by Lu J Whitley
Seeking that blank place in her mind, she tried to clear her thoughts, but all she could hear was his labored breathing. Harsh grunts of tension. She opened her eyes. It was useless. “I can’t,” she cried, “I don’t know how!” The look of horror on his face was only matched by the mask of unbridled hatred that shaped his beautiful features. Her heart shattered inside her chest. “Jami…”
“Sorry,” he gritted out, his voice distorted. Split, as if it came from two sources. She reached out for him, but he backed away. Turning. Retreating. Battering open the locked door as he fled. He disappeared, leaving her alone. She curled in on herself, clutching her knees to her chest, and let the tears flow freely.
★ ★ ★
He ran. Ran until his bare feet were blistered and bloody, and then ran a few more miles just to be safe. His body fought an uphill battle with the demonic power that surged through his veins, trying to turn his body and take him back to that room. The memory of her horrified expression was the only thing that kept him moving. She was terrified, and she had every right to be.
When the last of his energy waned and even the beast couldn’t make his tension riddled body take another step, Jami dropped – exhausted – to his knees beside a clear running mountain stream. He dipped his hands in the icy waters and scrubbed her remaining blood away. The sweet scent of Greta clung to his skin. His memory. Ragged breaths puffed around him, condensing in the pre-dawn chill. Steam rose from his chest and face.
The beast inside his mind rattled its prison bars, shrieking with rage. He howled along, trumpeting his pain like a rogue wolf wandering the night in search of a mate. Or a meal. “Leave me the fuck alone,” he shouted. He bracketed his head with his palms, but he couldn’t escape the sound, or the flashing images that played on the backs of his eyelids. Greta’s body, limp and broken like a rag doll. He held her in his crushing embrace as he drained the last drops of her precious life blood. He dug his fingers into the skin at his temples, seeking to claw the visions out or die trying. Cold droplets snaked down his cheeks. Rain? Blood? Tears? He couldn’t be bothered to care which and couldn’t draw his thoughts from the gnawing agony of realization. What he’d wanted to do to her. What he’d almost done.
Want, the beast hissed, Want! Like his own personal Poe demon, though far less vague, he knew exactly what the thing wanted. He'd half convinced himself at times that he wanted it too. Wouldn’t it be so much easier just to give in?
During his first cursed centuries, he hadn’t known the voice inside his head calling for vengeance and bloodshed wasn’t his own. And perhaps it had been then, when the two were focused on similar objectives. But he’d learned, over time, to quiet the voice to a soft rumble. Slaked its thirst for blood with the occasional animal, and they’d settled into a rhythm of cooperative peace.
Until Greta… That night eighteen years ago when he’d found the dying five-year-old and given her his blood, it had been his last night of solitude. Like the beast had given Greta a part of itself, and wanted it back. With interest.
He’d never known the thing to be so strong or so single-mindedly determined. He didn’t know if he had the strength to resist. He knew for near certain, that he didn’t. Because he wanted her just as badly. Because he didn’t want to resist. The beast wasn’t the only one who wanted to taste her. To drink her down and drown in that sweet oblivion. He wanted to bury himself inside her – cock and fangs – and never let go. His body shook with the need, like a junkie starving for a fix. “No,” he grunted, not sure whether he was talking to the beast or himself. “Not going to happen.” But it almost had. He’d hurt her. One look at that trace of blood, those red droplets sliding over his skin and the sugary sweet smell of her, and he’d lost all control. The beast surged back to life so suddenly he hadn’t had a moment to react. To protect himself. To protect her.
Want, the beast repeated, Want! Want! Want! The power coursing through him gave him a burst of renewed energy. The beast was taunting him, allowing him what he needed to get up, turn around, and go back to her. Back where he wanted to be. He waged battle against his traitorous limbs, stiff muscles trying to gather and contract. Push him to his feet.
