The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(5)
Author: M. Leighton

CHAPTER THREE

A dull throbbing at my right temple woke me. I tried to open my eyes, but a blinding whiteness poured through the cracks. Pain cut through my head like a hot knife. Quickly, I squeezed them shut. I waited a few seconds then opened my eyes again, though just a slit. This time I was prepared for the pain. I waited for it to subside as my eyes adjusted to the brightness. When they finally did, I opened them wider.

Above me were bare tree branches, crisscrossing the sky like bony, dead fingers laced together. Beyond them were ominous gray clouds. They looked like snow. That would explain the brilliance. And the cold.

I was lying on my back and it was freezing. My fingers and toes had lost most of their feeling, but I could still wiggle them. Slowly, I turned my head to follow one of the trees to the ground. At its base, about ten feet away, was a dense patch of mountain laurels. Their evergreen leaves sagged under the weight of a thick dusting of snow. I looked to my right and saw a similar scene. I was in some sort of clearing in the middle of a laurel thicket.

A spot of color drew my eye. A bright red dot marred the fluffy white topping on one leaf. I raised my head a few inches off the ground to get a better look. There was another drop on a lower branch. Then another. And another. I followed the crimson drops across the snow as they neared where I lay. The size and number of them steadily increased the closer they got to me.

I reached out to touch one that was within arm’s reach. I dipped my fingers into the cold snow and scooped up the red drop. The snow didn’t melt in my hand. But it turned pink.

My hand was covered in blood.

A wave of fear washed over me, squeezing the air from my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. I sat up quickly, my head spinning in rebellion. The forest around me spun and swam. I closed my eyes until the vertigo subsided then I slowly opened them again.

I held my hand out in front of me and examined it. I didn’t see any cuts or scrapes, nothing to account for the blood on me or in the snow for that matter. I straightened out my arm. It was covered in blood, too.

Then I looked down.

The pale yellow parka I was wearing was drenched in blood and torn to pieces. My legs were stretched out in front of me and they were saturated as well, the denim shredded. No wonder I was so cold.

I scanned the ground in the clearing. There was blood all around me—splatters and streaks, even puddles. It was pooled between my legs. When I saw what I was sitting in, I hurried to my feet. What was left of my clothing was soaked with it. I could feel the wet weight of it all over my back side, too.

I took stock of all my parts and was relieved that I seemed to be intact. I checked for wounds elsewhere, but again I found none. I waited for pain, but none came. After that, only one thing was on my mind: whose blood was it?

I looked left and right and, besides the blood, the snow was completely undisturbed. There was not so much as a footprint impressed upon its perfect surface. I’d have to question later how I’d gotten to where I was without leaving any trace of which direction I’d come.

I spun in a tight circle, looking around for the source of all that blood. That’s when I saw him.

I managed to stifle the scream that bubbled up in my throat. I stood there, in the bloody snow, motionless, just staring at him.

My first thought was that he was dead. And that I might have killed him. My eyes scanned his long form in a quick once-over, looking for blood and injuries. I didn’t see any. Relief washed over me when I saw his wide chest rising and falling rhythmically. He was alive. Alive, but unconscious.

I doubted he was much older than me, maybe just over twenty, and he was clothed entirely in black leather. Only his arms and head were bare. I saw what looked like a black strip of leather lying beside his head. I thought it might have once held the longish hair that was currently spread about his head in a dark halo. Even in his present state, I could see that he was handsome and incredibly intimidating.

Then a troubling thought occurred to me. I looked at his big hands where they lay limp in the snow at his sides. Hands like that could easily rip a girl my size to pieces. There was no blood on them, but still…what if?

My eyes snapped back up to his face when I heard a low moan. A frown pinched his thick brows together, but I could still see the dark crescent of his lashes as they rested on his sharp cheekbones. I knew that if I had any chance of escaping whatever gruesome things had taken place here, I had to move fast. Very fast.

Slowly, I stepped back with one foot, the snow crunching lightly under my weight. The rise and fall of his chest stopped and I held my breath, praying that he wouldn’t awaken. I waited what seemed like an eternity for him to start breathing again. When he did and it looked unlikely that he would wake up, I stepped back with my other foot. Then I stopped. And waited. And watched.

Nothing.

Encouraged, I took another step back. Then another. When still there was no indication he was waking, I picked up the pace a little. I kept my steps as light and soundless as possible.

When I’d successfully put nearly ten feet between myself and the stranger, I turned to navigate the trees. I shifted sideways to slide between two laurels then stepped around a huge oak tree…and ran right into a wide chest covered in skin tight, black leather.

My breath caught in my throat. I looked behind me, back at the now empty impression in the snow. The stranger was gone and was standing right in front of me, staring down at me with furious silver eyes.

The chirp of my alarm clock woke me. Really woke me. I was in my bed, in my room, gasping for air like I’d run a marathon. My heart was hammering against my ribs.

It was just a dream, Carson. Just a dream, I reassured myself. It had felt so incredibly real; I was still shaken from running into that huge stranger.

I lay back against my pillows and concentrated on taking slow, steady gulps of air. I counted backwards from ten and, as usual, it calmed me. Another Porter family trick.

Pushing my covers aside, I made my way to the bathroom to turn on the water for my shower. As I shed my pajamas, I noticed how cold my fingers and toes were and decided that I must’ve kicked the covers off at some point during the night.

As I walked past the mirror to step into the shower, a dark spot on my cheek caught my attention. I leaned over the sink to look closer. It was a single red drop. I wiped it away with one finger and brought it around for inspection. My heart kicked up to a quicker pace. It looked like blood.

I stepped back to examine myself for injuries, almost hoping to find one. I’d rather have scratched myself during the night than think that it had somehow come from my dream.