Mack

  Oh god. I covered my mouth in horror.

  He continued, “I was too weak to do anything but watch the blood pour from her neck. But inside, I wailed in agony. At the same time, Kan screamed violently, cursing me for putting him in the situation to have to kill his own daughter. He said, ‘You will forever walk this earth, living my pain.’ Of course, all I could hear were Óolal’s final words burning deep into my soul. I think that’s when I knew that her father’s words weren’t a threat. They were real. And so were hers.”

  “What did she say?” I whispered, not aware that I was once again on the edge of my seat.

  “She said, ‘I will find you. Whatever it takes, my soul will not rest until I find you and set you free.’ And then she died.” Mack paused for a long moment, perhaps to gather himself before continuing. Meanwhile, I was horrified. “The final irony was that not soon after, more guards from my island—compelled by some mystical homing skills and Mia’s orders to keep me safe—showed up looking for me. They’d been but a few weeks behind the Nords the entire time, following our trail. Had they arrived sooner, Óolal would’ve probably lived. I truly think the gods wanted to punish me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  TEDDI

  I don’t know how long I sat there in silence with Mack, trying to shake off the anguish of the tragedy that had just played out in my mind. It stuck to my skin, permeated my lungs, and rolled around in my stomach with nauseous waves. I literally felt sickened by it.

  But why? I’d seen horror movies, read tragic love stories, and I’d played with donor brains in college. I wasn’t thin skinned. Okay, yes, I wasn’t myself today, all filled up with those annoyingly strange emotions, but this story had somehow worked its way inside me like a rotting splinter, tainting my blood.

  “I need to take a breather.” I stood and headed for the door, wondering how far I’d get before I vomited. Once outside, I placed my palms against the wall and leaned in. My head was spinning, and my insides twisted with painful cramps.

  I suddenly felt someone breathing on the back of my neck—someone tall from the angle of it. I gasped and turned, finding the entire hallway empty.

  “Fuck. What’s wrong with me?” I whispered. Suddenly the room began spinning faster and faster, exploding with colors, the walls dripping with blues and reds and…

