Plight: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Sephlem Trials Book 1) Read online

  Realizing I’m staring at him like a total dork, I flick my gaze back onto the black-and-white tiles, cheeks on fire. Crap! He probably thinks I’m like the girls from earlier, stupefied by a cute smile and well-lined beard.

  And to make it worse, he cackles, head falling forward, causing a few strands of his hair to fall onto his forehead.

  I snort, hating I’ve become his amusement today.

  He cautiously drags his hands from his pockets and approaches me. “Let me help you,” he says in a solemn tone. His reach is a little shaky, as though he’s nervous about the contact, but when he latches onto my waist, his grasp is steady. I’m ambushed by a plethora of sensations from the contact; my heart stutters and my breaths rush from my lungs as he lifts me off the bed.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, meeting his eyes. They take me in, and the hazel-brown in them swirls. I stare in awe as liquid emerald blends with milk chocolate. “Oh my god,” I say under my breath, unable to tear my gaze away.

  He blinks and backs away, releasing his hold. Enamored by the magic of his eyes, I didn’t notice how aware I was of his hands being on me until they fall away. An immersing sense of comfort and warmth goes with them, and I shiver against the cold.

  “Let’s go. It’s getting late. You need to get home.” His rigid, deepened voice differs from the discerning one he used moments ago.

  “Um,” I mumble. “Your, um.”

  He lifts his gaze and looks past my shoulder toward the doorway, eyes brown again.

  I narrow my eyes and point to his face. “That’s . . .different.”

  “I know,” he says. “It’s also a pain in my ass.” He sweeps his hand toward the door.

  “So, we’re just going to ignore that like it never happened?”

  “Yep,” he states and gestures toward the door again. “After you.”

  “O-kay . . .” I turn on my heels and walk from the room with the beds to the counter of the nurse’s office. “Hi, Mrs. Waturstrom,” I greet the woman behind the counter. “I’m a little better, but my head still hurts. May I have something for my headache that’ll tide me over until I get home, please?”

  “Of course, Tracey. Nice to see you’re okay. I’ll give you a Tylenol for your pain and a bottle of water. Wait there a moment,” she adds, turning to her cabinet of pain-relieving goodies. I spent so much time in the nurse’s office my Freshman and Sophomore year, Mrs. Waturstrom and I have gotten to know each other a little well. She’s a nice little lady whose smooth skin and perfect posture are a compliment to her age. She says it is because her late husband kept her young. He passed away a year ago, and it’s noticeable his passing broke her heart. She lost the spring in her step I’d grown used to over the years. Now, she’s the basic happy nurse, keeping a smile on and speaking with a hint of excitement, but it’s not from her heart. If it weren’t for the small, tear-shaped scar under her right eye, she’d be flawless for her age. Her short, gray spiral curls sway as she crosses the floor.

  I rest against the counter. “Thank you.”

  “Now, Tracey. I’m not trying to meddle, but sometimes I can’t help myself.” Mrs. Waturstrom examines the label of a pill bottle and continues, “Are you two dating?”

  My eyes bulge. I hurry to sober them, knowing he can see my expression with him only being a foot away. “No, ma’am. I don’t even know him,” I hurry to say, wanting to clear up any confusion. “There was an accident.”

  “Oh!” she gasps as if my denial of our involvement is unbelievable. “I’m sorry, dear. I thought, well, with the way he carried you in here and his concern over you being well. That boy even fell asleep in that hard chair, waiting for you to wake up.”

  I hadn’t thought about how I got in here. My prince shakes his head at Mrs. Waturstrom’s back, watching her sift through the cabinet and shrug her shoulders. I work up a soft smile, locking eyes with the kind gentleman. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

  He shrugs. “It was nothing. Not like you could walk, right? Couldn’t leave you lying on the ground,” he says, reaching around me to grab a piece of candy from the glass bowl on the counter. After a final glance at the nurse, he snorts and heads for the door. “I have to make a call. Meet me outside after you get your painkillers.”

  “Why am I meeting you outside?” I say to his back.

  Attention drawn to his phone, he says, “You have to get home, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I say, “but I can drive my car.”

