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THE PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS: Complete Box Set
THE PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS: Complete Box Set
THE PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS: Complete Box Set
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THE PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS: Complete Box Set

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Grace Wildstone and Miles O'Fallon should have never crossed paths, but fate was on their side.

A clairvoyant outcast and an honor student, their love story has been laughed at by every demon residing in Hell.

Both angels and demons have put the couple through the ringer, but they're determined to come out on top.

They've listened to spirits whisper in the rain.

They've screamed in the wind.

They've cried in demonic fog.

They've sinned, countless times, through wrathful storms.

And when all is said and done, they'll dance together in the very fires of Hell.

Follow Grace and Miles' story through all five adrenaline-fueled installments as they become the two shining stars of the

PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 30, 2016
ISBN9781536560701
THE PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS: Complete Box Set
Author

Nicole Tillman

Nicole Tillman is an author who hasn't always had a love of reading. As a child, she struggled to string words together and would hide in the back of the classroom with her head down in hopes that the teacher would forget she existed. Eventually, she was introduced to a young adult series by a family friend and her love of reading bloomed. Nicole now weaves her own stories, content to lose sleep in order to write both contemporary romance and thriller/suspense novels. She lives in the Ozarks of Missouri with her husband, two sons, and two dogs. Nicole has an Associates Degree in General Studies though Missouri State University and was on her way to completing her Bachelors in Creative Writing when she decided to take a sabbatical to focus on work and her family. Now a stay at home mother, she dedicates her time to her boys, writing, and photography.

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    Book preview

    THE PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS - Nicole Tillman

    THE PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS

    COMPLETE BOX SET

    ––––––––

    Nicole Tillman

    Amazon Bestselling Author in Ghost Fiction

    Copyright © 2016 Nicole Tillman

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author.

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and registered trademark owners of all branded names referenced without TM, SM, or ® symbols due to formatting constraints, and is not claiming ownership of or collaboration with said trademark brands. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

    Edited by Lindsey Editing

    Photo Credit: Pixabay

    Printed in the United States of America

    WHISPER IN THE RAIN

    SCREAM IN THE WIND

    CRY IN THE FOG

    SIN IN THE STORM

    DANCE IN THE HELLFIRE

    Dedicated to those who see, hear,

    and feel things they can't always explain.

    And to those who fall victim to bullying

    for no reason other than being different.

    Hold your heads up high.

    It gets better.

    I promise...

    Series Description

    Grace Wildstone and Miles O'Fallon should have never crossed paths, but fate was on their side.

    A clairvoyant outcast and an honor student, their love story has been laughed at by every demon residing in Hell.

    Both angels and demons have put the couple through the ringer, but they're determined to come out on top.

    They've listened to spirits whisper in the rain.

    They've screamed in the wind.

    They've cried in demonic fog.

    They've sinned, countless times, through wrathful storms.

    And when all is said and done, they'll dance together in the very fires of Hell.

    Follow Grace and Miles' story through all five adrenaline-fueled installments as they become the two shining stars of the

    PARANORMAL PEACEKEEPERS.

    WHISPER IN THE RAIN

    Book One

    You can either hide in the shadows... or let someone pull you into the light.

    No matter where she goes, Grace Wildstone is a pariah. Between flitting from foster home to foster home and trying to keep the voices at bay, she's exhausted. Keeping her secrets buried is a full time job, one she's been shouldering alone for far too long.

    Miles O'Fallon may be many things, but calloused is not one of them. When Grace becomes the target of a twisted classmate, he's compelled to intervene. Little does he know, the girl he's helping has a gift that will tip his world on its axis.

    When this unexpected high school romance blossoms to life, Miles and Grace are sure they can overcome anything life throws their way...

    But it's not life they have to worry about.

    It's the dead.

    Chapter One

    GRACE

    My blood morphed from bright red to a soft, less malevolent shade of pink as it swirled down the drain. The cut on my temple throbbed, but that pain was pale in comparison to the giant hole that had been blown through my pride. What was left of it, anyway.

    Seventeen years ago, I came into the world weak-willed, anxious, and lonely. And my obscurity only amplified with each passing year.

    I was a social outcast.

    The type of person evil, manipulative, discriminatory individuals seek out.

    It didn't matter what school I attended, I was a target. It didn't matter where I went, they were always there, waiting. They could smell my fear. They could sense that I was different. And like piranhas in the Amazon, their need for blood was all-consuming.

    Whatever bred a bully's hate and need to inflict pain, I wasn't sure. All I did know was that if I wanted to survive the halls of any school, especially Triple Oaks High School, I had to keep my head down, stay out of their way, and try my damnedest to be invisible.

    After the gash above my brow clotted, I shook my head until black hair spilled in front of my face, concealing my most recent wound. If I called attention to myself in the eyes of the staff, be it by accident or on purpose, I knew the repercussions would be tenfold. The less attention I drew, the better.

    The riotous noise in the hallway died down, so I took one tentative step through the bathroom door and looked both ways, careful to keep my hair curtained in front of my face. The locker-lined hallway was completely barren, so I made my escape.

    As I tip-toed toward the small room that housed my last-hour English course, my name rang out through the quiet hall, sending a flood of anxious tears to my eyes that I fought to contain.

    Grace?

    Slowly, I turned to face Mrs. Sherwood. She wore the same dark tailored suit as always, her blonde hair pinned neatly atop her head in an official looking bun.  Her heels echoed off the tile walls as she approached me.

    Why aren't you in class?

    The bundle of nerves that arose every time a teacher turned their eyes my way made an appearance and I fought to remain calm.

    Just needed to use the ladies room, I answered softly.

    Mrs. Sherwood stopped a few feet away and crossed her arms.

    Uh huh.

    I knew that response. It was what teachers, or principals like Mrs. Sherwood, said when they didn't believe you. It was the non-response that led to questioning, and sometimes a note home to my foster parents. Or, if I was exceptionally unlucky, my foster parents were called in.

