CHAPTER FOUR

MIRA

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The world is a black void when my eyes spring open several hours later, my nightmare a rabid dog on my heels into reality. Each one is a slideshow of events spanning back years, a decade ago on a bright, sunny afternoon when Dad packed my bags and took me away. The sounds of my mother’s howls as police officers and children services had to restrain her from grabbing me.

I didn’t know at seven that Mom had a severe addiction to pain medication and alcohol. When I came home to her passed out on the sofa, I assumed she was sleeping. When there was nothing for supper, I didn’t think it was strange to just make a sandwich on my own. It was normal — to me.

But the school didn’t think so. They were concerned by my hygiene, my lack of lunch, my waiting outside the school for hours for someone to pick me up. They didn’t understand we were fine.

But that year had been a storm of meetings, of learning my mother was banned from ever seeing me again, of getting packed up and shipped off to another province to live with a man I didn’t know but grew to love. I met Sophie who lived down the street and for a time, everything was okay. I had clean, new clothes. There was food in the fridge not covered in mold. I had a friend.

Mom became a memory, a hazy dream quickly fading with every passing year. I only knew her through infrequent cards and phone calls Dad shouldn’t have allowed but would pretend he didn’t know about because they made me happy. We didn’t reconnect until I was sixteen and she called to tell me she’d been sober a whole year. Had an apartment, a job. Our relationship picked up, becoming regular texts and phone calls. She was still not allowed to see me in person, but we both agreed I would be eighteen soon and no one could stop us. It was our little joke.

She told me about Daniel, the angel who saved her and brought me back to her. She talked about him with such love and devotion that I felt like I knew him before I ever set eyes on him.

Then she got the diagnosis.

She was fine one day and given a year the next. I begged Dad to let me see her, that the courts didn’t have to know, but it was too risky. No one cared that she had turned her whole life around or that she was dying.

Then, as if the universe was a sick Genie granting my wish, Dad died. Sophie died. Kalen died. And suddenly, I was free to see my mom who was in the process of dying.

The courts had no problem shucking me off to live with a woman they deemed unfit the month before when I was already so close to turning eighteen anyway.

But at night when I’m too weak to keep my walls up, I know it’s my fault I’m alone. I made it happen. I caused the deaths of everyone I loved because I wasn’t getting what I wanted. I manifested this curse, and, in my dreams, I get to watch each of them die one by one in order before it flips and I’m holding Daniel as he takes his last breath.

The terror is always enough to jolt me awake gasping for air, face hot with tears. My fingers are always claws already reaching for him in the dark.

In the beginning, after Mom died, Daniel would always reach back. For a month, he slept in a chair next to my bed. He was there with the first whimper, strong arms a secure hook pulling me back together.

He didn’t start falling asleep in my bed until I’d already turned eighteen and I’d wake to him there, lean body a perfect spoon around mine, a protective blanket keeping all the demons at bay. He’d show up in the night and just stay until we both dozed off.

He may have married my mom on paper, he may have been her best friend first, but he’s my best friend now. He’s my whole world. I can’t lose him. It would destroy me.

Yet the universe loves taunting me, reminding me that I made this happen. That it’s only a matter of time.

Trembling, I shove back the blankets and slide off the mattress. The boards groan beneath my weight as I tiptoe to the bathroom.

Murky, yellow light spills over the sink, toilet and tub. It casts a dull halo across the brown, plastic linoleum. It sticks a little to my feet as I pad over to the sink.

It takes all of ten minutes to wash the tears crusted to my cheeks, brush my teeth and knots from my hair, and switch to my sleeping t-shirt — a knee length piece in soft, blush pink .

I glare at my stupid reflection in the mirror, at the stupid girl with the selfish heart. She stares back with the same disgust, and I wonder — not for the first time — what the hell my purpose is. Why did everyone else die and not me? Why am I still here?

Sophie loved fashion. She could put together an outfit using a toothpick and a scarf. She was brilliant and talented, and I’m still pissed that she betrayed me, but she deserved to live.

Dad was brilliant. He could fix anything with a screwdriver and a paperclip. He was sweet, kind, and patient. He loved me when I was a terror. When I was throwing fits to see Mom that had the police coming to our door. He had every right to hand me off to the system, but he never even raised his voice. He’d tell me we’d work through it together and we eventually did.

Mom ... Mom was a different story. We had a bond even when we were apart. As I got older, I realized she had a sickness that she needed to get help for. I still loved her. Right to the end. But she pulled her life together. She was doing her best.

Why was any of it fair? Why them? Why them and not me?

Here I stand, a barely passable human with zero worth in the world, zero contributions and abandonment issues that could fit the Grand Canyon . I barely got my high school diploma, and only because Daniel refused to let me drop it and pushed me to get my GED. I have no talents. No skills. I barely have the will to live most days.

But yeah, let’s let her live. Great choice.

Disgusted, I shut the lights off and cross the unfamiliar room to the door and peek out. That strange, hollow silence pulses down the dimly lit corridor disturbed only by the rush of blood still pounding between my ears.

Certain I’m the only one awake, I hurry my way to the stairs and down into the darkness at the bottom.