“No,” he groaned through gritted teeth. With a grunt of effort, he stilled his body. Closing his eyes, he centered his thoughts on Greta’s eyes. The beast paced the confines of its mental prison, pushing images at the wall Jami had so carefully constructed over the centuries. Seeking a chink in that stubborn armor. Flashes of her kiss bruised lips appeared. Her dusky nipples standing and reaching for his mouth. Her long legs wrapped around his hips. The heat of her pressed against him.
But Jami persisted, wiping it all away until just those violet eyes remained, glistening with unshed tears and full of terror. He didn’t know how long he sat there waging that internal war, but suddenly, he found himself alone in his mind. A burning wisp of light flashed across his bare chest, searing his skin and distracting him from his churning thoughts. The first slivers of sunlight broke the tree line, setting the horizon on fire with burnished gold.
He and the beast might disagree on any number of the things. Survival wasn’t one of them. The clarity of thought was bracing, like a sunrise burning off the fog.
Greta. She was always at the forefront of his mind. Now that his mind and body were once again his own, he wondered if she would forgive him. Would she fear him?
He leaped to his feet, using his outstretched arms for balance and leaving deep imprints of his quaking knees in the mud. The sun dappled morning was taking shape around him as he shook the lingering tension out of his muscles. His battered feet relished the feel of the frost covered ground, sliding beneath his toes. How long had he been there? A sickening frisson of fear thrummed down his spinal column. How long had he left Greta alone? Unguarded? He turned, balancing on the balls of his feet and pointing his face into the breeze. Then he smelled it, faint as a whisper – the stench of rot and fetid decay. The cold hand of dread grabbed him by the throat, threatening to suffocate.
The beast surfaced, throwing off the panic like a snake shedding its skin. The thing growled low. Feral. Jami returned the primal call, unified for one purpose. Their woman was in danger. All would pay. Calling on every ounce of power he and the beast possessed, he didn’t bother keeping to the shadows as he raced – hoping he wasn’t too late – back to Greta.
★ ★ ★
She pushed her arms through soft black cotton and slid her head up and out, pulling the shirt down over her chest to rest lightly against her thighs. The tears had finally stopped, giving way to nervous pacing. The sun was rising, and he wasn’t back. Where was he? Was he even coming back? She tried not to let the thought take hold, sliding her toes against the smooth hardwood and completing another full circuit of the cabin’s interior. Of course he was coming back. He was her ‘Yummy.’ Her protector. He wouldn’t let her be alone for long.
But she couldn’t get that last hate-filled look out of her mind. It was the only thing that had kept her from going after him. Running along behind him, though she knew she had no chance of keeping up.
He’d taken off, leaving everything. He hadn’t even bothered to put his boots back on. The blow to her self-esteem was nearly too much to bear, but she couldn’t blame him. She’d known her blood was dangerous. Known that nothing could ever happen between them because of it. She'd told herself God only knows how many times. Then he’d put on the charm, and she’d forgotten everything. Would have forgotten her own name given half the chance.
She didn’t know what had come over her. She’d been hypnotized, like her body hadn’t been under her control. She rubbed her fingers idly over the star-shaped mark on her arm. What had happened? There was no glow now. No throbbing warmth. It sat lifeless on her skin, having no words of comfort or spells to soothe. She dropped her fingers and shook out her arms with a sigh. What good was the power if she had no way to use it?
She stopped her pace suddenly. A rustling sound sparked her ears to attentio
n just footsteps outside the cabin, followed fast by the rattle of a hand on the doorknob. Her heart flew into her throat, relief and worry warring within her. She tamped it down. He was back. He was safe. That was all that mattered. She schooled her face into a mask of careful concern, not wanting him to spot the raw hurt he’d left like an open wound on her soul. She turned to the door, clasping her fist around the knob and giving it a turn. It opened outward, the bright morning light blinding her for a moment as a silhouetted figure stepped over the threshold. Followed by another. And a third. Their hissing voices raised in a gleeful trill of victory. She tried to scramble backward, but tripped over her own feet and fell, slamming hip-first to the hardwood floor. Still she pushed back. She scooted on her hands and heels until she rammed into a couch. Nowhere left to go.
