by Regine Abel
“Your Hunter’s a clever bastard, but so am I. It was ballsy of him to cross over to your plane. But I watched, observed, and learned. He’s taken everything from me, now I will take back what’s rightfully mine. You will feed me with your terror and your pain.”
The pulling sensation tugged harder at me, and my vision blurred for a moment. Morgan hissed, his face dissolving into an expression of pure ecstasy.
“Your fear tastes so damn good. It makes me so fucking hard.” Morgan grabbed his fully erect cock and stroked it slowly, holding it so tightly it had to hurt him. “Kazan is a fool for not binding you in all this time. His hold on you is weak. I will fill you to the brim with my seed and my essence. You will never anchor another but me.”
He advanced towards me, his steps already steadier. I was weakening quickly while he visibly strengthened by the minute, his skin having already gained a healthy tinge. If I didn’t act soon, I’d be too drained to fight back.
“Stand back,” I said, slashing the knife at him.
He chuckled, advancing again, still stroking himself. If I could lure him around the table, I could make a dash for the patio door. I’d pushed it closed after giving Morgan the blanket, but I hadn’t locked it. Even if he caught me, I’d have time to scream loud enough to alert the neighbors.
As if he’d read my thoughts, he grabbed the two chairs closest to him and tossed them in front of the patio door. While it would be no problem getting them out of the way, the delay would suffice for him to grab me. I needed to create a diversion.
Before I could think of one, Morgan lunged for me. On instinct, I slashed at him with the knife while backing away. My blade made contact. A long, deep gash appeared the length of his forearm. He screamed in agony and fell to one knee. Clutching his right arm to his chest, he stared at it with the horrified expression of someone who’d just had his hand severed.
His excessive reaction confused me for half a beat, and then I realized that aside from cold, thirst, and hunger following his ‘birth’ in my world, he’d never felt real physical pain. This had to be mind-numbingly excruciating for him. But I didn’t give a shit about his pain. This was my opportunity. I made a dash for the patio door. As he still stood in my way, I had to circle around the table to get to it.
“NO!” Morgan shouted.
Still half kneeling, he pushed the table to block my path with his good hand. The heavy wooden table all but flew at me. I screamed and barely managed to dodge out of the way before it crashed into the wall, punching a huge hole in it. His glass and plate fell off the table upon impact, shattering on the floor. Had I not managed to stop, the table would have smashed me into the wall instead. Judging by the damage, I’d have suffered some serious fractures, if not worse.
His strength was even greater than I’d feared.
As Morgan began to rise, his face contorted with pain, something clicked in my mind. Without thinking, I grabbed the glass fruit bowl on the table, threw the fruits at his face before smashing the bowl at his bare feet. He hissed as glass shards stabbed at him. He backed away, stepping on a shard and howled in pain. Rushing to the small kitchen console a few feet away, I picked up the decorative vases and plates adorning it and smashed them in a wider radius in front of him.
“I’m going to make you bleed!” Morgan roared, as he pulled out the piece of glass from the sole of his foot.
Heart pounding, I ignored his threat and gathered as many more breakable items as I could manage without cutting myself with the knife. While Morgan tried to figure out a path through the debris, I made a beeline for the panic room, throwing the fragile items to the floor along the way. My fingers shook as I opened the trap door and the sliding metal plate.
His screams of pain and rage had me in a complete state of panic. Hearing all the thrashing behind me, I looked over my shoulder but he’d still not made it out of the kitchen. A broken sob of relief escaped me as I started down the stairs with no signs of him barreling down on me. I closed the sliding metal plate and activated the switch that would automatically reset the camouflaging wooden boards above it, and then shut all access to my hiding place with the reinforced titanium plate. Even with his strength, Morgan would never get to me here.
Shaking, I fumbled through my pocket to fish out my phone as I stumbled to the couch. My body all but collapsed onto it. Morgan kept screaming upstairs, but the muffled sound prevented me from making out his words.
