by Peiri Ann
“Wait, so neither of your parents is burdened?”
He shakes his head. “Unlike full blooded Sephlems, burdened babies can be more aggressive. As we grow, we can be unpredictable.”
“So why does your father hate you?”
“About five years ago, my mother and father got into an argument over my oldest sister and I. Supposedly, out of our family, including our extended family—cousins, uncles, and aunts, with the exception of one of our cousins—we are considered the most dangerous, which my mother and we beg to differ on, because a few of our family members have slaughtered their mates and innocent people—on a few occasions. Some of the people they killed weren’t innocent, but they killed them ruthlessly.”
He pulls me to a stop and we sit in the grassy area of the beach. I lean against him, listening as he continues. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had my instances, and my sisters are really under-control but a little crazy about it.” He pauses.
How many has he— “Don’t ask that, Tracey.” He cuts off my thought. “Neither I nor you are ready to have that conversation. Just know it happened, I regret it, and it won’t happen again—not while I’m out of control anyway.”
He tensed when he spoke. It is a sensitive topic for him. I let it go. “Okay, so what is it about you and your sisters that makes you all worse than others?”
“When you are introduced to things as a child, you pick up on them quicker. Learning and understanding things are easier for you, like reading or tying your shoes. Right?” I nod, not following where he’s going with this. “My father tried to kill us on two occasions, me on three.”
“When did he try to kill you, and why?” I ask, concerned.
“When we were babies, before we turned a year old. These are my mother’s words and some of my brothers: My father tried to smother us. As children, we are easy to kill, we can’t defend ourselves, and we haven’t developed a shield of defense, like we do when we get older. I’ll tell you a little more about that later. My mother walked in—not wanting to leave us alone for too long—to him over the both of us, covering our noses and mouths with his hands. She stopped him in time, and we grew up.
“My sister is only a year ahead of me. Remember, my kind ages incredibly slowly, especially as children, but it doesn’t slow the way we learn. After my father tried to kill us the first time, it registered to us, a couple of years after, that that’s what he was doing.
“Then it was reinforced twelve years later when he saw us playing near the water. He wasted no time in grabbing us by the back of our necks and dragging us into the water. My sister and I fought, kicked, and bit at whatever flesh of him we could as he tried to drown us. She started moving slower and slower, after taking in gulps of water. Her eyes turned dark-green, then the color started to fade, and I lost it.”
“It was then that I found out what my first ability was—I can subvert the minds of others, making them do what I want, when I want, or even, terminating the brain without touching my victim. Although, that has advanced into something else.” I want to ask what, but he continues quickly. “At the time, I imagined my father’s neck being choked harder than he was holding us by ours, and he started to choke.”
He shrugs. “I took his hands from us, and he stood still in the water, because I took away his desire to move. I raced to my sister, to pull her from the water. Taking in a breath of air caused her to choke, after taking in so much water. She was coughing up water and blood, and it scared the shit out of me. I pulled her out of the water and we sat on the sand, catching our breaths.”
He rubs my hand that rests on his. “When she was finally okay, she looked at our father and said ‘Do it, Nathan.’ That day she also realized her first ability, which was similar to mine. She can tell if a person is being possessed or overtaken by someone else, and she can remove it, or them, as well.”
I stay quiet through his story, not missing a word.
“She grabbed my hand and repeated herself—with a tone she has never used with me since that day. So I did. We were kids and didn’t think past what was bothering us at the time. I made him turn to us, so that we could see his face, and had him walk backwards, deeper into the water. You could see the concern in his eye, but his face showed no emotion—I wouldn’t allow him to. I made him stop when his nose was under the water, and nothing remained but his eyes. My sister told me to do it that way, so we could watch the life drain out of him—and we would have, but we heard our mother screaming in the background, begging us to stop. She didn’t know what we were capable of, but she knew he wouldn’t be standing in the water like that on his own.” He shrugs, looking out at the water. “I let him go and he emerged from the water, panting out-of-control, with his eyes wide. It wasn’t until years later that I regret not killing him.”
I don’t know what to expect. How much worse could it get? “What happened?”
“I came home, one day, to an empty house. Well, I thought it was empty. By this time, I had gained other abilities, understanding and knowing death. Also, I knew that I was capable of killing and would kill if needed, and that I had killed multiple times before that moment. I was different—in full control. I was in the kitchen, and today, I can’t remember what I was thinking or doing at the time. All I remember was my father had come up from behind me, took me by my neck with one arm, lifted my head back, and cut me with a pearl-coated knife. Which, if used correctly, is the only object that can come close to harming me. But he cut me from my ear, through my neck.” He points to the scar I had noticed the other night, following the scar line with his finger.
“My youngest brother walked in and screamed a high-pitched scream. My father stopped and covered his ears—which is why the scar stops in the middle of my neck. I could hear the scream, but not as my father did. I blame it on the pain, but my mother tells me it was something else. It still doesn’t matter to me. I fell to my knees, grabbing my neck, probably about to die, when my youngest sister found me. She had my youngest brother place his hands against my wound and heal it. Although, because it was made by a pearl-incased blade, the scar still remains. After I saw it for the first time, I regretted not killing my father like my oldest sister had told me to do when we were kids. But I got over it. Although, I wouldn’t doubt he might try it again.” He trails off and looks at me, before looking back at the water.
