Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) Read online

  “Easy,” he murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She wanted to believe him, he looked so genuinely sincere, but he was still so close. The memory of his heat burning through the thin material of her pale-blue dress was as real as fire on her skin. Her lungs were ablaze with fear, her heart a torn mess of terror. Her chest ached in its futile attempts to cease the panic winding like barbwire around her throat, suffocating her oxygen. She was wheezing and panting and choking on tears. She wanted to close her eyes, but the maddening horror refused her the luxury.

  “It’s all right,” he continued in a tone one reserved for a frightened child. “I’m just going to shut the door,” he explained, reaching with one hand for the doorknob. “Easy.”

  True to his reassurance, he quietly closed the door and stepped back. Both his hands went back up, stopping just level with his chest.

  “I won’t touch you.”

  She didn’t move. She didn’t think she could without throwing up on him. Her insides were a pit of snakes writhing on top of each other, cold and angry. The taste of bile tainted the back of her throat as she fought to suppress the nausea.

  Carefully, using the wall as leverage, she pushed away from it. Her kneecaps rattled, but she thankfully remained upright.

  Her guide eased back, toe to heel, giving her a wide birth to maneuver down the corridor. He didn’t push her or seem impatient as she gingerly picked her way forward, nor did he make any attempt to get close again.

  By the time they reached the winding stairway, she had most of her sense back and was stewing with a new fear. Her father was going to be so angry with her when he found out. She would never be allowed to leave her room again. He had finally given her a chance and one step into possibility and she’d succumbed to madness.

  Maybe she should apologize, beg him not to say anything, to not report her, but she had gone so long without speaking to anyone she wasn’t sure she knew how to apologize properly. She wasn’t sure she knew how to convince him not to tell.

  A handful of feet from the puddle of warm light spilling out of the dining room, Amalie stopped. She turned to the silent figure beside her. It took a moment of inner struggling to finally raise her gaze to his.

  “I…I’m sorry,” she whispered, her knuckles popped with every brutal twist of her fingers together. “I didn’t mean…please don’t tell—”

  He silenced her with a single a blink of his eyes. “I’m unaware of what you mean, miss. I didn’t see anything.”

  Gratitude nearly swamped her. She nearly sank to her knees in relief. “Thank you.”

  He merely motioned her to continue and followed her just to the threshold.

  Amalie hesitated, daunted, overwhelmed by so much. There was someone behind her, armed and ready to take her down if she moved wrong, but he hadn’t. She was about to have her first real meal in months, in a room she hadn’t been in for longer than that, with a father she only saw when he was displeased with her. The room was twice the size of her bedroom and catered solely to the single rectangular table in the middle.

  Everything gleamed, polished slabs of marble, scrubbed steams of silver, trims of gold and drops of crystals. It was all too bright, spikes of light illuminated by a grate of flames guarding the occupants of the room from the crisp chill pressing against the walls of glass. But it wasn’t enough to warm the fingers of ice that scuttled down her spine, raising goose bumps along her skin. She shivered, folded her arms, took another step forward cautiously and froze.

  Her father wasn’t alone in the room. There was another figure breathing the air she was so desperately trying to drag into her lungs. He sat with his back to the fire and the leaping flames turned his lean frame into shadows, but she knew that posture. She knew that laugh. She knew, even before he turned his face and his blue eyes met hers, she would be sinking in an ocean of blood.

  The beautiful smile chiseled into lips made for angels slipped. It dropped. His lips parted. His eyes widened. They roamed, desperate, hungry, greedy, wanting, touching, hurting her all over again. It wasn’t the same look Tomas gave her. It wasn’t cruel or cold. It was anxious, desperate.

  He got to his feet, shattering the room with the shriek of his chair against the marble. She flinched, scuffled back a step.

  “Amalie…” Her name was a single whispered prayer pouring from his lips. It gasped out as if it had been lodged in his chest for centuries, expanding and tightening until he just couldn’t hold it in any longer. There was longing in his eyes, hot chips of love and desire that glowed like stars. A muscle danced in his jaw as if the sheer pain of seeing her was just unbearable.

  Once upon a time, she would have run to him. She would have thrown herself into his arms and buried her face into the curve of his neck. Once, she would have given anything to see him, to be near him, to taste and smell him, to have his warmth around her. Now, the sight of him was a dagger in the heart. It was a punch in the gut. It was pain and anger and hatred all marching through her like vicious fire ants. She wanted to throw something at him. She wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. She wanted to cry and slam her fist into that beautiful face.

  But she did none of that. She didn’t move another step. She didn’t trust herself to get any closer without breaking, without giving away their secret.

  “Amalie?”

  At the sound of her father’s voice, Amalie started, she ripped her eyes away from the demon seeking what little soul she had left, to face the man hungry for her life.

  “Sit.”

  Numb, her gaze dropped to the chair he waved to, the one on his left, the one across from him.

