by Rue Volley
A shadow moved outside the atrium, rushing past a section of the glass. It startled me at first. Then I heard more rustling and a moan. I kept my eyes locked on the door. This wasn’t an animal at all. This was human. A mortal. It better not be those ghost hunters, I swear!
I moved as quietly as I could and grabbed a knee-high shovel that was leaning against the wall next to a bucket of blackened garden soil. I had never felt a need to have a weapon, but something was off—troubling. It pushed the fear aside and allowed for courage to take its place.
This is my home. Our home. I was born here and I’d probably die here. No one was going to change how I feel about it, or Juniper Hollow.
I did a small kick and let out a defeated sigh. It sucked. I was trying to mimic Court. If only she were here, I’d have her backflip her way out that door and right into whoever had decided to break into our house.
Oh, my Goddess! A burglar! In Juniper Hollow?
How, why, who?
This can’t be. I have to teach them a lesson and stop this right now!
No one is going to ruin my home. No one!
I rushed all ninety-two pounds of me over to the side door, fighting with it until it opened enough for me to get outside, causing me to spill out into the yard. I made more noise than I anticipated.
Smooth entrance, Harper. Really, great.
Gripping the shovel firmly in hand, I looked to the right and saw nothing, then to the left. I bet it is Angel, or no, it’s Max. He seemed the rudest of the two, with his camera and his chuckling. They mocked me! Made fun of me. They made assumptions about me because of the way I dress. Is there any Middling more dangerous than that? No—there isn’t. They’re the most ignorant ones, the ones who persecute people—hurt people—rudely interrupt people's lives!
I held my breath and gripped the shovel until my knuckles turned white. I might be allowing my imagination to get the best of me. I mean, we have our bumps and thumps, but I’ve never seen a full shadow here, or anywhere. I guess with spirits, you feel their presence, but this was different. This wasn’t footsteps and low murmurs. This was a human. A Middling!
I yelped when a shadow dropped in front of me. I immediately swung the shovel, as hard as I could, catching the shadow on the jaw and knocking it back onto the ground. I grabbed the handle, ready to slam the door shut, and grab more weapons—anything to defend myself when a hand lifted, and I saw his face, along with a bloody lip.
Killian laughed, then dabbed his finger to his lip and stared at the blood like he had never seen any before. There goes my vampire theory. No way could a 90-pound girl lay him out with a pint-sized shovel like I just did, especially if he was a vampire.
Bummer.
Unless I’m immortal, but I think I’d know. Right? Of course, I would.
My nerves kicked in as I shifted back and forth, “What are you doing here?”
Killian pushed himself up off the ground, “Taking a well-deserved hit to the face.”
I gawked at him while he sucked on his bottom lip. It looked pretty nasty. Again, my empathy got the better of me. He stumbled. I may have given him a concussion, who knows? I swung pretty hard. I was worked up something fierce.
I hesitated. First the cemetery, then school, then my house—and we can’t forget the club. But this? This was beyond normal. Beyond intriguing.
“Ouch,” he whispered as his trembling hand fingered at the cut to his lip. It was bleeding pretty good.
I held out my hand. “Come on,” I paused, “but if you try anything at all, I’ll lay you out with this shovel. Understood?”
His expression changed to that of intrigue. “Fair enough.”
I sighed. There was no time to discuss it. His lip continued to bleed, nearly dripping from his chin. “Inside, hurry before I change my mind.”
He grinned then hissed with laughter. I rolled my eyes. I stepped back, and he came inside, brushing against my shoulder. I adjusted my stance to stop the contact with him as quickly as I could. He may have noticed. I’m not certain. All I do know is I hurt him, and now I feel like fixing him was an obligation.
Now whether that’s true or not isn’t something I’m going to dwell on.
Doing that may—well, I want him here, okay? I know it’s dangerous and stupid.
I know.
Happy now? I said it.
