Michael must be standing really close for me to feel the air move around his pulsing body. His presence feels precautious.
“No, not you. But Tracey can.” He takes a seat at our table.
I drop my fork and grumble. “Michael, not today.”
He gazes, admiring me. “I’m not, Tracey.” He plucks a fry from my plate and shoves it in his mouth. “I’m saying hi.”
I roll my eyes again. “Okay. Hi. Now, please go.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks, trying to make his voice sound seductive. But it sounds all wrong; more like a kid trying to sweet talk his way into a titty bar. “Stop writing me off, Cey.”
“No, you make me annoyed. I’m trying to have a conversation with my cousin. Now, if you do not mind, please excuse yourself.”
The restaurant floods with Nathan’s demanding presence. It’s bombarding, and I hate to consider it, but I hope the shit doesn’t hit the fan. I’m just catching a break for Pete’s sake.
“I can’t understand why you haven’t moved yet,” Nathan says from behind us, Carteal and Courtney on his flank. They’ve changed from their dust covered clothes.
“Where do you keep coming from?” Michael blurts exaggeratedly.
Nathan scowls at Michael with a devilish grin. “You know. . . I’ve wanted to crush your skull since the first time I heard your voice.” He steps forward.
Michael jumps to his feet, squaring off with Nathan. He looks like Jack in front of a beanstalk. I laugh aloud at my thoughts, reluctantly standing. “Just because you’re with my ex-girlfriend doesn’t mean I’m going to let you threaten me.” Michael tries to swell his small chest.
I laugh harder, moving to stand in front of Nathan. “Come on, Nate. Let’s go,” I say, pushing him to walk away.
“No, wait, Tracey.” Michael reaches out to me.
I wrench away―faster than I should move with people around―trying to avoid being shocked.
“What the?” Michael mutters as his eyes suspiciously fixate on me, a puzzled look stealing his poised expression.
My eyes twitch, and the film demands me to blink.
“Do it, Sparks,” Nathan says from behind me.
I take a breath and blink.
Liquid-like, yellow eyes peer back at me past lashless lids. The warm-toned skin once smooth is now a dark and scaly texture that makes me never want to touch him again. Michael’s tight, curly hair is looser, giving it a wavy appearance. He’s also a bit bigger. There’s nothing familiar about his features, nothing about this beast would tell me he’s Michael.
My eyes demand me to blink, and I do, bringing him back to short, smooth-skinned, curly haired Michael. While observing him, I didn’t notice Nathan move to my right side or Carmen to my left.
Michael stumbles back, jabbering words I can’t hear.
It hits me like a ton of bricks. All this time we were together, he wasn’t human. He isn’t human. Oh—my—gosh! “Who are you?” I burst, but I’m unable to hear myself shout.
Michael throws his hands up, mouth moving a million miles a minute. My hearing has faded and the more he talks and I can’t hear him, the more worked up I become. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get a grip. But me being unable to see and hear spikes a panic that forces me to flick my eyes open. Michael strikes forward, grabbing me by my arms, and smashing his lips down on mine. I push, shove, and slap him away, hands only connecting with air and space. Blinking, my sight flickers through being tinted and not. Michael’s standing in the same spot, seeming to never have moved.
Ugh . . . That had to be embarrassing. I avoid meeting the wide eyes of the people in the restaurant glaring at me. It’s better just to walk away. I can’t hear anything, but I feel the many eyes follow me out. Gah, it’s just like before. Absolutely nothing has changed over the years.
It’s like when I was eight, sitting in a restaurant with Mom and Dad. Our waiter had approached with anger sewn so deep in his face. I thought his words would come out in shouts when he asked for our order, but it wasn’t him who drew on my concern. It was the man at the table behind him. He jumped from his seat and lashed at our waiter, stabbing him again and again with his steak knife. I screamed as our waiter fall on top of our table, crying and begging for the man to stop. The life bled from the waiter’s body and he was soon dead. My tears fell as I held on to Mom, begging her to call the ambulance and for her to save him. She had my shoulders in her hands, shaking me, trying to get me to calm down. She begged me to tell her what was happening, and I did. But when she’d said, calm down and breathe, I did and found none of it had happened. My arms were wrapped around her, I had risen from my chair, and my shirt was wet from my slob and tears. The entire restaurant was staring at me, and the manager had to ask us to leave because I scared the guest. That was episode number four, and when Mom had insisted I see Dr. Phisher without any negations from Dad.
