Burn (4 page)

“Thanks for the visual,” I shout as I pass his room.

Chapter Five

Off with Her Head
  

I wake up to a dull, silent Saturday. In a few hours I’ll be at Marshall’s with Brielle. The only bright spot in my day, will be going over to the bowling alley afterwards to visit Logan and Gage, although if Gage had his little talk with Logan that might not prove to be such a bright spot after all.

I roll over in bed and pluck Chloe’s diary from under the mattress. I must have read the last entry wrong. How could Gage be the love of her life when she was so into Logan?
Sleeping
with Logan?

I open it up again—nope still says Gage. I turn the page.

Days and days of boring shit.
And this is something everyone was so worried about me reading?

July 4
^th
,

The fireworks were beyond awesome! There was a bonfire tonight out by East so naturally there were too many people clustered in one tiny space. I can’t wait to get off this island. As soon as I hit 18, I’m taking a boat to the mainland and never coming back.

So
Lexy
and Michelle got in a near fistfight over Logan—so stupid. I had to threaten Michelle to keep her claws to herself. I swear that girl is insane. I’m going to have to tell
Lex
I can’t help her anymore. I know I had an “arrangement with her”, that I’d keep Michelle as far away forever, but oh well. It’s not like she delivered fully on her end of the deal. I’m still having HUGE problems with the brat pack.

I’m going to beg Gage for help. His dad’s way more active with the faction meetings. My parents could give a shit less if I end up in a body bag dumped off at the side of the road. Anyway, didn’t kiss Gage like I planned. Going over to his house tomorrow, see how it goes. Wish me better luck tomorrow!
  

With less than ten minutes to meet Brielle downstairs, I shut the book and hit the shower. The thought of Chloe kissing Gage turns my stomach. It’s bad enough she was with Logan.

***

Before we head to Marshall’s, I ask Brielle to drive me over to the mortuary where I give another pint of blood for project resurrect Chloe. It seemed like a good idea at the time, bringing Chloe back to throw her in Marshall’s tank to see if he’ll bite, but something about the whole thing is starting to make me uneasy. By the time we pull into Mr.
Studley’s
palatial estate, I’m feeling completely drained and weak.

The fresh morning air cuts sharp into my lungs. It’s heavily scented with the sweet smell of moist earth, the juniper bushes with their fragrant star shaped flowers expelling their sweetness.
 
 
    

We circle around back to the barn where Marshall instructs Brielle on how to shovel through hay and filter out all the horse crap. He pulls a giant waste bin between the stalls and lets her know there’s another one out back when that one gets full.

“Looks like fun.” I give a dry smile in her direction. It was her big idea to work here. She could have easily gotten a job at the bowling alley. I’m sure Logan would have been thrilled to have her—but no.

“And you, Ms. Messenger.” His eyes twinkle when he says my name—for a brief moment I remember the dark reality that I’ll soon be the only remaining Ms. Messenger in our leg of the family. “Follow me.”

Marshall’s not hard to follow anywhere. He’s tall, impossibly gorgeous, and carries himself with an unreasonable amount of self-confidence that adds to his majestic flair.

He leads me out of the barn and over to the house. Marshall’s home looks a little more like a bachelor pad today than during any of my previous visits, what with the discarded pizza boxes stacked on top of one another creating an unsteady tower, endless empty grocery bags floating around, and an assortment of drinks from fast food places springing up all over.

“You want me to clean the pigpen?” I’m not really offering. “Sorry, but I’m just here to support Brielle. I think a small part of her is actually afraid to be alone with you,” I say, making my way into the den and flipping on the TV.

“Nonsense. You’re here because you miss our alone time.” He pins me against the wall and gives a quick peck behind my ear. An intense rush of pleasure only Marshall is capable of dispensing rushes through me.

“No, really I don’t.” I circle around just outside of his grasp.

“You haven’t let me woo you yet.”

“I’m not into wooing. Need I remind you I have a boyfriend? More than one—I’ve caught my limit.”

Marshall moves forward with lightning precision and wraps his arms around my waist. Before I can react, I catch a blur racing past the window with my peripheral vision.

Carefully, I remove his hands from my hips. It feels so amazing to touch him—a relaxing, fibrillating sensation.

“Stop. Brielle’s going to see,” I hiss.

“Very well.” He flattens his palms in the air. “But I’m going to win. You’ll be spending time with me. I won’t take no for an answer. Be sure to pencil me in for the downtime between the dolts. It’ll be my pleasure to show up the both of them. I’m going to expose you to something so spectacular that they wouldn’t be able to give you in twelve lifetimes.” He presses into me an intense smoldering stare.

A loud clanging noise erupts outside, startling the both of us to attention.

“I didn’t think she could hurt anything,” he says, craning his neck in the direction of the barn. “Looks like Brielle
is
quite capable of defying the odds.”

