Divide
Author: Jessa Russo
Date: 2014-04-15 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Fairy Tale Retellings; retellings; Young Adult; Fantasy; Fairy Tales; Romance
Description: From senior class president to dejected social outcast, with just the flick of a match. After accusations of torching her ex-boyfriend’s home are followed by the mysterious poisoning of her ex-best friend, seventeen-year-old Holland Briggs assumes her life is over. And it is. But not in the way she thinks. As Holland learns the truth about her cursed fate—that she is descended from the Beast most have only ever heard of in fairytales—she unites with an unlikely ally, good-looking newcomer Mick Stevenson. Mick knows more about Holland’s twisted history than she does, and enlightening as it is t

© 2014 Jessa Russo
http://www.jessarusso.com

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Cover design by Michelle Johnson

Edited by Tamara Mataya

ISBN-13: 978-1495408991

ISBN-10: 149540899X

For Holland Brunner:

May you never stop believing in fairytales.

Or love. Definitely never stop believing in love.

Holland

The girl looking back at me didn’t seem half as broken as I felt. She was beautiful, confident, sure of herself. A mask I’d worn for years out of habit, and more recently, necessity.

With a sigh, I slammed my locker door a bit harder than I’d meant to, shutting the magnetic mirror away for at least another hour. At least until I returned for more books between my next two classes and found myself staring at that pretty face again.

She was any magazine’s idea of perfection.

So unlike what lurked just under the surface.

I felt it. Moving around beneath my skin, waiting, calculating—counting down the days.

“Holl! Wait up!”

“Merde!”

I turned around to see my little brother heading toward me. The broad smile on his face pushed away my dark thoughts. With only eleven months between us, Cameron was busy enjoying the hell out of his junior year as I trudged through my senior. Although, this time last year I’d felt differently. So much changed in a few short months.

“You cussed in French again, sis. People are going to think you’re a freak.”

I raised an eyebrow at my brother. “Seriously?”

As if saying a bad word in French would cause people to think I was a freak any more than all the rumors flying around about me.

Cam waved off my question with a flick of his wrist. “You ditching at lunch today?” he asked, pulling on his black and gold letterman’s jacket.

“No, Cam. That was just one time. Mom and Dad will kill me if I lead you down the path of destruction.” I over-emphasized the words the way our dad had so frequently.

Cam laughed and threw his arm around my shoulder, giving me a light noogie with his free hand. “If they only knew, huh, Holl?”

He leaned down and kissed the side of my head before he headed off to meet his water polo buddies. He may have been younger than me, but he’d already outgrown me by about six inches or so.

I headed to Physics, dreading what I’d find when I got there. The same thing I faced every day. I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and jutted out my chin. Walk in like you own the place. I repeated my mom’s advice for the millionth time as I entered room thirty-two and faced him.

As if it wasn’t enough that Rod had broken up with me two days before homecoming this past October—leaving me both broken-hearted and painfully dateless—I had to see him and Leslie draped all over each other every day in not just one, but two of my classes.

Just get through the year.

As I did every day, I walked past them without making eye contact and sat down at my desk. I pulled out my notebook, flipped it open and started my daily doodling. Somehow, I could excel at Physics with my eyes closed and a somewhat shoddy attendance record.

By the end of the period, Leslie had only glanced back at me four times. A new record. If this continued, then maybe she’d only look back at me once by the time Spring Break arrived, and no times at all by the time the school year ended.

Then I’d be out of Crappo Valley for good and could move on with my life. Maybe I should have switched schools like my parents had suggested. It sounded appealing, but it wasn’t like my fame would stay safely inside the walls of Capistrano Valley High School.

No, my fame would follow me. I had no doubt about that.

I waited for everyone to leave the class, then slowly headed for the door.

“Hollie? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I closed my eyes, unable to believe it. She waited for me outside the classroom again. I don’t know why that surprised me, just that every day I hoped she’d change her routine. We’d gone over it a thousand times. Her pleas and my responses never changed. Would she ever stop?

“Hollie, please look at me.”

I slowly opened my eyes and repeated my mantra in my head. Like you own the place.

I faced Leslie and waited. She was neatly put together, as usual: dressed in a mint cashmere sweater, paired with a slightly-darker mint pleather skater skirt. I didn’t have to look down to know her toenails were impeccably painted in a contrasting yet complimentary pastel shade. Leslie’s blazing red-orange hair was pulled back into a perfect ponytail, with not even a single strand out of place. Though some would wonder how she created such a sleek hairdo, I knew her secret—Tres Flores hair pomade with massive amounts of Aqua Net. She’d die if anyone knew she used those products.

She’d also die if anyone lit a match within a five mile radius of her hair.

She licked her lips in preparation to speak the same tired words she’d spoken a million times. I fought the temptation to recite her speech for her, but she’d cried last time I did that, so I refrained. One of us had to be the bigger person. Or something like that.

Plus, her eyes already glistened the warning of yet-unshed tears. Ugh. I hated this.

“I miss you.”

I felt my jaw tighten at her words. Fact was that I missed her, too. And I missed Rod. And I missed my childhood spent with the two of them. My two best friends.

“We didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me. What can I do to fix this?”

Right on schedule, a tear slipped past the gate, sliding down her pale, freckled cheek. I watched the watery descent and began the same retort I’d repeated a million times.

“Look, Leslie. Just stop, okay? Do us both a favor and move on. You and Rod are in love. I get it. You didn’t mean to hurt me. Fine. But you did. And you can’t fix that kind of betrayal.”

I turned and walked away, not wanting to hear any more apologies. How many would I have to hear? I thought I’d paid my dues and suffered enough. After all, I wasn’t the one who went behind her back with her boyfriend of four years.

I’d lost the two most important people in my life and she was the one crying? Ha.

I made it to the bathroom before my tears fell. I hadn’t let them really see how they’d broken me yet, and after four months, I sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. After checking to see that the room was empty, I huddled in the handicap stall and cried as quietly as I could, surrounded by graffiti-damaged gray walls, perfectly fitting for my mood.

When the bell rang a few minutes later, signaling I was late for my next class, I pulled out my compact and looked at my face. Puffy eyes. Fantastic. The red nose I could blame on the cold February winds, but the puffiness was a dead giveaway.

I focused on my blue eyes for a moment; sure I could see it if I only stared long enough.

I know you’re in there.

My eyes had started to change, the blue of my irises slowly seeping away. Only slightly, but enough that I could see the transformation. They were dull, grayer in color than they used to be. Surely, if anyone noticed, they’d probably just attribute the change to my depression.

I knew differently. Something wrong lived inside me, something that wasn’t fully me. Something foreign. Though, what it was, I had no idea.

The main bathroom door opened with a swoosh, followed by the loud thumping of heavy footsteps. I heard each stall door open with the bang of a fist against the metal door, and a swoosh-clank as each door flew inward and slammed against the toilet paper dispenser. One by one, the doors opened as the person made their way to me.

Bang

Swoosh

Clank

Repeat

When the cacophony stopped, black boots—with flat soles that had to have been a good five inches tall—parked right outside my stall. Squatting, with both feet up on the lid of the toilet seat, whoever stood there couldn’t see me. But the previous nine stall doors slamming open were plenty indication of what to expect next.

I climbed off the toilet lid and stood, unwilling to be caught off guard, even though I absolutely already was. I waited.

She cleared her throat.

Screw this. I wiped my tears from my cheeks. Like you own the place, I reminded myself. I opened the door and took a step back so I could see this psycho chick, whoever she was.

“Hey, Holland, right? I’m Rosemarie Stevenson. I’m new here.”

Her feminine name and sweet-sounding voice were in stark contrast from her strange clothing and door-punching habits. And her boots had more buckles than a straitjacket.

I almost laughed when I noticed that her face wasn’t nearly as scary as I’d assumed it would be. My gaze travelled down, from her tutu-corset thing-a-ma-jig, to her ripped purple and black tights, down to her crazy-ass boots. Then I brought my focus back to her face, and my head tilted slightly on its own accord. She was actually really pretty.

For a crazy chick in a Halloween costume.

The purple glitter eye shadow made her irises seem almost violet in color, and her jet black hair was cropped short and somewhat jagged. All she lacked were some sparkly fairy wings.

I peered over her shoulder, just to make sure wings weren’t fluttering behind her.

Her arm was still outstretched in front of me. I glanced at her black-tipped fingernails and ignored her awaiting hand, instead deciding to ask the pressing question.

“If you’re new here, how do you know my name?”

“Oh, please. You’re Holland Briggs. Aren’t you, like, famous around here?”

“Yeah, well, if you’re wondering if I burned a house down with my ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend inside, you can wonder no longer. I just had last period with both of them, and they’re as fine as ever.”

I pushed past her, irritated that she was new here and already knew the rumors that I’d hoped to one day live down. How people could think I tried to kill Rod and Leslie even after they both returned to school and hung out with these idiots every day, I had no idea. Add to that Leslie’s daily pleading fests, and it was any wonder how people could still blame me, when she clearly did not.

“Wait! Holland! I’m sorry. We got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over?”

I spun on my heels and faced the new girl.

“Okay, Rosemarie, was it? I appreciate that you’re new here, and by looking at you I can see that you wanted to align yourself with the biggest freak in school, but I tend to keep to myself and don’t need any crazy-ass fangirls, okay?”

Her mouth fell open, but I didn’t care. She’d get over it.

I slipped out the door and back into the hallway, heading not for the cafeteria, but instead for the senior parking lot. Turned out I was ditching for lunch at Harbor House after all.

When I got to the car, Cam waited for me, his infectious smile already making me feel better.

“I knew you’d change your mind.”

I shook my head and slid into the driver’s seat of my red VW Cabriolet. Cam climbed in on the other side and tried to roll down his window, even though he knew from trying every single day before this one that it was a lost cause.

“Sure glad it’s cold out today because I can’t seem to get my window to roll down,” he said. “I don’t know why you insist on driving this car. You know Mom and Dad will get you whatever you want. Maybe even something from this century.”

“I love this car. It was Mr. Greenburg’s, and he trusts me to take care of it. Plus—” I waved my hand around the old interior, “—character.”

Cam scoffed.

“If you hate Penny so much, why do you insist on driving to school with me?”

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them. We both knew why Cam hardly ever left my side, and I hated bringing it up. I was past it, but no one else seemed to think so. My little brother had sort of taken on the role of bodyguard, confidant, and babysitter. Always making sure poor Holland wasn’t heading for the deep end again.

“So who was that weird fairy-looking chick that followed you outside?”

I quickly glanced back at the doors to the school as I left the parking lot, and sure enough, my newest fan stood outside watching us drive away. As I brought my attention back to the road, I turned the corner and my view of her disappeared.

“Some new girl. She heard about my experience with pyromania and wanted my autograph.”

“Nice! Did you give it to her?”

“Fuck off, Cam.”

“Nice again! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

I glanced at him, his brown eyes sparkling. “I kiss your mother with this mouth.”

He groaned. “You do know that ‘your mama’ jokes aren’t funny when she’s your mom too, right?”

“Whatever.”

“So, was Leslie waiting outside for you after Physics again?”

“Is she ever not?” I asked, pulling Penny onto the freeway.

“Wow. She needs to give up already. But I have to hand it to her: she’s got a lot of nerve. And stamina. Nerve for thinking you’ll ever forgive her, and stamina for the relentless apologizing. I couldn’t apologize for that long, that’s for sure.”

“When have you ever apologized anyway, Cam?”

“Pssh, when have I ever needed to?”

Twenty minutes later, we parked in the lot behind the Harbor House Café in Dana Point. My stomach growled just thinking about it. Cheese fries and a chocolate shake: the lunch of champions.

Cam clapped his hands one time, his thoughts clearly mimicking my own, then climbed out of the car. He pulled off his water polo jacket, revealing a shirt that was about two sizes too small and stretched around his arms, showing all of his muscle definition.

“Your shirt. Are you serious?”

He flexed his bicep and winked at me, his brown eyes sparkling. “The ladies love it.”

I shook my head at his ridiculousness.

Cam ran a hand over his cropped brown hair, then matched his pace to mine and draped his arm across my shoulders. Clearly still stuck on Leslie, he asked, “Did she say anything different this time? Anything to change your mind about her?”

“What, like the past few months were all a big mistake, and I’ve only been dreaming that she slept with my best friend slash boyfriend? Nah. She didn’t say anything like that. I’m pretty sure this all actually happened to me.”

“Yeah, well, their loss, Holl.” He squeezed my shoulder.

“Yeah, their loss.”

Cam had said those words so many times, and I was pretty sure he believed it was their loss. I wasn’t so convinced anymore though.

Mick

“It didn’t…it didn’t go very well.”

Ro stood in front of the big French doors, facing outside—avoiding my eyes. I was trying to stay calm, but could feel my blood pressure rising as I waited for further explanation. This was a pivotal moment for me, for us, and if Ro had messed it up…

“What do you mean, ‘it didn’t go very well?’” I prodded.

“Um, I may have approached her wrong?”

“Why is your statement sounding remarkably like a question, Ro? Did you or did you not introduce yourself to Holland Briggs today?”

“I did. And I think she hates me.”

“Dammit,” I said on a sigh. “You know how important this is.”

“I know,” she said as she gazed down at the floor. Her toes played with the strands of carpet beneath her feet, and she didn’t look up at me again. “I just…I don’t know…sometimes I just act differently than other people, and I guess—”

“You guess this was one of those times?” I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath. I never yelled at my little sister, and I wasn’t about to start now. I needed to remain calm. Whatever happened, we’d fix it. Though I loved her for all her quirks, I was pretty frustrated with the fact she chose this situation to let her freak flag fly.

“Okay, start from the top.” Maybe the circumstances weren’t as bad as she made them sound.

“Well, I found her crying in the girls’ bathroom, so I introduced myself.”

“That doesn’t sound too horrible,” I said, wondering if she was leaving something out. I felt a small pang in my chest at the mention of Holland crying. Even though I knew she’d been through hell in recent months, hearing about it bothered me.

“She bit my head off and said she didn’t want any more fangirls.”

“Fangirls?” I chuckled at Holland’s word choice—I couldn’t wait to finally meet her. “Makes sense. She probably just thought you wanted to talk to her because she’s known as the freak who tried to kill her ex.”

“I didn’t really have a chance to tell her otherwise, because she stormed off.”

“Okay. This is doable. You’ll try again tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, for sure Mick. I want to help her as much as you want to.”

I raised one eyebrow.

Ro’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry. Maybe not as much as you do, but close. I don’t want all your research to go to waste either, Mick.”

“Research? You know how much more than research this is, kiddo. This is…life and death.”

“I know.” She turned away, heading for the kitchen, then glanced back at me. “And I want you to be happy.”

I smiled and shook my head. I wanted to be happy too, but this wasn’t about my happiness. This was about Holland Briggs, and what I could do to save her.

What I was born to do.

Holland

Friday was uneventful, save for the occasional mournful glance thrown my direction from my ex-best friend, and the somewhat surprising reappearance of my new biggest fan.

Rosemarie wasn’t in any of my classes, thank God, but she did manage to appear out of nowhere when Cam and I were just about to get into my car after school.

“Hey, Holland!”

“What the hell?” Cam jumped—she’d clearly startled him.

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Cam, meet Rosemarie. Rosemarie, my little brother, Cameron.”

“Little?” Rosemarie scoffed. “Hey, Cameron, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her arm and waited for Cam to accept her hand.

Cam raised a dark eyebrow and crossed his arms, clearly analyzing Rosemarie. He’d become so protective over me these past few months, but this was a bit extreme. She was a bit persistent, but she seemed harmless enough.

I cleared my throat, hoping to remind Cam of his manners.

He slowly shook her hand. “Hey, Rosemarie. It’s, uh, nice to meet you, too?”

Rosemarie ignored Cam’s half-ass statement, and turned to me. “So, you guys headed anywhere tonight? I know of this killer party at a warehouse in Huntington if you want to come.”

“Dude, didn’t you just move here? How do you know about parties all the way up in Huntington Beach?” Cam asked.

“Well, I didn’t move here from the moon, Cameron. I moved here from Huntington Beach.” She slowly enunciated the words as if they would be confusing for him, and I watched as my brother’s eyes tightened, indicating his annoyance.

“Yeah. Got it.”

“So,” she turned back toward me, “you guys down or what?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

What? Had that word really just come out of my mouth? She only asked us to go so she could show off her shiny new celebrity friend to her old friends, and everyone could get a kick out of meeting the girl who tried to set her ex on fire! What had I just done?

But something had happened when she mouthed off to Cam a moment ago. I actually…liked her.

Weird.

Cam’s wide eyes and clenched jaw told me my answer surprised him as much as it surprised me—then his quickly forming frown indicated his displeasure. Whoops. Because he’d long ago self-designated himself my guardian, when I agreed to go to the party with Rosemarie, Cam agreed by default. I couldn’t wait to hear all about my big snafu during the car ride home.

“Sweet! Where do you guys live? San Juan?”

“No, we live up in Santa Margarita. We’ll meet you somewhere off the freeway, if that’s okay?” No way was I giving her my address, even though she could probably get it from anyone at school.

“Sweet. The Carl’s Jr. off of Oso Parkway and I-5 work for you guys?”

I nodded. “That works.”

Cam glared at me. I ignored him.

“Nine o’clock then. See you guys tonight!” Rosemarie sprinted off to the sophomore/junior parking lot—which, assuming that meant she was in tenth or eleventh grade, would explain why she hadn’t been in any of my classes—her choppy black hair bouncing with each footfall, and I turned back to the car.

“She really does need a set of wings, doesn’t she?” I said, voicing my thoughts. “She’s so—”

“Are you effing kidding me, Holl? Why did you do that? I have plans with the guys tonight.”

Cam’s face was priceless. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was open. Then, his disbelief gave me pause. When was the last time I’d gone out on a Friday night, anyway? No wonder he was shocked. He usually only had to monitor me during school hours and the occasional random shopping trip on the weekends. Otherwise, one of our parents would be home and he could come and go as he pleased. Whoops. My bad.

“Cam, you know I don’t actually need a babysitter. It’s just a party. I’m not going to hurt myself.”

Cam winced, then I cringed at my own poor choice of words. Absently, I ran a thumb over my wrist and sighed.

“You know what I mean, Cam. Go hang out with your friends tonight. I love you, little bro, but you need to have a life, too. You can’t spend it worried about me. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“Did you just call me little? That’s the second time in the last ten minutes.”

Ah hell. The glint of amusement in his eyes warned me I was in trouble, and he raced to my side of the car in a matter of seconds. I tried to run, but he was too fast. Before I could react, I’d been thrown over his shoulder, my feet at his ear-level. With his hands around my ankles, he held me upside down over his back. My nose inched closer to the grass—a matter of seconds before Cam rubbed my face into the ground.

“Apologize!”

“Cam!” I squealed.

“A-pol-o-gize.” He stretched the word out as he slowly lowered my face closer to the ground.

“J’en ai assez!

“Gosh, Holl, I wish I knew what that meant,” he said with a laugh as he shook me again. If I’d had coins in my pocket, they’d have fallen to the ground by now. “But like most normal people in Southern California, I’m taking Spanish.”

“It means I’m fed up, Cameron! Stop!”

“You know what you have to do, Holl. This isn’t my fault.”

“Lo siento,” I snapped at him, meaning it in Spanish about as much as I’d meant it in French.

“Nice try, but no.”

I zeroed in on a pill bug crawling through the blades of grass—I would smoosh it if Cam lowered me any closer to the ground.

“Fine! Fine! I’m sorry!”

“That’s not all.”

“Cam!”

“Say it.”

“Ugh! I hate you!”

“No, I don’t think those are the magic words.” I heard the smile on his face without seeing it. “Have you forgotten them already?”

“Oh my God, Cam! Fine! You are not little. You are big. You are the King of the World.”

“Ah. That’s better.” He set me back on my feet, wearing the hugest smile. “You’d think you’d know better by now, sis. It surprises me what a slow learner you are. Really it does.”

“Jerk.”

We both hopped into Penny, laughter keeping us smiling, and my earlier lapse in judgment momentarily forgotten.

“But seriously, dude, what the heck were you thinking?”

Well, maybe not forgotten after all.

“That chick’s got a crush on you or something,” Cam continued.

Huh? Oh. That thought hadn’t occurred to me. Had she asked me out? I’d assumed she just wanted to hang out with a bigger outcast than she was, but if something more was happening here, and I said yes, then I led her on. I quickly replayed the conversation in my head, my eyes wide.

“No, no, Cam. You think every chick is a lesbian.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“Anyway, I remember. She asked us if we had plans tonight. Both of us. Not just me. She said ‘you guys’.”

“Still. When was the last time you went out on a Friday night?”

I’d been wondering the same thing. Probably before Rod and Leslie…

Cam seemed to follow my train of thought, and he squinted slightly before smiling, the seriousness of his question gone. “Well, it will probably be good for you. We’ll go. We’ll have fun. What could it hurt, right?”

“Right. But you really don’t have to go. I mean it.”

“Nah. I’m going. There’s no sense in arguing. This chick could be an ax murderer for all we know.”

I rolled my eyes at Cam. “She doesn’t look like an ax murderer.”

“They never do, Holl. They never do.” Cam’s expression was somber as he shook his head from side to side. “And seriously, if she kills you, and I’m not there, how do you think that will make me feel? Do you really want me to live with that kind of guilt for the rest of my life?”

“Oh geez. You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“Mhmm.”

“Why’d you say yes, anyway?”

I turned down the main road that would take us straight to our neighborhood, smiling as I remembered what had so strangely endeared her to me. “Honestly?”

“Yeah, duh.”

“I liked the way she talked back to you.”

“Ha. Of course you would.”

I glanced at him, catching a brief smile as he turned to gaze at the passing scenery.

By eight forty-five, I was happily full of fried zucchini, and waiting in the Carl’s Jr. parking lot with a still somewhat reluctant Cam, for our new friend to arrive. When she pulled up in a silver station wagon with a “Jesus Loves You, And So Do I” bumper sticker pasted below a red vinyl rose decal on the back window, I snorted and choked on my root beer. I guess I’d expected a slightly edgier car for the chick in the crazy-ass boots.

“Huh. She doesn’t seem like the Jesus type.”

“Nah, really, Cam? You think maybe she’s driving her parents’ car?”

“Easy there. I don’t want to have to flip you again.” He punched my arm and I cringed. His love taps began to hurt now that he’d grown so much bigger than me.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said. “I forget how fragile you are.”

“Pssh. Whatever.” I rubbed my arm when he turned his attention to Rosemarie.

She bounced over to us, wearing actual wings this time, and I briefly wondered if she’d somehow read my mind earlier.

“Hey, guys! Do you want to drive together or separately? I’ve got room in the Pussy Wagon if you want to hop in!”

Cam elbowed me. Now it was his turn to choke on his soda. I ignored him.

“No. Thanks though, but can we just follow you? I’m feeling a bit tired and don’t know how late we’ll be staying out tonight.”

“Sure thing! In case we get lost, grab my cell number, okay?”

Cam whipped out his cell phone and entered her digits. I’d gotten rid of my cell after the break-up. Leslie was the only one calling after that, and I couldn’t see paying for something—or expecting my parents to pay for something—that I wasn’t using.

We followed Rosemarie out of the parking lot in silence. Cam didn’t speak again until we were on the freeway heading north. I was surprised he’d managed to wait so long.

“Dude. She called it a pussy wagon.”

“She made a Kill Bill reference, Cam. Nothing more.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s wearing wings. Do you think we were supposed to dress up or something?”

“Nah. It’s February. She’s just a freak.”

“Stop it. She’s nice.” I glared at him and turned on the radio.

Was she nice? I didn’t even know. But she wanted to hang out with me, and that was more than anyone else had done in months. I’d probably find out later she was just using me for show-and-tell, or that we were actually going to a pyromaniac support group, but I’d try to stay positive.

When we pulled up to the warehouse a half hour later, I saw that luckily, no one else was in costume. Our new friend just liked to wear wings. Whatever. I couldn’t say they didn’t fit her persona perfectly.

Mick

I buzzed with energy, just thinking of finally meeting Holland. Remarkably, after Ro’s less than stellar first meeting, Holland had agreed to come to our friend’s club. I imagined she was probably pretty sick of being an outcast, so saying yes to Ro’s offer gave Holland an opportunity to be part of a crowd again, though it still shocked me that she’d agreed. From what I’d learned, she was a bit of a shut-in since the fire at her ex’s beach house.

I assumed her brother would come along and hoped he wouldn’t give me any grief. We had the same goals in this; he just didn’t know it yet.

I tried ignoring the need to search for Holland in the crowd forming outside the warehouse. I accepted cash from each person that went inside, and forced myself to focus on the task at hand, preventing anyone from sneaking past me without paying the cover. Focusing was tough to do, though, especially when I’d catch myself scanning the crowd instead of watching the door. My buddy wouldn’t want me to help him out with his parties in the future if I couldn’t handle the simple task of getting the cash from each guest. Plus, people wouldn’t show up if we couldn’t provide the booze and the bands, so this would all be a moot point. Better to find a way to focus on the task at hand.

I sensed Holland’s presence the second she arrived; my chest felt like it was somehow swelling and tightening at the same time. I’d never felt anything that came even close. My dad warned me that I’d have a connection to her, but this was intense, and almost, no definitely surreal.

An invisible string linked us to one another, and something had just pulled it taut. It took effort to remain seated on my bar stool at the door. Being told about your so-called destiny was one thing, but I couldn’t believe the force of the pull to her now that she was nearby.

I scanned the crowd again, spotting the tips of Ro’s purple fairy wings before I spotted Ro. She practically skipped toward me, Holland and her brother walking side-by-side behind her.

I sucked in a breath. Holland was smoking hot. I’d known this, but pictures of her just didn’t measure up to the real thing. She kept her gaze to the ground or snuck quick glances over at her brother, avoiding the crowd and not allowing anyone to make eye contact with her, though many of them tried. The girl following Ro was so unlike the one I’d studied in pictures, no longer the confident girl who held her head high in every photograph I’d seen from before the fire.

As if she could feel my gaze on her, Holland snapped her head up and our eyes met. In that split second before she looked down again, I could see it. The spark of life I’d seen in the photos of her had vanished. The brazen confidence of a girl who was once resting easily on the top rung of the social ladder was gone as well, lost to that cursed thing inside her.

But, for just a brief second, a flicker of a challenge sparked to life in her eyes. And, man, when she looked away from me, I fought the strongest urge to get up and grab her chin with my fingers, to force her to meet my gaze so I’d never have to miss the rebellion in her eyes.

Holland

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and my spine prickled. I looked up at Cam, but he was focused straight ahead, his gaze strangely locked on Rosemarie. I scanned the crowd, wondering what had set my skin to buzzing. Many of the girls in line were checking out my brother, giggling like idiots and pointing as we walked past, but no one paid me much attention.

Still, the feeling remained.

I looked ahead and discovered the reason. My chest tightened, as if someone had just wrapped slender fingers around my heart, then pulled. The guy at the door stared at me shamelessly. Shamelessly. His eyes bore into mine, and even from this distance, I felt a reaction deep within my belly. My pulse sped as he held my gaze, then I quickly averted my eyes.

I wasn’t on the market.

But, wow. He was…no. It didn’t matter.

The line to get in stretched about thirty people deep, and I realized that he was taking money at the door. Cover charge. Shoot! Why hadn’t I thought of that? I had my debit card but no cash. Then it occurred to me that this party was at an empty warehouse, so thinking they’d even take debit or credit cards was laughable. Way to go, Holland.

I peeked at Cam and whispered, “Did you bring any cash for the cover charge?”

“Ah shit, Holl—I didn’t even think about it. You don’t think they’ll take a debit card? Wait. Why are they even charging? Isn’t this supposed to be a party? What the he—?”

“No worries, guys!” Rosemarie called over her shoulder. “I’ve got this!”

She skipped in front of us, leading us past the long line of people. Her purple costume wings glittered in the bright industrial lights on top of the building. Cam turned to me, lifting one eyebrow and nodding toward Rosemarie’s wings, before straightening his shoulders and walking tall. Walk in like you own the place. I briefly wondered if our mom ever had to give him that speech, or if he’d been born with easy confidence.

Though really, before homecoming, I never needed to be reminded to hold my head high.

I inhaled a deep breath, and my chest tightened again as I watched Rosemarie stop in front of him. We were going to have to talk to the guy who’d watched me so unabashedly.

“What’s up with the way he looks at you? I don’t like it.”

Clearly, Cam had also noticed.

“Hey, Mick! These are the friends I was telling you about. Holland and Cam. Guys, this is Mick, my brother from another mother.”

The guy at the door—Mick—smiled fondly at Rosemarie, nodded at Cam, then brought his gaze to meet mine. My heart did a silly skip-jump-thump thing as we stared at each other once again. He was in his mid-twenties, I imagined, and pretty hot—if I was into his dark, shaved head, green eyes, slightly disgruntled appearance. Which I was.

Or would have been, had I been interested. Which I was not.

“Hey, Ro. Cameron—” he nodded toward Cam again, then brought his gaze to me, smiling to reveal almost-straight teeth, and nearly knocking the wind from my lungs, “—Holland. Come on in.”

Much to my delight, we surpassed the line and the cover charge. Rosemarie gave Mick a quick peck on the cheek and then pulled us inside. I saw him watching us from the corner of my eyes. Well, watching me. He definitely watched me. I tried to ignore how amazing that made me feel—people stared at me these days, but never like that anymore—and followed Rosemarie inside.

Walking up to the makeshift bar—what looked like two or three tables lined up, draped with black tablecloths and supporting a couple bright orange Gatorade coolers—I realized we’d probably surpass any drink costs as well. Dressed similarly to Rosemarie, wings and all, the girl behind the bar spotted us, and her face lit up like the Fourth of July.

“Rosie! Yay! You’re here!”

“Jenna!”

Dropping our arms, Rosemarie embraced the girl in front of us and then turned around to introduce her.

“Guys, this is Jenna, my best friend.”

“Your sister from another mister?” Cam asked.

I hung my head in shame, then Cam elbowed me.

Rosemarie’s face became serious. “Oh, no, that really was my brother from another mother. Mick and I have—had—the same dad. But this is just my best friend. I wish we were related!” The girls both squealed and looked at each other as if that wasn’t the first time being sisters had come up.

After about seventeen more introductions—too many to keep count of or remember—Rosemarie stuffed a cup full of purple liquid into my hands, then dragged me out onto the dance floor. I hesitated—after months of trying to avoid people, I suddenly found myself smack dab in the middle of a few dozen gyrating bodies—but only a couple short seconds passed before I could no longer ignore the pull of the music.

I allowed myself to feel each beat, my feet and arms moving to the rhythm of songs I didn’t even know, in a genre I didn’t even listen to. I closed my eyes and relaxed, letting the upbeat tempo soothe my tired mind.

A little while later, after accidentally sloshing my drink on a few innocent bystanders, I chugged what remained and tossed the cup toward a trash can in the corner. I missed, but it looked like mine was one of many—the trash can was way past full and far too small to accommodate so many discarded red cups.

I turned back toward Rosemarie, only to find her dancing with my brother. They seemed to dance well with each other, and had forgotten all about me, apparently, so I turned around to leave the dance floor and take a break.

Rosemarie’s brother leaned up against the wall by the door, arms crossed over his chest, staring straight at me through the crowd. When our eyes met, the ghost of a smile played on his lips. My chest tightened again, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

Had he watched me dancing the entire time?

I held his gaze longer than I should have. Everyone else seemed to disappear, and I fought an intense urge to go to him. Instead, I finally turned my head away and spotted two couches forming an L-shaped sitting area in the corner of the warehouse.

Trying to appear as if the brief moment of intoxicating attraction hadn’t fazed me, I sat on an old black leather couch, desperately wishing I had something to occupy myself with. I didn’t even have a drink in my hand to focus on anymore. Damn.

I wondered if Mick still watched me, but I was too chicken to find out. So I followed the flashing rainbow lights as they skipped across the dance floor.

My brother and Rosemarie still danced together, and Cam actually looked like he was enjoying himself. A slower song started—if even the slowest techno song could ever be called slow—and Rosemarie swayed closer to Cam. I expected him to back away from her, considering just a few hours ago he thought she was a total freak, but he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Then…oh my God…my brother wrapped a hand around her neck, pulled her face toward his, and then…I turned my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

That was…

Unexpected.

But, good for him, I guessed. So he hooked up with our new friend. No biggie. Random party hook-ups weren’t abnormal, and Cam wasn’t known for turning girls down. He loved them, but he’d been single as long as me, after his ex-girlfriend broke up with him because of how much time he’d focused on me last October. Rod and Leslie didn’t only ruin my life with their selfishness. Although, it probably wasn’t just because of Cam’s shift in focus that Sana dumped him. She was next in line for head cheerleader, as well as my replacement as Leslie’s best friend, so inevitably, she’d want to stay away from the guy whose sister was the school pariah. No one else seemed to blame Cameron for his relation to me, but Sana couldn’t get past it. Whatever. She was a bitch anyway, and she’d never been good enough for my brother.

Now that I was no longer dancing, and was instead sitting on this couch in the corner, alone, I wished I were at home in bed. I could have been reading, or watching tv, or counting threads in the carpet…

Or being the big loser I’d been for the past four months straight.

Screw this.

I stood, ran my hands down my coral pencil skirt, adjusted my black tube-top, then left the couches. The air inside the warehouse was heavy from the fog machine and all the sweaty bodies, and I debated stepping outside, but February in Huntington Beach would be much too cold for even a quick breath of fresh air, and I had no idea where Rosemarie had taken our jackets. I headed to the bar instead. Jenna was still there talking to Rosemarie’s brother—who’d obviously stopped stalker-staring at me long enough to move from the last place I’d seen him—and her face lit up when she spotted me, almost as much as it had when she saw Rosemarie earlier.

Maybe these people didn’t think I was a freak after all. Maybe Rosemarie actually wanted to be my friend. I tucked that thought away for pondering later.

“Hey, Holland! Ready for another?” Jenna’s hands were already gripping a new cup.

“Sure. Why not, right?” Cam gave me the go ahead before we left our house, so since he was the designated driver, I let loose. Or let go. Whichever.

Jenna continued filling my cup from a giant Gatorade cooler. While I waited, I turned my head to my right and focused on Rosemarie’s brother.

“Mick, right?”

“Yep. Holland, right?”

“Mhmm.”

He grinned and stepped closer, closing the space between us. After Jenna handed me my drink, I leaned back against the “bar” and peered sideways at Mick, analyzing him as secretively as I could. His hair was really dark but very closely shaven. His eyebrows were dark, as well, naturally, and his eyes were a rich, bright shade of green. His jawline was square and well-defined, and I…

Ugh. Stupid girl. Stop.

I turned toward him fully and realized he was analyzing me, too. And not so secretly.

I did the bravest thing I’d done in a really long time. I smiled—the real thing, big and confident, and what Rod used to call heart-stopping.

“Care to dance with me, Mick?” What? Where did that come from? I was just full of surprises today.

“I’m not much for dancing, but if you play pool, I’m down.”

“Sounds perfect.” Perfect as in I want to spend time with you, not I love playing pool. I hated pool. I wasn’t any good at it, regardless of how many times people had attempted to teach me how to play. My dad and Cam tried relentlessly over the years—a Valley table sat in our living room for God’s sake—but their efforts were to no avail. I just couldn’t make the stick connect with the ball without worrying I’d snag the felt.

Maybe Mick couldn’t play either. One could hope.

After passing through the crowd and heading off down a slightly less crowded, and a lot less noisy, hallway, I followed Mick to the pool table, checking him out as I did so. Tall, but not too tall—a bit shorter than Rod—with broad, strong shoulders. The thermal shirt Mick wore fit snugly enough that I saw his shoulder blades moving underneath it as he reached over the table to collect the scattered pool balls. His jeans were a faded blue and appeared comfortably worn-in, tightly hugging his butt, and as he finished racking the balls and turned around to face me, I noticed—

“Holland?”

Ah hell. He’d turned around, and I was still perving on the way his butt looked in his jeans.

I looked up at his face, meeting his eyes as heat rushed to my cheeks. So much for brave and confident.

“Were you just checking out my ass?”

I felt my eyes widen, before I quickly tried to rectify the situation. But there was no way to rectify it. So I went with honesty. What the heck, right?

“Sure was. You were checking mine out earlier.”

“That I was. Glad you noticed. Ready to play a game?”

“Yup.”

Well, that went better than expected. But I needed to be more careful if I planned to check him out again in the future.

No, no. There would be no future. Just a quick game of one of the worst sports ever, and then we’d go our separate ways.

“Ladies first,” he said, extending the cue stick toward me.

“Oh, no—” I waved my hands in the air, “—really, you go ahead.”

He cocked his head, his green eyes scrutinizing me, but I leaned back against the wall, oozing nonchalance. Or so I hoped.

He bent over the table, perfectly poised to take the first shot, and his shirt pulled up a bit, giving me a perfect view of his waist. The skin underneath his shirt was tanned and smooth. I wondered what the rest of his body looked like.

Stop it, Holland.

With a loud crack, the balls scattered across the table. I lost count of how many went in the pockets.

Okay, so he was really good at pool. Go figure. Of course, if he came to these warehouse parties often and wasn’t into dancing, he had plenty of practice time. He’d wipe the floor with me, but I’d suspected that going into it. Oh well. Can’t win them all. And I could at least enjoy myself while I dove headfirst into losing.

“Nice job. I guess I’m—” I tried counting the balls left on the table.

“I get to go again, so we’ll see what you are in a second.” He squinted his eyes, and his lips twitched.

He was laughing at me.

Well, then. I’d have to play well this time and show him a thing or two. I prayed a miracle would rain down from Heaven and help me out.

He leaned over and sunk another ball into a side pocket with ease. “You’re stripes.”

“Yes. I got that.” There were so many striped balls still on the table it was glaringly obvious what I was. They’d remain there, inevitably. Poor little guys.

Mick stood back, allowing me plenty of room to make a fool of myself. He rested both hands around the neck of the cue stick and watched me. He was hot.

Dammit.

I leaned over the table, setting up my attempt to make a perfect connection with the white ball, knowing fully well what I looked like bent over in that pencil skirt. So what if I was playing it up for this guy? Innocent fun.

I focused the way Cam taught me, lining up the shot in my mind.

“Nine ball, corner pocket,” I said to Mick, forcing myself to concentrate on that damned nine ball. Don’t break concentration; Cam’s instructions played in my head.

I couldn’t help myself. I glanced back at Mick, only to find his green eyes locked on mine. I sucked in a breath. His gaze travelled to my mouth, and I turned back to the table, closing my eyes to gather my wits.

Dammit. I needed to focus. This was just a friendly game of pool. Nothing more.

I’m not dating material.

I’m not on the market.

I forced myself to concentrate on the shot again. I could do this. I looked at my fingers, making sure they were exactly positioned the way Dad and Cam taught me. I pulled the stick back, then pushed forward, mentally crossing my fingers for a connection.

Nothing.

I scratched, like always, and missed the white ball entirely.

I laughed, then stood back and looked at Mick. He still gazed intently at me. The way he followed my every move was better than beating him. I watched a muscle work in his jaw. My heart raced, and my hands began sweating.

I recognized that look—the way guys used to watch me. Before they thought I was a freak. The way Rod used to look at me.

Ugh. Rod. I needed to stop letting my mind wander to him and Leslie. I had to move on. God knew they sure had.

“So,” Mick began, breaking the heavy moment between us, as he bent to line up his next shot, giving me a moment to compose myself. “You’re a junior like my sister?”

“No, senior. You?”

With raised eyebrows, as if my question was ludicrous, he paused to glance up at me.

“No, no, I mean, I know you aren’t a junior or senior in High School. I meant how old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

Huh. Must be the scruffy face that made me think he was a bit older than that. I watched him take another shot, wiping the floor with me—as I figured he would. Somehow, I didn’t even care. He was so easy to be around.

And not too hard on the eyes.

“You guys live in San Juan?” he asked, breaking my thoughts and bringing my focus back to the conversation.

“No, we live in Dove Canyon. It’s near Rancho Santa Margarita. You’re here in Huntington?”

“Nope. I moved down south with Ro. I’m in Mission Viejo.”

I smiled. He smiled back, and I couldn’t help the train of positive thoughts flying through my brain. He lived by me. He wasn’t thirty minutes away, or even farther. He wasn’t crazily older than me.

Maybe things were looking up after all. Maybe I’d get to see him again.

Maybe I had a new friend and a new—what? Boyfriend? Get real, Holland. Don’t be a moron. You stopped being girlfriend material a long time ago.

“Holl!”

Cam picked me up and spun me around, stopping the negative direction my thoughts travelled.

“Wait. Are you playing pool? You hate pool!”

Mick laughed and walked over to us. “You hate pool?”

I bet the word to describe my expression would be sheepish, but there was no point trying to cover it up. My brother spilled the beans. I went for honesty again.

“I do. I absolutely hate playing pool.”

“Bro! We have a Valley bar table in our living room! I’ve been trying to teach her for years. It’s like she’s the most uncoordinated person on Earth.”

“Thanks, Cam.”

“No problem, sis. I think I’m going to head out with Rosie, if that’s—?”

“Rosie?” I questioned.

“Yeah, you know, Rosemarie, the girl who invited us here?” Cam clarified, missing the reason for my raised eyebrows. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Turns out she’s not a lesbian or a freak. She’s pretty awesome.”

Well, color me surprised.

Rosemarie walked up and slinked her fingers through Cam’s, wearing a ridiculously huge smile.

Huh. Maybe this was more than just a party hook-up.

“Hey, Holl, Mick. You guys care if we split? I’m starving and wanted to take Cam down to Main Street.”

“No, no. You guys go,” Mick said with a flick of his hand, as if leaving the two of us alone was common practice. “We’re cool hanging out for a bit, right, Holland?”

“Um, actually…” Stranger danger! I panicked, trying to think of a way out of alone time with Mick, when I remembered that Cam was D.D. tonight. Perfect! I held up my second drink, which was already almost empty, hoping Cam would remember his promise to drive me home.

“Shit! I totally forgot! Okay, no biggie.” He turned to Rosemarie and apologized. “I’m sorry; I forgot I’m the driver tonight. Can we get a rain check?”

“I can drive Holland home. I haven’t had anything to drink, and we’re headed in the same direction. Plus, you were supposed to give me a ride home anyway, Ro.”

“Oh. You’re right.” Rosemarie’s eyes widened, as if suddenly realizing that both she and Cam totally forgot everything—or everyone—else around them. “I’m sorry, Mick. What was I thinking?”

“It’s fine,” Mick said to Rosemarie before turning his attention to me. His green eyes sparkled, and my stupid heart skipped a beat. “Holland? Is that cool with you? Can we take your car?”

All three of them turned to me expectantly, but I gazed solely at my brother. Was he really going to let me drive home with a total stranger after watching me like a hawk and monitoring my every move for the past four months? I waited. No one said anything.

Okay.

“Um. I guess that’s cool. You guys go have fun.”

“Awesome! Thanks, sis! I owe you one!”

Cam bent down and kissed me on the cheek. Rosemarie followed suit, kissing my other cheek as if we’d been friends for ten years, not ten minutes. They were gone in a matter of seconds, and I was left alone with Mick. Well, somewhat alone, aside from the couple making out on the loveseat in the corner of the room.

“You’re okay with this?”

I turned my attention back to Mick and nodded. Whatever. What could it hurt? He seemed harmless enough.

He smiled, exposing his slightly crooked canines again. “Okay. So, since you apparently hate pool…”

“I’m sorry. I should have said something. But you didn’t want to dance, so I just went along with it.”

“Don’t apologize. But I’m not going to force you to play anymore, that’s for sure. And it explains why you’re not very good.” He winked with his insult, but I lacked a rebuttal.

“Ready to bail?” He walked around the pool table and stopped just a foot or so away from me. “We can head down south and stop somewhere on the way for food, or…we can keep playing this game you’re so good at.”

Ha. Ha. I glanced down at my watch. Just before midnight. Our dining choices were limited at best.

“Food sounds good.”

“It’s a date.”

“It’s a quick bite to eat,” I clarified for him.

He inclined his head. I could imagine him saying touché in his mind.

We replaced our pool cues on the rack and headed out toward the main area of the warehouse. Mick rested his hand on my lower back, and I was barely able to focus on walking with him touching me. I’d kill my brother for leaving me.

Surprisingly, the warehouse was even more packed than it had been when we arrived. The air sat thickly with sweat and that unique fog machine smell. Colorful lights bounced off the walls, perfectly moving to each beat of the music. People danced, glow sticks in their hands or glowing brightly around their necks. One girl sucked on a bedazzled pacifier.

I raised my eyebrow as we passed. I was glad to leave—these late-night partiers weren’t really my style. I was out of place in my tight-fitting clothes and black wedges.

I leaned toward Mick to comment, but he beat me to the punch.

“Seems we forgot our rave clothes.”

I giggled, then allowed him to take my hand. As he led me to the door, I stared at our hands intertwined, wondering why the connection felt so good. Was I really so lonely?

Get a grip, Holland! Not on the market, remember?

Jenna waved at us as we exited. I swear I caught her giving Mick a thumbs up as I turned away. I smiled to myself; maybe they really did like me and weren’t just marveling at the freak show.

Once outside, I led Mick to my car, our hands still linked between us. A warning signal went off in my head somewhere, but I ignored it. As we reached my little red car, I was tempted to explain why I loved Penny so much, but then realized it didn’t matter if Mick saw her for the character she was. He’d only be riding in her this one time.

“What year is this?” he asked, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“She was born in 1992.”

Mick laughed. “Was she now?”

“Yes. Her name is Penny. Yes, she’s old. Yes, she knows it and so do I, and no, I don’t care.”

Mick put his hands up in surrender. “Hey now. I wasn’t asking you because I was ragging on Penny. My mom had a thing for Volkswagens. She would have loved this car.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I get a little defensive. My brother is constantly teasing me about her.”

“That’s what brothers are supposed to do.”

I almost asked him if his mom was dead, since he’d said she would have loved this car, but then I remembered it didn’t matter. We were getting a quick bite to eat, then he was driving me home, and that was that.

I couldn’t date Mick—I couldn’t date anyone. After what happened with Rod and Leslie, I’d never trust guys again, but worse than that…I couldn’t trust myself. Whatever was happening to me, I couldn’t involve someone else until I knew what it was.

