Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
EVERETT
The storm hasn’t let up. It’s turned mean. Wind howling through the eaves, rain pelting the roof hard enough to rattle the rafters.
I’m halfway to sleep in the chair by the fire, boots still on, when the knock comes.
Three sharp raps. Then another, smaller one … like an apology.
Nobody ever comes this far up the mountain. Not by accident. Not by choice … and lives to talk about it.
The hum in my chest spikes, the same whisper of change that’s haunted me all night.
Only this time, it isn’t the storm calling. It’s her—some signal older than my bones, tuning me to a frequency I’ve never heard before.
I stare at the flannel thrown over the couch. Do I slide back into it? It’s Halloween, might as well enjoy being myself for once. Still, I keep my edges blurred, light under skin tamped down.
I stand, slow, every board in the floor creaking under my weight. Outside, lightning cuts across the window, just long enough to silhouette a figure on the porch. Small and curvy, soaked to the bone.
For one impossible second, the rain halos her in light. My pulse stutters … like the mountain itself just took a breath.
The next thunderclap swallows her shout. “Hello? Mrs. Camden? Just returning your cell phone. You left it earlier in the bakery bathroom.”
Wrong cabin. Wrong mountain, for that matter.
I unbolt the door, and the storm throws her straight into me—red curls plastered to her cheeks, eyes wide and wild, a paper-thin French maid costume clinging where it shouldn’t.
“Sorry!” she gasps. “I think there’s been a mix-up—my GPS—”
My brain short-circuits halfway through the apology. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla rolls off her, sweet and alive. Heat punches through me, the hum answering back like a tuning fork struck against bone.
The regulator pings a warning—elevated pulse, irregular heat pattern—but the data means nothing. I’m already lost to it.
Every cell in me leans forward, hungry. Not for touch, but recognition. As if I’ve waited through a hundred lives for this exact scent, this exact heartbeat.
“I’m not Mrs. Camden,” I say.
She blinks up at me, rain dripping from her lashes. “No, you’re glowing?”
Not fear in her voice—wonder. And something inside me answers it, the way planets answer gravity.
Then, I grunt.
“Your skin,” she says, eyeing my shimmering flesh. “It’s like one of those deep-sea creatures you see in the Mariana Trench. How in the heck did you make your costume look like that?”
“Easier than you think,” I say, vibrating low in my core. I shouldn’t register her at all, not like this—not as a signal, not as heat.
“It’s downright mesmerizing.” Her eyes round, fingers lifting in an almost touch.
This is nothing, barely letting my energy whisper through skin. But the cabin’s dark. I flick a switch, dampen the visual impact. Her shoulders relax.
My throat tightens. So do my Wranglers, more human than I’ve ever felt before. Maybe it’s the centuries finally getting to me. Or the genetic drift that’s happening with each new clone body, attuning us more closely to this planet, despite our best attempts to remain pure.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I growl.
My voice comes out rougher than intended. I mean it as a warning, but it sounds like a plea.
“Neither should you,” she teases, the corners of her pretty pink lips turning up.
“What does that mean?” I ask gruffly.
Her eyes continue to sear my flesh, like she’s memorizing every angle, slope, and valley of my topography, even though I’ve tamped the glow down completely now.
Boom! Thunder crashes; lightning flashes so close it lifts the hairs on my arms. The woman startles, gasping, and I motion for her to have a seat on the couch. Relax.
“I’ll build the fire back up,” I murmur, brainstorming ways to keep her here.
This can’t be happening.
But it is.
I eye her warmly for a moment, feeling the return sizzle in her appraising gaze as I shut the door.
“Thank you. It’s really chilly in here,” she says, hugging herself and looking around. “And that sound…”
“Senti—” I catch myself before I admit to the shielding field and the low hum that protects this location. “Generator.”
She nods.
“Am I your first trick-or-treater of the night?” An inviting smile warms her face. No wonder our commander warns us away from talking to human women. They’re downright adorable.
First trick-or-treater, ever. But I don’t feel like explaining all that. Instead, I nod. I scan my cabin, woefully unprepared for costume-clad gremlins or their curvy, sweet-smelling counterparts.
“Star-honey?” I arch an eyebrow.
Her bottom lip drops open. I feel it to the depths of my soul.
