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  A Taste of Wilde's Fire, by Krystal Wade

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  For you Abigail Nicole, because you are my joy, my sunlight, my inspiration. Without you, this story wouldn’t have come to life. Without you, my life wouldn’t be as exciting.

  Abigail

  erick and I were at The Griffin—a little bookstore in downtown Fredericksburg. He was reading his worn out copy of The Hobbit, and for the life of me, I can’t remember what piece of literature I held in my hands. I was too busy staring over my book at him.

  Burning tinder popped and sizzled in the fireplace next to us. He sat across from me, on a chocolate, micro-fiber sofa. I loved the way the warm, earthy hues of the furniture made his sky-blue eyes stand out against everything else in our favorite spot in the world.

  He caught my eyes in their eternal lock on him, smiled—a nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless—then patted the spot next to him.

  My heart fluttered. I closed my book—I wasn’t really reading it—took a few trembling steps, then sat as close as possible without touching.

  Derick cast a sideways glance, and the corner of his mouth curved up just a little when he said, “Since when do you think I bite, Abigail Nichols?”

  My insides twisted into knots, and somehow I guessed he knew.

  He put his arm around my shoulders, pulled me closer, and for the first time in our long friendship, he spoke words we’d never dared bring up: “Are you ever going to let me kiss you?”

  The question made my heart jump up and down in my chest, performing an insanely happy dance. I wiped the wide grin off my face and replaced the ridiculous look with a more respectable one. “I’m not sure why you felt you had to ask.”

  The close proximity of his face to mine, the firelight dancing in his eyes, the smell of coffee and chocolate and musty books—these are the things I will always remember. He approached slowly, closed his eyes, then he drew in a deep breath. Our lips met, and I knew he was what I always wanted, what I always needed.

  We sat on the lovely little sofa, in the lovely little bookstore, with our fingers laced together, our mouths moving together, and our hearts full of happiness—at least my heart was.

  He dropped me off at home a couple hours later and promised to drive me to school the next morning. He never showed up, never called, never—

  arth to Abby!” Mark Snellings waved his hand in front of my face.

  Snapping out of my sorrow-filled daydream about my first—and last—kiss with Derick, I looked at my date sitting across from me in the fanciest restaurant in Fredericksburg. His eyes were narrowed, which meant he’d probably called my name a few times already, and his cheeks were flushed bright red.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  A boyish, expectant look appeared on Mark’s face, replacing the frustration with something more like longing. Something I wasn’t ready to think about. “You were nervous about finally coming on a date with me, weren’t you? Tell the truth!”

  I should’ve told him I was thinking about Derick. That truth would have at least gotten me out of an attempted kiss at the end of the night, which I’m sure Mark had been planning since I’d agreed to go out with him. And a kiss would have made my best friend Megan happy for me. Or something like happy.

  “I’ve known you since what, we were wearing diapers and enrolled at Minnieland? I don’t get nervous around you.”

  His expression fell, and he glanced around the dimly lit restaurant until he found our server.

  I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, but I always seemed to.

  He shot his hand in the air like an eager student ready to blurt the answer to a question the teacher just asked, then snapped his fingers. Smooth and subtle were not specialties of Mark’s, not like Derick. If he were with us, all he would have done is tip his head in the direction of the server and ten would have come running.

  Every thought came back to him and the fact he wasn’t here. I’m going crazy. If I could’ve smacked myself without drawing attention, I would have.

  Mark paid the bill and left a less-than-stellar tip, muttering something about our server and his wandering eyes. A dig against the guy for smiling politely at me while taking our order.

  Mark’s not a bad guy. I had to remind myself of this since, as it turned out, a certain someone I kept pining after was a bad guy.

  “You ready to go home?” he asked.

  A solid lump of guilt formed in my throat. I never should have agreed to go out with him. I should have said no, but after three months of the silent treatment from Derick, I’d had enough. Getting out of my house, away from my ex-favorite neighbor Derick, and out with an old friend was supposed to get my mind off the hole in my chest. Instead, the damned thing seemed to grow larger, just like the three acres between our houses. “I’ve ruined your night, haven’t I?”

  Mark offered his hand, helping me from the booth. “I don’t know what Derick did to you, Abby, but you deserve more than him.”

  More than him. Not better than how Derick treated me, but better than Derick as a whole. Maybe Mark was right, but the insult felt more like the normal banter the two always exchanged. Still… “Thanks.”

  “I’ve waited a long time for you to agree to go out with me. Waiting a little while longer for you to get over him won’t be a big deal.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t think of a nicer way to respond with tears threatening to spill over my lashes. He was one of the few guys who still showed an interest in me, even after years of being ignored while I focused on Derick. Looking away from Mark, I stepped onto the brick-lined path outside the restaurant and took in the gleeful holiday lights strung along the buildings. Unfortunately, the cheer wasn’t infectious.

  Mark grabbed my arm and turned me toward him. “Hey, don’t cry. Not about Derick, never about that assh… I’ll take you home.”

  I refused to meet his eyes; the lights were much easier to face than he was. “You don’t have to take me home. I’m sorry.”

