Me and You and a Ghost Named Boo

by Selene Charles

  “Is it true? It’s all I want to know. Was she right? Does she speak for you?”

  Tossing his head back, Dean laughed. In the distance, thunder rolled.

  “You wanna know if Pandora speaks for me.” He snorted. “Pandora speaks for no one but Pandora. And just cuz I tolerate her eccentricities doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate anyone else’s. Now, I already know what you’re about to tell me. So why don’t you just man up, dog, and spit it out before I get cranky.”

  Even after hundreds of years, Mercer had never come across anything or anyone like Death. Mercer didn’t get intimidated by much in the world, but... Shifting on his ass, he popped his knuckles, squared his shoulders, and gazed unflinchingly at Dean.

  “You’re right, Dean. I do have something to say. I’m done pretending. I’m done shoving her away. The only way to fully protect her is to be one-hundred-percent there for her. I’m not divided. Not anymore.”

  The left side of Dean’s lips curled up into a macabre version of a smile, but it wasn’t friendly at all. Dean’s face had transformed, becoming a twisted thing of nightmares that had crawled straight out the pit of Hell itself.

  His face hollowed out, exposing the slashing bones of his unusually elongated features. Swirls of lambent markings tattooed all across his face gleamed like radiant moonlight. The air quickened, tightening with a sudden razor’s edge of hostility and tension.

  Being killed and resurrected once had been more than enough to quell any sort of rebellion on Mercer’s part, but he was certain that if he continued on his path with Scarlett, he’d soon lose her forever. That was an option he refused to entertain.

  “You sure you wanna go down this road again?” Dean’s voice quivered with an undercurrent of challenge.

  Mercer had not gone that far just to opt out, though. He knew what Death would do to him. That cat was already out of the bag, and nothing was left but for Mercer to take his lumps like a man and pray to God he survived the night.

  “It’s what I want.” With those words, his fate was sealed.

  The air shivered with raw, primal power, and he was snatched up by unseen forces and flung violently against the house. Pinned up against the wall and unable to move even a pinky, feeling as though he might pass out from the sudden lack of oxygen to his brain, Mercer still refused to drop Death’s gaze.

  Dean glared hostilely at him, his stance confident and lethal. “Never,” he growled. “I told you once, and I’ll say it again—”

  “Bull... shit.” Merc was wheezing, his throat on fire, desperate for a deep pull of fresh air that didn’t make him feel as if he’d just swallowed a bucket full of hot coals. He clawed at the unseen hand holding him fast, trying in vain to get some relief from the overwhelming pressure against his windpipe.

  Fire licked at the centers of Dean’s tricolored eyes, then... darkness.

  Hell fire and shrieks. Ghoulish hands tearing at his flesh.

  Mercer screamed, knowing what Death had done. Same as before, he’d killed him.

  The agony of Hell vanished seconds later. Mercer was right back where they’d started, at Scarlett’s house, except he was curled on the forest floor and wheezing for breath.

  “Test me, shifter,” Dean snarled as he stood over him. “Make me prove my words over and over and over again to you. I’d love nothing more than to see you dance in Hell all the days of your life.”

  Quieting his beast, Mercer looked up at Death with an unflinching stare. His throat was a mangled, ruined thing. His body ached desperately, but he wouldn’t be cowed.

  Never again.

  “Kill me then, but I won’t back—”

  Darkness.

  Screams.

  Heat.

  Being consumed by flame.

  Writhing in eternal blackness.

  Then he was back in the world of living, sucking in air through chapped and scorched lips. His fingertips were charred, his skin oozing from unhealed wounds. The stench of brimstone and sulfur clung to his nostrils.

  Dean’s lips curled up into a wicked grin. The sick fuck was enjoying himself. “You were saying?” He lifted a dark eyebrow, defying Mercer to say anything else. Hubris glinted in his eyes, positive that Mercer had learned a lesson about defiance.

  Shaking his head, coughing and hacking the smoke from his wizened lungs, Mercer forced himself to sit up. His arms shook violently, every inch of him as weak as a newborn. He shook his head again.

