Capturing Today (TimeShifters Book 2) (20 page)

Apparently I’m a terrible pirate.

Losing Lark feels like someone walked up to me and tore a large chunk right out of my middle, and Michael possesses that same power. A smart woman would push him away. Call out the junkyard dogs that used to patrol the landscape of my heart and gain as much space as they could. And a week ago, in a different situation, I would have.

But death changes a person. It forces them to imagine what life would be like if other people were gone. If Michael suddenly vanished …

“Please, stay,” I whisper.

He’s at my side in an instant. He gently takes my arm and points me back to the bed. My bed isn’t abnormally tall, but he keeps his hand on me, guiding me, as I climb under the covers. He turns away, and my hand moves ninja fast to clutch his wrist. After my mournful begging, he’s going to just leave without a word?

He lays his hand over mine and squeezes. “One second.”

I drop my hold, and he crosses over to the pad on the wall that controls everything in my room. The overhead light flips off, and the lamp next to my bed dims. When he comes back to the bed, he stays on top of the covers. From my position facing the wall, I can’t see him, but his arm rests along my back. After a few minutes, his breaths even out, and his arm relaxes.

But my mind races. Thinking of my dad jogged my recent memories. I’ve been so consumed with mourning Lark that I’ve forgotten something vital.

“Are you still awake?”

“Hmm?”

I twist back around and tug my arm out from the blankets to rest it on Michael’s chest. “I saw my mom.”

The bed creaks as he sits up. “Your mom?”

I sit up too. We’re never going to sleep tonight. “She was there. I know it was her.”

“Since she changed, no one’s seen her. There were rumors that she might not be alive.” His gaze collides with mine. “You’re sure it was her?”

“Positive.”

‘What did she say?”

“Nothing. She only stared.”

“Stared?”

“Honestly, Michael, stop repeating everything. I’m not stuttering.”

He shakes his head. “Did you want to talk to her?”

“Of course.”

“But she’s a Shade.”

I run my finger down a crack in the paint on the wall. “What if they’re not all bad?” I retrace the crack. “What if we’re wrong about them?”

“They exist because of human despair—how can that not be bad?” He takes my hand and holds it between both of his. “I understand the pull toward your mother … the desire to know, but promise me you won’t seek her out.”

“I don’t know if I can.” I pull back.

“Please, Gabby, do this.” He tightens his hold on my hand. “Promise me.”

“But if I get the chance to talk to her, maybe she can help me understand. I need to talk to her, don’t you get that?”

“The woman who is a Shade isn’t your mother any longer. I know that sounds bad but—”

“What if I’m just like her? What if I’m doomed—” My voice cracks.

In order to see each other better in the dim light, Michael places a hand on either side of my face and leans close. “You are not your mother. Hear me, Gabriella Creed. You are strong and brave and kind and good. You will succeed and change the world. You are already doing that. Stay true to your course. Don’t let anything cause you to waiver. Even this.”

Tingling warmth surges from my heart and spreads down my arms. Michael’s benediction unlocks something deep inside me, allowing my lungs to finally fill all the way.

What I would give to stay in this moment for as long as possible, in the safe harbor of my room, away from all but Michael with his encouraging words and kind gestures. I have to find a way to let him know what he means to me. Lark will never get the hug she needed—I don’t want regrets like that in my relationship with Michael. Not just him but in any of my friendships.

Currently though, Michael has all my attention. He’s consistently been there for me in my darkest moments. His patience goes beyond human limits. And the hooded look in his eyes stirs something in my stomach that clamors for a response.

Neither of us are particularly good with words—so why not action?

I draw my fingers up Michael’s shirt and trace them up over the soft stubble lining his jaw. His lips part as his breath catches. Finally close enough to smell the woodsy scent of his hair and skin again—that fragrance will always be home now—I meet his eyes for a second before letting my lids slide closed. An instant later, my lips cover his in a hungry kiss.

Michael cups the back of my head, and his fingers slip into my hair as he deepens the kiss. In response, my heart pounds like an over caffeinated hummingbird. Breaking contact with my lips, he drops tender kisses onto my cheek, my jaw, my neck. I shudder. This is so different than Porter’s kiss. Michael’s caress can only be described as reverent.

Greedily, I dip my head, reclaiming his lips. Taking on a mind of their own, my hands find the soft fabric of his fitted t-shirt and run down his sides. When I locate the end of his shirt, I walk my fingers to his skin. As we kiss, I feel for the scar on his back and press the tips of my fingers into it.
Mine.
The mark binds us. It’s there because of me. Because Michael was willing to protect me with his life before he even knew me.

This is a man worth clinging to.

The touch of my chilled skin against his heated back snaps Michael out of our moment. As if contact with me burns him, his muscles lock up, and then he pushes away from me so hard that he starts to fall backwards—off of the bed. I reach to right him but instead am caught in the momentum and fall on top of him. When he hits the ground, air rushes from his lungs in a loud groan. Before I can even sit up, Michael rolls out from under me and is on his feet, halfway across the room.

Blood still whirls around my body like a bunch of kids on their first roller-coaster, making me too weak to stand. My knees are pure jelly. I rock back to sit on my heels. “What—”

“We can’t.” Michael’s pacing near the bathroom, which is physically as far away as he can get in my room. “You and me … we can’t.”

We can’t?
A hollow ache throbs in my chest.

Michael tears at his hair. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have stayed. We shouldn’t have been like this. We’ve been too close for a while now. I was stupid to think …” He shakes his head. “So stupid. I’ve led you on … made you believe this was okay. I’m to blame.” He’s rambling.

Michael doesn’t ramble.

But his words matter very little. All I hear is
I don’t want you
.

“We can’t?” I lamely parrot him.      

