REAPING INNOCENCE ◦ STILINSKI [3]

xxi.

    Well, one person in particular.

    Just the sight of the girl walking toward him was enough for a sob to escape his lips. Logically, he knew that she wasn't real and that if he was envisioning her, it meant that he was close to death as well. It felt so strange to see her, though, because Carter Hale was never coming back. And in the midst of all the feelings of death and grief, he couldn't help but feel extremely happy. If there was one person in the entire world he would like to see before he died—it was Carter.

    Carter stood there, but not the Carter in the morgue, when Jordan had last seen her. Now her feet were bare beneath the hem of a long white dress. The thin folds of white fabric clung to her every curve. Her skin was pale, had a strange wintry luster to it, and her brown hair seemed overlaid with a silvery sheen. But the real difference was in her face. Those deep brown eyes were heavy-lidded and yet unnaturally awake.

    She was more beautiful than she had been in life.

    "Jordan," she said, lingering over the first consonant of the name. He heard his own indrawn breath, and the near sob he gave. "I'm here," her eyes wide as she came to Jordan's side.

    She moved with an unnatural grace, as if she were a soft-flowing river. As if he wasn't bleeding out in the basement of an abandoned house. As if Carter was actually alive—walking toward him. And as if everything, for just this one single moment, was perfect. That there were no threats, no glowing talons, and that both of them were breathing. That was all he wanted.

    He could hear his own ragged breathing, watching as Carter moved closer. She kneeled down in front of him; not even sparring a glance at the gaping wound on his chest. Her eyes were simply just locked with his.

    "I'm right here."

    Slowly, her hands reached to touch his cheeks, her palms cupping his face delicately. Jordan found himself instinctively leaning into her touch, he was instantly relaxing into Carter, who was radiating warm thoughts. His eyes fluttered for a moment, realizing that this would be the ultimate way to die. As long as he was envisioning the girl before him—everything would be all right. It would be serene, Carter would make sure it was. That was what Pheanixs did when someone they were connected to were dying; they give comfort and make sure they were not alone.

    "Stay with me," Carter urged, leaning toward him. Jordan forced himself to open his eyes once more, immediately noticing that she was leaning in even closer.

    She moved her head forward slightly until their noses brushed. He physically shuddered at the contact, a fire awakening in him. He felt this compelling urgency to be near her. Had she wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her? The thought sent warm ripples of shock through his body, thinning the air in his lungs.

    Before Jordan could even withdraw his mind from its far places, Carter's lips were on his. It sent wild tremors along his nerves, evoking from him sensations he'd never known he was capable of feeling. Her lips were softer than a rose petal and her kiss inflicted upon him more pain than a steel blade to the heart. The Kiss of Death, he thought. His pulse was racing, heart throbbed in his chest as if he were about to suffocate.

    "Parrish!"

    Sheriff Stilinski.

    And then she was gone.

    It wasn't real. Carter's dead and she's not coming back. The thought was enough to drive him to tears as the Sheriff rushed over to him. Black spots were obscuring his vision once more, he was slowly slipping into the darkness, but with only one thing on his mind.