4. A Touch of Madness
FOUR
a touch of madness
I keep my mouth shut while the ghostly version of Arcane storms off from me. He only gets so far when his hair starts to strangely whisk away. Tresses of it slip by on the breeze. It happens like smoke blowing in the wind, and I can’t help but hurry after him as little by little, his arms begin to whisk away like ash into the night air.
“Arcane,” I test, not sure what to say at all, but knowing something big is happening.
He turns on me, his entire body strung tight as he meets my gaze with a violent stare. Then his torso and legs start to wash out as well.
“Arcane, what’s happening?” Fear gets the best of me, and I reach for him, remembering the feel of his skin against mine just moments ago. A weird ache burns through my chest at the thought of it. But inky black smoke slips through my fingers.
And then he’s gone. Again.
My lips remain open, my eyes wide and scanning, and I can’t move one way or the other for fear I’ll miss a hint of his features staring back at me from the shadows.
A screech of a beastly warning slices through the silence, and I turn just as enormous black wings shadow across me. The flinch that overtakes my features is unavoidable when a dark mass soars directly overhead like a vulture coming to pick at the flesh of an old carcass it left behind.
The creature comes too low. I can’t help but crouch down. Every muscle in my body braces for the impact. Its wingspan breaks away the rocky walls on both sides. Debris and dust tumble down around me like the school itself is in danger of crumbling away beneath the beast’s weight. Through thick lashes, I dare to peer up at the sharp, pointed tail that swoops right through me. But just as long talons reach out toward the dark brick floor ahead, thudding boots shift in their place. Where a vicious monster once loomed, an arrogant, cruel boy now strides with ease in its place. Black pants and worn boots cover his body once again. His wide shoulders carry so much unspoken anger within him. He doesn’t turn to look at me as he grips the silver handles, swings open the double doors, and lets them slam behind him with a heavy bang.
Dust lingers in the air. The cries of creatures in the distance carry in the salty night air, but mostly . . . it’s serene. Quiet. It takes several seconds for my body to move again. My feet shuffle through the pebbles he’s left behind in his temper tantrum. I’m still looking back at it all as I walk through the dining hall door and into the clean, untouched corridor.
I trail behind him like a literal haunting. I know I’m not wanted in this guy’s life, but what am I supposed to do? I obviously died in his bedroom or something. There’s a reason I woke up there. And there’s a reason only he can see me.
I just have no clue what fate’s epic reasoning might be.
What if he killed me? That question spins too rapidly in my mind, and I can’t help but think that he checks all the boxes for sure:
Loner–Check
Charming–Check
Able to dazzle his prey with a big smile and an even bigger cock–Check and check
Damn. What if I’ve been stalking my killer?
Then I better keep up!
With new motivation, I keep an appropriate amount of distance between me and my possible murderer. A courtesy distance, you could say. Of at least ten feet. Sometimes twelve or fifteen just because the scale-hole has ridiculously long strides that I hadn’t even realized he was capable of until now.
When he flings open his dorm room door, I kindly slip in through a wall and find it opens to the closet. Perfect. I give him the illusion of privacy.
Hangers impale through me with every step I try to take in the confines of this man’s unlit closet. The energy in me is so abuzz, I think I could jump out of my undead skin.
Wow, I feel so pathetic right now. Hiding out in some guy’s dorm closet like a secret one-night stand he doesn’t want anyone to know about. That’s what I am now: a secret side chick. So far onto the side, I’m not even in the realm of the living.
“Did you know?” I hear someone ask on an even, vacant tone.
“Know what?” Arcane asks hotly. Through the thin crack of the door’s edge, I see him flop down on the small bed on the far side of the room.
Every part of his body is a lazy charade of carelessness. His lashes are heavy against his cheekbones as if he could nap peacefully when I know he’s just wanting to blatantly ignore everyone and everything around him.
“Reign grounded me.” I can’t see him, but I can hear the tension in Aelix’s tone.
The memory of his features cracking with sadness and anger flashes through my mind.
“Had no idea,” Arcane replies flatly, his eyes still closed as if he’s intent on falling asleep before the conversation with his brother even begins.
