Blood That Binds: A Vampire Romance (Blood Legends Duet)

by Melissa Winters

  Our drinks are placed in front of us, drawing the girls’ attention back to our table. Everyone lifts their glasses just like the old days. Three sets of eyes watch me as I sit stone-faced and unmoving. We haven’t so much as mentioned Maggie, and now this? I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to carry on traditions without her.

  Looking at my friends, I can see how much they need this, and I promised myself I’d be there for them too. Slowly, I lift my glass of Coke and with a slight stutter call out, “Cheers.” They all repeat after me with somber faces. They want to memorialize her, but tonight I want to forget. For a brief moment, I understand my parents’ need for numbness.

  We don’t talk about Maggie past the salute, and I’m appreciative of that. Our pizza comes a bit later and we eat in silence, all in our own thoughts. When we’re done and our table is cleaned off, Jill turns excitedly toward the table of guys.

  “Wanna play a game?” she calls, a wicked smirk plastered on her face.

  “What kind of game?” the blond muscle-head with Jason calls back in a flirtatious tone.

  She taps her finger to her mouth in mock thought. “Never Have I Ever. Loser takes a drink.”

  “You’re on,” Jason calls, standing up and pushing another table against theirs.

  “You coming?” Shannon asks, holding out her hand to me. “You don’t have to play.”

  Her smile is genuine, with no trace of disappointment or frustration. She just gets me. I nod, smiling up at my friend, before taking her hand and allowing her to help me out of the booth. I squeeze to let her know just how much I appreciate her. We’re not seated long before the game begins.

  “Never have I ever played strip poker,” Jill starts, laughing at Andrea as she lifts her drink to her lips.

  “You bitch,” Andrea chuckles, wiping the remaining beer from her mouth. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Obviously,” Jill snorts.

  My eyes volley back and forth, watching the exchange like an interloper. Jill, Andrea, and Shannon all went off to college together, while I stayed back with Maggie, attending community college. These girls have had years together to form memories that I wasn’t part of. It only furthers the divide I feel, but I try my best to not show it. I smile widely and laugh when appropriate.

  The game continues and beer after beer is drunk. The group skips over me like I’m not even here. Clearly, I’m throwing out the not happening vibe. As much as I should appreciate it, it just drives home the differences. And it hurts. So much of my life has changed and I had secretly hoped that maybe tonight would seamlessly slip back to the good ol’ days. It’s heartbreaking that it didn’t. I feel like more of an outcast than I did before.

  An hour later we’re still sitting here and they’re still playing games. The girls talk about college, boys, and parties, shamelessly flirting with Jason and his friends. I continue nodding my head as though I have any experience with any of those things. It’s exhausting and I’m ready for bed.

  “I’m going to head home, ladies,” I tell the group, standing to my feet.

  “What? No way,” Jill cries. “You can’t leave yet.”

  “I’m lame tonight. My bed is calling.” I smile, trying to convey that it’s not them. It’s me.

  “We hardly see you anymore,” Andrea whines, but it lacks conviction. If I had to guess, she isn’t all that sad I’m leaving. She’s only trying to act like a good friend.

  “We’ll do this again soon,” I promise, but I don’t mean it. There is not a part of me that believes I’ll subject myself to this again anytime soon. I’ll always have love for my friends, but we are different people, living in different worlds. I’m not the fun Marina they once knew. No, that girl is gone.

  “I’m not ready to leave,” Jill says to the group, and they all agree.

  “You girls stay. I can walk home by myself. It’s nice outside and I could use some fresh air.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Shannon’s eyes narrow in my direction.

  She’s always been the overly careful one of all my friends. I love that about her, but tonight, I just want her to let me be.

  “My house is only a few blocks away. What could possibly happen in Liberty?”

  “Your house is like a mile away.” Shannon quips, scrunching her nose. “It’s towns like these that breed serial killers.”

  I bark a laugh at her paranoia.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll text you as soon as I’m home.”