Vast darkness. The kind of endless black found only at the very bottom of a well. In the city, even during the cloudiest night, it’s never actually dark. There is always light from somewhere.

There is nothing here, except maybe monsters. Creatures who live in isolated cabins, ancient, horrible things that need souls to survive.

I nibble anxiously on my bottom lip. My fingers twist in the hem of my top. I know it’s not too late to turn back, but I foolishly don’t. My pride needs to see this through it seems, so I find myself edging tentatively forward, gauging the layout by memory — the little I managed to see earlier.

I briefly consider slipping into Daniel’s room and begging him to come with me to get a glass of water, but I’m supposed to be an adult. Apparently.

I blink several times like that might make a difference, but my eyes don’t adjust. Instead, I kick the corner of something solid and immediately regret every life choice as unimaginable pain rockets through my toes. It cripples my soul, nearly taking out what little will I have left. I have to wheeze my agony through clenched teeth and resist the urge to simply curl up where I’ve been struck down and let the demons eat me because fuck life.

A smart, normal person would have brought their phone, used the light. That’s the whole point of that built in option so you don’t get maimed by furniture in the dark.

But I avoid the thing. I rarely keep it on, or if it is, it’s on mute. There are hundreds of missed calls and texts I haven’t checked in over a year. Nor will I.

Nothing good ever came from that thing.

Every bad news I’ve gotten was from that devil machine and — though there’s no one left to lose — I don’t want to take the chance.

I will keep it close and on when Daniel goes to work, but every time it buzzes with some stupid notification or some asshole feels the need to call about some upgrade to my plan, my world shatters. It sends me spiraling to the point of hysterical sobbing on the floor.

I’ve gotten better at not calling Daniel at work. The first few times, he rushed home to me. But that’s not sane or healthy. I can’t do that to him. Not while he’s at work.

But since I stopped, Daniel has been sending little texts every hour or so, short things like, “ heading to court.” “Mexican for supper?” “Miss you.”

It’s like he knows I need the assurance and it keeps me going while he’s away.

Still, had I known I would be getting attacked by furniture, I may have taken the time to locate my phone.

Irate, I hobble forward, fingers I can’t even see extended out in front of me, feeling for the next ambush.

I’m not disappointed when I walk into a wall. The only problem now is which way to the kitchen. How far off am I?

“What madness is this?” I grumble to myself.

A light flares on as if summoned by the sheer will of my mind. The room floods with the mute glow and highlights my path, and the topless man standing on the bottom step.

“Lost, Goldilocks?”

Heat sweeps into my cheeks as I face Christian with his gallery of body art and sleep tousled hair. His jeans are open in a wide, suggestive V like he’d pulled them on in a hurry but hadn’t bothered zipping up.

I also note that he isn’t wearing a thing under. The plunging gap frames a smooth span of skin and a hint of his—

I immediately look away.

I think I hear him chuckle, but I can no longer trust myself to check. It’s only when I hear the groan of boards, the light, confident tread of feet that my attention jumps up to the man taking his sweet time coming straight towards me. His big hands are at his waistband, inside his pants, adjusting and shaking himself down. He jerks on the edges of the denim before dragging the zipper up but leaving the button open.

I hastily snap my gaze up to his face to find his attention on my chest. My shirt. My sharp, sensitive nipples pressing into the fabric. They tingle under the pointed stare. Harden, if possible.

I cross my arms. He snickers but lifts his eyes to mine.

“You started it.”

I frown. “I did not...” but I had. I can’t pick his cock out of a line up, but I saw enough. “Who comes down with their pants open?” I snap instead.

“I thought I would have to fight a burglar.”

“With your ... your...” my eyes sting with mortification and I fix them to the center of his chest where a beautiful, raven-haired woman with fierce blue eyes and full lips stares back. I briefly wonder if she’s someone important but opt not to ask.

“A weapon is a weapon.”

I hate the little twitch in my lips, a subtle amusement at the thought of him warding off an intruder with his dick.

“Must be really big,” I blurt and gasp, clapping both hands over my mouth. “I’m sorry. That was so inappropriate.”

But Christian roars with laughter. The sound rolls through the deafening silence and amplifies against the walls of my skull.

I’m so horrified, my ears are on fire.

“Oh, I like you. You’re going to be fun,” he growls deep, deep in his chest, a husky rumble I feel vibrate through my bones, down to my core.

Because he’s so close. He’s inches. A heady force crowding my space. Backing me.

Capturing me when I hit the wall.

His grin is loud and vicious. It’s the satisfied leer of a wolf.

“What has you out of your bed, little girl?”

I swallow audibly and press harder into the cold plaster. “Kitchen. I ... water.”

He looms over me. Forcing my face back with the strategic placement of his forearm braced just above my head. His eyes burn into mine with the predatory gleam of an animal.

If I could think, if my body wasn’t reacting to him with such desperate need, I would push him away. I would have told him to get away from me, but I have lost all my senses.

“Tell me something.”

The warm whisper of his words caress my lips, making the skin tingle and part even as my own gaze drops to the firm folds of his inches —inches— over mine.

