Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
And what if it was Kincaid?
I don’t know what to think, but the most logical reasoning is that there was no ghost, it was Natasha, and I was the one who locked myself out. It at least makes the most sense. After all, I did hit my head. Maybe it’s a delayed concussion fucking up my brain a bit.
I get dressed into a pair of ripped stretchy jeans and a long plaid shirt, tie back my hair, and decide to go for a walk before breakfast since it’s early enough. I bring my puffer jacket since the night had been so cold and head outside.
The morning is still bright, blue-skied, and filled with birdsong, the sunlight making me wish I brought sunglasses. I’ve barely had a need for them here.
I decide to head up to the logging road, wanting to feel the openness it affords and the sun on my face. I glance at my watch. If I go for twenty minutes, then turn around and come back, I’ll be just in time to catch breakfast.
I’m about five minutes into the walk, sweating enough to unzip my jacket, when suddenly, it goes dark.
As in, the sun just disappears.
I glance up to see storm clouds, fluffy and charcoal-covered, making the world turn a shade of dark grey. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky earlier, and yet, like a switch has turned off, it’s overcast.
The air becomes chilled, and I shiver, zipping my jacket back up, but it does nothing to keep me warmer.
Something isn’t right.
All of this is terribly wrong.
I look around, trying to figure out what it is.
The light is different. It’s not just grey and dim, but…it’s weak.
I make a fist, my fingers already feeling numb. I hold my hands to my mouth and breathe on them, my exhale turning into clouds.
Then I hear laughter. From somewhere up ahead, around the bend.
“Hello!” I yell.
The laughter gets louder. A woman. Everly?
A man starts laughing too. Could be Michael, though I can’t imagine him laughing.
I start walking faster, and then I’m jogging, running around the bend until I come to a halt.
There’s no one there.
The laughter has stopped.
The road is an empty straightaway for a bit before it curves down around another corner.
At that corner, a lone maple resides amongst a copse of cedars and hemlock.
The maple tree is dead.
Nearly all the branches are bare, with big brown and rust-colored leaves spread out along the road.
What the hell?
I’m staring at the tree, wondering what happened to it, when I hear twigs snapping in the woods.
I gasp, twisting around.
Fear chokes my throat, and I listen, wide-eyed, straining to see, to hear.
Snap.
There’s someone moving amongst the trees.
A dark shape in the forest, walking parallel to me.
“Who is that?” I cry out. “What do you want?”
Suddenly, the sun comes out again, my vision going white, my hands above my eyes as I wince through it.
Kincaid emerges from the trees, dressed in his black coat.
There you are, as always. The thought flits across my mind.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking mildly flustered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was worried. I—” He frowns, his gaze sharpening. “Jesus, are you alright?” He gestures to his nose. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” I bring my fingers under my nostrils and touch my skin. It’s wet. I take it away to see fresh blood.
My stomach churns. I hate nosebleeds.
“Oh, shit,” I say as he strides over to me, fishing in his coat pockets. He takes out a navy handkerchief. Of course he would have a handkerchief.
I take it from him and hold it under my nose, feeling like an idiot. The cloth smells like him, that warm tobacco and wood that makes me feel like I’m draped in a warm blanket.
“Do you get nosebleeds often?” he asks, standing close, too close. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but not when I have blood pouring from my nose.
“I used to get them all the time as a child, but not since then,” I say, my voice nasal. I give him an awkward look. “This is mortifying.”
He studies me with those cool grey eyes, the color reminding me of the weather’s quick change. The temperature is creeping back up by the second.
I frown at him, realizing he must have been following me. “Were you on bear patrol again?”
His head shakes faintly, and he swallows. He has a gorgeous neck, something I don’t think I’ve ever admired in a man before. Then my gaze goes to his lips, full and firm, lips I never kissed in my dream.
His mouth looks like he’s holding back secrets.
“I was worried about you.”
“So you said.”
He gives me a sympathetic tilt of the head. “I know about what happened last night. I also know that you shouldn’t be walking off into the woods alone when you have a head injury.”