Secret Worlds (593 page)

Ari also gave Shanna a hug and said, “Thank you for risking everything to help us. We wouldn’t be here without you.”

The three of them cried together and Ari told them what she knew about the case. She admitted Nick was still out there and that they all needed to be careful. Shanna’s mother held her daughter close and they both looked horrified at the news.

“The good news is that the Department of Juvenile Justice has decided to release you from your commitments early. They think you’ve been through enough, although I think you both need some long-term counseling. I suspect Judge Hatcher may be able to help us with that if we ask.”

“What about you?” Hope asked. “Are you going to counseling also?”

“Of course. It’s very important,” she lied. Davis couldn’t even get her to see the GYC’s counselor. She was afraid any amount of probing might send her straight over the edge.

The girls left with more hugs, promising to keep in touch. Ari hoped they would stay out of trouble, but the odds were against them. Glory City didn’t have the best record with its youth.

“When are you going home?” Rebecca asked, once the girls left. “Or are you moving in with Davis?”

“No, I’m not moving in.”

“Because I’m okay with you moving in. Obviously he cares about you.”

“No. I just need to be there for right now, and he gets that. While I handle all this and get my room fixed. Or move. Whichever works better. Really, that’s why I’m staying there,” she said unconvincingly. The look on Rebecca’s face implied she didn’t believe it either.

***

It took a while before Ari was ready to have sex with Davis again. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jace. Every time Davis touched her, she felt guilty. Eventually, though, he taught her to focus on him, to keep her eyes on his and to let him take away the guilt.

Davis’ lips pressed against the star, his star, in the center of her chest. Ari never told him she got it for him, for his role in her life and how every second she spent with him made her feel more alive. She didn’t need to. Maybe getting the tattoo had been some kind of premonition about the two of them. He grounded her more than she ever realized was possible. The connection to Davis was part of what gave her the courage to fight her way out of that basement.

Her need for him went beyond the physical rush he gave her, the acceleration of her heart, the electricity between their skin. They were bound emotionally now and it scared the ever-loving fudge out of her.

“I know—” he said, grazing his teeth over her stars, causing her to squirm. He tightened his grip on her hip and waist to keep her still. “—that you’re planning on going back to the office, but I want you to think about working for me.”

She froze. “What?”

“Come work for me. Work with these kids. They love and respect you. Plus, you’ll feel safe.”

Ari sat up on her elbows and Davis stretched his arms out, hovering over her. She saw the curve of his biceps in the moonlight. “Davis …”

“Just think about it, okay?” he asked, distracting her with a long kiss on the lips. Or trying to, at least.

“You’re not ready for that,” she told him, once he came up for air. “Neither am I.”

“That’s not true.”

She laughed and ran her hand over his head, feeling the soft, buzzed hair. “It’s complicated,” she said, repeating what he’d told her on another night. “I know we’ve got this thing and it’s good, but rushing this seems crazy. We’re both pretty independent people. I mean, we like random hook-ups in bars. You spend your nights trolling for bad guys. I like to spend mine watching reality TV with Oliver.”

“That bar situation was a one-time thing,” he said.

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “When my parents died, something in me just stopped. I went through the motions, working, running, hanging out with Oliver. But underneath I had this numbness. The only way I could find a flicker of my old self was through the tattoos or going to the club. Taking risks.” She looked up into Davis’ face. “You make the numbness go away. And I don’t want that to stop, but I’ve got to figure out how to survive on my own. Especially now.”

He sighed and rolled so he faced her. Picking up her hand, he laced his fingers through hers. “So wow, you really don’t want to get traditional with me?”

“By living over a gym of sweaty teenage boys and dealing with their emotional crises all day? Not yet.”

In the darkened room, Ari saw his eyes narrowed. “But ‘not yet’ isn’t a full ‘no,’ right?”

