by Alisha Rai
I have no idea where she is.
I’m right here, she tried to yell, but her mouth wasn’t working properly.
Occasionally something cool touched her forehead, and she moved toward it. Her pulse pounded as her fever crept upward and the visions multiplied, a circus fun house of death.
Jules tried to tell herself it was her imagination when she felt the calloused caress of large fingers stroking over her hair.
Was it Erik? She’d never experienced platonic physical affection before meeting Erik. A small burst of warmth flared amidst her exhaustion. She wished she wasn’t sleeping, so she could lean into that warm touch.
James arrived back at Jules’s van by daybreak. It remained in the same location, a sad, broken-down creature.
He was too focused on all the calamities that could have befallen Jules by now, his own panic attacks paled in comparison. It barely took a minute to psych himself up enough to leave his battered vehicle.
He circled her car and looked northeast, in the direction of Bounty.
It took him approximately five seconds to see the crumpled-up piece of paper.
James jogged down the road and picked it up, telling himself the whole while not to get too excited, that it was nothing more than litter. He opened the paper.
He only had to read the first line to give free rein to excitement.
The book.
With trembling hands, he folded the ripped page of Frost poetry and tucked it in his pocket. As much as he wanted to kick his own ass for missing this yesterday, he didn’t have the luxury of time. He had to go find his brilliant, resourceful woman.
By the time he got to Bounty, he had discovered about ten more pieces of the ripped book, reassuring him that he was on the right track. He had gotten out each time and picked them up, not even minding leaving his car anymore. The reward of finding Jules had potentially scribbled something on one of those papers far outweighed the risk of him being exposed. Hell, he’d take another explosion to missing any of the clues she’d gone to such great lengths to leave for him.
It didn’t take long to figure out which building in Bounty Jules and her mystery companion had been in. For one, the theater was the only one that looked like it wouldn’t crumble and fall down upon your ears. Second, the dust was disturbed within it. Someone had been sitting here, and recently. Third, a crumpled granola bar wrapper lay on the ground right in front of it. He picked up the wrapper, letting it crinkle under his fingers. Compound issued.
There was some relief in knowing they had food with them, but God knew if the guy was starving his Jules and scarfing down the food himself.
He had to stop thinking of that, because then he would dwell on all the ways she could be at some brute’s mercy, hungry and cold. So instead he strode out the door and searched the rest of the area quickly.
He got in his car and drove but had to stop at a fork in the road. Getting out, he studied both paths. One looked as if it was falling apart, the pavement cracked, while the other appeared pristine.
The clouds parted. Literally, they parted, and the overcast afternoon sky made way to let a little sun through. The light flashed off something on the ground. Frowning, he abandoned his car to walk down the pristine road.
A lone energy gel pack lay on the pavement. He grimaced over the thought of even one less piece of food missing from Jules’s arsenal.
He glanced over to the other, the more beaten road, and he noticed the now-standard ball of paper there. He clambered over the median and claimed it.
Now what? Which road had she taken?
He read the paper he had picked up. And I/I took the one less traveled by.
A clue? But the paper was on the road which was definitely far more timeworn.
What would Jules do?
He narrowed his eyes and stared down the well-used road, thinking of everything he knew of her.
Making a decision, he got back in his car and started down the well-traveled road. The poem might have been making a deep, philosophical point, but his Jules was all kinds of practical. If she had any say in the decision—and he prayed she did—she would opt for the road with the greatest shot at staying alive.
Chapter Fourteen
Jules lay on James’s chest in their private field of flowers. The sun heated their naked bodies, but she was hot from his hands. One large palm was spread over the cheeks of her ass, the other cradling the nape of her neck, lifting her head for the kisses he spread over her lips.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Jules whispered.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” His face was as perfect as the last time she’d seen it.
He said he had scars in reality…
Long, drugging kisses stole away that troubling concern. His mouth was firm and commanding on hers, guiding her to pleasure. His cock was hard against the inside of her thigh. She shifted on top of him, trying to press it against the needy core of her body.
His hand tightened on her ass, pulling her up, the dusting of rough hair on his body scraping against her too-sensitive skin.
She wanted to live in this world forever. The sun was warm, the landscaping pristine, and the birds…
Huh. There were no birds this time. No sweet chirping. No breeze. No sound, other than the panting of his breath.
No. It was her breath.
She pulled away from his lips, propping herself up on her elbows. It wasn’t lust making her heartbeat erratic—it was fear.
The sun had vanished, leaving behind a pitch-black night. She couldn’t see her surroundings anymore, but oddly enough, James was completely visible.
A frown ruined the perfection of his face. “Jules? What happened to you? Your hair…”
She put a hand to her head. It was too short for her to see it, but it was different, no longer coarse and thick, but fine and silky.
If absence of color could be felt, this was it.
As she brought her hand down, she watched in horror as the natural tan of her skin disappeared, replaced by the pale white of a Shadow’s flesh. Her veins popped out, bright red instead of a dull blue. Jules flexed her hands, pain coursing up her arm when the fingers transformed into sharp claws. “No. No, no, no.”
