Текст книги "Shadows"

Автор книги: Jennifer L. Armentrout

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter 2

All the roads just outside of Petersburg looked the same to Bethany. Three times she missed the turnoff for her new home – an old farmhouse that had been converted into a livable space. The road was narrow, marked only by a minuscule white post, and surrounded by trees. Being used to suburban America, she was way out of her element. Even the GPS in her car had run screaming several miles back.

Ugh.

And thank God for snow chains. Her sedan would never make the trek up or down the gravel road to the old farmhouse otherwise. But the place was beautiful – the snow-capped mountains, thick elm trees, and rolling white hills. Her fingers itched to put it on canvas.

Just like her fingers were itching to do something else. Something she really shouldn’t do. Painting a boy’s face was obsessive on a stalkerish level, and good God, if her mom snuck through her paintings again? She’d have a stroke.

Freezing drizzle smacked Bethany’s face when she hopped out of the car and nearly busted her ass on the slick driveway as she skirted around her uncle’s Porsche. Doctors made good money. Childish giggles and the aroma of sugar cookies greeted Bethany as she dropped her messenger bag inside the door. She shook off the frozen rain and took one step forward.

“Bethany?” Her mom’s voice rang out like an alarm – a damn carpet alarm. “Take off those shoes!”

Rolling her eyes, Bethany kicked off the shoes and placed the tips of her soaked flats on the edge of the carpet. Ha. Take that, Mom.Happy with her lame attempt at rebellion, she followed the sweet smell to a kitchen worthy of the Food Network.

Mom liked to cook. Clean. Cook some more, and keep a near-fanatical eye on Bethany. One look and everyone knew why her mom was determined to keep a hawkish eye on her daughter’s virtue.

Jane Williams was young. Like in, partied a little too hard one night and at age sixteen, got knocked up young. Bethany never met her biological dad and really didn’t have the desire to search him out. Her real dad was the one who’d raised her – the only one who mattered.

Her mom was bound and determined to prevent Bethany from making the same mistake. In other words: she went private-eye on Beth’s social life like nothing else. But since Bethany turned sixteen last month, she figured she’d loosen up eventually.

Hopefully.

Mom was at the kitchen table, mixing a bowl of dough while Beth’s two-year-old half brother watched. There was more sugary dough on Phillip’s face than in the bowl, but he seemed to be having a good time. He looked over at her, and the shock of his red hair and the splatter of freckles on his cheeks made him look so different from her. Brown eyes were the only thing they shared.

That and a love for raw cookie dough.

Darting around the table, Bethany scooped up a handful of dough. “Yum,” she said, widening her eyes comically at him.

Phillip giggled, clasping a mound of the dough. Chunks fell to the floor. Oh, no. Code Red in the kitchen.

Strands of dark hair fell out of her mom’s French twist as she sighed. “Look at what you’ve done, Elizabeth.”

Popping the sugary goodness in her mouth, Bethany grabbed paper towels off the stainless steel countertop. “It’s not going to rot the floor, Mom.”

As Bethany cleaned up the mess, Phillip reached for her with chubby arms. She tossed the trash, then pulled him out of the high chair. Cradling the little guy against her hip, she glided around the kitchen like she was dancing.

Pressing her forehead against his flushed one, she grinned. “What’s going on, little butt?”

He roared with laughter at that, but her mom sighed as she smacked a ball of dough on the cookie sheet. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

“Why?” Bethany made faces as she twirled around the island. “Little butt likes being called little butt, because he has such a little butt.”

A smile cracked her mom’s face. “How was your first day?”

Bethany leaned back, avoiding a face full of dough that had probably been in Phillip’s mouth. Yuck. “It was okay. A much smaller school, but it has a kick-butt art class.”

“Language,” her mom admonished. “Were the kids nice?”

Kick butt, she mouthed at Phillip.

“Butt,” he repeated.

Bethany nodded as she dipped him over her arm. “Yeah, they seemed pretty cool.” One in particular seemed really cool, but she wasn’t going down that road. “Do you know what cool is, little butt?”

“Uh huh!” He nodded for extra effort.

