I Am the Wild (The Night Firm Book 1) Read online

"Um, I don't think so. You've already been more than generous."

  When we hang up, I check my bank account again to make sure my eyes weren't deceiving me before, but the money is all there. I know the check I wrote will clear soon, but that still leaves a comfortable savings and a decent buffer fund should this job go south fast. That gives me a little room to breathe. I worked so hard to build a stable financial structure, never imagining that one year of medical expenses could wipe it all out so quickly.

  Cancer kills in more ways than one.

  It destroys everything about a person's life.

  I shake my head, unwilling to dwell on that now. I'm turning things around. Making progress with my life. I think.

  I hope.

  I close my eyes and let myself try to doze until I feel the limo slowing.

  "Are we there already?" I ask, surprised the drive went by so fast.

  "Not exactly," Lily says. "We have one more passenger to pick up." She says this sheepishly, and I realize why when the door opens and Sebastian slides into the back, newspaper in hand.

  The look of irritation doesn't appear on his face until he sees me.

  Naturally.

  Seriously though, what did I do to piss this guy off?

  The Drive

  We grow accustomed to the Dark—

  When Light is put away—

  ~ Emily Dickinson

  I sigh as he picks a seat as far from me as he possibly can. Fortunately, there's plenty of room back here, and we don't have to sit too close to each other.

  Not that my body isn't craving being just a little bit closer to this insanely attractive man. But my brain knows better, and I'm sticking with my brain for now.

  He gives me a curt nod. "I hope you do not mind, since we are both going to the same location."

  "It's fine," I say. "I mean, obviously. This is your car and driver. I just appreciate the ride. And the job." I add, almost as an afterthought.

  He grunts and opens his newspaper to begin reading.

  "You don't find it tedious to read the news that way?" I ask, as Lily starts the limo and gets us back on the road.

  "No. I do not."

  "You can find all that and more online," I say, holding up my smart phone.

  He sighs in exasperation and lowers the paper to glare at me. "I prefer analogue to digital. Call me old-fashioned."

  Lily giggles at that and doesn't seem the least bit intimidated when Sebastian casts his standard glare at her. She just laughs harder. "Oh, Uncle Seb, stop being such a brat."

  I'm surprised to hear her teasing him like that, but not as surprised as I am when his face lights up in a smile and he laughs in return. It's the first time I've heard him laugh, and it's deep and husky, and makes his face even more handsome. Damn him.

  The moment passes, however, and when he returns his focus to me, his energy shifts.

  And not for the better.

  "Look," I say, ready to settle this between us once and for all. "I know you think I'm not serious about this job because of what I told you on the subway, but I am. I don't even think I'd want to do art for my career. If I had to worry about drawing for others, for money, I might not get the joy from it I do now. I meant what I said during the interview: I'm smart, educated and resourceful. Granted, I'm still not entirely clear what my job is, or how your law firm even operates effectively if it's only open at night, but I can promise you I will learn everything I need to, and quickly. I work hard, study hard, and always excel at what I do. Always. So, if you'll just give me a chance, you'll find that I'm an excellent employee."

  I say this all in one breath, and when I'm done I slump back into my seat, emotionally spent.

  He stares for a moment and then says, “Do not presume to know my thoughts, Miss Oliver.” And with that he finds the next page of his newspaper and turns away from me once more.

  I’ve clearly been dismissed.

  Determined to make some use out of what is proving to be a long car ride with an unpleasant companion, I pull out my sketchbook and close my eyes. I take a deep breath and mentally count backwards from ten. As I do, I follow a staircase in my mind down, down, down until I’m standing before a large red door. Opening it, I step through into a secret garden where I instantly connect to my muse. She glows within a swaying willow tree, her form moving through the bark and branches, her hair falling around her in waves of green. Her voice echoes in the wind and the rustling of leaves.

  She sings to me a song. I catch it and smile. Then open my eyes and draw.

  I don’t think too hard about what I’m drawing. I just let my muse’s voice speak through the charcoal and pencil.