I hurry from the restaurant and trip down the last step, catching myself with the railing. I pant, one hand clamped at my chest, the other squeezing the might out of the wood railing of the stairs. I don’t want the hallucinations to come back. I don’t want an ability that welcomes my crazy.
Nathan steps in front of me and takes my face in his hands. His mouth moves, making the words, “It’s okay.”
Passing cars and blowing wind soon break the silence. I breathe, “Thanks.”
Carmen and her brother gallop down the stairs of the deck, followed by an angry Michael.
If I let go of Nathan, there’s a fair chance I will set Michael on fire.
“Maybe just hit him. Don’t set him on fire. We’ve drawn enough attention to you already,” Nathan drones, although I hear his poorly timed humor. “I know you want to ask him why and find out what’s going on, but don’t talk to him.”
I nod.
Michael folds his arms in front of his chest, taking a stance that shows he means business. “What the hell, Tracey?” he asks, demanding an explanation.
“You should excuse yourself, Michael,” I quip, wanting to keep it short. My blaring questions are sitting at the tip of my tongue, ready for me to yell them out. Like, why the hell he isn’t human and why the hell he didn’t tell me.
“What? Do you think I’m going to ignore that little episode you had back there?” he shouts, gesturing toward the restaurant.
“Who are you to question her?” Nathan interjects.
“Not right now, Hercules. I’m talking to her.” Michael thrusts a point at me.
“Then you’re talking to me.” Nathan steps toward him, and I hold him back. “Last time I checked, we have no obligation to you.”
“Tracey, talk to your stud. I’m not going to take too much more of this.”
Nathan cuts me off, saying, “Doubt it,” in a dark, sarcastic tone.
Michael doesn’t let it intimidate him. He cracks his neck and visibly takes a deep breath. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you, Tracey. You just looked at me with full black eyes and fought the air.”
“I’m good. Leave me alone.” I turn from him and get in the passenger’s seat of Nathan’s car.
Nathan says to Michael, “Don’t come around Tracey anymore. Don’t speak to her. I don’t care where you are or what you think you need to say. You better act like she doesn’t exist.” He pauses. “By the way . . . Good disguise, Faylaman. You’re all the same,” he finishes, disgusted.
Michael lowers his tone. “How can you know that?”
“Doesn’t matter. Don’t disregard what I told you unless you want to lose your life. And I’d profusely enjoy watching your blood drip from my hands.”
Michael steps closer to Nathan. “I’m over you threatening me, imitator.”
Nathan shoves him back, regaining his space. “I don’t make threats. I guarantee. I will kill you . . . and soon.” He turns away and gets in the car. “Turn down your ears.”
I strap on my seatbelt, saying, “That was dark.”
“I had to get
my point across.”
“What’s a Faylaman?”
“How do you know that’s what he is?” Carteal asks, dropping in the backseat.
“I saw him through Sparks,” Nathan answers.
“And how did you see him?” Carmen asks me.
“An ability Nathan gave me,” I say.
Nathan starts the car and looks in the backseat. “Where’s Courtney?”
“He’ll meet us later. He’s going to stay here with some girl,” Carteal answers, pointing to Courtney waving out one of the restaurant’s windows.
Nathan nods, and we drive away. “Your ex is a full demon. Specifically, he’s a Faylamen. He should be dead.”
“A full demon? Wait, before you answer that. When you say, should be dead, do you mean he’s supposed to be dead, or you should kill him?” I need to know exactly what I dealt with in my past. Like, is he a dead demon who is alive? Like, how does this supernatural stuff work?
“Probably both,” Carmen snorts a laugh.
“I should kill him.”