  I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Then the space around me turned dark, and I felt myself falling.

  ~~~

  Two Days Later.

  I dreamed of running down that hill again. Same as the last time. Only, now there were storm clouds above, and the freezing rain pelted my shivering body.

  It’s not him. It’s not him. Dear God, it looks like him, but it’s not. All I could think of was getting away, that I’d made some horrible mistake.

  I glanced down at my stomach, pressing my hands over a fresh wound, the blood staining the front of my tattered brown dress that looked more like a potato sack. I was going to die, and I knew it. Yet I kept on running. From him. The man with the blue eyes who apparently wasn’t who he’d seemed.

  I tripped on a rock and flew face-first down the muddy embankment. So much pain. So much pain. I tried to get to my feet but kept slipping.

  “You fucking little bitch,” said a deep, deep voice from behind me, right before I felt the man grabbing my hair and flipping me over.

  “No. Please,” I begged for my life.

  He stared down at me with disgust and rage, his face covered in blood, those cold blue eyes punching right through my soul.

  “You think you can take him away from me?” he growled. “You think you can rob me of my brother? No one takes what’s mine.” He raised his other hand and sliced through my neck with a gleaming silver sword.

  “Fuck!” I sprang up from my bed, drenched in sweat. Oh Jesus. My eyes immediately gravitated toward the night-light in my hallway, visible through the open door. Frantic, I ran my hands over my white pajama shirt, feeling for any wounds.

  No, no. I’m safe. I’m home. My plain white dresser and nightstand, the framed picture of my parents hanging over the white armchair in the corner where I read, the sliding door that led out to my redwood balcony overlooking the ocean.

  I whooshed out a breath and ran my hands over my face, fully realizing that it had just been a dream. Only this time, everything had been so vivid. Every detail, right down to the texture of the gritty cold mud, the sting of wet wind whipping across my cheeks, the feeling of rot in my stomach.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I had to get up and try to move around a little. It was now close to midnight, and I’d been in bed for two days, half asleep, half afraid of it. The strange dreams wouldn’t stop.

  I swung my shaky legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood, still feeling woozy. I hobbled down the hall, past the bathroom and into the kitchen. I grabbed the glass I kept on the side of the sink and filled it with cold water from the filtered tap.

  I chugged and chugged, knowing I’d probably throw it all up like I had everything else the last few days. Much more of this and I’d have to check myself into the hospital for dehydration.

  No. You’re okay, Teddi. It’s just the flu. I’d survive.

  I finished my glass and opened the fridge, eyeballing the loaf of bread. Crap. I was so hungry, but my stomach wasn’t up for entertaining visitors. Luckily, I had reserves, meaning I could never be described as thin because that would require me to care deeply about the opinion of others or my mortality. I never worried about any of that. Is that all going to change?

  I didn’t know, and the only thing that seemed to matter was getting well. I had patients to treat.

  You mean Mack.

  Okay. I did mean Mack. I’d just run out on him, becoming violently ill after our session. Shannon had driven me home in her car—mine was still at the center.

  I stumbled to the bathroom, relieved myself, and then washed my face and brushed my teeth. I always hated feeling filthy, but I felt it even more now. That horrific dream of being covered in blood and dirt had left me wanting a long shower.

  If only I could stand up long enough for one.

  I got to my bed and slid between the soft sheets, thankful for the fact that the room had stopped spinning.

  “Think you can get away from me that easily, do you?” said a deep voice from the dark corner of the dimly lit room.

  “Oh shit!” I jerked upright, and my eyes fixed on the tall figure sitting in the armchair only five feet from the bed. “Who the hell are you?” I instinctively slid the two ends of my collar together, as if closing the front of my PJs could miraculously protect me.

  “Don’t you recognize me, woman?” He turned on the reading lamp next to the armchair.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. Those blue, blue eyes. The same ones from my dreams. But that short black hair and stubble—he was also the man I imagined when Mack described himself in that story. I couldn’t sort through this.

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked, really talking to myself.

  “Allow me to enlighten you, Óolal. My name is King. And like the last five times you’ve come for my brother, I’m here to stop you. No one takes what’s mine.”

  Óolal?

  I blacked out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  TEDDI

  “Get the hell off her, King!” screamed a woman in the back of my foggy brain.

