Midnight Falls (Sky Brooks Series Book 3)

by McKenzie Hunter

  He waited for me to react, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of it. Breathe. It was such a simple task just minutes ago, and now it had become an extreme undertaking. I took another sip from the glass as I processed the information.

  Ethan continued, “Wouldn’t it make sense? After all, when he was reunited with his sister, he asked for her help in controlling the vampires and the were-animals. Even after her betrayal, when she stabbed him in the middle of battle, he never retaliated. Instead, he relinquished his power to her. Unfortunately, the fragile body that hosted his sister wasn’t able to contain it.”

  Ethan, as always, watched to see what grew from the seeds that he planted. I took another long draw from my glass, an inept attempt to soften the information, slowly savoring the robust flavors of currant and blackberry. I wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the information, but it was bitter against my palate.

  “So what are you able to do?” Ethan asked after a stint of silence.

  “What do you mean?”

  With the look of amused arrogance he said, “The magic that you kept—or should we keep pretending you didn’t?”

  I could have denied it, but I was just getting tired of all the silly games Ethan and I played, so I decided to share. It was my show of good faith. If I showed him my hand, maybe he would do the same. I shrugged. “Not much.” I waved my hand and the napkin danced across the table; then it soared toward us.

  I held his curiosity as objects moved around the room in a simple choreographed production.

  “Impressive. Besides making napkins bounce around, and I assume all your clothes in the morning as you make them dance around the room, what else can you do?”

  Did he have a camera in my room? My mornings were always filled with a pre-dress performance as I made my clothes flounce in a mawkish production: flying pants, prancing shirts and my underwear twirled around in an overzealous show. I concentrated; a thin golden silhouette surrounded me. Ethan sat up and took notice, examining it closely. He pushed into it, but it held. He pushed harder and it pressed him back into the sofa.

  “Drop it,” he requested softly.

  After a long moment, I released it. It shattered like glass hitting the ground with a thud; fragments of its existence illuminated the room for minutes after it fell. It was too strong and I didn’t have the same control of it as I did with Josh.

  “What else can you do?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  He didn’t seem convinced. “Josh hasn’t allowed you to do any spells?”

  I shook my head.

  He took out his phone and pulled up a document, then gave it to me. “Read this,” he said, then he leaned over the sofa and poured a few water beads out of the vase next to us, then placed them in my hand. “Change them,” he instructed.

  “Sure, what do you want? A bunny? Bird? Lizard? Kitty?” I teased.

  The straight line of his lips barely curled into a meager response. “You can’t produce something organic from an inorganic. No one can. But you should be able to change the form.”

  He waited patiently as I stared down at the unevenly formed pebbles that filled my hand. I didn’t have any idea what I wanted to make. Instead, I focused on combining them, leveling them until they melted into each other. Slowly, they warmed in my hand, solidifying into each other as a formable slate, which I eventually shaped into a small basin. Sparks of orange, blue and crimson formed a small fire in it, which started to spread uncontrollably. Before it overwhelmed the small space, Ethan smothered the flames with a wet towel. But the bowl was too hot, singeing my hands. I dropped it, and Ethan caught it just inches before it hit the floor. I hurried to the sink, ran cold water over my hands. Ethan took out a cube of ice from the freezer, and cradled my hand in his as he massaged it with the ice cube.

  Three ice cubes later, my hand felt better and I was sitting next to Ethan on the sofa. He handed me my glass of wine. “I do believe I’ve underestimated you,” he stated with a renewed interest. “You are becoming very powerful. Impressive,” he said with a faint smile.

  For a brief moment, his thoughts commanded his attention. “To untapped power,” he said in a low voice as he lifted his wine glass to me. I tapped my glass lightly to his and hesitated before I took a drink, still thinking about what I had done. Power: I was becoming it. It still hummed around me, coursing lightly over me. Even when I borrowed magic from Josh, it never felt like this. Something had changed, and for some reason it seemed greatly enhanced by Ethan’s presence.

