by Mary Lindsey
“Shit.” He patted his pockets, already knowing his phone wasn’t there. He’d accidentally left it on the kitchen counter back at the house. No big deal. He’d be home way before Ruby. The only person he wanted to call or text was here, anyway. Hopefully he’d get a chance to see her face-to-face.
Rain swallowed hard. He didn’t like crowds, and as he looked over the waist-high fence, there was no denying this was a full-on party. Loud blues music wailed, while people danced on a concrete floor under a rough-hewn wood pavilion. Picnic tables decorated with candles in hurricane globes surrounded the edges of the crowded dance floor and spilled out into the garden. Wineglasses sparkled under the strings of multicolored decorative lighting zigzagging overhead. Freddie’s people knew how to throw a party.
“Rain!” Grant called from a table at the back corner of the garden. Thomas, Kurt, and Merrick were with him. At a table nearby, he recognized Grant’s mother and sister and a man with curly blond hair he assumed was Grant’s dad. Of course, they were all watching him—because that’s what creepy assholes do. He met Mr. Ericksen’s stare directly, and the man’s eyes narrowed. Yeah. Screw you, too.
Grant stood and gestured him over. As he made his way, he scanned for Freddie but didn’t see her in the crowd.
“She’s inside,” Grant said, gesturing to the opposite end of the bench on his side, facing the three boys.
Am I that obvious? Clearly, he was.
“She has some formal dinner party with out-of-town guests her uncle’s making her go to in the wine-tasting room.”
Well, that sucked. She was the only reason he was here.
Freddie’s cousins looked uncomfortable. Stiff. Rain’s adrenaline spiked in response. The guys flitted looks at one another, making a bizarre situation even weirder. After a few awkward minutes in which Rain refused to be the first to talk, Thomas broke the silence.
“So, how do you like New Wurzburg High?”
He schooled his expression to keep it neutral and not draw attention, but he was certain his outrage was obvious from his tone of voice. “Are you kidding me?”
Thomas’s brow furrowed. “Look. Uh, we got off to a bad start.”
“No shit. You threatened to skin me alive and eat me for dinner.”
Grant tensed beside him, eyes narrowed on Thomas, who cleared his throat. Thomas turned his phone a quarter turn on the tabletop, then another. “Yeah. That was uncool. I…” After a quick glance at Grant, he dropped his hand to his lap. “I wanna forget all about that and start over.”
Rain had no clue what was going on, but a threat like that wasn’t something he was ready to forget, especially in light of the fact the guy had the ability to change into a monster that could make good on the threat.
Thomas stared at the bruise on Rain’s neck, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. This was hard for him. Forced. “I mean, it looks like you’re not going away any time soon. You and Freddie… Well. Anyway, I’d rather not be enemies.”
Grant gave an almost imperceptible nod, like an approving parent.
No wonder it felt forced. It was. For some reason, Thomas was doing this for Grant, or maybe because of him. Rain folded his arms on the table, waiting to see who would chime in next.
“Well, great. Let’s celebrate a truce, then,” Grant said. “I’ll be right back.” His curly gold hair reflected the multicolored strings of lights overhead as he strode through the crowd.
Another awkward silence fell over the four of them. A forced peace was better than none, Rain supposed. He met each of their eyes briefly, then spoke. “I know you guys and Freddie are close, and you’re hostile because you want to protect her and your family. I like her and won’t be a dick to her. I like her no matter what.” He stressed the last words, knowing he was on thin ice here, hinting that he knew their secret, but it was vague enough for denial.
The only one to react physically was Merrick, whose eyebrows rose in surprise.
“What do you mean by that?” Kurt asked.
Rain shrugged. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Here we go!” Grant set a stack of Solo cups on the table along with a bottle of wine and slid onto the bench.
Rain glanced around, but nobody nearby seemed to be watching them. Maybe they could score a bottle of wine without ID because the boys lived here. A scan to the right confirmed Grant’s family was interested, however, making no attempt to hide their stares.