  She weighed her options. Run and lose her freedom or stay and lose her heart, her sanity, her soul and her existence.

  She stayed.

  Chapter 3

  Isaiah

  There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to beg she forgive him for, but each word stuffed his mouth full of broken glass until he was choking and suffocating on them. Beneath the table, his hands balled, trembled in his lap. His gaze burned holes into the plate in front of him, using the fine china as an anchor to keep his eyes from traveling up and painting her profile into his memory, because he didn’t want this image of her in his mind. He didn’t want to remember the hollows of her cheeks or the way her skin held a tinge of gray. This wasn’t the girl he’d left behind. This scrawny, colorless, broken girl wasn’t her. His Amalie had bright eyes and glowing skin. His Amalie was always so quick to smile, to laugh, to be alive. This wasn’t his Amalie!

  “Isaiah?”

  Forced, he raised his attention to the man next to him, so careful not to let his eyes wander anywhere else. “Yes, sir?”

  Garrison smiled indulgently. “I asked what your plans were.”

  “Sir?”

  The man was speaking plan English, but the words were bouncing off the walls of Isaiah’s skull like rubber bands. He couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t think.

  “Well, I understand you would want to take some time off, reorganize your future, but is there anything specific you would like to do?”

  Isaiah rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could erase the tension there just as easily. “I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest.”

  Garrison nodded. “Understandable.” He reached for the two prong spear resting handle-first towards him from a plate of steaming roast. “I actually gave some serious thought to our conversation the previous night and I realized I was out of line asking you to change your plans to accommodate me—”

  Isaiah winced. “No, that isn’t—”

  A long, slender hand went up, silencing him. “I’m a big enough man to know when I’ve overstepped, which is why,” he paused to add thinly sliced pieces of beef into his plate before continuing, “I want you to come work for me.”

  Isaiah blinked, dumbstruck. “Sir?”

  Garrison replaced the prongs, sat back. “Well, you want to be a solider. I need good, dedicat
ed…loyal men at my lab. I think it would be perfect. You would get decent hours. The pay is reasonable for the minimal work you would need to do and…” He seamlessly, without missing a beat, swatted at Amalie’s hand when she reached for the carving fork. He took them up himself and placed one slice of beef on her plastic plate, a child’s plate, then moved the prongs out of her reach, his green eyes never leaving Isaiah, “…look very impressive on your application for university next fall.”

  Isaiah stared at the single sliver of meat on Amalie’s plate, not really seeing it, but hating the sight of it all the same. “Uh…”

  “Well, you go ahead and think about it.” Garrison grabbed the scoop poking out of the bowl of Brussels sprouts. Carefully, he scooped four and dropped them onto Amalie’s plate. It was followed by the same number of green beans, a small helping of mashed potatoes and a single roll. He sat back when finished, steepled his fingers over his plate and peered at Isaiah over them. “Just let me know what you decide. Go ahead.” He waved at the food when Isaiah made no move to take anything, not sure if he was supposed to serve himself. “Help yourself.”

  Cautiously, he piled food onto his plate, his movement tense, his eyes darting to the plate across from his, barely filled with enough to feed a small child. Something sharp and bitter burned the back of his throat. But Amalie didn’t seem to mind it, or if she did, she made no fuss. She ate quietly with her plastic fork, eyes fixed down, motions slow like she might break if she wasn’t careful.

  Garrison made small talk through most of the meal about the lab, the number of guards on duty, the rotation and flexibility. He talked about the benefits and how most of those on duty were Isaiah’s age and how everything that took place within the lab was so essential to the development of mankind. Isaiah listened with only half an ear, making appropriate noises when necessary, but his attention was tuned on the ghost across from him.

  Amalie hadn’t said a word, not one. She never glanced up. Even her eating made no sound. There was no clink of silverware against china or scrape of knife carving through meat. She didn’t exist. She was an illusion meant to drive him insane. He was almost certain his fingers would pass through her if he ever dared reach out. But he would never dare do so with Garrison sitting there. He wouldn’t dare at all, but he had to know.

  Carefully, he stretched out his right foot and lightly brushed the side of hers. It didn’t pass through, but she jerked violently as if his touch burned her. The pathetic fork dropped from her fingers, making no sound hitting her plate. She yanked her foot back. What little color she had in her cheeks washed away and he was suddenly panicked that she might faint.

  “Amalie?” Garrison’s voice was tight, controlled. “Is something the matter?”

  She shook her head. “No, sir.” But Isaiah didn’t miss the way she sunk lower in her seat, shrinking like a deflating balloon.

  She didn’t touch her food again. She sat with her back hunched, her shoulders at her ears, face down, hands clasped at her lap, rocking. No. She wasn’t actually rocking, but her body was jerking uncontrollably, shaking.

  “Derek.”

  The guard appeared in the doorway, alert, tense. He stepped into the room, his boots making no sound against the stone. He inclined his head stiffly. “Sir?”

  “Please escort Amalie back to her room. I think she’s had enough for one evening.”

