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He tells me he wants to have his way with me, his eyes greedy and black, all his dark hair tousled from our bout of wrestling on the floor where he almost tore my sleeve. Not that it matters, as I suspect my clothes won’t be on for much longer at this rate. I tell him I’ve always been his to do with as he pleases. He laughs in my face and, just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he reaches down, slips his hand into my jeans and grabs a mighty handful of my manhood. I gasp, my lips parting, and an evil look of triumph takes his face.

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He reached for her hand and pulled her closer to him. She put her arms around his neck and leaned in. His cologne smelled so good. They started to dance.

“You’re lovely,” Jack murmured into her ear.

Was that directed at her, or was he mimicking the lyrics?

He was holding her closer than she thought was necessary for a dance between friends, but she wasn’t about to complain. They moved slowly but they’d been practicing all night and were starting to fatigue. Caroline leaned into his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world, not realizing that they had almost completely stopped dancing.

“Caroline?” She heard Jack’s sweet voice again. “I’m not sure we’re dancing anymore.”

“Does it matter?” She lifted her head up.

Jack looked into her eyes. “Not unless it matters to you.”

He slowly brought his lips to hers. She didn’t turn away this time but closed her eyes and waited. It was sweet, kind, tender…and definitely not platonic. And it felt incredibly good, the pleasure wafting over her. She’d forgotten what it was like to be kissed, really kissed. She didn’t want him to stop. Jack cupped her cheek in his palm and pulled her closer to him with his other hand. Caroline brought her hands up to his hair and held them there, not wanting it to end.

She had been wondering what it would be like to run her hands through those gorgeous, perfect silver locks. His hair was soft, and she traced her fingers through it as Jack teased her tongue with his. She wanted to tug at it, bring him even closer to her, but then saw Nicky’s face in her mind and pulled away.

Caroline covered her mouth with her hand. “What was that for?”

Jack withdrew his hand from her waist. He seemed to be confused. “I-”

“It was the music,” she stammered. “We - it’s a romantic song. It’s hard not to get sucked into it. It’s fine.”

She thought Jack looked a little unnerved, but he recovered quickly. “Sure. Just a little kiss between friends. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Right.” Caroline kissed him on the cheek. “See? Nothing whatsoever.”

“Yeah.” Jack looked at his watch. “It’s late. I’d better head home. I have to get up pretty early tomorrow.”

“Not a problem.” She exhaled, grateful for the escape. “Thanks for the dance lessons.”

“Anytime,” Jack said. “I mean that.”

“I know.”

“See you on Tuesday?” he asked. “Lunch, maybe?”

“You bet.”

She turned off the music and escorted Jack up the stairs, watching him through the window as he started his Cadillac and drove away. It was nothing, that kiss. That song, the entire night…they’d gotten too caught up in the entire thing. Dancing could be an extraordinarily sensuous experience between two people who knew what they were doing, and Jack was an excellent instructor. It was only natural that she felt such incredible physical chemistry with him. That was it. Nothing more.

But Caroline was still trying to avoid the thought running through her mind – her increasing desire for him to turn his car around, run through her front door, and take her in his arms again.

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“You’re changing, Ryan. This isn’t you.” 

“If you’re so disgusted with my choices and you think I’ve changed so much, then why do you even keep talking to me?”

“Because I keep thinking ...” Manny looked into my eyes. “I keep hoping I’m wrong.”

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“You look mad,” he said, quieter this time.

I wouldn’t look at him. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t get you,” I admitted. “I have no idea why you’re acting this way, and it makes me feel like I don’t know you.”

“I didn’t realize you wanted to know me,” he said, and I turned around, momentarily meeting his eyes. They were dark, shadowed by an expression I hadn’t seen before.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, feeling heat crawl over my neck. “We’ve already spent a lot of time together.”

“For a project that’s completed, Jessica,” he said, and he shook his head, driving silently through my neighborhood. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. Soon, we were at the end of my driveway. Eric shoved the gears into park, and I reached for the door, but he locked it.

“Why are you so interested in my life?” he asked, and my heart pounded. I didn’t say anything. His eyes met mine, filled with an intensity that made me shudder. “It’s not that great.”

“I know,” I managed. My voice was shaking.

His face reddened. “But you ask questions.”


“And you answer them.”