“Please, please answer,” I said while calling Kazan.
His voicemail answered.
Swallowing back more tears, I dialed 911. To my relief, an operator answered rapidly. Since the Mist, emergency personnel was tripled on the day it ended to meet the needs of the population, from missing persons to ashy remains of Mist beings.
“911, what is your emergency?” the female dispatcher asked.
“There’s a man in my house trying to hurt me,” I said in a trembling voice. “I found him naked outside my patio door while doing my post-Mist unlock. I let him in, thinking he needed help, but as soon as he ate, he turned crazy on me.”
“Are you in a safe location right now?”
“Yes. I’m locked inside my panic room,” I said, trying to get my pulse and breathing to settle down.
“What is your address?”
“2048 Oak Ridge. The shutters are still down on the front door. The patio door is closed but unlocked.”
“Please hold one moment. Don’t hang up, okay?”
“Okay.”
Holding my breath, I listened for any noise upstairs. Morgan had stopped yelling but the slight thud of his footsteps told me he was hunting for me. Even though I didn’t believe him capable of breaking through the titanium plate, I hoped he wouldn’t discover the hidden trapdoor.
“Okay, ma’am,” the dispatcher said, startling me. “I’ve got units on their way. They’ll be there in less than two minutes.”
“Thank you,” I said, weeping with relief. “He’s very strong, but he’s injured. I slashed his arm with a knife, and then I threw glass on the floor to keep him from chasing after me. He’s barefoot.”
“You did well, ma’am. Can you describe the suspect?”
I did, giving as many details as possible except for him being a Mistwalker. Until Kazan, I’d never heard of one taking on a human form. If I mentioned any of this, she might think me crazy or assume this to be a prank call.
“Stay with me, okay? I’m in direct communication with the agents. Do not open the door to your panic room until I’ve confirmed with you that the house is secured and that the agents are the ones asking you to open, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When two minutes turned to five, then ten, I asked her what was happening. I couldn’t hear Morgan upstairs anymore. In fact, I couldn’t hear anyone. She told me they needed to secure the perimeter first, which naturally made sense. Ten more minutes went by before she told me to open the hatch.
My hands shook as I unlocked and opened my only defense. The serious face of an older man, with light grey in his dark brown hair and gentle, deep blue eyes, had me thanking whatever higher power had protected me.
He extended a hand towards me to help me up, and I hung up with the dispatcher. As I stepped onto the landing, I realized he wasn’t wearing a police uniform.
“You’re not a cop!” I said, my worried gaze flicking towards his companion, busy opening the shutters. He looked at me over his shoulder, and my stomach dropped as I recognized the man who had been stalking me at the mall. “You,” I whispered, horrified.
I took a step away from the older man.
“Do not be afraid, Ms. Eastwood,” he said, raising his palm in an appeasing gesture. “I’m Agent Thomson, from the Fourth Division. We handle cases like yours, not the cops.”
“The Men in Black?” I whispered, flabbergasted. My eyes flicked back to the younger agent. “You’ve been stalking me.”
“Not exactly,” Agent Thomson said. “But Mr. Dale’s arrival required
us to investigate his intentions and assess whether or not he was the same kind of unpleasant visitor you received this morning.”
I felt my blood drain from my face and hugged my midsection. They knew about Kazan. What else did they know? What did that mean for us?
“Please, Ms. Eastwood,” Agent Thomson said, gesturing towards the living room. “Let’s have a seat to discuss the situation.”
“Did you find him?” I asked, advancing with hesitant steps, looking at the wreckage Morgan had turned my house into.
“Unfortunately, he escaped,” Thomson said, then waved a hand towards the younger Agent. “Ms. Eastwood, this is my partner, Agent Wilkins.”
I distractedly nodded at him, my mind still stuck on Morgan. “How is that even possible,” I asked, taking my usual seat in the lazy boy. “He’s naked and injured! Surely someone saw where he went? Or at the very least, he left a trail of blood.”
