Chapter Three
Mira
The Brit steps forward slowly, a predator on the prowl.
I watch him very closely—I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s the most dangerous one here.
His aura, his energy, his vibe—the intangible feeling that I get from people—never changes.
It’s flat, dissonant. It’s his smile that really makes him frightening, though; I’ve never seen someone fake a smile that well.
“You need something to bite down on so you don’t rip your cheek or tongue clean off?” he asks as he comes to a stop beside me. “It’s gonna hurt, love.”
I nod. “Yeah, I know. I’ve had dislocations before.” Not all of them were accidental; getting dragged around by your arm as a kid tends to fuck up your body. “I’ll be good. I won’t scream.”
Brit’s brows lift in disbelief. I guess his doubt makes sense.
Joint dislocations are phenomenally painful, but I learned many years ago how to keep quiet while getting my broken bones set.
That’s a different kind of pain, a literal bone-deep agony.
Back then, I knew if I made a single peep, I’d get another broken bone.
“Okay, then. I did my duty by offering.” He stares hard at me. “I’m not going to make it hurt any more than it has to, understand? It’ll be over quick.” He glances at Verdant Eyes. “You’ll need to keep her still for me, Dorian.”
Dorian. The name suits Verdant Eyes. It brings to mind Oscar Wilde’s book, The Picture of Dorian Gray. I wonder what this Dorian would see if he stared at a picture of his soul. Something terrifying, to be sure.
Dorian walks up to me, flanking my left side.
When he raises his hands, I flinch. It’s an instinctual reaction that I can’t keep down.
His brows furrow, but he doesn’t comment as he puts one rough, calloused palm on my arm, and the other on my waist. His hands are warm, his body’s warm, and there’s something enticing about his energy, like the notes of a siren song.
I bet he is most skilled at luring in girls with his appearance and sexy vibe alone; he looks like he’d make a killing as a model.
Or porn star. The big-dick energy emanating from him is overwhelming.
“Ready?” Brit asks.
I nod. When he takes my right arm, I try to hide my flinch, but don’t succeed. I’m flighty right now, firmly in survival mode, so even though I’m doing a good job of keeping my fear from the surface, I’m not so good at masking my reaction. I inhale a deep breath and nod again at The Brit.
He takes my wrist in one hand and moves the other to grip me just below my shoulder. He bends my arm at the elbow and rotates it outwards. A new wash of pain overcomes me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth and steeling myself.
“Looks like a partial dislocation,” Brit says. “Means it’ll heal nice and quick. Lucky girl.” Abruptly, he shoves my arm up and back into its socket, and I hear a loud pop and feel it as my shoulder’s forced back into place.
Shooting agony overtakes me, preventing me from thanking him.
Primal tears prickle at my eyes, a noise bubbles up in my throat, but old instincts keep me from letting it out.
I inhale and exhale several times, my breaths shaky, and count the seconds until the worst of my pain subsides.
Slowly, it dulls into a deep-set ache—not as bad as it was before, but not pleasant, either.
When I think I can use my voice without crying, I open my eyes and glance at the Brit.
“It’s better now, thanks. I did not feel like paying a hospital bill. ”
Brit stares at me with furrowed eyebrows. “You didn’t make a single noise,” he observes. “Your breaths got so shaky I thought you were going to pass out or scream, but you did neither.”
“Yeah, I don’t pass out much. Well, I am prone to heat exhaustion in the summers, but it’s not too hot out now. Can you let go of me?” I glance between him and Dorian.
Brit releases me immediately, taking a step back and raising his hands to show he won’t touch me again.
Oddly enough, the gesture calms me. He might be the most dangerous one, but I have an inkling that he has his own honor code, and it’s a strong one that’s rooted in…
justice, maybe? He strikes me as a vigilante.
Flashlight Guy is a stone-cold killer. Dorian is a little trickier, because I think he might be a mix of both.
He’s smooth but coarse. He’s got morals, but I think they can be rearranged to fit his narrative.
And I’m willing to bet that there’s very little he won’t do, but the few limits he has never get crossed.
I look at Dorian. “Um, can you let go of me, too? You’re intimidating.”
Dorian doesn’t. He’s watching me with a deep consideration, brows furrowed as he sweeps his thumb over my arm. “Are you immune to pain or something?” he asks.
I release a low, somewhat sad laugh. “No.” Just used to it. “That’d be pretty cool, though.”
