by Cecy Robson
She shakes out her hands. “I can’t.”
“Use your force,” I say, jerking my head away when I realize Alice is gripping some sort of appendage.
“I’ll still feel Ginger, even if I do!” she says, shaking her hands out harder.
I drop Alice on the ground, stepping over her and her meal. “Should we just let her finish?” I ask, keeping my full attention on Emme and not the horrific gobbling sounds taking place behind me.
She sways back and forth. “It looks like, like . . .” She bends forward, coughing and gripping her knees. I’m sure she’s going to be sick. “It looks like she’s had her fill,” she says, somehow finishing and keeping her lunch where it belongs.
Like a happy and very satisfied puppy, Alice hobbles to my side. I don’t look at her, because right now, I can’t. “Emme, why don’t you take Alice into the basement bathroom and help tidy her up?”
Emme’s stare cuts to where Alice waits. “Taran, she’s going to need a lot more than that.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to avoid visualizing what she must look like. “Then just see what you can do. I’ll clean up here.”
She nods, barely managing that much. “Go with Emme, Alice,” I say, trying not too hard to look at her.
Thankfully, she doesn’t argue. “Ergh,” she happily agrees.
My shoulders slump and I groan when I see the chunks of leftover Ginger and the remains of Mrs. Mancuso’s flowerbed. But Emme, being Emme, doesn’t leave me hanging. Lumps of things that will forever haunt my dreams skim along the grass and back into the hole.
I run to get a rake and a shovel from the shed and go to town. Following the week I’ve had, I’ve pretty much accepted I don’t have a green thumb. So instead of trying to replant all the flowers, I start shoving everything back into the hole, hoping Mancuso will think some stray dug up her stuff. I think I stand a chance, and that I might actually pull this off, until something hard smacks me across the face.
I land sprawled on my back, blinking back the dirt coating my eyes. Above me, Mrs. Mancuso is glaring, her giant broom gripped tight in her hands. I didn’t even hear her approach. For someone as old as the dirt pile I’m lying on, she’s unbelievably stealthy.
“You dirty tramp!” she spits out.
“I know what this looks like,” I begin.
She doesn’t exactly let me finish, smacking me across the face again with the broom. I roll away from her, but Mrs. Mancuso is no longer just my wicked neighbor from the Planet Bitch. She’s a hellion bent on making me bleed.
She repeatedly nails me in the head, each strike more vicious than the next. “Damn it, woman. It wasn’t me!”
She doesn’t care, hitting me harder as she chases me around the yard. Like some dumb blonde from a really bad horror movie, I trip more than once. But instead of some scary monster giving chase, Mancuso runs behind me, her freakish ability and desire to kill me, ignoring the years marching across her veiny legs.
“Knock it off. I didn’t do it!” I insist.
I half run, half-stumble to the sliding glass doors leading out from the basement, hoping Emme left them open when she brought Alice inside.
I’m covering my head and breathing hard, trying to speak the magical word that releases the wards guarding the house. “Pace. Pace. Shit. Pace, damn it!”
Either I don’t say the word right in my haste, or the spell doesn’t recognize my voice between my shrieks of pain.
I whip around when Mancuso gives me an extra hard whack, snagging the broom by the handle and pulling it hard.
She falls on her knees, crying.
“Oh, my God,” I gasp. I didn’t mean for her to fall. “Are you all right?” She doesn’t answer, sobbing. I toss the broom aside and clasp her shoulder. “Mrs. Mancuso? Can you hear me? I need to know if you’re all right.”
“You hit an old woman,” she wails.
Her face is buried in her hands, her chest and shoulders heaving with how hard she’s crying.
For the first time since I’ve known her, Mrs. Mancuso doesn’t resemble the Wicked Witch from Dollar Point. She’s not angry, or bitter, or even slightly strong. She’s broken, a frail old lady who’s now hurt. I crouch beside her, thinking she made need an ambulance.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to make you fall.”
