Games of Fire (58 page)

“You okay?” she asked.

He laughed, short and shaky. “That’s my line, isn’t it?”

She went to him, leaving the door open in case her parents came home early; she’d be able to hear the front door open. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

His head came up, his gray eyes shining in the soft light from the streetlamp outside her window. “Not want to? I’ve wanted to since I first saw you! All I ever want is you, Sophie. And I don’t mean just like this. I want you. All of you. Trust me, not wanting you is not it.”

“What is it then?”

His hands found her hips. He drew her forward until she stood between his knees. She laid her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He leaned forward and rested his brow against her belly. “I just don’t want you to regret it.”

She combed his hair gently before nudging his head back to peer into his eyes. “I won’t. I want this. I want you, Spencer.” She nibbled nervously on her bottom lip before putting shape to the words pressing against her tongue. “I
… I love you.”

His eyes widened. He rose to his feet. “
What?”

Her heart plummeted in her chest, so sure he was about to tell her he didn’t feel the same. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed, the sound hoarse with emotion. “You don’t tell a guy you love him and then apologize, witch! Do you mean it?”

She bit harder on her lip. “Yes!”

He pulled her in close, kissed her nose. “Good, because I love you, too, Sophie.”

She sniffled, nearly faint with relief. “Yeah?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

“Even if I say I change my mind about sleeping with you right now?”

He chuckled. “You’re never getting rid of me, Blondie.”

“Good.” She nudged him down on the bed and stretched out over him. “Because I haven’t changed my mind.”

With a grin, he rolled her beneath him and kissed her. Neither heard the front door open downstairs or saw the shadow that crept into the doorway.

“Sophie?”

“Hmm?”

Warm lips kissed the curve of her shoulder, moving inward towards her shoulder blades. Fingertips glided down the curve of her back and slipped beneath the sheets draped over her.

“How are you feeling?” The lips paused at the nape of her neck.

Sophie smiled into the pillow. “Like I could sleep forever.”

The chest pressed into her side shook with silent laughter. “I didn’t hurt you?”

Not wanting to, already so comfy and warm, Sophie forced herself to roll onto her other side to face Spencer. She smiled up at him. “It was great.”

His lips curved. He kissed her lightly. “Love you.”

Sophie felt her heart flip in her chest. “Love you, too.”

He drew back. “I’ll be right back.”

With a kiss to her nose, he slipped out of bed, drew on his boxers, and padded quietly to the bathroom. Sophie smiled as the door closed behind him.

It hadn’t been magical, some life shattering script out of her mother’s romance novels, but it had been magical to her. Spencer had been so kind and gentle, so careful not to hurt or scare her. He’d held her so close through every moment, whispering over and over how much he loved her, that it was impossible to feel anything but him surrounding every part of her. Had there ever been a second of doubt that she was making the wrong decision, lying there, enfolded in his scent and the warmth left behind from his body, feeling content and happy and so filled with love, would have squashed it quickly.

She was still grinning like a lunatic when the bathroom door opened and Spencer emerged. He crossed back to the bed.

“Miss me, Blondie?” he teased when she quickly made room to let him back in.

But instead of slipping in beside her, he stretched over her, bracing himself with his forearms on either side of her head. His lips fit perfectly over hers. Sophie wasted no time winding her arms around his ribs and pushing him down until he was fully pressed on top of her. She smiled when he nudged her nose with his playfully.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She shook her head, eyelids already drooping. “Tired.”

He began shifting his weight off her, moving towards the space at her side, his face buried in the curve of her neck. Sophie turned her head, prepared to turn her whole body in that direction when something flickered at the corner of her eye.

The movement was quick, the sway of some wayward shadow being chased by light. For a split second, she considered it being headlights from a car pulling through the cul-de-sac, but the world outside the window was still. There was no sound but the quiet rustle of sheets and their breathing.

Spencer ceased his efforts when she stiffened beneath him and began to sit up. “Sophie?” He turned his head in the direction she was watching, the shadow painted corner between her closet and dresser. “What is it?”

She opened her mouth to tell him when it began to expand, stretching and growing as if all the darkness in the room was beginning to pool in
to that corner. It became deformed, a misshapen lump without a face. Sophie’s mouth opened, a scream on her tongue when it lunged. Something streaked, a flash of light cutting over razor sharp steel.

“Spencer!” She shoved him, catching him off guard as he tumbled out of harm’s way.
In the distance, she heard her name shouted by him as the curved blade swooped down on her.

She was only vaguely aware of Spencer’s snarl or his body flying over her and slamming into the shadow. There was a thud as two bodies hit the floor. Grunts and groans wailed around her, battling with the voice willing her to get up.

Unnaturally cold, her fingers trembled as they sought to find why her side was on fire and why there was suddenly hot liquid oozing under her. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she knew, but the possibility was just so … wrong. Her fingers came up against something sticky pouring through the gash soaking her sheets. It took her brain a whole lot longer to put the pieces together.

She’d been stabbed.

“Sophie!” Spencer’s frantic shouts of her name poured through the cracks of numbness. “Sophie, Run!”

