Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(18)

My vision is blurry and red. My head feels like it’s about to implode. My hands are shredded and almost worthless, but with one last thrash, I make it out. I stumble toward the spot where I last saw Rain, calling her name with every labored step, but when I get there, she’s gone.

Leaving nothing behind but a puddle of water.

I peer into it—exhausted, confused, desperate—but all I find is my own frantic, bloodied reflection staring back at me.

Then the image splashes away, stomped out by one giant black hoof.





April 21



Rain


“Wes. Wes, wake up. It’s just the nightmare. You’re okay. You’re here.”

Wes is sleeping sitting up. His good shoulder and the side of his head are leaning against the wall of the tree house, and he has my old comforter pulled up to his chin. He yelled my name so loud in his sleep that it woke me up. Luckily, I hadn’t been asleep long, so my horsemen hadn’t shown up yet, but from the looks of things, Wes’s are on the other side of his eyelids right now. His entire face is tensed up, as if he’s in pain, and he’s breathing hard through his nose.

“Wes!” I want to shake him, but I’m afraid to touch his shoulder. I bandaged it up before we went to sleep last night, and it was pretty gross. I decide to squeeze his thighs and shake his legs instead. “Wes! Wake up!”

His eyelids flash open. They’re alert and alarmed, and they land on me like a laser scope.

I hold my hands up. “Hey! You’re okay. It was just the nightmare. You’re safe.”

Wes blinks. His eyes dart all over the tree house, out the door behind me, and then land back on mine. He’s still breathing heavy, but his jaw relaxes a little.

“You’re okay,” I repeat.

Wes takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand down his face. “Fuck. What time is it?”

“I don’t know. I stopped carrying my phone when the cell towers went down.” I look out the door and notice a faint orange haze where the treetops meet the sky. “Maybe six thirty? The sun’s coming up.”

Wes nods and sits up, rubbing the side of his head where it was pressed against the wall all night.

“That was a bad one, huh?” I ask, taking in his battle-worn appearance.

He stretches as much as he can in the confined space and gives me a sleepy-eyed stare. “Not all of it.”

Something in his tone of voice or maybe the look in his eye makes my cheeks flush. “Oh. Uh, that’s good.” I turn and begin rummaging through the backpack, trying to hide my blush.

“Did you fix your hair?” I don’t look up, but I can feel his eyes on me. “It’s all shiny.”

“Oh.” I laugh. “Yeah. I woke up when I heard my mom get home last night, so I went inside to say hey. I figured, while I was in there, I might as well take a shower, brush my teeth, change my clothes …” My voice trails off when I realize that I’m rambling. I look down at the skinny jeans and hiking boots sticking out from under my hoodie as a prickly heat begins to crawl up my neck. I wanted something that was cute but woodsy. You know, bomb-shelter chic. Now, I’m wishing I’d just put a bag over my head.

Wes leans forward and peeks around my hair, which I straightened with a flat iron and evened out with a pair of scissors after the jagged braid-ectomy I gave myself the other night.

“Are you wearing makeup?”

“Yeah! So?”

Oh my God, I’m yelling.

“You just look … different.”

“Whatever.” I grab the travel-sized toiletry kit and the towel out of the backpack and shove them into his chest. “You can go take a shower with the hose.”

“Damn.” Wes chuckles. “That’s cold.”

“Literally.” I grin. “Go on. I wouldn’t want you to lose your precious daylight.” I throw his words from last night back in his face as he crawls past me toward the door.

“You’re not coming?”

“To watch you wash yourself? No, thanks.” I roll my eyes and do my best to pretend like his perfectly chiseled abs disgust me.

“That’s good ’cause there’s gonna be some serious shrinkage.”

I laugh as Wes climbs down the ladder. Then, I remember something. As soon as he gets to the bottom, I lean out the doorway and drop his Hawaiian shirt onto his face.

Wes pulls the royal-blue fabric off his head and holds it to his nose. “Holy shit. You washed it?”

“Yeah. It smells better now, but that blood is never coming out.”

The smile that beams back up at me makes my body tingle all over.

“Thanks.” Wes drapes the shirt over one shoulder and gives me a wicked side-eye. “You sure you don’t wanna come wash my back?”

“Ha! And see your shrinkage? I’ll pass.”

Wes shrugs with a sideways smile and walks across the yard toward the side of the house. The second he’s out of sight, I let out the breath I was holding and shove my hand up inside my hoodie. Grabbing the bottle of hydrocodone I stashed in my bra, I pull it out and shake a little white pill into my hand. I toss it back with a sip from one of the water bottles and realize that the liquid inside is sloshing like crazy, thanks to my trembling hand.

Better make that two.