  “Enough with the apologies. How about you tell me what you’d like to do? We could crash a party, maybe have a few beers, start a few rumors.”

  He draped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close as we passed a couple guys walking the opposite direction, carrying my thoughts back in time to the fifth grade. Mark had just asked me to marry him. When I said, “No,” he wrapped his arm around me and said, “One day, you’ll say yes.”

  My stomach knotted. I didn’t like Mark that way. Giving him any kind of hope was wrong. “Maybe you should take me home.”

  He cursed on a sigh.

  “I really am sorry.” Most girls would have killed for a chance to date Mark, and there I was crushing him. Megan would torment me for this, tell me if I didn’t move on soon that I’d be the most depressing person she knew. But I couldn’t move on, not when I didn’t know why I had to.

  “You’ll come around.” He opened the car door for me, a crooked smile pulling at his face.

  I climbed in and rubbed my hands up and down my arms, fighting the goose bumps off my nearly frozen skin.

  “You do know it’s December, right?” Mark slid into his seat and watched me uselessly try to warm myself, then quirked an eyebrow. “Oh. I get it.”

  “What?”

  He turned on the heat and jammed his car into gear. “And here I thought you wore that sexy little shirt for me. You have it bad. I’m going to punch that idiot for treating you this way.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. I’d hoped Derick would see me all dressed up for someone else, but I didn’t want Mark to know t
hat. I didn’t mean to use him or make him feel… “Mark, I—”

  “I’m taking you home, then I’m visiting your neighbor.” Mark barreled down I-95, zipping in between other cars that were also going way too fast.

  My body felt like lead. Thousands of helium-filled balloons wouldn’t have been able to hold me up. I didn’t need Mark interfering with my Derick problem—it’s not like he would’ve answered the door anyway. My heart would heal. Eventually. “Please, don’t.”

  We were already winding our way down Truslow. So close to home, to Derick.

  Mark glanced at me, took one hand off the wheel, then patted my knee. “Are you sure? I would really love a good fight.”

  “Mark!”

  “Fine. Fine. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He parked the car and then walked me to the door.

  Every light in the house was on. Mom probably wanted to get a good look at a kiss between me and Mark. She’d been more excited about tonight than I could ever pretend to be, asking if I needed help with my hair, offering tips to fill moments of awkward silence, even going so far as extending my midnight curfew until two.

  Mom hated when I moped, and she didn’t share my fascination for Derick. Too bad for her I came home more upset than when I left.

  I grabbed the handle and leaned against the doorframe. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

  A cheesy, coy smile that screamed I want more from you materialized on Mark’s square face—more he would never get no matter how mad I got at Derick. Mark took two steps toward me, wrapped his arms around my waist, then kissed my cheek, sending my nerves skittering inside the house. “I hope you realize you’re too good for him. Goodnight, Abby.”

  He skipped down the porch steps, jingling his car keys, then disappeared into the night.

  “Thank God.” I went inside then leaned against the door, closing my eyes rather than staring at the happy Christmas tree in the foyer. Mark wouldn’t tell anyone at school what a jerk I was—worse, he’d tell them we had a great time, probably start rumors about ‘us’. Monday was gonna be hell.

  Before I could make a break for my room, someone knocked, and I jumped, my nerves still on edge from an almost kiss with Mark. Turning around, I pushed the curtain aside.

  Derick stared at me through the window, eyes full of concern, and … are those tears?

  “Are you going to let me in?” he mumbled through the glass.

  Should I? I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I’m sorry.”

  My resolve melted away, and I opened the door. “What do you want?”

  He didn’t look at my eyes, like he was sad. Typical guy, always making a girl feel bad for him, when he’s the one who hurt me. “A chance to explain.”

  “What’s there to explain? We kissed. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like where our relationship was heading, even though you were the one who made the first move. Whatever. I get it, but why now, three months later after I’ve gone out once, do you come back here and say you’re sorry?” I clenched my fists at my sides, adrenaline surging through me so fast that my vision swirled, but yelling felt great. I was so mad at him, and to be able to tell him off…

  A smile lit his eyes as his gaze roamed up and down my scoop-neck, black tank. “You look beautiful when you’re angry.”

  “Good night, Derick.” I slammed the door in his face, then slumped to the floor and cried. For three months all I wanted was him to be my Derick, the quiet, charming guy I spent the last five years being best friends with, the guy who enjoyed long, lazy afternoons with me lying on a blanket in the sun, reading or talking about nothing and everything all at once. Then when he finally returned, I sent him away.

  “You okay, honey?” Mom put her hand on top of my head then swept her fingers down my cheek, caressing in a way only a mother can.

  I sniffled and looked up at her knowing eyes with faint age lines stretching from them.

  She smiled, her thin lips glistening in the glow of the blue and white tree lights. “I’m proud of how you handled both boys. Sometimes your maturity astounds me.”

  “Thanks?” Parents say the oddest things.

  Mom laughed. “Your dad and I are going to watch a movie; I was just going to make popcorn. You want to join us?”

  Movies with Mom and Dad on a Friday night? “No thanks. I think I’m just going to hang out in my room.”