Chapter Eleven
I reached in, studying his bright blue eyes. They were locked on me, only me. I never craved attention, not like this, but his stare conjured up feelings inside of me that only my books seemed to be able to do. But here he was, so close, so vulnerable. All those feelings of fear had dissipated — every single one. I can’t say why, but as he sat before me, I didn’t care. Nothing mattered but fixing what I’d broken, which in this case happened to be his lip.
Maybe he’s a witch and cast a spell over you, Harper.
Don’t be silly. I mean, witchcraft is real, but it isn’t all sparks of light and spinning fire. It’s more like blessings—prayer—faith. It’s no different than believing in some great power in the sky. Is it?
I continued to stare at him. At this point, he knows I’m intrigued. He must. I studied the cut on his mouth. It looked terrible, maybe stitch worthy. I’d never had stitches. Come to think of it. I’ve never been hurt, not once as a child. I blinked again. I need to focus, but he’s so close to me. His smell surrounds me, and he’s cold. Colder than Juniper Hollow. Colder than anything I’ve ever known.
It’d be easy to jump to conclusions about him, but maybe that’s what he wants.
“I don’t,” he whispered. I nearly gasped. How does he do that? Is he listening to my thoughts? I hope not. That would be such a disadvantage and how? How could he do that?
“What?” I whispered back as his face hovered right in front of mine. It would be so easy to move forward. To let it happen. I wanted it, I did.
“I didn’t say anything, Harper,” he retorted, but I could swear he had. My eyes lowered to the necklace, dangling against his skin. I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t see that natural movement beneath the surface—you know—indicating a heartbeat.
“You didn’t.”
“No,” he added.
I blinked. “No—I wasn’t asking. I mean, you’re right.”
“No argument?” he added. I didn’t say anything as I stared at his neck.
He glanced down and fingered at the charm
“Protection.” He spoke without hesitation. I understood it. We had them all over the house, in every window, along with a bag of sea salt and lavender.
“I know what it is. I was just wondering why you’re wearing it.”
He tried to smile, but it quickly faded when the cut widened.
“I practice. The craft.” He fingered at his lip while hissing. I was grateful that the intimate moment had seemed to pass. It felt far too intense for me to handle—yet. But still, I wasn’t scared like I thought I would be. I don’t know, something about Killian seemed different now—softer. He wasn’t threatening at all.
I reached down and picked up a small white towel. “The movie or—” I stopped. I could keep picking on him, or maybe it was time to just be me. To stop fighting what I knew would eventually engulf me.
He fought against a laugh, but his eyes sparked. He likes my humor. He likes me. I wasn’t sure how to process it or where to store it away, but it’s right here between us now. I couldn’t deny it, and neither could he.
His eyes. The way he looked at me again, like it was all he could see. I cleared my throat.
“My mother is a witch. A powerful one.” I don’t know why I felt like divulging such personal information to him. Maybe it was the nerves. I immediately regretted it. I’ve read so many paranormal romance books that you’d think I would be an expert at this, but I’m not.
This isn’t like any book I’d ever read.
This was real.
“Which makes you one, too.”
I laughed, then rolled my eyes. “I wish.”<
br />
He leaned in a little too close. My heart leaped into my throat. “It’s inherited, like other things.”
I snorted. I didn’t mean to. I shook it off. He makes me do things I usually wouldn’t do. This vulnerability was addictive if nothing else. I understood every girl in every book that I read now. I really did. There were times that I had leaned in, narrowing my eyes in disbelief as they did the unthinkable, making stupid decisions, accepting silly compliments, but here I was, with this boy in my house after he was lurking around. For all I know, he’s crazy. But crazy has its moments. Crazy can be so—so—intriguing.
I straightened my shoulders. “The only thing I’m good at is reading.”
He shook his head, never taking his bright blue eyes off me. “I’m sure that isn’t true, Harper.”
Hearing him say my name was like poetry to my ears. Dear Goddess, how cliché could I be? But I couldn’t help it. I guess I could lie and say he sounded awful, but he didn’t. His voice, his scent, his eyes—the way he stared at me—all of it was like magic.
Real magic.
