First Witch (Awakening Series Book 2) Read online

  "You're sweating," he commented.

  "What?" This time she did look at him. He frowned, taking a swig of beer as he continued to study her, the dots of perspiration on her forehead, the flush to her cheeks.

  "I didn't think vampires would sweat."

  "They don't. Well, not very often. Only after very strenuous activity, and only briefly."

  "Then why are you? That little brawl would have barely got your heart rate up." He reached out and touched a hand to her forehead. "Shit! You've got a fever; you're fucking burning up, Georgia." He placed his beer on the bar and swiveled on his stool. Grabbing her shoulders, he turned her to face him.

  "It's probably just the alcohol." She shrugged. Maybe she was sick? At the moment, she didn't care. The tequila and whiskey had done their job of numbing her, numbing her to the worry of the darkness inside.

  "I'm calling Zak." He pulled out his phone, but she smacked it out of his hand, wincing when she heard it smash on the floor.

  "No. I'm fine. I don't need Zak fussing. So I'm running a little hot, so what? It's fine. I'm fine. Just let me be." She slid off her barstool, pulled a wad of notes out of her back pocket, and slammed them down on the bar, preparing to leave.

  "Georgia." Rhys sighed, sliding off his own stool and grabbing her arm. "Don't leave. I'm sorry. Can't we just sit and have a drink together? Like the old days? I've missed you."

  His words tore through her, left a hole in her heart. She missed him too. He'd been her best friend before Zak had turned her world upside down. Back when things were simple when they'd flirt with the idea of kissing, then back away because their friendship was too important to them. And then everything had changed. Everything. Nothing was the same and she couldn't turn back the clock. Her eyes reflected the agony inside, the bleakness churning through her, the alcohol already burning off and leaving her depressingly sober.

  Rhys knew her so well, was so connected to her he could practically feel what she was feeling. He reeled under the emotions pouring from her, warring with each other. Love, happiness, joy, despair, pain, regret. They all fought within her, ripping her to shreds. Then she clamped a lid on them, clamped it on tight and he felt nothing. She gently moved her arm out of his hold and walked away.

  He let her go, a frown on his face. Something was wrong, every instinct in his body was screaming at him to help her, but to do that he'd have to go against her wishes, go behind her back. To Zak. Their friendship had taken such a beating when she'd turned vampire that it hadn't fully recovered. He didn't know if it ever would. If he did this if he interfered, would she forgive him? It was a chance he was prepared to take. To save her.

  Georgia drove to the farmhouse, cheeks wet with tears she didn't know she was crying. She couldn't pull Rhys any further into her fucked up world, it was better this way, she told herself over and over. A dozen times she'd wanted to turn her truck around and go have that drink with him, make plans for the weekend, sit and chat like the old days, back when life was easy and simple. Back when she was human.

  Pulling to a stop in her driveway, she killed the engine and sat in the cab, drawing in deep breaths, getting her emotions under control. She forced herself to focus on what she'd gained over what she'd lost. Her sister was happy, healthy, and strong. She'd settled into her vampire life easily and clearly loved it. And Zak. She'd met the man of her dreams, her soul mate. They were connected on a million different levels; each one of them had slotted effortlessly into place. He was hers. She was his. Her lips curled and, feeling better, she jumped out of the truck and headed into the workshop.

  Eyeing the dining table that had started to become her nemesis, an idea struck her. Black. She had to paint it black, but with a blood-red finish, high gloss. Perfect! Closing the shutters and doors to keep the moths and bugs out, she set to work on the base coat. Now that she had the vision for it, excitement danced through her. It'd take a few coats and some strategic sanding to get the finish the way she wanted it, but when it was done it would look amazing. Zak would love it.

  She painted all night, stopping to wipe sweat from her brow. Rhys was right. Vampires didn't sweat. Only she was sweating now, most likely with a fever like Rhys had said. But why would she have a fever? How could she have a fever? None of it made any sense, so she ignored it. Until it could no longer be ignored. A wave of dizziness swept over her. She straightened, stepping back from the table, can of paint in hand.

