The Reaping (24 page)

When it became evident she wasn’t going to speak, I asked, “What do you want?”  There was fear and reservation in my quiet voice and I hated that.  Though I felt weak at that moment, caught off guard, I didn’t want her to know that.

Still, she neither spoke nor moved.  An unexpected wave of frustration washed away my fear.  “What do you want?”  This time my voice was louder and stronger, more demanding.  More in control. 

This interlude was unlike the others (if my crazy dreams could even be considered as “interludes”).  Though her expression was carefully blank as she stared at me, I got the distinct impression that she was angry.    She didn’t beckon to me, she didn’t ask for my help, she didn’t seem curious or desperate or even friendly.  Somehow, she seemed hostile. 

I took a step forward.  She didn’t move.  I took another step and then another, but still she didn’t move.  I lifted my hand and swiped it through the mist, through her form.  She disappeared for just a second.  And when I saw her face materialize in the mist once more, her lips were curved in a chilling smile.

My ever-ready anger pushed through my alm.  I shouted, “What do you want?” 

She opened her mouth, her top lip curling up into a sneer.  I thought she was going to speak, but, just then, the bathroom door opened.  A gust of cool air rushed in, chasing her away with the thick steam.  Her image dissolved as if it had never been. 

Derek stood on the threshold, a look of concern puckering his brow. 

“Why didn’t you lock the garage door?  And why are the car lights on?  What’s the matter?”

Like a punctured balloon, I felt suddenly deflated and unspeakably exhausted.  I was so tired of heartache and fear, of uncertainty and worry, of complicated.  For the first time I could ever remember, I craved simple.  Not breathtaking or exciting or dangerous, just simple.  And safe.

I looked at Derek.  Perversely, one of the biggest complications in my life was standing right in front of me.  The perverse part of it was that I craved him more than I craved simplicity, craved him so much that I could almost hate him for coming into my life.  Almost.

But he was also my biggest source of safety.  And, as always, I was inexplicably drawn to him. I took the few steps that would bring me into his arms and I wound my arms around his neck, melting into him.  I absorbed his strength and heat, his power and security as it bled from his skin into mine. 

He was relaxed at first, his arms coming around me in a warm embrace, one meant to comfort.  Then, slowly, electricity began to crackle between us, as it always did.  I became aware of the cool leather of his jacket where it was pressed against my naked skin, of the rough skin of his palms as they rubbed my back soothingly. 

He must’ve felt the shift in my mood because his touch changed.  His hands moved purposefully over my skin, warm with the passion that always lay just beneath the surface.  They stroked my back and buttocks, hinting at the wicked pleasures they could bring. 

I pressed my lips to his neck.  His hands moved to my sides, traveling up toward the sides of my breasts.  My body was already on fire when his hands stopped suddenly and he stiffened. 

“What’s that?”

I was still caught up in the moment, my head fuzzy with desire.  “What?”  I answered, pressing my body more tightly to his.

“Carson,” he snapped, the seriousness of his tone like a bucket of cold water.  “What
is
that?”

He pulled away from me so that he could look down into my face. 

“What’s what?”

“That necklace,” he said nodding toward the mirror behind me.

What his tone hadn’t done to sober me, his question had.  How easy it was to forget the world when I was in his arms.

“Oh,” I said, suddenly aware of my nakedness.  I took the towel from my head and busied myself with covering my nudity before I answered.  “That.”  I turned and walked to the mirror, taking the chain off the medicine cabinet and holding it out to him.  “Just a little something I picked up tonight.”

He took the necklace from me and I stepped past him into the bedroom to get some pajamas. 

Derek was silent for several seconds as he examined the charm.  He surprised me when he whirled around and stomped toward me, covering the space in three huge steps.  The look on his face was indescribably hostile.

“Where did you get this, Carson?  Be specific.”  This was the way I’d perceived Derek when I’d first met him:  dangerous.  His tone, his body language, his expression, it all reeked of what pain he could inflict upon me if I didn’t tell him what he wanted to know.  And even though I knew he wouldn’t hurt me—or at least I didn’t
think
he would—it still gave me pause to see him like this.

“I was visited tonight by one of the people that I saw in the garage that night.”

“And?”

“And he attacked me.” 

“He
attacked
you?”

It felt a little better to have that deadly cold anger focused on someone other than me, but something about it struck me as odd.  There was something else in his eyes, in his voice, something I couldn’t quite discern.

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

I gave Derek a detailed accounting of the whole ordeal.

“What did he look like?”

“It’s hard to say.  He’d been badly burned and one side of his face is almost gone.”

Before I could even finish my sentence, Derek had turned and stalked from the room.  I followed quickly.

“Where are you going?  What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer, just kept walking.  When he opened the front door, he finally turned to me.  “There’s something I’ve got to do,” he said mysteriously.

“What?”

“I need to find out some things before I involve you.”

