by Chelsea Fine
She tried to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that chided her reasoning. If she were being honest with herself, there was a part of her—a very small, very foolish part—that was happy for an excuse to see Tristan.
To need him. To be around him.
She was the worst girlfriend ever.
Shaking off her guilt and falling back on her earlier I-need-help-from-someone excuse, Scarlet proceeded down the basement hallway to Tristan’s room. The only other time she’d been in this part of the cabin was when Gabriel had given her the grand tour.
The basement looked so different without Gabriel. It looked…forbidden.
She crept quietly, feeling unwelcome in Tristan’s living space. His obvious dislike for her didn’t help with her resolve to seek him out. There was a good chance he’d yell or scoff or, worse, ignore her.
The possibility of him turning her away angered her. But more significant than his dislike for her was the sadness it triggered. Something inside her lost a bit of life every time Tristan shunned her.
Which was pretty much anytime time she was around.
Maybe it was for her own protection, like Nate had said, but it still hurt.
Taking a deep breath, Scarlet reached Tristan’s bedroom door, which stood ajar, and carefully took a single step inside. The large bed situated in the center of the room was ornate and beckoning in its design.
The deep mahogany frame was carved with masculine angles offset with intricate details burned into the four posters that stood at attention at each corner. Everything about the frame screamed man, while everything about the navy bedding whispered woman. Plush pillows sat atop a raised mattress, silk sheets and a velvet blanket.
Scarlet swallowed.
For all his brooding and brokenness, Tristan sure knew how to put a bed together. The basement ceilings were much higher than she remembered, making Tristan’s bedroom feel vaulted and open.
A wardrobe cabinet sat in the far corner of the bedroom and Scarlet did a double-take.
It was the wardrobe from her flashback.
She had hidden the dangerous arrow in Tristan’s wardrobe.
But why?
She was about to call out Tristan’s name when movement caught her eye.
Directly across from the bed was an archway leading into the master bath. In the area just beyond the archway, and visible from the doorway, was a long, marble bathroom countertop. Above the sink hung an oversized bathroom mirror framed with the same mahogany as the beautiful bed.
It was inside this mirror Scarlet’s eye was drawn to movement.
Tristan stood in front of the mirror, his perfect body shirtless, as he finished washing his face.
His body was gorgeous. Strong and male and pure muscle.
Scarlet’s mouth dropped open as her eyes zeroed in on something curious. It wasn’t his perfectly sculpted half-naked body that caught her attention.
It was the dark tattoo—wrapped around the left side of his ribcage and reaching down below his waist—that captured Scarlet’s gaze.
Her eyes followed its design in disbelief, staring unashamedly at his bare torso.
Scarlet sucked in a sharp breath.
The tattoo on Tristan’s body was Scarlet’s mysterious symbol. Exactly.
It was the doodle she drew on her shoes and her skin and on her notebook. The design that floated in and out of her thoughts and dreams. The symbol that managed to survive her memory wash.
The symbol Scarlet knew she was connected to.
And Tristan had it permanently inked onto his muscular body.
And it was a bit faded, suggesting the tattoo had been stitched into his skin for quite some time.
His eyes caught hers in the mirror and, for a split second, she thought everything was going to be okay. Tristan’s face softened at the initial sight of Scarlet standing in his doorway, but the moment quickly passed and was replaced with a tangible coldness.
He finished drying his face. “What are you doing?” he said to Scarlet’s reflection, not bothering to turn and look at her directly.
She blinked a few times, trying to compose both her surprise at his tattoo and shock at his tone. Although she tried to respond with an edge to her voice, her words came out small and soft. “Why do you have that tattoo?”
Tristan turned around to face her and looked down at the design on his ribcage. His eyes stayed lowered, although they left his tattoo and fell against a random spot on the floor. He inhaled through his nostrils, a muscle in his jaw tightening.
He was upset.
She could feel his fear and anger.
