Death Before Dawn

by Amelia Hutchins

  “What…” My vocal cords froze and I moaned; it was the only sound I could manage. I continued moaning, trying to force words through my throat, but only noise escaped.

  “As I said, Emma, who I am is unimportant, but what I can do to you is,” he murmured as he sat back, letting his eyes look over my body. Panic sliced through me as the reality of the situation hit me. I couldn’t move, and he could. “You’re exquisite,” he growled, as his armor vanished, but the room was too dark to make out much, other than his hair was dark and his flesh was covered in tattoos. This close I could smell him; masculinity warred with a woodsy scent, which lingered in my nose.

  “Sorry about the paralysis,” he mused. “I don’t want you harming yourself any more than you already have.”

  I was helpless to do anything other than watch as he backed up, keeping the light at his back to shield his features from me.

  “You’re not healing as you should,” he commented, almost to himself, and I wanted to throw out a sarcastic comment, but couldn’t.

  No shit I wasn’t healing; if he’d have warned me he was both glass and bulletproof, I wouldn’t have sliced myself to the bone trying to kill him. He shook his head, and then turned, exiting the room only to return with a bucket a moment later, and he retook his seat beside me on the bed.

  He moved with calculated precision, leaning over while managing to mask his features as he washed the wounded hand, which caused a moan of pain to slip past my lips. Movement? How long would this paralyzed state last? Tears erupted as he washed around the wound with the cloth, and I lay there like a log. I hadn’t even flinched from the pain, but I’d wanted to.

  “You’ve healed before, so why not now?” he asked absently, as if he was used to asking questions from someone who couldn’t answer back…maybe I wasn’t his first victim? “This is going to hurt,” he warned, and pain rocked through me until I felt nauseated, and blackness tried to claim me. I fought it, not wanting to be both paralyzed and unconscious for this horror show.

  I moaned as I fought to overcome the pain and then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. He sat back, digging through the first aid kit until he had something that looked like a large tube of paste. His eyes seemed to be on mine, but with the dim lighting and the shadows of the room, it was hard to judge if he really was looking at me or not.

  He leaned over once more and the sickly sweet smell of whatever was in the tube made my eyes water for an entirely different reason. The contact sent shocks all the way to my spine as he applied the paste-like substance to the wound and held my hand with both of his, applying pressure until the room swam and blackness took me into its sweet, blissful depths.

  When I opened my eyes again, it was to find him watching me. My hand burned, but I also felt the air on my body as what he’d done to me when I’d been unconscious slowly became apparent. He’d stripped me out of the bloody clothes I’d been wearing and left me in my panties and bra. I still couldn’t move of my own volition, and he watched as panic seized me once more.

  “Sorry about that,” he whispered, and I heard splashing as he bent over, and then something warm touched my arm. My eyes drifted down to what he was doing, and I realized he was bathing the blood from my flesh. The light from the bathroom made a sound and began to dim until it sizzled out. The generator must be out of gas, and even in the shadows, I could see the slight shake of his head.

  If he was like me, he could see me clear as day, and yet I could barely make out his silhouette. Lovely, this must be another one of his funky powers. He pulled a device from his pocket, which illuminated his eyes as he watched me and it gave me a general idea of what he looked like, but not enough to be sure. He had a strong jawline and full lips, which I already knew. His hair was wet; had he showered while I’d been out? It would explain the clean scent that tempted my senses. He smelled clean, the earthy scent of him tingled in my nose as a mixture of fresh dew and early morning sunlight mixed and wafted to me. My head turned a tad and I almost smiled with the small victory.

  He watched me and I blinked as a light turned on from the hallway, shielding his features from me even more. He slipped the small device onto the bed and proceeded to wash my arms, and then my face. He paused when it was done. He scooted forward, reached into his pocket, and I heard familiar sounds as the light from the device glinted off of the blade of a switchblade knife that had come to life in his hand.

