Darkest Night Page 2

  “Wait!” I yelled after her as she stormed off again.

  She paused and turned to look at me. “What?”

  I might hate that I needed her, but I did. “Take me with you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Take me with you,” I said, moving beside her. “Look, I don't have anywhere else I can go. If you take me with you, I'll listen to your stories, and you can show me your pictures. I'm not going to promise you anything, but I will listen.” Might as well compromise and see where all this led. I doubted haunting a cemetery was going to improve the state I found myself in.

  She studied me for a moment. “Our family will be there. They're going to remember you, too. Do you think you'll be able to handle that?”

  This was getting so complicated. Sighing, I slid my hands into my pockets and stared at the ground. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of a bunch of people going ballistic when they saw me, especially since I couldn’t remember any of them either. “Will me showing up freak them all out?”

  “Everyone except my mom is magical, they'll deal with the shock okay. But they do love you, and they're going to be excited to see you.”

  I was really out of options here. I needed to go with her. “I'll do my best to be civil,” I promised. “You have to know this is all really weird for me.”

  “I understand. And I'm trying to be sympathetic, but you're making it difficult for me.”

  I was being difficult, and it wasn’t fair to her. She was hurting. “So, what do you say to forming a truce?” I gave her a hopeful smile—hope I wasn’t really sure I felt.

  She gazed at me for several seconds, longing written on her features. “Truce . . . sounds good,” she finally said.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, I was grateful she was giving me another chance. “Alright then, let's go.”

  It was time to find out what fate held in store for me.

  2

  “You ride a motorcycle?” I asked, surprised when I saw where Portia was heading. It was the only vehicle around, so it had to be hers. Maybe this chick was cooler than I initially thought.

  “No.” She glanced at me and smiled, and it made me feel funny things. Her smile was dazzling. “I drive a funky little green scooter. This is yours.” Grabbing a helmet off the back, she held it out to me.

  I took it from her, pondering the item I couldn’t seem to remember owning, let alone wearing. It didn’t seem right for me to wear one though, and not her. “Why don't you use it?”

  She shook her head. “No. You wear it. Seeing how half of the town witnessed you dead this afternoon, I think it would be in your best interest if you covered your face.”

  “Ah. That might be the smart thing to do.” It made sense, plus I didn’t want any more people freaking out over me than was absolutely necessary.

  “Would you like your jacket too?” She started taking off the leather sheath that was way too big for her, but I didn’t want it. She needed some kind of protection.

  “No. You keep it,” I said, grabbing her arm before she went any farther. Her breath caught, and I knew then she was also experiencing the same sensations I was. My eyes roamed over the rest of her attire. “I'm assuming most of what you're wearing this evening belonged to me?”

  “These were your pajamas.” She rubbed a hand over the shirt, briefly molding it to her curves beneath—very nice-looking curves from what I could see. “I wanted to feel close to you, so I put them on.”

  “So, I'm a t-shirt and sweats kind of guy?” I lifted an eyebrow, not really feeling the sweatpants look.

  “Not all the time. You've only ever worn sweats to bed, sometimes without a shirt, sometimes just boxers. During the daytime, you're mostly a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy.”

  I could live with that. That sounded better than this filthy tux I was wearing. “Anything else I should know about myself?”

  “Well, let's see,” she paused for a moment before continuing. “You built this motorcycle yourself because you like to work with your hands, and you're a multi-millionaire.”

  Was she joking? I couldn’t tell, so I just decided to try and play it cool. “Oh. I have money. That's a nice revelation.” Money could make life a lot easier. I glanced at her. “That isn't why you married me, is it?” I didn’t need a gold digger.

  She rolled her eyes as if that was the stupidest question she’d ever heard. “No! And for your information, you inherited most of the money since we've been married. Get on the bike!” She moved toward the front to get on.

  “Can I drive?” I asked, not even sure if I knew how to handle the dang beast.

