The Marked

The rest of my school day was blissfully mundane. Except for the part where my temples screamed from being smothered with thoughts not my own. I didn't feel the urge to Hulk-out on anyone, which was definitely something to be thankful for. When the last bell rang, Wade met me at my locker just as I was gathering my books.

"I'm all yours." He beamed, leaning on the locker left to mine. "What are we in the mood for?"

I finished stuffing my books into my bag, huffing.

"Whatever you want to do is fine." I said. It sounded a little detached. I felt the growing need to slap myself. I wouldn't think about the mysterious case of Chloe Clark while with Wade. Nope, it wouldn't ruin us. I turned to Wade, taking a step to close our distance, and kissed him fully on the lips. Standing on my toes.

I saw Wade's eyelids had fallen, hiding the lovely hue of his eyes. I blushed madly. Seeing the effect I had on Wade was certainly… riveting. Something I wanted to see for long years to come, I didn't care that it sounded absurd and silly. After all, we'd been dating for three months and we were young. Just then, Wade's eyes fluttered open. My insides melted into goo as a hand slid to the back of my neck, gripping it gently.

"Yeah, so, my house is free." He dropped on me in a husky whisper. I couldn't help giggling. "What's so funny?"

"You," I said simply, shrugging. Wade shook his head, still not getting my humor. Neither did I. "I could go for some alone time, superstar."

My smile tipped into a grin as a little blush took over both his cheeks. I bit the inside of my cheek, not laughing. Wade didn't tell me off, knowing I would keep using the nickname. I think that he liked it, though, secretly. We walked down the hallway and down the railed stone stairs, marching to where he'd parked this morning. I saw Wade's shiny Opel from a distance. It was new, barely a year old and I loved the black and white colors on it. We clambered inside, tossing our bags into the back. He started the car, maneuvering us outside the school's parking lot with an ease I envied. Wade's reflexes were stunning, surgically precise. One of the reasons why he was such a good soccer player and why he hadn't broken his neck climbing up and down the tree outside my balcony. The thought came way too fast for me to shoot it down: I had the same reflexes. I climbed down that tree last night.

I breathed in. Breathed out. No, I waved the thoughts and noise and questions from my brain. I wouldn't be a slave to whatever decease this tattoo was bringing down on my head.

"How were classes?" Small talk. Huh. Was this really the best I could come up with?

Wade didn't mind, answering with a groan, "I had an oral on French. It sucked. Do you think it's too late to switch to Spanish? I can barely conjugate French verbs."

"Yes, yes," I mused, pretending to think it over. "If only someone had warned you about the ramifications of your choice?"

Wade would've cast me a dry look for sarcasm. Alas, his green eyes were slammed on the road.

"Yes, yes," he mimicked my tone. "I know now I should've listened to you, oh wise one."

I mustered a grave face, "Indeed, young Skywalker."

"Seriously?"

I smirked at his incredulous side-stare.

"Have you met Caleb? It's impossible not to know some lines. When we were in middle school he slept with Star Wars pajamas and his bedspread had Darth Vader on it."

"You haven't gone to Caleb's in a while, have you?" I shook my head. Wade cracked a smile. "He still has that bedspread." I wasn't too surprised. Though, I always thought he would replace it for Godzilla or some other monster favorite. "Just to be clear: you're cool with hanging at my place?"

"Super-duper cool." I stretched out my arms, fingers wiggling as tension left my shoulders. The tips of my fingers touched the dashboard. "Couldn't be any cooler if I drank the Kool-aid."

Wade gave a snort, "That's so pun-fully funny." I stared at him. He felt my eyes as he drove us along, at snail pace behind a long line of cars, because he leaned back and eyed me. "Get it? Painfully funny? It's a…"

"I got it."

"Just checking."

"I can't believe you made that pun." I shook my head with feigned horror.

"I must be getting it from you—through osmosis."

The drive to Wade's house was painfully long in reality, but we talked the entire time about anything and nothing important. Seriously, some conversations could be labeled 'unstable' or 'certifiably crazy'. Especially when it came to horror themed movies and shows. Our latest debate was over which Stephen King book—that got adapted into film—had the scariest scene. I voted Shinning, because you know, the woman in the bathtub—obviously—and Wade said Carry because of the whole Prom fiasco with blood and guts thrown in the mix. He pulled into the driveway and just as he'd said, his parents' cars were missing. He switched off the engine.