  I moaned and tried to scoot away from the blade, but I was stuck in place. I watched as he leaned over me, slipped his finger through the center of the bra, and flicked the blade using his wrist. My breasts were bare, and if I hadn’t imagined it, I’d heard a sharp intake of breath as they’d become exposed.

  He leaned his face closer, kissing the center where the skin was red and angry before he sat back up. That simple action I felt to the very center of my being. I swallowed another moan as he reached for the cloth and continued his slow, leisurely washing of my body. I guess he didn’t care for his prey to be as dirty as they were helpless.

  He didn’t speak through the entire process, but every once in a while, he’d make a strangled sound and my eyes would move to his. The innocent brush of flesh was also something I noticed, as if he was doing it on purpose. His fingers would brush against the curves of my ribs, hips, and the globes of my breasts as he washed me slowly.

  Heat furled in my belly with each one of those innocent brushes, and it pissed me off. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. Not when I was his unwilling captive. He’d ensured that I was unable to protest, move, or do anything other than watch him as he bathed me. Yet with each touch, heat unfurled; it rushed to the center of my being, and that, too, scared me.

  “You enjoy being helpless,” he mused; it wasn’t a question. He hadn’t directed it to be that way, either. I could sense he was smiling, as if he liked having me at his mercy, and well, I guess most men did. “Such a sweet little thing, so fucking helpless,” he whispered huskily. I felt the cold blade as it pushed against the silk fabric of the panties, and then the sound of fabric being cut echoed in the room. I moaned as the blade slowly slid across my delicate flesh. The other side gave way as easily as the first, and the cool air hit my naked flesh.

  I moaned and turned my head away from him, noting the movement and wondering just how long his freaky Jedi mind trick shit was going to last. He pulled the fabric out and his knuckles skimmed the inside of my thigh, which pulled forth an involuntary whimper as hot tears slid from my eyes. I was naked, exposed, and at my most vulnerable point for the second time in my life.

  I wanted to scream, do anything other than just fucking lay there while he raped me. He lifted my leg, pushed in, and placed my knee against his bare chest and he carefully, methodically washed my hip, the curve of my abdomen, and the inside of my thigh. I wasn’t sure why I felt aroused, but it shook me to my core. Whatever was happening between us, I wasn’t immune to him, and neither was he to me. He repeated the action to the other leg, hip, and then when I’d thought he’d stop, he pushed my legs open and swallowed hard.

  His eyes seemed to burn my flesh where he looked me over; the idea of him doing more sent a shiver down my spine. He moved his hand, running his knuckles over my flesh as he watched me. He lowered his mouth as if he planned to taste me. His hot breath fanned my pussy and I moaned as I fought to make my limbs move. He turned his head, kissing the inside of one thigh and then the other, before he slid between them and looked down at me.

  Fear spiked as adrenaline rushed through me.

  “No,” I murmured, finally finding my voice.

  “You let him use your body, and you deny me everything,” he mumbled. He leaned over me and picked me up carefully. “Don’t worry; I have no intention of raping you. That’s what he would do,” he snapped. “Really, Emma, you sleeping with the enemy has caused quite the stir of rumors in our world. Emma, the vampire’s whore, his
sad little plaything, and such. You’re not his whore, though, are you?” His words weren’t said hatefully, but more like he was intrigued.

  “No,” I whimpered, because I couldn’t manage more.

  “And yet you continue to let him inside of you,” he growled. He placed me on the sofa and I sank into it, unable to do anything else. He moved to the bed, pulling off the soiled sheets and blankets. He went to the closet, pulled out new bedding, made the bed up quickly, and then loomed over me, staring down at me possessively. “If you let him have your body again, I’ll take his fucking head. I don’t share, and I promise you his immortality won’t save him from me,” he said as he picked my useless body up, shivered with the contact of our flesh, and then placed me on the bed. “Go to sleep; it’s late. I have other places to be,” he added as he slipped first the sheet over my naked body, and then the blanket. “Sweet dreams, my little fighter,” he finished as he turned and left the room.

