Roam (Roam Series, Book One)

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

  West towered, rage darkening his face. He clenched his fists, ready for Logan to get up. “I’m tolerating you because Roam loves you- no other reason. You have this one chance to come with us, or you’re on your own- and trust me, it won’t be for long.”

  “Logan! Please, just trust him,” I tried to raise my voice above a throaty whisper and fought another coughing spasm. Logan jumped to his feet, ready to fight. I moved between them, shaking my head, imploring. “Please.”

  “Go- someone’s coming,” West grabbed my hand, half dragging me to the exit as I scrambled for my back pack. Logan followed, though I wasn’t sure if it was for my benefit.

  In the parking lot, the sunshine, the football field, the cars driving by- the scene depicted a normal afternoon. The nightmare that had just taken place inside the empty gym was almost unbelievable. I followed West to his car, and Logan looked at us expectantly.

  “My car’s over there. I’ll follow you,” he managed a glance my way before jogging to his Camry.

  “I need to call Morgan,” I said, digging through my backpack. Waves of dizziness passed over me. “She’s in danger…,”

  “Wait until we’re in the car,” he ordered, clicking the button on his keys. I nodded. He picked me up and set me in the passenger seat, strapping me in. “Tell her to run, to stay away from Troy. Don’t tell her what just happened.”

  “Okay,” I was already in my favorites, pressing Morgan’s number. The call went right to her voicemail. “Morgan, it’s me… please stay away from Tr- from Reed, he’s bad, he’ll hurt you, just call me when you get this message,” I finished, watching Logan pull out behind us in the rearview mirror. I hung up.

  “Did he touch you anywhere else?” West demanded the moment I finished speaking into the phone.

  Rolling my shoulders, I winced. “He twisted my arms behind me, and my shoulders hurt… and I slipped and fell when I was running from him, and hurt my knee.” My voice waivered with tears.

  “Did he speak to you?” Rage was evident in both his tone and the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

  “Yes… he… said he would make it easy and painless, killing me,” I knotted my hands together, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. “He knew about the numbers. He kept laughing, saying I was just a child and you hadn’t even touched me.”

  West hit the brake, and I felt the seat belt beat against my sore lungs. He reached over to still my wringing hands. “Baby, you’re going to break your own fingers. I’m here, just hold my hand,” he whispered.

  I took his hand in both of mine, brushing the tears away from my cheek with my shoulder. “He asked about fountains- he wanted to know if you ‘found the fountains.’ I guessed he was talking about the doors we’ve been searching for. He specifically said the one in St. Petersburg.”

  “The Peterhof Fountains,” he murmured, nodding.

  “He said my dream water-mirrors led you right to them… the mirrors in my dream are like water, how could he know that?”

  “What?” West looked at me sharply, negotiating a turn that made me shift suddenly against the passenger’s side door. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t even realize it mattered! I didn’t know…,”

  “I’m sorry- it doesn’t matter. We know the doors exist now, and we know where to find the first one. You were right- Russia.”

  “What about Logan?” Melting down again, I gasped, squeezing his hand. “Logan’s going to start dreaming about hating me, and then he’ll try to kill me?”

  “No. We’ll protect Logan.”

  “Where are we going?” I looked around, realizing we were much farther south.

  “My house.”

  “Oh.” I’d never really thought about where he lived. Rubbing my eyes, I blinked rapidly. “I can’t see. I have to take these contacts out- they’re ripping my eyes up.”

  “Do you have your glasses?”

  “In my purse- in my book bag.”

  “How bad is your eyesight?”

  I cringed. “It’s pretty bad. I can’t see anything further than I can hold out my hand.”

  “Have you ever considered Lasik surgery?”

  Confused, I glanced at him. “Are we making small talk?”

  He pulled on to a dirt road. “No. Before we travel, we may need to make a permanent change with your eyes. If it is your physical body that travels, glasses aren’t practical in many of the lives we spent together.”

  I pictured myself riding a horse through France, wearing my cute Ralph Lauren specs.

  “My dad can’t afford surgery.”

