“Let us worry about that,” I tell her, watching Gideon’s puppy squirm in her lap. He doesn’t like the direction this conversation is taking, and I can’t say I blame him. Even if I never completely understand the mate bond, I can see he’s already getting attached.Shit.He deserves a chance.
I’ve got to convince her to stay.
“Sheena, the house, this land.” I point at the view all around us. “In a lot of ways, it’s our sanctuary. It could be the same for you.” She looks at me then, her big green eyes studying my face. I will her to feel my sincerity. Part of me wants to keep talking. I can spit lists of logical arguments all day, but instinct tells me to shut up and let her think.
The silence stretches between us, but it’s comfortable. My offer is out there; the choice is hers now. When it’s time to pack up and head back, I stand, offering her my hand. She slips her fingers along my palm with no hesitation. Need rips through me like a tidal wave, but I’m firmly in control now.
I’m more than an incubus. More than a monster. I’m a man, a loyal friend with responsibilities, and godsdammit, I’d rather die than put that look of fear back on her face.
To pacify my hungry demon, I tug her to her feet and press a kiss to her knuckles. I soak up her peachy blush. Her reaction quiets the raging urge I have to lay her back down on the picnic quilt.
For a blink, it feels like we’re the only people on this planet.
Only when dog-Gideon tilts his head to the side and yips do I remember we’re not alone. He shifts back into a naked man, and Sheena’s blush spreads like a wildfire. Yanking her hand from mine, she turns her back politely until he’s dressed, completely missing the silent conversation between Gideon and I. It involves a lot of raised eyebrows and shrugging, but I know I’m fucked. He’s definitely going to bring this up later.
During the ride home, I try to think of a way to explain, but I get nowhere. My mind is too busy replaying the stupid hand kiss to figure out how I’m going to tell my best friend I want the girl who’s meant to be his.
CHAPTER
FIVE
SHEENA
Some sweet sixteen.
I shove at the wall of bitterness inside me, but it doesn’t budge. Will I always be alone? It’s not like I want much. I know I can’t have a house on the hill complete with two happy parents, a pair of siblings, and a spotted dog, but it would be nice to experience something like the other kids at school. A party, a present—shit, even a hug would be cool. A tear trickles out of the corner of my eye. It slides down my cheek, then falls, sinking into the scratchy polyester sheets. I roll over, burying my face in the lumpy twin mattress and slamming my fist into the bed. It was dumb to think things would change.
Another year gone. Another foster family making my life hell.
This was supposed to be my best year yet. School was going okay, and I had Quaid. He showed up in middle school—a stranger that somehow became my lifeline. We were going to become more this year because I was finally going to tell himhow I felt. I never got the chance. Something changed for him. Now the walls are closing in, and I don’t even have my friend anymore.
Quaid has been giving me the cold shoulder for a few weeks. He’s always been moody, though, so I gave him space. I expected him to pull his head out of his ass today to wish me a happy birthday. No such luck. When I waved in the hallway, he turned his back on me like I was a contagious disease. It was so obvious a few girls nearby even giggled, and a tiny piece of my heart shattered on the chipped linoleum floor. Even now, the humiliation rushes back in, burning my cheeks. I lift my head from the mattress, sucking in some air.
“I wish things were different,” I whisper into the dark, hoping that fairy godmothers are real and something, or someone, will step in to rescue me. For a solid minute, I hold my breath and put all my hope in the fantasy.
As usual, I'm disappointed. Nothing changes. Except...wait...something seems different. I feel a breeze and hear a faint thud. My heart races. The heat was stifling earlier, so maybe I left the window open. Fighting the urge to close my eyes again and hide under the covers, I reach a shaky hand out towards the lamp on my bedside table.
My fingers never reach the switch. A bony hand clamps down on my wrist. Another one covers my mouth.
The instincts I’ve honed while living in a roster of shitty foster homes tells me I've only got one chance. I fight like hell. This life is crap, but it’s all I’ve got. If they get me out of this house, I’ll just become another statistic, a rumored runaway no one bothers to look for.
The hand over my mouth is too tight for me to scream, but that’s not the only way to make noise. So I thrash, kicking out with my legs and ramming the rickety headboard against the wall. The lamp smashes on the floor.
“Gods, get a hold of her.” The man's raspy voice makes me fight even harder against the disembodied hands pressing against me. His voice is somehow both oily and rough. I shudder at the sound. Faint light from the streetlight outside my window gives me a glimpse of a skull mask. I try to scream again, but only a small, muffled squeak escapes. Maybe I’ve done enough because someone’s stomping down the narrow hallway to my room. My foster mother’s shrill voice is music to my ears as she throws the door open without knocking, light flooding the room.
“Sheena, you slut, do you have some boy in here? Keep quiet, or you'll be sleeping in the—” Rebecca’s tirade cuts off abruptly when she sees two masked men dressed in all black holding me pinned to the bed. Her eyes go wide as she takes in the skull masks.
The man with his hand over my mouth glances at his partner and shrugs. “Might as well test her out now.” The other man grunts, lifts his head and locks his cold, yellow eyes with mine.
“I wish that woman would leave this room, erase your existence, and forget she ever had a foster child.” What the hell is he talking about? Rebecca is a piece of shit, but she’ll call the cops and—my body erupts with burning pain. Through the agony, I watch as she leaves the room without a word, her eyes vacant. Please, don’t go. I want to beg her for help, but I can’t.
The door closes with a final, familiar thud. I’m confused, terrified, and the burning won’t stop. I will my body to keep fighting, but it doesn’t listen. Lying limp on the mattress, my attackers high five over my body as I struggle to see through the spots dotting my vision.
“Ten years of hunting, and we've finally hit the jackpot.” Yellow eyes’ voice is the last thing I hear before another wave of pain drags me under.
I gasp,sitting up with a start on an unfamiliar bed. Even all these years later, dreaming of the night they took me still leaves me terrified. I shake my head, but I know from experience I won’t be able to dislodge the memories that easily. Sweaty strands of hair cling to the side of my neck. My breath escapes in frantic, irregular puffs as my hands tremble.
I can’t have a panic attack here. I go through my grounding checklist; a combination of trial and error and PTSD tips I found online at a public library a few years back. Assuring myself I’m not back in that room, I reach out for the duvet, feeling its softness under my fingertips. This material is cool and light, nothing like the cheap bedding I grew up with. I grip it tightly.