I don’t have feelings for Michael, but he . . . Dammit! All the things I did with that boy. And this entire time he wasn’t human. He’s not human. What’s wrong with me? Do I attract demon guys?
“Damn, Sparks. Now that’s harsh.” Nathan pulls me from my thoughts, insulted by my views.
Ugh, forgot. . . “I’m sorry, Nathan. I didn’t mean that the way it seemed.” I love your demon, I say happily. “But not everyone else’s,” I follow in a whisper.
“It’s fine, Sparks. But you know what’s going to happen.”
“Yes.”
eloquent silence
I lay on Nathan’s back, legs splayed over his, his butt to my pelvis, my chin resting on his spine. Counting, I make it to twenty-seven before I ask again. “You know I won’t be upset if you tell me.”
He adjusts his chin on his arm, and his head moves higher where I can’t see the TV without adjusting myself. Why I care what’s on the TV shouldn’t matter because all he’s doing is flipping, never resting long enough on a channel. “No. Accept the no,” he discards.
We rest on his bed. Been laying here for a while not saying anything since he came back from looking for Michael. This is the third time in the last month since he’s been out, and he won’t tell me if he found him or not.
He found him. I know he did. If he didn’t, he’d tell me like he’s told me any other time. He’s also had a lot more to say than ‘accept no.’
“Are you going to settle on something or just flip through the channels?” I ask, as channel seventeen fifty-six passes for the third time.
“I’m just going to flip.” The TV holds on a baseball game for five seconds, then he’s back to flipping.
I roll my eyes, letting my head fall between his shoulder blades.
I try to ignore the multitude of trouble my life has endured. But it doesn’t let up. Glen’s like a thousand-ton elephant I see in every room or hear down every hall, no matter where I am. She’s a weight I’m too afraid to work off, but is too heavy to hang on to. I want her back here with me so I can be there with her. But there’s a reason for everything, I’m told. A reason we stay and go, and I often wonder how true it is that the dead have it better than the living. But if memories are all I must go by, I’ll live with them.
On the upside of things, I start college in two months. I’m so excited. Nathan’s pushed off him, starting by a few months because his company is requiring more of his time with his expansion to Washington. He’s excited about it, and I’m happy for him.
“Ahh!” I hiss, jumping back and sitting on his butt. Nathan’s back grows hotter by the second. It’s too hot to touch. “Nate, your back is turning red, and it’s scorching.” The red turning areas burn black.
“I see. And it hurts badly,” he hisses. “Take the pain away.”
I touch his sides, avoiding the parts changing color. He expels his relief in a harsh breath.
“Don’t look away from it,” he says, when I look up at the TV that’s finally landed on a channel.
Shifting my gaze to his back, I study it. An image is branding into his skin, blackening its part of his back. The marks look like scythes, two of them. They’re huge, with one upside down and the other right side up, almost shaping a triangle. In their middle’s branded an eye on an upside-down hand.
“It’s intimidating.”
“It is, huh?” he quips, finding it humorous.
“You would think that’s cute. . .”
“Not cute, but daunting. Excuse me.” He adjusts to get up, and I move from him. I follow him into the bathroom, and he stands in front of the mirror, examining himself. He yells, “Mom!” It carries on, loudly echoing off the bathroom walls.
“Really, Mommy’s Boy?” He is such a big kid. “Not to mention you didn’t have to yell her name.”
“Hush.” Looking over his shoulder at the mirror, he touches the parts of the markings he can reach.
Natalia rushes through the room, panic strong in her presence. “What is it, Nathan?”
He turns his back to her. She stumbles backward, hand flying to her chest. “W-when did this happen?” she asks nervously.
“Like, three minutes ago,” I answer as she walks up to touch where the marks lie.
Her fingers barely graze the marking, as if she’s afraid to touch them. “Nathan, how many have you killed?” she asks, awed.
His gaze flicks to me and then back to her.
“You better tell her out loud and in a language I can understand, Grim,” I hurry to say, knowing he’ll try to hide his answer from me.
“You’re going to think wrong of me, Sparks.”