"How can you prefer to kiss a rotten corpse?" I argued. I reached into the back seat for my stuff—Wade handed my bag to me before I could reach it.

Wade gave me are-you-an-idiot glare.

"Ah, maybe because it wasn't real? Ghosts can't kiss you, Chlo."

"You don't know that it was a ghost." Wade gave me another look. Bullshit, he called silently. "Whatever."

"You're saying you'd prefer to die on Prom night? Not exactly how I'd like to spend it." I rolled my eyes climbing out of the car. "Okay. Enough horror-show talk," Wade claimed once we were on his doorstep and he twisted his key, pushing the door back. I'd been over to his house a lot over the course of summer. In the afternoon and for dinners with his parents. I liked them a ton. His father was funny and also an aficionado of horror flicks. Wade's mother reminded me of mom herself, worrying over everything—even the things she had no control over. "Unless you want to binge watch American Horror story?" he threw over a shoulder as he moved toward the kitchen, heading through the refined dining room—something not present at my house.

Tempting. But alas, my mind desperately needed a break from supernatural themes. The inky thing on my back was weight enough. Besides…

I watched Wade's V-neck stretch tautly against his lean frame, smooth muscles rippling underneath as he braced himself on the granite countertop.

"I rather make out." Wade's eyebrows rose at the bold statement. His lips curved.

"I think I like you."

I leaned on the kitchen island across from him.

"Really? I had no clue."

"I should show it to your more often then—my affection, I mean." Wade's smooth, soft tone made me shiver in a good way. Memories from this morning, when he locked us in, came rushing to the front of my mind. How his hips had fit between my legs, how we'd kissed without needing or wanting air, just one another…

I didn't see him come around—or… no. I did. In slow-motion. When I blinked my eyes, everything returned to normal speed. Wade reached me in the intake of a breath and bent his head low, level to my neck. He pressed a scorching kiss below my ear. Hmm, I touched a hand to his chest, sighing when he nibbled on the same spot. I felt the warm breath flushing my skin.

"Chloe," he whispered in a way I didn't know but quickly became my favorite. It was husky—but wrapped in sweet, warm chocolate. It was the most sexy and sweet thing on the planet. "I want to kiss you…"

You're already kissing me, I wanted to say, but couldn't find my voice. Wade's arms came around me when I stumbled, lightheaded. I glimpsed at him with tired eyes all of a sudden. He looked worried, his forehead creased and I wanted to reach out to smooth the lines. I couldn't do it. My body felt heavier than anything I'd seen Wade bench press. Wade's mouth moved, no sound. That couldn't be. Wade was talking… I wasn't listening. Slowly, I felt it, the nagging voice way in the back of my mind. No time. Let yourself go. Go. Hunt. No… time? No time for… Wade? No, I whispered back, hating how meekly it sounded against the powerful roar coming from the depth of my mind. No! I pushed back, feeling myself growing angry. I refused this—whatever this was. It wouldn't rob me of Wade. I. Refused.

"…answer me, Chlo…" yes, I could feel Wade's voice teetering nearer. I pushed and kicked at the strange sensation radiating from my back. Untangled myself from inky threads and—ah! It was like breaking the water's surface. Sound returned. Wade's worried voice matched his face perfectly. Guilt pooled in my stomach.

"I'm alright," I managed, startled by how sharp and steely my voice came across. Wade didn't care, he kept me locked in his arms, tilted into his chest. "Really,"

"You went limp," he whispered. "I thought you were going to pass out, Chloe. I kept calling you—damn. You gave me a scare. Are you okay? Did you forget to eat again?" I didn't understand what he meant. I looked at him dumbly. "Low-blood sugar?" Oh. Right. When these dizzy spells started out I'd used that excuse, hadn't I?

"I guess so." Lie. Liar, liar pants on fire.

Wade's worry stayed, but I could see a shift into pissed-off. I didn't know what to say for him not to be angry at me for 'skipping meals'—I couldn't tell the truth. So, I blurted the first words on my tongue.

"Are all the boys like you?" so stupid, I chastised myself.

Wade was caught off guard. Don't worry, superstar, I am too.

"What do you mean?"

"Are they all sweet—like you?"

Wade's shoulders dropped. He had been strung tight, I realized. With worry. Over me. In that moment, I felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world because Wade was gazing down with eyes that promised only to stare at mine.

