Bodies (Animal Instincts Book 1)

2: Quartet

Ashley stared down at him, at the same time aware of the trio on the couch twisting their heads to look at them. The one on the right was Quinn, she knew that. The one on the left was lithe and wiry, with impossibly beautiful silver hair and blue eyes that seemed too large for his face. He looked like he'd walked right out of a magazine spread. And as for the one in the middle ...

"You!" Ashley exclaimed, as last night came back to her all at once. She began backing up the steps, a finger pointed at the one with brown, gold-streaked hair that came down to his shoulders. "You attacked me!"

"Come now, our Jeremy did no such thing," Ryan said in an amazingly calm voice. It was the same infuriating voice her dad liked to use with her sometimes. Be sensible, Ashley, he'd say. "Jeremy saved you."

Ashley blinked over the row of strangers on the couch, then turned back to Ryan. "Saved me? From what?"

"You don't remember?" Jeremy asked. In a swift motion, he leapt over the back of the couch, taking her aback. He approached the foot of the stairs, spreading his arms like a stage actor asking for an encore. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and she noticed that there were tiny cuts all over his arms and chest, still red and fresh.

Ashley darted a gaze towards the back porch. The door's glass was completely gone, and it had been boarded up with planks of wood she recognized - they came from all that junk the Templetons kept lying around the garage. "What ... happened?"

"Not to worry, Ashley. I'd be happy to explain," Ryan offered.

"Wait," she went, jolted. "How do you know my name?"

"Jeremy told us," Rhys piped up, fetching a panicked look from Jeremy.

"What?"

She turned to Jeremy, but Ryan spoke up first, "Let's not get worked up. Everything will be explained soon enough. Would you like to come down and have breakfast with us, or would you rather shower first?"

Shower? One of her hands flew up to her chest - her braless chest, to be exact - and she swallowed at the thought of her hair which could probably be mistaken for a bird's nest. In lieu of words, she let out a choked, mortified sound, spinning on her heel and rocketing up the stairs. She made it into the safety of her bedroom, locking the door and standing in a daze. There she stayed for several minutes before calming down when no one came up after her.

I've heard of imaginary friends. Is that what's happening here? Being alone made me conjure up four imaginary friends? Seriously, am I totally losing it?

Tentatively, she put her ear to the door, making out the muffled noise of the TV and the boys chatting in light-hearted tones. What did one do in situations such as these? Call for help? Jump out the window?

She swallowed, taking a moment to think. What she really wanted to do was clean herself up, for a start. She dug some clothes out of her wardrobe, got her towel and slipped out into the hall to use the bathroom. When she was dressed and decent, her stomach started grumbling for food. Warily, she headed downstairs, half-expecting to find that she'd just imagined the whole scene earlier and everything would be back to normal.

She crept down the staircase, hunched low. The TV was still on, although it wasn't on Dr. Pol anymore. Someone had switched to a movie channel, where a battle was unfolding on-screen.

"The things man comes up with," someone remarked - the boy with the silver hair. "What is the point of creating things that destroy?"

"Man will always be fighting," Ryan reflected. "If not with the world, then with each other. And if not with each other, then with himself. It's his nature."