Whispers in the Dark - Maya Banks [34]
Ethan smiled. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”
“Okay, you two, enough,” Rachel grumbled.
She slipped out of Ethan’s grasp, gave Nathan another quick hug and then headed inside, leaving Nathan alone with his brother.
“Everything okay, man?” Ethan asked when Rachel had shut the door.
“She’s pretty damn special,” Nathan said, ignoring the question.
“Yeah, I know. You two have a lot in common.”
Nathan’s lips quirked upward. “Oh? You think I look as good in a dress as she does?”
Relief flared in Ethan’s eyes at the comeback, but then his expression grew more serious. “No, I meant you’re both survivors.”
CHAPTER 11
NATHAN’S eyes flew open and the splash of stars in the inky midnight sky instantly swam in his vision. They loomed close then backed away, and the world spun crazily around him.
He tried to sit up in the sleeping bag and promptly fell over, weak and disoriented. His mind was clouded, and random images flashed, none making sense.
Strange men, yawning faces and a sense of overwhelming fear.
What the hell was happening to him? He hadn’t drunk that much beer. Certainly not enough to get a buzz, much less stupid drunk.
This wasn’t like his other panic attacks. He hadn’t been dreaming. It was one of the few nights that his mind had been blissfully free of the past.
There was such a sense of dread overwhelming him that his breaths puffed out and his stomach rebelled. His chest burned from the pressure. It was as if weight pressed down on him from every angle.
And then he felt her. Just one brief moment, as if she were desperately trying to reach out to him.
Shea.
Scared. Terrified.
It was her panic he felt. Her disorientation.
Shea!
He screamed her name in his mind. Then he yelled it hoarsely, the sound echoing through the night.
He tore away the sleeping bag that confined him, stumbling out onto the ground and to his knees. Beside him, Swanny shot upward.
“What the hell?”
Nathan shoved his hands into the grass, trying to push himself upward, but he was too weak, too disoriented to maintain his balance. He fell heavily to his side, cursing because he couldn’t wade through the fog in his mind to reach out to Shea. She was there. He knew it. Was she trying to reach him? Did she need help?
He curled his fingers into the soil, trying again to right himself, to get up and battle the confusion. Swanny scrambled over, his face close to Nathan’s.
“What’s wrong, man? Do I need to get help? What’s happening to you?”
Nathan snarled his frustration, grabbed on to Swanny and pulled. “Help me.”
Swanny pushed to his knees and then stood, Nathan still gripping his hands as he pulled upward. He staggered to his feet, wobbling like he’d been on a bender from hell.
The world kept moving around him, dipping and swaying until nausea rose sharp in his belly and into his throat, clenching and squeezing until he couldn’t breathe.
“What the fuck is wrong?” Swanny demanded. “Let me call a damn ambulance. Or at least drive you to the hospital.”
“Just let me get my feet under me,” he gritted out.
He put his hands to his head, sucked in breaths and then reached out again.
Shea, talk to me, damn it. Are you okay? What’s going on? Please, just talk to me.
He caught just a hint of his name, and suddenly the disorientation faded. The shadows drifted away, leaving him sharply aware of his surroundings. The smell of a late Tennessee spring, verging to summer. The lake. The trees, the pine.
A breeze cooled the sweat that dampened his body, and he shivered in reaction.
She was gone. Like she’d never been there. Again.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Nathan, talk to me, man. What the hell is going on?”
He pushed away from Swanny and stalked toward the edge of the cliff overlooking the lake. Below, the water was inky, reflecting only a sliver of moonlight.
Was he losing his mind? Was he crazy? Was she real or not?
How could he explain the emails, the very real emails, if she wasn’t real? He clung to that piece of evidence, the only thing he could point to with any assurance.