  “Fucking do it, Death,” he snarled brokenly. “Kill me over and over. I don’t care. But I’m not backing down.”

  Dean’s macabre eyes thinned, then just as Mercer expected, the smug son of a bitch broke his neck again with a mere snap of his fingers.

  That time, his sojourn in Hell was longer than the last. Over and over, Death brought him back, only to kill him once again, leaving him to linger long enough each time to make Mercer wonder if this time he wouldn’t come back.

  He’d lost track of how many times he’d been forced to endure the agony of death’s sting. All he knew was the sun was going to crest over the horizon in mere minutes.

  Just as before, Mercer forced his weakened body to obey him, to sit up, to stare defiantly into Death’s cold, unflinching eyes, letting the sick fuck know he wasn’t backing down. He wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how many times he had to die to prove it.

  Dean cocked his head, shaking it slowly. “You really mean it, don’t you, dog? You would let yourself be tortured to be with her.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Mercer answered anyway. Wheezing each word between breaths, he haltingly said, “I’m. Done. Fighting. Her.”

  Nostrils flaring, Dean studied him, and Mercer didn’t for a second believe that he wouldn’t pay for defying Death. His body shivered, pain wracked his limbs, and even his fucking wolf had gone silent—bested, defeated. Only the man continued to fight. Gasping, he held onto his chest, each breath burning, mainlining through his blood like wildfire. He broke out in wash of sweat as agony ripped him apart from the inside out.

  “And what about her? You know what I said I’d do to her if you ever told her again.”

  Dean was absolutely still, intently studying Mercer, who knew that whatever answer he gave would determine his fate. He was banking on the cold-hearted bastard actually having some shred of decency in his dark heart. He was counting on this Pandora and praying like hell that she’d been the ally she’d professed to be. If he was wrong, Mercer would lose it all.

  Brow lowering, Mercer slowly shook his head. “You won’t hurt her.” His words were soft, scratchy, and weak as hell.

  “You so sure of that?” Dean asked. His jaw clenched tightly.

  Mercer gave one firm nod, gambling everything that he was right. Ears ringing, pulse pounding, please fuck let him be right about this.

  “Why?”

  Taking one last deep breath to steady his stretched nerves, he said, “If you were going to kill her, you would have done it already. This whole damn thing was a test. Not for her. But for me.”

  Death chuckled, and the sound curdled his blood.

  “So damn sure of yourself, are you, shifter? What if you’re wrong? What if the second you say those words to her, I snap her neck and don’t bring her back?” Dean’s words were thick and gravelly, his tricolored eyes glowing with barely checked malice, but a sudden tightening around his mouth had Mercer almost jumping to his feet and howling in victory.

  Even through his pain, he grinned. “But I’m not wrong, am I? Staying apart all these years—it’s not natural. There’s a reason for it. I don’t know what, but I know there is. Because when a shifter claims its mate, it’s for life. And it goes both ways. I need her. But she needs me too. And you damn well know it.”

  Seconds ticked past in the heavy silence that had fallen between them. Dean curled and uncurled his fist as though he wanted nothing more than to grab Mercer and snuff the life out of him... forever.

  Mercer had risked everything that night and literally had no
thing left. Breathing deeply, rubbing at his chest with nerveless fingers, he waited, staring down the gaze of a being that had existed long before the world began and would remain long after it ceased to be.

  His skin prickled with heat, making his muscles tense. He bit down on his back teeth, feeling caught in the eye of a storm, waiting for the winds to shift.

  Fury burned through Dean’s eyes, and Mercer’s heart sank. He’d bet wrong. It was over. Done. There was no...

  Then a crooked smile laced Dean’s lips, and relief washed through Mercer so fast and furious that he almost blacked out. He was fighting to just hang on, to keep breathing, to keep from flinching and dropping like a fallen beam to the forest floor.

  “Few have ever called my bluff before, wolf. So kudos to you.” Dean slapped his back so hard Mercer had to slam a palm to the ground just to brace against it.

  His body ached, feeling as if he’d been run into the fucking ground and pummeled by the beasts of beasts. Truthfully, that’s exactly what had happened.