So, regardless of how hot Mick was, or how safe I felt around him, I wouldn’t see him again after this.

I’m not on the market.

I’m not dating material.

Holland

After demolishing a Moons Over My Hammy and a chocolate shake at Denny’s—the only place open at this hour—I realized I was completely at ease around Mick. More so than I’d been around anyone but Cam for a while. Although, the way Mick made me feel in other ways was anything but what one feels for their brother.

The awareness of these facts made my chest tight.

He wouldn’t stop staring at me. The attention wasn’t creepy, but definitely intense. No one had bothered to barely even give me a second glance since the fire, and now I sat across from someone who couldn’t take his eyes off me.

Had I been on the market, I would have allowed myself to be flattered.

We were the only people at Denny’s, and the waitress had left us alone for a while. Mick sipped on his coffee, and I finished my water. We’d have to leave soon, since my curfew was two-thirty on the weekends, but I was enjoying being out.

“So…” Mick hesitated, holding my gaze.

Here it comes. It didn’t take long in most cases, and since Mick’s sister went to my school, he’d probably already heard the rumors. I took a deep breath, and braced myself for the inevitable.

“How do you deal with all those morons at your school?”

Huh. That hadn’t been what I expected.

Did you do it? Why did you do it? How did you do it? Those were the questions I was used to. Mick caught me a bit off guard.

“Um,” I stammered, trying to answer his question when it hadn’t been the question I’d been prepared to answer. “I guess I don’t really. I pretty much keep to myself. I bit your sister’s head off when she first tried to talk to me.”

“Yeah, she kinda mentioned that. But you’ll learn about Ro—she’s nothing if not persistent.”

He laughed and stretched back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head. His black thermal shirt pulled up a bit, and I caught myself admiring the inch of skin above his belt buckle. I quickly brought my eyes back to his and caught a smirk pulling up at his lips. Fantastic. That was twice he’d caught me checking him out now.

“She told me the stories about you, as I’m sure you guessed, and obviously I remember the news and everything.” He shook his head. “But seriously, I’m a bit perplexed that you have to deal with it even though no one actually died, and they couldn’t prove you did anything.”

I shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s high school for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t miss it. But, hey, at least you’re almost out. What are you doing after you graduate?”

“I—well—I don’t really have a plan.”

Anymore. I didn’t have a plan anymore. “I imagine Rod and Leslie are still headed off to ASU together in the fall, but I’ll no longer be completing that trifecta of doom.”

I’d never considered much else because that had been our plan for as long as I could remember. Graduate high school, move to Tempe, go to ASU. The three of us had it all figured out. Or so I’d thought.

“Wow. So, Rod and Leslie, those are the people you supposedly killed?”

Shoot. How much of that had I voiced out loud? Way to go, Holland. I cleared my throat. Might as well talk to him. He probably already knew everything anyway, so what could it hurt?

“Yeah. Leslie was my best friend. Rod was my boyfriend. We’d all been best friends since we were in diapers, basically, but sometime in middle school…well, Rod and I became more.”

I took a breath, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach that always accompanied this story. I wished I could change it, but the ending was always the same.

“So, just barely into our senior year—what should have been the most important and memorable year of our lives thus far—after the three of us have been best friends our entire lives, and Rod and I had been together for almost five years, something changed.”

“He cheated on you. With her, right?”

I hated that word. Cheated. He didn’t cheat on me. This wasn’t a pop quiz during third period Biology. He betrayed me. It could have been anyone else. He could have hooked up with one of the other cheerleaders on the squad. Or even Sana, Cam’s ex-girlfriend. But no. He chose the one person in the world—aside from him—who I trusted more than anyone.

He didn’t cheat on me.

He destroyed me.

“Yeah, he cheated. But it’s not like they had a quick hook-up one night at a party after a few too many Jell-O shots. They fell in love behind my back. Or, more likely right in front of my face. Two days before homecoming, he broke up with me. No reason, no explanation, just done. The friendship, the relationship, everything. Done. He walked away from me like we hadn’t been together in one shape or form for our entire lives.”

I inhaled a deep breath, realizing I’d forgotten to breathe while telling my story.

“Hey, Holland, we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. Really. It’s cool.”

“No. You’re going to hear about it—already have, right?—so I might as well tell you the truth. I called Leslie to cry to her, to lean on my best friend for support, and I got nothing. She’d gone as far as taking her house phone off the hook, and turning off her cell phone. She knew. She had firsthand knowledge that he’d broken up with me—probably even helped him plan it—and then ignored me when I called her for help.” I laughed…a humorless sound. “You know what’s better? I didn’t know it at the time, that she was avoiding me, so I worried. I stopped thinking about my broken heart and started thinking something had happened to my best friend.” I shook my head and laughed another bitter laugh. “Can you imagine? Here she is, going behind my back with my boyfriend and then ignoring me when I call her for help, and I’m worried about her. C’est le bazar.”

Mick tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Oh, sorry. I meant what a mess.”

“Parles-tu français?”

“Oui. J’aime la France.”

Mick’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “You’ve been to France?”

“No,” I said, looking away from him. “But I will go. Someday.”

“I’d love to go as well. My family is originally from Rouen.”

“Seriously? You’re from France?”

“No, my family is from France. My parents met in Paris. I was born here.”

“Wow. What a romantic place to meet.”

“You’d love it there.”

He held my gaze for a few seconds longer than I liked, unspoken promises in his green eyes, so I continued my story to change the subject. I didn’t want him making promises.

I didn’t want to believe them.

“So, anyway, I’d gone from my entire world revolving around these two people—my past and my future consumed by them…to having no one.”

My shoulders fell, from both relief and sadness. I’d shared the story out loud—in its entirety—only once before, and that was forced during an appointment with a court-ordered psychiatrist after my incident.

Mick opened his mouth to speak, so I stopped him by raising my hand. If I paused for too long, I’d lose my nerve.

“When Rod’s family’s beach house caught on fire, all eyes were on me.”

Mick’s breath caught, barely loud enough for me to hear, and his arms came down from behind his head, hands falling into his lap. I’d expected him to recoil when I hit this part, so the action, however subtle, didn’t surprise me.

“Regardless of the fact that no one could prove that I’d done it, or that I’d even been anywhere near the beach house, word spread fast.”

“So why did they think you’d killed them?”

“Oh, that’s the best part. That’s actually how I found out Leslie and Rod were together. They’d been away for the weekend, and told their parents they would be at the beach house. They went somewhere in L.A. instead. A little romantic weekend in Hollywood or something stupid. Whatever. It doesn’t matter where they were or what they were doing. The fact of the matter is that someone burned down the beach house, while they were supposedly staying there. So the whole world thinks they were inside, and now they’re gone, and I start getting accused of killing my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend in a jealous rage.”

I paused to take a breath.

Mick’s gaze held mine expectantly.

“Jealous rage,” I whispered again, shaking my head. “And the joke’s on me, right? I didn’t even know he had a new girlfriend. Turns out, his new girlfriend was Leslie. My best friend! So, after the news of the fire comes out, and the rumors start to fly, people begin looking at me in a new light. Suspicion. Fear. Anger. Even the teachers saw me differently. I hated it. It didn’t matter that Rod and Leslie were both alive and accounted for—the rumors were too big to squash. Everyone thought I was a killer, or at the very least, an attempted killer. And anyone who didn’t think that of me, well, they looked at me with pity. Poor pathetic Holland Briggs.

“I felt completely alone, and—I—I slipped into this really dark place.” I paused as the scars on my wrists seemed to throb their forever reminders. I gauged Mick’s reaction before continuing. “I became really depressed. I started thinking I should die. Like, that would be easier, you know? I mean, why would I want to go on if my entire life was a sham? If my best friends were never really my best friends? Who wants to live in that kind of place? Like, had they ever even loved me?”

My wrist twitched. I stopped playing with my heart ring to rub my thumb over one of the scars.

“Holland, I’m sure they—”

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t try to tell me they cared about me. I know they did, once upon a time. I get it. Hell, Leslie apologizes to me every single day. But I didn’t know it then. I didn’t think anyone had ever really loved me because if the two people I’d trusted more than my own parents could betray me like that, then had anything ever been real?”

The telltale signs of tears stung behind my eyes, so I paused to take another breath. No need to cry. No need to cry. I squared my shoulders.

No. Need. To. Cry.

Mick leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. He reached for me, slowly, hesitantly, and I pulled my hands into my lap.

“So? Are you going to ask me, or what?” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for the question I knew was coming.

“Ask you what?”

I scoffed. “Are you serious? Ask me if I did it, obviously.”

“I hate to break it to you, since clearly you want me to ask, but if I thought you were the kind of girl that goes around burning houses to the ground, I wouldn’t have taken you out on this fancy date.” He spread his arms out, indicating the less than fancy digs.

“This isn’t a date.” My palms began sweating. I wiped them with the shredded napkin in my lap.

“Regardless. I know you didn’t do it.”

Something about the conviction in that statement made my shoulders tense up. There were times I still wondered if my own family felt that sure of my innocence. How could this total stranger just waltz into my life and have so much faith in me?

“Excuse me.” I stood, then headed for the bathroom.

After making sure I was alone—though I hadn’t needed to check since we were still the only patrons in Denny’s—I allowed a few tears to fall. How had he gotten me to talk about all of this? How had he made me feel so at ease? No one made me feel at ease but Cam.

The thickening feeling in my chest, that I experienced more and more frequently lately, began growing. The tension and dull ache centered on my lungs. I closed my eyes and took a breath, wondering if this was it. If I would finally see what waited for me, what made me feel more than normal, more than just myself…like more than I resided inside my own body.

I leaned forward, my fingers gripping the sink, and peered into the mirror. I stared into my blue eyes.

I know you’re in there.

I felt it moving around beneath the surface. The façade of my pretty face and long blonde hair covered the presence well. But I knew. Something waited. Lurking. Counting down the days. My skin was oil floating on top of water. Something was coming.

I was changing.

I closed my eyes again and inhaled, bracing myself to leave the restroom, to face him again. He’d called this a date. Twice!

And he believed in me. Why? He didn’t even know me.

I needed to get home, and then I’d nicely tell him I couldn’t see him again.

It was as simple as that.

Holland

When the phone rang Sunday afternoon, I knew who waited on the other end before I even picked up. Something tugged at my heart, pushing me to answer the call, something I couldn’t ignore, even if my mind told me to ignore it.

I shook my head, irritated that my brother obviously gave my number out.

I picked up the phone, ignoring the odd feeling that tugged at my chest. That would have to be addressed at some point, but so would the ever-evolving grayness in my eyes, the feeling of spinning out of control that I often fought, and frankly, I hadn’t a clue how to go about analyzing any of it.

“Hello?” I crossed my fingers, hoping that I’d waited long enough to answer, and that by the sixth ring, the caller had given up.

“Hello. May I speak with Holland, please?”

No such luck. Ugh. Just as polite on the phone as he was in person.

“This is she.”

“Hey Holland, this is Mick Stevenson—Rosemarie’s brother?”

“Are you asking me if you’re Rosemarie’s brother?” I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Wow. Ah, no. I’m definitely Ro’s brother. No doubt about that.”

I took a seat on the chaise lounge in the living room, waiting for Mick to continue.

“I hope you don’t mind, but your brother gave my sister your number, and—”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that.”

“Do you mind?”

Yes. “No.”

“So, well, I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re pretty amazing, and I—”

“Let me stop you there, Mick. I appreciate the compliment, I do, but I have to be honest with you: I’m not on the market.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Hmm. You’re celibate?”

“Oh my God! Um, no. But that’s not your business!” I giggled again, in spite of myself.

“You hate men?”

“No!” I stretched my legs out and leaned back into the seat, surprised as my body relaxed. My smile grew. Damn. I’d have to hang up soon. “I don’t hate men, Mick, but thanks for asking. I’m not…looking for a boyfriend, okay?”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his retort. I settled further into the chaise cushions, cursing myself for not hanging up, and knowing I wouldn’t be saying goodbye to Mick any time soon.

I threw my arm across my eyes.

I was screwed.

Mick

Ro spent most of Saturday with Holland’s brother, fueling my irritation. How could she so easily start something with Cameron when Holland was the one in trouble, the one who needed us? I needed Ro’s help in this! I’d paced most of the afternoon, probably wearing a path in the carpet, and working off of less than three hours of sleep. I’d done nothing but toss and turn after the cab dropped me off around three this morning, so the exhaustion wasn’t helping.

When Ro walked in the door late Saturday night, I just about flew out of my desk chair to meet her.

“Whoa! What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Where have you been?”

She cowered slightly, and I backed up a step. I sucked in a deep breath. I wasn’t really mad at my sister; I was mad that I’d somehow scared Holland off last night, or that my plan was ruined. I’d spent years creating the steps, the vision of how I would save her…

After she came out of the bathroom at Denny’s, she wouldn’t meet my eyes, and she didn’t say more than a few words to me on the way home—just enough to give me directions to her house, and a curt goodnight. While I waited for a cab, I debated knocking on her door. Or finding her window and flinging pebbles at it. Or…well, had it been earlier, I would have just knocked and asked her what I’d done to upset her.

I couldn’t figure out what I’d done to make her shut down like that. All because I’d called it a date? Could that really be the issue? Or was it that I told her I believed she didn’t burn down her ex’s home?

“I was out with Cam, Mick. I told you that. Didn’t you see my note?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Wait a minute,” Ro said as she slung her backpack down by the front door and plopped on the couch. “What are you mad about? That I’m hanging out with him? He’s really cool, Mick.”

“Yes. No. I mean, yes. Ah!” I sat down across from her in the old brown Lazy-Boy and ran my hands over my face. My blood ran hot in my veins. I inhaled a deep breath, then brought my hands to my lap, and my gaze to my sister. “No, Ro. I’m not mad that you’re hanging out with him. I mean, of course I want you to be happy, kid. This isn’t a protective older brother thing, honestly. It’s just…” I ran my hand over my head, trying to make sense of my chaotic thoughts. The plan had to work. Holland’s life depended on it. “I’m just so worried. I don’t have a lot of time, and Holland seems to hate me—”

“Oh, please. Let me stop you there. There’s no way she hates you. I saw the way she watched you last night. And apparently she hates pool—like, we’re way past the normal hatred of a sport—so the fact that she played pool with you says a lot. Girls don’t just do that.”

“Well, I may have scared her off.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. I told her I didn’t think she’d tried to kill her ex.”

“So? That seems like a good thing, right? What else?”

“I called it a date.”

“Oh, geez, Mick. Under normal circumstances, I’d tell you that’s ridiculous, but after talking to Cam about her…I don’t know, she seems pretty anti-dating. I guess that Rod guy really messed her up.”

“There’s that, and the fact that she probably has no idea what’s happening to her right now, only that something is.” I rubbed my hands down my face. “So, tell me—from a chick’s point of view—how do I get her to go on another date with me, if she refuses to date?”

“That’s easy. I know exactly what to say to get into her head.”

“Get into her head? Don’t scare her again like you did when you first approached her.”

“Mick!” Ro threw a hand to her chest in mock shock. “I’m hurt! How could you say something like that?” She laughed and continued. “I didn’t scare her; she just thought I was a freak. Which I am. Proudly.”

Ro’s smile was contagious, and before long, I grinned back at her.

“You’re my freak, and I love you.”

“I know. But do you want to love me even more? Because if you do, I might have seven digits for you. Seven special digits.”

Ro held out a folded piece of lined paper, which I assumed contained Holland’s phone number. I grabbed at the scrap of paper, but she pulled it out of my reach.

“Nope! Not so fast! How much do you love me? Is it like, pat-on-the-back love, or make-me-a-Mick’s-famous-grilled-cheese love?”

“I’ll make you a grilled cheese. All you have to do is ask.”

“Awesome. I’m starving!” She handed me the paper and flopped back down on the couch, stretching her legs out in front of her. She reached for the remote, turning the TV on and flipping through the guide.

“Doesn’t your new boyfriend feed you?”

“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend…yet…and second of all, we weren’t thinking about food, if you catch my drift.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I would have laughed if I were anyone but her older brother.

“Don’t make me have to pummel this guy, Ro. Keep little bits of info like that to yourself from now on, please.”

“Oh, fine, Grandpa. But it’s not like I’m a little kid, you know.”

“Uh-huh. So, what are you going to say to Holland?”

“Please. Like I would tell you? These are top secret girl secrets, Mick. Sorry.”

I shook my head, then set off to the kitchen to make Ro’s dinner, stuffing the paper in my back pocket. I didn’t want to call Holland too late tonight, so I’d wait until tomorrow. Maybe she’d be done hating me by then.

Walking up to a house I didn’t recognize, I was suddenly aware of being watched. The weight of unseen eyes weighed on me as I slunk through the bushes, but when I stopped to look around, I saw nothing.

I crept up to the house and stood as rigidly flat as I could, trying to blend into the shadows cast on the wall. I looked around again, but still, it seemed I was alone. The streets were empty, and all the windows in the neighboring homes were dark.

I tilted my head toward the moon, still high in the sky. No one would be out at this hour, and anyone inside should be sound asleep. Somehow, I knew there were only two people inside, and that the others were away, but I don’t know how this information came to me. I didn’t even know where I was, or who this house belonged to.

I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing the cool air to brush my face. I inhaled the salty ocean breeze and let it fill my lungs.

I used to love this place. But it didn’t feel like home any longer.

Wait, what? Where had that thought come from? How could I love this place when I didn’t know where I was?

Breathing in the all-too-familiar sea breeze, that same feeling of familiarity washed over me. Home. Safety. And then…the strongest of the feelings…betrayal. So strong it was almost palpable.

How a place so foreign to me, could bring on such intense emotions, I had no idea.

I glanced down and picked up a bulky gasoline container by my feet. My hands moved of their own accord, opening the container and tilting it over, allowing the gasoline to flow from inside.

I panicked, but I wasn’t able to stop my body from performing these actions.

A wave of calmness hit me, soothing me momentarily, but then I pushed past it, my panic reasserting itself in the forefront of my mind. This was all wrong. Where was I? What was I doing there?

I made my way around the entire house, up onto a wooden porch that wrapped from the front of the house to the back, all the while pouring out a steady flow of gasoline.

I heard the waves crashing on the shore; the rhythmic sounds masking my footsteps and the sound of the flammable liquid hitting the deck.

When I ran out of gasoline, I returned to my first spot and obtained a second large container, resuming where I’d left off.

All the while, I commanded myself to stop, but was unable to do so.

When I was finished, I stuffed the empty gasoline containers into an opening under the patio deck in the back. I have no idea how I knew it was there, yet I’d walked straight to it.

Disoriented and out of place, not recognizing a single object of my surroundings, I was illogically calm and at home. Part of me was soothed by the unmistakable sense of belonging I found here.

I took one last look at the home I’d never seen before, but somehow knew, and pulled a lighter from my pocket. After retrieving the lighter, I pulled a picture out of my pocket. The photograph was worn, and showed the telltale signs of having been bent up and crumpled more than once, but I pulled it open to take one final glance. I recognized the blonde girl in the middle, but not the pretty redhead to her left, or the jock on her right. Deep down, something inside me broke at the sight of the three of them together. Familiar and sacred—this threesome—and without a doubt, the hallowed bond had been broken beyond repair.

Next, I pulled a letter from the same pocket and crumpled it up into a long messy torch. I lit the end, noticing the words Best Friends Forever as the fire began eating the paper in my fingers.

I threw the burning paper and the picture into the gasoline and watched as it very slowly ignited into a massive wall of flames. They licked and lapped at the side of the house as waves would caress a boat in the sea. The heat came quickly, my face warming at the sight of it. I closed my eyes.

“Holland! Stop!”

I turned at the sound of the voice—my voice—and faced what looked like me, but couldn’t be me. Shaved head, green eyes—everything matched, but if I was here, how was I also standing just a few feet away and calling Holland’s name?

“Holland,” my mirror image asked, “What have you done?”

He—my double—pointed toward my hands. I followed his gaze, and saw hands that didn’t belong to me. I hadn’t noticed them before.

They were not my hands. They were feminine hands, with shiny pink nails and a raised heart ring on one finger.

“Shit!”

I sat straight up in bed, sweat binding my t-shirt to my skin. I ripped the shirt off, trying to make sense of what happened.

I’d watched her—no, I’d been her—as she lit her ex-boyfriend’s beach house on fire. That would explain the comfort and sense of home I’d felt there, when I’d never seen the place before in my life. But wait. I had seen it. In photos. But still, those were Holland’s feelings, not mine. She felt at home there. She was completely calm while setting fire to a building.

She’d thought—no, she’d known—two people were inside.

Two people.

Her ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend.

I jumped out of bed and powered up my laptop. I didn’t have far to search—the beach house fire was still pretty popular as far as news stories go. They hadn’t caught the person who’d started the inferno, but they knew it was arson.

All fingers pointed to Holland.

I clicked on a photo of a side by side, the beach house as it originally stood, next to an image of the charred remains—a blackened footprint on an otherwise pristine beachfront row of homes.

She’d done it. I knew that going into this, regardless of how much I wanted to pretend otherwise. I knew the way the curse would show itself. I knew the darkness inside Holland would act out, unbeknownst to her, hidden crimes she’d never remember committing.

But I hadn’t lied when I told her I knew she didn’t do it. That part was true. She didn’t do it. That Holland wasn’t the real Holland. I would never blame her for acts of violence beyond her control. That’s not what the men in my family did.

Our shared dream disturbed me. Even more so than the not really needed, but nonetheless upsetting confirmation that Holland had indeed committed that crime. If I’d just seen Holland’s misdeeds in my sleep, and we’d begun sharing dreams, I was running out of time. She’d change soon. The darkness would take her over, little by little, until her crimes escalated further.

Way before schedule.

Holland

Monday mornings suck. It’s a universal truth, and who was I to challenge it? I walked as if dazed, went to all my classes, dealt with the right-on-schedule groveling attack from Leslie, the ever-present complete lack of acknowledgement from Rod, and waited for Cam by the car after school.

I couldn’t stop focusing on the conversation I’d had with Mick yesterday. It wasn’t the actual conversation that had my mind spinning—that had been as bland as vanilla pudding—it was the fact that a conversation had been had at all.

Because I hadn’t been able to get off the phone with him.

What was wrong with me?

On top of that, I was floored by the fact that my completely innocent, bland conversation could last over two hours. I mean, what was I doing talking to Mick for two hours anyway? And about nothing! I wasn’t supposed to talk to him at all, let alone ramble on about nothing for two hours straight, like some dreamy-eyed school girl.

Which I was.

Dammit.

I hadn’t seen Rosemarie, but I was going to strangle her for giving her brother my number without my permission. Cam was also missing in action all day, and I was going to throttle him for giving my number to her in the first place.

“There you are!” My brother’s voice boomed through the lot. “You’ve been avoiding me, Holl!”

Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been them who were missing in action today.

I turned around to see Cam and Rosemarie walking to the car, and had to smile at how ridiculous they looked together. My brother was all water polo’d out, wearing our school’s black and gold and representing his team proudly, and Rosemarie was…well, Rosemarie was Rosemarie. Her onyx hair was pulled into half a faux-hawk, and once again, all she lacked were sparkly wings. They were definitely a case of opposites attract.

“I haven’t been avoiding you. I just didn’t see you all day.”

“Really? Huh. So that’s why you left without giving me a ride this morning? That’s why you ate God-knows-where instead of finding me at lunch today?”

“No. I mean, I had studying to do, and needed to stop and get gas, and—”

“Right.” Cam leaned back against the door of the Cabriolet and looked at me sideways, that broad smile of his making my anger difficult to hold on to. “You’re pissed because I gave someone your phone number. Just admit it.”

“No! I’m not. I just…” I just don’t want to have this conversation in front of the person you gave my number to. “I guess I just—”

Rosemarie’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. “Oh my God! You’re upset that I gave your number to Mick! I am so sorry. I thought you two hit it off. He was talking about you all weekend and I…I mean, to get him to shut up…I’m so sorry. I just…wait a minute. Didn’t you like him?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. No.”

He was talking about me all weekend?

“Oh. That sucks. I guess I just thought—”

“You thought right, Rosie. She likes him. Check out that silly expression on her face. She’s still focused on the fact you just said Mick was thinking about her all weekend.” My brother laughed and punched my arm.

“Ouch! Dick! Knock it off. And no, I was absolutely not thinking about that. And I’m sorry, Rosemarie. I’m just not interested in your brother that way. Please don’t encourage him.”

I turned and hopped into the car. Please don’t encourage him? Who talks like that?

“You can get a ride home with her, right, Cam?”

I didn’t wait for a response. I shut my car door and turned the key in the ignition, quickly pulling out of the parking space without even letting poor Penny warm up.

He talked about me all weekend?

Well, that just wasn’t going to work.

I skipped going home after school and decided to visit my mom instead. Our paths hadn’t crossed much lately, and I missed her. I drove to her work—well, if volunteering at the old folk’s home could be considered work. I headed down Crown Valley Parkway and pulled into the lot. Maybe I’d hit the mall after this and get a pretzel or something. I didn’t want to go home and chance the phone ringing.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, as I made my way into the activities hall.

Mom was hunched over a couple of ladies, guiding them in today’s art project. She was the volunteer arts and crafts coordinator, and had been forever. It appeared to be some sort of clay formation-thingy today. Used to be she’d test them all out on me, her makeshift Project Test Dummy, but now that I was older and had an enormous workload of homework and reports, she didn’t subject me to arts and crafts torture anymore.

“Hollie! What a surprise!”

Mom wiped her hands on the clay and paint covered apron that protected her perfectly tailored navy blue slacks and ivory blouse, then came around the table to embrace me. I inhaled the familiar smell of Estee Lauder Pleasures and Sebastian hair spray. She’d used both products religiously for as long as I could remember. The combination was her smell.

“So, what’s up? Is everything okay? Did you get in a fight with Dad or Cam?”

“No, no, everything’s fine.”

Mom squinted, and I knew she didn’t believe me. Well, I’d never been a very good liar.

“Is this about the boy who called yesterday?”

Though I’d hardly call Mick a boy, I didn’t know how to answer. I definitely did not want to talk about it. But then, was that necessarily true? Why had I come here if I didn’t want my mom to pry? I knew she’d pry. Might as well get it over with, then, since I’d clearly come here for this reason and this reason only.

“Ugh. Yes. There’s a boy.”

“I knew it! Tell me all about him!”

“What’s this I hear about a boy? My Hollandaise only has eyes for me, don’t you, honey?”

Mr. Greenburg wheeled his chair over to us and reached for my hand, smiling the smile only I could get out of him. His presence always carried a sense of calm, and my shoulders relaxed now that he was near.

Mr. Greenburg was like a Grandpa to me. I’d known him most of my life, or at least as far back as I could remember. He’d been my dad’s associate first—a long time ago, and before I was born—then eventually retired, staying in touch with my family as our designated ‘Grandpa.’ Eventually, he ended up here. I always thought he just wanted to be close to my mom. Secretly, I think she reminded him of the daughter he never had, or something.

“That’s true, Mr. Greenburg. I only have eyes for you.”

“That’s right Hollandaise. You save that dance for me like we discussed, you hear?”

I nodded and let him kiss my hand. He’d been saying the wheelchair was only temporary for the past five or so years. But if he ever did get up, I’d dance with him all night long if that’s what he wanted.

“Oh, Hank, you know Holland is too young for you. Have you spoken with that sweet Mrs. Smith in room seven yet? I think she’d love a little companionship. Don’t you, Hollie?”

I nodded assent, but when Mom’s back was turned, I shook my head at the thought of Mrs. Smith as a prospect for Mr. Greenburg. He scowled at me, following my train of thoughts, so I stuck my tongue out and crossed my eyes, then made a gagging motion, pointing my finger into my open mouth.

“Careful, dear, your face may freeze like that,” he whispered.

We both laughed at the statement—one he’d been telling me since I was a little girl.

“Now, tell me about this boy!” my mom squealed. “What’s he like? Where’d you meet him? Is he from school?”

Oh geez. This was a huge mistake. All eyes were on me. The crafting halted to a standstill.

I had the floor.

“Oh, um…well, you know how Cam and I went to that party Friday night?”

“Yeah, at your friend’s house, right?”

She didn’t need to know I’d actually been at a warehouse. I wasn’t a total liar.

“Yeah, well, it’s her brother.”

“Oh! That’s great! What grade is he in?”

“He’s not.” I cringed.

“He’s a dropout? Holland, you know better than—”

“No, no Mom, he’s not a dropout. He’s already graduated.”

“Oh! That’s no big deal. Where does he go to college?” she asked, as she went back to the table and helped the crafters get back on task.

“Well, he works right now. He’s taking some time off before he goes to school.” I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “He’s…um…he’s not sure what he wants to do yet.”

I’m not sure what he wants to do yet. I added that to the list of things I didn’t really know about him…yet.

“Well, as long as he doesn’t take too much time off, Holl. So, do you like him?”

“That’s the problem.”

My mom stopped what she was doing and looked up at me, her face no longer lit up. “Oh honey. You have to move on.” She walked over to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “Not everyone is going to hurt you like they did, Hollie. It’s okay to let another guy in, you know?”

“It’s only been four months, Mom. I don’t think I’m even close to ready. It wouldn’t be fair. To him or to me. I shouldn’t have even talked to him. This is stupid.”

“No, baby, listen to me. I know it’s only been four months, but I also know you. We wouldn’t be talking about this if it were stupid. How does he make you feel?”

She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back to arm’s length to look at me. I got that heavy feeling in my chest, that thickness in my lungs, and wondered if she could see it inside me. I’d avoided being this close with her, afraid she’d see the difference in my eyes. As she analyzed me, I tried to think of a reason to run out of the room, but nothing came to me. I looked down in order to avoid her eyes, hoping she’d think the uncomfortable topic of conversation made me glance away.

“Honey? How does he make you feel?”

“Good. Important. Like I exist again.”

“There you go. You don’t have to commit to marrying this guy, baby, but you can give yourself a break. If it feels good to be around him, then let yourself enjoy that. It’s been too long. It’s been too dark for you, Holland. It’s okay to see some light at the end of the tunnel, some reason to feel something.”

I smiled, trying to show her I was listening. Trying to agree with her even a small fraction. Mick did make me feel good. He made me want to talk and open up. He looked at me.

And I felt like he actually saw me.

“Did you change your eye makeup recently?”

I pulled out of her grasp and grabbed my purse, starting for the door.

“I gotta go, Mom! I should probably get started on my studying. I have a ton of work this week. See you at home soon?”

My mom’s eyes widened for only a slight second before she collected herself and smiled at me. “Sure thing! I think it’s Cam’s night to make dinner, right?”

Oh. Great. Hamburger Helper again. Cam’s specialty. Actually, it was all Cam could cook.

“Great. See you then. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Hollie.”

“See ya, Mr. Greenburg!” I said, as I turned into the lobby. He sat by the door, watching the world go by outside. Wishing he could join in, I imagined.

“Not if I see you first, Hollandaise!”

As I passed him, he grabbed my wrist, and I turned to face him. His grip was tight and slightly painful at first, but when his eyes met mine, he eased up. Leaning forward, his expression suddenly somber, Mr. Greenburg nodded his head toward me, as if he wanted me to duck down for a secret. So I did.

“Tell me about this boy, Hollandaise. What’s his name?”

“Mick,” I answered.

“Mick, what?”

“Stevenson. Mick Stevenson.”

“And his age…how old is he?”

I tilted my head, wondering why Mr. Greenburg cared what Mick’s last name was. Then I chastised myself for being suspicious of a harmless old man I’d known and loved for all of my life. “He’s twenty-two.”

“Do you think this boy—Mick—will be the one, Hollandaise?”

“The one?”

“Yes, you know, the one the story foretold.” He looked around as if checking to see that the coast was clear. “Don’t want Grace to hear this, though I don’t know how your Mama can’t see it for herself…but you know, the one to break the spell.”

Briefly startled, I opened my mouth to question him, then realized he referred to the many stories he’d read to me as a child. He’d had a collection of original hardcover fairytales to rival any library’s. My shoulders dropped as I sighed, and my smile fell. I realized this was just a moment of dementia—confusing fairytales with reality. The coherent vibrancy I knew and loved in Mr. Greenburg was slowly slipping away before my eyes. I’d seen it plenty of times before, having grown up coming to see my mom here, but something about seeing Mr. Greenburg losing his sanity made me feel sadder than when any of the others had slipped into dementia.

“Yeah, Mr. Greenburg, maybe this will be the one.”

“Good girl, Hollie. Give the boy a chance. Maybe the darkness will leave your eyes.”

“What?” I snapped.

I dropped his hand as if it had shocked me. When in truth, his words were responsible for rocking me to my core.

My eyes. He could see it.

“Mr. Greenburg, I…I don’t…”

“Shhh, Hollandaise. I’ve known for a long time. I’ve seen it coming. But there’s still hope. Now, go be a good girl and get your schoolwork done before the old witch finds you and locks you away in a tower. Come visit me again soon, okay, dear?”

I nodded, then turned and headed to my car, unable to form words in my suddenly dry mouth. He’d been lucid when he mentioned my eyes, I could have sworn he had. But then he so quickly flipped the switch and began speaking of witches and fairytales again.

I climbed into Penny, dazed from the interaction with Mr. Greenburg.

The darkness in my eyes. He saw it.

If it feels good to be around him, then let yourself enjoy that.

My mom’s words floated through my mind, mixing with the haunting words I’d just heard from Mr. Greenburg. Do you think this boy will be the one? What did Mr. Greenburg even mean by that? Would it be possible for someone to fix what was coming? Could Mick somehow stop this change from happening to me?

Huh.

No. Oh my gosh, that is so stupid. Don’t listen to the ramblings of a crazy old man! Just last summer, one of the people in the senior care home had told me Michael Jackson was still alive and living in the room next to hers. Had I believed that nonsense? No. And I wouldn’t believe this nonsense either. Especially when followed up with a witch and tower reference, straight out of Rapunzel.

I was foolish to think anything could keep this from happening.

I was foolish to think I could see Mick again.

He wouldn’t want me if he knew the truth—that something foreign was moving around inside me.

Who would want to take on that kind of crazy?

Certainly not a nice guy like Mick.

I reached the house and noticed Rosemarie’s car parked out front. I held back a groan. I wasn’t really mad at them, but I still didn’t feel like being social. I slipped inside as quietly as I could, closing the door softly behind me, then stopped at the foot of the stairs. Cam’s voice carried from the kitchen, so I bolted up the stairs to my room.

Safely inside, I closed my bedroom door and sighed.

From my desk, my laptop sat open, the screen staring blankly at me, and I wondered…

Powering it up, I sat down in front of it and waited. After a few long seconds, I opened Google Chrome and stared at the search bar.

What the hell was I going to search for?

I typed: graying eyes.

I watched as random links appeared on my screen, all of them health related. The majority of the links would have me believe that my eyes were aging, though at nearly-eighteen, that didn’t seem right. Aging eyes didn’t explain the strange feelings inside me either, but I figured I’d set up an eye appointment to rule out arcus senilis anyway.

After that search did nothing but make me feel like I was losing my sight or dying, I typed: foreign feeling inside. I knew that was a mistake—even as I typed the words—but I clicked enter anyway. Ironically, more eye-related stuff came up in the search results.

Now I had some ailing eye health for old people and a corneal foreign body. I sighed. Google was getting me nowhere, and frankly, thank God I wasn’t a hypochondriac.

I turned off the computer and decided I’d try again tomorrow. Right after I called the family eye doctor…just in case.

Holland

I awoke in the dark hours of morning, long before sunrise, fully dressed, though not wearing what I’d worn yesterday. I scooted to sit on the edge of the bed, then reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on, illuminating the room with a soft amber glow. I quickly scanned my surroundings, hoping for a trigger of recollection, a spark that would bring forth the memory of getting dressed in the night.

My car keys weren’t in their usual spot on the key holder in the kitchen, the eyesore I’d created in Girl Scouts during the fourth grade. Instead, they sat atop my nightstand.

I swallowed the thickness in my throat, confusion clouding my mind and fear gripping my chest. I looked at the calendar hanging above my dresser, though I still couldn’t be sure of the date, so I powered up my computer. Yesterday was Monday. I knew that much. Today should be Tuesday, but why was I in clothes I had no recollection of putting on?

Had I missed a day? Had I sleepwalked?

The thought troubled me. I’d only ever woken up fully clothed once before. And that night had resulted in accusations and rumors that haunted me still.

A chunk of time I didn’t remember.

I kicked off my shoes, then stripped out of my jeans and sweatshirt, noticing that I still wore my pajama tank-top beneath my clothes, though the flannel pants rested in a pile on the floor at the foot of my bed. I chewed on my bottom lip as I stepped into them, then sat down at the computer and checked the date.

It was, in fact, Tuesday morning. Just as I’d expected. But that didn’t explain why I’d gone to sleep in pajamas last night, but awoke in street clothes today.

Tennis shoes and all.

“Oh my God. Is she wearing your letterman’s jacket?” Sana’s disgust dripped from each word. Flanked by two of my former friends, Witni and Aja, Sana stopped a few feet from us, a bright pink-tipped finger pointed accusingly at Rosemarie.

Never mind that Cam and Rosemarie were now the cutest—albeit, oddly-matched—couple at school; Sana Michaels wouldn’t tolerate their relationship a second longer.

Sana’s little attack proved that Wednesday afternoon was as far as I’d get to go without any dramatic incidents. I’d pushed the odd Tuesday morning episode from my mind, chalking it up to sleepwalking or the odd behavior of someone half asleep. I’d felt better about the strange conversation with Mr. Greenburg, and I’d managed to avoid any more surprise phone calls from Mick. Rosemarie wasn’t pressuring me to date her brother, so I considered the subject dropped. And aside from the occasional dream about Mick stretched out on my bed, his snug shirt pulled up just enough to expose the inch of hard stomach above his pants, I was doing just fine not thinking about him.

Yup.

“There is no way you can actually be seeing her, Cameron Briggs.”

Sana’s grating voice pulled me out of my musings.

“I mean, are you serious? That girl?” Sana spoke as if Rosemarie wasn’t standing right there. As if Cam’s arm wasn’t currently draped over that girl’s shoulders, right in front of Sana’s scowling face.

“Well, Sana,” Cam began. “I am seeing Rosemarie. As I’m sure you can tell.” He pulled Rosemarie closer to him and winked at her, then turned a hard stare back at Sana. “Now, I can understand why you’d be bitter, and you don’t have to be okay with it—”

“Bitter? O-kay with it? It’s a disgrace, Cam! You are a disgrace! How can you go from dating me, to dating someone like her? It’s…it’s just not normal. What are you thinking?”

Witni whispered something into Sana’s ear, and a smile crept over her face in response.

“Oh my God, Wit, you’re right.” She turned back to Cam. “Are you trying to get back at me or something?”

Cam laughed, then glanced to where I stood behind him at the driver’s side of the car. I recognized that glint in his eyes—half amusement and half annoyance—and I wondered if he was about to flip Sana. Now that would be something I’d like to see.

“Yes, Sana, I’m trying to get back at you. I’ve been so heartbroken since our break-up, and I figured the best way to move on with my life would be to date someone who wasn’t such a frigid, Ice Queen bitch. So, how am I doing? Is it working? Are you sufficiently gotten back at?”

Sana’s mouth fell open before she promptly slammed it shut.

“Frigid bitch? Ice queen? How dare you, Cameron Briggs? You have some nerve. You’re lucky I dated you in the first place. I shouldn’t have even given you the time of day.”

“Yeah. That’s how I remember it, too, Sana. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

Sana shook her head, inhaling deeply and looking about ready to explode. Her eyes widened, and her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in her cheek. Her two friends stood behind her with matching expressions on their faces.

I snorted, causing Sana and her drones to turn their attention to me.

“What? You have something to say to me, you little fire-starting psycho?”

Rosemarie stepped forward before I could retort, pushing Sana back so hard she almost fell on her ass.

“Oh my God!” Sana whined as she caught herself on the rearview mirror of a nearby car.

“I think that’s just about enough out of you,” Rosemarie said with a smile. “Now, run along before I show you what kind of psycho I can be.”

In a flash, Sana was in Rosemarie’s face, close enough to kiss her.

“You will regret touching me, freak.”

“Yeah. I bet. Run along now. You too, sheep. Baaaa.”

I looked over at Cam, who beamed like a little kid who’d just been given his first Red Rider BB gun, and I couldn’t help but smile along with him. These girls needed to get knocked down a couple rungs of the bitch ladder, and it seemed like our new friend, Rosemarie, would be the one to do it. God knows I hadn’t been able to, and up until just a few months ago, I’d been one of them.

Ugh. I shuddered at the thought. As lonely as life had been since the whole Rod and Leslie fall out, and as much as I hated being shunned, I’d really been shocked at the way all of my former friends behaved.

I’d been embarrassed.

“And you,” Sana brought her icy gaze back to me one more time before leaving. She pointed a pink-nailed finger at me, and her face scowled in anger. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did. I know you made Leslie sick.”

I couldn’t help the snort that escaped my mouth. I would have hoped she was kidding, if for even a second I thought Sana was capable of such humor.

“Sana,” Cam said, the edge to his voice a good indication he’d had enough. “Are you hearing yourself? You should probably just walk away now before you say something else that indicates your incredibly lacking intelligence.”

“Whatever, Cam. Like I care what you think anymore, anyway. Look at the losers you hang out with now. I came over here to try to help you, but it’s obvious you’re too far gone. But don’t think we don’t know why Leslie has been out sick since yesterday. Everyone knows. Your head case sister, here, has guilt written all over her face.” Sana spun her extended pointer finger, circling my face, emphasizing her words.

“Leave, Sana. Now,” Cam growled.

“Whatevs.” With a flip of her cropped black hair, Sana Michaels, followed by her two BFFs, turned on her heels and headed to her shiny silver Audi on the other side of the senior lot.

“Oh my God,” I said, my mouth hanging open in shock. “You guys. Do you really think…do they really think…there’s no way, right? They can’t possibly think I made someone sick. This is…”

“This is effing ridiculous is what it is, Holl. Let’s go home before all the stupidity in the air seeps into our brains. I’ll drive us home, okay?”

I nodded.

Cam opened his side of the car and waited for me to walk around Penny. I climbed into the back seat in a daze. Rosemarie hopped into the front, then Cam slid into the driver’s side.

People couldn’t really think I made Leslie sick, could they?

“I just . . .” I stammered, as I buckled my seatbelt. “I have no words.”

“That’s because there aren’t any words, Holl. Forget about it. You know these people are moronic. Forget about what Sana said.” He shook his head in disgust. “How did you ever let me date her, Holl?”

“She was one of my friends then, Cam. It didn’t seem strange at the time.”

After dropping Rosemarie off in the lower parking lot, Cam drove us home in silence. He was probably trying to figure out how he’d dated Sana for so long. I was trying to figure out how anyone could possibly think I made Leslie sick.

And wondering if I had.

Mick

Three days had passed since I’d talked to Holland. My surprise phone call on Sunday took her aback, but she hadn’t tried to hang up until dinner time, and even then, I felt she’d been reluctant to go. The funny thing was, I couldn’t even remember what we talked about, just that I listened to her voice all Sunday afternoon.

And I’d missed it ever since.

I was done waiting for her to call me. I knew she wouldn’t. I just knew. She was scared of me—scared of starting something new. I saw her trepidation in her actions, heard it in her voice.

But that glint in her eyes said differently. She’d dared me to break down her walls with that defiance, that spark. Or maybe that was just the pull to her that I felt. Either way, I wasn’t going to give up on her.

Regardless of our intertwined fates, or the fact that I was destined to know her, I wanted to know Holland Briggs. And I was going to.

It had to work. I’d planned for it.

Ro said she knew what to do to get Holland thinking about me. So either it hadn’t worked, or Holland was really good at not calling the person she was thinking about.

I had less restraint.

I checked the time—just after four o’clock—I assumed she’d probably be home by now.

Ah, hell. I stopped questioning myself and picked up my cell phone. What could it hurt?

She answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

I was momentarily relieved her parents or Cam didn’t answer, although that momentary relief was quickly replaced by stunned silence when I forgot the reason I called, and simultaneously lost all cognitive thought.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Yes, yes. Uh, sorry. It’s me.”

“Me?”

Smooth.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s Mick.”

She giggled.

I loved the sound.

“I know,” she said.

I still had no idea why I’d called. And like a little kid, my heartbeat jumped a bit when she said she knew it was me.

For Christ’s sake!

“So, what’s up? I really don’t have time to talk to you, Mick.”

I heard the smile in her voice, could picture it on her face with perfect clarity—slight and a bit of a smirk—and I imagined her biting her bottom lip on the left side. She was a walking contradiction—her eyes daring me to strip away her walls, while her absence indicated she wanted nothing to do with me. And now, just listening to her voice on the phone, I heard the invitation to get to know her, even when she tried to push me away.

How could I know this girl so well without even knowing her at all?

“Can you go out on school nights?”

“What?”

“Can you go out on school nights?” I slowly pronounced each word, even though I knew she heard me.

“Yes. I mean no. No, I can’t.”

“No? But Cam can? That seems like somewhat of a double standard, doesn’t it?”

“Cam? How do you…? Oh. He’s out with Rosemarie, isn’t he?”

“Possibly. So, do you want me to come talk to your parents about this unfair double-standard they’ve got going for you and your brother, or are you going to rethink your answer?”

She sighed.

I waited.

“Yes. I can go out on school nights. Is this a phone survey?”

“Yes. You’re doing well, and we’re almost finished. I just have one more question for you?”

“On the record?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine. Go.”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“No.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you in ten.”

I started to hang up, unwilling to give her the option of saying no, when she called my name.

“Mick! Wait!”

“You know, I do have other customers to call, in order to reach my survey quota.”

“I’ll meet you somewhere, okay? I’ll drive my own car.”

“Works for me. Buffalo Wild Wings on Crown Valley? In thirty minutes or so?”

“Fine.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and Holland?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to leave some of that enthusiasm at home, okay? I don’t want you to overwhelm me.”

She giggled again, and I hung up as I walked outside to my truck.

Exactly thirty minutes later, every guy Holland passed watched her as she approached me. And I watched her ignore every single one of them.

