Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(38)

“He’s all yours now.” Isleen packed her tone with sincerity. Row squeezed her shoulder, and Isleen knew that the old woman wasn’t happy with her words.

The kitchen door flew open, banging into the wall. Xander entered the house, his gaze finding her the moment he crossed the threshold, but she looked away. The sight of him was a pummeling her heart couldn’t withstand.

“Camille, what are you doing here?” Shock sharpened Xander’s voice.

“Busted,” Isleen whispered, finally looking back at Xander. Row tapped her lightly on the shoulder. Xander thought he could get away with playing around with her, while he had a girlfriend on the side? Not going to happen.

“Hey, man,” Kent answered, his voice and demeanor too light, not acknowledging Xander’s obvious anger. “I’m going to talk to Isleen while you hang with your girlfriend. And then we need to go over some official business.” Kent turned to Roweena, completely ignoring the way the scars on Xander’s face flamed with rage. “Is there someplace private Isleen and I can talk?”

“How about out on the back porch?” Row pointed to the kitchen door still open. “Only the birds and leaves to hear you out there.”

“Sounds perfect.” Kent shifted the strange bag off his shoulder, carrying it in his hands, and headed in that direction.

Row bent down and whispered in her ear. “Don’t be so mad at Xander. None of this is exactly how it looks.”

Xander’s attention snapped to Row whispering in her ear, then his eyes met hers. Isleen searched his gaze, hoping to see an apology, an explanation, something that would justify this situation, but all she saw was guilt.

Camille sidled up to Xander, pressing herself fully against his body as if she were going to hug him, but Isleen watched the woman’s hand disappear into the space between their hips. Isleen’s eyes jumped back to Xander who still looked at her, not his girlfriend rubbing his crotch. A muscle in his cheek ticked. His eyes went cold.

Isleen strained to pull in enough oxygen to keep herself breathing. Seeing Xander—her savior, her rescuer, her dream man—with another woman hurt more than a fist crushing her heart to pulp.

She tore her gaze away from Xander and Camille’s PDA. On unsteady legs, she stood and moved to follow Kent outside.

“If you need me, I’ll be right here in the kitchen,” Row said. Isleen gave her a grateful smile. At least she had one friend in this house.

She closed the door behind her, closed Xander and Camille inside, and wrote “The End” to her and Xander’s short story. Her body felt like crying, but her eyes remained dry. The future that looked so good only an hour ago was now a putrid mess. It was up to her to figure out how to be happy—without Xander, without Alex or Matt or Gran. Her happiness was her responsibility. She was strong. She’d survived everything. She’d figure out a way to thrive.

She sucked in a breath and sat on the swing facing out over a deep tree-filled ravine. No breeze moved the leaves, but the morning birds still sang.

Kent, who’d been staring out over the railing, took a seat in one of the wicker chairs opposite her.

“You don’t have a very good view,” she said. “You can sit here if you want.” She patted the seat next to her.

“Actually, I think I have the best view.”

Was he joking?

His square-cut features looked serious. “I saw you right after Xander brought you in. You were mostly dead, looked it too, and today—only five days later—you are a vibrant woman. It’s like everything about you is a miracle. From how Xander found you, to you being Gale’s granddaughter, to your hair growing impossibly fast.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “Today, life doesn’t feel very miraculous.”

“Hard seeing Xander with another woman?”

“Yeah.” Confessing her feelings to a total stranger was only further evidence of how starved she was for attention and affection.

“I’m an asshole for bringing her here, but I knew Xander wouldn’t tell you about Camille. He’s been with her about ten years. Treats her like shit and she eats it up. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I guess he’s not the person I thought he was.” Not the person I dreamed about.

“I’ve got something that might lift your spirits.” He reached into the strange-shaped duffel bag. Up close she could see the material was mostly made of mesh. He rummaged for a moment, then pulled out a little dog that was all skeletal legs, brindled fur, and ears three times larger than its head. It was the funniest looking canine she’d ever seen.

“Oh my gosh. He’s so sweet. What’s his name? Can I hold him?”

Kent’s face went serious. “His name is Killer. And before you hold him, I need to warn you. He lives up to his name—Killer.”

“He’s mean?” Disappointment raised the pitch of her voice.

Kent lowered his voice to sound like a corny radio announcer. “He’s a lady-killer. He doesn’t look like it, but he loves the ladies. Hell, he loves anyone who loves him.” Kent handed him over to her.

Killer’s fur wasn’t exactly soft; it was more bristly than anything. She settled him on her lap, but he twisted, stood on his back legs, his front paws on her chest, and licked her chin. His tongue was warm and… “Oh, his breath—”