  Everything around me is silent as I work, and I don’t realize until the drawing is complete that Sebastian is staring at me.

  Or rather, at my drawing.

  I study it myself, now that my focus is returning to normal and my head is clearing. Four men—clearly the Night brothers—stand back to back, forming a circle around a woman, surrounded by a dark and menacing wood, with trees that look alive and hungry in the worst possible way. The brothers hold drawn swords, steel glinting in the moonlight.

  I am the woman they are guarding.

  We're all standing in the center of a pentagram burned into the grass beneath our feet.

  Sebastian is still staring, and I quickly close my sketchbook and slip it into my bag, embarrassed that my boss saw what I drew. Embarrassed that my subconscious pulled that image out of my mind for this exercise.

  And more than a little unnerved at what that image might mean.

  “How did you learn to do that?” Sebastian asks.

  “Do what? Draw?”

  “Well, yes, that, too. But how did you learn to induce a trance state so easily?”

  “Um. I taught myself. Both things. As a kid I loved drawing, and the obsession never went away. I drew on anything I could with anything I could. By the time I was ten I was selling my drawings to the neighbors. My brother was my business partner and marketer," I say with a smile. "He could sell shoes to a shoemaker. He’d go door to door, and by the time he came back all my art had sold. I didn’t learn until much later that he was the one buying most of it, because he didn’t want me to give up on my dreams.” I suck in a breath to keep myself from rambling even more. He doesn’t need to hear about my childhood. And I don’t need to dive into stories about my brother right now.

  Instead, I turn to his original question. “As for the trance, it’s just a silly self-hypnosis trick. It helps put me in a more creative mindset. It’s nothing, really. Anyone can do it. Just google a YouTube video.”

  He scoffs at that. “Trust me, it is not “nothing” as you say. And I do not watch the YouTube.”

  I snort-laugh at that in a very unladylike way. “What are you ninety years old? The YouTube? Oh dear. You have so much to learn.”

  “No offense, but I highly doubt there’s anything you could possibly teach me,” he says, and then he snaps up his newspaper and proceeds to ignore me again.

  “How could I possibly find that offensive?” I ask, with a sharp dose of sarcasm before I turn away from him, folding my arms firmly across my chest to reinforce my point.

  I press my lips together, biting my tongue to avoid saying something hot-headed and stupid to my new boss who already doesn’t like me. The boss I now have to live with.

  What have I gotten myself into? I wonder, not for the first time and very likely not for the last.

  The minutes tick by slowly, and the exhaustion of the last couple of days seeps into my bones. Just as I'm about to doze off, my flash buzzes in my head. My eyes blink open just as my body slams forward. My seat belt tightens around my waist and chest, digging into my skin even through my clothes, pushing out all the breath in me.

  And then my world is spinning. Spinning wildly, toppling end over end, crunching and slamming and crashing into itself.

  Pain bites into me, but I can't tell where on my body it specifically hurts. My nerves dance
, lit up like current pouring through live wires. I feel everything and it becomes a kind of nothing.

  When I can think clearly again, I find I'm hanging from my seatbelt, upside down in what’s left of the car, my head spinning and my breathing coming in short gasps.

  There's a voice, but I can't find the face it belongs to.

  He's saying my name.

  "Eve. Eve, focus on me. Eve. Stay with me."

  I blink. Something thick drips into my eyes, stinging. The face in question comes into focus, and though my mind is sluggish, and words and names come reluctantly, as if being dragged through tar, the visceral response of my body is instant. Warmth floods me, and I feel myself sinking into him, like into quicksand.

  "Sebastian." My throat croaks. "What happened?"

  "We hit a deer. The limo flipped. I need to get you out of here. I'm going to unbuckle you, but I need you to hold onto me. Can you do that?"

  I lick my parched lips and nod. His words sound like they're coming from underwater, but I think I understand.

  He reaches for me, one hand wrapping behind my back, the other hand over my waist. "Are you ready?" he asks.