  “Yeah, there was a reason. I had to make sure you would lay down your life for her. It’s not enough to love her. Her insane mother thinks she loves her. No, you have to be willing to lay it all down for her.”

  Mercer’s heart jumped erratically in his chest as he whipped around to look at Dean’s face. “Her mother? Who’s her mother?”

  Dean snorted. “War. One of the four horseman and a psychotic bitch if ever there was one. She also happens to be my ex.”

  Blood rushed through Mercer’s ears so violently they rang, and he blinked. His ex, as in, War was the mother and Death was the...

  “Holy shit,” he breathed.

  Tipping his head back, Dean laughed. “Holy shit’s right, shifter. And if you call me Dad, I swear by all that’s holy you’ll never see another sunrise. You want to know who Scarlett really is, I’ll give you a tiny clue. That darkness resting inside that vampire’s body—that’s my daughter. And I needed to make damn sure you’d do right by her. And just so you know, dog, you break my daughter’s heart, I’ll break your soul. Welcome to the GD family.”

  Chapter 8

  Scarlett

  I stared at Boo, the ghostly mirage of my one-time love. When I’d been human and had no idea that monsters really existed, he’d been my whole world.

  His image was a wavering spectral blue. The sun was about to rise within the next hour or so, and ghosts tended not to like daytime, much like vamps. I guess that made him my spirit animal.

  Boo, real name Jimmy Jones, gazed over my shoulder, squinting at the touch of lavender flirting along the horizon. I couldn’t stay out much longer either, but for reasons that bothered me, I still wasn’t ready to get back home.

  In death, Boo glowed ephemeral shades of lightest to darkest blue, looking like an undead glow stick... ghoul stick, maybe. I snorted. He’d have laughed at the comparison. In life, Boo had been the hottest guy in school, with a wicked sense of humor, a trained athlete with a swimmer’s body, mesmerizing ice-blue eyes, and rich curls of dishwater blond hair.

  If life had gone as planned, we would have been married. He’d have been in the Army, and we’d probably have a few adorable, dimpled brats and be getting crow’s feet.

  Instead, I’d watched him die at the hands of a crazed master vampire, the very same bastard who’d sired me—just another shining example of how unfair life could sometimes be.

  “I know it’s late, and you have to go. So do I,” I whispered. “I just had to see you tonight.”

  Boo was the only ghost I could see with any sort of frequency. Our deaths had been grisly and closely intertwined, giving us a shared bond. In some ways, I’d become Boo’s tether—not one I’d knowingly created but one I was selfishly glad to have since it meant I still got to see him every now and then.

  A soft whisper of a smile touched his full lips. “Miss me, peanut?”

  I grinned. “Always.”

  Anytime he talked, he always sounded a little like dead leaves dancing over asphalt.

  Already, he was beginning to fade, and I was growing antsy too, but something had driven me there to him that night, and I wouldn’t leave until I figured out what.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  “Are you?” I said as we slipped easily into our familiar roles, I teasing and he always patiently bearing it. “You seem to be in a hurry to run away.”

  He was rocking back and forth on his heels. Chuckling, he shook his head. “You should be too, but I know why you’ve come.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Glad you do, cuz I sure don’t.”

  “Don’t you?” His look told me that he knew I knew.

  I seriously didn’t, though. I felt completely clueless at the moment as to what had driven me there to him, other than just wanting to see a familiar face.

  “C’mon, Scar, you and me go way back. You can’t lie to me. I won’t let you.”

  I mock glowered at him. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  Lifting one eyebrow, he pursed his lips. I’d always told him he could have easily passed for Elvis Presley’s cousin whenever he did that. He always just laughed and said, “Thank you. Thank you very much,” in probably the worst impersonation of The King known to man.

  “I have to leave in two minutes, Scar. Don’t waste what little time we have together.”

  Suddenly, I knew. As if a light bulb had just been switched on in my brain, the answer made so much sense that I wondered why it had taken me so long to figure it out—a way to enter the vampires’ lands while sticking to the terms of the invitation but also ensuring that, should all hell break loose, I had a hidden ace up my sleeve.

