Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

Octavia rolls her eyes at me and pries the plastic spoon from Max’s grubby hand so she can wash him.

Looks like she’ll have to wash the whole room. I’m pretty sure there’s baby food on the walls and the ceiling.

“You look better,” she says with a smile in my direction.

I nod as I turn the pages of the book Cole insists on showing me. It’s The Crow comic, and I wonder if a kid his age should be reading it.

I do feel better. Since I’ve been with Cos, the nightmares have been fewer, less terrifying. I’m

starting to sleep better, feel more like myself.

And yet… “Those dreams you had of me. Matt said you still get them?”

Her face colors. Octavia has dark hair, but her skin is even whiter than mine, and she blushes easily. “Yeah. Not as often as when I was pregnant, though. I thought… I mean, you’re fine, right? You’re happy.”

“Yeah, sis.” I glance back down at the comic book, Cole tugging on my sleeve. “I’m fine. But you mentioned…” On the pages, the Crow prepares to jump into the night. “Ross. Do you still call him on the phone? Is he okay?”

Our half-brother.

She shoots me a questioning glance, dark brows rising almost to her hairline. “I try his number sometimes, but he never answers the phone.” Her eyes narrow. “Since when do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Ah-huh.”

I don’t know why the hell I’m asking all this. Ross, or his fuckface of a father—my father, too—doesn’t star in my dreams. In fact, I don’t remember them in my dreams, except… except that place looks so damn familiar.

“Hey, sis, was there a sort of… Indian temple in Destiny?”

“A what?”

I wince. “A temple. By the river.”

“Oh, you mean the Pagoda? Not a real one, of course. It’s at the edge of that mansion owned by the Lesters, on the bank of Little River, the stream at the south of town.”

I freeze. I fucking freeze, because I didn’t expect her to say yes.

Slow down, Merc, I tell myself. This doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t even mean it’s the same temple, and even if it is, it could be you weaved that memory into your dreams, along with all the other fucked up stuff your mind conjured up for your viewing pleasure.

“Why you asking?”

“Nothing. Just remembered it, is all.”

“You hated that place as a kid.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t go near it. You screamed once when Gigi and I tried to get you to walk along the stream with us. You screamed and screamed, and we had to call Mom to come home from work to calm you down.”

Shit. “I was a damn nuisance as a kid.”

“You were super cute. And fun. You were a good kid, Merc.”

“You always say I was a pest.”

“Yes, you were. Kids are that way.” She nods at her son. “It’s hard to tell why a kid hates something, a place, a person, a toy, a kind of food. It was annoying, sure, but you never went that way again, so we accepted it and didn’t take you with us when we went walking in that direction again. Mom tried to pry the why out of you, but you wouldn’t say. In fact… for some time, you didn’t say much.”

I blink. “Meaning?”