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

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “Werewolves are real,” I said, testing out how the words sounded—and felt—aloud. My voice was small in my own ears. Scared.

  Alex must have heard it too. He was staring at me again in that babysitter sort of way he had. “You’re not going to lose it, are you?”

  “Why do you keep asking me that?”

  “No reason,” he muttered and went back to digging. A minute passed and I wondered if he was even going to pick up our conversation. Finally, he sighed. “Yes, werewolves are real. They are not like your pop culture tells you about. When they shift, which is at will, they are still intelligent beings that retain their humanity—usually. They are your neighbor, your banker, your mechanic. And for the most part, they are docile. But every so often, and more so lately, they go off the rails and attack humans or each other. That’s when I step in. I’m a Hunter. Mostly human with an extra set of … skills that make me stronger, faster, and capable of taking down a rabid werewolf when necessary.”

  The reality of what he was saying—the truth of it—hit me square in the gut. For a second, it was like having the wind knocked out of me. I couldn’t catch my breath. I couldn’t think. The world—all I knew of it—spun in dizzying circles. But on the other side of that, there was also the possibility that I might not actually be as crazy as I’d thought. If there were creatures and truths that existed on a more-than-human plane, maybe there was also an explanation for me.

  There was also a familiarity to it all that made me feel strange. Like déjà vu except with more nausea.

  Slowly, as if sifting through fog, I pulled his explanation back to me and tried to understand. “So you’re like supernatural dog catchers,” I said.

  Alex glared at me and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “Supernatural protectors,” he said icily. “Soldiers.”

  “Right, that’s what I meant. It’s all very impressive,” I added when he glared. “And humans obviously don’t know about this,” I said, hurrying to change to subject.

  “Obviously. Most of them would…” he cast a wary glance at me and again, I was struck with the obvious: he was waiting for me to freak out. “Not deal with it well,” he finished.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “The hunter community goes to great lengths to make sure humans are sheltered from this sort of thing. I mean, the world already has enough fear and violence. We don’t want to add more. Part of our job is to shield the public, so the consequences of an event like tonight are exactly what we’re trying to prevent now.”

  “Burying bodies,” I said.

  He nodded and then with a last swing of dirt, he set the shovel aside. I looked down, surprised to find a deep hole at my feet. While I’d been wrapping my head around the shocking truth of a world I knew nothing about, Alex had dug a hole deep enough for Bernard to permanently rest.

  Alex shuffled over to Bernard and rolled him toward the hole. I cringed, and at the last second, I turned away, effectively saving whatever might be left inside my stomach. There was a grunt and then a soft thud as Bernard rolled and settled in the dirt. I bit my lip and sucked in a breath before turning back. Alex had already begun to cover him up. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. Just in case, I kept my eyes averted.

  “What about his family?” I asked, unsure if my stomach was going to cooperate as I watched the dirt being tossed back in over the sharp angles poking along the surface of the blanket. Angles that looked a lot like bare knees and elbows.

  I looked away, focusing on Alex instead.

  “Does he have a family?” Alex asked, winded.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I thought he was your friend,” he said, glancing up with narrowed eyes.

  “He was a nice guy, a regular down in Creeper Alley where I make deliveries for Mirabelle, but I don’t know him, know him.”

  “Creeper Alley?” Alex echoed, clearly mystified.

  “The fish store where we ran into each other on Halloween,” I said.

  “Isn’t that street called Crepe Myrtle or something?” Alex asked.

  “Whatever. It’s just what I call it because that’s where all the witches and warlocks hang out.” I huffed impatiently but Alex gave me a wry once-over.

  He stared at me slack-jawed for a moment and then shook his head. “The way you process some things and not others is mind-boggling.” He went back to covering the hole and said, “I can put in a call and if he does have family, they’ll be notified. It’ll look official. An accidental drowning or something preventing body recovery.” Alex threw the last of the dirt on the grave and smoothed it over, patting it down until it was leveled off with the rest of the forest floor.

  And just like that, I’d buried my first body.

  We walked back to the truck in silence. I couldn’t latch on to a single thought. I knew there were more questions I could be asking but something about the final shovel-full of dirt over a man I’d known personally had left me scattered.

  When Alex’s hand slipped into mine, I clung to him in silent gratitude. He was pretty nice when he wasn’t talking.

  At the truck, Alex stowed the shovel and then held my door open. I climbed in, still silent. Still scattered.

  The drive back in to town was quiet. Guitar strains filled the silence and a strange sort of comfort settled in the cab. Probably only the kind of comfort that comes from burying bodies together. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to ruin it by asking.

  Twenty minutes later, Alex pulled to the curb in front of my apartment. It took me a minute to realize I’d never given him the address.

  “How did you…?” My brows wrinkled but I quickly shook my head. “You know what, I’m not even going to ask at this point.” I shifted and reached for the handle, ready to be done with this night. With the craziness of werewolves and dead bodies and supernatural secrets.

  “Mirabelle gave it to me,” he said, surprising me by answering at all. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “Mirabelle gave out my home address and you want me to believe that was for my safety?” I shoved the door open and swung a leg out.

  “Sam, wait.”