The kind you read about and hope to experience one day.
I was beginning to understand how these magical moments were cast in books, how one look could spark a whole lifetime of hopes and dreams. How meeting someone could change everything.
Because he had changed me, from the moment he spoke. From the moment I really saw him for the first time. From the butterflies fluttering in my stomach to how he comes and goes without warning. How I long to see him again, even though I know so little about him.
But I want to know more.
I want more.
I want him.
I felt my breath catch in the back of my throat. If he could read minds, then I was in big trouble. I had just laid myself bare. Offered everything without receiving more than a look or a kind word.
I’m in trouble. He should go, right?
I was about to press the small white towel against his lip when he grabbed my hand. I gasped while staring at his strong fingers wrapped around mine. It felt rough, then eased, gentle—kind, like his eyes. It was nearly desperate, like my thoughts. Spread out—free-flowing—but true.
I licked my lips, his gaze lowered to my mouth. His eyes were capturing small shards of light. So blue—deep, understanding, wise beyond his years.
He wasn’t a typical boy.
A Middling.
A mortal.
He had a shroud of mystery surrounding him, one that I helped create. I wanted to keep him this way. I felt it deep in my heart. He was what I was waiting for. Wasn’t he?
This was a choice I had made the moment I met him in the graveyard: a choice, mine. I had created him, his narrative, by not asking the right questions. I knew it, but I think I secretly wanted him to be this otherworldly creature, and not just a boy, because nothing else would explain this feeling that I had for him, without really knowing him at all.
He leaned in closer. “You’ll ruin it.” His words drifted through me like a pleasant memory.
Ruin what? The moment? My thoughts drifted. I studied his pouty lips. The kiss was right there, lingering between us. I know it was. Bloody or not, how romantic could this be? He showed up uninvited, I injured him—but had I, really? It could all be an act by a vampire who knew how to control his desperate urge for blood. Was he here to feed on me? To change me? To bewitch me? I felt the butterflies return.
Snap out of it, Harper.
“I won’t,” I spoke without blinking.
His gaze shifted to our hands. “My blood will stain it.”
I snapped out of it. He meant the towel. Of course, he meant the towel. I’m ridiculous.
I had to look away. I felt embarrassment seize me. “We have a million.”
He grinned, still holding onto my hand. Finally, after I glanced at the towel again, he let me go. “That seems like an exaggeration.”
I pressed it against his bleeding lip, and he winced. I was probably a bit too rough with him. Tit for tat, I suppose.
He had effectively ruined my fantasy. He’s just a boy, a Middling, but still, it changes nothing. I like him. I like him too much.
He grinned like he could read my thoughts.
My lips formed a straight line. “Maybe by ten, or so,” I added sarcastically.
His eyes sparkled in the dim light of the kitchen. I continued to hold the cloth against the cut until it stopped bleeding. I drew it back, and he moved his jaw. He lifted a hand to touch it, and I swatted it away. “Don’t. It’ll just start bleeding again.”
“You seem to be an expert at this.”
I walked to the sink and began to run cold water over the towel. His blood swirled in the drain. I watched it for a second until his voice brought me back.
“Are you?” he asked.
I turned and leaned against the counter. My fingers felt strange, tingly. Like they were trying to fall asleep. He changes me. I can’t help but have a physical reaction to him.
“What? An expert at hitting stalkers in the face? I guess I am now.” I paused. I guess it wasn’t fair. I hadn’t given him a chance to explain anything. “I have two brothers. They’re constantly hurting themselves. I mean, you saw them, when they came home, and you were—”
Killian interrupted me. I don’t know if he was dodging or what. “Ah.” He hissed again, covering his mouth. He pulled his hand away, and I could see the blood. I grabbed the towel and handed it to him. He placed it to his lip. His eyes followed every little movement that I made. I’d love to say that I hated it, but I don’t.
“I’m not stalking you. Well—not trying to anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Not trying to?” I asked. He wasn’t going to admit stalking me, was he? I looked in the direction of the door, and he held a hand up in surrender.
