ALSO BY AUTHOR
The Rylee Adamson Series
Priceless (Book 1)
Immune (Book 2)
Raising Innocence (Book 3)
Shadowed Threads (Book 4)
Blind Salvage (Book 5)
Tracker (Book 6)
Veiled Threat (Book 7)
Wounded (Book 8)
Rising Darkness (Book 9)
Blood of the Lost (Book 10)
Elementally Priceless (A Rylee Adamson Novella 0.5)
Alex (A Rylee Adamson Short Story)
Tracking Magic (A Rylee Adamson Novella)
Guardian (A Rylee Adamson Novella 6.5)
Stitched (A Rylee Adamson Novella 8.5)
The Elemental Series
Recurve (Book 1)
Breakwater (Book 2)
Firestorm (Book 3)
Windburn (Book 4)
Rootbound (Book 5)
The Blood Borne Series
(coauthored with Denise Grover Swank)
Recombinant
Replica
The Nevermore Trilogy
Sundered
Bound
Dauntless
A Celtic Legacy
Dark Waters
Dark Isle
Dark Fae
Contemporary Romance
High Risk Love
Of the Heart
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 by Shannon Mayer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503938359
ISBN-10: 1503938352
Cover design by Damonza
For all those who have stood by me from the very beginning—the ones who took a chance on an author they’ve never heard of before and have been with me and my characters ever since. Family members, friends, readers.
Believers.
This one is for you.
CONTENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, places or events is purely coincidental.
CHAPTER 1
“Alena, do you remember the conversation we had about what I should do after you die?” Roger’s voice was distorted behind the mask and full-body protective suit. Every time he took a breath, the air wheezed in and out as though he were Darth Vader having a particularly bad day. I half expected him to pull out a lightsaber and point it at me, demanding that I reveal the rebel base. Then again, maybe that was the painkillers making me delusional. It surely would not be the first time I’d gotten loopy on the drugs.
I blinked up at my husband from the hospital bed. “What do you mean? That was only last week.”
“Well, I know. But . . . the doctors said this Aegrus disease would move fast. I . . . didn’t want to assume anything day-to-day. I want to talk to you while I still can, and while you still understand me. You know?”
I ran my hands across the overstarched sheet, finding the tiny hole I’d been picking at for the last few hours. The loose threads were about the only amusement I had. Our ward wasn’t allowed any technology, not even a TV. I don’t know what they thought we were going to do, looking at a TV. Maybe get excited and press our nurse buttons repeatedly?
“Roger, I’m not going to lose my mind, honey. That isn’t how this works.” I thought for a moment. “It’s more like a cake that falls in the middle of baking. I’m going to just puff out of existence.”
He turned his head away, and the biohazard suit crinkled like parchment paper being shoved into a baking pan.
I wanted to think about anything but dying, anything that would take me away from the brutal reality in front of me for at least a few minutes. I would take Roger away from it too, if I could. We’d both suffered so much already, and we had very little time left to us. I wanted to make it memorable in the best way—to go out on a high note, as it were, and to make him forget that I was contagious. To make him remember that I was his beloved wife no matter how horrendous the disease made me look. “Do you remember when we met?”
Roger turned back to face me, his eyes wide. “You want to talk about that?”
I smiled up at him but kept my lips closed. No need to show him how many teeth had fallen out. “Yes. Because that was the day I fell for you, and I want to hold that to me right now. Even if I can’t hold you, I can remember, and know that what we had was meant to be. No matter how it ends.”
I closed my eyes, the scene as vivid to me as if we were there again, at the edge of Kerry Park. All around me, the summer rose up like a slow-moving dream in full bloom. The smell of green living things and sweet floral fragrances heavy in the air taunted me to shed my shoes and run wild through the forest as I’d done as a child. The rush of wind through the few stray hairs that had slipped my tight, conservative braid, the tickle of grass against my ankles, even through the nylons—all of it imprinted in my brain. All of it was a part of the day my life changed.
I’d gone with my mother to preach the good word, and Roger had been there in the park playing Frisbee with a small group of his friends. They’d laughed at us as we strode toward them. Pamphlets in hand, I’d walked with confidence, knowing what I did was right, that if they would listen, they would be so much happier. Of course, we’d talked to the whole group about sinning right off the bat. The shorts they wore showed off their legs, and some of them even had taken off their shirts, including Roger. He was the first man I’d seen topless, besides the occasional glimpse of my father or brother, and I’d struggled to focus on anything but the sight of his trim body.
Like a knife through hot butter, he’d cut through the words I’d been raised to believe without question.
Pointed out the inconsistencies.
The hypocrisy.
I’d followed him to a coffee shop to set him straight, my mother urging me to save his soul, which I’d completely agreed with her about. In the end, we’d stayed for hours. We’d argued philosophy while he drank coffee and I drank decaffeinated tea, no sugar, no cream.