“Try to move your arm, love,” the Brit says. “Make sure it’s alright now.”
I gingerly rotate my shoulder, wincing at the pinpricks that ignite. Then, I flex my hand, move my arm, do a range of motion tests, all of which prove that my arm is perfectly functional, albeit very sore.
“It’s good now. Back in place. You did make it quick; I’ve had doctors do a shittier job.” Once again, I look at Dorian. “You’re still holding me.”
“I am,” he agrees. You should get used to it, his eyes say.
Uh…no thanks. There’s something intriguing about him, but my survival instincts are finely honed. “Will it get me killed if I shake you off? Asking you politely isn’t working.”
“It won’t get you killed, but dismissing me could get you punished.
” I shrink back at the threat; Dorian smiles faintly.
“Not like that, pretty girl. You won’t be getting buried or swimming with the fishes—no time soon and not by our hands, anyways.
” When I tense, he adds, “Or by our orders. You can calm down.”
“I can’t,” I disagree. “I need music for that. You won’t give me my phone or backpack.
Ergo, I’ll still be freaking out in… how long did you say I’d be your guest?
” I question. “A week? I guess I’ve gone in panicked states for longer, but it’s been a while.
” I’m not looking forward to remaining in fight or flight for that long, but I’ll manage.
“I said I wouldn’t kill you,” Dorian reminds me, gently squeezing my arm in reassurance. “I won’t.”
“Yeah, my brain heard you. I sort of believe you. I’m still freaked out and totally off balance."
He tilts his head to the side. “Do you always blurt out whatever you’re thinking?”
“No. Usually I only blurt out about a third of what I’m thinking. The rest stays inside. Can you please let go of me?”
He slowly pulls away, then steps back.
“How’d you get here?” Dorian asks. “You have a car?”
“Yeah, a beat-up Honda. It’s parked in one of the makeshift dirt parking lots about a quarter way up the mountain.”
He frowns. “Why didn’t you leave it in the public parking lot at the base?”
I shrug. “Less chance of running into people at my spot, even though there usually aren’t people out here at night.
I come on weekend afternoons when I have time, so I learned to avoid the public parking lot then.
This mountain’s one of the less-popular ones, but people still visit.
It’s beautiful.” I frown. “Are you guys at the regular parking lot?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, Mira, we’re not. We also have a spot not far off.”
I gaze at him. “How do you know my name again?”
“We ran into each other at the library.”
I nod. “Yeah, I remember you saying that, but I don’t usually give out my name. If I told you, I’d remember you.”
He pauses for a beat. “You really don’t remember me?”
I shake my head. “No. Did I have my headphones in when we met?”
He nods.
I snap my fingers. “That’s why. I zone out when I have music on. The outside world gets blurry. You didn’t answer my question.”
He shrugs. “I asked around about you.”
I can feel the shift in his energy as the lie rolls off his tongue. “No, you didn’t.”
His eyebrows inch up. “How do you know?”
“I felt it. Well, if you didn’t ask around, I guess it’d be better if I don’t know how you figured it out.” I sigh. “It’d probably freak me out more. I’m already freaked out enough.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re fucking fascinating, love?” Brit questions, gazing at me with a deepening interest.
“Usually, they tell me that I’m insane.” I can’t exactly disagree, since I’m yet to meet anyone who can feel other people the way I do.
Cara swears I’m an empath, but I don’t like the supernatural connotation around that word.
It’s not like I see dead people or smell emotions, I just sort of… sense them.
“We’re all a bit mad here,” Brit says with a charming grin.
This time, his energy shifts to something a little more positive, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen his smile be at least half-genuine tonight.
Nothing on his face indicates the shift in his emotions; he looks as sincere as he did the other times, but now he feels sincere.
Very, very dangerous.
“Come on,” Dorian says, swinging my backpack over his shoulder. “Let’s get going. Stay close. We’ll talk more in the car.”
I inhale a deep breath, steeling myself. “Okay.”
I follow behind him as he begins to walk down the mountain.
While every inch of me aches to run away, I know I’ll only get chased down again, and I really don’t feel like going for another tumble.
What I want is to curl up in my dorm room bed, blast my classical music playlist, and sleep this shitty night away.
Instead, I’m walking into a completely unknown situation with no guarantees that I’ll get out of it alive.
I think that Dorian was telling the truth when he said he won’t hurt me, my gut tells me he meant it, but he mentioned a punishment earlier.
Really, I don’t know what to think or believe right now.