Awaken the Darkness

by Dianne Duvall

  But she didn’t find that in this man’s mind. His was like nothing she had ever encountered before. Almost like a blank slate. No memories. Only the jumbled thoughts that currently buffeted him. And even those bore gaps here and there that left phrases more than full sentences. A quick look at those revealed his frustration over his inability to access something so simple as his name. Concern for her plagued him as well. He worried over her pallor and cold fingers. She found regret over inadvertently scaring her and squeezing her hand too tightly. A deep desire to put her fears to rest and convince her that he was sincere when he said he meant her no harm. And gratitude. So much gratitude.

  “What happened last night?” she asked, no longer trying to pull her hand away. He needed the contact. She might not be able to access all of his thoughts—it was pretty chaotic in there right now—but she had found his need for the contact as well as the comfort it afforded him and couldn’t bring herself to deny him. “I remember coming down here and finding Jax digging.” She glanced down at the blisters on her free hand. “I remember grabbing a shovel and joining him, but everything after that…” She shook her head. “What happened?”

  “You freed me,” he told her, giving her hand a grateful squeeze as he stopped rubbing his forehead. “At long last, you freed me.”

  She swallowed, mouth dry. “Did you drug me?” It was the only logical explanation she could fabricate to explain everything.

  “With what?” he countered. “I’ve not left this basement since…” Again she felt frustration batter him as he sought information that just wasn’t there. “I’ve not left this basement and doubt I will be able to do so now without assistance. Why would you think I drugged you?”

  “Because none of this makes sense.” She motioned to the dirt walls around them. “Because my mind is telling me that last night I dug up a man who has been buried in my basement for an unspecified length of time but is miraculously still alive and I’m not afraid and I should be. I should be screaming at the top of my lungs and diving for my cell phone to call 911, but I’m not and…”

  “And?” he prodded.

  “And your eyes are really bright,” she finished miserably. “I mean they’re really bright. Like someone’s holding a candle behind your irises bright. Which means you either drugged me or I’ve cracked.”

  “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s the pain.”

  “Pain doesn’t make people’s eyes glow.”

  “It does mine,” he said.

  “How do you know that?” She followed his mental struggle to discover where that information had originated and felt as discouraged as he did when he couldn’t find it.

  “I don’t know,” he answered finally. “But it does, and the pain is considerable. I would darken them if I could. I don’t wish to frighten you. But I can’t.”

  She would have pressed him if she hadn’t been monitoring his thoughts. He really was in agony. “Do you know who did this to you?”

  Silence, then a huff of annoyance. “No. I don’t even know where I am.”

  “The basement of my house.”

  “In the United States? You’re American?”

  She blinked. “Yes. We’re in North Carolina. Not far from Pittsboro.”

  He repeated the town name. “I can find no memory of the place.”

  “Do you know how long you’ve been down here? Or how you came to be here?”

  Another pause. More aggravation accompanied by a slew of what she suspected were Russian swear words. “No. I can remember nothing before waking up, encapsulated in dirt.”

  She shifted, preparing to rise. “Well, you need medical attention.”

  His grip tightened as panic flared in his eyes. “Don’t leave me.”

  Her heart turned over. “I’m not. I’m just going to get my phone.”

  He shook his head vigorously, then clenched his teeth and moaned.

  “Stop moving,” she urged him.

  “You can’t call anyone,” he gritted, his bright eyes ensnaring hers. “I don’t know who put me down here. It isn’t safe.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just going to call 911.”

  “You can’t,” he insisted. “It isn’t safe, I tell you. You’ll be in danger. And I can’t protect you, weakened as I am by my wounds.”

  Again, if she hadn’t been privy to his thoughts, she would have feared him a criminal intent on evading the law. But the only thoughts in his head right now were for her safety. Her safety, not his own. He didn’t know who had done this to him and feared if she told someone—even the police—the villain would hear of it and somehow be able to track her down and harm her. And until his wounds healed and he regained his strength, he would be too weak to protect her.

  He didn’t worry that he would be harmed.

  He didn’t worry that police might think him a criminal and arrest him.

  He didn’t even worry that they might think him insane.

  His only desire was to keep her safe.

  And though he couldn’t remember who he was, he was conscious of the fact that glowing eyes were not normal and feared the reaction of authorities or anyone else when they saw his. Not just what they would do to him. But what they would do to her if they didn’t believe her when she said she didn’t know him.

  Even more, he feared what they would do to her if they thought her different like him.

  Susan had to admit, that gave her pause. She knew well the negative and sometimes terrifying reactions people could have when faced with someone who was different.

  “I’ll leave,” he announced when she could think of no response. “If you would just let me rest here for a few more hours, I will leave and you can be safe again.” I won’t let her come to harm because she freed me.

  She eyed him incredulously. “Leave? How? You can’t. Where would you go?”

  As far as I must to keep the bastards who did this to me from finding her. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t endanger you. I can go now if you wish it.”

