Feral (The Irisbourn Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

“I can explain…” my voice trailed
off.
 
I fought against my heavy
eyelids.
 
My head sank back toward the
ground, and my vision grew dimmer.
 
No, no, no, not yet.
 
I still had to explain… But suddenly
explaining seemed like so much work.
 
The
world was slipping away.
 
Somewhere, in
the back of my mind, I heard people calling my name…

Chapter
Twenty

I awoke in the same room I had
found myself in before.
 
I was in a bed,
dressed in pants and a T-shirt – not mine, but definitely a girl’s.
 
I shuddered to think who had put me in them.

“You’re up,” I heard Arisella
say.
 
She rose from the chair she had
been sitting in and hovered to my side.
 
“You did well today, even exceeded my expectations.
 
Your friend is such a bother though.
 
It really was quite hard to get him to shut
up.”

“Dylan,” I gasped.
 
“He wasn’t supposed to be here.
 
I can’t believe he jumped the wall.
 
Where is he?”

“In the cellar.
 
Adrian’s been down there explaining
everything,” Arisella said in an uninterested tone.
 
“Really didn’t have much of a choice.
 
We had to either tell him or kill him, and we
felt like you wouldn’t forgive us for the latter.”
 
Arisella flashed a wicked smile.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.
 
I got out of bed and made my way toward the
door.
 
For once, Arisella didn’t try to
stop me.
 
She followed me down to the
cellar, without saying a single sarcastic word.
 
This must have been serious.

She grabbed my wrist before I could
twist the cellar doorknob.

“Adrian’s not pleased,” she stated.

I swallowed.
 
I didn’t want to see Adrian angry.
 
“It’s not like I planned for this to happen,”
I said, breaking free from her grip.
 
I
threw open the door before she could say anything else.

“Amber!” Dylan exclaimed in a
mixture of relief and surprise.
 
He and
Adrian were sitting in opposing chairs.
 
They looked like they had been having a conversation.

I ran to Dylan and hugged him
awkwardly in his chair.
 
When I realized
that he hadn’t moved to get up or even made an effort to hug me back, I took a
long, steady look at him.
 
He had been
tightly bound to the chair with rope.
 
My
blood boiled with incredulity.

“Was this really necessary?” I
glared at Arisella.

“Don’t look at me,” Arisella
smiled.
 
“It was all Adrian.”

I stared at him, shocked.

“Unfortunately, we had to do
it.”
 
Adrian’s expression looked
apologetic.
 
“I couldn’t get a word
in.
 
He kept trying to run out and call
the police.”

“Amber, are you okay?
 
They haven’t done anything to hurt you, have
they?” Dylan asked frantically.

“No, of course not.
 
I’m fine.”

“Then it’s all true?
 
That you’re a – not a human?”
 
I knew Dylan wanted me to say no.
 
To tell him that I was everything he had
always thought I was and that our lives could go back to normal.
 
And I might have told him that, but I cared
about him too much to keep lying to him.

“It’s all true,” I admitted, lowering
my eyes.

“I guess it does make sense now –
your eyes, the monster in the woods, the ghosts in the house.
 
But why couldn’t you just tell me?”
 
I could see the hurt, but worst of all, the betrayal,
in his eyes.

I began working on the knotted rope
that was holding Dylan to the chair.

“I wasn’t entirely sure you’d
understand it.
 
Hell, I barely understand
it myself. I didn’t want to drag you into all this – make you worry.
 
Dangerous people are looking for us.”

“The Bloodbourn, I know,” Dylan
stumbled slightly over the foreign word.
 
“You should have told me.
 
I may
not have been able to help, but I need to know what’s going on.”

“I know, I’m sorry.
 
But I didn’t even know if it would be worth
telling you.
 
I could have to leave at
any moment--”

“Leave?”

“Yes, well, if the Bloodbourn
realize I’m here, I’ll need to go back to Adrian’s world, the world I’m
from.
 
I couldn’t risk leading them to
you, and I might find people who can help me there.”

Dylan just shook his head.
 
“I would come with you.
 
You know that.
 
I follow you – no matter what.”

“Dylan, it’s just not possi—“
 
My hand slipped on the rope I was trying to
loosen, and I scraped my knuckle.

Adrian stood up with a dark blade I
hadn’t seen him produce.
 
