Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology)

by Chrissy Peebles

  "Violence."

  Chapter 6

  10:19 am

  "You can't put him to sleep. He's been doing great. I don't understand." Samantha blocked the cage containing Soldier, the name she'd settled on for the injured German shepherd. The rest of the staff faced her as one group.

  "Samantha, we warned you about his lack of progress. He isn't adapting to people. No one will be able to handle him. The shelter won't take him now."

  "Then why did you save his life?" Damn, she hated to beg, but someone needed to stick up for the dog. "If he was worth saving then, he's worth saving now."

  Lucy stepped forward, placing a comforting arm around Sam's shoulder. "Honey, we tried to warn you. We hoped he'd get better, but he hasn't."

  "He just needs a little more time." Samantha didn't know what tactic to try next. Her hand clenched again, fingernails sliding into half-moon impressions already there. She knew she had to keep trying. She hated the compassionate looks from her co-workers, hated their detachment. No one had taken the time to get close to Soldier like she had. It wasn't fair.

  Just this once, she'd broken her own cardinal rule and gotten close. Too close. Her heart ached. She couldn't stand the thought of something happening to him.

  That made it an easy decision.

  "I'll take him," she said abruptly.

  The room exploded.

  "No Samantha, you can't do that. He could be dangerous."

  "Sam, that's a bad idea."

  "I wouldn't recommend that."

  Sam refused to listen. They didn't understand. She had to give Soldier a chance.

  "I have to try. He's not comfortable here. If I take him home, he'll have an easier time of it. He needs to learn to trust again. He can't do that here."

  "And then what?" Casey, the only female veterinarian on staff, spoke the collective voice of reason. "What if he attacks you?"

  "He won't." Sam answered with more confidence than she felt. Stubbornly, she repeated, "I have to try."

  Dr. Wascott walked over and squatted down before the German shepherd's cage. Dangerous growls filled the room.

  "Sam, I can't let you do that." He sighed. "He's dangerous. I can't have that on my conscience."

  "Well, I don't think he is. But, if you give us a chance and it turns out he doesn't improve or gets worse then...then you can put him down."

  Standing up, the vet snorted, his hands on his hips, staring at her in concern. "At that point, no one will be able to get close enough and we'll have to shoot him."

  Some truth existed in his words, but Sam wouldn't be swayed. Not now that she'd sensed a sign of weakening. "I'll need to borrow a cage to transport him." She double-checked the size of the dog. "And a hand to load him."

  "The only way I'll agree is if you keep him in his cage for at least another week." He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'll come and see him then and re-evaluate. He's too dangerous to be free right now. He could hurt himself and anyone in the vicinity."

  Sam interrupted him. "Which is why my place works. There's no one around for miles." Tossing him a smile of thanks, Sam headed out to her pickup to make room in the box.

  Moving Soldier went well, with everyone's help. Once Sam made it on the road, she kept checking the rearview mirror to make sure the cage hadn't shifted.

  Driving gave her time to think. Like about the name and phone number Detective Sutherland had left behind, with a casual comment. "He's a strong psychic whom I've worked with in the past. Call him if you need someone to talk to."

  Then he'd left, seemingly not realizing what a bombshell he'd left behind. Sam had snatched up the paper, read the name Stefan, then tucked the information away in her purse. She'd wanted to grab the cell phone and call right away, but hadn't a clue what to say. Now, excitement bubbled in the back of her mind. Terrifying her with the possibilities. She hadn't been able to call yet. In truth, she'd rather have Brandt with her when she made contact. Less awkward that way.

  Sad to say, but this had gone a long way to improving her opinion of this particular detective. She wrinkled up her face at another truth. To have the handsome detective believe her would be great. To earn his respect, now that would be a bonus. There was just something about that look in his eyes. As if he cared. As if he cared about her.

  How sexy was that? To actually know that someone was listening, paying attention. Just his focus on her with such intensity made shivers go up her spine. His dynamic features, so alive and always shifting, intrigued her. But then so did his lean muscles cording his neck and forearms.