  I put the glass on the table as I started to feel the effects of it. My eyelids twitched and became too heavy. I had to work at keeping them open.

  “Are you okay?” Ethan asked.

  I made another futile attempt to open them, “Too much wine. It always makes me sleepy,” I said.

  “Lie down,” he said, sliding off the sofa.

  “No, I’m okay. I just need some water,” I said, looking at him through the slits in my eyes. But my body gave up the fight, although my eyelids continued the battle. I lowered myself to the couch. I stayed awake long enough to see Ethan start lighting candles around the room. I think I counted six, one at my head, another at my feet and two on each side of me before I drifted off to sleep.

  I was awakened by Ethan’s voice, with him brusquely patting the side of my face. The strong scent of cedar and other pungent fragrances filled the air, candle lights flickered around me illuminating the darkened room. The air felt thick, stifled by a preternatural energy different from anything I had ever felt.

  “Sky, open your eyes. Look at me,” he said as he lifted my chin until my eyes met his. They fought against opening and eventually closed again. The pats against my face came harder; I opened my eyes and forced them to stay that way for a few moments. Ethan chanted in a low voice. Leaning against my ear he said, “Repeat this.” Then he said four words, foreign but easy to repeat.

  I repeated what he said, paying very little attention to detail. I blurted out the words in a random sequence so that I could go back to sleep. Holding my face in his hands, he said, “No Skylar, you have to say them exactly as I did,” he said.

  He repeated them.

  I said the words exactly as he did. His lips brushed lightly against mine for just a second, then he exhaled and blew out a breath. He had me repeat the words three more times and each time his lips were over mine for just moments. “Go to sleep,” he finally said quietly. It didn’t take a lot of convincing. I closed my eyes and drifted off.

  CHAPTER 3

  The next morning I held my head, trying to calm the somersaults it was performing. Sliding against the headboard, I drew my knees to my chest. A hangover? No, this wasn’t a hangover. It felt different, like I was waiting for the world to relax and slow down so I could jump back into it. I waved my hand across the sheets trying to draw it closer to me. It didn’t move. I tried again—nothing. My hand sliced across the air as I beckoned the neatly folded jeans stacked on my dresser to me. Once again—nothing. I waved my hand in front of me to perform the most minuscule magic and I came up empty each time. Nothing.

  What had Ethan done to me?

  It took me less than a half hour to shower and dress. I was still high on anger as I sped to Ethan’s house.

  He answered the door before I could finish my knock, the look of smug indifference draped casually over his face as he took several steps back to let me in. I was so angry the words didn’t come easy, and eventually he just became bored with us standing across from each other in silence. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and lips drawn into a thin, rigid line, waiting impatiently for me to speak.

  There were things in that define a person’s character and I had a list of them that I would never do because I considered them histrionic and beneath me. The first was slapping someone: it is a tacky and a melodramatic act that only has a place in late-night dramas, reality shows, and soap operas. You really want to make your point, don’t slap them—punch them in the face. The sec
ond is throwing something at someone—another gauche act. Unless you are a pitcher in a baseball league, you are probably going to miss. It’s just an overzealous expression of anger and tacky. The other is telling someone you hated them. If you had gotten to the point it needed to be said, your actions probably showed it more times than necessary. Did it really need to be said? Actions always spoke louder than words.

  As Ethan stood there swathed in his smugness, I wanted to abandon all my beliefs and slap that haughty look off his face, throw the vase on the console next to me hard enough that it smashed against his body, and yell at the top of my lungs how much I hated him. Instead, I remained calm, taking several slow breaths before I spoke. “What did you do to me?” I asked.

  He sighed, rolling his eyes, “You know what was done. Don’t ask silly questions. Why don’t we get on with it? Throw your tantrum, yell and tell me how hurt and violated you feel. Call me whatever creative insults you’ve come up with and when you’re finished with your little show—go ahead and let yourself out.”