  And I will. Shannon has been my friend longest, and I don’t want to hurt her. She’s the one I’ll miss most when I stop hanging out.

  “I’m walking you out.” Shannon stands, ushering me toward the door.

  Jill and Andrea give me hugs, making me swear to text the moment I’m home. I squeeze them a little longer than normal. A thank you for all the good years and fond memories. A goodbye as well. I lift my hand and say goodnight to the guys and head toward the exit.

  As soon as we’re out of earshot of the other two, Shannon swoops in with her questions.

  “Are you okay?” Her voice is low and full of concern.

  I blow out a breath, trying to figure out where her questions are going to go.

  “I’m all right. It was just a long day.”

  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  I turn to her.

  “Not really.”

  Lines form in Shannon’s forehead. “We all miss her too, you know? You can talk to us.”

  I sigh.

  “I know.”

  “Do you? Because I feel like you’re pulling away every day.”

  She’s too perceptive, always has been. How do I tell her she’s right? Would she understand and let me go? Instead, I continue with the lies.

  “I’m not trying to, Shan. I just need some time to myself.”

  “I just miss you.” A tear slips down her cheek and I lean in to wipe it away. “You two were like my sisters. I feel like I’ve lost you both.”

  I grab her hands in mine and squeeze. “Give me some time, please,” I beg my oldest friend.

  She nods.

  “Love you, Rina,” she says, pulling me into a hug.

  “Love you too.”

  Shannon steps back, biting her lip.

  “Call me as soon as you’re home. Promise.”

  “I promise.” Smiling, I turn and push through the exit door of The Shack, letting it slam shut behind me.

  When I’m finally alone, I take a deep breath of fresh air, staving off the tears I’ve been holding back. Tonight was a reminder of what my life used to be. That life is gone. Maggie took it with her the day she decided to jump from that cliff and leave me.

  I straighten my back, resolved to get home and attempt to get some sleep. The houses begin to spread out more the farther I walk, and it isn’t long before I’m at the edge of town. The sidewalk ends, and I’m forced to walk in the dewy grass or on the street. Since there isn’t a car in sight, I opt for the dry pavement. There’s a slight chill, triggering me to pull my jean jacket tighter around my body. I walk past the last of the streetlamps, preparing to enter the darkness of what we consider to be the beginning of the country. It isn’t long from here.

  My parents’ home is less than two football fields away when a sense of unease rolls over me yet again. I speed up my steps, annoyed at how jittery I’ve been today. When the disquiet intensifies, I stop, looking at my surroundings. Nothing.

  Pull it together, Marina.

  I begin walking at a clipped pace as the wind picks up, tossing my hair haphazardly over my eyes. Brushing the hair aside, I keep my head forward. A cry from behind has me whipping around to see the black crow sitting atop the last lamppost. Once again, it’s staring in my direction. Creepy ass bird.

  It’s then that I notice a white van twenty yards away. That wasn’t there before. A feeling of anxiety creeps into my bloodstream. Something isn’t right. The engine is running, but the lights are off. Not wanting to waste another minute, I spi
n around, moving forward at the same steady clip. My feet carry me another thirty yards before my palms begin to sweat and moisture builds on my brow. I glance over my shoulder to see the van creeping toward me as if trying to go unnoticed. My inner voice is screaming at me to run. So I do.

  My feet hitting the pavement doesn’t drown out the sound of the van quickly approaching. I don’t look, desperate to make it home. Only one hundred more yards until I will reach the safety of my parents’ front porch. My arms pump faster, trying frantically to outrun the van. I can’t do it. Looking to my left, I decide to make a run for the cornfield. Once inside the maze of corn, I hide about five rows back behind a large stalk.

  Crouched down, willing my thumping heart to quiet, I don’t breathe for fear someone might hear me. The sound of the van moving away has me letting out the breath I had been holding. A sigh of relief escapes as my heavy breaths come out in pants. I sit shaking for what feels like forever before I muster the courage to stand slowly. The sound of the van in the distance encourages me to attempt an escape.

