“Why are you so interested in the Counts? I don’t get it.”
He drops his gaze to the floor before sinking his diamond-cut eyes back into mine. “I heard Marky tell you about my mom. My mom didn’t die, Laken.” He circles over me with a profound sadness. “My mom was having problems. She was seeing this therapist—acting strange, out of character. Then one day she just disappeared.”
“You think she was abducted by the Counts?”
“She left without taking anything.” He gives a solemn nod. “Marky was alone in the kitchen when I came home from school. My mom left behind her cell, her purse—she was wearing house slippers at the time and left one behind. Who takes off on their family without any of their belongings—with only one slipper?”
“You think the Counts would resort to kidnapping?” It comes out lower than a whisper.
“They kidnapped you, didn’t they?”
20
Read My Mind
Cooper and I go over Flaubert’s masterpiece as a palate cleanse from all this batshit talk about the Counts.
“Here,” Cooper says, pulling up the book’s synopsis on his laptop as he scoots into me on the bed, “she was a hopeless romantic. That proved to be a problem.”
I’m sure Madame Bovary had a lot of problems, in fact, if memory serves correct, the entire story was laden with her needy propensity for attention, but right now all I can think about is the fact Cooper Flanders’s arm is raking against mine, hot as a brushfire.
“You used the words hopeless and romantic together in the same sentence.” I was aiming for sarcasm, but my cheeks fill with heat. “Do you believe in destiny? True love?” I mean it in reference to Wes and me here together again on planet Earth or locked in my imagination, either or.
Cooper coasts over me with his glacial-clear eyes, a black ring around each cornea. I’ve never seen that on a human before. My neighbor had a Husky with those eyes—hottest-looking dog on the planet.
Cooper gives a little huff of a laugh as if he heard me.
“Yes.” He nods incredulously. “I believe in love.” His demeanor changes, softens. A rise of color touches the apples of his cheeks. “I believe when the time is right, if you’re patient, the right person will walk into your life.” He exhales softly, without breaking our gaze. “Then everything changes.”
“Everything,” I parrot back in a whisper, afraid of what might happen next, afraid I might do something stupid like reach over and brush his lips with mine because I can’t fight the dull ache in my chest that warns me not to.
There’s a knock at the door before it bursts open, exposing a rather shocked-looking Wes.
“Hi.” I bounce off the bed like a spring.
“You don’t waste any time.” Wes knuckle bumps Cooper, but there’s something serious in his tone that lets him know a line is being drawn. Cooper can go here and no further with me, and for sure his bed is beyond the border of Wesley’s guidelines.
“You get a chance to talk to Dr. Flanders?” Wes melts into a smile that sends a massive wave of guilt through me. How could I have thought all those terrible things about him? He’s an angel, in the most literal sense.
Cooper walks us downstairs. “My dad is going to have to see her again,” he says it like an apology.
Wes nails Coop with a hard look. “In your room?”
“Just studying for lit, dude.” Cooper rasps the words out with a twinge of pleasure. His lips twitch into a barely there smile.
Marky hops off the couch and offers me a tight embrace reminiscent of Lacey in every way. Her hair is damp from a shower, the spongy flesh on her arms still sticky and dewy. I try not to look like a freak as I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to memorize the feeling of having her little body pressed against mine. In that small moment, I try to pretend she is Lacey, but can’t. There is no surrogate, never can be. Nevertheless, I like Marky just fine on her own.
“I’ll call you and let you know if I figure out the answer to that question.” Cooper digs into me with a knowing look. “Continue our conversation.”
“Oh, yeah, I’d hate to flunk the first quiz in lit over something stupid like that. Thank you.” I let my gaze linger like a threat.
I’m still not sure if either Cooper Flanders or Wesley Paxton is trustworthy. I’m not sure what to believe, but something inside me isn’t willing to give up on either of them.
Wes helps me into his Range Rover that bleeds the scent of its leather seats like a neurotoxin, and we take off down the dusty winding roads of Heaven.