  “You get back in the car. This doesn’t concern you, Mia,” the man commanded in an authoritative tone that signaled he was used to having his orders followed.

  Slap! “Say that one more time, King. I fucking dare you,” the woman growled.

  “Ow, woman. I swear you test my patience down to the hair on my balls.”

  “No. You’re the one who’s testing, because we had a deal. Your evil-cursed-bastard days are over, King. Over. And I didn’t go to hell and back to free you just so you could continue tormenting anyone you like. Now step away from that woman or I will get my ass in that car and you won’t see me or Archon again.” br />
  “You threaten me, wife? I think you forget who I am.”

  “Forget? How could I forget? Look at you. You’re the fucking sexiest man on the planet. I get wet just looking at you.”

  “Goddammit,” the man said, his voice dropping an octave, “I fucking want you. Now.” Slurp, slurp, kiss, smack. “Bend the hell over and show me your p—”

  I groaned with discomfort. And, okay, disgust. Who the fuck were these people getting ready to get it on with their angry sex in my bedroom? While I was sick as a dog?

  “She’s awake,” the woman whispered. “Put it away.”

  “No. I’m hard. It must be addressed, Mia. You promised never to leave me wanting.”

  “Oh, stop it, King. Dammit…look what you made me do.”

  “Mmmm…Looks good to me.”

  Smack! “Lactation is not foreplay—you know what? Go. Just go and check on the baby.”

  “Archon is fine. He’s with Arno.”

  “I don’t trust anyone with the last name Spiros,” she complained. “Last time I did, I ended up dead. Why did you hire him as your driver again?”

  Dead? This had to be a dream.

  “Because I am a man,” he replied. “One who doesn’t ask permission from a woman.”

  “You went there? Seriously?” She sighed. “Go check on him. Please?” she added sweetly.

  “Fine. But this is not over, Mia. And you owe me hot desk sex—”

  Desk sex?

  “Yes. Fine. It’s a deal. Go,” said the woman.

  “Promise?”

  “I’m no welsher—you know that.”

  “Excellent,” he said, his voice filled with lust. “Today is turning out much better than I’d hoped. Except for the part where you didn’t allow me to kill my brother’s executioner. That part is irritating, and we shall have words tonight.” I heard heavy footsteps walking away.

  “Honey, can you hear me?” the woman said, a soft hand stroking my cheek.

  “Who are you?” I mumbled, trying to get my eyes to focus on the young blonde woman sitting on the edge of my bed. She wore a brown leather jacket and had her hair pulled back, but those were the only real details I could focus on.

  “My name is Mia. I’m Mack’s sister-in-law.”

  The Mia from the story? So she was real. Of course, that didn’t mean the rest of his story was. “Why are you in my house?”

  “We need to find Mack before you do.”

  Huh? “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you’re not feeling well, but we need to know if you’ve seen him.”

  “Seen who?” I tried to play stupid.

  There was a long pause. “Mack. He’s blond, tall, goofy smile, and has those all-American good looks? Lots of tattoos on his arms.”

  The Mack I knew certainly didn’t have a goofy smile. Nevertheless, “Don’t know him,” I lied. “Why are you in my house?” I repeated.

  “Because if we don’t find him before you do, he’ll die. For good this time—we know he took off his necklace.”

  What the ever-fucking-hell did that mean?

  “Please, Theodora. Tell me if you’ve seen him.”

  I didn’t know how to respond and that meant keeping my mouth shut. Perhaps these were the “they” Mack had referred to when he’d said someone was looking for him. In any case, this wasn’t making sense. They also didn’t seem to know that he was at my facility. So how the hell had they connected the two of us?

  “Why do you think I know this man?” I asked. “And why would I want to kill anyone?”

  “According to my husband, you’ve known Mack for over three thousand years. And you always find him. And then you try to kill him. Oh, and you’re in love with him, too.”

  I must be hallucinating again. Or was I?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TEDDI

  The obscenely gorgeous preppy blonde named Mia—possible double for Scarlett Johansson?—heated up some canned chicken soup and made two slices of dry toast, politely commenting on the lack of “anything human to eat in my kitchen,” before swearing my illness would pass just as soon as I started accepting the truth.

  Truth. Pfft. Clearly, she was on something. And if she wasn’t, she needed to be. Something hardcore with an antipsychotic chaser. And if those weren’t effective, there was always tequila. For me, of course.

  “The same thing happened to me, Theodora. But I promise, it gets better,” she’d said.

  “What does?” I’d asked.

  “Being a Seer. And you have no idea how happy I am to have found you—I think we’re the only two left in the world.” Then she’d added, “Can’t wait to see what gifts you have. Oh—and when you start to see the colors, don’t panic. Just let it in.” She’d sounded almost giddy about it.

  Yes, I’d seen colors on the walls after my session with Mack, like the entire world had been Warholized, but that had been a function of my synapses misfiring due to my nervous system being overloaded.