Grant poured and handed a cup to Rain, then poured three more, passing them to the boys. “To Haven,” Grant said, lifting an empty cup.
“To Haven,” the three boys repeated.
“You’re not drinking?” Rain asked.
Grant shook his head. “Nah. Wine allergy.”
“You’ll like this, Rain,” Thomas said. “It’s Haven’s private label made in small batches. We don’t sell it to the public.”
Rain turned the bottle to check out the label—like he knew the first thing about wine. Full Moon was scrawled in a dramatic font over a photo of a full moon peeking through gnarled tree branches. The significance wasn’t lost on him. Private family label. Right.
They all watched him like they were waiting for his reaction. Maybe it was pride in their product.
He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. It was as if they were holding their breaths. The flavor was strange. Uncomfortably bitter, but he wasn’t a wine connoisseur by any means. Maybe all good wine was bitter. He took another sip and set the cup down. “Why don’t you guys sell it to the public?”
Thomas and Kurt exchanged glances.
“It’s not something that would generate much demand,” Merrick said, taking a sip.
The band started a new song, and Rain tapped his finger in time.
“Most of the visitors to Haven are business people with money to burn from Austin and even cities farther out. Houston. Dallas. They hit the shops in Fredericksburg and wineries all along the highway, Haven included,” Grant explained.
“Drink up,” Kurt said.
Rain swallowed the remainder in one swig, hoping it tasted better if shot fast. It didn’t. His body shuddered involuntarily at the bitterness, then he winced at the heat when it hit his stomach. It was different than any wine he’d tasted. Merrick was right; it wouldn’t have broad appeal.
Grant refilled his cup before Rain could object. He’d rather drink cough syrup, but the guys sipped theirs like it was delicious.
“To Freddie!” Thomas said, raising his cup.
Well, shit. It would be rude to not join the toast. “To Freddie,” Rain, Kurt, and Merrick repeated. The three cousins downed it like it was a chugging contest and then looked to Rain expectantly, as if challenging him to follow.
Whatever. He choked it down, determined that he would refuse more.
From a table in the opposite corner, a shrill peal of laughter broke out that made him want to cover his ears. The band had upped the volume as well to a nearly deafening level.
“You okay?” Grant asked.
“Yeah. It’s just kinda loud.”
The boys didn’t react. Simply stared, like they expected him to elaborate or something. Merrick rubbed his palm over the lump under his shirt that Rain knew was his glass charm like Freddie’s. He must have gotten a replacement for the one he’d given her at the cave.
They’d dimmed the lights or something—more like they’d dimmed the colors. The vibrant colors of the light strings overhead, and even the clothes worn by the people dancing in front of the band, now seemed faded. Wait. You couldn’t dim colors.
And the odors… Instead of sweet wine and women’s perfume, it now smelled like dirt and sweat. Heavy, oppressive, and stifling. His stomach rolled over. God. Maybe he had a wine allergy, too.
“You cool?” Kurt asked.
Why did they keep asking him that? “Yeah.”
“Want a tour?” Thomas stacked the boys’ cups.
Not really. In fact, his brain felt too large for his skull, and he was overwhelmed by
the assault of sounds and smells. Crap. He was wasted, but he’d only had the equivalent of a glass of wine. “Yeah. A tour. Sure.” Maybe he’d see Freddie. At least he’d be away from the band that was about to rupture his eardrums.
None of them made a move. They just watched him—including Grant’s family several tables away.
Well, shit. Maybe they were waiting on him to get up first. He slid to the end of the bench and stood, which seemed to surprise them.
“So, Rain, I’ll see you Monday at work, right?” Grant said.
“You leaving?” For some reason this panicked him.
“Yep. Gotta work early. Glad you showed up.” He opened his mouth like he was going to say something but didn’t. Instead, he turned to Thomas. “You’ve got it from here. Get him to the back just in case.”
“In case of what?” The band and partiers were so deafening, Rain wasn’t sure he’d even said it out loud.
