Destiny, YA Paranormal Romance (Brightest Kind of Darkness Series, Book #3)

by Michelle, P. T.

  I clasp Ethan’s hand in a tight grip, unshed tears suddenly blurring my vision. I quickly blink them away. “None of you really knew Ethan.” I look at his parents. “According to him, you were too busy trying to fix him with pills and psychiatrists, like it was easier just to subdue him than try to understand him.” He’s not mentally ill. He figured out that he absorbs people’s negative energy whenever he touches them, but all that dark energy gives him horrific nightmares. He’s worked so very hard to overcome how that impacts him. I ignore his mother’s gasp of outrage and glance at Samson.

  “I know you love Ethan, Samson, but you haven’t looked deep enough to really see him. Your brother is truly unique.” My gaze flits to the bandage on Ethan’s forearm and I briefly wonder if Ethan’s parents know about the dragon tattoo under that gauze. I’m certain Samson doesn’t know the true reason Ethan got that tattoo is to help him cope with his dreams. I’ll bet you still don’t know about the sword tattoo that recently appeared on Ethan’s back, do you, Samson? You know why he didn’t tell you? He said you wouldn’t accept a mystical tattoo and he couldn’t risk losing your support too. Changes are surging through Ethan. He’s trying to accept them, trying to cope, even though he has no clue why this is happening.

  I want so badly to say everything that’s burning through my mind, but I understand why Ethan has held back. His parents aren’t the open-minded type, and it’s not like I’ve told my own mom about my ability to dream my next day. Instead, my gaze pings between his family members as I say something they all need to hear, “And now that he needs you most, you’re pointing fingers and handing out blame? What he needs is for you to accept him just as he is, regardless—”

  “Listen here, young lady.” Ethan’s dad’s angry stare cuts me in half. “This is a family matter. You don’t belong here.”

  Ethan’s heart monitor starts to rise as his father speaks. I worry his father might kick me out, so I take a calming breath and gently lower his hand back to the bed. “If you want to know where he was, just ask Danielle.”

  “Danielle?” Samson asks.

  I nod. “Your cousin. Ask her.”

  “That’s just great!” Ethan’s dad throws his hands up, sarcasm written on his face. “Looks like you didn’t know my son any better. Ethan doesn’t have a cousin named Danielle. He only has two male cousins.”

  My face heats and my attention snaps to Samson for confirmation, who swivels an annoyed gaze from his dad to me. His light blue eyes fill with an apology as he slowly dips his head in assent.

  Ethan’s dad turns to his oldest son, his tone building in force once more. “This is how things are going to go, Samson—”

  “Excuse me,” a man in a white coat says forcefully, but calmly from the doorway. “I want you all out of this room right now. Ethan doesn’t need this arguing. He needs peace and quiet so he can recover.”

  Ethan’s dad cuts his gaze the man’s way. “Are you his doctor?”

  The silver-haired man nods. “I’m Dr. Hammond. If you’ll follow me into the hall, I’ll go over your son’s current condition. The swelling has already gone down. I’m very happy with how quickly his body seems to be healing. We shut off the meds a while ago. I’d hoped he would be awake by now, but sometimes it can take a little longer.”

  “How much longer?” his mother asks, clutching her hands.

  “He’ll be okay, Sherri,” Mr. Harris says gruffly.

  “Let’s give it another hour or so.” The doctor offers an encouraging smile. “We’re going to take him off the ventilator soon. In the meantime, let’s talk about what you can expect during his recovery.”

  The doctor’s voice fades as Ethan’s family files out of the room after him. No one notices that I don’t follow, as if my presence is of no consequence whatsoever. I stare down at Ethan’s hand resting on the bed, my eyes burning. I’m starting to feel like they might be right.

  My phone beeps in my backpack. Probably my mom checking on me. I quickly retrieve it and read the text.

  Lainey: Where are you? Are you sick? You never miss school. This must be life or death or something. Did Ethan finally come back?

  Me: He’s back. Finally.

  Lainey: Is everything okay? I know you were worried. Why was he late getting back?