A few minutes pass. I scoot closer to him, laying my head on his shoulder, enjoying the cool breeze blowing around us. He is still tense, so I grab his hand and he lets out a soft sigh.
We need another subject change. “So I know who your favorite person in the world is. What’s your favorite thing to do? You know mine now.”
“And who is my favorite person?” he asks, laying his head against mine.
“Me, unless I’m wrong,” I tease. “You did tell me that.”
He takes in a noticeable breath. “No, you’re right. You are my favorite person. Besides what I told you, I also like going hiking and mountain climbing.”
Hiking, yes, mountain climbing, I don’t know. “We could go hiking one day, with plenty of bug spray and high socks.”
“High socks?” he asks quizzically.
“Yes, to keep the creepers out of my pants.”
He tackles me against the grass, moving fast, grabbing at my jeans. “I don’t think high socks are going to keep creepers out.”
I grab his forearm. “Not creepers like you.” I pause, kissing his lips unexpectedly. “But I don’t mind you creeping.”
He kisses me. “I’m glad to hear that, because if you did, we might have a problem.”
“Why? It’s not like you’re trying to get in my pants.”
He kisses my nose. “I’ve already got in your pants.”
“Not what I mean, but that was nice too.” I look up at the sky, remembering what he did. My phone starts ringing. He sits us up and I grab it from my back pocket. “It’s Glen.”
“You’re going to answer it?”
“No. I know she
is with Scott and if it was something serious he would have called you.”
“No. I left my phone in the house. I know you’ve been wanting some ‘us’ time, so I’m giving that to you with no interruptions.”
I look at him differently, liking what I’m hearing. My phone rings again.
“I think you should answer it, Tracey.”
“Hello?” I can hear Glen yelling to Scott in the background. I can’t make out what she’s saying, only the anger in their voices as they yell. I hear Scott telling her to give him the phone.
“Hello, Tracey. Can you put Nathan on the phone?” I say nothing, handing him the phone.
He grabs it. “What’s up, Scott?” I can’t make out what Scott’s saying, just that he’s saying it loudly. “Okay, what happened?”
He goes quiet, while Scott yells some more on the other end. “Well, it’s your fault. If you would just—” Scott yells in the phone again, cutting him off. “Okay, Scott. When?” He pauses. “That’s fine.”
He waits and Scott stops talking as loudly. “I’m sitting by the water with Tracey. We were talking, something you and Glen should try.” Scott says something else in the phone, then Nathan hands it back to me with the call ended.
“What was that about?” I take the phone, putting it back in my pocket.
“Our ‘alone’ time is going to get cut short. Scott and Glen are on their way over.”
“No. Why?” I drag out, depressed.
“Something happened and they got into an argument. Scott can’t control himself and he needs someone else around them.” I roll my eyes. “The house is big enough, Tracey. They can take the family room and we will take the basement, or the other way around. We will figure it out. Or we can stay out here and they can be somewhere else, walking or something.”
“I guess, but I do know blankets and a sunset is in my future for tonight. How long do you think it will take him to get here?”
“No time at all. Scott will drive fast when he wants to. But…back to those creepers and these pants.”
“You need to creep-er in these pants.”
He leans me backward and kisses my chin. “If you keep talking like that, I just might.”
He kisses my lips and places his hand behind my head, holding me from touching the ground. His kiss is deep and seductive, and I open my mouth to it. His tongue sweeps in and meets mine. I remember his taste and the softness of his tongue.
I feel the other hand squeezing my waist tight as he contains his urge. His body, against me, moves slowly every so often, and I reach around him to rub his back and then his front, my fingers creeping under the waistline of his jeans.
“Ahem,” I hear softly from behind him.
He stops kissing me and I immediately start cursing, in my mind, the person who interrupted us. He stares at me with his ocean-blue eyes. “I see the color of my eyes now. They look weird to me.”
“How do you see them?”
“Through you.”
“Ahem,” the voice says, more annoyed.
He rolls his eyes, closing them tightly. “Yes, Taylor?” he says without moving.
“Why are you outside at the beach being nasty?” And who is this?
“This is my oldest and less-mature sister, Taylor. Taylor this is Tracey.”
“Tracey!” She sounds as if she’s smiling. I can’t see her with Nathan still hovering over me, looking at me as he talks to her.
He is quickly pushed from me. A slight sting courses through me by a pretty woman who looks like their father. Skin-tone like Nathan’s, and eyes like her mom’s. “Aww, Tracey, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” She pulls me from my laying position, embracing me. I hug her back, feeling a little weird about it. She looks at me, smiling, then to Nathan, who is a few feet from me.
When did he get so far away?
“Why didn’t you tell me she was out here with you?” There is excitement in her tone. “I didn’t even know you were here. Do mother and father know you all are here?” She looks back to me, smiling.
