Beautifully Broken

by Sherry Soule

  In his bedroom, Trent lit two candles on his dresser, which illuminated the room in a soft glow. He shut and locked the door. My heart fluttered wildly in my chest, but I didn’t say anything. His room resembled an ad for Pottery Barn. I sat on the rumpled sheets of the queen-sized bed that had a lofty headboard with built-in shelves that were overflowing with books and clutter. In one corner was an arcade game with a snowboard propped against it. A huge beanbag and an Xbox sat before the flat screen TV. Clothes and textbooks littered the floor, CDs were strewn near the stereo, and posters of bikini-clad girls covered one light blue painted wall.

  Instead of turning on the TV, Trent sat next to me. He took my hand, his fingers softly playing on my skin. I hardly noticed how close we were sitting together.

  “Truthfully…you’ve never, ever seen anything remotely spooky in this house? Heard anything strange?” I asked, my heart thudding hard against my ribs.

  “You talk too much.” He claimed my lips, crushing me against his chest. Gently pushing me back on the bed, he draped one leg over mine. His lips seared a trail from my neck to my shoulders. My body and mind descended deeper in the tide of his hungry kisses. I was surprised by my eager reaction to the touch of his lips, his hands. I kissed him slow and deep. Trent’s hands traveled upwards to lift my sweater. I admit. I panicked. My hands found his and I stopped him.

  “What is it?” his voice was husky with passion.

  I leaned up on my elbows. “I have…this scar. I’m sorta sensitive about it.”

  “Let me see.”

  “It’s…ugly.”

  “Nothing about you is ugly, Shiloh. See this scar on my lip?” Trent pointed to the faint, discolored blemish on his lip that ended in a jagged line at his jaw.

  I nodded, chin touching my chest. “That’s nothing.”

  “Let me see it.” His fingers played with my sleeve. “I have ugly scars too. Except you could say mine are all psychological.” He laughed, but it sounded sad. Hollow.

  Sitting up, I pushed his hand away. “Oh…those are not good.”

  “Yeah, it’s because my mom died. I didn’t get a chance to know her. It makes me think about, you know, how fragile life really is.” Trent kissed my cheek. “It’s okay. You don’t have to show me.”

  He eased me back down onto the bed and lavished kisses on my face, neck, and shoulders. He positioned his body over mine and grinded intimately against me. My heart pounded an erratic rhythm, and my body heated up in place I didn’t realize it could. I became conscious of everywhere his warm flesh touched mine. Kissing Trent was a wild experience for me. I couldn’t think, could barely breathe while his lips were pressed to mine and he was kissing me so thoroughly.

  The kisses and the dry humping got hotter and more aggressive. Trent’s roaming hands slid across my skirt to my hips, then moved to stroke my ripped-up leggings below my skirt. One hand cradled my head, while the other crept to my thigh, then sunk between them.

  Another quiver of panic hit me. “Stop. Trent, please.” I moved his hand. “It’s too soon.”

  He sat up, his handsome features flushed with passion. He was breathing fast. “What’s wrong? You know I like you.”

  “I know.” I turned on my side, propped up on one elbow. “Sorry. I want to…but you’re going too fast,” I warned, then leaned away.

  He smiled smugly. “I can’t help it—I’m a guy—”

  “I know. You have needs, blah, blah, blah.”

  He laughed, and I tried hard not to let his extreme hotness make me change my mind about slowing down. “Well, yeah—smarty.” His mesmerizing emerald gaze clung to mine, causing me to swallow hard. His voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness into my veins. “Come here.” When I shook my head, he said softly, “Don’t be like that. Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

  “Love?” I arched one brow. “Don’t you mean lust, big boy?”

  He laughed again. “I meant love.”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Never. But something’s happening to me. Because I think about you all the time,” he said, his voice strange, thick. “I know it sounds dumb, but it feels like some magical force is drawing us together.”

  I knew what he meant. His smile alone brightened my sad existence. Like I’d been muddling through a dark reality only to bask in his beauty.

  “C’mon, don’t be mad.” I sniffled and wiped my nose with my sleeve.