  I paused, one leg dangling, and glanced back.

  “Look.” He ran a hand over his cropped hair. A nervous gesture, I’d already come to recognize. “I’m … Mirabelle gave me your address because I… Dammit. This is hard.”

  “Alex, if you don’t tell me what’s up, I’m going inside. I left my patience in the woods.”

  “Look, you’ve forgotten something, Sam. Something important.”

  Whatever I’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it. I felt my defenses going up. “You don’t know anything about me,” I said.

  “I see a lot more than you think.”

  “How is this any of your business?” I demanded.

  “Sam, after tonight, we both know whatever is going on with you has a lot to do with werewolves. And since they happen to also be my specialty, it makes sense to—”

  “Listen to me very carefully,” I said, earning his full attention as my lowered voice raked across the tension between us. “You might be an expert at taking down werewolves and burying bodies. But you don’t know shit about me. This is my life and I get to say who shows up in it.”

  “And the werewolves?” he asked calmly.

  I blinked, thrown off. I’d expected at least mild intimidation with my words but clearly, he wasn’t affected. “What about them?” I demanded.

  “Did you get a say about whether they showed up in your life?” he shot back. Before I could answer, he went on. “I saw the fur in your hands, Sam. Where did it come from? How did it get there?”

  I opened my mouth but no sound came out.

  “I saw it appear out of thin air,” he said. “And I saw your face when it happened. You were confused and scared by it. By all of it.” He paused and then, more softly he added, “I know you better than you think.”

  I stared down at my open palms, willing the answers to it all to appear there—just l
ike the fur. But nothing happened. And Alex was right. I couldn’t bring myself to argue about it anymore.

  When my eyes filled with tears, I decided right then I hated this version of myself. But Alex took my hand in his and scooted closer, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into his arms. The moment I felt his hands in my hair, I was undone. Tears slid silently down my cheeks and I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried.

  Instead, I buried my face in his shoulder and let them fall.

  “Why is this happening to me?” I asked, sniffling when the tears finally slowed. I looked up at Alex, past the point of caring whether he found my wet cheeks and runny nose gross or not.

  “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out,” he said.

  I sniffled again and willed myself to calm down. But it wasn’t as hard as I thought. Being alone in this truck with a guy. Returning from burying bodies. Almost getting eaten by a werewolf who was also my friend. And I was most worried about how swollen my cheeks looked in this light. Maybe I hadn’t changed that much after all.

  “Two years it’s been like this. I went to a hypnotherapist once who claimed I’d blocked an important memory. Too buried or gone for her to retrieve. Mirabelle says the same thing, but this is not simple amnesia because I’m also terrified all the time.”

  “That’s why you acted so strange toward me when we met.”

  I shot him a look. “Also, you were an ass,” I said.

  He laughed which drew a watery smile from me, and gave me the confidence to go on. “I have an irrational fear of dogs and men and the dark to name a few,” I admitted.

  “Well, obviously not that irrational,” he pointed out.

  “Right. Anyway, for two years I’ve been just dealing with it. It’s getting worse lately, though.”

  “The fur in your hands?” he asked.

  I nodded. “And I feel watched all the time. It’s weird. But I have no idea how to fix it. I … could use some help,” I admitted finally. “If you’re up for it.”

  He brushed the hair from my face and his lips curved, offering the slightest hint of a smile. It was a mixture of gentle and hard-as-granite determination that only Alex Channing could have pulled off. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever it is you’ve forgotten I’m going to help you remember.”

  The scary thing was: I believed him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alex

  From my vantage point on the park bench across the street, I watched Sam’s apartment. I’d accidentally dozed off twice before making RJ bring me a thermos of coffee. I was determined not to miss anything.

  I’d meant what I said to her last night. I intended to do whatever it took to help her figure things out. Well, everything except tell her the truth. I’d come so close and then at the last minute, I’d chickened out. Keeping her safe from all the rabid werewolves was a fair exchange, I figured.

  But by late afternoon, no one had come and gone except a single sighting of a cat that looked suspiciously like Granny. It had used the tree across the street for a nap before disappearing into the alley behind the house. Deep down, I was glad she hadn’t noticed me. That cat scared me.

  A late model sedan was parked out at the curb. The mailman had almost dinged its bumper earlier but now, it sat undisturbed in the fading sun. Registered to her roommate, I knew from RJ’s background check. Sam’s beach cruiser leaned against the side of the building, rust spots on the fenders glinting in the sun.

  I adjusted my position to try and relieve the numbness in my ass from sitting so long and pulled the blanket tighter around me. Partly as a cover—looking like a cross between a hipster and a homeless person seemed to keep people from approaching me—and partly because the temperature was dropping. Or my fever was returning. I wasn’t sure which and I didn’t want to know.

  As I stared at Sam’s apartment, my thoughts wandered to last night. For the hundredth time, I kicked myself for not telling her the truth. But there were points for trying to do the right thing… right? Because I had tried. When she’d asked me about it in the woods, I’d kept to the basics, testing her ability to take it in.