  "Whoa." The room began to tilt and sway, her vision blurred. She turned, intending to put her paint can and brush on her workbench. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, can of paint rolling away from her, spilling its black contents onto the floor. Her other hand still held the brush, but she couldn't seem to move her fingers to release it. Fire burned in her lungs with each breath. Shit. She was in trouble—she really was sick. No matter how much she'd been trying to deny it, the truth was well and truly in her face. Closing her eyes, she focused all her energy on getting her phone out of her back pocket. “Need to call Zak,” she muttered. The phone slipped from her fingers. It was there, right in front of her, but she couldn't move. Darkness descended, dragging her into oblivion.

  3

  Zak materialized in his bedroom minutes before dawn. He'd had a meeting with his publisher on the other side of the world, a new book deal in the works. It had taken longer than anticipated and he'd had to cut it short when he received a call from Rhys. He knew it was difficult for the other man to reach out to him, but his worry for Georgia was real. He'd thanked the wolf and wrapped up his meeting as quickly as he could and came home. He'd fully expected Georgia to be asleep when he returned, but his bed was empty.

  Heading downstairs he found Aston, Dainton, Cole and Kyan in the kitchen, coffee mugs in hand.

  "Hey, Zak," Dainton greeted him, "want a nightcap?"

  "Nah, I'm good. Have you seen Georgia?"

  "I thought she was in bed. I know Skye went up about an hour ago. She couldn't keep her eyes open."

  "No, she's not. Have you seen her at all tonight?"

  He could see the cogs turning in their heads as they thought back on the night's activities.

  "She went out not long after sunset. She was in her work gear so I thought she was going to her farm," Cole said.

  That made sense. He knew she'd been stressing over finishing his dining table, how it wasn't coming together for her. Maybe she'd gotten caught up in her work and now was stuck at the farm, unable to withstand the sun's rays to get home. That's probably it, he surmised, she'd hunkered down at her farmhouse and was most likely asleep there.

  Teleporting to her bedroom at the farmhouse, he was surprised to find her bed empty. And relieved, since her sheer curtains did nothing to keep the sun’s rays out of the room. He checked Skye's room, then downstairs. The house was empty. Pushing through the backdoor, he headed down the path to the old barn she'd converted into a workshop. The doors and shutters were closed, but he could hear music playing inside. Pushing open the door, he stepped in, closing the door behind him to shut out the sun, just in case she was inside.

  The room was heavy with paint fumes. He eyed the massive table, now painted black. It was streaky in places, indicating she hadn't finished yet. He reached out and touched it. Tacky. He'd left a fingerprint in the paint and grinned...that was going to piss her off. He rounded the end of the table and froze. She was on the ground, out cold. She'd dropped the paint and it had spilled out of the can onto the floor, looking eerily like a pool of blood.

  What alarmed him, even more, was the slash of sunlight that cut across the floor, peeking through a gap in the shutters, cutting across her forearm that lay exposed. Smoke wafted up from where the rays seared her flesh. The sun had only been up for ten minutes or so, but it was enough to leave an ugly wound. Rushing to her side he scooped her into his arms, frowning at the warmth radiating from her and the dampness of her clothes against his chest.

  Teleporting them to his bedroom, he laid her on the bed. She didn't stir. He re
moved her clothes, tossing them in the laundry basket. Her skin was damp and clammy, yet sizzling hot. He wet a flannel in the bathroom and gently bathed her, before leaving the cloth folded across her forehead. Still, she didn't stir. He brushed the back of his fingers against her flushed cheeks. If she'd been a hybrid he might have been able to understand what was happening, but she wasn't. She was a fully-fledged vampire, impervious to infection. How was it possible she had a fever? And why wasn't she healing from the burn the sun had given her? He held her arm. The skin had stopped bubbling and had healed to a certain degree, but now she had a dark brown scar marring the tender skin between elbow and wrist. What was going on?

  He watched over her until sleep became impossible. Giving into the pull, he climbed into bed next to her, pulling the sheet over them, checking her temperature once again. Still high. He'd have Aston do some research tomorrow.

  She awoke with a start, sitting up, clutching the sheet to her chest, breath heaving in great gulps.