    Because I wasn't normal. I didn't excel at anything. I had no friends. I kept to myself. I barely answered when spoken to. And because of that, because of the person I'd grown to be, I was labeled as 'troubled'. And troubled kids, especially high school seniors who were about to be released out into the real world, were closely monitored.

    Is everything okay?

    Instead of soothing me, like her question was intended, it made me shut down even further. Questions that were meant to placate and disarm were always the most dangerous. There was only one answer to give, and it wasn't the truth.

    Yeah. Everything's fine. I nodded and attempted a smile, just to ease her concern.

    I couldn't tell her that, no, nothing was okay. The fact that someone had spit in my lunch before I'd even had a chance to take a bite was not okay. The look of pity that every teacher in school tried to hide from me was not okay. The incident in gym, where a boy twice my size had elbowed me, causing me to trip and fall head first onto one of the bleachers, was not okay. The fact that no matter where I went, no matter if I was alone or not, the voices never left me...  that was not okay.

    Like always, my lie of an answer was met with a smile and a nod. Not because she thought I was telling the truth, but because she was thankful I told the lie. Teachers, administrators, staff; no one wanted to deal with a loner, especially a troubled loner like me.

    Okay. Mrs. Sherwood shifted from one foot to the other, seemingly uncomfortable in my presence. Well, I won't keep you. Better get to class before the final bell.

    She didn't need to tell me twice. Without a parting word, I turned the corner, tennis shoes squeaking against the linoleum, and power walked my way to English where I sat and quietly prayed for the minutes to tick by faster.

    MILES

    The second I heard her sneakers in the hallway, my eyes jerked to the door. In she walked, silent, eyes downcast as always as she took her seat two rows over. Somehow, she avoided the leg Anthony Hopper stuck out in an attempt to trip her. A disappointed sigh, followed closely by muffle laughter, rang out at his unsuccessful attempt to humiliate her. Those two sounds mingling in the stale air of the classroom were enough to spike my pulse.

    It seemed that wherever she went, trouble followed. For two months, I'd watched her slink through the halls while boys and girls alike poked fun at her. I didn't know why. She'd never given anyone a reason to provoke her. No matter what was thrown her way, she kept her eyes down, her mouth closed, and suffered through it. And like the jerk everyone knew me to be, I didn't say a word. I didn't raise a hand to stop it.

    It wasn't that I enjoyed her discomfort- quite the opposite really. I just knew how people like Anthony Hopper operated. If I said a word in her defense, it would make things worse.

    I wanted to protect her, yes, that's just the kind of person I was raised to be. But I wanted something else even more.

    I wanted her to protect herself.

    Mr. O'Fallon!

    My eyes jerked to the front of the class where Mr. Silas was holding a stack of graded papers.

    Would you be so kind as to pause your daydreaming long enough to return these essays?

    After acknowledging him with a curt nod, I unfolded my six foot five frame from the tiny wooden desk and made my way to the front of the class.

    Thank you, he said with all the enthusiasm of a stoned sloth.

    I made my way through the rows, glancing at the names typed in the upper right-hand corner of each essay. When Grace's paper appeared in my hand, I made my way back and slid it across her desk.

    Good job.

    I didn't bother checking her grade, I just needed to speak to her. For as long as I'd been watching her, I'd never heard her speak more than two words at a time, but I remembered just how soft and beautiful that soprano voice had sounded to my ears.

    C plus? Yeah, great job, brainiac.

    I cocked my head to find Anthony leaning back in his chair, eyeing her paper. In response, she folded her essay and slipped it between the pages of her notebook. The blush she wore more often than not crept up her neck to paint her cheeks.

    What a dick...

    After quickly shuffling through the papers, I found Anthony's essay and tossed it in his face. He struggled to grasp the flapping pages before clutching it to his chest. I kept my voice level. Quiet enough Mr. Silas couldn't hear, but loud enough the rest of the room wouldn't miss it.

    D minus. Fantastic job, dumbass.

    I didn't bother sticking around long enough for him to address me. There was nothing that lowlife could say that could penetrate my thick skin. I was immune to his kind. Even as his frigid eyes bore holes into the back of my t-shirt, I continued to hand out the rest of the essays without comment before returning to my seat with my own paper in hand.

    A+

    Not bad, considering I'd thrown it together a few hours before it was due. High school academia was something I'd never found particularly challenging, and that was a gift I'd always taken for granted. But as I flipped through page after page of eloquent nonsense I'd dumped onto each sheet of printer paper, a thought blossomed to life in the dusty corners of my mind.

    Perhaps having an affinity for school wouldn't just get me into the college of my choice. Maybe it would also get me closer to the dark haired girl two rows over who was desperately trying to conceal the cut above her left eye. Maybe, just maybe, I had something to offer the scared girl who attracted bullies like flies to honey.

    The same girl I'd witnessed whispering to herself as she walked home in the rain.

    Chapter Two

    GRACE

    Every morning I wished for the same thing. For my gym teacher, Coach Bishop, to fall ill. I had nothing against the good coach, but just the idea of gym class was enough to give me hives. Literally.

    However, in my two months at Triple Oaks, my wish had never been granted. Not once.

    It wasn't that I particularly hated exercise or sports. On the contrary, I enjoyed running, swimming, volleyball, and a handful of other physical activities. What I didn't enjoy was a co-ed gym class filled with people who were out to get me.

    I cursed under my breath as Coach Bishop entered, yelling as he wheeled a rack of balls onto the court.

    Fall in line!

    Everyone dropped what they were doing and headed to the front of the gym, arranging themselves in an orderly line of boys on one side, girls on the other. I took my time, emerging out of the shadows of the bleachers at the last second, in no particular hurry to take my rightful place behind everyone else.

    Number off. Ones and twos, Coach said as he made his way down the line, pointing at each student as they spouted their number.

    Two, I whispered as he reached the end of the line.

    Ones on this side, he motioned to the interior wall, and twos on the other.

    We split off as Coach grabbed the two tallest guys in class, Charles something-or-other and Miles O'Fallon, the boy from my English class who had, for some unknown reason, gone out of his way to be nice to me. The three of them made their way to the center of the court and hoisted a volleyball net into place.