His mouth opened, but then it snapped shut. He sighed, turned away, and grabbed the steering wheel as if he were driving again. We remained parked. “I’m Eric James Welborn,” he stated, his voice wavering into an awkwardness I’d never heard with his normally confident and cocky attitude.

James? His middle name felt personal—like he had opened up a side of himself he’d forgotten about. But I didn’t feel intrusive. I felt comforted, like I already knew the answer before he’d spoken it. But I hadn’t.

“Your name doesn’t tell me who you are,” I said, surprised by my fluidity.

He barely smiled. “Maybe I like it that way.”

“I don’t.”

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Lourdes looked up from the Kindle she was reading in the plush white chair of Santiago’s Clinica Alemana when the receptionist called her name.

“Ms. March to consulting room two.”

Finally. It had taken long enough. Why were doctors always behind schedule? Lourdes shut down her tablet and made her way down the clinic hallway.

Halfway there, her step slowed. It couldn’t be. The man waiting for her in the white overcoat looked nothing like his on-line profile photo. Sure, his face was framed by tousled hair and day-old stubble, but it had a red tint instead of blond, and his eyes were blue not gray. On her computer screen, he had looked older. In real life, he was young–and the spitting image of Dirk, her ex-boyfriend.

The strained lines of his mouth slackened, and his eyes warmed a little as he watched her pause. She faltered for only a second, and then moved forward again before it could seem awkward. Lourdes had chosen him for his credentials, despite the lack of reservations on his clinic page. Most optometrists in this clinic booked up six months in advance. She had attributed his unpopularity to his gringo appearance. This was Latino country. But she hadn’t expected a carbon copy of Dirk. Minus the freckles. Standing in front of him now, she couldn’t help but stare.

His expression softened as he gave her a smile. “I’m Dr. Bouwer.”

She held out her hand to shake his, but he bent down and pressed his cheek against hers, the customary Chilean greeting reserved for friends. The act took her aback so much she didn’t introduce herself. But then he already knew her name. His gaze was even as he motioned her to the room at the end of the corridor.

Lourdes watched his broad back as he walked around his desk and took a seat. His build was similar to Dirk’s, except a bit taller. The resemblance was disconcerting.

Lourdes suddenly became aware of Dr. Bouwer staring at her with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”

She blinked. “Oh. Um, I need an eye test.”

“What seems to be the problem?” he said, folding his hands on the desk. She couldn’t help but notice those big hands with strong veins and neatly trimmed nails.

“I have trouble reading small text.”

He turned his chair to his computer and started typing. “Since when?”

The side profile could have been Dirk: same straight nose, same square chin, and same dimple. “A month or so.”

“Any other symptoms? Headaches after reading or watering eyes?”

His fingers moved competently over the keyboard, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Just a lot of redness and burning.”

“Right.” He turned back to her. “Ms. March...” In the short hesitation that followed, Lourdes noticed the corner of his mouth lift, making his dimple more pronounced. He shifted. “Let’s have a look at you.”

Excerpt

Leis shoved the bedroom door open with a crash and laughed when Baden spun in his chair. He stared at her with wide eyes as Leis waved two brown envelopes over her head.

"We're in! Center college accepted us both!" He pushed back from his computer and flashed a huge grin. She threw herself onto his bed and rolled to her back holding the envelopes in the air. 

One for Baden Allen Dietrich and one for Leisel Rene Gottschalk."

Baden sat on the edge of the mattress and snatched them from her hands. "Of course they accepted us." He fell back to lay beside her. His weight dipped the bed and made her shoulders tip toward him. "That's the easy part."

Leis poked him in the ribs. "For you maybe. Your four point oh gets you in anywhere." She snagged one back and tore it open.

He scanned the letter. "Not always. Besides, your ACT was higher than mine."

"Whatever." She leaned across him and his amused brown eyes fixed on hers. "You know what this means, right?"
He tucked a strand of long red hair behind her ear. "What?"

His hand lingered against her cheek and she wished it would spark something inside her but it didn't. No matter how many times she stared down at his boyishly handsome face in admiration, her body stubbornly refused to respond. Gold flecks grew and glittered in his eyes as his fingers traced her cheek. The question in them was obvious, but nothing had changed. She wasn't affected by him at all.