When his eyes made their way back to Scarlet’s face, there was a deadliness to them that hurt more than frightened her. “You first. Why are you spying on me?”
Scarlet raised an eyebrow, letting her curiosity about the tattoo override her hurt feelings. With as much attitude as she could muster she said, “Spying? You wish. I was looking for Gabriel.” Scarlet took a few confident steps toward Tristan, cocking her head to the side as she examined the tattoo. It was an exact replica of her drawing, down to the last detail. “You saw me draw that exact design on my hip. Why did I do that?”
His gaze didn’t falter, nor did his dark tone. “I don’t know.”
Scarlet watched him for a moment, unsure of what to think. If the mark she had been scribbling for the last two years was a tattoo from her boyfriend’s brother’s body…a tattoo that trailed down his ribcage and into his pants, then….
She looked down and away from Tristan.
No wonder Gabriel had been upset when he’d seen the drawing on her hip.
She had no words. Why would she come into this new life with almost no memory whatsoever but remember—in vivid detail, no less—Tristan’s tattoo?
All answers pointed to something Scarlet wasn’t ready to accept. She gradually pulled her head back up and looked at him, more closely this time.
His jaw was still locked and resistant. His body still tense and cold. But his eyes…the bright green depths of his eyes…were in pain.
There was no hatred in them, no apathy. Just sadness.
Her features must have reflected her thoughts because Tristan silently shook his head, lowering his brow in warning. Almost as if to say, do not speak of this.
Scarlet’s chest rose and fell as she looked at him in silence.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Her eyes began to burn. They were probably glowing neon blue.
Wonderful.
She swallowed. “What do I not remember?”
Tristan’s green eyes flashed and Scarlet’s heart began to pump with a fervor like never before. Recklessly banging against her ribcage like it didn’t belong to her. Like it needed to break free.
Like it would tear her soul in half if only to escape….
“Scar,” he said, his voice cracking as he looked at her burning eyes. “You—“
“What did you call me?” His beautiful voice came over her ears and struck something deep and warm inside her. Something she remembered…loving.
“You need to get out of here.” He spoke firmly, but his eyes looked panicked.
“You called me…‘Scar’…” She took another step closer to him, her heart pulling her near, hammering madly inside her chest. Looking up at his handsome face, she tilted her head. Her voice was soft, curious, and aware. “You called me ‘Scar’…. That’s my name…‘Scar’….”
He opened his mouth like he was going to speak—
“Scarlet!” Gabriel’s voice carried down the basement stairs and into Tristan’s room, breaking the silence.
They looked away from one another and shifted in opposite directions.
Tristan turned and retreated to the master bath. Scarlet started walking, slowly and in a state of shock, back toward his door.
He called me Scar…. I remembered his tattoo…. What does this mean? Why can’t I remember?
Frustration filled her veins.
She hated her br
oken mind.
She hated the secrets Tristan was keeping from her.
And she hated that her eyes were still on fire.
Tristan came up behind her with a fresh shirt on and, without making eye contact, they exited the bedroom and made their way back up the stairs to where Gabriel and Nate were looking for Scarlet.
Scarlet’s heart thrummed away, refusing to calm down.
Partly due to her shock at seeing Tristan’s tattoo.
But also because she had something important to tell the guys.
Something critical.
69
Gabriel and Nate had been across town, trying to figure out what would cause a person to immediately turn to ash upon death, when Gabriel received Scarlet’s text message.
Seeing Tristan and Scarlet come up from the basement together, Gabriel’s first thought was jealously.
But it was quickly replaced by fear when he saw Scarlet’s eyes.
Her very bright, very neon blue eyes.
Ash people were no longer Gabriel’s primary concern. “Scarlet, are you okay?” He looked at Tristan with hatred. “What did you do?”
Tristan shot Gabriel a dark look. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Look at her eyes!”
Scarlet started shaking her head. “Forget about my eyes. I had a flashback.”