  He stops, but doesn’t turn around. “Your car’s at the shop getting fixed. You couldn’t drive it home with a busted bumper. It’ll be ready in an hour and they’ll drop it off at your house.”

  I must’ve been more out of it than I thought. I didn’t see my bumper busted. “Wait.” I stop him as he starts forward, and he turns around but avoids my eyes. “You will take me home?” Shaking my head, I kindly decline. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve taken up enough of your day already. Someone else can come to get me.” I search the walls for a clock. “How long have I been out?”

  “You’ve been down for . . .” he drags the word out as he looks at his wristwatch, “two-and-a-half hours.” My eyes widen. “And, nah.” He tips down the corners of his mouth and shakes his head. “It’s not your fault you’re in this position. If I’d been paying attention, I wouldn’t have hit you. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re okay.” As he leaves, he calls over his shoulder, “Meet me in the parking lot.”

  I turn around and see the nurse wave, with a bored, unamused expression. “He seems like a nice boy,” she says, handing me a little cup with two pills and a short bottle of water.

  “Yes.” I offer her a small smile, taking them. “He is, but he didn’t have to carry me from the parking lot in here. I know I must have been heavy.”

  “No, dear, I am sure you weighed nothing more than a golf ball to him.” She nearly swallows her giggle as her eyes widen. “I mean, with those arms and all,” she adds with a nervous chuckle.

  “Um hum,” I hum skeptically. I weigh way more than a golf ball! I’m sure I’m in the bowling ball category; maybe even a boulder. Not wanting to dig further, I shrug. “Thanks. I better get going. I don’t want my mom to worry.”

  Her arms fly up as she gasps, “Oh yes! Don’t let me hold you up. Get out of here,” she shoos, hurrying around the counter and nudging me from the office. “Have a good evening, Tracey.”

  “Thanks again, Mrs. Waturstrom.”

  I head down the hall toward the rear doors, assuming he’s still parked in the rear lot. The movement in his eyes plays back in my head. The color of his irises changed right before my eyes, like one color being stirred into another. They were hypnotizing and beautiful, though their color was so simple. That could’ve been what the girls from earlier saw, mysterious color changing eyes, and they made those girls squeal as if he were a rock star or something. Then again, maybe not. He didn’t seem too proud of that fact when I mentioned it. Maybe they’re some weird contact lenses I’ve never seen before.

  Over my head, the spring break sign draws me in with a bright and joyful “farewell for now” banner hung across the hall. The student council must have put it there during the rally. The juniors are always hanging colorful signs and streamers around the school before an event or break. I remember looking forward to decorating the school last year for the Junior Prom. Hanging lights and streamers was far more fun than attending.

  The doors swing open and the sun bursts through the opening, blinding me. I slam into something hard and everything goes black. Again.

  A manly chuckle echoes through the hall as footsteps near me. Strong hands grab my shoulders, and I’m lifted to my feet. There’s a shocking warmth attacking my skin, turning into a shriek-worthy burn. Before I can cringe, a yielding comfort replaces it, and the pain fades from my head, back, and my butt.

  I yearn for more, but as if this yielding comfort knows that I’ve acknowledged it, it vanishes. The hands fall away from me and the war
mth’s replaced by the coolness of the building and the subtle breeze blowing in from the open doors. I’m standing on my own, but the ache in my head is returning with an angry vengeance.

  Again today, I reach for my pounding head. “Wow, what are you made of, bricks?” His body is so hard, it’s like I ran into a skin-covered wall.

  “Uh, no. Last time I checked, ninety percent water, a lot of muscle, tissue, bones, and a little blood somewhere in there.” He laughs at himself.

  I glare at him, annoyed by his humor.

  He clears his throat and says, “I’m only kidding. It’s muscle. I work out sometimes.” Sometimes? “Sorry I walked into you,” he says in a more serious tone. “I was busy checking my phone.”

  I straighten my ponytail, tugging the loose strands of hair from my face. “Humph. Busy man, huh?”

  “No. Not really.” He looks around me. “Did you drop anything? Are you ready to go?”