    Awesome.

    Volleyball was something I was actually good at. And aside from someone from the opposing team spiking a ball into my face, there was very little chance I could get hurt. Well, unless someone from my own team decided to trip me, which was totally plausible.

    Wildstone and Hopper, you're up to serve first!

    Great...

    Coach tossed the ball over the net and, luckily, I caught it. The last thing I needed was to go scrambling after the ball and fall on my face.

    Line it up, Coach called as I made my way behind the painted line on the gym floor. I tried my best to ignore the wave of anxiety trying to drag me under. Let's see what you got!

    Even as my hands shook, I lifted the ball.

    It's just a ball. It's just a net. It's just a game.

    Just. Breathe.

    After taking one deep breath to center myself, I softly tossed the ball in the air, brought my right arm back, and smack!, sent it sailing over the net in an overhanded serve.

    Nice! Coach called, clapping as the ball went into play on the opposing side.

    Before I'd even had a chance to step over the line, the ball was sailing right back.

    I got it! A tall blonde yelled.

    She bumped it to a short guy with shaggy hair and he tapped it with his fingertips, sending it in a perfect arc right in front of me. I didn't even think, didn't hesitate. I took one, two, three steps and ran forward to spike it over the net.

    Point.

    Woo! My team cheered and I felt something akin to a smile tug at my mouth.

    Nice spike, Grace.

    The familiar voice caught me off guard and I stumbled as my head snapped up to see if I was hearing things. I wasn't.

    On the other side of the net, Miles O'Fallon was clapping. His vibrant green eyes glowed happily as he widened his stance and readied himself for the next serve. When he combed a single hand through his thick, disheveled hair in an attempt to get it out of his face, I hid my flushing cheeks and took my place on the court. Something about the way he looked at me had my heart thundering wildly in my chest, and that was something I needed to avoid.

    Whose team are you on, homo?

    Damn, Anthony...

    Miles should have kept his mouth shut. That would have been the smart thing to do. The last thing I wanted was Anthony taunting someone else because of me. However, when I lifted my eyes toward the net, Miles was smiling, completely unperturbed by Anthony's remark.

    After that, I shut out the opposing team altogether, focusing only on the ball volleying back and forth across the net. I was able to lose myself in the game, something I hadn't been able to do in a long, long time.

    Aside from Anthony on the other side of the court, no one made a jab at the way my shoulders hunched forward while my hair thrashed freely in front of my face. No one commented on the way I ran as if I were running from something instead of scurrying across the court to bump a ball over a net. And no one said a word about how I didn't call the ball when it came sailing my way.

    It was easy. Fun. The way a high school gym class should be.

    That should have been my first clue that things were about to go dreadfully, horrifically wrong.

    The ball sailed over and I got into position- knees bent, arms stretched out in front of me, ready to bump the ball so the blonde in front of me could set it in motion for shaggy hair to spike back over.

    Grace has it! Blondie called, hands already outstretched for the next hit.

    And then, before I could make heads or tails of anything, my world came to a screeching halt. I sucked in a breath as my eyes blinked furiously, trying to clear the haze obstructing my peripheral vision. My limbs went cold as they lifted up in an instinctual defensive pose. Before I could stop them, my feet tangled beneath me and I fell flat on my backside, barely registering the pain shooting through my pelvis as terror threatened to choke the breath from my lungs.

    Grace! Someone yelled in the distance.

    The ball sailed past my head, whipping my hair out of my face with its speed. But I didn't so much as flinch. Instead, I braced myself as two pale blue eyes and lips smeared with dark red lipstick obstructed my view.

    There was no escaping. Not this time.

    She was too fast, too close.

    "Help me! Please, make it stop!" The distraught woman cried, spraying spit in my face as I used my legs to propel myself backward, away from the apparition.

    Her wild, lost eyes never blinked, never wavered. The darkness surrounding her threatened to engulf me and I held my breath, scared to look away. My entire body trembled at the sight as adrenaline took hold of my heart.

    No! Not now! Not here!

    "It hurts! She cried again, a string of red drool exploding from her mouth as tears leaked over her cheeks. It hurts so much. I just want it to stop!"

    I... I'm sorry, I stuttered as my back hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. No escape. I was trapped.

    She slapped both hands against the concrete wall above my head and I coughed to keep from gagging as she leaned in close. The scent of rotting flesh and mildewed earth snaked its way into my nostrils and my stomach soured.

    "Why won't you help me? Her lips moved closer and closer to mine and my eyes slammed shut before she wailed again. Why?!"

    And then... the room fell silent.

    The only sound registering in the cavernous space was my own ragged breathing.

    Carefully, I cracked one eye open and looked past my heaving chest. She was gone.

    I slumped forward, blinking unshed tears from my eyes. Relief replaced panic and I was able to breathe in the empty air she'd just inhabited as my muscles relaxed and I was once again in complete control of my body.

    Only then did the stillness of the room register.

    I lifted my brown eyes hesitantly, only to be greeted by something far worse than what I'd just witnessed.

    Every single pair of eyes in the gym was trained on me. They all stood, unmoving - fear, shock, and disgust plain on their faces as they watched me slowly stand on unsteady legs.

    Shaking, scared, and weirdly exhausted, I didn't know what to do. There was nothing I could say to erase what they'd just seen, nothing I could do to make them forget. 

    So, without a single word or explanation, I ran.

    MILES

    My heart plummeted all the way down to my sneakers as shouting and unrestrained laughter bounced off the high walls of the gymnasium and threatened to deafen me.

    What the hell is wrong with her?

    Freak.

    She needs to be committed.

    Basket case.

    That girl is demented.

    I went after her.

    Grace was clearly terrified and no one, not even the coach, was doing a damn thing to console her. I had no idea what I was going to say to her, all I knew was that she was in desperate need of another human being. She needed to know she wasn't alone.