  "How do you feel?" Zak sat up next to her and placed his cool hand on her forehead. Still hot, but not as bad as yesterday.

  "I feel strange," she admitted. "What happened?"

  "You fell asleep at your workshop. Got yourself a nasty sunburn." He nodded at her arm. Frowning, she turned her arm over, exposing the burn on the inside of her arm. She ran her thumb across the discolored skin.

  "Why is there a mark? Didn't I heal properly?"

  "You healed some, but no, not all the way. I'm not sure if the mark will go away entirely. You were sick, Georgia. You had a fever, still have a slight one."

  "A fever." It was coming back to her. "That's what Rhys said. I went to the bar, saw him there. He said I was sweating, that I had a fever." She looked down at herself, frowned when she saw the light sheen of perspiration on her skin.

  "Zak?" Her voice held a hint of fear.

  "We'll find answers. I've never seen this before either. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He got out of bed and came around to her side, holding out a hand to her. She took it, letting him pull her up. He laced his fingers with hers and led her to the bathroom. It was the first shower they'd taken together that was non-sexual. Carefully, as if she was fragile and might shatter at any moment, he ran his soaped-up hands over her skin, washing away her fever sweat. Then he spun her and washed her hair, fingers massaging her scalp until she groaned.

  He wrapped her in a fluffy towel and softly kissed her.

  "No matter what happens, I love you."

  "I love you too." The shower revived her. She felt stronger already. Maybe the fever was done with her and was on its way out of her system. She shooed him away when he would have helped dress her.

  "I'm not an invalid. Go talk with your boys, I'll be down in a minute."

  Ten minutes later she was seated at the breakfast bar, a cup of blood in her hands, her wet hair pulled back into a braid, customary jeans and T-shirt in place. She felt better. More herself.

  "Could it have been bad blood?" Kyan asked.

  "She would've thrown it up pretty much straight away," Frank answered.

  Aston had his laptop out but hadn't found anything useful. The Warriors had all wanted to see the burn. They crowded around her, expressing concern and curiosity. The brown mark hadn't faded, but at least it didn't hurt. Zak had been on his phone when she came down. He'd stepped out to finish the call but returned now to wrap his arms around her.

  "Sweetheart, I have to finish up with my publisher today. I left early yesterday after Rhys called me, but it'll just be a quick trip."

  "That's fine, I'm fine. You go. Wait! Rhys called you?"

  Zak nodded. "He was worried. Thought you were ill. And knowing you and how stubborn you are, he was concerned you would try and hide it from me."

  Georgia pulled a face and looked away. Both men had her pegged. She smiled sheepishly.

  "You're looking better. How do you feel?" He was right—she felt better. The headache was gone; she didn't feel the darkness clawing at her insides. He put his palm on her forehead and smiled "Temperature back to normal. Take it easy tonight. Please!" he added when he saw she was about to argue.

  "Okay, fine. I'll take it easy. Whatever it was, I think it's passed now. Now go, sign your deals." She waved him away with a gentle smile. She could see he didn't want to leave her, the doubt swirling in his dark eyes, melting her, wanting her to rush into his arms and never leave. "Go on then," she muttered, looking away, knowing where those looks would ultimately lead. Upstairs to their bedroom, that's what.

  "I'll be back soon." And then he was gone. She missed his presence immediately, how her body was so used to having him near that, when he wasn't, it was like she'd moved away from a lovely roaring fire. A shiver ran through her—the warriors caught it and all looked at her.

  "I'm fine. It's one of those 'whose walking over my grave things,'" she assured them, finishing off her breakfast, rinsing the mug and stacking it in the dishwasher.

  "Right. I need to get to the farm. I have a dining table to finish. Whose car can I use? My truck is stuck at the farm."

  "I don't think that's wise," Frank said. "Zak wants you to take it easy."

  "And I will be. I'm just painting it. It's not exactly hard labor. Regardless, I'm going."

  The Warriors looked at each other, hesitating. It wasn't until Skye breezed into the room and told them all to stop being overprotective morons that they relented.

  "Fine. Take the jeep. It's out back."

