Free Blood Brothers by Richie Tankersley Cusick Page A

settled on the stairs, as if the cellar were a giant coffin and she and Jared were being buried alive.
    It reminded her of the dream she’d had earlier.
    She’d forgotten about it till now.
    Lucy slid quietly from the bed and stood up, flexing her cramped muscles. She had no idea what time it was, or how many of her classes she’d missed so far. The office had probably already called Irene to report Lucy missing from school. She shuddered to think about it. She’d have to come up with one more really convincing excuse. Except it was getting harder and harder to keep all her excuses straight.
    She glanced anxiously over at Jared. He was still sleeping, but there was a flicker of pain across his face, and she noticed a small amount of blood seeping from his wound. She found her backpack and pulled everything out. After tending to Jared as best she could, Lucy piled the blankets on him and arranged the other items within arm’s reach of the bed. Then she opened the thermos of brandy-laced coffee and dropped in several sleeping pills.
    â€œDrink this,” she whispered to him. “It’ll help the pain.”
    He seemed to understand this at some level. With his eyes still closed, he allowed her to lift his head and tip the cup to his lips.
    A wave of sympathy swept through her. And then resentment and frustration. She felt sorry for Jared, and she felt sorry for herself. How could another day of her life have turned out so badly, so quickly? And how had this stranger—who looked so much like Byron—slipped into her world with such heartbreaking familiarity?
    It doesn’t have to be like this.
    Through her turmoil of emotions, Lucy suddenly realized that one thought was trying to break through.
    You could use your cell phone. When you get back to the car, use your cell phone and call for help.
    It would be so easy, she knew. Just the punch of a few buttons, and then Jared and all his mysterious secrets would be out of her life forever.
    You have a choice.
    Lucy gazed down at Jared. From his peaceful expression she could tell that the drugs and brandy were already working. He looked younger somehow. Innocent. And suddenly, helplessly vulnerable.
    â€œDamnit.”
    She couldn’t betray him.
    Not just because she’d given her word. Or because of the torments he’d suffered. Not even because of all the time and lies and worry she’d invested in him, or the veiled threats he’d made, or the way his body felt, warm and protective beside her . . .
    â€œMy choice,” Lucy whispered, though she knew Jared couldn’t hear her. “For Byron’s sake.”

12
    Lucy was still determined to find a way out of the cellar.
    Jared would be sleeping for quite a while; he’d be safe here and undisturbed. She’d have time to go home and clean up and try to form some kind of plan. There’d been no time today for thinking ahead. She felt amazingly lucky that she’d made it through each bizarre moment and survived.
    Her whole body ached with exhaustion. She was stiff and sore from dragging Jared through the cemetery, and lugging boxes and backpacks, and falling on the stairs. There was still a faint throb in her hand. She was cold, and she was hungry. And she dreaded facing Irene when she got back to the house.
    Sighing heavily, Lucy bent to pick up the lantern.
    And that’s when she noticed the footprints.
    It didn’t sink in all at once, those muddled marks upon the floor. Outlines of large shoes, and impressions of large paws, overlapping and smearing together in the dust. The prints stopped at the edge of the bed, on the side where she’d been sleeping—then seemed to reverse and trail off again in the same direction from which they’d come.
    From a wall of floor-to-ceiling shelves.
    And a camouflaged door.
    Lucy straightened slowly, chills racing up her spine.
    And once more remembered the nightmare that had woken her.
    Snow and a storm