Chaos

by Taylor Longford

  "A while," he admitted.

  "Then why haven't I seen you before?" I questioned in a low voice.

  He rattled a chain in the darkness. "I couldn't reach you until now."

  But I wasn't ready to trust him. "Wh-why haven't I heard you?" I shivered. "Or heard about you?"

  "I was trying to find another way out," he explained quietly. "But when I heard your teeth chattering…"

  "You c-could hear my teeth chattering?" I stammered. Things were worse than I thought if he could hear that. But the mine's empty tunnels tended to amplify sounds.

  "Quit fighting me," he grunted in his strange accent that wasn't exactly unattractive. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to hold you until you stop shaking."

  I relaxed a little bit just because it was taking too much energy to struggle. As soon as I did, he tightened his hold on me, his arms crossing my chest, his hands gripping my shoulders. Involuntarily, I sank into his heat and soaked up the warmth of his hard chest covering my back. I was so cold and it felt so good.

  "H-How old are you?" I asked, kind of giving up the fight and hoping he wasn't some old guy, even though his voice sounded young.

  It took him a while to answer. "Seventeen," he finally said.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Why wouldn't I be sure?" he snorted.

  "Well," I said hesitantly, running my tongue over my dry lips. "It seemed to t-take you a long time to decide."

  "I'm seventeen," he growled like he didn't like me questioning his answers.

  Okay. Seventeen. I could work with that. If he wasn't lying. "What's your name?" I asked awkwardly. I mean, he was holding me in his arms. I'd never been that close to a guy before and I figured I should know his name.

  "Chaos," he answered.

  At least that's what I thought he said. But it was an unusual name so I questioned him. "C-Casey?"

  "Chaos," he corrected me.

  Briefly, I wondered what kind of parents would name their kid Chaos but decided maybe it wasn't his given name. Maybe it was like a gang name or something like that. It was quiet for a while and I wondered if I should tell him my name or wait for him to ask.

  "What's yours?" he finally asked.

  "Torrie. Torrie Evans," I burst out in relief, thinking that we were slowly working toward something like a normal relationship, which was probably ridiculous considering the circumstances. I mean, we were captives in a mine. How normal could things get? "What about your last name?"

  He answered with four strange syllables that I couldn't begin to sort out, so I didn't try. And I didn't ask him to repeat himself.

  "Where are you from?"

  "England…originally."

  "How long have you been here in the states?" I asked, fighting off a heavy wave of fatigue that threatened to swallow me up now that I was warmer.

  "Not that long," he answered. "I was traveling across America…with my cousins when the harpy got me. I'm not even sure where we are exactly."

  "We're just outside of Boulder, Colorado."

  "Colorado," he murmured. "Is that a…big state?"

  "Pretty big," I told him. "If you folded England over, you could probably fit most of it into Colorado."

  "That sounds pretty big," he remarked in a low voice.

  Being warm for the-first-time-in-forever made me feel almost dead with sleepiness, but it seemed as if he was picking his words carefully. I decided that maybe English wasn't his first language, even though he said he was from the UK. But his family might have moved there from Scandinavia or maybe Germany. "What do you think that monster wants with us?" I asked quietly.

  "I don't know," he answered. It might have been my imagination, but his voice sounded guilty as he shifted behind me. "Are you feeling warmer?"

  "A little," I answered, downplaying how much better I felt because I wasn't in any hurry for him to pull away. It wasn't just the warmth I craved, it was the comfort of being close to another human being after thinking I was alone for so long. It was the security and safety I felt in his arms. And underlying all of that was the unexpected pleasure of being held by a guy who was obviously ripped. I'd never been held by a boy before. Not that Joey hadn't tried. And failed. But that didn't count.

  "Go to sleep, lass."

  "Lass?" I murmured on a huge yawn and changed my ideas about him being from Scandinavia. I let my head fall onto his shoulder which didn't make a very soft pillow but it was better than the rock I was used to. "Are you from Scotland or something?"

  "Or something," he muttered noncommittally.