She kept her eyes on mine, that quiet defiance daring me once more. She could play coy as much as she wanted, but I knew this feeling was mutual. Call it fate, call it attraction, call it whatever. Something about Holland Briggs was pulling me to her, and I knew she felt it pulling her to me.

She stopped a few feet away from me, with her hands in the pockets of a bright red pea coat, not pulling them out to hug me or get any closer than she had to. That was fine. I could work with it. I let my gaze travel down the length of her body, noticing with pleasure the knee-high, heeled black boots.

Holland cleared her throat, and I brought my eyes back to hers. She smiled and shook her head at my blatant assessment of her.

I held the door open for her and followed her inside. We were seated immediately, and I watched her slip out of her pea coat, revealing a faded black V-neck t-shirt underneath. This girl could make a fucking t-shirt look sexy.

I waited for the waitress to take our drink orders before I reached across the table. I brushed my fingers across Holland’s pale knuckles, and then took her hand in mine.

“I’m glad your parents were willing to break the rules. Just this once.”

She smirked and cocked her head, her cheeks blushing ever so slightly. “You would have come to the house to talk to them, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?” she asked with another half-smile. She turned her hand over and wrapped her fingers around mine.

She was letting me in. Just a little bit, yes, but I’d take what I could get. She hadn’t pulled her hand away, and that spoke volumes.

“I needed to see you.”

“Huh.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and watched me. I wondered what she was thinking. I wondered if her thoughts mimicked my own.

All I could think about was kissing those perfect lips of hers.

After a few long seconds, she averted her eyes, looking back down at her menu, clearly not unaffected by the shared moment.

I wished there wasn’t a table between us right then, and I was tempted to reach across it, bring her chin up so she’d make eye contact again.

Instead, I spoke.

“So. How was school today?”

Holland made a face.

“That bad huh?”

“Well, let’s see. Cam’s ex-girlfriend, Sana, tried to convince him that dating your sister was inappropriate. She said it was nonsense and that Cam was a disgrace for dating someone like—” she paused, her eyes going wide as she watched me, “—I’m sorry. That’s probably not something I should tell Rosemarie’s big brother, is it?”

“Let me tell you something about my little sister,” I said, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. “She’s not going to let Cam’s ex-girlfriend upset her—no matter who she is. Oprah could slander Ro and it wouldn’t bring her down. She’s, I don’t know, strong like that, I guess. And yeah, it pisses me off that some girl tried to get under her skin, but that’s just the brother in me. Ro would be irritated if I spent even half a minute thinking on it. She can take care of herself.”

“Oh. Okay, well, she definitely took care of herself…and then some.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” She peered up at me through thick lashes, and I could almost see an inner battle raging in her head. Could she trust me? Did she want to? I held my breath, silently begging her to open up to me again.

“Okay. Remember how I told you about the rumors? How I…”

“Yes. I remember.”

“Apparently, Leslie—that’s my ex-best friend, Rod’s new girlfriend—she’s out sick right now.”

“I’m not following.”

“Sana turned on me when she was done attacking Rosemarie and Cam. She said I made Leslie sick. Said she knew I did it.”

Holy crap. Could it be true? Could something else have happened already? Something to bring Holland under fire again? My mind reeled, playing out every scenario possible, trying to remember every dream I’d had lately. I couldn’t recall sharing any more of Holland’s dreams, but could I have somehow forgotten one? Was it possible we weren’t completely connected in that sense, and I could only see some of her dreams? Maybe I’d seen her memory of starting the beach house fire, but I hadn’t seen her poisoning her ex-best friend because something was wrong with our connection…

No. This was a simple case of some asshole high school girl being just that. An asshole. I refused to believe anything more had happened.

“Mick?”

“Sorry. I was thinking about something for work.” Work? Idiot.

Holland’s face fell, and she slowly slid her hand out of mine, placing it back in her lap and returning her attention to her menu.

Way to go. Way to show her she can trust you with anything.

“So, what do you feel like eating?”

Holland shrugged, keeping her attention on the menu.

This was not a girl that would be won over very easily. I’d really blown it by telling her I was thinking about work while she’d been spilling her guts to me about something fragile and personal. Work. What work? Saving her was the only work that mattered.

I gave her a few minutes of silence, but after the server took our orders, I tried to reach her again.

“Hey, where’d you go?” I asked.

“I’m here,” she said, her gaze glued to a TV on one of the walls.

I turned my head to see what had piqued her interest. “You like hockey?”

She kept her gaze on the game. “Huh? No. I despise hockey. It’s such a brutal sport, and…I don’t like being cold, so…you know, ice…” She shook her head, then realized her blunder. Pink heat rushed to her cheeks, and she turned her head down to stare at her lap. “Sorry. I guess I…”

She trailed off again, and I didn’t push. I’d upset her. I could eat in silence if that’s what she wanted. At least I was eating with her.

Holland

Poisoned.

That’s how Leslie got sick.

She’d been poisoned.

No wonder they thought I’d done it. No one else had a reason to poison Leslie that was better than her scorned ex-best friend’s reason.

Revenge.

To everyone else, the motive made perfect sense.

The idea made me sick to my stomach.

“Are you okay, Holl?” Mom patted my shoulder as she passed me in the kitchen. “You know she’s going to be fine, right? The doctors said she just needs a little rest. They managed to get the poison out of her system before it did any damage—aside from making her throw up.”

“Violently.”

Mom sighed. “Yes, baby, but she’ll live.”

Mom was trying to make me feel better, but there wasn’t much hope. I was worried about my ex-best friend, but there was more to my dark mood. Aside from the incident Tuesday morning, a chunk of blackened doubt in my memory that haunted me with what ifs and maybes, I knew what school would be like today. I’d been through this before. I crumpled the newspaper up and threw it at the wall. Mom didn’t even flinch at my silly outburst. She grabbed the balled up newspaper, then tossed it in the trash.

“Do you want to stay home with me today?”

Yes. “No. I can’t hide every time something bad happens.”

“But I can take the day off, and we can just lounge around the house together. Maybe have a movie marathon?”

“No, Mom. That’s okay. It’s Friday—I know you have errands with the people at the home today. You can’t miss that.”

“I can find someone to cover for me, honey. Honestly.”

“No. Really. I’m fine, Mom.” For the hundredth time, I regretted my weakness and self-abusive actions last October. Half the time, I felt like an invalid or a toddler.

“Well, honey, at least it’s Friday, like you said. After the weekend, all of this will have blown over. And if Leslie is back in school on Monday, everyone will see that she’s fine and all eyes will be off you.”

Oh, if only that were true. People hadn’t forgotten last semester’s rumors that I’d tried to torch my ex-boyfriend’s house while he and Leslie were shacking up inside, so why would this situation be any different? I already knew Sana and her cohorts thought I’d done it; what was to say everyone else wouldn’t soon agree?

“You’re sure about tonight, right, honey? I really don’t want you to miss your annual dinner at Javier’s because of this. It will be the first time we don’t celebrate—”

“Yeah, Mom, I’m sure. I just don’t feel like celebrating anything—”

The knock on the door made me jump in my seat, cutting my words off before I could finish my sentence. Who would be at our house this early? My mom’s eyes widened ever so slightly, as if wondering the same thing. Without a word, she gave a curt nod, then left the kitchen table to go answer the door. I flashed back to last October, when reporters started digging for the inside scoop and camped out on our lawn for weeks. The image of our front yard littered with discarded Starbucks cups was still fresh in my mind.

It starts.

“Hi, can I help you?” My mom’s voice carried into the kitchen, guarded and wary, and I pictured her foot on the inside of the door, keeping it from opening any more than just the width she needed to peek through.

“Oh! Hi, yes, she’s here. Come on in.”

What? Who could it be?

My mom reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a wide grin pulling at her mouth.

“Holland, honey, there’s a boy here to see you. He says his name is Mick?”

I shot out of the chair like it had shocked me, and the wooden legs scraped against the floor. I reached back and steadied it just a second before it crashed to the hardwood and announced my panic.

“What?”

“Shh, lower your voice, honey. He’s just in the living room. Is that the one?”

I stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. All I could do was blink at her in response. What on Earth was Mick doing here? At my house!

“So it is him. He’s cute, Holl!”

“Shh! Mom! He’ll hear you!”

My mom laughed, as if that wouldn’t be the worst thing on earth, and then walked out of the room, leaving me with just my thundering heartbeat for company. Within seconds I heard her speaking with him once more, and before I could manage to even move, she’d brought him into the kitchen.

“I’ll be upstairs getting ready for work, Holland. It was nice to meet you, Mick.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, as well, Mrs. Briggs.”

“Oh, call me Grace, Mick.” Mom smiled wildly at me as she left the room.

I realized I should close my mouth, and did so without making any snapping sounds, thank God. After that, though, I didn’t know what else to do. Mick stood in my kitchen, looking downright beautiful, and I couldn’t even form coherent thoughts, let alone words.

Damn. And after I’d done such a good job blowing him off.

I scoffed, and a quick snort broke the silence. My eyes widened. Mortified. Mortified. Mortified.

“Hey.” He spoke first, kindly taking the pressure from me, even though his smirk was in response to my awesome snort.

“Hey,” I responded, trying to pull myself out of my stupor. “Um, what are you doing here?”

He crossed the room, closing the distance between us and almost made me gasp. Personal space! Personal space! My mind reeled from the closeness of him but I couldn’t bring myself to move. Lightly scented cologne tickled my nose, teasing my senses and tempting me to lean into him and inhale the musky fragrance. He wore a black beanie today, and a black jacket over an army green t-shirt and jeans. I couldn’t see what else he was wearing because my eyes wouldn’t leave his gaze.

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and it felt like all the cells in my body rushed to the spot his fingertips had brushed on my cheek.

Mayday! Mayday!

“Are you okay?”

My brow crinkled. Am I okay? Why would he ask that?

His eyebrows rose, and he waved a hand in front of my face.

Oh. Because I was staring at him like a crazy person. I shook my head. Un parfait imbécile. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?” I shrugged, trying to act like I hadn’t totally eyed him like a crazed fan.

“Ro told me about what happened to Leslie. I guess I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and backed up a foot or so. “So, since school is going to suck for you today, I was thinking…do you want to ditch and hang out?”

“With you?” I hadn’t meant for it to sound like I thought it was such a shocking idea, but the words were already out there.

He laughed. “Yeah, with me. Is that such a terrible idea?”

“No! No, I mean—” Gah! Control yourself! “—Yeah, actually, I do want to ditch today.” Was it really ditching if my mom already offered me the option of staying home? I’d go with no.

“Cool. So, since its February, do you want to maybe, um…put some warmer clothes on?”

Oh, God. I looked down at my pajamas—pajamas!—and couldn’t believe my luck. Why hadn’t my mom told me to go change before bringing him in here? Pink pajama pants with the Paul Frank monkey face all over them, and a matching tank top with a hole in it, did not a sexy impression make. I closed my eyes, counted to ten as I inhaled and exhaled a deep breath, then excused myself to go change.

“I’ll be here,” he said with a smirk, as he took a seat at the giant eight-person pub-table in the kitchen.

I ran into my mom on my way up the stairs.

“Mom! Why did you do that to me? Look at me!”

“Oh, honey, I love your monkey-jams. You’re adorable.” She patted my cheek, as if adorable would be good enough to placate me.

“This is not okay, Mom. Not okay.”

She laughed and headed down the stairs on her way to work. “Have fun today, honey! And don’t worry about school; I’ll call in your absence. And, trust me, by the time you go back on Monday, all will be forgotten.”

First of all, she’d obviously been eavesdropping on my conversation with Mick if she knew I was ditching. Second of all, I wished I could believe her that ditching one day of school and hiding out for the weekend would make all of the rumors go away. If anything, I was probably making them worse by not facing them head-on today.

I took a quick shower, all the while completely buzzing with excitement I wasn’t supposed to feel. I was going to spend the day with Mick. Any girl would be happy about that, but I wasn’t supposed to be dating. Not Mick. Not anyone. But I couldn’t ignore the anticipation. And frankly, I only had myself to blame. I’d gotten into this mess the first time I smiled at him Friday night, continued digging myself deeper into it when I went out alone with him after the warehouse party, and had just solidified my utter inability to stay away from him by agreeing to ditch school to hang out with him. Ugh. I might as well enjoy it.

And my mom was right; why shouldn’t I spend time with someone that made me feel like I mattered? Someone other than my family.

My excitement faded when I got out of the shower and faced the mirror. After wiping it down and trying to get rid of some of the moisture on the glass, my reflection was slightly distorted, and my eyes were unmistakably gray. Could my mom really not see it? Was she choosing not to see it?

I leaned in closer and wiped the mirror again, this time with the towel and not just my hand. I examined my eyes, seeing an even darker ring around my pupil than had been there the last time I looked. My skin seemed to move, as if it was shimmering across the surface. It wouldn’t be much longer before someone else could see the changes too. In fact, maybe I shouldn’t even go anywhere with Mick today.

Then I remembered I still hadn’t called the optometrist. Duh! I really needed to remember to do that. I’d call on Monday for sure.

I blinked as my reflection flashed in and out of existence.

Merde! I’m losing my effing mind. Before I knew it, I’d be back in the psychologist’s chair, telling him about my feelings. Or, more likely ignoring him and staring at the wall, which was what I’d found myself doing all those months ago.

I blinked again, and sure enough, my reflection flashed in and out a few more times. It was as if I faded in and out, but when I was gone, a gray statue stood in my place.

A gray statue of me.

Tears welled in my eyes.

A pounding on the bathroom door was accompanied by my brother’s voice, startling me out of my thoughts.

“Holl!”

I looked at myself one last time, and nothing happened. I shook my head. Impossible. I’d imagined it. Nothing had happened.

Nothing.

Maybe I needed some sleep.

Or some medication.

The scars on my wrists throbbed, and I wondered if I really was losing it. I wasn’t in that dark place, like I’d been a few months ago. I wasn’t. I didn’t want to hurt myself. I didn’t want to die.

I stared into my own eyes in the mirror.

I’m not a danger to myself.

I am not seeing things.

People don’t fade in and out like ghosts.

This isn’t happening.

I am fine. Everything is fine.

“Dude!” I jumped as Cam’s fist hit the door again, “How long are you going to be in there? Your boyfriend is waiting downstairs!”

Horrified, I swung the door open and glared at my brother. “Keep it down, Cam!” I quickly averted my stare, turning away from him to gather my stuff from the counter, making sure not to give him too much time to look into my eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“What’s the matter, Holl?” Shoot, did he know something was wrong?, “Scared he might hear me?” Cam’s voice became louder with every word, sending my heart racing. “Wouldn’t want lover-boy to—”

“Dammit! What do you want? The bathroom? Fine! I’m done. Just shut your mouth!”

Cam smiled a satisfied smile and moved aside so I could step past him.

“So, Mom says you’re ditching today, huh? Want me to come with you?”

My anger faded, replaced by the love I had for my brute of a little brother. Cam was many things, and often annoying was at the top of that list, but I couldn’t ask for a more loving sibling. He’d cared for me so much in these last few months. His constant concern, though at times a bit much to deal with, had been my comfort. Even when I gave in to the darkness, convincing myself that I wanted to leave this life, even though deep down I knew I didn’t, he never gave up on me. He’d been the one to help me realize what a mistake I’d almost made.

“No, Cam, don’t ditch. There’s no reason for you to avoid school. You have classes you can’t miss if you want to stay on the water polo team. Plus, you have Rosemarie now. Wouldn’t want to leave her alone with Sana; someone could get hurt.”

“Yeah, my ex.”

We both laughed, but I was the next to speak. “Seriously, though. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to see if things will die down over the weekend.”

We both knew they wouldn’t.

Cam grabbed me before I could get too far away. He pulled me into a headlock and kissed the top of my head while I tried squirming out of his grip. “I’m glad you’re going to give Mick a chance, Holl. He’s a pretty cool dude. And he likes you.” He released his hold on my neck, then gave me a soft push toward my room. “Of course, that could have changed in the three hours you’ve left him downstairs waiting for you.”

“Please! It’s only been, like, ten minutes.”

“Whatever. I’m just glad I was here to offer him some coffee. You’re a terrible hostess, sis.”

Oh geez. I hadn’t offered him a drink! I’d been too preoccupied with my pajama debacle and hadn’t even thought of it.

“Thanks, little brother. I owe you.”

“You do. And if you call me little one more time, I’ll owe you.”

“Touché,” I said as I closed the door to my room.

“Oh, and Holland? P.S.”

I opened the door a hair and peeked back at him. “P.S. what, Cam?”

“P.S. Dad’s downstairs with your boyfriend now. Bon jour!” Cam said, mocking my occasional slip into my favorite language, complete with high-pitched tone.

My eyes widened as Cam laughed and closed the bathroom door. Gah! I thought Dad left for work already!

I dressed in jeans and a light brown cowl-neck sweater, as quickly as humanly possible, and I avoided looking at my face in the mirrored closet doors. I didn’t want to see it lurking there, sucking the life out of my eyes, and I didn’t want to chance anymore hallucinations of statues, or lightning flashes of my reflection. I hoped no one else looked too closely at me today, and I guessed that ditching school and leaving my house were my best options for that. At least Mick didn’t really know what my eyes should look like normally, so I was safe in that regard.

I’d pretend I was normal for as long as I could. At least until ignoring it was no longer an option.

Mick

I’d shocked Holland by showing up at her house unexpectedly this morning, but she’d shocked me when she accepted my invitation to skip school and go out with me today. I figured she’d turn me down, seeing as she’d become so distant during our last not-date. Though my showing up at her made it slightly difficult for her to ignore me completely, I still expected her to say no.

Once inside, the home was even more amazing. Her parents were obviously well off. I shoved my hands in my pockets, feeling out of place around their extravagant furnishings and probably-priceless art.

When Cam came downstairs, I was examining what looked like a painting that should be hanging in the Louvre, not in someone’s house in Dove Canyon. The woman depicted in the painting had a striking resemblance to Holland, and was about the same age. My stomach turned slightly as I realized that this painting may be of a very distant relative, and most likely just months before she changed, lost in the memories of this family forever. They would never know the truth about what happened to her, or why she disappeared from their lives.

I wondered how the Briggs family coped with so many disappearances over the years, but I knew they’d concocted a story long ago, something to pass on from generation to generation. A story that pegged the women of the Briggs family with mental health issues, illnesses better left unspoken of…

Just like they’d say of Holland if I failed.

“Yo! Mick! What’s up?”

Cam high-fived me, then gave me a hug. The gesture was…unexpected. I’d expect him to be a bit wary of me after all Holland went through these past few months.

“Is your sister here?” He asked as he looked past me toward the front door.

Ah. He wasn’t wary of me because he wasn’t focused on me.

“Nah, man, Ro’s headed to school. I came to see how Holland is doing.”

“Oh. Yeah, not so good, bro.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead of trying to form words, I followed Cam’s movements around the kitchen.

“Have a seat. Coffee?” He held out a mug.

“Sounds good. Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Cam set the coffee down in front of me at the breakfast island, and pushed over a silver platter, complete with a carafe of heavy cream, a small bowl of sugar cubes, and two matching silver carafes with little lids. They looked like miniature teapots.

“Those are my mom’s weaknesses. Coffee-mate.” Cam curled his lip. “Hazelnut in one, and French Vanilla in the other. She mixes them together—she’s made her coffee the same way as long as I can remember. Don’t know how she uses that stuff. My sister’s the same way.”

Cam drank his coffee without adding anything, then turned to leave. “Gotta split. Be good to my sister today, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

With that, he was gone, and I was left alone. I added some Hazelnut creamer to my coffee.

A few minutes later, Cam and Holland’s father came in and sat down across from me at the island. He was all business; neatly tailored black suit, blue striped button-up shirt with cutaway white collar, and a navy and red polka dot tie. He could have stepped out of Forbes magazine, or even GQ.

As he peered at me from across the table, I realized he must think I’m some punk kid. I sure didn’t dress the part of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and this guy definitely did. I pulled the beanie from my head, then stuffed it into a pocket in my jacket.

He cleared his throat and I immediately felt like I was back in school, a Professor glaring at me for one thing or another, and it took all I had in me to remember I was not in school, and this man had every right to analyze me.

“Sir. Good morning.” I stood and extended a hand across the table. “I’m Mick, Mick Stevenson.”

“Jonathan Briggs, Cameron and Holland’s father.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir. May I call you John?”

“No.”

I sat back down when he did, and awkward silence ensued.

“So…” I said, needing to fill the dead air.

“So. What are your intentions with my daughter, Mick?”

“Come again, sir?”

“My daughter. Your intentions. What do you intend to do with my daughter?”

Perspiration beaded on my forehead and underarms, and I hoped Mr. Briggs wouldn’t catch it. Under normal circumstances, I’d say this was way too early to meet Holland’s dad, and have this kind of conversation with him. Then again, this wasn’t a normal girl, and these were definitely not normal circumstances.

I intend to save your daughter’s life, sir. How can you be so blind to what’s happening to her? But I couldn’t very well tell him any of that. He’d probably kick my ass.

“Well, Mr. Briggs, I think your daughter’s going through a lot right now, and I’d like to be the one—”

“What my daughter is going through right now is A) none of your business, and B) has been going on for months. I don’t expect you to pretend to understand if you’ve just met her, and I definitely don’t appreciate you waltzing in here, expecting to be the one to fix everything for her. It is presumptuous of you to even think that.”

“No, sir, I’m not saying I want to fix it for her—”

“Good. Then what do you want with my daughter?”

“I just want to get to know her, sir. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more, hmm?” He raised his eyebrows so high they were almost in his perfectly styled brown hair. He stared at me with eyes as blue as his daughter’s used to be, long and hard, as if trying to see if he could wait me out.

Holland raced into the room, a wide, clearly forced smile stretching her lips. My shoulders relaxed at the sight of her. Just minutes ago, she’d been a disheveled mess of bedhead and pajamas—not that I was complaining—and now, a mere ten minutes later, she was a complete knockout.

Holland

“Hi, Daddy! Why aren’t you at work?” I leaned over and kissed my dad’s scruffy cheek, then smiled at Mick and mouthed the words I’m sorry.

“Hi, Holly-berry. I was at work, but I had to run home for some papers I’d forgotten. And luckily I did. I was just getting to know your friend Mick here.”

Getting to know him, my ass. I could tell by the set of Mick’s shoulders, and the glint in my dad’s eyes that he’d given Mick the old Briggs’ Third Degree. I’d only ever seen it once before—when Rod and I began seeing each other as more than just friends. My dad reamed him a new one, acting like he hadn’t also known Rod and his family for Rod’s entire life.

I knew without a doubt that Dad just gave Mick the same treatment.

My dad’s cell phone buzzed, and when he glanced up at me, then Mick, then back at his phone, I knew he was needed at the office, but torn because he wanted to interrogate Mick a little while longer.

“Well, we’ll leave you to your business, Dad! Have a good day!”

I grabbed Mick’s hand and pulled him from the table, not waiting for my dad to argue. When he didn’t say another word, I realized I’d been right about the phone call, and it’d been the perfect distraction. As we exited the front door, Dad answered his phone and told whomever it was—I’d bet my left boob, his secretary was on the line—that he was on his way back to the office.

Saved by Lucille. I’d have to thank her next time I saw her.

Once we were outside, I let go of Mick’s hand and crossed my arms, rubbing them for warmth. The air was brisk even for February.

“Do you want to run back in and grab a jacket?” Mick raised one eyebrow.

“Nah, I’m okay. We’re not going anywhere outdoorsy, right?”

“Nope. I figured breakfast and a movie. Like dinner and a movie, only better.”

“Better, huh? Why’s that?”

“Pancakes.” He answered as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. He walked me to his truck with one hand on my lower back, then opened the door for me. After a few unsuccessful attempts at turning the key in the ignition, the old F-250 growled to life, bringing a smile to my face.

No wonder he didn’t hate Penny. His car was an old beast as well.

I patted the dashboard. “This could be Penny’s new boyfriend.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. What a lame thing to say!

Mick tilted his head sideways and glanced over at me, a smile pulling at his mouth.

I shook my head, my cheeks flush with embarrassment, and looked out the window. Moron.

“So, um, your dad seems nice.” Mick navigated the truck toward the end of my street.

“Ha!” I turned to face him. “What did he say to you—the old intentions talk?”

“Exactly. How’d you know?” He paused and waited for me to answer, looking at me as we waited for the gate to open and let us out of my neighborhood. Mick held my gaze intently.

I shook myself out of his stare, then pulled down the visor to look in the mirror. Had the gray spread further? I looked the same as I had in the bathroom, so I pushed the visor back up and pointed in front of us. The gate sat open, waiting for us to exit. “I just know my dad,” I said.

Mick pulled out of Dove Canyon and turned left, heading toward Foothill Ranch.

“So?” I asked.

“So, what?”

“So, what are your intentions with me?” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips when Mick blushed. I’d totally shocked him with my question.

“Oh, um, I—”

“Oh my gosh, Mick, relax. I’m totally kidding.”

After breakfast, where Mick happily indulged in the biggest stack of pancakes I’d ever seen—he wasn’t kidding about having a thing for that fluffy goodness—we pulled up to the movie theater around eleven forty-five, perfect time for the noon showing of the latest Nicholas Cage movie. We opted for the blood and guts B-movie over the token romantic chick flick, an anti-Valentine’s day comedy, and the kid’s glittering fairy movie because, well, none of those sounded quite as cheesetastic as Nicolas Cage.

With everything going on, I was in the mood for heavy cheese.

“I wonder if Nic Cage will be Nic Cage in this.”

“What?” Mick turned to me with that one eyebrow raised again. “As opposed to whom, exactly?”

“Well, you know what I mean. He’s always so Nicholas Cage.” I shrugged. “It’s like, even when he’s acting he’s still Nicholas Cage, you know?”

“Okay, examples?”

I grabbed the popcorn Mick handed me and headed for the butter station. “Well, let’s see. Name a Nicholas Cage movie where he wasn’t just completely Nicholas Cage.”

“Hmm,” Mick said as he doused his popcorn in cheddar-flavored powder.

Eeew. Cheddar powder? What was I even doing out with someone who ruined popcorn like that?

“Okay, I’ve got one,” he said as he turned to me. “Face Off. That was a good role for him, and a classic movie.”

“That was a good role for him because he didn’t have to stray too far from being Nicholas Cage.”

“Okay, how about Con Air?”

“Same character. Same everything. Different story.”

“But he was a good guy in Con Air, and a bad guy in Face Off. So how do you explain that they’re the same character?”

“You’re missing the point,” I said around a mouthful of greasy, buttery goodness. “It doesn’t matter what movie it is, what role it is, good or bad, Nicholas Cage will still be Nicholas Cage.”

“Matchstick Men.”

“Nicholas Cage.”

“Wicker Man.”

“Ugh, a terrible movie, but no less Nicholas Cage being Nicholas Cage.”

“Captain Corelli.”

“Oh, come on! That’s just Nicholas Cage with a bad accent.”

“Hmm,” Mick said as we took our seats in the empty theater. “Oh! I’ve got it. A chick flick this time…City of Angels.”

“Ooh, a good one yes, but still just Nicholas Cage being Nicholas Cage.”

Mick shook his head and laughed. “You’re not going to waver on this, are you?”

“No, so you might as well just agree with me. And don’t even get me started on Will Smith.”

“Oh?” Mick’s eyebrows shot up into his scalp. “You don’t like Will Smith?”

“No! I mean, yes, I do like Will Smith! But he’s always just Will Smith, you know? I think he’s great, but he’s never not Will Smith, regardless of the movie or the role.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll have to just take your word for it, Holland.”

“That’s probably a good idea, Mick.”

I looked over at him, catching him staring at me. My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered what he was thinking. He licked his lips, and I couldn’t help but move my focus to his mouth. His lips were full and slightly heart-shaped, with the bottom lip sticking out ever so slightly—the softness a sexy contradiction to his defined chin and cheekbones.

I wanted to kiss him.

Gah!

I shook my head slightly and inhaled a breath, forcing my attention back to Mick’s eyes as I swallowed the gigantic lump in my throat. His eyebrows were drawn over squinted eyelids—his eyes flicking back and forth between mine. His mouth pulled down slowly into a frown.

I quickly turned my head to avoid further scrutiny. Could he see the grayness that slowly seeped into my eyes?

The lights dimmed as the previews began, and not a moment too soon. I welcomed the blackness. If the theater was dim, I could forget about the darkness looming just beneath my weakening façade. How much time did I have before some unknown switch flipped, and the grayness in my eyes revealed something terrible inside me? How much longer could I ignore the change, the feeling of wrongness in my body? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Not with how off I felt.

Mick’s leg rested closely to mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if we touched, if the energy running through me would shock either of us. I couldn’t fathom focusing on the movie, not with that kind of acute awareness of every move he made and every centimeter of empty space between us.

A thrill shot through me every time our elbows bumped.

I hadn’t felt this jittery in a long time, and for some stupid reason, I kind of welcomed the feeling. That excited swirling in the pit of my stomach had been too long dormant.

By the end of the movie, I was sure Mick would agree with me on the whole Nicholas Cage thing. He’d be crazy not to, seeing how this was just one more example of Nic Cage being Nic Cage.

When the credits began rolling up and off the screen, I started clapping. It only took a few claps to realize that once again, I was the only one. The Lone Clapper.

“You know that was a movie, right? Not a live show with a cast who can actually hear your applause?”

I rolled my eyes. Like I hadn’t heard that one before.

“Humor me, okay? My mom says everyone always used to clap at the end of shows—live plays, regular movies—it didn’t matter. I guess she just raised me this way. I clap at the end of a movie. I know they can’t hear me.”

“Even at home? When you’re in your living room? Do you clap then?”

“No.” Sometimes?

Mick shook his head and laughed, then stood to leave.

I grabbed his arm. “Wait! I like to see if there’s any bonus material,” I said, somewhat sheepishly. First the Lone Clapper, and now the Bonus Material Girl. He was going to run away from me soon for sure.

Mick smiled and sat down. I released my grip on his arm, but as my hand fell away, his hand found mine, and he wove our fingers together, sending my heart to pounding away in my ears. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over mine. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. I leaned back and watched the credits roll up and off the screen, thinking of nothing else but the way his hand felt in mine. Warm, strong, safe…I didn’t want him to ever let go of me.

The lights were on. Huh. I didn’t remember them coming on. I’d been too focused on the way my body reacted to touching Mick. In fact, I couldn’t even recall if there’d been bonus material.

Crap.

“So, I guess I’m starting to get the whole Nic Cage thing.”

I turned to look at him, a smile pulling at my lips. “I knew it—”

The closeness of his face stopped the words from coming out of my mouth. He released my hand and placed his fingers on my cheek. A hint of numbness surfaced across my cheek as every nerve-ending reacted to the slight trail of his fingertips as he ran them over my jaw. Then, he slowly cupped his hand to cradle my face. My eyes widened as he brought his face closer to mine.

He licked his lips, and within seconds—before I could form any rational argument—his mouth was on mine…warm, soft, gentle. He kissed me lightly, gently sucking my bottom lip in between his lips, then letting go before doing it again. The way Mick kissed me was the most thrilling sensation I’d ever had, and so unlike the way Rod used to kiss me.

Ugh. This was no time to allow him to pop into my head.

Taking his time, Mick kissed me slowly and deliberately, causing my body to break out in excited goose bumps. I didn’t feel anything outside the places our mouths connected. I closed my eyes and, against my better judgment, permitted myself to relax into his kiss. I didn’t want to be with Mick—or any guy, for that matter—but something about the way he was so tender with me, so kind, caused all my muscles to relax.

I leaned further into him, allowing myself to let go, to give in.

Mick moved his hand from cupping my cheek to settling at the base of my neck. His thumb rested gently near my collar bone, while he moved his other hand to the soft spot above my knee, and all coherent thought went out the window. Every nerve in my body crackled and rushed to the places where our bodies connected—the light pressure of his fingertips pressed into my leg, the movement of his mouth on mine—and I didn’t want to ever not kiss him.

The lightness of his lips on my lips sent tingles through my cheeks, as if he woke up parts of me that had long been dormant. I nearly sighed into his mouth, the feeling of relaxation almost too much to take. He gently nipped at my bottom lip with his teeth, and I thought I’d melt right into him, right there in that movie theater.

Here lies Holland Briggs.

Completely undone by the best kisser she’d ever met.

At least she died happy.

Well, I could think of worse fates. I wondered at the idea that just a few months ago I’d thought my depression would be the death of me. Convinced myself that maybe I’d wanted that. Had I succeeded then, I wouldn’t have been here today, kissing Mick for the first time. As his fingers moved up into my hair, I realized how very wrong I’d been, and for the first time in a long time, I felt thankful. Really, truly thankful. I’d tried to die that day, and I’d failed.

The best failure of my life.

Clearing his throat to alert us that we were no longer alone, an usher entered the theater, clanking his trash collector loudly and making his presence known.

I pulled away from Mick, horrified.

“The movie’s been over for almost ten minutes,” the usher snapped. “If you’re staying for the next one, you’ll need to purchase additional tickets.”

I was too humiliated to think about how rude the man was, but I caught Mick smiling, obviously not at all uncomfortable after being caught making out. I, however, was probably ten shades of red and couldn’t even look at the theater employee as I stood up to gather my things. I grabbed my purse and my empty popcorn carton, then made for the door. Keeping my head down and my eyes on the floor, I tried in vain to hide my humiliation.

I didn’t say another word until we were safely inside Mick’s truck.

“Oh my God, um, that was mortifying.”

“Huh. You were embarrassed? I couldn’t tell.”

I shot Mick a glare but couldn’t keep a straight face.

“You’re really cute when you’re embarrassed.”

I looked down. “Oh, please. Do you say that to all the girls?”

“Not all girls are cute when they’re embarrassed, Holland. So,” he said as he turned the key in the ignition, and the old F-250 grunted and growled to life. “What do you want to do next?”

Kiss you again. “I don’t care. I’m open.”

“Okay, then. How about we head toward my old neighborhood? There’s a killer little hole-in-the-wall pool hall by my old house. Sound good?”

Without my permission, my gaze focused on his lips when he spoke, and I couldn’t recall anything he’d just said. I looked up into his eyes, and swallowed the lump in my throat.

I wanted him to kiss me again.

“Sounds perfect.” I whispered, almost throatily.

“Yeah,” Mick said, as he held my gaze a little longer than necessary. “Perfect.”

My cheeks flushed as I realized he intended the word for me. Perfect. I was far from it. I couldn’t help but turn my head away. If he only knew.

“Why do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Why do you turn away like that? What’s so wrong with someone looking at you?”

“Nothing,” I said, not really having an answer for him. I’m afraid you’ll see it didn’t seem like an appropriate response from a sane girl. “Can we just go now? Wait…where are we going again?”

“Look at me, Holland. Seriously, what’s wrong? You just agreed to go to a pool hall with me. I happen to have it on good authority that you despise pool.”

Pool hall? Huh. I must have really been daydreaming.

“Will you look at me? Please?”

I took a deep breath, and pulled my gaze away from the wet asphalt of the movie theater parking lot. When I brought my attention back to Mick, the expression on his face was so tender, so full of kindness. For the slightest second, I could almost relax; almost see what he saw in me. Almost let him in.

But then his eyebrows scrunched together, and he stopped his hand from reaching up to my face, allowing it to plop into his lap.

“Holland, don’t panic—”

Holland

I bolted out of the car and ran back into the theater before Mick could even finish the sentence.

Oh my God! What had he seen? Don’t panic? I knew nothing good could come from a sentence that started with don’t panic.

I flew past the guy asking for tickets, hoping he’d recognize me from earlier and not hassle me about buying a ticket, and not caring either way. I had to get to the bathroom. Had to see a mirror.

My stomach knotted, and my mouth watered as my heart pounded, threatening to explode.

I almost knocked a woman over on my way in, and didn’t think she was fond of my half-ass mumbled apology, but again, I didn’t really care either way. Something was wrong.

I stopped in front of the mirror, hesitating for only a second. Look up, I urged myself. Something was happening to me whether I addressed it or not, so I might as well see for myself.

With reluctance—and fear—I lifted my head, my eyes settling on my reflection.

My heart beat harder and faster, thumping away in my chest. I gasped, then clamped a hand over my mouth. Tears pooled in my eyes.

The grayness had finally replaced the blue of my irises. Completely. The color reminded me of storm clouds. No, not just the color, but the actual grayness in my eyes seemed to move and shift like roiling clouds during a storm.

Gray lines laced my skin. They weren’t like wrinkles; they were in the skin, or maybe even under it. I watched in horror as the lines—cracks?—stretched out from my eyes, spreading all over my face. They coated my skin, reminiscent of the way a crack spreads so quickly over the ground in those crazy earthquake disaster movies.

My heart raced faster, harder, and I suddenly realized how abnormal the beat was. The usual cadence of buh-bump, buh-bump was no longer there. Instead, it was a heavy and erratic beat. Pain trickled from the center of my chest, stretching out along my skin. I pulled the baggy cowl-neck of my brown sweater down, only to discover more gray lines winding out from my heart, covering my skin and rising in all directions.

As I watched the lines morph and stretch across my skin, they connected with those originating from my eyes, covering my skin completely until no tan flesh remained. The color reached up into my hair, eliminating the spun-sugar blonde I’d been born with as quickly as fire might consume a dry bush.

I was entirely gray.

As if doused with chalky gray paint, there was no vibrancy to me anymore, besides my clothing. No blonde hair, no bright blue eyes, no sun-kissed skin. I pulled my sweater down over my shoulder. Even the sprinkling of freckles there were just another shade of ash. I opened my mouth. Not even my tongue was pink anymore.

Just gray.

I was the statue I thought I’d seen in the mirror earlier. I was the hallucination.

A knock on the bathroom door startled me out of my terrified examination of myself, and I quickly ran into a stall. The main bathroom door opened a little, just as I slammed and locked the door to the stall I’d hidden in.

“Holland? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

Mick? Dammit.

“Nothing! Everything is fine! I’m just not feeling very well.” I’m fucking gray!

“Oh? Okay. Can I get you something? Some Sprite, maybe?”

“No, just go on home! I’ll be fine!” I tried to sound cheerful, but tears poured from my eyes, making my mouth thick, and my words come out choppy.

“Holland?”

“Yeah?” Still failing miserably at cheery.

“I don’t know what kind of guy you think I am, but I’m not going to just leave you here without a ride.”

I stared down at my hands, knowing I couldn’t possibly let him see me like this. But what could I do? How could I make him leave? What could I say?

How was I getting home?

What would I do when I got there, anyway?

I was screwed.

“Um, yeah, well, I already called my brother to come get me, so it’s cool.”

Lies.

“What? Why…?” His voice was softer than it had been a moment ago. He probably thought I was blowing him off. “Okay, well…um…do you want me to wait until he gets here?”

“No! No, just go ahead home, okay? I’m fine. He said he’s right around the corner, so it won’t be long. Thanks for the ditch day!”

I waited to hear the door close, but nothing happened.

“Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said on a sigh. “Trying to figure out what’s going on, I guess. I’m leaving now. I’ll talk to you later, Holland. Call me if you need me.”

I closed my eyes. “Just please go, Mick. I’m really not feeling well.”

“Whatever you say. Call me later, okay?”

I nodded my head, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. I couldn’t muster a response. His voice sounded so deflated. So sad. I knew I shouldn’t have let him into my life. What was my mom thinking? What was I thinking?

The main bathroom door swooshed closed, and I exhaled the breath I’d held for who knows how long. My shoulders sagged, and I leaned my head against the stall door.

Now what?

I’d lied about calling my brother, obviously, since I didn’t even own a freaking cell phone. So Cam wasn’t coming to save me. I’d have to get out of the theater and find a payphone. Did payphones even exist anymore? Oh God…how would I do all this without letting anyone see me?

I shook my head at my situation and closed my eyes, wishing for an answer to come. I rubbed my face with my hands, but the action reminded me that both my hands and my face were gray.

Since I didn’t have a phone, and I had no car, I couldn’t just sit here in the bathroom hoping to get rescued like some damsel in distress. Eventually, I’d have to leave the theater.

I opened the stall door, peeking out into the bathroom to check that I was in fact still alone. I bent down and looked under the long line of stalls. No feet. I pulled my sleeves down to cover my hands and yanked my cowl neck sweater—wish I would have worn a hoodie!—up over my head, covering my face as much as I could. I knew I probably looked ridiculous, but I just had to get outside without anyone seeing me.

I made it to the main bathroom door, then pulled it open just a hair and peered into the theater lobby. To the left, a short line of people waited to buy concessions. To the right, the long hallway with closed theater doors. My options weren’t great, but if I headed through one of the theaters, it would most likely be dark, and I could slip through a back exit and end up behind the building. This option was really the only option because I couldn’t chance bumping into so many people and scaring them all half to death.

Because I’m gray!

After that, I’d have to somehow find a phone and call Mom.

Hopefully she’d know what to do, though I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was supposed to tell her.

Hi, Mom! Guess what? You’re never gonna guess!

The particular theater I picked to sneak out of wasn’t dark, but it was empty. I thanked my lucky stars and headed for the exit at the front of the large room. I slipped out the door, holding my breath—I’d always wondered if an alarm would sound if someone opened the exit door in a theater.

Luckily, no sirens announced my exit.

The sky was still gloomy and dark, with wind kicking leaves up off the ground, but no rain currently fell. Good. I didn’t want to be stuck in a thunderstorm without a way to get home. At least some things were working for me instead of against. I stayed close to the back of the building, with my eyes focused on my feet, looking up only when I had to. I figured if I could make it to the gas station down the street, there’d have to be an old payphone there. At least, I hoped there was. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I’d even seen a payphone, aside from TV and memes online making jokes about their existence. They were extinct, and the chance of not finding one now made me think of Rod and Leslie. If not for them, I would have never asked my parents to cancel my phone.

Everything brought me back to Rod and Leslie…and their betrayal.

Poisoned. Holy hell. I hadn’t thought of it all day. Leslie had been poisoned. How does that even happen? Who does something like that? The distraction of hanging out with Mick had been enough to take my mind off of everything, and now…with my skin ashen, and my world falling apart, Leslie’s poisoning was the least of my personal worries. And yet, a small ache in my chest made me realize I was worried about Leslie, very much so.

I hated myself for still caring.

As I followed along the back of the building, a gas station in the distance eventually came into view. Once the building ended, there’d be nothing but open sidewalk between me and the gas station. Without anything to hide behind, I’d have to be quick.

Light rain began falling. I turned my head toward the sky, imagining each droplet washing away the grayness of my skin, washing away the creature inside. I knew it wasn’t possible, but the concept was beautiful: a little rain and I’d be clean, rid of the foreign thing inside me. Rid of the fear that gripped my chest. A little rain, and I’d be Holland Briggs again.

Heck, maybe I could even wash away the past six months completely.

Nah. No rain could make the impossible possible.

Of course, it should have been impossible to turn completely gray and have an unknown entity living inside me, but…look at me now.

I enjoyed the feel of the moisture on my face for a long minute, thinking about how I’d never be able to do this again. Or at least, not in public. I couldn’t imagine being able to be anything but hidden away now that my body looked so different and something strange was happening to me. The discoloration of my skin wasn’t a flaw I’d be able to hide with makeup.

Tears started streaming down my face again, the realization of all that I was about to lose weighing heavily on my heart. And I didn’t even know why. I didn’t even know what had happened to me. Maybe I should have told someone when it first started. Maybe I should have told my mom when my eyes started to change, or when I began to feel as if I wasn’t alone inside my head. Maybe I should have trusted in my dad when I started to see my skin shift. Maybe I could have told Cam about my reflection changing in my mirror this morning.

Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed they’d think I was crazy and send me back to the doctor I’d been forced to see last Fall.

I should have just asked for help, psychiatrist or no.

“Holland?”

Holy hell! Mick!

Holland

I gasped and ducked down, trying to cover my face with my arms while keeping my fingers and hands covered as well. I struggled with the fabric of my sweater, pulling it this way and that, and then shrunk into a crouching position. I sucked in a breath as my back scratched against the stucco wall, the flash of pain forcing me to realize that my skin was exposed, and I hoped Mick couldn’t see the color of it from where he stood.

“Holland, please don’t be afraid. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Mick! What are you doing back here? Why didn’t you just leave? Please…please leave Mick. Please leave me alone. Don’t look at me!”

Mick took a few steps toward me, closing the distance between us. I watched his boots as he took each tentative step. His hand softly touched my shoulder, and I reflexively pulled away from him, scratching my back on the sharp stucco wall again. He took a deep breath, then placed his hand firmly on my shoulder once more.

“Holland? Look at me. Please.”

I don’t know what it was, his persistence in touching me, the softness in his words, or the promise that heavily weighted that please. But something made me lower my arms and look up at him, tears streaking my gray face. I laid it all out on the table and braced myself for his response, knowing he’d turn and run away from me as quickly as possible as soon as he saw my secret.

His quick intake of breath and the unnaturally widened eyes indicated my skin wasn’t back to normal. I waited for him to leave.

But he didn’t move. He reached toward me hesitantly, his fingertips just inches away from my face. I braced for the worst.

“Holland, let me—” He dropped his hand just before connecting with my skin. Probably out of fear. Or repulsion.

“Just go, Mick, please.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he said, shrugging. “I won’t. Just let me—”

“Let you what, Mick? Let you help me? How? I don’t even know what’s wrong with me, okay? Just leave me!”

“I won’t.” His voice sounded firm, resolved. His reluctance to leave solidified the promise I’d heard in his earlier please. He wasn’t going to leave me, even though I must have been the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

He stood and removed his sweatshirt, draping it over my upper body and arranging the hood over my head. Pulling gently on my shoulders, he guided me to stand up again, then curled me into his arms. We began moving toward his truck, back the way I’d come from behind the theater. Tears continued falling, smearing onto his t-shirt, but I didn’t dare move my face away from his chest for fear someone would see me.

“How did you know where I was?”

“I was waiting for you by the entrance, saw you run out of the bathroom.”

“I told you I called Cam.” My words were muffled in his shirt.

“You don’t have a phone.”

Why wasn’t he running? How could he see me like this and still want to be near me, want to help me? How is he being so calm about this?

