Heather paused. “Do you wish you were still mortal?”
Nate looked her square in the eyes. “Every day.”
A moment passed.
Clearing his throat, Nate stopped looking through the cabinets for food. “I’m not hungry anymore. I think I’m just going to go to bed.” He nodded at them both. “Night.” He left the kitchen, taking the map with him.
A moment passed.
It was still early, but last night, after Scarlet had disappeared, none of them had gone back to bed. So, Gabriel was exhausted.
He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to bed too.”
“Wait,” Heather’s eyes grew wide. “You don’t expect me to sleep in the basement…by myself, do you?”
“Uh….” Gabriel hadn’t really thought about it.
Heather stood up and started shaking her head wildly. “I cannot sleep in that creepy underground bedroom alone. I could die, Gabriel.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to die.”
“I could! Someone could grab me in my sleep, or Laura could find me, or some basement creature that lives in Tristan’s bathroom could swallow me whole and—”
“Fine.” Gabriel put up a hand to stop the noise. “You can sleep in my room and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No way,” Heather said. “There is no way I’m going to sleep in a bed, by myself, knowing some crazy Ashman can come in and swipe my memories at any moment.”
Gabriel sighed, not used to dealing with dramatic girls. “Then what do you propose we do for sleeping arrangements?”
“I’ll sleep with you.” She shrugged.
“What?” Gabriel raised his eyebrows.
Heather rolled her eyes. “It’s not like we’re gonna get busy or anything. You’ll sleep on one side of the bed and I’ll sleep on the other and, meanwhile, no one will invade my memories. Win-win.”
Gabriel furrowed his brow. “I don’t see how that’s a ‘win’ for me.”
“You get to sleep next to me.” She shrugged again.
Shaking his head, Gabriel said, “Whatever.” There was no point in arguing with Heather. It just encouraged her to talk more.
He followed her up the stairs to his room. “But if you snore,” he said, “I’m carrying you into Nate’s room.”
“And if you snore,” Heather countered, not looking back at him, “I’m going to push you off the bed.”
Once they were upstairs, Gabriel laid on “his side” of the bed—as deemed by Heather—and tried to fall asleep while she practiced her bedtime rituals. But it was no use.
She made no attempt to be quiet as she took off her makeup, brushed her teeth, and dug around in one of the giant bags she’d packed to find a pink, silk, sleep mask.
When she finally got into the bed, Gabriel said, “You’re really noisy when you get ready to sleep.”
“Well, beauty is loud.” Heather pulled the facemask down over her eyes. “Good night, Gabriel.” She turned on her side, her back to him.
He turned his back to her as well. “Good night.”
A quiet minute passed.
“Gabriel?”
“Hmm?”
Heather paused. “Thanks for letting me sleep next to you. I feel safe now.”
Something inside Gabriel warmed. “You’re welcome,” he said and drifted to sleep.
54
Scarlet sat on the couch and stared at the fireplace before her, watching the flames slowly subside. Outside, the wind howled, making the small hut creak and moan in protest. The sun had set hours ago and the storm had grown more violent in its absence.
The forest was a black mess of wind, rain, thunder and lightning. But inside, there was nothing but the thick fog of uncomfortable silence.
Tristan had spent the entire day in the small back bedroom of the shack, only exiting to build and rebuild the fire by the couch and offer Scarlet food.
She hadn’t been hungry.
Scarlet had tried, unsuccessfully, to start conversations with him each time he tended to the fire, but he had given her short answers and avoided looking at her.
Conflicting emotions had been playing ping-pong inside him all day.
Determination…longing…sadness…love…fear…. It was heart wrenching.
She almost wished she couldn’t feel him.
Almost.
She hadn’t been able to get Tristan—or her flashback of the two of them together—out of her head all day.
They had kissed. They had touched. They had broken the rules.
And Scarlet had loved every second of it.
Well, right up until the part where Tristan pulled away from her in horror. That part sucked.