He was on his back, the shadow sitting on top of him, arms raised over his head as if he were praying. It looked odd for a moment before she realized his arms were there because Spencer was holding them there, protecting himself from being
the knife glinting in the spikes of pale light slicing through the window.

“No!” she croaked,
twisting onto her side, ignoring the tearing sensation, she snatched up her lamp and hurled it. It struck the shadow in the back of the head, giving Spencer just enough of a chance to overpower him.

But something changed. It was too fast for Sophie to grasp. Spencer had him. They were doubled over with Spencer stretched over the shadow’s back
, Spencer’s arms wound tight around it from behind. The blade seemingly appeared out of nowhere. It was there and thrusting upwards before Sophie could even utter a cry. The sickening squish of tearing flesh split the night. Sophie might have screamed. It was ringing in her ears, louder and louder as Spencer slid off the shadow’s back and crumpled to the ground in a pale heap.

“No!”
Injuries forgotten, Sophie rolled off the bed, hitting the ground on her side and jarring every nerve on the way. The pain was inconsequential compared to the horror of seeing Spencer taken from her as the shadow drove the blade into Spencer’s body again and again.

“Stop!” she sobbed. “
Spencer!”

The shadow straightened, keeping its back to her. Sophie tried to crawl to Spencer, she was so close.
His name slashed from her esophagus in animalistic wails. But he never even moved.

She reached for the fingers on the hand closest to her when the shadow moved, spinning around. She wasn’t quick enough to pull away when his hands shot
out and closed around her arm, twisting it around until she cried out. She tried to fight, to scream, but he held tight as something sharp punctured the skin on her upper arm. The world blurred around the edges. It faded. Sight, sound and texture melted away until she was swimming in darkness.

Consciousness was swimming through
a pool of milk. Everything blurred and hummed and the world was blindingly white. It took a great deal of effort to pry her eyes open without squinting around tears. Her body ached. It wasn’t the pleasant sort of ache one got after a thorough work out. It was the pain of falling down a jagged cliff side, into a volcano. Everything hurt, including the process of thinking.

She was in her room, but it wasn’t her room. It was her bed with its floral bedspread and the shelves her father built for her stuffed teddies. It was next to
the bookshelf full of all her favorite books and her dresser but that’s where it stopped.

Her door was missing. In its place was a slab of metal. On the other side of it was her desk, her lamp, but the window was gone. Her beige walls were gone. Her ceiling and floors were gone.
The place was cold, concrete with little square windows high out of reach crossed with iron bars.

God, where am I?

She tried to sit up, only to nearly double over as the pain tore into her side. She gasped, clutching her side. She wore a white nightgown, beneath it she could feel stiff padding where gauze stretched over her skin.

“Hold still, Sophie.”

The voice came from above her head, the one place she was unable to see. But she recognized the voice.

“Joe?”

Carefully, as if trying not to scare her, he edged into view, dressed head to toe in black. “Hey, Sophie.”

Confusion hammered against her skull as she fought to understand what was happening. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe,” he told her, settling down on the edge of her bed, so careful not to jostle her. “How are you feeling?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I hurt and my head hurts. What happened?”

“You had an accident.” Gingerly, he hooked a finger around the sheets covering her and began tugging them down.

She snatched it back up, pulling it higher to her chin. “What are you doing?”

“I want to check your stitches,” he said as though it were the most natural thing in the world to say.

“My
… what?” She wasn’t quick enough to stop him when he tore the sheets away. “Hey! Stop!” She tried to fight him when he started jerking the hem of her gown up. But he easily swatted her hands away.

“Don’t fuss,” he scolded. “You have nothing I haven’t already seen.”

“What?” she gasped, horrified by the absolute blankness on his face. “What are you doing? Stop that!” The fabric tore as it was roughly pulled, exposing her. “Joe! Stop it!”

He ignored her screams, her thrashing, her fists striking him in the shoulders and chest. He ignored her soft crying and the tears now trickling down her face. He ignored her naked flesh as he gently peeled away the tape keeping the gauze in place at her waist.

“We’ll change the covering in a few more hours,” he said simply, pulling her dress and sheets back around her.

Sobbing, she scuttled as far from him as was possible between the pain and the wall on the other side. “What is wrong with you? What the hell are you doing?”

He stared at her for several heartbeats, confusion furrowing his brows. “I’m trying to help you,” he said matter-of-factly. “You got yourself cut pretty badly last night. Luckily for you, I’ve been around a few open wounds. I was able to stitch you back up.”

“What are you talking about?” she screamed.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to think better of it. “You must be hungry.” He rose up and walked over to the desk.

“I’m not hungry! Tell me what
… ” The memories plowed into her like a six ton truck. The impact was so violent, her empty stomach heaved, soiling her gown, the sheets and pillows.

Joe was there in an instant. “It’s all right. This is normal. You’re just in shock. We’ll clean you up.”

Deftly, he stripped away her blanket and removed the pillowcases off the pillows. He left everything in a pile on the floor as he reached for her. He crooned soft things as he hoisted her gown up over her head. He used a clean section to gently wipe her mouth before moving to the dresser.