Supernormal by Caitlen Rubino-Bradway Page B

about trying something, I’ll see you.  And I’ll stop you.”
    “You can’t.  You can’t know that.”
    “I’m psychic,” he said.
    “Bull shit ,” she shot back.
    “It is not.”
    Somehow he was holding onto her.  She was trying to pull back, and he was holding onto her.  She was staring down at his hands on her skin, or at least he thought she was.  It was hard to tell with those damn sunglasses.  He felt her pulse hammering under his fingertips.  Christ, he felt every bone .  She was nothing but bones, nothing but points and angles and hard edges.  Then he remembered her mouth.  Her mouth had been soft.
    “You don’t know—what I can do.  You can’t stop me.  You won’t be able to.  I can’t stop me,” she whispered.
    “I’ll find a way.”
    Ashley grabbed him then, her fingers digging in.  He fought back a wince.  “ Promise. ”
    “Whatever it takes,” Cam promised, “I’ll stop you.”
    He didn’t realize she let go at first.  He felt the phantom pressure of her fingers even as he slid down the dune.  Air rushed in, making his throat ache.  “Ashley—”
    She shook her head fiercely.  She was crouched over a few feet from him, as if she were trying to pull inside herself.  After a moment she stood, and ran.
    Cam sat on the beach a long time, waiting for the feeling of her fingers around his throat to fade.

Ch. 7
     
    She made it to Brody’s before puking.  Up it all came—blood and meat and fur and bones.  In deep, vicious heaves that wracked her whole body.  It was almost punishment enough.
    At least she made it to the trashcan.
    He said he was psychic. 
    She was going to have to tell Brody.  Her fingers dug into the rim of the trashcan, bending the metal like taffy.  Christ Almighty, she was going to have to tell Brody.  About the rabbit.   About the boy.  All of it.  And Brody was going to have to report it.  Ashley spat out some more blood.  That tasted like some of hers.  Those bones had been jagged.
    He said he would stop her.
    How?  It was stupid to think he could, stupid to want to think it.  He had to be, what, one-fifty soaking wet, and she could take that in her sleep.  It was a joke.
    Except he stopped her in Paco’s.  He knew, and he stopped her.  Just by looking at her.
    Christ, she was so sick of this.  All of it.  Sick of always being on edge, of always having to pull herself back, watch herself— always —because the one second she didn’t…  So she wrapped the reins around her hands so tight they would never break free, ‘til she couldn’t remember what it was like not to feel tense or tired or empty.
    It was almost a relief, having to tell Brody.  Brody’d call Director Cole—he had to call, had to.  And that would be it.  It was a relief.  She wanted it to be over.  Better for it to be this way, to be her choice in a way.  Better to just stop wasting everyone’s time.
    But when she told Brody, he just got a shovel and some gloves and a plastic trash bag.
    “Aren’t you…?”  Ashley swallowed and tried to control her voice.  “You have to report this.”
    Brody leaned back on his heels and gave her a measured look.  “Why would I do that?”
    “Because—”  It was hard to look at him.  Hard saying it.  Saying it meant she let him down.  “I did it—”
    “I know what you did.”
    “It’s happening.  I’m going wild.  I can’t—I won’t hurt—”
    “Let’s get this straight, Ash,” Brody said, and he sounded so genuinely angry it rocked her.  “You are not in charge.  Neither is Proom, and neither is that damn agency that hired him.  This is my home and you’re under my roof, which means I say what happens and when.  Got it?” Ashley nodded, and the anger on his face settled into determination.  “Now.  Let’s go clean up your mess.”
    So they marched back on the beach with the shovel and the trash bag.  And when they got there—no rabbit.
    “This is the place,”