Chapter Eighteen
Aside from Miranda telling Darren they should go back to her apartment, neither of them said a word until they were standing in her small living room again. Everything seemed slightly askew.
He felt that if he peeled back the wallpaper, the walls would be made of cardboard and he’d find that the entire apartment was fake. Nothing was real.
Except Miranda.
She hovered nearby, staring at him. Her eyes were red. Finally, she broke her silence.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Did you see it?” His words sounded brusque, even to him. He was trying to keep it together, but he had to know.
“See what?”
“Scott. Was he another sacrifice for your visions?”
“What? No.” Her eyebrows pinched together above her nose.
“Did you see him die?”
She hesitated.
Fuck.
He stepped in close, but didn’t dare let himself touch her. He was afraid he might hurt her in his rage.
And he was afraid it might make him forget how angry he was. He needed to be angry to fight off the despair.
“You’re playing God, Miranda.”
“I’m trying to help people.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Do you have any idea what a burden this is? How terrifying it is to get close to people, knowing I may see them hurt or in pain or die and not be able to do anything about it?”
“You can do something about it. You can warn them. You choose not to.”
“I don’t get to pick my visions. If I trust them to be right about bad things happening to people, I have to trust them if they tell me an even worse future will result if I say something.”
“You could at least try.”
“What would you have done? If I told you I could see the future, and you were going to be attacked by a monster and I thought you would die, would it have changed anything? Would you have even believed me?”
He didn’t want to admit it, but she had a point. He still would have gone to the Old River district. Still would have followed the dog into the abandoned store. He might have hesitated for a few moments, but he would have told himself he was being ridiculous.
And before he left The Red Thread, he would have made sure she was sent back to the hospital. Specifically, the psych ward.
“Warning people doesn’t save everyone.” The tears started streaming down her face. “If I hadn’t told my mom about the Riverfront Skyway collapsing, she wouldn’t have died.”
Darren remembered reading about the Skyway collapse. It used to connect two of the tallest buildings in the city, crossing over the Olympus river. Some lunatic had planted a bomb on either side, but only one had gone off. It was enough to make the bridge crash into the water, but the buildings had been relatively unharmed.
No one was injured because someone had called in a bomb threat and police had cordoned off the area. Darren’s dad had been on the scene. They had talked later about how lucky it was. His dad still talked about it. He always said it was a miracle.
“Did you call in the bomb threat so the police would know to close it down?” Darren asked.
If she had, she’d saved dozens of lives at least.
“My mom did. I told her about my vision, but it wasn’t a bomb. The Skyway wasn’t safe. One of the moorings had come loose and there was about to be a freak windstorm that was going to take it down.” She pressed her hands against her eyes. “So many people… It was on a weekend.”
She shook her head violently, then lowered her arms. Her hands were fists at her sides.
“I saw them all die. Men, women, children. Families. They crashed into the river. The ones that were lucky were impaled and died quickly. The ones that weren’t drowned. I watched that, over and over as I slept, trying to find a way to make the dream change.”
“Miranda—”
“There was nothing I could do. Nothing. So I called my mom and told her about it the moment I woke up. She said she would take care of it. That she had connections. And she did. They should have believed her, but they didn’t. She called in the bomb threat, but knew that wouldn’t be enough. So she—”
A sob cut her off. She shook her head again. Her voice cracked and she looked like she was close to hyperventilating, forcing the words out. “She hid in the skywalk while it was being evacuated. I never understood how she managed it. I guess with what Jack told me about her past...”
Miranda let out a hiccuping noise, but went on. “She wouldn’t explain when she called me to say goodbye. I just knew she had barricaded herself in somewhere that she could see out so no police would be hurt when it…when it went down. She pretended to be the bomber, keeping them away until it happened.”
Darren could barely breathe. He couldn’t imagine what Miranda was feeling.
His dad had told him that the person behind the threat had been at the site, too. They had kept warning the police off when they would get too close. His dad said they’s been furious at not being able to get to the suspect, and then amazed when the thing came down and nobody was in range to get injured. He always joked that the bad guy had actually saved them all.
Miranda’s mom had saved countless lives. She had saved Darren’s dad. And it had cost her own life.
Darren’s heart pounded. Miranda had lost her mom—her only family—and then had sent Darren to what she thought was his doom after starting to develop feelings for him. It must have been her worst nightmare.
The whole time that she was helping him through his transition, helping him not feel alone, she was also working to stave off an apocalypse. By herself. He thought he had a handle on the rage that went along with his curse, but he was still being blinded by it.
“When they found her, they said it was suicide.” Miranda’s voice was shaking. “I couldn’t tell anyone the truth. I was the only one who knew why her body showed up in the river days later.”