My temper rose immediately to the surface.  I bit my lip, trying to control it before it ran away with me.  I was too volatile today to lose control.

I looked away from him, simply nodding, not trusting myself to speak.

I heard him sigh.  “Do you want me to come back tonight?”

When I looked up, his eyes were on mine.  They were a fathomless, stormy gray that I felt penetrating my very soul.

The stubborn, proud female in me wanted to say “no”, but the practical, insecure pragmatist wanted me to say “yes”.  That internal debate must’ve raged on a little too long because, with an impatient hiss, Derek turned around and walked out the door.

I watched as he mounted his bike, started the engine, turned around and sped down the driveway.  I wanted to stop him, to ask him to stay.  I also wanted him to leave and never come back.  I wanted to yell at him, tell him I hated him.  I also wanted to kiss him and tell him I loved him.   Nothing in my life made sense anymore. 

After I shut the door, I tried to do normal things, tried to relax into the peace and quiet, but I just couldn’t.  I found myself listening to every passing motor for the sound of Derek’s bike. 

I turned on the television, hoping it might provide an adequate distraction.  After a while it worked—by putting me to sleep.  I don’t know how long I’d been asleep when I heard the rattling of the doorknob. 

I sat up, immediately alarmed yet still a little disoriented from being awakened in such a way.  I listened closely.  The jiggling continued, but I never heard the scrape of a key in the lock, which meant it wasn’t Derek. 

Though I was very much afraid, I drew some small comfort from the pools of light that spilled onto the floors in every room of the house.  It seemed the people from the shadows couldn’t tolerate the light
at all,
therefore I surrounded myself with it.  As long as it wasn’t one of them attacking me, I felt pretty sure I could handle myself and anybody else from
this
world.  I’d trained so much with Derek and, before that, with my father, I knew I could at least hold my own with a run-of-the-mill intruder.

I watched the door until the noise ceased.  I listened, but heard no other sound.  After several minutes, just when I was about to relax again, I heard the garage door rattle as if someone were testing whether or not it was locked.

I dropped off the couch and crawled to the window, where I could see out onto the driveway.  Slowly I pulled back one corner of the curtain to peek out.  I nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw Derek’s face right there at the glass. 

Relief drowned the scream that was stuck in my throat.  I exhaled slowly and let the curtain fall back down then got up and walked to the door.

“What are you doing?  You scared me to death,” I hissed as Derek strode past me into the living room.

“I left the house key in the car today,” he said casually.  “Did I wake you?”

“I was watching TV,” I said, which I had been—before I fell asleep.  “Where have you been?”  I tried to sound as nonchalant as I could, not wanting to get into another argument.  I was happier than I would’ve imagined that he’d come back; I didn’t want to ruin it if I could help it.

“Out.”

“Just out?”  I asked mildly.

“Yep,” he said.  Avoiding my eyes, Derek walked into the kitchen.  He tossed over his shoulder, “I’ve got to get my bike into the garage.”

I sat back down on the couch and waited, listening to the sounds of the garage door opening and closing.  When I heard the kitchen door open and close then the lock slide into place, I expected Derek to come back into the living room, but he didn’t.  Instead, he stayed in the kitchen. 

I heard the refrigerator and a cabinet door open and close as he puttered around, then the tinkling of silverware and the clack of the microwave door followed by its low hum.

The smell of leftover lasagna wafted into the living room, but still no Derek.  I rose on a sigh, bracing myself for it to get ugly; evidently Derek wasn’t going to just volunteer
anything.

“So,” I began, rounding the corner into the kitchen.  He was just sitting down with a hot plate of food and didn’t even look up when I spoke.  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or are we getting ready to part ways?”

His head shot up.  “I told you I’d tell you, but that there were some things I needed to find out first.”

“Well, I’m already involved so tell me now.  I don’t like being kept in the dark,” I said calmly, certain that there were no truer words ever spoken.

“Carson—” he started, but I interrupted.

“Don’t ‘Carson’ me.  Tell me Derek.  We are supposed to be in this together, right?”

“We are, but—”

“No buts, Derek.  Please.”

His dark brows squeezed together and dropped down low in a deep frown.  His lips thinned into a hard, straight line.  Those were clear indications of a storm on the horizon.  His temper was on a short fuse, too.  “The medal, I recognized it,” he said tightly.

“What?” My irritation evaporated, replaced by sheer curiosity.  I slid into the chair opposite him and leaned forward conspiratorially.  “Who does it belong to?” 

If possible, Derek’s expression grew more thunderous.  I could tell he was in no mood to share, but he answered anyway.  His voice was low, but I could tell his teeth were gritted when he said, “It was my brother’s.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“But how did it get…” I trailed off, realization dawning.  I felt the blood drain from my face, guilt and sorrow mingling in the hollow pit of my stomach.  “Do you mean that’s who—”