  “I understand, but can you call Megan? She’s blown up the phone all night, almost your dad’s patience, too. Said she didn’t want to call your cell and interrupt anything.”

  Crazy girl. “I will. Sorry about her.”

  “I was a young girl once myself, but your dad?” Mom laughed. “Good night, Abs.”

  She took off toward the living room, and I made my way for the stairs.

  Someone knocked again.

  “I’ll get it!” I’m going to kill him. I balled my fists and marched for the door. “What now?”

  I slapped my hand over my mouth and mumbled an apology.

  Derick wasn’t at the door. It wasn’t Mark either. I didn’t know who this guy was, but he smiled like he knew me, and he held his finger to his lips.

  “Come outside, quietly.”

  Trembling, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Mom and Dad had already started the movie. I could scream. I could scream, and Dad would save me.

  “Dadd—”

  “Hard way it is.” The stranger grabbed my hand, pulling me outside, then covered my mouth with a white cloth.

  Everything went dark.

  knew two things: my head was killing me, and I was stuffed in the trunk of a car traveling down a bumpy gravel road. My wrists were bound behind my back, and I was gagged. Dust floated all around me, the millions of tiny particles glowing red from the taillights. Someone’s dirty laundry must have filled the duffel bag my head rested on; the smell would have cleared a skunk out of a room.

  Even if I could scream, my voice would have been useless. The kidnapper and the road might have heard me, but nothing else. We were probably in the middle of nowhere, a place I’d probably never escape. No. I had to escape.

  I craned my neck, trying to locate the emergency latch. All cars were supposed to have those. Maybe that’s why the guy bound me, so I couldn’t get away while he drove.

  God, if I’d just talked to Derick a little longer or invited Mark in, I might still be safe at home. What did this man plan to do with me? Who was he? Were my parents okay?

  But I didn’t want details; I just wanted to go back to my mom, my dad, my overly pink bedroom, anywhere but here.

  Shudders tore through me. I was cold. Really, really cold. The ridiculously skimpy black tank top I wore to make Derick jealous didn’t make appropriate kidnap me attire.

  The brakes squeaked, and the car slowed. I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. What if he planned to kill me? What if he… I didn’t want to think of all the what ifs.

  I kicked at the side of the car and released a muffled scream. My hands throbbed from the duct tape wrapped around them and all my squirming, but I wanted out, away. I wanted to run.

  The car stopped. I kicked harder and harder, but I hurt my feet and not the trunk. The door opened, then closed. Feet crunched on the gravel.

  He’s coming for me.

  My abductor opened the trunk, and I pushed myself back—a futile attempt to get away.

  Black painted the sky, and a dingy yellow light glowed brightly behind his head. At least it was still dark; I couldn’t be that far from home. He brought a cigarette to his mouth, then took a long, dramatic drag. Blowing the smoke toward me, he smiled, revealing a mouth full of gleaming white teeth. “We’ve been looking for you a long time.”

  Looking for me? Why me? Maybe he abducted the wrong teenager. Maybe he had the wrong street or house—

  “I won’t hurt you. I am a hunter from the land of Copper Rocks. My name is Boredas.” He offered his hand. Did he forget he’d tied me up?

 
I narrowed my eyes and stared at the psycho above me, memorizing his pale brown eyes, his clean-shaven jaw, his dark blond hair. He wore a light blue T-shirt and faded denim jeans. Take away the cancer stick and the kidnapper status and I might have found him cute. But since he’d bound and gagged me, he was anything but swoon worthy.

  “Right. I should untie you.” He laughed. “Given the fact you don’t recognize me, it’s clear you have no idea what you and your people are capable of. I was warned of this.”

  Capable of? My people? Add delusional to that list. Awesome. I’ve been kidnapped by a psychotic, delusional idiot.

  Boredas—I bet he was ridiculed for that name in school—reached in his back pocket, then pulled out a… knife.

  This was it. My end. No high school graduation. No college. No life. I was going to die. I wiggled deeper into the trunk and bumped against the back of the seats, tearing at the tape around my wrists, doing anything for five more minutes of life. Five more seconds. Anything that might give me freedom, an ability to run away.

  “Hold still.” Leaning into the trunk, he grabbed my wrists, then cut the duct tape.

  Now was not the time to make a move. He could stab me before I got a chance to punch or shove him. I didn’t have a plan but needed one. Removing the gag from my mouth was the only thing I could think of doing. Houdini I wasn’t.

  “We’ll return you to your true home soon.”

  There are more psychos? Fantastic.

  Boredas offered his hand again. I took it, not because I wanted to touch him or his sweaty palms, but because I had to get out of the trunk, survey my surroundings, look for an escape—just like my father had taught me to do if something like this ever happened. Boredas pulled me from the car, and I landed on the crunchy gravel then glanced around. Black Dodge Charger, field of harvested corn in front of a dense forest across the street, rows and rows of scrappy pine trees to my left and right, and a shack of an A-frame house behind me.

  I swallowed hard. His hideout scared me more than he did. People die in shacks—no, people are murdered in horrible, horrible ways in dilapidated cabins in the woods.