She understood now, why he was so careful, so afraid.
She also understood that he loved her. Which made her heart soar and plummet at the same time.
The small bedroom door creaked open for the second time since the sun set and Scarlet tightened the soft blanket around her.
Tristan’s footsteps echoed in her ears as he made his way back to the fireplace and began adding more wood. He had a shirt on this time. Which was disappointing, but less distracting.
Shifting in her seat, Scarlet absently felt his emotions still warring inside him.
“It’s late and the rain is still pouring.” Tristan stabbed at the charred logs. “You can sleep in the bed tonight. The heater keeps the back room pretty warm. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Sure.” Suddenly, she had butterflies in her stomach. She cleared her throat and braved the subject she’d been trying to avoid all day and night. The subject she wouldn’t be able to avoid even if she banished it to Mars. “I had a flashback.”
He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “You did?”
“Last night.” She nodded. “When I was…touching you.”
Touching you sounded less stalkerish than lying prostrate on top of you.
He stopped poking the fire and faced her, still crouching. “What about?”
Scarlet licked her lips. “You and me. In my last life.”
She tried not to blush.
She failed.
He watched her face for a moment, no doubt feeling the desire swelling up inside her. Her cheeks grew hotter.
So embarrassing.
Tristan bit the inside of his cheek, nervousness shooting through him as he looked at the floor and cleared his throat. “And what were we doing? In your memory?” His eyes stayed on the rug beneath his feet.
“Uh…”Scarlet bit her lip. “Not behaving.”
It was silent in the room, save for the storm outside.
She swallowed. “It felt like…like maybe I pulled you into the flashback with me, somehow. Did…did you…?”
Tristan nodded, his eyes still on the floor. He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled slowly. “What happened between us was…” desire, fear, desire, fear, “a mistake.”
Scarlet pressed her lips together.
They didn’t look at each other.
The rain grew heavier, beating against the roof like a thousand tiny heartbeats and the room felt tangible. Like Scarlet could pick up the air and swallow it whole.
Tristan silently turned back to the fire, lifting the poker in his hands to the flames.
Desire, fear, hope, regret…desire, fear, hope, regret…
Several minutes passed before Scarlet was able to push words from her dry mouth. “What happened after?”
Tristan jabbed away at the fire.
“After we…kissed. What happened?” she probed.
His back to her, Tristan softly said, “Scar, please don’t.”
Scar. She wanted him to say it again. She wanted to hear her name on his lips over and over and over….
“Don’t what?” Scarlet kept her eyes on his strong shoulder muscles. “Don’t ask you questions?” She paused. “Don’t I deserve to know what you know?”
Tristan stood and turned around, looking down at her on the couch. “Yes.” He took
a few steps back.
“Then tell me,” Scarlet said softly.
His eyes looked everywhere but at Scarlet. “You ran away.” He tucked his hands into his back pockets, the arm muscles peeking from beneath his shirt sleeve flexing.
Ah, yes. Runaway Scarlet.
She’d almost forgotten how she’d fled her last life without leaving a forwarding address.
Scarlet was confused. “We made out. And then I…ran away?”
His eyes were running over everything in the room. “Yep.”
Scarlet felt extreme guilt and sadness wash over him.
Her lips parted with a realization. “You think I ran away because of you.”
Tristan blinked and finally met her eyes. “I don’t know what I think.”
A loud crack of thunder boomed outside and the shack’s lights flickered.
“I didn’t run away because of the kiss,” Scarlet said, somehow knowing it was the truth.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Tristan looked at the floor. “It was reckless and selfish.” He looked at her with stern eyes. “And it won’t happen again.”
Scarlet let his self-hatred bounce around inside her for a moment, before she grew irritated by his attitude.
Maybe Tristan wanted to forget about what happened—maybe he hadn’t enjoyed it—but Scarlet wanted to hold on to the memory forever. It was hot and beautiful and honest.
She lifted an unashamed brow at Tristan. “Well, I liked it.”
