Her Forbidden Threeway

When she glanced back up, there was a deer sprinting across the open road, and she swerved left to dodge it. The truck spun mid-air, crashing into what felt like a building, glass pouring in and the roof of the vehicle pouring out. The sword was glowing, jagged edges aiming for her legs, her eyes, her hands as she spun with the dagger.

It struck her in the stomach, and as the truck steadied, lying on its back, blood poured out of her and splattered onto the windows and chairs.

Reade released a scream, the charm from the sword leaking into her veins and arteries, transferring its force to the wrong body. She tried to remember what magic this crystal possessed, but couldn’t. All she could remember was the pretty color, the emerald green that reminded her of the salty sea.

And then it happened. Her body locked into its position, her muscles, bones and organs freezing. She was paralyzed, like a dead body. She was paralyzed, like Scott and Jackson’s grandmother Marnie.

She remembered the sickening white of the elderly woman’s body, and wanted to scream with the fear that she could be dying. Though silence engulfed her, and for a few moments, she could only listen to the gentle drip of her blood as it slid down the roof—her body suspended in mid-air.

“Reade?” She heard, her father still on the other end of the phone. “Reade? Are you okay?”

When she didn’t answer, he changed his tone from concerned father to man on a mission, promising her one thing. “Stay on the phone, sweetheart. I’m going to get Scott.”

If she could cry, she would. Her father was finally accepting the fact that the only people that could protect her were the enemies themselves.

In her mind, she envisioned Scott racing to his car, freshly washed from a shower, smelling as sweet as he had when he had been on top of her. She missed him already.

“Reade?” She heard again, though this time it wasn’t her father.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a figure approach the truck, crouching down beside the open window.

“Reade, give me your hand.” He said.

Jackson.

Frustration built inside her, and she wondered how Marnie was able to talk for her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and blood was slowly choking her innards.

“You’ve been charmed,” Jackson suspected, sighing aloud. He reached over to unbuckle her belt, yet yanked his hand back when he spotted the coarse copper of her blood. She heard him swear. “Christ.”

With all his might, Jackson worked to free the belt that restricted her, her body falling like stiff ice from the seat and into his arms. Reade was cold and numb, and the warmth of his body almost shocked her into movement.

“Hey, hey.” He whispered, sounding caring, consoling, his blonde mop of hair covering his eyes. He sounded more like the Jackson she first met. “Just relax.”

She wanted to brush the hair away from his face, to run her thumb over his lower lip but all she could do was stare into the starry night. She felt like a prisoner in her own body and wanted desperately for him to help her.

“You’re going to be okay.” Jackson said, though whether it was to console her or him, she didn’t know.

“We’re going to get you home.” He promised. “My home.”

* * * *

The store was dark, unlike its usual realm of lightness.

The crystals that twinkled in the daylight now projected haunting shadows, jars of water-preserved pets and leather enveloped books appeared sinister.

Reade was buried in Jackson’s denim jacket, the gentle swaying of his arms soothing her from too much shock. When he settled her onto the couch in the back room, she felt comfort in the leather that warmed her, wishing she could turn into it and just sleep—sleep away the exhaustion of her speculations, her curiosity, and her view of this newfound world.

Jackson disappeared for a while, returning with a mug, the smell coming from it smelling pungent; funny herbs and liquids. He cut his palm and poured his blood into the cup, the sight disgusting Reade, though she remained a frozen sculpture of pain. He cradled her head, lifting her just barely from the couch, pouring the tea and blood concoction past her lips.

At first she choked on it, and then her throat gave in, and she swallowed.

It burned her throat, and she coughed, spasming as his hand brushed her hair; consoling her.

Slowly but surely, Reade’s muscles began to unlock and the frozen state she was once in simply dissipated. Reade’s lips turned upwards into a smile as she brushed his forearm and filled up on more of the blood and tea, the gruffness of Jackson’s breath calming her.

“I never realized how much I needed you alive until tonight,” Jackson said against her hair, smelling the essence of every strand. Instead of turning into the couch for sleep, she turned into him, breathing in the saltiness of his cologne. He set down the mug, using his now free hand to lift her shirt.

Reade went to object, but noticed he was just assuring that the wound had healed—and it had.

Where the large sword had pierced her stomach, now left behind was tight, creamy skin. No sign of any puncture wound, much to her relief.

“Where is it?” She asked, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Jackson frowned. “The dagger is in the store. What did you plan on doing with it?”

Reade exhaled a shaky breath, taking him by the wrist and pressing her mouth to the rough skin of his palm. That surprised him, though he gave in mercilessly, watching her the way devout people looked to their gods.

“I wanted to paralyze you for enough time to bring you home to talk some sense into you.” Reade said, her breath warming his hand. He frowned, lost in his kingdom-like-mind, reigning a throne of thoughts.

“You didn’t want to kill me?” Jackson asked.

Reade’s eyes widened to a state of shock, and with grave disappointment she shook her head, dropping his palm in the process. “If you think so lowly of me, why did you bring me back to your home?”

Jackson leaned forward, fanning her face with his smoky, peppermint breath. “Because Scott is right. I’m in love with you.”