Author: Shannon Messenger

“Then what’s all that banging?”

Come on, Vane. Think!

Inspiration strikes. “I found a date roach in my bed.”

“Did you kill it?” My mom sounds farther away, like she jumped back.

“I tried to, but now I can’t find it.” I don’t need to worry about my mom offering to help. She’s a big believer in the whole boys should kill all the bugs philosophy.

“Well, I won’t distract you, then,” she says, and I can’t help smiling. “But make sure you kill it before you go back to sleep. I don’t want it getting loose in the house.”

“On it,” I promise, my body relaxing as her footsteps retreat down the hall.

One crisis solved. Now I just have to deal with the passed-out, scantily clad girl on the floor of my room who’s most likely a supernatural creature.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

No clue what to do about that one.

I switch on my lamp and creep toward her, craning my neck to get a better look. Her eyes are closed, but her chest rises and falls in slow, heavy breaths.

It occurs to me that she might be hurt. I don’t know if ghosts can get injured—or if she even is a ghost. She looks real enough right now. Pale, though—and her face looks like she’s in pain.

Is she sick?

What am I supposed to do if she is? Pretty sure the hospital won’t be able to help her. Do magical creatures have the same anatomy as humans?

My eyes scan her body.

Wow.

And . . . I’m checking out a girl who might be something other than human. Not to mention she’s currently unconscious.

Awesome timing, man.

She clearly needs help. She’s been out cold for at least five minutes. I have to do something.

But what?

Water.

On TV they’re always giving it to people like it’s a cure-all. It can’t hurt. I even have a half-finished water bottle by my bed.

I grab it, then tiptoe to the girl. She doesn’t stir—even when I crouch beside her.

I hold my breath as I lift her head, gently propping her neck against my knee. Her skin is cool and smooth and I worry she’s shaking—but then I realize it’s me who’s trembling.

She’s real.

I didn’t really believe it until that moment. All the dreams. All the fleeting half glimpses. Even seeing her so clearly tonight. All of that could’ve been a mistake somehow. But now I have her—in my room. In my arms. And despite anything my eyes just saw, she feels human.

She feels like me.

A tiny thrill jolts me as my fingers part her lips. They’re even softer than I imagined. Yeah—I imagined them. I dare anyone to try being haunted by a hot girl for ten years and not think about kissing her.

I place the bottle against her lips. Will she be able to swallow if I pour it into her mouth? Or will she choke?

I pour just enough to wet her tongue, not breathing until I see her swallow. It’s surreal watching her lips close and the muscles in her throat contract. Little, normal things in such an impossible situation.

I still can’t believe I’m actually holding her. My fingers tangle in her hair—the same dark, wavy strands that always swirl around her face in the dreams. I’m glad it’s not in the tight braid she was wearing earlier. She looks softer with it loose. Gentler. She still has a strong jaw, but it balances her wide eyes and full lips.

Back to her lips. I can’t stop staring at them.

Dude—not now!

I pour more water in her mouth, and this time she drinks faster. She downs the rest of the bottle, but she still hasn’t fully woken.

I scan the room for more water, freezing when she moans.

I set her head down and back against the farthest wall. I have no idea what will happen when she wakes up, but having some distance between us seems like a good idea. She may look gentle when she’s sleeping, but there was something in the way she carried herself earlier that I definitely don’t want to get on the wrong side of.

She moans again and rolls to her side. I glance at my door, hoping my parents haven’t heard. But I don’t have time to worry about it because the next second she jumps to her feet.

She wobbles, taking deep breaths as she squints at her hands. I can’t tell if she knows I’m there.

I clear my throat.

She tenses, then turns toward me, her face a mixture of fear and pain and uncertainty.

“What did you do to me?” she whispers.

“Wait—what? I didn’t do anything.”

She moves forward, wincing with each step. I try to back out of the way, but she’s quick—way too fast for someone who was just unconscious. She corners me. “What. Did. You. Do. To. Me?”

“I swear, I didn’t do anything.”

She grabs my shoulders, insanely strong for a girl her size. “I can feel it, Vane. What did you give me?”

Her voice is louder now—loud enough that my parents might be able to hear. But I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. I’m almost ready to call for help. Her nails cut through my shirt, digging into my skin.

I grab her wrists and try to pull her hands away, but she fights me. “Relax, okay? I gave you some water—that’s it.”

“Water?” Her arms go limp.

“Yeah.” I point to the empty bottle near her feet. “Just water. Nothing else.”

“Water,” she repeats, sinking to the floor.

I glance at the door, wondering if I should take my chance and run, get as far away from whatever she is as I can. But I can’t leave. Not after ten years of wondering about her, dreaming about her.

She lowers her head, letting her hair fall across her face. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Uh, yeah—I helped you.”

“Helped me.” An oddly hysterical laugh slips out of her lips as she looks up, peering at me between the wild, wavy strands.