  "How are we gonna get out of here?" I mumbled, fighting off the fatigue that was creeping into every part of my body.

  "My family will be looking for me," he said. "We just need to hold out until they find us."

  Everything considered, I thought that was a little optimistic. We were being held at a remote mountain location by a monster that didn't need a vehicle to travel, which meant there were no tracks leading to her hideout. "My family must be looking for me too, but so far it's not working," I pointed out skeptically. "I don't even know how long I've been here."

  "You've been here about a week," he said.

  I turned my face toward his voice, surprised. "How do you know that?"

  "Vilschka opens the door every evening to go hunting."

  I frowned. "Why didn't I notice?"

  "You weren't always awake," he explained.

  "She opens the door in the daytime too, sometimes," I said, remembering her talking to the statue while bright light streamed in through the mine portal.

  "That's right," he agreed but didn't add anything.

  I fought off the drowsiness that kept dragging at my eyelids and tried to keep the conversation going. "So your family's here in the United States?"

  "My brothers and cousins are. They came over with me from England."

  "Why are you so sure they'll find us?" I questioned, wondering why he thought his family would succeed when the cops had obviously failed.

  "They'll never give up," he said flatly, but in a way that kinda gave me hope.

  "My parents probably think I'm already dead," I muttered. "Most kidnap victims die within an hour of their capture."

  "You're not going to die," he said. But he didn't say it like he was trying to keep me from losing hope. He said it like it was a preordained fact.

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "Because I won't let you die," he stated.

  I didn't know what he thought he could do against a flying rockheap the size of Moby Dick, or what he hoped to accomplish while he was chained like a dog on a leash, but his brave talk was nice to listen to. "How many brothers do you have?" I asked.

  "Two," he answered. "Victor and Reason."

  "Reason? That's…an unusual name."

  "You'd like him," he said quietly. "He's an amazing artist. Rees is always looking out for everyone, making sure they're safe."

  "What about Victor?"

  "He's the oldest so he kind of leads the rest of us. He's a good guy. Really good," he added. "Everybody looks up to him."

  "But?" I questioned, because I felt like he was leaving something out and I'm utterly lacking the gene that makes you tactful.

  He didn't answer right away and when he did, he spoke slowly. "My brothers are really good."

  "And you're…not?"

  "Not that good," he answered. "But…do you ever feel like you just don't belong? That you're not like everyone else and they just put up with you because they have to?"

  "I think so," I answered slowly, not wanting to admit that I knew exactly what he meant. I'd just met him and he might be cute so he didn't need to know what a loser I was.

  "What about you?" he asked after a short silence. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

  "I have an older sister who's perfect in every way," I started after I got a yawn out of the way. "Pretty. Popular. Straight A student in high school and college. Never gets into trouble. She makes me look bad in comparison, jus
t by being her."

  "Sounds like your sister should meet Victor," he snickered.

  "She doesn't do it on purpose but my father's always comparing me to her and holding her up as this shining example I should endeavor to emulate."

  "Endeavor to emulate?" he questioned me.

  "He thinks I should try to be like her."

  "I know what it means," he snorted. "But why didn't you just say so? Nobody talks like that nowadays."

  "I guess I was just born fifty years too late," I said, feeling a little defensive.

  "More like a hundred," he corrected me.

  "Anyhow, I can't be Samantha. I'm…me!"

  "I know what you mean," he grunted, which surprised me.

  "My father's a nazi dictator," I grumbled. "He bullies everyone in the family, including my mother. Samantha just knows how to work him." When he made no comment, I felt like he wasn't doing his part to keep the conversation going. "What about your parents?" I asked.

  "My father died when I was thirteen. My mother passed on earlier."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," I stammered awkwardly, feeling like I should just keep my mouth shut because I'm always saying the wrong thing.

  He gave my shoulder a rough squeeze. "It's alright. You couldn't have known. And it was a long time ago. The pain is no longer sharp. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

  "That's probably a good idea," I agreed, thinking I should just shut up before I said something really stupid. "I'm pretty tired."