He moved behind
Dylan’s chair and cut the ropes off in one facile swipe.
 
“You should go back home. You need to rest,”
Adrian said, addressing only me.

“Yes, let’s go home,” Dylan agreed
wholeheartedly, rubbing his wrists.
 
“Good chat today, Adrian.”

Adrian nodded expressionlessly in
response.

Dylan tugged me all the way to the
front door by the wrist.
 
I never seemed
to move fast enough for him.

“Wait,” I said, just as he was
about to pull me outside.
 
“I need to say
something to them first.” I earned an unenthusiastic “okay” in the form of a
grunt.

I wandered back inside, but I only
found Adrian.

“I’m sorry about what happened
today,” I said softly.

“I’m sorry you had to lose all the
clothes you were wearing.”

I felt myself blushing.
 
“You know what I mean.”

“It’s okay.
 
We can’t control everything.”
 
But Adrian didn’t sound okay.
 
If anything, he still sounded a little
pissed.
 
“You got the change very quickly
today.
 
Even Aris didn’t get it that
quickly.”

“Thank you?”

“You should be able to control it
in no time.
 
We’ll keep working on it
tomorrow—”

“Actually,” I interjected, “I’m
going to be, er, busy in the evening.”

“Oh,” Adrian said, surprised.
 
“Perhaps, then, you should take tomorrow
off.
 
Take a day to rest.
 
You can do that, can’t you?”

I smiled thankfully.
 
But then I heard Dylan’s irritated voice
behind me.

“I’ll make sure she’s fully rested
before she leaves for her date with Spencer Anderson tomorrow.”
 
Without warning, he grabbed me by the wrist
and pulled me out the door.

I was still so weak – I couldn’t
fight back anymore.
 
I cast Adrian an
apologetic look over my shoulder.
 
He was
watched us with a pained expression while we walked away.

Chapter
Twenty-One

“The Philly cheesesteak here is
supposed to be the bomb,” Spencer said through a straw in his mouth.
 
He had already downed three glasses of
coke.
 
We were at a little old-fashioned
burger joint, me in a modest blue dress and him still in his basketball
jersey.
 
The game had left him thirsty,
and, based on the grumbling of his stomach, ravenous.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to just
a regular hamburger.”
 
I hated
cheese.
 
It gave me migraines.

“So,” Spencer said, taking my menu
I was using as a partition between the two of us.
 
“How’d I play?”

“Well,” I responded
hesitantly.
 
His team had won by ten
points, and from what I could remember, he had scored many of the baskets.

“Come on.
 
Well?
I owned the court!” Spencer sank back into his chair smugly.
 
“How was your seat? Did you have a nice
view?”

I choked on my water.
 
“I sat in the middle row.” I had also been
watching in the bleachers alone, next to fans who were much more avid about the
game than I had been.

Just then, a round, grumpy-looking
woman with an interesting perm came to take our order.

“We’ll have two Philly
cheesesteaks,” Spencer reported to her confidently.

“Excuse me, but I’ll actually be
having a hamburg-“

“Nah, nah,” Spencer spoke over
me.
 
“She’ll be having a Philly
cheesesteak, like me,” Spencer assured the waitress, who promptly scowled and
left us.
 
“Trust me, Amb, you will thank
me for this.”

“Spencer, cheese gives me
migraines.”

Spencer’s mouth formed a little
“o.”
 
“Are you sure?”

“
Yes
,” I said through gritted teeth.
 
Jeesh, did he always get this cocky after games?

“Wow.
 
You should have told me you wanted something
else.
 
We’ll change your order when she comes
back.
 
Anyway,” Spencer leaned back again
in his chair, “that referee was really something, wasn’t he?
 
Calling all those fouls on us.”

“Spencer, I’m going to be
completely honest with you.
 
I have no
idea what a foul is.”

Spencer guffawed loudly and pulled
something out from under the table -- a little silver flask.

“Spencer, are you
drinking
?”

“Shhhhh.”
 
He pressed a long finger against my lips,
despite my discomfort.
 
“We’re
celebrating.
 
You want some?”

“Of
course not.”
 
I did not want to be
buzzed around a guy I barely knew.
 
Somehow that didn’t seem like a very good idea.

Spencer shrugged.
 
“More for me.”
 
He took a swig of the flask’s contents in a
rapid movement.
 