“You’d think so,” Agent Wilkins said in a sarcastic tone that immediately had my hackles rising. “Except, the blood trail ends in your bedroom, where he found plenty of male clothes to pick from.”
My instant dislike of Agent Wilkins grew further. I chose to ignore him and turned to Agent Thomson.
“But I could hear him upstairs, minutes before you arrived. He couldn’t possibly have gone far. I gave the dispatcher his description.”
“Yes, but considering his nature and his powers, we need specially trained agents to go after him.”
“Powers?” I asked, playing dumb.
Just how much do they know?
Agent Thomson’s blue eyes took on a harder edge, losing any warmth. “Let’s not play games, Ms. Eastwood. You witnessed your boyfriend’s powers when those thugs attacked you.” He raised his hand to stop me when I opened my mouth to argue. “Do not worry, neither you nor he are in trouble for it. As long as he continues to abide by our laws and not harm humans, Mr. Dale has nothing to fear from us. That other man, though…”
“Morgan,” I whispered. “He called himself Morgan.”
“How human,” Agent Wilkins said, taking a seat close to his partner. “Except that demon isn’t human at all. Those Mistwalkers…”
Agent Thomson gave Wilkins a warning glance which shut him up and made me wonder what else the younger agent had intended to say.
The men spent the next half hour giving me the third degree about Morgan and asking prying questions about my relationship with Kazan, being particularly curious as to why he hadn’t spent the Mist with me. I danced around my answers, keeping them as succinct as possible.
“Look, you’re here to investigate Morgan, not to pry into my private relationship with Mr. Dale,” I snapped when Agent Wilkins asked one invasive question too many. “So unless you can justify to me how this highly inappropriate line of questioning is relevant to finding Morgan, I would ask you to cut it out and get back on topic.”
Wilkins pinched his lips, his brown eyes burning with resentment. Thomson smirked, amused by my irritation.
“No, Ms. Eastwood, that will be all,” the older man said, rising to his feet.
Wilkins and I followed suit.
“Until we’ve located the Nightmare,” Agent Thomson said, “I highly recommend that you stay with Mr. Dale, preferably at his place. You have verbally welcomed Morgan into your home. Until you’ve properly rescinded it, he will try to come and go as he pleases. Stick to public places, and avoid being alone at night. He will not stop until he gets to you or we’ve disposed of him.”
I nodded, a cold shiver coursing through me. “I was planning on going to Mr. Dale’s house right after breakfast.”
“Excellent idea,” Thomson said with an approving nod. We both ignored Wilkins’ derisive snort. “If you wish, we can stay with you while you gather what you need and walk you out.”
I gave him a grateful smile and ran upstairs to pack an overnight bag, not that I really needed anything with so many of my belongings already at Kazan’s place. After calling a cab, I verified that all the windows were closed and the patio door locked before exiting, flanked by the two agents.
* * *
The security guard at the entrance of Kazan’s building nodded in greeting as I made my way to the elevators. One hand clutching my bag, the other fiddling nervously with the set of keys Kazan had given me, I kept wondering what kind of welcome he would grant me. Was he even home? Would he kick me out?
No. Not with Morgan on the loose.
Whatever the state of our relationship, Kazan wouldn’t leave me to fend for myself, especially not against a Nightmare. Exiting the elevator, I walked up to his door and rang the doorbell. If he was home, I wanted to give him a chance to choose whether or not to let me in. Leaning forward, I strained my ear but didn’t hear any movement. After slipping the key into the keyhole, I was almost surprised that it still worked. No sooner did that silly thought cross my mind than I kicked myself for it.
I pushed the door open. Bright morning light flooded the otherwise empty loft. Since the building had an automated lockdown system, the shutters being open didn’t mean Kazan had been around. I called out his name, my voice sounding overly loud in the heavy silence. Taking in a deep, fortifying breath, I headed towards his bedroom, knocked, and then opened the door when he failed to respond.