    I sprinted toward the locker room, trying my best to block out their judgmental cries, hoping the words didn't make their way to Grace's ears. Leaping down both flights of stairs, I stopped on the landing to search for her. She hadn't detoured. She'd gone straight for the girl's locker room. Well, I had no qualms whatsoever about going in after her.

    Grace?

    The fluorescent bulbs flickered as I entered the cold, seemingly empty room. The only sound that reached my ears was that of a leaky faucet, but I knew she was there. I could practically feel her anguish hanging heavily in the air around me.

    Grace? Are you in here?

    I hung my head low, searching the shadows for her small form. A chill wafting through the cracks in the neglected plaster made me shiver as it collided with my sweat-soaked skin, but I ignored it and made my way to the bathroom stalls.

    Grace. It's Miles.

    Silence settled in around me, so I cleared my throat and pressed on. I don't know what happened, and I honestly don't care. But they're pricks for laughing. I just want to make sure you're okay.

    More silence.

    And then...

    Why?

    I whipped my head toward Grace's voice and made my way to the end stall. Peering under the door, I found her sneakers staring back at me. I rested my forehead against the cold steel, thankful she was talking to me, and rapped with one knuckle.

    Come on out, Grace, I urged softly. It's okay.

    She fought to stifle a sob and my heart ached for her. She didn't know me from Adam and had no reason to trust me, but I faith that she would.

    I turned, braced my back against the door frame, and slid to the floor, ready to wait her out.

    My eyes slid shut as I rested my cheek against a hinge. Need anything?

    No, she answered softly.

    M'kay.

    Minutes ticked by at a snail's pace as I waited for her to emerge from her hiding spot, but she didn't budge. She didn't make a sound, aside from the occasional shaky intake of air.

    I was running out of time. Soon, the bell would ring and the quiet corridor would be invaded by loud, boisterous girls, most of whom didn't care for Grace. I needed to reach out to her, to make her understand that not everyone was against her. Not everyone thought she was crazy.

    Don't listen to them. I didn't need to elaborate. She knew who I was referring to. They don't have anything better to do. The only reason they badger you is because of their own insecurities. They hate themselves and they'll look for any excuse to tear someone else down to feel superior.

    A huff of grim laughter floated under the door. "No. They badger me because they know I'm different. They know I'm a freak."

    You're not a freak! I grimaced at the way my raised voice echoed through the room. When the word 'freak' finally stopped resonating off the walls, I said it again, this time barely raising my voice above a whisper. You're not a freak.

    To my surprise, the latch jiggled and Grace swung the door open wide. Jesus! I lifted my palm to keep from getting bashed in the face.

    You don't know the first thing about me.

    I looked up, shocked to find Grace's eyebrows knitted together. There was a ferocity in her stance that I hadn't expected. She seemed... pissed. Like she really believed everything our classmates whispered about her. Like I had no right defending her.

    I know enough. I stood, but backed away so she wouldn't feel threatened. I know you do absolutely nothing to provoke those people up there, but they still go after you. And you say nothing.

    What should I say? The flickering lights above illuminated her tear-stained cheeks, further sawing at my heart. Should I tell them that I'm not crazy? That I'm not out of my damn mind? That they have no right to speak to me the way they do?

    Yes! I roared. That's exactly what you should say!

    In all the times I'd imagined it, I hadn't pictured our first real conversation being so strained. But I wanted to keep her talking, keep her yelling. Mostly because I enjoyed the sound of her voice, but also because I knew she couldn't keep her feelings bottled up. She was on the brink, ready to implode. She needed someone to disarm her before she detonated.

    I can't, she said, lowering her voice in defeat. Because it's not true. I am crazy, and they have every right to point that out to me.

    Before I could say another word in her defense, the bell sounded. Grace sprang into action, grabbing her backpack off the benches before hauling ass out the door, never bothering to change out of her gym clothes. I ran out after her, barely missing the flood of estrogen jogging down the stairs and flowing into the room where we'd just stood.

    I cracked my knuckles as I waited for Grace outside of Mr. Silas' classroom. What happened in the gym and our confrontation afterwards still had me on edge.

    We were strangers. I had no right talking to her, raising my voice to her the way I did, but she had every right to push back. Who was I to tell her what she should and shouldn't feel, what she should and shouldn't say?

    No one, that's who.

    I owed her an apology.

    But her wide brown eyes never surfaced. To my disappointment, the warning bell echoed through the hall and still no Grace. So, instead of earning myself a tardy slip for a girl who may or may not show, I slid inside and took my seat.

    Only two desks remained empty by the time the tardy bell chimed; one behind Anthony Hopper and one in the very back corner. I slid in behind Anthony so that Grace wouldn't have to. If she even showed. Plus, I liked being able to visualize bashing him across the back of the head with my English textbook. And my Geometry book. And my backpack. And my fist...

    Five, then ten, then twenty minutes passed and I was convinced Grace had skipped out early. Since I had no intention of following the lesson, I ducked my head and scribbled in my notebook to pass the time. Which is why I didn't notice the door swing open at a quarter to three.

    The desk next to mine creaked, and only then did I peer up to find Grace hunched over the desk, hair concealing her face as usual. Even through the curtain of hair I could tell her eyes were rimmed in red.

    As she retrieved her books, the jerkoff in front of me coughed around the word 'freak' and that was enough to set me off.

    My teeth gnashed together and my nostrils flared as I watched Anthony lean forward and fist bump one of his football buddies. What were they celebrating? The fact that she was late? That she was different? That they had the power to demean her?

    Screw that...

    Before Anthony had a chance to settle back into his seat, I hooked the toe of my shoe under the leg of his chair and pulled.

    He went crashing to the ground in a glorious show of flailing limbs and muffled curses. The entire classroom erupted with laughter as he tried to right himself, but luckily, his desk had fallen in between the two in front of him, leaving him pinned to the ground by wood and unrelenting steel.

    Son of a bitch, he grumbled, thrashing around, unable to free himself.

    Mr. Silas, bless the man, did nothing but roll his eyes and yell for Anthony to get himself together. With help, he managed to get the desk back in place and situate himself. But not before he turned angry, ruthless eyes my way.