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Excerpt

There is a boy sprawled out on the ground with the gold of sunlight in his hair and the blue-grey of sky in his piercing gaze. A lifetime of feeling alone, wiped out the instant Wick’s eyes fall on this boy with the beautiful face. For some reason, they don’t speak. Nothing to say, maybe. What the hell can be said to a boy who turns strong, clever, brave guys like Wick into a helpless, melted mess? Red, furious light dances across their faces. Fire, he realizes belatedly. Everything is on fire. His chest, his eyes, his knees … Knees that all his life held him up, crumbling in the presence of this boy. Blue-grey eyes that smolder, dissolving Wick’s every pinch of strength. He imagines them opening mouths to each other … How he might taste … His smell lingering on his clothes … You’ve gone and set everything on fire, Wick accuses the boy, a smile playing on his face. He knows the boy’s lips are warm, and it’s not because of the fire. For once, I am not alone. Wick reaches for the boy, and the boy reaches back. Fire hugs them like a swarm of yellow friends. The boys grow closer and closer and closer … yet never seem to touch.

Then Wick opens his eyes, and it’s all gone. The fire, the boy, the touch that never happened. Gone.

How cruel a dream can be.

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She had no idea what to expect when she rounded the corner, but it definitely wasn't what she actually saw.

There was nothing.

The street was empty.

There were no Slithers.

All was quiet.  Everyone was safely tucked inside their homes which were balanced on several concrete blocks to keep them from touching the acid.  A few of the homes had a thin light slipping out from underneath their doors, the light was either provided by solar powered lamps or glow sticks.  She hoped to one day bring electricity into the slums but for now, they were concentrating on bringing water to every home.

Alice and Ari stood beside her, their eyes panning the street warily, Roosevelt was somewhere on the roof above them.

“It's probably a false alarm,” Ari said.  She was whispering as though she wasn't completely sure of her theory.  “Someone was scared and set a flare off by accident.”

“Or someone was an idiot,” Alice said, sounding less forgiving.

Ari grunted as though she agreed with her but couldn't bear to say it aloud.

“Sh.”  Niko said.  Something wasn't right.

The houses were balanced on blocks to keep them off the ground.  It left about a foot and a half of space beneath the house.  It wasn't much but it was just enough to hide a Slither.

They were dealing with a smart one.

Niko lurched away from the wall.  “It's under the house.  Move!”

Ari heeded her warning instantly, but Alice was slower and had only taken two steps when a Slither lunged from beneath the house and wrapped its claws around her leg.

Alice screamed and nearly fell.  A blade that was in her hand clattered to the ground as the Slither attempted to drag her under the house and eat her.

Ari raised her crossbow and shot it.  Niko chopped off its head for good measure and the smell of sulphur tainted the air.

“Looks like we're in for a boring night,” Ari quipped as she reloaded her crossbow.

Alice said nothing, her light brown skin had paled considerably and her half-moon shaped eyes had widened into full moons as she stared down at the headless corpse still grasping for her boots.

Niko shook her arm.  “Forget about it, it's dead,” she said, not unkindly.  Alice couldn't afford to be fixated on the dead Slither at their feet when the live ones were much more worrisome.

“Roosevelt!”  she called up toward the rooftops, she couldn't see her but she knew she was up there somewhere. “Can you see any more?”

“You got two coming,” Roosevelt answered. “Oi, no, you got–”

A Slither cut off the rest of her sentence.

There were two types of Slithers, pale, inhuman monsters with disturbingly colored eyes, a mouthful of long sharp teeth, and a taste for human flesh.

They were pretty straightforward in their quest for their favorite meal.  They were incredibly stupid but they were also too fast and too strong for anyone to stop unless they were a Slither hunter.

The smart ones were crafty, a regular Slither wouldn't have thought to hide beneath the house.

Niko thought they had killed the smart one.

She was wrong.

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The trap stood in the entryway of the kitchen, smeared with a thick glob of Peanut Butter. Tom sat in the living room and waited for it to spring. He’d take the rat to the opposite side of the island and release it. At midnight, he gave up and climbed into the chair by the fire. The tightness in his body relaxed and sleep overtook him. 


Tom was awakened by his shivering only an hour after dozing off. He peered outside his frosted window. There must be a cold front moving in. 


He added more wood to the fire and shivered under the quilt. The temperature continued to drop. He could see his own breath come in puffs of steam with every exhale. Exhausted and still shivering, Tom finally dozed again. 


Deep asleep in the middle of the night Tom struggled, fought to move, but couldn’t. His eyes refused to open.


