Wicked Fate (The Wicked Trilogy) (5 page)

His carelessly disheveled
chocolate
-brown hair falls over
ski
n the color of creamed coffee. The natural gold highlights in his hair flickers in the sun. A perfect, arrow-shaped nose centers his face and his high cheek bones balance him out.

I find myself staring at his full mouth.
His tongue peeks out at the corner for a minute giving me an actual physical reaction.
The light layer of dark hair above his
perky top lip
begs to be kissed.
A sexy smirk develops letting me know I’ve been busted staring at his mouth inappropriately.

My eyes search for a neutral place to land, but when it comes to Adam
,
every part of him invokes lust. In the end, the only safe place to look is his eyes.

Beautiful eyes—emeralds that are
large and deep
ly set, bordered by thick lashes that fan his cheeks. They’re sweet and seductive at the same time—innocent and sinful. They make me forget I’m awkward—make me feel feminine.

His smi
le grows like he can hear my thoughts
and the little dimple on the side of his mouth
becomes
more defined.
My fingers ache to trace the lines of his face, dimple included.

Maybe I’m not so different from other girls. I see the way the females around school pant after him like a pack of bitches. And look at me, standing here panting as well.

He’s not the most popular boy in school
,
but I think that’s more by choice. He definitely has the qualifications. Still, as the invisible girl, I get to hear all the secret conversations that include him. Just this morning, he was the topic in my chemistry class.

“Adam Westcott can have his way with me
any day
!” A cute redhead whispered to the girl next
to
her.

I hear things like this about him all the time and I think he hears them, too. But unlike most guys his age, he doesn’t bask in their glow. I appreciate that about him.

He
’s a lot like me, a
s
far as
being a loner goes.
Occasionally, I’ll see him talking with someone,
but most
of the time
he’s
alone.

But the strangest thing about Adam is that fact that he doesn’t have a girlfriend. He has his pick of any girl in Summerville, yet he’s never picked one. He flirts, and I’m sure he does a lot of other things with them as well, but no steady girlfriend. It’s kind of a waste.

“You’re
not going to run off again?” his voice is deep and thick. It makes me feel tingle all over.

“No.”

My scary girl act is my shield. My toneless voice is meant to be intimidating, but it doesn’t affect Adam. If anyone should be afraid of me, it’s him. He’s seen with his own eyes what I’m capable of.

His eyes dip to my mouth and again his tongue peeks out for a brief second, “Why not?”

“Curiosity, I guess.
”

“Oh,” his expression drops.

“What do you want?” I sigh.

“Y
ou dropped this in
gym
yesterday,” he holds out a piece of paper caught between two slender fingers.

Our skin touches when I reach for it and a zing shoots through my hand. I snatch my tingling arm away and cocky amusement flashes in his green gaze.

Opening the folded paper, I see that’s it’s covered in my familiar handwriting.
Fire takes over my fa
ce, red heat licking at my cheeks
. The warmth of embarrassment flushes
me and mortification fills me.
My pulse speeds even faster and I begin to
feel my blood
pressure rising. Light fairies enter
my vision and I think
for a minute that I might faint for the first time in my life.

Right in the center of the paper is a huge drawing of Adam’s name bor
dered by angels and hearts.

I ball the paper up
in my fist and squeeze it tight.
My humiliation slowly melts away and le
aves space for anger. T
he thought o
f being put into this
uncomfortable position has me furious.

“Is it yours?” he asks.

I take a few deep breaths trying to calm my wrath. The last thing I need right now is for a trash can or something to go flying across the courtyard and knock someone out. I take one more deep breath and exhale slowly. When I feel myself sta
rt to relax, I’m able to return his gaze.

“This isn’t mine,” I toss the balled up piece of paper
into the closest trash can
. 

He knows I’m lying, I can see it in his penetrating gaze. It
permeat
es me
—
allows him access to my hidden secrets. When he looks at me this way, I feel it in my stomach.

He crosses his thick arms over his chest,
“I saw y
ou drop it yesterday.”

“
You don’t even have gym with me,” I say with a sharp tongue
.

He moves closer and his minty breath strikes my cheek. “And?” he challenges me with an arched brow
.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not mine.
”

As quickly as possible, I collect my things. Without sparing him a glance,
I walk away.
I’ll
make sure from this point on to never be caught in a conversation with Adam again.

I skip the rest of my classes. It’s not like anyone will miss me.

I walk t
he same path home every day. S
top
ping
by
Tasty Freeze, the local ice cream shop, I grab a vanilla
cone dipped in chocolate
. The girl at the counter takes my money, but nev
er
looks
at me
.