As we made our way back to the parking lot, something moved inside me. Tension pushed against my chest, as though my insides wanted to come out. My breathing became slightly labored; whatever stretched and expanded inside pressed back against my lungs, constricting the space they needed to inflate as normal.

Maybe it wanted out. Whatever it was. I wondered if the grayness was only the beginning.

My fists clenched around Mick’s shirt, angrily, and without my consent. I stopped walking, slowly pulling my hands away from him to look down at them. My fingers flexed and tightened, and I blinked—trying to bring my hands into focus. The gray skin seemed to crawl around on itself.

I blinked rapidly a few more times as fear tightened in my chest, and my heartbeat thumped erratically again.

“Mick?”

“Yes,” he said as he turned to me, placing a hand on each of my shoulders.

“I don’t feel right.” Rage clenched tightly around my heart, making it more and more difficult to inhale a breath. “Oh my God, something’s wrong.”

“I know.”

“You know?” I looked up at him. “I feel like…” I feel like I’m going to rip you apart!

“Let me get you out of here, okay?”

I glanced back toward the theater to see that a few people were coming out to the parking lot, my breath whooshing in and out of my mouth quickly, my lungs constricted almost painfully. Fear vised around my chest as my heart pumped louder in my ears. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, and there were people everywhere.

“Holland? Trust me. Let me get you out of here.”

I nodded, then pressed my face back into his chest. I couldn’t let them see me. He wrapped his arms around me once more and resumed leading me to his truck. To anyone watching, I likely looked upset or ill. I hoped.

I climbed in silently, then waited for him to get in on his side as I inhaled deeply, counting to five before letting the breath out, then repeated the action in an attempt to calm my breathing. My attempt was unsuccessful.

What’s happening to me?

Mick started the truck up, then cranked the heater on before turning toward me.

“I know you’re scared right now. Let me get you out of here before someone sees you.” Then, in a low voice I was sure he thought I couldn’t hear, he mumbled, “I can’t believe the change has star—”

He stopped speaking abruptly, then turned his head to look out the window.

The change has what? Started? Was he going to say that? Did he know more about this than he let on? I looked up at him, but his eyes were still roving the parking lot, looking anywhere but at me.

“What?” I prodded.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought someone was approaching the car.”

Right. I believed that like I believed in the Tooth Fairy and Prince Charming.

“What were you about to say, Mick?” My jaw clenched against the pressure in my body, so the words were forced and almost a growl. My teeth fought to chatter, even though my body felt more heated than normal, and the vents blew warm air into the truck cab.

“Nothing. Sorry, I was talking to myself. Let’s get out of here, okay? Here—” he handed me a pair of hand-grips; my dad had a pair next to his weight bench, so I knew I was meant to squeeze them, I just didn’t know why, “—that will help you with the anxiety. Just squeeze those while I drive. I’m going to take you somewhere safe, Holland.”

Safe. What did that word even mean? I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t feel protected from even myself. Anger continued to swell in my chest, growing slowly into a tight ball pressing against my ribs. Squeezing the hand grips per my instructions—and because not doing so meant my hands would continue itching to hit something—I closed my eyes, shaking my head as I realized I’d been safe my whole life…what was safer than a cozy home in a gated community? What was safer than two loving parents and a protective brother? Being safe hadn’t protected me from the pain of losing Rod and Leslie. Hadn’t protected me from the isolation that consumed me after the fire.

Safe. Where was I supposed to go? Where was safe? Home would be the logical place, but as I thought of my mom and dad, and Cam, my body seized in a short-lived flash of heat and pain, and my fists clenched tighter around the grips. Tears pressed on the backside of my eyes, and my chest constricted further, making breathing difficult. My head felt as though it would explode, as though there wasn’t enough room for all the thoughts and fears racing around inside my skull. The pressure was consuming. Even with the strengthening tools in each hand, I had to actively try to refrain from punching the dash.

What the hell?

Whatever lurked inside me, the anger, the change…it…I couldn’t take to my family. I knew that without a doubt. Maybe if I’d alerted them sooner, they could have helped me, but not now. Not now when so much rage bubbled up inside me. I couldn’t risk hurting them, or scaring them—not after what I’d done last October. This time, I had to handle my crisis myself.

“I have a cabin in Big Bear. Let me take you there, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Mick said.

Anything I wanted to know, huh? Even without that peculiar promise, at that moment, his cabin could be in Timbuktu and I’d have gone. I didn’t care that I’d only known him a short time, or that he seemed to be hiding something from me. I couldn’t take this home, whatever it was…a disease, or some alien creature I’d never have believed in before now…I wouldn’t take it home to my family. Maybe in running, I could keep them safe.

I nodded and tried to focus on calming down and controlling my breathing. He said he’d tell me everything. I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know what he could possibly know about me, or why, or how he could know things I didn’t even know myself, but I wouldn’t endanger my family. I wouldn’t put my mom through something crazy so soon after she’d been devastated by my actions just a few short months ago.

I had to rely on this near-stranger.

I didn’t know what that meant for me, but I knew I couldn’t go home. I didn’t have any other choice.

Mick

Getting Holland to my family’s cabin wasn’t as difficult as I’d thought it would be. I assumed she’d want to go home, want to be near her family during this time, but she said nothing when I offered to take her away, just nodded her head and stared out the window, fists clenching and unclenching the hand grips I’d given her. She hadn’t even asked me how I’d known she’d need them, though maybe she just assumed I was a raging work-out guy who kept hand grips in his glove box.

She’d pulled the hood of my sweatshirt tightly around her face, so only a small circle remained to see through, and that circle wasn’t currently facing my direction.

I found it increasingly difficult to keep from touching her when every cell in my body screamed at me to hold her, protect her. Take care of her. As we made the two hour drive up to Big Bear Lake, I could barely fight the urge, but I had to. For her sake, at least. Touching her now would only put a deeper divide between us, make her cower away from me. No, I had to let her come to me.

I’d been put on this Earth to find Holland, to help her through this, and to ultimately break the curse. If only I could tell her everything now; if only I didn’t have to lie to her.

If only.

Man, I just wanted to hold her. Wanted to show her I wasn’t afraid. But I couldn’t do that if she wouldn’t let me, and the way she was all curled up in a ball and pressed against the passenger side door as far from me as possible wasn’t looking very good for my cause.

Should I tell her the truth? Could I ignore the centuries-old rules and tell her everything? Could I risk pushing her away, if the information about our intertwined fates didn’t bring her closer to me?

I was supposed to have more time. So much more time. I was supposed to have time to earn her trust, her love. Then I could have helped her. Then I could have done the job I was meant to do.

I could have beaten the curse for our families once and for all.

She moved in her seat, readjusting for the first time since we’d left the theater parking lot, and her stomach growled. The sound reminded me that there was still life inside her. Which meant there was still hope. I would not fail the way the men in my lineage had failed before me. I would not fail her.

“Mick?”

She speaks. She still stared out the window, and her voice was scratchy and thick; I imagined tears continued to fall from her gray eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Today’s my birthday.”

What? I snapped my head to the side to look at her, faced again with the back of my hoodie. How could that be?

“That’s not right. How could it…?” She wasn’t supposed to be eighteen until the end of March. I tried focusing my thoughts to figure out what day it was. February thirteenth. It was only February thirteenth. How could it be her birthday already?

“What’s not right?”

When I didn’t respond, unable to speak with all of the thoughts screaming through my mind, she peeked over at me, searching my face.

“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out slowly on a sigh. “Most people would have said Happy Birthday, Mick.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I couldn’t tell her I thought she was wrong, that I thought her birthday wasn’t for another month and a half at least. But this would explain everything. This would explain why I hadn’t had enough time, why we were in this situation now. Why she’d already started to change.

“Happy Birthday, Holland.”

Without another word, she turned back around and faced the window again, pushing me out once more.

How could such an important date be incorrect? And dangerously so. I’d have to get her settled and go dig through my files and notes. There was no way I miscalculated, but the proof was right in front of me, staring out the window through dull gray eyes, with her back to me in order to shut me out and keep me away.

I had to stop halfway up the mountain to throw on my chains. The snow wasn’t falling too heavily at the moment, but it was still thick on the ground in places, and I didn’t want to take any risks. I had to get Holland safely inside the cabin before anyone saw her like this.

She stirred only once while we drove through Big Bear. She turned in my direction, and I dared sneak a peek at her while she stared past me toward the lake. While the snow-covered landscape held her attention, I examined her skin, gauging how far into the change we were. She caught me and turned away again quickly, embarrassment and shame clouding her eyes.

Damn. I didn’t want her to think I was staring.

I wished I could tell her the truth; tell her why I was here. I wished I could explain that I could break the spell if she’d let me. But I knew that would just freak her out more. I’d have to find a way to reveal everything to her in time, but I couldn’t rush it out of selfishness.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, surprising me and pulling me from my thoughts, just seconds before I swerved off the side of the highway. I yanked the wheel to the side, straightening us out, and Holland didn’t even look over or chastise me. After my heart stopped pounding, I held the wheel with one hand while I read the text message from Ro, who wondered where I was, and if I was with Holland since she hadn’t shown up at school today.

Holland’s skipping school would be a regular thing now. She’d never get to graduate on time. Though, if I failed, there’d be much greater consequences than a missed high school graduation.

I was supposed to have had more time. At least another month, and maybe I could have gained her trust. A little more time with her and maybe we’d have stood a chance against what was happening.

I couldn’t figure out how today was her birthday. It was all wrong.

I tucked my phone back into my pocket; Ro would just have to wait until I got Holland settled in at the cabin.

I pulled up to the old wooden house, and a flood of memories consumed me. Playing with Ro when we were kids, making her squeal when I chased her with a lizard or some other wild creature I’d found in the woods; fishing with my dad when I was twelve; listening to my mom and Ro’s mom argue on the porch, never understanding why dad couldn’t figure out how to get along with either of them; watching Ro’s mom finally leave him the way my mom had years earlier.

Finding out on my fifteenth birthday that I was a descendant of legend, and the key to breaking a spell I’d only ever heard about in fairytales.

My father teaching me how to be the man I was supposed to be, so that once I found Holland, I’d be ready—both physically and emotionally prepared.

Next, was the memory of my father on his death bed, right here in this cabin. As cancer slowly ripped him from my grasp, he made me swear to him that I would not fail our family. I made that promise with confidence, knowing that this time would be the last time.

Since the previous Destined had been born and failed at his prophecy, the men before me trained only to be able to carry on the training for their sons. It ended with me. I was determined to be the one to break the spell and stop the curse from repeating—keeping any of Holland’s family’s future descendants from going through this pain. Otherwise, the curse would continue. The story would weave legend and fairytale together year after year until she surfaced again in four generations.

But I wouldn’t let that happen. I didn’t know about the incarnations before Holland, or how the men had felt about them, but I’d known with one look at her that I couldn’t let the spell take her. It had to stop with her.

I wanted a future for her. I wanted a future for us.

Holland

I settled my hands on my hips, wishing I still had those stupid hand exercisers. “Again, I don’t want to take the master bedroom from you, Mick. Why won’t you just show me a guest room and leave me alone?”

“Because you deserve better than an old futon in a cold guest room.”

I set my jaw, speaking through my teeth. “It’s not just that you’re a stubborn ass?”

“Possibly.”

“Huh.”

“So, may I show you to your accommodations, milady?”

“If you must.” I punctuated my answer with an exaggerated eye roll.

Mick held out an arm in the direction of the old wooden staircase, and I shook my head. I didn’t want to walk ahead of him so he could stare at me. When he didn’t budge, I shook my head again and stared defiantly at him, crossing my arms and standing my ground.

“Yeah, and I’m the stubborn one,” he said as he started up the stairs.

I followed him up, the slightest hint of a smile playing at my lips. I knew we didn’t have a future—how could we with me turning shades of gray like some character out of an old silent film?—but I did like the way we tried to out-stubborn each other. Rod had always just let me have my way. I’d hated it.

Beat it, Rod.

We entered a huge room at the end of the hallway that had a giant four poster bed made out of the same honey-colored wood of the staircase. A fluffy white down comforter blanketed the top, and large green and brown pillows took up the entire upper half of the bed.

“Whose cabin is this?”

“It’s mine.”

I faced him, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

“Well, mine and Ro’s. It was our dad’s place.”

“Oh. This is your dad’s bed, then?” I looked at the bed warily.

“Well, no, since he’s no longer with us. It’s mine. Is it okay?”

He turned to face me, and I blushed as though he’d just asked me to hop into it with him. I turned away, absently wondering if my cheeks changed color as the heat rushed into them, or if they remained a dull shade of gray.

I looked around the room, checking out the contents. Next to a small bookcase with what appeared to be classic hardcovers and a bunch of woodsy knick-knacks, my gaze landed on a spiral staircase circling up to another level in the corner of the room.

“That’s the loft. There’s a reading area up there that was my mom’s, but no one really uses it. There’s a pretty cool stained glass window above a large picture window that opens up over the back of the cabin, if you want to check it out.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Check out the loft?”

“No.” I shrugged. “Maybe later.”

“Well, the shower is fully stocked, and there are clean towels under the sink. I guess I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Okay.”

“Unless you want me to stay.”

I looked up at him, half annoyed and half happy that he wanted to be near me. I didn’t want to be alone, but Mick wasn’t going to be able to fix me just by hanging out and gawking, and I didn’t want him to see me like this anymore.

“No, Mick. Please just leave me alone.”

“I’ll be downstairs, then.”

Mick left the room, right as my stomach growled louder than it ever had before. I hoped he hadn’t heard it. I’d need to eat soon, but a hot shower sounded perfect. I wanted to wash away the day.

Maybe I’d be able to wash away the gray as well. Rain hadn’t done it, but maybe with a little soap…

I tip-toed to the door and locked it. As sweet as he was, I really didn’t know Mick and didn’t want to take the chance of him coming in when I was naked in the shower.

But you agreed to let him kidnap you to the mountains?

My inner cynic questioned me, or maybe that was just the smarter half of my brain, but I ignored it. Maybe coming with Mick to Big Bear wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done, but I couldn’t think of any other options. I didn’t want anyone else to see me like this, and since Mick already had…well, I guess he won by default.

I slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

With the water on as hot as it would go, and the steam filling the room, I stripped down to nothing. Standing naked in front of the mirror, I examined every inch of myself.

And all I saw was gray.

Nothing but gray. I looked like the statue I’d seen in my reflection earlier. If I stood still long enough, I could actually be a statue.

Nothing on my body had any flesh-tones left. Nothing even slightly pink remained. And worse than all the grayness was the fact that, starting near my heart, a series of tiny lines began stretching outward on my body.

They looked almost like cracks. Like cracks in a cement statue.

‘Careful, dear, your face may freeze like that.’

Mr. Greenburg’s words drifted through the chaotic disarray of my thoughts. How odd that a phrase I’d heard throughout my life—which most children hear at one point or another—could one day ring true. Would I eventually freeze like this?

I turned around slowly, keeping my eyes focused on the mirror, trying to see if anything was different on my backside. Nothing. Just gray everywhere.

As I regarded myself in the mirror, searching first down the length of my legs, my reflection flashed in and out again. The effect reminded me of my grandma’s old television before Mom and Dad bought her a flat screen a few years ago. She had this crazy old box TV with an antenna on top. Occasionally, the picture would fade and she’d have to smack the top of the box to get the picture to return. Then it would flash in and out a few more times, successfully getting my sweet old grandma to say something nasty that she’d never say otherwise.

Something like fiddlesticks.

That’s what I watched myself do in the mirror now. Except, like earlier, what replaced my reflection wasn’t empty air or even salt and pepper static like Grandma’s old TV, but a statue of me.

Solid, deathly still, and completely concrete.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten, hoping when I opened them again, I’d see myself and not a hallucination. Not a gray statue of me frozen in time.

…eight, nine, ten . . .

I opened my eyes again and brought my gaze to the mirror. Still gray, but my reflection wasn’t flashing in and out of existence anymore.

I need medication.

I climbed into the shower and let the scalding water run down my body, determined to wash as much of the day away as I could before the hot water ran out.

Mick

With Holland getting comfortable in the master bedroom, I was anxious to get into my office to review my files. But first, I needed to feed her. It had been an argument to get her to concede to taking the master, but luckily she hadn’t argued about being hungry. She couldn’t—her stomach gave me all the answer I needed. And I think she gave up her fight about bedrooms in the end, only so she could walk away and keep me from looking at her. If only she knew I’d been waiting for this day for years.

She couldn’t shock me. That gray skin was part of our story, and I wasn’t afraid.

I’d been up to the cabin last weekend, so some food was in the fridge. Not much, but enough to get us through the next day or two. I’d go to the store as soon as I could trust Holland not to try to run away or do something crazy. The last thing I needed was to lose her to the surrounding, snow-covered forest.

The cupboards were pretty well stocked year-round, so dry goods and canned goods were in no short supply. I heated some tomato soup and fried up a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches. One thing about plastic cheese that I was thankful for at that moment was the fact that it didn’t go bad very quickly.

The shower turned off just as I started up the stairs, my arms full of our sandwiches and bowls of soup. I kicked the door to the master bedroom lightly a few times with the toe of my boot, and waited for a response.

Silence. No surprise there.

“Holland?”

“Leave me alone, please, Mick.”

“I made you some food. Can you open the door for me?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, come on. I know that’s not true. I made grilled cheese. Everyone loves grilled cheese.”

“I’m not hungry! Leave me alone, Mick!” The fierceness in her voice would have shocked me if I hadn’t been prepared for it. That was one of the things I knew would come when the change started. Anger. Rage. At times, even uncontrollable.

I was ready for it.

A loud thud echoed through the door as, I think, her fist slammed into the wooden barrier between us.

I wasn’t ready for that.

“I know you’re upset. I get it—”

The door flew open, startling me, and I took a step back, careful not to cover myself with hot tomato soup.

“You get it? You fucking get it? I highly doubt that you get this, Mick. Look at me! My skin is gray! Gray! You don’t get this, Mick. I don’t even get this.” She paused, running a hand down her face in exasperation, then cringed as she pulled her hand away and gazed down at her fingers as if they were foreign to her. She then tucked that hand limply to her stomach, and peered up at me again, this time with sadness in her eyes. She pointed to her chest with her left, good hand. “And the feeling I have inside—”

She stopped abruptly, taking the food from my hands, then shutting the door in my face.

“Just leave me alone.”

She didn’t have to continue. I knew what was happening to her inside. The outside was only the beginning, and not the worst of the change. The visible changes were weird and scary, and yes, we had to keep her away from people because of them, but the worst part had yet to fully develop. The beast inside would likely emerge sooner rather than later—her rising anger was indication of that, so even without the traumatic events involving her ex, it was obvious that we were well into the process.

Of course, if the timeline was as it should be, she wouldn’t have started aesthetically changing until mid-March. Which reminded me…

With my cooling lunch in hand, I left Holland to eat alone in her room and headed downstairs to my office, which doubled as a den. Once I’d found Holland, I’d had to learn everything I could from afar, so the den side of the room had been used way less than the office side—though I’d slept on the couch more times than not, after marathon nights of research. My desk had seen a lot of late nights in the past few years. One rule in all of this: I couldn’t approach her blindly and introduce myself as the man she was going to fall in love with to break the millennia-old spell cursing her family. She would have thought I was a psycho anyway, so the rule was fine by me.

The biggest issue, and something no one could prepare me for, was how to get her to fall in love with me. Dad prepared me for what would happen once the change began, how to handle Holland’s outbursts, what to do when she raged—stuff like that. I was more than prepared to remain calm in the face of her rage, solid in the grip of her turmoil. I wasn’t sure if that was something he’d taught me, or just someone I was—never quick to anger, never acting in haste. Maybe the trait had been passed down to me from my mother. I didn’t know.

I’d learned all about the curse, and the generations of men before me; their trials, their minor successes, and, ultimately, their many failures. I’d studied each documented bit of history about the incarnations of Holland over the years. I knew each statue’s location around the world—not that I’d visited any of them, or even planned to; that part of our history was best left alone. I had documents explaining what stories had been developed around each missing girl, the vague stories formed for the Briggs family so that they never discovered the true fate of their beloved daughters.

I knew it all, and anything I had yet to learn was within my reach in this office. But making someone fall in love with me? How was I supposed to do that?

Especially now, with even less time than I’d counted on. We wouldn’t get the needed time to date, get to know one another. There would be nothing natural about our courtship, destined or otherwise.

I was completely screwed.

I sat in my dad’s old oversized stuffed chair, the cushions worn from so many nights of sitting here across from him as he taught me about our family history and duty. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, wishing he was still here. I needed his help figuring out why Holland began changing before she was supposed to. How could I have been so wrong about her birthday?

I flipped through my books, through pages of information my dad and ancestors collected for generations. I couldn’t find anything about the girls before Holland having birthdays that weren’t as they should be. Every girl was accounted for, every single one, and every story made perfect sense. Each bit of history matched up to the timeline the men in my family were given, fitting perfectly into the mold of the story. The curse remained exactly the same, year after year. Nothing changed. Nothing. Each reincarnation regenerated differently, obviously, so she never remembered any of the lives she’d lived before. The Destined were different, as well, but the curse was the same, and we were eventually made aware of it while her manifestations rarely were. Each man before me had a chance to fall in love with her and break the spell, yet somehow, each time, they’d failed.

Had none of the men before me fallen in love with the previous incarnations? I couldn’t imagine how they could fail. I’d known the moment I saw her that I’d be able to love her with ease. The spark of defiance in her eyes pulled me toward her like a magnet. Was that something each manifestation of her carried with them, or something unique to this version of her? Had she always been so strong-willed, yet vulnerable? So brave, but scared? Hadn’t she always been a beautiful mess of walking contradictions?

I couldn’t see how any man could not be consumed by her.

Wait. I massaged my temples with my middle finger and thumb as a thought took shape in my mind. A concept I didn’t want to acknowledge, but couldn’t ignore.

What if all of the men had loved her with ease, but she never reciprocated their love?

Could that be the reason all the generations of Destined before me were unable to break the curse?

Because she hadn’t loved them?

My stomach did more than just pitch at the thought, it did a full-blown flip. Not because of my feelings for Holland and the fact they were so strong, so soon, but because I’d been sure I’d be the one to finally break the spell. I’d been sure my generation would be the last.

I’d promised my dad as much.

I couldn’t break that promise. I wouldn’t.

I laid my head on my arm on the desk and closed my eyes as I mentally scanned years of documents I’d reviewed. Something didn’t make sense, didn’t fit into the nice little puzzle of our intertwined fates.

Something was wrong.

I lacked a huge bit of information…

“Oh my God.”

Her voice penetrated my dreams, muted, distant…

“Mick! What the hell is this?”

The harshness of her tone ripped me out of my slumber, dragging me quickly back to consciousness. I lifted my head, my eyes fighting to focus. I scanned my surroundings. The office. I was still in my dad’s office. How long had I been out?

Holland sat cross-legged on the corner of my dad’s massive cherry wood desk, gripping a stack of papers, discarded pages surrounding her on the desktop. Her gray, ashen face was pulled into a deep glower, her lips in a scowl.

“What is this?”

“It’s…it’s—” I shook my head, struggling for the right words amid the fog still muddling my sleep-addled brain, “—It’s not…I can explain.”

She grabbed the ceramic bust on the edge of the desk, then whipped it at the wall behind my head. The piece shattered against the plaid, wallpapered wall, thousands of tiny bits of plaster showering out around me. I ducked, covering my head with my arms, but still managed to receive a few soft hits of pottery to my back and head.

“Answer me! What. Is. This?”

I stood, slowly, my gaze locked with hers. “Holland, I—”

She jumped off the desk, then whipped the papers at my face. I barely had enough time to raise my arm and swat them away.

“Screw this.”

She stormed out of the office. I moved to follow her, banging my knee into my dad’s desk. Pain shot fire up into my thigh and down to my toes, and I reached to grasp my kneecap with both hands, groaning as my leg threatened to go out beneath me. I pushed through the pain, gritting my teeth, then raced for the office door just as the front door of the cabin slammed shut, the sound echoing throughout the house.

“Holland!”

I silently cursed myself for letting her discover her fate this way instead of finding an honorable way to tell her the truth. I’d been irresponsible to fall asleep without locking the door. Every truth she’d ever need to know lay amongst the chaos of this office, and many secrets she shouldn’t have to discover. The shit you’re meant to protect her from, asshole.

I ran to the main entrance of the cabin, a slight limp in one leg, then threw the wooden door open and spotted her running into the tree line.

“Holland!”

“Don’t follow me, Mick!”

“You’ll freeze out there!”

I stepped onto the porch, then buckled to the wooden planks beneath me as my leg twisted and my knee gave out. I cursed the forest around me, then watched in agony as she disappeared into its depths.

Mick

“Holland,” I began, raising my hands. I still didn’t really know what to say.

She sat cross-legged on the desk again, having returned sometime this evening while I nursed my knee—and my ego—on the couch. The only difference between then and now was the occasional shiver that sporadically ran through her body.

I limped into the room, ignoring the glare she shot me. At least the cold forest had tempered her rage down into slightly less of a burning inferno.

I slowly sat down in the giant desk chair, cringing as my knee reminded me what a clumsy asshole I was. “I can explain.” I placed the ice pack back on my knee, then looked up at her.

“No, you don’t need to explain, Mick.” Her voice was sharp and accusatory. “You don’t have to explain anything because I can see it all here for myself. What I want to know is why you didn’t tell me.”

“I couldn’t.” I quickly scanned the discarded papers, trying to gleam a little insight into what she’d discovered while I’d snoozed peacefully earlier, and what still lay hidden. I hadn’t returned to the office to investigate because my damn knee hurt so badly. I stifled an angry groan. Who twists their knee and falls like that? I’d developed the grace of a ninety-five-year-old man at the worst possible time.

“That seems like a pretty shitty answer, Mick. Wouldn’t sounds more like the truth. You wouldn’t tell me. Though I can’t figure out why. I mean, this is my story I’m reading here, is it not?”

“It is.”

“And this is my future—” she picked up another piece of paper and shook it in my face, “—and my past, correct?”

She shivered again, a bit more violently this time. I wondered if she’d managed to get hypothermia out there.

“Yes, Holland, but please, let me—”

“So it isn’t a dream. This is actually happening to me? I’m cursed?”

“Yes. But I couldn’t tell you yet. You barely knew me—”

“Wrong. I barely know you Mick.”

“You’re right. You barely know me. And I can imagine how this all seems.” She scoffed, but I continued. “I can imagine how this all seems, Holland, but please trust me when I say that I will explain everything to you, and you can ask me anything. I’ll tell you anything you need to know.”

“Yeah. Now. Now you’re an open book. But what if I hadn’t come down here to find you sleeping with all of this information splayed across your desk? What about then? Would you feel so inclined to be an open book then, Mick?”

“Yes. I would have told you, Holland. Eventually. I just wanted to figure some things out before I told you the truth, because something is off.”

“You mean more off than the fact that I’m gray…and you’re a stalker?”

I glanced back up at her, gauging her expression.

“I’m kidding, Mick, relax. I mean, you are kind of a stalker, but I guess you were meant to be my stalker, so…” She shook her head as her words trailed off. “Weird.”

“Can we stop using that word? It’s pretty creepy.”

She laughed, a small, forced sound, then picked up her high school transcripts. “Creepy?”

“I know it seems strange to you, and if it was any other situation, it would be creepy; I’ll give you that. But this is different. This is…destiny.”

Holland rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, destiny? Seriously. Stop. This is just too much.”

“I know. That was a poor word choice. But you know what I mean. This is something beyond us, beyond you and me. But there’s something different, something that hasn’t happened in any generation before us.”

“Really? What?”

“Your birthday. It’s wrong in the paperwork. But everything has been pre-determined, pre—” I paused to offer a teasing smile, “—destined. There shouldn’t be any mistakes. There’s no room for error in this.”

“I was born early.”

I whipped my head up from the paperwork in response to her statement. “What?”

“Yeah. I was a preemie. What does that have to do with anything?”

“That has everything to do with everything. You weren’t supposed to start changing until well after your birthday, which was supposed to be next month.”

“Yeah, March twenty-seventh. So, now what?”

“Well, nothing, I guess. I mean, the change has started, and we’re here, and now we have to work on controlling the anger, but as far as the birthday glitch goes, I can’t see how it has anything to do with anything aside from completely blindsiding me.”

“Blindsiding you?”

“Touché. Though this would have blindsided you regardless. I’d been waiting for this and thought I had more time to prepare.”

“To prepare for what, exactly?”

I paused before answering; noticing the way Holland was so easily talking with me. It seemed she’d forgotten to be insecure about her skin, and her initial anger—wrath?—had subsided. She moved to the studded leather Chesterfield couch across from my desk and curled up under the old blue afghan. She twirled a frayed edge of the blanket in her fingers and looked up at me as if realizing I’d taken too long to respond. Her eyes tightened for a second before she again focused intently on her hands, then tucked them under the blanket. The chills had subsided with her rage, leaving her looking like a normal, but worn out, eighteen-year-old girl.

Minus the gray skin.

“To prepare for what, Mick?”

I sighed. “To prepare for what these next few weeks—possibly months—will hold. We should have had more time together, more time to change our fates. But now, I don’t know how long we have…each girl before you had a set time frame. The curse follows an exact timeline every. Single. Time.” I shook my head, glancing at the calendar in my hands. “Until now. The stuff that’s going to start happening to you because we are already so far into the change—the rage and the violence, the emotional and physical trauma—I have no idea how long it will take.”

She didn’t flinch when I said rage and violence, which indicated to me that she’d already realized what caused the blow-ups she’d experienced thus far. I didn’t tell her those were possibly minor in comparison to what may come.

“For me to become…the beast?” Her voice hitched at the end.

“Yes.”

“So, you expect me to believe that I’m going to turn into an angry, hairy creature, and then turn into a statue? Is that correct?”

“Well, the word beast is really more…metaphorical. You won’t become a creature. Angry, yes. Hairy, no. But that’s not going to happen. I refuse to fail.”

“Fail,” she whispered the world slowly, as if not realizing she even spoke aloud. She brought her gaze back to mine, her head tilted to the side. “So you’re, like, what? My guardian or something? My Destined?” The word was laced with disbelief. She lifted the papers up again, indicating what she’d read, as if she needed tangible evidence to refer to. “This is ridiculous.”

“I know. But it’s true.”

“And I’m a doppelgänger?”

“No. You’re not a doppelgänger, not a look-alike. You’re a reincarnated soul.”

“I’ve been reincarnated over and over?”

“Yes.”

She watched me with tightening eyes. “I don’t remember that.”

“You’re not supposed to. Each life is a new chance to break the spell. If you succeed—if we succeed—then the curse is broken, and that’s the end of it. If we don’t succeed, you will die, only to come back as one of Cameron’s descendants later on down the line, going through all of this all over again. Though you won’t remember it, just as you don’t remember it now.”

“Do you remember it? All our past lives, I mean?”

“No. It doesn’t work like that for my family. We don’t get to die and come back. We have to move on, living with the weight of letting you down, letting our family down, and the knowledge that in four generations, one of our descendants will have to go through this themselves.”

“Wow. That’s even worse than living a million lives you can’t remember.”

“Yeah.”

“But descendants would indicate that you move on, right? So you’ll obviously find love and go on with your life, regardless of what happens to me.”

She didn’t say the words with sadness, or even annoyance, that I could tell, but her gray eyes glistened with a silent challenge. Did the thought of me moving on without her upset her?

“It doesn’t work like that. I don’t get to move on from this. But it’s also why we study the stories before ours, and why we are more prepared with each generation.” I recognized my father’s voice in my words, and wondered if I was trying to convince Holland, or myself.

“Your training—” she put air quotes around the word, “—did I read this right?” Holland paused to rifle through a stack of pages in front of her, searching for something to reference. “You left high school to prepare to meet me? Seriously? Who does that?”

“I still graduated with my class. I was just homeschooled for the latter part of high school because my dad moved us up here.”

“You couldn’t have gone to a high school here? Big Bear does have schools, right?”

“Yes, Holland, Big Bear has schools. My dad was adamant about making sure I was prepared to save you. His grandfather told him stories. Stories that deeply…well, they really screwed him up. He didn’t want his son to go through the pain of failing to save you.”

“Okay. So, you’re extra super-duper prepared now, and I’m a cursed beast who will soon be a statue—only after I become a complete lunatic and start attacking everyone and everything around me—am I correct so far?”

I opened my mouth to respond. To clarify that my preparations meant I’d be able to handle each of her outbursts, that I wouldn’t be afraid of her rage or her psychotic breaks, that I would be able to calm her down and bring her back from the brink…I wanted to tell her that I’d studied each of the men before me, and each of her incarnations, and I knew where they’d gone wrong, knew how to do better than they had. But she didn’t wait for me to answer.

“Why make me turn into a rage-beast first? Why not just skip straight to the statue part?”

“That has to do with who placed the curse.”

“A witch?”

“Yes, but you already read that.”

“Uh-huh.” She swirled her finger in the air. Her attempt at boredom was humorous—she actually sat on the edge of her seat now, both physically and metaphorically.

“From what I’ve read, your original self, the woman who was first cursed all those centuries ago, well, she was perfect. She was—to quote my ancestors—‘kind and gentle, soft and feminine, her beauty timeless, her kindness effortless’ …basically, everything the witch wasn’t. Everything she wanted to be, everything she despised.”

“So, she was the rage-beast?”

I chuckled at her repeated use of the made up moniker. “Yes. And her curse wasn’t just for you to never fall in love, never truly be saved, but to be tortured every time by the rage that consumed her all the days of her life.”

“Wow. That’s sad. And sick.”

“Yeah.”

Her gray eyes unfocused for a minute as she stared off into the distance, then she quickly brought her gaze back to mine. “And you. You’re my Destined, right? So, assuming you’re more prepared—” more air quotes, “—than the last guy, how do we break the spell?”

“You already know that, Holland. It’s all in there.” I pointed to the stack of paperwork she still held.

“Love? Seriously? This isn’t a Disney movie, Mick. This is real life.”

“Is love so hard to believe in?”

“Um, yeah. And this conversation is hard to believe in. Guys don’t usually talk about falling in love, so I shouldn’t be playing the part of the non-believer. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“For starters, I’ll ignore the fact that your statement is sexist—not all guys have trouble believing in love. I’m sorry you’ve had experiences that have shown you differently, but I’m not Ro—” I stopped myself before saying her ex’s name, trying to cover up my slip with an unbelievable cough. “Second of all, you’re just learning about the curse, and I’ve been studying it since I was fifteen—and that includes the love part. I couldn’t actively plan for something I didn’t believe in, could I?”

Again, as if not truly believing my words, Holland quietly analyzed me. That was okay—I’d show her that love wasn’t impossible. I had no other choice than to do so. And what I’d said was true—whether or not I’d been born believing in love didn’t matter. I’d been prepared to. I was her Destined.

But even the best training in the world couldn’t have prepared me for how I actually felt when I saw her.

Love was her only hope. It was our only hope, or we’d risk this situation occurring again in four generations. Ridiculous or not, we were without choices in the matter.

Luckily, I knew it would be easy to love her. Natural, even.

“What if you fail, and then I die, and instead of moving on, you just don’t have any kids? Will that break the curse? I mean, if there are no more generations to go through this, then it doesn’t exist, right?”

“No. Unfortunately, the curse will just follow someone else in my family. A sibling, or a distant cousin, it doesn’t matter.”

“What if you all kill yourselves?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s morbid.”

She shrugged. “It’s a legit question. If you’re all dead, who’s going to have the next heir? Nobody.”

“I’m not sure that would work, Holland, and you’d be hard pressed to convince Ro to kill herself. So, since mass suicide isn’t a viable option—” she pursed her lips and looked away abashedly, “—we continue teaching the story from generation to generation, keeping the knowledge alive. One day, a man in my family will be strong enough to break the curse.”

“And you think that’s going to be you?”

“Yes.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

Holland held my gaze for longer than she had since her skin changed color, and I wanted to go to her, wanted to pull her into my arms and show her just how sure I was. Then she turned away again, and the moment vanished.

“So, how did your father know it would be you? I mean, pulling you out of school, moving you to the mountains, how was he so sure you needed to be trained? Maybe it’s your cousin Steve in Omaha—” she waved her hands around in the air, “—maybe it’s some cousin in Africa that I’m never even going to meet, right? I mean, how can you be sure?”

“There is no cousin Steve in Omaha, or a cousin in Africa.”

“Come on now, I was making those up. You get what I’m saying.”

“I do. And what I’m saying is that not only do Steve and the cousin in Africa not exist, but there are no male cousins at all in this generation.”

“Wait. What?”

“All girls, except for me.”

“Oh. Well that’s easy, I guess.”

“It usually is. And my dad was good at researching things. Especially our family line. Somewhere in this mess of information, is the most detailed family tree—in the form of an insanely large book—that you’ve ever imagined.”

“But, really? Not one single male in your generation?”

“I know it seems strange, but that’s part of why my dad was so driven, so intense with my training. Why I’m so driven.”

“Because you’re my only hope.”

“Yes.”

“And you cared about saving me before you even knew me.”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?”

“Because I felt it. I felt you. This is my story, too, Holland, my history. I guess I just never knew anything different. Never wanted to know anything different.”

“What if you hated me when we met?”

I shook my head. “Holland. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t do this? If I didn’t try to save you?”

Holland bit her lip, her eyes squinting slightly as she pondered my question.

“Okay, so where does this leave us?” she asked after a few long seconds.

My phone vibrated on the desk, and we both watched it without moving. I knew the sound probably indicated another text from Ro. I hadn’t gotten back to her yet. I picked up my cell and read Ro’s panicked text message.

Where are you!? Where’s Holland!? Cam’s freaking out!

I quickly tapped a response, telling her I’d had to take Holland away for the weekend because the change happened way before schedule. I knew she’d flip out over that information, so I told her we’d talk later.

What about Cam!?

I tapped out another quick response: Handle it.

I hoped she could at least buy us a couple days. Holland’s overprotective brother wasn’t something I’d planned for. Of course, I also hadn’t planned for the schedule to be all out of whack.

“So.” Holland brought her gaze to mine. “I’m going to be a statue.”

“A gargoyle, to be precise.”

“A gargoyle! Are you serious? Like, an ugly monster-looking thing that sits on top of old scary houses, covered in crow poop?”

She brought her hands up to her chest, mimicking the short arms of a gargoyle, I presumed, but resembling a deformed Tyrannosaurus Rex, and watched me with wide gray eyes, peering through gray lashes. A new line had begun forming from the outside corner of her left eye. There would be more of them, I knew, and they would start appearing with more and more frequency, but still…the ever-growing proof that the change was in full force within her made my chest constrict. She probably couldn’t feel them yet, the lines, but when she did, it wouldn’t be comfortable.

“Yes, a gargoyle. But definitely not like you’re picturing, at all. And anyway, I’m not going to let that happen, okay?”

“Okay. So, now what? Where are all these statues of me? Or, my…um…previous lives? Previous…selves? Can I see them?”

“Various places. The last one is somewhere outside of Detroit.”

“Detroit? Not on the grounds of a villa in France or something fairytale-ish?”

“Do you live somewhere fairytale-ish, Holland?”

“Oh. Well, no, I guess I don’t. But I just thought—”

“You had a different picture in your head, I get it. But no. There haven’t been any reincarnations outside of the U.S. in a very long time. Many generations.”

“I don’t have any family in Detroit,” Holland added quietly.

“No, I suppose you don’t anymore.”

“Oh.” She looked down, her eyebrows scrunching up on her forehead as she considered my words. After a few beats, she brought her gaze back to mine again. “So, what now?”

“Now we get comfortable. Now we wait.”

“Wait? That’s it?” She opened her arms and regarded herself as if I was too dense to remember she was gray from head to toe.

“I’m not saying we’re going to go hit up the local sports bars, but yeah, we might as well make the best of these next few days stuck inside this cabin, and you might as well try to read as much as you can so you know what to expect.” I waved my hand over everything on the desk and the surrounding piles of paperwork on the floor. “You’re welcome to read anything you want, and if you have any questions, I’m your guy. There’s really no time to waste.”

“Well, I’d originally come down to say thanks for dinner, so I guess I’ll head back up to bed now if that’s okay with you. I have a lot to think about.”

I looked at the clock again; it was a little after nine.

“We could watch a movie up there if you want?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and I quickly changed my suggestion. “Or we could watch a movie down here, on the couch. Not up there. Not in bed together if that’s not what you want.”

I slammed my mouth shut to stop myself from making either one of us feel any more awkward. Clearly a lady-killer.

“A movie sounds okay. Down here. On the couch. With no touching.” She smiled at me, shyly, biting her bottom lip, then bringing her gaze to the floor. I smiled back; glad she wasn’t completely appalled by my awkward words a moment ago.

“Cool. Out by the television there’s a cabinet with a bunch of movies. Pick one you want to watch, and I’ll be out in a minute.”

After Holland left the room, I tried giving some order to the madness that was my desk, but there was no use. Too many years of chaotic research and collecting information, and not enough places to store it, made for an overflowing, over-crowded office space. Add to that an irate girl who’d demolished any sort of order I’d established, and the office was a lost cause.

I stood, noticing as I did so the corner of a black and white photograph poking out beneath one of the books on the opposite side of the desk from where Holland had perched. I didn’t recall having any black and white prints down here—most of our family heirloom photos were protected in a special preservation box in the attic.

I’d been in this room consistently and found it surprising that I could stumble upon anything in this house, but especially in here, even remotely unfamiliar.

I leaned over the desk and lifted the book, revealing the faded picture underneath. I swallowed the lump in my throat, then took a deep breath. As I held the photograph between thumb and forefinger, the paper quivered.

My hands were shaking. What the hell? I quickly flipped the picture over in my hands, checking to see if there was a date, or anything else that would indicate where the photo was taken, or who’d taken it. Nothing.

As I turned it back to the front and my gaze fell upon the statue, foreboding crept up my spine like icy fingers dancing over my skin.

It wasn’t a photograph at all.

It wasn’t the most recent statue outside of Detroit, or the one before it in a small village outside of what is now New Hartford, Connecticut.

It was a digital rendering of this Holland. My Holland. Outside of this cabin.

Who would have created this? I stared into the image as if waiting for the answer to reveal itself. It had to have been Ro, though I couldn’t imagine why. Maybe she’d thought this would be incentive? Something to drive me to fight harder to save Holland?

It didn’t make sense, but no other explanation existed.

I tucked the disturbing image into one of my Encyclopedias. The vision of Holland in stone would forever haunt me, and I didn’t want to see it again. The proof of what Holland would soon become—should I fail her—was forever burned into my brain.

I couldn’t fail. She would not be reduced to a worn photograph of a statue depicting a once beautiful girl, forever frozen in time.

I would not fail.

Holland

Mick remained in his office on the phone while I searched through his movie collection. Surprisingly, he owned a pretty equal assortment of chick flicks and shoot-em-up movies, but I settled on Con Air. I giggled quietly as I inserted the disc into the player, but paused as Mick’s voice rose down the hall.

“No, I don’t think it makes sense, Ro, I just…”

I tilted my head as his words dropped off.

“I don’t know who made it! That’s why I’m asking you!”

I quietly crept down the hall toward Mick’s office.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to raise my voice at you. Yes, she’s here. We’re fine. I’ll figure this out. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

I leaned on the wall just outside the room and listened.

“He said what? Shit…Well, you can’t let him…No. I don’t care if he’s pissed! He can’t come here. I asked you to handle it, Ro.”

He, who?

Mick’s footsteps against the hardwood flooring made me freeze as he stepped toward the doorway; my breath caught in my lungs. I quickly scanned the hallway and debated fleeing, but didn’t think I could make it back to the living room without him noticing.

I closed my eyes and pressed myself against the wall, trying to blend into the shadows.

When I opened my eyes again, Mick stood just a few inches in front of me, a wicked smile on his face, his breath tickling the flesh of my cheeks.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, you know.”

The rugged outline of his features was clear, even in the darkness of the hallway. He licked his straight, full lips. My pulse sped. I held my breath. His eyelashes were longer than I realized, the light from the open office door casting shadows of them onto his cheeks. The whites of his eyes were bright, even in the barely lit hall, his gaze full of mischief. He leaned further toward me. I sucked in a ragged breath.

I was in trouble if I didn’t get out of there fast.

“It’s—” I cleared my throat, “—it’s not eavesdropping if you’re yelling loud enough for the whole world to hear you.” I urged my feet to carry me away, but somehow remained trapped beneath Mick’s gaze.

He smiled and cocked his head to the side, then leaned in toward me another inch or two, his right forearm pressed against the wall next to my head. His hand rested on the wall near my hair, and I was suddenly acutely aware of just how many inches it would take for him to close the distance between us completely and press his body against mine.

Three.

It would take three tiny inches.

He licked his lips once more, and my mind flashed back to the incredible kiss in the movie theater. The way his lips had moved with mine…

He brought his other hand up to my face, and as his fingertips grazed my cheek, I panicked. He was about to kiss me again!

I couldn’t let that happen. No. Especially not if he’d been preparing to be with me his whole life. I wasn’t about to be this guy’s project.

I slipped down the wall and backed away from him as quickly as I could. “You’re going to miss the movie.”

He sighed as I walked away, and my heart pounded in my throat. I almost walked into the banister.

The worst part? I’d actually wanted him to kiss me.

I’d nearly ignored the fact I was now gray from head to toe. I’d nearly ignored the fact that I wasn’t dating material long before the skin deformity, and, more importantly, I’d nearly ignored the fact that Mick was only into me because he’d been trained to be.

I needed to get away from him and fast.

A little while later, with both of us settled into opposite sides of the couch, complete with bowls of popcorn propped in our laps, Mick started the movie.

“Ha. Con Air? Seriously?”

“Humor me.”

“It’s a classic, you know. I don’t think you’re going to convince me with this.”

“We’ll see. Just watch the movie.”

“I don’t think this is a good example. You should have picked something like Wicker Man or that ghost motorcycle in flames one…”

My pulse began to race as my chest tightened, that increasingly familiar feeling of losing control seizing me once more. What the hell? I took a deep breath, trying to slow my pounding heart. I closed my eyes and silently counted to ten.

“…anyway, I guess we’ll have to wait and see, but I’m telling you—”

“Mick! Shut up and watch the damn movie, alright?”