"Don't try to be cute, it won't save you from my wrath." Yes, it would his softening features told me as much. My boyfriend sighed, exasperated. "I'm going to get us something to eat. Something with sugar." I yelped when he grabbed my hips, detaching my feet from the tiled floor and moved me effortlessly onto a stool. "Sit before you fall over and crack your head open or something as equally bloody horrific that will involve me calling an ambulance."

I itched to grin but forced it down, "Yes, sir."

Nodding once, Wade turned to his filled to the brim fridge. He whirled, handing me a… Capri Sun. I perked an eyebrow. He shoved it into my hand. I took it, smiling. I plunged the straw in and sucked the orange flavored liquid into my mouth, watching as Wade cut two—very large—slices of marble cake. It was his mom's specialty. He plated both slices, got forks, then nudged his head toward the dining room. I followed behind him, happy that my legs weren't made of jelly, and we crossed the hall into the massive den that Wade insisted was a living room. Well, it was, but not many living rooms had a piano in it. Or large bookcases along three walls. The large windowpane behind the equally large plasma screen, was the only window in the room. The inside was shielded from the outside by electric shutters. We sat on the large U couch in the center of the room. Wade grabbed the remote, turning on the plasma and some rerun of the Simpsons was on. It was just background noise.

"Good?" he asked once I took the first bite and literally swooned. If this was what ecstasy felt like I got why people took it. I mumbled something around my food. "Guess I got my answer. I'm glad you think so, my mom made it yesterday when I innocently suggested you might visit our humble abode." Yeah, Wade's house wasn't so humble.

I wanted to tell him to say thank you but refrained from opening my mouth again while chewing. We ate and Wade surfed channels. Looking for what? No idea. Once our plates were empty, though, he tossed the remote aside. He pulled me close. I'd scarcely seen Wade's face so serious.

"Promise me you won't skip meals?"

"I don't skip meals… exactly…" I didn't want him to think I was becoming anorexic. "But I should eat more often, you know, between meals."

"That's a good idea." Then he whispered, "You're really okay? I can get…"

I grabbed his hand so that he wouldn't storm into the kitchen, raid it of all the edible food and offer it at my feet.

"I'm fine, Wade. Stop sounding like my mom." I didn't mean to sound so pissy. I just did.

Wade looked like he wanted to defend himself and mom's worry over me. He pressed his lips tightly, not breathing a word. I silently thanked him. Then, feeling much more energized, I climbed onto his lap. Wade's twin gems twinkled before darkening. He leaned his head back as if about to enjoy his favorite show or sports' team. That empowered me. I curled my fingers behind his nape before delving into his wavy hair. I leaned in to kiss his chin. My mouth followed a route below his chin, along his neck, to his collarbones. Wade grunted his approval. My fingers were still gripping his hair. His hands had been at his sides while he enjoyed me, now, they traveled my thighs.

Everything was great. We were on his couch, steadily, heatedly making out. Just like I wanted us to be. I didn't know how long we kissed, how many moans I let out at every hot kiss Wade pressed into me—on my mouth, my neck, the v between my chest as he tugged down the front of my camisole… But it all came to a stop when I felt his hands reach for the hem of my sweater. My eyes went wide and I never felt so glad for his being closed. My hands dropped—one from underneath his shirt and another from his shoulder—and I grabbed—stopped—Wade's teasing fingers.

Startled, Wade looked at me.

"What's wrong?" his voice was rough for the second time today.

Damn it. I wanted to go further with him—I had this twisting feeling inside me, I wanted more from him. That would've been rainbows and sunshine before my birthday. Now there was a living tattoo on my back. Three spirals connected in the middle, pretty big, very hard to miss. I couldn't let Wade remove my cami. He would see it. How the hell would I explain it? I wouldn't.

Wade mistook my frustration for nervousness. In turn, he looked a little hurt.

"You can tell me to stop every time, shortcake." I knew that. "You don't need to look so anxious." I know, I wanted to scream. His hands rested on my hips, firmly on top of clothes. Not underneath. I wanted to carve out my damn back skin for a split second. "Let's do something else," Wade suggested with a tentative smile.

"Like what?" I sounded bitter under the sulkiness.

"Cuddle."

"Cuddle?" I repeated stupidly, as if such notion eluded me. "Here…?" He brushed hair from my face.

"My room?"

"Your parents could come home and I wouldn't feel comfortable…"

"Just admit you like being in my bedroom." I slapped his shoulder for the arrogance. Still. Yes, yes I did. "I'll take your silence as a yes. Come on." I slid off Wade and he was the first up, pulling my hand to follow.

