Dark Child (Wild Men 5)
“Yeah.” She kisses Max’s dark curls. “So we’re just walking, and I’m scared, but I don’t know why. We stop in front of our old house, and you point at it, and you say Ross’s name. I feel that you’re telling me he’s in danger, though why you’re pointing at our house, I have no idea. Ross is in danger, and then I see him, lying on the street, blood running down his face, and I know he’s dying. And then…” Her breath catches. “And then his face turns into yours.”
Shit. I look away, more shaken than I care to admit. “You have that dream often?”
“Variations of it. But the theme is always the same. Ross is in danger, and so are you. His fate affects yours, and yours affects his. It’s as if… you’re linked somehow.”
“Well, we’re not. Never were, never will be.”
“He’s our brother—”
“Half-brother.”
Her eyes are sad. I hate that. I hate myself right now. “I’ll leave you to work. Talk to you soon, okay?”
Pulling back my shoulders, I nod and watch her go, trying to ignore the mad racing of my heart.
The dream doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. Anything at all. Just a dream, right?
Then why do I get this bitter, bad feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of me and Ross somehow tangled in my sister’s nightmares? What does it remind me of?
And why am I still so damn scared of childhood ghosts?
Chapter Four
Cosima
Boy, is my sister’s schedule packed. Running from place to place, completing task after task, taking care of the apartment and the most skittish ginger kitten I’ve ever met…
How does she do it? It reminds me what a disaster my own life is. All I have to show is a string of jobs I quit without regrets, and men whose faces I can hardly recall.
The dark skies overhead and the heaviness in the air promise rain.
Or maybe it’s that last awful break-up that still haunts me, makes me feel like such a failure, like it’s all on me. That’s what Steve told me. That I’m not somebody any guy would seriously want.
Anyway, I need to talk to Soph. I’m supposed to leave town soon, but she’s been vague about when she’s coming back. I’m not in a rush to go, as we’ve established, but I’m not sure how long I can keep up this charade, either.
And as if that wasn’t enough, on my way to the bus stop, I almost run into the hot cutie.
“Shit, sorry,” he says, then looks up and stops.
Seeing him from up close and personal is something else. He yanks his huge earphones off and glares at me. His T-shirt is gray today, I notice, and it reads ‘Give me what I can’t have,’ signed by Ugly Monkeys.
A band name?
“Sorry,” I mutter, echoing him, my mind on autopilot.
He has golden freckles on his nose, his pale lashes are long, his mouth… gah. Delicious. He smells amazing, like clean soap and spice and sexy boy. How can a guy be so sexy? It should be outlawed. Sexy guys should stay indoors, under key and lock.
But a frown tightens his face, and he starts to turn away.
Not having any of that, not today. “Hey, wait.”
He stops and faces me. “What do you want?”
“We have Calculus together.”
“Do we?” One brow arches. “Fascinating.”
My hands clench. I knew it. He’s never noticed my sis or me. “You don’t have to be so rude, you know.”