Feral Craving

by D. C. Stone

  She took the customer’s cash and tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear, saw the slight tremble of her hand as she lifted it, felt it shake against her skin. He gave her a friendly smile, and she saw a spark of interest behind his whiskey-colored gaze. She prayed for something, a glimmer, an ember—anything to tell her she was a normal woman with normal needs. The prayer went unanswered, and she returned his smile with a half-hearted one of her own, and then watched as he left the coffee shop.

  As the door closed behind him, he turned and gave her one more lingering stare before walking away from the shop. Damn. God, what was wrong with her?

  ****

  I’ll fucking kill them.

  Bari couldn’t help it. He came to, believing he was still in battle, but a quick glance around dismissed that thought. Where in the hell am I? His head pounded, and his vision wavered, spinning, as he tried to focus on his surroundings.

  Shrouded in a mental fog, one so cloudy he could barely form a coherent thought—all he knew, all he recognized was pain. It consumed his entire body as if a truck had slammed into him once or twice. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fought against the darkness. He blinked hard and commanded his brain to keep them open. His lids peeled up like they were running over sandpaper. He groaned, and the sound caught in his throat. Panicked, he tried to reach the tube in his mouth. His eyes widened as his hands wrapped around a cold plastic object. An alarm nearby, one that clashed with the pain in his head, shrilled to life. Running footsteps grew closer. Bari turned his head to see a few nurses in battle-dress uniforms running toward him. He strained and grunted, panic flying through his veins as they pushed on his arms. He hated being held down and tried to identify where he was as his neck strained to look around the various green uniforms, the flash of a white coat. A ping of memories flashed like a camera in his mind, flooded it until they were all he saw in his sightless vision.

  The house, his team, searching for the operatives. Mike missed a door. He took a shot, got hit. But where? How was he still alive?

  Undeniable pain rippled through his stomach, and nurses hovered, trying to calm him, ran tests and asked him questions he couldn’t understand. He fought them, growled as their arms tried to hold him down. He bucked, coughing as the tube pulled from his throat. Nausea bubbled up, and his gag reflex kicked in. He choked and coughed and hollered.

  “Where,” he croaked, his words raspy. “Where am I? What happened?” No one answered him, and his temper soared. He sat up, whipped off the covers, and heard another shout of alarm, this one feminine, as pain punched full throttle into his stomach. The nausea building up finally decided to make its appearance, and he threw up over the side of the bed. The liquid burned his already sore throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut as they watered.

  “What in the fuck have you done to me?”

  Cool air hit his skin. Bari tried to move to cover his exposed body. His hands felt heavy, his movements hindered. Bandages, he saw bandages. Where running, training, and lifting weights kept him in shape and trim, he now looked broken and beaten, bindings covering skin everywhere. How many damn shots did he take? His head throbbed, and his jaw cracked as he opened his mouth. The room shifted, and he wondered if it were the Earth moving or his body swaying. Whatever the answer, one thing was certain: he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

  A noise brushed through the room, and then a woman’s commanding voice.

  “What the hell do you think you’re trying to do?”

  His head snapped up—he recognized it. A familiar face swung into view, but darkness clouded his vision. The woman appeared both angry and concerned. Bari flinched as a penlight flashed in his eyes, its brightness screaming through his temples and making his head spin worse. His hands clamped down and fisted the sheets.

  “No,” he croaked. It couldn’t be.

  Still swaying, someone called out as he started to tilt off the bed. He fell, unable to stop himself as the sheet ripped free from his fist. His body slammed into the ground, and all the air he had been trying to capture suddenly rushed out with a whoosh. He tried to keep his eyes open but found it useless as the instinct for survival kicked in, the urge to fight fading away.

  Sweet baby Jesus, not here. Not after all this time.

  Darkness pulled at him, despite his craving for answers. Cool, steady arms shifted and rolled him to his back. He looked up into hazel eyes blazing with fury. Straight blonde hair fell forward, and his gaze crossed as he tried to lift his hand, the urge to tuck it away so strong. Before the woman could speak, awareness faded away and sleep claimed him.

