Born Wicked

VIII

I gulp. He's too close. He's not close enough. His breath smells like cinnamon and mint and I want to inhale so deeply, so badly. His eyes are moss green and this close I can see flecks of gold winding through them like marble, like sun filtering through leaves in summer. His pupils are wide orbs crowding his irises and I swear his lower lip wasn't this pink or soft looking a minute ago.

The dark stubble shadowing his jaw is so rakishly sexy I think I want to feel the bristles to confirm if they're as rough as they look. If he's as rough as he looks.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

My stomach is in knots the size of my fist, but that doesn't stop the hunger pang that rolls through my gut. We didn't get to eat. "Yeah," I sigh, my mind in a complete stupor. "I'm hungry." I frown. "My wallet is in my locker." I sigh again, heavier this time. "So, are my keys and coat."

"Do you want to go back?" he asks me, his eyes watching my mouth as I talk. I'm baffled again.

I shake my head quickly. "No."

A smirk tugs the corner of his mouth. "Me neither. I have cash on me. Can you get home without keys?"

I nod. "Yes, my grandmother should be home later."

The smirk widens to a smile. "Ok, I'll take you home. Later."

He shifts to get his wallet out of his back pocket and hisses violently.

Oh, I'm tight and everything hurts. The pain is like fire burning through my body and I'm dizzy for a second.

I sit up, ignoring that those were his thoughts. I can't deal with that right now. In a flash, I'm leaning over the console and tugging at his tee shirt and the white thermal underneath, lifting it up his back revealing the right side of his torso.

The skin is angry reds and deep purples. I gasp and my eyes fill with water as I gingerly finger the marks.

He stops breathing. It looks like it hurts, I'm trying to keep my touch as gentle as possible.

...the skin of her hands so soothing I feel the goose bumps race across my skin. I hope she thinks I'm cold.

"Oh, Ethan," I breathe. My lower lip trembles, which I snag between my teeth and I must look so sad, all pathetic and weepy when he's the one hurting.

"I'm fine," he says through gritted teeth.

I shake my head. "You are not fine," I accuse, clamping down on my wavering emotions.

He takes my chin gently between forefinger and thumb and tugs, coaxing my face up to his.

"I'm fine," he insists. He turns toward me, leaning back against the driver's side door, his hand falling into his lap forcing the shirt to fall from my grasp.

"Hey," he cajoles. "Don't cry."

I scowl at him and swipe viciously at the traitor leaking down my cheek.

"I'm fine, Jayme, I promise," he urges gently.

I nod, my chin jutting out defiantly. "Yeah, and I'm not crying."

He smirks, the small tilt of his lips becoming familiar. Too familiar.

"Look," I say, heaving a sigh. "You don't have to take me to eat. If you would just take me home, that would be great."

He shakes his head. "Nuh-uh. Nope, not gonna happen. You won't get to know me or even try to be friends, I can almost guarantee you won't ever speak to me again. So, even if it's a pity lunch, I'm taking it. You wouldn't deny a guy who just got his ass kicked, would you?"

I roll my eyes. "I thought you were fine?"

He chuckles, the sound rich, melodious and warm. "I might be a little wounded if it means you'll have lunch with me."

I raise a cocky eyebrow. "It's one lunch, and I'm only this willing to really go," I say, pinching my finger and thumb a hair's breadth apart.

He shakes his head again, emphatically. "Wow, you are great for my ego."

I shrug. Whatever. He's gorgeous and he probably knows it. No doubt there are countless broken hearts back in San Diego. He can handle one girl having no interest in him.

Liar.

The thought breathes, unbidden, through my mind. I feel the heat staining my cheeks.

The sun is high in an azure sky, a slight wind moving through the trees lining the park we're in. It's vaguely familiar, the view from the parking lot, I'm sure I've been here at some point in my childhood. I roll down the window, a manual hand crank in his vintage muscle car. Just an inch, I suddenly find it stifling swathed in his scent, like sunshine and spice.

It's like a sledgehammer to the face. There's water in the air, briny and salty and I smell the rich, dark soil beneath the pines in the distance. The wind is biting and cold, but it's only October, there's a faint warmth underneath it.

Nearby, there is water. A lot of it. Oh, no. The air is mixed with mist; small water droplets coating my skin with microscopic dew. That, and the earthen woods surrounding us, is an overload my already jacked up senses can't take. The energy that hums through my veins is too overwhelming, and every breath I take draws more and more power into my very core.

"Where are we?" I gasp, rolling the window up as fast as the crank handle will move.

"Forest River Park," he answers me, oblivious to my distress. "I didn't know where else to go. I live close to here."

Salem Sound surrounds us. Palmer's Cove isn't far. The water in the air should have been a dead giveaway that we were too close to the Sound. The Atlantic Ocean's ancient power hangs in the ether around Salem.

The Tempore are drawn to coastal towns, on either coast, the element of water too much of a temptation. The park is familiar, I came here once with my mother as a small child. Otherwise it is forbidden. I can't be this close to the water. Not living, breathing water, like an ocean. The second largest ocean in the world. Nuh-uh. No wonder I'm in overload.

I pant as quietly as I can, trying to get a hold on the elemental forces thundering through my blood.

I grip my knees and inhale the warm recycled air of the car. Cinnamon and mint. Outside, oceans, and boy. All Ethan, no filter. The hum of a different energy sizzles through me and I am positively electrified.

"Oh, shit," I moan.

Ethan frowns as I double over and hug my knees. Screwing my eyes shut, I hold my breath until my lungs burn.

"Jayme," Ethan barks, clearly alarmed. He reaches a warm hand and places it gently on my back. The warmth seeps into my flesh adding to the cacophony of power crushing me like the waves of a hurricane.

"Don't touch me," I say through gritted teeth. "We have to go, Ethan."

He snatches his hand away from me and glares at me. "What's wrong with you?" he demands.

"Hunger pains," I pant, lying through my teeth.

He eyes me dubiously, but doesn't say anything else as he shifts the car into gear and backs out of the parking space, leaving the park and the ocean behind us.