“I suppose not,” she said. He dropped her hand and his fingers wandered over her exposed flesh. Unable to resist, Ari climbed across his body and settled over his hips. His body trembled against hers and butterflies rippled through her stomach in response. This was another reason she needed space. Davis almost gave her too much life. They might not ever leave the bedroom if she moved in for real. “I need to go home and figure out my life. Get my courage back. Make dinner for Oliver.”

He traced the edge of her body with a finger, eliciting a shiver. “Can I still sneak in your room at night?”

She smiled and gave him a kiss, tugging on his bottom lip. “Anytime.”

***

Moving home took her a month, three coats of paint, new furniture, bedding, and an upgraded security system on her bedroom windows. Plus, Oliver promising to sleep at the end of her bed.

“You going to be okay?” Davis asked from the bottom step of her front porch. Colored lights wove around the porch railings and columns. A surprise from Oliver for her homecoming. Ari stared at the man in front of her, handsome and strong. Caring and obscenely compassionate. She realized that Christmas was two weeks away. Even though she’d spent the last month living in his house—sharing his bed—she had no idea if she should get him a present.

Maybe this was what Davis meant by “complicated”.

“I’ll be fine,” Ari told him. Her hands were shoved in the big pocket of her sweatshirt, but she longed to touch his face. Feel the burn of heat from his skin. Even after all this, he was the one who made her feel alive, but even so, she needed to go home.

“The boys will be watching,” he told her. “You let me know if anything happens, All right?”

“Okay. I will. I promise.”

“Take care, Ari,” he told her, like he wouldn’t see her for a while. Maybe he wouldn’t. She didn’t know where things went from there.

“Bye, Davis.”

He leaned in to kiss her, hard and possessive, cradling her back with one arm. She kept her balance by gripping his shoulder, growing lightheaded from his intensity. Even when he pulled back, he kissed her twice more. Okay then, she would be seeing him again. Soon.

Ari entered the house knowing that he was probably still out there, and if it wasn’t him, he had members of his crew posted to watch. She should have minded but she didn’t. They made her feel safe.

Shutting the door, she found Oliver, waiting with Thai food, still in their plastic containers. Just how she liked it. She sat next to him, crossing her legs and getting comfortable.

“You spoil me,” she said, reaching for a fork.

“You have no idea. I recorded all your favorite shows while you were gone and saved them all for when you came back. I’m dying to find out who got kicked off Survivor.”

“You did that for me?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“I love you, Ari. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” she said.

Snuggled next to Oliver, Ari shut out the danger and men with super powers and gifts that made no sense. She shut out the bad guys waiting for their next chance. Because if she learned anything during the past months it was that she wanted to live. She wanted to learn how to feel again, push herself and continue to help those in need.

From now on, she would just do it with help.

Freak. Weird. Crazy. These are the names tossed around seventeen-year old Jane Watts by her fellow classmates. But things aren’t always as they seem.

http://www.amazon.com/Wraith-Book-1-Angel-Lawson-ebook/dp/B0076E8ME4/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Angel Lawson lives with her family in Atlanta and has a lifelong obsession with creating fiction from reality, either with paint or words. On a typical day you can find her writing, reading, plotting her escape from the zombie apocalypse and trying to get the glitter out from under her nails.

She is the author of the completed Wraith Series, Serial Summer, FanGirl, The Lost Queen and co-author of The Lost Queen.

Website:
http://Angellawson.com

Isobel twitched the curtains apart carefully. If she opened them too wide she might be seen. Her room was directly above the center of the drive. A person standing at the right angle could clearly see her curtains. Although, it would have been a little odd if their guests bothered to look in the tiny third-floor window that belonged to her room.

Below her on the expansive gravel drive the staff were unloading the finest traveling carriage she had ever seen. The carriage was a black lacquer monstrosity with red and gold paneling on the doors. The horses that drew it were a sturdy pair of matched greys, doubtless the best that could be had at the last coaching inn their guests stopped at.

A more modest carriage had preceded the one currently in the drive several hours before. It had unloaded a few servants and a multitude of fine trunks. All the servants were male. There were no maids in the group the Garibaldis had brought with them from Santa Fiora, Italy, which meant no women had been included in their party.

