Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) (2 page)

Sam had asked around, but no one knew anything. She tried to tell herself it was a good thing. Not needing to dine at a place like this could be counted as a huge blessing, one she hoped Jacob had been granted. Except she wasn’t so sure that was the case—not when she remembered the boy’s father, and his numb indifference to the world in general. Or when she listened to the nagging feeling that didn’t seem to leave her in peace for even a second. Sam couldn’t help but worry.

The boy had stolen her heart the very first time he and his father showed up in the food line. She still remembered how—with those big, blue eyes—he’d looked up at her and asked if he could have a second roll. His cheeks flamed with shame and the upside-down shape of his mouth told her he hadn’t been expecting her to say yes.

The surprise and huge smile on his sweet eight-year-old face when Sam produced not one, but two extra rolls was all she needed to fall in love with him. Later, as she and the other volunteers finished serving the large crowd, she watched him from behind the food line. He ate with relish and made sure his father did more than just push his own food around the plate.

When she finished serving and got ready to leave, Sam noticed the boy waiting for her. He approached with shy steps and mouthed a quiet “thank you.”

Sam squatted to his level. “No worries. It’s just a couple of rolls,” she said.

“No,” he responded. “It’s tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch.” And with that, he kissed her on the cheek and ran back to his father.

From then on, Sam sneaked extra food for Jacob every time he was there. She also used her allowance to buy him nonperishable food items to take with him, trying to make sure he had enough to eat the next day. When she had discovered his love for reading, she’d added comic books to the supplies and sat with him looking at the illustrations and wondering how the heroes would save the world in the next issue.

Sam sighed and prayed Jacob was all right.

Prayers won’t do you any good,
that very annoying, very niggling part of her said.

It was her Morphid side, she’d decided, a side that might as well be speaking in a dead tongue for all the sense it made. What she wanted to know, though, was what her Morphid side had to do with Jacob? Were he and his father also Morphids? Was she meant to help them? It certainly felt that way half the time.

A caste manual would have been nice.

As they reached the back of the room, Greg took the wrapped present from Sam’s hand and put it back in his pack. Jacob would have loved the detailed illustrations of all the classic fairy tales in the books. She’d bought the set sure the kid would enjoy reading the stories with her.

Greg slung the pack over his shoulder. “Maybe his dad found a job. Or a relative came to the rescue. Or they moved to a better city. West Lafayette, Indiana isn’t high on job market lists, you know. Don’t be pessimistic. Any number of good things could’ve happened.”

“I know. I know. I guess I just miss him.”

“So, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re actually being selfish.” He gave her a gentle hip bump and tipped a half smile. She pushed him back, but couldn’t hide her own smile. He could always get her out of a funk. He didn’t even have to add any teeth to his sexy grin.

They walked out of the soup kitchen and headed toward Sam’s new car, a fairly beat-up, blue Taurus that had replaced her new, burnt-to-a-crisp Prius. He opened the door for her and helped her in. Sam watched him as he walked around the car’s front, his steps self-assured, his broad chest looking too damn hot in his tight t-shirt.

Good lord.
She almost fanned herself.

“Where to?” he asked after getting behind the wheel. He liked driving her, and she didn’t mind letting him feel like a gentleman.

She looked at her watch. “Home, I guess. It’s still a little early to get ready, but . . .” She was all for being punctual.

Greg started the car and said in an up-beat tone, “Home it is.”

As they got on their way, Greg fooled with the radio, the perfect song eluding him as usual.

“Want to play something from my phone?” she asked.

“No, I’m getting tired of the same old songs.”

She smiled. Her playlists
were
getting old. Rolling down the window, she let in some fresh air. A breeze blew in, rustling her long, brown hair and caressing her face. She squinted and, without meaning to, caught sight of her vinculums.

One intact and bright, the one that linked her to Greg.

One torn and pale that had once connected her to Ashby.

A now familiar pang of guilt and pain hit her square in the chest, almost leaving her breathless. She shook her head and looked away. Enough hours had already been wasted in staring at the severed link, wondering if, for the rest of her life, it’d feel this way every time she saw it.

Her Morphid side seemed to taunt her with the notion that there was something to be done about it. But what that was, she had no idea, and it drove her mad to be so clueless about her skills.

“Like this song?” Greg asked.

Sam snapped back into the moment. “Never heard it.” She listened for a few seconds. “It has a good beat.”

“We’re here,” Greg announced a few minutes later.

Funny how Rose’s apartment had become
home
. Sam often thought about her adoptive mother, Barbara, alone in that big house and wondered—not without a little remorse—how she was faring. More than once, Sam had tried to reach out and patch things up, but it had been in vain. There was no reason to feel bad. She had tried. Barbara wanted it this way.

They got out of the car and met on the sidewalk.

“What about your stuff?” She hooked a thumb toward the parked car.

“It’s in the trunk. I’ll get it later. C’mon.” He ushered her forward.

He had been really secretive about what he was wearing to the party tonight, but she was trying not to be one of those nose-all-up-in-your-business kind of girlfriends.

“I’m more worried about what
you’re
gonna wear,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

They’d been looking forward to this party for days, and Sam had stressed over what to wear for just as long.

So he’d better like it.

Chapter 3 - Sam

“Come out. Let me see you,” Greg said, knocking on her bedroom door from the hall.

“Close your eyes.” Sam opened the door a crack.

Wassily nipped at her heels, excited with all the commotion. “Quit, Wassily.” She distractedly swatted a hand the dog’s way. “You’re going to rip my leggings.”

“Leggings!” Greg exclaimed. “What did you dress as, Robin? Damn, I should have been Batman.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. Are your eyes closed?”

