Fearless Page 2

  Alex

  It was a dark and stormy night. Come on, man. You’re better than that.

  Moonlight caught in the rain and tumbled to the street. Now you’re trying too hard.

  Rain blurred my vision and wind ripped leaves from trees as I scurried through the cover of darkness, my giant beast at my side. Right. Moving on…

  “Why can’t I even take a walk without running into writer’s block?” I glanced at Morgan as his nails clicked across wet pavement.

  The better question would have been, “Why was I walking my dog in the rain in the first place?” but I didn’t ask that out loud. Talking to myself wasn’t a trait I wanted to encourage.

  With a wag of his shaggy tail and a quirk of his head, Morgan dismissed my concerns. Neither my clogged brain nor the rain pelting our backs bothered him. Meanwhile, not only did I have blank pages waiting for me at home, but I’d been too distracted to check the forecast before setting out on a walk to clear my head, so the two of us were drenched.

  That sucked extra hard because my head remained anything but clear.

  Raindrops sliced— Give it a rest, man!

  Morgan paused to shake the wet out of his coat, hitting me with a deluge of dog-scented water. I returned the favor, leaning over to shake my hair his way. He thanked me with a sloppy, face-sized lick and I straightened just in time to watch a car careen onto the road.

  Okay, careen was a strong word for the moderately discombobulated turn I witnessed, but my writer’s brain couldn’t help but amp up the drama. Which was pointless, because we didn’t need more drama than we already had. Morgan took care of that in spades. As the vehicle accelerated, my dog yanked the leash out of my hand and squirreled into the road because—I shit you not—a tiny, drenched kitten sat in the path of the car.

  I stopped trying to narrate. There was no need for strong verbs or dynamic language.

  The only thing left in my brain was, “NO MORGAN NO WHY ARE YOU SO STUPID DON’T DIE YOU MAGNIFICENT FURRY BASTARD!”

  With a barbaric shout, I lurched after my dog and scooped up the kitten, finally understanding why deer went dumb in the face of oncoming headlights. As they bore down on me, Morgan’s life flashed before my eyes, with mine hot on its heels. It was a montage of memories complete with a sappy soundtrack coming from the vehicle that would end it all.

  The car careened for real, swerving off the road and stopping catawampus on the grass, while I stood blinking, wide-eyed, heart freaking pounding, clutching a shivering ball of black fur in the middle of the road. I shifted the kitten under my coat to warm him as Morgan trotted over and sat at my side.

  The passenger door flew open and a woman tumbled out. “Are you flippin’ flappin’ crazy?” she yelped, waving her arms like she thought she could fly. Her long, ruffled skirt fluttered in the wind, then clung to her ankles, weighted by the rain.

  “Me? You think I’m the crazy one here?” I was the one who ran into the road, directly into their path, but details like that didn’t matter with a crazy person stomping toward you. “Why weren’t you watching where you were going?”

  “Oh, we were watching! We watched ourselves right off the road, thank you very much. You’re the one who needed to be paying more attention, mister.” An aggressive finger speared my chest, nearly striking the trembling kitten.

  Morgan eyed the animal tucked into my coat and huffed his agreement with the woman.

  Traitor.

  The driver’s door creaked open and a smaller, quieter woman strode my way. Blonde hair. Blonder than her friend’s. So pale it almost didn’t have a color. Strong eyes. Strong cheeks. Soft lips. Where her friend wore her personality like a badge of honor, this woman could be anything. Anyone. She’d blend into any crowd and no one would question if she belonged.

  And yet…

  There was more to her. I was sure of it. It hid in her eyes, begging to be acknowledged.

  I see you. The thought jumped into my brain and almost straight out my lips. I clamped them shut and glared instead.

  Rain plastered her hair to her face, and she swiped it away. “Are you okay?” she asked in a velvet voice. Rich. Soft. Luxurious. It sent chills down my spine and I tried to distill the sound so I could write about it later.

