Page 22 of Fated Protector

"That's good,” I say, stumbling over the words. "I mean, it's good either way. There's someone out there that you can look forward to meeting, you know? And until then, you can just have fun. Enjoy life, date around –"

He snorts at the idea. "Can you imagine me on a date?"

I smack his arm playfully. "Well, if you quit growling at people and throwing them in garbage dumpsters, maybe you’ll have more chances."

"I stand by my actions. Besides, you looked beautiful, covered in banana peels and egg shells. Little Miss Princess of the Trash Heap."

I groan and rub my nose against the phantom stench. "Don’t remind me. Every time I think about it, the memory of the smell gets stuck in my nose for hours."

He leans over and inhales my hair. It's a strangely comforting action. "Cher, I promise you that you absolutely do not smell like garbage."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." My voice trembles and he is still beside me, his face near my hair.

"Princess?" he murmurs, letting his free hand trail against my jawline. I turn my face to him, and he begins to lean forward, his mouth slanting toward me.

He's going to kiss me.

But before our lips meet, he stops. An uncanny shiver goes through him, and for a moment, I swear his eyes flash gold. "What day is it?"

I blink, thrown off by the question. “June 26."

He sighs, leaning back against the couch, no longer touching me in any way. "I'm so thrown off this week. We need to go back to your place.” He practically leaps up into a standing position. "Research awaits." He grabs his keys and heads toward the door.

"But we just got here!" I plead, grabbing the leather book and hugging it to my chest.

"And now it's time to go." He opens the door and gestures me through it." I want to be back near the wards before sunset."

"What happens at sunset?" I say, jogging after him to keep up as he hurries downstairs.

"A lot of things, princess," he shouts over his shoulder. "A lot of things."

* * *

We spendthe entire afternoon going through old, boring books. Jack tells me to look for anything that mentions an amulet because the vampires may have come into possession of one. We stay quiet, never mentioning the almost kiss, never mentioning his odd behavior last night. His behavior is equally strange today. He can barely sit still for more than five minutes before he’s up and about, pacing the bookstore, stretching, moving, and cracking his shoulders before sitting again. He has such an air of impatience that his anxiety starts to transfer to me.

Just before the sun sets, he slams his book shut and walks out of the room without a word. Moments later, he comes in with the cot, a pillow, and a blanket. He sets them up next to the bookcases and turns to me.

"You will sleep here tonight," he bites out. His jaw is clenched so tightly that every word comes out as a snarl. "I'll be back in the morning."

"Where are you –" Jack is out the door before I can even finish my question. I close the book I'm reading and push my chair back from the table. Outside, the roar of his motorcycle fades into the distance. Dear Lord, the man is crazy.

Despite the fatigue from the past few days, it takes me a while to fall asleep, though the bookstore is quiet and calming. Just as I'm finally dozing off, the light of the full moon paints a hazy circle on my blankets, and howls fill the air outside.

CHAPTER13

This time, the dream is different.

I'm alone in the Bayou. It's so quiet, quieter than I've ever heard out here. The kind of quietness that falls over you like a woolen blanket smothering you. The old bridge is still there, but the length seems longer than it was before.

No one is at the end of it. I am all alone.

I don't want to walk to the end, but I know I must venture on. Step by step, plank by plank, I carry onward. The creak of every wooden beam breaks through that awful silence, a whining noise that announces my arrival. In the murky water, I can see the swishing of gator tails, but they never come up for air. They are the silent sentinels of the Bayou, their eyes forever watching but their sharp teeth remaining hidden.

I'm at the end of the bridge now, where a shadowed form is crumpled on the damp ground. Overgrown grass and cattails are broken and splayed underneath the body. I'm crying now, but still, I have to move forward. As I kneel before the body, the full moon breaks through the heavy leaves in the trees, and I can see who it is at last.

It's Jack. My Jack is lying dead before me.

I let out a guttural wail, a sound I've never heard myself make before, and every part of my body is seized with unflinching pain. He is dead, so therefore I am dead. It has to be.

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