  It seemed no matter where they were he always touched her. Later, he would say it gave him peace, a calm he never acquired anywhere else. In his world where he had been tormented for most of his young life, she gave him salvation and he gave in to the impulse and kept his hands on her. There was nothing sexual in the act, only a mutual affection and agreement that it was a simple touch of friendship.

  From day one of their introduction, Bari and Mackenzie had been friends, their fathers having served together in the United States Army, their moms close. Mackenzie and Bari kept to each other’s company, acted as if they never needed anyone else. Being thrust into a new world, a kid almost lost in the adoption system, the friendship he made with Mackenzie had a profound impact on his life. She was so accepting of all his faults, couldn’t care less about where he came from. All through the years they acted more like brother and sister, the occasional bickering causing arguments. Yet at the same time, the protective measures over each other with school bullies showed their true emotions. If you walked into either of their houses, a plethora of pictures with Bari and Mackenzie lined the walls. Nothing or no one had ever been able to separate them.

  Senior year had been a turning point in their relationship. With their maturing bodies, the two of them kept their secrets covered, yet they were still comfortable with each other. One day all of that changed. Mackenzie came outside wearing a little blue bikini, and he had been captivated, practically choked on his tongue. It was like a switch turned on and his body responded. She held the body of a goddess in his eyes—curvy, perfect and petite. Her hair trailed down her back and the ends of the dark curls brushed the curve of her enticing rear. Her eyes, those were what told the sweetest story. Green, the color of the sea in Bermuda, they held a thousand secrets forever shared between the two of them, glittering with laughter and confidence. Her skin had been kissed by the sun, and he had the sudden urge to set his lips upon it as well.

  He slid into the pool to cover his reaction and turned toward her. The sun caught her long black locks, highlights of auburn gleaming in the sunlight. His heart clenched, and his body hardened even more. She smiled at him, her lower lip slightly more plump than the top, kissable, even bitable. With a wicked gleam in her eyes, Mackenzie dived into the pool, coming up laughing a few feet down, forcing him to snap out of his fantasy thoughts. He could not help but stare: it was as if a veil had been lifted off of his face and he was seeing her in a new light. He had been struck utterly speechless. There had never been any kind of tension between them but now, he found himself awestruck.

  “What is with you, Bari?”

  She laughed and splashed water in his face, guiding his attention. Shaking his head like a wet dog, he pushed off the floor with his feet and swam toward her, letting the cool brush of water caress his heated skin. As he rounded her, he flipped over to his back and treaded water.

  “Nothing.” He cleared his throat to get the gruffness out, hoping like hell she hadn’t noticed how his voice changed. One look at her bright, laughing eyes said she did. She opened her mouth to speak, but he jumped in. “Mac … did you decide if you were going to prom with Scary Jerry?” He smirked at her scowl, the nickname of one of their friends always setting her off. Jerry had been infatuated with Mackenzie for years, and while it never bothered him before, now, a surge of protectiveness, a resounding “mine” screamed through his skull.


  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. It was almost enough.

  “Don’t.” The gruff command caused both their eyes to widen. He rushed on. “That is, if you don’t want to, of course. But I have a better plan. Let’s forgo the entire ordeal and skip prom. Come out with me.” He sounded like a fool in his own ears, and silence ticked by. With each passing second, his nerves frayed, threatened to unravel. Just as he was about to say never mind, she glanced over, tilting her head slightly and said one word, forever changing them thereafter. “Okay.”

  They did go out that night, driving for what seemed like an endless time on his Harley. Mackenzie’s body pressed against his in a way he wouldn’t deem sisterly at all. It was his best memory and yet had caused the biggest fear inside him all at once. They stopped at a lake nested near the center of the island, hidden deep in the woods. Their own private spot, one he knew even as a kid he’d never forget.