She lifts her head. There are no tears, no proof of pain. But there is a whole lot of bitch. She picks up a large rock near her feet and nails me across the shin with it.
Sharp pain shoots up my spine and into my skull, making me see double and knocking me on my ass. I wrench up, using the side of the house to balance and limp away as fast as I can.
I drag my leg as I hop up the deck stairs, falling forward when I reach the door leading into the kitchen. “Pace,” I yell, realizing Mrs. Mancuso is almost to the top of the steps. “For fuck’s sake, pace!”
The wards hum, allowing me through. I yank the door open, slamming it shut and locking it. I turn, hoping she’s not there.
Like a scene from a creepy and twisted horror flick, a stiff, wrinkled middle finger presses against the glass, sliding past me as the evil it belongs to heads toward the flight of stairs.
I sag against the counter. “This day can’t get any worse.”
I should know better than to say what I do. But the words slip out anyway as Shayna shoots down the steps. “Taran, something’s wrong with Celia.”
Chapter Seventeen
I ignore the lingering pain and run toward the rear staircase behind Shayna. “Call Aric,” I yell.
“I did, he’s on his way.”
We move fast, reaching the next level. “Where’s Emme?”
“She’s with Ceel now.” She turns around so quick, I almost crash into her, fear skimming her features. “Ceel won’t let her near her.”
“What?” I glance down the hall toward her and Aric’s room. “But Emme can heal her, help her.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I’m not sure if she can, T.”
I push past her, running into the room without bothering to knock. Celia is sitting on her side of the bed, her legs dangling from the edge as she curls forward and into her belly. Emme is kneeling in front of her, her eyes glistening with tears.
“She won’t let me touch her,” she says.
I don’t know how I get there, I’m just suddenly beside her. “What’s wrong?”
Celia shakes her head slowly, her breaths are labored and it’s like she can’t speak. “Ceel,” I say. “You have to tell us what’s wrong so we can help you.”
Again, she simply shakes her head.
“Jesus,” I say, rising.
Alice is standing in the corner, watching her with curiosity and clearly not with the panic currently engulfing us. Shayna is in the bathroom running water. I think she’s filling the tub and I rush in there to wash my hands and help her.
When I reach the sink, I realize she’s filling a small basin. “She seems hot,” she says, barely getting the words out. “Let’s try and cool her off.”
“Good idea,” I say, drying my hands quickly and reaching for a stack of washcloths beneath the sink.
I touch her skin with the back of my hand when we run back into the bedroom. Celia is warm, and her face flushed a deep red. But the temperature seems off. It’s not hot enough to gather perspiration along her brow, but that’s what’s happening.
Shayna’s on her phone, speaking fast. “I need you guys to get here,” she says. “Please, Koda. I need you here now.”
“We’re coming, baby,” he says. “We’re almost to you.”
“Here. Lie down,” I whisper, edging closer to ease Celia down.
“Don’t move me,” she says, her voice barely registering. “I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not,” I say, fearing the worst.
My sisters and I are nurses by trade. Emme worked in Hospice, Shayna and Celia specialized in Labor and Delivery, and I worked in the Cardiac Catheterization Lab.
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nbsp; Celia retired from nursing when she decided to take a job kicking ass for the vamps. I took leave to get my arm and life together. We’re seasoned nurses and good at our jobs. But right now, we’re practically helpless.
I soak a washcloth and wring out the excess. “Ceel, you have to tell us what you’re feeling.” I run the washcloth along her forehead, patting her skin gently. “Are you in pain, does it hurt?”
She lifts her chin, her lids heavy what appears to be exhaustion. “It’s the baby,” she whispers.
My hands fall away as tires screech to a stop in front of our house. I start to go numb as what sounds like an army storms into the house. The door is partly open, but the force Aric uses when he barrels through splinters the wood and breaks it from his hinges.
“Celia,” he says, rushing to her. He moves fast, but when he gathers her to him, his motions are careful and gentle.
Her head falls against his shoulder, but she continues to cradle her belly.