I slapped my hand across my mouth the second the words were out. Mick remained calm, not in the least bit surprised at my outburst which made shame blossom within me.

The embarrassment fueled the anger, my heart speeding up, and my chest heaving irregularly with each breath I inhaled as I tried to calm myself down. What’s wrong with me? Every muscle in my body tightened and released, tightened and released, as though I involuntarily flexed for a fight. I dropped my arm into my lap and watched as both hands curled into fists against my will. As if someone else—or something else—moved my limbs without my consent.

I flexed my fingers, ready to punch something, anything, if only to just release the tension in my hands. I searched the room for something to hit—

What the . . .? Something to hit?

What the hell is wrong with me?

“What’s wrong with me, Mick?” My voice, barely audible, slipped through clenched teeth as the muscles in my face constricted.

Mick’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his eyes slowly widening. He put his hands out in front of him, palms facing me, and spoke softly. “Okay, Holland, breathe with me. You’re going to be fine. In and out. In and out. Deep breath in…deep breath out…”

He reached a hand out to touch my leg and I jumped off the couch, crouching a few feet away from him, my hands clenched into fists extended in front of me.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Okay, okay, I won’t. Just focus on your breathing, Holland. Focus on my breathing.”

As silly as we must have looked, me standing with my knees slightly bent, my arms extended in a fighter’s stance, as if ready to defend myself at any minute, and Mick on the couch with his palms up in surrender, I tried to absorb his words. He’d told me to focus on his breathing.

I stared at his rising chest, concentrating on the unbuttoned opening of his Henley shirt as he inhaled each deep breath. I did my best to mimic the movements with my own breathing.

After what felt like hours, my muscles gradually relaxed, and my heart rate slowed to a normal pace.

With my strength sufficiently seeped out of me, my body drained completely after the few long minutes of being tense like never before, I barely rallied the energy to make it back to the couch, just a yard or so away from where I still crouched. I slumped on the far end, sinking into the cushions and looking over at Mick with bleary eyes.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Holland. That wasn’t you. But that’s what I was talking about—the part of the change we need to worry about and focus on.”

He scooted closer to me, slowly, with his hands still upturned as if to show me he didn’t want to hurt or corner me. He regarded me as though I were a wild animal. Or a completely crazy person.

Which I guess I was now…a little of both.

But he shouldn’t have been scared—I could barely move, let alone attack him. Whatever had just happened sucked out every bit of life from my bones. I wanted nothing more than to melt into the couch and close my eyes for months.

“What did you feel?”

When he spoke, I realized my eyes were closed. Opening them, I found his gaze, trying to gauge how crazy he thought I was. All I saw was compassion. He sat right next to me, gently snaking his arm around my shoulders. I allowed him to pull me into his chest, unable and unwilling to push him away. He covered us both with the blanket. “What did you feel? It’s okay to tell me. I need to know how far you are into the change.”

“I felt…angry. But not just angry, I felt insane. Like I was going to explode if I didn’t rip you apart.”

I cringed as the words left my mouth. What a thing to say to someone.

“But you didn’t rip me apart. You kept yourself under control, and we’re both fine now. What was it that helped you come back from that place?”

You.

“I focused on your breathing.”

“Good. We need to remember everything that works for you. It will get worse though, Holland. Next time will be worse.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated on his breathing again, though, this time, I wasn’t watching his chest rise and fall but rocking with the movement beneath my cheek. His heartbeat thumped softly in my ear. Mick’s tenderness, combined with the sound of his steady pulse, was soothing—much more so than I wanted to admit.

It was exactly what I needed. His closeness.

His protection.

Him.

Mick

With Holland asleep on my chest, I was both completely at ease and on high alert. I knew the next time the beast tried escaping would be worse, and with each occurrence, overpowering the rage would become more and more difficult. She’d done well this time, but tonight’s episode was only the beginning. She’d be flying off the handle with more frequency now that we were fully into the change, and I’d lose a little more of her each time.

All it would take was one time…one instance of Holland succumbing to the monster, and she’d be gone from me forever.

Her hair tickled my nose, and I leaned over to smell her without even realizing what I was doing until I’d done it. She smelled familiar, like home. She’d showered in my shower and used all of my products, so the shampoo was a familiar scent. But it was more than that. More than just the way her smell mingled with familiar soap and shampoo, Holland felt like home. She fit perfectly in the crook of my arm, and I never wanted to let go.

She murmured something in her sleep and I froze, not wanting her to wake up and put distance between us again. She wiggled around a bit, readjusting and crawling further into the space of my open arms.

The movie had been over for a while now, and the brand name for the player floated around on the screen. I’d waited long enough and should probably get her to bed; if she slept curled up in this cramped space on the couch all night she’d have a terrible kink in her neck come morning.

I slowly moved forward on the couch, cradling her in my arms, then stood as gracefully as I could, so as not to disturb her. She stirred, but didn’t quite wake up. I started for the stairs, turning off lights with my elbows as I went.

“…Nic Cage…” She mumbled the words that preceded and followed the actor’s name incoherently. I could imagine what she tried to ask, though, and I laughed quietly.

“Yes, Holland,” I whispered, “you were right about that.”

“Mmm.”

I shook my head and turned the corner into the master bedroom. Even while sound asleep, she was stubborn and determined to be right.

I placed her onto the bed as gently as I could, then tried to get the covers over her with her weight on top of them. She turned and looked at me with sleepy eyes barely open, her hand darting out and gripping my wrist.

“Stay with me.”

“What?” I froze. She was sleeping, the words mumbled and nearly incoherent. She must not have known what she asked of me. Or I misheard.

“Stay.”

Nope, that’s what I’d heard. I stared, unblinking.

“Don’t get any ideas, Mick, it’s not like that. I just don’t want to be alone, okay?”

I nodded, words failing me still, my mouth painfully dry. Schmuck.

She curled into a ball and allowed me to cover her. I made my way to the other side of the bed, removed my boots, and stretched out atop the duvet. I could at least not cross any lines by sharing the same bedding with her at this point in our story. Right?

I pulled the decorative throw around me, frustrated by the fact that it either covered the top half of my body or the bottom half, but never both at the same time. I grabbed the remote by the bed and turned on the fireplace. My dad hadn’t made this place fancy, by any means, and he’d wanted it as rugged as rugged could be, but years of a woman’s presence—first my mom, then Ro’s mom later on—well, there were certain luxuries he’d given in to.

This California king was one of them, as well as the remote controlled fireplace at the foot of the bed, and for these things I was grateful. At least we’d rest well while we were here—the soft snoring coming from Holland was proof of that.

I crossed my arms behind my head and stared at the thin white canopy above us until my eyes were too heavy to keep open any longer. Lulled by the peaceful sound of her snoozing next to me, I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke to Holland’s arm slinking around my waist. I stilled, suddenly very alert and completely frozen in place. I didn’t know what to do; she must have readjusted in her sleep and if I woke her…well, if I woke her, she’d have been humiliated because she’d cuddled with me by accident.

Yeah, waking her up now would have been rude. I’ll leave her there…curled up beside me, one arm holding my waist, I’d leave her there. A gentlemanly decision, I told myself.

I stared up at the ceiling, wide eyed and—

Her hand twitched, then slid its way up my torso. I barely dared to breathe. Her fingertips grazed my chest, purposefully—she was awake and moving with intention or sleeping through a dream I wished I starred in.

And still, I lay there…unable to move or think or breathe.

She rested her hand in the crook of my shoulder, then nuzzled her face into my neck on the other side.

When her lips found my throat, kissing me gently with an open mouth, I squeezed my eyes shut. She wasn’t the one sleeping. I was. This obviously wasn’t real. Apparently I did get to star in a dream tonight. My own. My breath returned to somewhat normal once I realized that I could breathe without fear of waking this dream version of Holland.

Then she climbed on top of me, and all rational thought jumped out the window with my calm breathing. Her hair dangled in my face, and the scent of her dared me to open my eyes and look up at her. But there was no way the timid girl I’d seen cowering away from me earlier could possibly be climbing on top of me now, and if I opened my eyes, I risked shattering the dream. She’d been so afraid of me, of herself, there was no way she’d have acted like this if we were awake.

Her lips brushed slowly against mine, then she ran her tongue across my lower lip before nipping at it gently with her teeth.

“Mmm.”

“Did you just growl at me?”

I may have growled. Might have moaned. I didn’t know, couldn’t think past the fact that her lips hovered mere centimeters away from mine.

You’re dreaming, idiot. Just dreaming.

“Are you going to open your eyes?”

I squeezed them tighter.

Just a dream. A damn good one, yes, but still a dream. Had to be.

“Fine,” she said, her voice more playful than I’d heard it since we met. “Have it your way.”

I didn’t have time to comment about the fact she was a figment of the best dream I’d ever had before her lips pressed to mine. I reached up reflexively and pulled her down tightly to my chest. Dream or not, it felt too good to have her in my arms again to ever let her go.

I opened my mouth to hers, letting our tongues fall into rhythm together.

She felt so real, so solid…I skimmed my hands down her back, halting when my fingertips connected with bare skin and lace instead of the jeans she’d gone to sleep in. I paused for a moment, unsure what to do with myself, when all I wanted to do was grip her tighter.

She must have been suffocating underneath all the down comforters and with the fireplace raging, so she’d removed her jeans at some point in the night.

Idiot. My hands rested on the near-naked curve of Holland’s ass, and all I could think was to question why she wasn’t wearing pants.

She drew back, and I opened my eyes to see her biting her lip. It was half-coy, half-timid, and one-hundred percent sexy. She slid down to the side of me, one leg still wrapped around my midsection, and I ran a hand down her smooth thigh. I wrapped my fingers behind her knee and turned toward her. I pulled her close and lined my body up to match the length of hers, pressing one leg up toward her center. She tightened her grip with the leg draping over me, and reached both hands up, settling them at the base of my neck.

I could have kissed her for hours. Hell, I could have done much more with her, but something nagged at the back of my mind. Something that wouldn’t let me fully lose myself with this beautiful, broken girl.

She pressed her fingers into my neck, gripping me closer, and pushed her chest up against mine. With one hand, she felt her way down the length of my torso and up beneath my shirt. As her fingertips grazed the bare skin of my side, chills broke out across my body and I inhaled a quick breath. She was trying to undo me.

And I was going to let her.

That digitally created image of her flashed into the forefront of my mind, blocking any thoughts of this Holland and the way her lips currently danced along the length of my throat, replacing it with the threat of what she’d look like forever trapped in statue form. Like a splash of arctic water, the visualization iced up any warmth I’d gained from her very real body pressed against mine.

I pushed the image away—I’d deal with it later—but behind my eyelids, all I could see was that blasted threat. I’d forgotten all about its discovery after the episode with Holland downstairs, her enraged meltdown being all either one of us could think of, but I had to get to the bottom of who created the picture.

No one could have come into this cabin while I was gone, I would swear to it. The house had locks and an alarm system…and there was just no way.

I sat up, my mind focusing on that photograph downstairs in my office, instead of the half-naked girl in my bed, but Holland sat up with me, dragging my shirt up and over my head. She sat back to look at my chest, then ran her hands over my skin, eventually settling at the base of my head. As I stared into her eyes, the light from the fireplace danced on her skin, casting an amber glow; I could almost forget about the grayness covering her. She was so beautiful.

She climbed into my lap, straddling me, and looked up into my eyes.

I ran a hand over her cheek, stopping to brush my thumb across her lips, then drew her close and kissed her again.

Fuck the photograph. I wasn’t going to miss even a second of getting to hold this beautiful girl in my arms.

After we kissed a little longer, Holland’s tongue and lips doing miraculous things to my insides, she gently pushed me back, a coy smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

What’s this?

She licked her lips, then raised an eyebrow at me, and with a quick movement, she pulled her sweater up over her head. I slowly soaked her in, memorizing every inch, then moved back until my bare shoulders rested against the knotted wood of the headboard. She followed, and my hands found her lace-covered bottom, pulling her on top of me once more. With her bare chest against mine, I kissed her without holding back. She leaned into me, pulling me close to her and never letting our lips break contact. I rested my hands on either side of the groove above her hips, gripping the soft skin there gently, and keeping her in place on my lap. Her nails dug into my back as she kissed me, her hunger mimicking my own, making it hard for me to hold back.

I didn’t want to hold back. But should I?

Rational thought was losing its luster.

She was brazen and confident—the girl I’d always imagined her to be. I was anxious with anticipation, and hungry for more of her. Even nearly naked, our skin on skin contact wasn’t enough. Holland had found her way inside me in such a short time—I was blown away by how much I wanted her.

Holland broke the kiss, then leaned back to look at me, her eyebrows drawn together over heavily-lidded eyes.

My breath came out in shallow huffs. I ached in all the places she no longer touched.

“How can you kiss me?”

What? I shook my head, dazed from the power with which she kissed me, trying to bring my thoughts into focus. I splayed my fingers out over the skin of her back, pulling her closer to me once more. I needed her mouth on mine again.

“No, Mick. Look at me,” she said, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “How can you kiss me? Kiss…someone who looks like this? Is it because you were trained to?”

Ouch. Had this been a test? Had she been so willing these last few minutes, so in control…because she was testing me? Disappointment bubbled up inside me, burning my chest, the negative voice that told me she didn’t actually want me, just wanted to see how I’d respond to her. I couldn’t stop the barrage of self-doubt that flooded my mind, but I could keep Holland from seeing it and confusing it with something else.

I brought my hand to her face and ran my fingers over the cracks that were forming near her eyes. The sight of them scared me, but not because I was scared of her.

They scared me because I was scared of losing her. Scared of failing the one thing I’d been put on this earth to do.

Save her.

A tear slipped from her eye and I caught it with my thumb before it travelled further.

What could I say that would put her mind at ease?

Challenge accepted.

Instead of answering her, I pulled her to me and kissed her again. Had this been a test, it was a test I’d willingly participate in, time and time again. As my lips crushed into hers, I cradled her face with both hands, then slid one hand behind her head to cup her neck, my fingers splayed in her hair, holding her to my mouth as I returned my other hand to her lower back.

With a quick movement and possibly another deep growl, I flipped us over and lay her down, lowering myself on top of her.

Holland wrapped her arms around me, pulling me to her so firmly that I feared I’d crush her. Wrapping her legs around me, she held on tight. With our bodies so close, and my hips pressing into hers, pinned within the cocoon of her perfect frame, I was ready to lose myself in her, completely, willingly, and without regret or restraint.

I hoped her fears were slipping away as quickly as my self-control.

The latter was nearly non-existent.

Though my body screamed to go further with this irresistible enigma of a girl, I wanted only to show her that I’d kiss her forever and never tire, never fear her, never be blinded by her skin, regardless of the color.

She was perfect. Beautiful and defiant, scared and strong. I’d been made for her and her for me; a destiny she couldn’t trust yet and didn’t want to believe. A destiny I’d bet my life on. Will bet my life on. The word itself carried a humorous connotation. Destiny. I couldn’t disagree with that. But fate had a plan for us.

Holland’s skin could turn purple with bright green spots and I’d still want to be right here, pressed against her body, with her perfect lips on mine—tangled up in Holland Briggs, mind, body and soul.

Holland

I awoke with the feeling of someone watching me while I slept. I opened my eyes to sunlight, the bright rays shining through sheer curtains. Sunshine. I hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, and I’d only been in the cabin since yesterday, but I was already tired of the snow. Gray skies were not for me, especially now that I was gray enough for all of us.

“She wakes.” An unfamiliar voice, deep, rough…

I flipped over and sat up, scooting so my back was against the headboard, and pulling the blankets up around me—all in one quick movement. I was thankful I’d at least put my sweater on again last night.

“Who are you? Where’s Mick?”

The man sitting in my room had Mick’s build and dark hair, but his eyes were a deep brown, and didn’t hold any of the sparks of life that I loved about Mick’s green eyes. This guy’s hair was not shaved off like Mick’s but more of a rugged cropped cut, a bit longer on top. He had that professionally tousled look going on, as if he paid someone a few hundred dollars to run their fingers through his hair, resulting in fashionably messy. His smile was predatory at best, and as he watched me, goose bumps popped up all over my body.

Good looking, sure, but also creepy as hell.

“Yes, where is Mick? I was wondering that myself just a few moments ago. It’s a shame he’d leave you sleeping here so unprotected like this.” He turned his attention to the window, away from me, as if thinking out loud.

The man had an accent I couldn’t quite place. But then, I’ve never been very good with that. I guessed England, but I had a terrible habit of mixing up British and Australian. I’d offended a few people in my lifetime with that, but it wasn’t purposeful—just something wrong with my ears, I guessed.

I didn’t respond, but instead repeated my still-unanswered question.

“Who are you?”

“Well, in short, I’m Donovan Gregory. But the long part of it? My favorite part? I’m the guy who’s going to break the spell, love.”

What? How did he know about the spell? How did he—?

Then I remembered I was gray and realized someone other than Mick and I now knew my secret. I tried to pull the blanket up even higher, but couldn’t fully cover myself without taking my gaze off the intruder. And looking completely ridiculous hiding beneath a blanket fort.

“Wait,” I continued. “What did you just say?”

“That’s right. I know all about you. Though, by the way you rested so peacefully, I thought for a second I was in the wrong fairytale. You’re a much more fitting Sleeping Beauty than Beauty and the Beast. Even with the…discoloration of your skin.”

I cringed at his word choice, but if he noticed, he didn’t seem to care. Discoloration.

He continued, “But that’s obviously how I knew I was in fact in the right place. And judging by the cracks forming near your eyes, I’d say not only am I in the right place, but I’m just in time.”

“How do you know about all of this? Where’s Mick?”

“Ah, yes, Mick. Let’s call my little brother up here, shall we?”

“Brother?”

The stranger—Donovan—walked to the door and opened it, calling down the hall for Mick.

“Hey, little brother! Come up and have a chat with me!”

He turned back around with a wide, wicked grin on his face, and then stepped away from the door.

“What the fuck? Holland!” Mick’s voice was distant, but his fear rang loud and clear through the cabin. His feet thumped up the stairs, and my heart joined their frantic rhythm, his panic confirming the fact that this man was unwelcomed here.

Mick ran into the room, straight to my side. He gave me a quick once-over with his eyes and, confirming I was unharmed, spun around to face Donovan, positioning himself at the end of the massive bed, protectively between the two of us.

“You’ve got about two seconds to get the fuck out of here before I remove you.”

Donovan laughed and shook his head from side to side. “Well, aren’t you the little scrapper, mate? I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so disappointed. I mean really, is that any way to treat family?” Donovan tsk-tsked, then crossed his arms over his chest.

Mick stepped toward him, his fists clenched at his sides. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. Family. I’d expect a better welcome for your long lost big brother.”

Observing the two of them as they stared each other down, I saw the resemblance. The dark hair—though Donovan’s was long and Mick’s was almost completely shaved off—was the exact same shade of chestnut. The way Mick’s jaw was so square and defined—Donovan’s was structured the same. His face even mimicked Mick’s now, his chin jutting out, his lips pulled into a tight line…Donovan’s defensive stance was the spitting image of Mick.

“Holy hell.”

I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud until both guys turned their hardened stares to me. Donovan’s dark brown eyes and Mick’s light green eyes watched me as I scrutinized the two of them side by side.

“You didn’t know?” I asked Mick, my voice a mere whisper.

A curt shake of his head was the only answer he gave me before turning back to his brother.

“Explain. Or my original offer to remove you from my home still stands.”

“Why don’t we go downstairs so our sleeping beauty can get dressed? I’d like some coffee, and I’d like to give you the chance to redeem yourself for the poor hospitality you’ve offered thus far.”

“Uh-uh. No way. I’m coming with you guys. I want to hear this.” I jumped out of bed, forgetting for a moment I wore next-to-nothing. I met Mick’s green eyes and blushed as I remembered why I was nearly naked. Heat snaked its way over my body as Mick held my gaze, until he broke it by turning away to chastise Donovan.

“Do you mind?” He practically growled the words, reminding me of the sexy way he’d growled when I bit his lip last night. Something deep down inside me stirred at the sound. It felt almost primal, like it wasn’t my reaction to the reminder of last night, but…more like the monster inside me was reacting to the tension in the room. My muscles tensed and constricted, my fingers clenching.

I swallowed, took a deep breath, and headed for the bathroom, grabbing my discarded jeans from the floor, and ignoring the surging, angry feelings inside me. Donovan getting a quick showing of my nearly bare ass was going to be the least of my worries if I flipped out and broke something.

“Give me two minutes.”

“We won’t start without you, love.”

“Do not refer to her like that again. My patience only goes so far.”

Donovan laughed. “I meant no harm by it, brother.”

Avoiding the mirror, I dressed and brushed my teeth as quickly as I could. I was pleasantly surprised when I exited the bathroom, that Mick and Donovan hadn’t killed each other in the two minutes I’d been out of sight. They still stood the same way they had when I left the room. Mick’s shoulders were tense, and his fists were clenched as tightly as his jaw appeared to be, while Donovan leaned back against the wall, one elbow on the mantle over the old fireplace. His relaxed demeanor made him appear as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and his smirk showed that he found Mick’s intimidating stance amusing.

I cleared my throat, and both guys turned to me.

“After you,” Donovan said with a wave of his arm.

“Not on your life,” Mick said, as he reached a hand out to me. “You will walk ahead of us so I can keep an eye on you.”

“As you wish.” Donovan bowed, mocking Mick, and nonchalantly strolled from the room.

I raised my eyebrows as I walked toward Mick and slipped my fingers into his. He squeezed my hand in response and butterflies kicked up in my belly. I watched him as we walked, but he kept his eyes on Donovan. A muscle worked in his jaw, and I wondered what he must think about this sudden appearance of a supposed long lost brother.

I also wondered how this would affect me—and the curse on my family.

I was tempted to ask questions—so many raged through my mind—but I stayed silent, knowing there would be plenty of time for us to talk later, after this guy was out of the house and, hopefully, our lives. He gave me the creeps.

“The kitchen, then? I imagine our sweet sleeping beauty here is hungry?”

“I am,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure I’d be able to go about making breakfast and acting normal, as if there wasn’t a stranger in the cabin on top of everything else that was completely screwed up in my life.

Donovan took a seat at the table, making himself at home. Mick stood near me in the kitchen, his butt against the counter top and his arms crossed. His gaze never left Donovan, as I worked around the two of them, making breakfast. Unsurprisingly, Mick was the only one to argue my desire to cook this morning. Donovan observed quietly, obviously a man who believed women had their place.

I quickly scrambled eggs. From a container, eeew. I found sausage links in the fridge, along with a bag of hash browns, and managed to whip up a pretty decent breakfast. I plated the food, though why I should be hospitable to this intruder I had no idea. Still, I put a plate in front of Donovan anyway. No one said a word until all three of us were seated at the table and I’d had my first bite of food. The tension was almost stifling.

“She’s beautiful and she can cook? What a package.”

Mick set his fork down, ignoring his food for the time being. I continued eating—my body hungrier than I remembered ever feeling before. Each bite couldn’t get to my mouth quickly enough and, somehow, with each bite, I knew the food wouldn’t be sufficient. My stomach continued to rumble, even as I shoveled in bite after bite of protein and carbs.

“Time’s up. Why are you here, and who are you?”

“Well,” Donovan said around a mouthful of eggs. “Like I already explained, mate, the name’s Donovan, and I’m your brother. It’s an uncanny resemblance when you really look at us, don’t you think? Although, your light eyes obviously came from your mother.”

“Actually, my father had green eyes.”

“Oh. My bad. I guess my brown eyes came from my mum then. No matter. I found out just recently that dear old mummy had a thing for business men from America. She met your dad some twenty-nine or so years ago, they shagged, split ways, and whaddya know? Nine months later, Mum’s got herself a baby.”

Mick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Did you say twenty-nine years ago?”

“Yeah, follow along, please; I do hate repeating myself. Your dad, my mum, shagging like high school kids after prom, and here I am. Without so much as a mention of my dad all these years. Mum dies—bless her soul—and I find out she knew exactly who my dad was all this time, only he didn’t know about me. So I come all this way to surprise him with a ‘Hey Pops!’ and I find out he, too, is dead. Of all the shoddy luck. So I go on a hunt to find out what I can about him, and I come across this cabin. I think to myself, ‘hmm, this seems like a nice enough place, and since it was my dad’s, it’s rightfully mine.’ So I let myself in one night—”

“How?”

“I reckon you mean how did I get past your extra special security system, correct? Don’t be foolish, mate, anyone with half a lick of sense can get around one of those, and since I have far more than half a lick of sense, well, here I am. So anyway, back to the story. I let myself in, and guess what I find?”

Donovan paused as if actually waiting for us to guess.

“Well, go on then. Guess.”

He was met with continued silence, so with an exaggerated eye roll and a flick of his wrist, he proceeded with the story.

“Fine. You’re all bloody boring, you know that?” Donovan waved a hand in the general direction of Mick’s office. “I find the stash of stuff in your office there. I find newspaper clippings, loads of books with dog-eared pages, fairytales, pictures of this one here—” he pointed at me, “—and all this time, I’m thinking my old man was a regular wanker! I mean, he had the girl’s high school transcripts for fuck’s sake!

“But then, then it gets better. I discover these aren’t my dad’s things but yours, my long lost little brother. Imagine my shock when I find out that not only do I have a brother, but he’s a stalker with a shrine in his office!”

The word made me cringe, and Mick gave a curt shake of his head as his jaw tightened.

Oblivious of our discomfort, Donovan continued. “Then, as if I’m as barmy as you are, I begin to read all of your compiled information, and realize—sadly—that I come from a long line of trolley hoppers.”

Trolley hoppers?

Donovan raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing my confused expression. “You know, love, off the trolley? Looney? A card or two short of a full deck?” He tapped his knuckle against his temple, then shook his head.

Sitting back in his seat, Donovan stuffed another forkful of eggs and potatoes into his mouth and grinned, continuing with muffled words. “But tell me, brother, it’s not crazy, is it? It’s all real. And you’ve got your little beasty hidden away here, trying to fall in love with her, and her with you…and lo and behold, you’ll break the spell. Happily ever after, yes?”

Donovan’s gaze travelled over me, then he brought his attention back to Mick, and his smile disappeared as he swallowed. “Go give your head a wobble, brother. Your plan’s not going to work.”

Holland

Donovan leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his massive chest, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips.

Mick held my gaze, his eyes darkening before quickly turning his head away again. “What do you mean ‘it’s not going to work?’” he asked Donovan.

“Don’t be daft, mate. Look at her! I can see clear as day that she’s not changing back, so obviously the spell hasn’t been broken.”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? Bollocks.” Donovan smirked.

“But why?” This time it was me who spoke, only I barely recognized my own voice it was so soft. The concept that the spell could not be broken was scarier than I wanted to think about…and something I hadn’t even thought to consider. I couldn’t imagine being stuck like this forever, but I knew if we didn’t break the spell, my fate would be much worse than having gray skin and occasional angry outbursts.

Images of horned gargoyles perched atop crusty old haunted mansions floated through my mind, causing a shiver to run up my spine.

A pain formed in my chest, tight at first, and slightly tingly. It slowly crept away from my heart, spreading as the grayness had yesterday. I looked down at my chest, but couldn’t see anything different. The feeling stemmed from deep inside, not on the surface.

I clenched my teeth, reluctant to alert Mick and Donovan to something I didn’t truly understand yet.

“Let me tell you a story, Beauty. Once upon a time, a witch cast a spell on your family. That witch had fallen in love with your ancestor, and he hadn’t returned her feelings. He met you, I mean, he met your—what was it, great-grandmother to the twentieth degree, or something?—fell in love, married her, and started a long line of what I can only imagine are beautiful offspring. Judging by you, of course.”

Mick’s hands clenched into fists on the table. I reached over absently to rub the hand closest to me, and he responded by sliding both hands around mine.

“That’s sweet, mate, but if you don’t like when I compliment her beauty, you’re definitely not going to like the end of this little legend. So anyway, at the same time your family is being cursed by this witch, she has her hands in a few different illegal pots, so to speak, and a gambling deal she’s made goes south. Being in the cursed, spell-casting mood that she’s in, instead of killing the old chap for the money he owes her, or finding some way to make him pay up, she casts a spell on him as well, linking him to your family for all of eternity. And, get this, he’d never even met your ancestors, but here he was, destined to be intertwined with them forever. Every four generations, a girl from your family and a boy from his family will meet.”

“How long were you here, spying on me and reading my research?”

“Long enough, little brother. Long enough indeed.” He doesn’t take his gaze off mine when he speaks. “So, here we are, right? A girl from your family, and a boy from mine.”

I couldn’t help but notice that he said a girl, and not the girl. If I’d allegedly been reincarnated time and time again, that seemed like a pretty big slip-up. I wasn’t just a girl from the Briggs family.

I was the girl.

“But you’ve fallen in love, correct?” Donovan glanced from me to Mick, but didn’t wait for an answer, and I didn’t bother to correct him. “Well, regardless of your feelings for each other, and how deeply they may or may not go, nothing’s happened. The spell hasn’t broken. You’re still cursed. Blah blah blah.”

“So,” Mick asked, “what are you getting at?”

“The right fourth generation son isn’t here.”

“Bullshit. I’ve been preparing for this since childhood. I’ve studied for countless hours. My father died with years of research still to do, a small fraction of the massive amount he’d already done. This doesn’t involve cousins, brothers, or anyone else. Just my father’s line, and his first born.”

His first born. I’d figured it out, why couldn’t Mick? I wanted to say something, but pain moved from my chest, slowly engulfing every inch of me. The rapidly growing ache hadn’t travelled past my elbows yet, but I knew without actually knowing that if the pain reached my fingertips, it would be the end of me. I don’t know how I knew; I just did. And I was too terrified to move or speak as the agony spread outward from my heart, a slow burn, consuming me inch by inch.

“Our father, mate. Our father. And since I’m older than you—”

“No. No, I don’t believe it. I won’t.” Mick stood, still unaware of what was happening to me just a few feet away. He remained in a showdown with Donovan, and I couldn’t find my voice to get his attention. He spoke to Donovan again, still completely oblivious to me, his metaphorical peacock feathers spreading widely behind him. “You need to get out of here before I throw you out.”

“See, now I thought you’d be a bit more level-headed about this. The proof is right in front of your face!” Donovan stood up quickly, sending his chair backward with a screech. “Look at her! Look at your beautiful beast! She’s fighting to control the change as we speak!”

Both of them turned toward me, but I couldn’t meet their eyes. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I focused on a spot of grout on the tile, a speck of imperfection left by whoever installed the flooring. I focused all of my attention on that tiny flaw. My vision tunneled. Everything outside of that spot, that tiny blemish, was blackness.

My chest heaved up and down as I struggled to breathe; what little air I obtained burned my lungs. I fought to maintain myself, my true self. Something clawed at me from the inside out, trying to escape. Pain wracked my body. Anger filled me, making my chest tighten further. My breathing was heavy and painful. And not nearly enough.

Burning. My skin burned like fire danced across the flesh.

“Holland?” Mick’s panicked voice was but a whisper compared to the whirring frenzy in my head.

I convulsed, my limbs jerking without my consent. I fell to the floor. My body shook and my eyelids flapped open and closed, open and closed. Light, dark, light, dark…I heard voices, muffled and far away. I heard screaming, but it could have been my own. I couldn’t think long enough to pinpoint anything specific.

Searing heat shot down to my fingertips. My back arced in pain.

Flames.

Sweltering. Burning. Raging around me.

Mick’s cool hand flattened across my chest, his fingers splayed above my cleavage. At some point he’d grabbed my hand and placed it beneath his shirt—his chiseled chest rising and falling beneath my fingers slowly pulled my mind back to the present. He told me to focus on his breathing—that much I gathered from the bits and pieces of words floating through my mind. Focusing on his breathing had been the only thing that worked to bring me back from the edge before.

It wouldn’t work this time. I was too far gone. Too consumed by the pain. The searing heat shot up and down through my arms and legs, pulsating its way back into my heart and then streaking back to my extremities. Over and over it pulsed through my veins. My heart pounded in my chest, the rhythm deafening in my ears.

Mick’s lips were on my ear. His voice steady, slow. “Shhh,” he whispered. “Holland, you can beat this. You can do it. Focus on my voice. Focus on my breathing.”

I tried, but I couldn’t see past the black, couldn’t hear past the thumping of my panicked heart. My fingertips burned. My skin peeled away in the wake of the flames.

“You can do this. Focus on my breathing and my words.”

He pressed my hand into his chest harder, as if urging me to follow his commands, but it was no use. I couldn’t match his breathing, couldn’t fight the searing heat coursing through me, over me.

Mick’s fingertips found my neck, strong and hot, more forceful than his gentle touch on my chest. My energy surged, the heated feeling leaving my fingertips, travelling slowly back up my arms, as if reluctantly being pulled from the outermost tips of my body. My heart slowed. The pain in my limbs eased. All of my cells seemed to focus on that point of contact; like molasses, they dragged the fire to that spot where fingers pressed into my skin. My limbs stopped shaking, leaving me with just a few small trembles wracking my body.

All pain and heat flowed north, leaving my body through that simple point of contact—the hard pressure of fingertips on the pulsing vein in my neck.

My heavy breathing slowed as the pain eased.

“Shhh, that’s right,” Mick coaxed. “Try to breathe, Holland. Focus on my voice, on my hand.”

I tried to do what he said, but all I could think about was the connection to his fingers on my neck. I could barely feel his gentle touch on my chest. A hand moved behind my back—the hand that held me up—pulling me closer to Mick. I quickly tallied the places on my body where I felt connections.

Too many hands.

Mick rested his palm just above my breasts, his other hand holding me to him.

Then who’s fingers…?

Donovan.

Donovan’s fingertips were on my neck. Donovan’s touch seemed to draw all of the heat from my body, up and out through the connection of his skin on mine. He rubbed up and down, and the remaining pain slowly seeped out of my skin. I imagined Donovan collecting my agony, pulling it into himself, the fire seeping from my body into his with every second that ticked by.

“Holland? Can you open your eyes? Can you look at me?”

Mick’s voice came from my right, so I turned my head in that direction, ignoring the strong pull I felt to my left. I opened my eyes and found Mick’s face just inches away.

“Oh, thank God.”

His lips pressed to mine, and he kissed me frantically. Even while locked in that kiss, the moment when Donovan’s fingers left my throat nearly devastated me. Where his touch left my skin, the heat and warmth followed, leaving that small area on my neck feeling icy cold in his absence. I couldn’t focus on Mick with the strange feeling of wrongness that flooded me when Donovan broke contact with my skin.

“Mick,” I said into his crushing mouth, “you’re going to smother me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just . . .” he paused, searching my eyes. “That was so much worse than yesterday. I’ve never seen you…I was…I was terrified.”

“I’m okay. I’m…that was horrible.”

Mick helped me into a sitting position. I needed more help than I’d realized, surprised that I could barely move on my own. My body felt like it had been dropped out of a fifty-story building—and bounced a few times for good measure.

“I’ve never felt pain so strong before. I felt like I was on fire. My skin…”

I looked down at my arms and hands hesitantly, scared to discover some proof of the flames that just moments ago lapped at my entire body. I expected charred skin or bright red scarring, but I was still me. Just as gray as I’d been before. On closer inspection, however, I realized the beast remained, lightly moving around inside me. I’d beaten it one more time.

I wondered how many more outbursts would transpire before I was lost to the curse for good. Would Mick be able to pull me back from the edge next time?

I doubted it.

It hadn’t even been Mick that pulled me back this time.

With that thought, I brought my gaze up to find Donovan. He stood across the room, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes held mine, and I knew he knew. I wondered if he’d felt the heat slipping into him, the way I’d felt it seeping from me. Had he felt the searing pain and remained stoic throughout?

I had so many questions.

I worried that he’d tell Mick the truth, but he remained quiet, holding my gaze and not saying a word. I broke eye contact and turned back to Mick, praying he hadn’t seen the secret hanging in the air between Donovan and me.

“Mick, Donovan—your brother—I think he’s your dad’s first born. I think that’s why he’s saying we won’t able to change this.”

Mick dropped his gaze to the ground, defeated. “I know. I kinda figured that out. I’m so sorry.”

“Why would you say that? You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I thought it was me. All these years of training, of waiting for you…wasted. I finally found you, and now I discover that I’m not the guy to fix it, not the guy to break the curse. I’ve failed.”

“No.” I pulled his chin up so his eyes were level with mine again. “Don’t say that. We’ll find a way to break the curse, Mick.” I gave him a quick peck. “We.”

Mick

Someone beat on the front door of the cabin, interrupting Holland’s unconvincing attempt to reassure me that I hadn’t actually failed her.

But I had.

I jumped up and turned to Donovan when the loud pounding echoed through the cabin.

“Piss off, mate. Don’t look at me, I travel alone.”

I narrowed my eyes, but didn’t respond. I looked back down at Holland, who was still sitting on the ground where I’d left her in an awkward position. “Can you move?”

“Not really, but go check the door. Maybe it’s a neighbor worried about all the screaming.”

How would I explain that?

“I’ll stay with her, brother.”

Donovan’s satisfied smile was wide, and the glint in his eyes mocked me. Just as I began to lunge for him, more pounding carried from the front door.

I glanced between him and Holland.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Mick. Go.”

I headed to the living room and pulled the heavy curtain aside. Ro’s ugly old station wagon was parked diagonally in the snow-covered gravel driveway. She knocked pretty loudly for someone so small—and where the hell is her key, anyway?—which should have clued me into the fact she wasn’t alone, but with everything else going on I was clearly not thinking and opened the door to a very pissed off Cameron.

“Shit.”

“Where is she?” he demanded, shouldering past me. “Holland!”

“Wait, Cam—”

Cam rounded on me, his face inches away from mine. I hadn’t noticed his size before, but now that he towered over me, I realized how unevenly matched we were.

“Don’t you tell me to wait. Where the fuck is my sister?”

“Cam?” she called.

His eyes widened at the sound of Holland’s soft voice coming from the kitchen. He turned away from me, thundering through the great room toward the sound.

Ro’s hand was on my arm, halting me from following Cam. “Mick, I’m so—”

“Not now, Ro.” I pulled away from her and headed for the kitchen, not really caring to hear Ro’s apology. She knew why we were up here and knew what she chanced by bringing Cam. I had to trust that she’d felt she had no other choice, but I didn’t have to talk to her. Not right now anyway.

I almost slammed into Cam’s back at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Get away from my sister,” he growled through clenched teeth. I peeked past him to see Donovan holding Holland up, and almost growled with rage myself.

“Well, you see, mate, that’s the funny thing about this situation. If I get away from your sister right now, she’ll crumple to the floor, and I’m not willing to do that to her. So why don’t you cool your raging teenage hormones and have a seat.”

I closed my eyes, wishing Donovan away, but he was still there when I opened them. Cam’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, but he hadn’t moved. He appeared to be gauging the truth in Donovan’s words, watching him help Holland into a chair at the dining table, proving he had more self-control than most guys I knew.

“Ro?” I called over my shoulder.

“Yes, I’m here,” she said from directly behind me.

“How much did you tell Cameron?”

“As much as I knew, but he didn’t believe me.”

I assumed he would now.

I slipped past him and went to stand by Holland. I put a hand on her shoulder, and her hand found mine, covering it. Cam watched the action, but within seconds his eyes were back to her face, his eyebrows drawn together as he probably tried to make sense of the fact that his sister was completely gray from head to toe—the only exception her clothing.

“Holland, I…I don’t understand.”

“I know, Cam. I don’t really understand, either. But I’m okay. You can come closer.”

As if not realizing he’d been staying away, Cam closed the distance between them and crouched on the floor next to Holland. Peering up at her with wide eyes, he took her small hands in his big ones, and I stepped aside to sit down in a chair next to them.

“Who are you?”

We all turned our heads to see Ro standing in front of Donovan. She appeared tiny in comparison, but her stance was anything but small. She looked up at him with a dare in her eyes, and her mouth set in a hard line—a rebellious expression she’d given me too many times to count. I’d have laughed if the situation wasn’t so tense.

“Well, well, little one…aren’t you feisty? I’m that chap’s older brother.” He nodded his head toward me. “The name’s Donovan. And who, may I ask, are you?”

“Brother?”

“Yes, love, that’s what I said.”

“But…” Ro turned back toward the table and looked from me to Holland, then back to me. “Mick?”

“Yeah. I’m as shocked as you are.”

She turned back to Donovan. “How do we know we can believe you?”

“Rosemarie,” Holland spoke up softly. “Look at them. It’s obvious.”

Ro did as she was told, eyeing me first, then Donovan, then back and forth a few times for good measure. “Holy Jesus on a stick! I have another brother!”

Before Donovan could make sense of what she’d said, she was hanging around his neck, squealing with joy. He raised his eyebrows at me and circled her with his arms, hugging her back.

“See? Now this is a proper welcome for family, mate. You’d do well to learn from our sister here.”

Ro released his neck and dropped back to the ground, her momentary excitement fading as questions formed in her mind. The same ones I’d had, I imagined.

“Wait,” Ro asked. “Are you on our dad’s side, or Mick’s mom’s side?”

“I’m afraid we’re all on the same side, here, love. Daddy Dearest.”

“And you’re how old?”

“Older than that poor loser over there, I’d say.”

Ro turned back to me. “But if he’s Dad’s eldest son…then that means you…”

“Can’t break the spell. Yeah.” Maybe if we stopped acknowledging the fact, it would lose validity.

“Wow.” Ro sank down into a chair and brought her attention to Holland. Ro studied her, really seeing her gray skin for the first time. “How are you feeling?”

Holland laughed before answering. “Aside from being completely gray, and having moments of rage so intense that I feel it burn through my skin, I’m feeling pretty awesome.”

“Okay, I need some more explanation here, guys. Rosie told me about the…curse.” Still squatting beside Holland, Cam shook his head. “But I don’t get it. We’re actually descended from a Disney movie?”

Donovan took the last remaining chair across from me. “If you want to get technical about it, the Disney movie was descended from you, not the other way around. The fairytale wasn’t fiction, after all. It was a very true story, made to appear fictional and beloved by generations, as you probably know. The Beast—” he added air quotes to the word, “—was your great-great-great-etcetera-etcetera grandfather.”

“Wow,” Cam murmured.

“Yes, mate, wow is correct.”

“So, how do you all come into the story? I thought the Beast and Beauty—Belle, right?—got together in the end and broke the spell? Why is Holland cursed?” Cam looked up at his sister again, studying her face.

She gave a slight smile and looked down, avoiding any of our eyes.

Donovan snorted. “That’s what Mickey Mouse wants you to believe. But there were many before Disney, and more still to come. People who already have, or one day will, take the story, blow it out of proportion, and profit from it. Though, can’t say as I blame them. A great story such as yours—” he gestured toward Holland, “—add some things here and there, take liberties with the actual events, and then tie up all the loose ends Hollywood-style. Give the people what they want: a happily ever after. Because, truthfully, who would want to read or watch this story?”

Donovan stretched his legs out and crossed his arms behind his head.

Holland watched him as he did so, and my chest tightened. Whoa. What was that? Jealousy?

“So, the ending is a lie?” Cam asked.

“Yes. The most fictional part of your family’s history, mate, though the rest of the story you’re all familiar with is a bit of a spin as well.”

“Okay, so what really happened?”

Cam looked at me this time, as if not wanting to hear any more from my mysterious new sibling.

I reached for Holland’s hand, sliding her fingers between mine. Turning to Cameron, I began the short version of the story.

“Your ancestor had an affair with a woman who was more than she appeared. She was a witch, a sorceress, and she loved him greatly. As the story goes, when he did not return her love, but instead remained with his true love, eventually marrying her and raising a family with her, the witch turned bitter and ugly, cursing them both out of anger and pain.”

“Let’s not get too carried away, mate. I don’t recall any part of the story calling her bitter and ugly,” Donovan said.

I ignored his comment.

Cam’s eyes were wide, but I couldn’t tell if he believed the story or thought I was crazy. He looked at Holland again, and his gaze roamed over the gray skin of her face before he brought his eyes back to mine. He nodded, so I continued.

“So, first of all, Beauty and the Beast are not two different people. They are one. Unlike the fairytale version, in this story, Holland is the beauty. She will turn into the beast. My involvement in your family’s history was really just a chance encounter…and some really bad luck. See, at the same time the woman cast a spell on your family, she cast one on mine—ours,” I corrected myself, gesturing around the table to include Donovan and Ro. “That is how we became connected, how our curses intertwined.”

“This is too crazy to believe. You guys know that, right?”

“Cameron,” Holland pleaded. “I’m gray. Gray.”

“I know, but…shit. Seriously? This is too crazy. I can’t believe this. Nah, it’s too crazy.”

“You’ve mentioned that, and I know it is. But I think we have to believe. I mean, look at me. And that’s not all—I have these moments of freaking out, and…I can feel something there.” She pointed to her chest.

“How long have you known?”

“Only a little while. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt something changing inside me. And my eyes started to change before anything else.”

“And you, Mick? Rosie?” Cam looked up at us as he asked.

“Since I was fifteen,” I answered. “And I only told Ro a few years ago when our father passed away. She’d been unaware of the work we’d been doing, but when it was down to just the two of us, I figured it couldn’t hurt to let her in on the details of what my future held. Plus, seeing as she was so close in age to you guys, I knew she could help me get to Holland.”

“Okay.” Cam stood and began pacing. “So, when you say ‘get to Holland,’ what do you mean by that? Why did you have to get to her? How do you fit into all this?”

“When our families became linked, the curse defined the men in my lineage as Destined: the only ones who had the ability to break the spell. Every four generations—”

“Why four?” asked Cam.

“I don’t know. Anyway, every four generations, the first born son gets a chance to rid our families of the curse. Up until an hour or two ago, I thought that son was me.”

Cam turned to Donovan. “But it’s you? And they didn’t know about you?”

“Exactly,” Donovan said with a sly smile. “But I just found out about them, too, lad, so don’t look so distressed.”

“Okay. So how does your family break the curse on my family?”

“Love,” Ro spoke up. “Holland has to fall in love with the first born son.”

Cam stopped pacing, looked from me to Donovan and back again, then peered down at his sister. “Wow, Holl. That’s pretty heavy. Doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice here, does it?”

“She absolutely has a choice, Cameron.” I stood, but the power of my words surprised even me. “No one is going to force her to fall in love with anyone.”

