I ALLOWED THE WANDERER TO SCURRY. But not without one hell of a flesh wound for a friendly warning.
My attention drifted to the girl lying in the heap of leaves, knocked out cold from my outburst. I silently stepped closer and crouched. That—that was very much a girl.
I picked a twig with my other hand, snapped it in two, threw it at her.
A glow from my palm illuminated her face. My fingers snapped around her ears.
Good. Definitely out cold as I had hoped. I had to congratulate myself for such fine crisis management. One more second and she could have seen too much and this situation would have gone from unpleasant to quite troublesome.
I snuffed my light out. She was pretty far up the buttcrack of this forest, far enough to get spotted by one of them. Now I had to carry this back to the house a few miles down. Just my luck.
"Dumbass."
My attention zoned around her legs, noting the hand tightly wrapped around an ankle even in her unconscious state. I nudged her fingers away with mine. Instantly, a discharge coursed from her to me. That familiar, involuntary tingle uncurled down my spine, but it was so weak. Had I imagined that?
What kind of fuckening was this...
I held her ankle. Energy welled to the tips of my fingers, ready to bond with her, a dead giveaway that she must have sprained it somehow. The shrieks were moving around the woods before I narrowed them down. She'd been running in the pitch black.
The second I was done healing it, I kind of regretted it. Probably should have let her learn a valuable lesson.
Days ago, I'd noticed her and what I assumed to be her father settling into that empty house downhill, at the very limit of town. I'd spied among the trees for so long I'd almost turned into wood myself, fuming at the idea of outsiders dwelling uncomfortably close to our private space.
I kept hearing about a higher number of Wanderers passing through these parts from the others—in the weeks leading up to this.
So when these happy-go-lucky campers showed up with that moving truck, I wondered how fucked I was on a scale of one to ten.
I'd say a cushy five, for now.
Wanderers, once they chose their prey, would play and play and play some more until they pounced for the kill. That one will come back for the girl and finish its business. My stomach acidified just at the thought.
Okay, maybe more like a five to seven, considering what just happened.
I'd stood there for long enough already. I stretched my arms in the dark, sliding my hands under her body. She was... surprisingly not the lightest out there.
I trailed down the mountain with the living bundle against my chest. Her head swayed in the void at an odd position, and I propped it against my bicep to correct it. I'd hate to unintentionally snap that frail neck of hers.
I wasn't going to test now if I could heal it quicker than it would kill or paralyze her.
She started shivering halfway through, and I wasn't surprised with the scraps she wore. September nights yielded no mercy, here. Thankfully, my heat range could take care of that. One of the perks of being awesome.
I could just let this midget freeze and spear her through her window.
I could easily abandon her on the roof of her new property.
Just for fuck's sake.
Except the cold could wake her up too soon and I didn't know which window belonged to her room. The roof was a bit much, even for me. She'd been in the middle of running from a real-life nightmare, after all.
I wouldn't be surprised if she'd roll in her sleep and to her death if I did that.
As if sensing all the shenanigans in my mind, the girl stirred in my grip. Must be the sudden change in temperature.
"Mmh..." Her brows knitted, and she snuggled into me—fucking snuggled!
I might as well have dumped her ass in the dirt for it. Was she going to wake up? I pictured her opening those eyes and seeing my creepy face over hers in the darkness. Then screaming for bloody murder.
My entire body thrummed and solidified. How the hell was I going to explain why she was in the arms of a total stranger being carried down for miles after having been almost dinner for a Wanderer? I watched her twitching eyelids intently, ready to evaporate if she so much as moved again.
I'd rather let her believe she teleported than be seen. But today was my lucky day, I guess. The girl stayed still, lashes shadowing the skin under her eyes.
I continued my self-inflicted duty and crossed the obscure road separating the treeline from her home. The lights were out in every window.
My soundless stride brought me to the porch where I saw the father—or her guardian—asleep on the couch with a coat. He must have gone out searching. A flicker of envy and anger shot through me. Parents were to be respected. She was lucky to have them and here she was driving this one insane.
Should have left the sprained ankle alone.
I figured I could sneak inside without disturbing the man, find the girl's room, and be done with it. Nothing to see here.