  "Close your eyes," he murmured, his quiet words coaxing me seductively toward sleep. "I'm here to keep watch. And I'll be here when you wake."

  So I snuggled into the warmth of his arms and closed my eyes. It didn't take me long to drift off and I fell asleep wondering what he looked like, conjuring up this attractive vision which was probably way off because nobody looks that good. But it didn't really matter what he looked like; I'd already decided I liked him, probably because I always tend to think the best of people. But I wasn't alone anymore and that's all that mattered. You can't imagine how horrible it is to be alone in a captive situation like that. You feel so hopeless and powerless. Now I felt like—together—we might be able to do something to get out of the mess we were in.

  Chapter Four

  I woke to the harsh sound of scraping metal and the sinking realization that I was still a prisoner, still trapped in a mine. And the food I'd been dreaming about wasn't any more real than my chances for escape. But at least I wasn't freezing anymore. And I wasn't alone. I didn't move because I didn't want anything to disturb the warm comfort I felt in the arms of my new companion.

  A deep metallic bang rumbled down the tunnel as the door cranked open at the front of the mine. My gaze was automatically drawn in that direction, hungry for the sight of light, however faint. But it wasn't very bright outside so I assumed it was the end of the day.

  "She'll be going hunting," Chaos murmured. His lips stirred the hair just above my ear.

  "I hope she brings us some snow before she leaves," I whispered and turned my head in his direction without consciously realizing I was about to see him for the first time. Up until then, he was just a soothing voice in the darkness. I'm not even sure I considered him part of the physical realm. So when my gaze reached his face, I just stared, shocked speechless.

  If I'd known what he looked like when I curled up in his arms, I'd never have been able to get a single word past my lips. I'd have died of shyness. Because he was the hottest thing I'd ever seen. Ever. I'm talkin' sexy beast stuff. This guy made the blond dude at the skate park look like Homer Simpson.

  Yeah, he was that good. His thickly lashed eyes were an amazing shade of pale sea foam. They actually seemed to glow in the darkness like those luminescent ocean waves in California. But it was a warm fiery glow. His dark brown hair almost reached his shoulders in a mane that had the rich sheen of polished wood. And the rest of his features, from his eyebrows to the sensual shape of his mouth, were chiseled perfection.

  "What?" he muttered, startling me out of my trance. "What are you staring at?"

  "Nothing," I squeaked, and quickly moved my attention back to the mine entrance. "I…I just think I need to stretch my legs."

  With a hand on my elbow, he helped me to my feet then didn't let go when he had the chance. Which really surprised me. Because by now he knew what I looked like. And he couldn't have been all that impressed. But I'd forgotten about my chest, which he noticed right away. His gaze strayed from my face for a second then returned to my eyes as he tightened his hold on my arm. "Mind you don't lose your balance and fall over," he snickered.

  I couldn't help but laugh, which broke the awkward spell that had a hold on me. That's one good thing about having a chest like mine. It's a great icebreaker. I elbowed him away. "You're such a guy."

  "Aye," he agreed, his sea foam eyes laughing down at me. "And you're such a girl."

  "Aye?" I lifted an eyebrow and questioned him.

  He nodded and the corner of his mouth twitched with a smile. "It means yes."

  "I know what it means. I've read a ton of historicals. But nobody talks like that nowadays," I pointed out, being deliberately difficult and using his words from earlier.

  "I use it," he said, his mood turning suddenly defiant.

  "Born a hundred years too soon?" I teased him, probably saying all the wrong things like I usually do.

  He eyed me steadily. "More like eight hundred," he muttered cryptically.

  My gaze drifted downward over his ripped frame and lingered on the strong network of veins that stood out on his bare arms. I wanted to ask him if he worked out but kept my mouth shut just to be safe. I didn't say anything about his bizarre fashion sense, either, but it wasn't easy to ignore. On his upper body, he wore a black leather vest patterned with thick ridges arranged in sweeping lines. Below that, he wore a loose pair of heavy shorts held up with a thick leather belt. A drawstring pouch hung from the belt and that was all he had on. Well, except for a gold ring on his little finger. He wasn't even wearing anything on his feet.