She felt something warm trickle down her face and touched a hand to her nose.
Blood.
Her nose was bleeding.
Tristan cursed, looking away with clenched fists.
Nate sucked in a breath.
Gabriel came in close to her, taking her face in his hands. “You’re sick, Scarlet. This is serious.”
“I’m fine.” She wiggled out of his arms and backed away, wiping at her nose. “Listen to me, I had a flashback and I feel like someone is in danger.” Scarlet took a deep breath. “I hid an arrow. In one of my other lives, I remember running away with an arrow and hiding it because I knew it was dangerous. The arrow made me afraid and I was desperate to protect it.”
All three of them looked at her intently.
“The arrow is going to kill someone…or, or something. I don’t know.” Scarlet groaned in frustration. “I can’t remember why, but I know it’s dangerous. The arrow made me sad and scared, so I hid it. Do you guys know what I’m talking about?”
They all shook their heads.
“You thought the arrow was dangerous?” Nate asked, looking at her closely.
“You never told me anything about a hidden arrow,” Tristan said, his voice soft as he looked at her nose.
Was she still bleeding?
“Me neither.” Gabriel’s eyes looked concerned. “Scarlet, are you sure it was a flashback? Your eyes are bright and your nose is bleeding, which means you’re very ill. Do you think maybe you blended two memories together?”
“I might be sick, but I’m not crazy, Gabriel. I hid an arrow! I ran around some old house and looked for a safe place and I hid it!”
They just stared at her.
“Agh!” Scarlet suddenly remembered the wardrobe she’d seen in Tristan’s room. “I’ll show you.” She spun on her heel and rushed back downstairs to Tristan’s room.
They followed after her.
Scarlet entered the forbidden bedroom and rushed over to the cabinet in the corner. It looked exactly the same, but for some wear and tear.
She pulled out the bottom drawer and emptied its contents on the floor.
“What are you doing?” Tristan eyed her carefully.
“Proving I’m not insane.” Scarlet ran her hand against the bottom of the drawer until she found a notch. She looked up at the boys with an eyebrow raised as she lifted the false bottom. “See?”
Everyone in the room stared into the secret compartment with mouths open.
There, as if no time had passed, lay a slim arrow, its tip glinting in the bedroom light.
“Wha…?” Gabriel leaned down to look at the arrow.
Tristan reached a hand down and swiftly snatched the arrow into his palm. “You hid this in my wardrobe?”
Scarlet shrugged. “I guess.”
“Tristan,” Nate said, slowly. “Maybe you should let me hold on to that.”
Tristan said nothing.
“Do you have any idea why Scarlet thought it was dangerous?” Gabriel looked at Nate.
Nate looked at Tristan. “I have a guess.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “Until we know why Scarlet hid it, we should probably keep the arrow safe. I’ll lock it up in the den with the other weapons.”
Nate glared at Tristan. “How about I lock it up?”
Tristan glared back. “No, thanks. I’ll take care of it.”
And with that, Tristan left the room. Taking the arrow with him.
70
Scarlet watched Tristan leave and turned to Gabriel. “The arrow is unsafe.”
She had no idea how she knew that, but it was true. The arrow was deadly.
Gabriel nodded, looking at her in concern. “Okay. Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’m sure Tristan will put it somewhere safe.” He looked closely at her eyes—her burning eyes.
“How do you feel?” Warmth trickled from her nose again and Gabriel’s eyes widened in fear.
“I feel fantastic.” Scarlet swiped at her face, her hand coming away bloody. She so did not feel fantastic. She felt nervous. And shaky.
“Scarlet, your eyes are flashing out of control.” Gabriel placed his hand against her cheek and looked at her in worry.
Nate took a step toward Scarlet. “You need to get out of the cabin. Tristan’s presence is only going to—“
“I know!” Scarlet cut him off. Why was she snapping at Nate? He hadn’t done anything wrong. No one had.
