was staring at him openly now, trying to figure him out. She could stare all she wanted, but in the long run, she wasn’t going to like what he had to tell her. About him. About her parents. About herself. She pulled her arm back and chucked the pinecone, sending it soaring through the air. At full speed, Buddy took off after it. When they reached the house, they found Buddy sitting on the porch, the pinecone mangled between his paws.
Jason was mildly surprised not to sense anyone else inside. “Do you live here by yourself?”
“Yes. There’s a small apartment above the garage. I haven’t been in there in a while. It will probably need some dusting.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” he answered automatically, and wondered where her mother was. If perhaps she was in another home nearby. He’d like to know how Lily had fared all these years without Dean. If she’d found happiness.
Or if, like him, she was more comfortable alone, preferring not to remember their past.
They walked toward the garage separated from the house by a small covered walkway and went up the stairs. He tried not to watch Shay’s backside as she climbed the steps, tried very hard, but she offered such a nice view. He hung back as she opened the door and walked in.
Shay gasped as she stood in the doorway, her hand fluttering to her throat. Alarmed, Jason stepped past her into the room and stilled. Buddy, who had followed behind him, whined, turned and ran back down the stairs.
Jason stared wide-eyed at the large cracks fissuring the walls facing the house. They left long gaping fractures in the Sheetrock.
“I am so sorry,” Shay said, walking farther into the room. “We live on a fault line that has been extremely active lately. I’ve been having the same problem in the house. I just bought more Spackle today.” She lifted her tote bag. “I’ll take care of these right away.”
Jason stiffened, trying not to show his reaction to the voices whispering behind the walls and echoing through his head. The Gauliacho. Couldn’t she hear them, too? No. Not yet. But they made her uncomfortable. As they should. These weren’t simple cracks. These were openings, gateways to the other side. Soon they would be wide enough that no amount of Spackle in the world would be able to stop them from coming.
He couldn’t stay there. And neither could she. Not another day longer.
* * *
Shay stared in horror at the cracks shredding the wall of the apartment. They were much bigger than the ones in her house. These ones were almost big enough to see through, but instead of wisps of pink insulation or even a glimmer of studs behind the Sheetrock, all she could see was darkness. She inched forward, clutching the Spackle in her hand, but as she took that first step, fear, unreasonable and unexpected, swept through her. Whispers filled her mind, unrecognizable and yet somehow familiar.
She froze, her limbs stiff and unyielding as she listened harder, trying to grasp the sounds. Were they words? Yes. But how? Then the sounds became clearer, the syllables running together.
Abomination.
Fear strangled her throat, squeezing it within its fist to the point that she couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe.
Abomination. Abomination. Abomination.
Walls don’t speak! Dizziness swam through her and she faltered. She tried to breathe, to force open her mouth and gasp a breath, but she couldn’t. The room spun, nausea roiled through her stomach. Darkness filled the edges of her vision. And then Jason was touching her, holding her arm. Steadying her. She turned to him, her mouth opening but emitting no sounds, the question burning in her eyes.
Do you hear it, too?
With a whoosh, her lungs filled with air. She gasped, quick shallow breaths. His aura was strong, bright. Chasing away the darkness as she hung on to him. He didn’t say anything and an awkward silence lingered between them.
“I...uh...I’ll have to fill the cracks before you can stay here,” she said, glancing back at the wall. “I’m afraid something in the walls is making me sick.”
Even the air felt off and it didn’t smell right. It seemed darker somehow, bleaker, and the scent of sour earth filled her nose. What was happening to her? She must be coming down with something. Tea and perhaps a nap and she’d be right as rain, as her grandma used to say. “The insulation must be toxic,” she continued, muttering, babbling as she faltered again.
“It’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of you,” he said, and before she could respond or even contemplate his words, she was up in his arms, cradled against his warm chest. She didn’t know if the whispering had stopped or if she was so consumed by his body heat, by his heady, earthy scent that she no longer heard the disturbing whispers. She breathed his scent deep, holding it within her, as if it alone could protect her from the darkness.
She didn’t know why, but she no longer felt sick or scared. She nestled close to him as he carried her out of the apartment, down the stairs and into the yard before he set her back onto her feet. She stood there, leaning into him, her hands on his chest, feeling his warmth beneath the palms of her hands. She didn’t want to let him go. But she had to. She didn’t even know him.
Once she stepped away and was standing on her own, embarrassment took root and spread quickly through her. She had never been one of those needy women who couldn’t take care of herself, who needed a man around her. And yet that was what had just happened.
“I’m so sorry about this.” She stammered, “I—I don’t know what came over me.”
He looked down at her, smiling. Which made it even worse.
“I really should get these groceries in the fridge.” She patted the tote bag still slung over her shoulder then turned and quickly walked toward the house. After a second, she realized he wasn’t following her. She turned back to him and found him standing in the same spot, staring after her, a look of concern on his face. Heat warmed her cheeks and quickened her already frayed nerves. “You want to come in for a cup of coffee?”
He nodded, an eager smile lifting his lips. “I think coffee would be a great idea.”
He was concerned about her. Why? He didn’t even know her. She climbed the steps up her porch and hurried into the kitchen with Buddy close on her heels. She went right to the sink and busied herself filling the carafe of the coffeemaker with water. Still trying to determine what had just happened. She’d become so lightheaded, she’d almost fainted and this man, this stranger, had caught her in his more-than-capable arms and she hadn’t wanted him to let her go. She sighed. To make matters worse, this man who had shifted her libido into overdrive was sitting at her kitchen table.
She tried not to think about that. Or about the fact that she felt so comfortable around him. Sometimes he looked at her as if he knew her. As if she knew him. Crazy. And the way she felt when he touched her... She had definitely never felt like that before—all tingly and aware. She glanced at him, sitting in one of her kitchen chairs, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked good there. He looked...comfortable.
Once the coffee began brewing, she put a kettle of tea on for herself. Jason stood and perused her pictures on the wall. Photos of herself with her parents back before Dad had died and everything had become so hard for them.
“Your mom and dad?” he asked. His words were casual, but there was nothing casual about the tension
