and I fought another yawn, knotting my hands into the strings of the blanket.
“We’ve just watched ten minutes of Braveheart and you haven’t said one sarcastic thing about how historically inaccurate everything is, how Queen Isabella would have only been about three years old at the time, and how Scots didn’t start wearing kilts until three centuries later. What’s up?”
I blinked, my eyes drifting to the screen. “Oh, I must have dozed off…”
He pressed his cheek against my hair, patting my knee. “Cam, go to bed. I need to go home.”
“No! Wait... I’m not tired,” I promised.
Logan’s dark eyebrows pulled together. “I walked over. I have to walk home.”
“Stay here.”
He lifted his eyes playfully. “Sure, I’ll just crawl in between you and Bun,” he teased, referring to the trodden, yellow stuffed bunny that I’d had since I was five months old.
“Bun is small. There’s plenty of room.”
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