  Goose bumps raised on her arms, even though she drove in the heat of the melting sun. For the first time that she could remember, she'd found a man that intrigued her. She grimaced. That a cop had been the one to bring her dormant sexuality back to life was beyond ironic. Women had been attracted to men in uniform since time began. Just not her. Too many bad memories.

  The trip had to be hurting the dog in the back, yet she hadn't heard him complain once. The cabin came into view, surprising her at the speed of today's trip. Once home, she backed the truck up to the porch.

  Moses waited, wagging his golden plume of a tail. She hopped out, gave him a swift hug, and went to open the tailgate. It stuck, as usual. She pounded it a couple times before it finally dropped. Moses bounded into the truck box, eager to check out the new arrival.

  He loved other dogs. Most of the time, they loved him. Soldier curled a lip, but other than that showed no reaction. Sam watched their interaction carefully. Except for a low warning, Soldier ignored the other dog.

  Sam, hands on her hips, spoke to the dogs. "Now would be a good time for the detective to show up. We could use his help – or rather his muscles." The cage rested on an old blanket. She'd had plenty of help loading him, now she'd have to tug on the blanket to drag him off.

  Despite working alone, the blanket system worked well. Although, by the time Soldier had been safely moved to the porch and under the overhanging roof, Sam's limbs were shaking from the effort. Soldier never made a sound.

  Even now, he lay there and regarded her with his huge eyes blackened with pain. They locked on her as if he understood. Her heart melted a little more.

  Sam collapsed beside his cage, her breathing ragged. "There you go, boy. Life will be much nicer here." Using the bottom of her t-shirt, she wiped the rivers of moisture from her forehead.

  Moses and Soldier sniffed each other through the steel mesh as Sam rested and watched. The patient needed fresh water, clean blankets, medicine, and food. Lord, she needed food. And a shower.

  With full bowls of food and water, Sam returned to see Moses stretched out against the side of the cage, staring at her reproachfully.

  "Don't look at me like that. I can't let him free. He might take off." Placing the bowl down, she unclipped the front door.

  "Hi, Soldier." Soldier's dark pain-filled gaze locked on hers. He slumped lower.

  "Shit. Are you hurt? Damn it. I knew we shouldn't have moved you. I'm so sorry, Soldier. I had to. They were determined to put you down."

  He closed his eyes, his mouth growing slack.

  Fear clutched her heart. She struggled to open the tight clasp on the cage door. The closure snapped open and she stretched a hand toward him.

  He didn't growl and only opened one eye. Pain clouded his gaze, but a much less heated warning remained.

  "What's the matter, no more fight left inside? Or are you prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt after rescuing you from there?" She stroked the thick, lush fur. Dried blood decorated his dark coat. As her fingers worked deeper and deeper, she found sand and grime worked in to skin level. "Poor guy. It's been a long time since anyone cared about you, hasn't it?"

  Sam's knees and back ached from the cramped position. She scrubbed his back and neck for another moment. While she worked, she told him about his new life, using a quiet calm voice. She didn't know if it helped or not, yet knew it was what she'd like done if she were in the similar sit
uation.

  Stupid. It's not as if she'd ever be huddling in a cage. She stopped, her fingers deep in his thick fur, stunned by the correlation. She might not have been in a cage, yet she'd been living as if she were an injured animal anyway. Wary, hiding from the next blow that life would deal her.

  She laughed. "Enough for both of us, huh?"

  The cage door clipped her as she backed out, making her curse. Moses whined. Soldier even lifted his head. With both dogs' gazes on her, Sam managed to extricate herself from the wire. She stayed on her knees for a long moment, considering the door. If she disliked it, imagine how the dog liked it?

  But if she left it open, would he run away? Or worse, get hurt? The cage offered safety for him. But what kind of life did he have without freedom? As he'd still be in the cage, she wouldn't be going against her word to her boss. Not that he'd see it that way.

