The Monster of Farewell (Blacklighters Book 1)

by Catherine Black

  There's a certain kind of peace that settles into me when I come to terms with the fact that I have something to offer her that no one else does. I have the power to calm her, to clean her, and to comfort her. I'm sure it will feel foreign and odd and she may resist at first, but right now, I'm all she has. After everything she's been through, she's saddled with me—an ex-con who hasn't touched a woman in over eight years.

  “Okay.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Get under the water.”

  Her bare feet pad silently across the bathroom, all the way to the shower, and I follow, standing just outside the reach of water. I'm completely enthralled by the sight of small streams cascading over her dark hair, turning flat onyx to shining obsidian. Rivulets caress her spine, the curve of her hips, the swell of her ass, the muscled firmness of her thighs. She stands beneath the spray, hugging herself, chin tucked securely into her chest as steam fills the air, ratcheting up the humidity. A pang shoots through my chest when I realize Mercury is shivering under the water, looking as if the world itself has turned its back on her. She looks so fucking miserable.

  Seconds pass, and I finally give in to this madness and step over the lip of the tile, standing at her back. Splashes of water soak my jeans, but I couldn't care less. In the cage, Mercury was ferocious. Unstoppable. But here, naked, hunkered in on herself, all I see in the lines of her able body is delicate vulnerability. I've never been a gentle guy, never tried to be, but with Mercury, I think it may be worth it.

  Careful hands part her thick hair down the center, brushing each half over her shoulders. With the sopping strands out of the way, I see what I'm after, seated just beneath her hairline. The brand looks angry, puckered and red, so different from the others I've seen, both in photographs and around the property.

  “Why isn't it black?”

  Mercury stiffens, then glances over her shoulder until she's looking up at me. But I don't look back. I continue trailing a single finger beneath the scar, where her skin still looks healthy. “The others are black like they've been colored in.”

  “Ours will be.” I can barely hear her whisper over water pelting against tile. “Once I win.”

  I finally look at her. “But you won tonight.”

  She begins to shake her head, then shudders as if the motion hurts her. It probably does. “A real fight. Against another Blacklighter.”

  “Right,” I nod. My mind takes off without me, trying to pick apart every scrap of information Eric and Blair shoved into my ear. There was a lot. And most of it I don't remember. “You'll fight the other women here?”

  She wipes at her wet face. “No. Others. They'll come here. Or I'll go there.”

  Ah, yes. I remember now. In Blair's office, she showed me the map, each little dot representing another branch of the 'chain'.

  “I see...”

  The closest bottle of soap bears a drawing of passion fruit and I drizzle a dollop over a sponge and work it into a lather, peering down at the mangled mess that was once Mercury's neck. The wound is disgusting. I can't leave the fibers and hair stuck in it or else it'll get infected, so there's only one thing I can do, and it's going to suck.

  “This is gonna hurt.”

  Mercury braces both hands on the tile wall in front of her, and I commend her for putting on a brave face...right before I dive in.

  I wash her. Hard. Gripping one large hand around her shoulder, I scrub with the other, doing it as quickly and efficiently as possible, not letting up until the skin is pink, raw, and bleeding.

  I'm sure as shit not hard anymore.

  When the sponge hits the floor, Mercury releases the breath she's been holding and I feel like a grade-A dick. She doesn't cry, doesn't scream, she never releases so much as a whimper. The only sign telling me this is causing her discomfort are the two hands still clawing at the tile wall, shaking as they curl and uncurl.

  “I'm sorry,” I whisper, watching as the last of the fibers trickle down the drain.

  I'm breathing hard and so is Mercury. Her shoulders lower as she spins around, catching me off guard by how quickly she moves, and water flies out in every direction. Neither of us pay it any mind because her dark blue eyes lock onto mine, and I know...I fucking know this woman is a witch. She has to be because I'm under some kind of spell.