  And just like that, the writer’s block lifted. In one glorious instant, I could see everything I’d been missing. The invisible plot hole I’d been tripping over. The backstory I hadn’t been able to unwind. For the first time in weeks, my muse started whispering, and there I was, clutching a kitten in the rain with no way to record any of it.

  “We’re good. You?” I needed to get home, pronto, before the inspiration faded. I took a step in that direction as the woman in the namaste shirt kneeled in front of Morgan. Her bracelets jangled while she rubbed his head, cooing sweet nothings his way. His eyes slipped closed and his tongue popped out in what could only be, “Hell, yes I am a good boy.”

  The patter of the rain increased, drawing straight lines through the glow of the headlights. Thunder rolled in the distance. Lightening flashed. And the five of us stood awkwardly in the middle of the road as fragments of music dripped out of their car.

  Liam McGuire? Collin West? Something poppy, but deep…

  “What sent him into the road?” Madame Namaste asked as she straightened.

  The call of my laptop had my feet in motion. Something told me I’d be stuck in the rain forever if Namaste saw the kitten, so I shifted my coat to cover his trembling body even more. “No freaking clue and at this point it really doesn’t matter. I’m just glad no one’s hurt.”

  “I guess that means it’s destiny, then.” She glanced at her friend, an extreme amount of glee dancing through her smile. “It is awfully unusual for a dog to run into the road for no reason at all.”

  It wasn’t. At least not when it came to Morgan. The brute was distracted the day they handed out attention spans.

  With a roll of her eyes, the driver turned her attention to me. “Can we at least give you a ride? We don’t exactly know where we’re going but getting you out of the rain is the least we could do after almost killing you.”

  She was small. Not in stature, but in personality. Her voice was quiet, her gestures contained, but purposefully so. Like she’d plopped herself in a box and said, “You shall not be bigger than this for any reason whatsoever.” She reminded me of a houseplant trapped in a pot it’d outgrown, begging for space to stretch and grow.

  She was mesmerizing. Sopping wet. And waiting for a response.

  “It’s all good. Home’s close.” Not as close as I’d like, given the weather, but I didn’t want wet dog all over the interior of her car.

  Fucking hell. I was so full of shit, even my thoughts were covered in the stuff.

  Turning her down had nothing to do with wet Master Morgan dripping all over her backseat.

  This woman intrigued me. With her wide eyes and wet t-shirt, she had my mind traveling down paths I didn’t have time or energy to explore. If my muse was finally talking to me again, the last thing I wanted was distraction. This woman? She had “distraction” written all over her. I could feel it with every roll of thunder in the background.

  I was on a deadline.

  Twenty-thousand words behind schedule before I wasted an hour and a half of writing time on my walk.

  And that—not anything to do with wet dog—was the reason Morgan and I would be slogging home through the rain. If my muse decided to focus on a stranger I’d never see again instead of the first glimpses of inspiration I’d had in weeks, I was fucking done for. I needed out of her presence sooner rather than later or my agent, my editor, my publisher, and thousands of angry readers would be up my ass so fast I’d forget my name.

  The women reluctantly climbed into their car while Morgan and I started home. “Now what are we going to call you?” I asked the kitten purring against my chest. He lifted his brilliant green eyes to mine and mewed. “Larry it is then.”

  Morgan huffed his disapp
roval as taillights disappeared down the road, my inspiration evaporating as the car blinked out of view. I choked back a slew of curse words and comforted myself with the fact that I wouldn’t see that particular dynamic duo again.

  Chapter Three

  Evie

  A sopping-wet Amelia pretended to hand me a phone from her place in the passenger seat. “Eveline McAllister. This is fate calling! That whole interaction was proof you’re supposed to be here. Welcome to your future, baby girl.”

  She beamed like we hadn’t just run off the road in the rain.

  Like we didn’t almost kill the most handsome man in existence.

  He’d been drenched, so all I knew was he had dark hair. It was long enough to hang into his eyes, which could have been any color as they’d been obscured by darkness and shadow. His smile had been kind and he loved his dog enough to run into the road to save him, but had glared at me like an unwelcome intrusion.