There’s a pause, and I can’t help but wonder if Aelix believes the lie or if he can read the captain of the Death Riders a bit better than all the adoring fans in this school. Can he see his brother for the beast that he truly is?
“Whatever,” Aelix grinds out. And then his face is right in front of mine.
The door I’d been happily cowering behind is ripped away as he casually opens it, shoves his hand all the way through my chest like a literal groping boy, and pulls out a suit jacket. It sucks through me with an invigorated tangle of swirling energy, and I have to physically brace my hands on my knees as nausea rips through me fast and hard.
The door slams through my head, and silence settles in as I try my best not to puke my ghostly guts out. I stagger from the closet just as the bedroom door closes behind storming footsteps.
When I take a steadying breath and finally stand straight, Arcane is leaning up on one elbow, his gaze heavy with a mixture of impressed judgment. I surprised the death rider. But I’m still an embarrassment to ghosts everywhere, apparently.
“Do you think there’s somewhere I could get an afterlife restraining order, my Haunting?” he asks as he studies me.
“Why’d you lie to him?” I ask, swiftly ignoring his little jab at me and swallowing down the sloshing sensation in my stomach.
I carefully take a seat on the bed across from his.
“It’s complicated,” he tells me.
“Seems like it,” I throw in his face, and it only makes him smile. The twisted happiness of a sociopath is hidden behind the small tilt of that annoying mouth, I’m sure of it.
Full lips pull up at the corners in a lazy smile that instantly changes his features from hard and cruel to boyish and charming. I hate that my lips twitch at the sight of his minor amusement. Like some pretty boy’s happiness makes up for the fact that he’s abandoned me more times than I can count.
“Why do you think you can see me when no one else can?” I try again, aiming for an angle that actually benefits me. Maybe I’m skilled enough at small talk, and I can just get him to confess to murdering me . . .
“I’ll die someday,” he says quietly, tragically like a broken poet.
“Okay. And I’ll meet you there. What does that have to do with right now?”
His lips pull up in a small, soft smile before he responds.
“Because I’m closer to death than most. I’m a death dragon.” He crosses his arms behind his head and looks up at the high ceiling above. The moonlight casts through the room from the small window, and once again, I have to look away from his smooth features before I get sucked into his prettiness and forget that a total alpha-hole hides beneath the shiny, gorgeous surface the goddess mistakenly gifted this problematic man.
I arch a brow at his flippant explanation and wrack my brain for a bigger definition, but nothing more comes to my poor little mind or his arrogant lips.
“Care to elaborate on that fun fact? What the hell’s a death dragon?”
“A death dragon is this super-fun creature that’s born from a child shifting prematurely.” He explains it in a sterile way that makes me wonder how many times in his life he’s recited that definition.
I blink at him, and when the silence spans on for far too long, he finally peers over at me from his bed and releases the most pretentious sigh.
“Shifters experience their first shift when they come of age after their twenty-first year. And every day that passes, the beast—the dragon—it takes some of our life from us. With each shift, our souls become more theirs than ours. It gives us a life, sure, most of us wouldn’t change it, and some would even die for the chance to be something as great and powerful as a dragon shifter, but . . .”
“But what?” I blurt.
“Aelix is supposed to shift for the first time this year before our twenty-first birthday. I shifted for the first time when I was five.” The light of his eyes, that piercing anger that’s always there, shines in the moonlight, and I suddenly wonder if it’s not just rage that lives there. But possibly resentment. “I’ll die before I’m thirty.”
He’s telling the truth. He didn’t kill me. He’s just unfortunate enough to be connected to the dead in this hauntingly awful way.
Something in me tears at the center. A hurt blooms in my chest, and I don’t know why I’m so terribly concerned about his possible death when he clearly doesn’t give a single shit about mine.
He turns away from me and focuses his attention back on the ceiling, avoiding the emotion on my face like it’s the literal deathly plague.
“Die? Like, you’ll literally die?” I ask with a bit too much worry.
“No, figuratively . I’ll die of embarrassment when everyone finds out my only friend is a ghost girl who lives in my closet and can’t accept boundaries.” From the corner of his eye, he peers over at me. He smirks at my shocked expression before adding with a quiet smile, “Yeah. I’ll literally die.”