  Susan couldn’t believe she was about to do it but found herself saying, “No. You can stay here. I won’t”—what the hell was she doing?—“I won’t call anyone.” Yet, she added mentally but was appalled to realize she didn’t mean it. People’s mouths might lie, but their thoughts didn’t. And this man’s thoughts told her he posed no threat to her. So, though it defied all common sense, she would help him.

  Until he gave her reason not to.

  He looked as though he couldn’t believe he had heard her correctly. “Really?”

  “I know. It’s crazy, right?”

  His lips turned up in a faint smile. “Decidedly. But very much appreciated. Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t thank me until we’re out of this hole.” When she would’ve risen, he tightened his hold on her hand. She looked at their hands, then raised her brows.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassment? entering his features. “It wasn’t intentional.”

  She searched his thoughts and did indeed find embarrassment. He’d been stuck down in this hole alone for so long that he didn’t want to let her go and thought displaying such weakness shamed him.

  She patted his hand. “It’s okay. I understand. I’m Susan, by the way.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Susan,” he said with old-world charm that made her think he would bow and kiss her hand if he weren’t incapacitated. “I’m…” His expression went blank, then darkened. “Damn it!”

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “It’ll probably come back to you once you’re feeling better.”

  Nodding, he reluctantly released her hand.

  “Even as thin as you are,” she said, “I think I’m going to have a hard time getting you out of here.” She stood. “Maybe I could…” The room tilted and rolled. Her stomach lurched. Her vision darkened as her balance wavered. “Oh crap.”

  Jax’s bark rang in her ears as she stumbled backward and fell.

  Chapter Three<
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  Alarm struck as he watched Susan waver.

  Throwing out her arms in an attempt to regain her balance, she stumbled backward, tripped over his legs, and fell.

  Swearing, he lunged upward and thrust his arms out to catch her.

  Burning pain blasted every inch of him as she struck his chest. Clenching his teeth, he growled and fell back against the dirt.

  Susan lay still atop him as he held his breath and waited for the worst of the suffering to pass.

  “Susan?”

  Her face rested in the crook of his neck, her warm breath caressing his skin. A glance down confirmed she was unconscious.

  Cradling her to his chest, he cursed himself for taking too much blood. He was certain he hadn’t taken enough for her to need a transfusion, but it had clearly left her weak.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, glad she hadn’t found the deed in his thoughts. He had feared he wouldn’t be able to hide it from her.

  The dog began to whine again.

  “It’s okay, boy,” he murmured. “She’s okay. She’s just tired.”

  Several minutes passed while he stroked her hair and held her close despite the pain it caused. She was petite and looked as though she only weighed about a hundred pounds. After spending all damned night digging his sorry ass up, no wonder she’d passed out.

  “I haven’t seen it yet,” she mumbled against his neck as consciousness returned, “but I’m willing to bet your ass is actually quite nice.”

  Startled laughter escaped him, inspiring another groan. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” Bracing a hand on his shoulder, she rose onto an elbow and brushed long, silken auburn hair back from her face. Her lips turned up in a mischievous smile that made his heartbeat pick up. Then her eyes widened. “Oh crap! I fell on you? I’m so sorry!”

  He clenched his teeth as she applied pressure to what he suspected were broken ribs.

  “Oh hell. Your ribs are broken, too?” she cried in dismay as she scrambled off him.

  “You’re reading my thoughts,” he commented through clenched teeth. Damn, it hurt.

  She stilled. And he felt her dismay at his discovery.

  “You’re telepathic?” he prodded.

  “Could we maybe talk about that later? I really need to get us both out of here.”

  He nodded. “As you wish. Help me up, please?”

  She regarded him with disbelief. “You can’t get up!”

  He slowly rolled onto his side. “How else will I escape this hell?”

  “I don’t know, but…”

  Somehow he managed to get his knees up under him. Thrusting a hand into the dirt wall beside him, he used it as leverage and pushed himself to his feet.

  There was just no suppressing the shout the torturous movement jerked from him.

  Susan leapt to his side and grabbed one of his arms, dragging it across her shoulders and helping him remain on his feet.

  “Thank you.” His head swam. His breath came in gasps. “Just give me a moment… to get my balance.”

  She nodded.

  A few minutes passed in silence.

  He shook his head.

  “What?” she asked.

  “What a picture we must make. Both of us as weak as kittens and covered in dirt. Each of us trying to hold the other up.”

  She smiled. “Definitely not how I expected to spend my Saturday.”

  Once he was confident he wouldn’t collapse without her support, he took a step back and motioned for her to face the side of the hole. “Go ahead.”

  She watched him long enough to ensure he wouldn’t keel over, then turned to the wall. “I still can’t believe I dug this myself.”

  He nodded. It was a deep hole. He estimated he was six foot one or two inches tall, and his chin barely topped the edge.

  The dog hurried over to her and lapped at her face.

  Sputtering, she rubbed his head and ears and murmured soothing words, then gently shooed him away.