  None of that was enough to warrant the fascination that currently had me ignoring my friend and her call from fate as we finished our drive to my Aunt Ruth’s house.

  I watched the man and his dog shrink in the rearview, diminishing until they disappeared from my life altogether. That shouldn’t have made me as sad as it did. “I wonder why he wouldn’t let us drive him home? Did I say something wrong?”

  Or did he sense my terminal taupe-ness and had to run, run, run before I infected him?

  Amelia sagged into her seat. “I don’t know. Stranger danger?”

  “Like we were the dangerous one in that situation.” The way he stared at me felt dangerous. As did the fluttering in my belly and the fact that I kept searching for him through the rearview. I gave Amelia an “am I right or am I right?” look.

  Instead of a high five of solidarity and head bob of righteousness, she grimaced. “You did almost kill him with your car.”

  “There is that.”

  It’d been dark.

  And raining.

  But that man…he was the stuff dreams were made of. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Strong features. And he seemed strangely familiar, though I wouldn’t mention any of that to Amelia. She’d be handing me another phone call from fate before the words were out of my mouth.

  As it turned out, our near-death experience didn’t happen too far from the house. Two more turns and it came into view, stately, regal, and completely out of my league. Where I was a takeout dinner in Styrofoam boxes, this was a five-course meal on gold-encrusted dinner plates. Red maples lined the drive. Autumn had lit the leaves on fire, and they shuddered in the storm, warning us off. The glow from the porchlights welcomed me home, which was weird as I hadn’t been paying an electric bill. A crack of lightening lit the sky and Amelia shrieked. I yelped in return, then pulled to a stop in front of the house.

  “Talk about an eventful arrival.” My friend sounded more peppy than usual. After all these years together, I hadn’t known she was an adrenaline junky. Which was fine because apparently, I was too. Every whip of the wind had my heart rate spiraling. Every lightning bolt cranked the energy running through my veins. Electric excitement shivered across my nerve endings.

  This was right. This house. This place. (That man.) It was all right.

  I blinked away thoughts of sopping wet strangers. He was hot, but his part in this adventure was over. Time to look forward. To follow the whisperings of my higher self and spirit guides.

  I grimaced at my inner monologue.

  I could only follow Amelia’s advice so far without feeling ridiculous.

  Leaning forward, I peered through the windshield. “Do you see any shadowy figures in the windows? The internet said people were seeing shadowy figures.”

  Amelia practically sparkled with enthusiasm as she shook her head. “It’s weird the lights are on, isn’t it? Why are the lights on in a house that’s been vacant for months?”

  We gathered our bags and sprinted for the porch. With expectation trembling through my fingers, I slipped the key into the lock and we tumbled inside. We clutched our bags and peered into corners like the Ghost of Great Aunt’s Past would jump out and yell BOO at any minute.

  “It’s weirdly clean in here.” Amelia slid a finger over an end table. “You’d think there’d be dust or cobwebs after six months.”

  “I’ll be honest, I don’t even know how the lights are on right now. I certainly haven’t been paying an electric bill.”

  My friend shuddered and looked at me with wide eyes. “Do you think the ghost’s been paying it?”

  “How can I take you seriously when you think ghosts pay bills? Obviously, there’s a reasonable explanation for this.”

  Thunder rolled.

  Lightening flashed.

  Amelia cringed. “You do realize you sound like every character in every horror movie ever right now?” The quaver in her voice had me wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

  “Remind me.” I leaned around to meet her eyes. “Which one of us needs to work on the fearless factor?”

  “Ha-ha.” She slapped my arm to cover the blush in her cheeks. “Very funny.”

  “I thought so.”

  Amelia stopped in her tracks and turned to me. “Seriously though, Evie. Lean into that fearless stuff. Life is meant to be lived, not survived. You have to learn to let people in and stop worrying about them turning out to be another Drew. You can’t hide yourself from the world and expect to feel good about it.”

  “Okay, weirdo. I hear you. Less hiding and more…” I shrugged. What was the opposite of hiding?

