Remembrance: (New Adult Paranormal Romance) (Heart Lines Series Book 1)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “Collapsed?” I repeated, confusion and concern clouding Dave’s words. “Is he all right? Did you take him to the hospital?”

  “I was about to but then he … well, it’s hard to explain and normally I wouldn’t but... Mirabelle trusts you so I guess she’s told you everything.” He cleared his throat and set his sword aside. “Come see for yourself.”

  Dave turned and shoved against the bookshelf behind his desk and the whole thing swung in.

  I gasped and jumped back as a dark hall appeared in the hollow space behind the shelves. Dave stepped into it and fumbled on the wall. A second later, a switch flipped and the hallway lit up in a dim yellow wash.

  “Whoa,” I breathed.

  Old, weathered hardwood floors led down a passageway that abruptly ended in another door, closed, leading to who knew where. Fear, old and familiar, rose up, closing my throat.

  “This way,” Dave said, urgency in his words now. “Come on. Hurry up. I can’t be gone long.”

  I balled my fists and forced myself to follow Dave down the secret hallway. As soon as I stepped inside, the bookshelf slid closed behind me and I pretended it wasn’t strange and terrifying that it knew to do that without Dave pushing a button. Or that I was sealed in.

  I took deep breaths, concentrating on filling my lungs with oxygen instead of imagining all the dark fates Dave could be leading me toward at the end of the hall. A hidden passageway at the back of a fish store wasn’t going to hurt me. And neither was Dave. Besides, Bernard was sick. And apparently Mirabelle had known that when she’d sent me here tonight. She trusted these guys.

  I trusted her. Right?

  At the end of the hall, Dave stopped to push open another door and flip another switch. I followed him inside and when he moved out of my way, I took one look at what lay in front of me and stopped short. If my feet would have worked, I could have run. Instead, I was rooted. Staring. Unable to look away.

  Bernard lay motionless on a mattress on the floor. His shirt had been ripped open and his arms splayed, palms up and exposed. But the sight of Bernard, shirtless and unconscious was the least horrifying thing.

  Fur—dog hair just like the handful that had appeared in my fist last week—was scattered over the floor. Scratch marks lined the walls, deep, revealing drywall cut to the support beams. A jug of water sat on the floor next to an empty dish.

  I had no idea what to make of any of it.

  “It’s all right, Sam. He’s not going to hurt you,” Dave said. “He’s too sick now.”

  I shook my head, thoroughly confused. Bernard wouldn’t hurt me even if he wasn’t sick…right? Dave waved me forward and I inched closer to the edge of the mattress where Bernard lay. I crouched beside him, compassion tugging at me at the sight of him so still and pale.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Dave shook his head sadly. “None of us knows. Sometimes he wakes and changes. When he’s unconscious, he speaks. He’s called for Mirabelle mostly. That’s why I called her. I wish Kiwi were here.”

  “She won’t be back for another couple of months,” I said.

  He sighed. “She would know what to do.”

  I reached for Bernard’s hand, the empathy in me turning to heartache. Bernard was so nice. He didn’t deserve this. But what did Dave mean by “change?”

  Bernard’s hand was warmer than I expected. I ran my fingers over his palm and squeezed, hoping he’d feel comforted somehow, even unconscious or whatever he was. “Dave, you have to get him to a hospital—” I began.

  My words were cut off as Bernard’s eyes flew open and he gasped, staring right at me. “Samantha.”

  I tried to yank away and scramble back but Bernard’s hand tightened around mine, holding me in place. Dave jumped to my side, his armor clanking. “Bernie, it’s okay,” Dave said.

  Bernie was not the one who needed reassurance.

  “You’re here,” Bernard said and before I could answer, he screamed.

  His clothes ripped away as his body rippled, expanding suddenly and changing form so that his hand in mine was suddenly a paw. Right before my eyes, he changed. I blinked, unable to comprehend what was happening, and ripped my hand away. When I opened my eyes again, Bernie was a massive wolf.