  The fleeting sense of hopefulness crumbles as beefy arms circle me from behind. High-pitched cries force their way from my throat. A large hand covers my mouth, muffling my screams. As I’m pulled through the field, husks of corn tear at my skin. My heart pounds and bile rises in to my throat. Kicking, I fight with everything I have to escape the clutches of this stranger. He’s too strong.

  I look up into black eyes devoid of humanity. His face is stone, unmoved by my pleas. It’s then that I know I’m not getting away. The fight drains from me as the man drags me around to the back of the van. My whole body begins to shake uncontrollably. He opens the door with one hand while keeping me pinned under his arm. Once the door is open, he grabs me with both hands and throws me inside. I whimper as a stream of urine trails down my legs, soiling my clothes. Before I have time to process anything more, a stabbing pain sears my neck, and everything goes black.

  Chapter Three

  My head is pounding.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  My hands come up to rub my temples to ease some of the throbbing so that I can open my eyes. The pain is too intense. Even a slight flutter of my lashes has the pounding intensifying.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “What is that godforsaken tapping?” My patience is running thin. Surely my father hasn’t chosen this one day to decide to fix up our crumbling house.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  I sit up feeling light-headed. Steadying myself, I try blinking a few times to help my eyes adjust to the dark. As the room comes into focus and the foggy haze that I’ve been in dissipates, confusion sets in.

  Where am I?

  I’m staring at a concrete wall. As I squint to see more, I question my own sight. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I look again. Same concrete wall.

  My eyes dart wildly around, registering one concrete wall and bars to my left and right. Spinning on my knees, I shriek when I see yet another set of bars. I scramble to my feet and pull my body up to a standing position. My legs are weak and wobbly, making me unsteady. Pushing with all the strength I have left, I try to open the large door. It doesn’t budge.

  “Oh God,” I cry out. “Somebody help me.”

  My fists bang on the metal bars, and I pray that somebody will hear me, or they’ll give way. The pain in my head intensifies with every move I make. The tapping continues overhead, and I cry out in hopes that I’ll be heard over the ruckus of whatever is causing the noise. I scream at the top of my lungs. “Help! Please!” Nobody answers.

  I’m alone.

  Sliding down, I curl into myself on the dirty floor. Urine and feces coat my clothes, stinging my nostrils and causing me to gag. My stomach twists and vomit rises to the surface. I turn away from the bars and spill the contents of my gut onto the concrete floor. When there is nothing left to expel, dry heaves rack my body until every ounce of energy is gone, leaving me weak and hollow. I’m going to die.

  My thoughts run a mile a minute. How did I get here? What happened?

  The events of the night crash into me. The van. The strong hands. The fear.

  Curling into a ball, I rock back and forth as a million horrific possibilities assault me. Every terror-filled movie I’ve ever watched, from Taken to The Silence of the Lambs, runs through my imagination.

  I’m going to have my skin peeled off. Or worse . . . be eaten alive.

  I cry out, but there isn’t anyone around to hear me. I’m alone. Utterly and truly alone. At this stage I regret all the times I thought to myself that life couldn’t get any crueler. Right now, in this cell, I know it can get far worse.

  Shannon would notice, right? Maybe they have people out looking for me.

  I never texted her.

  “Fuck,” I yell, grabbing both sides of my head and squeezing to try to stave off the thrashing headache.

  No one is looking for me. I did this. It wouldn’t be the first time I didn’t hold up my end of a bargain with Shannon, but karma has finally caught up with me. They probably think it’s like every other time. Shannon will check in within a week, but a week is too long. Will my parents even notice I’m gone? Depends on what state they’re in.

  I feel for my phone, finding it missing. My pockets are empty, purse nowhere in sight.

  Of course. It’s probably still lying in that cornfield, out of sight where nobody will find it for another month, if ever. Dread fills me. How long have I been in this place? There is no sense of time, no windows to separate day from night. It could be hours; it could be days. I don’t know how long I slept.