  My best friend’s question knocks the self-pity right out of me. I quickly type a response.

  Me: Will fill you in later. Got to go. Have something important to do.

  When a text immediately comes back from her, I turn off my phone. I’ll talk to her later. For now I need to redirect my energy to something constructive.

  Where have you been, Ethan? His relaxed features tell me nothing, so I start searching the room, looking for the clothes he’d been wearing when he wrecked.

  Chapter Two

  Ethan

  Cold, wet darkness surrounds me. Sounds echo but they’re muffled, distant. Something slithers close, displacing the water; that sound is crystal clear. I look left, then right, tracing the long, thick eel-like bodies that curve back around, hissing and bumping against me like they’re testing to see if I’m edible. The creatures’ scales reflect bits of elusive light, allowing me to briefly catch a glimpse of long, razor sharp teeth, spiny fins, and jagged tails meant to inflict pain. My eyes burn from trying to peer through the murky saltwater to determine how many creatures are lurking in the dark depths.

  Seaweed tangles around my waist and arms. Every so often the movement of the water seems to loosen their clingy hold; I kick hard, trying to bring myself to the surface. Wherever that is. I’m confused as to which way is up. It’s pitch dark, so watching for bubbles doesn’t help.

  Even though I taste the salty water, I can see the creatures’ shadows without goggles. But taking a breath is hard, despite the scuba regulator I’m wearing. The tank must be empty. Why am I scuba diving?

  My lungs are fiery with the need for oxygen. The pressure on my chest grows heavier and heavier as my last bit of oxygen evaporates. Dark spots fill my vision. I’m going to pass out and finally be eaten by these hungry snakes.

  Right before I lose consciousness, air whooshes into my lungs, pushing them out so far and so fast, I wonder if they’ll burst. I gulp and gulp, taking in as much life-giving air as I can while tracking the creatures’ steadily aggressive movements.

  As soon as my lungs are full, one of the eels bumps me hard. Excruciating pain slices through my ribcage and the water grows darker, clouding with my blood. The salt water stings my wound. I grit my teeth around the mouthpiece. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to mentally distance myself from the pain, but another bump slams into my shoulder. I can’t move, can’t flinch away from the slow, torturous movement of a jagged tail slicing along my back. All I can do is endure.

  I can’t catch my breath again. The suffocating feeling is coming faster, and this time my vision turns fuzzy. I know before I pass out, this whole process will repeat all over again. Like it has a hundred times already.

  The only difference is where I feel pain and how long it takes for the air to fill my lungs once more.

  Is this what hell feels like? A constant, pain-filled loop? Never dying, but feeling like you’re on the edge of death?

  Nah, you’re not in hell, a grating voice says in my head.

  I grind my teeth. Well shit, he’s back. And here I’d thought with the change of venue—suffering repeated hell in the freaking ocean instead of my usual monstrous nightmares—I’d left that gravelly-voiced bastard behind too.

  You’re just tired of the bullshit, the voice says. Give in. Once you do, no more voices, no more images, no more questions. Stop fighting so hard. I told you I’ll always be with you no matter where you go.

  As soon as he finishes speaking, an invisible clamp closes on my lungs, pushing every bit of the air out. This time I’m going to lose consciousness. Exhaustion overwhelms me. Do I really want to repeat this same scenario endlessly? What would it feel like to welcome the blackness and total oblivion? Where woul
d I go? I’m so tired.

  I’m ready for you, Eth—

  Gravelly Voice is cut off as a trickle of light bleeds through the dark depths, and I’m suddenly rising in the water. I shake my head and focus on the pinpoint of light, ignoring everything around me. Humming! I hear a girl humming.

  Then a soft hand takes mine and pulls me higher. All I can see is her hand, but I stare at the pale skin and fine bones and cling to it.

  We’ve moved higher in the water now, where light shines through from the surface. Now that my mouthpiece has disappeared, I bite my lips a couple of times, enjoying the freedom from having to hold it in place.

  Nara’s suspended in the water beside me. Seaweed wraps her naked body like a bikini. Her green eyes shine emerald bright and her gorgeous blond hair floats around her in unruly waves. “What’s it like, Ethan?” she asks, her brow furrowed.

