by Quinn Loftis
The dark-haired boy’s gaze settled on her lips. She could practically read his mind. He wanted to kiss her until neither of them could breathe. Still living on the leftover residue of an imagined love, she was going to allow it. A tingling sense of anticipation had her nearly breathless already.
She closed her eyes again, mentally preparing for the kiss.
She waited.
The bed creaked as he leaned in to give her what she desired most. His hot breath teased her lips, and the smell of whiskey intoxicated her. She clenched her hands into tight fists, grabbing and holding bunched up bedding, silently willing him to hurry before she came to her senses. Outside of this moment nothing existed, not school, not her boyfriend, not the troubling circumstances that forced her to constantly move from state to state, nothing.
When her lips remained cool and untouched, she opened her eyes to find the boy staring down at her with pure contempt. A menacing light emanated from his eyes. He parted his lips on a soft growl, reminding her of a werewolf, and her blood turned to ice.
“You ruined my life,” he whispered in a semi-harsh tone, accusing.
Wide awake now, facts hit her like an avalanche. A stranger was in her bed, her gun was in the dresser, and he was big enough to overpower her. Feeling vulnerable made her sick to her stomach. It also filled her with unquenchable anger. How dare this stupid boy invade her bedroom, her bed, and threaten her!
Speaking in a firm tone without the slightest quiver, she asked, “How did you get in here?” He rolled off the mattress, no hurry, while she pulled the sheet higher to hide the bunny pajamas. They were ridiculous, sky blue with fluffy scampering white rabbits. Knowing her hair was a mess, she automatically reached up to smooth it down. At the last second she stayed her hand. Why should she care if he thought she was pretty? “Did Connor let you in?”
Her uncle wasn’t known for having the greatest judgment in the world.
The intruder grinned and took two steps back until beams of moonlight exposed the left side of his body. Tall and muscular, the guy was built better than any of the boys at school. If she had to guess, she would say he was between eighteen and twenty-two. Utterly masculine, he also had a lot of features girls would be envious of, long lashes, thick hair, and beautiful eyes. They were the most amazing shade of green, like a place deep in the forest after a violent thunderstorm.
He grinned as if hearing her thoughts. “I thought it was every teen girl’s secret fantasy to have me in her bedroom. Was I wrong?”
It was then she recognized him, Tyler Beck, lead singer for the notorious band called Bad-Rock. There was a celebrity in her bedroom. Gulp! For a moment she forgot to breathe. How was it even possible? Why would a rock star come to her home in the middle of the night? She had to be dreaming.
He picked the CD collection off the edge of the white wicker dresser and carelessly leafed through them, lips twisted in disgust. A few of the CDs wound up on the floor.
She blinked. “Am I... dreaming?”
“No.” The grin changed to a smirk. “I break into the homes of random girls all the time... just to talk. Being a rock star doesn’t keep me busy enough.” He raised an eyebrow and held up the next CD in the shortening stack. “Seriously? I wouldn’t listen to this if someone had a gun to my head.” He flicked it to the floor. “Your taste in music sucks.”
Although the CDs in his hands were a mixture of Country and Jazz, she loved Classic Rock like her dad. The discs didn’t belong to her. Nothing in the ridiculous girlie neon orange and pink room did with the exception of a few sentimental items she dragged from place to place, but she wasn’t going to explain her way of life to this intruder. If she wanted to bare her soul, she’d see a psychiatrist. Knowing it was a dream didn’t make her feel any better about him going through what he thought were her personal belongings.
“Why did you kill those people?” she asked out of curiosity. An image of dead bodies on a night club floor surfaced in her mind. It took effort not to shudder. “What did they ever do to you?”
He laughed, throaty and deep, sexy. The sound dried the inside of her mouth and she clenched her teeth, feeling betrayed by her own body. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t felt this way about a guy before. Why now? Why this murderer?
“What did they do to me?” he repeated her question. “Nothing.” Then he pointed a finger at her. “You, on the other hand, ruined my life.”