“What?”

His free hand lifts and captures a coil of hair off my shoulder. The strand is twisted around his index finger and brought to his nose.

He inhales and my stomach pitches. My panties are barely enough to contain the searing flood rushing from my body. I try to stifle the flow with the subtle clenching of my thighs, but Christian lowers his eyes to where I’m throbbing and I’m biting my lip to keep from making a sound when my heart is hammering in my chest.

He makes a low, guttural groan that flares his nostrils, dilating his irises until only a thin band of gold drifts up to meet mine.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

My words are shaky but that’s because I’m shaking. “I haven’t done—”

“Your pussy’s so wet. It’s all I can smell.”

Never in my life has anyone ever told me I stink. I took regular showers. I wash down there every time and change my panties every day. But the fact that he just blurted I smell has me wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. I fold my knees over each other, trying to contain this horrific new knowledge.

“Don’t,” he practically growls. “It’s fucking delicious.” The tip of this stranger’s nose bumps mine. “It’s making my mouth water,” he drawls in that way that only increases the moisture I’m failing to stop. Above my head, knuckles pop and crack as if he’s balling his fingers. “Do you scream when you cum?”

Like literally everything that has come out of his mouth, the question is so random, so personal and offensive, I can’t think to respond right away.

“Excuse me?” I blurt at last.

“It’s all I thought about lying in my bed alone — how you sound when the right guy is fucking your tight, little pussy.”

I shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to me. I definitely shouldn’t be allowing it. He’s a damn stranger and Daniel’s brother, amongst a whole host of other things, but I haven’t had anyone try to please me, except my own hands my entire life and he’s making it impossible not to want what he’s offering.

Still — Daniel.

I love Daniel.

“Do you do that often? Fantasize about women you just met?” I counter, and I’m kind of really proud of myself for sounding completely chill.

“Not like this.” He drawls each word out slowly in that rough cadence that makes me stupid.

Goddamn it.

“What do you mean?”

My mouth is asking questions it really shouldn’t, things I don’t want to know. I mean, I do, but I shouldn’t.

I need him to back up. I need air and space and my sanity back.

“I mean that by now, you would be in my bed, taking every inch of my cock until your thighs are trembling and you lose count of your orgasms. And I would have to start over—”

I duck out from beneath his hold and scurry a safe distance, although, I’m pretty sure there is no such place.

“You can’t say things like that,” I babble weakly, my tongue a thick lump in my mouth.

Christian does that thing with his mouth where it lifts up in one corner showing just the hint of sharp canine. “Because?”

Well, if he would stop looking at me like that, I will tell him.

“Because ... Daniel.”

He pushes a step closer, forcing me back. “What about him?” He’s not making this easy. “He’s not fucking you. I know he’s not. And you are so tightly wound, I bet it would only take two licks to—”

“I’m not interested,” I cut in before I forget why I’m fighting this hard.

“Liar.”

My temper prickles. Sure, he’s right. I am lying but he’s been nothing but arrogant since I arrived and I need to stop this before it goes too far.

Sucking in a breath, I close the step I’d taken. I move right into his space, ignoring all the alarm bells screaming to abort mission.

I know I can’t intimidate him. He — like Daniel — has a full two heads over me and I’m forced to tip my whole neck back to even meet his gaze. But I’m not letting him think he can mess with me like this.

As I expected, Christian stops. His head cocks to one side like a curious puppy and he peers down at me with a raised eyebrow I take as a challenge.

“The fact that you think I would ever pick you over Daniel—”

All humor vanishes as if a light has been flicked off behind his eyes. His whole head jerks back. The rest of him seems to follow with his slow, measured stride backwards.

I’m just beginning to think I’d won when his smirk returns tipped with serrated blades of ice.

“Do you honestly think you’re that important? You think I’m so deluded by you that I’m declaring my undying love for you, Mira?” The steel edges of his laugh knicks my confidence. Makes me hurt even as I grip my rage tighter. But he’s still cutting. “You should keep chasing my brother. Eventually, he might get desperate enough—”

I move before I can stop myself. My arm snaps back and his sharp cheekbone cracks under my swinging palm. The resounding smack would have been viciously satisfying if unimaginable pain hadn’t erupted up my arm, numbing my fingers. I yank my hand back, dragging it to my chest and cuddling it like an injured child, but the throbbing persists.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, careful to keep my voice down, but even more careful to hide the tremor. The damn tears burning my eyes. He doesn’t need the satisfaction of knowing he’d made me cry.

Because, while, yes, he did hurt my feelings, that isn’t why my emotions kicked in; I have a deformation in my chemical makeup where I cry when I’m frustrated or angry. It’s a stupid and humiliating trigger that I hate, but I can’t stop it.

“I won’t tell Daniel about this, but if you come near me again...”

Christian watches me through a patch of dark hair that has slipped over his furious eyes. A dark, crimson stain marks his bottom lip that he swipes with the pad of his thumb and sucks clean. Never once looking away from me.

But I steel myself against the flex in my belly by snapping on my heels and hurrying back up to my room.