We followed the stairs to the second floor. Wade's bedroom was the second door on the right. He went in, turned on the lights and kicked the door shut once I strolled inside, heading for the spacious bed. The bedspread was the color of his eyes, the walls were eggshell and there were no posters on them like you'd expect from most teenagers. At the bottom of his bed was an old looking chest with things Wade hadn't shown me. He said they were from before—before his little brother died. I cringed on the inside, remembering the first time Wade mentioned him.

Sometimes I wondered if that was why he got so… worried. Why he was so sweet and caring. Wade offered me a smile over a shoulder while he headed to the laptop on his desk. Another sad wave hit me when he turned toward the screen. His brother, Wyatt, died at the age of nine. Wade had been fourteen. When I asked how Wyatt died he'd shaken his head, saying 'accident'. His parents never once mentioned Wyatt. There were no photos—around the house—of him. Just like there were no photos of my dad. Mom must have loved him dearly, to the point where the only way to move on was to forget what that person looked like. It seemed cruel on some level, because you should remember the people you loved—or so people say.

"Is this to your liking?" Wade asked, snapping me back into my body and away from depressing thoughts. I listened for a beat. It was a soft piano melody. I nodded. "Cool," Wade came over, sat on bed and tossed his shoes. I did the same. A minute later, we were cuddling on his bed. "Have you decided what you want to do on Saturday?"

Nope. "They say it's going to be the party of the century. Probably." I quoted Lana, sort of.

"Ah, then we shan't miss it, m'lady." I burst out laughing.

I twisted around in his embrace. A massive cocky grin was plastered on his face.

"Please talk like that in English tomorrow. Please." I begged, still laughing my ass off.

Wade's one laugh was powerful and intoxicating. He rolled onto his back looking at the ceiling.

"Yeah, sure. I can already see myself being sent to the principal's office. Mrs. Peacock would totally think I was making fun of her subject."

I half-sat, shaking his left shoulder.

"No!" She totally would. "You know her name's not actually Peacock, right?" it was just a nickname we'd given her because of how she dressed, mixing every available color. Jenna was horrified each class.

"Yes, Chloé." I cocked my head at him. Wade propped himself on an elbow. "That's how you say your name in French. You say it as KLO-e instead of KLO-ee."

"And how did you come across this startling discovery?"

"Well, Chloé," Wade poked the tip of my nose twice. "I'm highly interested in all things to do with you and just a few days ago, in one of my horrendous French classes, I came across an exercise with this variant of your name. Naturally, I memorized it."

"And learned how to pronounce it correctly." He nodded. "So, do you think if I taught you French you'd like it?"

His lips stretched deviously, "Oui, cherri."

"Too bad because it's not happening."

I watched Wade's hopeful face fall and he let himself fall back on bed too.

"You're so mean."

We stayed on his bed for a long time. For so long, that we fell asleep next to each other. Wade was still sleeping when I woke up. I ignored Wade, though. Couldn't care less that he was beside me. I sat up like a robot. I slid off his bed soundlessly, almost like I hadn't moved. Wade didn't make a move. I reached for my shoes. Wade's computer screen had gone dark, I caught my reflection on it—my pupils.

They were vertical. Like a cat's. Fear hammered somewhere, but another feeling—much stronger—squelched it. My back was burning, I noticed. The smell. It's near. Go. Hunt. Leave. Hunt. It's close. This was different from before—from last night. I could feel my body moving, feel myself inside it, but I couldn't actually control it. I was trapped and had no choice. I wanted to yell for Wade—STOP ME! It was stuck in my throat. WADE! Nothing.

I walked out of Wade's bedroom, taking the stairs. I headed straight for the door. No. No, no. No. Please someone… someone stop me. I felt myself slip away, edging into darkness. Almost at the door. Excitement bubbled up like a magma bubbling up a volcano, waiting to be set free.

My hand paralyzed on the knob.

I blinked. Because I wanted to blink. My legs felt shaky like they would dissolve under me. My fingers fell from the bronze knob. I inhaled—the smell. That same one that triggered whatever my condition was? It had disappeared. Somehow, I knew it hadn't just drifted further away from Wade's house. No. Whoever or whatever had been emanating that stench was gone.

Dead.

Trembling, I did the only thing I could. I went back upstairs. Toed off my shoes and curled up next to Wade—who hadn't felt me slip away. Because I'd been so surreptitious about it. Like a predator.