The hard brunt of his body shoved me higher. Stars exploded in my eyes. Through the glare those white pages fluttered, like one last call…one last plea.
My nail caught the edge of a page before the paper buckled.
The fire…my eyelids fluttered…God, the fire.
The greedy lick burned as he buried deep, stealing hope, stealing everything. I was lost in the feel of his body as I turned to meet that hunger in his gaze—lost in the fight, lost in the darkness.
I was drowning as my fingers curled and drew away…down…down…down…
Down to the darkness, as outside my window lightning severed the midnight sky.
I fisted the sheets as the hunger flared, pulsing, savage, and cruel. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t anywhere near enough. I needed more, more hands, more fingers…more. I reached for him, raking my nails along his shoulder, and cried out.
Energy raced, tearing through my body with a heady pulse as he gave a brutal thrust and stilled.
In that moment, I saw them…all four of them surrounding me, touching me, filling me.
They gripped me, held me, rocked me as I floated.
“My little lamb,” Pestilence murmured, but the sound echoed through my head. Different voices, different tones. They were hungry and savage—they were cold and removed. They were the fires and floods, and hunger and disease all wrapped up in a hurricane—and I was the eye in their storm.
Strong arms wrapped around me. His body was heavy, plunging me deeper into the mattress.
“There’s no escaping, Harlow,” hoarse words were carried on the gust of his breath. “We came for you.”
19
Sunlight poured in through my open window, and a soft breeze followed. I cracked open my eyes and felt the world slowly return.
There was a bird singing, a piercing high-pitched call, and the longer I lay there…the longer I listened, the more ominous the cry.
The sun ebbed with a passing cloud, darkening my room as a soft snore beside me drew my gaze.
My heart surged with the sight of bare flesh. Legs entwined, mine…his…
His hand rested on my belly, fingers splayed as though he held claim to the flesh underneath. That thought filled me as last night filled my mind.
A body was a body.
A soul a soul.
But they were still mine…
I lifted my gaze to his face. Perfect lips resting closed. He had the face of pure beauty, pale skin, long lashes…a chiseled jaw. Movement gripped me as he muttered something in his sleep. “Never tell her…never tell.”
I was captured by the lies, was I the her he spoke of? I eased my foot from the sheets and ground my teeth. It was hard to untangle yourself from a lion, when he had the first faint stirrings of your heart between his teeth.
Inch by inch, I eased my leg from under his, waiting for the moment his eyes would flutter open. But his breath never changed as I gently gripped his wrist and slid from the bed.
My feet touched the floor, and I slowly rose to stand beside the tangled covers indented by our bodies.
There was no word for this. Not lust, not weakness—not love…definitely not love. There was no word for the way my body betrayed me, even standing here, my mouth was dry…my stomach aflutter.
His fingers curled, clawing the bedsheets, searching for my skin.
My will was weak. So fucking weak.
You’re stronger than this, Harlow. Dad’s voice filled me. There’s always a second chance, and a third, and a fourth, as long as you don’t give up—never give up.
The faint flutter of pages seized me, like the desperate call of a white flag. Never give up. Never stop fighting. I grabbed a set of clothes from the top of the dresser and headed for the bathroom. The further away I was from him, the more I could think—and the more I could breathe. He was still the darkness…he was still the plague.
I sat on the toilet and hurried with my panties and clean jeans. The thin straps skimmed my shoulders as I hooked the bra clasp behind my back. There was still time for me to undo this, still time to set things right.
The Calling still raged inside me, it pulsed against my barriers, urging me to do what was right. I hurried, rose, and made for the bedroom on the other side of the bathroom and stared at Sarah’s things. We shared a lot of memories, and a lot of fights. We shared things I’d taken for granted, parents who loved us…a strong family bond.
But the one thing we’d struggled with—the one thing that divided us more than anything, was our DNA…that was the only thing we didn’t share.
She was her mother’s daughter, and I was a castaway, a child of neglect, left abandoned at the entrance to a police station on the coldest day in December.
It was those words she said to me as we watched our Mom die that haunted me now as I crossed her room and headed down the hall. It’s always been you, Harlow…always been you.
The hard snuff under the laundry door drew me as I stepped into the kitchen. I crouched outside and thrust my fingers under the door. “I hear you, girl. It’s me, Harlow, and I hear you. Be patient now…just a little longer.”
A plan was forming in my head, one built on the strength of trust.
I’d made a decision in that church. I’d traded the cold offerings of darkness for the cruel glare of the light.
I knew what I’d chosen. This wasn’t an easy path, but it was right—it was honest—it was the only one my heart would allow—the only one that made sense.
The only one that had hope.
I dragged my fingers free and rose from the doorway. Angel gave a sharp whine and then was quiet. It wouldn’t be long now…not long at all.
I paused at the kitchen counter, at the mess of half-used notepads, pens, and junk piled in a corner, and pulled a small sheet of paper free. I scribbled the note and signed my name, and then made for the hallway, my steps light, filled with pure purpose.
The soft echo of his snores reached me before I stepped into my room. He’d shifted, now rolled onto his back, his arms splayed wide.
I didn’t let my gaze linger, didn’t see the hard curve of his body under the sheets—didn’t relive that moment where his body collided with mine—didn’t feel the rush of desire…the almost violent way he held me even standing here now.
Or the way his darkness called to mine.
I cast the small slip of paper to the bed beside him and turned away.
There was no stopping this now, no second thoughts.
There were no thoughts at all, only action, only retribution, as I made for the front door of the building.
I stilled at the entrance, where the rows of heavy boots and dainty shoes still filled the space. I couldn’t move them, not then…not ever. They’d taunt me, this sight, as though any moment they’d all come clamoring through the front door of our home and fill this ache with the sounds of raucous laughter.
But it wasn’t the shoes I needed. It was the tall cupboard designed for umbrellas and sodden coats. I gripped the door and yanked, there were no bright yellow slickers in here anymore. I reached for the sawed-off shotgun with one hand and a box of cartridges with the other.
I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but if it did, I was ready…