“In case the wine goes to your head.” Grant ran a hand through his hair. “It’s very strong. Most people would pass out after what you drank.”
Perfect.
“But you’re doing great, like I knew you would.” Eyes on Merrick, Grant gestured with a tilt of his head to a big building to the east.
“Follow me,” Merrick said.
As Rain trailed Merrick with Thomas and Kurt close behind, the skin on the back of his neck prickled. He felt trapped somehow, like he was being herded. Like livestock.
Twenty-Two
Rain followed Merrick through the back door of Haven Winery’s main building. He shook his head to clear it before staggering down a dark, paneled corridor with offices opening up on either side. The building smelled like chemicals and grapes.
The grape odor was a no-brainer, but the other smells were weird. He took a deep sniff, and the air stung his nose.
“How ya doing, man?” Thomas asked from behind him.
“Fine.” But he wasn’t. Something was seriously screwed up. Not only the smells and sounds, his balance and everything was way off—like he couldn’t control his own body.
They took a turn and entered a large triple-height room with five huge stainless-steel tanks at least twenty feet tall on one side. Workbenches, blue storage drums, and hoses on hooks lined the walls. Several machines on wheels stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the space.
“Those take the stems off the grapes,” Kurt said.
They’d take off fingers and possibly hands, too, Rain noticed as he peered inside the machine at the workings that looked like a huge drill bit on its side.
He turned full circle in the middle of the room—or maybe the room spun a circle around him, it was hard to tell, as messed up as he was. His eyes traveled up one of the tanks to what looked like a submarine hatch door.
“From the tanks, the wine goes into the barrels, which are stored in here,” Merrick explained.
With Thomas and Kurt close behind like herding dogs with a stray sheep, he followed Merrick into a dark room with brick walls and a vaulted ceiling. Tall racks supported wooden barrels on their sides.
The brick walls put off a strong earthy stone odor that mixed with the wood of the barrels, overwhelming him for a moment. He took a deep breath and shook his head again. Hopefully the wine had reached max effect. If not, he was going to pass out, which, considering he was surrounded by apex predators, could be lethal.
Kurt’s face wavered in and out of focus. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.” He placed a palm on a barrel for a moment as the room closed in, heart banging around in his chest like he’d just run a 440.
“Maybe we should go get Ulrich or Grant’s dad.” Merrick’s voice echoed off the hard surfaces of the room.
Rain placed a fist against his chest and pressed hard, willing his heart to calm. His chest ached like it was going to explode.
“No. Grant said to wait it out unless he got critical.”
What the fuck? Rain leaned against the rack of barrels and closed his eyes. It wasn’t like when he’d gotten loaded before. This was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Like the ligaments between his bones had melted and his insides were rioting to rip through his skin.
Like he was dying.
He cracked his eyelids open and studied Merrick’s scuffed boots as the boy shuffled back and forth nervously, like Moth used to do. Sweat broke out on Rain’s forehead, and he closed his eyes again. “I think I’m gonna puke.”
“We need to get him out of here—to somewhere not warded. Ulrich will skin us alive if he gets sick,” Merrick said.
“Or dies in here,” Thomas added.
“Freddie’s going to kill us if he dies at all,” Kurt said.
“I’m going to kill you anyway.” Freddie’s voice was like a bucket of cold water dumped over Rain’s head, bringing clarity for a moment.
He tried to stand up straight, but his body had disconnected from his mind. He couldn’t even open his eyes or turn his head to look at her.
“But I’m going to kill Grant first.”
Cool fingers pierced the hair at his temples, leaving soothing trails on his scalp. “You okay, Rain?”
His voice didn’t work, but he nodded, eyes closed. Her touch seemed to negate some of the nausea.
Still, she ran her hands through his hair. “Grant swore he’d wait until we were sure.”
“He must have been sure.” Thomas’s voice answered.
“No. He was in a hurry. Just like last time.” She trailed her fingers down the sides of Rain’s neck. “Which elder approved this?”
“Mr. Ericksen.”
“I’m gonna kill him, too. The asshole.”