I could smell it from
across the table – and it smelled like whiskey.

“Don’t you need to drive?”
 
I wasn’t even bothering to hide my irritation
anymore.

“No worries, we’ll be fine,”
Spencer said dismissively.
 
“Let’s enjoy
ourselves.
 
My mother likes you, you
know.”

“Oh yes, the locksmith,” I
remembered.

“She thinks we’d be good together.
 
Make a nice prom king and queen.”

I forced a laugh because I didn’t
know what else to do.

“I’m not kidding.
 
I wholeheartedly agree with her.
 
You’re very pretty.”
 
He moved to push away a tendril of hair that
had fallen over my face, but I faked a sudden fit of coughing that forced him
to withdraw with a disgusted look.

“Prom isn’t my thing.
 
I don’t do well at large social events.
 
At friends’ parties, I’m that guest who’s
playing with the pets,” I said seriously.
 
But I had two more important reasons for not wanting Spencer to think I
was going to prom with him, which were, firstly, that I didn’t really like him
and, secondly, that I shouldn’t be making any long-term plans.

Spencer snickered.
 
“You won’t be that way around me.
 
I’m always the life of the party.”

“Oh, are you now?” I muttered to
myself.
 
I drew in a deep breath of air
that smelled like hamburgers and French fries.
 
Despite how much he was getting on my nerves, I needed to make an effort
to remain courteous.

The waitress returned then, carrying
two identical plates with hamburgers practically overflowing with cheese.
 
She placed them in front of us hastily.
 
The place was busy, and she seemed to be the
only server on duty.
 
Stressed and tired,
she looked desperately in need of a break.

“Oh crap, I forgot – I was going to
get you something else,” Spencer remembered.

I poked at the burger warily with
my fork.
 
Cheese slime was everywhere –
even drowning the fries.
 
I gagged
internally.

“Excuse me,” he bellowed, snapping
his fingers to get the waitress’ attention.
 
“We need you to take this back.
 
You see, she can’t have cheese.
 
We’d like a bacon burger instead.”

The waitress sighed and shifted her
weight to her side.
 
“Son, I don’t
think—”

“No, I’m sorry ma’am. It’s fine,
thank you,” I piped in, sensing the beginnings of a heated disagreement.
 
The waitress already looked so
exhausted.
 
“Spencer, I can scrape the
cheese off.
 
It can’t be that hard.”

Spencer smiled widely.
 
“All right, then.
 
We won’t be needing anything, then,” Spencer
clarified for the waitress, as if to dismiss her.
 
He even made a little shooing motion with his
hand that made me grow hot with disgust.

We didn’t speak much when we were
eating.
 
He wolfed down his food with the
speed of a competitive eater and wasted no time claiming my leftovers.
 
I tried to remove as much cheese as I could,
but I still ended up consuming too much for my comfort.
 
I hoped I would be able to get home quickly,
so that I could take an Advil.

When the check arrived, I insisted
on paying my half, fully aware of how untraditional that was.
 
But I had found that when guys paid for
meals, they sometimes expected there to be certain strings attached.
 
Since I hated feeling obligated to boys I
didn’t know very well, I tried to avoid that situation in its entirety by
simply paying for my food.
 
I mean, I had
money too.
 
Why shouldn’t I pay for
myself?

But Spencer just laughed at my
determination, saying that he would never allow any girl to pay for herself on
a date with him, and called me a “silly feminist.”

I left the restaurant in a bad
mood, which grew even worse when an oblivious Spencer snaked his arm tightly
around my waist, effectively destroying my personal bubble.
 
I tried to walk faster, hoping that would
break his grip.
 
But he would just walk faster
too, so ultimately I just settled for wedging my purse between us.

He helped me into his car (a red
pickup, identical to his mother’s, but without the company decal key) probably
with more enthusiasm than I would have liked, and he got into the driver’s
seat.

He fiddled with the air conditioner
and some controls on his door before looking at me.
 
“So…” He let his voice trail off.
 
I could smell the cheese and whiskey on his
breath.

“You sure you can drive?” I
questioned.

“Yeah, yeah.
 
No problem.
 
This was really great.
 
We should
do this again some time.”
 
He smiled
hugely.

My stomach dropped.
 
I couldn’t do this again.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I’m pretty busy these days…”

Spencer waved dismissively.
 
“You’ll find time.”
 