  The whole way home I watched her. Tuned all my senses to every breath she took, ever twitch her body made. Waiting. Watching. Sure, she was shaken. I mean, what human wouldn’t be after burying a body? But she was strong. So fucking strong. They hadn’t given her enough credit. And in the truck on the way home, I’d been all pumped and ready telling her the truth about my deal with Mirabelle. But then she’d started crying. I couldn’t pile something else on top. Not when there were tears involved. I mean, I wasn’t a monster.

  So, I’d choked.

  And now here I was, still a liar. Still watching the house of the girl who could possibly save my life like the sickly stalker I’d become. My phone buzzed and I yanked it out, eager to take my frustration out on a third party.

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “Dude. You want to tag me in?” RJ asked.

  “On what?” I asked and he snorted.

  “Do not pretend you aren’t still watching her house,” he said. “You know, it’s a good thing you have this protection detail to blame all this on. Otherwise, I’d have to call you out as the creeper that you are.”

  “Shut up,” I muttered.

  “Bet it’s warmer inside,” he said, trying to hold back laughter. Asshole.

  “I’m giving her some space.”

  “Of course,” he said in a way that would’ve earned him a throat punch had he been standing in front of me.

  “Did you locate any family for Bernard?” I demanded.

  “No living relatives. Longtime resident and patron of Oracle. Renting a garage apartment from one Dave Gillespie. I sent a flash message through CHAS.”

  “Dude, you can’t—”

  “Relax. He was my mark, remember? I told them I put him down. It’s fine.”

  I blew out a breath and finally sorted through his words. “Dave Gillespie? Isn’t that the fish store guy?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  I sighed, remembering the last time Sam had seen Bernard. Mirabelle had filled me in and I knew I should return the favor. I’d completely spaced on the connection until this morning but Bernard was the same weirdo whose “infection” had come complete with a connect-the-dots activity board lining his veins that led straight to a centerpiece of Sam’s face. No wonder she’d flipped out that night. “Yeah, come take a shift. I need to pay Mirabelle a visit so they know what really happened last night.”

  “You think it’s a good idea to share information with them?” he asked.

  It sounded harsh but I knew what he meant. “Them” referred to witches. Not hunters. And what we did was technically classified. But I shook my head. “Full disclosure is part of our deal,” I said.

  “All right, dude. Do what you have to do. I’ll see you soon.”

  I hung up and uncapped the thermos, chugging what was left of the coffee. It was going to be a long day, and I could use every ounce of caffeine to get me through. More lies. More spinning the truth or using people to find answers to questions they hadn’t considered. And still, I hadn’t come clean to Sam. I might be able to save my own life, but I was less and less sure about the salvation of my soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sam

  The battery icon on my phone blinked red. I scowled and shoved it away, closing out my Gardenville game. I stared down at my computer screen and scanned my bedroom, looking for some other distraction. My bed sat unmade behind me. I could change my sheets, do laundry… but even I wasn’t that desperate. Instead, I went back to the sentence I’d started for my English paper on the fairy tale and folklore unit we were doing:

  The Big Bad Wolf is a metaphor for the predator psyche

  The sentence ended abruptly—just like my concentration.

  My paper was due in two days but I’d made almost zero progress. I’d spent the last thirty-six hours going to class and pretending to do homework, but even I knew I was
hiding.

  Mirabelle had given me the time off without question—odd, but I wasn’t up for deciphering her current psycho-analyzing of what she thought she knew about me. All I knew was that I was not going to Creeper Alley. To face Dave or anyone else that was connected to Bernard. They’d take one look at me and know I was guilty.

  The dark circles and exhaustion would surely tip them off. And then, the moment they said his name—hell, every time I thought his name—I would tear up and just lose it.

  Brittany’s music—some Pop Hits Pandora station—blared loudly from the living room. It was the only proof I wasn’t home alone, and for once, I was glad for her company. Even if I was being anti-social to the point of emo sitting here in the dim lamplight feeling sad and scared and generally rejecting everything my life had become.

  Werewolves were real.

  It was an impossibility. A bend in the dimension of my reality. And Alex’s method for explaining it—for exposing me to it, and then expecting me to just jump in with both feet and… what? Shrug it off. Catalog it into the same “it’s just a fact of life” file folder as the existence of the color yellow. It was infuriating.

  He was definitely sick all right. Mentally unstable.

  But even as I thought the words, guilt pricked at me and scrubbed them away. Alex was the most stable guy I’d ever met. I didn’t know anything about him and yet I just knew that. Alex was solid. Rational. Methodical. It’s what made him so dangerous the other night with that werewo—with Bernard.

  God, he’d been an actual person.

  I wasn’t positive, but Alex didn’t strike me as a liar. He really wanted to help me remember whatever it was I’d forgotten. I snorted. It sounded like a bad pickup line. And I would know; I’d heard plenty of them in high school. But this…

  Mysterious fur balls and supernatural creatures and Alex just expecting me to be on board. This was too much. I couldn’t sign up for this. I was barely keeping my head above water showing up for my current reality. Alex was asking too much. Kissing me, then shutting me down, then letting me cry on his shoulder… He was always changing his mind. Throwing me off. And he’d made me help him bury a dead body, for Christ’s sake!