  “I’m not…just…” Trent’s face was a mask of frustration. He noticed my eyes had blurred with tears and mumbled, “Great. Now I feel like a tool. Don’t cry. I understand, and I don’t want to do anything you don’t…it’s just…you’re such a good kisser. And you’re driving me wild.” His fingers curled over mine. He tipped my head toward his.

  I stared into those gorgeous eyes, sensing something inexplicably turbulent seething beneath his fair features.

  “Trent? Do you love me?” I held my breath. Candlelight frolicked on the walls. Shifting, I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Trent?”

  “I heard you…I’ve never really loved anyone before.” While he talked, he stroked my hair, smoothing it away from my face. His soft gaze sought mine and my legs went weak. “Well, except this hamster I had when I was little. Does that count?”

  My breath stuck in my throat. “I asked if you loved me.”

  Tears smeared my face. Just a simple girl, lost in a world of chaotic space. I drew a deep breath and gripped the sheet with my hands. Waited.

  He stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Do you love me?”

  Awkward silence.

  Neither of us wanted to say it first. But our two souls had become one in a realm no one else could venture into. The immortal coil of passion had wrapped around us forever.

  Trent blew out the candles and switched on the lamp. “Never mind. I’ll meet you downstairs,” he said, walking from the room.

  A few minutes later I met him in the foyer, hanging my head and avoiding his eyes.

  He stepped toward me and lifted my chin with a finger. “I guess I should respect your boundaries. If I go too far again—just whack me upside the head.” He spoke in an odd tone. “It’s late. You should get home.”

  Nodding, I reached to catch his hand, but he moved away. Hurt, I gulped, battling tears. He had said he understood, but I wasn’t sure he did. He handed me my purse and walked me to the door. We stood uncomfortably in the doorway for a second. I met his eyes and my lips lifted in a frail smile. He returned it, but didn’t say anything.

  I turned and walked slowly to my Jeep. I sat on the seat and stared at the closed door of the mansion. Winds rustled through the oaks. Shadows whispered in an archaic tongue.

  Irritated, I placed my hands over my ears and yelled, “Shut up, already!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Heavy fog and mist clung to the streets. The moment I stepped through the back entrance of Ravenhurst, I knew Trent wasn’t there. Somehow, in all of the fifteen-thousand square feet of the mansion, I could sense he was gone. I tried not to let his absence upset me, but it did. I spent the day getting lunch for the crew, running errands for Evans (which included picking up his dry cleaning), and reading up on how to cleanse haunted houses. Sulky, I ignored the buzz of my cell until lunchtime. I looked at the text from Trent: Want to hang out tonight?

  Happily, I texted back: OK.

  Sweet. Pick u up @ 7.

  By six o’clock, I rushed home so I’d have time to shower and change before he picked me up. When Trent honked, I ran out the door.

  “Sorry about the other night,” he said through the open window, but he didn’t meet my stare.

  “Me too. Just don’t push.” I slid into the leather seat and buckled my seatbelt.

  Trent merged into the traffic and drove down Redwood Road. “I like you and I’m screwing it up, huh?”

  “…no.” I hung my head. “I like you too.”

  He took us to a local hangout, a pizza parlor named Luna Pizza that featured
live cover bands on Saturday nights. The space held had high round tables and stools. Inside it was dimly lit. The room stank of sweat, garlic, and tomato sauce. Music slammed from the speakers, the male singer doing a rendition of Muse’s “Uprising” that vibrated through me. Trent’s body squashed against mine, his hand pressed possessively to the bare skin of my lower back as he guided me through a throng of writhing teenagers to a table near the windows. We sat on stools, facing the stage, and Trent’s gaze roved over my slinky not-much-to-it outfit: cropped black shirt that sat about two inches above my silver bellyring and black mini-skirt with my hot-pink ankle boots.

  Trent wore his usual bad-boy sexy guy attire—black t-shirt and jeans with motorcycle boots. His hair shaggy. Swept to the side of his forehead. Super sexy. He left me to push through the crowd and order us drinks from the bar. He was instantly swallowed up by the sea of dancing, shouting, scantily clad bodies. He shoved his way back to me and set two tall glasses of soda on the small table between our stools. We listened to the band, and Trent held my hand across the table. The music slammed through the sound system, and we watched kids gyrating to “21 Guns” by Green Day.

