Haunted (11 page)

“I've been trying to figure this whole thing out, but it just doesn't make sense. I told you he started acting erratic after his healing. His moods are all over the place: up, down, left, right. He's a loose cannon,” I explained. “And the night terrors – he's had them every night that he's spent at home over that time as well.”

“Tell me about these night terrors,” he demanded. I wasn't trying to argue.

“At first he would just yell once – just enough to wake me up. When I would go in to check on him, he'd tell me it was just a vivid dream. He'd look normal, but I could always sense that something was off. As time went on, the yelling became screaming, and the screaming lasted longer. He would look ill and be sweating like he just ran a marathon. I always came running when they happened, and for a while he said that my presence seemed to make it better, so I started sleeping with him.”

Sean growled at my poor phrasing, and I started backpedaling instantly.

“Not like that; just in his room. It helped him manage and it worked, for a while.”

“But then?” he pressured.

“But then it just started to escalate again, and that's when things went from bad to abysmal. He started staying out all night, only sleeping during the day, and the mood swings started.”

“Interesting.”

“It's not interesting at all, it's horrible! I've racked my brain trying to figure out what to do, how to help. He's in pain, Sean, he's just trying to mask it,” I stressed.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “And the broken ribs? I'd like clarification on that. Now.”

I hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what to tell him and how to do it so as not to encourage his “kill Cooper” mission.

“The other night, Cooper passed out on his bed from sheer exhaustion. I don't think he was planning to stay at the house. I wanted to talk to him about something quickly before going to sleep. I saw him twitching and mumbling to himself on the bed; I figured he was starting to have a night terror so I tried to wake him up. It wasn't working and his seizure-like movements just kept increasing in severity, so I jumped on the bed beside him and yelled in his ear,” I informed him.

“I fail to see how that broke your ribs,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Not the arm cross…

“The doorknob broke my ribs,” I said, hoping he'd drop it.

He stepped so close to me that there was barely any breathing room between his chest and my face.

“And did it fly off the door, then shoot across the room of its own accord?”

I held my breath for a moment before blurting out the truth.

“Cooper threw me across the room,” I said quickly, wincing. “But he didn't mean to! I scared him, and he wasn't totally awake.”

Sean looked as though he was going to tear my bedroom door off the hinges to get out, but managed to contain himself for one last question.

“What do you mean 'he wasn't totally awake'?”

“The lights were on, but nobody was home, you know?”

He looked like he was almost satisfied, and I was thrilled with myself for avoiding a bloodbath in my guest room. Then he bent down slightly, putting his face directly in mine, and I started thinking that maybe the war wasn't over yet.

“Is that all that happened?” he asked, pressuring me further.

“Sorta,” I replied, my back starting to sweat.

“Sorta?”

“He may have growled at me while cornering me against the door,” I explained. “I threw a book at him and it knocked him out of it. He instantly realized what he'd done and freaked out about it. He apologized forever.”

Sean was breathing shallow and fast, but he didn't move. I conveniently left out the part about Cooper's growling only occurring before he attacked to kill; I didn't think it would help plead my case.

“He had no idea what had happened, Sean. He didn't do it on purpose.”

“But that doesn't make him less of a liability, Ruby.”

“What does that mean?”

He looked contemplative for a moment before answering.

“I'm afraid that Cooper may not be dealing well with his healing. He may be going rogue.”

Rogue?

A glimpse of a conversation I'd had with Sean about how the PC kept the divide between humans and the supernatural flashed through my mind. He'd said that they specifically dealt with poorly behaved Alphas, the Rouge et Blanc, and rogues. Sean dealing with anybody was ominous to say the least.

“What are you going to do?” I said, feeling the panic rise up in me.

“Has he hurt anyone else?” he asked.

“No, not that I know of,” I said. “And he's been amazing with Peyta. Having her here has been such a positive influence on him.”

“I'm sure it has,” he said with a twitch of his eyebrow.

“It's not like that, Sean. He's like a big brother to her.”

“That's not what I meant,” he offered. “I'll leave it be for now, but I'm going to have to report him. If we can't figure out why this is happening….”

He trailed off, offering no finality to his thought. I didn't think I really needed it; I knew what it meant for Cooper.

“I'll try talking to him again. Maybe if he knows what's at stake —” I tried to rationalize before getting cut off.

“You will say nothing to him. He doesn't need to know.”

“But maybe….”

“Ruby! Leave it alone for once,” he snapped before softening his tone. “Please, just stay out of this. It'll be OK.”

Liar.

“Whatever. Are we going to discuss the issue at hand or not? I want to know what is going on with Peyta that you're so interested in.”

He yawned and stretched out his arms while retreating to the bed.

“I think that can keep until later,” he said. “I need to get some sleep. It's been a long couple of days.”

It dawned on me in that moment that Sean may have planned the whole discussion to revolve around Cooper, and not what had occurred with Peyta; he manipulated me. He threw the kiss with Cooper out there as an aside to get information out of me to use against him.

Dick.

I watched as he fluffed the sheets and organized the comforter before he made a move to get in. I quickly cut in front of him, putting myself between him and the bed, grabbing a pillow to throw on the floor. After that I stormed over to my armchair and grabbed a throw blanket to join the pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asked, having the nerve to look surprised.

“You lied. You had no intention of telling me anything tonight. You used me,” I snarled. “You sleep on the floor.”