“Rain’s coming tomorrow,” he says, as he leans into the windshield and squints into the sky. “You wanna run into town and grab a quick bite?” His teeth crest his bottom lip, and I can’t help notice the fine sharp points on his canines. “Or we can pay Charity Lake a visit. Continue our own conversation.” He bears into me with the slight hint of jealousy.
“You don’t care for Cooper,” I say it low and seductive. A part of me likes Wesley locked in an emotional rivalry with Coop—the green-eyed monster rearing its head, all for me.
He looks out at the open road before pulling onto the main highway. His cheeks pull back, no smile. His eyes shine in the night with an ethereal glow I’ve only seen on animals. Wesley’s heart-stopping features contour to perfection in the shadows.
“Coop’s okay.” He rounds his hands over the steering wheel like an afterthought. “He likes you. I can tell.” The muscles in his jaw flex just this side of anger. We drive out another mile or so without saying anything. He pulls off onto a dirt road and the lake shines back like a mirror.
Wes hops out, takes a blanket out of his trunk and a small paper bag.
“Emergency supplies.” He rattles its contents with a naughty grin.
“Are we having an emergency?” I ask as he walks us beneath an overgrown willow and sets out the thick wool blanket. The scent from his cologne pulls me in long before he does.
“My mom insists I keep a bag of candy bars in the car at all times in the event I get stuck or roll off a bridge, you know, all the normal things moms worry about.”
“You could live off a ketchup packet for a week.” I peer in the bag and pull a Snickers bar out. “Looks like you have a very wise mother.”
He falls next to me, waves the bag in the air before tossing it to the ground. Wes pulls me in, traces the outline of my features with his finger, soft as a breath.
I snuggle in close and look up at the dark, brooding sky through the tendrils of the willow. The long branches dangle like dreadlocks, black against the navy velvet. I love it like this with Wes, not a soul around, just the wind, the earth, the sky. I missed these days, and now I have them back again.
I clasp my hand over his and gaze into him. His boyish-sweet looks, his dark hovering brows. I drink them all down like a much needed panacea. Wes was designed to captivate. His soul’s entire purpose is to pull you in, make you want to linger and never ever leave.
“I’ve dreamed about you a thousand times,” he whispers.
“Really?” I find the idea of invading his dreams more than a little intoxicating.
“You’re intoxicating,” he whispers.
I take in a breath and sit up.
“You okay?” He reaches over and places his hand on my thigh.
“Yeah.” I crawl down next to him, wash out all of the thoughts of Cooper and the lunacy he filled my mind with. If Wes has somehow procured the power to read minds, I’m sure as hell going to test this theory.
I close my eyes and sift through a litany of ideas before taking up his hand.
The Counts—I wish I was a Count like Wesley. I wish I knew the things he knew, understood his world.
“You know what I was thinking?” he offers. “We should set up a blood bonding for you.”
“A what?” Forget my sanity, plasma is clearly at stake.
“It’s a ceremony.” His eyes widen with pleasure. “It formalizes your commitment to the Countenance. I’ll catch a small animal, and you’ll sacrifice i
t.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It doesn’t need to die, just bleed. It’s a symbol of the old you dying and the new you coming into your own as a Count.”
“Like a baptism.” Sounds perfectly satanic.
“Something like that. Trust me, it’s painless. You just have to memorize the allegiance, and that’s the extent of it.”
“Sounds easy.” I tighten my grip around his fingers.
I can’t wait to enter into this new world. Not only will it bring me closer to Wes, but I’ll be a part of something bigger than me. I’ll finally belong.
I look up at him to gauge his reaction.
“The Countenance are stronger than family. Once you’re affirmed, every Count is your mother, your brother, your sister. There’s nothing they won’t do for you.”
“That’s what I’ve always wanted.” I swallow hard trying to hide my discomfort.
Family is great, but I want something more, something that would make me special, set me apart from the rest of the world.
