Page 1 of Warmer, Colder

Prologue

Sometimes one version of you has to die so that you can become who you were always supposed to be.

Part I

Chapter 1

Stasi

149 Days till Death

There she is, everything I’ve ever wanted. Through the window, I watch the love of my life get ready to celebrate another birthday.Always the outsider looking in.I’ve missed ten of them, forgotten and left in her past like a dirty little secret, but I’m here to make this a memorable night.Because that’s what best friends do.

The woman of the hour stands in the center of the room, the only one that matters. Framed by sheer curtains billowing in the summer breeze, she’s on display—for herself, for her friends, and unknowingly, for me—as she tries on her dress for the night. The other women flutter around her, trading laughs and sharing drinks, but they don’tsee herlike I do.

Despite her fallen expression, the insecurity in her turbulent ocean eyes, and the staining blush across her cheeks, they encourage her to wear it, handing her a pair of heels to finish it off. She looks beautiful, but her fingers barely leave the hem of the short dress, her ankles angled unnaturally, and she keeps tugging at her straps.I could fix it all if she’d just let me.

My girl has a terrible habit of people pleasing, so she doesn’t verbalize a single complaint. Her teeth shine white, a smile so bright that people won’t look hard enough to see if it’s real.But I see everything, I know her better than anyone. And yet,she surrounds herself with these people who only view her through their own picture-perfect lenses. They gather close now, eagerly lavishing attention on her. That used to be her and me—inseparable, the closest of friends. Some would saytoo close, as if that’s possible. They sit on the floor finishing up their makeup and sorting through piles of clothes. We used to huddle together like that. My mind easily superimposes a memory over the scene I’m witnessing.

Two little girls gathered around a candle, hands joined, lips reciting the spell we’d looked up. With smiling mouths, we chant together:

“Open mind, open heart.

Separate in distance, but not apart.

Together now, it’s you and me.

Against all odds, our connection will be.

As we will it, so mote it be.”

In tandem, we kiss the halves of the necklace we hold in our hands and exchange them, clipping each around the other’s neck. Once they’re secured, we bring the two parts together.

“Best friends forever,” we say in unison with smiling faces.

But just like our friendship, everything went up in flames after that. Kids playing with fire is questionable, but we had a dream and a love forThe Craftthat couldn’t be stopped. At least until my mom found out. Then there were no more sleepovers at our house, no more ‘carrying on’. She took an accident and made it into a sign, a confirmation that Becca and I were bad for each other, that she was making me act out, that she waschangingme.

My mother has been wrong about a lot of things, but she was right about that last part. Beccadidchange me. She altered the course of my life. Became part of my DNA. Caused a ripple in time that anchored me to those stolen moments over a decade ago, before it all fell apart.

But I’ve found my way back to her, finally. I’m here to put us back together. After all these years, I’m going to prove to Becca that everyone was wrong, and she never should have let me go.That we belong together.

Allowing myself one more minute to admire her, I back away from the window, retreating into the night. Concealed in the shadows of her yard, I wait for the perfect opportunity to do what I came here for. Groups of people funnel through the front door over the next half hour, the buzz of chaotic activity intensifying by the second. Once the house is sufficiently crowded, I finally slip into her window.

Stepping quietly over the threshold, I’m careful not to knock down the hanging plants. Thankfully, the faint glow of fairy lights strewn throughout her room offers just enough light to easily navigate to the bed. There’s a disruption in the symphony of voices that carries through the house, two suddenly becoming distinct, growing closer, louder. Instantly, I drop to the ground and flatten myself against the plush rug, concealing myself with the side of the bed. The seconds drag on as I wait for the door to open, dread building in my stomach.How the hell would I even explain this?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.My heart pounds to the same beat.

Fortunately, the voices veer to the right and a door clicks loudly into place. Moving with greater urgency after the close call, I slip my shoes off and crawl onto her bed. Lavender and eucalyptus greet me, but beneath the diffuser’s relaxing scent, there’s her. Bringing her pillow to my face, I’m smothered in a peachy sweetness and a hint of hair oil. There’s no time to revel in it, so I breathe deeply, holding it in my nose as long as I can. Reluctantly putting it down, I fold it in half and position it between my legs. Tugging my panties to the side, I lower myself, squeeze it between my thighs, then drag my wet center over it. A low groan of pleasure leaves me with my exhale. The pressureisn’t nearly enough, that’s not what has me worked up, the mere fact that I’m in her room, doing this, is more than enough to have me dripping. My only regret is that it isn’t her face I’m sitting on. But that time will come. With the reminder of the purpose behind all this, the erotic haze clears and I refocus.

Gripping the headboard to prevent it from banging against the wall, I grind down harder, faster, thoroughly soaking her pillow as I rush myself toward an orgasm imagining it’s her mouth beneath me ravenously eating me out.

One day, one day that’ll be us. But for now, evoking her suppressed desire through her sleeping subconscious will have to suffice. When her pretty head lays down here tonight, and any night after, she won’t be able to help but dream of me. Like this, in other ways, in lust, in adoration, it will guide her, amplify the old feelings she refuses to acknowledge and the undeniable attraction between us.

Now that’s a fucking dream.

It’s that promise—that all of these little deceptions and working my magic will eventually be worth it—that has me gritting my teeth as a wave of pleasure rocks through me with one last roll of my hips. Reassuring tingles spread over my skin, ushering out the spell as my cum soaks into her pillow.

“Becca Murphy is dreaming of me,” I whisper three times. “Becca Murphy desires me,” I follow, again three times. “Becca Murphy belongs to me,” I say another three times, while breathing through a moan.

---