“Stop saying that. I don’t even know you. Before you killed those people I wasn’t aware we were on the same planet.”
“Ouch.” He placed a hand over his heart as if she’d wounded him. “So you aren’t one of my many adoring fans, huh?”
He put what was left of her CD collection on the dresser and reached for the tiny television, flipping it on without seeking permission. An old sit-com with a noisy family brought the square screen to life.
“No, I am not a fan. I don’t follow you on Twitter or turn the volume up when one of your dumb songs comes on the radio. I never think about you. Why are you in my head now?”
“You tell me. It’s your—”
“Dream. I know. You don’t have to keep saying it. I get it already.”
“Until this dream ends, what do you want to do?” His hungry gaze locked on her face, and he bit his lower lip as if he was once again thinking about kissing her.
Close to panicking now, she froze. The kisses she shared with Gavin were brief and passionless and always for the benefit of those watching. What would it feel like to kiss someone she actually wanted? Her skin burned from just looking at the guy. The chemistry between them had the potential to blow the roof off the house. If he touched her, she’d probably spontaneously combust.
Tyler Beck, the hottest rock singer on the planet, the boy every girl fantasized about stared at her with desire in his eyes. He planted a knee on the bed near her foot. His hand landed next to her upper thigh. The other knee and hand joined them on the mattress. Slowly he crawled up her body, careful not to touch her until he was once again hovering over her mouth. In a husky whisper he repeated, “What do you want to do? Talk? Fight? Make out?”
The challenging tone sent a chill through her, a bad sort of chill. Doubts surfaced. What if this wasn’t a dream? Maybe a monster had crossed over from the Spirit Realm in a Tyler Beck disguise to kill her. She needed to do something quick. If she died, it would be her own fault for being so stupid.
Her hand slid under the pink pillow behind her head to grab the ancient dagger she slept on. Gripping it hard, she prepared to attack. Something in her eyes tipped him off. Before she could bury the blade deep in his chest, he leaped off the bed without warning, flying backwards. He stumbled and hit the wall near the dresser. A picture of a girl sitting in a garden rocked sideways before falling off the nail.
“Another time then,” he mumbled before disappearing.
Bay-Lee blinked at the empty space where his body had been. A shaky laugh escaped her open mouth. She was dreaming. There wasn’t a monster out there that could vanish into thin air. Relaxed now, she collapsed on the mattress, breathing through her mouth. Something was seriously wrong with her, having a hot dream about a psycho rock star.
Maybe she should seek therapy.
“Rock star Tyler Beck is dead at the age of twenty,” the news anchor said, unable to keep a drop of excitement from her voice. “A nationwide manhunt for Bad-Rock’s front-man ended in tragedy earlier this evening when Beck lost control of his vehicle during a high speed police chase. Band members could not be reached for comment. Their publicist has issued the following statement.”
Bay-Lee frowned in her sleep. Horrible images infiltrated her mind, twisted metal and a body burned beyond recognition. The frown deepened. She had fallen asleep with the television on again. It was the only logical reason for the intrusion of a loud female voice. Her hand slapped around the mattress, blindly searching for the remote in the fervent hope she wouldn’t have to open her eyes.
The news anchor read the s
tatement.
“Tyler’s family and close friends request privacy and understanding in this difficult time as they grieve for a talented life cut too short. Although Tyler was accused of a horrendous crime earlier this week, we are confident his name will be cleared. In the meantime, we ask that...”
Giving in to the inevitable, Bay-Lee parted her eyelids in a painful squint. Light from the television nearly blinded her. Her head snapped around so she was facing the darkened side of her room. The remote was on the nightstand next to the alarm clock. Grabbing it, she switched the set off.
Cool darkness settled over her bedroom, bringing instant relief. She closed her eyes again and breathed easier. Silence gave her a much needed break. Her uncle must have gone to bed.
The news anchor’s words took a second trip through her mind.