    I leaned forward with a smile.

    I'd be more careful if I were you.

    Chapter Three

    GRACE

    Trust wasn't something I handed out freely. But even the deaf, dumb, and blind couldn't miss the fact that Miles was trying to get close to me. Or, at the very least, trying to help me. That right there made him even more suspicious in my eyes.

    As I walked home from school, I tried my best to be invisible, to melt into the trees as I neared my house, but camouflaging myself was apparently not my forte. 

    Grace, wait up!

    I rolled my eyes to the sky.

    You have GOT to be kidding me...

    Miles' house was only a few blocks away from mine, in a much safer and nicer neighborhood, so it wasn't surprising that he was only a few beats behind me. We often traveled the same sidewalks on our way home.

    You walk fast for a little girl, he said, breathing heavily as he caught up to me. He shoved both hands in the pockets of his jeans, and for some godforsaken reason, my eyes followed.

    Look I wanted to talk to you about what happened.

    No, I snapped, jerking my eyes forward.

    I know, but hear me out. I think-

    I don't care what you think, Miles, I said, my voice clipped and firm. Drop it.

    After weighing his options, his chin jerked forward in a curt nod and we continued home, falling into step beside each other. My eyes cut to the side, sneaking glimpses of him as he stared straight ahead, tensing his jaw, his green eyes clouding in thought.

    I almost caved, almost offered him some snippet of information in exchange for holding his tongue, but he broke the silence much too soon.

    What did you see?

    I hiked my backpack higher on my shoulder and continued to stare straight ahead. That was one question I couldn't answer. Wouldn't answer.

    Nothing.

    The last thing I needed was for Miles to think I was psychotic. Or worse, to have him run his mouth to people at school. I'd be staring down padded walls and locked doors before I had a chance to deny anything.

    You can talk to me, Grace. I'm harmless.

    I scoffed. Harmless? I highly doubted that. Anyone who knew my secrets, even the most benevolent ones, was a danger to my sanity and my freedom. So no, Miles O'Fallon was definitely not harmless.

    And yet... there was something- a voice in the back of my head that insisted I could trust him.

    I mentally snapped a ball gag around that little voice and kicked it to the shadows before it could sink its claws in too deep.

    My driveway came into view and I let out a sigh of relief. I had to get away from him. From his prying eyes, gorgeous as they were. So I stepped up the pace and veered off without a word, grateful to be that much closer to safety and isolation. 

    Nice chatting with you, too, he called as I strode away. The sarcasm in his voice was not lost on me. Have a good one.

    That night's episode was worse than usual.

    I laid in bed, gasping, choking, fighting the fear creeping into my throat as all airflow ceased. The hard mattress around me sunk in as an invisible force lowered itself onto my body. I could feel him, smell him, sense him all around me. And when I opened my eyes, there he was.

    My heart clenched in terror.

    I tried to scream, but couldn't take in a breath.

    I tried to escape, but his hold on me hardened.

    "Where is she? He asked through bared teeth. What did you do with her?"

    The strange young man held me by the throat, his thick nails piercing the skin as he shook, thrashing my head back and forth as I clawed at his hands, his forearms, anything I could reach. But he held firm, never relenting. His head shook back and forth with my own, his empty stare never leaving my eyes.

    "Where is she? She needs me!"

    I tried to answer. I opened my mouth and fought for enough air to tell him that I didn't know. I didn't know who he was. I didn't know who he was looking for. I didn't know a damn thing. I just needed him to stop. I needed him to disappear. And I really, really needed to breathe. 

    Martha! Something's wrong with Grace!

    My panicked eyes whipped to the side. Tammy was awake. My foster sister who had barely spoken two words to me since I moved in was awake and calling for Martha, our foster mother.

    No!

    "Tell me, dammit! Tell me where she is!"

    Can't. Breathe... Can't.

    The overhead light screamed to life and in a rush, I fell back onto the bed, hands clutching at my chest and throat, sobbing as blessed oxygen reentered my lungs.

    It took a moment to regain my bearings, but when my eyes flashed around the room, he was gone. Vanished. In his place stood a less gruesome threat, but a threat all the same.

    What the hell is your problem?

    I turned watery eyes to Martha who stood in the threshold of our room, cigarette in one hand, an outstretched finger protruding from the other.

    If you can't sleep quietly, then don't fucking sleep!

    The rollers in her hair bounced with every word and a silk robe threatened to fall off her pronounced shoulders as anger rolled off her in waves.

    I nodded meekly, still crying, still holding on by a thread. Yes, ma'am.

    If I have to come in here again, you're getting the belt. You got that?

    Again, I nodded. Got it.

    Martha flicked off the light, plunging us into darkness as she slammed the door. I listened to the pounding of feet in the hall, unable to breathe soundly until I knew she'd made her way back to the bourbon waiting for her in the living room.

    Why'd you have to do that? Tammy grumbled.

    I turned onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillow, trying my best to quiet the sobs wracking their way through my chest.

    Why, indeed?

    MILES

    The next day at lunch, I found Grace sitting in her usual spot. Alone. She always seemed to be alone.

    I waited patiently for my tray, grabbed an extra milk when no one was looking, and made my way across the cafeteria. I half expected my friends to call out, to ask why I was headed in the opposite direction of our table, but they didn't. Instead, they raised their brows, shook their heads, and went on about their business.

    As I approached, my eyes snagged on Grace's shoulders stiffening. She never raised her eyes to meet mine, but I could see her walls going up, brick by brick. An admirable defense mechanism, but she didn't need to fear me.

    I'd gotten just a sliver of a glance at the strength Grace possessed when she raised her voice to me in the locker room, but that strength was nowhere to be found. Before me sat Everyday Grace. The girl who didn't seem to fit in anywhere. The girl who flinched when someone got too close.

    Is this seat taken?

    I watched her dark eyes narrow. Her chin tilted just the slightest bit, as if she were about to nod, but for some reason, she didn't. After some kind of internal war, she shook her head, giving me permission to join her, and I slumped down into the cheap plastic chair.