As I said it, I knew I meant to finish with especially Donovan. No one was going to force her to fall in love with Donovan.

“But that’s not true, now is it, Mick?” Donovan said. “You planned for her to fall in love with you. That’s why you whisked her away and brought her here, isn’t it? To fall in love?”

“I brought Holland here to keep anyone from seeing her like this,” I said as calmly as I could, while my insides boiled. “I brought her here to protect her.”

“Don’t you mean to protect others from her? To keep her from doing any more harm to the people around her?”

The words left his mouth, replaced with a sardonic grin, before I even realized what he’d done. My mouth slammed shut on any retort I’d been about to make.

“What did you just say?” Holland asked him.

Dammit. She’d obviously not gotten to that part of the story when she’d read everything in my office.

I closed my eyes, wishing for the words to fly back into Donovan’s mouth unsaid.

Holland

Harm? What did he mean? How was I harming anyone?

“What did you just say?”

Donovan ignored my question for a second time, staring hard at Mick. I turned to Mick and asked him instead. “Mick? What is he talking about?”

He sighed, then ran his hands down his face. “Holland, I—”

“Oh, stop beating around the bush, Mick. Tell the poor girl the truth.”

“Enough, Donovan. This will destroy her.”

“She deserves to know what she’s capable of—”

“I’m right here!” If I’d had all of my strength back, I would have jumped up from the table. Instead, I slammed my fist down on the surface and glared at Mick. “Tell me! I’m right here, and I deserve to know. If there’s more to this story—to my story—I have a right to know.”

Cam stood behind my chair and put both hands on my shoulders in support. “She’s right. This is her story. She should know all of it.”

I looked up at Cam as he smiled down at me, but I could see his eyes waver, not fully able to hold my gaze. My heart ached for my brother. What was he feeling during all of this? My little brother, the one I was supposed to shelter and care for, had been forced to become my protector when my life crumbled around me after the breakup with Rod. And, even now, as I sat here helpless and cursed, he stood tall and spoke in my defense.

I was a horrible big sister.

“Oh, hell.” Donovan stood and left the room, his boots clomping all the way down the hall.

“What’s his problem?” Rosemarie asked. Then she turned to me, a frown pulling at her sparkly purple lips. She ran a hand through her cropped black hair. “This next part of the story isn’t good, Holl. Mick doesn’t want to tell you for good reason, not because he wants to keep things from you.”

I sighed, my resentment subsiding a bit. “I appreciate that, Rosemarie, but I won’t accept it. If this story is going to get worse before it gets better, I want to know.”

“All right then, here you go.” Donovan reentered the kitchen, then plopped a stack of papers onto the table in front of me and returned to his seat to my right. “Ring any bells, love?”

I flipped open the manila folder. The first document was a newspaper clipping with an article attached. At the top, a picture of Leslie. She was talking to a reporter, standing in front of her house, her mom and dad on either side of her. The caption below the photo read ‘Leslie Sinclair speaks with local television reporter about being in the wrong place at the right time. She and her boyfriend, Rod Simon, narrowly escaped death after the beach house they’d been allegedly staying in was burned to the ground. Local authorities suspect foul play.’

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Cam growled, clearly outraged. He’d kept as much of this stuff away from me as he could—hiding newspapers, getting rid of reporters, even going as far as cancelling cable for a month after the fire so I wouldn’t catch a news report by accident. He reached down to grab the folder away, but I stopped him, resting my hand on his arm. Donovan obviously wanted me to see something in this stack of papers, so I had to continue.

“It’s okay, Cam. I’m okay.”

I turned to Mick, seeing him shake his head gently and close his eyes. He positioned his elbows on the table, then leaned his head forward to rest in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Holland. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I took a deep breath and turned to the next paper in the stack.

This was a newspaper article that looked like it had been printed off the Internet. At the top of the page was a panoramic photograph, viewing the row of houses where Rod’s family vacation home had once been, as if the photographer stood with his back to the ocean. The snapshot displayed the scene after the fire, when nothing of the Simon home remained but charred foundations, blackened pieces of wood, and miscellaneous debris.

I closed my eyes, just as the first tear escaped.

Mick’s hand found mine. “Holland, let’s not look at these, okay? It can wait. You’ve had a long morning already.”

I shook my head, wishing the tears away. “I imagine,” I said, my eyes still closed, “that the rest of these pages contain similar information?”

“Yes,” Mick answered softly.

“Why am I looking at them?” I braced myself for his answer.

“Tell us,” Donovan began, “do you recognize these things?”

I opened my eyes as Cam’s hands left my shoulders and he lunged toward Donovan. Rosemarie grabbed his arm, halting him with her touch.

“Of course she recognizes them! That was her best friend’s house! Her ex-boyfriend! We practically grew up on that beach!” Cam paced the floor, his hands fisted at his sides. I knew he wanted to throttle Donovan, but I had to give him credit for holding it together thus far. Much longer though, and I’d be surprised if Cam didn’t at least punch a hole in the wall.

Mick took my hands in his, bringing my attention back to the table, and what was stacked on top of it. I met his gaze when he spoke. “Holland, do you remember dreaming about this?” He pointed to the charred remains of the Simon family beach house.

I gasped and pulled my hands out of his to cover my mouth. I flashed back to my dream, remembering how terrified I’d been when I woke up, after seeing myself set fire to Rod’s house, the sharp stench of gasoline still fresh in my nose. I shook my head. It was just a dream. Even waking up to the smell of gasoline had been too strange to believe, so I’d told myself I was still dreaming. A dream within a dream.

But I’d never told anyone about it. Not even Cam.

Mick sighed. “You remember.”

“No. It can’t be. How do you…?”

“It’s part of our link, Holland; we’re connected. I’ve shared some of your dreams. You’ve seen me there, haven’t you?” He pointed to the picture again. “You saw me there, at that beach house, the night you…they aren’t just dreams. They’re suppressed—”

“No. I can’t listen to this.” I stood and quickly pushed my chair back, stepping away from the table. From Mick. From everything. My stomach twisted and turned, and my heart thumped overtime as panic surged within me. “I won’t listen to this. I want to be alone. Can I go back to your room, please?”

“Of course, Holland. You never have to ask; that’s your room, now.”

My room now. I didn’t have time to dwell on what he meant by that. I didn’t have time to retort. I wasn’t going to live here with him for some undisclosed forever. I turned away from all of them, trying to ignore the open-mouthed stares I received from at least two of them—the two who were as shocked as I was: Cam and Rosemarie.

We’d all heard what Mick had said, the horrible implications of his words. We didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

Memories.

My dreams were suppressed memories.

I climbed the stairs slowly, one step at a time, trying not to panic or trip over myself. My stomach knotted and twisted, saliva pooling in my mouth. I swallowed hard, but it was no use.

At the top of the wooden stairs, I broke into a sprint, trying to get to the master bathroom before I vomited all over Mick’s mom’s beautiful white rug.

Memories.

A few minutes after I’d heaved every bit of breakfast into the porcelain bowl, heavy footsteps thumped behind me.

“Are you okay?” Mick whispered.

“Yeah, I’m fantastic. Thanks for asking.” My voice was raspy after throwing up. I wiped my face with the washcloth he extended to me, then closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

“What did I do?”

He took the washcloth from my hands and swiped my face again, then swept my air back from my forehead.

“Let me help you up. I’ll take you to the bed.”

I wanted to protest. Wanted to tell him I didn’t want his help, didn’t deserve his kindness, or to be comfortable in that big fluffy bed. Not after finding out who I really am.

A monster. A murderer.

I’d tried to kill my best friends.

And then I’d blocked the memory.

A psychopath.

Mick slid his arms around me, one behind my neck and one under my knees, and when he picked me up and cradled me to his chest, I couldn’t resist. I had no energy with which to fight. I tucked my head into his shoulder and let the tears fall.

I listened to his heartbeat as he carried me the short distance to the bed, then held on tightly when he tried to release me. I couldn’t face my thoughts alone.

The bed moved beside me as he kicked off his shoes and climbed in, still holding me awkwardly to his chest. Once he was curled up around me, I readjusted and nestled into him as far as I could without smothering myself.

And then I just cried.

I cried for me. For my life, for my future, for the possibility that I would have neither one of them soon.

I cried for my mom and dad…and Cam.

But most of all, I cried for Leslie and Rod. How could I ever face them again after what I’d done?

How could I ever even face myself again?

I’d poisoned my best friend and burned down someone’s house!

I was a monster. A beast.

Holland

I sat straight up in bed, the earlier conversation with Donovan startling me awake as my mind insisted on replaying his words over and over as I tried to sleep. Even Mick’s soft snoring couldn’t lull me when my mind spun so desperately. If my sleep wasn’t interrupted by a tormenting nightmare, it was my brain keeping me awake as I analyzed my situation subconsciously.

‘A girl from your family, and a boy from mine.’

This just wasn’t right. Donovan mentioned nothing about the fact I’d been reincarnated all these times. He spoke of the curse, and the love, and one girl from my family, and one guy from his—or Mick’s, whatever the case—would meet every four generations, and they’d have the chance to break the spell.

But no mention of reincarnation whatsoever.

He’d said a girl, not the girl. He definitely didn’t indicate anything that would resemble reincarnation. For someone who claimed to know so much—and even crazier, claimed to be the one to break the spell—he was missing an integral piece of information.

Hmm.

Mick cocooned around me, oblivious to my suddenly alert state. The closeness of his warm body should have tamed the restless feelings I had, but it didn’t. Knowing Cam was here in Big Bear with us should have soothed me as well, but…nothing.

I was too scared to close my eyes for fear I’d have more dreams, inevitably learning about more horrible things I was responsible for. And I couldn’t calm down long enough to sleep, with all the information bouncing around my brain.

But even more disturbing than any of those things, my mind repeatedly returned to Donovan’s touch. I’d missed his fingertips on my neck all afternoon. It was ridiculous, and totally screwed up, but I could physically feel their absence. It was like a part of me was actually absent without his touch.

I had so many questions. Would Donovan really be the one to break the spell? Did he even want to help me? How could I trust him? I barely knew Mick and Rosemarie, but I really didn’t know Donovan Gregory. And something seemed strange about him. Off, even. Like he knew more than he let on.

The suspicion was a nagging feeling I couldn’t let go of.

Mick’s fingers squeezed on my thigh, reminding me of the protective man sleeping next to me. How could Donovan break the spell if I already had such strong feelings for Mick? I wasn’t the kind of girl who could just turn my feelings on or off, so falling in love with Donovan—silly or not—was out of the question.

Wait.

What if this wasn’t a new development? Wasn’t special to my particular story? Had the generations before Mick sent the wrong brother to break the spell? Could it be that Mick and his father weren’t the first people to train and study and still get the information wrong? Could things as simple as my prematurity and Mick’s long lost bastard brother be catalysts in every story before ours?

And if Mick’s dad was so determined, so driven in raising his son to break the curse, why would he risk derailing his efforts with random sex?

Nothing made sense!

I shifted to look at Mick, his face creased from the pillow. He was so peaceful, so content sleeping next to me. It seemed almost natural. As if our lives had been predetermined to line up together. But I knew now that wasn’t the case. Donovan was the one predetermined for me, as wrong as it was to think that way while lying in Mick’s arms, in his bed. I wasn’t in love with Mick, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t already have strong feelings for him. I’d felt pulled to him almost immediately, even as I tried to convince myself otherwise. I really wanted to see where this would go. If I was given the chance.

How much longer did I have before I fully changed?

How would we break the curse now?

And when Donovan helped me come back from the edge earlier, had he felt the pain, the heat, as it left my body?

I lightly ran my finger down Mick’s nose. The planes and angles of his face were so strong, so defined. He was so manly. So much more than Rod had been.

I had to know what was in store for us. I had to know if we had a future, if I had a future.

I placed a light kiss on the end of his nose, then slipped out of Mick’s arms, sliding a pillow in my place, and hoped he wouldn’t recognize the difference in his sleep.

I tip-toed to the door and peeked back at him as I opened it, making sure he didn’t wake in my absence. Once outside the room, I listened for any sounds coming from any of the other rooms and crept down the hall.

I didn’t know where anyone had settled in for the night, having stayed holed-up in Mick’s room all afternoon, so I decided to take my chances and head for the office downstairs. Hopefully, I’d be quiet enough to do some research of my own without waking Donovan, Cam, or Rosemarie during the process.

On my way down the stairs, I noticed how the large windows along the top of the wall allowed the moonlight to shine through. Stopping for just a moment at the bottom of the stairs, before entering turning down the hall toward the office, I took in the view of the night sky. Thousands of stars were visible—so many more than I could ever see at night at home. Bright white specks on a brilliant, navy canvas. I was half-tempted to go outside to get a better view but remembered how freezing cold it probably was and thought better of the idea.

When I turned back to the living room, I realized Donovan was stretched out on the couch. Something I’d missed at first. I sucked in a breath. His arms were stretched up above his head, hanging off the arm of the couch. A blanket draped across his legs, but his torso was uncovered, save for the dark tattoos drawn all over his skin. Unfamiliar symbols, like runes and tribal designs, were scattered across his molded chest and abs, some of them creeping up into his biceps or wrapping around to his back, others disappeared below his waist. I was curious about what they were, what they meant.

His jeans sat low on his hips, exposing enough skin to indicate his complete lack of boxers. Or boxer-briefs. Or anything even remotely acceptable for undergarments. A light dusting of chestnut hair disappeared into his pants, and I pulled my gaze away from his most private of places as my cheeks heated.

The light of the moon shone down on his upper body, but his face was hidden in shadow. By the steady movement of his chest, and the sound of his breathing, I knew he was asleep. As I watched his pecks rise and fall, I suddenly wondered what the hell I was doing. Why did I still stand there, secluded in shadow, watching this man sleep? Did I want him to wake and find me there?

Sure, I had questions, lots of them in fact, but I didn’t even know Donovan. Would I believe anything he would tell me?

Shouldn’t I be asking Mick my questions?

I should go. Yeah. Good plan. I turned to leave—

“Enjoying the show, love?”

Merde! My breath caught in my throat as I froze, my hand stuck in mid-reach between my body and the banister, my foot poised to take a step up, having decided to skip the office altogether so I could run back to the seclusion—safety—of Mick’s arms.

“Don’t be scared. I won’t bite.”

Gah! What do I do? I closed my eyes for a brief second and inhaled a deep breath. If I ignored him and went upstairs, he’d think I’d been watching him sleep. Which, I guess I had been, but ugh.

I might as well ask him my questions and get it over with. No sense in adding to his already over-inflated ego. If I ran, he’d think any number of things and none of them were in my favor.

I faced him again, happy to see he’d sat up and pulled the blanket over his lap. His chest was still naked—and completely ripped—but at least his happy trail could no longer lead a voyage of inappropriate thoughts through my head. A girl can only take so much.

Donovan patted the couch next to him, then stretched his arms back to cross behind his head. Regardless of how well I knew him or not, his nakedness was distracting and I felt like a perv from my struggle to keep my eyes averted.

But holy hell, good looks ran in the family.

I sat on the couch, as far from him as possible, tucking my legs up underneath me. The air was crisp. A slight chill tickled my skin, as if somehow, even in the middle of a snow-filled forest, someone thought opening a window would be a good idea. I glared at Donovan, assuming he’d been the genius behind that plan. Of course, the only blanket I could see was draped over his lap, so my frustration grew. Hell if I’d be grabbing that any time soon.

I looked around for a remote like the one I’d seen upstairs, hoping the fireplace we sat in front of now was like the one in the master bedroom. I found an exact replica of that remote and tried turning on the fireplace, pleased with myself when it worked after the third try.

“So, what brings you downstairs in the dark at this ungodly hour of the morning? Bad dreams?”

I glared at him for the reference to my dreams, since all of us were now well aware of what they meant, then I ignored the comment. “I couldn’t sleep. Why are you awake?”

He shrugged. “I’m more of a night owl than most, though I can’t imagine being able to sleep through your hungry gaze.”

I swallowed, then cleared my throat to cover up the fact that I nearly choked from his words.

“Plus, it’s so bloody quiet here, I feel like I might suffocate.”

“Quiet? It’s the middle of the night. In the mountains. What did you expect?”

“This is what I expected, but I don’t have to like it.”

“So, what, you need a white noise machine or a television on or something?”

“Try underground night club.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“My flat in London is above an underground night club; I’ve grown quite used to the thumping bass all hours of the day and night. Silence is stifling now.”

“Huh.”

“Is that an American thing?”

“What? Silence?”

“No, that horrible word: huh. It’s like a grunt or something equally impolite. You seem to use it quite often, unfortunately.”

“I didn’t come down here so you could insult me, okay?”

“Why did you come down here? I’m sure it wasn’t just to gawk at me, though you can go back to that if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

He leaned forward, then ran his knuckles across my hand. I yanked it away, crossing my hands in my lap, ignoring the way his closeness brought memories of his earlier salvation to the forefront of my mind. Something in the way my skin vibrated beneath his touch me made me desire something I didn’t actually want to desire. Him.

“Wow. You’re something else.” I looked away as he stretched his arms and the blanket fell an inch or two lower in his lap, exposing that patch of neatly trimmed dark hair right above his still unbuttoned pants. He was doing this on purpose, I was sure, but it was more offensive than intriguing.

Or so I told myself, anyway. I scrunched my nose at the thought, reminding myself that this was not the kind of guy I would ever be attracted to.

“Careful, love, your face may freeze like that.”

“I came down here for answers. Got any?”

“Got any?” he said in a mocking tone. “Do you mean, do I have any answers? Then yes, of course. Forty-two.”

“Forty-two what? You have forty-two answers?”

“No, forty-two. It’s a reference to . . .” He gaped at me as if I was crazy, then shook his head. “Oh, never mind. What are your questions, then?”

I positioned myself to sitting cross-legged on the couch, with my hands still in my lap, facing him. With my back pressed into the arm of the couch, as far on my end as I could go, I thanked my lucky stars this wasn’t a love seat. Though I’d already learned that the short distance between us wouldn’t keep him away.

“First of all, how long have you known about me? About my family’s curse?”

“I told you, since a few days ago when I stumbled on dear old Dad’s cabin here.”

“That’s a crock.”

Donovan gave a mock gasp, then smirked. “Well done. You’ve caught me. Seems you’re a bit brighter than the others.”

“Great. Now, tell me the truth.”

“If I say I’ve known about you my entire life, does that change anything? Does it break the spell? Does it bring whatever silly feelings are happening between you and my little brother to an end?”

“You tell me.”

His eyes tightened for a split second as if trying to figure me out. There was nothing to figure out—he was the puzzle, not me.

“Let’s say I am the one who’s supposed to break the spell. What then, Holland?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you get to the point?”

“This is the point, is it not? It’s simple, really. Hypothetically speaking, I’m supposed to be the one to break the spell and save our future generations from this shared fate of ours. I’m the guy. But you don’t want me, and I don’t want you—I like my women a little more…eloquent, shall we say?” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless of course you just want a quick shagging. That I could grant you, with little-to-no discomfort on my end.”

His gaze travelled downward, stopping to contemplate my chest, then slowly moved back up to meet my wide eyes. My blood boiled. I took a deep breath, not wanting to freak out on him and let him know he’d gotten to me.

Though I knew the notion was irrational, I was offended that he’d said he didn’t want me. And even though he was right—I didn’t want him either, and he was definitely not my style—I was put off by the fact that he’d tell me that I wasn’t his type. The nerve!

Then, I realized that was the old Holland Briggs thinking; the prom queen, the cheerleader. The new Holland Briggs had no friends, was a social outcast, and was now gray from head to toe. She’d tried to kill her best friends in what, a jealous rage? And she would soon be forever stuck inside the body of a stone gargoyle.

I didn’t have a lot of options, and Donovan, with his perfect physique and oozing confidence, probably had many.

Of course he wouldn’t want me.

I sighed, not realizing I’d done so loud enough to be heard until Donovan spoke.

“Still with me?”

I met his stare, contemplating telling him the truth—that I didn’t want him either, but finding out he didn’t want me had just shattered another little piece of the old Holland Briggs.

But then he closed the distance between us, bringing his face mere inches from mine. His dark eyes held my gaze, then dropped to my lips. “Don’t tell me you do have a thing for me, love? I mean, the shagging offer still stands, but anything more than that—”

With that, I squashed the idea of ever opening up to such a jackass.

I stood, quickly heading for the stairs. “I guess I’m just more tired than I thought. Goodnight, Donovan.”

“Goodnight, love.”

“You know, you English people have weird things, too.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows and waved a hand as if signaling me to continue.

“That whole ‘love’ thing you’ve got going on? It’s annoying.”

“Is it now? Huh,” he said, with an arrogant smirk and an over-exaggerated American accent.

Touché. I didn’t say a word; just walked away and let that Americanism hang in the air with his British accent dripping from it. His smug smile disappeared in the darkness behind me.

Whatever.

He hadn’t truly admitted to knowing more than he’d let on, but he didn’t have to. I knew he knew, and he knew I knew what he knew. Or something like that. It was obvious enough for me. I’d grill him some more tomorrow, or tell Mick what I thought about Donovan, and let him do the investigating.

Mick hadn’t moved since I’d left. His bare shoulder lay exposed above the comforter, the moonlight from the large window illuminating his skin, his arm still clung to the pillow I’d left in my absence. I climbed back into bed, careful not to disturb him, and realized how easy and comfortable it felt to be near him. I’d been this comfortable with Rod, sure, but we’d grown up together, and shared the same bed many times before we shared the same bed.

Of course, my parents never knew I slept at Rod’s house, or that we used to—

Oh my God! My parents!

I’d forgotten about my parents. With Cam here, I’d felt so complete and hadn’t even thought about the fact that I had two more members of my family who were most likely in a frenzied panic right now.

“Shoot!”

Mick reached out for me and pulled me close to him. “What’s wrong?” He asked sleepily, as he nuzzled his face in my hair.

“My parents. I forgot all about them. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” he murmured against my shoulder. “You’ve had a lot going on.” He pulled me even tighter to him, and I snuggled down, content in his arms even with the anxiety building in my chest over my parent fail.

“I have to call them.” I glanced at the clock—it was way too early in the morning to call them, even if they had been worried.

No, I had to call them. It didn’t matter what time it was. My mom would be a mess.

“Relax,” he said as he kissed my shoulder, then pressed another kiss into the crook of my neck. “We already took care of it. They think you’re up here with Ro.”

“What? How?”

“Cameron told them you just wanted to get away and be left alone for a while because of everything with Leslie. Since it’s President’s Day Weekend and your birthday, I guess they didn’t seem to think it was too crazy that you went away.”

“But I didn’t even say goodbye to them. How could they not think that was strange?”

“Your mom did think it was strange, but she was also at work Friday afternoon, so Cameron and Ro made it look like you rushed home and packed, then left with Ro to come up here. So, you would have said goodbye to your mom…had she been home.”

“And all that time, Cam had no idea what was really going on.”

“No.”

“I can’t imagine the grilling Rosemarie must have gotten. No wonder she couldn’t keep him from coming here.”

“I think your mom and dad probably feel pretty bad for you right now, with the whole Leslie thing, so they didn’t argue with Cam, you know?”

I sighed. Hearing Leslie’s name made my anxiety flare up again. It reached deeper into my chest, rooting itself to my heart and lungs. My parents were okay, and hopefully not too worried about me, but Leslie was a different story. As much as I hated her, I couldn’t ignore the fact she’d been poisoned, and I couldn’t ignore the fact that all signs pointed to me.

Could it even be possible that I’d done such a horrific thing?

Mick

Once inside the unfamiliar home, I tip-toed through the living room and down the hall. One by one, I passed by doors that were closed to me, hiding what was inside, and yet I knew exactly what lay behind each door.

Office.

Guest Bathroom.

Leslie’s room.

Leslie’s room?

Something nagged at the back of my mind, something I needed to remember, but it sat just out of reach, in the corners of my consciousness.

I continued forward, as if propelled by something greater than myself, and entered the kitchen. Without hesitation, I walked straight to the pantry. It was strange to be able to walk to it without having to open multiple cabinets in order to locate what I was searching for. But there it was, just like I knew exactly where I was in a home I’d never stepped foot in before.

Something unknown still tugged at my mind as I walked forward, pulling a small vial out of my pocket. I then reached for the small tin of flavored coffee, and popped the lid.

Looking down at my hands, I suddenly saw them and realized what I’d been trying to remember.

This was not my dream. It was Holland’s.

These were Holland’s hands I watched as they stirred the contents of the vial into the small container of instant coffee and replaced the lid.

This was Holland remembering one more thing that would break her heart.

“Holland?”

I looked up to see myself reaching out to me.

Wait. What? It was happening again.

“Wake up, Holland,” I said from my lips, my voice, standing a few feet in front of me. “Come back to me.”

I left the dream world slowly this time, as if the realization pulled me out instead of flinging me out in a rushed panic like it had the last time we’d shared a dream. Memory. I woke up gradually, registering her breath on my chest and the little sniffles she tried so hard to conceal.

I opened my eyes to her lying beside me. She stared at me with glossy eyes, her tears already pooling on the pillow. Damn.

I wiped her cheeks with my fingertips, and she closed her eyes, releasing more tears.

“Come ‘ere.”

I pulled her closer to me and tucked her head to my bare shoulder. I held her close and listened to her soft crying for what felt like eternity. With every sob I became more and more determined to break the curse. Regardless of who Donovan was, or claimed to be, I knew I was meant for this girl in my arms. I’d never felt anything like it before. I wanted to be hers.

And we shared dreams! That had to count for something. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe Donovan had found the wrong dad. Things like that did happen.

I purposely ignored the fact that everyone else thought we looked so much alike.

He wasn’t my brother. He wasn’t the first born son. I was.

“I did it. I poisoned her. I’m a murderer.”

“No. You are no such thing. Leslie didn’t die, Holland. She’s probably not even still in the hospital, and that wasn’t you.”

“Don’t say that!” She peered up at me, her eyebrows bunched up and tears still streaming from her eyes. “You saw it! I know you saw it. I woke up only seconds before you, but I know you were there. I saw you watching me like the last time.”

“I know. I did see it. But it wasn’t you. It wasn’t Holland Shayne Briggs.”

She flinched when I used her middle name, most likely uncomfortable that I knew it, but she’d need to actually accept the fact that I’d been waiting for her for a long time. Her name was safe on my lips.

I knew half of her—possibly even more than half—knew she was safe with me. She wouldn’t have been in my bed if that wasn’t the case.

I wiped my thumb across her wet, gray cheek and kissed her gently on the lips.

“It wasn’t you, okay?” I held her gaze with mine. “That’s part of what lives inside you. That is not who you are. That’s the curse.”

“How can you be so sure? You don’t even know me.”

“I do know you. Everything in my body tells me I do.”

She closed her eyes and smiled the faintest of smiles. “I know what you mean.”

Tucking her head back down into my chest, she snuggled up against me and wrapped her arm around my waist. With her fingers, she traced lazy designs on my bare back, and I closed my eyes, content to hold her as long as I could.

“I have to turn myself in, Mick.”

“No.” I won’t let that happen.

“What do you mean ‘no’? I have to, Mick. Look at what I’ve done. I have to go to the cops.” Holland lifted her head. Big gray eyes found mine again, pleading with me to understand.

“I can’t let you turn yourself in for crimes you didn’t commit, Holland. I won’t.”

“But I did those things.”

“No. It wasn’t you.” How many times would I have to repeat myself? “If I can’t even convince you of that, how will we convince them? I can’t…you just have to trust me, okay?”

“Okay, we’ll talk about this later.”

So stubborn. I looked down as her fingertips brushed across my lips. Nerves shot off like fireworks throughout my body as if every inch of me was suddenly alert and awake. I pulled her up to me so our faces were even. Leaning forward, I brushed my lips across her fingertips once more, kissing them lightly before moving my mouth down her arm. I leaned up on one elbow and kissed her shoulder before kissing my way to her ear.

I dragged my teeth across her jaw, smiling when she inhaled a ragged breath. Finding her mouth with mine, I kissed her softly, slowly at first, waiting for her to respond and give me permission to go further.

Waiting was torture.

It was a game she was apparently quite good at.

She moved her mouth against mine, teasing me ever-so-slightly with her tongue. It caressed my mouth, my tongue, my lips, but never sped up or dove deeper.

As she turned onto her back, I settled on top of her. Leaning up on both elbows, I gazed down at the remarkable girl beneath me. Her gray eyes sparkled with mischief, as if fully aware of the torturous game she played with me.

It took all I had in me to keep from holding her down and kissing her the way I wanted to.

But if she could play hard to get, I could too.

I pulled her hands up over her head, eliciting a small squeak from her perfect lips. Holding her arms above her with one hand at her wrists, I kissed her cheek. As I made my way across her jaw again and found her other earlobe, she moved beneath me, her hips faintly pressing into mine. I nibbled on her ear and she whimpered—a sound I wanted to hear again and again.

My thumb ran across a raised area on her wrist. I froze. As she stilled below me, I brought my eyes up to hers. She pulled her gaze away from mine, unable to maintain eye contact. I looked up at both of her wrists still crossed inside my hand, then brought them down to eye level.

Seeing what I was hoping I’d been wrong about—proof that Holland had been in a very dark place just a few short months ago—my heart tightened in my chest. What if she’d been lost to that darkness forever? What if I’d never been given the chance to know her?

The scars were a long-time healed, shiny and probably pink before the color of her skin changed. Identical in nature, each was raised and bumpy, precise lines running vertically from the palm of her hand, down her arm about two inches. I kissed one scar, and then the other, then placed her arms back above her head, running my free hand down the length of her arm.

A few tears slipped past her tightly closed eyelids. I kissed her just below the corner of each eye, then brought my mouth down on hers. I hoped she knew she was found. I didn’t intend to lose her to such darkness again. I didn’t intend to lose her to anything.

I focused on kissing her fears away, and maybe even some of my own. With painful slowness, I nibbled her earlobe, then ran my tongue down the soft spot on her throat. She wiggled beneath me, her body giving me permission to continue. I trailed kisses along her collarbone, happy that sometime in the night, she’d lost the bulky brown sweater she’d been wearing all weekend. The tank-top she wore now left little to block my exploration.

I kissed my way down her chest, stopping just shy of the crest of her breasts. I wasn’t going to move too fast, even though everything inside me screamed to do just that. Beneath my lips, her chest rose and fell on heavy breaths, as her hips pressed against mine.

I looked up at her and shook my head slowly.

Her eyes widened as her mouth fell agape, and if her skin hadn’t been gray, I know I would have seen that perfect shade of blush color her face and neck.

She stilled beneath me, from irritation, or anger that I’d told her no, I have no idea. I continued my exploration of her skin, kissing my way up her arms, and running my free fingertips over the trails my lips followed. As I made my way past her elbow, her mouth found my nipple and she grazed it with her teeth.

From somewhere deep in my belly, a pleased groan found its way to my lips and slipped past. Damn, that felt amazing.

I sat back to look at her, my head cocked to the side.

“You don’t play fair.”

“What?” she said with a laugh. “I don’t play fair? I think that’s the pot calling the kettle, don’t you?”

“Hmm. Maybe so.”

I didn’t give her much time to say anything else. Instead, fueled by that brief touch of her teeth on my chest, I lay back down on top of her and pressed my mouth to hers. She responded with the same determination, and I let go of her wrists so she could wrap her arms around me.

As her hands raked my back and our legs twisted together, I couldn’t think of anything even remotely coherent. I just wanted to lose myself in the touch of her fingers, the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, the pressure of her lips on mine…

I wanted to lose myself in everything that was Holland Briggs.

Holland

Saved by the bell, er, knock.

Not that I’d wanted saving, really—at all—but holy hell, what had come over me? I’d been halfway to all the way with a guy I really didn’t know—regardless of how right I felt around him.

What was it about kissing Mick Stevenson?

I wanted to do it all day, every day, and I’m pretty sure if Rosemarie hadn’t knocked on the door when she did, I could have died of starvation in Mick’s arms and never known the difference.

“Holy hell.”

“Did you say something?” Mick asked.

My eyes widened as I met his stare, surprised I’d let the words slip out, and I shook my head. I knew the shock was evident on my face, but Mick didn’t comment. He just smiled a very knowing smile and pulled his shirt on.

“What do you think we should do today?” Disappointment curled itself around my chest as I watched his naked torso slip away under his shirt.

With his head tipped to the side, and one eyebrow raised, Mick said, “Well, um—”

“Oh, geez, relax. I know we can’t go anywhere, but can’t we do something around here? Or, like, go sledding deep in the woods, or something? Maybe we could hunt wabbits?”

“Wabbits? That’s cute. But I wouldn’t want to risk it. If someone were to see you…”

“I know.” I tried not to sigh and sound like a whiny little girl. “And I love that you’re so protective of me when you barely even know me, but—”

He crossed the room in a flash, and before I knew it I was on my back on the bed once again.

“Oh, I think I know you pretty well, Holland. For instance—” he ran his lips across the skin above my camisole, “—I have it on very good authority that this section right here,” he said as he reached the area closest to my armpit, “this section of skin makes you incredibly happy when I kiss it. You can’t tell if you’re in Heaven, or if I’m tickling you.”

I responded with a giggle, solidifying the truth in his words. Someone had been paying attention this morning.

“And I know that you are honest and good—” he quickly brushed his lips across the groove at the base of my throat, “—And I know that when you’re feeling especially defiant, your eyes light up with a spark of life, and something about that dare in your eyes makes me want to test it. Because I want to see that spark ignite.” He paused, then gently nipped my bottom lip. “And I know that we’re going to fix this, and then I am going to spend every second of every day getting to know you more. Starting with, but not limited to, that tiny sprinkling of freckles right below your left hip.”

My eyes widened, but I couldn’t find any words.

He pulled me to stand, my feet sinking into the plush white rug. “Now, shower and get ready, and let’s figure this thing out.” He kissed me, his lips and tongue slowly caressing mine, and my knees weakened. “Hurry up,” he whispered into my ear. He drew my earlobe into his mouth and I closed my eyes. “I want this curse broken so I can see you blush when I kiss you.”

My cheeks heated in response to his comment, but instead of pulling his mouth back to mine again—we couldn’t just hole up all day and make-out—I spoke up. “I don’t trust Donovan.”

He drew back to meet my gaze. “You don’t say? I can’t imagine why.”

“I’m serious, Mick. I really don’t trust him.”

“I know.” He leaned forward to kiss my nose. “I don’t trust him, either. He knows way too much, and I know he’s hiding more. That’s our plan for the day.”

“What is?”

“We’ll go hunting, all right, but we won’t be hunting wabbits. We’ll be hunting for answers,” he said with an exaggerated wink.

“That was cheesy.”

“Yep. Just about as cheesy as you bringing up the hunting wabbits idea in the first place.”

“What—?”

He kissed me to silence my retort.

I placed my hands between us and pushed back on his chest. “Mick! Rosemarie has already come up here once. If we take too long…”

He slid a finger across my bottom lip, sending a jolt through the nerve endings there.

“Stop, Mick! Seriously! I can’t even focus. We have to do whatever it takes to get to know Donovan.”

“I’d rather stay in bed all day and get to know you.”

Mmmm, I’d had the exact same tempting idea. His dedication was enough to sweep most girls right off their feet, but combine that with the masterful way he knew how to use his mouth, not to mention his hands, and any girl would be a goner.

But for me, even more precious than those things, was the way he looked past my gray skin. Like he saw me.

I sighed. “I like the latter idea.”

“I thought you would.” He brought his lips back to mine.

I wrapped my arms around Mick’s neck and held tightly to him. In that moment, I recognized that I trusted him completely. I’d known him for such a brief time—two short weeks?—but I trusted him with every ounce of me.

I trusted Mick Stevenson with my safety. With my curse. With my future.

And for a fleeting second, as I stood there in his arms, with his lips on mine, I had the ridiculously absurd thought that I trusted him with my heart.

Another knock on the door made us laugh, breaking the kiss. We jumped away from each other as if we’d been caught with our pants down. Well, mine were still off, but who was counting?

Mick ran a hand over his scruffy chin. “I’m going to go talk to Ro.”

“Okay,” I said with a content sigh. “I’m going to shower.”

His eyebrows rose, and his smile grew wicked, as if I’d invited him to join me, but I didn’t justify his reaction with one of my own. I turned away and headed for the bathroom, shaking my head. As I closed the bathroom door, I heard a similar click from the bedroom door, signaling that I was now alone in the master suite.

Rosemarie and Cam had brought clothes from my house—an absolute Godsend on day three of the same outfit—and a clean pair of jeans sat folded up on the bathroom counter. I ran my hand over them, then picked up the hoodie and ribbed tank-top lying beside them, inhaling the familiar smell of home. When would I get to go back?

The four of us had to figure out what to do with Donovan, with my dreams, with the fact that three of us needed to be back at school in just two days—thanks to tomorrow’s Holiday—so I couldn’t hide out in this cabin for the rest of my life. However long that was. I had to go home sometime soon. I just hoped we’d be able to figure out a way.

When I stumbled across my reflection in the mirror, I was reminded of how impossible going home would be. Knowing my skin was gray, even seeing it on my hands and arms or talking about it, had nothing on actually catching my ruined face in the mirror. As if mocking me, my likeness flashed in and out of existence, revealing the stone statue I was destined to become. This time, however, I wasn’t nearly as shocked.

I didn’t have horns, or a funny monster face, so I wondered if gargoyle was really the correct term. As far as I could tell, I’d just be a statue of a girl, like any other statue. Cold. Cement. Gray.

Maybe I could get Mick to put me in the middle of a pretty fountain or something. I wondered—not for the first time—where all of the other statues were. If I lived to see the spell broken, I’d visit them all. One by one, I’d travel the world with Mick by my side, and visit each vestige of my former lives.

I shook my head and rotated away from the mirror. How easily I’d imagined myself with Mick after all of this was over. The hot water called to me, promising to cleanse me of the thoughts tearing through my head, and the curse destroying my body, though I knew that thoughts of Mick could never be washed away. I didn’t want them to be.

Call it destiny, call it fate…call it whatever. I wanted to be with Mick.

Holland

Making my way downstairs, the scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted me, accompanied by the hushed voices of everyone already gathered in the kitchen. I paused before reaching the doorway. “Look,” Mick said, “I don’t know what your game is here, but you’re not getting near her.”

“I get it. You’ve already fallen for your little beasty and—”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Got it. As I was saying, mate. You’ve fallen for the girl, and I’m a threat.”

“You are no such thing. But you will not touch her.”

I cleared my throat and entered the kitchen. “Good morning, everyone.”

Cam and Rosemarie looked up from the table and smiled at me sheepishly. I imagined they wished they were anywhere but sitting there between Mick and Donovan.

“Hey, sis. How are you feeling today?”

“I’m fine.”

I walked over to where Mick stood by the coffee maker and reached to pour myself a cup. He handed me the one in his hand, the perfect mix of creamer and coffee judging by the beige color.

He smiled, and whispered, “Good morning, beautiful.” Then he kissed the side of my forehead, making my heart flutter in my chest and my cheeks heat up.

“All I’m saying,” Donovan continued, as if I hadn’t just joined them in the kitchen. “All I’m saying is that if you and the girl here want the curse to be broken, you may want to consider that you’re not the bloke to do it. What’s your Plan B?”

I turned around, my eyes narrowed at Donovan, but Mick spoke before I could retort.

“See, that’s where I have trouble believing all this. Your timing is impeccable, I’ll give you that. And you know more than you should. But you didn’t know my dad. He didn’t have a reckless bone in his body. I wouldn’t have known the torrid details of any love affairs he’d had, but he would have told me if there’d been someone significant enough to produce a child. He’d have told me if there was a chance—even a small one—that I had an older brother. He spent years researching this curse, our family tree, our roles in breaking the spell…if there was even the slightest possibility that all of that would be for naught, I would have known.”

“But you didn’t know, did you? And, yet, here I am.” Donovan waved his arms out to his sides, then turned his attention to me. “I see you’ve had a change of clothes and a shower, eh love?”

“Yes, Donovan, thank you so much for noticing.”

“I’d notice anything you do.”

“Fantastic.” I turned to Mick. “So, um, remember the plan? How are we doing there?”

“I thought we nixed the plan so we could stay upstairs all day.”

Behind me, Cam choked on something—or nothing really—so I shook my head at Mick and turned back around.

“Hey, Cam, Rosemarie, can I talk to you guys for a minute?”

“Sure,” they answered in unison, too quickly to pretend they weren’t completely uncomfortable. They stood and pushed in their chairs, eager to leave the tense air between Mick and Donovan.

“Donovan, Mick, if you’ll excuse us.” I smiled at Mick before turning to follow Cam and Rosemarie out to the living room.

“Of course,” Donovan said.

I led Cam and Rosemarie to the office, trusting that Mick would keep Donovan occupied long enough for the three of us to have an uninterrupted chat. Once inside, I closed the door behind me and turned to face them.

“Dude. I don’t trust that guy.” Cam stole the words right out of my mouth.

“I don’t, either. Not one bit.”

“Oh my gosh,” Rosemarie agreed, “Right? He gives me the creeps, and I don’t think he’s my brother. I really don’t.”

“I know!” I yelped. Catching myself, I brought my voice back down to a near-whisper. “I mean, the resemblance is there, and, I thought I saw it, but…it’s just something I can’t put my finger on. He doesn’t feel right. Does that make sense?”

“Yes!” Rosemarie shrieked, then she lowered her voice back to a whisper as I had done. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, too. I feel like I’d know if he was my brother. Even if I’d never heard of him before, or met him, or anything, I feel like I would know. I mean, Mick and I are connected—not like in a weird psychic way—but, I don’t know. I really don’t know how to describe it. Is it like that with you guys? I mean, can you, like, feel each other?”

I answered “yes” at the same time Cam answered “no.” Figures.

Rosemarie laughed, and Cam had the decency to look embarrassed, but our feelings regarding one another, connected or otherwise, weren’t the issue. Donovan was the issue, and his sudden presence in our lives was stranger than my skin turning gray.

Well. Not really, but still.

“Oh! And guess what else?” I asked. “Yesterday, when he was describing how we’ve been destined for each other and what not, he said nothing about the huge fact that I’m some woman from God knows when, who’s been reincarnated over and over again. You’d think he’d know that, right? I mean, if he knows so much about my story, why wouldn’t he know such an important part?”

“Dude. That’s totally true, Holl.”

“Okay, so Mick’s feeling the same way, and we decided today is going to be all about figuring this guy out. Let’s agree to do what we can and ask as many questions as possible without raising suspicion. Sound good?”

“Why don’t I just go flip him?”

“Without raising suspicion, Cam. We don’t want him to think we’re investigating him, and I’m pretty sure if you went out there and threw Donovan over your shoulder, he’d know something was up.”

“Fine. But if you change your mind…” Cam shrugged, then winked.

“I’ll keep you posted. Now, let’s get to the bottom of this, okay?”

Rosemarie led the way and, as she exited the office, Cam placed his hand on my arm.

“Holl?” he whispered.

I turned to face him. “What’s up?”

“Are you…I mean, do you feel okay?”

He was worried about me. Reason number seven-hundred twenty-two of why I loved my little brother. As big and tough as he was on the outside, I was his weakness. I threw my arms around his neck and stretched up to my tiptoes so I could hug him.

“I’m okay. I’m scared, but I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why, but I trust Mick. I think he’ll protect me.”

“Huh. I trust him, too.”

My eyebrows shot up into my scalp. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I do. There’s just something about him that I trust. Something I can sense is good. And I can see the way he watches you, and the way he talks about you—that guy would die before he let someone hurt you.”

I smiled. I couldn’t even help myself. I felt that, too, but I’d been scared of those feelings, scared of letting someone else into my heart after Rod had destroyed it so sufficiently.

Obviously recognizing the expression on my face, Cam mock-sneered.

“Oh geez, Holl, don’t tell me you’re already in love.” Cam pretended to strangle himself, reminding me of when he was a little boy. He ruffled my hair with his hand and pulled me out to the hallway. “Now let’s go kick some British ass.”

“Cam,” I whispered. “Remember what I said…without suspicion.”

“Sure thing, sis. I’ve got this.”

“Got what?” Donovan asked as my brother and I reentered the kitchen.

“Wasn’t talking to you, bro.”

“Right then. So, what’s on the agenda for today, hmm? A little excursion into town? Maybe some sledding? Oh, wait. That’s right, our friend here can’t be seen. Because of the curse. The curse that only I can break.”

My chest tightened at his words. He wasn’t going to get near me—thanks to Mick and Cam—and I wasn’t about to fall in love with some arrogant stranger whose creep factor rested at about a twelve on the scale of one to ten. Sure, he was hot, but his attitude was ridiculous, and I was already way too into Mick to even justify thinking about falling for someone else.

Damn. That happened fast.

I looked over at Mick, who watched me. When our eyes connected, the ghost of a smile played at his lips. Based on appearances alone, I could see how I could have fallen for him so quickly. But then, taking into account how sweet he was, how attentive…and the kissing, holy hell, the kissing.

Yeah. I was falling for him quickly all right.

Half of me wondered if fate had something to do with it, if our interlocked destiny made me feel something I may not have felt otherwise.

Then he winked at me, and on top of comprehending that I was still staring at him, I acknowledged something else. I didn’t actually care why I had such strong feelings for Mick. Just that I did.

“You two need a room, then? You look like you’ve already undressed each other with your eyes right here in a kitchen full of people.”

Cam groaned.

“That’s enough, Donovan,” Mick snapped. “Why don’t you tell us a bit more about yourself?”

“This again? Okay, mate, I’ve told you everything I know. Your dad, my mum, me. It’s as simple as the birds and the bees. I find out about Dad, come looking for him, only to find you instead. Boom, bam, I discover our family curse, gather that you are in fact not the first born son, and surprise, surprise, I get to fall in love with the girl and break the spell, all of us living happily ever after. Though, in case you couldn’t tell, I have no desire to be anyone’s knight in shining armor, so let’s just get to it then, shall we?”

“Get to what?” I asked.

He turned his dark gaze to me and I shrank back reflexively. “The fact that you’re just as pathetic as ever and, if I’m correct, you’re going to sit back and wait for someone else to fix things for you.”

What the hell? “Excuse me?” Pathetic as ever? What was he talking about?