  “No, and yes. I need to get home, maybe eat something and lay down.”

  “Cool.” He leads me to his truck, a black Silverado with monster truck wheels the height of my thighs. I stand back, staring at the passenger door’s height from the ground. “You need help getting up there?” he asks, opening it.

  There are multiple handles available to assist my climb. I assure him with, “Nope, just stay there to make sure I don’t fall, please.” With a deep breath, I climb, first jumping up to grab the handle at the bottom of the truck and lifting myself onto the running board.

  He huffs a chuckle. “I can do that.”

  With aching legs and shaking hands, I make it into the vehicle, stumbling over my own feet. I swipe my hair from my face as I settle in and release a huff. He laughs, closing the door for me. When he gets in, I say, “I’m not a clumsy person. Just too many hits to the head today, especially running into a human wall.” He laughs as he starts up the truck.

  Ugh. He’s annoyingly gorgeous; perfect teeth, flawless gleam, and the sound of his laughter is contagious. I smile to myself, looking out the window, watching the familiar scenery as we drive away from the school.

  “Are you hungry? We can grab a bite. It’s on me.”

  That’s sweet, and I’d like that, but the pain meds Mrs. Waturstrom gave me has yet to kick in and my stomach is in nauseating knots. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. “Thanks, but that’s okay. I’ll get something from home.” I really want to get home and sleep this off.

  Providing him with turn-by-turn directions to my house, I wish he’d drive quicker so I don’t risk barfing in his truck or passing out again.

  We turn onto my block, and he asks, “Which house is yours?”

  “Five more houses.” I lean forward and point to the left.” It’s the brown and white one on the corner.” He nods. “You have been very nice, and I appreciate it.” I pause, realizing even with his courtesy, he’s yet to introduce himself. I grab my bag from the floor and pull it onto my lap. “So, what’s your name? Sir Hits a Lot?”

  He gives me a clipped once-over then turns his attention back to the road. The truck slows. “Well, here we are,” he says, ignoring my question.

  “Well, thanks for the ride.”

  “It’s Nathan. I apologize again for hitting you. I give you my word, it’ll never happen again.” Nathan drags his bored gaze away from me. “Sorry you were wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?” I ask as he shifts the truck in park.

  “My name.”

  “Drat!” I snap my fingers for extra exaggeration. “Guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow. You’re new, right?”

  He leans back on the seat, hands scraping down the thighs of his jeans. “Nah. I don’t go there. I’ve been out for a while.”

  “Oh. Well, bye. Sucks you hit me, but thanks for getting me home.”

  “Wait.” He stops me from grabbing the door handle. “Don’t do that.” Cutting the engine, he gets out, and coming over to my side, he opens the door for me. “Does your head feel any better? You don’t know how sorry I am,” he says with so much concern, it seems as if he’s apologizing for more than hitting me.

  I shrug. “I’m sure I’ll be okay,” I say, offering him a grateful smile. He returns it, and I regret the squirm in my stomach that radiates warmth in my cheeks.

  In preparation to jump from the truck, I reach for the handle but meet his hand instead. His hand grasping mine surprises me, and as if a simple touch were a drug, I’m at ease by the contact. Every ounce of pain lifts away in a matter of seconds, and the relief would settle me, but a sweltering fire accompanies it. It’s so alive. The blaze starts in my palm, burns through my hand, surfs up my arm, and creeps to my chest.

  Nathan snatches his hand away from me.

  The fire fizzles away. Although it was burning, and there was a slight discomfort, I welcome it. The serenity in something so simple, and yet so powerful. His touch.

  I don’t realize I’m out of the truck and standing in front of him until he clears his throat, drawing my attention. I meet his soft gaze and his eyes swirl again, mutating into a deep ocean-blue with gray edges. They’re strikingly beautiful. My eyes widen, and as if he realizes what I see, he tears his gaze away and looks toward the setting sun.

  “I’ll watch you make it in. Just to make sure you don’t trip through the door,” he says, nodding toward my house. “See you around, Tracey.”

  “Ha-ha.” Stepping away, I mutter, “Bye, Nathan.”