  “Do you dance?”

  “Um,” I said, barely able to swallow. Dancing? So not my thing. “Sure.”

  Trent stood and took my hand, leading me onto the dance floor. He swung me around to face him. Full, sexy lips hovered close to mine, and his hands slipped around my waist, down over my hips, where he pulled me roughly against him. His biceps flexed as he flattened his body into mine and we swayed to the music. I melted in his arms. Trent’s hands caressed my back through the thin blouse and then his mouth covered mine. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. My skin flooded with heat when he kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of my throat, sending delicious shivers throughout my body. And the music hummed through me as our bodies molded together.

  The whirling thoughts in my head ebbed, and I lost all coordination. His hands clutched my hips as we rocked to the melody. Wiggling bodies collided into us, but Trent held me steady and protectively against him. Again, my mouth surrendered to his and my legs went rubbery. Being with Trent made the horror that was my life—the wraith, the shades, my friend’s deaths, and Esael—fade away. For once my life seemed normal. Perfect, right. For a moment, I forgot everything and relished being a regular girl with a regular boyfriend. Nothing else mattered when I looked into his eyes—our strong attraction more dangerous than the spirits haunting his house.

  Me, dating the hottest guy in Whispering Pines.

  Who would’ve thought?

  Making out on the dance floor was kind of a turn on. My hands rose to his face so I could greedily put my mouth over his. That kiss lasted and lasted, making me feel unreal. When I slid from his arms, his face was flushed and his breathing heavy.

  Someone bumped into me and I turned. “Sorry—oh, it’s you,” a tall, skinny kid said. His dark eyes slits. “You’re that strange, wannabe-emo-witch-chic. Watch it, bitch.”

  Faster than I could blink, Trent slammed his fist into the guy’s jaw. The kid went stumbling backwards, parting the crowd. “No—you watch it,” Trent growled and grabbed my hand. We hurried toward the door. Once outside we ran to the Mustang and hopped in. Trent shifted into first gear and hit the gas. We peeled away from the curb, the cars and buildings going by in a blur.

  “No one talks trash about my girlfriend,” he said, turning right so fast I slid into the door.

  “Trent, slow down,” I said softly. “And, uh, thanks for defending my honor.”

  Trent nodded and eased off the gas, turning left onto my street. He parked the Mustang at the end of my driveway, and almost at once, we were kissing again. Fused by hands, arms and lips. He kissed me with so much urgency that when he raised his head, I stared, dazed, into his face. I moved out of his embrace. My knees weak. My mind confused. The windows were fogged and I opened mine. A burst of cool air stroked our flushed faces.

  “Sorry I lost my temper back there. But that skinny kid had it coming,” he said.

  “Yeah, he did.” I kissed his cheek, his scent of fabric softener and soap wafting to my nostrils. “I don’t want to go.” I glanced at the dark two-story Victorian house with peeling paint. I sighed. “Gets harder every time we’re together, because I like you so much.”

  His voice softened. “I like you so much too.” In a flash, he was out of the Mustang and standing at my door. He opened it, released my seat belt, and pulled me out. He walked me to the front door. I didn’t want to go inside. I didn’t want to leave Trent.

  Under the porch light, he gripped my waist and drew me hard against him. I wove my arms under his shirt, clutching his back, and raised my head to stare into his eyes. He crushed his mouth to mine.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said in a husky voice near my ear. Every muscle, every curve of his body rubbed against mine. “You’ve become too important to me, Shiloh.” He stared into my eyes. “You’ve gotten under my skin. You know?”

  “No,” I whispered. “Tell me.”

  Trent groaned and his hands slid up my arms, his fingers threading into my hair, and he rested his forehead against mine. “I’m crazy about you, Shiloh.”

  His kiss was fierce, desperate, and slow, drugging. A shudder passed through me, warming my body from the inside out. All my defenses dissolved. We started making out again and I let Trent slip his hand inside my top. This time, when he kissed me, something inside me awoke and a shudder warmed my skin. Our kisses got more passionate and hotter. His fingers slid over my bra, and a turbulent ache burned through my body.