“That’s enough, Donovan,” Mick said, his jaw clenched. “I won’t continue correcting you.”

“Then, enough of that.” Donovan swiveled in his seat to more fully face me. “I think we should shag, Princess. Have a quick go at breaking this old spell.”

Mick lunged for Donovan, but I grabbed his arm, halting him.

“I don’t see that happening,” I said through gritted teeth, my hand tightly wrapped around Mick’s forearm.

“Why not?” Donovan asked, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling as he clearly enjoyed Mick’s discomfort.

“You’re a bit old for me.”

“Rubbish. You didn’t seem to think so last night. Change your mind, love? Fancy something a little more American, do you?” He said American as if it were the most repulsive word in the English language.

My eyes bulged, and if I’d had the ability to show color in my cheeks, they would have been crimson.

“Last night?”

I closed my eyes, unable to look at Mick. I’d done nothing wrong, just come downstairs to try to find some answers on my own, but since I hadn’t told him, the situation seemed worse than it should. Much worse. I took a few deep breaths through my nose, trying to calm the slowly-building tightness in my chest. I recognized it for what it was, but was determined to ignore the symptoms. Maybe I could just talk myself through these episodes. One more deep breath, then I opened my eyes and looked at Donovan.

Bad idea. His smug smirk made my pulse accelerate.

He dragged his gaze away, honing in on Mick beside me. “Didn’t she tell you, mate? I caught her watching me in the middle of the night. Imagine my surpr–”

“Enough!” I shouted. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “I was not watching you, Donovan. I came downstairs to find some answers. That’s all! Stop lying!”

“Wait, Holland, where was I? Sleeping?”

“Yes, Mick!” I snapped, turning to face him. Whoa. Another deep breath. I fought to calm my voice. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t stop thinking about this guy and his oh-so-coincidental appearance in our lives, so I came downstairs to look through your stuff in the office, and when I saw him there, I figured I’d ask him some questions.”

“So much for without suspicion,” Cam whispered.

I shot him a glare.

“Anyway,” I said, unable to keep the irritation from my voice. “I stopped for all of two fucking seconds at the bottom of the stairs because I couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or not. That’s when he thinks he caught me watching him.”

Mick cringed at my harsh tone, but I couldn’t dwell on his response.

“Ah well. You say potato, I say potahto, love.”

“Seriously? I’ve had enough!” Rage burned within me, the familiar sensation slowly spreading through my chest. My fingers flexed, curling in and out of my palm.

“Have you? Have you had enough?” Donovan stood, took two steps forward, closing the distance between us.

Mick moved, positioning himself in front of me, but it was too late. I’d already begun the change.

“Oh God.” My chest tightened and breathing became difficult. I tried to focus on my feet.

“Holland? Deep breaths, remember? We’ve got this.” Mick reached out to me and grabbed my hand, placing it on his chest. We.

I looked into his kind eyes, and he winced in response. I briefly wondered what he saw, but the thought was gone before I could question him. The fire in my veins demanded my focus, spreading so much faster than the last time. It moved outward from my chest, racing toward my extremities. My fingers would be hit first. I remembered the pain from before, only this time it was magnified.

“Oh God,” I repeated, but the words were more of a growl, slipping past clenched teeth. My knees started to give out, so Mick lowered me to the floor, wrapping his arm around me, pressing my ear to his chest. His other hand still held one of my hands pressed there as well.

“Holland,” he whispered with his lips on my ear. “I need you to try to breathe slowly, and listen to my breathing, okay? Breathe with me, Holland. You can do this. Just like last time.”

My free hand gripped his shirt hem, while my other hand flexed and pressed against his chest. His palm pushed against my hand, unrelenting.

“What the hell? What’s wrong with her? Holl?”

Cam’s voice was panicked and scared, but I couldn’t respond. I wanted to reassure my brother, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a half-groan, half-whine came out. Mick told Rosemarie and Cam something, but I couldn’t decipher the words. Maybe he told them to leave; I didn’t know.

Donovan.

I needed Donovan. The thought crushed me. I pushed it away, determined to do this without him.

But the fire…

So hot…

The burn had almost reached my fingertips. The pain seared my insides, pushing everything else from my mind. My chest felt tight, so tight I didn’t think I was even breathing anymore. I couldn’t imagine being able to breathe. Maybe I wasn’t. Maybe that’s why everything hurt so badly. My body was shutting down, leaving the pain, the fire, to consume me.

I heard screaming again. Mine, I think. No, not mine. Someone else’s. I didn’t know. I couldn’t focus on it long enough to tell.

Donovan.

His name floated through the agony again, then disappeared.

My body convulsed, bouncing around on the floor like a dying fish. Mick held me tightly to him, but the limbs he didn’t have a hold of flopped around, smacking the hard floor of the kitchen and sending even more searing pain through my body.

I heard voices, screams. But they were so far away…

The flames of pain abruptly began to leave my fingers and toes, surging back to their origin, as they had done the last time this happened. The agonizing heat travelled back toward the center of my body, back toward my heart, back toward Mick’s hand on my chest. Numbness in its wake, the pain seeped from me.

His touch had worked this time.

He’d saved me, brought me back from the edge. I sighed as the fiery ache receded, leaving my body cold and trembling.

As soon as I could move, I turned and curled up into his arms. My body still shook with the after effects of the rage, but I didn’t care. I was safe in Mick’s arms. I could trust him. He’d saved me from the change. He would save me from the curse. We would do this together.

“What did you do to her?”

Mick’s voice was far away. Too far away. And it was angry, enraged. I cringed at the sound. But his words…I was confused. I wasn’t hearing things right. Or I was dreaming. Maybe I’d passed out after he’d brought me back from the edge. I snuggled into him further, hoping my confusion would fade with the episode and wanting nothing more than to rest in the safety of his arms.

I just wanted to sleep. I sighed shakily into his chest.

“I think your boyfriend’s getting mighty pissed, love, you might want to remove yourself from my arms.” Donovan’s voice was right above me, but I also heard it coming from Mick’s chest.

The chest bounced with laughter. Donovan’s laughter. I inhaled, the scent of musky cologne teasing my senses.

Donovan’s cologne.

Donovan’s chest.

I opened my eyes, gazing up into deep brown eyes mocking me with the laughter coming from their host. I froze. I was curled up in Donovan’s arms. His hand still rested against my chest, right above my cleavage.

And he was laughing.

Tears started slowly pouring from my eyes. I looked over at Mick, and the wrath on his face softened into concern, then pain. He closed his eyes, then opened them again and came toward me. He didn’t say another word, just scooped me up off the floor, out of Donovan’s lap, then cradled me against his chest.

“I’m not through with you, yet, brother. Don’t even move,” he said to Donovan.

“Wouldn’t think of it, mate.”

Mick

Her body still convulsed in my arms, slight tremors that were nowhere near the quaking fit I’d seen just moments ago, but each quiver cut me to my core. I knew I couldn’t watch her go through this again, couldn’t see her in so much pain.

Even now, with her head on my chest, the tears still streamed. I thought she was sleeping, which made the constant flow of tears even more disturbing.

Donovan’s name on her lips ran through my mind, cutting me to the core with each repetition.

I carried her upstairs and into my room. Our room. I placed her onto the bed as gently as I could and waited to see if she’d move.

She’d cried out for him. He’d saved her.

He’d been the one to rescue her from the outburst. Not me.

I stared down at her, at this beautiful girl who trusted me with her life, and I knew in that moment that I loved her. It wasn’t normal to love so fully, so fast. But I did. Without a doubt, I loved this girl and I would do anything to protect her.

I bent down and rested my lips against her temple for a long few seconds. I inhaled the now-familiar scent of her, and my heart pinched in response.

“I love you, Holland Briggs.”

“Mmm,” she murmured. Then she curled up into herself, and I covered her with the blankets and down comforter.

I turned to the door, startled by my sister standing in the doorway, watching me with her hand on her chest, her hopeful expression evidence that she’d heard my whispered proclamation.

I took one last look at Holland and headed to the hallway. Ro stepped aside, and I closed the door behind me, turning to face her as I did so.

She threw her arms around my neck and squeezed. “I love you, Mickey.”

“I love you too, Ro.” I returned her hug and kissed the top of her head.

She pulled away from me, leaving her hands gripped around my upper arms, and looked up into my eyes. “You’re in love.”

I nodded.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“What can I do?”

“Come with me to talk to our brother?”

“Of course. Cam’s already down there eyeballing him to death. Cam’s really freaked out.”

“I know. I should have prepared you guys for that. It’s just that things keep happening one after another, and…I just should have prepared you. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“It’s okay, and I know Cam will be fine. He was just a bit, um, caught off guard.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

We made our way back to the kitchen, and I was amused to see Cam standing across from Donovan, who was seated at the table—if Cam could have killed the guy with his eyes, I think he would have. His scowl was intense.

Donovan ate through a ream of crackers and sipped on one of my cold beers. When we entered, he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head, smiling as if we’d just told him Christmas was coming early.

“That was quite the show, wasn’t it, mate?”

I pulled the chair out across from him and sat down in it backwards. I crossed my arms over the back of the chair. “What did you do to her?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“How did you make her stop? How did you bring her back?”

“Oh, that? That’s easy.” His smile grew as he leaned across the table, bringing his face a few feet from mine. “That’s just our connection.”

“I see,” I said, not seeing at all, but unwilling to let the subject drop. “So, tell me about this connection.”

“You know all about it—from research, obviously, not actual experience.”

I didn’t correct him. “So, you share dreams with her, then?”

“Indeed.”

“Great. Tell me about the last one she had. Just last night.”

Donovan’s eyes narrowed for the slightest of seconds, but I caught the gesture. I leaned back and mimicked his nonchalance, waiting for his answer. Since I’d shared the dream with Holland, I knew exactly what it was. This was the perfect test, and I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it before.

“Oh, come on now, surely you can think of something better than that.” He waited a heartbeat and then continued. “No? Okay, then. Last night, I played witness to your little beasty—eh, excuse me, Freudian slip—anyway, I witnessed Holland slipping a bit of poison into her friend’s Café Au Lait powdered coffee. Though I’m quite sure the girl deserved it. Powdered coffee? What’s wrong with you Americans?”

Cam sucked in a breath, and I closed my eyes. I hadn’t been thinking—again. Cam wouldn’t want to hear the details of the crimes Holland had committed, regardless of whether or not she could remember those moments, or whether or not she was even responsible for her actions. I knew enough about the curse to know it hadn’t been Holland who’d done those things, but Cam didn’t know that.

“Okay, so you saw the dream. That still doesn’t prove anything.”

“Doesn’t it? Look, you seem like a nice enough bloke, and since we are family, I’ll spare you the gory details. But let’s get one thing straight here, Mick, she’s still human because I have stopped her from changing. Twice.”

“Twice?”

“Oh! You really are bloody slow, you know it? Yes, twice. Just now, as you’re painfully aware, and again last night.”

“No. Last night I talked her down. She focused on me, on my breathing.” I felt so small as I defended myself, but his words dug deeply.

“Wrong. Try again.”

My jaw clenched as I tried staying calm while listening to Donovan say things I couldn’t possibly believe.

“So, what? You calmed her down?”

“Indeed.”

“How?” I was getting tired of his one or two word responses.

“It was my touch that brought her back from that dangerous ledge, my friend.” He held his hands up and wiggled his fingers. “See? My fingers, my touch…I’m the guy.”

“Well fan-fucking-tastic, Donovan,” Ro snapped. “But here’s the thing: Holland doesn’t like you. I don’t think she even likes to be in the same room with you. So how the hell do you expect to break the spell if she can’t even stand to be around you?”

“I don’t.”

“What?” Ro spat. Cam and I had similar expressions on our faces—wide eyes and tightly clenched jaws.

“Yes, what did you say?” I asked him.

“You heard me. I don’t intend to break the spell. Why should I care what happens to the girl? She’s not my responsibility, now, is she? And you said it yourself, Rosemarie, she doesn’t even like me.”

Cam was across the room in a flash, his hands gripping Donovan’s shirt collar, knuckles white. “Listen here, you creepy bastard. You’ll save my sister, or God help me, I’ll—”

Donovan stood, effortlessly removing Cam’s fingers as if they were those of a small child. “You’ll what?”

“Okay, everyone, let’s try to stay focused.” I tried to diffuse the tense situation. It was hard to tell who would win in a fight between Cam and Donovan, but my bet, unfortunately, was on Donovan. “If you don’t intend to break the spell, Donovan, what are you still doing here?”

“Well, I can’t very well leave now, when all the fun stuff is happening.”

Cam lunged again, but Ro put her hands on his arm to stop him. “Let’s go outside, Cam. I need some air.”

“Fine.” His clipped tone indicated he definitely needed air—and time away from Donovan. I sure as hell did.

“I’ll join you guys. Don’t move,” I told Donovan, as I followed my sister and Cam outside.

As soon as we made it to the back porch, Cam’s fist connected with the wooden beam that held the patio cover up.

He shook his hand out, cringing from the pain. “Mother fu—”

“Cam!” Ro shrieked. “Oh my God! Come here, stick your hand in the snow.”

He did as she said, then she laughed and scolded him. “That was a stupid thing to do.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with that guy in there?”

They both turned to me, then shrugged in unison.

“I don’t know, Mick,” Ro said, “But I don’t trust him. He’s not our brother.”

I was relieved to hear her say what I’d already been thinking, but that relief came with another thought. If all of us doubted Donovan’s story, who was the guy in our cabin pretending to be family? What did he want with us? With Holland?

My lungs tightened. I’d left him in there with Holland! And in her current state, so weak and tired—there was no telling what he could do to her!

I turned and ran back inside, my heart pumping loudly in my ears as my adrenaline spiked. I passed through the kitchen—empty, as I knew it would be. With each footfall, my heart sank lower into my stomach.

“Holland!” I raced up the stairs.

No answer. But then, I hadn’t expected one.

Holland

Mick trailed his hand down my side, pulling me from slumber. I stretched my legs, my body waking up to his touch, hungry for more. I smiled as he caressed my hip, then slowly made his way to my thigh. I sighed happily, and he took the opportunity to bring his lips down over mine. As he deepened the kiss, his stubble rubbed against my skin. His grip on my leg tightened, and I scooted closer to him as his fingers kneaded my thigh—

Wait. Stubble?

My eyes flew open.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

I pulled the covers up around me, disgusted and disturbed by the lingering sensation of his lips on mine. I’d kissed him!

Donovan leaned down, his palms flattened against the bed on either side of me, pinning me beneath the covers.

“What are you doing in here?” My voice trembled as I gripped the blankets tighter.

His eyes were heavily lidded, and he licked his lips. “I think we should probably discuss something, don’t you?”

I looked away from him, unable to hold his gaze after how intimate we’d just been. My stomach roiled, churning round and round. I’d kissed him. I’d betrayed Mick. Donovan’s dark eyes seemed to look right through me, as if he knew all of my deepest secrets. And he’d just caused me to sigh with pleasure as he touched me, caused me to open my mouth to him. I could only imagine what he was thinking now, or what he wanted to talk about.

“Don’t be shy, love. I think we both know there’s a connection here.” He ran his hand over the covers, up my leg, pausing momentarily near my groin—his thumb resting dangerously close to an area he was the last person I wanted touching.

“I know it feels good when I touch you, Holland.” He continued moving his hand up the length of my body, and I released the breath I’d been holding since he’d paused between my thighs. As he stopped just below my right breast, my eyes widened and my pulse accelerated.

“Don’t be so prudish,” he said with a cruel smirk, removing his hand from my body. “I don’t mean sexually. Your skin calls to me. It’s our connection.”

He was right. I didn’t want to admit it, but maybe he was the one meant to break the curse. Maybe it wasn’t Mick. I mean, I couldn’t ignore the fact that Donovan’s touch did funny things to my body, my senses.

But I didn’t have feelings for Donovan. And I didn’t want to. “No. There’s no connection between us.”

“Oh, Holland.” He ran his hands through his dark hair and smiled a wicked smile, then cracked his knuckles. “Please do try to ignore this.”

He straddled me, and I sucked in a breath. He reached toward me again and I froze, pinned beneath his dark gaze and advancing hands, the weight of his body locking me in place. He pulled the covers down, folding them back at my waist.

Mick! Where is he?

Why was I alone with Donovan? Again. Was Mick hurt? And where was my brother? Rosemarie? Anyone?

I opened my mouth to yell for them—

Donovan placed his right hand high on my chest, his thumb resting on my collarbone, and his fingers stretching around my neck lightly. My breath caught in my throat. Every nerve in my body reacted to his touch, racing to the places where his skin met mine.

Exhilaration surged within me.

Words were lost.

Thoughts were distant, murky.

I felt alive…and safe. Whole. I wanted to melt into his hand.

My mouth opened and closed a few times, words refusing to form into coherent sentences. My body sang with life, as if Donovan’s touch somehow roused cells that had long been dormant. My mind screeched warnings, telling me this was all wrong, but my body didn’t care. I had trouble catching my breath. The feeling was unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my life.

I didn’t want to feel this way about Donovan, but I couldn’t ignore the way my body hummed with anticipation of where his fingers would travel next.

No. This is wrong.

I wanted Mick’s hands on my body; I wanted Mick’s touch to light me up like a sparkler. I didn’t even like Donovan. I barely tolerated him, and even then, I sure didn’t want to have to.

And yet, here I sat, pinned beneath the covers by a man I couldn’t stand, my body aching with need. I wanted to be consumed by him.

What the hell?

Hunger. Thirst. I needed Donovan to live, to survive. No wonder he’d been the one to bring me back from the edge both times—it was a phenomenon I’d lived so long without him.

Wrong. So wrong. Move. Go. Run.

My chest rose and fell heavily with each breath, as the focus of every nerve in my body rushed to meet Donovan’s fingers. All at once I felt like I was frozen, and yet, unable to sit still. My body throbbed, begging for more connection to Donovan.

Did he feel it? Did he know what he was doing to me?

What is he doing to you? Run!

He smiled again and licked his lips, then lightly trailed his fingers down my chest, leisurely making his way to trace the curve of my left breast.

No.

I sucked in a breath, not wanting him to touch me anymore, especially not in a way that mimicked private moments I’d had with Mick…and yet…wanting nothing more than his hands and body to surround me, cocoon me, cradle me.

Where moments ago I’d been kissing him, my body reacting to a man I’d thought was Mick, this feeling wasn’t sexual, wasn’t romantic…more like, I’d never been complete before this moment. Never experienced true safety, real contentment.

This was all wrong, and yet…

I couldn’t ignore the way my skin lit up beneath his fingertips. My mind may have been logical enough to know that this went against what I truly wanted, but my body…

As his fingers moved over my skin, I responded to his touch like the desert responds to rain, drinking in every second of connection to Donovan Gregory. I’d die without him.

What? No, that’s not right. Move!

My eyelids fluttered between opened and closed as his fingers played with the top hem of my shirt. I inhaled deeply, trying to force myself to tell him off. But the words wouldn’t come. His woodsy, musky scent filled my nose, teasing my senses. His hair tickled my forehead as he leaned down, bringing his face to mine once more.

My lips parted on an intake of breath.

“Hmm,” he said, and heat rushed through my body as the sound of his voice caressed my ears.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Just as I suspected. Maybe a good shagging is in order, after all. What do you say we have ourselves a quick roll in the hay before your boyfriend realizes I’m gone?”

“Holland!”

Donovan’s repulsive words followed by Mick’s voice roaring through the house, doused me with an ice cold reality check. This wasn’t right, this moment, these impossible feelings…I opened my eyes—hadn’t even known they were closed—and tried to push Donovan off of me.

“We’ll have to delay our shag, then, eh?” He winked as his grin split his face further, appearing almost comical, cartoonish. Maniacal.

“Over my dead body,” I snarled through clenched teeth. I’d finally found my words, and they hadn’t come out nearly as breathless as I felt.

Donovan threw his head back and laughed, the harsh sound no longer velvet to my senses, but grating and strange. It pulled me back to the moment, to the utter wrongness of everything, and my heart sped up as I grasped how abnormal he seemed.

What did he just do to me? Who is he? What is he?

I tried to ignore that last question while he still sat atop my legs.

“‘Over my dead body,’” he chirped, mimicking the higher pitch of my voice. He brought his head back down over mine, a curl to his lip. “Oh, Princess, careful what you wish for.”

He covered my mouth, then brought his face down to my ear.

“Don’t scream.”

Mick

“Holland!” I shouted again as my foot thumped against the second level landing. I propelled myself forward, not able to get to her fast enough.

Cam and Ro barreled in behind me, obviously aware of the dire mistake we’d all made in leaving Holland unprotected.

When I reached the room, the door was open. I sucked in a breath. If he’s done anything to her…

I slammed to a stop just inside the room, my eyes barely able to register what they saw. Nothing.

The room was empty.

“Holland!” I shouted again, running into the bathroom—only to find it as empty as the rest of the room. I spun on my heels and saw Ro taking the small spiral staircase up to the reading nook our moms used to love.

“They’re gone.”

“No!” Cam shouted. “Where the hell is my sister?”

“He took her.” My heart caved in on itself. I couldn’t think straight, but I knew I had to come up with a plan. I knew I had to keep moving. I had to find Holland. I sank down onto the bed, running a hand over my head. What would I do now? Where could they have gone? What was he doing with her? Who was he?

“You can’t just sit there, Mick! Do something!”

I flew off the bed and stepped in front of my sister. “What do you want me to do? I told her I’d protect her! I told her I’d break the curse! I told her I’d save her! And now? Now what will I do? Where is she?”

Ro cowered under my harsh glare, but, lowering her voice, she tried to talk sense into me. “Okay. Calm down. We’ll figure this out, all right? You’re not alone, Mick. We’ll find Holland.”

“Holy crap, man,” Cam said. “You really do love her, don’t you?”

With his words, the weight of letting down not just Holland, but her brother as well, crashed onto my shoulders. I’d failed all of us.

Searching the room for any indication of where Donovan could have taken her, I spotted something painfully familiar tucked into the bedding in the very place I’d last seen Holland sleeping. The very place I’d left her alone. Anger kicked my adrenaline into full force once more as I snatched the black and white digital image from the sheets.

A disturbing memento from Donovan, reminding me of what Holland’s future held if I failed.

“What’s that?” Ro asked as she approached me.

“Nothing.” I folded the print into quarters, then shoved it into my pocket. “It’s nothing. Let’s figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Okay. Let’s think,” Cam said. “Where could they have gone? Did either of you see a car? Or any luggage? Did he have anything with him?”

“No.”

“Me either,” Ro said, staring off into the distance. Then she looked back at us with her eyebrows pulling down over her blue-violet eyes. “Wait a minute, you guys. What kind of person travels in the snow, without luggage or a vehicle?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “But he couldn’t have gone far.” With that spark of hope, I jumped from the bed and grabbed my warmest jacket from the closet. As I pulled it on, I felt the resolve I’d lost momentarily.

“Go get dressed, you guys. Layers. Lots of layers. It’s going to be freezing cold out there, and we’re not coming back until we find her.”

They both nodded and left the room.

I meant what I said. I’d die out there in the snow before I ever returned to my father’s home without her.

Holland

I awoke freezing cold, but not the kind of cold that makes you get out of bed to find a sweatshirt and socks. Not even the kind of cold that forces you to walk all the way to your thermostat through dark, chilly hallways.

No, this cold lodged itself deep into my bones.

I ached. My teeth chattered. I hurt everywhere.

Stretching my arm to search the bed beside me, I wondered where Mick had disappeared to. Was I even still in his bed? What time was it?

My hand connected with dirt. Or, rock was more like it. When I reached further, something tightened against my wrist, scratchy and thick. I opened my eyes, my heart racing as realization settled in.

Darkness and the residuals of a remarkably deep sleep—couldn’t even remember dreaming or moving—blinded me to anything past my initial surroundings, but as I focused, I realized I lay tucked into a blue sleeping bag on the cold, hard ground, my arms each tied separately to metal rings protruding from the rock walls. I sat up quickly as panic replaced confusion, fear rippling through my body. Where am I? My breathing hitched, coming in short gasps. My legs were tied together at the ankles, tucked well into the sleeping bag.

“She wakes.”

The same words he’d murmured the first time I’d awoken to his unexpected presence, the morning he watched me sleep in the false security of Mick’s bedroom. Donovan watched me again now—though this time he sat near a bonfire, instead of leaning on Mick’s fireplace mantle.

“Where am I?”

“In a cave.” His words were bland.

“Why did you bring me here?” My voice cracked and wavered on each word. The voice of a scared little girl. I cleared my throat, calling forth any ounce of courage I could muster.

“Well, Holland,” he began, slowly enunciating each word. “I brought you here to prevent you from breaking the spell. The whole lot of you are truly dense.”

“Wait…” I didn’t know what to say, but I wanted to keep him talking—that seemed like the best thing to do. I could survey my surroundings as long as Donovan was distracted. And maybe I’d find a way out.

That was the plan anyway.

“Are you saying that you brought me here so you could break the spell?”

“Oh, Holland. Of course you would come to that conclusion—so naïve and so trusting. Even after you’ve been betrayed by those you loved most, you still trust so openly, don’t you?”

Was he referring to Rod and Leslie? How did he—?

“Yes, I know all about you, Holland Briggs. Your pathetic life—the dances, the popularity, the mundane social climbing. Your heartless little world and all its glory. But that all came crashing down on you, didn’t it? That all crashed down when Roderick broke your heart.”

“What do you…how—?”

“How? How do I know all this?”

Donovan paused to laugh, a loud, head-thrown back laugh that reverberated off the walls of the cave, triggering the memory of his hand on my chest. He’d been in the bedroom, touching me, making my body react to him, hungry for his touch. He’d kissed me. I’d kissed him back.

Then he’d laughed and…

Then he’d told me not to scream.

Oh my God.

“How, indeed. It was easy, really. Did you ever wonder why Roderick never even looked your way again? Because I’d love to know what your thoughts are on that. Oh yes, I definitely would.”

With each word, Donovan’s British accent became sharper, his tone filling with anger. Fear trickled through my veins, leaving me icy and covered in goose bumps. I tried to stay calm. This was no time to lose control, risking the change and causing another rage episode. Wait. Could I use the change to escape? Could I let go and let it…take me over?

I imagined going mad, losing myself to the beast and never coming back.

I couldn’t risk it.

I had to focus on this strange person in front of me and figure out what the hell was going on, as well as put together an escape plan.

“Cat got your tongue?” Donovan’s grin spreads, his dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. “Rod didn’t look at you because you no longer existed. In his eyes, there never was a Holland Briggs. He’d been in love with Leslie his entire life. You. Didn’t. Exist.”

I shook my head; it didn’t make sense. Of course I still existed.

“You still don’t get it do you? He didn’t ignore you; he didn’t see you. You weren’t there. Are you so self-centered that you couldn’t even see that he looked right through you?”

I gasped at the realization that his words rang true. Rod hadn’t just ignored me these past few months, he’d acted as if I wasn’t even there. Because somehow, I wasn’t. How could that have happened? How could he not know me? Not see me?

“God, you’re daft. No wonder she cursed you.”

What? I snapped my head up, locking my gaze on his. “What did you just say?”

“No matter. Let’s get back to you, shall we? Poor little Holland Briggs. Popular. Beautiful. Loved. But not by him. Not by Rod. Not when he’d never laid eyes on you.”

I took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the gaping hole that had just reopened in my heart. Tears knocked on the back of my eyes, but I had to push them away. I had to focus.

“Why? Why did he think I didn’t exist?”

Donovan rolled his eyes, a muscle working in his square jaw. “Because to him, you didn’t. It’s that simple. I planted one little seed in his mind, and there it was. The end of Holland Briggs. We knew that with a little push, you’d grow into your destiny in no time.”

We? “My destiny? What do you mean, the curse?”

“The curse?” he mocked. “Yes, stupid girl, the curse. As soon as the curse was awakened, you needed no further pushing. First the fire, then the poisoning. I’m sure you could have done many more marvelous things if you hadn’t been swept off to this Winter Wonderland with your boyfriend. But, no matter. Everything happens for a reason, and look at us now. Just you and me…and beasty makes three.”

I didn’t want to focus on that last part, so I changed the subject, reverting back a bit. I tilted my head. What had he meant when he’d said ‘we’? “You said you planted a seed in Rod’s mind. But what about Leslie? What did you do to her?”

Donovan barked a short laugh. “Just between us girls—” he mimicked me in that high-pitched voice again, leaning forward as if we were girlfriends gossiping around the fire at a camp out, “—I didn’t have to do anything to Leslie. That was all her. She’d likely been jealous of you forever, and replacing you was a dream come true. Honestly, I’m not sure she’s been the best friend to you, Hollandaise.”

I sucked in a breath. “What did you just call me?”

Holland

With a wink, Donovan stood, the blanket he’d had over his shoulders falling to the ground behind him. He loomed over the fire, his muscles taut within his black t-shirt and snug gray slacks. The flames danced in the air, casting a shadow on the wall behind him.

My eyes widened. The shadow wasn’t right, didn’t seem to be his. My gaze shifted out of focus, then back into focus, as my mind tried to make sense of the shadow behind Donovan. I looked from him to the shadow, then back up to meet his gaze as he shook out his dark hair and laughed. The sound echoed through the cave, but the maniacal laughter wasn’t what made my stomach attempt a quick climb up my throat.

Small and slightly hunched, the shadow of a person sitting in a wheelchair formed on the cave wall, right before my eyes. I brought my gaze back to Donovan once more, who still towered over the fire, but his gaze was no longer light with amusement. Now, his intense eyes watched me, a sneer distorting his previously striking features. His teeth glowed bright in the light of the crimson and orange flames.

Breaking eye contact with the now-terrifying man before me, I forced my attention back to the shadow on the wall, expecting and hoping that I’d imagined the entire thing. But the shape of the figure remained unchanged. Even without seeing the actual person, hunched shoulders and a wheelchair forced one man’s face to the forefront of my mind.

“Wh-who are you?” But I already knew the answer.

“Who, who, said the little brown owl. Stop stuttering, you pathetic girl! You disgust me. You’ve never been good enough for him!” A woman’s voice rang through the cave, the source of it…

No. Shadows don’t talk.

“Well? What do you think?” Donovan stepped aside, waving his arms in a flourish at the quickly solidifying shadow on the cavern wall.

“Hollandaise, Hollandaise, Hollandaise…” The woman’s voice repeated my familiar nickname, and as the words echoed through the cave, the female voice morphed and changed, turning into the familiar cadence I’d know anywhere—the scratchy, witty sound of Mr. Greenburg.

The old man in the wheelchair that used to tease me about my shoes being untied or sneak extra desserts to me after my parents had cut me off now sat before me, separated by a fire and only a few yards of space. My heart fell deeper into my chest as all the moments I’d spent with Mr. Greenburg over the years flew through my mind in a memory-infused whirlwind.

My pseudo-Grandpa…had he harmed my family in any way? My mother? Me?

How had this happened? I’d loved him so much. We all had.

A tear slipped past my eye, and I knew more would follow. Once one was out…

“Why? I don’t understand. Why would you do this? And…how?”

“You never deserved him. You were never good enough for him.”

I didn’t understand what he was saying, this new Mr. Greenburg. I shook my head slightly, trying to clear my thoughts and make sense of his words. I scanned the area for Donovan, but he was nowhere to be found. Had they been working together this whole time? My mind scrambled to make sense of everything, to no avail. Then, as the flames continued to dance, higher and higher they rose, and the shadow morphed and changed once more. I watched as the person in front of me transformed in unison with the shadow, and then Mr. Greenburg was gone.

A woman in her mid-thirties stood in his place, full-figured with flaming red hair as bright as the fire she stood behind. Her eyes glowed a stunning emerald green. Beautiful—if they hadn’t been so full of hatred. She wore a rich green, velvety dress that mirrored the color of her eyes, with a round hoop skirt and a corset that squeezed her waist into a tiny sliver, pushing her breasts to spilling out over the top.

“Enjoying the show, love?” Donovan had returned, firewood in his arms. He set the kindling down, then stepped toward the woman, bending down to place a delicate kiss on her cheek. “Mother. Don’t you look ravishing tonight?”

I curled my lip in disgust. Mother?

Her green eyes flared when he stepped aside. “Look at me, girl. Tell me you were better for him than I was. Tell me you even came close to being worthy of his love.”

“I—I . . .” I was stuttering again. I had no idea what she was talking about, or who he was that she kept referring to. Donovan? Rod? Was she talking about Rod? “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t! You’re as brainless now as you have been every four generations for the past—” she paused, closing her eyes and squeezing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, “—Ugh! I don’t know!”

Donovan tsk-tsked as he tossed another log into the fire. “Calm, Mother.”

“I don’t even know how long it’s been, and I have had to endure every single one of her mind-numbing reincarnations. As if putting up with her the first go ‘round wasn’t torture enough!”

“Oh my God. You’re—”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner, folks! The little harlot has finally figured it out! Yes.” She spun in a slow circle and then curtsied. “I am exactly who you think I am, though you don’t remember me.” She stood, squaring her shoulders and resting her hands on hourglass hips. “Unfortunately,” she sneered. “I remember you.”

“You’re the witch who cursed my family.”

“Yes. And no. See, I cursed you, not your family, not your descendants. You. You have to come back over and over again, reliving this same nightmare, always with the same horrid ending. The beautiful girl turns to stone at the end of this story, see. Every. Single. Time.”

Donovan kicked his black boot into the fire, and the flames rose, sending a few wayward sparks into the air. The woman—his mother—stepped back hastily, her eyes going wild before she quickly returned her narrowed gaze to me.

“And the rage?” I asked, probing to get to the bottom of this and anxious to stall as long as I could. I had yet to devise a plan of escape, and now I had two psychopaths to deal with. “Why the rage, the anger? To punish me?”

She leaned forward, eyes blazing. “To make you everything you never were, the opposite of what he saw in you. I take your kindness and turn it to rage, your calm to chaos.”

“Why? I don’t get it. Why do you want to relive this a thousand times?”

She shrieked then, an ear-piercing wail that reminded me of a toddler throwing a tantrum in the middle of a department store. She crossed the cave, giving a wide berth to the fire, then knelt down to bring her eyes level with mine. Her hands tugged at her orange hair, and up close, I saw just how wild her eyes really were. And brown. They were definitely brown now. But how could that be?

Magic. The word whispered across my mind. Magic. Of course.

She shook her head, quick, curt movements that shook her curls. Her lips twisted into a deep scowl, distorting her pretty face. “I can’t let you win. Don’t you see?” Her breath was hot, and spittle flew with each word. I cringed as she continued, her voice shrill and painful in my ears as it bounced off the barren cave walls. “I can’t let you win! I can’t! I won’t! So I will find new ways to torture you every time you come back. Because your existence tortured me.”

As her words sunk in, my chest tightened with a mixture of feelings. I feared the worst for myself, but something about this story caused an annoying flare of sympathy deep down in my chest. That this witch—this woman—had been so tormented for so long…what a horrible life.

“I feel sorry for you.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself, and I instantly regretted them. My eyes widened, and I struggled to scoot back, but I had nowhere to go. Cold, stone walls stretched up and around me on all sides, and I could move to either side only a foot or two with these rope restraints.

I barely registered the movement before the sting of her palm radiated through my cheek. My head flew to the right, knocking into jagged rocks. Pain swelled in my forehead on one side, my cheek on the other. Wetness dripped down from my hairline, warm and thick. Blood.

Donovan laughed. My head throbbed.

“Don’t you dare.” She bent so her emerald eyes were even with mine, then smiled a hungry, menacing grin. Green eyes again? What the hell? “Don’t you dare pity me, you insufferable toad. I have watched you fall in love, watched the men who loved you fall to pieces in your absence, watched the families mourn your loss, more times than I can count. Do not feel sorry for me, child. My revenge has been plenty, and always sweet.”

Wait. Her words triggered a fresh wave of questions in my mind.

If I’d loved in these past lives, why hadn’t the spell been broken? And, if she’d watched my family mourn with each of my deaths, then, had they known what became of me? Had they seen the statues each time?

“Wait. How can you—?”

“No,” she snapped. She crossed the cave, again giving the fire plenty of room when she passed, then sat down beside Donovan on the far side. As the light of the flames reflected on her skin, casting a fiery glow on her already vibrant auburn hair, she glared. Without tearing her gaze from me, she reached for two long pieces of metal, both of them pointed at the ends, and glinting in the light of the fire. She set them in her lap and reached for a ball of colorful yarn—wait a minute. You’ve got to be kidding me. Knitting needles? She was going to knit right now? I would have laughed at the absurdity of it, had the fleeting image of those needles sticking out of my neck not flashed through my mind. “You don’t get to ask questions.”

“Really? You won’t answer my questions while we sit here, waiting for God knows what?”

“No. You get nothing.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Donovan’s lips pulled into a smirk, then he looked over at her. “I told you she had a dirty American mouth.”

“Bite me, Donovan.” He grinned, so I returned my attention to his mother the witch. “You won’t give me even a few answers before you kill me?”

She looked up from whatever knitting project she played with in her lap, a smile pulling at her lips. “Listen to you, so much sassier than you’ve ever been before. I like this modern you.”

“Awesome. So. Back to the questions.”

“Fine. You get three questions. Make them count. It’s the least I can do while your lifetime ticks away before your eyes.”

“Again.” Donovan winked at me, then they shared a laugh at my expense. I hoped that whenever I devised an escape plan, it included some epic way to inflict harm on them.

Donovan raised his eyebrows. “Careful, love. Wouldn’t want to bring Beasty out just yet.”

I felt the urge to strangle him, and my fists clenched in my lap—without my consent. A movement that did not go unnoticed.

“Nah ah ah.” The witch waggled a knitting needle in the air. “Donovan’s right. It isn’t quite time for that, dear.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Finally, I opened my eyes again, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs, thankful the ropes allowed that much movement. With my ankles knotted together, I’d have a hard time running, but I had to find a way. Had to escape. I tugged a bit at the restraints on my wrists, trying to see how loosely they were tied to the wall, but the witch cleared her throat, and I looked up.

She shook her head.

Fine. “Okay. First question. And I might add that I also want answers. Truthful answers.”

The witch winked at me, then urged me on with a slight flick of her wrist. “Go on, then.”

“Each time I was reincarnated…if you watched my family mourn my loss each time I…died…where did they think I’d gone? Did they know I turned into a statue? Is there a Briggs family statue garden somewhere that I don’t know about?”

She raised her eyebrows, then glanced at Donovan, whose gaze never wavered from mine, then returned her attention to the knitting project she worked on, a smile on her face. “Oh, dear. Are you confident you want those to be your three questions?”

Three questions? Damn. She had me there. I needed to focus and condense my questioning. “No. I’ll rephrase.”

“That was your only warning.”

Donovan kicked at the fire again, and the woman’s eyes widened before she shot him a disapproving glare. What’s her deal with fire?

“When you watched my family mourn my death, what did they think happened to me?”

There. That seemed to cover all the bases.

“Oh! That’s the fun part! They never know what happens to you.”

“What do you mean?”

The witch looked up and tilted her head, acknowledging that I’d just wasted another question.

“Oh, come on!” I shouted.

She laughed, a soft cackle that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Fine. I’ll give you that question as a freebie. Because I like you more than I have in years past, and—as tragic as it is—I think my boy is sweet on you.”

Go me.

I met Donovan’s gaze and he licked his lips.

My stomach tilted. I imagined projectile vomiting on them, à la Exorcist.

“Sometimes,” she began, leaning toward the flames and pulling my attention back to her wicked green eyes. “Sometimes, you leave a suicide note. Sometimes, you just disappear without a trace—”

“Sometimes you leave with me.”

“Don’t interrupt, son.”

“Yes, Mother.” Donovan winked at me. I ignored him, focusing on his words. And their implication. If he was involved in all this, more than just this time around, how old was he? How many years had he been forced to live this life at his mother’s disposal?

The witch snapped her fingers, and I realized I’d been locked in a silent battle with Donovan. His brow was furrowed as he held my gaze.

“Once,” the witch continued, “you were lost at sea! That was the best one yet! You’d never left the shore, the silly fools!” She laughed again, throwing her head back as the giggle fit consumed her. “You weren’t even fond of the water!” She was barely able to speak with the amount of laughter that spilled from her.

An article I’d read on Mick’s desk drifted through my mind, and I knew the witch had spoken the truth. I’d read about the girl who’d hated the water, then one day boarded a ship with her lover and left, never to be seen again.

I glanced at Donovan. Had he been the lover?

“Moving on.” I tried to shake the image of that girl’s face—my face—from my mind, along with the idea that I’d done more than just accidental kissing with Donovan in one or more of my past lives. I closed my eyes again, pushing the irritation away with each deep breath I took. I rubbed my thumb over the heart ring Cam had given me back when I’d left the hospital after my incident. I needed his strength. “You mentioned that you’ve watched me love, and watched as the men who loved me mourned my loss. If that’s so, then why has the spell never broken? Isn’t love the way to end the curse?”

“Those are your last two questions.”

Good grief. I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Those are the most important questions anyway.”

The witch smiled as she placed her knitting needles aside, then stood. She made her way around the fire, again with the exaggerated way she maneuvered around it. She squatted down in front of me, bringing her face within inches of mine. She ran her fingers down my cheek

“‘Isn’t love the way to end the curse?’” she mimicked me. “Love. Sweet, innocent love. What do you think this is, Princess, a Disney movie?”

She laughed as she pulled her arm back, her fingers curling into a fist. I realized what she was about to do just seconds too late—not that I could have done anything anyway constrained the way I was. Her knuckles connected with my cheek, producing a loud crack that echoed through the hollow cave.

“Mother!”

As my head lulled to the side, and my eyes closed from the force of the impact, I heard one last revelation before I succumbed to the darkness that claimed my consciousness.

“Fool,” she spat. “Love can’t break the spell.”

And with that one, simple truth, I passed out…knowing I would never be freed from this cursed fate. There was no way to break the spell.

Certainly not love.

Mick

Our boots crunched in the snow, the thudding of our heavy footsteps the only sound we’d heard for miles now. We were too far from any other cabins, or a road, to hear much else. Cam kept pace right behind me, with Ro by his side, and to Ro’s credit, she hadn’t even complained once. I knew how cold she must have been, but she knew how much this trek meant for me, and for Holland’s safety.

If left too long, and Holland had another outburst, she risked changing for good. And if that happened…

I couldn’t think about that. There were no what ifs in this. There was either me saving her, or nothing. Because if I didn’t save her, she wouldn’t make it out of this forest alive. There’d be a statue of a beautiful girl, forever memorialized in the pristine forest surrounding Big Bear Lake. No one would know where it came from, or how it got there, or why. No one would know that my heart had frozen with hers the day the statue appeared in the middle of the forest.

“Come on, you guys,” I urged. “We’re running out of time. I can feel it.”

“Where are we going?” Ro asked. “We haven’t seen any tracks, and there’s no way they could have flown—”

“Just trust me! Please!”

I’d already told her—I knew we were going the right way. How I knew was unclear. But I knew. I felt Holland. Our connection was strong, regardless of the doubts I’d allow to creep in; I knew I travelled in the right direction.

More importantly, I knew it wasn’t too late.

Yet.

Maniacal, female laughter stopped us dead in our tracks. It reverberated off the forest walls, bouncing off the tree trunks and echoing for what felt like forever in our ears. The three of us stood frozen in place, our bodies hunched as we searched the surrounding forest for the source of the sound.

At first, I thought I was imagining things, maybe the three of us had frozen out here and shared hallucinations, or maybe they were in one of my own delusions…but then something snapped inside me, and puzzle pieces clicked into place. I knew what it was. Who it was.

“No.”

“What?” Ro asked.

“Donovan is working with the witch,” I stated calmly. How had I not figured that out sooner?

“What?” Ro and Cam said at the same time.

“Donovan is working with the witch,” I repeated. “The one who cursed us.” Somewhere inside me, I’d known all along. Hadn’t they?

Without waiting for a response, I took off in the direction I felt pulled to go, knowing that with each step I grew closer to finding Holland, and she grew closer to changing for the final time.

Why else would Donovan and the witch have brought her out here, secluded in a winter fortress of snow and ice, hidden away from the one person who could save her?

Away from me.

Holland

I came to minutes or hours later. Donovan paced the length of the cave, his shoes wearing a path in the dirt. I slowly pushed up to a sitting position, tilting my head to search his face. His eyebrows were drawn down over his eyes, his jaw moving from side to side, like his teeth ground.

Was he thinking the things I’d wondered? Possibly reevaluating his devotion to this horrible woman?

“You know she’s punished you, too,” I whispered when he paced close to me again.

He stopped abruptly, then squatted in front of me, dark eyes narrowed and calculating. “Don’t speak of things you do not know, love.”

“Donovan? Is she awake, dear?”

“Yes, Mother.” He stood, his gaze holding mine as he did, then turned to join her beside the fire once more. He leaned against the far wall of the cave, arms crossed over his chest.

I continued to stare at him. He was the key to my escape. I just knew it. I had to make him see—

“Well, then. So nice of you to join us. Now that we’ve humored you—generous on our part, I might add—and you’ve had your little catnap, all I have to do is wait for you to have one of your episodes, and then I’ll have another trinket to add to my collection.”

She grinned. I scowled.

“I won’t do it.”

“You won’t do it?”

“No. I won’t lose control. I can’t just turn it off or on like a light switch.”

The woman laughed, tossing her head back the way Donovan had in Mick’s room. She walked a few paces away from me, toward what I’d gathered was the mouth of the cave, judging by the icy winds whirring in from that direction. She returned a heartbeat later, a wicked smile on her face, pulling at her skin and distorting her features.

When she approached the fire, an idea blossomed in my mind and, since I had nothing to lose…

“Fire!” I shouted. “Look out for the fire! It’s spreading!”

The witch jumped, whipping around to face the threat, only to discover the same old campfire that had been there the whole time. She quickly scanned the room, then locked me in her emerald gaze, her face pulling into a mask of anger.

But it was enough to confirm her fear.

“What are you playing at, girl?”

I smirked, feeling slightly less helpless, even though my teeth chattered angrily and I’d lost feeling in my toes and fingertips.

If I devised some brilliant plan, would I even be able to walk out of here?

The witch tilted her head, then turned back to the front of the cave. “I think you’ll be able to flip that switch soon. Donovan, dear, go greet our guests.”

