Burdened (A Burdened Novel) (19 page)

“North.”

“Ten.”

“Far North.”

Irritated I say, “You know, most guys are happy to tell how many girls they’ve been with.” Why can’t he just tell me?

“Not when it comes down to telling the last girl they’ll
be with
.”

He moves closer to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Well, it’s not going to change the way I feel about you, or what I think.”

He looks down at me. “It might.”

“Well, tell me and we will see.”

He takes a long pause. I let go of an impatient breath. “More than fifty, less than two-hundred…or so.”

I’m quiet, taking in the information. The real answer is: he doesn’t know. But
all
those women and I can’t even get a little bit? I have to admit, it does make me feel a little off. I shrug and mentally push off my uneasy feeling. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he questions wryly.

I shrug again. “Yeah! Why not?” I change the subject before he can say anything else. “So what’s got you down in the dumps today?”

“It’s just a lot going on right now.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not right now, but you can finish getting to know me.”
O-Kay.

“Why is your house so big?” His house is
huge
.

“A lot of people live with us, almost the majority of our family.”

“You all don’t move out and get your own places?”

“Nah—for what?
We try to stick together. I mean, we all have our own lives, of course. But we all just live together.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Yes, two sisters and three brothers.”

“And you are the oldest?”

“No, I’m the third child, second boy. You’ll meet all of them when you’re ready.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close.

“Your dad seemed kind of standoffish last night.”

“Yeah, me and my father have a ‘hi son, bye dad’ type of relationship. Then, when I need him to do something for me, he does, but that isn’t often.”

“Why?”

“My sisters and I are burdened. When we were born, he tried to kill each of us. My mother wouldn’t let him.” He half chuckles. “It’s not our fault that we were born this way, and they knew the risk before they decided to bare children. He just doesn’t trust us, and would rather we didn’t exist.”

“Wait, so neither of your parents is burdened?”

He shakes his head. “Unlike full blooded Sephlems, burdened babies can be more aggressive. As we grow, we can be unpredictable.”

“So why does your father hate you?”

“About five years ago, my mother and father got into an argument over my oldest sister and I. Supposedly, out of our family, including our extended family—cousins, uncles, and aunts, with the exception of one of our cousins—we are considered the most dangerous, which my mother and we beg to differ on, because a few of our family members have slaughtered their mates and innocent people—on a few occasions. Some of the people they killed weren’t innocent, but they killed them ruthlessly.”

He pulls me to a stop and we sit in the grassy area of the beach. I lean against him, listening as he continues. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had my instances, and my sisters are really under-control but a little crazy about it.” He pauses.

How many has he— “Don’t ask that, Tracey.” He cuts off my thought. “Neither I nor you are ready to have that conversation. Just know it happened, I regret it, and it won’t happen again—not while I’m out of control anyway.”

He tensed when he spoke. It is a sensitive topic for him. I let it go. “Okay, so what is it about you and your sisters that
makes you all worse than others?”

“When you are introduced to things as a child, you pick up on them quicker. Learning and understanding things are easier for you, like reading or tying your shoes.
Right?” I nod, not following where he’s going with this. “My father tried to kill us on two occasions, me on three.”

“When did he try to kill you, and why?”
I ask, concerned.

“When we were babies, before we turned a year old. These are my mother’s words and some of my brothers: My father tried to smother us. As children, we are easy to kill, we can’t defend ourselves, and we haven’t developed a shield of defense, like we do when we get older. I’ll tell you a little more about that later.
My mother walked in—not wanting to leave us alone for too long—to him over the both of us, covering our noses and mouths with his hands. She stopped him in time, and we grew up.

“My sister is only a year ahead of me. Remember, my kind ages incredibly slowly, especially as children, but it doesn’t slow the way we learn. After my father tried to kill us the first time, it registered to us, a couple of years after,
that that’s what he was doing.

“Then it was reinforced twelve years later when he saw us playing near the water. He wasted no time in grabbing us by the back of our necks and dragging us into the water. My sister and I fought, kicked, and bit at whatever flesh of him we could as he tried to drown us. She started moving slower and slower, after taking in gulps of water. Her eyes turned dark-green, then the color started to fade, and I lost it.”

“It was then that I found out what my first ability was—I can subvert the minds of others, making them do what I want, when I want, or even, terminating the brain without touching my victim. Although, that has advanced into something else.” I want to ask what, but he continues quickly. “At the time, I imagined my father’s neck being choked harder than he was holding us by ours, and he started to choke.”

He shrugs. “I took his hands from us, and he stood still in the water, because I took away his desire to move. I raced to my sister, to pull her from the water. Taking in a breath of air caused her to choke, after taking in so much water. She was coughing up water and blood, and it scared the shit out of me. I pulled her out of the water and we sat on the sand, catching our breaths.”

He rubs my hand that rests on his. “When she was finally okay, she looked at our father and said ‘Do it, Nathan.’ That day she also realized her first ability, which was similar to mine. She can tell if a person is being possessed or overtaken by someone else, and she can remove it, or them, as well.”

I stay quiet through his story, not missing a word.