“What happened?” he asks, his face and voice darkening with menace.
I back away, knowing I shouldn’t be anywhere near Celia or Aric. And I’m not alone.
Koda links his arms around Shayna’s waist, pulling her slowly and away from them. She starts to argue, but Koda cuts her off, whispering low in her ear. “Stay away from him, baby,” he says. “With his mate hurting, his beast is unpredictable.”
Emme is the only one able to draw near. Be it her gentle nature or her ability to heal, Aric allows her to close in. But I see, no, feel, Aric’s beast charging to the surface. My vision clears as his power and Pack magic overtake the room.
My back presses against a very large front. I know who he is even before his strong arms slink around my waist and he pulls me closer, guiding me in the direction of the door.
“Don’t fight me,” Gemini rasps when I tense against him, his breath teasing the sensitive skin along my neck. “Let me keep you safe from harm.”
I want to break his hold, insist he leave and not touch me. But God, I’m so scared for my sister and her baby, I need him here. Even if it’s only for this moment.
Emme reaches for Celia’s hands. Celia moves them away from her, but keeps them against her belly.
“Sweetness, please,” Aric begs. “Let Emme help you.”
Celia shakes her head. “It doesn’t hurt,” she says. With what seems to be a great deal of effort, she pulls her stretchy black shirt up to her chest. She takes Aric’s hands, covering them with hers and gliding them over her tiny baby bump.
Yellow light, so pale in color it’s almost white, permeates from her skin, surrounding her belly like halo.
As we watch in stunned silence, Celia’s stomach begins to grow. It’s slow, subtle, increasing her breaths, but it’s there. Her baby is growing beneath her skin.
Emme edges away to stand near Shayna and Koda. Aric’s eyes are wide, and his body so still, I can’t be sure he’s breathing—or if any of us are. But Celia is breathing hard enough for all of us.
I don’t know much about pregnancy, just what I learned in nursing school, and what Celia and Shayna discussed. But Celia barely looked pregnant before. If I didn’t know her like I did, I wouldn’t suspect she was pregnant at all. Now, there’s no doubt. I’m not sure how far along she is, but it’s clear there’s a baby thriving inside of her.
I’m in awe, we all are. Emme and Shayna are gaping, and fighting the start of happy tears. But then something happens that none of us could predicted, and I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.
A tiny bump, like a fist, passes beneath the skin of Celia’s belly, pushing across until it disappears under Aric’s hand. Aric freezes, completely awestruck.
Celia smiles softly, despite how she seems seconds from collapsing. “You know who your daddy is. Don’t you, little one?” she asks.
I’m certain my sisters and I will cry first. But it’s Aric’s eyes that brim with tears. “I can feel him,” he says quietly. “He’s moving.”
Celia rests her head against him. Aric’s other hand cups her cheek and he kisses her gently. “Are you all right?” he asks, a mix of fear and wonder, seeping into his voice.
“Yes. Just tired,” she responds.
“Did it hurt?” he asks.
“No,” she says, although I’m straining to hear her. “It feels like a good stretch following a very long run.” She laughs a little. “A very, very long run.”
We wait, none of us daring to move until she speaks again. “He’s growing,” she says. “He’s going to be okay.” She pauses like it’s taking all she has to stay awake. “I need to sleep.”
“Not eat?” Aric asks. “It looks like he took a lot out of you to grow.”
I do a double take when I realize how much thinner Celia is. “Sleep first,” she mumbles.
I don’t think she quite finishes before she falls soundly asleep. Aric lowers her to the bed, positioning himself so he lies with her tucked against him.
Emme, Shaya, and Koda pile out. I trail them, but when they gather along the hall, I keep going, down the steps and into the kitchen. I wash my hands again, drying them quickly so I can rummage through the fridge and see what we have.
“What are you doing?” Gemini asks. He’s leaning against the doorway that leads to the rear steps, and to our laundry room and garage.
