Page 18 of Ghosts of the Dead

“You were going through something, Caspian. We all are. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, and have pasts and shit we still have to work through. The fact that you care about it now? That’s what matters. That’s what makes you different from those who do worse and no longer have a conscience. We all do stupid shit sometimes. It’s how we react afterward that shows our true character, and don’t you ever let anyone convince you otherwise.” I rest my hand over his that’s still gripping my arm, noting how his fingers are long and elegant even when trembling. “I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

He flinches like my words hurt more than they should. “You’re unbelievable. Most people wouldn’t want me around.”

I offer him a small, tired smile. “Well,” I say, “lucky for you, I’m not most people.”

He chuckles. “I’m beginning to see that.”

Then, I lower my voice and look him right in his pale blue eyes. “And for what it’s worth, Caspian, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t speak, but his hand drops from my arm with obvious reluctance. When his shoulder brushes mine again as he settles back into place, the contact feels intentional, like he’s seeking comfort he’s afraid to ask for. I nudge him back with a playful bump, and his lips twitch before curving into the faintest half-smile. It’s faint, but it’s real and it transforms his entire face.

And damn, it’s a beautiful smile.

9

MARS

The first thing I feel is warmth.

The second is a pounding in my skull, like someone’s swinging around a sledgehammer inside my head, trying to crack it from the inside out.

I groan, and the sound scrapes up my throat like rusted nails. My eyelids peel open to a ceiling that barely exists. The roof is so damaged, I can see straight through to the sky above.

Pale blue light slips through shattered beams and twisted metal above, the morning sky mottled with soot and streaks of ash still drifting lazily through the air.

The fire has died down to glowing coals. Smoke coils from it in ghost-thin tendrils, thick with the scent of charred wood, melted fabric, and scorched metal. The kind that clings to skin long after flames die out.

I shift and wince. Every muscle aches. There’s a heavy pull across my ribs, and my neck throbs where I must’ve hit the bar floor. Flashes of rotters and the explosion fly through my memory like a gruesome highlight reel. My stomach churns, dry and acidic. I need to find her.

Across the open shelter, Jace crouches beside the rust-bucket car I thought I’d imagined, but I guess we really drove our way out of the city. He’s wiping grease from his hands onto a rag that used to be one of my t-shirts. His face is half in shadow, but I’d bet he’s wearing that same uptight asshole look he wears so well.

Though I notice the way his gaze keeps drifting toward Autumn when he thinks no one’s looking. There’s something careful in how he watches her, like she’s something precious he’s afraid to break. That’s interesting, because I haven’t known him to give much of a shit about anyone. He’s a decent guy who respects those who deserve it, but I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who he thought was worth his attention.

Autumn sits close to him, and she looks wrecked to put it nicely. Her hair is tangled and messy, with strands sticking to the sweat on her cheek. There are shadows under her eyes that weren’t there before, and the bandage on her wrist is a stark white slash against the grime. I’m glad someone took care of her, though I have a feeling it wasn’t her choice, if she’s still as stubborn with them as she was with me. Regardless, it’s a relief I didn’t get her killed. The last thing I remembered was that rotter hand reaching for her. I wonder how we got out.

I don’t know if it’s the way the early morning light shines down on her, but even exhausted and injured, she’s beautiful. More than beautiful. She’s magnetic in a way that makes it hard to look away. The kind of woman who could bring grown men to their knees without even trying.

Meanwhile, Caspian is curled up on the far side of the shelter with his hoodie pulled low over his face, and his long legs drawn up like he’s trying to fold himself into nothing. He doesn’t look like he slept at all. I wonder how bad his flashbacks were this time. Even from here, I catch himstealing glances at Autumn when her attention is elsewhere. Soft, almost reverent looks that he quickly hides.

Interesting. Seems I’m not the only one affected by our purple-haired, molotov-wielding savior. I lick my cracked lips and try to speak. It takes two tries before anything comes out.

“Hey,” the word emerges as a croak, so I clear my throat and try again. “Did the world end again while I was out?”

Jace looks up. “Just the usual amount of apocalypse.” His tone is dry, but there’s relief behind it.

Autumn shifts closer, and I catch a whiff of her scent. Smoke and something uniquely her that makes my pulse quicken despite the pounding in my head. “You’re awake.”

“Think so.” I squint and drag a hand down my face, getting a palm full of sweat instead. “Though I had awilddream.”

Her brow lifts and guarded curiosity flickers in her hazel eyes. “Yeah? What about?”

I exhale through my nose, head lolling back. “Kissing a beautiful woman. Wouldn’t mind revisiting that one.”

Autumn freezes and color floods her cheeks until they’re bright red. The sight is so damn appealing; I want to kiss her just to see if I can make her blush harder.

Jace smirks from the car. “Something like that.”

My stomach sinks. Wait. I glance back at Autumn, but she avoids my gaze.

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