  “You are not your father’s responsibility any longer,” he turned into a long, wooded drive grown over with grass and weeds.

  I watched Logan pull in behind us. “What does that mean?”

  “I told you. Things have to change, Roam. It’s beginning. You’re not safe; your family isn’t safe as long as you’re near them. We need to make the numbers on his arm change.”

  I widened my eyes. “We’re- we’re going?”

  He nodded.

  Chapter Sixteen

  West lived in a small town just south of Madison. We drove through a historic, covered bridge before pulling off the road and into the woods. The house was veiled in a forest of trees, the outside barely visible with brown siding and dark green trim. A peaked roof revealed a second floor, but the house was tall, not wide. The wrap-around porch held a few pieces of furniture, all newer with matching burgundy and white striped cushions. I walked to an oversized chair and sat down, exhausted from the walk from the car to the house.

  “It’s so quiet here,” I said, my eyes heavy. Fatigue pulled my eyelids lower, and I rested my head against the wooden back of the chair.

  “She’s exhausted.” Logan walked to me, watching West unlock the front door. “I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m picking her up. Unless you want to hurl me across your yard.”

  West pushed the door open, shaking his head. “I’ve got her, just hold the door open.” I felt West gathering me into his arms, and could sense the bitter animosity coming from Logan. “I’m putting her in bed, and then I’ll talk to you.”

  “What, your bed? Put her on the damn couch!” Logan shouted. I’d never heard him so protective; I tried to speak, but the words were too much effort for my aching throat.

  Time passed, and I felt West’s hands on my face. “Just sleep, Roam. No one will hurt you. Just sleep.”

  “It’s snowing hard,” he says, looking out the window. “They were right about the blizzard. We’re not going anywhere tonight.”

  I understand that I am dreaming immediately. I look for my water-mirror; it hangs in the hotel room that I am standing in, just above a red, chenille couch. The bed is on the opposite wall, and the bedspread matches the couch exactly. The hotel room is nicer than the one I dreamt about before, but the decoration is garish.

  I am blonde, wearing a white, loose-fitting dress. The dress stops above my knees.

  I think that it is 1977.

  “What is the date?” I ask, turning to West. He is so handsome. He is finally wearing something other than jeans and a tee-shirt; he has on black suit pants with a white dress shirt. His hair is longer, making the waves more evident.

  “January 29,” he turns from the window, walking to me. “Our wedding day.”

  “We are married?”

  “Julie,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me. “Were you there, at the church just this morning?”

  I giggle; his smile is contagious. “I guess so,” I say. “This is so unreal.”

  “This is real,” he hushes against my ear, kissing softly. I shiver, softening at his touch. “I want you… I want to make love to you. Not for a baby. Just to feel you.” He covered my lips with his, his mouth tasting like the champagne Logan had given me on New Year’s Eve. I reached for his hair again, fascinated that it still felt the same, in every dream, in every lifetime.

  “I want that, too,” I whisper, shy
ly. He chuckles softly against my throat, lowering his kisses.

  “Well, at least we agree on something,” he lifts my thin dress over my head on one swift movement. I am timid, trying to cover my body. I am wearing thin, white lace panties but no bra.

  “Can we talk for a while?” I ask, my heart pounding. He shakes his head, leading me backwards toward the bed.

  “No, because then we argue.” He pushes me back, over the bedspread. I stiffen- bedbugs!

  “Wait- let’s take the comforter off,” I say, my mind sobering at the memory of Dateline’s black light images. “They are the dirtiest things in hotel rooms.”

  He stops kissing me; an amused grin plays on his lips. “After all of these lifetimes, you still surprise me,” he murmurs, and then pulls the bedspread off with a quick tug. “No more excuses. But I like the shy bride act- keep going,” he teases, picking me up and dropping me playfully to the bed. He slowly begins unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Roam, you have to wake up now. Roam,” his voice was urgent. I opened my eyes, regretting it instantly. My head was pounding, and my contacts were concrete.

  “West, my head,” I breathed, pressing my palm to my temple. He was close to my face, and he narrowed his eyes.