Tristan eyes flashed hot and dark as he stared at her. “I never said I didn’t like it.”
Racing emotions streamed from Tristan to Scarlet, Scarlet to Tristan. Desire, passion, longing, need—
Lightning lit up the sky outside, followed by another crack of angry thunder.
The inside lights flickered again. Once. Twice.
And then went out completely.
Leaving Scarlet and Tristan standing in the dark shack with nothing between them but the dancing light from the fireplace, and a memory that burned hotter than the flames within.
55
A noise downstairs woke Gabriel up.
He sat up in bed, listening. Heather was still beside him, sleeping peacefully with her pink facemask over her eyes. Her blond hair curled around her chin and shoulder and fell onto the pillow beneath her.
She looked so small, sleeping in his bed. Small and vulnerable and—
He heard the noise again.
In an instant, he was out of bed and making his way downstairs. At first, he thought maybe Scarlet had returned to the cabin. But when he reached the main floor, Gabriel noticed two things.
The power was out in the cabin.
And the tarp used to replace the broken window in the living room was torn down and lying on the floor.
Scarlet wasn’t in the cabin.
An intruder was.
Icy wind and rain swept in through the empty window frame, setting Gabriel’s hairs on end as he crept into the living room. The only light in the house was from the cloud-covered moon outside sending a pale glow into the room and casting shadows everywhere.
Gabriel looked around for the nearest weapon.
His eyes fell on a magazine, a pen and a plastic cup—none of which would do much to deter an attacker.
Where was a heavy statue or a baseball bat when you needed one?
He silently headed for the den, where he and Tristan kept all of their weapons, when a shuffling sound from the left had him turning to the side with raised fists.
Out of nowhere, a dark shadow charged at him.
The figure plowed into Gabriel, knocking him to the floor and attempting to pin him.
Like hell.
Gabriel grabbed for the stranger’s throat and tossed him to his back, gaining the upper hand. From the light of the moon, Gabriel saw he was wrestling with an Ashman.
The Ashman’s skin was chalky and pale and his eyes were bloodshot and dull. His hair was thin and sparse, making him look older than he probably was, and his teeth and fingernails were an ill shade of yellow.
Where are these weirdos coming from?
Adrenaline pumped through Gabriel’s veins as he wrestled with the foul-smelling intruder, choking him mercilessly. The Ashman struggled beneath Gabriel, his limbs rigid and odd.
A sharp pain sliced through Gabriel’s side, causing him to involuntarily lighten his grip on the Ashman’s throat.
Taking advantage of Gabriel’s weakness, the stranger wiggled out from underneath Gabriel and swung at his face.
Gabriel dodged the swing, wincing in pain as his muscles stretched against the gash in his side. He swung back and connected with the Ashman’s face.
The Ashman stumbled back, knocking over an end table, and held up a knife dripping with Gabriel’s blood. A knife with a blue blade.
He lunged at Gabriel a second time.
Ignoring the pain in his side, Gabriel moved out of the knife’s path, but the intruder was relentless, slashing at the air between them in fury.
Lamps fell over, art fell off the walls and blood from Gabriel’s rib leaked onto the floor as he evaded the Ashman’s advances over and over again.
Wind and rain invaded the cabin, making the floor slippery.
Despite his best attempts at outmaneuvering the stranger, Gabriel was still unarmed, giving the Ashman a severe advantage.
For a brief moment, Gabriel wished Tristan had never left. No one stood a chance against both Archer brothers.
But one unarmed Archer brother? That was a different story.
The intruder shifted his weight and pulled the knife back, aiming at Gabriel’s chest. The moonlight glinted off the sharp blade and Gabriel found himself backed up against a wall.
There was no escape. Gabriel was going to have to bear the pain of a knife through his chest. He could do it. He would wait until the knife entered his flesh and then he’d snap the Ashman’s neck in half.
Yeah. That was a good plan.