“I’ll save you yet,” I’d told him, staring into those eyes that so fascinated me. He had such a different view on the world, and I couldn’t help but want to know more.
“Not if I save you first.” He’d kissed me then, my first real kiss, and my fate was sealed. My knight in shining armor, he’d been the one to open my eyes to the truth of the world.
“Do you remember yelling at my mom, telling her she was blind as a bat when it came to understanding the world? That if she was too stupid to see what was right in front of her, it wasn’t worth arguing about?�
�
He grunted. “Didn’t exactly endear her to me, did it?”
I laughed, the sound odd in the small room. “No, but then, she might have forgiven you someday if you hadn’t blurted out—in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner no less—that you’d taken my virginity before we were married.”
He laughed and his helmet wobbled, tipping precariously to one side. His hand snaked up and grabbed it before the clips came apart. “Wow. That was close. Would suck to . . .”
He stared at me and I stared right back, unable to even blink for fear I’d lose control of myself. I gathered my words, like scooping out a measure of flour, counting it off in my head.
“Get sick? Yes, rather,” I murmured, doing my best to keep the sting out of my words.
As hard as dying was on me, I knew my fate. His was far more uncertain, and I wasn’t sure I could watch him break down again. The first few weeks had been rough: crying jags over the phone late at night when I was still allowed that much contact. You only were allowed to use the phone up until the final stage of the disease. At that point, you were completely cut off from the outside world. The phone calls were brutal. All I could do was listen to Roger weep. I couldn’t even cry with him, because my tear ducts dried up within days of my diagnosis.
That was before I was shipped to the End Stage Ward, here on Whidbey Island. The hospital was one of only four in North America that was designed for dealing with the Aegrus virus. Which really only meant it was set up to help people die at a rapid, pain-filled pace.
Really, people died from the virus so fast it wasn’t a surprise that beds opened up at the rate they did. I’d only had to wait in the lockdown ward in Virginia Mason Hospital for a little less than a week.
So now, either someone saw me in person or they didn’t talk to me at all. There weren’t very many people who would take the chance of stepping into an End Stage Ward and take the risk of catching the deadly virus. Besides, they all knew the outcome. We humans all did.
Roger laughed again, but there was a birdlike twitter to it that made me cringe. His nerves were showing again. I let out a sigh. How was it that I was the one in bed dying, fading away at a pace the doctors didn’t understand and couldn’t stop, yet he was the one who needed handling with kid gloves? My lips curled up at the edges; he was my sensitive guy. The artistic one who wore his heart on his sleeve. Which was part of the reason I fell for him in the first place: the way he’d spoken with such passion, defending his beliefs. Then there were his romantic gestures, the over-the-top dates, the candles, the flowers, and the complete wooing.
I was the business-minded one; I was the grounded one. I’d built my bakery on the back of hard work and the school of hard knocks. Developing my own recipes so I stood out in the midst of all the cafés around me had taken years. Trying new combinations of ingredients, tweaking them, learning from my mistakes; every burn, every late night was worth it.
Roger, on the other hand, could make the same mistake ten times and still insist he’d get it right the next time. Stubborn fool. I smiled, my heart aching with the thought of not seeing him ever make another mistake.
“Rog, sit with me.”
“No, I can’t. I can’t stay.”
With effort, I lifted my hand up to him. “Please, just hold my hand. Even through the suit . . . it’s better than nothing at all.”
He fidgeted, then twisted to look at the closed door. A face popped up in the window, and the woman waved her hands in a shooing motion. Long blond hair and brilliant red lipstick were all I saw before she was gone. Maybe she was one of the new nurses? They didn’t like me to have many visitors. The chance of infection was too great among other humans. Which is why they sent us all to this facility on Whidbey Island to keep us contained. Or as my roommate called it, the Super Duper Hospital.
Supes were immune to the Aegrus virus. At worst, they got the sniffles. With humans, though . . . we weren’t so lucky. It killed within weeks, sucking the life out of the body at a lightning pace.
“You sit with your wife,” the woman in the bed next to me spit out. She was a little younger than me, twenty-five years old and on the same deathbed as me, if a bit further along.
“Dahlia, don’t pressure him.” I rolled so I could look her in the eyes. We didn’t need mirrors in our ward; the disease stripped us all down the same way. Dahlia had been a redhead, according to her. Now there wasn’t a single hair on her scalp, eyebrows, or eyelids. Several of her teeth had fallen out, and she had only a single fingernail left. Her body was wasted to the point of being a mere skeleton with skin stretched taut over the bony edges, like a macabre attempt at a tent by some tiny little devils who’d set up a home inside her.