  “Your breath smells like… champagne,” he searched my gaze. “When did you drink champagne?”

  “I didn’t- you did, and I was kissing you. It was our wedding night. 1977. We got married in a blizzard,” I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust my contacts. “You can smell the champagne? From my dream?”

  He smiled ruefully. “Yes. And you did have champagne that night. A lot.”

  I pinched my forefinger and thumb directly over my eyeball, tearing away a contact. I repeated the motion in the other eye, and he watched me, cringing.

  “That looked- excruciating. I’ll get your glasses and something for your head.”

  “Thanks.” I sat up, my vision blurred. My hair was dry and coarse from not rinsing the chlorine away, and I still wore my damp swim suit and clothes, making the sheets clammy to touch. How long have I been asleep? My head is pounding… I sat up, moving my legs over the side of the bed. Shallow breaths escaped my lips in small amounts as I struggled to fill my lungs with air. Squinting my eyes to search for a clock, I heard West coming back into the room.

  “It’s almost midnight. Logan left about an hour ago, after I told him- everything.” He passed me a cold bottle of water and two pills. I tipped my head back and took the pills without asking what they were, chasing them with the icy water. The liquid soothed my throat, but after a second gulp I choked, breaking into a coughing fit.

  “Easy- it’ll take time. Just small sips.” He sat next to me on the edge of the bed.

  “Logan left?” I managed, rasping. He nodded.

  “We talked for hours. He believed me, finally, and trusted me enough to leave you here. He called your dad to explain how you fell asleep at his house- his parents are home- and you were just going to sleep on his couch until morning.”

  “Morgan and Logan- they’re both in danger- Troy could find them any minute and…,”

  I was halfway to my feet before West caught me. “Morgan is fine. She got your message. She called Logan. He made up a lie about you having a nightmare about Troy- or Reed,” he took the bottle of water that I held out to him, lowering it to the floor. “He disappeared after he attacked you. Morgan hasn’t seen or heard from him since.”

  “So Logan has just been calling around, covering for me?”

  “Logan is going to work with us. He is making arrangements to travel with us.”

  I widened my eyes. “To Russia?”

  “He understands that we need to move and make the numbers change. Otherwise, his family- and yours- are in danger.”

  “I can’t believe it’s Logan.” I reached for my glasses, still in his hands, and slipped them on. “Logan is the Immortal Alter.”

  He looked down, studying some invisible mark in the carpet. “I’m sorry.”

  “He will dream about me, then,” I said, emotionless. “He’ll dream about killing me. Convincing dreams that will make him want to do it.”

  “I don’t think the dreams will be more powerful than reality- how much he cares for you,” West added. “Honestly- I don’t know.”

  We were silent for a while. I processed the unsettling feeling of being in his bedroom. Now with my glasses on, I could see the bed was huge, king-sized, and the comforter and sheets were a masculine, contrasting black-and-white pattern. The furniture was massive; dark oak, with a matching dresser against the wall to my right, at the foot of the bed. What appeared to be a bathroom was directly in front of me. The walls were painted a stark white. The only piece of artwork was a print of a sketched helicopter by Leonardo da Vinci. A thin, black floor lamp between the bathroom and bedroom door offered a soft illumination for the vast room.

  I sighed, struggling with what to say- or ask him.

  Finally, he turned to me. “This is it, Roam. This is where we fight. Everything we’ve done, for centuries, has led us to this moment. School, your friends, even your family- they are inconsequential. I don’t know this way- this is new for me too. But- I will make sure you never fight alone again.”

  I pictured the college applications piled on my desk in my bedroom. Next to the stack was a photograph of my mother and father, smiling, their heads together as they grinned into the camera my mother held out in front of them.

  My mother. Remembering her soft smile, I turned to West. “I will do anything to protect my family. And the family that I will have- someday. That includes Logan.”

  He met my eyes. “I swear to protect Logan,” he said solemnly, his words echoing the sentiment of days long passed, when knights were sworn to protect their lords.

  “Thank you.” I nodded once, covering his hand with mine.

