Capturing Today (TimeShifters Book 2) (3 page)

“I don’t know, okay?” I give him a gentle push to gain some ground. “Do you have feelings for Emma?”

Emma knows nothing about me being a Shifter or Porter being my Pairing. She can’t. Only Pairings know about our world. Last year, when I went missing, Porter told her I was serving at an orphanage in Mexico. Emma asks me about it all the time and begs to see pictures. Which makes for some pretty awkward conversations with my once best friend.

“It’s complicated.” Porter shrugs. “I do, but there is this constant guilt, like I’m cheating on you. And that’s stupid. We’re not together. Emma wants to date, and I don’t understand why I’m hanging back. But you have this hold on me.” He shoves his hand through his hair. “Although, it’s getting easier and easier to push that away.”

If anyone still has any doubts, this proves once and for all just how terrible I am at this whole shifting business. The Elders consider me dangerous, people in Keleusma are afraid to talk to me, Nicholas would rather ignore me than use me on missions, and, oh yeah, my Pairing—whom, I understand, is the definition of a done deal—is considering the acquisition of a girlfriend. Who isn’t me.

My Pairing shouldn’t want to date someone else. He’s supposed to be tied to me. Only want me. At least, I think that’s how this all works. Not like there’s a Shifter handbook or anything I can use for a cross-reference. They really should get on that. Use magic ink or secret code so someone else can’t read it. But seriously, I might be able to rock this shifting thing if they’d give me a few guidelines to go off of. More than their ever cryptic
you’ll just know
.

“Whatever
this
is.” Porter gestures between the two of us, sending dust motes off to dance in the sunlight. “Needs to happen or be over. Because I can’t do this half way, are we, aren’t we junk anymore.”

Drunk driving Dad and irate Pairing all in one day? Before noon, nonetheless. Lucky me.

Think.
Defuse the situation. And stop Porter from tossing out ultimatums. I need more time. Somehow, I have to get back to the shifting world. Discover more answers. Now that I know my mom’s alive, my future hinges on locating her. If I can bring her back to my father—fix his problems—then I can focus on my own life. Figure out who I am.

Why can’t Porter understand that?

My first foray in shifting taught me one thing: I must play by the rules. Or at least, make the Elders and those in Keleusma think that I’ve joined their special club and believe exactly what they do. I need them to trust me. It’s the only way to get answers.

Which means I have to make this Pairing work. He’s part of playing by the rules. I can’t lose Porter … or whatever I have with Porter to Emma. No matter how much I care about Emma.

Now or never.

Summoning my courage, I march over, place my hands firmly on his shoulders, and plant a kiss on him. Porter doesn’t react. Have I completely destroyed everything? Then, like the athlete he is, Porter catches up to speed and wraps his arms around me. He gropes his way down my back, his fingers sliding over the back of my pants. Is he trying to fit his hand under my jeans? Everything in me screams to shove his hands away. Why does he have to take a kiss and turn it into something else? He moves to deepen the kiss, and it feels as if he’s stealing something.

Stop. Stop. Stop
. Like an alarm, the word repeats over and over in my head.

Despite my initial pep talk, I can’t do this. I’ll have to find another way. If my choice is Porter or no one, I can be like Michael and become a single Shifter. The Elder twins denied their Pairings. I will too.

Bringing my hands to Porter’s chest, I break the touch of my lips from his and push him away.

He narrows his eyes as he catches his breath. Then he inches toward me, his voice low. Freakishly calm. “One question. I’m going to ask you to answer one simple question.”

Bless him for not talking about the kiss. “What is it?”

Porter is more quick to joke than anyone else. Teasing is his safe zone. But he looks me straight in the eye in a way I can only describe as incredibly deep, all kidding leaving his green eyes as he asks, “Are you in love with me?”

Do I love Porter?

I press my hand across my forehead which draws my eyes away from him. Instead, I focus on my shifting bracelet which is a few inches from my face. The black spot on the inner wrist of the bracelet openly mocks me. Failure.