It shouldn’t be so hard to form sentences around him. But given what just happened and my week with the coven, it’s harder than it should be. “Celia is going to be ready to eat the moment she wakes up. I’m seeing what I can make her.”
“Don’t,” he says. “Let Aric do it.”
I lift my brows. “Aric can’t cook, remember? Unless you count those grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches he makes her.” I shake my head, remembering how much muscle she seemed to lose in those moments it took her to grow her baby. “She’s going to need more than that.”
“He’ll hunt for her,” he says, motioning upstairs with a tilt of his head. “His primal side will compel him to provide for his mate and his wolf will demand blood.”
“Nice,” I say, giving him my back. It’s always about blood and mayhem with this group.
I reach for a glass pitcher and fill it with ice water, then start slicing cucumber and lime since I know Celia likes both in her water. But when Gemini comes up behind me, and his front presses against me like it did upstairs, I stop slicing, and moving, and functioning.
“I don’t like you ignoring me,” he says. “I want you with me, like you were upstairs.”
I lower the knife in my hand, turning slowly to face him. “Upstairs, I was scared,” I admit.
The knuckles of his hand run brush my left arm. “No, upstairs you needed me.”
Warmth spreads from his touch and along my skin. “What about you?” I ask, my vulnerability peeking through. “Did you need me, too?”
“Yes,” he responds, his tone reminding me of all the strength he carries as easily as he holds my heart.
“Oh.”
I mean to say more, but I can’t then. The intensity in his stare surges, so does his adoration. It melts me, pulling me closer. For a second I see the man I remember and love, the one who claimed me as his mate. But it’s only for a second.
His dark stare falls to my zombie limb and it’s like I can feel him struggling to stay in place.
Aric gives him a reason to turn away. He steps into the kitchen with Koda at his heels. He leans forward, gripping the edge of our granite counter so tight, I’m sure he’s going to break the damn thing half. “I need to kill something,” he says, looking up at me.
I take a few steps back. “Okay,” I say, hoping it’s not me.
“Will you stay with her?” he asks, his stare cutting between me and Gemini. “I can’t leave her alone. Emme, Shayna, and Alice are upstairs, but . . .”
“I won’t leave her, Aric,” I tell him. “I promise.”
He nods stiffly and slowly releases the counter. “Thank you.”
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nbsp; I expect Gemini to give him the same assurance, but he doesn’t say a thing, nor does Aric wait for it. Aric yanks off his shirt and so does Koda, stalking behind him and kicking out of his boots.
Wolves hunt in packs so I’m not surprised Koda is accompanying Aric, and I suppose, Aric needs a “wing man” given his current overly-protective and semi-psychotic state.
Yet I am surprised Gemini isn’t joining them. These beasts are as close as I am to my sisters.
Aric opens the back door and steps out. I hear his denim jeans fall a few breaths before four paws thump across the deck and leap over the rail. Koda waits by the door, giving Aric a head start so he can make the first kill.
“Will you take care of it, all of it?” Koda asks Gemini.
“Yes. Aric is needed here. I’ll speak on behalf of the Pack.”
Koda tilts his head in thanks, but his glimpse my way gives away who Gemini will be speaking to.
“You’re going to see Vieve, aren’t you,” I ask before my pride reminds me it’s the last thing I should ask.
“I have to,” he explains carefully. “Aric was going to, but he needs to be here and provide for Celia.”
“Did something happen?” I ask. If Aric was meeting with the witches, instead of Gemini, something major went down.
“Bren and his team found the witches a few hours ago,” he responds, barely blinking. “Out of respect for our roles in the supernatural world, Aric is obliged to share the news in person.”
“Bren didn’t find them alive. Did he?” I ask.
“No. He and his hunting party found the witches in pieces, their hearts missing.” His already ominous stare darkens further. “Savana is getting stronger.”
Chapter Eighteen
Anti-possession class.
Anti. Possession. Class.
I can do this.
Maybe.
Who am I kidding? This is bullshit.
Screams echo from down the hall, followed by a shriek that chills the ridges along my spine.