  The porch light came on.

  My parents had actually waited up? Ugh, talk about embarrassing.

  The door flinging open behind us had Trent and me jumping apart in an instant. Trent’s eyes widened. He peered over my head and flashed a lopsided smile.

  Oh. My. God. I want to die.

  I turned my head. Jillian stood in the doorway with a scowl on her face, dressed in a red silk nightgown and robe. “You were told to be home by ten.” She glared at Trent.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Broussard—”

  “Save it.” Jillian yanked me roughly inside the house by the sleeve. She shut the door so hard the whole house rattled.

  “What’s your problem? Why did you embarrass me like that?” My head hung low, hair falling in my burning face. “God, it’s not that late.”

  “Too late for you.”

  My head jerked up in surprise. “It’s not like it’s a school night—it’s summer!”

  “Don’t be daft. There’s a reason the town enforces a curfew.” Her face flushed darkly. “How about you try obeying it, or I’ll ground you.”

  “What?!” My hands settled on my hips. “This is so unfair!”

  Jillian said each word slowly, barely reining in her irritation, “Are you done? Because I’m tired and wanna go to bed.” She stormed from the room.

  I ran to my own room and threw myself on the bed. I bawled until sleep overcame me.

  In the morning, I went into the kitchen and glanced at the clock on the wall: eleven-thirty. My parents had gone to church without me. I poured a glass of orange juice and returned to my room to curl up on my bed with a book on witchcraft. Tomorrow was my last day at Ravenhurst, and I wanted to finish the reading Evans had assigned. Although I hadn’t found the answers I’d needed working there this summer, Evans was still my mentor, and we’d keep searching until we stopped the big bad evil.

  I must’ve drifted off, because it was hours later when my parents came home. On silent feet, I snuck downstairs toward the kitchen. At the mention of my name, I stiffened. That’s when I realized I’d almost slept through something important. I hid in the darkened archway and peeked through the slit in the door.

  “Weren’t you being a tad hard on Shiloh?” Dad asked.

  “Hardly. There is a curfew. But of course, why should your daughter be home by ten?”

  “Calm down. She’s go
ing through normal teen angst. She broke curfew once. No big deal.”

  “It is a big deal…if she knew what was out there. In the dark.” Her gaze swirled with colors—green, brown, gold. She was unearthly beautiful, like a phoenix that rose from the ashes. And I was beginning to realize just as deadly. “The curse—”

  “Old legends. There’s nothing in the fog.”

  Her laughter was vicious. “Don’t be a fool. There are unimaginable things roaming in this town after sundown. Hungry, restless things.” When Dad scoffed, Jillian’s eyes widened as if a new realization came to her. “Obviously, it’s a moot point, and I only meant she may need help. I called her friend, Ariana today. She sounded worried. And you know my family history.” She tilted her head, contemplating the situation. “Maybe she belongs in an asylum. Now. Before she gets worse.”

  An asylum?

  Dad shook his head and paced. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Just like my sister and the others.” Jillian was silent a moment, looking deep into the distant past. “I overheard Shiloh talking on the phone to that Mr. Evans. They think Ravenhurst is haunted, and yesterday I found books on witchcraft in her room.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. What were you looking for?” Dad’s laugh was sarcastic. “I just thought you overreacted last night. She’s a good kid and a straight A student. She doesn’t do drugs or hang out with a bad crowd—we’re lucky. So she stayed out too late. She deserves a little freedom. And now you suddenly want to institutionalize my daughter? Over a few books on the occult? No. We can handle this in private.” Dad pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We’ll help her cope with this…this…uh, problem,” he stammered.

  The hush that followed pulsated with tension.

  “How?” Jillian had a sour edge of cynicism in her voice. “The Donovans and the Broussards have had a blood feud for years—”

  “Whose fault is that?” Dad stared at her, the lines of concentration deepened along his brows. “God! You Broussards spout about family, loyalty, and honor. But it’s all smoke screens and mirrors. You lie and manipulate—”