  That night, she gave herself to him, gifted him with her innocence, the pleasure of learning about both their bodies. She’d taken what he demanded, given him even more. With the silver moon shining high above, her body, illuminated for his perusal, rocked with him in pleasure.

  When he eventually went home, the smile on his face faded with a single shift. Something inside of him stirred for the first time, and the beautiful evening washed away as fear rose sharp and fast like a volcano spewing lava. He fought against the knowledge, refused to believe it was who he would come to be. After a long night of restless hours, he went to the recruiter the next day and enlisted with the United States Army. It was the only way he knew to protect the one who filled his heart. The only way to make sure she didn’t end up like his dead mother.

  Bari shifted in the bed, wrapped in the dream, the fog so hazy he could barely see through it. The action changed in his mind, the frown on his face centering on what was coming. Gone, the sweet memories of Mackenzie and something darker stained the beautiful memory. He frowned as the dream pulled at him. He wanted to fight it but lost his way. There was something nearby, something he hadn’t seen before, something waiting…

  These raids were getting on his last nerve. For the past few days they hadn’t found shit, the tip offs received being nothing but bullshit. The need to stop the arms race into Iraq drove him forward when all his body wanted to do was stop. To top it off, he battled with a case of insomnia, his tired body screaming for relief, but his mind and the drive to finish this telling his body to fuck off. Tired minds and exhausted bodies led to mistakes. Being out in the middle of Bumfuck Egypt, surrounded by the insurgents fighting for their cause, he understood he couldn’t afford to make one.

  As they moved up on the house and entered, once again irritation struck as they looked around and Bari realized there really wasn’t a whole lot here. Nor did it look like anything had been there in a while. The only inhabitants in the house included maggots crawling out of a bowl on the floor and a couch littered with more holes than a golf course beneath a window.

  “Damn it…”

  The cursing that immediately followed would make even his adoptive father blush. He moved to join his team and caught a shift in sound behind him. He turned and before him stood an Iraqi man, a cleaver in his hand, looking at him with the same stunned expression that was on his face. The two of them stared at each other, each waiting for the other to move. He heard his team throughout the house but didn’t make a sound. A million things slammed into him at once: footsteps down the hall, the heartbeat of the man standing in front of him speeding up, the drifting of wind blowing against the house. He took note of it all. The man stared at him, and waited until he had Bari’s full attention. Bari watched in horror as he started to move his hand.

  “No!”

  He screamed it, implored the man to understand, not to move. Didn’t the man see the gun pointed at him? The male refused to cooperate, and Bari grasped what was to come. Blood, death, gore, it was all the same. The man’s free hand fit into his dusty brown jacket and started to withdraw. Bari didn’t want to pull the trigger, didn’t want to shed any more blood, and he tensed. The entire process seemed to take forever. He knew he should probably rush toward the guy, hit him over the head, but it was as if he was frozen. He couldn’t move, couldn’t yell. As the hand came out, he saw the flash of something glint as the sunlight from outside struck against it. His finger pulled on the trigger, self-preservation kicking in as a loud shot rang out. It fired so fast that the weapon surprised him. He glanced at the gun as if it had grown a mind of its own. Ripping his gaze off of it, he glanced back to where the man should have been lying. Instead, he found the space empty. Bari scanned the room, and his gaze rested on a bullet hole along with an unusual script of writing littering the wall. Letters he didn’t recognize. He swore it hadn’t been there before. He frowned, took a step forward, his mind trying to remember if he had missed it, trying to see, to understand what it meant. He studied the markings, his hand itching to lift up and touch them. Behind him, his team members burst into the room.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  Bari heard them yelling but wasn’t paying any mind and only concentrated on the cryptic writing. What … the … hell…?

  He came awake with a gasp and about shot out of bed as a large face filled his vision.

  “Christ! I swear to fuck, if you don’t get away from me, Mike…”

  Bari grunted as a pillow was shoved behind him, his body bucking under the move. Pain splintered through him, but nowhere near the level from before. A nurse walked by, filled him up with something that made his head spin and his vision go fuzzy. He loathed not being in control, hated being dependent on others. After his childhood, he never wanted to depend on another ever again. Relying on someone else to look after you, to care always seemed to backfire in his life.