  I nod, then mumble, “Yes.”

  My heart quickens - in fear? anticipation? - as he unlatches the seatbelt. Gravity takes over and I fall unceremoniously into his arms. The removal of pressure causes blood to rush into my extremities, leading to pain.

  A whole lot of pain.

  I look down and see a metal rod sticking out of my right leg. "Holy shit!" I scream, as my leg spasms.

  I reach to pull the rod out, but Sebastian stops me.

  "It's safer to leave it for now."

  I’m fighting to breathe, my ribs aching with the effort to move oxygen through my body.

  I bury my face in his chest, closing my eyes against whatever is happening outside his embrace. Fear pulses through me, tainting my body with the sour smell of it.

  Everything slows, and there's an unearthly quiet outside for a moment, before a loud WHUMP comes from somewhere behind us and heat begins penetrating the back seat, filling it with smoke.

  For a moment I contemplate my own death, that this might be my last moment on earth. I find I'm not as scared as I always expected I would be. I will be with my parents and my brother. With my family.

  But I don't die. Not now, anyways.

  Sebastian holds me close to him, crouching in the ruined limo.

  “I need you to trust me,” he says, his mouth pressed against my ear.

  I nod.

  “Good. I'm going to set you down so I can pry the door open. Stay close to me.”

  I nod, ignoring the panic rising in my chest and the pain spreading through me.

  My lungs fill with smoke and I choke as he puts me on the floor – actually, the ceiling since we're upside down - beside him, my head pounding, my vision dancing with specks of light.

  I glance toward the front of the limo, where Lily was, but she's not there. Did she get thrown out of the car when we crashed?

  Sebastian grunts, pulling my attention back to him, as he uses his muscular legs to kick the door. I'm about to tell him that's not going to work, but my mouth clamps shut when the door flies off the hinges and into the street.

  I stare in confused wonder and awe, the pain from my injuries subsiding at the distraction of seeing Sebastian perform superhuman feats of strength. I’ve read stories about this. About the adrenaline surge that can happen during a life or death crisis. How it can give ordinary people extraordinary strength for a few moments to accomplish the impossible. And Sebastian certainly isn’t ordinary. He’s anything but.

  Before I can process much more, he’s lifting me up into his arms. I grab my bag and clutch it to my chest as he extracts us from the wreckage of the burning limo. And then he runs. I expect to be jolted around like a sack of potatoes, but the motion is smooth, seemingly effortless, which is mind-boggling.

  “Wait! Lily! We can’t leave her. We have to go back!”

  “Lily got away," he says, showing no sign of weariness. "She knows what to do. We have to get out of here.” His pace does not slow, and I'm beginning to worry he's going to try to run all the way to our final destination.

  Whereas his adrenaline may be everlasting, mine, alas, is not. It crashes, leaving me writhing in pain.

  I scream as I feel the deep wound of the metal bar plunged into my leg.

  Sebastian glances down at me, his brow furrowed. “You are not dying. I know it hurts, but you will live. Help is coming.”

  As if on cue, I hear the sound of an approaching vehicle and glance around to see a black sedan pull up beside us. Sebastian nods to it and somehow opens the back door, laying me gently in the backseat. I expect him to take the front seat, but he surprises me by scooting in next to me, careful not to bump my injured leg.

  I’m shocked to see that Lily is the driver. She somehow got away completely unscathed and found us a new car. There’s definitely more to her than meets the eye.

  Lily hands Sebastian a small black bag, flinching when she gets a good look at me.

  "Is it that bad?" I ask. I feel beat up, bloody and miserable, so yes, it probably is.

  "You'll be okay," she says, with an encouraging smile.

  Sebastian pulls a jar of green goo and a strip of leather out of the bag. “This will hurt. A lot. But then it will be better." He hands me the leather and then gently pulls my injured leg onto his lap. "Bite on this."

  Still somewhat dazed, I do what I’m told, taking the leather and placing it between my teeth, thinking, is this really necessary?