She took a few quick breaths, then said, “So don’t you tell me you think you know what I need to do when you’re just stepping into the shitstorm that is my life. You don’t know who or how or what I need to sacrifice. Or that I’ve given everything to my visions. Everything to keep people safe.”
Darren had never seen her so angry. She was practically shouting at him. He deserved it.
“Letting you walk out that door was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,” she said. “And I would do it again to save the people you get to love from coming back as fucking zombies. I don’t get to be close to anyone. I don’t get to love anyone. Because the moment I do, I regret it.”
“Do you regret me, then? Caring about me?”
Her breath rushed out of her and she sagged. In a small voice, she said, “No. Never.”
He grabbed her arms before he realized what he was doing, then pulled her against his chest. His lips crushed hers, his tongue demanding entrance. She didn’t hesitate at all, opening herself to him, meeting him with the same passion, the same molten need.
He moved his hands to her back, gripping her ass and lifting her from the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist tightly.
Her fingers burrowed through his hair, nails scraping his skin and sending spirals of pleasure through him. He growled, walking them to the wall next to the door and pinning her body against it.
She gasped for breath when he released her lips, then groaned when he latched onto her neck, sucking her skin hard enough to leave his mark. He could tear her clothes off and be inside her in seconds. But her body wasn’t ready, and he would never—could never—bring himself to hurt her.
He would never doubt her again.
He pressed his dick against her, feeling the heat and wetness of her pussy even through their clothes. She moaned, tightening her legs around him as if she was trying to pull him inside of her.
He nipped her ear and said, “I’m sorry… About everything. It took me too long to understand.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save Scott.”
He froze for a moment, holding her close. “If there was a way to save him, you would have.”
She buried her face in his neck. He could feel his shirt grow damp. He kept his body pressed against hers, but just held her.
On the other side of the wall, he could sense someone approaching her door. The person pounded a few times.
“Open up,” Mrs. Elroy yelled.
Miranda actually laughed. It was thin and strained—filled with the stress they were both feeling—but Darren’s heart felt lighter at the sound. He leaned back and kissed her until another pounding knock interrupted them.
He didn’t bother setting her down. Instead, he reached over and opened the door a crack. Miranda had put the chain in place, and the door only opened a few inches.
“Can we help you?” he said.
Mrs. Elroy peered through the opening at him, then Miranda. “I heard yelling.”
“Sorry, that was me,” Miranda said.
“I know it was you,” Mrs. Elroy snapped. “Otherwise, I’d have brought my bat. Listen, you guys want to have angry sex, fine. But I’m watching my shows, so keep it down.”
Miranda was blushing furiously. “Um, okay.”
“Sorry,” Darren said.
“Hmph.” Mrs. Elroy spun on her heel and headed down the hall.
Darren closed the door, then turned back to Miranda. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she was smiling. It was a fragile smile. He didn’t want it to leave.
“I don’t want to have angry sex,” he said.
“I don’t either.”
“When I changed in the clearing…”
How could he describe it? The rush of power, the unity with everything around him as he sensed the world at a level he’d never imagined before. The urges to use that power in ways he also would never have thought of before. To destroy.
“I don’t mind the physical changes,” Darren said. “Now that I’m more used to the idea. But the emotional ones—the behavioral ones.” He shook his head. “I won’t be that guy.”
“Are you expecting me to have a problem with that? Because I actually like it when people treat me with respect. Especially in bed. Most people do.”
He laughed and nodded. “Everything feels so much more intense. Emotionally and physically. I’m having trouble keeping my equilibrium. That’s the part that scares me more than anything else.”
“We’re both processing a lot right now. Things are happening fast. Big, huge, awful things. And some things that…aren’t so bad.”
There was too much to deal with. But being with Miranda—touching her, laughing with her… It was the most natural part of his new supernatural existence. The one thread from his old life that carried through and kept him sane.
“We can slow down,” he said.
“I don’t want to slow down. I just want us to understand each other. To help and support each other.”
“That sounds great to me.” He leaned back from the wall, starting toward the bathroom.
“Where are you taking me?” she said.
“The shower. The first thing I need you to understand about me is that I need to get clean.” He smiled at her. “Plus the noise of the water will help muffle any sounds we make, since your landlady is watching her shows and she honestly kind of scares me.”
“Oh.” Miranda’s cheeks pinked further, but she smiled back.
“And then we can move to the bed. Maybe the couch. That is, if you’re interested.”
“I’m very interested. I’m just kind of surprised you still are. A lot has happened.”