“Jules, it’s okay.” The calm voice brought her gaze back to James. He smiled, his frown gone. “I’m with you.”
Pointy fangs descended from her upper incisors, scoring the flesh of her lower lip. “Geth away from me,” she lisped.
His strong jaw set. “No. I won’t leave you.”
It was the threat of abandonment she had always had to guard against. Who knew that someone refusing to abandon her could be even more terrifying?
He wouldn’t leave her. Which made it easy to catch him, when the scent of the blood in his jugular overpowered what was left of her morals. She set her mouth to his neck and sank her teeth—
Jules sat up straight, her heart racing. Chingado.
Something was on her, and she instinctively shoved it away. A layer of dust flew up as the blanket hit the floor.
A blanket, not a Shadow. The Shadow was gone forever, and so was his blood.
A shudder ran through her. God. She’d rather be dead than in that position, ever again. She might have killed her share of Shadows in her day, but that had been a nightmare.
You’re safe now. Maybe.
She looked down at herself and rubbed her hands over her bare arms. Her skin felt clammy with sweat, but it was still her skin. No claws. She ran her tongue over her fuzzy teeth, relieved to find the absence of fangs.
Hesitantly, she touched her hair. It felt the same as always.
A dream. It was a dream. You’re fine. Other than being trapped in the middle of nowhere, Canada, in a mysterious abandoned farmhouse, you’re fine.
Better than fine, actually. Her headache had lessened to the point where it didn’t feel like little marionettes were struggling to get free of her brain, and between that and the sweat coating her body, she figured her fev
er must have broken. She swung her legs over the side of the couch and staggered to her feet, testing her strength. A marathon was probably out of the question, but this was the best she’d felt since she’d been conked over the head and stuck in a cage.
Erik had dressed her in her black sleeveless vest and matching pants. Normally she wore a shirt under the top, but she assumed he had forgone it either because he couldn’t find it or in order to leave the wound on her arm bare. She craned her head down to look at it, scared of what she would find.
The injection site was a raised lump. The red lines marking her pronounced veins around it? Completely gone.
Do not get too excited.
Whatever she’d been injected with had mimicked but accelerated the symptoms of the Illness. It wasn’t completely nuts that it had also accelerated the duration of that Illness.
She shook her head. “Would prefer the Illness. At least it’s predictable. There’s a pattern.” It was cut and dried, and that’s how she liked stuff. Good and evil. Black and white. Kill or be killed. Die or turn Shadow.
For all she knew, she was somehow changed, or this was nothing more than a temporary lull. Balls.
Jules wouldn’t be satisfied until she checked herself out thoroughly. Perhaps she would ask Erik to look her over. She cocked her head and listened, but the house was silent.
The silence struck her the wrong way. Maybe it was because she’d gotten used to the one-sided conversations from…
James.
Her hand flew to her ear. The earpiece was gone.
She hurriedly checked the sofa and the floor around it, wondering if it had been dislodged during the night while she sweat her fever away. It was nowhere to be found, not even when she got down on her hands and knees on the shag carpet.
Only her strength of will kept her from sobbing like a baby. That small piece of plastic had been her last connection to James. There was no way she would be able to keep tabs on him without it. Was he even still alive? Was he coming for her? Had he found her trail?
Do you still want him to find you, knowing it could kill him?
She bit her lip, refusing to recall her too-real vision. That had been a fucking dream. She wasn’t some monster.
Not yet, at least.
Maybe she had lost the earpiece when Erik had speed warped her to the farm, or during that death match with the Shadow.
Crap, she hoped so. The worst-case alternative was that Erik had found it. He wouldn’t know what it was, most likely. She winced, imagining his paranoia over being confronted with some weird-looking piece of technology on her body.
Maybe that was why the house was so quiet. Maybe he had gotten angry and left her.
Her lips firmed, and she tried to ignore the twinge of desolation. Whatever, if he had. She wouldn’t think about the years she’d spent looking for the man, or mourn over the loss of her friend, or even reminisce over his tender treatment of her when he found her beneath that Shadow. Jules bit the inside of her cheek. Nah, she’d only be devastated if Erik had absconded with the girl.
First things first: she needed to find out what had happened to Carrie before assessing her own damage. The teen may not be that much younger than her, but she was Jules’s responsibility.
Her knapsack had been thoughtfully laid on the floor next to her. She rummaged around and found her switchblade, the familiar weight reassuring her.
Through a small slit in the curtains of the living room she was in, she could see that the sun had risen, though not by much. The room was furnished in late 20th-century vintage. The couch she was sitting on was probably from her great-grandmother’s era, and the amount of floral prints in the place could choke a gardener. She made her way through an archway and found herself in a hallway that led to the front door. To her right was a staircase. She vaguely recalled glimpsing an unconscious Carrie last night when Erik had taken her upstairs to wash Shadow gunk off her. That was probably the best place to begin her search.
Closed doors greeted her at the top of the stairs. She tried the first door. The hinges creaked loudly, the movement causing a horde of dust mites to hit the air. She listened quietly. Nothing. She investigated two more bedrooms, twitching aside curtains and peering under beds.
