Touch (Denazen #1)(96)

I spot her bags, still packed, on the bed. She follows my gaze and whispers, “Don’t push me, Dylan. You’ll know soon enough.”

Her response catches me so off guard, she’s able to force the door closed. The lock clicks into place, shutting me out for good.

I think I actually hate her.

The plates rattle with my pent-up rage. I want to hurl them to the ground. Shake the walls with an anger so fierce, it would send her into a terrified fit, but I don’t. I search for control. I breathe deep. And when my anger calms, I go downstairs.

I don’t eat my pie. I can’t.

“I’m not feeling so good,” I say to Grandma, and push the empty plate into her soapy hands. When I set my untouched pie on the counter, she grabs a dishtowel and sneaks a quick glance up the stairs. She doesn’t say anything, but her lips thin.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” I say.

She nods and wraps my pie in plastic wrap. “Grandpa will knock on your door when he’s ready to go.”

That’s right. I’m playing with the sheep tomorrow. Man, my life sucks.

I peer out the kitchen window. Dark, heavy clouds rush in from the south, and a bunch of fireflies buzz around like they can’t wait for the light show to begin. Weird how they’re so bright even though it isn’t dark out yet. Maybe it’s a good sign. Maybe it’ll storm hard, and Grandpa will decide not to go.

A guy can hope, can’t he?

Before I leave, Grandma asks me to put away an old iron skillet, the kind that weighs a ton and looks like it should be used over an open camp fire. As soon as I take it, pain jolts through my skin. My head swims and my whole body grows weak, like it’s deflating.

I drop the skillet and grab my hand. Red welts, pocked with blisters, streak the skin where my fingers touched the pan. I’ve been burned before, but this one is worse than any I’ve ever had.

Grandma’s face wrinkles with worry. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I say automatically.

As I watch, the blisters begin to fade. The red welts fade to pink. The pain eases. What the—

I ball my hand into a tight fist and eye the skillet. “Old baseball injury.”

Grandpa, having heard the ruckus, pokes his head into the kitchen. “Baseball? Catcher?”

“Yeah, sure.” I’m not paying attention. I’m freaking out. How can a cold skillet burn me? Stranger still, how can such a severe burn begin to heal so quickly?

He smiles. “Win any games?”

“None I’d want to brag about.”

“Tough luck.” Grandpa stoops, picks up the skillet, and slips it on top of the cabinets without a problem. “Senior year is coming up,” he says. “That’s the one that counts.”

“Yeah.” I take a few steps back, my mind grappling with what should be happening and what is. The skillet couldn’t have burned me. Grandma and Grandpa both touched it. “I’m going to go to my room, okay?”

Grandma gives Grandpa a kiss of thanks before nodding my way. “That’s fine, dear. Go relax. You’ve had a long day.”





A Good Day to Die




Navar’s trail wasn’t difficult for Kera to find. He was a bull, thrashing his way through the forest, indifferent to what he trampled. He would not make a good king. His tactics were brutal and fostered loyalty based on fear.

Yet, ever since their king had disappeared, Navar had shown himself the strongest and most able to rule Teag’s feuding subjects. And to show he was capable, he had carried on the Lost King’s campaign—ridding Teag of all those unworthy to live, so her people would rise to a more perfect and pure state of being.

The neigh of horses and the rattling of soldiers sounded up ahead. Kera stopped running and listened. There were so many men, and in their midst…

Lani.

Kera gasped when she saw her best friend. What was she doing, roaming the forest so close to the forbidden barrier? She knew better. Why would she put herself in such danger?

There could be only one reason. She had sacrificed her own safety for someone else.

Though Lani’s blue dress was ripped along the collar, revealing the lace edge of her corset, she stood straight, defiant. The men gripping her wrists wore hard expressions and had even harder eyes. All their hate was pointed at the small woman they held captive.

Kera circled the group. Listening. Watching. Worrying. She had to do something, but what? She stopped at a point where the barrier rose behind her and a wisp of mist hung low to the ground.

Navar said something Kera couldn’t hear, but Lani’s voice rang loud and clear in the clearing. “It’s a good day to die.”

Kera’s heart froze. Why would she say such a thing? Before an answer could be had, the men forced her to bow. In a long, graceful flex of his arm, Navar pulled out his sword, and without hesitating, brought the blade down in a perfect, deadly arc, separating Lani’s head from her shoulders.

Kera’s hands flew to her mouth, muffling her sharp cry. She staggered back, eyes wide with horror. The men holding Lani’s body let go, as if she were nothing but a piece of garbage better left untouched.

“No.” The word stumbled dryly from Kera’s lips. She lurched back, though her eyes were still glued to the gruesome scene. “No, no, no.” Her horror turned into a physical pain she couldn’t control. She clutched her stomach and shook her head, repeating the word more and more loudly.