Rain would have agreed if he’d been able to talk.
“Why didn’t you stop Grant?”
“We, uh…”
There was a long pause, or maybe his brain just hit the mute button for a moment.
A low growl came from Freddie’s throat. “Holy shit. You three were in on it.”
None of the boys said anything.
“Oh my God. You helped him. You’re all murderers.” Her voice was shrill. Panicked, which did nothing to calm Rain’s erratic heartbeat. “My dad would never have let this happen. If he were here, he’d—”
“See, that’s the problem, Freddie,” Thomas said. “He’s not here. You’ve gotta let go of the way he did things. Move on.”
“Move on?” Her voice had gone from shrill to deep and gravelly. Deadly. “Unless you want to lose your balls right here and now, I’d suggest you three move on. Straight through that door and out of my sight as fast as you can.”
“Listen, Freddie…”
Rain couldn’t tell who’d spoken. A wave of nausea rolled through his gut, and he groaned, sliding down the rack, crumpling in a heap on the cool concrete floor. She joined him, pulling him close, cradling his head on her chest, her almost bare chest. He cracked his eyes to see she was wearing some kind of sleeveless shiny dress of indeterminate color. Or maybe his eyes still weren’t working right. And she smelled good. So good.
“S’gonna be okay, Rain. You just hang in there, okay? Focus on staying awake.”
Hell, at this point, he was pretty sure he needed to focus on staying alive.
As his heart thumped in his chest like a kick drum, the rest of his body’s senses blurred until there was nothing but the steady whack-whack, whack-whack of his blood pushing through his brain and Freddie’s soft breasts under his cheek.
…
Heat. All over, emanating from the inside out. Rain shook his head and opened his eyes to near darkness. Smells assaulted him—unfamiliar, like paint and plastic. And then there was a smell he’d recognize anywhere. The scent of grass and salt. Freddie.
“There you are. Welcome back.” Her voice was close. “The worst is over. You’re going to be okay. Just relax.”
A cool hand cupped his cheek, turning his head. In the darkness, he could barely make out the features of her face, only inches from his.
“
You’re in my cabin,” she said. “You’re safe.”
Safe. “I was poisoned.”
“You survived.”
So he had. And he was in a bed. With Freddie—which beat the shit out of dying. Cautiously, he wiggled his fingers and toes, then stretched, relieved to have control of his body again. “How long was I out?”
“A while. It’s about two in the morning.”
Shit. He sat up, and the room spun.
“Shhh,” she soothed. “You need to take it easy for a while. It hasn’t worn off yet.”
A wave of nausea surged, and he lay back with a groan. “What?”
She placed her palm on his chest. “Sleep. We can talk later.”
Sleep? Hell no. He wanted answers. He deserved answers. It was time for Freddie to come clean. He’d nearly died—he still felt like he was going to die—and he wanted to know why. “What hasn’t worn off?”
“The wine.”
“That wasn’t wine, and we both know it. Stop screwing with me.” He pushed to his elbows, and when the room remained steady, he sat upright, staring down at her in the near darkness. Reaching up, he slid the curtains above her headboard open, and moonlight streamed in. Her hair was slicked back into some kind of fancy knot on the back of her head, and she had on makeup. She looked like a goddess. Sensual, powerful, mysterious. And so hot, he couldn’t think straight—or maybe that was the residual effect of the wine or whatever that was. Focus. He needed some answers. “Why did Grant poison me?”
She sat up, putting them almost nose to nose. She was wearing a formal-looking dress with no sleeves that seemed like it would fall right down if she lifted her arms. “It’s not poison—at least not to Watchers.”
That explained why Thomas, Kurt, and Merrick hadn’t gotten sick.
Never taking her eyes off his face, she added, “It’s one hundred percent fatal to average humans. Kills ’em every time.”
And he’d lived… “So you’re saying I’m a Watcher.”
“Not exactly.”
He ran his hands through his hair and fought down another wave of nausea, followed by a chill. “What does that mean, ‘not exactly’?”
