Page 60 of Fuse

“Explanation for what?”

“F-F-For her. T-T-Talking to me.” I jack my head back, straining for even a little of the sunlight stretching across the hills. Needing the heat to blast me. To banish her.

“Her?” Foley crouches closer. Grabs my shoulder. “Her who?”

I slam my eyes closed. Gulp hard. Realize that I’ve got to say it. Comprehend, with some stabbing part of my psyche, that I have to tell someone. That I have to say it out loud before I can’t say anything anymore.

“Faline.”

“Faline?”

“She’s…she’s inside my head.” And though my teeth are chattering like humping chipmunks and even my toe hairs have icicles, I hear the pitch of desperation in my voice. Jesus, is this really happening? “I can hear her, as if she’s parked her bony ass on top of my brain. Like she’s here.” I manage to curl a hand up and around, twisting the sleeve of his shirt with my fingertips. “But like she wants even more. As if…as…if…”

“What?” Foley’s growl fills the space left by my stammering fade. The dwindle of my voice…because of the explosion in my awareness.

Oh, holy fuck.

Not an explosion.

A revelation.

“As if she’s getting ready to control me like she controlled Kane.”

No stuttering this time. Funny how a guy forgets to be cold when he’s terrified out of his goddamned mind. And if the stupefaction seared across Foley’s face is any accurate gauge, I’m not steering at all toward melodrama.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Which, surprise surprise, are the exact three words that seethe out of Foley—

As another cold front broadsides me.

And knocks me all the way over to the floor.

“Fuck!” It’s a yell from Foley now before he’s got me rolled to my back with his face consuming my vision. “Reece. Buddy. You have to stay with me.”

I want to laugh again. I think I do. Well, hell. I got a Reece and a buddy at the same time. Must be my lucky day. Or my unluckiest. Why do I feel like laying strong odds on the latter?

“Dude. Can you hear me? Reece, you bastard. You’ve got to stay with me!”

“Yeah.” I try to nod, but the motion’s more like my post-bender weekend loll. “I’m…I’m here. St-Stop yelling.”

“When?” he charges without his normal one-liner of preface. Just right into the nitty-gritty. Makes me want to shoot out a quip of my own, something involving his lack of conversational lube, but the guy’s brain is clearly firing on more cylinders than mine. On the other hand, he doesn’t have a bitch supreme filling up his mental plate, complete with a side of fuck-you-up salsa. “When did this start happening, man? How long has she been there?”

I swivel my head to the side. Focus my gaze randomly. There’s a bush abloom in purple flowers outside sheltering a little family of wild rabbits. Bunnies. My favorite. I almost blurt that out but remember something at the last minute. Foley needs an answer. The information is important. “Last night,” I finally get out. “Yeah. Last night. Right after I got back from…from…”

“From saving the fucking city.” Foley’s growl is fucking scary now. Yeah, even to me. “And having to put down your friend because he—” The growl is upended by a fierce choke. “Holy shit.” Then an even harsher snarl. “Having to put down your friend!”

From the middle of my mental and physical glacier, I groan as if his thumping hand to my chest is a dump of boiling water instead. That succeeds in getting me to open my eyes at least, since I throw the force of any remaining strength into my hard glare up at the man.

Which becomes self-inflicted torture, from the second Emma’s face swoops into my focus too. Her irises are the color—and size—of storm-tossed oceans. Her lips are seized with shock. Her throat is a column of solid strain.

“Reece? Dear God. Reece?”

“Velvet…”