I enjoy
my frozen treat
as I pass all the usual things. Wh
en I get to my driveway, which is
more like a long gravel roa
d, I stop and stare down at the old southern
plantation
house that’
s my home.

The sight from this vantage point could inspire a great
Jim Booth
painting. The drive
is lined with huge
,
historic oak tre
es
. Spanish moss cascades from the branches like water and sways in the br
eeze.

The house itself used to be a beauty, although I pers
onally think the run-down quality it
has now gi
ves it more personality. The white house, which is now dingy and gray
, has huge columns connecting the top balcony with the bottom front porch.
The dilapidated porch houses an old swing and
broken
, empty planters
.
I can’t count how many
nights I’ve spent on the
swing with just my notebook, a glass of sweet iced tea, and the sounds of the
crickets.

Mos
t of the property’s overgrown. Vines cover the exterior of the house, covering some windows completely. T
he parts
of the property
that aren’t taken over by broken down trees and endless vines are covered in enormous ancient oaks, beautiful willows, and azalea bushes of all colors. Strands o
f wisteria dangle from every
old
piece of ru
sted iron fence or broken porch
,
which gives the area a magical quality and fills the air with a sweet fragrance.

I spend a lot o
f time in my favorite of the
gardens, the
one closest to the house. I relax
on the aged
, marble bench
reading or writ
ing. There’s a peaceful air about the secluded garden. It’s void of noises
,
with
the exception of birds and splashing
water in an old cherub fountain, which amazingly still works on occasion.

Taking my time, I walk down the long
,
gravel driveway with my face turned towards the sky and my eyes closed. Shining through the foliage
of the lofty oaks, the sun covers
my face and hair with rays of light. I hear the birds singing and the rustle of the trees dancing in the warm breeze.

I
t’s too beautiful outside to go inside so I
opt to relax
in my favorite garden
. After the day I had, I just want to be alone.

The air turns crisp and a middle-aged woman with an old-
style dress and bonnet walks
by.  I pretend to look right through her as I pull my notebook out. I catch her gray eyes as she peeks over at me.

The historical lands surrounding my home are
full of spirits of different ages from different t
ime periods. They’re all familiar to me, even though I never converse with them.
Avoiding c
ontact with them comes naturally
since I ignore everyone anyway. They usually go about whatever it is they’re doing and ignore me too—not much different from the living
,
now that I think about it.

I tap my pe
ncil against my lips in thought and then the words come…

I feel a being brought to me
.

A magical being to set me free.

A friend to follow to love and protect.

A loyal heart and kind eyes to watch my every step.

“Thankfully, no one
reads this
crap
,
” I say ou
t loud
.

Slipping the full bag under my head, I get comfortable on the broken concrete next to the cherub fountain. The rushing sound of the water has a calming effect that hel
ps me to unwind. Soon, my
entire body is relaxing and I begin to fall asleep.

Suddenly, I’m awake. Not sure how long I
’ve
slept;
I look up at the sun and notice it’s in a different spot in the sky
. Shadow has engulfed the
garden making it look dark and creepy. My keen senses hone
in on a rustling noise from
one of
the azalea bushes
. I jump up onto my knees in a defensive stance.

Over t
he years, I’ve developed a
bit of paranoia. Glaring at the moving bus
hes, I sit and wait for something
to
come blasting out
and straight towards me.  It’s early November
,
so there ar
e no blooms on the azalea bush. B
ecause of that fact
,
I can see almost completely through it.

A massive gray paw emerges from under the bush
. The breath catches in my lungs and I can’t swallow the lump rising up my throat. This isn’t the paw of any
animal I’ve ever seen
. No, this isn’t an animal, this is an enormous
creature
.

I’m determined to stand strong and
not be overcome by this colossal being. I’ve
seen enough in my almost sixteen years of life. Nothing can shock me anymore.

I stand straight up,
and because of my
movement the gra
y paw disappears back into the bush. It’s
then that I notice the two
dark eyes staring back
at me. Fear sets in and I wonder if I should run or stay and face a horrifying death.

I tilt my head
for a closer look at
the gazing eyes and notice that they aren’t scar
y at all. If anything, the
mysterious eyes that stare back at me through the azalea bush
are
scared. These aren’t the eyes of a killer; these are t
he eyes of a friendly and afraid
creature.

With bravery pushing at my back, I take a step closer and the bush rumbles a little. A loud whining noise sounds and I realize that whatever this creature is, it’s more afraid of me than I am of it. 

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” I say to the bush. “You can come out,” I coerce in a light calming whisper.

The big gra
y paw emerges once more. My heart skips a beat as fear shows its face again.

Soon, another large gra
y paw appears. I make a few coaxing n
oises mixed with some whispered
calming words to get the beast to come forward completely.