Touch by Snyder Jennifer

Author:Snyder, Jennifer [Snyder, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-08-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

I found myself wondering if my fingertips would pass through him unnoticed or if he would be solid. The fact that I could see him more clearly than each of the other spirits I’d come in contact with stood out in my mind and intensified my curiosity.

“Are you real?” I asked, without intending to speak.

Jet’s lips twisted into a hint of a smile as he shifted his sapphire-blue eyes to mine. “Well, I’m not a figment of your imagination, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No,” I whispered. “Real as in… to touch…”

His eyes widened as the brightness of wonder seeped into them, but he didn’t answer right away. I skimmed my eyes over him, which piqued my curiosity even more, and noticed when his eyebrows drew together, making him appear lost in thought. I wondered if I’d feel anything besides air when touching him… or if I’d die instantly.

I pushed the last thought from my mind and raised my hand, extending my fingertips toward him.

“Wait—I’m not sure what will happen.” Jet panicked, hoping to freeze my movement, but his words couldn’t stop me.

Not now, not when my death was at the edge of my every thought. Would it really matter if touching him plucked my soul from my body, which was withering in pain from old memories and the shattering truth of my newly discovered fate?

I inched closer, stopping once my fingers were a heartbeat away from his. I glanced into his piercing blue eyes, which had become filled with worry.

“Rowan, I don’t know what will happen,” he insisted.

I didn’t hesitate any longer; I reached out and touched his hand.

An energy that both terrified and delighted me snaked its way through my fingertips and continued traveling up my arm. It was just as intimate as it was electrifying. It was utterly soul-baring. My eyes grew wide and my breath caught in my throat from the sudden rush I felt and the images which played before my eyes.

Random clips of Jet floated through my mind at a dizzying pace: him sitting in a chair by a campfire, his head being bashed with a log, his tears mingled with blood.

Without warning, Jet pulled away, breaking our contact and sending me crumpling to the ground on weak knees.

“Whoa,” I muttered, bringing a hand to my chest, winded. “What happened to you?” I asked, my voice raising an octave.

Jet’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

I shifted to sit on the brittle grass instead of the hard gravel. “I saw… images… in my head. Images of you sitting in some kind of chair by a campfire, falling asleep, then some bulky guy hitting you with a log,” I paused, as the brutal images flashed through my mind again. “You were crying and your tears were mixing with blood. Is that how you died—were you murdered?”

Jet rubbed his forehead and let out a long breath. “Yeah, pretty much.” he mumbled.

“But then, why are you a Reaper?” I asked, perplexed.

Jet interlaced his fingers behind his head and stared at me, visibly growing tense.

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