Wait Until Dawn by Bailey Bradford (chrysanthemum read aloud txt) 📗

back, his body flung hard against the cabinet, his shoulder striking the microwave with a loud crack.

This is fine, let them kill me instead, let the others take this body from McAlister and whoever or whatever the fuck that icy thing is. Do it, do it! Rich could die to keep Chris safe, he could die to spite McAlister and drag the man’s spirit to hell with him.

“Do it!” Rich screamed, and only then realized he was alone in his body once more, his back and shoulder throbbing, his throat raw like he’d swallowed glass. He slid down the counter and collapsed in a heap, shame and loathing filling him. He’d rather have died than have to face this, have to face them.

“Get the necklace,” Rich heard over his own quiet sobs. The voice was hoarse and strained. Chris. Oh God, what have I done?

“Put it on him,” Chris snapped, then someone was beside him, but not Chris. Rich could feel him—his body tingled and grew hot with longing when Chris was near. The necklace was dropped over his head and the crystal fell into the open V of his shirt, burning his skin like a hot iron on wet flesh. Good, let it burn through and through.

“Get those off his skin!” Chris again, his voice cracking as he tried to shout. “It burns him! Move it!”

The man beside him was shoved away, then Chris’ hands were on him, touching him gently as he pulled the crystals up and set them outside his shirt.

“Rich, honey—”

That was it, that endearment, the syrup-sweet voice rough and damaged. Rich couldn’t do this, couldn’t stay here. He shoved and pushed, trying to get Chris away before he hurt him again. Chris grunted and wrapped his arms around him, lifting Rich onto his lap. The fight went out of Rich with the first sweep of those big gentle hands down his spine. He curled into himself, his head on Chris’ shoulder, and let the sobs wrack his body, praying they’d tear him apart and end his suffering.

Chapter Eight

After assuring Severo and Laine he wasn’t going to die, file charges, or try to kill Rich, all Chris wanted to do was talk to the man. It’d torn his heart into little still-pulsing lumps of agony, holding Rich, unable to help him. For all Chris’ strength and his wicked Wiccan mom, he could do nothing for the man. Slap a leather thong around his neck and burn that sweet skin with crystals. He could do that. The crystals obviously protected Rich as they were intended to, but he couldn’t touch them without hurting. The leather wasn’t a problem, and if it ever was, those things that’d taken Rich over wouldn’t care if Rich was burned to the bone pulling off the necklace.

He really needed to talk to Rich, and he needed to talk to his mom. And he definitely needed to talk to Severo, probably Laine, too, after what Chris had seen in his rig. Chris had thought maybe he was hallucinating, dying, whatever, but once he’d been lucid, he’d still seen the auras, the solid white around Severo, and several almost not-there auras that didn’t seem to belong to any living body. And Severo had definitely interacted with them. Chris had not imagined that, either.

Rich was in the house, in the guest room. Severo had said he needed to speak to him alone, and neither Laine nor Chris had been happy about that. Laine had headed off to work looking like he’d shoot the first person who so much as jaywalked, and Chris had found himself wandering their yard, scared to get into his own damn rig. Being scared was not something he was used to. Between the protection spells he knew and had placed on him by his mom, and his own optimistic and outgoing nature, Chris simply hadn’t had anything to be afraid of. But now he did in spades. Getting back into the rig was really the least of his fears, so maybe he shouldn’t try to tackle it first.

Mind made up, Chris strode back into the house and tapped on the door of the guestroom. He pressed his ear to the door and heard an indistinguishable murmur he thought was Severo’s, then the lock was undone and the door pulled open. Severo slid out of the room and shut the door before Chris could even get a glimpse of Rich. He gave Severo an arch look and waited.

Severo had big eyes that could pull off innocent like few men could, and Chris wasn’t falling for it. He kept his face impassive as Severo lowered his lids and nibbled on his bottom lip. The silence extended for several moments and Chris concluded that he was facing one man who wouldn’t bend first. Dynamite in little packages and all that, no doubt. Chris felt the stirrings of a grin and gave in. He clapped a hand to Severo’s shoulder, making the smaller man jump and Chris snicker. “Come on, you have some explaining to do, Mr. I See Dead People.”

Severo snorted and led the way into the living room. “I don’t actually. Well, usually. I’ve seen Conner—Laine’s lover, the one who was murdered by McAlister—and let me tell you, it scared the shit out of me. I’m much more okay with hearing and speaking to the dead.”

“That explains your aura,” Chris said, realizing it as he said it. “I guess Rich’s, too.”

Severo sat on the couch and pulled one denim clad leg up under the other. “You see auras? Is that good or bad?”

Chris shrugged, glad but unsurprised Severo didn’t question the whole aura thing. After all, Severo saw…communicated with dead people. Yeesh. “It just is, and really, I’m not great at it. I mean, I have to really concentrate to see someone’s aura, which I guess is good. It’d be too weird for me to walk around seeing shades of people’s true personality around them.” Just the idea made him