TWO

ADEN AWOKE WITH A JOLT, a shout of pain caught in his throat, wild gaze cataloging his surroundings. Bedroom. Desk. Dresser. Plain white walls. Planked floor.

His bedroom in the bunkhouse at the ranch, then.

Alive. He was alive, not burned to a crisp. Thank God. But…

Was he intact? He patted himself down while looking himself over. Skin? Check. Smooth and warm, tanned rather than deep-fried. Two arms? Check. Two legs? Check. Most important—was he now a girl? No. Thank God, thank God, thank God. He expelled a sigh of relief, sagged against the mattress and took stock of everything else.

Sweat soaked him. His hair was plastered to his head, and his boxers looked like they’d…like he’d… His cheeks flushed with heat. If Shannon, his roommate, saw him like this, he’d be teased about having a wet dream. Albeit good-naturedly. That’s just what friends did. Still. No, thanks. He—

Saw the bottom of Shannon’s bunk, and his eyes widened. There were deep grooves in the wooden slats, as if he’d clawed and kicked at his friend’s bed. Repeatedly. He glanced at his fingernails, and sure enough. They were ragged and bloody, with wood shards embedded underneath them.

Great. What else had he done while crashing on vampire blood?

Worry about that later.

“Elijah?” he asked. Time for roll call.

Present, the psychic said, knowing the drill.

One down. “Julian?” The corpse whisperer, as they called him. A single step into a cemetery, and hello, walking dead.

Here.

Sweet. Two down, one to go. “Caleb?” The body possesser.

Yo.

Rock on. The gang was all here.

Once, Aden had wanted them gone. He loved them, but come on. A little privacy would be nice. But then he’d lost Eve. Her name might have been Anne in her real life, but she’d always be Eve to Aden.

He missed her, his motherly time-traveler. Missed her terribly. Now he wasn’t sure he could deal with losing the others. They were a part of him. His best friends. His constant companions. He needed them.

As always, that line of thought made him feel guilty. They deserved their freedom. Wanted their freedom. Maybe. Since Eve had left, they hadn’t asked him to figure out who they’d been before taking prime real estate in his head, as if they were afraid he would succeed and they, too, would have to leave and experience the unknown.

Where Eve had gone, none of them knew. They only knew that she’d disappeared and hadn’t returned.

So what’s going on? Julian asked.

What he means, Caleb said, is that our dreams were hot. And not the good kind of hot. We burned, dude. Burned.

And most of us normally don’t share your dreams, Julian added.

Well, Elijah did, but that was because Elijah was psychic and his visions were Aden’s. Tonight, last night, whenever, hadn’t been a vision, though. It had been real, a mind-merge, but now, pieces of his memory were missing. He remembered seeing Victoria, feeling those flames, then meeting her…sisters? Yes, her sisters. But nothing else stood out. The rest of what happened was blurred at the edges, as if his mind couldn’t process what it had seen. If that were true, though, why did he remember being burned alive? Why did they all remember that? Shouldn’t that be what they forgot? Something too painful to recall?

So? Julian prompted. An explanation would be nice.

“Vampire blood,” he reminded them. He couldn’t just think his replies because they couldn’t hear his inner voice amid the chaos. “We saw through two other sets of eyes.”

Oh, yeah. And speaking of vamps, Caleb said. Where’s ours?

Victoria, he meant. She’s mine, Aden wanted to snap, but didn’t. Caleb the Pervert couldn’t help himself. He lived for girls and “nookie” he might never get. “She’s supposed to meet us here and walk to school with us.” What time was it?

Before he could check the clock on his desk, his bedroom door swung open, and Seth and Ryder strode inside.

“—Shannon won’t mind,” Seth was saying. Seth Tsang. An Asian last name, though you couldn’t tell his race from looking at him. He’d streaked his black hair with red, and had blue eyes and pale skin.

Ryder Jones, who was behind him, arched a brow. He, too, had dark hair, but his eyes were brown. “You sure? You know how possessive that dude is with his stuff.”

Aden grabbed the sheets and jerked them over his sweat-soaked lower body. “Hey, guys. Knock much?”

They ignored him.

“So what’re you looking for?” he grumbled.

Again they ignored him. In fact, they didn’t even glance in his direction.

“Just check the desk,” Seth told Ryder, and the boy shuffled forward to obey.

Aden frowned. Once, these two had hated him. Once, but no longer. They’d reached a truce after their Treat-Everyone-Like-Crap idol, Ozzie, had been kicked off the ranch—and, as of this weekend, sucked dry by vampires. Not that they knew that part. They were as clueless about the “other” world as he had once been.

So why the silent treatment now?

“Where is it?” Seth muttered, crouching in the closet and rummaging through the clothes on the floor, wrist turning and revealing the snake tattooed there.

“Where’s what?” Aden repeated, sitting up.

Yet again, they ignored him.

Shirts and jeans were tossed over Seth’s shoulder, followed by shoes. At the desk, papers crunched under Ryder’s hands. Several minutes passed. Aden kept up a steady chatter—“this joke isn’t funny, try something original, will you just talk to me already?”—to no avail. He finally stood, sheet falling away, forgotten, and stalked to the desk.

With every intention of beating some sense into Ryder, he reached out. Except his hand wisped through the boy’s body.

No way. No damn way.

Aden’s heart pounded against his ribs as he tried again, shaking this time. Again, his flesh wisped through Ryder’s and he could only stand there, wide-eyed and reeling. How was that possible? How the hell was that possible? He’d burned to death, yes, but in someone else’s body. He’d thought… He’d assumed… Was he dead, too? Truly, no-coming-back dead?

No. No way. But… Blood freezing in his veins, he stalked to Seth.

“Found it,” Seth said, standing. He held a book triumphantly in the air. A book about vampires. Any other time, Aden would have floundered over Shannon’s chosen reading material. “Shannon’s weird, dude. He’s always reading this crap. Saves us a trip to the library, but, frickin’ please. I’ve never written a report about wackos with fangs before and I don’t want to start now.”

“Mr. Thomas is the weird one, my man. We’re supposed to write about how evil the bloodsuckers are, like they’re real or something. I can’t take that crank seriously, you know. I’ll probably fail, but ask me if I care.”

His shaking intensifying, Aden tried to wrap his fingers around Seth’s wrist. Nothing. No solid contact. Bile burned a path up his throat. His arm thudded heavily to his side, and he stumbled backward, black winking over his eyes, dizziness rushing through his head.

The answer to his question? Dead. He was really dead. That was the only answer that made sense.

The boys raced from the room, mumbling about stupid new tutors and dumb homework assignments. Aden just stood there. Doomed to live the rest of eternity as a ghost?

God, was this how the souls felt? Trapped, out of control, lost?

“Guys,” he whispered, not knowing how to begin. If he was a ghost, he couldn’t help them figure out who they’d been in their other life. And if he couldn’t help them figure out who they’d been, they could never be free of him. If that’s what they still wanted. “I think—I—This is—”