A sinister presence loomed over him, trapping him under like a heavy fish net, constricting his every movement, only inches from his face. Icy breath pelted his forehead. 


Tom’s eyes snapped open. His chest seized with panic. He was no longer in the chair. He struggled to hold himself upright. Cold, fog-laden night burned his lungs with each gasping breath. His bare feet froze onto cold, wet wood. The crash of thunder and flash of lightning took turns adding to the torment of the night. 


As if waking up from a bad dream, Tom stood on the deck of a strange ship. The massive vessel leaned forward and back, driving hard through the waves. Wailing winds and icy sleet tore at her ravaged sails, creating an eerie flapping noise. Tom’s heart pounded. Muffled voices of men shouted over the storm.


A shot rang past his head. 


He struggled to wake himself from the nightmare but couldn’t. Somewhere in the dark a man yelled, “Hold tight!” The sea rose and a wave washed over the ship.


Wrenched off his feet, he landed hard on the deck. He slid to the opposite side of the ship and grasped the edge of a rail just in time to avoid being washed overboard. A hot flash of pain seared in his back.


Tom rolled over and saw the men loading grape and canister shot into cannons lined up along the deck. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted to a man busy loading another round into one of the large guns. 


“Who are you?” Tom shouted. The man looked directly at him but didn’t seem to hear. Angry at being ignored, Tom shouted again, “What’s going on?” 


The man looked past him. 


Tom ran to the other side of the ship to avoid the salt-stiff rigging as it crashed to the deck. He realized the crew couldn’t see him. 


A flash of lightning struck near the rear of the ship and he saw the pursuer, a massive frigate. Her great prow sliced through boiling black waters. An English flag boldly whipped back and forth atop her mast. Daggers of ice hung from her gun ports. 


Someone grabbed his arm. He tried to wrench it away, but the hand held fast. He looked into the eyes of a young mast-hand. 


“What ship is this? Where am I?” Tom yelled. 


Lightning struck again, and the young man turned into a bloated corpse. The flesh fell away from his raw bones. A grape shot wound appeared in his forehead.


“It was hell, Tom. Don’t forget us. Come find us, Tom. Come find us.”

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“That’s new,” I mumbled.

“What?” Chay’s voice startled me, and I flinched. I hadn’t realized I’d said anything out loud.

“Um, not sure yet.” I got up and walked behind the counter. Uncle was just walking to the front from the storage area in the back of the store. “Can I do it?”

“Wait on them? Sure, but why?” Uncle looked at the women over my shoulder. “They friends of yours?”

“No… I just… I’m not sure really. I can’t explain it.”

“Darlin’, there isn’t much in our lives that can be explained. Go on before they change their minds and go to Dairy Queen instead.”

I laughed and walked to the women waiting to order. Chay caught my eye, raising a brow in question. I shrugged. I had no idea what I was doing. I just had the urge to wait on the women. I was betting it had something to do with the mini-vision I had when they walked in. Once a vision started, it took on a life of its own. There was very little I, or any other demi-angel, could do to fight it. When we were meant to step in, we had the overpowering urge to do so. It was almost as if our actions weren’t our own any longer. We were at the mercy of our visions.

The pretty redhead looked up, and I stumbled backward. Her face, mangled and distorted, like I was seeing her through a broken circus mirror, flashed over and over again in my mind. The images of her grotesquely misshapen face bounced through my vision, keeping time with the unending screams that filled my ears.

The screech of a chair against the tile floor drew her attention, and she broke eye contact with me to look over her shoulder.

I saw Chay walk toward the back of the shop. He pushed through the swinging door and rounded the corner to stand beside me. “I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you help Uncle? I heard him call you.”

“Oh, sure, thanks.” I smiled at the ladies, searching out the redhead’s green eyes. As soon as our gazes met, the image of her face sprang to life in my brain, her head whipping side to side violently. Her mouth opened and closed, but this time, no sound came. The vision was silent, just a jumble of disjointed images.

Taking a big step backward, I turned away. I sagged with my back to the wall as soon as I rounded the corner.

“Vision?”

I jumped at the sound of Uncle’s voice. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“The redhead.” I peeked around the corner.

“What about?”

“I can’t tell yet.”

Nodding, he stood beside me. “Yeah, that’s frustrating, not being able to force the vision to give us the info we need.” He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Can’t force it though.”

There was nothing I could do but wait for it to finish telling me what I needed to know to do my job—protect the human.