  Chapter 13

  When I woke up, I was alone. The light in the room flickered on, as if it had known the moment I woke up. I laid there for a moment, scared to death that whatever he’d done to me was permanent. My fingers moved first, then my hand. I took a deep breath, sat up, and tried to stand, but caught myself before I could fall to the floor. I slid to my knees and rested my upper body on the bed as if I was praying.

  Listening, I heard no noise from inside the house, and I wasn’t sure if I could hear anything from the bunker that was attached to the house. My heart raced, alerting me that he was close, but a quick check of the room told me he wasn’t here. Good thing, too, because I was still naked. At the foot of the bed was a pile of clothing, a towel, and what looked like a black rose. I grabbed the clothes and slowly pulled them towards me, noting my hand looked like it had begun to heal, and the skin was closed with whatever he’d applied to it last night.

  I dressed sluggishly and made my way towards the door, crawling until I made it to the wall. I pulled myself up and forced my feet to move. I struggled in this manner until I’d made it down the hallway and into an overly lavish main living area that was more of a great room. The room was decorated in neutral colors, light grays with black accents. The couch was a large L-shaped sectional, with a chaise sofa situated at the end. I tried to push off from the wall, but my feet wouldn’t cooperate and I hit the floor hard.

  I cried out as my hand hit the flooring, giving way until my face slammed against the hardwood floor. I lifted myself up, only to find a pair of black boots in front of me.

  “Go ahead, kick me when I’m down, asshole,” I mumbled as I tried to get up. Rough hands lifted me and then carried me to the couch, where he laid me down and stepped back. He was once again decked out in his armor. It bothered me that he’d seen all of me, and yet I’d never gotten a true glimpse of him.

  Had it bothered Jaeden this much? He’d always asked me to remove my mask, and yet I’d refused. It wasn’t until it had accidentally slipped from my face as I was maneuvering to get the AR-15 out to scope the wolves that had been stalking us that he was able to see what I looked like. Not that I planned to ask the Sentinel to remove his armor; I didn’t give a shit what he looked like beneath it.

  “It may take a few hours for your body to get back to normal,” he said softly as he moved to the table and grabbed a plate of food. My stomach growled, and I inhaled the divine scent of bacon. My mouth watered and my eyes grew large as he walked towards me with a steaming plate of breakfast. He set it down on the table and watched me as I stared at the juicy strips. “Hungry?” he asked, and I shook my head in denial.

  I wasn’t hungry; I was famished. My stomach was growling like a lion in a cage, and my mouth was watering. He picked up a piece of crispy bacon and my eyes followed it until he held it in front of my mouth. I didn’t want to eat it, but bacon! I hadn’t had real, honest to goodness bacon since the first shitty ass days of the virus.

  He tapped it against my lips and I looked up, anger pulsing through me. I wasn’t a child, yet I could barely freaking move! I opened my mouth, and felt the crispy, savory goodness as he pushed it deep between my lips and then I closed my mouth around his finger. His eyes grew wide, and I smiled. I moaned around the meat in my mouth, forgetting his digit was in there, or that I planned to bite his finger off. The sheer bliss of it undid me. I pulled away from his finger, and heard his sharp intake of breath as I did it.

  I chewed the morsel, watching him as his eyes remained glued to my lips until I’d finished. I swallowed, and waited for him to speak, but instead, he just watched me.

  It felt like forever until he finally lifted his eyes and looked at mine. His jaw twitched; a muscle there was hammering as if my action had upset him. I hadn’t meant to suck on his finger; I’d totally intended to bite the fucker off, but it would have ruined the taste of bacon, which had undone me.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I asked, and his eyes lowered once more to my lips as if he was unable to stop himself.

  “You’re mine,” he stated. “You feel me as surely as I can feel you.” He got up and left me watching him as he headed back to the kitchen.