  I want to pull her close, but the only control I seem to have over my limbs is where we touch. I slide my fingers through hers. She talked through the water, so I answer the same way, surprised I’m able to without gulping in salty sea. “What’s what like?”

  She tilts her head slightly. “Dying.”

  My heart judders. “I’m dead?” Deep regret punches my gut as I sweep my gaze over her. The seaweed shifts with the water, moving just enough to tease me with a glimpse of her cleavage, the curve of her hip.

  “Do you want to be dead?”

  Her question jerks my gaze back to hers. “I’m not dead?”

  Muffled, watery voices sound above my head. It can’t be Nara. She’s right here with me. Is that my brother? And my dad? I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I don’t care. Even in this watery grave, Nara holds my rapt attention. If this is death, I’ll welcome this version.

  She runs her thumb along mine, her touch sending heat flowing through my arm, chasing away the water’s cold grip. A small smile plays on her lips and she lowers our hands to her side. “I’d rather you not be. You’re kind of important to me.”

  The seaweed buffs around her, drawing my attention to our clasped hands. Something dark shines through the green seaweed curved around her hip. I move our linked fingers toward her and hold my breath, my hand trembling as I brush the edge of the seaweed aside with my thumb.

  A tiny black feather has been tattooed where her underwear would normally lie across her hip. Pleased shock shoots through me and my gaze snaps to hers. “When did you get this?”

  Her laughter sounds like bells jingling in the water. “I’ve had it all my life, Ethan.”

  Nara’s so nonchalant, my gaze drops back to her hip. Where the feather had been, another mark is there instead. It’s faded and light. I tilt my head so I can see it better. It looks like an upside-down—

  “…None of you really knew Ethan. It seems like you never tried…”

  I jerk my head upright when Nara’s voice slams through my consciousness, loud and clear. It’s not musical. It’s not watery. It’s real.

  Who’s she talking to?

  “…According to him, you were too busy trying to fix him with pills and psychiatrists, like it was easier to just subdue him than try to understand him.”

  Shit? My parents are here? Why is she talking to my parents about me?

  “…I know you love Ethan, Samson, but you haven’t looked deep enough to really see him. Your brother is truly unique.”

  She’s talking to Samson too? What’s going on?

  “…And now that he needs you most, you’re pointing fingers and handing out blame? What he needs is for you to accept him just as he is, regardless—”

  Why do I need them?

  A man’s voice rumbles, low and angry. Definitely sounds like my dad.

  “Ethan,” watery Nara speaks to me as real Nara’s voice fades into the background once more.

  “Where am I, Nara?”

  Her lips move, yet no sound comes out. I shake my head to let her know I can’t hear her, but her body begins to fade too. “No!” I call out, trying to clutch her fingers tight, but they pull from my grasp as darkness surrounds me. Seaweed curls around my waist and arms, tugging me deep into the cold darkness once more.

  Chapter Three

  Nara

  I find Ethan’s clothes stashed in a closet in a plastic bag marked with his name.

  Casting an apprehensive glance back to the closed door, I quickly empty his army jacket and jean pockets looking for some clue as to where he’s been. His cell phone is missing, so I stare at the sparse items. Bewilderment builds and my heart sinks with each new item I inspect: a napkin from a nightclub, a matchbook from another nightclub, a wad of dollar bills, receipts for gas from various places in and around the D.C. area, and a hotel receipt.

  My hand pauses over the smaller hospital baggie with his wallet and the red and black bracelet Ethan had been wearing when he’d been home a couple days before. It’s the red ribbon and black rubber band he’d taken from my hair the day before he left to go back to Michigan a month ago. He’d said he needed to make things right with his parents before we could move forward in our relationship. At least that’s what he’d told me. I close my eyes, picturing the sincerity in his eyes.

  Was that a lie too, Ethan? The thought tears at my heart.

  I pull the bracelet out of the baggie, then quickly retrieve my phone to take pictures of all the stuff that had been in his pockets before putting everything back in his clothes where I found it. Once I return the plastic bag of clothes to the closet, I move over to Ethan’s side and slide the bracelet under his right wrist.