His lack of argument suggested one of two things: either he learned that resistance was futile when I had my mind made up, or more likely, he couldn't contradict my accusation.

He grumbled under his breath as he tried to make himself comfortable on my thin rug with a blanket that was two feet shorter than he was. I climbed into my bed and made a huge production about nestling under my big, down comforter for a good minute.

“Get the light,” I told him over my shoulder, adding a “please” at the end with saccharin sweetness. He didn't sound impressed.

“It's good to be back,” he said, mustering every bit of sarcasm he could find in his exhausted state.

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” I replied.

My frustration for his antics was outweighing my true sentiments. I really was glad to have him back, more than he knew; I just wasn't in the mood for sharing that in the moment. I hoped I would feel more generous after some sleep.

14

I rolled over the next morning to find a folded piece of paper laying beside me on the bed.

Color me surprised. The Note King striketh again.

I read it slowly making sure not to miss any details, of which there were few. It said something about one of the brothers not checking in, and having to go see that he was okay. He wasn't sure when he'd be back but he would call me soon.

Here we go again…

* * *

I spent the rest of that Sunday napping and lounging; staying up ridiculously late had me all out of sorts. Peyta left to go do some work at her mom's store for a few hours, but came back and threw on her jammies early to join my couch-fest.

“Anything good on?” she asked as she nestled herself under a throw blanket.

“Sadly, no. I've settled for the Lifetime channel – at least you know it's going to be disappointing going into it. I find comfort in that,” I said jokingly as I threw a pillow at her head. She laughed with a giddiness that the attack didn't warrant. My interest was piqued.

“What's gotten into you, Chuckles? You seem awfully happy to be hanging out with me watching B movies,” I said, flashing her a sideways glance.

Her smile spread wide across her face and lit up her eyes.

“Gregory stopped by mom's shop to surprise me.”

“Oh, did he?” I asked dubiously.

“Yes,” she answered with a grin. “He's so amazing, Ruby. I've never met anyone like him. I could spend hours just talking with him.”

“And I'll assume for my sanity that that's all you were doing.”

She shot me a look of pure “Oh my God, Mom” before confirming my assumption.

“Yes, that's all we were doing. He's not like the boys at school who seem to want to hump any questionably animate object around them,” she explained. “He's basically my age, but he seems so much older, more mature.”

“How 'basically' your age is he exactly?”

“Twenty-two,” she replied, facing her lap, hands fidgeting with the blanket.

“He's four years older?” I blurted out, as I spun around on the couch to face her. “That's a big difference, Peyta, and illegal for that matter.”

“It's only illegal if we're doing it, which we aren't.”

“Hardly the point,” I retorted. “What does someone that age want with a teenager?”

I realized after her immediate reaction that perhaps I hadn't phrased the question very well, but it was too late. The hurt had been caused. She stomped off to the bathroom and slammed the door for punctuation before I'd fully put it together.

I had no idea what to do or how to console a wounded teenager, especially when I had inflicted the wound. I needed Cooper to mediate; he had a way with Peyta that would have made everything better. Too bad for me I was on my own.

Peeling my body off of the couch, I schlepped my way down the hall to attempt to make amends. I knocked softly on the door with a single knuckle before pressing my ear against it. I heard the sniffling on the other side and realized I'd screwed up worse than I'd originally thought.

Crying…shit.

“Peyta? Peyta, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come across like that,” I explained. “I'm just concerned. Nobody's met this guy, and I'm responsible for you right now. I'd never forgive myself if something happened…I don't think your mother would either for that matter. I don't need her storming into my store waving her Glock around at me.”

I heard the briefest laugh after my final comment. Ronnie was awesome, but she had a screw loose and Peyta knew I wasn't far off the mark.

“Listen, I'd just feel better if I knew more about the whole thing, OK?” I stated, hoping to get her to talk to me. “Tell me something about him, like where you met.”

I was met with silence for a moment, then the sound of Peyta blowing her nose.

“Do you really want to know, or are you just angling to get me out of the bathroom?”

“I really do want to know, but I am going to need you out of there at some point. I haven't showered all day, and I think my pj's are becoming a second skin. It's really in your best interest.”

I heard another laugh as the lock clicked open and the handle squeaked as it turned. A puffy-faced Peyta emerged cautiously.

“That was a shitty thing to say, you know?”

“It was,” I replied. “I'm sorry.”

She looked satisfied with my response and started filling me in as she made her way back to the couch.

“We met outside your shop. I was locking up one night as he walked by. He saw some ring in the window and asked about it; an hour later we were still standing there talking,” she said as her thousand-watt smile started to glow.

“That's random,” I said with an edge to it before realizing I was doing it again. “But in a good way!” I suuuuuck at this. “So, what does he look like?” I asked in a desperate attempt to fluff over my gaffe.

Peyta didn't skip a beat, going into a long-winded explanation of every feature on him; every hair, every freckle, and every scar was accounted for, even the crudely tattooed marking in the center of his chest was inventoried. The girl missed nothing and I was starting to again question exactly how much of Gregory she'd actually seen. I thought I'd managed to keep that thought off my face.

“He was wearing a v-neck, Ruby. I saw the top of it peeking out and asked to see it,” she said in her defense.

“I didn't say anything!”

“You didn't need to,” she said as she shot me a venomous look.

“So what is it?” I asked.