  "Aren't your feet cold?" I asked.

  "Not yet," he answered, watching me with a strange focus that I didn't understand, like he found me fascinating or at least pretty. "The cold doesn't bother me much."

  I couldn't help but feel self-conscious under his searching gaze. "What are you looking at?" I muttered. "Is there something on my face?"

  My question made him start, like he suddenly realized he was staring. "Aye," he answered.

  "Ugh," I moaned, embarrassed. I started to rub my knuckles across my cheeks. "Where?"

  "Here, let me," he offered quietly and reached for my face, holding it in his hands and brushing his thumbs gently over my cheekbones.

  "Better?" I asked anxiously.

  "Very nice," he murmured, gazing down into my eyes with a quiet smile on his face and making me feel all self-conscious again.

  "What's that on your neck?" I asked him, awkwardly breaking the breathless silence that had fallen between us. For some reason I wanted to reach up and run my fingers over the strange blue symbol. I wasn't crushing on him or anything like that. He was just a really nice looking guy and a girl would be crazy not to be attracted to him.

  For a few moments, he seemed to be searching for the right word. "What does it look like?" he finally asked.

  "Like a tattoo," I answered.

  "Aye. Yes. That's what it is. A tattoo."

  "It's nice," I murmured. "Does it mean anything?"

  "It's supposed to mean Chaos," he answered.

  I tilted my head and studied the tat for a few seconds but couldn't see how the shape was supposed to mean Chaos. It was too neat and circular.

  "I think it's meant to represent a cyclone," he explained when he noticed the puzzled look on my face.

  "Like a hurricane?"

  "Aye," he answered.

  I nodded slowly. "Okay. I think I see that. But…do they even have hurricanes in England?"

  "Aye. Did you not
hear about the big one in '87?"

  "1987?"

  "Aye."

  "Um. I wasn't alive in '87."

  "Oh," he mumbled and got that intense look in his eyes again as he was watching me. "Well it was big. Fifteen million trees went down in that storm."

  He shifted his feet and his chain rattled, drawing my gaze to the ground. A long length of thick links connected his ankle to the old ore cart rails that were fixed to the mine's floor. He could move, maybe almost as far as the portal or down the short offshoot to the powder room. But not any farther. It surprised me that I hadn't woken when the harpy was chaining him beside me but I'd been tired. Like I-might-never-wake-again tired.

  The mine darkened suddenly and we turned our heads toward the portal where the harpy's silhouette blocked out the strip of wan light that shone through the open door, then she stalked toward us carrying two large snowballs. She tossed them at Chaos and he caught one in each hand. Thirsty, I reached for the ball closest to me.

  "Hang on," he murmured as I lifted the snowball to my mouth and the harpy lumbered back to the front of the mine. "I have a packet of flavoring in my pouch."

  I didn't hear him tear anything open but when he handed it back, that snowball tasted wonderful. "What did you put on this?" I asked.

  "That…sweet stuff," he said like he was searching for the right word again.

  "Spenda?" I questioned him. "Koolaid?"

  "That's right," he said.

  "Which one?"

  "Koolaid," he answered decisively.

  "What flavor?" I demanded, being persistent. "Because when I get outta here, I gotta get me some of this."

  "The blue flavor," he answered with a snicker that I didn't understand. It sounded like he had some kind of private joke going but I didn't know what it could be so I ignored it. And when I finished the snowball, I actually felt a lot better. Like I wasn't so hungry. Like I wasn't so weak. It seemed as if the small amount flavoring he'd used had restored some of my energy.

  The harpy blotted out the light again momentarily then the door closed and we were standing in complete darkness again. I couldn't see Chaos but wanted to reach for him, to anchor myself to something, to someone. Of course, I didn't. But I was so relieved when I felt his hand grip my arm.