    In an attempt to avoid any conversation I might be packing, Grace retrieved a book from her bag and opened it to a random page, feigning interest in the black and white text.

    I could take a hint. But I rarely did.

    One glance at her plate gave me my opening.

    You want mine?

    I smiled at the blush that painted her cheeks as her eyes flitted up to meet mine for only a brief second.

    Do I want your what? She asked, a slight edge to her voice.

    My peaches, what else?

    The food on her plate was completely untouched, except for the section that had contained the overly-sweet fruit. It was bare.

    I let my lips fall open in a friendly smile, hoping she would look at me as she tried to figure out if my question hid a double meaning. It didn't.

    Trade you my peaches for your corn, I offered.

    Grace's eyes still held a hint of suspicion, but she scooted her tray across the table with one finger. It was clear she didn't know what to make of me, but I knew I could make her open up if I tried hard enough. With my smile locked firmly in place, I went to work scooting our food around the bright plastic trays.

    I think we're going to the weight room today, I said, trying to engage her in light conversation.

    She could try to brush off all my attempts at idle chit-chat, but I was a persistent ass.

    I heard. Her face seemed to visibly pale.

    That probably wasn't the smartest topic I could have landed on. The last time our gym class ventured to the weight room, she had spent the entire hour by herself lifting five-pound dumbbells next to the soda machine. She had looked incredibly uncomfortable. Not that that was a big change for her, but still. I hated the fact that she was so unsure of herself.

    Be my spotter?

    Grace's eyes shot up. I watched in amusement as her brows pulled together and she eyed my shoulders and biceps. Then, to my surprise, she let out a soft laugh.

    Instantly, her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the noise.

    I like your laugh, I said with what I hoped was disarming warmth.

    Grace blushed and shook her head, sending her dark hair fluttering over her shoulders. I couldn't spot you.

    And why not?

    Grace closed the book and took a sip of apple juice. After locking eyes with me, she drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. It pained me to see a human being trying so hard to have a relaxed and casual conversation.

    I've seen how much you bench, she said. What if you dropped the bar and I couldn't lift it off you?

    Then I'd be crushed.

    And that wouldn't be ideal, she shot back.

    Nothing about lifting heavy shit over and over again is ideal.

    One side of her mouth lifted in a grin, but she shook her head, rejecting my offer.

    Okay, I sighed, shifting in my seat. Suit yourself.

    We finished eating in silence. Well, I finished eating. She continued pretending I wasn't there. But every time she peeked under her lashes to steal a glance, I felt it.

    Chapter Four

    GRACE

    I hated weight lifting.

    Hated. It.

    There's nothing more embarrassing or pointless than standing next to the door like you're ready to flee at any second while holding two bright purple dumbbells in your hands. Two tiny, pastel, five-pound dumbbells.

    After uselessly moving my arms from my sides to my shoulders for a few minutes, Miles and one of his friends walked through the door. I listened closely, pretending not to care, as the guy whose name I wasn't privy to asked if Miles needed a spotter. Of course, Miles, being the egotistical jerk that he was, shot me a smile over his shoulder.

    No thanks. I've got one.

    It's not happening, dude.

    The guy shrugged and walked away as Miles started to load the bar. After all the plates were in place, he took a seat and I silently calculated how much weight he was dealing with.

    Two hundred and fifteen pounds.

    Show off.

    After pumping the bar a few times, Miles lifted his chin.

    Too bad I was too busy staring at his biceps to notice.

    Hey now, he grunted. My eyes are up here.

    Of course, my cheeks heated so fast I looked like a chameleon sitting on a tomato.

    Sorry, I murmured, looking away.

    This is heavier than I remember.

    I ignored him and continued lifting my puny five-pounders as he bench pressed what was probably the equivalent of his own body weight.

    Seriously, he huffed. Shit.

    I risked a peek through my hair and found he was already sweating. The veins in his arms stood out against tanned skin as he strained to return the bar to the rack.

    And then the bar slipped.

    Without thinking, I jerked up to help him, dropping my weights to the floor as I lunged forward.

    Just as quickly as I reacted, I stopped short.

    He was laughing.

    "Are you serious?"

    Sorry, he chuckled as he proceeded to lift the bar with ease. Couldn't help myself.

    I turned around to retrieve my weights and leaned back against the wall, concealing myself in the shadows.

    You're an ass.

    That I am, he agreed.

    We lifted together in silence as the rest of the class moved from one weight station to the next without us. With all the high-tech equipment in the room, no one bothered with free weights.

    Seriously, though, he said, stopping to rest. I'd feel better if you were standing here just in case I do slip up and decide to crush my sternum.

    Get your friend to spot you.

    I refused to look at him. If he even showed the slightest hint that he genuinely wanted my help, I knew I'd drop what I was doing and go to him. Not because I thought he needed my help - obviously he didn't - but because I enjoyed being around him. I enjoyed feeling like someone, a real, live human being, wanted to be near me, to spend time with me.

    Looks like he's a little busy right now.

    I looked up to find his buddy teaching a short, blonde sophomore how to properly position herself for a dead lift.

    Crap...

    You mind?

    With a heavy sigh, I turned to face him.

    Fine.

    I returned my weights to the rack and positioned myself above his head. Even though my body temperature hadn't even spiked while I was 'lifting', perspiration coated my forehead as nervous butterflies raged in my belly. Being near people wasn't something I was accustomed to, and being near Miles was flat out nerve-racking.

    Once my feet were shoulder width apart, I placed my hands a few inches under the bar like I'd watched spotters do before. Not too difficult...

    You're an excellent spotter.

    I glanced down to find Miles smiling up at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

    I'm not doing anything, I said. I'm just standing here.

    No, he let out a huge puff of air as he extended his arms, "but the view is great from down here."

    I covered my face, surprised by his joke. I wanted to be embarrassed. I wanted to smack him right upside his big, egotistical head. But I didn't. I didn't even frown. Instead, I dropped my hands and laughed along with him. The warmth of his smile seeping into me felt good. Damn good. 