  “Just put yourself out there, doll. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Further exploration revealed the entire house was weirdly clean, fully furnished, and enormous. I’d have to learn the difference between living rooms, drawing rooms, libraries, and studies in order to live here.

  “This place has that weird, someone’s been here recently vibe.” Amelia peeked up the staircase. “Good thing I brought my sage.”

  I followed her gaze, running my hand along the banister. “It does feel weirdly lived in.”

  To my best friend’s surprise, even after a thorough sage scrubbing and prayer of protection, that feeling didn’t dissipate. Though, the stink factor increased tenfold. I loved Amelia, but our senses of smell would never get along.

  We climbed the sweeping staircase and claimed our bedrooms, then said our goodnights. I flopped onto a king-sized, four-poster bed, burying myself in a goose down comforter and piles of pillows before flipping over to stare at the ceiling.

  Was this real?

  Was this house really mine?

  Did Eveline McAllister really belong in a place so lavish?

  “Take that Drew Stephens,” I muttered, then drove my fists into the mattress as my ex-boss’ face swam into view.

  You could be useful…

  Nope. I would not let those jerkfaces drag me down. From this point forward, I’d be focusing on the future instead of the past. I swept my hair into a messy bun, brushed my teeth, and changed into PJs—boy shorts and a white tank. As I curled up in my new massive bed, I daydreamed about all the good things that might happen in this house.

  I’d write more.

  Eat better.

  Maybe start yoga or Pilates.

  I’d run every day and go vegan.

  Or try Paleo.

  Or find my perfect match and fall head over heels in love.

  As I imagined this healthier, happier, more successful version of Eveline McAllister, the image of a sopping wet stranger popped into my head. With a smile on my face, I snuggled deeper into my haven of pillows and fell asleep.

  Little did I know the peace was temporary.

  Chapter Four

  Evie

  Scritch.

  Scratch.

  Scritchity-scratch, scratch, SCRRRRATCH!

  I bolted upright, covers pressed to my chest, hair and eyes wild.

  Thump, thump, thump, scratch!

  “Amelia?”

  I shuddered at my stu
pidity as I flung off my down comforter. If I’d sounded like a character in a horror movie last night, I’d just doubled down. Everyone knew the girl calling peoples’ names while wearing next to nothing was the first to die.

  Morning light warmed the gauzy curtains draped over my windows and the racket continued downstairs. I pulled on a robe and crept into the hallway, not at all surprised to find Amelia coming out of her room, wide-eyed and grinning like the secret adrenaline junky she was.

  “Showtime,” she whispered.

  Step by step, we crept down the stairs. The second my feet hit the landing, the front door shot open and a demon scrambled through. It was huge and huffing and moved so fast I didn’t have time to run. It knocked me down and stood on my chest, wiggling with enthusiasm as I screamed and screamed.

  “Morgan!” A male voice followed pounding footsteps and suddenly, I was free.

  Pushing up on my elbows, I found a giggling Amelia, a giant dog, and…

  “What are you doing here?” The man and I spoke at the same time, our words dressed in identical outfits of shock, outrage, and curiosity.

  I’d almost killed him the night before, so he broke into my house to exact his revenge?

  Amelia made a show of answering a pretend phone call, handed it to me, then perched on the bottom step to watch the show.

  The man shifted the strap of a messenger bag across his chest, then folded his arms and glared. “Look. I don’t know how you got in here, but if you leave now, I won’t call the police.”

  His condescension fanned the fuse lit by a slobber demon named Morgan. “The same could be said in return.” I scuttled to my feet, tightening my robe and hoping I hadn’t given him the show I knew I had. “Why is your dog breaking into my house?”

  “Nice try, lady. I happen to know the owner of this house and she’s—”

  “My Great Aunt Ruth. And she passed away six months ago.” I arched a brow and extended a hand. “Eveline McAllister, last living descendent of Ruth Graywood.”

  “But you should call her Evie.” Amelia grinned from her place on the stairs.