  Again, he bobbed his head. “Yes, sir.”

  Carefully, he reached for Amalie’s chair, his movement calculated. He didn’t touch her, kept his fingers clear of ever touching her, but she flinched, jerked forward.

  “Wait!” Her gasp was barely audible, but it somehow ricocheted through the room like a bomb. The small, frightened sound slashed through Isaiah’s chest. His hands fisted around the lip of the table.

  Derek snapped back, automatically relinquishing his hold on her chair.

  “Amalie, what are you doing?” Garrison swiped his napkin over his mouth, slapped it down over his plate. “This is unacceptable. Return to your room! Derek, take her!”

  “Wait!” It was louder, splintered with terror. “Wait!”

  Derek twitched, a visible motion towards her, but away at the same time, his expression equally torn.

  “Solider, I gave you an order!” Garrison barked, hand slamming on the table, rattling dishes.

  Amalie jumped as if he’d thrown something at her. Her eyes were enormous against her face, the irises pinpricks, barely visible in the ocean of wet blue. “W…wait…!”

  Isaiah leapt to his feet. “Sir—”

  “Sit down, Isaiah!” Garrison was out of his chair now, one hand digging into the pocket of his blazer. “Derek, restrain her!”

  “No! No! Please! I’ll go! I’ll go…please…please!” The chair shrieked, loud, piercing, Amalie tumbled out of it, crashing to the floor as she tried to get away from the table, away from the needle Garrison pulled free. “Please don’t! Please don’t!”

  “Sir!”

  Garrison ignored Isaiah’s sharp snarl. “Hold her!”

  Derek hesitated for a split second to run a frustrated hand through his hair before reaching down pinning Amalie to the ground.

  “Don’t touch me!” Amalie screamed as if his hands were fire. Her tiny body flailed, thrashed as if she were being electrocuted. “Please don’t touch me! Please don’t—”

  “Stop it!” Isaiah was around the table at a run. “Get off her!”

  “Hold her steady!” Garrison was growling over the chaos.

  He tore the cap off with his teeth, twisted Amalie’s arm and sunk the syringe in. Amalie made a sound torn between a sob and a whimper and went limp.

  She lay so still. Her tears glistened in the golden light from the fireplace, dampening her lashes and turning them into spikes. Her breathing was even. Her hair splayed around her head in a riot of auburn curls that looked like spilled blood against the polished floor. In the struggle, her skirt had rode up, tangling around her legs, exposing miles of skin marred by blossoms of blue and black bruises. Isaiah stepped forward to get a better look.

  “Take her to her room,” Garrison instructed, swiping back a lock of hair off his brow.

  Derek faltered. It was quick so no one would notice, but Isaiah caught the shaky hand he passed over his mouth before he stooped down and scooped her up gently into his arms, cradling her into his chest. The fire illuminated the green tinge painting his face as he left the room with Amalie.

  “That was unfortunate.” Garrison tossed the empty syringe onto the table and jerked down the lapel of his blazer.

  “That wasn’t necessary!” Isaiah tried to keep the bite from his tone, tried to keep himself collected, but the raw rage of seeing Amalie handled so brutally threatened to consume him. He wanted to smash his fist into something.

  Garrison whirled on him, eyes alight with fury. “Yes, it was!” He stalked past Isaiah back to his seat, but didn’t sit. “It was necessary! I can’t let her get out of control like that. I can’t let her get to that point. I have to always be ready to pull her back when it looks like it’s going too far. I know it looks—”

  “Barbaric!” Isaiah hissed.

  Garrison nodded, shrugged. “All right, perhaps, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to get that disease out of her head!”

  “She was only asking you to wait!” Dishes rattled, glasses tipped, spilling water over white linen when Isaiah beat a fist against the table. “Why couldn’t you just wait?”

  “Because there was no reason to wait. She wasn’t under attack. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t being asked. I gave an order. It was time for her to rest. She refused. She rebelled. I can’t allow that! It’s for her own good!”

  Isaiah spun away from the man he considered a father. He shoved both hands through his hair, fisted, tugged until it hurt. “It wasn’t right.”

  It took all his willpower not to jerk, not to slap the hand away when it rested lightly on his shoulder. “I know you worry about her, but Amalie can’t be t
rusted around people. She’s not stable, Isaiah. She’s sick. I’m trying to help her. She’s been making progress because of everything I do daily to fix her. I need you to understand this. I need your support! If you care about her,” Garrison added when Isaiah remained quiet for too long. “Will you help me?”

  But what if he didn’t care about her? What if he loved her? What if he was completely and hopelessly and desperately in love with her? Where did that put him then?

  He turned to Garrison. “I’ll help, but,” he added when Garrison beamed, “I want to be able to see her.”

  The smile vanished. “What?”

  It was a thin sheet of ice he was treading, but he pushed on carefully. “She knows me. We used to be friends. I think it would be good for her to see a familiar face.”