“Ivy, what are you saying? Who taught you this language? Stop it this instant.”
He lunged for me, but I quickly stepped back, and he fell to his knees. The thunder above us roared, and the wind whipped the fallen leaves in a macabre dance around us. Still, I continued my rant, roaring words I did not understand but feeling the meaning of everything I shouted. The king screamed at me to stop. Looking down at him, I noticed signs of aging on his once youthful face. Suddenly, I felt an ethereal presence and turned toward it. A glowing light shone between two chestnut trees, radiating heat and beauty. Smiling, I turned back to the king. His body had aged grotesquely, and I could barely stand looking at him.
“Ivy, please stop all of this. I promise you I will leave.”
A small, warm hand touched my shoulder, and I felt a beautiful peace spread through my body. I looked to see who had touched me, and I gasped. A tiny female stood before me, smiling, and I instantly knew who she was.
Screams punctuated the night, and turning, I saw King Casimiro doubled over.
“Maria, forgive me, I had no idea of the grief I had caused. I will do anything, anything at all if you just let me go.”
Turning to Maria, I watched her delicate, angelic features; she looked at me, innocence personified, and smiled warmly. She walked over to the king, reached down, and when she put her hands on his shoulders, his body instantly turned to dust. The wind whipped around us and gathered his ashes, spreading them everywhere. A second later, the wind died down, the dancing leaves fell to their rest, the branches once again stood still, and I sat down on the cold, hard ground, staring at Maria. Turning once more toward me, she smiled and said something, but I could not hear the words, as the sound of Lucius’ roars drowned out whatever it was she was she’d said. Strong arms wrapped around me and lifted me up. I turned to smile at Lucius, but the smile slipped, and I gasped. Blood red tears fell freely from his eyes and covered his cheeks.
“Dear Gods, Ivy, you are determined to find a way to kill me.”
Laughing shakily at his attempted humor, I gently kissed the teardrops away.
Suddenly, I remembered Maria. I pointed back over my shoulder. “Lucius, it’s Maria.”
Lucius looked past me. “Where?”
I turned around, then stepped back from Lucius’ embrace, frantically scanning the cemetery. “She was here, I tell you. Just a moment ago.”
But the beautiful light had disappeared. I started to turn back to Lucius to explain what happened, when something lying on the ground between the two chestnut trees caught my attention. I walked over and knelt down; lying just in front of me was a small, intricate locket. I picked it up, and holding it in the palm of my hand, I opened it to find a tiny key sat inside. I closed it once more, then picked it up by its chain. Turning to Lucius, who had followed me, I held it up for his inspection.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but it belonged to Maria. I remember seeing her wearing it the day she was killed,” Lucius told me. “Zorion gave it to her. I don’t know why she left it here, but I’m sure we’ll figure things out, over time.”
Lucius took the locket and gently placed the chain over my head. The locket, carved in the shape of heart, with the word Amor etched in script on the front, rested nicely on my chest. I drew in a long breath, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened but also feeling a deep sense of calm. I hadn’t felt this peaceful in a very long time.
Smiling, I put my arms around Lucius and said, “Please take me home. I need you. I want you to make love to me.”
Lucius gently picked me up in his strong, warm arms and took me to his car. When he opened the car door, I sighed; there, before my eyes, lay the velvet throw I loved. Kneeling, Lucius placed me on the passenger seat and wrapped me up in its luxurious warmth. Tenderly, he brushed the hair back from my face. I turned to him and smiled, and he bent down and kissed my lips with a reverence that melted away my heartbreak. All of the horrors I had suffered faded away, lost in my past. This was the man I loved.
Lucius smiled and said, “Home it is, Ivy.”
Chapter Ten
I awoke suddenly and cried out hoarsely for Lucius. He jumped up from where he lay beside me.
“You’re alive, thank the Gods.” He picked me up and sat me on his knee, pulling the velvet throw over us.
Curling into his warm body, I sat there, rubbing the locket that still lay between my breasts.
“What happened to me?”
For the longest time, Lucius said nothing, just held me, stroking my back. Finally, he spoke.
“Ivy, things have changed for you now.”
I sat there mute, unable to form the questions tumbling around in my mind. Of course, I knew the answers already. My body felt totally different, unique and alive in a very different way. Looking up, I gazed around the room. The colors appeared different, the shading more vibrant and the textures more interesting to the touch. The words Lucius had spoken to me in another language, I suddenly understood. I could smell something wonderful, something vaguely familiar. Turning to Lucius, I nuzzled up to his neck and inhaled. A passion gripped my body, one that left me panting with desire. Lucius pulled my head away and smiled down at me.
“You are like me now. Your world has changed forever, but now, we can be together forever, too.”