Before she can change her mind, I head into the kitchen, return with a tray of tempting confections in ruby red, starlight purple, and emerald green. I grab a green one, savoring its sticky heat and otherworldly sweetness. All I have left of the homeworld that’s forgotten me.
“When I was a kid, it was all Starbursts and Skittles. This is…” Her face pales as she tries to find the right word.
“Homemade,” I offer. “A special treat where I’m from.”
“So you’re not a local?”
I shrug. Let’s see, does more than two centuries qualify? I run a hand through my hair, buy myself a moment to think. “Been here long enough, I’d say.”
She nods, forcing the corners of her mouth up as she grabs a red one, slides it between her lips. They glisten as she moans. My pulse spikes. “Amazing! What is this again?”
“Star-honey.”
“Wow, I’m going to need to get the recipe.”
I look down, not thrilled by the suggestion. Entrusting earthlings with Sentinel secrets, another act of sedition.
Grabbing my flannel, I shrug into it, though my hot skin protests. It’s too difficult to suppress the glow around this woman. Trouble enough keeping my face and hands flesh-toned.
“I’m Eden, by the way,” she says, reaching a sticky hand toward me. Every part of me wants to lick it clean. Instead, I grit my jaw, force a frown. “I’m new in town. The owner of Eden’s Bakery.”
“Everett.”
An uneasy silence settles between us.
She lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t do small talk?”
I shrug.
She smiles.
“You say you’re new in town. Why move here?”
“The move was supposed to clear my head—get me off the couch, away from the pity texts, maybe even remind me I’m still alive.”
Unexpected excitement shivers through me. “Yes, I know what you mean.” I shouldn’t drop my guard with this human. But I sense she understands me in a way no one else does.
The cabin shakes, storm coming in full force now. Sounds like a gale outside. A downpour hammers the roof.
“Don’t think you’ll be going anywhere in this weather.”
“No, Mrs. Camden’s out of luck.”
“She who wanted you dressed in this manner?” I ask skeptically, blood blazing at the thought of another male seeing her this way. Soft curves, an invitation my big, dumb hands long to claim.
The power flickers, thunder crashes, and she draws a hair closer. I could get used to this.
The thought hits like lightning—dangerous, impossible. But it roots anyway, stubborn as hope.
“You afraid of lightning?”
“Not my favorite.” Her voice trembles.
I open my mouth to speak, but my body interrupts, chest humming again. I pull back with a sharp exhale. Last thing I need, atop the pile of all my other rebellions, is a resonant pairing with a human. It would seal my fate—and hers.
Still, it builds in my chest until I swear I can taste her in the charge. The resonance doesn’t ask permission—it claims.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I nod. “Just … surprised. That’s all.”
“By me? Maybe I should go.”
The hum under my ribs surges, demanding I say the word. Her breath catches. Mine stalls. The regulator strains to flatten the surge but can’t.
I lick my lips, and her eyes follow. Heat pricks low, curling into the base of my spine. “You could stay,” I offer. “Road washes out with this kind of weather. Might as well stay warm and cozy until it passes … just till morning.”
She shifts her weight, eyes appraising me. “I don’t know.”
“It’s either that or you head back out into the rain and the cold only to get stuck … in the Starborn Range. Alone in the dark. Haven’t you seen the signs, read the stories?”
She shakes her head. “I’m new in town. Remember.”
“Not a place you want to be alone after dark. Trust me.”
Her eyes narrow, a thrill of terror shuttling through her that I can feel. She looks half ready to sprint back to the door she came through moments before.
“Cider? Hot chocolate?” I ask, grabbing a blanket off the couch and handing it to her. I never use them; my body temperature is well-regulated, no matter the season. But I keep it for appearances. Now I relish watching her snuggle into it.
She bites her bottom lip, face conflicted, and every primitive part of me wants a taste.
“Just till the storm stops?” I’m starting to sound like I want her to stay. I know the humming behind breastbone does, abomination or not. “More Star-honey?” I ask, lifting the plate.
She smiles, wicked and bright, and grabs another piece. “Thought you’d never ask.”
“Now, how about that drink?” I press, voice rougher than before.
“Cider sounds amazing.”
I fill the kettle, set it on the flame, and watch it simmer—like what this human woman’s doing to me.
It whistles. The regulator hisses in sympathy.
Outside, the mountains growl back, and inside, something far older than programming starts to wake—slow, bright, and irreversible.