Marshall heads out towards the back.

She’s probably writhing around on the floor due to a self-inflicted pitchfork injury. I know for a fact she had no intention of filling waste bins with horse crap while she was here.
 
   

Outside the front window I see a figure move into the bushes.

What the…

I head over to the front door and step outside. It’s icy out today. A nasty wind is unleashing its fury on Paragon, ushering in a cover of storm clouds that have been lingering over the island for hours—dark clouds spreading like a slow malignant tumor.

“Brielle?” I ask, taking a cautious step out onto the porch. I crush a pile of fat maple leaves—they disintegrate under my feet in a series of dry satisfying crackles. The wind whips around my ankles as though it were alive, as though it were frantically trying to warn me of whatever it is I sense out here.

“Brielle?” I try and sing her name out as though I wasn’t afraid of whatever that thing was ducking into the bushes, as though there were no possibility it could have been a Fem, or—

A hand plasters itself up over my mouth, muffling my cries as I’m knocked backwards. The cold feel of metal pressing against my neck, ignites a whole new level of panic in me. I try to pluck it off me, and my finger slips through something sharp. I bring it up over my eyes to see the tip of my finger covered in blood. Then, the very distinct feeling of a clean slash runs from ear to ear.

Shit!

 
My flesh burns as I try to process what the hell just happened. I bite down hard on the hand slipping inside my mouth.

I’m lifted and pushed. A hard shove lands me face down in Marshall’s entry and the door slams shut behind me.

I let out a guttural groan in lieu of a scream. My head spins with panic and a strong jolt of nausea rolls through me.

My blood sprays out like a violent splat of paint against the white marble floor.

I’m going to die.

I try to crawl up on all fours, but my hands slide out from under me, slipping in the never-ending torrent of red streaming from my throat.

Can’t breathe.

Oh shit.

Chapter Six

Breathing Lessons

Stark white walls are littered with my crimson fingerprints. A trail of thick red gloss runs all over my clothes, my hair—blurring my vision. I swing violently at the vases covering the sofa table, listen to them smash as they hit the floor in order to get Marshall’s attention. The tiniest breath escapes me, igniting a sizzle of electric pain in my throat. I thrash wildly, knocking over a bench in the entry, plucking the mirror off the wall and smashing it to pieces against the grand piano. Only seconds remain before blacking out becomes a real possibility.

The world spins, the room turns a filtered shade of grey. From the back window I can see Marshall examining Brielle’s hand and I pound erratically against the glass. His head turns sharply in my direction as he begins to sprint back over to the house. A look of intense worry crosses his face. The hard line of his jaw defines itself as he exerts himself to get to me. Suddenly it feels safe to melt into a black unconsciousness.

“
Skyla
!” He shouts my name loud as a gunshot, louder than any human voice is capable of, I’m sure.

I feel him scoop me up off the rug and jostle me across the room—many rooms.

“Stay with me!” He commands.

Brielle screams from somewhere in the distance.

“Call Dr. Oliver,” he booms over to her.

“It’s superficial. You’ll be fine,” he snaps as though he were angry.

The back of my head clunks down abruptly on a hard surface. My eyes struggle to briefly analyze the surroundings—kitchen counter—island to be exact.

Can’t breathe. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I flex my hand just above my throat wildly. I sit up, and hit my head on a pot dangling from above.

“Relax,” he barks, throwing down the copper pans that hang from the ceiling in a clanging fit of frustration.

The white-hot sting of the incision dances all the way across my neck as I try to take a breath. I clutch up at his chest and wrench his shirt in knots to get my point across.

“You can’t breathe.” It comes out calm. He reaches over me and snatches up something metallic, then picks up a plastic cup the size of a small bucket with a fat blue straw sticking out of it. “I’m going to cut you now.” He pins my arms down with one hand and fondles my neck just below where I was sliced. “Easy.”

I try to fight him, but it’s like having a tractor lay over you. Lucky for the both of us he feels good to the touch. His soothing vibrations radiate through me and I end up clutching onto him rather than letting go.

A quick stab of pain flashes through me, forcing me to open my eyes.

He plunges the knife into my throat one more time and gives a quick smile of relief.

“There.” He removes the blade and plucks the cobalt straw from out of the drink. A trail of brown liquid dispenses before he injects the straw into my neck. “Breathe,
Skyla
,” he demands. “Right now, breathe.”

I take in a breath—a ragged, feeble, interrupted breath, but a breath nonetheless full of sweet, sweet air. I clutch at his shirt again, and my lips curve in approval.

“Oh my, God!” Brielle screams so loud that the entire kitchen vibrates with her shrill cry.

“This isn’t for you, leave the room,” he says with relaxed authority.

Gage appears in the kitchen.