I look to Wes and wait to see if takes the bait. So far he’s two for two, but those could have easily been coincidences—or at least that’s what I’d like to believe.
“You know, Laken…” He loses his friendly demeanor—serious as though he knows something isn’t right. “There is something more to the Counts, something that sets us apart from the rest of the world.”
“Tell me.” I rise up on my elbows and pull back my hand. I’m seriously considering bolting into the lake and drowning as a viable way out of the situation.
“I can’t. I’d have to show you,” he whispers, interlacing our fingers again.
“How soon?” I glance down at our conjoined hands and what it might mean.
“After the blood bonding, there’s a probationary period.”
“Can’t wait.” But it’s almost like being a Count won’t be enough. There’s something in me carved out for something more with Wesley—I can feel it.
The whites of his eyes glint over at me.
He takes in a satisfied lungful of air as he pulls me in. Wesley is spellbound by my every thought.
I want to say something sincere like I’m lucky that I found him, that I have him in my life, but I’m afraid it’ll come out cheesy and ruin the moment.
He gives a wayward grin before it dissipates into something far more serious. “I’m lucky that I have you, Laken. I really mean it.”
And there it is.
Wes pulls me into a sea of hungry kisses. He runs his hands up the back of my sweater blazing tracks over my flesh in his wake. I’m mesmerized by the fire coming from his mouth—captivated by his viral lust for me, and it makes me forget all about the questions and accusations I have. Instead, I bathe in his sweetness, the sultry dripping kisses that singe every part of my existence.
It takes everything in me to push random thoughts out of my mind. All of the questions that might rattle our relationship, they enwreathe us like a thorny vine— threaten to choke us thick as smoke.
God, I missed Wes. The sweet way about him, the tender ache in me that stretches for miles when he’s around. I try to memorize the way his fingers feel tracing over my rib cage, the way his tongue pushes and retracts in rhythm. I reach down and unbuckle his jeans, jab my hands into the back of boxers, and clasp onto his bare flesh.
A loud bang erupts over by the car, and we sit up with a jolt.
“What the hell was that?” I pant, scooting into him.
A shadow staggers forward, then another, and one behind that.
A loud crash explodes to our left. We turn in time to see a body extricating its fist from the passenger-side window of Wesley’s car.
“Crap.” I hiss in a panic.
Wes helps me to my feet and backs me into the trunk of the tree with an unnatural calm. “We’ve got company.”
“Who are they?”
“Spectators.”
“What do they want?”
“To kill us.”
21
A Spectator Sport
Okay, I’m no expert, but I know a freaking zombie when I see one, usually around Halloween or on TV, but I digress.
Wes reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, wields them like an impotent switchblade.
“What the hell are you going to do with those? We need a knife or a stick.” I reach down and pick up a branch. My feet elevate off the ground, and it’s not until a wild stench hits me that I realize I’m being lifted into the air by one of the grotesque creatures. “Wes!” I punctuate his name with a viral scream.
Trees move by, the world blurs. I swing from side to side, upside down, as it carries me by the legs—my arms dangling to the ground. I snatch at branches, grab onto rocks, and drag my hands across the grass in an effort to slow it down. A sharp pain ignites over my shin.
Shit! It freaking bit me!
Wesley knocks it off its feet before I can scream, landing me square on my head. The world warbles, fades in an out a moment before I catch my bearings. The creature dislodges me, and I snatch at the ground in an effort to crawl away, raking up enough dirt to furnish a landfill.
“Run, Laken!” Wes lands hard on the creature’s chest. It looks like an old man with a strip of flesh missing from the entire left side of his face, his open mouth a dark gaping hole. I pat the ground until I come upon a stick and snap it in two.
The hell I’m going to run.
I head over to Wes. A ribbon of moonlight crests from up above and sheds its lamplight over the scene. This creature, this thing, looks like he could be anybody’s grandfather—a slightly decrepit grandfather, but still.