“Hello, Little One.” The largest of the three bent toward her, dropping to a low crouch. His yellow eyes were aflame in the light that bled through the open doorway. “Our master is so looking forward to meeting you.”
★Chapter 10
She was gone.
Jami slammed his fist against the rough hewn logs that made up the interior wall of the cabin. He’d missed her by minutes. The smell of those fucking Takers was still hanging in the air, mingling with the delicate scent of Greta’s skin and the sharp taint of her fear.
Just. A. Few. Minutes. “Aaarrggh,” he grunted, the effort sending a bolt of searing pain through his body. Freshly healed skin cracked and separated, spilling trickling streams of blood down his scabbed chest.
He sat, huddled in the darkest corner of the cabin. Splintered wood stuck up at him from odd angles. Fluffy clouds of freed cushion stuffing puffed across the hardwood floor. Mattress springs and shards of broken glass littered the ground all around him. He had, to say the least, not taken it well. The pain. The ache was like nothing he’d ever felt before. The excruciating agony of being burnt alive was dwarfed by the crushing fist of fear and guilt that circled his heart. Knowing he’d lost her. Knowing he might never get her back. It ate away at him.
The beast purred to life inside his mind, and he let out a pained groan. The thing had been blessedly silent while he’d hunkered down in the destroyed cabin, willing himself to heal and waiting out the light.
Can help, it whispered, shocking Jami to attention. He’d never heard the thing utter more than “Want” or “Kill.” If it didn’t want to fuck it or fight it, it tended to have little opinion on the subject. And it had never. Never. Offered him help.
“How,” he gritted, knowing it was ludicrous to speak out loud to the voice in his head, but what did he care? He had nothing left to lose.
Let me run, it crooned, Free me. Over his dead body.
“No.”
He was in no mood to negotiate the beast’s release, until it said the magic words, Know where. Can find her. Again, he was dumbfounded. How long had that ability been rolling around inside his head? He chuffed a half-hearted laugh. All these centuries and the thing still had tricks up its sleeve.
“How can you find her?” He’d had some limited ability to track Greta since he’d given her his blood eighteen years ago… and on the night she’d lost her mother, but he’d left that topic off the table for obvious reasons. Even then, he’d only been able to get a general impression of where she was until he was within a few hundred yards of her. But now the beast was implying that it could pinpoint her exact location from anywhere in the world. His lips quirked at the corners with the first ray of hope he’d had in hours.
Hard, the beast cooed, So hard.
“Do it. Prove you can find her.” Jami knew he was getting played, and he honestly couldn’t believe he was considering the proposal. But he didn’t see how he had any choice.
Must feed. Not strong enough. Can find. Must feed.
“Prove it first.” Impatience wore his nerves thin, though he had plenty of time to negotiate. The sun had yet to set, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, his early morning fun in the sun had left him severely weakened. He didn’t know if he’d be in shape to travel in a few days, much less a few hours.
Not strong. Must feed.
“No proof. No feed.” The thing actually sighed, then went silent. “I need proo..” The word died on his lips. The cabin shifted before his eyes… No… Inside his eyes. It was as if he was looking through his own eyes, but seeing somewhere else. He could make out flashes of light through a dark covering. Some kind of fabric was shielding his face. The rumbling in his ears was so loud it was almost deafening, like sitting in a wind tunnel. He couldn’t move his hands, his wrists burning as if they were bound. His charred flesh cooled. His entire body was chilled by contact with a rough metal surface, teeth chattering as his muscles were wracked with shivers. It was so cold. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be cold. And then it disappeared. His eyes focused on the darkened cabin in front of him. “What was that,” he gasped. The chill still hung over him, making him hug his arms around his ribs for warmth.
Her. The word was faint – broken - like the beast was struggling to cling to the connection.
Jami didn’t need any further coaxing. It’d kept up its end of the bargain. She was somewhere cold, traveling in what felt like a plane. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all he would get for now. A rumbling growl began in his chest and rose, expelling between his lengthening fangs. The beast purred, sensing his assent before it was given. “Fine,” he grunted, “We feed.” He staggered to his feet, ignoring the protests of his healing skin. He faced the western side of the cabin where the light of day still colored the thick curtains. “Shit!” He was trapped.
