“My balls, my poor, beautiful, innocent balls,” he whimpered pathetically.

All eyes, including his, went from the poor bastard lying on the floor, whimpering and muttering prayers for his balls, to the small woman sitting next to him.

“What? He wouldn’t answer my questions!” she said defensively a split second before her glare landed on Tristan. He swore that his balls twitched in fear beneath that glare, but he didn’t let the very real possibility of having to face testicular recovery surgery keep him from doing what had to be done.

“Go back upstairs, Marty.”

He didn’t want her to try and escape, not with spirits after her. She’d never be able to outrun them and there would be no one to help her. She’d either end up dead or locked up in a mental institution somewhere and neither option was acceptable to him. He just needed her out of the room so that he could find out a few things without having to worry about her.

“I’m not going anywhere so you might as well get on with it,” she stubbornly said as she crossed her arms over her chest, giving them all a look that dared them to try and stop her.

“Please have mercy on my balls,” Finn whimpered, taking the decision out of his hands.

Chapter 30

“You were telling us how Tristan was your brother,” Marty said when the silence in the room became awkward.

Men were such babies. Seriously, what did they expect her to do? They’d left her with a man, well a male that wasn’t exactly human, that she didn’t know, who tried to keep her locked up in her bedroom. Did they really think that she was going to sit on the bed like a good girl and wait for the big boys to finish their super secret conversation?

Her father raised her better than that. She wasn’t the type of woman to leave it to a man to solve her problems for her and seeing ghosts or whatever the hell they were was definitely a problem. Now that she knew that she wasn’t going crazy, she could admit that this whole thing was kind of cool, even if it did frighten her.

Whatever that had been that had occurred upstairs with that bloodied man was definitely not something that she wanted to experience again. His touch had been cold and left her feeling depressed, hopeless, and had filled her with so much dread that if he’d killed her at that moment, she probably would have thanked him. It was something that she fully planned on avoiding in the future.

It was also something that clued her into the fact that the men standing around the room, watching the man curled up on the floor and whimpering about his “poor helpless balls” were very different from the bloodied man upstairs in more ways than one. While the dead man’s appearance was probably the same as it had been when he’d died, bloodied, his clothes torn to shreds, and his face covered with developing bruises and gashes, these men appeared to be in their prime.

Their clothes, mostly jeans, khaki cargo pants, and tee shirts, appeared to be clean and undamaged in any way that she could tell. Besides a few minor scars, their faces were clean-shaven, handsome and free of any signs of trauma. Since she doubted that all of the men had died from a heart attack while they’d slept peacefully in their clothes that meant that either they’d never been human or that they had the power to change their appearance.  Of course, there could be a third option, but she’d need a little more time and information before she could think of one.

Another thing that she noticed was that these men could handle their forms. The bloodied man had stumbled around the room, surprised and aggravated by the fact that he could move through the bed and bureau. The only thing that he’d seemed to be able to touch was her. He’d tried to touch the bed and grab the phone while he’d dragged her around the bedroom, flipping out and demanding that she fix everything. His hands and body went right through whatever they came in contact with. These men didn’t seem to have that problem. They could sit down, open doors, pick up objects and lean against the wall without falling through it.

Their touch also didn’t make her wish for death. Their touch was warm, comforting and familiar. It was odd, but then again, wasn’t everything about this situation odd? For the past month she’d been hearing voices and today she was seeing the dead and was apparently pregnant. She wasn’t sure how, but she’d be willing to bet everything that she had that they were all connected.

The fact that Tristan wasn’t freaking out over everything that was going on also clued her into the fact that this situation wasn’t entirely new to him. Then again, nothing really fazed Tristan. He’d always been level headed and thought things out before he reacted. Even when they were children, Tristan would get the facts first.

Like the time that she’d caught one of his friends peeking into her window and watching her change into her bathing suit. Before Tristan had broken his friend’s nose, he had patiently listened to the boy babble on and on about getting lost when he was looking for the basketball that had rolled across the street. Then how he’d accidentally tripped over a plant and pressed his face against her bedroom window and watched her for five minutes. Tristan had a temper and could be an ass**le, but he usually managed to maintain that deadly calm that kind of freaked people out while he figured things out.

She looked at him to find him slowly studying everyone in the room, no doubt taking in every detail and storing the information away for later when he figured out a way to use it to his advantage. When his gaze landed on her, his eyes narrowed as they conveyed the silent promise of locking her in their room for the rest of her life if she didn’t move her ass and leave the room, but since she wasn’t afraid of him, she simply ignored him as she turned her focus back on the men that would answer all of her questions.

“How exactly is Tristan your brother?” she prompted the men yet again when it became clear that they weren’t going to be able to stop sending pitying looks at the big baby whining on the floor. Seriously, she’d only kicked him a few times, she mused, rolling her eyes in disgust.

“Someone,” the man curled up into a ball on the floor paused to groan, “kill me.”

“Yer already dead! Now man the hell up and stop embarrassing us like this!” Shayne, she thought his name was, snapped with open disgust and inadvertently answered one of her questions.

The man pulled one of his hands away from his abused manhood long enough to flip Shayne off and earn a few lighthearted chuckles from the rest of the men in the room. Definitely brothers, she thought as she shifted to get more comfortable, but the way her stomach suddenly churned had her pressing a hand against it and holding her breath as she waited for it to pass.

“Marty, are you okay?” Tristan asked, shifting slightly so that he could place his right hand over hers.

She opened her mouth to answer him when her eyes landed on his shoulder. It was swollen and painted an angry red. It looked like it hurt and, judging by the way that he kept his arm tightly by his side, it did. It took everything she had not to ask him about it. Her father had taught them both to never give away a disadvantage and, if he was hurt, then they were definitely going to be at a greater disadvantage than they already were.

This situation might be fascinating, but that didn’t mean that she was blind to the dangers. She wasn’t sure what they wanted with her. So far they’d been very gentle with her, babying her a bit, leading her to believe that they were concerned about her. Tristan, on the other hand, seemed to have pissed them off, which wasn’t anything mind blowing since he did go out of his way to do that to most people, but in this situation it felt different.