“She grabbed my hand and repeated herself—with a tone she has never used with me since that day. So I did. We were kids and didn’t think past what was bothering us at the time. I made him turn to us, so that we could see his face, and had him walk backwards, deeper into the water. You could see the concern in his eye, but his face showed no emotion—I wouldn’t allow him to. I made him stop when his nose was under the water, and nothing remained but his eyes. My sister told me to do it that way, so we could watch the life drain out of him—and we would have, but we heard our mother screaming in the background, begging us to stop. She didn’t know what we were capable of, but she knew he wouldn’t be standing in the water like that on his own.” He shrugs, looking out at the water. “I let him go and he emerged from the water, panting out-of-control, with his eyes wide. It wasn’t until years later that I regret not killing him.”

I don’t know what to expect. How much worse could it get? “What happened?”

“I came home, one day, to an empty house. Well, I thought it was empty. By this time, I had gained other abilities, understanding and knowing death. Also, I knew that I was capable of killing and would kill if needed, and that I had killed multiple times before that moment. I was different—in full control. I was in the kitchen, and today, I can’t remember what I was thinking or doing at the time. All I remember was my father had come up from behind me, took me by my neck with one arm, lifted my head back, and cut me with a pearl-coated knife. Which, if used correctly, is the only object that can come close to harming me. But he cut me from my ear, through my neck.” He points to the scar I had noticed the other night, following the scar line with his finger.

“My youngest brother walked in and screamed a high-pitched scream. My father stopped and covered his ears—which is why the scar stops in the middle of my neck. I could hear the scream, but not as my father did. I blame it on the pain, but my mother tells me it was something else. It still doesn’t matter to me. I fell to my knees, grabbing my neck, probably about to die, when my youngest sister found me. She had my youngest brother place his hands against my wound and heal it.
Although, because it was made by a pearl-incased blade, the scar still remains. After I saw it for the first time, I regretted not killing my father like my oldest sister had told me to do when we were kids. But I got over it. Although, I wouldn’t doubt he might try it again.” He trails off and looks at me, before looking back at the water.

A few minutes pass. I scoot closer to him, laying my head on his shoulder, enjoying the cool breeze blowing around us. He is still tense, so I grab his hand and he lets out a soft sigh.

We need another subject change. “So I know who your favorite person in the world is. What’s your favorite thing to do? You know mine now.”

“And who is my favorite person?” he asks, laying his head against mine.

“Me, unless I’m wrong,” I tease. “You did tell me that.”

He takes in a noticeable breath. “No, you’re right. You are my favorite person. Besides what I told you, I also like going hiking and mountain climbing.”

Hiking, yes, mountain climbing, I don’t know. “We could go hiking one day, with plenty of bug spray and high socks.”

“High socks?” he asks quizzically.

“Yes, to keep the creepers out of my pants.”

He tackles me against the grass, moving fast, grabbing at my jeans. “I don’t think high socks are going to keep
creepers
out.”

I grab his forearm. “Not
creepers
like you.” I pause, kissing his lips unexpectedly. “But I don’t mind you creeping.”

He kisses me. “I’m glad to hear that, because if you did, we might have a problem.”

“Why? It’s not like you’re trying to get in my pants.”

He kisses my nose. “I’ve already got in your pants.”

“Not what I mean,
but
that was nice too.” I look up at the sky, remembering what he did. My phone starts ringing. He sits us up and I grab it from my back pocket. “It’s Glen.”

“You’re going to answer it?”

“No. I know she is with Scott and if it was something serious he would have called you.”

“No. I left my phone in the house. I know you’ve been wanting some ‘us’ time, so I’m giving that to you with no interruptions.”

I look at him differently, liking what I’m hearing. My phone rings again.

“I think you should answer it, Tracey.”

“Hello?” I can hear Glen yelling to Scott in the background. I can’t make out what she’s saying, only the anger in their voices as they yell. I hear Scott telling her to give him the phone.

“Hello, Tracey. Can you put Nathan on the phone?” I say nothing, handing him the phone.

He grabs it. “What’s up, Scott?” I can’t make out what Scott’s saying, just that he’s saying it loudly. “Okay, what happened?”

He goes quiet, while Scott yells some more on the other end. “Well, it’s your fault. If you would just—” Scott yells in the phone again, cutting him off. “Okay, Scott.
When?” He pauses. “That’s fine.”

He waits and Scott stops talking as loudly. “I’m sitting by the water with Tracey. We were talking, something you and Glen should try.” Scott says something else in the phone,
then Nathan hands it back to me with the call ended.

“What was that about?” I take the phone, putting it back in my pocket.

“Our ‘alone’ time is going to get cut short. Scott and Glen are on their way over.”

“No. Why?” I drag out, depressed.

“Something happened and they got into an argument. Scott can’t control himself and he needs someone else around them.” I roll my eyes. “The house is big enough, Tracey. They can take the family room and we will take the basement, or the other way around. We will figure it out. Or we can stay out here and they can be somewhere else, walking or something.”

“I guess, but I do know blankets and a sunset is in my future for tonight. How long do you think it will take him to get here?”

“No time at all. Scott will drive fast when he wants to. But…back to those creepers and these pants.”

“You need to creep-
er in these pants.”

He leans me backward and kisses my chin. “If you keep talking like that, I just might.”

He kisses my lips and places his hand behind my head, holding me from touching the ground. His kiss is deep and seductive, and I open my mouth to it. His tongue sweeps in and meets mine. I remember his taste and the softness of his tongue.

I feel the other hand squeezing my waist tight as he contains his urge. His body, against me, moves slowly every so often, and I reach around him to rub his back and then his front, my fingers creeping under the waistline of his jeans.

“Ahem,” I hear softly from behind him.