Grinning, she stopped beside her mom and bumped her with her hip. A piece of dough hit the table. “Have you talked to Dad? Does he like the job in Fairfax?”

Her mom scooped at the piece of dough and placed it on the napkin. A clean house was a happy house – her mom’s official motto. Bethany loved to turn on the TV show Hoarderswhenever her mom was in the room. She went apocalyptic.

“Your father would be happy anywhere, as long as there were ledgers and counting involved.” Love filled her smile. “But he hates the drive. Nearly three hours. He might get an apartment halfway, just to cut back on the time.”

Bethany frowned. “That blows.”

Her mom nodded and finished off the last row. She stood, making her way to the double ovens. “It is what it is.” Sliding the tray in, she closed the door and straightened. “Anyway, I’m glad your first day was good and you made friends.”

Made friends? Ah, not really. Bethany placed Phillip back in the high chair and grimaced at the feeling of sugar coating her hands. Slobber-covered sugar…gross. She went to the sink and scrubbed her hands like a surgeon preparing for an operation.

The only person she’d really talked to was Dawson. Her cheeks flushed. He’d made the empty seat beside her in art his home and proceeded to drill her with questions about Nevada and her old school. Gym was boys vs. girls ping-pong, so no talking there. But there was a lot of smiling and that—

The slow, uneven footsteps cut off her internal swoon-fest. Looking over her shoulder, she turned off the water. Her slim, frail uncle appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Skin grayish and pasty, he was bald, and the flannel robe hung off his shoulders.

He looked like death.

And she felt like a tool for even thinking that. Drying off her hands, she hoped her face didn’t convey what she was thinking. But then he looked at her. Dark shadows surrounded bloodshot, pale eyes.

He knew. Sick people always knew.

Diverting her eyes, she went over to Phillip and pretended to be engrossed in whatever he was jabbering about. Honestly, she was still surprised her mom had packed up everything and moved out here. She’d never been close to her brother or her family, given that the whole teenage-pregnancy thing had been frowned upon. But that was her mom. Blood was thicker than water. Her brother – her perfect, MD-carrying brother was sick with some kind of blood disease, and she’d rushed to his side.

Her mother spun around and let out a startled gasp. Rushing over, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him to the table. “Will, what are you doing out of bed? You know you’re not supposed to be walking around after one of your treatments.”

Uncle Will sat stiffly. “It’s chemo, not a bone marrow transplant. Moving around is good. It’s what I need to be doing instead of lying in a bed all day.”

“I know.” Her mom hovered over him. “But you look so…tired.”

His hairless brows shot down. Wrong words. Bethany shook her head. “You look better,” she said, and poked Phillip’s belly, loving the sound of his giggle. “The treatment helped?”

A brittle smile appeared. “It’s working like it should. I’m not terminal.”

Being a doctor and getting sick must suck. You’d know all the statistics, the treatments, the side effects, and prognoses inside and out. No escaping the truth behind the disease or cushioning what was to come.

And Bethany hated being around it. Did that make her a terrible person? Uncle Will was family. But death had never really touched her life. Neither had sickness outside of a cold or flu.

Uncle Will was staying with them while he went through his treatments. Once he was feeling better, he’d move back into his own house, but they’d still stay here. The close call with death had her mom yearning to make what was left of her family close-knit.

Mom buzzed around Uncle Will some more, making him a cup of hot tea while he asked about school. Bethany excused herself as soon as she could. Giving Phillip one last tickle, she bolted from the kitchen and headed upstairs.

The top floor had once been nothing but a loft. Now it had three bedrooms and two baths. She went down the narrow hall and nudged open her bedroom door.

It was a sad bedroom.

No posters. No real personal effects except the canvas and a small table full of paints by the large picture window in the corner. A desk was beside it, holding a laptop she rarely used. Internet was spotty at best here, and she’d rather be spending her time painting than lurking on the net. A TV sat on the dresser. Another thing she rarely messed with.

The fact that she wasn’t big on TV shows or movies usually made it hard for her to connect with other people her age. She couldn’t tell anyone who the hottest new singer was or the name of the teen heartthrob sweating up the silver screen.

Bethany didn’t really care.

Head in the cloudswas what her mom always said.