I stare into the same dark eyes I’ve seen every night. Every time I close my eyes. I always thought they were beautiful. Almost hypnotic. Powerful, even.

Now they look defeated.

As if confirming my thoughts, she curls her knees into her chest, hugging them with her arms and rocking back and forth.

“You didn’t help me,” she whispers. “You just killed everyone.”

CHAPTER 8

AUDRA

My eyes burn in a way I don’t understand. Then something wet streaks down my check.

A tear.

Everything inside me knots with a mix of fear and rage.

I shouldn’t be crying. Not because I have to be brave or strong or maintain any of the other aspects of my oath. I physically shouldn’t be able to shed tears.

The fact that I can means it really is too late. My body’s absorbed the water. I’ll be weakened for months.

Just like my father was the day he died.

My shoulders shake as a tremendous sob overcomes me. I want to tear at my skin, scratch deep and hard, like that could somehow scrape away the water inside me. But it doesn’t work that way. I’ve suffered so much to avoid my father’s mistake, gone to such lengths not to tie myself to the earth. But I never planned for this. Never considered that joining the wind would make me faint, or that Vane would give me water to revive me.

Vane.

My head snaps up, and I smear the traitorous tears away with my hands. He’s balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to jump back.

I can’t blame him. My behavior is far from the composed, commanding presence I was trained to present when his mind finally had a breakthrough.

I have to get it together. This is another . . . complication. I’ll find the solution.

I clear my throat, brushing my hair out of my face as I rise. I wish I had time to rebraid it—and change back into my uniform—but I have to settle for tucking it behind my ears and smoothing the fabric of my dress.

“I’m sorry,” I say, proud that I sound strong and steady. “We need to talk.”

“You think?” His pitch is an octave higher than I’m used to. “Who are you—and what the hell do you mean, I just killed everyone?”

“Keep your voice down.” I step toward him, but he jerks away.

“Don’t come any closer—and don’t tell me what to freaking do. You’re in my house.”

“I know. And if you don’t want your parents to find me, you need to be quiet.”

He glares at me, clearly not happy I’ve made a valid point. “Who are you?”

“My name is Audra. I have all the answers you’re looking for, Vane. But we need to have this conversation somewhere private. Will you come with me?”

Rebellion wars in his eyes. And after the way I acted, I can’t blame him. Which only makes it more frustrating.

My head throbs from the strain I put my body through. I rub my temples and take a deep, slow breath as I study the lines of his face—a face I know so well I can recall every detail from memory. Fear is etched in every feature, making him look older. Pained.

I’ve been ordered to make him trust me, but in that moment I’m surprised to realize I want him to trust me.

“Please, Vane. I need you to come with me.” My eyes hold his as I take a cautious step toward him. I reach out and let my fingers brush down his arm. He flinches but doesn’t pull away—even when I take his hand.

His skin feels smooth and warm, and my fingers tingle as they absorb his heat.

Strange.

It’s been years since I’ve touched anyone. My body must not know how to respond.

Vane stares at our hands, the fear in his face fading into uncertainty. “Is it safe?”

“Completely.”

“Is it far away?”

“We can walk there.”

“And you promise you’ll explain everything?”

“Everything.”

His eyes challenge me. Dare me to break my promise. He doesn’t understand it’s part of my job to tell him everything. But he will soon enough.

I pull him toward the window.

“Wait—we’re going out that way?”

“I can’t exactly walk out the front door—especially in this.” I point to my tiny blue-black dress. It seemed revealing earlier, when I was alone. Now, in the light of his room, with his eyes trailing over me, I feel almost naked.

Especially when he grins and says, “Yeah, my mom definitely wouldn’t approve.”

I drop his hand and fold my arms across my chest. I’d almost forgotten how obnoxious he can be. “Let’s go.”

I leap through the window without looking back. It isn’t a far fall—the house only has one story—but there’s an unfamiliar ache in my joints when my feet hit the ground.

The water.

I bite my lip, taking deep breaths to remain calm as Vane heaves himself out the window. He yelps as his arm catches the thorns of the pyracantha. I roll my eyes.

“My home is this way,” I say, dashing across the open lawn. It’s the only part of the yard where the moonlight’s bright enough for us to be seen, so we have to move quickly until we reach the towering date palms of the grove that borders the house on all sides.

A soft Southerly revives me as I run. Caressing my face. Drying the last of my tears. The wind can’t lighten the extra weight I carry from the water, but it eases my headache. Vane matches my pace stride for stride. Whether that means he’s stronger than I thought or I’m weaker than I feared, I can’t tell.

Deeper and deeper we head into the trees. The air is sweet with the aroma of their sticky fruit, and I can feel fallen dates squishing between my bare toes. At least, I hope they’re dates. The night is anything but silent, and all manner of giant insects chirp and skitter around us. This place is infested—not the kind of location I would’ve chosen for a home. But my options were limited.

A few minutes more and the pale walls of my shelter come into view.