Free, the beast hissed, Free now!
Jami exhaled a terrified breath. He closed his eyes and calmed his mind, slowly disassembling the carefully erected mental walls that had kept the beast at bay, brick by brick, hoping he was doing the right thing.
★ ★ ★
Greta’s stomach lurched into her throat as the plane touched down. Bile licked at her tonsils with each stuttered brush with the ground. Please don’t puke. Please don’t puke. Not that she normally would’ve cared about leaving a disgusting mess for her captors to clean up, but since they’d stuffed her head in a pillowcase, she really wasn’t looking forward to getting that well acquainted with her insides.
She hated flying. The last time she’d been airborne had been nearly ten years ago. And then, she’d had her mother at her side to keep her company. This time, she only had her frazzled thoughts.
During the past few days, she’d had little time to think, which had been a blessing. She’d been so focused on Jami and the constant momentum, she hadn’t really faced the facts. Her mother would never cook her breakfast again. They’d never have another late night movie date, with pretzels instead of popcorn because Mama couldn’t stomach the stuff. She’d never get another lecture – half in German – about grades or boys or keeping her room clean. Which she’d always thought she’d hated because they made her feel so juvenile. In reality, knowing they’d never happen again, she wished she’d recorded every ridiculous word, just so she could hear her mother’s stern voice one more time.
She couldn’t help but wonder what her mother would say about this particular situation. Something about settling down when she’d had a chance, finding a nice boy and popping out a few babies. What would Mama have thought of Jami? A humorless laugh escaped her, breath ruffling the dark fabric that shrouded her face. Well, wasn’t that a little bit of a no-brainer? Her mother had known Jami for at least eighteen years, and not once had she ever said, ‘Here Greta, meet this nice cursed boy I know.’ He was perhaps the only man on the planet her mother hadn’t tried to pawn off on her.
Maybe she’d tell Greta he was too old for her. Or too dangerous. But at least he had a job. That had to be a check in the plus column, right? Pretty much any man with a job was a good prospect, so maybe she’d just say what she’d always said, “You could do worse.” Yes, Mama. She sure could.
“Finally awake, h
mm?” A calloused hand grabbed her by the elbow and jerked her forward. The zip ties that bound her wrists bit into her skin, cutting the already raw flesh. The tugging continued until she managed to gather her bare legs beneath her and scramble to her feet, reluctantly leaning on the invisible hand for support. Her calf muscles quaked. Blood rushed through her neglected veins, flushing out the numbness as the soles of her feet flexed against grooved steel panels.
She had no way of knowing how long she’d been on the flight. The dark cotton over her face made it nearly impossible to see anything but streaks of light moving through the cramped cabin. And it had been hours since bright sunlight had given way to darkness. The only thing that marked the steady passage of time was her bladder. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she mumbled against the mask.
“Tough,” the sibilant voice responded, giving her a sharp pull on the arm that almost sent her careening off balance. Her right leg took a jerky step to steady her shaking body.
“Fine,” she said with false bravado, “Guess you don’t care if I piss on your shoes then.” She couldn’t see his face through the pillow case, but she could tell by his intake of breath that he was riled up. The man had a quick fuse. In the flashes of colored runway light that shimmered through the windows, she watched his silhouetted hand reel back to slap her, and she braced for impact.
“Let her go,” a stern voice filtered from the front of the cabin, the tone holding no trace of the reptilian hiss of the others. He was human. Interesting. But the command stopped Mr. Slappy in his tracks. He dug his sharp fingers into her skin and then grudgingly let her go, removing his hand from her arm with a frustrated sigh. Okay. So that’s the boss.
“Thank you,” she called, pointing herself in the general direction of the voice. No point pissing off the top brass. She turned, using her arms as a guide, and found the door handle for the tiny lavatory. She’d been sitting propped against that door for the past… However many hours. So she was glad to be able to get to it without help. Weakness wasn’t really the vibe she wanted to give off in this company.