Kissing him made me a little less confused about my feelings, but it’s complicated the whole Pairing thing. Because that kiss was not romantic. See, when Dad’s sober, I kiss him good night. If I subtract the whole wandering hands aspect, kissing Porter felt like that. Just no mustache. Porter’s presence is like a comfortable hoodie in my life. Or the ragged, old, stuffed bear who only has one button eye left that I’ve held on to since toddler days.

I don’t think that’s love. Not really. I think I have comfort with Porter. Familiarity. Shared memories. Which are nice, don’t get me wrong. Many people build a happy life off of what Porter and I have together.

But the problem with that—the thing that keeps me up at night when I do consider this whole Pairing nonsense is—he will always expect the girl I used to be, not cheer for the woman I may become. And I’m terrified of marriage, seeing as it went so wonderfully for my father.

I let my hand fall to my side. “There’s nothing simple about that question.”

The edges of his lips tip up—barely, but enough that I notice. Almost like he knew what my answer would be and he’s calling himself names in his head for hoping again. “You can’t even give me an answer?”

Saying the old teddy bear theory out loud will not make the situation any better. “Porter, come on, it’s just—”

He holds up his hands, stopping my words. “Enough. You’ve given me the answer I needed. Let me finish here, and we’ll head home. I’ll drive the speed limit and everything.”

He turns to the grain bin and starts lining up buckets from a stack by the wall. His back to me as he works. Selfishly, I want to keep the conversation going. Because I know he’s angry and I don’t like my old friend being upset at me. But there is nothing I can say right now that will help him.

Or me.

A horse whinnies from the far bank of stalls. They’re hungry, and I’m holding up their lunch. Knowing Porter like I do, he wants to be alone right now, so I squeeze out the door and step back outside.

For a moment, the sun blinds me. I shield my eyes, and as my vision adjusts it lands squarely on a man leaning against a tree close to the house, about forty feet away. It’s not one of Porter’s cousins. Perhaps it’s one of their friends?

Even though the man and I make eye contact, he doesn’t move. He stays there, his back against the tree, one knee bent up. As if he doesn’t have a care in the world. And despite it being ridiculously hot outside, he has on jeans, a red t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Expecting to see a motorcycle, I scan the driveway, but there’s only Porter’s Jeep.

Porter’s cousins live in the midst of soybean fields. Their nearest neighbor’s house looks like a miniature figurine way across the street. Besides, I don’t think the older two brothers are even home for the summer.

Where did this guy come from?

I reach behind me, fumbling for the door handle. “If you’re looking for the Jensen boys, they’re not home.”

He steps away from the tree and crosses the distance between us. Gravel crunches under his Converse shoes. “Oh, I’m not here for them, Gabriella.” He shoves the sleeves of his coat up a fraction so they rest on his forearms. “I’m here for you.”

A breath lodges in my chest as my gaze locks with his.

Three things strike me simultaneously. First, the man’s voice is probably one of the most soothing sounds I’ve ever heard. There are millions of dollars within his grasp if he starts recording children’s audiobooks because parents could turn on the recording of him reading and kids would ease right to sleep. Second, his eyes are the exact same color as the electric blueberry slushies I used to sell at my old job. The shade of blue is startling, deep, and draws me in. Third—and most important—he’s wearing a shifting bracelet. But it looks a little different than mine—tarnished. It doesn’t catch sunlight like the metal around my wrist does.

And he knows my name.

I close my hand around the doorknob behind me. “You’re a Shade, aren’t you?”

One of his eyes narrows, and he tilts his head. A smirk pulls his lips, as if he might laugh. Not at me. But in a good natured way. Like we’re sharing a joke.

Okay, and he’s attractive. Emma would call him a twelver. That’s our code word for when one of us spots a ridiculously handsome man and wants to alert the other. It dates back to a middle school sleepover when we rated all the guys in our class on a scale from one to ten. We decided there had to be a word for someone who exceeded a ten. Twelver was born.

