Their cries are drowned out by the horns of passing cars, as if we aren’t already doing what we can to correct course. I reach out to try to grab Cat and pull her back into the seat, but instead, I miss and grab a bag. The window I just hit shatters as the bus grinds against the palisade. A dangerous rain of glass confetti is now added to the mix of bags. One of the girls in front of me starts praying.
We’re still in the wrong lane as the bus tries to move away from the face of the cliffs. Through the windshield, I catch a glimpse of another car headed for us dead on. My heart slams in my chest. The bus driver jerks the wheel again so we’re in the correct lane of traffic, but it’s too fast and we continue sideways. Acrunchsounds as the bus collides with the guardrail. The screaming begins anew. I’m thrown out of my seat onto the floor, landing on top of Cat…and then we’re in freefall.
The moment freezes. The fear in her blue eyes mirrors my own. Around me, shards of glass float in the air like out-of-place snowflakes. Abigail, a quiet girl who was in my Government 101 class freshman year, has lipstick smeared across her face. A girl who was sitting in the back whose name I can’t recall is staring ahead, her eyes vacant, her neck at an odd angle. Her golden hair is loose, creating a halo around her face.
They say in moments like this, your life flashes before your eyes, but what I see is something different. I see the sun rising and setting, waves crashing on a beach. My heart is full of what I was missing.
I hear the screams around me. I feel weightless. I feel a calling to come home.
CHAPTER2
I’m lying on my stomach, resting on my elbows as I devour the book in my hands. I gently gnaw on my lower lip as the narrator describes in vivid detail what her lover is doing as he goes down on her. I’m so engrossed in my book that I barely hear the bedroom door open. Desire burns through me as I shift my hips, eager for some sort of friction. I’m not at all surprised when someone climbs onto the bed and straddles me.
“Get off!” I object, not looking away from my book. Strong hands start to rub at a knot that’s formed in my shoulder from how I’m positioned. I close my eyes, nearly melting into the touch.
“I would much rather get you off.” His breath on my neck sends a thrill up my spine, and I fight the temptation to roll over. Even whispering, his voice is deep, with an English accent and so familiar. If the massage I’m getting wasn’t already enough to get me hot, his accent certainly would be. I let my head drop down onto my book, giving this mystery man better access to my back.
“Later! I was just getting to the good part!” I say, my voice muffled by the pages. It’s a half-hearted objection, and I groan as he works the knot. I slide in my bookmark and set the book aside. “Princess Lorelei is having the best orgasm of her life as the scoundrel Captain Giancarlo goes down on her while Prince Demetrious is stuck in a privy council meeting. They could get caught at any moment,” I explain, as the hands work farther down my spine.
“Are they in the same meeting? Because you’re giving me ideas for the next time we have to meet with the Council.”
“You rake, they arenotin the same meeting—obviously Giancarlo is doing this in her bedchamber so he can better protect her from any outside threat, but really the threat is inside the house, because she might be pregnant with the captain’s baby and her husband has no idea.”
The man lets out a deep, full laugh. He brushes my hair aside and presses a gentle kiss to my neck. I inhale deeply and smell vanilla, cinnamon, and sandalwood. A warm feeling infuses my whole body.
“Shall I distract you with the real thing?” he asks, grinding his hips against my back. I feel him harden through my silk nightgown. I bite my lip, excited at the prospect, and start to roll over. Just as I’m about to see his face—
“Oh god, that was terrifying.”
I’m startled awake by Cat gripping my arm. The dream is already fading as I try to remember what was going on.
“Are you okay? You’re bleeding!” she exclaims as I turn to look at her.
The horror on her face makes me wonder how bad it looks. Her already pale skin seems bloodless. I try to remember my last thought, and the chaos of the bus swerving over the highway assaults me.I look around, confused. At first, I wonder if the bus losing control was just a bad dream, but everyone is injured and in varying stages of distress. We’re still on board, but everything around me feels off. It looks as if the world has been painted over with a watercolor blue.
Cat reaches out and touches my forehead, and I hiss, wincing away from her.She glances around and starts pawing through the jumble of bags.
I consider that I might have a concussion, and maybe that’s why everything looks off. A head injury is the most reasonable explanation for the strange color wash. Catalina’s blue eyes are full of concern as she grabs my chin and gets me to look at her. My vision is still blurry as I try to get an understanding of my environment.
“What the hell happened?” I ask, reaching up to touch my own face gingerly. My brow feels swollen and bruised. My fingers come away red, coated in my blood. I rub the thick liquid between my forefinger and thumb, surprised by how it feels on my skin. I remember hitting my head, but I thought it was more of a glance off the window, not enough to draw blood. I consider that I might have short-term memory loss in addition to a concussion.I’m too squeamish to be pre-med, but I watch enough medical dramas to know just enough to be dangerous.
My thoughts start to order themselves, various realizations hitting me as I come to my senses and my vision clears. I realize that we aren’t moving, and I look out the window. The bus is stopped at an overlook.
Cat seems to sense my confusion, and she fills in the blanks. “We had a blowout. Thankfully the driver was able to pull over. Some girls are cut pretty bad, but for the most part, we’re all lucky to be alive.”
I nod, but this doesn’t match what I remember.
The hazy memory of falling must have been me falling off the seat.
“GIRLS!” the bus driver shouts, getting our attention.“Is everyone all right?” he asks, visibly shaken. His kind eyes are full of concern, and he seems to have aged ten years. I am so thankful that my memory of the accident isn’t real. He glances around, and I follow his gaze and see for myself that we’re all pretty shaken but otherwise okay. When I lock gazes with a pretty blonde, I see a flash of vacant eyes and her head at an awkward angle. I blink, and she’s moved her attention elsewhere. I remember that her name is Madison.
The driver removes his baseball cap and runs a hand over his balding head, then makes his way down the steps and exits the bus.
Out the window over Catalina’s shoulder, I see a sleek black car idling. A tall pale-skinned figure, who I assume is the car’s owner, is talking with the bus driver. The person places a hand on his arm, and his entire body seems to relax.
The driver quickly returns to the bus with a serene smile on his face as if we weren’t alljustfacing certain death. “You ladies are in luck. This bystander saw the whole thing. They’re going to let me use their phone to call dispatch since I can’t get a signal.” He hurries back off, likely to make that very call. The person with the phone walks onto the bus with an air of authority about them, and I hope that they’re going to help us get going again. Even dazed, I manage to pick up that the bus driver referred to them as “they.” I shiver, chilled to the bone, and rub my arms, but no one else seems cold. I wonder if I’m going into shock.
“Is everyone all right? I saw what happened and wanted to make sure you were all okay.” They echo the driver’s concern. Their dark brown eyes are scanning everyone as each girl confirms that she’s okay. I appreciate their concern, but if the damage is as minor as Cat said, I wonder why they’re so worried. The accident must have looked worse from the vantage of a smaller car. They’re wearing a long sleeve floor-length dark dress with an equally long vest over it. It’s out of style and seems heavy for the seasonable warmth, but I would kill to have something with sleeves right now. Their long brown hair, hanging in a braid down their back, has threads of silver-grey running through it. “You ladies sit tight—your driver is making a call to his dispatcher. It looks like it’s just a flat tire.” They sound like an OnStar agent.