“You have a Pairing.” He tosses his hands to his side.

“He doesn’t love me.”

He stops pacing and pins me with an incredulous look. “Impossible.”

I swallow hard. Now Michael knows what a failure I am. I can’t hack it as a Shifter. Not even on the basic stuff.

Michael tilts his head, considering his words. “You have to make it work with him.”

“But I don’t—”

“We don’t have a choice.” His voice comes out strangled. “We’re Shifters. If we chose not to follow one rule, then what does that mean for the rest of them?”

I rise to my feet and clench my fists. “But I don’t care about the rules.”

“I do.” He thumps his chest. “I care.”

“But not about me?”

He points at me. “Don’t twist my words.”

I square my shoulders. “Isn’t that what you’re saying though?”

“Shifting is all I have. It’s what I am.” He closes his eyes. “I can’t.”

Each word feels like he’s plunging a knife into my most vital organ.

Sword master indeed.

Out of everything in Keleusma and in regards to shifting, I thought I was certain about Michael. About his feelings. I may not understand much about missions and leadings, but I knew how to read my friend. I’ve been so misguided. And if I’m wrong about him, then I’m probably wrong across the board.

“It’ll be fine.” He takes cautious steps toward me. “We just have to pretend like that never happened.”

“You could forget that?”

“We have to.”

“I can’t.”

“Gabby, we
have
to.”

“Didn’t you like … I thought—”

“We’re friends. Let’s just be friends.” He reaches toward me, but I duck away from his grasp.

“If you can’t … I don’t want to be around you. I won’t be able to.”

Shift me. Right now, Nicholas. Listen up—rescue me from this. Please?

Michael catches one of my wrists before I can move, and then he secures the other. It’s not a hard or possessive hold, more like he just doesn’t want me to disappear on him. He knows my tendency to flee all too well.

“Don’t say that. We can get past this.” His soft eyes plead with me. “You’re my best friend. We’ll figure this out. We need each other.”

Fisting my hands, I bring them up and then drive them down and apart in a quick motion. It’s a move they teach on the first day of self-defense class—how to get out of an unwanted hold. I do it with more force than I meant to, and it sends Michael staggering back, right into the door. Seizing the opportunity, I slam my hand on the keypad, making it glide open, and then I shove him out into the hall. 

I pierce him with a glare. “Let’s get one thing straight. I have never needed you.”

Then I hit the door pad, making it whoosh shut before he can stick his hand in to stop it.

But not before seeing his face crumble.

I don’t know how many hours have passed, but Michael finally stopped knocking. I think he’s gone now.

Did he actually believe I’d open the door and want to rekindle our friendship after what happened? Our kiss might have meant nothing to him, but it did to me. I can’t go back to how things were. I’ll never be able to. I’ve ruined any chance of friendship going forward. Misjudged and been so wrong about everything— not just Michael.

Still slumped against the door, I bury my face in my hands again. My heart feels like it weighs as much as a bowling ball and is currently residing in the back of my throat, pressing down, making it difficult to take anything beyond a half breath. This probably explains why my head aches so much.

I love Michael Pace.

I didn’t set out for this to happen. Never planned it or tried to cultivate these feelings. But they’re there—exposed—like blood pooling in a bruise, just hurting and raw. I spent eight months thinking about him, and maybe that’s the issue. This friendship—this
something more
—it’s all in my head. Made up. A figment of too many months spent exaggerating the significance of the time we passed together when I first learned I was a Shifter.

No matter how many times I shove the recent memory away, the kiss keeps replaying in my mind. What came over me? I basically mauled the man, giving him little choice at the beginning. Then again, he could have ended it all so much sooner. Spared me a lot of embarrassment. I rest my forehead on my palm and suck in a trembling breath. What possessed me to reach up his shirt? To touch his skin? Just like Porter. And Michael was probably weirded out by me like I was when Porter tried to get handsy. Michael even attempted to get away, but I begged him to stay. What must he think of me?

A sob rips its way from deep within my chest.

“I’m so sorry.” Am I speaking to Porter, Michael, or myself? I don’t even know anymore. Or care.

If my touch gives Michael the creeps—pressing the back of my hand against my mouth, I shake my head—I can’t handle that. I can’t see him. I don’t want to. I won’t be able to look him in the eye ever again. He doesn’t want me. Why would he? My own Pairing doesn’t want me, so why should Michael?

Realizing I love him only makes it worse.

So much worse.

Lark was joking when she accused me of not being observant, but she was correct. Michael doesn’t care about me … not in any special way. He doesn’t love me. I read every look, every conversation, every offer of a hand—wrong. He is simply a Trainer, acting like a Trainer. Nothing more.

And I’m an idiot.

My bones ache. Is that possible? Because they do. I crawl over to the couch and press my fingers into the worn fabric. It’s closer than the bed, and it has no memories of Michael to mock me with. No scent of him like my pillow does. Pulling into the fetal position, I close my eyes, knowing full well that sleep isn’t going to happen yet.  

A time often comes when a person finally acknowledges that no matter how hard they want to, they don’t fit somewhere, and they never will. This is my time. I am not a Shifter, not really. I don’t belong in Keleusma. I never have. I only stayed because of Michael. Now that I don’t have him, there’s nothing holding me back from Erik’s offer.

After sleeping, I’ll leave. Leave and never look back. I don’t belong here. My only other option is Mónatos. My mother. I should have joined Erik days ago. I will now. 

In the morning, knocking wakes me.
Go away
. Guess I finally fell asleep at some point. I turn toward the back of the couch and yank a throw pillow over my head in an attempt to block out the noise. Block out
him
.

But it continues.

Why can’t he respect the fact that I don’t want to see him? Ever.