But seriously, he looks like a guy they’d cast in a movie about a leader of an exclusive fraternity. Besides the piercing blue eyes, he has impressive blond bed head … the kind that looks effortless but definitely takes twenty minutes to style. Light stubble defines his jaw.

Yeah, he’s a twelver.

I’ve seen Shades. Felt their cold nails against my flesh. This man can’t be one.

I relax my hand from the knob and let it go limp at my side.

A congratulatory smile lights his features. “Well done, Gabriella. I knew you’d be impressive.”

“So, wait … you really are a Shade?”

Why don’t I have the terrified feeling I usually have around them?

“It just so happens that I’m the most
Shade
of them all.” He offers his hand. “The name is Erik.”

“As in king of the Shades, Erik?” I keep my hands at my sides while my mind races back through all the information I’ve learned since becoming a Shifter. Erik is the name of their leader. I’m certain. But there could be more than one Erik in the shifting world. It’s a common enough name.

“King.” He barks out a laugh. “That’s not exactly how we work in Mónatos. But the sentiment is nice.”

I shouldn’t be talking to him. After all, he’s the bad guy. Or so I’ve been told. Then again, Michael divulged that Nicholas—supposed leader of the Shifters—has never been seen. Now, here’s the leader of the Shades in the flesh. Smiling. Talking. I’d be foolish to pass up this opportunity.

My entire life has been one secret after another, and I’m sick of living that way. I want answers, and no one back in Keleusma will give them. For that matter, there’s no way of knowing if I’ll ever even get back to Keleusma. Talking to Erik might be my only chance to connect with the shifting world.

In books and movies bad guys are notorious for having loose lips. They always spill their horrible plan minutes before help arrives. So why not pump Erik for information? It’s worth the risk. Whatever the risk is anyway. The other Shifters never actually explained why speaking with him would be considered dangerous.

Add that to their growing list of dodged questions.

Michael specifically said I shouldn’t let Erik ever talk to me. That’s the only thought that gives me pause. Even after all this time apart, I trust Michael, probably more than anyone else in my life. Ever.

But Michael’s not here. He hasn’t come back. In fact, he left when I needed him most. Not that I blame him. No, Nicholas is the one who pulls us. Michael has no control over that.

Besides, it’s not like I’m alone. Porter’s just inside the barn. If I scream … or something, Porter will hear. What could he do against the leader of the Shades? I’m not real certain, but strength in numbers and all that. Whatever cheerleaderish catchphrase people are using these days to make themselves feel better.

Erik quirks an eyebrow. “Come now, you won’t even greet me properly? I don’t believe you’re afraid. The others, perhaps, but not you. Never you.”

I glance down at his outstretched hand. It looks just like mine. Well, his is manly and bigger than mine. But he doesn’t look like he’ll dig his nails into me anytime soon. Suppose he did, his nails are trimmed, so it’s not like I’m going to be losing blood in the exchange.

And let’s face it. After all this time I’m desperate for
any
contact with the shifting world. Even if it’s a chat with a possible enemy.

I slip my hand into his. Hoping he isn’t grossed out by how clammy mine is. It’s ridiculously hot out. “Nice to meet you.”

“Is it, now?” His flesh isn’t cold like the Shades I’ve encountered before. Erik cups his other hand around mine and squeezes lightly before letting go. “I hope you really do think that. I was afraid they’d twist you against me.”

I lift my chin. “They don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t talk to.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He enunciates his words in a way that most people don’t when they’re casually speaking. Not in a bad way. Actually, I wish everyone talked like him. Definitely not a mumbler.

But still, with Erik only a foot in front of me as I stand with my back to the barn, I’m at a disadvantage. Say he
is
dangerous—he could have me pinned to the wall in the space of a heartbeat. Sure, I know self-defense, but if I don’t have room I can’t fight back, especially because I’m wearing the bag of shifting clothes. And I’m better at running than fighting. Being out in the open gives me more options.