Ever (23 page)

God, how I wanted to touch Jaren Wilder—all over. My brain had obviously turned off. This was good. Now, I didn’t have to think, only feel. I ran my fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft it was. My hands settled on his broad shoulders, and I gave them an experimental squeeze. He made a low sound that sounded like a cross between a growl and a purr. I brushed lightly down his forearms, to where his hands pressed into my comforter.

“Enough!” he ground out.

Jaren’s hands shot out and his strong fingers burned into my hips. The next thing I knew, I was in his lap. He lifted me so that my thighs were on top of his and I was straddling him. His hand trembled a bit as he drew his thumb across my cheekbone. His other hand went into my hair. Then he was fitting his mouth over mine and time stopped.

His lips parted mine, and his tongue was like hot velvet stroking into my mouth. My hands were around his neck, stealing into his hair. Oh, God, I was on fire. Little sparks of light exploded behind my eyelids. One of my hands was tugging at his shirt, seeking the warm flesh underneath. Something inside of me pulsed with urgent need. I had no idea what to do to quench the hot ache and it was driving me crazy.

“Jesus, sweetheart, you’re killing me,” Jaren groaned, his lips on my neck.

I wanted to get closer—as close as I could. I pressed into him, my sensitized lower half pushing into something hard and unyielding. My mouth fell open as my entire body flooded with heat.

“Shit,” Jaren swore. He held me tight against him for a second, but then his hands gripped me, stilling the rocking motion I was unconsciously engaged in.

“No,” I urged, trying to remove his hands. There was something waiting for me and I could almost reach it.

“Ever, we have to stop.” He was breathing hard, and I could see little beads of sweat on his brow. Without thinking, I wiped them away with my fingertip. Jaren’s eyes closed and he seemed to be warring with himself. “I need to get up.”

I disentangled myself. Holy wow.

“Where’s your bathroom?” Jaren asked, his voice strained. I pointed, because I couldn’t trust myself to speak. He sat on the side of my bed and took several deep breaths to compose himself before heading down the hallway.

I fell back into my desk chair and swiveled so that I was facing the mirror. My face was flushed, my lips were swollen, and my hair was a mess. I smoothed my hair shakily and willed my pulse to stop racing. It didn’t. Finally, I took a sip of iced tea and sort of went on autopilot for a minute. I opened
The Archive
to the section on herbal medicine, clicked on my laptop and did a few searches on lotus plants. I was still trying to recover when Jaren reappeared.

“Hey.” He leaned over my shoulder. “Yep, that sure looks like the seed you found.”

“Th-there’s not much online,” I managed. “Um, we should look in
The Archive
.”

“Are you okay?”

“I think so. You?” Neither of us could meet the other’s eyes.

“Sure.”

“Okay, then. Well, here’s what it says:

Mystical Properties of the Blue Lotus: This is a highly magical plant. The seed of the lotus has been said to contain a lost Spirit and can return it to the Body. Some have tried to harness the lotus seed’s power to reincarnate those who have passed. To my knowledge, none have succeeded. The seed can also retain a soul’s essence and return it to those who have lost Spirit but who have not yet died.”

“Is that it?”

“I think so.” I flipped through the next few pages. “This next part is about Milk Thistle. ‘Lost Spirit but have not yet died,’” I quoted. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you know there’s mind, body and then our souls,” Jaren explained. “I think it means when your soul is missing. A lot of people are really disconnected—my aunt used to tell me stories.”

“How’s everything going?” my mom called from the hallway. A few seconds later, she knocked on my half-open door.

“Great, Mrs. Jordan.” Jaren smiled as she walked in, bearing yet another plate of cookies.

When had my mom become such a sugar-pusher? Well, now that I thought about it, my gram had been a bit of a baker herself. How Mom and Gram managed to look so trim was beyond me. Then again, I consumed a ton of sugar on a daily basis and I was still as thin as a garden rake.

I must have looked confused because Mom commented, “Studying burns a lot of energy.”

It was a strange thing to say. Jaren and I exchanged a glance. Studying? Yes, I had been studying something all right… I was grateful for the loud groan my stomach made at that moment—it took attention away from that fact that I was staring at Jaren’s mouth like it was made of candy.

“So, Jaren…how is your father?” Mom asked out of left field.

He paused, midbite. “My father?”

“We went to school together. It was a long time ago.”

There was a wistful quality to my mother’s voice that I hadn’t heard before. I realized I had never tried to read my mom’s energy. I looked at my mom, and the moment I started to see her colors, she called out, distracting me. “Everleigh!”

“What, Mom?”

“I—nothing. Let me know when you two are done studying. I think I’m going to take a look at some boxes we have in the garage.” She closed the door with an audible click.

Jaren and I stared at each other. “Well, that was really weird,” I said, searching his face.

“Definitely.” He looked away. I took the hint—talking about Jaren’s father was still off-limits.

“So, what do we do now?” I meant about the seed and the crying girl, but…I could still feel his fingers on my hips, and that hot ache hadn’t really subsided….

“The next time I put my hands on you, Everleigh, I don’t want to have to stop. So we better make sure we won’t be interrupted.”

Holy crap, the way he said it, I knew he meant it. An excited shiver made me tremble. “I meant about, um, the crying girl and the seed.”
Sort of.