  I backed away slowly, terror and common sense both making me cautious. Dave was more sure of himself—and not nearly as surprised. He stood between Bernard and me, his hands up. “Bernie, you’re not well. Sam’s here to take a blood sample back to Mirabelle. We’ll figure this out,” he said.

  Bernard growled.

  He lunged at Dave and I squealed, jumping back until I reached the open doorway. “Shut the door!” Dave said, grabbing Bernard and bear-hugging him.

  I panicked, realizing too late I should have left, as I slammed the door shut with me still inside. I didn’t dare reopen it and risk Bernard escaping. Instead, I leaning on the closed door and watched in horror as Dave tackle Bernard. The two went down in a struggling heap. Arms and legs fought against massive paws and sharp claws.

  Suddenly, Bernard howled and fell back against the mattress. The air around him seemed to ripple and then, he was suddenly human again. Naked. His chest rising and falling heavily underneath where Dave had pinned him.

  Dave rose slowly, crawling off the mattress and adjusting what was left of his costume. A large scratch cut through his shirt, running from bicep to elbow. Blood dripped slowly from it, staining his pant leg as he climbed to his feet.

  “Are you all right?” Dave said, wheezing as he came forward.

  I nodded, mute.

  Bernard moaned and I jerked, panicked at the idea of him waking again. But he didn’t move and the sound died. I stared at him, past Dave’s shoulder, unable to look away. Something was happening. I couldn’t figure out what…

  And ever after the unexplainable things I’d just seen, I couldn’t look away. Or leave. I stepped around Dave, head cocked, watching Bernard’s chubby abdomen.

  “What is it?” Dave asked. He stayed close beside me which I didn’t object to after what had just happened.

  “Look.” Together, we watched as black lines appeared underneath Bernard’s skin. Snaking trails—as if an invisible hand had gotten ahold of a magic marker…

  “It keeps happening. Every time he shifts,” Dave said, shaking his head in frustration. “After a while it goes away but it always comes—”

  I stared open-mouthed in horror and even Dave abruptly fell silent.

  Black lines shone through pale flesh, marking every inch of Bernard’s blood vessel from forehead to throat and down his torso, disappearing underneath his pants. Each vein pulsed as if the dark liquid was alive—an entity all its own. And over his heart, a blackness coated his skin that pulsed with each heartbeat.

  And most shocking of all was the center piece—a picture right over his heart. Etched into the dark inky background was a contrasting white design, lines precise as if done by machine. Except it hadn’t been a machine. Or anything else that was explainable.

  And the picture was very clearly my face.

  I gasped.

  Finally, my feet were in charge. I whirled, flailing blindly to get past Dave and all the way out of here. Behind me, I heard Dave’s confused voice.

  “Sam, I have no idea what—Wait, stop!”

  I didn’t do either.

  My moccasins slipped and slid over the worn hardwood but I managed to make it back to the other end of the hall still standing. I fumbled, pressing my palms all over the wall in search of some trap door lever or switch or—

  The wall swung open.

  No switch or lever. I had no idea what had made it release, but I didn’t care. I was just glad it had. Dave was chasing me, yelling at me to stop, but I kept moving, spilling into his office and then out the door into the hall, running through the crowd of partiers, pushing past a Yeti and Cleopatra before finally reaching the front entrance and then, finally, the street on the other side.

  My moccasin caught on the thresho
ld and I went tumbling, sailing fast through the air and headed for the ground. I put my arms out to break my fall, crying out in a strangled panic, and found myself caught at the last minute in a pair of strong arms.

  “Are you all right?”

  The voice.

  We’d only met once but I already knew it instantly.

  I looked up at Alex Channing and throwing rational behavior to the wind, I grabbed him and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

  “Whoa, okay, it’s okay.” Alex hugged me back, albeit with much less force than I hugged him, and stroked my hair a little awkwardly.