Wes snatches the stick from my hand and dives it into the Spectator’s ocular region. He digs it in over and over with an abnormal show of strength.
The urge to vomit bubbles up and I don’t fight it. I stagger to a bush and ring out my insides until regurgitating my intestines feels like a real possibility. A pair of bloodied legs appear in my line of vision, and I bolt over to Wes without hesitating.
“Get me the hell out of here!” I drill the words into the unblemished night. “You can’t tell me I’m crazy, and you’re freaking sane, when zombies exist in your world!”
Wes doesn’t stop to carry on a conversation. He merely pulls me over to the car.
“It’s locked.” He panics, slapping down his jeans. “The blanket.” He pushes me over to the passenger side and reaches through the busted window, unlocking the door before shoving me inside. A trail of blood decorates the broken glass, and I’m not sure if it’s the creature’s or Wesley’s.
I track Wes through the shadows as he runs over and shakes out the blanket, pats it down like a criminal before retrieving the keys.
The car starts to gyrate in spasms from side to side.
“Wes!” The sound of my voice fills the interior—rings through my ears like a chainsaw on fire.
The rear window explodes in a powerful blast.
I shut my eyes, hoping it will all magically stop, that this is the final blow that will send me on the first mental flight back to Kansas. I throw my hands up over my face and hide from this hideous world. I’d rather wake up in traction, find out I’ve lost all four limbs than deal with the prospect of having my brain sucked out of my skull.
The driver’s side door opens, and the engine ignites. I look through slotted fingers to find Wes seated beside me, and all of my fear releases.
The car swings wild.
“Get your seatbelt on,” Wes shouts over the roaring groans emitting from outside.
My fingers fumble for the buckle until it snaps into place.
The car sways and rocks unsteady. Bodies line the driver’s side. They push the vehicle with abnormal strength, and it pauses lateral just shy of tipping. It gyrates once again, and we sail soft through the air landing flat on the passenger side—my head thumps against the broken glass with a good strong knock.
“Laken!” Wes snatches for my hand.
“
I’m okay!”
The car moves, slides, tilts, until it flips once again, and we land upside down—leaving us suspended like a bad ride at the amusement park. It rolls once more, then again, until we find ourselves upright in this intensely insane world.
The windows are reduced to spider webs but Wes doesn’t hesitate to gun it. He mows over an entire herd of disheveled people like they were nothing more than heaps of dirt—moguls on a racetrack.
A tall man with a loose smile, no teeth, struts forward. Wes veers around him and onto the road.
One of the headlights is out, leaving a narrow path of light tracking over the highway. My head spins as I stare out at the miles of dizzying branches up ahead, the rocks that litter our path.
Wes drives like a demon until we’re back out in civilization, nothing but traffic lights in either direction.
Other cars slow down to leer at our noticeably rearranged bodywork—the windows reduced to a pebbled mosaic in the back.
Wes pulls off at a gas station and whips out his cell, sends a text to someone fast and furious.
“Are you calling the police?” I highly suspect he’s not because that would be rational, and people around here are rampant enthusiasts of all things irrational.
“Clean-up committee.”
“We need to find Cooper and warn him.” I pant, my voice threadbare from screaming myself into a near aneurism. “His sister, she’s just a baby.”
“Already on it.” He waves the phone in my direction. “Road kill is his specialty.”
We hobble back to Ephemeral with Wesley’s beat-up vehicle on the verge of quickly becoming defunct. I asked at least a dozen different questions about Cooper’s road kill removal skills, and Wes was artfully evasive.
“Don’t tell Jen.” He groans. Wes is about as physically disheveled as the Range Rover.
“Does she know about them?” I can’t imagine Jen out there tonight. She seems like she might have a coronary in the event she breaks a heel, let alone someone eating the shoe right off her foot.
“Jen lives in a bubble. She knows she’s a Count but not much else. Spectators are folklore to her.”
Ephemeral (The Countenance) Page 15