  Though the hands she raised to grab the lip of the hole bore angry red blisters, she voiced no complaint. Gripping the edge, she tried to jump up enough to aid her arms in boosting herself out but failed as fatigue hindered her.

  He stepped up behind her. “Forgive my impertinence.”

  “What impertinence?” Without looking at him, she again tried to climb out.

  Settling his hands on her shapely bottom—covered only by short shorts—he pushed her up and out of the hole.

  Emitting a yelp of surprise, she tumbled onto the ground, then spun around to look at him.

  He offered her what he hoped was a sheepish smile rather than a wince. “It seemed the quickest solution.”

  Her lips tilted up in a wry smile. “Well, it worked. Thank you.”

  Nodding, he tried to draw in several deep breaths, dreading the inevitable, but couldn’t because of his damned ribs. Just get it over with, he chastised himself. Placing his hands on the lip of the hole, he heaved himself up enough to get a knee over the edge, then tumbled out and sprawled onto his back.

  He knew nothing but pain for many long minutes.

  He hoped he hadn’t cried out but feared he had. The room had gone very quiet.

  Even the dog made no sound.

  And still he didn’t move. Especially when he became aware of the warmth at his back and the arms that encircled him.

  While he had lain there, oblivious, Susan had dragged him back away from the edge, then sat down behind him and wrapped her arms around him, letting him rest against her. Her slender legs bracketed his hips. Her breasts cushioned his head.

  Reaching up, he curled a hand around the delicate forearm resting on his chest and gently squeezed. So kind.

  “Not really,” she said dryly. “I’m just too damned tired to move. And cold, not that you’re warming me up much.”

  He didn’t know how many more minutes passed before they forced their weary carcasses upright and shuffled over to the wooden stairs.

  “I’m going to take a wild guess,” she huffed as they painstakingly scaled one step at a time, “at how you survived being buried alive like this.”

  He clutched the banister and tried not to lean so much of his weight on her slender shoulders. “Are you?”

  She nodded. “I think you must be a robot.”

  Amusement struck. “Do you?”

  “Yes. One of those super-advanced AI robots that looks and feels like a human but isn’t. Because the only way a normal man in your condition would leave this basement is strapped to a gurney. You should not be able to do this.”

  He shook his head. “An interesting theory. But—at the risk of sounding like a complainer—I don’t think robots feel pain.”

  “True.” Her fingers patted his side where she gripped him. “Don’t worry. I’m sure a couple of ibuprofen will fix you right up.”

  He laughed, then grunted. “I thought I told you not to make me laugh.”

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t joke. I just hate that you’re in so much pain. And honestly, I’m feeling a little loopy.”

  Both heaved a sigh of relief as they exited the basement.

  Fighting for breath, he glanced around. High ceilings. Nice high doorways that would keep him from bumping his head if he forgot to duck. Worn hardwood floors. And several unpacked boxes stacked out of the way.

  “Do you want to sit down and rest?” she asked, breathless.

  He shook his head. “Once I sit down, I won’t get up again anytime soon.”

  “Okay.” She guided him forward, keeping one arm around his waist, her other hand holding his to keep his arm around her shoulders.

  His heart sank when she led him to the bottom of another long staircase. “Where are we going?”

  “Well, you need to lie down,” she huffed as they started up the stairs. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I only have one bed.”

  He
shook his head, then wished he hadn’t as dizziness struck. “I can sleep on the sofa.”

  “I don’t have a sofa. My old one sucked, so I ditched it when I moved and haven’t had a chance to buy a new one.”

  He paused, gripping the banister as he drew in rasping breaths that cut like a knife. “I can sleep on the floor.” Did she realize she was rubbing his side in soothing strokes? Because she was, and it felt really nice and hurt all at the same time.

  She shook her head. “Jax will turn you into a pillow if you do. And I don’t want to risk him hurting you. You can sleep with me.”

  He glanced down at her, shocked. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Considering the shape you’re in, I feel confident all you’re going to do is sleep.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  “Just don’t die on me, okay?”

  “Okay.” They resumed their trek up the stairs. “Would you think me a fiend if I admitted that—were I in better shape—I might be tempted to try something untoward once we were in bed together?”

  She grinned, her amusement trickling into him via his gift. “Untoward?”

  He nodded. Was that not the right word?

  “I wouldn’t think you a fiend. I’d think you crazy for being tempted. I’m covered with dirt and sweat and dog slobber and am all gross.”

  He found a smile. “I find you quite fetching in your”—he glanced at her shorts and tank top—“summer clothes.”

  She laughed. “They’re pajamas.”

  “Those are pajamas?”

  “Yes.”

  He liked them but thought it best not to mention that.

  They entered a bedroom that lacked the boxes he’d seen downstairs. This room was unpacked and boasted a modern black bedroom suite with a queen-sized bed.

  Crossing to the bed, they turned their backs to it, then tumbled backward.

  Quiet fell, disrupted by his rasping breaths. “I hate to sound like a broken record, but holy hell, that hurt.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Neither moved.

  “I should probably go downstairs and get you some water and something to eat,” she said.