  He led us away from the open doorway of Dave’s shop and I clung to him, letting him practically drag me to a private corner between Dave’s shop and the next. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could see was the black and white outline—drawn like a damned laser—of my face on Bernard’s chubby chest.

  “You’re shaking like a leaf. Here,” Alex said, untangling his arm and reaching inside his coat pocket. It was a cargo jacket—lots of pockets and layers. He came away with a small flask that surprised me enough to distract me from my panic. I watched as he uncapped it.

  “What is it?” I asked, taking it when he shoved it at me.

  “Whiskey. The good stuff. Drink it and take a breath. Not at the same time.”

  I did as he said.

  The alcohol burned but I was glad. It grounded me, made me aware of my body. Of the moment. Standing outside with Alex. And somehow, I felt safe here. I took another gulp, winced as the fire burned down my throat, and then sucked in a steadying breath as I handed Alex the flask.

  He capped it and slid it back inside his coat. “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Want to tell me what just happened back there? Did someone hurt you?”

  “No, nothing like that,” I said. “I—”

  What could I possibly say? I’d seen a man turn into a giant dog? Or that his blood vessels were being used as a piece of charcoal-style artwork that culminated in my face over his heart—all of it drawn before my eyes by an invisible hand?

  Yeah, because that sounded sane.

  “What?” Alex prompted.

  I looked around, searching for something else to say—something believable—and frowned as reality started to seep back in around me. The sound of kids laughing from the main road. A karaoke version of an old Beach Boys song pouring out of Dave’s store. Alex’s smell and his chocolate brown eyes that reminded me inexplicably of home. The bit of stubble along his jaw that made his features look all dark and shadowy right now.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked instead, the oddity of his presence here finally dawning on me.

  “I was invited,” he said after only a slight hesitation.

  He was holding something back. “You know Dave?” I asked warily.

  “The friend I’m staying with knows him.”

  “And where’s your friend now?” I asked.

  “No idea. I’m a little lost in there.”

  “Well, this is a Halloween party…” I eyed him. “You’re not dressed up.”

  Alex’s expression tightened. “Neither are you.”

  Distrust danced back and forth between us along with a different kind of tension that made me all too aware I was still half-hugging him. I stepped back, letting my arms fall to my sides, and cleared my throat, tossing my hair and smoothing it.

  “Thanks for catching me,” I said, hating that he’d seen me like that. Hating what I’d seen even more. Although, our banter had been the distraction I’d needed to pull myself together, and for that, I was glad to run into him. “But I need to get going.”

  And track down Mirabelle. I didn’t say it but it was definitely my next stop. I needed answers.

  “Are you sure you’re—” Alex gave up on his question as I spun and walked away. “See you later,” he called out as I hurried out of the alley.

  The way he said the words wasn’t a casual goodbye like some people offered. His tone had been a promise. And I had no doubt he was right.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alex

  I watched as Sam marched off and when she’d gone far enough, I followed, careful not to let her spot me. It hadn’t been a hard choice to decide to follow her out of here. The whole place reeked of werewolves. A creature she supposedly had no knowledge of. Maybe I’d missed something important in the last couple of years. Either way, she was clearly shaken and her whole demeanor had reminded me way too much of that first night two years ago. I couldn’t just let her leave like that.

  I moved quietly, staying in the shadows of the darkened businesses that lined the street. At the intersection, I paused, wedged in the doorway of a Christmas shop, and watched as she got on a beach cruiser and peddled off down the empty street.

  I left my truck where it was and broke into a soundless run, following her through empty streets lit with orange string lights. Normally, I might have worried that I’d attract unwanted attention, pursuing her so openly, but it was late. Most of the families had gone in for the night. All that would be left soon were the types of creatures not prone to intervene in sketchy situations.

  I grimaced at that thought. She shouldn’t be out here on a night like tonight. And for some reason, following her into the dark and dangerous places made me think of my mother. Her face, smiling, no, laughing, as she led us into darkness made my hair stand on end. I shook it away, pissed I’d let my own brain recall a memory I’d buried so deeply. I didn’t think of my mother. Ever.