Her sunken green eyes stared into mine. “You’re dying. Least he could do is man up, find his balls, and hold your hand.”
Roger grunted as if she’d punched him in the gut.
A tentative hand wrapped around my fingers. I smiled as I turned. “Roger. You’re so brave. I know how much this scares you.”
His fingers tightened on mine until they were squashed together in a rather intense embrace. I didn’t say anything, though. At least he was holding my hand.
Through the barrier of the mask, I could see that sweat clearly dripped down the sides of his face. “We talked about what I would do. With the money your dad’s parents left you, and what I should do with my career.” The words tumbled out of him in a rush. “I’ve made some decisions.”
“I don’t think there’s a rush, Rog.” I tried to squeeze his hand. “I mean . . . you have your whole life ahead of you. We both know that snap decisions aren’t your forte. Take your time.”
He reached to the back of his head protection as if to scratch at his neck. “I’m going to sell your grandparents’ house. Your mom and dad are going to buy it back from me. At a good price, mind you.”
I stared up at him, a slow curl of horror starting in the pit of my stomach. The house was worth over two million dollars; there was no way my parents could afford that. “You’re selling the house . . . to my . . . parents? Why?”
Apparently he didn’t pick up on the nuances of my question. “Yeah, it’s great. They’re actually paying me over market value to keep it in the family, not that your mom wanted to. I’m going to put that money in with the life insurance money after you die, and start up a new business. I even have a business partner lined up.”
My hold on his hand slipped, and I dropped my fingers to the bed. Whatever heat I’d imagined through the suit from his touch was gone.
“What kind of business?” There was no way he could run a business. I’d tried to get him to help in the bakery, and he’d bungled even the simplest tasks. He couldn’t even man the cash register without fouling the entire day’s transactions, a position I normally hired a teenager to do.
I stared at him, trying to understand what had happened in the space of minutes.
“Dog grooming. It’s a booming industry.” His words echoed in my ears, bouncing around like kids in a ball pit, screaming and laughing at my shock.
I had to be dreaming. Because this was the sort of weird twist that occurred only when I slept and the painkillers were heavy in my system. This was not reality.
There was no way Roger would start a dog-grooming business. No way he would sell the house that meant so much to me.
“You hate dogs,” I managed to get out. “You always said we couldn’t have one because they were too stupid to exist. They stink. And bark incessantly on top of being too needy. You chased Mrs. Whitmore’s poodle with a shovel, threatening to brain it because it peed on our lawn.”
He took his hands and clasped them behind his back. “That was then. I’m a changed man, and, well, I’ve changed my mind. We’ll be grooming cats too.”
I stared at him with my mouth open, unable to fully process the speed at which the conversation had begun to tank. What the fricky dicky was going on? Had he smacked his head on something and gone off the deep end?
> I pinched the bridge of my nose as I struggled to get hold of the conversation and myself. I had to steer this the right way, or Roger would never pull himself out of the mess I could see him sinking into. And in not too many weeks I’d be gone and unable to help him.
“Okay, let’s assume you really do this. Cats hate water, they have claws and teeth they aren’t afraid to use. And if I may remind you, the last cat I had, I caught you dancing a jig when she got hit by a car.”
“I wasn’t dancing, I was upset.” His eyes lowered and he sniffed loudly.
“What, you just decided at that moment to see if you could still do the Robot?” I snapped. This was ridiculous. Dying I might be, but I wasn’t going to let him throw his life away on some harebrained—no pun intended—scheme. Sitting up was no small effort, but I pushed my deflated body upright and leaned back against the metal-tubed headboard. “Roger, this is ridiculous. You’re being stupid, and there isn’t time to mince words.”
“Tell him how you really feel, Alena,” Dahlia said with a snicker.
“That’s why I can’t come here. I told her you would be like this. The needle to my hot-air balloon.” Roger spoke as though his business partner actually had some say in this conversation.
“You got that right, you’re a hot-air balloon.” I took a slow breath and tried to contain my emotions. “Roger. You hate animals. You know nothing about running a business; the bakery was all me. You couldn’t even take the garbage out without spilling it all over my kitchen. Three times in a row.” I paused, summoning the courage to tell him the truth. “Roger, my love, someone has seen that you have money, and they’re taking you for a ride. They’re using you. Whoever this business partner is, they—”
He stepped back, his whole body shaking inside his suit. “That’s exactly what she said you’d say. I told her you loved me and would want me to be happy. I guess I was wrong. There is something else too.”
I put a hand to my head, my whole body trembling. Whether it was with fatigue from sitting up, or from what Roger was spitting out, I wasn’t sure. “Who is this ‘she’ you are talking about?” Oh, God, the blonde in the doorway. “Your business partner came with you? Wait, what else have you got to tell me?”
[Venom 01.0] Venom & Vanilla Page 1