  “Do you feel comfortable doing that?”

  I shrugged. “I won't know until I try, will I?”

  She moved away and gestured to the seat. “Be my guest.”

  I climbed on, feeling a bit enthusiastic about taking this thing for a spin.

  “Hey, there's one more thing I should tell you before we go.”

  “What's that?” I asked, staring at her.

  “Your mom's staying at our house.”

  “My mom.” Even those words seemed unfamiliar to me as I stared up at the night sky. “Sorry. I'm drawing a blank.”

  “You died trying to save her life. It's been really hard on her. I just thought you might want to be a little lenient with her when you meet.”

  What had I saved her from? I wondered but felt reluctant to ask. “I'll try,” I finally said, sighing. My lack of knowledge was giving me a headache.

  “Also, would you mind if I do one more thing before we go back?”

  I gazed at her warily. “Depends on what it is.”

  “I don't know if you're aware, but your eyes are glowing red. This is something that happened quite frequently before, and I used to help you with it.”

  “My eyes are red?” I quickly glanced into one of the rearview mirrors, surprised by the strange sight that greeted me. “Oh, wow!” I lifted a hand to my face, pulling on my lower lid a bit, noting the entire iris was brightly colored. “What's causing that?”

  “You suffered a partial demon conversion in the past. This is a side effect left over from it.”

  “A demon conversion? That doesn't sound good. What do you do to fix it?” I was so effin’ confused right now. Nothing she said made any damn sense.

  “I just need you to let me place my hands on either side of your head, near the temples.”

  That didn’t sound too harmful. “Go for it,” I agreed, wondering what she was going to do. Her hands suddenly started glowing white, and warmth spread out from where she touched me. She frowned slightly, staring into my eyes, and the gentle light grew stronger and warmer, but not in a painful way.

  “All better,” she finally said, dropping her arms, and I leaned to look in the mirror again.

  “Hey! I have blue eyes!” Startling blue eyes to be exact. “How'd you do that?” I glanced at her, impressed.

  “I'm a healer witch,” she said, continuing to stare at me. “Vance, do you even recognize yourself?”

  I shook my head as I studied my thick, messily textured hair with more than a little dirt in it. My skin was clear and tan, and I seemed to have a fairly good bone structure, a nice chiseled jaw, strong chin with a slight dimple in the middle, full lips, but nothing seemed familiar. “I've no memory of this face before seeing it here. I have to say I'm a little relieved to find out I'm a pretty decent looking guy though.” I chuckled lamely, feeling conceited for saying such a thing. I needed a girl’s opinion. “What do you think?”

  Portia smiled. “Well, I might be a bit biased. But I happen to think your face is the most handsome I've ever seen.”

  “Really?” I glanced in the mirror again. “You aren't just saying that to spare my feelings, are you?”

  “Well, I can probably name about two hundred or more girls at school who used to think so too,” she replied with a slight laugh.

  “Good to know,” I said, happy to find out the ladies found me attractive—not that I ever remember
ed being around any of them. I put my helmet on, strapping it beneath my chin before moving to jumpstart the motorcycle. I revved the engine and glanced at Portia, who was still watching me. “You coming?” I asked, extending a hand to help her on.

  She took it, causing those sparks again, and she slid on behind me. Her hands slipped around my waist, low, coming close to—shit. I stiffened in surprise, and she immediately jerked away from me.

  “No.” I placed my arm over hers, stopping her. I loved the way it felt to have her around me like this. “Don't move away. You're fine.”

  Thankfully, she scooted closer, laying her head against my back. She sure was a tiny thing, but I liked it.

  Lifting my feet to the pegs, I took off, following the only road there was until we made it up to the highway. I paused, not knowing which way to go. When Portia didn’t offer any help, I called back to her. “I need directions to your house.”

  “Turn left,” she replied, and I could almost feel her disappointment over the fact that I hadn’t known where to go. It was a weird sensation, almost as if I could sense her thoughts inside me somehow.

