Awaken Me Darkly (Alien Huntress #1)(37)
Author: Gena Showalter

He liked to toss me a bone every now and then when I killed an other-worlder, but that was about it. Even then I only received a weak smile and an unemotional, “You did okay.”

“You need your head examined, Mia,” I muttered to myself as I picked up the earpiece. “Dad,” I told the speaker and listened as the systematic ringing began.

My stomach churned with dread as I placed the small, fitted receptor in my ear. I could face a group of treacherous aliens and smile. Sometimes I even anticipated a fight. But I could not face my father without becoming a little girl again: nervous, desperate. Sad.

On the seventh ring, he barked a gruff hello.

“Hey, Dad. It’s me.” I winced at the neediness in my tone.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his unemotional self.

“I had an emergency at work.”

“You disrespected your brother by not attending his memorial. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know, but I’m trying to hunt down an alien serial killer.”

He paused. “Any leads?”

I couldn’t discuss the case with him, so I said, “Not yet.”

“Then we have nothing left to talk about, do we?”

Abruptly, the connection severed, and the dial tone buzzed in my ear. I held the small black earpiece in front of me for a prolonged, silent moment, blinking down at it. I shrugged off my hurt. Overall, not a bad conversation. He’d taken it better than I could have hoped. Pushing out a breath, I replaced the receptor back on its wall hook.

I padded a perfectly straight course to the kitchen. No obstacles slowed my progress. Instead of a couch, I had a desk in the middle of my living room, cluttered high with papers and books. And in the far left corner perched a small screen, always displaying the local news. Two barstools and a snack bar in the kitchen completed the ensemble. All brown, all bland.

And that was the extent of my furnishings.

I was rarely here, and besides, the only thing I did here was sleep and work, so why spend the time and money required to make the place cozy? This modest one-bedroom apartment had never felt like home, anyway—as if I even knew what home felt like. I’d never belonged as a young girl, had always been an outsider.

I readied my coffeemaker and set the automatic timer for three hours from now. I’d have a beer, catch some sleep, and when I awoke the coffee would be hot and waiting for me. I opened my fridge, and a list of needed groceries instantly printed from the side.

“I know. I know,” I muttered. I hadn’t had time to shop in a while. Yawning, I reached for a beer—but it slid across the distance and came to me instead.

Startled, I let go, and the glass shattered on the ground. I blinked down at the broken shards, liquid swimming in every direction. What the hell? First the slowdown at the shootout, and now this.

No, no. This had not just happened. I’d imagined it. I was tired, that was all. The bottle had not come to me. I hurriedly cleaned up the mess, not allowing myself to think about it anymore, and strode into my bedroom.

A vivid sapphire and emerald comforter topped the bed, and a three-tiered bureau was pushed against the north wall. The comforter was my only splurge. I stripped to my panties and fell onto the mattress.

When sleep claimed me, so did my dreams.

One moment my mind’s eye saw nothing; the next I saw a brilliant kaleidoscope of images. A woman’s face flashed before me—my face, I realized seconds later, though my hair continually changed colors. Red, white, yellow, brown. I was like a chameleon, and I didn’t understand the reason for the changes. Each time I almost grasped the answer, my ever-changing image floated away.

Then I saw my hero, Dare. His arms were outstretched as I ran to him for a hug. I was only six years old. He was ten. He caught me in his arms, and we both uttered carefree giggles as we toppled onto a cushion of bright green summer leaves. On impact, they propelled high in the air, then floated down around us, a multitude of colors.

“I love you, goose,” he said in that nurturing voice of his.

“I love you, too, Dare.” Anticipatory and smiling, I wiggled from his embrace and pushed to my chubby legs. “Find me, Dare. Find me.” My laughter trailing behind me, I raced into the nearby woods.

Though we’d played hide-and-seek a thousand times before, I always hid behind our towering oak, which boasted swaying branches and chirping birds.

I glanced over my shoulder as he skipped after me. He had just about reached me, had just about shouted, “Gotcha!” when the leaves scattered, disappeared, and my dream shifted. I was suddenly fifteen years old and being dragged down a dark stairwell, then a dirty hallway, by my dad. I was crying, screaming, “Please don’t do this, Daddy. Please don’t.”

“You need to learn respect, Mia.” His features remained indifferent as he jerked open the basement door and shoved me into the dark.

“I’ll be good,” I whimpered. “I promise.”

“This is the only way to learn,” he said. “You’ll thank me one day.” He slammed the door, cutting off all light. The click of the lock resounded in my ears.

So cold.So dark. Both consumed me almost instantly, and my chest suddenly felt too tight. I couldn’t draw in a breath. My heart was pounding frantically, near bursting from the strain. “I’ll be good,” I cried to the door. “I’ll be so good.”

I sank to my knees, the cold wall at my back. Tears froze on my cheeks, and the stale, dusty air stung my nostrils. I wished my mom were here, or Dare, but they were both gone. They’d both abandoned me, though in different ways. Right now my only companion was a single rickety chair, visible for the few seconds the door had remained open. I was going to die here, my mind screamed; the darkness was going to swallow me whole.

As my body shook with terror, the room’s only exit suddenly twisted, and my dream shifted again.

In the next instant, I was sixteen and holding an overnight bag. I stood over Dare’s grave. The moon was high, the air warm. Fireflies flickered overhead, and crickets sang a chorus of hosannas around the headstone. Colorful faux flowers bloomed all around my feet, in direct contrast to my mood.

“I will avenge your death, Dare,” I vowed. “I’ll avenge your death and make Dad proud. You’ll see.”

I slowly cracked open my eyes, only to realize I was panting, sucking in breath after breath as if I couldn’t get enough oxygen. Sweat soaked my body, causing the blankets to stick to my skin.

Dreams usually had that effect on me, and I hated it.