  It only takes a moment to realize...It's necessary.

  My teeth dig new grooves into the leather as Sebastian pulls the rod out of my leg and proceeds to smear the putrid-smelling green goo over it.

  The sensation vacillates from fire to ice as the ointment is absorbed into my flesh and blood. I feel infected. Feverish. The pain is so fierce I lose sense of anything else.

  He brushes my hair to the side and rubs more of the ointment into my head wound. The smell is nauseating, and my headache, already a level ten, ramps up until I have to close my eyes to keep from vomiting and passing out.

  I fade in and out of consciousness for some unknowable amount of time, until finally the pain eases and then disappears entirely.

  With its departure I come back to myself and open my eyes. I let out a deep sigh of relief and tentatively test sitting up on my own. Nothing terrible happens. Yay.

  I extricate my leg from the delicious lap of Sebastian Night and am stunned to see that the gaping wound that was there just a few moments ago has now knitted itself back together.

  “How?” I ask, my words failing me.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he says, though he doesn’t sound happy about it.

  “That’s all you have to say? I’ll find out soon enough?” I respond, incredulous.

  “Why did you take this job, Eve?” he asks, deflecting.

  “You answer my question first,” I counter.

  And then I wait. Silently. Eyes on him as he weighs what he wants more.

  "There's a lot I'm not telling you, though not by my choice. There is risk with this job. We make enemies. And our latest client is something of a high-profile celebrity in certain circles, and that comes with additional risk."

  “Who’s the client?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Your turn, Eve. A deal’s a deal”

  I nod. “That it is. Very well. I took the job because everything about who I am changed the night my brother died.”

  “From cancer. I was sorry to hear that. My condolences.”

  I clear my throat and continue. “He didn’t die of cancer. Not officially,” I say, the words alive in my throat, like bees demanding to be let out. Words I have never spoken to another living person. But words I tell myself every single day.

  “My brother, Adam, had cancer, yes. But it was in remission. We were happy. Celebrating. Planning for the future. O
r so I thought. I got the call at 4:34 am on Friday the thirteen. No joke. On Friday the thirteen, of all days, I got the call that my brother had died by suicide. He’d gotten the results from his latest scan. The cancer was back. He left me a note explaining it all. How he knew this had already wiped me out financially. How I'd put my career on hold to stay home and take care of him. How my health was going to shit and I needed to take better care of myself.” At this I can’t stop the tears. They flow, and the emotion sticks in my throat as I speak. “As if losing my twin, my best friend, my other half, as if losing him would ever make my life easier in any way at all.”

  What I don't say is that I already knew he was dead when the call came in. I had the worst flash of my life that morning. And I knew.

  Sebastian doesn't look away from my grief when our eyes meet, and I can see in his eyes that he's known his share, too.

  I wipe my tears and calm my breathing, centering myself before I continue. "After that, going back to the life I had before, well, it just seemed pointless. And painful. My brother is everywhere in my old life. There was no aspect of our lives that didn't intersect in some way. I needed something different."

  Sebastian lets out a sudden humorless laugh. "You definitely got different."

  Our car slows and Lily turns to look at us. "We're here."

  I've been so caught up in my story, and in Sebastian, that I failed to notice the scenery around us changing.

  We are in the middle of the country, surrounded by the ocean on one side and forest on the other, and there is a house—nay an estate — lit by thousands of candles, with a manicured topiary garden lining the path to the front of an actual castle made of white stone and complete with four towers and several turrets. In the center, above the drawbridge, is a jaw-dropping rose window made of stained glass that shimmers even in the darkness. The castle is surrounded by a moat with koi splashing within.

  "This looks like something you'd find in Europe on a tourist to-do list," I say through breathy excitement, momentarily forgetting about my freshly healed leg and Sebastian’s evasiveness. "Is this where I'll be living?"

  "It is," Lily says, when Sebastian doesn't answer. "Welcome to your new home, Eve. Welcome to the family."