  “I am not yours,” I mumbled, but I had felt him. I could feel him now. His heart, it beat as quickly as mine.

  “You have access to this level; any of the locked doors are off-limits to you. Stay away from the bunker, and don’t try to escape. You won’t make it far, and you’ll be punished if you try,” he said offhandedly as he made his way to the refrigerator. I watched him, wondering why he had the useless thing when something like a gun rack would be way more useful. He opened it; the light turned on, and at that point, I noticed the hum of the refrigerator.

  He had a freaking working refrigerator? I looked around the house, noticing a lot of other things. He had lights, a lot of them. Most were off, but they had been on last night; at least, they were on until the one in the bathroom went out when the generator ran out of gas. Or did it? The walls weren’t walls at all, most were see-through glass, probably bulletproof, but it flooded the room with natural lighting. There was a TV hooked to the wall and a stereo that was set to a time, as if it had never ceased to work when the power grid went down. Maybe it hadn’t gotten the memo that we were living in a time when power was scarce?

  The front door was steel, same as the door that led into the bunker. There was a small, black box beside it, which blinked green. It was controlled by power. If his grid went down, that door would open. I could escape. I turned my head, noting that several cameras lined the room. They covered every angle of it, faced every doorway. There would be a live feed somewhere in this house, probably in one of the rooms he’d just forbidden me from entering.

  I turned, looked at him, and found him studying me.

  “The power is solar. The door is made of reinforced steel; the entire house locks down if the power is cut at any point,” he offered before pulling out what looked like freshly made orange juice.

  “Smart, but every safe house has an exit,” I stated.

  “If it was in fact a safe house, but I assure you it is not. Think of it more like how a panic room is built. It’s made to keep those inside, inside,” he mused as he began rummaging through the cupboards.

  “What do you want with me?” I asked with my tone sharper than I’d intended, but really, I wasn’t here willingly. He knew it.

  “I’m going to make you mine, and from there, we will see what happens,” he commented as if he’d just told me it was about to rain and I might want an umbrella before wandering outside.

  “Can you hold your breath while you wait?” I asked sweetly.

  “I can hold my breath for a very long time—and you will succumb to it, it’s inevitable,” he said confidently.

  “Why am I really here? You could have raped me and been done with it, so why bring me here?” I said, and yeah, I sounded jaded. I was.

  “Because you
belong to me, you are my other half. It’s as simple as that,” he replied and walked towards me. I stood up, and stared at him.

  “You can’t own another human being,” I stated.

  “You’re not human, Emma,” he said with a soft tone. “You knew that much, you knew it the moment you woke up after you jumped from the cliff.”

  How the hell did he know about that?

  “You need to let me go, now. I’ll never stop fighting you. I’m not interested in you, nor do I clean up well. I bite and I have fleas,” I rambled. “I’m not a stray you just bring home and decide you can keep.”

  “Sit down and sheath your claws,” he demanded as he held out a glass of orange juice. He was tall, really tall. He was over six foot, give or take a few inches, but there really was no taking them away. His armor was sleek, mold to a well-defined body; I’d caught glances of his sleek muscles last night, and him? He’d caught an eyeful of everything I had to offer.

  “I told you, I bite. Open the damn door, and we can forget you took me.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Ever,” he growled.

  “Oh, it is. One way or another, I assure you that I am leaving. It’s not up for negotiation. You left my friends in a really bad place, and I have something that I have to do.”

  “Retrieve the pawn from his mother? What makes you think he even wants you to save him?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “Grayson isn’t a pawn; he’s my brother. I raised him, and that bitch? Not our mother. She may have given birth, but she means no more to me than the shit I stepped in last week. I raised him. When he got hurt? I took care of him. He’s my world, so this?” I flicked my hand back and forth between us. “It won’t work. It’s not you; it’s me. I’m all messed up, mommy issues. So open the motherfucking door, now,” I demanded.