  The reality of my situation, coupled with everything from the past year, moves over me like a tidal wave of heartache. It’s too much. This has all been too much. I’m a walking tragedy. Who else has this much bad in their life? Sorrow takes hold of me, pouring out as if the dam holding my emotions in check has given way. Tears run unbidden down my cheeks and I don’t hold back. I let them out. Eventually, my body gives in to exhaustion and I fall asleep.

  I peer out over the heavy quilt into the darkness of my room. The small night-light by my bed illuminates just enough to see the area directly in front and to the sides of me. A noise near my closet has me fisting the sheets so tight my knuckles begin to ache. I dare not speak, for fear it’ll hear me. It’s been in my room every night for the past week. It leers at me from the corner. I know it’s there. I can hear it breathe. Some nights I see the glow of its red eyes. Slamming my own shut tightly, I silently pray to God to keep me safe.

  “Rina?” My mother’s voice calls from the doorway.

  “Y-yes?” I say quietly, afraid the creature will hurt my mom if she sees it.

  “What was that noise?”

  The light flicks on overhead and I hold my breath in anticipation of seeing the creature in the light, but nothing is there. My room is empty.

  I exhale in relief, eyes scanning the area for signs of what I know was there moments ago. My mother walks to the side of my bed, pulling the covers away from my face and holding my hand in hers.

  “Someone was here. I know it.”

  My eyes widen at her declaration. Finally, she’s ready to hear my truths.

  “Was it Molly? Did she come back to us?”

  I deflate as she punctures the hope I had. It always comes back to Molly. No matter how many people try to explain to her, she doesn’t get it. Molly never lived. She didn’t even take one breath. I want to scream that Maggie and I survived. We’re here and we need her, but that doesn’t matter. It never has.

  “No, Mom. It wasn’t Molly.”

  It’s easier to appease her. Just like my dad always has. We feed into her delusions that Molly might actually be out there somewhere.

  “All right. Good night,” she says, bending over to kiss my forehead, the potent smell of alcohol clinging to her.

  I turn to my side, pulling the covers with me, and shiver at the sight of my open window. There is no doubt in my mind that it was closed. Once my mom is soundly asleep,
I sneak out of my room and crawl into bed with Maggie. We have each other. We only have each other.

  I awaken with a jerk. It wasn’t just any dream, but a memory from years past. It’s been ages since I’ve thought of those days. Maggie and I were so young and vulnerable, but we were alone. My father thought that Maggie and I had inherited some gene from our mother that caused delusions. Therapists tried to explain to him that what my mother was dealing with was entirely different from what Maggie and I were describing, but he never believed that. He thought she transferred her grief and aberrations to us. Eventually, he convinced her of the same, and that was the start of our foray into years of psychoanalysis.

  I try hard to repress those years, but with Maggie’s disappearance and now this current situation, it’s like a doorway has opened to my past. It’s not enough that I’m living out my own version of hell, but my mind insists on reliving every horrible childhood memory right along with it. I shiver in the cold air circling around me. There must be a vent somewhere. I stand, searching for the source of the draft.

  A man’s voice has me slinking back to the ground, desperate to not be seen.

  “Get in,” he commands.

  A scampering sound comes from the cell next to me.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” a girl’s voice cries out.

  I slowly move backwards until my back hits the wall behind me. Huddled in the corner, I do my best to stay as quiet as possible.

  Whimpering in the cell next to me gives way to something akin to slurping. Chills run down my spine and my hands come to my ears to block out the horrific sound.

  A bloodcurdling scream has my eyes slamming shut and another bout of terror racing through me. My hands press on my ears so tightly that they begin to ache. Please, God, please help me, I silently beg, rocking back and forth. Between my hands blocking out the noise and my heart beating so irregularly fast, I miss the man leaving the cell next door. I stay curled in the fetal position, muttering prayers and pleas to anyone who will hear me.