They had been talking about Tyler Beck on the late night news. That’s why she’d been dreaming about him. Mystery solved. There wasn’t anything wrong with her that couldn’t be fixed by turning off the TV before going to bed.
For an entire week his face had haunted her. A person couldn’t turn on a television or pick up a magazine without seeing his image. Following a Sold Out concert last Friday night he had gone to a party thrown in his honor, and he’d massacred sixteen of his biggest fans. What sort of person murdered their own fans?
According to police there was enough evidence to convict. There was a video on the Internet that had gone viral—five million hits in one day. It was shot by a teen outside the club and clearly showed Tyler exiting the party before police surrounded him.
The rock star had been running from the law ever since.
She sighed, a hundred percent awake now. Frustrated, she kicked at the sheet and struggled to get comfortable after repeatedly punching her pillow. Stupid Tyler Beck. She was sick of hearing his name, and now the jerk was apparently going to ruin a good night’s sleep with his sudden demise. Ridiculous. Before this week she hadn’t even noticed he was alive, and now she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
In fact, Bay-Lee went back to sleep with Tyler Beck’s face firmly planted in her mind. He starred in her dreams, a bad boy with movie star looks and a terrible reputation.
The temperature in her bedroom plummeted thirty degrees. She shivered and flipped onto her stomach. Dark hair caught beneath one shoulder, pulling painfully at her scalp, and she winced. The sheet proved a poor barrier between her skin and the Arctic air. What was going on? Had the heater stopped working?
Knowledge returned, and experience helped her tired brain connect the dots. The cold was due to a supernatural occurrence. It had been a warm evening when she’d gone to bed. What could change the temperature so drastically? She bolted upright, the answer coming to her with the speed of a freight train, chilling her further.
At the same time she reached behind her, sliding her fingers beneath the pillow and grasping the hilt of the ancient dagger, a rumbling sound emanated from the closet. The raised design pinched the tender flesh of her palm, but she barely felt it. Her fingers tightened. Simply having it in her hand had the power to calm her.
The urge to call for her uncle parted her lips and she gathered a breath.
White light seeped through the cracks around her closet door, outlining the tall rectangular plank, proving it was too late to yell for Connor. The monster from the Spirit Realm would hear her.
Bay-Lee swallowed as she tried to remember every lesson Van had taught her about self-defense over the years. She purposely slowed her breathing. It would be better if she had the advantage. With that in mind she went down on the mattress and closed her eyes. Let the thing think it had caught her asleep and defenseless. She held the dagger against her chest beneath the orange sheet and waited patiently for it to make the first move. Nothing was going to kill her, not in her own bedroom, not tonight.
The light died, her closet door opened, and a shadowy figure swept into her bedroom. A floorboard creaked beneath the unexpected weight. Her entire body stiffened underneath the orange sheet, knowing the thing was there to kill her. For years monsters from the Spirit Realm had searched the world for her. It was inevitable one would eventually find her.
With eyes closed she couldn’t see the monster coming towards her, so she strained her ears to pick up on the slightest noise. Instead of footsteps, a disturbing dragging sound rested on the air. Her fingers gripped the dagger tight. The monster swished closer. It was almost to the head of the bed now. She held her breath, waiting. A plan of attack played like a silent movie in the back of her mind, letting her know exactly what she should do.
The monster bent over her. Its breath stank of smoking ash and decaying flesh. She watched it from beneath lowered lashes. Bony fingers reached for her.
Now! She rolled in the opposite direction, leaped off the bed, and pointed the dagger at the intruder. Draped in a black cloak with tattered edges and a hood pulled down to conceal its face, the thing was obviously a reaper. Although she’d read about reapers in one of Van’s books, she’d never seen one in person. No one saw them, not until they came to collect.
Reapers could see better in the dark than a cat, so she felt extra vulnerable in the silly bunny pajamas. There was a fuzzy robe hanging on the inside of her closet door. If she could have a single wish granted, she would want to be in that robe, but there was no point in asking the reaper to allow it. The thing wouldn’t give her time to put it on. They weren’t known for their patience.