“What?” I snapped my gaze to the gaping mouth of the cave, but it was empty, save for Donovan’s retreating form.

“Holland!” Mick’s voice echoed through the icy air, the sound of it music to my ears. He’s here.

The witch leaned back against an incline in the cave wall that resembled a chair and crossed her hands in her lap. “Ooh! This is going to be so much more fun than last time! I just know it!”

Mick entered the cave, with Cam and Rosemarie not too far behind. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them. My saviors. They all came to an abrupt stop, and each of them assessed the situation, their gazes quickly flicking all over the small cave. But where was Donovan?

After evaluating our surroundings, Mick’s gaze finally landed on me, and he sighed, relaxing his shoulders the slightest bit. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. I was half-frozen, but otherwise unharmed. “Donovan’s right behind you somewhere. He just left to find you guys.”

Cam straightened his shoulders. “I’ve got it.” He turned to leave, and my heart dropped to the floor.

“Cameron!” But he was gone. I searched Mick’s face. “Please. Don’t let him get hurt.”

“I’ll go,” Rosemarie said. As she turned to follow my brother, Mick grabbed her arm. “Stay. I’ll go after Cam in a moment. He can take care of himself.” He turned to the witch. “Let her go.” He took a few steps forward.

“She’s not restrained, Mick. She can leave at any time.”

I looked down as the ropes that once held me here disappeared before my eyes, first unraveling from my hands and disappearing, then my ankles.

I gasped. Even though I’d known about the magic she used, the curse, her eye color changing from green to brown at will, the way she’d transformed into Mr. Greenburg…I didn’t think I’d ever get used to actually witnessing something so impossible.

Mick narrowed his piercing gaze at the witch, gauging the truth in her words, I assumed, then turned his attention back to me. “Can you walk?”

“I think so,” I said through chattering teeth.

“Okay. Get up slowly and come to me.”

I did as I was told, surprised that I could walk, even though my body was in so much pain from the glacial temperatures and from being tied into a fairly cramped position for so long. The witch giggled, and I ignored her, though something nagged at the back of my mind. This was much too easy. Why was she just letting me go without a fight?

I reached down on my way past the fire, then scooped up an exposed log, one end aflame with a healthy glow. I didn’t have to look at the witch to know she scrutinized my movements, and I hoped she flinched at the sight of something she so clearly feared within my grasp.

I didn’t know what I’d do with the torch—set her on fire?—but I knew I wanted it on my side.

Approaching Mick on shaky legs, I almost fell into his arms. He pulled me into a fierce embrace, then wasted no time tugging off his jacket, revealing another one beneath it. He’d come prepared. I pulled on the jacket as he took the torch, then I basked briefly in the body heat remaining on the interior lining.

I turned back to face the witch. The fire danced off her features, making her red-orange hair glow as if it, too, was ablaze.

I pictured flames lapping at her skin. In my mind, her skirts caught fire first, the flames crawling quickly up the velvet dress. For a moment, I was back at the beach house, flames licking the side of the bungalow I’d once loved—and once forgotten torching. I shook my head, then brought my focus back to the imminent danger before me.

Some memories were meant to stay hidden.

Her eyes were even wilder than before. Did she follow my thoughts?

“What’s the catch?” I dared to ask. “Why are you letting us go?”

“No catch. I said you were free to go, and you are.”

As the meaning of her words sank in, I realized too late what she meant. The fire roared, and Mick was thrown across the cave, iron shackles appearing out of nowhere—as quickly as my own restraints had just moments ago vanished—and strapping him against the cold, rocky wall. The torch he’d held fell to the cavern floor with a soft thud.

“No!” I turned back to the witch, my fists clenched in anger. “Let him go.”

“Oh, no, dear. That wasn’t part of my deal. I said you could go. Not him. I want to keep him for myself. He’s much better than any of his pathetic incarnations, and I’ve grown tired of living alone. Maybe this time the curse ends with your statue in our yard.”

Rosemarie ran to Mick’s side, tugging at the restraints holding him to the wall, but I remained where I stood. Locked in a silent battle with the witch, I held her hardened stare—and my ground.

She smiled a menacing smile. “It’s been ages since I’ve had any fun. Do you even know what it was like for me all those years? Living in a nursing home and pretending to be an eighty-five-year-old man?” She shuddered dramatically. “No. I think it’s time for me to have a little fun. And judging by the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching, I imagine he’s quite good in the fun department.”

Pain spread quickly from my heart to my hands. I took a deep breath, knowing what was coming, and knowing I couldn’t stop it on my own. Not without—

Donovan.

Panic gripped my heart, icy fingers latching on to my biggest fear: losing Cameron. Where was Donovan? Where was Cam?

“You,” I growled at her. “How did Donovan stop the change? How did his touch…?” I swallowed hard, a sour taste building in the back of my throat.

“Donovan had magic fingers, didn’t he, love?” She waggled her fingers at me, speaking with Donovan’s heavy accent. The answer was in the question. Magic. She’d made him the only one with the ability to pull me from the edge of the change. It had all been part of her plan.

But why? Why do this to her son? The only companion she’s had all these years? Didn’t they see?

As my hands fisted at my sides and my skin felt pulled taut against my trembling muscles, I longed for his help. I remembered the way I felt when he’d touched me, as if I couldn’t live without that connection to him. And though I wished he’d stop the change now, I knew he wouldn’t, and the thought made me angrier still. The way he’d—she’d—made my body react, tricked me with magic…the thirst, the desire…

“Holland, stay calm. I’m fine. I’ll get out of this. But you need to focus.”

Mick was right. But the change was taking over. The beast unfurled slowly within me. Restless, burning to come out. How long did I have? Would I be a monster for long, or become a statue immediately? Should I tell them to run? Was I a danger to the people I loved?

Yes.

“Magic lips, as well, hmm, Holland?”

Mick’s eyes widened. I turned back to the witch. “How dare you.”

She laughed, then walked over to Mick. She slowly opened the jacket and flannel shirt he had on, exposing the tight thermal underneath. Rosemarie still struggled with the restraints, pulling on them and slamming rocks against the manacles to try to bust Mick loose.

The witch laughed at her efforts, clearly confident in whatever black magic held the iron shackles to the wall.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears and my breath came in and out in quick, loud gusts. I wanted to go to them, to help Rosemarie free Mick, or fight off the witch somehow, but I was frozen—the imminent change consuming my body and mind faster than it had ever come on before.

“Holland. Listen to me. Breathe, baby, please breathe.”

I tried. I really did. I inhaled and exhaled, just like I always had, but it was like sucking in a gust of sand. The air scraped my throat, leaving fire in its wake. I choked and sputtered, bending over to try to catch my breath.

I stood back up, my vision blurred and my breath a slight wheeze.

The witch laughed, then turned her attention back to Mick. She trailed a hand down his chest, stopping just before the waist of his pants. Then, slowly running a fingertip across the skin exposed between the hem of his shirt and the top of his jeans, she left a scorching trail of pink skin almost a foot long from hip to hip. An already-blistering burn remained where her finger just grazed.

My heart ached. My control drifted further out of reach.

She stood on her tip-toes to lean toward his ear, but her voice remained loud enough for me to hear. “Remember me yet? We could have been so happy.”

Mick’s eyes were narrowed in pain, but they widened as her words sank in. I could barely see him through my tunneling vision, but I fought to focus, blinking my eyes and locking him in my gaze. I inhaled a deep breath, then another, holding on for a little while longer. Maybe something would happen. Maybe Donovan would come. Maybe…

The witch laughed. She glanced back at me, then returned her attention to Mick. “Look how she tries to fight for you, even now. Even after all these years of loss, of failure, she loves you still. But not as I do. Never as much as I have loved you.”

She turned back to me. “Surprised? Did you really think you were the only one I made pay for your sins? The only one I forced to come back over and over again, never truly obtaining love, destined to fail…every…single…time? Guess again, dear.”

With those words, she turned away from me, then kissed Mick, long and hard. Rosemarie pushed her aside, and redness tinted Mick’s mouth, as if the witch’s kiss was as scorching as her touch had been on his stomach.

Rosemarie gasped and began to cry, then fought harder at her brother’s shackles.

It was too much for me, too.

Mick clenched his jaw, but pain emanated in his eyes. When my heart broke for him, so did my control.

In the blink of an eye, I was across the fire, my hands wrapped around the witch’s neck. She laughed as I choked her, which made me angrier. As rage filled me, something inside me broke in two. I heard the crack resound in my head.

Hearing that last bit of my humanity fading away was all I could take. The pain engulfed my fingers as they clenched and unclenched around the witch’s throat. Agony seared my chest, making it burn when I tried to speak or swallow. I couldn’t breathe, or if I could, I didn’t feel it past the blinding rage.

The excruciating pain moved up into my eyes, faster this time, more consuming, red the only thing I could see. Deep crimson blurred my vision, as if my eyes bled. The fiery sting moved toward my toes, knocking me to my knees as it singed the length of my legs. I fell hands-down in the dirt of the cave floor. The witch’s neck was no longer in my grasp. If I could see, I’d look to find out where she ended up, if she breathed. If I could feel anything past the scorching pain, I’d stand.

If. So many ifs.

Icy fingers wrapped around my wrist, and a barrage of images of her with Mick bombarded my mind—memories? I gasped for air, my lungs burning along with the rest of me.

This was the final push the beast needed.

“Holland! Stop! It’s what she wants! Stop! Please!”

Mick’s words didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense. Who was he? Who was I? I was no one. I was fire. Pain. Heat.

I was scorched black skin, dripping from brittle bones. I was a hollow face, landing in the cold dirt. I was everything and nothing all at once.

“Mother!” Donovan. “Holland!”

I was Holland Shayne Briggs.

And then I wasn’t.

I was fire. I was pain. And then I was ice.

As frigid cold slowly replaced the heat, I stiffened. Freezing.

So cold.

Then I was solid. Cement.

Unfeeling, unmoving.

Gone.

Mick

“Holland, no!”

My shout echoed off the rocky walls, the terror in my voice shocking even me. She couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t be a statue already! It wasn’t supposed to happen like this! None of this was supposed to happen so quickly!

Dislocating something in my hand, I pulled free from one of the shackles, pain radiating like acid through my arm, matching the burning pain in my lips and streaking across my abdomen. Ro continued to pound on the other restraint as I reached out to Holland.

“Holland! Please!”

Tears streamed down my face, the first time I’d really cried since my father died.

I felt a pop and heard a loud snapping sound as Ro finally got the other shackle undone. I fell to the ground, the sudden release knocking me off balance. On one hand, I crawled toward her, my injured arm cradled to my chest. With my good arm, I scooped her up off the ground and tried to turn her over.

“Rosemarie!” I shouted. “Help me!”

We should have had more time!

She rushed to my side, then turned Holland over in my arm, and I looked down into her hardening face. Her lower body was already fully changed; she was almost a statue. My tears fell on the cold, gray face of the girl I loved, and I screamed. “Why?”

That wild laughter we’d heard earlier carried from somewhere in the cave, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t leave Holland’s side. As my tears fell on her face, I watched the statue of Holland Briggs slowly solidify completely. Cracks ran along every inch of her pale gray form.

“Mick, don’t give up. You can’t give up,” Ro whispered.

I looked at my crazy little sister squatting beside me and shook my head. Don’t give up? Was she blind? I was holding a goddamned statue in my hands! Could she not see?

“Kiss her, Mick. And tell her again.”

“Tell her again?” Ro wasn’t making any sense. Tell her what?

“Yes. Tell her again.” Ro placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. “Tell her what you told her at the house when she was sleeping. Say it, Mick. Say it again.”

I gazed down at the face of the statue and swallowed hard, pushing my broken emotions aside.

“I love you, Holland Briggs. Please don’t leave me. I love you. I know I’m not supposed to. I know it’s too soon. But I love you so much. Please don’t leave me, Holland.”

I leaned down and kissed her rigid, cement lips. I imagined the way her mouth used to move with mine, how we fit together so perfectly, and how she kissed me—trusting me even before she acknowledged that she did. I remembered how holding her felt like home, like everything was exactly as it should be, and I knew it was the universe, not the curse, that had brought us together each time.

More tears fell onto her still form as I let go of everything that never would be again.

A loud noise sounded from the mouth of the cave, startling me, and I watched Ro—eyes wide and mouth agape—as she jumped up to run toward the sound.

“Cam!” she shouted, her voice shrill with barely restrained panic.

I watched in the direction she headed, long after she’d disappeared from my sight. I wasn’t ready to let go of Holland.

“Cameron needs you, too, Holland. You can’t leave us,” I whispered.

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the sometimes timid, always defiant girl I had only just begun to love.

I wasn’t ready to concede to failing the one thing I was destined to do.

A few minutes—or maybe hours—later, Cam and Ro appeared in my line of sight. I watched them through tired eyes, unable to move or speak. I didn’t know how long I’d sat there, or how long I would remain. I just wasn’t ready yet.

Something seemed strange about them, off even—they seemed stiff, I guessed—but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe they’re cold. I tilted my head, the grief-induced fog slowly clearing from my mind.

“You guys okay? You look—”

My body tensed. They were both rigid, inflexible. Like toy soldiers. I watched them march from the mouth of the cave to the opposite wall. They trooped right through the flames of the small fire, as if it didn’t burn brightly beneath their feet.

Cam’s forehead was crusted with drying blood that had dripped into his eyes before beginning to coagulate, and I wondered if that was a result of the loud sound we’d heard, the one that caused Ro to flee the cave earlier. Had he fought with Donovan? Had he won? I searched the cave, then the entrance, but didn’t locate the silver-tongued bastard son.

I brought my attention back to Cam and Ro. “Cameron?”

He gripped a large blade in his hand. The silver point dripped crimson liquid, matching the stains on his fingers and the smears on the sleeve of his jacket. As he took his rigid steps, his arms pumped to the beat of his march, and the blade slashed his side with each downward swoop.

Prompted to move, my adrenaline returning rapidly, I pulled Holland’s statue to the darkest nook of the cave, then turned around at the sound of the witch’s now-familiar cackle.

“One, two, three, four…hup, two, three, four…”

She laughed again as she came into view, stopping just shy of the fire. The flames reflected off her alabaster skin, painting shadows on the surrounding walls.

“Hup, two, three, four…company halt!” The witch giggled—an innocent, childish sound that didn’t match the menacing glint of her eyes.

Cam and Ro stopped abruptly, just inches from the cave wall. At the same time, they both lowered their arms, Cam’s movement bringing the knife into the meat of his thigh. He didn’t even cringe as he stabbed himself in the leg. And he didn’t remove the blade.

“About-face!”

I watched in shock as Cam and Ro turned around to face the witch. I scanned Ro’s face, searching her eyes for any signs of life. She gazed straight ahead, her eyes unmoving, unblinking…lifeless. Cameron’s eyes held that same vacant stare.

“What have you done to them?” I demanded.

“Oh, they’re such good little soldiers, don’t you think?” She winked at me, then returned her attention to Cam. “They were caught misbehaving.”

“Where’s Donovan?”

“He’ll be along. Poor dear has a broken wing.” She looked back at me, wiggling her fingers. “Nothing I can’t fix though. Not to worry.” She ran her hand over the side of her head, bringing her palm back covered in blood. She frowned, then focused again on Cam and Ro. “Remove the blade from your leg.”

Cam did as he was told, the action stiff, forced.

“Good boy. Now stab your left leg instead.”

“No!” I shouted, but my cry was useless. Cam did as he was told, bringing the knife blade down into his good leg. I cringed. He left it there and continued to stare blankly ahead.

“I’ll kill you,” I stated through gritted teeth. “Release them.”

“You’ll do no such thing, and I’ll release them when I’m good and ready. They assaulted my son.” The witch looked past me, and her eyebrows shot up as a wide smile spread across her bat-shit crazy face. “Ah. Pity—” she shook her head, “—look at sweet Holland now.”

I closed my eyes, trying to think of what to do. I had to stop this. I had to keep this woman from forcing my family to go through this again, even if it was too late for me. I had to protect Holland from reincarnating again and reliving this cursed fate. I glanced behind me, briefly resting my gaze on the statue of the girl I’d so quickly loved and so quickly lost. I had to break the curse for her.

“Mother.”

I turned at the sound of Donovan’s voice, then raised my eyebrows as he limped into the cave. Broken wing, my ass. His knee was turned at an impossible angle, bone protruding from his pants. I smiled sardonically.

He flipped me off.

Fuck you, too, mate.

I turned back to the witch, but she wasn’t watching me. In fact, she didn’t even acknowledge her son as he dragged his mutilated leg behind him, then leaned against the cave’s wall.

Smiling wickedly, the witch watched Cam and Ro. She raised a hand in the air, then waved her fingers back toward her. Cam took a few small steps forward. The witch turned her hand, palm out. Cam stopped. I flicked my gaze between the witch and Cam, watching in horror as each of her movements forced Cam to move unnaturally.

“Watch this,” she whispered. She flicked her wrist in a quick half circle. Cam mimicked the gesture, turning to his right, then turned again to face Ro. My heart raced as I realized how the witch had positioned Cam. With another flick of her wrist, Cam removed the knife from his leg, then held it to his side.

“Cameron! Stop!”

I moved as quickly as I could. My back was now to the witch, so I couldn’t see the final movement she made, but I knew the second she’d done it. Cam brought his knife hand out to the side, hovering just inches between his body and Ro’s.

“No!” I lunged for my sister. In the blink of an eye, Cameron stabbed the blood-covered knife into Ro’s side. I reached them just a second too late, falling to my knees between them. Kneeling on the cavern floor, my gaze locked on the hilt of the blade sticking out of my baby sister’s side.

“Bloody hell, Mother, is this necessary?”

Agony ripped through me. My dislocated wrist throbbed, and my good hand shook as I reached for the knife in my sister’s side. I knew enough about the human body to know that the wound wasn’t in a fatal location, so without another thought, I reached for the weapon—

“I wouldn’t do that, mate,” Donovan said through clenched teeth. “The blade is the only thing staunching the bleeding.”

His words registered just a second too late. Ro didn’t even flinch as I removed the dagger from her side, just kept staring straight ahead, that dead gaze almost as disturbing as the knife in my hands that dripped my sister’s blood.

I turned around, clenching the knife tightly behind my back.

“Ooh, this should be fun,” the witch squealed, her lips pulled back harshly over yellowed teeth.

I tilted my head—had she aged since I’d first seen her?

“What harm do you think shall come to me with my own knife, hmm?”

I stepped toward her silently.

“What shall I do to you?” She narrowed her eyes, calculating. “Donovan? Come to Mommy. I have a chore for you.”

“I can’t move my blasted leg, Mother. Mind using a little magic on me first?”

She rolled her eyes. “Children. Always so needy, though you’ll never have to suffer them, will you?”

I took two more calculated steps forward, nearing my target. Images of Cam stabbing himself…of Ro’s bleeding side…the horrific picture of Holland’s frozen face…all of these things flipped through my mind like a slideshow of purpose, drive, keeping my pace steady and my head clear. The icing on the cake was her calculated reminder that I’d never have a family, never be a father.

I stood just a few feet in front of the witch. She smiled at me, taunting, completely unafraid of the man before her. I gripped the hilt tighter, then brought the knife to my side and took another step forward. Then another step. She still didn’t move, confident in her ability to beat me. I had nothing more to lose. She should have known better.

“Mother?”

“Not now, dear.”

One more step forward. If I swung now, Donovan would rush me, sure, but with that busted leg…I had to take a chance.

“My knife can’t kill me, silly boy. Neither can rocks, though Cameron learned that the hard way.”

I looked down into the wild eyes of the woman who’d cursed my family and now stolen from me the one girl I’d been born to love. Her gaze was fierce and unwavering. She still didn’t move, and I could barely see her chest rise and fall with each breath our faces were so close.

She smiled, her teeth glinting in the firelight.

“Mother!”

She flung her hand to the side, slamming Donovan into the wall. He cried out in agony, then slid to the floor, gripping his injured limb. “I said not now!”

I brought the knife up to rest in the nook below her ribs—another millimeter and she’d be impaled. She reached for my face. With her touch, the surrounding cavern fell away. The forest disappeared. The snow melted. The ground swallowed us whole.

Transported to an old house, wooden planks for walls and beams of solid wood above us, I held the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, naked in my arms. Her flaxen hair was brilliant in the early morning sunlight that crept through the slats in the wall. Her cerulean gaze held mine as we made love.

“Michael,” she whispered. “Tell me you love me.”

“My one true love,” I said in response.

The world shifted.

I was in in a meadow, lying under the shade of a willow tree, a horse-drawn carriage parked nearby. A woman lay next to me, her golden hair splayed out beneath her like a blanket of spun gold. She watched me with bright blue eyes, amusement clear on her face as I fumbled with the wine cork. I filled her goblet with wine, then rested my lips on the soft skin of her hand.

“Marry me,” I asked.

“Again?” she questioned, her smile contagious.

“Yes. Again. Always. Forever. Marry me every day for the rest of our lives.”

The earth shook, tilting again.

Another scene…I ran my lips across my wife’s engorged chest, then made my way down to kiss her rapidly swelling belly.

“My one true love,” I whispered to her. “I will love this baby forever…and you even longer than that.”

The scenery changed again.

This time, we stood on a cobbled street, a car’s engine sputtering nearby. I held my wife’s hand, leading her across the street, our young, tow-headed children running playful circles around our feet. A dog yelped as the children played. I pulled her into my arms and whispered into her ear, “My one true love. Spending forever with you wouldn’t be long enough.”

Then I kissed her, dipping her backwards slightly as I did so. Over the top of her tipped head, I opened my eyes and caught a woman hiding in the shadows. On a windless day, a breeze whipped her fiery red hair around her head, making it dance along her porcelain shoulders.

She glared at me, eyes wild.

I closed my eyes to focus on kissing the woman in my arms. My one true love.

I struggled to remain standing as the weight of centuries of past lives flooded my mind. The witch removed her hands from my face, pitching me back to the present with the absence of her spell. I blinked rapidly, trying to gain my bearings.

“Do you see?” Her voice was calm, steadier than I’d heard from her yet.

I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I’d seen, and what the witch implied. Had she meant to show me something else? Had she intended to whisk me away to memories of her in my arms? All I’d seen in my memories were shared moments with Holland’s various forms. Centuries of lifetimes with the woman I loved.

Oddly, I wondered how horrible it could possibly be to be united forever with Holland, over and over again, and once more, I realized that regardless of the curse, the universe would have brought the two of us together some way, somehow. I was blessed, not cursed. So many men had only one lifetime with the woman they loved…I’d been given countless opportunities to love Holland.

The witch placed her hands back onto my cheeks, cupping my face. “We were meant to be, Michael.”

“No.” I struggled to free myself of her grip. “No, we weren’t. Don’t you see?”

Her fingers tightened on my face, her nails digging into the skin of my temples. Her eyes blazed green, then faded back to a brown more dull than it had been just seconds ago. “Remember!” she screeched.

The world fell away, transporting me back in time again.

Surrounded by massive trees, I knelt on a floor scattered with fallen leaves and pine needles. I held my wife in my hands as she slowly turned to stone before my eyes. I kissed her hardening lips. Tears rained down onto her cement cheeks. I cried out in agony as her life was ripped away from us just as it always was.

The scene shifted.

I held a woman in my arms. She kissed me, hard, and with fervor. Her lips assaulted mine, trying to force my mouth open, demanding a response from me.

After receiving nothing, she pulled back, and I recognized the blazing emerald eyes that scrutinized me. They sparked with anger and lust, bursting of the life she’d just stolen from my wife.

“Michael! Do you see? It is me you are meant to love!”

She kissed me again, frantically pulling at my face with her hands, forcing me to her mouth.

I pushed the fire-haired woman away. “You killed her!” I shouted. “Witch!”

“No!” she cried. “She lives inside of me! She will always live inside of me!”

I pushed her again, every ounce of rage in me solidifying my strength. As the woman fell to the ground, she spoke in a language I did not know. The words flowed quickly, morphing into chants as I watched her straighten herself and square her shoulders. Her green eyes burned with unkempt rage. Her hands clenched and unclenched to the rhythm of her words.

Then her chanting slowed, and words I understood replaced the foreign sounds. Her red hair burned yellow, golden, her fair skin darkened to a pale shade of olive I’d recognize as though it were my own. As she morphed into the woman I vowed myself to, her words hung heavy in the air.

“I curse you, Son of Stephen, to walk the earth a broken man. Because you have withheld your love, denied your feelings before me this day, I will keep your love forever from your grasp. You will love a million times, only to lose love a million more, never finding happiness.”

“No,” I whispered, stealing a glance at the very first statue of my wife, surrounded by her beloved garden of blood red roses. “Don’t. Please.” I shook my head, but my implorations fell on deaf ears. It was too late for me. Too late for my wife.

“You are cursed, this day, to walk this life a million times, and she—” the hag who now resembled the wife I mourned gestured to my wife’s now-solid form, “—she is cursed to relive this end a million times as well.”

“No,” I said again, this time with more strength in my voice. “Not her. Don’t do this to her.” I searched my mind for the proper plea, the words that would convince this woman to change her mind. “Don’t punish her for my mistakes.”

She grabbed me by the face, gripping my cheeks.

“Not her,” she mocked. “Not your precious beauty. It’s too late for her.”

I leaned down, bringing my lips to hers, then whispered against them, “Punish me, only me.”

I plunged my knife into her chest. She stumbled backwards, her hands now moving frantically at her throat, then sliding down to her breasts and the hilt of the blade protruding from her abdomen. Blood, dark crimson in the soft light, flowed from the wound. She gripped the hilt and stared up at me with shock in her green, now brown, eyes. I didn’t remember unsheathing a knife, but there it was, lodged into her diaphragm.

As she fell to the ground—

The earth tilted.

“Fire,” Holland whispered. “It has to be fire.”

I turned at the sound of her soft voice, but she was nowhere to be found. I searched for her, desperate to see her alive one last time. My fingers itched to touch her.

Before me, the witch lay in a heap on the dusty ground. I focused on her as fire lapped at the woman’s dress, burning as orange as her untamed hair, incinerating the fine velvet fabric of her gown as it crawled up to her torso. Her shrieks filled the air.

“Fire,” Holland’s voice whispered through my mind once more.

Another shift.

Gray cavern walls surrounded me.

A fire blazed in the center of the cave.

The woman with the fiery red hair from my memories lay below me in a pool of her own blood. The witch. Realization flooded me as I stood firmly in the present, my life’s purpose inundating my mind as the forced visions drifted away.

It ends with me. With this moment, right now.

The knife I’d held just moments ago—her knife—protruded from her chest. Her smile grew even as the crimson liquid flowed from her. She did not pale, did not weaken.

“My knife can’t kill me, silly boy.” Her words floated through my mind.

“You,” I whispered. I waved my hand toward Holland’s statue, then Cam and Ro’s still-frozen forms. “This ends now. Fix them.”

“I was always there. I loved you so much, Miklaus. I always loved you.”

“You didn’t even know me!” I snapped, anger slowly replacing the shock of memories long forgotten. “You watched me from afar. Always from afar!”

“No, Miklaus. I did know you. I’ve known all of your many forms.”

She reached her hand toward me, but I backed up a step so she couldn’t connect. I shook my head as I tried to make sense of the sudden knowledge of all those past lives. My family had been cursed for centuries—centuries!—because of this woman’s one-sided love. Obsession. I’d been cursed to come back for Holland…determined to save her and destined to fail every time. She’d been cursed to repeat this horrible fate over and over again, never beating the curse no matter how much she was loved. Our children…what had become of them? They’d never been mentioned in any of the documentation—

“What of my children?”

She smiled. “Dead.”

My heart clenched for children I didn’t remember, would never know.

“The story about my family’s involvement in the curse…the gambling debt…that was all a lie?” The question was rhetorical, but as my mind raced, muddled with new—old—information, I couldn’t remain quiet. “There never was another family. Just me. Just me and Holland, destined to come back for each other countless times.” I shook my head, trying to make sense of everything. Questions raged through my mind, but none that I could pinpoint. None that I really cared to ask. All that mattered was the here and now. The curse had to end with me. With this version of me.

“She didn’t deserve you, Miklaus. I did.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Don’t you see? You were my one true love.”

My one true love.

“No,” I said, her words—my words—ringing through my mind. Images of Holland’s face—versions from back then and now—clouded my vision, then almost instantly cleared my head.

“No,” I said again, my voice firm with resolve. “I was her one true love. Not yours. Never yours. You have to fix this. It’s time. It’s been too long.”

The witch sighed, then stood. The puddle of blood around her had grown in these last few minutes. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t dead. As she stepped toward me, I realized I already knew the answer. I stepped backwards toward the fire.

“How do I break the spell?”

She laughed, a soft, bitter laugh. “You can’t find happiness with her. I won’t allow it.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong. I already have. I’ve found happiness with her in every lifetime you’ve given us together. You thought you cursed us to live this fate over and over, but all you really did was give us more time together than any two people should have. And you’ve cursed yourself to have to watch us fall in love all over again. Every time.”

The witch’s eyes widened as the truth of my words sunk in.

“Mother.”

Donovan’s voice was faint, pained. We turned to face him in unison, and I couldn’t have been the only one shocked by what had become of him. His body, crumpled in a heap at the base of the cavern wall, unnaturally bent in places and mangled far worse than it had been just a short time ago. His hair, gray and bald in places, clumps of it littering the earth beside him—

“End this, Mother. Let him go. Let me go.”

I took another step backward. She stared longingly at her son, or, what was left of him, then snapped her gaze forward as she matched my movement. All I needed was an arm’s length of distance between us.

“You belong to me.”

“Look at your son,” I stalled as I took another step toward the fire. “What have you done to him? How old is he? Have you—?” I paused as the words I’d been about to say actually registered in my mind. I swallowed. “You’ve kept him alive.” I shook my head in disbelief. “You’ve kept him alive for so long, for what? To do your bidding?”

“Stop it.”

I grabbed her by the shoulders. “He’s dying. Why?” The witch clamped her mouth shut, so I shook her. “Why?” I demanded again.

“She’s dying,” Donovan whispered. “The dagger. I used her grimoire to—”

Her hand flew out to the side again, and Donovan’s head slammed into the wall behind him, silencing his retort.

I released her as his words sank in. A phrase I’d once read somewhere drifted through my mind: The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I’d loathed Donovan since the second he appeared in our lives, but the possibility that he’d just helped me end this cursed fate—even if accidentally—was too tempting to ignore.

“When I die.” I looked back at the woman before me, the knowledge of her coming death adding a newfound confidence to my words. “I will die knowing that I will see Holland again. We will meet again. We will love again. It’s only a matter of time. You’ve given me back my memories today, and I will grow old knowing that Holland and I will be reunited.”

“No,” she snapped. “You are mine.”

“I am hers. I will forever be hers, and you will forever be cursed.” I glanced to the side, confirming what I already knew: Donovan was gone. “And now you will be alone.”

“No!” she cried. “You’re wrong!”

She lunged for me, and I grabbed her by the arms again, gripping her tightly, then whipped us both around. Her eyes widened as the first flame lapped at her dress.

“Miklaus! No!” Her screams filled the room, shrill and agonizing.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Sorry for all the years I’d been through this, repeating the same path over and over. Sorry for the pain Holland had endured through reincarnation after reincarnation, time and time again. And I was sorry for this wicked, evil being. Sorry for the heartache she must have lived with for centuries.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the horror of what I’d just done, though I was convinced that this was the only way to stop this once and for all. The witch had to die, and the curse would die with her.

As I held her over the fire, her struggles weakened; her legs ceased kicking. Burning flesh poisoned the air with a putrid stench, and I fought against dry heaves. Her tortured, gargled screams faded to silence, and the curse, the centuries of suffering—both hers and ours—turned to ash in that blaze.

I prayed that I was right.

Mick

“Oh my God,” Ro gasped. “You’re covered in blood, Mick! Are you hurt?”

I blinked repeatedly, and the cave came into focus. I looked down at my hands and realized I did have blood on me. What the hell? I didn’t feel injured. A quick check of my arms and torso confirmed that I was intact. I glanced up. The fire burned softly now, the surrounding earth covered by a thick layer of ash.

The smell…oh.

I remembered.

I didn’t think I’d ever get that smell out of my nose.

Or the image of the witch burning to death before my eyes, long after I’d closed them.

Would I go to sleep and dream of her screams?

“Oh my God,” Ro said again, this time looking down at herself instead of at me. “What happened?” Her hands hovered inches away from her stab wound, trembling, as if she didn’t know whether to touch it or leave it. “Was I…stabbed?” She looked up at me, then wavered a bit, and leaned back against the cave’s wall. “What’s that smell?” She swallowed, and years of experience as her brother told me she was close to vomiting.

I was pretty sure I already had.

I jumped up and rushed to her side, then helped her slide down the wall to sit.

“Mick? What hap—? Ow…fuck me, that hurts,” she wailed.

I pulled her scarf off and wadded it into a ball. “Here. Take this and press it against the wound.”

She cringed but didn’t move.

“Ro! You have to stop the bleeding. You have to press this into the wound. Do it.”

I pulled my gaze from my sister to Cam, who was slowly waking up from his trance. I knew with the multiple stab wounds in his legs that he’d be in even more pain than my sister. I rushed to his side, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“Cameron. Listen to me, buddy. I need you to slowly try to sit down, okay?”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes blinked a few times which was quite an improvement from the dead, empty stare he’d had for the last…hour? More?

“Try to sit down, okay, Cam? Easy there.” I slowly coaxed him as he slid down the wall. He winced as he tried to bend his legs to sit, and I held my breath, knowing how it must burn like hell having those fresh wounds in his legs and side.

“Holy shit, bro! What’s wrong with my legs?” In shock, Cam attempted to stand again, but I pushed his shoulders down.

“You’ve been stabbed. You both have. I need you to stay put, okay? You have to move as little as possible until I can get us some help.”

“We both have?” Cam questioned, still dazed from the trance he’d been under. He turned toward Ro and his eyes widened. “Oh man, Rosie! Are you okay? Who did this to you?” he scrambled to get closer to her, “Ah shit, that hurts—” then pulled her into his arms.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.” She turned that violet gaze up to me. “Mick?”

I debated telling them the truth, but couldn’t figure out how to best put it into words. How could I tell her that Cameron was the one who stabbed her? How could I tell him?

He looked up at me, eyes wide. “Was it the witch? Did I kill her? Is the bitch dead?”

I glanced back at the remains, compiled of both Donovan and the witch, tiny pebbles and dust and ash…

“Was it Donovan? I kicked that guy’s kneecap in! Is he dead? Where’s he at?”

Ro gasped, halting my thoughts and pulling my attention back to her. One hand flew to her mouth, while the other hand—covered in her own blood now—was outstretched. It slowly dawned on me that she was pointing to where I’d left Holland’s statue earlier.

A voice I’d recognize anywhere spoke softly, ruthlessly teasing me with the idea that I hadn’t failed. “Guys? A little help here?”

My breath left my lungs in a whoosh, as if I’d been punched in the chest. Had I imagined her voice? Had the depth of my failure snapped me in two, forced me to lose my mind?

I closed my eyes, grasping for any sense of sanity I could find.

“Mick?”

When she spoke again, I shook my head.

No. She’s gone. Let her go. You failed. You had one thing to do in this life, one thing to—

“Mick!” My sister’s urgent plea pulled me from the depths of my self-loathing.

I opened my eyes, turning my head toward the darkest corner of the cave, just as a Holland-sized lump stirred on the ground where the statue had once been. I crossed those few yards between us in a flash.

I looked down at Holland, shocked to see her familiar face flush with color. I closed my eyes again, convinced I imagined her—a sad, pathetic delusion created by a broken failure of a man.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

I knelt down, then scooped her up into my arms with my good hand and cradled her to my chest. Soft fingers grazed my cheek, and I leaned into them without thinking, my body reacting to her touch, her warmth. Her life. Holland was alive.

She smiled up at me, her blue eyes sparkling, and her lips the perfect shade of pale pink.

Tears welled in my eyes once more. I hoped crying wasn’t becoming a thing for me.

She tilted her head, and her eyebrows pulled down quizzically. “You love me?”

I nodded, disbelief holding my tongue captive. Had she heard every word I’d whispered earlier? I nodded again, still unable to do much else but stare.

“Huh,” she said with a shy smile, then bit down lightly on her bottom lip.

I laughed at her response and pulled her closer so I could nuzzle my face into the crook of her neck. I inhaled the familiar smell of her, and laughed—a crazy, maniacal laugh, that I felt in every inch of my body.

“You’re crushing me!”

I pulled back reluctantly. Her eyes were an even brighter blue than I remembered.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Holland. I almost lost you. I can’t believe—”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t lose me. I’m alive. I’m right here, Mick.” With her gentle hands on my face, she forced me to meet her gaze. “I love you, too.”

Then she kissed me. Her lips pressed to mine, and the heat from her mouth thrilled me—just a short while ago, my lips had met with a hard, cold statue. She pulled back, nipping quickly at my bottom lip and ending the connection way before I was ready.

“I’m alive because of you.”

“You almost died because of me.”

“No. You saved me.”

She kissed me again, and I held her to me, swearing silently that I’d never let her go. As our mouths moved frantically, tasting this precious moment between us—a moment I’d fought time and death to have over and over again—I felt my heart accept the fact that she was indeed alive. Against the odds, and in such a short amount of time, I’d found the girl I was meant to love, meant to save, and here she was, cradled in my arms.

Alive.

Again.

I couldn’t control the smile that pulled at my mouth.

Cam coughed. “Gross. Get a room.”

Holland pulled back and giggled. “Sorry, guys.”

I groaned, a deep sound low in my throat. “I’m not done kissing you yet, Holland Briggs.”

“Good,” she whispered back. “Because I’ve only just begun kissing you, Mick Stevenson.”

I smiled and leaned down to kiss her again, but she continued.

“And I’m going to kick your ass for putting my brother in danger.”

I silenced her with another kiss, excited to know I had all the time in the world to kiss this bold, beautiful girl. I’d let her kick my ass into next week if it would keep a smile on her face.

She pulled back again. “Stop trying to distract me. Did I hear that right? Did Rosemarie and Cam get stabbed?” Ah, so she had been able to hear everything while she’d been “gone.”

“It’s just a scratch, Holl,” Cam said. “Well, maybe not just one.”

Holland’s eyes narrowed, then she turned away from me, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “And you, Cameron Sean Briggs. I could throttle you! I can’t believe you put yourself in danger like this! You were stabbed, for God’s sake!”

“Aw, sis, are you worried about me?”

She shook her head in irritation. “You think?”

“I’m touched, Holl. I really am.”

“Ugh! You’re impossible, Cam!”

“You love me.”

“That’s what you think,” she said with a smile. “Are you okay, Rosemarie?”

I looked to my sister, who was pale and shivering. “I’m fi-ii-ine, Hol-ll-aan-dd,” she said through chattering teeth. “You-uu-uu—”

“I think I need to get Rosie out of here, you guys,” Cam said. He stood, slowly and not without grunts of pain as he allowed his injured legs to hold the weight of him. I moved to help him, but before I could stand, Cam picked Ro up in his arms, cradling her tiny frame against his chest.

“I’m heading to the cabin. You guys coming?”

“We’ll be right behind you,” Holland answered. “You sure you’re okay to carry her like that, little brother?”

“Pssh,” Cam said. “You know I’m fine. I’ll carry your ass, too, sis. Maybe I’ll even flip you with one arm and carry her in the other.”

“You’re a pest, Cameron.”

We watched Cam head toward the mouth of the cave, my little sister cradled in his arms. For not the first time, I was humbled by his strength and maturity, and how much he already cared for my sister. I wondered if their story had anything to do with our cursed—blessed—history, or if their coming together was just a happy coincidence.

As he passed the fire, he kicked at the thick layer of remains on the floor. “Gross,” he mumbled. “What’s up with these logs?”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t need to tell him about the dead bodies he’d just rubbed the toe of his boots in.

“You love me.” Holland ran her finger down my nose, bringing my attention back to her. It wasn’t a question. I thought maybe she was playing with the words, letting the notion sink in.

I pressed my face into her hand and kissed her palm, then turned back to her, opening my eyes to those sparkling oceans of blue. “I do.”

My one true love. I kissed each of her fingertips.

“Was it the fire?”

“How’d you know?”

She shrugged, a coy smile playing at her lips. “I have the same dreams as you, remember?”

So she’d seen the vision of the witch engulfed in flames, spoken to me in my dream. “We really are connected, aren’t we?” Even after everything we’d just been through, I was both surprised and thrilled by the confirmation.

Holland smiled, her eyes sparkling with wetness. “We need to get help for Cam and Ro,” she said as she pulled herself out of my arms and stood, then extended her hand. “Let’s go home, Mick.”

Home.

I rose to stand beside her, knowing that home meant so many things for us. Most of all, it meant being together. One day, I’d marry this stubborn girl, and home would be wherever she was.

I couldn’t wait.

Look how long this section is. Go ahead, you can groan. But, if you know me, you know I’m long-winded.

And if you don’t know, now you know.

As I’ve mentioned in previous acknowledgements, it takes a village. DIVIDE would not exist without many, many amazing people, and I hope that I remember to thank everyone.

Tamara Mataya: What can I say that I haven’t said before? You’re my right hand, my partner-in-crime, the yin to my yang, the #twss to my prude, the Sloth to my Chunk. I love taking this journey with you, even though sometimes it feels we’ve had more pitfalls than praise. I know our literary future holds book tours, champagne and caviar, and jet-setting all over this great Earth. We just have to keep believing.

And continue exchanging inappropriate gifts, because . . . duh! Obviously!

Krystal Wade: You were the first person—outside of my circle of family, friends and critique partners—to see something promising in my storytelling. You were the first person to give me a fighting chance. Thank you for your continued faith in me.

Marisa Cleveland, Nicole Resciniti, and the family at Seymour: I thank you all for your continued support of my career—be it through words of wisdom, tweets and retweets, contest donations, or just sharing a laugh in or out of the group—you’re an awesome family of writers that I’m thankful to be a part of. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for all of us at The Seymour Agency.

DIVIDE’s beta readers: Kay Froebel, Mat & Michelle Magana, Rick Chiantaretto, Kevin Pickell, Andrew Patterson, Rob Jones, Maegan Robinson, Kathleen Kubasiak, Steph Funk… I know I’m forgetting someone, and I’m so sorry for the oversight. I hope you know who you are and that I appreciate you. Your feedback as betas guided me in bringing DIVIDE to the ready-to-publish state I believe it is in now. I am forever grateful for your criticism, support and love. Thank you. A million times, thank you.

I made an inexcusable error in my last two books, and for that I am horribly sorry. I somehow overlooked the people that work so hard to bring a face to the stories I write. Though DIVIDE’s cover was not photographed by Tamara Wroclawsky of Face On By Tamara, I would be remiss to omit her from my acknowledgements again, for she tirelessly endures my chaotic thoughts and jumbled ideas, creating the perfect cover photos for my work. EVER and EVADE are gorgeous because of her vision, exceptional talent, and remarkable ability to wade through the muck of my mind. Also, she’s one of the most giving women I’ve ever known. Tammy, you have shown me that beauty isn’t always just skin deep; sometimes it runs much, much deeper than that.

Thank you, as well, to my gorgeous models: Tracy Stanbury as Ever, Alex Pappes as Frankie, and Sean Ciccione as Toby—you guys embodied my characters and I can’t imagine them any other way. Thank you for gracing my covers with your amazingness.

Michelle Johnson of Alex & Me designs: You have once again turned my thoughts into the perfect cover. This is the third book we’ve worked on together, and I am blown away by your ability to see through my rambling and find the vision beneath. You put up with random thoughts and multiple requests—some of them contradicting one another painfully—and yet . . . look at the beautiful works of art that encase my words! You’re truly amazing, and I am so thankful to work with you. Here’s to many more collaborations!

Cait Greer: Thank you for your support, your friendship, and for making my work ready for the world. Oh, and huge thanks for Axel. Mmmm. Now, go write more of his story. KTHXBYE!

My family and friends: Jon, Faith, Mama, Anne, Uncle David, Charissa, and countless others I don’t have enough paper to list…thank you for tolerating the often distant look in my eyes. Thank you for pushing me to continue. For quietly listening to me when I breakdown. For believing in me. Thank you for understanding that I often live as a hermit, ignoring your calls and letting my stories swallow me whole. Thank you for ignoring the piles of laundry, the unwashed dishes…

Thank you for repeating yourselves when I’ve missed something you’ve said because I’m focused on worlds and characters that only exist within my mind.

But mostly, thank you for sharing me with those worlds and the people who inhabit them.

Papa: thank you for walking beside me still. I can’t see you, but I can feel you.

Immense thanks to God, whom I believe still loves me, regardless of my many faults, my often wavering faith, and my constant ‘one step forward, two steps back’ syndrome. I’m a work in progress, and I thank Him for His infinite grace.

Last, but never, never least…my readers. I often joke that I have five fans, and that one of them is my mom. And you know what? Maybe that’s true. Or maybe I have less than five fans. Or, maybe more. I’ll never truly know, but I do know one thing: somewhere, someone is reading these words. A stranger. A person I may never meet. You make this worthwhile. You make each trial mean something. You make this possible. I’m chasing dreams and blazing a trail through the sky because you had enough faith in me to pick up this book. I will never be able to properly express my gratitude.

I hope this thank you is enough.

So, thank you. Sometimes, the simplest words hold the strongest of meanings.

Jessa Russo believes in fairytales, ghosts, and Jake Ryan. She insists mimosas were created for Sundays, and that’s not up for discussion. She’s obsessed with the great city of New Orleans—where she’s collected too many beads to count, eventually married her sweetheart, and visited graveyards they don’t include on maps.

She’s loud, painfully honest, and passionate about living life to the fullest, because she’s seen how abruptly it can be taken away.

What began as a desire for reading and writing young adult paranormal has bled into stories of all kinds. From fantasy to pre-dystopian to erotic contemporary, Jessa’s stories always include romance, though she’s given up on pigeonholing her work into a category or genre box.

Jessa was born and raised in Southern California, and remains there to this day with her husband (a classic car fanatic), their daughter (a Tim Burton superfan), and a Great Dane who thinks he’s the same size as his Chihuahua sister.

Table of Contents
Title
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author