Just as the knife came toward Gabriel, the Ashman grunted and pulled back, taking a few wobbly steps before falling to the floor.
Nate stood to the side, his hands on a large sword jutting from the Ashman’s back. He yanked out the sword, leaving the stranger’s body limp.
Nate stepped toward the Ashman’s body, looking him over timidly.
Without warning, the intruder rolled over and pulled himself up off the floor. Nate jumped back, lifted the sword in defense, and made a loud noise that sounded something like, “Arrrhh!”
Still clutching the bloody knife, the Ashman looked back and forth between Nate and Gabriel. Seeing he was outnumbered, he turned and ran back through the destruction of the living room. Jumping out of the gaping hole from the missing living room window, the Ashman disappeared into the storm
A moment passed as Gabriel and Nate stared after their attacker, both of them out of breath.
Still badly bleeding, Gabriel turned to Nate and looked at the weapon he held. The sword was oversized, extra shiny and had a very ornate handle. “I don’t remember ever seeing that sword in our arsenal before.”
Hunched over and trying to catch his breath, Nate said, “That’s because it’s from my arsenal.”
“So, you just had that,” Gabriel nodded at the weapon, “laying around?”
Nate righted himself and shrugged. “I’m a Zelda fan.”
“Ah.” Gabriel nodded. “And the noise you just made?”
“That was my battle cry.”
“Really?” Gabriel winced as he took a step forward. “It sounded more like the cry of a wounded animal. A cat, maybe. Or a small monkey.”
“Shut up.” Nate looked at Gabriel’s bleeding torso. “Are you okay?”
Gabriel looked down at where blood poured from his side. “I should be soon.” He touched the wound gingerly and grimaced at the pain lashing back at him.
Nate tried to throw on some lights, but gave up. He went to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out two flashlights.
So tha
t’s where they kept the flashlights.
Nate also retrieved two lanterns from the pantry floor and turned them on in the kitchen.
He walked over to the nonexistent window with the giant sword still in his hand and looked outside. “I think he’s gone. Was that an Ashman?”
Gabriel nodded as he carefully stepped toward the kitchen. With every step, his wound exploded in pain.
Nate sniffed. “Tristan was right. They smell weird.”
Gabriel grunted as he entered the well-lit kitchen. “Can you go check on Heather? I don’t want to track blood up the stairs.”
Nate’s eyes got big. “Oh, yeah. I forgot there was a girl in the house.” He ran upstairs and quickly returned with a flustered and confused Heather.
“O-M-G! Gabriel, are you okay?” With her sleeping mask pushed up on her forehead, Heather scurried over to Gabriel. “An Ashman broke in and stabbed you?” She caught sight of his wound. “O-M-G. You need a doctor and a hospital and some disinfectant—”
“Heather, I’m fine. I’m immortal. I’ll heal.” Gabriel clenched his teeth as he tried to lower himself to a kitchen chair.
Nope. That wasn’t happening.
Instead, he sat on the edge of the kitchen table and slowly leaned back.
Nate looked at the floor and sighed. “Dude, you’re tracking blood everywhere.”
Heather’s mouth dropped open as she eyed the bloody floor. Scooting her fuzzy, pink slippers away from the red pools at her feet, she started hyperventilating. “O-M-G, O-M-G, O-M-G.”
Gabriel looked down at his gash, blood still oozing out of him. “Why am I not healing?”
Nate eyed the wound. “Your skin should have already started to close up.”
“Maybe it’s deeper than it looks?” Gabriel said.
Heather was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “O-M-G, O-M-G, O-M-G.”
“Heather,” Gabriel said with a pinched smile. “Please shut up.”
She nodded and stopped chanting, but her eyes remained wide and glassy.
Gabriel looked at Nate’s sword, now resting against the far wall of the kitchen. “I can’t believe you stabbed that guy through the chest and he just got up and ran out of here like nothing happened.”
“I know.” Nate nodded. “You know what else is weird?” He picked up the sword and pointed to the clean blade. “No blood.”