  He rolls his eyes and squeezes them shut before looking back at me.

  I twist around and head for my front door.

  “Don’t go to sleep. Your car should be back within thirty minutes,” he calls.

  I wave over my head. “Thank you.”

  enraptured

  I slide to the floor, back scraping against the closed front door. My chest is aching, and the hostile pounding in my head has my entire body throbbing. As I sit, arms wrapped around my shaking knees, my jeans soak up my painful tears, and I do my best to breathe through my agony.

  It hurts. It all hurts so badly.

  Heavy knocks shake the door, causing it to jerk against my back.

  My voice cracks. Who is it?”

  “It’s Jim from the repair shop, Frankie’s Auto Body. Just dropping off your car.”

  I yank the door open and throw my hand out. “Thanks. Just put it in the driveway.”

  He drops the keys into my hand. “Already done. Have a good night.”

  I mutter, “You too.”

  As I’m closing the door, I drift in and out of consciousness, rocking as I try to make it to the wall. As if my house were on the sea I sway one way and then the other. Collapsing to my knees, I throw a hand over my splitting chest as the other keeps me from hitting the floor.

  “Ah!” The groan burns my throat as I fall onto my back. I cry, “What is wrong with me?” and pray for the excruciating pain ravaging through me to stop. I roar a scream as I quake with fear. Tears fall from eyes as my body’s split in two. My heart is cut from my chest, stealing the little life I was trying to hold on to through the pain. My sight fades.

  I gasp for air, flipping onto my stomach. I claw at the floor, trying to make it to the phone in the kitchen. But I go nowhere. Recoiling, I clutch my neck in my hands and bring my knees to my chest. There’s silence. A deafening silence that makes me fear death, though the agonizing ripping in my chest makes me welcome it.

  scored

  The rumbling from the garage door rising wakes me, and I pull a pillow from my face, peering into the darkness of the living room. I don’t have the slightest idea how I’ve made it onto the couch.

  I push my hand over my chest, feeling my beating heart in one piece, and sighing with relief as my muscles relax. “Thank goodness,” I whisper. I’m weak but alive and not in half the pain I was in when I got home. It felt too real to be a dream, but it must’ve been because I’m okay now.

  The door to the garage opens, and the hall light flicks on.

  I call for Mom, but it come
s out without a voice. I clear my throat and again call, “Mom!” It’s groggy. My legs are numb and my fingers tingle, but she’ll help me up to my room.

  “One moment, Tracey. I’m almost in the house,” Mom calls.

  I can picture the ease settling over her slim face as she enters our home, juggling her work bag and purse. With her slender physique and tall height complimented by long legs, she carries herself with an elegance I tried copying as a child. I take after her, but in a rumble T-shirt and I’m a few inches shorter. But Mom, mimicking that of a queen, is always up to par, never a hair out of place. Unless I’ve not completed my chores when asked.

  Dad’s the same, inclined to have proper etiquette and business standards when he’s out of town, which because of his job is all the time. I hate that he’s always gone, but Mom doesn’t think it’s so bad. “You always need to have time away to miss him, honey. A little separation keeps the relationship happy and strong,” she always says.

  “Tracey, where are you?” Mom calls, setting what sounds like grocery bags on the floor.

  “Mom,” I groan, waiting for her to find me, too afraid to move my head. She hits the light, and I wish she hadn’t. As she emerges into the living room, shock holds her stone-gray eyes hostage. “W-what?” I stutter, widening my eyes.

  Her arched eyebrows nearly touch her hairline. “You are as red as an apple! There’s a bruise on your forehead.” She reaches for it but averts and pats my shoulder. “It’s not that bad, but it’s noticeable. Are you okay? Should we call the doctor?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, believing after the afternoon I’ve had, I look as bad as she says. “No. No doctors, Mom. You know I hate the doctor’s. Can you help me to my room, please? I just want to call it a night.”

  “Your school’s nurse called and said you had passed out and hit your head.” She crouches down and looks me over. “I have been calling you all afternoon. By the sound of your phone going off from upstairs, I can see you left it at home again.” Her fingertips brush my forehead, and she snatches her hand back.