Rolling her stool toward the easel, she tugged her hair up into a messy bun and sat down. An empty mind was always best to start with when she wanted to paint. Let whatever came to her flow to the paper. Except it wasn’t happening today. When she closed her eyes, she kept seeing one thing. Well, one person.

Dawson.

Bethany wasn’t boy crazy. Sure, she had her moments of wanting to skip around like a demented puppet when a cute guy showed interest, but guys didn’t really affect her. Not to the point that a namebrought a flush to her cheeks. Even Daniel – ex-boyfriend extraordinaire – hadn’t made her feel this way, and they’d almost gone all the way.

Sorry, Mom.

But there was something about Dawson. More than just how good he looked. When he talked to her in art class, he seemed…in awe of her. Had to be her imagination, just like her reaction to him, because she didn’t know him and an attraction of that magnitude just didn’t happen. Not at first sight, and not in real life. Stress – it had to be stress.

Picking up a sharpened pencil, she shook out her shoulders. She wasn’t going to let herself get obsessed with a boy.

Without giving much thought to what she was doing, she stared at a blank piece of canvas, and then started to sketch the outline of a face. A face she would eventually fill in later. Glancing at the table of paints, she frowned, knowing there was no way she’d get that hue of green right.

Yep, not obsessed at all.

Chapter 3

He was obsessed.

Dawson stared up at his bedroom ceiling, flipping in and out of his true form like someone was throwing a switch. The room was dark…and then whitish-blue light bounced off the walls. On. Off. On. Off. Unable to keep form was a sure sign of agitation or a severe distraction.

And his distraction had a name.

Bethany Williams.

In his human form, he rubbed the heels of his palms down his face and groaned. There was no reason why he’d spent the last three hours thinking about her. Ha. Three hours? Try the last ten hours.

A blur shot through the room, and before Dawson could lower his hands, Dee flopped down on the bed beside him, her eyes wide.

Dee was probably the only real love of his and Daemon’s lives. Both of them would rain down hell on anyone who messed with their sister. She was their treasure. At home, the females of their race had been cherished. Something the human males didn’t seem to do.

Full of energy and a natural love of just being around others, Dee was like a cyclone that blew through people’s lives. She was also his best friend. They had a bond, one that ran deeper than what they shared with Daemon. Dawson never knew why it was like that. There was this wall around his brother that even they couldn’t really break through. Growing up, it had always been Dee and Dawson.

Dee’s hand fluttered around her as she spoke. “I was outside, and it looked as if a light show was going on in your bedroom. Daemon said you were probably mas—”

And Dee also knew no boundaries.

“Ah, no, please don’t finish that sentence.” He lowered his hands, eyes narrowing at his sister. “Don’t ever finish that sentence.”

She rolled her eyes as she tucked her legs under her. “So, what were you doing?”

“I was thinking.”

Her delicate brows arched. “Thinking caused the light show? Wow. That’s kind of sad, Dawson.”

He grinned. “I know, right?”

She nudged his leg. “Yeah, and you’re not telling me the truth.”

“And yeah, it’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Her evergreen eyes rolled. “When did you become Dad? It’s bad enough that Daemon is all parental on us. Not you, too.”

Daemon wasparental. He was only a few minutes older than them, but he made sure those few minutes counted.

And the last thing Dawson wanted to do was talk about Bethany with Dee. Talking about Bethany with any of them would be an unnecessary complication at this point. Luxen weren’t forbidden to date humans per say, but the DOD wasn’t down for it and what was the point? Hooking up was one thing, but a relationship? It wasn’t like Dawson could be upfront with what he was. If he did, the DOD would make sure the human disappeared, and who wanted that on his conscience? Then there was the big question. How could you be in a serious relationship with someone and hide who you were?

Not to mention the fact that no one knew if humans and Luxen could even…mate. Offspring were unheard of.

“Why were you outside?” he asked instead.

Her shoulders deflated immediately. “Ash was here.”

Oh, no.

“So, she and Daemon aren’t seeing each other. Again.” Their relationship was like a soap opera for sixteen-year-olds. Granted, the Luxen matured a lot faster than humans, but Dawson couldn’t figure the two out. “And she was outside, yelling at him. Can’t believe you didn’t hear.”