  That's the only explanation for the way my gaze never venture below her chin, even though my erection is back with a vengeance and trying to smash its way into the outside world. Speckles of blood still caked to her cheeks catch my eye and I gently take her by the shoulders and move her back until water pours over her face. She must trust me to some degree, because she lets me do this, even going so far as to tilt her head back and close her eyes.

  Right here, in this fucked up situation, I've never felt stronger. Not because I'm overpowering someone smaller than me. Not even because she's relinquishing control. No. Holding Mercury makes me feel strong because she's trusting me at her most vulnerable. And that means something. I just don't know what.

  My hands slide up her neck, feeling the slickness of her skin beneath mine before stopping to cover her ears. Mercury looks so frail and tiny as I hold her face, swiping my thumbs against any lingering droplets of red until they're all gone, and after that, it's just me and Mercury, standing together, staring, enveloped in steam.

  She is so unashamed and unembarrassed by her nudity, it confounds me. Most women would cover themselves or blush or turn away, but not Mercury. She stands strong and firm in her beauty—scars and all—as she pulls away and picks up the sponge. Handing it over, she gestures for me to wash the rest of her.

  This time, I don't hesitate.

  My eyes remain locked on hers, never straying as I trail the rough material over her collarbone, dripping suds down her chest, her toned belly. I trail through the mass of bubbles, washing her in gentle circles. Moving first one foot and then the other, I kneel at Mercury's feet. There's a ghost of a smile gracing her lips when my eyes are level with her navel, and I can tell she's enjoying seeing me in such a subservient position. Normally, a power play like that would turn me off, but I have to say...I don't hate it. Especially when I drag the sponge down her stomach, her pelvis, and dip into the gap between her thighs, triggering her lashes to flutter closed in delight.

  This—whatever is happening between us right now—isn't lust. I'm not going to pin her to the shower wall and take her like I want to, because what I'm feeling is so much...more. More than a primitive need to bury myself in her. More than the urge to taste her. More than the deep-seated need coursing through me to drag my tongue over her most sensitive parts and hear what she sounds like when she's in the throes of ecstasy. It's more complicated than that. Because above all else, I want to shield her. I want to tuck her into the corner of this shower and brace my hands on either side of her body, protecting her from everything behind me. The impulse to wrap myself around her until nothing can hurt her is so great, I feel it burning in my chest, consuming me, setting fire to everything I was before Mercury.

  Licking water from my lips, I decide to give in to whatever this is and tap my forehead against Mercury's slick thigh. “Is this what it means to be your Keeper?”

  I don't expect her to answer, not verbally at least, and she doesn't. She does, however, step deeper into the shower, arching her back so the water flows down the front of her body, and for once, I see she's unsteady, her body exhausted. I'm quick to stand, stepping close enough she can reach for me if she needs to. And reach for me she does.

  Mercury grabs hold of the waistband of my jeans, dipping her fingers just inside to keep from falling back. I've never known a woman's touch to cause physical pain, but hers is a burning brand all on its own. Teeth clenched tight, I hold back a curse when heat from her touch trails down, front and center, making my dick pulse with each beat of my hammering heart.

  When she sways back even further, I take hold of her wrists, ensuring she doesn't fall. No matter what she's done, no matter who she is, no matter what she's ca
pable of...I could never let her fall. I feel that truth on a subatomic level, even though there's absolutely no reason for such a feeling to exist. Not between the two of us, anyway.

  Mercury finally rights herself, but she doesn't release her hold on me. If she knows or understands what she's doing to me on a physical level, she doesn't show it.

  “All done?” I ask.

  She nods, so I reach behind her and turn off the water. I grab the closest towel I can find and wrap it around her body, careful not to go anywhere near the back of her neck. She steps out before me, and while she's wringing out her hair over the sink, I shed my jeans and grab a towel of my own, cinching it tight around my waist.

  “Come on.” I jerk my chin toward the door, then to her neck. “I still need to clean that.”

  “Okay.” Her voice is petal soft, her eyes downcast.

  Great. Now she decides to get shy on me.