He had put his finger to my lips yet again,
even though I had already finished talking.
 
This time it was impossible for me to squirm away in the small space of
the car.

Oh
no
, I thought, as he gradually leaned in toward me and moved his hand at my
lips to the back of my neck.
 
No, no, no, no.
 
What had I gotten myself into?

At the very last moment, I managed
to overpower his hand on my neck and shift my head so that he was pressing his
lips against my hair.
 
I could see the
surprise in his eyes quickly turn into anger, and, for the first time, I was
scared of what he might do.

I pushed my hands against his chest
to make space, but my arms still burned from yesterday’s change, and the
muscles were seized by small tremors.

“I think we should just be
friends,” I said clearly.

He just smirked and ignored me. He
continued to force me in toward him so that he was pressed up against me, our
weight fully against my door.
 
“Don’t be
ridiculous.
 
I’ve seen you looking at me
ever since that night at the Italian restaurant.”

“Stop it, I’m serious.
 
This isn’t funny Spencer,” I snapped, putting
all my effort into getting him off me.
 
The training had left me so weak, and he was so much bigger than me.

He didn’t stop, and I wasn’t strong
enough to fight back.
 
I couldn’t believe
this was happening to me.
 
Couldn’t
believe Spencer would do this.
 
All I
could think was
no, no, no, no, no.
 
If I couldn’t fight off a hormonal teenage
boy, how was I going to survive in Adrian’s world?

I was too infuriated to notice the
hot, angry tears sliding down my cheeks, and he didn’t notice either – or he
just didn’t care.

“You like me,” he whispered in my
ear.

“Stop!” I shouted again.

I could feel his nails in my back,
felt him put his wet mouth on my neck.
 
I
grasped for the door handle behind me and pulled it.
 
But it didn’t open.
 
It was locked.
 
What kind of door did that?
 
I felt Spencer smile, and I was entirely
overcome with rage.
 
This had all been
premeditated.

Some instinctive survival mode in
my brain turned on at that moment, and I didn’t even need to think.
 
I slipped my torso out from under his grip,
so I could pull my legs from under the dashboard.
 
And I used my feet to kick him in the
chest.
 
Hard.
 
Hard enough to make him slam against the
steering wheel.

I returned to a sitting
position.
 
“Unlock the door.
 
Now,” I demanded.

But he just laughed stupidly, like
I had told him a joke.
 
He started toward
me.
 
Again.
 
So, before he could react, I hit the back of
his head with my fist, slamming it into the steering wheel.
 
Again.

“Let me out of this car before I
call the police.”
 
My words dripped with
revulsion and authority.

The small trail of blood that was
trickling out of Spencer’s nose seemed to make it dawn on him that we weren’t
going to happen.
 
“You’re crazy,” he
sneered, moving his eyes up and down me.

“Let me out, before I physically
injure you again.”

“Pure crazy,” he repeated, as he
spitefully pressed a button on his door.

I wrenched the car door open as
soon as I heard the unlocking click.
 
I
couldn’t escape fast enough.
 
The inside
of the car had gotten very hot, and the night breeze chilled my flaming skin.

“Never, ever come near me again,” I
warned through red vision.
 
My head was
pounding.
 
“I never want to hear you so
much as speak to me.
 
Because if you try
anything again, so help me God, I will do a lot more than give you a bloody
nose.”

“Crazy bitch,” he snarled, before
spitting at me like a child.

I slammed the car door in his face,
and he drove away, leaving me alone in an empty corner of the parking lot.
 
When I knew he couldn’t see me anymore, I
sank to my knees and took deep breaths.

I was trying so hard not to cry.

I heard sprinting footsteps beating
the pavement behind me, and I turned to see two male figures running at
me.
 
Instinctively, I panicked and got to
my feet to run away.

“Wait!” a voice called from halfway
across the parking lot.

Oh
my God
.
 
I squinted at an unbrushed
brown head of hair and a separate set of pale blue eyes.

Adrian was faster and got to me
first.
 
“Are you okay?
 
What happened?”
 
Despite his heavy breathing, he seemed solely
concerned for my well-being.
 
He jolted
to a sudden stop three feet away from me.
 
His expression looked pained, as if he were struggling against some
invisible barrier he could not cross.
 
I
could see his eyes passing over my arms and legs from a distance, I assumed for
injuries.