    Wildstone! O'Fallon! Less giggling over there. Someone's gonna get hurt.

    We both tried our hardest to squelch our laughter at Coach's reprimand, but I couldn't. The serotonin was pure bliss to my brain and I didn't want it to stop.

    Miles somehow managed to wipe the smile off his face. Yes, sir! He barked.

    As he finished his reps, I stared down into his green eyes and wondered...

    Why me?

    I was the last thing Miles O'Fallon needed in his neat and tidy life. I was unstable, unhealthy, and as far as he was concerned, completely crazy.

    No. Miles definitely did not need me crashing into his life.

    And yet, there I stood.

    MILES

    After the bell rang to dismiss class, I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed Grace out into the hall. Hearing her laugh, seeing her smile- it was so rare, I didn't want it to stop. I wanted to be on the receiving end of her happiness for as long as she'd let me. That thought right there was enough for me to laugh at myself.

    Grace barely knew me and I wasn't exactly boyfriend material. Hell, I didn't even date. Plenty of girls had been interested, but I'd never had the urge to pursue any of them. Yet, there was something about Grace that had me intrigued.

    Are you ready for the English midterm? I asked as we made our way to Mr. Silas' class.

    Not really, she answered. I- I've been having problems concentrating. The material just isn't sticking.

    And there was my opening...

    You know, if you need help studying, I'd be happy to help.

    She shot me a coy smile. That's not necessary.

    It is if you don't want to huff it in summer school after grad.

    I was trying my best to be as nonchalant as possible, but was failing miserably. Even so, she seemed to consider it.

    Thanks.

    To press the issue further, I grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper from my bag and jotted down my cell number.

    Seriously, call if you need anything. And I honestly meant anything.

    She took my number, folded it in half, and tucked it into her pocket. I will.

    Going strictly off the sincerity in her eyes and the way her lips quirked up in a grin, I knew she wasn't going to trash my number and forget about the offer.

    Good.

    With the door to our classroom in sight, I fought for an excuse to spend time with her after class. I didn't want to lose momentum.

    If you want, we can go over the reading assignment together after-

    I stopped talking when I realized Grace wasn't beside me. I spun around, afraid I'd lost her, only to find her standing in the middle of the hall, face pale, spine ramrod straight, hands trembling at her sides.

    Hey. I approached her carefully. You okay?

    She nodded quickly.

    Too quickly.

    Something was wrong.

    I tilted my head to the side, trying to decipher her change in mood, but came up empty.

    You sure?

    Yeah. I, um, I forgot something. Her voice was strung tight as she gestured over her shoulder toward the gym. You go ahead. I'll see you in class.

    She turned and started down the hall. Obviously, I couldn't stop her, but something was off. I wasn't about to let her walk away.

    Grace, wait!

    BAM!

    I stopped dead in my tracks.

    My heart skipped a beat.

    My lungs refused to take in oxygen as they registered the shock.

    There, with my own two eyes, I watched Grace's body slam itself up against a locker.

    What the hell?!

    Her arms flew up and she pushed herself off the wall.

    Grace!

    BAM!

    Again, she was slammed against the cold, unyielding metal. Her black hair flew out in all directions, her dark eyes squinted in pain, and her body fell to the floor.

    Jesus Christ...

    I ran to her side, confused, shocked, and more than anything, terrified by what I'd just witnessed. No one had touched her. And I had a hard time believing she'd done that to herself. To the naked eye, it looked like someone had grabbed her by the shirt collar, flung her against the lockers, yanked her back, and done it again.

    Grace's whole body shook, and I bent down to help her. As my hand touched her bare shoulder, she recoiled, but not before I felt the cold terror glazing her skin.

    Hey, whoa! It's just me. It's Miles.

    Dark, frightened eyes retreated away from me as she scooted until her back hit the lockers.

    Grace, talk to me. What's going on?

    Tears tumbled down her cheeks, a trickle of blood streamed out of her nose and onto her lips, and her hands flew up to cover her face.

    I was lost. Lost and way out of my league. Female tears were little devils I was ill prepared to deal with, Grace's being no exception.

    Please, Grace, just-

    I stopped talking when a sharp inhale shook her chest. Her head whipped to the side even as she stayed locked in her crouched position on the floor. Not knowing what else to do, I reached forward to caress her back, to bring her back down from her panic, but her eyes stopped me cold. They had dulled, no longer filled to the brim with terror. Instead, something much more dangerous flashed as she blinked away tears.

    Shame.

    Slowly, I turned to look over my shoulder and was met with a sea of faces. Every set of eyes was pinned to Grace. Those that weren't utterly confused or shocked were laughing, pointing at her trembling form as she used the back of her hand to wipe blood from her nose. I moved closer, using my height to block her from their prying eyes.

    C'mon. Let's get you out of here.

    She still didn't look at me. Still didn't move into my outstretched arms. I wanted to help her, but she had to meet me halfway.

    Grace?

    Finally, her head snapped up and our eyes met. Her mahogany irises flared with a kind of pain I'd never witnessed, never endured myself. Before I could stop her, before more tears could escape her lids, she was on all fours, pushing herself up and sprinting toward the exit.

    Grace!

    Not wasting a second, I jolted up and took off after her. As I wove through the students and teachers staring in wide-eyed horror, I kept my gaze trained on the back of her head, on the whip of her hair as she made her escape. She was a fast thing, I'll give her that, but she was crazy if she thought she was going to outrun someone who was a whole foot taller than her.

    Grace, stop!

    She burst through the doors leading outside, never slowing, never turning around.

    As she disappeared behind the long line of shrubberies enclosing the school grounds, I slowed to a walk, shaking my head in disbelief.

    What am I doing?

    She didn't want me running after her. Something had happened, something traumatizing, and the last thing Grace needed was someone she barely knew chasing her. Hell, I didn't know if she even knew what had happened. Did she think I had done that to her?

    I jerked to a halt.