  A billowing cloud of steam escapes when I open the door, and the first thing I see is both my duffel bags sitting on a low dresser. There's a box as well on the floor. A quick peek tells me it belongs to someone much more feminine than me.

  “I think that's yours,” I say, pointing to the box. Mercury nods and begins rifling through it, presumably for something to sleep in. At least, I hope that's the case, because it's late—early morning, actually—and I'm dog tired. My brain has been thoroughly blown, turned to mush, and vaporized, and right now I'd love nothing more than a solid eight hours, but I can't fall onto the tiny twin bed in the corner just yet.

  The first aid kit is still on the larger bed, so I take a seat and wait with my back to Mercury, listening to the rustling of fabric and carpet beneath her feet. It doesn't take long before she's coming around, pushing my legs apart so she can take a seat between my knees like it's the most natural thing in the world, mirroring the position we were in before the shower.

  But at that time, we were both dressed. Sort of. Now, I'm wearing a towel that's doing very little to conceal what's going on below my waist, and Mercury is wearing...fuck me...a black silk nightie that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  She clears her throat and I realize I've been staring at the spot where her ass meets the bed, not moving, barely breathing, for over a minute.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Her hair is still damp, but she's holding it to the side, offering up her neck to me. I work meticulously to cover each raised piece of skin with ointment as gently as possible. The unmarked bottle of pills worries me, but she doesn't seem bothered one bit as she throws two into her mouth and swallows.

  “I'd bandage it, but I think it'll heal faster this way. Can you sleep on your stomach?”

  She nods, and without another word, crawls off the bed, grabs a hair-tie from her box, and throws her still-wet hair up into what resembles a messy birds nest at the very top of her head. It's cute. With all that hair pulled away from her eyes, it's easier to see her features, and now that she's not covered in blood or that heinous makeup she was wearing when we first met, I can appreciate the raw, savage beauty I'm guessing not many people get to see.

  This feels like a privilege. Because even though she's still bruised and there are a smattering of scars marring her face that will stay with her forever, she's still painfully attractive. In fact, the scars—each tiny crescent set into her skin—only magnify her beauty.

  Before, when I said she looked dead, I wasn't wrong. Beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting of her mother's office, she looked empty. But after seeing her come alive in the cage...I know I was wrong. There's something inside this woman—something fierce and unstoppable that no one, not even me, can understand, and that sets her apart. She may be small in stature, but she radiates power, and that can be intimidating to even the strongest of onlookers. I, however, am not intimidated.

  I'm enamored. Damn it all to hell, I'm drawn to her like a suicidal moth to a burning flame, and even though I can't explain it, I find I don't need to. It is what it is.

  Mercury surprises me by gracefully face-planting onto the bed—I didn't know there was a gentle way to do that—and I know it won't be long before she's out. Which is why I take the opportunity to grab my bag and sneak into the bathroom.

  I tug on a pair of sleep pants, but before doing anything else, I dig around blindly, wondering if whoever moved my car also jacked my things, but they didn't. Thank God. The gun is still where I left it, tucked inside a pair of jeans, and the voice recorder is untouched. I stare at both items, trying to remember why I'm really here, but all I can hear is Griffin's voice echoing through my head, and all I can recall is the anger I felt when he was backing me into a corner.

  'You think the people around here are ready to welcome you back with open arms? You think they're jumping at the chance to employ a felon? A murderer?'

  'I've gotta feed someone to the wolves. You know how this works.'

  'I want to know everything.'

  Mercury is asleep when I return to the room, curled up on her side. Her mouth hangs open a fraction of an inch as she breathes deep, and tucked safely beneath the black duvet, she looks so peaceful, so innocent.

  And so damn beautiful.

  Worry churns my gut, because the truth of the matter is, I lied to her. It's a lie of omission, but a lie all the same. That worry turns to anguish when I realize all I want to do is say fuck Griffin and do whatever the hell I want anyway, but I can't. I have a family to think about. No matter how drawn I am to Mercury, I still have people back in New Liberty waiting for me to return, and I've kept them waiting long enough already—eight years, four months, and three days, to be exact.