  His trite indifference just fueled my ensuing rage. My jaw ached from being clenched so tight, my nails pierced my skin as my hands balled even tighter. “Why?”

  The gentle timbre of his voice didn’t match the scowl, “Why do you think? If you can’t stop indulging every childish urge that overtakes you, then we have no choice but to intervene. If it is any consolation to you, I do not enjoy cleaning up your messes.”

  “What you did was cruel and unnecessary. You could have just asked.”

  “Would you have agreed?”

  I thought about it too long because I didn’t know. But he was right. I felt violated and probably never would have agreed. Just like I convinced Josh it was the right thing, I would have tried to do the same with Ethan.

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t,” he said.

  But it wasn’t his choice. I snapped, “You had no right to do that to me!” My cheeks burned and nothing I did seemed to subdue my anger. “I know that somewhere behind that monster you put on display at every given moment, there has to be a real person. A person that balks at the way you treat people.”

  His attention remained on me, unyielding and harsh. “Josh’s affection for you has compromised his reasoning. It is unfortunate, because there is no way in hell you should have ever been allowed to keep that form of magic. So I had to clean up his mess and yours before things got out of hand. A situation that should have been avoided in the first place. You need to get over it. ”

  Allowed? Get over it? You want to make a point—punch them. And I did. With all the force I could gather, I hit him in the face. Bones crunched under my knuckles and blood moistened my skin. It felt good. I punched him again. He spit out blood and wiped the trails of it away with the back of his hand. I was about to hit him again when he grabbed my hand and backed me into the wall. His body was so close I didn’t have enough space for a front kick. When I attempted to sweep his leg from my awkward position, he blocked me with his hip.

  Panting hard, he took several long breaths as platinum waves rolled across his cerulean eyes. I hadn’t hurt him enough. He spit out blood, then his tongue rolled over his teeth, I guess checking to make sure I hadn’t broken any. I wanted to cause him more pain and make him feel vulnerable and excoriated, the way he had made me feel. The only thing I had to battle him with were my words. “You hide behind the false dogma that your actions are necessary to protect the pack. That’s a load of crap! You do cruel things simply because it brings you pleasure. You are a sadistic, cowardly, self-absorbed asshole that enjoys behaving this way simply for the hell of it. And you are too much of a coward to admit it to yourself. You aren’t controlled by your wolf and your commitment to the pack. You are ruled by your narcissism and malice, and there isn’t anything humane about you. We might as well keep you in the zoo with the other animals,” I barked.

  He was quiet as he listened, his face impassive and detached to the point he seemed apathetic. “Are you finished?” he asked softly.

  If I had hurt his feelings in any form it was overshadowed by his anger; usually it felt like a fiery inferno, now it was arctic cold. He dropped his head so that his cold gaze could meet mine. “I asked a question. Are. You. Finished.”

  I steadied my eyes on his. If I could have thought of anything else cruel to say, I would have thrown it out there too. I tugged at his hold, but he had me secured and fixed against the wall. I assessed our positioning, looking for a possible opening because all I wanted now was to bring him unthinkable pain.

  “If Ethos is actually dead, you didn’t think it wasn’t going to throw up flags each time you used his magic? It’s so strong I can feel it miles away. Whatever is going on between you and Josh has made him complacent regarding your careless whims and irresponsible behaviors. I do not have that problem. I will not allow you to destroy this pack because you lack impulse control.”

  I had used all my good stuff and didn’t have anything venomous to spew back at him. He shook his head, his lips kinked into a wrought frown. “But you are too naïve and self-indulgent to understand the repercussions of your stupidity. There isn’t anything entertaining about it—it’s pitiful. You’re pitiful. Don’t worry, I won’t be pulling your ass out of the fire anymore. The next time you fuck up, and undoubtedly you will, I will let you burn for it.”

  “Let me go.”