He says it all so carelessly. His amusement isn’t happy or charming or even cruel anymore. It’s tragic.
“What—will happen to the dragon?”
“It’ll carry on. Like the endangered beasts of Dragon’s Lair. It’ll carry my heart and memory with it always. That bond will never be broken. But my soul will pass on.”
Goose pimples race across my arms as I stare at the heartbreakingly broken man who I still very much hate. But maybe I understand why he is the way he is a bit better.
Arcane Deces, the fearless leader of the Death Riders, is dying.
I’d probably be an insufferable asshole, too, if I had to walk around since the age of five knowing that.
And then it strikes me.
“What if you’re not here to help me, but I’m here to help you?”
“Doubtful,” he answers, brushing me off like he’s never needed help from anyone in all of his gloriously arrogant life.
“Right. Because how could I possibly help the most advanced dragon shifter in the entire academy.” I roll my eyes.
“You can’t even open a door, Haunting.”
“I—” I stumble for a moment before recovering. “Don’t need to!”
“You get seasick anytime someone so much as pokes you in the chest,” he counters.
“It’s motion sickness. Obviously . And you’re one to talk—” I stand abruptly, and before he can even open his eyes, I’ve crossed the space between us and shoved my hand through his chest, wiggling my fingers around like I’m mixing his organs up in a mage’s cauldron. He shivers hard and curses. I can’t contain my sick enjoyment as a smirk presses my lips. But his thick lashes open, revealing mesmerizing silver-lined irises. My heart leaps strangely in my chest, demanding to be nearer to this terrible man I can’t seem to stay away from. And then his fingers wrap around my wrist. He grips my arm, and I feel that addicting warmth of his skin seeping into mine.
It’s like he made me whole with just one touch. The smirk on my lips fades into heavy seriousness. He and I both stare down at his hand tangibly gripping mine.
“How—” I don’t even get the word fully out before he rolls through me, hops to his feet, and then he’s striding away once again.
The metal stairs along the wall rattle as he takes the steps two at a time. I jog behind him, but he doesn’t pause for me.
“How did you just touch me, Arcane?” I ask desperately. “Arcane, please.” I reach for him, but he’s too quick.
At the landing, he pushes open the balcony door, slipping sideways through the tiny frame. When I step through the threshold, he’s already balancing with perfect posture on the black iron railing. Dark hair whips wildly across his features when he looks back, a dark angel staring down at me with the violent heavens behind him. I reach with too much desperation, the cold wind seeping right to my bones, and just as my fingers slip through his shoulder, he steps off. He free-falls out into a thick hanging fog, and I can’t help the scream that tears from my throat.
The only sound is the wind’s roar and the washing of water so far below, I can’t see it, but the salty scent of it hangs in the chilling air.
Why am I so cold?
Seconds pass as I search for the beast that I know is coming. I hear the press of its wings forcefully beating. It tears through the night with a terrible shriek that screams into my face just as the most beautiful snakelike eye meets mine. Dark wings arch hard only inches from my face. The weight of the wind shoves at me, sending me sprawling backward through the window, through the metal stairs, and to the glossy floor below.
I hear him shriek to me once more, and through the window overhead, I see the shine of his inky scales kiss the moonlight. Then he’s off again: Flying high into the midnight sky, avoiding me like he clearly avoids all of the problems in his life.
I close my eyes slowly. The tiredness of the day and this messed-up afterlife I’m living hangs on my shoulders. I sit there for a long moment, wrestling with the hurt in my chest before shoving off from the floor and climbing into his bed. The spinning thoughts of the in-between space he took me to and the way he broke through the barrier between us just to grip my hand are a sick mocking carousel in my head.
Why?
Why is he taunting me? Did he summon me here? No. He clearly wishes I was actually dead.
I swallow hard at that thought and try my best to swallow down the thick emotions that are rising in my chest.
Why did I have to wake up in this bed? Why him?
My knees pull up, and I curl into myself. So many questions criss cross through my thoughts, but before my eyelids become too heavy to sustain it all, one last thought lingers among all others: the wetness of my tears is actually hot against my cheek . . .
Just like his hand felt on mine.