Scott was dead. So was Mrs. Ford. And Darren hadn’t been able to stop it, even with his new abilities. He would never joke around with his best friend again.
The thought made his skin prickle and his bones ache. His control started to slip.
If he couldn’t protect them, how could he keep Miranda safe?
Darren shook his head, opening the bathroom door with his foot. He walked in and set her on the sink, but left his hands on her thighs.
“I can’t think about that,” he said. “If I do…”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Miranda’s scent filled his lungs—sweet as honeysuckle, warm as home.
“I don’t want to talk or think or plan,” he said. “I just want to feel.”
Her smile faltered. “Okay. I’m happy to help.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
He remembered everything she had said in the car the night before, when this was all just beginning. Especially about them loving each other.
Hope stirred in his chest.
“It isn’t touching that helps me stay grounded and in control,” he said. “It’s that I’m touching you.”
She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. When she looked at him again, she smiled.
“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” she said.
He put his hands on either side of her neck, running his thumbs along the lines of her jaw. “Forget the future. Forget the past. I want you focused in this moment. I want you. Now.”
“I want you, too.” She leaned forward and kissed him.
She helped him pull off his jacket and let it drop, her lips devouring his. The holster that held his gun required a little more care. He managed to slide it from his shoulders, then lowered it to the ground. After how it had bitten into his flesh during his near-change, he doubted he’d be putting it back on.
Miranda deepened the kiss as she grabbed his shirt, pulling it open hard enough that the buttons popped off. She dragged it down his back.
This was taking too much time. He stepped away from her, finishing with his dress shirt and pulling the T-shirt underneath over his head. He managed to step out of his shoes, and said, “Strip.”
Miranda practically leapt off the sink. Her hands gripped the hem of her shirt before Darren realized he needed to turn away. If he watched her, he’d get too worked up. It was more important to control himself now than ever before.
He pulled off his socks and pants, listening to the soft hush of fabric as she did the same behind him. As soon as he lost his boxer-briefs, he jumped into the tub and started up the water.
He didn’t bother trying to avoid the cold spray as he worked to adjust the temperature. It would help him to cool off a little before…
Before he turned around and saw Miranda standing naked right next to him.
Good God, she was beautiful.
Her breasts were beyond full. They curved on her chest, beckoning him to taste them. Her olive skin gleamed in the light. Her nipples were dark, already taut.
Her stomach had curves to it as well, and her hips… He groaned as he thought of what it would be like to hold onto those soft hips and ram his dick into her from behind.
“Miranda, I don’t think I can move.”
Her brow furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t think it’s safe for me to let myself.”
She smiled and stepped into the tub with him. “I can help with that.”
She slid the glass door to the tub shut.
“I want to touch you,” he said. “I need to touch you. To be sure you’re ready for me. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “You won’t. I trust you.”
He wished he trusted himself. But he was stronger, and he had never, ever, wanted someone like this before.
She ran her hands along his arms, then grasped his wrists gently and guided his hands to her breasts. He groaned again as she covered them with her own, cupping and kneading her soft flesh through his hands.
He flicked his thumbs over her nipples and she inhaled sharply. He searched her face for signs of pain, but all he saw was pleasure.
“You won’t hurt me,” she said.
He nodded. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t turned yet or how they had reached this point. What mattered was how they felt about each other.
The bond they shared, was new, but it had been tested. It was stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. He trusted it enough to keep her safe, and that was the purest form of knowledge he’d ever experienced. He was certain of it to the center of his soul.
He slid his hands to her back and pressed her body against his, bending to kiss her. His tongue slid into her mouth, dancing with hers as she eagerly joined him. He lifted one of her legs so her foot rested on the rim of her tub, then ran the backs of his fingers along her thigh until they reached the soft curls between her legs.
She was already slick. Her breath hitched as he explored her, caressing her before burying two of his fingers deep. She gasped against his mouth.
He pressed his other hand on her ass, keeping her pinned against him. Her breasts rubbed across his chest as she writhed in his hands.
His dick started to pulse. If he didn’t calm down, he was going to come all over her stomach. He wanted to be inside her, he wanted to fill her. If it felt this good just touching her, what would it be like when he finally buried himself deep?
He spread his fingers, massaging her pussy, begging her body to be ready to accept him. He knew he was big, and he didn’t want her to be uncomfortable for a second. He flicked his thumb across her clit, still pumping his fingers into her.
Her fingers dug into his back as she threw her head back, moaning his name. He could feel her body pulsing, her hips thrashing as she ground her clit against his palm.
The second she started to calm, he turned her around and braced her arms against the tile of the shower. He grabbed his dick, lining it up with her sweet center, and drove himself home.