So, why was she freaking out?
“I know, I know.” Scarlet moved away from Gabriel’s hand. “Tristan’s killing me, I get it. I’ll leave.”
She was angry. And frustrated. And…sad?
What was going on with her emotions?
Scarlet moved to leave the room. “I need to get ready for the dance anyway.”
Gabriel reached for her hand to stop her. “I don’t think we should go to the dance. I think you need to take it easy. Get some rest—“
“And what? Drink orange juice and eat chicken noodle soup? No, Gabriel! I don’t have the flu. I have a rare heart condition sealed with immortal blood and curable only with magic water. I’m not sick, I’m just dying.”
Gabriel spoke softly, “Which is why I don’t think you should go to the dance tonight.”
The funny thing was that Scarlet hadn’t wanted to go to the dance to begin with. But something about Gabriel telling her not to go made her want to show him just who was in charge of her life—and her death.
“No. I’m not going to stay tucked away in my bed like a weakling, waiting for death to come get me. I want to go to the dance.”
Wow. Never in a million years did I think I would say those seven words.
“No.” Gabriel said sternly. “You need to rest.”
Scarlet took a step closer to him and looked up into his attractive, over-protective face. “I’m going to the dance, Gabriel. With—or without—you.”
She turned around and marched back up the cabin stairs, her heart still thrumming wildly within her.
She didn’t see Tristan anywhere, but she knew he was nearby. Her heart knew.
She slammed the front door behind her as she walked down the drive, got into her car, and drove home.
With every mile that passed, her raging heart quieted a beat.
But her eyes continued to burn.
71
“Who’s excited about winter formal?” Heather squealed, barging into Scarlet’s room with a ridiculously fluffy blue dress on. She held up a long garment bag.
“Yay,” Scarlet said, half-heartedly. She wasn’t really in the mood to dress up. Or go dancing. Or do anything, really, other than stress-out about
the arrow she’d found.
And how every guy in her life was trying to tell her what to do.
“That doesn’t sound excited. That sounds depressed. This is a big deal, Scarlet! Get happy!”
Scarlet faked a smile at Heather’s good intentions. “I’m happy. I just don’t like dressing up.”
“Uh, that’s because you suck at it. But fear not! I am here to make you dazzling.” Heather shuffled over to Scarlet’s bed and started unzipping the garment bag. “Wait until you see what I picked out for you. It’s ah-mazing.”
“Please tell me you didn’t get us matching dresses,” Scarlet said, truly terrified she’d have to go to the dance dressed like an oversized blueberry.
“No. But I’ll do that next time since I can tell by your tone how very thrilled you are with the idea of looking just like me.” Heather gave a playful smile, as she pulled out a mess of gray and black material. “Ta-da!”
Scarlet looked at the elegant dress in her friend’s hands. “Heather, that looks like a prom dress.”
“It is.”
“But, this isn’t prom. This is winter formal.”
Heather’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “This is your first dance with a real, live human boy who totally digs you and is smokin’ hot! You need a killer dress.” She wiggled the hanger. “Boo-yah!”
Scarlet shook her head. “I’m going to look ridiculous in that. I’ll look like…a doll.”
“Ye-ah. A super hot fashion doll! Come on, put it on.”
Scarlet furrowed her brow.
Heather dropped her head to the side. “What else are you gonna wear, Scarlet? That pale yellow sundress in your closet that makes you look like a sad banana? I don’t think so. Get dressed.” Heather threw the dress on the bed.
Scarlet regretted her outburst at the cabin earlier. She wished she hadn’t been so adamant about attending the dance because, now, she absolutely did not want to go.
But she couldn’t change her mind now. Her creepy, blue-eyed pride was at stake.
Scarlet reluctantly picked up the elegant gown and slid into the dress. It had a black corset top—far too tight for Scarlet to breathe normally—and a long, bunched up, gray taffeta skirt.