I return her smile. “Hi, Taylor.” She smiles wider. Her black hair is pulled into a lifted ponytail that touches her neck. She has naturally long eyelashes, shadowing her bright-green eyes.
“Yes, she met mother and father yesterday,” Nathan answers with less excitement, “and I’m not ready for her to meet everyone yet. I, also, didn’t know you were home. When did you get back?”
“Oh, a day or so ago.” She stands, taking my hand so that I can stand up as well. “You are so pretty, Tracey,” she says, looking me over again. Letting go of my hand, she walks over to Nathan. She hugs him. “Oh Nathan, I am so happy for you, and she is beautiful. What did your father say?”
He lets go of their embrace, and walks over to me with one arm around his sister. “Thank you, and he said nothing.” Her mouth moves, but I can’t hear anything come out of it. “She knows everything, Taylor. I have no secrets.”
“Oh!” she gasps, and looks at me. “You took everything…well?” I nod simply. “Even about what he is?” I nod again. “Even about our father?” I nod. “Even about his abilities?”
I nod. “A few of them.”
“Uh huh. Even the killings?” My eyes go wide.
“And that is where we draw the line, my dear sister. She knows about it, but not the detail in it. Not because she doesn’t want to know, but because I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want you to talk about it either.”
“Okay, understood,” she says, convinced. “She’s strong, Nathan.”
“I know.” And…I’m standing right here. “Oh, and Scott will be here shortly with his Glen, who knows nothing. So be normal, and if anyone else is in the house, tell them to be normal too.”
She moves his arm from her. “Someone is always in the house. I’ll let them know, to respect you all’s privacy and not to tipoff Glen.” She starts to walk away. “It was very nice to meet you, Tracey. Hopefully Nathan will let us hang around each other sometime.”
“Nice to meet you too. Maybe,” I reply gracefully.
Nathan closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me. I bury my head in his chest, breathing in his scent. It relaxes me. “See what I mean about them going to want to steal you away?”
“Uh huh. Why does Taylor refer to you all’s dad as your father?”
He thinks before responding, “Now, it’s out of habit. We put him off on each other, neither of us wanting to claim him. You’ll only hear it from me and Taylor.”
“That’s odd.”
He shrugs “It is, but knowing what he has done, I know you understand.” I do understand. “Come on, Scott’s here.” We turn back to the house.
We walked very far, I realize on our walk back. The sun is high, indicating it’s midafternoon.
Glen is going to want to talk. The funny-shaped snowflake or star on her, pictures in my mind. I slow our pace. “When I saw Glen and Scott asleep together the other night, she had an oddly-shaped snowflake under her eye. I’ve never seen that on her before.”
He stops walking. “She did?” he asks, surprised. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m positive.” His face matches his voice.
“Why? What does it mean?”
“It’s Scott’s symbol. It means she’s his. They—he’s marked her.”
“Can you talk in a language that I understand?”
He starts walking, and I follow. “I told you that once we mate, I took on your heart, right? That’s the beginning, like an introduction to your mate. At some point, maybe that night, they had to have sealed themselves by fu— um, having sex, then completed it by sleeping and waking up together.” He pauses. “She’s bound to him.”
I’m lost, and unsure about what he’s saying. He acts as if it’s something that is not supposed to happen, but he is not upset about it. “It’s not a bad thing, Tracey. They just aren’t ready. That explains what’s going on with them—why they can’t get along. I thought it was because he was fighti
ng his feelings, fighting what was meant to be. But that’s not it. He gave in fully—to everything. He lost control…” His last few words fade off as if they aren’t directed towards me.
I’m not following him. I’ll bring this back up later tonight. “So you have been alive for ninety-plus years?”
“Yes, where did that come from?”
“You’ve been alive for a long time.”
“Not really. In the bible, people used to live for over eight-hundred years. Now, that is a long life.”
He has a point. “And that’s how you ended up being with so many girls?”
“So that’s where you’re going. You’re going to make me say it.”
“Say what?” I look at him curiously.
“Don’t, Tracey.” He looks down at me from the corner of his eyes. I associate that look with him feeling uncomfortable, or when something is on his mind. This time, it might be both.
“Don’t say that, Nathan. Okay, I’ll drop it. But you are old. Can you show me how you really look?”
“This is how I really look. I will look like this for a couple of decades, because these are my prime years.” He pushes his hair back, and I notice another scar on his inner-right arm. It looks bad. He looks at his arm, following my gaze. He must be in my head. “I got this twenty years ago—from another pearl knife. I was in a fight with something else that was trying to kill me. No big deal. I won,” he says with a shrug.
I can see the house clearer now. “So how many people have tried to kill you, and how many people want to kill you? And how many scars do you have?”
He looks down at me again, from the corner of his eyes. “I will not answer the first two questions. For the last, I only have three. The one on my neck, the one on my arm, and another on my leg—that one is the worse. You probably won’t see it until you can make it go away.”
“What do you mean ‘until I can make it go away’?”
“When our bodies become more acquainted with each other, we develop the ability to heal and help each other. I’ll be able to talk to you if you are far from me—like in another state or country, or find you anywhere.”