  “Will you be my plus one plus one?”

  His lips stretched as he said, “Thought you’d never ask. You know I will. And now, you gotta go talk to your man. We’re gonna need him.”

  “Mercer’s not my man.”

  “Funny that you went there without my even having to say his name.” His chuckle sounded like the shriek of ice-blown winds.

  I rolled my eyes at his teasing tone. One thing was nice about death—Boo never got jealous of my time or my lovers. I missed him, and I think he might have missed me to some extent too, but he never made me feel bad for moving on. Life sure would have been easier if the living were more like the dead.

  “Good night, Jimmy,” I said to the Cheshire smirk lingering longer than the spirit body, which was already fading back into the ether of perpetual darkness.

  “Night, peanut.”

  Feeling weirdly raw and vulnerable that night, I opted to sleep at Clarence’s house.

  Considering that the Alpha was currently out of town, Steven was sleeping at my place, and no one would dare intrude on the sanctity of an Alpha’s home uninvited—oops—I figured it was the safest place in the world, apart from my house, to be right then.

  At Clarence’s, I was surrounded by memories both good and ugly: watching Steven be born and seeing the face of Lucille, Clarence’s mate and Steven’s mother, stare back at me with eyes that were no longer her own; coming over for family dinner nights with Mercer sitting across from me and stealing glances when he thought I wasn’t looking, making me feel even for a moment that I was the world to him; having Clarence nearly rip my heart from my chest as those I’d known for years, and even some I loved, stood by and did nothing to help. The place held history—my history. It hadn’t always been pretty and sometimes flat out hurt like hell, but tonight the house was comforting in its familiarity.

  For the first time in months, I slept like a baby.

  ~*~

  The next night, feeling only slightly better, I took time with my appearance since that was the first time in two days I’d actually gotten a chance to bathe. I had to talk with Mercer, to sit down and try to have some sort of an adult conversation with him.

  Last time we’d talked, things hadn’t gone so well. Regardless of where we were or weren’t at the moment, I needed him with me, so making sure I
actually smelled decent was as good a way as any to start.

  I had two stops to make that night, and one of those stops required I look hot. Hot wasn’t happening—not with my baggy eyes—but I could settle for at least decent.

  I grabbed a frilly cotton print dress a soft shade of buttery yellow and slipped it on. Then I tied a big belt around the middle and pulled on a blue-jean jacket and my other favorite pair of honky-tonk boots, made of buffed leather. Wearing them felt almost like walking on air.

  After fluffing out my hair so it looked bedroom sexy, I applied a light tint of sheer pink lip gloss and a little mascara. That was as good as it was gonna get.

  First, I went back home, heart in my throat and palms slick, but no sooner had I stepped onto my porch than I realized Mercer had just left, not a few minutes past.

  Steven, however, was rummaging around inside, no doubt getting ready for school. I opened the door, and the little wolf stilled in the living room, staring at me with wide eyes for only a fraction of a second before firing himself into my chest like a little bullet.

  “Scar!”

  His exuberance made me forget my anxiousness for a moment. “Hey, pup. Where’s your brother?”

  I studied the living room, noting its cleanliness. When Mercer was upset, he cleaned. That was one of his weird quirks. I might have thought he’d been worried that I hadn’t shown up or at least called the night before, but less and less did I feel as though I understood him at all.

  “We waited for you all night last night. When you didn’t show, Merc decided to head to the bar and pull a double shift. Told me to call him when you got home. Should I?”

  Tucking an errant curl behind his ear, I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. Did you eat?”

  “Yeah, Merc cooked steaks. Do you hate us now, Scar?” he asked quietly, and I started, going absolutely still at his words.

  “What in the world would ever give you that idea? I love you. You’re my brother.”

  Long, dark lashes hid his eyes as he stared at his feet. My brother was growing quickly, coming into his wolf right before my eyes. Already, I could see the muscle packing onto his lean frame, as well as the two inches he’d grown just since Lucille’s murder four months before. I was pained by how much she would miss and how much he would, too. I was the only female figure in his life now, and I’d never noticed, until just then, how important that was for a growing shifter.