  Bari looked around and frowned. He also didn’t like that no one came by to tell him what was wrong. He’d been shot; he got that much, felt and saw the holes, the bandages covering his body. He looked over at Mike, sitting in the same spot he’d been in when Bari woke hours before.

  Mike’s shaggy blond hair fell in loose waves around his face, barely touched his shoulders, the strands sticking out haphazardly. Hazel eyes, telling the story of a tortured man, were set wide on a chiseled face almost too pretty for a male, a face that got him teased relentlessly by the team. Mike took it in good sport though, being the team jokester. Not used to the somber man sitting next to him, Bari frowned. For the past few years, Mike had been the one to preach about love and life, how the two went hand in hand together. The guy was married to a beautiful woman who adored him and also had a little girl who made his world right. Typically, Mike was always smiling, and Bari would have knocked the happy cloud right out of Mike’s life long ago had he not envied the man … just a little.

  Mike’s current expression screamed guilt, and Bari heaved a sigh. They had all been in the same position in the past: missed something critical, skipped a spot, or forgot equipment needed for the mission. It wasn’t like any of them were perfect; hell, they were far from it. No one should feel guilty or responsible for putting that weapon in the insurgent’s hands. Bari shifted, wincing as pain hit his chest, and looked at Mike.

  “Dude, seriously, you’re gonna give me indigestion with this pity party. Stop it. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Mike eyed him for a few moments, looking as if he was about to say something. Bari raised an eyebrow in question, but the guy closed his eyes and turned away. Fuck, he was so not equipped to deal with these types of situations. He was a to the point type of guy, one who didn’t make small talk, who didn’t really identify any point in discussing feelings. Deep inside he understood how he felt, knew what he wanted, and appreciated what should and shouldn’t be communicated. Blowing out a breath to push pain and impatience away, he turned slightly toward Mike. The six foot one, two hundred and twenty-five plus pound man looked so out of place.

  “I don’t blame you, Mike. I’m gonna be fine.” Bari groun
d his teeth as Mike stared at him with a blank expression. “Look, Dude, seriously, we all make mistakes. We take risks out there every day. Shit is going to happen. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let it push you down. I could have moved … but I didn’t.”

  Bari watched as Mike’s face shifted; there was understanding, then a grimace. They both recognized why he hadn’t moved; the words didn’t need to be said.

  He turned from Mike and took his first real look around the room. A hospital, that much he was sure of. The small confines seemed to be private, thank fuck, because again, he really didn’t do well with other people. There was a door off to his left to what he assumed was a bathroom and next to that shuttered blinds. His head turned to the TV on the wall, volume muted, but a CNN broadcast aired through it. “By the way, where in the fuck am I?”

  Mike’s hands tightened on the arm of the chair as he braced himself visibly. Bari frowned for a moment, and then sighed. Damn it … he had a feeling he knew, a deep, dark, dreaded feeling he knew.

  Chapter Three

  Mackenzie lifted her head and grinned as Bethany entered the shop. Her short, shoulder length bob lay straight, the blonde strands cut around her face, blending with the classic features of a straight nose, delicate jaw, and bright hazel eyes. As Bethany glanced up at her, something besides the beautiful color sat in her eyes. Anticipation maybe? Mackenzie, openly jealous of Beth’s hair, resisted the urge to check her own unruly curls. They drove her insane and frizzed out of control at the smallest hint of humidity. She kept the long dark strands often held back in a ponytail. It wasn’t as if she were trying to impress anyone, was it?

  Bethany strolled up to the counter, and Mackenzie popped a brow at the restrained excitement on her face. She blinked in surprise as Bethany jumped up on the stool and slapped her bag down. She could see the words hovering right behind Bethany’s lips, the barely repressed secret bubbling up.