The house was clean but had that general feeling of neglect. If someone or something had been using it, they’d left a while ago.
Perhaps, she mused, as she pushed framed photos face-down on the hall table without looking at them, whoever had lived here had been rescued. If there were multiple governments in the States alone, maybe there was at least one up North here too.
Little fictions like that always made invading someone’s home slightly less distasteful.
She finally found Carrie in the room that she probably would have chosen to borrow, since it had the least personal possessions in it—no photos or mementos, just a cross on the wall, simple dark wood furniture and a double bed with a blue-and-white spread on it.
Erik had pulled the girl’s shoes and clothes off. She was dressed in what looked like one of Jules’s shirts with the sleeves ripped off. The bandage on her arm was spotted with blood. Her skinny frame barely took up any space on the bed.
Carrie’s eyes were closed, her breathing deep and even. Jules laid her hand against the girl’s forehead. Well, one thing hadn’t changed. Unlike Jules’s, this fever hadn’t broken. Carrie’s skin was burning to the touch.
Oh, the guilt, that the presence of the teen’s fever gave Jules a small measure of relief. No matter how suspicious Erik might be, she couldn’t believe he would leave the sick girl with only a passed-out Jules on the couch.
Her bravado slipped, allowing the truth in. She could handle things on her own, as she’d so aptly demonstrated. But it was nice to have someone else around.
Plus, with James out of contact with her, Erik was the only person in the world she could call her friend. She didn’t want to lose him as quickly as she’d found him.
There was a glass and a large pitcher of water on the dresser, next to her first-aid kit. Her packet of drinking tablets also lay open next to the pitcher, and after a quick sniff of its slightly chlorinated contents, Jules figured the water had been rendered safe for consumption.
Jules downed two glasses of water, all the while eyeing the attached bathroom. She really ought to go in there and examine herself thoroughly.
In a second.
When Jules caught herself reaching for the pitcher again, she checked herself. She wasn’t thirsty. In fact, if she drank any more, her bladder might burst.
She made a face. No more avoidance. She’d look herself over, confirm she was fine, find Erik, find her earpiece and find James. Boom, boom, boom, done and done.
She went into the bathroom and set the first-aid kit on the vanity. Mustering all of her courage, she licked her lips and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
The woman facing her in the vanity mirror was a certified wreck. Eyes bloodshot, huge bags under them. But those eyes were still dark, not silver.
If only she could say the same about other things.
Her hand shook as she touched her hair. The left-hand side had turned almost completely white. Streaks decorated the dark brown on the right.
Jules breathed so deep she was hit with a round of lightheadedness. She’d dyed her hair a few times in her youth, funky colors like pink or blue. There had been no time for that sort of thing since the Illness.
Though she wanted to run away and hide, she pulled up her big-girl panties and leaned in. This wasn’t a dye job. The hair had lost pigment all the way to the roots. This close, the color didn’t look quite like the characteristic silver white of the Shadows, but more like a very light blonde, possibly due to the way it blended with the remaining dark color of the rest of her hair.
Holy. Shit. She jerked away, unwilling to look at the ugliness any longer.
Her hip bumped into the partially open door, and it closed.
The noise startled her, and the first-
aid kit fell to the floor. She cursed softly and bent to pick it up.
Jules stopped in the middle of stooping and stared at the kit. The kit she could see.
There were no windows in this interior room. It was pitch-dark, and yet she could see everything. Her hands, the sink and toilet. She glanced up. Even her reflection in the mirror. Everything was as clear to her as if the lights were on.
The sun had vanished, leaving behind a pitch-black night. She couldn’t see her surroundings anymore, but oddly enough, James was completely visible.
Her heart pounded. So stupid, not to have realized as soon as she woke up. Morning might have arrived outside, but the house was almost completely curtained off. She had been able to navigate it with no flashlight.
She hadn’t escaped unscathed at all.
She left the kit where it lay and flew out of Carrie’s room. Even in her increasing panic, Jules made sure to keep the door open a crack so she could hear the girl if needed.
Jules made her way back through the living room and opened a swinging door, which led to a kitchen lit by the soft glow of an oil lamp set on the table.
She was so worried she didn’t even bother to gasp at the sight that greeted her here. Not because the dated décor also looked like it had vomited roses at some point, but because of the fully nude male facing away from her. She caught a glimpse of two perfect globes of backside and a narrow waist before she slammed her eyes shut and whirled around.
“Jesus! Erik. Put some pants on,” she blurted out.
A splash sounded behind her. “I’m bathing.” His voice was mild and uninterested.
The confirmation that she hadn’t been left alone here to discover her new freakish ability made her resort to kid-sister waspishness. “In the kitchen? What kind of a fuckin’ weirdo bathes in the kitchen? For God’s sakes, man, find a bathroom. With a door. And a lock.”
A loud splash. “I promised myself I would not bathe in frigid temperatures again if I could avoid it. The range is gas and is quite good at heating water.”