“Yeah, they are. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

Sam opened the door a bit more and peered out. Wassily stuck his nose through the crack and pushed his fat body out into the hall. The knob slipped from Sam’s hand, and the door flew open. Greg stood in the middle of the hall, eyes squeezed shut. He was wearing the same jeans and tight t-shirt he’d been wearing all day.

“Hey!” Sam exclaimed. “Where is your costume?”

A mischievous smile spread on his lips, but as he opened his eyes, his playful expression turned into one of shock.

“Wow,” he said in a low exhale. His clear blue eyes scanned the length of her body, stopping at all the right places.

A feverish blush sent her cheeks into unheard-of heat levels.

“You look . . . beautiful and . . .” Greg shook his head as he searched for another word, “ . . . and hot.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, then gathering her indignation at the fact that she was decked out in a sexy-little-devil costume, while Greg was wearing plain clothes. “Where is your costume?” she demanded again in a clipped tone.

“I’m wearing it,” he said, reaching a hand toward her head. “Nice horns,” he added and wiggled her diadem.

She slapped his hand away. “Answer my question, Greg.”

“Are you wearing a tail?” he asked suggestively, as he tried to look behind her.

Sam crossed her arms and scowled.

“Chill out,” Greg said, putting his hands up, “I’m wearing my costume.” He pointed at several candy wrapper attached to his jeans, which she hadn’t noticed before.

“What kind of lame costume is that?”

“I’m a Smartie Pants. Get it?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Oh, how clever. Smarties’ candy wrappers and clothes pins is your idea of a costume?” She tried to hold a straight face but couldn’t help the snicker that ensued.

“I knew you would like it.” He pulled her in for a hug.

“You have a real costume, right?” she asked, sure he wouldn’t, couldn’t, do this to her.

“Of course I do.” He let go of her and kissed the top of her forehead. “It’s in the car. The mask is stifling, so I took it off.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and walked her down the hall. Rose was curled up on the sofa, wearing a blue Snuggie and reading a novel.

“Look at you!” Rose exclaimed. “That’s a bit . . . sexy, don’t you think? Don’t let James see you like that, or there’ll be no trick-or-treating for you tonight.”

“I guess we’d better leave before he gets back then.” Greg walked toward the door.

“Don’t stay out too late,” Rose said, going back to her book.

After they got in the car, Sam looked in the back seat to make sure he indeed had a costume with him.

“Just a mask?” She sighed. “It’s hideous. What is it supposed to be?”

“Zombie guy, I guess,” Greg said as he cranked up the engine.

“Very creative.”

He winked and drove them to Brooke’s famous Halloween bash. Every year, her parents went all out with decorations and let their only child put on the wildest party of the year. The first time Sam was invited ten years ago, she’d gone as Raggedy Ann. It was a wonder how she’d now progressed to sexy devil. What had she been thinking when she let Brooke talk her into these red leggings and doll-sized satin dress?

“Oh, crap. Looks like we’re the first ones here.” Greg parked on the empty street.

“I knew we’d be early, but I didn’t want us to be first.”

He cleared his throat. “We don’t have to be.” He snaked his muscular arms around her waist and pulled her closer. “There’s plenty we can do in here to pass the time.” He kissed her cheek lightly.

“Is there?”

“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled as his lips inched closer to hers.

“Sounds very entertaining.” Sam turned her face. Her lips met his, and her heart started racing as it always did.

Greg’s arms tightened around her as the kiss grew deeper and deeper. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt like she could die in his arms. His insistent mouth left her and traveled to her cheekbone and from there to her earlobe.

“Greg,” she said, his name a hot breath from her lips.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Forget the party. Let’s go to my place.” He continued to kiss her, getting more daring by the second.

“Brooke will get mad if we skip.”

It felt overdue for their relationship to move to the next level. Greg had never said this much, but Sam could tell by how quickly his kisses moved from calm to hungry and desperate. Not that resisting the temptation was easy for her, but she was still struggling with unwanted baggage.

“You can ask for forgiveness later,” he said, letting one of his hands drop to her knee.

Sam’s heart stopped, then started beating a crazy rhythm that seemed to boom inside her head. His touch was exhilarating and distressing at the same time.

Placing his other hand on the back of her neck, Greg pulled her in for another intense kiss. His lips were warm and fit hers perfectly. His hand moved from her neck to caress her earlobe, sending a wicked chill down her spine and a pounding hammer into her chest. At the same time, heated fingers ventured up her leg to heights he had never dared explore. She gave a little, involuntary sigh.

Greg’s lips slid down her neck, igniting her skin. Conflicting emotions played inside her. She had told him
no
so many times, even as the word
yes
hung from her lips.

After Sam had watched Danata rip apart her vinculum with Ashby, then watched Ashby die as a result, the feeling that she was somehow incomplete had hounded her day in and day out. She had been joined, fated
,
to two boys: Ashby, her Companion, and Greg, her Keeper. The abrupt separation from one of them had left her body and some deep part of her soul aching with a dull quality as if the emptiness would never go away. At first, surviving was a one-day-at-a-time ordeal, and happiness had seemed impossible. With time, the ache subsided and the sensation that something was missing diminished. Still, a certain reticence and guilt lingered, as well as her constant pondering and angst over her severed, dangling vinculum.

But her feelings for Greg were strong, and that didn’t help. She wanted to be honest with him, and she felt it would be duplicitous to move forward when these worries lingered. Then there was the guilt. Her other half had been ripped away from her, and the idea that she could have done something to prevent what happened to her Companion cast a shadow over her relationship with Greg.