The Marked Son (Keepers of Life) by Shea Berkley Read Free Book Online

sun as it slides beneath the dark clouds. Beyond the fenced-in yard, trees block the bulk of the sunlight from filtering through. Soon, the approaching storm will block out all the light. I scan the area, and just when I’m about to give up and breathe easier, far within the trees there’s another pale flicker of movement.
    Someone—or some thing —is definitely in the woods.

In the Blink of an Eye

    I back away from the window even as I tell myself to sit tight, but I can’t. I’m suddenly possessed with the need to know who—or what— it is, and this need is a pull I’ve got to obey.
    I dive for my shoes, slip them on, and dash out the door and into the unknown. My heart thuds wildly. It’s a girl, and I’ve got a feeling she’s the one from my dreams. I don’t understand how this is possible, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve lost all ability to stop. I ricochet around the kitchen corner and catch Grandpa’s eye before I speed out the back door.
    “Dylan?” he shouts. “A storm’s coming.”
    I don’t answer, just race into the backyard, fall over the strawberry pot with its pathetic amount of fruit, run past the greenhouse, and punch through the back gate. I don’t slow down until I burst into the woods and trip over the uneven ground. I catch myself on a nearby tree and stop. A strange lightness seizes me. The whole forest seems to take a breath, its shadows hiding what I’m searching for, but I keep moving forward.
    The air is electric, like I’ve stumbled into a force field. The feeling of being different, of sensing things that aren’t there, prickles my skin. I usually turn back when I get this feeling.
    Not this time.
    I push off the tree and step forward. The hairs on my arms rise again. I rub them down, but they won’t stay. With each step, I press farther into the forest and further into a feeling of unease.
    When I was little, I had a reoccurring dream where jagged, bare limbs bent down and attacked me. I would fight them off, but eventually, they’d twist their spindly branches around me and lift me high into their boughs. I’d scream, thrash, break off twigs…then fall. Before I hit the ground, I’d wake and see Mom standing in the doorway of my room, staring, her arms wrapped around her torso. She wouldn’t say a word, even as I whimpered for her. She’d just stare, then leave.
    Despite those memories crashing in on my thoughts, whatever this urge is that’s infusing me pushes me past my tree aversion and keeps my feet moving.
    The leaves shiver in the wind, their sound like little whispers, condemning, plotting. Blood rushes through me, flooding my skin, until I’m so hot I feel light-headed. My hands grab for support, clutching one tree and then the next as I pull myself forward.
    Behind me the trees crowd in, blocking my view of the house. I usually have a good sense of direction, but time feels suspended. The wind whips my hair into my eyes. I bump into another tree, feel that strange breath, like everything has shifted, and I hug the trunk tighter to keep from falling. I push my hair out of my eyes, and when I do, I see the girl weaving noiselessly between the trees, her gown a glaring white flag against the darkened forest. Goosebumps pebble my arms.
    I follow. I can’t seem to stop myself. As I stumble into another tree, she stops. I hide, peeking between a gap in the twisted branches. Her gown flutters up, revealing a quick flash of pale leg. It’s only then that I realize she’s glowing. Her skin radiates a strange, murky light.
    A ghostly light.
    Wait, the girl in my dreams is a ghost?
    “Wake up,” I rasp, and pinch the skin above my elbow. Pain ripples up my arm. Nothing changes. The girl in white continues her journey. Her thick cord of dark hair dances along her back as she moves.
    I must be dreaming, and yet the cold, wet wind bites at my skin, and my cheek stings from pressing it against the rough tree bark. You don’t feel pain in dreams. I know from