The door unlocked without a problem. It swung mutely as I passed through, tense at the prospect of invading the space. I climbed the narrow stairs and angled my upper body to avoid grating the girl's scalp against the wall.
I found her room, first to the left in the hall, and sidled inside.
The first thing to jump at me was the imposing bookshelves taking up almost half of a wall. A bright yellow surfboard was perched against her closet. I didn't know where the girl used to live, but nothing screamed east or west coast quite like a surfboard.
There was a small shelf next to the bunch of books that supported a row of medals and trophies. For surfing, I imagined. In one corner, she had a chair covered in clothes.
I stared back—really stared—at the sleeping girl, suddenly wondering what she sounded like or what the color of her eyes was. My contemplation took me over her sunny complexion, her parted lips, the gentle curve of her nose and cheekbones. It snagged at the faintest trace of freckles on either side of her nose.
I lowered her weight into the bed and straightened. Tendrils of golden, light brown hair stroked the sides of her face, blowing in the air as she breathed.
And it happened, against my best efforts. I pictured this face printed on paper and taped to the school doors, right next to the older ones. Those kids had a sick need to keep the dead on display.
I'd seen her now, and even if she was nameless to me, she was here, chest rising and falling.
Each suspicious death around these grounds was a clarion call for more trouble. It could bring media attention or the vultures, and maybe some of us would have to move away before events like these were traced back to us.
Some marginal humans have jabbered on about spotting Wanderers... or humanoid figures with powers. Nobody listened to those crackheads. There just wasn't enough of them to make people pause—most never lived to tell the tale.
Too many dead people was dodgy. Saving too many was risky.
I was still staring, head tilted, absolutely not taking the creep factor up a notch. For what I was considering, I should be slapping myself until it cleared out of my system. I knew better than to try this.
But there was something about her and that funny tingle.
I leaned over to brush a hair strand off the girl's face just to feel that touch again. My fingertip lined over her cheekbone lightly. Oh yeah. Tingle was definitely there, yet faint. I've never encountered anything so strange in my life.
I could do this. She didn't have to know.
If they heard me thinking, they'd be on the floor laughing to tears. I was well aware of what they'd say, what they'd expect from me after everything. But if they learned about this and got their way, I might never figure out this oddity, and her death might attract unwanted attention on all of us.
My sister would have wanted me to save this girl, because it was the right thing to do.
Should and could...
Even in stone-cold death, I could hear her voice. That kind of presence took root in many of us, its grip still live and deep, its weight tangible. I always thought she'd survive anything with me, that I'd at least be there to intervene when she couldn't handle it.
What was I supposed to do with this chick if she found out about me? My hands closed into fists, and I drew in a deep breath. Hers dangled off the bed, wrists turned up to the ceiling.
Man, I'm so done for.
If I didn't pull it off and they caught wind of this, I'll have to keep more than just Wanderers at bay. Perhaps if the little newbie caused too much trouble, I'd change my mind.
It sounded like a solid plan.
If this was doing the right thing, I didn't quite understand the appeal, but I wanted to understand. Why my sister would do the things she did. Why she pleaded with people. I couldn't just ignore it. I'd be killing her myself.
I reared my head and stalked over to her window. I lifted the glass, straddled the ledge and jumped down, landing softly on the soil.
★*
What do you think of him now that you've gotten a glimpse of his mind? I posted this sooner than the start of the sequel since it's not actually a part of the book but merely a bonus. The rest will have to wait until next week.
Here you go! I hoped you were fairly entertained with his internal qualms against being a total simp.
If you wonder why Luc at the end of Book 1 let go of Riley with the suspicions he has, it's because it's just so unheard of that he spent all of book 1 from his side of things convincing himself it was just a fluke and that she was actually human.
You'll see in an upcoming chapter that he was able to somewhat justify everything weird about her except for the Wanderer bite, but even then he could have gone all like "Wanderer attacks are rare and we only know so much with these recently-existing creatures and how it affects humans, so what the hell." and just let shit slide
Think I'll make more Book 1 chapters in his POV one day ;)
In this one, you might have noticed a slip-up at the end : he was so troubled he forgot to close the window on his way out, as the next morning in Riley's POV, she wakes up to a breeze coming out of it, which means he left a sign of his passage.