  Bidding a reluctant farewell to sleep, I curse the inner workings of my brain as I sink down into a chair and proceed to spend three hours watching Mercury sleep. Sitting guard over her, I track my Blacklighter's every breath like a creeper...like a Keeper...all the while wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mercury

  The flames are beautiful. Glowing orange with red and yellow streaking through as they grow, venturing higher and higher, licking at the hem of my purple dress. The fabric catches fire and I watch as each individual thread is eaten alive, devoured and killed off. Hot tongues lick at my thighs. Sparks dance across my skin. I hit at them, trying to tap them out of existence, but they persevere, traveling higher and higher, scurrying up my stomach, spinning in fiery whirlwinds, around and around my torso. Up my chest, across my shoulder blades, until the rest of the flames follow like the screaming tail of a meteorite, coming to a stop at the back of my neck.

  Little fingers made of torches sprout from the inferno, clawing just below my hair, digging skin and muscle away, burrowing into my spine, and I can't take the pain a second longer.

  “Stop!”

  I scream, clawing at the burn, begging it to ease, but it doesn't.

  “Please! Please, stop!”

  They don't stop. Even thousands of my tears can't extinguish the flames, and I feel it...the fire in my blood.

  “Make it stop!”

  From the base of my skull, it oozes out. My life force. Trickling down in thick, shining rivulets. Roughly traveling over each individual vertebrae.

  Blood.

  Screaming, I look over my shoulder, shaking, expecting to see a trail of crimson, but that's not what I'm faced with. There is no red. Only liquid silver. Shiny and reflective, the element accelerates across my skin, gushing like a waterfall.

  Mercury.

  Draining from my body. Coating every surface, filling every pore. It travels, defying gravity, thickening, racing around to my front, crawling up my chest, pooling above my clavicles, encircling my throat.

  Mercury.

  It's strangling me. Invading my mouth. Drowning me.

  Mercury.

  A beautiful poison.

  Mercury.

  And it's killing me.

  Mercury.

  “Mercury! Stop!”

  I blink...and this time
when I open my eyes, there's not a trace of silver to be found.

  I am not on fire. I'm in bed, in the dark, and there is a man holding me. My screams cut off but continue echoing through the room as I catch my breath, fighting to recall where I am and who I'm with.

  “Relax,” he says. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

  He holds me with one strong arm around my body, pinning me to his chest like a vice. The other cups the back of my head, cradling it as my sweaty forehead presses against his bare shoulder.

  “You're okay.”

  Kessler.

  Every muscle in my body slackens all at once as the nightmare recedes into the shadows, never to be seen again. With my hands pressed to Kessler's chest, I'm prepared to push him away, to distance myself, but I don't. Retreating is the last thing I want to do as I take in the warmth pressing against my palms. I hold steady, counting every heartbeat, and I just...breathe.

  “There we go,” he coos into my hair. “That's better. You're okay. You're okay.”

  Kessler's calloused hand strokes over my head and my scalp tingles, unfamiliar with the sensation his touch brings. Like tiny sparks, everywhere he touches me, I feel it—the physical connection—and I'm hyper-aware of his presence, his stance, his temperature. The same way I'm aware of an opponent's proximity but this is subtle. Underlying. Innate, in a way, I suppose.

  With slow, rigid jerks, I manage to pull my head back and look up to find Kessler sitting on his knees, holding me in a protective embrace, his head bowed low. Even in the relative darkness, I can see his eyes assessing me, probing, asking questions without words. A dark line splits his bottom lip in half, and I focus on that, trying to decide what it is and why it seems so out of place. Once it registers, a bolt of regret rushes to the forefront of my mind, unbidden and most definitely unwelcome.

  I don't do regret. Not ever. But this man came into my home. He proved himself. From the minute he stepped foot inside that cage, he has been unshakable. And in my moment of weakness, he was right there by my side, anticipating my every need.