  Seeing no point in arguing with this delusional person, I simply nodded. She then left shortly after, promising to return soon to check on me, also mentioning that I shouldn’t be alarmed by her husband, this King man, or the other “large gentleman” who might be standing guard outside my house.

  Sure. Nothin’ strange or alarming about a man who just threatened to off me (and claimed to have done it multiple times before) standing outside my home, because he thought I was this Óolal person, which, of course, he believed because he was Mack’s brother and he and Mack were drinking the same “I’m thousands of years old and from ancient Greece” fruit punch.

  Okay. Deep breath.

  But as my brain argued and built the case as to why King and Mia were crazy and in need of a jail cell for breaking and entering—him with intent to murder and her with intent to make chicken soup—the other part of my mind kept throwing ugly, vicious curveballs at my poor throbbing skull. Bottom line: Things had been happening to me, and there were no explanations. That dream, for example? King was that man I’d run from. Not like him. Not similar to him. It was him.

  What the fuck? I thought, lying there in my bed, staring at the ceiling.

  I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was just after one in the morning, and I didn’t have a car, but I needed to see Mack.

  I pulled myself from bed and began digging in my closet. I reached for a long dark sweater, black jeans, and boots. If I really had a guy standing outside my house, my only option was to sneak out the back way. I just hoped no one would be keeping an eye on that part because they assumed I was too sick to go anywhere.

  Still feeling queasier than a dog on a boat, I hobbled to the bathroom to pop in my contacts and then grabbed my purse before heading outside through the sliding glass door in the living room. My trembling body creaked its way down the wooden stairs to the beach. Just breathe, just breathe. You’ll be fine. From there, I’d have to walk about a half mile to the public parking lot and call for a cab.

  As I walked along the shore, the night was dark and cold, and the wind felt like icy needles pushing under my skin. I slid my cell from my pocket and called a cab. “Yes, the Carpinteria parking lot.”

  The woman on the other end probably thought it was a prank because the park was closed after sunset. She asked for my location one more time and helpfully pointed out the time.

  “Yes,” I said. “I know it’s one twenty in the morning. Date gone bad. What can I say?”

  The dispatcher immediately changed her snotty tune. I felt bad for appealing to her sense of sisterhood, but desperate times.

  While I briefly waited for the cab in the parking lot, I began wishing that the emotional switch inside me hadn’t been turned on. I felt afraid and confused and a hundred different things that kept clouding the facts. How do people live like this?

  The cab pulled up five minutes later, and seven minutes after that, I was at the center, nearly falling to my knees.

  If it weren’t for my need to conceal my true
state from the night watch, I would’ve given up with the whole standing on my feet thing altogether and crawled my way to Mack. I felt like something was sucking the energy right out of my body.

  After dishing a heaping pile of bullshit to the nice security man on duty about a very troubled patient who had me worried, I sauntered down the hall, chin held high, my energy sinking like a brick in a cold river.

  When I reached Mack’s room, the darkness—for the first time in my life—felt like my sanctuary. Inside that room were answers. Inside that room was Mack, and everything led back to him.

  I pushed forward, and my heart sank through the cold floor. The room was empty. He’s gone. He’s fucking gone. I fell to my aching knees, so lost that it hurt more than words could ever express.

  They must’ve found him. They must’ve taken him away. As I kneeled there, drowning in crippling emotions I wasn’t prepared to process, something snapped. My connection to sanity and the world I knew began dissolving.

  “I’ll fucking kill them,” I growled. “I will rip out their goddamned hearts and make them watch.”

  I mentally stumbled back. None of this was me, yet…it was. The rage, the hate, the power I felt blooming inside with the knowledge that I came equipped to beat down anything or anyone who got in my way.

  I rose to my feet, fists clenched, every muscle tensed with raw, potent will. The will to topple, overcome, hit, and kill. No one will take me down this time. Not fucking King. No one.

  None of this was rational, but it all felt saner than the world I saw in front of me with my own eyes.

  I turned and headed to my office, where I grabbed my purse and keys—both had been left there on Monday when I’d fallen ill. I would drive home, park a few blocks away, sneak back inside my house, pack my things, and set out to find Mack.

  Wherever he’d gone, I would find him.

  How? I just knew I would. Like a magnet pulling itself toward metal. It was just like Mia said. Except for the part about wanting to hurt Mack. To the contrary, I wanted to protect him.