My heart leapt when I saw Kazan’s naked form lying on the bed. His stillness and unnaturally pale skin had me running to his side in panic.
“Kazan! Baby, speak to me!” I said, touching his overly cool skin.
For a moment, I thought he’d stopped breathing, the rise and fall of his chest so subtle I almost missed it. Pressing my head against his chest, the slow but regular beating of his heart reassured me he still lived.
Stasis. Kazan said he’d left his vessel in stasis.
Tears of relief pricked my eyes. My entire body began to shake as the stress of the Mist, our fight, his absence, and this morning’s attack finally got to me. I’d been running on adrenaline and was now crashing hard. Kicking my shoes off, I curled up against Kazan and cried out all the ugliness that had been festering inside of me.
It was liberating.
God, I’ve become such a cry baby.
I needed to get a grip and get my shit together. I missed the strong woman who’d taken on the responsibility of raising her baby sister at the age of eighteen, defied the naysayers by buying her own house before the age of twenty-six, and got her sister to attend college. I was a go getter, not a pushover. If Morgan hadn’t managed to defeat me, nothing and no one else would, least of all my own insecurities.
Lifting my head, I kissed Kazan’s cold lips and got up to fetch a washcloth and clean water to wash him. I wanted to believe he’d come back to me soon, but until he did, I’d look after him like he had me for years. To my chagrin, he remained still throughout the bath.
Once done, I walked out of the room and into the studio. The initial set of twenty-four paintings on the display stands drew me. I stopped before each one, looking at them with new eyes. My last visit into the Mist had jogged long lost memories. As I gazed upon them, fragments of recollection flashed through my mind; partial scenes, sounds, even the feel of Kazan’s arms around me. Yes, the paintings had moved me so deeply because they were not just dreamed up fantasies, but Kazan’s and my history. These were true moments we had spent together in another realm. They weren’t wet dreams to him, but his life. Our life together.
I padded over to the work area where the six paintings of me rested on their respective easels facing each other, three on each side. Rooted in place, my gaze roamed over them as I pondered whether or not to approach further since I couldn’t properly see them from this angle. However, it felt wrong and disrespectful to proceed without Kazan’s blessing. Shoulders drooping, I sighed heavily and looked out the window at the bay, knowing I would respect his wishes.
As I began to turn to leave, I felt him before seeing him, the familiar tingle washing over me. Spinning around, I found Kazan standing in the door
way of the studio, wrapped in a black bathrobe and staring at me with an unreadable expression. My pulse sped up and my throat tightened as he walked into the room, his gait graceful, and stopped a couple of meters away from me, right past the last painting on the display stands.
How could I have pushed him away?
“You came back,” I whispered, resisting the urge to run and throw myself into his arms.
“You doubted it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I shrugged then hugged my midsection. “No, not really since you have the upcoming exhibit, but I didn’t know when you would.”
“Ah… Is that why I smell of soap? Was I already growing rancid?” Kazan asked in a semi-serious tone that I couldn’t quite interpret.
My cheeks burned. “No, not at all!” I said, shaking my head, embarrassed. Granted, he hadn’t bathed in three days but he hadn’t smelled bad, probably thanks to the stasis. But I wouldn’t admit to him that I’d left tear streaks all over him. “I just wanted to look after you until you came around.”
He stared at me for a second then looked over his shoulder at the collection. “So these are the only reason you knew I’d come back?”
My heart leapt as I carefully chose my words, wanting to believe he was giving me an opening to patch things up.
“I knew you would return because you’re too respectful to let Monica down after all the work she’s done preparing your exhibition. I also didn’t think you’d leave your body to die here. All your wealth would be seized by the county and the day you wished to return, you’d have to start from scratch again.” Kazan frowned, the creases deepening with each of my words. Suddenly feeling coy, I tucked my hair behind my ear and fiddled with the hem of my short top before continuing. “But above all, I hoped you’d come back for me, even if I’m a self-sabotaging, insecure idiot, because you still think that what we have is special and worth fighting for.”