That’s because he was so wrapped up in thinking about Bethany. “Why was she yelling?”

“I don’t know. Daemon probably was looking at another girl or something.” She sighed. “Or he didn’t want to hang out. You never know with her. I sometimes wish they’d break up and stay apart.”

“You just don’t like Ash.”

“It’s not that I dislikeher.” Dee pushed off the bed and shot across the room, appearing beside his window. “I just think she’s a bitch.”

Dawson choked on his laugh. “Yeah, you don’t dislike her at all.”

She spun around, hands planted on her hips. “She’s not right for Daemon. And he’s not right for her.”

Sitting up, Dawson swung his legs off the bed and stood. Close to midnight and he felt like he could go for a run. It was going to be a long night. “Who is right for Daemon?”

“Someone who’s not needy, for starters,” she said, skipping over to the bed. “And someone who really cares about him. You know Ash chases after him because it’s expected. Not because she really loves him.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed into a shrewd stare. “Does this have more to do with you and Adam than Daemon and Ash?”

Her lips puckered. “Not at all.”

“Uh huh.” Sympathy for his sister and brother unfurled, and he started pacing. The Elders didn’t control who they were mated with, but they made suggestions, which were more like expectations. Their race was thinning out and needed repopulating. He got that. Didn’t mean he had to agree with it.

But for right now, Dawson had lucked out. There weren’t any other females in his age group here, but one day he knew another Luxen female would be brought in. Or he would be forced to go to her.

And leave his family behind.

He ran his hands through his hair, already knowing he was probably going to be an outcast one day. He’d deny the Elders’ wishes, plain and simple. Just like he knew Daemon would eventually, because he would never end up with a Luxen like Ash.

But Dee? He glanced at her, feeling anger stir. Dee would be with Adam, whether she loved him or not, and that killed him. His sister deserved better.

All of them deserved better.

…

Dawson had barely slept, but he was up and jonesing to get to school, even though the March sun had broken through the heavy clouds, already melting the remnants of snow. It would be a great morning to cut class and go out on one of the many trails, but not today…

On his third bowl of Count Chocula, he leaned against the counter and dug in. “Good morning, bro,” he said, watching Daemon shuffle into the kitchen.

Daemon grumbled something as he ambled toward the pantry. Grabbing a Pop-Tart, he unwrapped and devoured the pastry without toasting it. His gaze flicked up, meeting Dawson’s. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dawson said, swallowing another mouthful. “Gonna be an awesome day.”

Eyes narrowing, his brother asked pointedly, “Why are you so chirpy this morning?”

“I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to be chirpy.”

Dee zipped into the kitchen, her light fading out and revealing a cascade of dark, wavy hair falling over her slender shoulders. She grabbed the jug of milk and went for the Froot Loops. All of them were eating the breakfast of champions.

“Good morning!” She whipped a bowl out of the cupboard.

Daemon arched a brow. “That’s chirpy.”

“And I sound nothing like that,” Dawson replied. “Just saying.”

A frown creased Dee’s brow. “What am I missing?”

“Your brother is all excitable this morning,” Daemon said. “For school. There’s something inherently wrong with that.”

Dawson smirked. “There’s something inherently wrong with the fact that Dee and I have to stand here and talk to you while you’re in your boxers.”

“True that,” Dee murmured, making a gagging motion with her finger.

“Whatever.” Daemon stretched, flashing a lazy grin. “Don’t be jealous I’m the better-looking brother.”

Rolling his eyes, Dawson didn’t even bother pointing out the fact that there wasn’t a single thing different about them. Well, other than the fact that Dawson had a way better attitude. Instead of dumping the bowl and spoon like he normally did, he washed and dried them, setting them aside. Pivoting around, he darted his eyes back and forth between his siblings.

They stared openmouthed at him.

“What?” he demanded.

“Did you just…clean a dish?” Dee backed away slowly, blinking. She glanced at Daemon. “The world is going to end. And I’m still a vir—”

“No!” both the brothers yelled in unison.