  He was quiet, trying unsuccessfully to control his anger. Lips tightened to a sharp straight line, eyes wintry cold, face flushed to an odd color as his hand pushed into my chest forcing me back against the wall. “Do you really understand the effects your actions have on things? The problems aren’t just yours anymore. You are…no, we are dealing with things that we have never encountered, and the only thing you can do is screw up,” he snapped. He lost control.

  Ragged breaths escaped through his clenched teeth, perspiration dampened his skin along the brow as his face grew increasingly tense. Before I could speak, a dull throb gripped my chest, my heart slowed, dragging to the point it was a putter, dwindling as it struggled for each beat. I gasped in a breath, trying to force it to respond.

  What was he doing to me?

  My head felt light, my body weighted, and my senses dulled to the point I didn’t feel like me anymore. I gasped for another breath as I tried to push him off me, but his body felt like reinforced steel against me. With each passing moment I grew weaker, feeling the results of a heart that hadn’t beat in minutes.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the words got lost. “Get… off… me” was all I could manage through rough scattered breaths.

  Ethan stumbled back, his mouth parted as he stared at me, wide-eyed. He tried to speak, but the words seemed trapped, “Sky, I am so—”

  What was that? I pushed him away and I ran out of the door.

  It wasn’t until I was at home that I actually took a moment to consider what Ethan had done. He had stopped my heart by just touching me. We weren’t alike. He was worse and something totally different.

  The chips tasted like sawdust, but I kept eating them to keep from gnawing my nails to nubs. Ethan could kill me by just touching me. I just couldn’t get over that. Everything felt bitter on my palate but I kept chomping away on the sour cream and onion chips because I needed a distraction, anything that would keep me from spiraling into a tailspin. I was so far out of my depth that I was swimming in mortar.

  My suitcase was packed and placed at the door. It was an impulse reaction, something I did the moment I walked through the door. I had calmed down, but running didn’t seem like too bad of an idea. Pack life really wasn’t for me. Yeah, I would miss Steven, but he had been gone for over four months. And Josh, well, I would miss him and the magic, but now the messiness of that craft was something I wanted to keep my distance from at the moment.

  My phone rang again. I already had five missed calls from Ethan that I didn’t plan on returning. One from Winter, yeah, like I didn’t see that bait-and-switch. And another from Josh. He had le
ft a message, but I didn’t care what he had to say either. What would he say: “Hey Sky, sorry my brother tried to kill you. It’s kind of his thing, let’s have lunch and pretend he’s not a dangerous freak.”

  When my cell phone rang again, with an unknown out-of-state number, I grabbed it. “Hello.”

  “Is this Skylar?” said the unfamiliar female voice on the other line.

  “Yes.”

  She was silent for a long time. “You’ve been looking for me—for us.” She didn’t sound very happy about it. When my adoptive mother died, I had hired someone to look for my birth family. Initially the private investigator called me weekly telling me about his progress. After a year, he sent me a refund. “Who am I speaking with?” I asked.

  “I’m your cousin. Senna. Senna Nunes.” She said it with pride, as though it meant something. Senna was my birth mother’s name. I wondered if she’d been named after her or it was just a common family name.

  “And you are Skylar Brooks? Sky Brooks?” she asked, her tone laced with condescending amusement. I wanted to point out that I didn’t name myself. It wasn’t my fault that my adoptive mother was a pseudo-hippie and thought it was a practical idea to name her daughter air and water.

  She didn’t say anything for a long time. “What do you want with us?” she finally asked.

  I guess we weren’t going to exchange pleasantries, just straight to the point. “I recently found out who my birth mother was and I wanted to meet my family.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  “She died giving birth to me,” I said. I wished I could have given that news a little better and perhaps even shared the truth, but I didn’t know her and based on her curt behavior I was sure it was going to stay that way.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Her voice dropped to a low sympathetic drawl, practiced, and automatic. The same way people always did when I told them that.