I smiled and resumed my position, savoring Lucius’ delicious scent. Sighing, I kissed his neck, and then I licked him there. Shuddering in ecstasy, I bit into his neck. I could not stop myself; my body’s desires took over my rational thought processes. The delicious taste of heaven was sliding down my throat—Lucius’ life blood—sweeter to me than any flower’s nectar to honey bee. Groaning, I turned around and straddled him. I sucked harder, cried out when his blood pooled in my mouth, arched into his already hard cock, slid my soaking pussy lips up and down his velvety skinned shaft. I reveled in all the new sensations, sliding harder and harder, and crying out when my swollen clit rubbed deliciously along his wet cock. I raised myself up, unable to wait any longer. Lucius grabbed hold of my hips and thrust into me. His cock slammed into my aching, wet vagina. Screaming with desire, throwing my head back, I rode him with everything that was in me. Lucius roared, and our mating became something primal and animalistic. Harder and faster, he pumped into me, holding onto my hips with a vice-like grip that had I been human, would have injured me. Smiling, I looked down at him. My breasts bounced wildly, and as I slammed down hard, my inner walls clenched my release and milked Lucius’ cock. Screaming my name, he came inside me.
“This is what I wanted all my life. You are everything to me,” he said through gasping breaths.
Shivering from my iconic orgasm, I laid my head on his shoulder. Lucius chuckled quietly, rubbing my ass with his hands.
“What’s so funny?”
Pulling my face up to his, he kissed my nose, then stared at me for the longest time, his beautiful, molten eyes glowing like stars from the heavens.
Finally, he spoke. “I believe when Maria was dying she actually blessed me with you. Somehow, her prayers were heard and the Gods above saw fit to send me you. Ivy, I am the luckiest man in existence. Her blessing not only brought me to you, but also awoke the strong, powerful woman sitting on top of me now. The woman I am going to ravage from head to toe slowly, starting now.”
With that, Lucius picked me up off his lap and threw me squealing onto the bed. Pushing my legs wide open, he knelt before me and raked his enchanting gaze up and down my body. Goose bumps broke out all over my skin. Shivering with excitement, I laid there waiting, wanting. This was the beginning of our life together; so much more was to come, a lifetime of discoveries together and a million questions to be answered . . . like how I had just become a vampire.
~The End~
Book 6 – Dale Mayer
Tuesday's Child
Book #1 of Psychic Visions
Dale Mayer
Valley Publishing
Copyright 2010
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidences either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter 1
2:35 am, March 15th
Samantha Blair struggled against phantom restraints. No, not again.
This wasn't her room or her bed, and it sure as hell wasn't her body. Tears welled and trickled slowly from eyes not her own. Then the pain started. Still, she couldn't move. She could only endure. Terror clawed at her soul while dying nerves screamed.
The attack became a frenzy of stabs and slices, snatching all thought away. Her body jerked and arched in a macabre dance. Black spots blurred her vision, and still the slaughter continued.
Sam screamed. The terror was hers, but the cracked, broken voice was not.
Confusion reigned as her mind grappled with reality. What was going on?
Understanding crashed in on her. With it came despair and horror.
She'd become a visitor in someone else's nightmare. Locked inside a horrifying energy warp, she'd linked to this poor woman whose life dripped away from multiple gashes.
Another psychic vision.
The knife slashed down, impaling the woman's abdomen, splitting her wide from ribcage to pelvis. Her agonized scream echoed on forever in Sam's mind. She cringed.
The other woman slipped into unconsciousness. Sam wasn't offered the same gift. Now, the pain was Sam's alone. The stab wounds and broken bones became Sam's to experience even though they weren't hers.
The woman's head cocked to one side, her cheek resting on the blood-soaked bedding. From the new vantage point, Sam's horrified gaze locked on a bloody knife held high by a man dressed in black from the top of his head down. Only his eyes showed, glowing with feverish delight. She shuddered. Please, dear God, let it end soon.
The attacker's fury died suddenly. A fine tremor shook his arm as fatigue set in. "Shit." He removed his glove and scratched beneath the fabric.
In the waning moonlight, from the corner of her eye, Sam caught the metallic glint of a ring on his hand. It mattered. She knew it did. She struggled to imprint the image before the opportunity was lost. Her eyes drifted closed. In the darkness of her mind, the wait was endless.
Sam's soul wept. Oh, God, she hated this. Why? Why was she here? She couldn't help the woman. She couldn't even help herself.
She welcomed the next blow – so light only a minor flinch undulated through the dreadfully damaged woman. Her tortured spirit stirred deep within the rolling waves of blackness, struggling for freedom from this nightmare. With one last surge of energy, the woman opened her eyes, and locked onto the white rings of the mask staring back. In ever-slowing heartbeats, her circle of vision narrowed until the two soulless orbs blended into one small band before it blinked out altogether. The silence, when it came, was absolute.
Gratefully, Sam relaxed into death.
Twenty minutes later, she bolted upright in her own bed. Survival instincts screamed at her to run. White agony dropped her in place.
"Ohh," she cried out. Fearing more pain, she slid her hands over her belly. Her fingers slipped along the raw edges of a deep slash. Searing pain made her gasp and twist away. Hot tears poured. Warm, sticky liquid coated her fingers. "Oh. God. Oh God, oh God," she chanted.