  And I wasn’t going to start now.

  It didn’t take long to figure out where Sam was going. When I knew, I cut down the side street and then doubled back, careful to stay out of sight. By the time I reached the back of the store and pried the window up a couple of inches, my breaths had become short and wheezy. I’d fallen a long way from the marathons I used to run.

  Screw werewolves and their poisoned venom.

  I waited, mentally cursing my own body’s deterioration, until I caught the sound of voices through the open window just above my head.

  No. Not voices. Voice. Just one.

  I peered over the windowsill just in time to see Sam drop something on the desk. The only sound was a muttering and then it dissolved into a whimper that became a cry. She sniffled and the sound faded as she walked out. I crept around the side of the building in time to see her back on her bike.

  I continued following and after a quick zig-zag through darkened streets, I watched from the far corner as she parked her bike and disappeared inside a first-floor apartment.

  I shifted my weight, about to head back to the party and look for RJ, but my feet and my brain were suddenly aching. Sharp pain radiated out from the center of my chest until it took up my whole body.

  She’d been crying. Just like when she’d run out the door back in the alley smelling like jasmine and citrus and soap. She’d felt so fucking good against my chest. Just remembering how she felt pressed up against me, I wanted—almost uncontrollably—to follow her inside and take her in my arms. To comfort her. To make her smile again.

  One look in her eyes earlier and I knew that this version of Sam didn’t smile often or easily. Just imagining being the one to make her laugh made my chest swell with victory.

  The depth of my own wanting—that it involved a whole lot more than sex—startled me more than anything. It surprised me more than a tribal medicine woman in the rainforest or a shaman who cut me up while I lay draped across Mayan ruins. More than realizing I was slowly dying. My desire for Samantha Knight was the biggest shock I’d had in years. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted more than sex from a woman.

  Shit. Yes, I could remember. And it wasn’t something I’d been able to forget. My cheeks burned with the memory. Edie had told me to let it go. She called it “growth” that I’d used that time—and my feelings for Edie’s granddaughter—to put myself out there. To care more for others. But in the end, I’d f
ucked it up. I apparently hadn’t cared enough.

  Vulnerability was seriously overrated.

  Remembering it all, my shock turned to dark cynicism and I laughed, turning on my heel and walking back the way I’d come. Of course I wanted the one thing I couldn’t have. Story of my fucking life.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I slid it free, the screen illuminating the space around me as I answered the call from RJ.

  “Dude. I could use a wing man,” he said, bad karaoke almost drowning out his voice.

  “Business or pleasure?” I asked, repeating my question from earlier in the day.

  “Both, I guess. Intel suggests a werewolf gone bad. Care to play Where’s Waldo for it?”

  “I’m on my way,” I said, ending the call and quickening my pace.

  Hunting was exactly what I needed right now to make me forget all about a teary-eyed Samantha Knight. Tomorrow, I had my meeting with the old woman. Finally. Maybe after that, I could put this whole place, and everyone in it, in the past where it belonged.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sam

  Men were animals. It was the only working theory I had connecting my irrational fear of the male demographic with my terror of dogs. Recently added to the list: unexplainable handfuls of fur. And finally, last night: the craziest nightmare I’d had yet of a mangled wolf trying to rip out my throat.

  All were equally terrifying but the handfuls of fur worried me most. Mostly because I couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t happen in front of someone else sooner or later. I’d woken up with a fur ball in my fist this morning and a headache that felt like a hangover, although I hadn’t drank anything last night.

  Had I?

  In fact, when I tried, I couldn’t remember much of anything about last night. Halloween was a strange blank. I remembered going to Dave’s to pick up a vial of some sort for Mirabelle. I’d even left it for her at Oracle before riding my bike home. Mason had called twice on the way, but I’d let it go to voice mail.