  “Under one condition,” he added. I exhaled, scowling.

  “…and that is?”

  “You have to do everything that I tell you to do. You’re smart- but stubborn. I can’t protect you if I don’t have your complete obedience and trust. Do you promise to do everything I say- without question?”

  I flinched. “Without question?”

  “That was a question. Logan’s on his own.”

  “Yes! Yes, I promise,” I said, exasperated. A fleeting smile touched his lips.

  “Good. Now, my bathroom is through there. I got you a towel, one of my tee-shirts and a pair of sweats. The sweats have a drawstring. Leave the door cracked, and I’ll be right here if you need me. Do you feel strong enough?”

  “Yes,” I stood up, my legs feeling less unstable. My mind was slightly less sharp; everything was a little unclear, and my headache was slowly creeping away.

  “Your bag is in there too,” he added. “Your underwear.”

  “Fantastic.” I moved as quickly as I could to the bathroom. As he’d promised, my bag, his clothes, and a white towel were stacked on a wooden stool near the claw-footed bathtub. The room was clean with white, ceramic conveniences; a pedestal sink, and a toilet. The rounded, stainless steel shower rod draped a burgundy curtain with a clear liner around the tub, and a shower head was fixed to the white tiled wall. I left the door cracked, making sure that I was inside the curtain before peeling off my damp clothes and swimming suit.

  In the shower, I tried to avert my attention to cleaning myself and not focus on being in West’s shower. How immature am I? I reached for a shampoo bottle, intrigued by his choice of discount brand. Strawberry scented? I had pictured a bar of multi-purpose Irish Spring and nothing else. Bemused, I lathered my hair and attempted to not think about the events of the day.

  Thoroughly cleaning every area with the hottest water I could stand, I tried to block Troy’s touch from my mind. I turned the water off, reaching for the towel. Instead of panicking over the memory that refused to leave my overactive mind, I felt my body relax.

  Blinking, I looked around at the same bathroom I had just observed. The fixt
ures, the mirror, the sink… the entire bathroom held a soft glow. My breathing was less painful and laborious. I managed to secure the towel around me as the door opened.

  West stood next to me, offering his arm for support. “I can help you get dressed if you want me to. I’ve seen it all before.”

  Looking up at him, I realized he was completely serious. I gritted my teeth, taking his outstretched hand. Floating, intoxicated warmth filled my mind. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” His eyes were fixed on mine; I blinked again, my eyelids feeling like lead curtains.

  “I don’t trust myself.” I felt the muted pain in my right knee and winced. “My boyfriend is about to become my… arch enemy, and I can’t stop dreaming about… kissing you. And you’re really… hot,” I added. Did I just say that? What is wrong with me? “What did you give me?” I asked, gripping his hand.

  “Oxycodone.”

  “Why?” I tried to focus on his face, but when I did, another set of bottomless blue eyes would appear.

  “Because we’re going to fix your eyesight,” he caught me before I crumbled to the floor, my body completely slack. I was vaguely aware of his arms around me, carrying me from the bathroom. “Don’t be afraid.” I was back in the bed, but fresh sheets were dry and warm.

  “You’re going to put a… laser in my eye?” Slow. The world is too slow… my words are too slow. “No- no,” protesting, I struggled against him with all of my strength as he pulled the tee-shirt over my head. Once he had it completely over my hips, he pulled the towel away.

  “I’m not. But a surgeon is. Lean back,” he whispered, his arm slipping behind my shoulders. Muddled thoughts were thick and nonsensical. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He gathered my hair and spread it over the pillow. I was vaguely aware of him holding each eyelid open, squeezing drops of something into my eyes. “Your eyes will be numb. Just relax baby.”

  Another person’s voice floated in and out of the bedroom. Time passed; I felt pressure in my eye, one at a time, but had no inclination to fight what was happening. Eventually I sensed West was lying next to me on the bed, but I could see nothing but blackness. My pulse raced, and my thoughts were becoming clearer. I was on my back, my head on a pillow, something heavy across my stomach.