The entire household had been buzzing about this visit all week. Guests were rare in this isolated corner of Northumberland. Her employer Sir Clarence Montgomery, a close-fisted minor baronet, did not like to entertain often. But these visitors were an exception. Sir Clarence had mentioned the upcoming visit of his half-sister’s husband and son twice in her presence, which for him positively constituted boasting.

Aldo Garibaldi was an Italian count. Miriam Montgomery had met the
Conte
Garibaldi de Santa Fiora at a ball in London during her first London season, shortly after her debut. After a brief courtship, the
Conte
proposed and Miriam went off to Italy for her happily ever after.

Unfortunately for her, ever after was only a decade. She had passed away when Matteo, the count’s only heir, was just a boy. According to the servant’s gossip, Matteo was handsome and intelligent young man of eight and twenty, a paragon of propriety and honorable behavior.

He sounded extremely dull.

She didn’t know if Sir Clarence had been close with his older sister. There had been a younger sister Anna as well, but Isobel’s employer never mentioned her at all. According to the servants, Sir Clarence believed his younger sister had married beneath her. She had died young too, but if Clarence Montgomery felt the loss of either sister with any degree of emotion, it was hidden behind layer upon layer of proper manners and cold British reserve. But Isobel preferred that innate coldness in her employer. It was preferable to the alternative.

She had to leave her last position after the warm and fatherly Sir Isaac Warton, her former employer, made it clear that her duties went beyond the instruction of his spoiled children. He would wait until his wife was away paying calls in the neighborhood to waylay her and flirt shamelessly. Isobel had rebuffed with a polite but firm hand. When that didn’t deter him, she had advertised for a new position. She had been fortunate enough to find one right away. She was gone in a few weeks.

Isobel considered herself lucky to have found the Montgomery’s. They didn’t hold her Scottish heritage against her—although it was probably an excuse for paying her less than the last tutor despite her mastery of mathematics, Latin, Greek, and Italian. Her new charges, Martin and Amelia, were quiet and well behaved. Most importantly, the Montgomerys kept to themselves. Truthfully it was a little dull, but a governess’ lot was often this way. Those of her brethren who yearned for adventure and excitement were the ones who got into trouble, something Isobel scrupulously avoided.

She didn’t have anyone to talk to outside of her brief interactions with the servants. Her place in the household was in a strange nether position. By birth, she was above the servants, technically equal to the Montgomerys, but circumstances had placed her actual existence below them—far below.

It was a lonely life, but one Isobel had no wish to change. A friend may have inspired confidences she could not afford to share. It was better this way.

Sighing, she turned her attention back to the drive. Where were the
Conte
and his son? She had been watching for several minutes and so far no one had emerged from inside the massive conveyance.

Isobel was contemplating giving up and going to bed when there was a flurry of sudden activity. The occupants of the carriage had finally deigned to leave it to face the dark grey Northumberland sky. Two of the male servants that had been deposited earlier hurried to the carriage to assist a slow moving figure.

Finally
. She leaned closer to the window for a better look, her loose auburn hair falling forward. The gap between the curtains widened despite her best intentions to leave them as they were.

No one had mentioned that the
Conte
was an invalid, but there he was being helped down by the servants. He was quickly followed by another man.

Wait
.

The figure being helped down from the carriage wasn’t grey-haired like the one in the fine waistcoat next to him. It was a young man, moving with painful slowness. The two male servants were positioned at his sides, supporting his weight as they made their way to the front door where Sir Clarence was waiting. Isobel leaned back from the window as the group disappeared inside.

How sad. The count’s heir was obviously in very poor health. And it was unmistakably the younger of their two guests. Though he had moved with careful precision, the figure being assisted through the Montgomery’s front door had to have been Matteo Garibaldi. He was still fit, with broad shoulders and dark midnight hair. Whereas the
Conte
Santa Fiora had gone grey and had a discernible roundness about the middle.