The Grave Shadows

34. Taint

A frightening explosion pulled Everett from the deep night. The hellish clamor vibrated in the north hallway as though monsters had scratched through the Gate of Hell. Everett sprinted out of his room; Luke and Will following him into the dimmed passage.

Is David home?

When the suspected door swung open, the struggle had gone quiet. The bed was in disarray, the sheet ripped and scattered in a labyrinth of broken things. Shards of glass gleamed on the carpet. The table lamps lulled on the floor, the bulbs flickering in two corners like those flashes in the forest of Colt. Hector curled in the middle of the room, moaning.

"Hector!" Everett skated on his knees to the clump of the golden boy. When he laid a hand on Hector, frenzy fired off.

Pure rage rampaged through Hector's throat, his fist roaring across Everett's face. The room tumbled, and the salty, metallic-taste fluid flooded the inside of Everett's cheek. Will and Luke howled in unison.

Shadows fell onto the floor—onto Hector—wrangling with him.

"Hector!" Luke shouted. "What the hell is happening to you?"

Upon regaining his balance, Everett scrambled to the violent commotion. Will and Luke were on top of Hector, but the vigorous force whirled them away.

Hector slapped and kicked the air, but Everett decidedly swooped down on him.

"Hector!" Everett pressed himself against Hector. "Stop!" His embrace locked around the trembling and furious muscles while harsh breaths crashed against his skin.

Suddenly, a pain snapped on Everett's neck. Hector's teeth had sunk in his flesh. Everett shrilled and pummeled Hector's stomach.

Luke and Will dove back into Hector and clutched his back to the shard-covered floor.

"Hector!" Everett yelled through the pain and climbed on top of Hector. "Wake up! Hector!" He slapped Hector twice.

Hector gasped, heaving, shivering, his eyes dilating.

"What the hell is going on?" Another voice came through the door. Simon glared at the mess.

Still lying on his back, Hector fluttered his soaked eyelashes. "Jesus Christ!" He shut his eyes and relaxed against all grips. Reality wilted into him—the incident wasn't the first.

Everett eased off Hector and fumbled to his feet.

"What's happened?" Luke caught his breath. "Nightmare? You were dreaming."

"The war," Simon concurred. "When did it start?" He hardened his face and pulled Hector off the floor. "You need to talk to someone about this."

Hector cringed at the red on his lips and stared at Everett. The Watts Prince carried something back from the war. In that dim encounter, he became a fragile, scared, dangerous man who wrangled with the darkness alone. Flopping on the remains of the bed, he rubbed his face.

"You've got to get that fixed." Will pointed at the savage cut on Hector's arm.

"Luke," Hector said as he winkled himself out of the bloody shirt, "sew me up."

"You're not serious." Simon strutted across the room. "I'm calling Dr. Carlson right now." He grabbed the phone on the floor. "I won't be responsible for letting you look like shit in Garrison's campaign poster."

Hector was the Watts Clan's pride, free from flaws and scandals. Nothing should ever taint him.

"Stay out of it, Simon," Hector scolded. "You don't want Father to hear about this. It was a dream, and nothing happened. None of you will say a word about tonight. Do I make myself clear?" He clutched the wound. "Luke! I'm not going to heal myself!"