  Ah yes, the Jeep that Veronica used to drive. Zak had driven it a time or two when he didn't want to startle the locals with his teleporting powers. The vehicle hadn't been used since Veronica left. Frank opened a kitchen cupboard and removed the keys from a hook on the inside of the door, tossing them to Georgia who deftly caught them.

  Striding out the back door, she crossed to the jeep where it sat parked alongside the large shed overflowing with building debris. While the house renovations were technically finished, Zak still had a lot of plans for his property, hence the mess in the shed.

  Sliding behind the wheel, Georgia slid the keys into the ignition and was about to turn the key when it hit her. The smell. Veronica's scent. It was everywhere. In the leather seats, the seatbelt that was now in Georgia's hand. A switch flipped in her mind. Images of the blonde woman danced before her eyes: the first time she'd seen her in her floral sundress and high heels, at the dance kissing Zak. Her voice filled her head: "Zak’s mine. Oh, he might fuck you, but he'll always return to me. He's mine." The words floated in the air, swirling around her. A small spark of rage soon became an out-of-control inferno. She slammed out of the jeep, stomped to the shed and grabbed a piece of wood. Returning to the jeep, she laid into it with the wood, smashing, cursing, crying. Glass flew, windows shattered, light fittings destroyed; not a single panel was spared.

  She could hear voices behind her but gave them no heed, her fury overwhelming her, until with a final burst she lifted the car with her bare hands and tossed it, grim satisfaction in the crunching and groaning of metal as it settled on its roof several feet from where she stood. Breath heaving in her chest, she watched the jeep for a moment, as if half expecting it to right itself. It remained motionless, as did the warriors at her back.

  "Georgia," Frank started, but she held a hand out to him, palm out.

  "Do not," she breathed, her anger not under control. "I'll be at my farm. I suggest you don't follow." With that she was gone, sprinting away from them. She ran down the driveway and out onto the road, her vampire speed making her invisible.

  The exercise did her good. She arrived at the farm breathless, but her anger was gone only to be replaced by mortification. How embarrassing. She'd gone postal on a defenseless vehicle. What was up with that? Oh, she wasn't stupid; she had a fair idea. Her guilt over Veronica's death still plagued her and having the woman's presence shoved under her nose like that had triggered her reaction. Looked like becoming a vampire hadn't squashed her hair-trigger temper after all. />
  Inside her workshop she surveyed the table, saw the fingerprint, and shook her head in mock irritation. The spilled paint had dried on the cobblestones and she spent over an hour scraping it off. The brush that had been in her hand when she collapsed was ruined so she tossed it. Thankfully she had a collection of brushes and rollers so it wasn't an issue.

  After giving the table a light sanding, she was ready to do its second coat. This time she used a roller, and in the paint tray poured half black, half blood red, letting it mix naturally. Her mind stayed blissfully blank as she worked on the twenty-seater table. In no time at all that coat was finished. She just needed to let it dry. Cleaning up the roller and paint tray, she stepped outside and walked up the garden path to the swing on her back porch. She settled in, shivering as the autumn air swirled around her legs. She loved this swing. Had loved sitting in it with her morning coffee catching the early morning sun on her face. It wasn't the same. Although she could see very well in the dark, it was as if the color had been sucked out of her world. Everything was a varying shade of gray.

  She felt him before she saw him.

  "You're back." She said, not taking her gaze from the washed-out horizon.

  "I am." Zak climbed the steps and sat beside her on the swing. "I told you to take it easy."

  "I am," she protested. "See, just sitting here on the swing."

  "Right after you turned the jeep into scrap metal and ran all the way here."

  "Sorry about the jeep." She hung her head, ashamed of her behavior.

  "I don't give a fuck about the jeep, Georgia. It's you I'm worried about." Reaching out, he placed his hand on her forehead for what felt like the millionth time. "You've still got a slight fever. Not as bad as last night, but it's still there. Are you finished here? For tonight?"

  "Yeah. The paint needs to dry."

  "You know I can set you up a workshop at my place." He'd offered before and she'd turned him down. She did again now. "No. I like it here. I created this space for me. And coming here makes me feel more like me...at your house..." She stopped, unable to look at him.