  She continued to guide me until we pulled up in front of a two-story adobe styled home, and I drove into the garage, turning off the engine. “So, this must be your aforementioned scooter,” I said, eyeing the little green bike I’d parked next to.

  “That would be it. Isn't it fashionable?” She rolled her eyes.

  “I wouldn't worry about it.” My eyes traveled over her petite form and the crazy clothes she was wearing. “I think you've proven you can wear anything and make it look good.”

  Instantly, she blanched, and I felt worried. “You okay? You look a little pale all of a sudden.

  “I'm fine,” she said, walking away, not bothering to explain her reaction.

  Getting off the bike, I glanced at the door, feeling apprehensive about entering. “So how do you want to do this? Do I just walk in, or do you need to go and prepare them or something?”

  “Well, under normal circumstances I'd say let me prepare them, but, in this case, they'd probably think I'd gone completely insane. Let's make a grand entrance, shall we?” She offered her hand, and I gladly accepted it, needing her support right now.

  “I'm a little nervous.”

  “That's totally understandable. I am too. Are you ready?”

  “Let's do this.” I squeezed her hand with an assurance I didn’t feel.

  Portia pushed a button to close the exterior garage, before opening the door and stepping inside to a bright, clean, modern kitchen.

  “Portia is that you?” a man’s voice called from another room somewhere. I assumed it was her dad.

  “Yes.”

  “We're in the family room, Pumpkin,” he replied.

  She took a deep breath and guided me through the house. We entered a room that had the television playing, and four adults sat on the furniture.

  “Hi,” Portia said, and all of them turned to look at her.

  I wish I had a camera, just so I could remember the insane shock on everyone’s faces as they stared at me utterly dumbfounded. The next thing I knew, people were shouting and running toward me.

  Shit!

  “Wait!” Portia commanded, raising her arm, and I was actually surprised when they all halted. The women were crying, one of them particularly hard. My mom, perhaps?

  “Yes, Vance is alive,” Portia stated. “But he doesn't remember any of us.”

  They glanced at each of us with confusion apparent on their faces.

  “What do you mean?” the man asked, looking between us.

  “I mean, I found him standing at the foot of his grave when I went to the cemetery. He didn't recognize himself or me. He can't recall anything from his previous life, though he has all of his necessary motor and verbal skills.” Portia glanced at me, and I figured this was my cue to say something.

  “Portia tells me you're part of my family. We had quite the discussion about family, marriage, magic, and a few other things.” I cast a sidelong glance in her direction. “She's shown me things impossible to deny. While I believe everything she's telling me, I'm sorry, but I have no memory of anything.”

  The woman crying hard sniffled. “But . . . you're here!” Her smile was huge as she stepped toward me with outstretched arms.

  “Vance, this is your mom, Krista,” Portia said, nudging me forward. I released her hand and let my mom hug me. This was so effin’ strange, but I tried to not pull away since I knew she probably needed this. I patted her lightly on the back before moving next to Portia. Even though I’d only known her a short while longer, she was my anchor now.

  “Portia tells me I died while trying to save your life. I'm glad to see that was successful.” I sounded like a damn idiot. What the hell did someone say in a situation like this?

  “Yes. Thank you,” the lady—Krista—my mom—replied, still smiling happily. I felt so damn awkward right now. Thankfully, Portia started speaking again, filling the silence.

  “Just so you're aware, Vance's powers are at full capacity—and then some. It's obvious he's here directly as a result of receiving The Awakening. I'm assuming it must have kept working on completing the change, even though he didn't survive the battle.”

  “So, what does that make me exactly?” I asked. “Resurrected . . . reincarnated?”

  “I think you're a little closer to resurrection,” she replied. “Though it doesn't mean we won't both be eligible for death again someday.”

  “I can see this is going to be confusing.” I flashed a smile at everyone, and my mom gasped, moving her hand over her heart. I could tell she was happy. I didn’t know what I was.