Daemon looked like he was actually going to vomit. “Jesus, don’t ever finish that statement. Actually, don’t ever change that. Thank you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You expect me to never have—”

“This isn’t a conversation I want to start my morning with.” Dawson grabbed his book bag off the kitchen table. “I’m so leaving for school before this gets more detailed.”

“And why aren’t you dressed yet?” Dee demanded, her full attention concentrated on Daemon. “You’re going to be late.”

“I’m always late.”

“Punctuality makes perfect.”

Daemon’s sigh traveled through the whole downstairs. “It’s practice makes perfect, sis.”

“Same thing.”

There was a pause. “You’re right. Totally the same thing.”

As Dawson reached the front door, he heard Dee say, “You know you’re my favorite brother, right?”

Dawson smiled.

A deep chuckle came from the kitchen, and then, “I heard you telling Dawson that two days ago. I guess that means today you want to ride with me.”

“Maybe.” She drew out the word.

Closing the door behind him, Dawson stepped outside and headed toward his car. It didn’t take long for Dawson to get to school. Quicker if he lost his human skin but also hard to explain. Since he was early, he listened to music in his Jetta. Then he filed into school, tapped his foot through homeroom, all but bum-rushed the English room, and took his seat, avoiding Kimmy’s all-too-happy smiles.

Twenty seconds in, Dawson realized he wasn’t breathing. Like, not breathing at all. Luxen didn’t need oxygen, but they went through the mechanics to keep up appearances. Looking around frantically, he was relieved to see that no one seemed to notice.

Jesus. He could see the headlines now. Aliens Among Us. Run!

But when Bethany came into class, her dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off her graceful neck, he may have stopped breathing again. A thousand charming words strung together in his head in a nanosecond, but he averted his eyes to his empty notebook. Notes? Who really took notes in class? Dawson wanted to see if she would talk to him first.

God, he was like a teenage girl. He was so screwed.

Bethany slid around in her chair, pulling one leg up against her chest. She twirled a pen in her right hand. “Hey, Dawson.”

She. Spoke. To. Him. First. It was like winning the lottery, getting laid, and climbing the highest cliff all rolled into one. But he needed to play it cool, because he was trending into lame-o land at a quick pace.

Lifting his chin, he smiled. “You decided to come back for day two. Brave girl.”

“I’m adventurous. What can I say?”

How adventurous? “After I saw the way you handled the paddle yesterday in gym, I can imagine.”

Her cheeks flushed, and it made her all the more pretty. “I’m like a professional ping-pong player. I got skills.”

Without realizing it, he was leaning forward. Only a few inches separated their faces. God, how he loved the fact she didn’t pull away or act coy. She stared back, meeting him head-on.

Words came right out of his mouth. “What are you doing this weekend?”

The pen she held in her hand stopped moving. She blinked, as if surprised, and then her lashes swept back up. “Dad’s been working all week, so we barely see him, and we have family time on Saturday with Uncle Will—” She cut herself off. “But I’m free on Sunday.”

Sunday seemed way too far away, but he’d take it. “Would you like to get lunch?”

Her rosy lips formed an Oand then slipped into a grin. “Are you asking me out, Dawson?”

Before he could answer, Daemon strolled down the aisle, his acute gaze drifting over Bethany’s upturned face. He gave her a slight, tight-lipped smile. The smile he typically gave people before he ate them alive.

Bethany smiled back.

Dawson wanted to pummel his brother into the ground. The territorial reaction caused a gut check with reality that didn’t go unnoticed by Daemon. His eyes narrowed. Using the path of communication their kind favored, he sent his brother a little message. Knock it off, brother.

There wasn’t a flicker of emotion on Daemon’s expression. What am I doing?

Dawson started to fire back but stopped. What the hell was he warning his brother about? Looking at Bethany wrong? Daemon didn’t shy away from human females, but he also didn’t make a habit of going after them.

Deciding to ignore him for right now, because he was sure he’d have to explain himself later, he refocused on what was important. Bethany. “Am I asking you out? That’s what it sounds like.”

Behind him, Daemon sounded like he was choking, and then in Dawson’s head, What the hell, brother?

Dawson didn’t respond, but there was no mistaking the tension rolling off Daemon, nor the conversation Dawson knew was coming, but oddly, he really didn’t care.

He smiled at Bethany.