She swallowed hard before forcing words from her mouth. “Are you here to reap me? Am I dying?”
It spoke to her in a voice that sounded like gravel in a blender, a mere whisper in an otherwise silent night. “I have not come to harm you.”
“Then why?” Everything she knew about reapers flitted through her mind, nothing useful. They collected souls and crossed them safely over the dark plains of the Spirit Realm. It was their only job, priority one. If the thing wasn’t in her room to collect her, then... “What do you want?”
The monster’s eyes burned bright, yellow at first and then red, staring at her in the smothering darkness. It spoke slowly, enunciating every word with excruciating detail, and it hissed on the letter S, reminding her of a snake. “I can s-see into your s-soul. Do not fear. Your s-secrets are s-safe with me.”
What the hell? Her own voice quivered. “You have thirty seconds to tell me why you’re here before I cut your tongue out.”
“We both know that isn’t possible.” To prove its point it remained silent for an uncomfortable length of time. When it deigned to speak again, she was ready to scream for backup. “Your s-soul is a mess of contradictions. S-sometimes you s-stand in front of the mirror and s-stare into your own eyes as you s-search for your true s-self.”
The dagger in her hand trembled. Quickly she took control of her body and stopped the involuntary movement, using every ounce of determination she possessed. How could this thing possibly know what she did or how she felt? Had it been spying on her?
“For the last time, tell me why you’re here. Then get out of my house or I will find a way to tear your face off.”
Did reapers have faces?
“S-soon you will know who you are, who you truly are. All of your questions will be answered. You will find your other half, your destiny.” It paused before adding, “They are keeping s-secrets from you?”
“Who?”
“Your uncle and your father. They want to keep you from your destiny, child. Open your eyes. S-seek the truth.”
“If they’re keeping secrets from me and you know what they are, tell me.”
“I am bound by rules, child. I can only give you a hint.”
She waited, saying nothing.
“Follow your heart,” it said. “Love what you love. Be who you want to be.”
“Seriously? I could find that in a fortune cookie.” Clenching her teeth, she said, “Get out.”
The thing remained statue still. Then it said, “There is more.”
Her
frustration grew. If it was possible to kill a reaper, the thing would be dead on her floor, bathing in its own blood.
Did reapers have blood? Giving in, she asked, “What?”
“Why must I tell you everything? You must s-sense it. S-something is coming. S-something bad.”
“Something worse than you?”
It chuckled. “Beware. It kills—”
“Newsflash. Everything from your side kills. That’s what hunters are for, to stop them.”
“I wasn’t finished.” The reaper sounded irritated, losing patience. “It kills you on your birthday.”
“That’s depressing.” She wondered if monsters understood sarcasm. “Why bother to warn me? I know the Order wants me dead.”
“S-soon, yes. But not yet.”
“Are you serious?” They’d been on her trail for years. Why would they suddenly send her a warning?
It didn’t bother to answer her question. Moving scary fast, the monster disappeared into the closet before she could swallow and a light flashed around the edges of the door, signaling its departure. Darkness once again stole over her bedroom. It was gone.
Her flesh itched to chase the monster down and torture answers out of it. Problem was she couldn’t remember if reapers felt pain. Following it would be stupid. Getting caught on the other side without an arsenal would be doubly stupid. She started in the direction of her bed, but her gaze swung back to the closet door and she hesitated. She didn’t want another visitor. The next one might kill her instead of handing her a useless warning.
Bay-Lee got on the other side of the dresser. Gritting her teeth, she pushed, scooting it across the bare floor until it blocked the closed closet door. Let something try to enter her room now. On her way back to bed her gaze found the garden picture on the floor, and her breath caught in her throat. If she’d been dreaming before, why was the picture on the floor?
She’d had two visitors tonight.
What was going on over there in the Spirit Realm? Had someone opened a doorway between there and her bedroom and put a sign out front saying: This way to Van Helsing’s daughter?