  “This is so unreal,” Portia’s dad said, running a hand over his head as he stared at me. “I can't believe you're really here.”

  I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I said nothing.

  “You all need to remember he's not the Vance we've known,” Portia continued. “He made that very clear. I think we should try to wipe the slate clean and treat him like someone we've just met if we can. Who knows if he'll ever regain his memory?”

  “You're absolutely right,” the older woman said, moving forward with her hand outstretched. “Vance, I'm Milly Mullins. I'm Portia's grandmother. This is my son Sean and his wife, Stacey.”

  “It's nice to meet you,” I said, taking turns shaking each of their hands.

  “Welcome to our home,” Stacey said, smiling. “Would you like to freshen up?”

  I didn’t miss her eyes traveling over my filthy hair and clothing. I must look a mess. “Sure. That sounds great.”

  “I'll take him to my room. I have some of his things, and he can shower in my bathroom, if that's okay with him,” Portia added, looking at me.

  “That's fine with me.” I was more than ready to wash the dead off.

  “Okay then. Follow me.”

  I paused long enough to give the others a nod before trailing after Portia up the stairs. My eyes traveled over everything as we went. They had a nice home, well cared for. Portia guided me into the room directly at the top and shut the door behind me.

  “Are you doing okay?” she asked.

  “I'm fine,” I replied with a nod, studying her very purple personal space. “It wasn't too brutal.”

  “You can change through there.” She pointed to a door in the corner before opening a drawer in her dresser. “And here are some of your clothes.”

  We must not have been married very long if all I had was a drawer of belongings. Nothing else in the room appeared to belong to me—not unless I was really into chick décor and clothes lately. “Thanks,” I said, before heading into the bathroom that was equally as girlish, though there was a bottle of masculine smelling shampoo sitting next to a razor. These must be mine.

  The shower felt great, and even though I was tempted to stay in it for hours, I didn’t, not wanting to be rude. Once I was finished, I towel dried my hair, and slipped on the t-shirt and sweats I’d brought in
with me.

  Leaving the bathroom, I found Portia on the bed, putting stacks of pictures in piles. A quick glance showed me they were wedding photos—our wedding photos.

  “Wow. You weren't kidding, were you?”

  “No, I wasn't.” She watched as I started going through the pictures, trying to and failing to remember this part of my life. I paused on one, staring at the image of my face, joy indescribable written on it. “What am I looking at in this picture?”

  “Me. I'd just walked into the chapel. It was the first time you'd seen me that day.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say, but I’d clearly been very excited to marry her, that much was evident. I continued on, stopping on one that showed her in her dress. Damn, she was hot! “You looked pretty.” Understatement of the year. This girl was a babe, times ten!

  “Thank you. You were quite dashing yourself. It was a happy day for us.”

  I glanced at her, wishing I could make her feel better, but knowing I couldn’t. “I see these things, and I want to remember, Portia. I really do. But I don't.” I held up the one of me. “There's all this emotion on his face—my face—the face in this photo, but I can't recall any of the feelings that go with it. I don't want to hurt you, but these are the facts. I don't remember.”

  “Can I be completely honest?” she asked, and I hated seeing the pain in her eyes.

  “Please.” I placed the pictures on the bedside table.

  “You may not recall, but I do. I love you, and I married you intending to spend the rest of my life with you. Honestly, at this point, I'd almost be content just to sit next to you as your friend. I thought you were dead.” Her lip trembled, and I could see she was trying to hold back her emotions. “I only want you to give me a chance—us a chance. Maybe you'll never remember, but perhaps we could build something new together. If you want to hear about the past, I'll tell you. If you don't, I won't.” She took a deep breath. “Forgive me if I seem desperate. I thought I'd never see you again. I didn't think I'd ever get to hold you, kiss you, or even make love . . .” her voice trailed off and she turned away from me. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go there.”