  My hands shake as I try to tie it back together. I fumble several times trying to make a knot, but it’s just too short now. My chest burns and pent-up tears trail down my face as I let the broken bracelet fall to the bed. I rub my shaking hands on my jeans and a sob wrenches from my throat as my gaze shifts to Ethan’s face.

  “Why were you in D.C.? What were all those receipts for? Does your trip to D.C. have anything to do with the sword on your back?”

  Ethan’s dad’s deep voice echoes outside the door and my heart races. I reach over to slide the bracelet out from underneath his wrist, but pause when I see a curved black line along the underside of his wrist. Clutching the rubber band and ribbon in my fist, I start to touch his hand to turn it over when his parents enter the room.

  Gerald Harris presses his lips together in a thin line and drills his gaze into me. His eyes are just as expressive as Ethan’s, speaking without a word; right now they seem to be saying, “Are you still here?” I grab up my backpack and mumble the need to go to the restroom. As I pass his father, he says, “Nara, is it? I resent your earlier comments—”

  I pause, my stomach bottoming out.

  “Gerald,” Ethan’s mother cuts in, reprimand in her tone.

  “I’m not going to let some seventeen-year-old kid think she can tell me how to be a parent.”

  She presses her lips together and shakes her head at her husband.

  His father clears his throat and appears to count in his head for a second before he speaks to me once more. “I appreciate you caring about my son, but I think it’s best if you wait until he’s awake and the doctor allows friends to visit before you return.”

  His banishment sends a jolt of pain into my chest. I don’t say a word, but just nod as I hold back the wail building inside me. Walking out of the room, I head straight for the bathroom. It’s as good a place as any to bawl my eyes out.

  I’ve just turned the corner when I see Ethan’s doctor talking to a younger doctor while the other man studies a chart. “The medicine should be out of his system at this point. I’m not sure why he hasn’t woken up yet.”

  Are they talking about Ethan? I swallow back my emotions and slow my steps, craning to hear what the other doctor says.

  “You know how head injuries can be. The only thing you can depend on is their unpredictability.”

  Ethan’s doctor gestures to the chart. “But this Harris kid is healing miraculously. I e
xpected him to be awake by now. Some of his responses are like he’s sleeping, but then others are as if he’s still under. It’s baffling.”

  The dark-haired doctor shrugs and passes the chart back to him. “Have you taken him off the ventilator then?”

  The older man nods. “They’re heading in to do that now. He doesn’t need it anymore.”

  “Then give it another couple of hours. I’m sure he’ll wake soon.”

  Ethan’s doctor sighs as I pass behind them. “If he doesn’t, I’ll be ordering more tests.”

  Why isn’t Ethan waking up? I tense as I push the bathroom door open. At the sink, I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face, hoping to clear up my puffy eyes and settle my nerves.

  When the jarring cold sets off a round of shivers, I turn the faucet and grab several paper towels to dry my hands. I grimace that water has run down my sleeve. I quickly push the wet material back to dry my arm as well. As I run the scratchy paper across my skin, my mind skips back to Ethan and the bandage on his forearm.

  Oh God…what if his tattoo has been damaged too? Ethan depends on that dragon and all the religious symbols he’s added to it to help protect him from the evil that permeates his dreams and the darkness that’s constantly pulling at him.

  Dropping the towels, I grab my backpack and run out of the bathroom, glancing up and down the hall for Ethan’s doctor. When I see the man at the far end of the hall, waiting for the elevator, I hurry toward him. “Excuse me, Dr. Hammond?”

  He pauses and waits for me, silver eyebrows raised.

  “I was in the room with Ethan Harris, the boy with the head injury, when you came in earlier. I saw he had a bandage on his left arm. He has a tattoo on his forearm. Can you tell me if it was damaged?”

  The older man frowns in irritation as the elevator doors slide open. “The boy has a head injury and you’re asking about a tattoo?” Shaking his head, he walks into the elevator, muttering, “What is wrong with today’s generation?”