Staring in confusion around her, fear, panic, and finally, recognition seeped into her dazed mind. Early morning rays highlighted the water stains shining through the slap-dash coat of whitewash on the ceiling and the banged up suitcases, open on the floor. An empty room – an empty life. A remnant of a foster-care childhood.
She was home.
Memories swamped her, flooding her senses with yet more hurt. Sam broke down. Like an animal, she tried to curl into a tiny ball only to scream again as pain jackknifed through her. Torn edges of muscle tissue and flesh rubbed against each other, and broken ribs creaked with her slightest movement. Blood slipped over her torn breasts to soak the sheets below.
The smell. Wet wool fought with the unique and unforgettable smell of fresh blood.
Sam caught her breath and froze, her face hot, tight with agony. "Shit, shit, and shit!" She swore under her breath like a mantra.
Tremors wracked her tiny frame, keeping the pain alive as she morphed through realities. Transition time. What a joke. That always brought images of new age mumbo jumbo to mind. Nothing light and airy could describe this. Each blow leveled at the victim had manifested in her own body. This was hard-core healing – time when bones knitted, sliced ligaments and muscle tissue grew back together, and time for skin to stitch itself closed.
Sam understood her injuries had something to do with her imperfect control, paired with her inability to accept her gifts. Apparently, if she could surmount the latter the first would diminish. She didn't quite understand how or why. Or what to do about it. Her body somehow always healed, the physical and mental scars always remained. She was a mess.
The physical process usually took anywhere from ten to twenty minutes – depending on the injuries. The mental confusion, disconnectedness, sense of isolation took longer to disappear. She paid a high price for moving too soon. Shuddering, Sam reached for the frayed edges of her control. It wouldn't be much longer. She hoped.
Nothing could stop the hot tears leaking from her closed eyelids.
This session had been bad. Apart from the broken ribs, there were so many stab wounds. She'd never experienced one so physically damaging. Nervously, she wondered at the extent of her blood loss. If she didn't learn how to disconnect, these visions could be the end of her – literally.
Just like that poor woman.
Sam hated that these episodes were changing, growing, developing. So powerful and so ugly, they made her sick to her soul.
Several minutes later, Sam raised her head to survey the bed. The pain was manageable, although she wouldn't be able to move her limbs yet. Blood had soaked the top of the many Thrift Store blankets piled high on the bed. Her hollowed belly had become a vessel for the cooling puddle of blood. Shit. The stuff was everywhere.
The metallic taste clung to her lips and teeth. She rolled the disgusting spit around the inside of her mouth, waiting. She wanted to run away – from the memories, the visions, her life. But knowing that pain simmered beneath the surface, waiting to rip her apart, stopped her. Weary, ageless patience added to the bleakness in her heart.
Ten more minutes passed. Now, she should be good to go. Lifting her head, she spat the bloody gob onto the waiting wad of tissue and noted the time.
Transition had taken fifteen minutes this morning.
She was improving.
Oh God. Sam broke into sobs again. When would this end? Other psychics found things or heard things. Many of them saw events before they happened. She saw violence – not only saw, but experienced it too.
Occasional shudders wracked her frame from the coldness that seemed destined to live in her veins. The odd straggling sniffle escaped. She couldn't remember when she'd last been warm. Dropping the top blood-soaked blanket to the floor, Sam tugged the motley collection of covers tighter around her skinny frame. Warmth was a comfort that belonged to others.
She wasn't so lucky. She walked with one foot on the dark side – whether she liked it or not. And that was the problem. She'd been running for a long time. Then she'd landed at this cabin and had been hiding ever since. That was no answer either.
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Her resolve firmed. Enough was enough. It was time to gain control. Time to do something. This monster had to be stopped. Now.
Christ, she was tired of waking up dead.
Chapter 2
10:23 am, 16th May
The police station, a huge stonework building, towered above Sam, blending into the gray skies above. Or maybe she just felt small. Insignificant. She couldn't imagine choosing to spend time in this depressing place. It only needed gargoyles hanging from the dormers to complete the picture of doom.
The entire idea of what these people did defeated her. She understood the necessity, yet given her insider knowledge, this whole human viciousness thing was too much. She wouldn't be here now except another woman had been murdered.
Given her past interactions with the police, even that wouldn't have been enough to make her sign up for more. The last cop she'd dealt with had been one bad-assed bastard.
No. The ring had brought her here.
This morning's killer had worn a similar ring to the one Sam had seen several months ago in another vision. She'd caught only a brief glimpse of it then, with the memory surviving transition to burn an indelible mark on her heart. Even the mask and gloves had looked similar. The biggest nail in this guy's coffin had been the energy. Like DNA, energy was unique, a personalized signature so to speak. Both killers had the same energy, the same variations in wavelengths and ripples. Even the same type of vibration. But that was hardly police evidence.
Knowing that some asshole had killed again, filled her heart with sorrow and slowed her steps. Several fat raindrops splattered her face – the joys of living along coastal Oregon.
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