    Did she think that? I hoped to hell not. I'd never touched a woman in anger in all my life. The very thought made my stomach roll. Hopefully Grace wasn't placing her blame, or her fear, on my head.

    I just needed to give her time.

    And space. Plenty of space.

    In the meantime, I had some damage control to do inside.

    Chapter Five

    GRACE

    There is an enormous difference between talking to the dead... and being assaulted by them. That was the first time someone, or something, had reached out and grabbed me like that in public, and I was sure it wouldn't be the last. My whole life I'd been dealing with spirits, so I should have been accustomed to their presence, but what just happened shook me to my core. I'd never seen an entity exhibit such strong physical strength before.

    To make things worse, I recognized the spirit, which meant I was likely to see him again. And I didn't much care for a repeat of what he'd done.

    The man who crouched over me on my bed - begging, pleading for me to find her, to help him -  had launched himself at me. I'd had maybe a fifteen-second warning before he grabbed me and bloodied my nose on a locker. Then, just as quickly as he'd appeared, he was gone.

    Just like that, I was lying in the hallway with my peers laughing and pointing at my pain. After the incident in the gym, it was a wonder someone hadn't shown up to have me committed.

    Give it time, I said to myself. They'll come.

    It was bound to happen. No one understood and no one took the time to ask. In their eyes, I was a freak. I wasn't worth worrying over. And they were right.

    Something was wrong with me. For as long as I could remember, it had been there. One of my foster mothers, a woman who was kind but terrified of what I held inside me, once told me that she believed I was a medium. I had one foot in this world, and the other in the next- that I was straddling the planes of existence. That's how she'd explained it. And because of that and her overabundant faith, she couldn't have me living under her roof.

    That was only one of twelve foster homes I'd lived in. It was also my favorite. Since then, the homes just grew worse and worse until I reasoned that living in a tent in the woods would be better. Facing off against wolves, bears, and a plethora of rodents sounded better than dealing with my foster parents and the other kids they were leeching money from.

    Just thinking about my foster family was enough to darken my mood. And that was saying a lot since my damn nose was still bleeding.

    Assuming my day couldn't possibly get any worse, I let sadness take the reigns. And as I let those dark thoughts and feelings consume me, the sky opened up, refusing to take pity on me. Within seconds, I was drenched.

    Normally, I'd chalk that up to bad luck on my part, but walking home in the rain, crying and bleeding, I turned my face to the sky in thanks and let the rainwater wash away the blood and tears. It wasn't ideal, but at least I wouldn't have to explain my current state to my foster mother. It was a small mercy.

    It wasn't until I turned to walk down my driveway that I heard his voice. It spiked up over the pounding of water on asphalt and damn if my heart didn't stutter.

    What was it about that boy? Why did I feel such a strong pull whenever he was around? And why in the hell was he trying so hard to win me over?

    Grace!

    I knew it was a bad idea. I knew he probably thought I was a lunatic. I knew he would have questions that he wouldn't like the answers to.

    And yet, I still stopped.

    MILES

    Grace was a beautiful girl, even when she was hiding her face behind a mask of dark hair. For months I'd studied her face, and I thought I'd seen the extent of her beauty, but I was wrong. So wrong.

    Soaking wet, she was beyond beautiful.

    She wasn't pretty or cute or hot.

    She was ethereal.

    As she turned and wiped at her eyes, I slowed my pace and took her in. Her baggy clothes clung to her petite, curvy frame. With her wet hair shoved out of her face, her high cheekbones and warm eyes stood out for me to see. And her nose and lips, although they were somewhat swollen, were dainty and feminine.

    I'd never been the kind of guy to want for things, but I wanted Grace.

    You, uh- you forgot this. I held out her backpack- the one she'd dropped when her nose met the locker door.

    Nervously, her eyes darted to the mesh in my hand and she swiftly reached up to touch her shoulder, realizing she'd lost it in the... whatever it was that happened.

    Thanks. She took the bag from my hands, turned, and continued on her way.

    Seriously? That's it? That's all I get? No explanation? Nothing?

    Are you for real?

    Grace stopped, whirled around, and lifted her hands in the air before waving them down the length of her body.

    Sadly, this is as real as it gets with me, she said, elevating her voice to be heard over the rain.

    No. I was not going to let her brush it off and walk away. I refused to be pushed aside that easily.

    What the hell happened back there, Grace? I asked, advancing toward her.

    She shook her head, sending wet locks flying over her shoulders as her bottom lip trembled.

    I don't know.

    I narrowed my eyes and stopped walking, standing tall a mere foot away. Yes, you do.

    She swallowed uneasily and my gaze fell to her throat. I had a read on her, and that was making her nervous. By the shift of her feet, I could tell she was about to bolt. But I was prepared to run after her. There was a darkness in Grace that was consuming her and I just wanted to take it away. I wanted to help.  

    I've given you no reason to lie to me, Grace, so please don't.

    I don't even know you, she said, still shaking.

    And that's my fault, is it?

    We stood there, on the shoulder of the road, staring each other down. I wasn't budging, and neither was she. Surely she was tired of running, tired of hiding. I knew I was tired of pursuing her, but I wouldn't stop until she opened up. Until she let me in, I wasn't going anywhere.

    This staring contest thing, I said, gesturing between our faces, I can do this all day.

    Finally, in annoyance more than anything, Grace sighed in defeat and jerked her head in the direction of the house. I took that as an invitation to come inside, so when she turned and walked toward the door, I followed.

    As soon as we were under the awning of the porch, safe from the pelting rain, I took a deep breath and composed myself, readying my mind for whatever explanation Grace was willing to offer.

    So, what was that? I kept my voice low, trying hard not to come off as pushy or overbearing. If she was going to open up to me, it wouldn't be from force or coercion. It would come from trust.

    Grace opened her mouth to speak and I held my breath, waiting in rapt suspense.

    But before even one minuscule syllable could exit her lips, the front door crashed open and we both jumped out of the way.

    You'd better not bring your soggy ass in here and get my floors wet!

    A skinny blonde woman emerged from the house and began scolding Grace, speaking to her

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