  Moses stuck his nose on her neck, reminding her she'd been motionless for too long.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gave him a warm hug, burying her face in the thick ruff. "Oh, Moses. Tell me this is going to work out for the best."

  She reached down to shut the cage door, and stopped. Both dogs stared at her, ears up. Soldier couldn't go anywhere right now. His injuries would stop him from running away. But what about her agreement with the vet? She made a gut decision.

  "Fine. We'll try it your way."

  Sam walked into the cabin, the cage door wide open behind her.

  ***

  7:22 pm

  Whistling cheerfully, the tall, heavily built man tugged on the lead he awkwardly held in his left hand along with one of the two dog crates. He should have made two trips, but he'd had enough for today. It was time to head home. Past time.

  He'd held his temper all he could this day. He was quite proud of himself. It took inner strength to remain calm when inside he despised being here, despised the people, and particularly despised the women.

  He should get an Oscar for that alone.

  No one appreciated how hard it was for him here. No one. He was capable of so much more. Still, it was their loss and his gain. He knew he could do more. In fact, he was doing more – they just didn't know about it. A malicious joy seeped through him.

  "Hey, Bill."

  Jack, one of the organizers, had chased after him and almost reached him. He sighed, took the last few steps to his van, and put down the crates. Damn, these dogs were getting heavier every time he had to take them anywhere.

  "Good class today. Thanks, buddy. Did Dolly Seymour ask you about fitting in a new session next week? This would be another private session."

  Bill opened the back door to the van. "She mentioned something about it. I haven't confirmed availability yet. I'll have to call her in the morning."

  "No problem. This is the same group from last week. They want to work on individual training, so maybe you can see your way into accepting this one."

  Bill had a grin plastered on his face. On the inside, though, he was tired of smiling. He was tired of being nice all day, and he was fucking tired of the whole mess. Surely, his luck would change soon and he could split. "No problem. If I can, I will."

  "Good enough. We'll see you later then."

  Jack headed back into the clubhouse. As he opened the door, a slinky brunette in tight-ass capri pants and a shorty midriff top walked toward him, a tiny white Lhasa Apso sporting a big pink bow, in her arms.

  Bill grinned at the beautiful woman walking toward him and stopped loading his stuff into the back of the van to talk with her. "Hi, Caroline."

  A bright smile broke across her face. "Thanks for today's class, Bill. I'm just sorry Jared couldn't be here today. He'd have really enjoyed it."

  Bill smiled as expected. In truth, if he heard one more thing about her husband, Jared, he was liable to scream. If there was one thing he couldn't stand – it was gushing females, particularly when they were gushing about their males.

  Still, he managed to keep an eye on her nicely rounded ass as she walked past to her black Porsche several vehicles down.

  He just might have to do something about that...and her.

  ***

  2:30 am, June 17th

  Screams echoed in the darkness. Sam twisted and pulled, struggling to get away from whatever held her fast. She couldn't get free. In a blind panic, she realized her body no longer answered to her commands. Her eyes opened. She shuddered. Shearing pain melded with terror as she took in the blood dripping to the floor. It ran down the folds of the floral bedspread to soak into the cream carpet waiting below.

  "Please don't...no more." A voice not her own spoke the words in her head. A blow shattered her breastbone. Her screams poured into the small room. Sam barely flinched. Her attacker laughed.

  "Like I'm going to listen to you, bitch. You like this. You must. You let that useless husband of yours beat you all the time." His hideous laughter added to her horror. God, how could he laugh at her? He was an animal. She died a little more at his unexpected pleasure. Monster.

  Maybe it had something to do with his unseemly pleasure, or maybe it came from her absolute fury at yet another murder, but somewhere deep inside, Sam's consciousness attempted to reassert itself. In a weird way, she became aware of both worlds at once. Her awareness built, a small step at a time, allowing her to put a slight distance between her and the dying woman's. Fog grew between the two realities, buffering her from the poor woman's pain and fear.