“I am so bad at this, I swear.” He chuckled.
“At what?” I asked while keeping my distance.
He looked down at the floor and removed the towel. He lowered it into his lap and then took a deep breath, releasing it.
“I like you, Harper. A lot. You make me—well, I’m not usually like this.”
There it was. I felt like a bomb had dropped. Funny how three little words can make you forget everything else. So, he was stalking me? I should be upset, right? I mean Edward Cullen wound up in Bella’s room, gawking at her like some creeper, and what did she do? She woke up and hoped it was real. She hoped that some strange boy with beautiful eyes, pale skin, and messy hair shrouded in mystery had broken into her house and was watching her sleep.
Is this really a WWBD sort of situation? I hope not!
My mouth sat agape. Even reading it in that book, I was like—seriously? But here I am. I get it now. I shouldn’t, but I do.
I know he was waiting for the perfect response—perfect words, but I’m not that girl.
I cleared my throat, and my voice struggled. “Why were you on top of our atrium?” I fingered at the front of my neck. I was forcing a red spot to rise. I often do that when I’m overwhelmed. I can’t think of another situation that would warrant it more than this one.
He likes me.
Me.
He stood up and held his hand out. I took a step back. At least my subconscious reaction wasn’t making a mockery of my intellect.
“Please?” he asked.
I know it was dangerous, but I took his hand, and he pulled me along, through the kitchen, out through the atrium, and then he opened the door and gently guided me into the yard.
We stood there, face to face for more seconds than I could count. He leaned in, slow. I nearly closed my eyes, thinking this was it, he was going to kiss me in the pumpkin patch. What a perfectly strange encounter with a boy who had yet to explain who he was, why he was here, or where he had even come from. But something kept me glued in place, frozen in anticipation. I wanted this as much as anything I could remember.
His hand lifted, hovering just next to my chin.
Yes. Cup my face a
nd kiss me!
I want him to never stop looking at me like he is right now. I want the attention. I want to hear him say my name like it was the only thing he treasures. I want mystery, intrigue, and breathless moments. I want dodged questions and a beguiling lack of information. I want strange encounters, awkward pauses, brooding eyes, and butterflies. Him. Just him. Nothing less—only more. Is that too much to ask?
I could see them. A million butterflies were swarming the forests surrounding Juniper Hollow, and at the center of the swarm—us, me and Killian. Together as one.
He appeared enamored. His eyes searched mine like he could read every thought, every word. I hadn’t spoken out loud this time, and yet, he responded to me as if I had. I both loved and hated that about him. It felt so unnaturally invasive, but I couldn’t look away.
I puckered up. I probably shouldn’t have. It was presumably my worst decision yet. Then he proved me right when he pointed upward, destroying the fantasy I had so carefully designed in my mind. I blushed, taking a step back, then followed the line of his finger pointing skyward. There, on the top of the atrium, sat a white cat. It looked all big and fluffy.
I’d never had one. I can’t. Allergies.
“She likes to go up there. And so far, well—I’ve been able to get her down without any problems, but my foot slipped this time, and I fell. I really didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t even know you were in there until I looked down and that’s when my foot slipped. I’m not the greatest climber when I get distracted.”
I tilted my head and grabbed onto the side of the atrium, determined to help him. Here I was thinking he was some creeper, while he was, in fact, busy saving his beloved cat. Not only did I think he was a creeper, but I probably scared his lip for life. I felt terrible.
I paused and looked back at him. “What’s her name?”
“Marilyn.”
I paused. “Manson?”
“Monroe,” he said with a smirk.
“Very chic.”
“More like my sister,” he added. “She named her.”
“Little?” I asked, then clarified, “I mean, younger than you?”
He nodded. Something about him being the big brother, out saving his baby sister's cat, was so endearing that it melted my heart. I suddenly felt ridiculous for assuming everything that I had. I’m sure he had shown up that night to get this cat. He hadn’t followed me. He wasn’t stalking me. He was a good big brother.