“Just answer her,” I order, preparing myself for his reveal.
“Honestly, I don’t know. A lot . . .” He throws his head back, flicking his gaze toward the ceiling. “Maybe one or two, maybe three for every year of your life.” He shrugs.
Both of our eyes widen at his response. “Nathan,” she utters.
I straighten, trying not to look too surprised. But I’m failing. Natalia has to be decades older than him. That’s a lot of people.
After looking it over again, Natalia grazes her thumb across the eye. “It’s the sign of misfortune or injury, but it being in reverse, guarded by the scythes . . .” Her brows knit as she thinks further. “It is your ability marking, stating that of one who can bring forth death—injury and misfortune. One, he who takes care should fear. One, he who dares test will and can bring harm. You’ll see before the plea.”
I shiver.
“Is that a bad thing?” Nathan asks, chuckling.
He is so sick, I think to myself, trying to fight my smirk.
“Considering the lot you’ve killed, maybe. But it means nothing over your life. It may, however, be what you can bring or possibly cause,” she responds slowly. “The marking is late coming in, and that concerns me. But no, son, you’re okay.” They share a glance, one I can’t read into but that they’re both in agreement of.
“Thank you,” Nathan says. “Wanted to make sure I wasn’t hexed or cursed or something. We’ll come down for dinner later,” he tells her.
She nods and leaves. The distress in her presence hasn’t disappeared, it’s gotten stronger. And before she leaves the room, unlike any other time, she looks back with a sting of worry aging her young eyes.
“Sparks, this eye thing may actually be for you, in relation to your illusions and stuff.”
“Maybe. So, I guess this means you killed him,” I retort as he passes me.
“Can you make these reaper knives and Mary hands go away before we talk?” He plops down on the bed, rolling his shoulders.
I cross the room, stopping before I get in front of him. “I don’t know how to do that.”
His hand shoots out, eases around my waist, and then yanks me to him. “The same way you do everything else,” he says, taking my hand in his and placing his lips to my palm. The same cool breeze that took away my feather
dances across my hand. The fog-like mist brushes over my skin and its icicle-mini-flakes dissolve in the air. It tingles with him being so close and the touch of his lips against it. “Just barely kiss my back on each side and maybe in the middle. As you desire for them to go away, you breathe out through your desire for them to fade. And hope you don’t get something started.” He places my hand on his shoulder. I smile, failing at holding it back. Him saying that is getting something started.
I climb onto the bed and settle on my knees behind him. The marks make his back a different kind of attractive. Maybe deadly attractive.
I sweep my fingertips over their areas.
His head falls forward as he mumbles, “Can you not touch me like this? We have to be down for dinner and then go to your house to help your parents pack for their departure week after next. Keep touching me like this, and we’re going to miss something.”
Bringing my lips to the curve of his ear, I drop a kiss on his earlobe. “I vote dinner,” I whisper.
Twisting around, Nathan wraps his hand around my neck and yanks me into his steal the breath from my body kiss. I lay back on the bed, taking him with me. He falls between my legs, and glides his hand over my thighs right up to my butt. He squeezes it as our hips align, and he rocks against me. I move his hand to my sweetest spot, inviting him to touch me. He messages me, distantly pleasing me, as his kisses send us blasting through the firmament and into a wave of blazing meteorites. I find his wrist, and Nathan smacks my hand away and slips his in my panties. I’m hot—hotter, enlivened by him kneading me. I sigh, seconds away from my limit. But he stops before I reach it.
I grumble, angry he did.
Chuckling, he grabs the waistbands of my shorts and panties.
“Please, Nathan. Don’t tease me.”
“Hush, Sparks,” he tells me, slipping them downward. I lift so my shorts can pull down with ease, and the bedroom door opens. The freaking door opens!
Olar, Lana, Carmen, Courtney, and Carteal walk in, neither caring about being welcomed first.
Nathan yanks up my shorts and breaks away from me. “I can’t understand why none of you know what a closed door means.”
Brazen: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Sephlem Trials Book 2) Page 44