“Oh, yeah. About that. I’m not sure, but seeds are meant to be planted.”

“Well, where should we plant it?” I was still trying to file his words away so I could repeat them in my mind later.

“I have no idea.”

“That’s not helpful, Jaren.”

When I said his name, he turned to me with that same feral look he had worn right before he ordered me to come closer. “I like it when you say my name.”

Holy. Crap.

“Jaren,” I whispered again.

“You’re playing with fire, Ever,” he warned.

“I know.” Sweet hot fire coursed through my veins as I observed his energy. In my mind’s eye I could literally see the connection running from his energy to my own. The swirls of color reached for each other, little whorls of light weaving, winding together in a slow, sensual dance.

“I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” he said, his eyes burning with intensity.

He had? “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Well, that was good enough for me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Dreaming Stone

M
y mom made soup for dinner, which was perfect because my stomach felt like it was permanently full of butterflies and there was no way I could eat anything heavy. I was lounging in my bed listening to music and replaying my make-out session with Jaren in my head when my mom knocked on my door.

“Hey, Mom.” I felt myself flush a little, even though there was no way she could know what I was thinking.

She let out a heavy sigh as she sat down on the edge of my bed. “Ever.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No…not really. Well, actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about, but I guess I’m just not ready.”

Oh, great. I squirmed, knowing that the inevitable Sex Talk was headed my way. “What’s that?” I asked. Mom held a small item wrapped in a swatch of material.

“It was your grandmother’s. I was hoping that you wouldn’t need it.”

“What is it?” I stood up and tossed my iPod onto my bed.

“It’s a stone, Ever. You sleep with it under your pillow.”

“Why?” I had never heard of Gram doing anything like that.

Mom sighed. “I never really understood why. But Gram said that one day I would get the feeling you needed this. I got the feeling today. Well, actually, I started thinking about it when you got sick at school.”

I held out my hands and she handed me the small object. It felt warm beneath the thin cloth covering. My crystal hummed a bit, like it was pleased. “Okay. Under my pillow. Thanks, Mom.”

“Everleigh.” I turned back to face her, and she grabbed me up in a hard hug.

“What is it, Mom?” She was starting to freak me out.

“I love you.”

“I um, I love you, too, Mom.”

* * *

Everything was black. I couldn’t see but I could hear—and smell. The sickly scent of cotton candy and popcorn wafted to my nostrils and that awful carnival music was on repeat. Beyond it all I could hear that low whine. An image came into focus—that little blond girl sobbing on the carousel, her father gripping her angrily as they went around and around. A sign came into focus and I recognized it—it was for the Spring Carnival—the one that came to town every year.

Numbers began whizzing by—fours and sevens, and the number eleven on the back of a Covecrest jersey. That was new. Then I was aware of another sound—feet pounding on a track, as someone ran faster and faster, trying to escape something. The sound of crying intensified. I focused on the sound.

Next, I was standing outside of a white door. There was a tug on my hand. I looked down and was surprised to see the little blond girl from the carousel. She pointed at the door. I put my hand on the knob, only to have it pass right through. I looked at the little girl and shrugged. She reached out and turned the knob. The child pulled at my hand, leading me into the room.

I was back in the pink-and-white room, the carousel horse sitting garishly in the corner. The crying girl was there, too. She bent over her desk, her pen in her hand. There was another urgent tug on my hand. I made my way to the desk and looked over the crying girl’s shoulder.

I’m sorry. I have to do this.

Things started to fade and I knew I was getting pulled back out of the dream. The child tugged, pointing frantically at the crying girl’s bed. A black-and-gold uniform was laid out neatly on the comforter; a pair of running shoes sat on the floor nearby. The number eleven jumped out at me from the back of the jersey. Things began to swirl, but not before I saw something else. It was a brown medicine bottle with a white cap, peeking out from under the bed. I had seen that bottle before.

I woke up drenched in cold sweat. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking as I reached for my water.

Holy crap.

I knew who the crying girl was. More importantly—I knew what she was planning to do on April seventh.

And I had to stop her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I Know Who the Crying Girl Is…

O
ne more day of school until our week off—and I think I was the only one who wished we had a few more days of school. Well, me and Jaren. I had texted him on the way to school and he was supposed to meet at lunch.

“I am like, so stoked,” Val said, slinging her purse onto the stairs.

“Yeah, me, too!” Dara was Val’s mimic now. She agreed with everything our energy vampire friend said, and when I looked at their energy, there was a thin thread of dark energy smoke connecting them. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“What are you doing for break?” I asked Naomi.

“I’m headed to the lake with my parents,” she responded, taking a bite of her apple.

I smiled. Naomi was taking better care of herself these days. She actually ate her lunch rather than tossing it, and her face looked fuller and more healthy.

“What about you, Ever?” Val’s tone was a little harsh.

“I, um—I have no plans. Just chill, I guess.”

“Yeah, right,” Val said under her breath.

I could see her energy smoke snaking out toward me but my barriers were up so they bounced away. The attempt to vamp off me rankled me, though. “What does that mean?” I asked.

“Whatever, slut.” Val raised an eyebrow at me. Naomi gasped and Dara snickered.