“Oh God.” Her voice was lower than he’d ever heard it, and it sent a shock of pleasure through him.
Hot. Wet. Tight.
His world became each feeling as he felt her body trembling around him. The aftershocks of her orgasm caused her sheath to rhythmically squeeze his dick.
He pulled himself almost out, then rammed into her again. She groaned, arching her back and standing on her tip-toes to give him better access.
He held onto her hips, loving the ampleness of them, their softness beneath his hands, against his body. He rocked into her over and over again.
“Darren…”
He was lost in the cadence of his thrusts. He leaned forward, covering her with his body, wanting more of their skin to touch.
He buried one hand in her hair, turning her to face him as he angled his head to kiss her. She wrapped her arm around his neck, holding herself up to reach his lips, to open herself to him in yet another way.
His tongue plunged into her mouth, his dick filled her, over and over again. He let go of her hair and placed his hand on top of hers on the wall, lacing their fingers together.
Energy shot along his nerves, lighting up his cells, reaching every part of him, until finally exploding into her.
She gasped, her body responding, echoing the pulse in his dick, taking everything he had to give, pulling on him, demanding more as he kept pounding into her.
The lights in the room seemed blinding, his senses alive, his skin buzzing with sensation. He could feel the hammering of her heart through his own chest, pressed tight against her back, the hum of her ecstasy spread through him.
With one last long thrust, he pressed himself against her, wrapping his arms around her stomach to hold her up as he kept himself buried as deep as he could get. Their heartbeats began to slow. She let out a soft cooing sound as she relaxed into his embrace.
His dick slid from her, satisfied for the moment. He doubted it would stay that way long. He already wanted her again—couldn’t wait to bury himself in her heat.
He held her against his chest, turning them around so she faced the shower. She let out another coo as the warm water ran over her stomach.
There was a shower caddy hanging from the nozzle, and he squirted some liquid soap into his hands, then rubbed it into a rich lather. He took as much time as he dared exploring her, learning her body. His dick was already stirring. He wanted her in bed. Immediately.
She had other ideas.
“I’m sorry about Scott.”
He froze for a moment, then went on rinsing her. “Did you really…” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask, but he had to know. “Did you see it happen?”
“No.”
“But you saw something.”
She turned him so that he was the one in the water, encouraging him to tilt his head back to wet his hair.
Darren had never had a lover bathe him before. Then again, no one had ever tried to. She didn’t say anything as she massaged the suds into his hair or rinsed it clean.
When she began spreading the soap over his body—slowly, lovingly, taking so much care with him that his heart ached from it—she spoke again.
“I saw what will happen to him if we fail.”
Scott was already dead. What could happen to him now?
There was so much more to the world than Darren had ever suspected. Werewolves, vampires, elves… Maybe ghosts were real as well.
Something she’d said earlier popped into his head, making his stomach heavy with dread.
“Wait, when you said you’re trying to stop a zombie apocalypse… You were kidding, right? About the zombie part?”
She stopped with her hands on his chest. Darren could feel them trembling.
There was so much that he was adjusting to, but even with everything he’d come to accept as real, a “zombie apocalypse” still seemed impossible to him. From the sharp scent of fear she started to put off, he knew for certain that she wasn’t kidding.
He wanted to see Scott again. But not like that. They had to stop it. If they cremated Scott’s body, he couldn’t rise.
Then again, if he came back, who was to say how much of his self he would retain? Darren was a werewolf now, but he didn’t feel that different. Well, except from the murderous rage. Maybe Scott would—
What the fuck am I thinking?
Darren shook his head.
No way. He couldn’t wish that on his best friend.
Being a werewolf was one thing. Being a zombie? If it was anything like the books and movies, it had to be horrible. Darren could only pray that those unfortunate souls…didn’t have souls. That the essence of who they were would remain safe and content in whatever “after” they had earned.
Wherever Scott was now, he needed to stay there.
Darren let out a breath as he turned his face to the ceiling. Grief flooded him, followed quickly by anger.
Forester had done this. And Forester would pay. Darren would track down the elf, dig out his spleen, and feed it to him. He would pry out his eyes and—
“Stop.” Miranda gripped the sides of Darren’s face and stared at him intently. “Whatever you’re thinking about, you need to stop.”
He growled. Dammit, why was he growling at her? Forester was the one who needed…
Her hands trailed down Darren’s chest, interrupting his train of thought.
“Stay in the moment,” she said. “Remember?”
Darren nodded.
They would take care of Forester later and stop the apocalypse. It was the only way they could truly be happy together. He had to believe they’d be successful, because he wanted more of this, more of her. He wanted them to reach the future she’d foreseen.