  Groggy and disoriented, Sam tried to snap out of the psychic episode fully, only to slam back inside the injured woman. Her body lurched uncontrollably. Sam tried to ward off the oncoming blow, but couldn't make the right arm move.

  "Stupid woman. What good are those looks of yours now? It's far too late to run away." The fists lashed out, once, twice and then yet again. Muscles tore and internal organs bled under cracked bones. The poor woman arched her back, lifting high off the bed. Both women screamed. Cries echoed inside and outside of Sam's mind, building, and blending into a crescendo of terror.

  "Why are you doing this?" Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth. Sam didn't know who spoke – her or the victim. It didn't matter, the words were the same.

  "Because I can, bitch." Mocking laughter echoed through the small room.

  "But...?" She gasped, fighting the vomit in the back of her throat. "Why me?"

  "You're weak. You deserve killing. Staying with an asshole like that. Besides, I hate him. Maybe the cops will think he's good for this one."

  "No," she gasped. "Please, don't."

  "Too late."

  He raised his fist and landed a blow below her eye socket. Bone shattered, making little scrunching noises. There'd be no white knight coming to the rescue. Ever. There was only Sam and she didn't know how to help.

  Through the bloody haze, Sam, desperate to take something useful back with her, struggled to open her good eye. Swollen and bloody and not her own, made the job damn near impossible. Light slid painfully under her sore eyelids. She struggled to bring the scene in focus. The bastard was getting off her bed. Blood splatter covered his shirt and jeans. He wore unrelenting black with the blood standing out in dark wet spots. He wore gloves and a ski mask. Same height and same build.

  Same energy pattern. Damn, him again. At least she thought it was him.

  Only one eye could see. Sam couldn't even tell if this man wore a ring or not. The light in the room started to fade, as if the sun were setting at rapid speed. Except the curtains were closed and it was the middle of the night.

  Her vision narrowed, locked on her killer's face. The circle grew smaller and smaller. Sam knew her time was almost over. She could only watch with painful understanding as the circle of light reduced to a pinpoint before finally, thankfully, blinking out. Forever.

  It was over.

  Sam woke in her own room, minutes later. For the first time, grief didn't overwhelm her. She was angry. She hurt for the victim and her family. But even more, a deep pulsing fury permeated her sou
l. That asshole had way too much fun doing what he was doing. He had to be stopped.

  When she could, she shifted upright. Pain still coursed through her body, but the anger provided a dense barrier, letting her cut through the pain. Inner excitement grabbed hold. This time she'd had some kind of conscious awareness. She'd kept a part of herself intact while living what that poor woman had experienced.

  Poor soul. Sam sniffled. Why was this guy doing this? Surely, he had a reason – more than just for entertainment.

  Lying back down, she thought about the details from the vision. Once again, the killer had been fully hidden, so no face or ring showed. There'd been light-colored walls, a plain white ceiling, and a cheap floral bedspread. Again, nothing helpful.

  It was six in the morning now. Surely, someone would find the woman today? Depression set in.

  Tucking the blankets around her, she reached for the phone. There was no answer at Detective Brandt's number. She hung up. Then changing her mind, she redialed and this time left a message. Afterward, she sat, undecided, before dialing the station.

  Five minutes later, she was sorely regretting that action.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am, could you repeat that?"

  "Could you please have Detective Sutherland call me? I know this sounds bizarre, but I can't give you any more information. A woman has been murdered." Samantha tried to keep her voice from showing her frustration. Just going over the details hurt. Damn it, why wouldn't anyone listen to her?

  She cleared her throat from the confused emotions clogging it. "Excuse me, could you just pass the message on, please?" She shifted the phone to the other ear.

  "I'll see that he gets your message," replied the cold voice on the other end of the phone.

  "Thank you," she answered, and hung up. There was nothing else to do.

  It took twenty-five minutes to hear from him.

  "Samantha?"

  "Yes," she answered, relief rushing through her. "It's me."

  "And?" he asked, concern in his voice.

  Sam took a deep breath, snuffling back tears. "He's killed again," she whispered.