by Louisa Bacio
“I'm Trevor,” he said, as he limped toward the lights of the street ahead, leaning against his savior.
“And I'm Lawrence,” the man replied. “Good to meet you, Trevor. Wish we could have met under better circumstances. Don't mind if I don't shake your hand right now.”
Lawrence's reply made Trevor laugh. The guy certainly possessed a flair about him. To take out four vampires, help a werewolf run from the law, and still keep a dry sense of humor, that was something.
Maybe some good would come from the night after all.
“What I don't understand,” Lawrence said, “is why you didn't shift? In full werewolf form, you would have had more of an advantage over those guys.”
Trevor thought about the vamp's words. Guess he did know what Trevor was, after all. “That's what they wanted,” Trevor explained. “They wanted to see the full effect of the ‘dog-boy,’ and I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.”
“If you had, they probably wouldn't have had much qualms about killing you,” Lawrence came back with. “It can be much easier to kill something that's not human.”
Muscles tense, Trevor cut back, “I'm more human than you, blood sucker.”
“Oooh, strong words,” Lawrence said, shifting the were's weight to balance out his load. “Your place or mine?”
* * * *
Lawrence could understand the young man's hesitation to take his offer of help; yet, he was visibly hurt. Those ill-turned vamps had done the damage, and he needed to rectify the situation. Plus, underneath all that blood lay one handsome-looking man. Something drew Lawrence to him, to be honest, more so than a desire to do a good deed. Even hurt, Trevor stood proudly. Underneath it all, though, there lurked a vulnerability. A sense that, although he could do it on his own, he didn't always want to. Maybe Lawrence was reading too much into the situation. Maybe it was he who had been alone for too long.
* * * *
“How long ago did that happen?” Lily asked. Funny how one story told her so much about their personalities. Obviously, they cared for each other.
“A little more than five years ago,” Trev said.
“Give the shifter a warm bed, food and water, and he never wanted to leave again,” Law joked.
“You forget the amazing sex part,” Trevor said. “And I cook better than you, you who doesn't even need food in order to live.”
“So now that you know even more about us,” Trevor prompted, “you can't avoid my question. What do you plan on doing today?”
Lily weighed her options. For now, she had a place to crash, at least temporarily. First order of business would be to find a job. “I'd like to apply at a few restaurants, see if they're looking for help,” she explained.
“It takes a special personality to handle the drunken clients on Bourbon Street,” Trevor said.
“And with the ‘side effects’ you've been experiencing, it may not be the best environment. We could always use some help around the bookstore, especially during the daytime hours,” Lawrence added. “Keep it in mind.”
Chapter Seven
Lily
The echo of her own footsteps haunted her. The normally busy street felt too quiet. If she was in the woods, she would think that the animals knew that something lurked, a predator was on the loose. Right now, maybe the time of the night was just odd.
Earlier in the day, she'd gone job hunting and found out that most of the managers worked during the evening shifts. She filled out a couple of applications, and set up one interview for this evening.
She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and checked the time, almost 8:30 p.m. Almost there, and she'd be early, too. Her interview with the bar's night manager was scheduled for nine, and she wanted to get a spot first and check out the surroundings.
She got the feeling that she was being watched, and glanced behind her. No one was there—just the empty sidewalk. A few streets ahead, she could see the glowing lights of Bourbon. There, no matter what the time of day or night, it would be hopping and inhabited. Then, she could breathe a bit easier.
The ball of her foot hit the pavement at just the wrong angle, sending her ankle twisting to the side. She cried out, flinging her arms out for balance, barely righting herself.
“Goddamn cobblestone sidewalks,” she mumbled under her breath. She needed to invest in some new shoes if she planned on staying long term in New Orleans. The uneven “quaint” walkways in the French Quarter were pretty to look at, but hell on one's feet. It didn't help that most of her footwear were some type of heels, even her boots. It also didn't help that no two sidewalks looked the same. Some were old bricks, others were lined with stones and the most boring were cement. Years of use and the various storms that had blown through had worn down the surfaces over time, but not enough to make an easy walking path.
This past year at home in Seal Beach, the city had come in and shaved down all of the uneven sidewalks in her neighborhood. It made strolls much easier since there was less chance of stumbling over a rough spot but it looked like hell. Literally, on the seams of two cement slabs, they shaved down the material until it lay flat, leaving a discolored lighter view under the surface. In some areas, you could see the stones sliced open.
A rumble of music flowed out from behind her, and suddenly a flash of headlights illuminated the street. She heard a car approaching, but kept walking. As it grew closer, her muscles automatically tightened. It didn't mean anything, she thought, they could just be being careful not to pass the pedestrian too quickly.
“Hey, baby,” a youngish man hung out the window. He wore a Saints hat low on his forehead. “You need a ride somewhere?”
Drunken laughter erupted inside the car, sending shivers down Lily's back. She hiked her purse up further over her shoulder. “No thanks,” she said and continued walking.
The car paced her. “Come on now,” the guy continued. “Don't be like that. A pretty lady like you shouldn't be out alone on a night like tonight.”
She did her best to ignore the comment. One more block and she'd hit the safety of Bourbon Street.
“Got a party you're going to?” he asked.
“No party, just meeting some friends,” she said quickly, without meaning to respond. Always good to make them think someone was waiting for her, she thought, tapping into her self-defense lessons. If something happened to her, she would be missed.
Above her, a few gaslights glowed, familiar and comforting. The yellow light bathed her in created soft bubbles of safety in contrast to the darkness, creating a disorienting effect. The next block, filled with “for sale” signs that Lawrence had said popped up more since Katrina, lay in shadows.
The car pulled past her, twisted quickly and then stopped in a driveway of a deserted-looking residence, right in her path. Through the darkness she couldn't see the face of the driver, only the whiteness of his smile. She considered turning left, and heading down to St. Peter's, but that would mean one more unnecessary block of darkness and they could easily follow her down that one-way street.
Fear pounded through her body; her heart hammered in her chest and the slight thrill of the chase made everything, including the follicles of her hair, tingle. Her body throbbed, letting her know how good it would feel to unleash her power. If only she could control its fury. She could taste the strength coursing through her body.
It was as if another voice spoke through her consciousness: They mean to cause her harm.
She sighed, consciously wishing to avoid any confrontation. The palms of her hands itched, as if the magic scratched to get out. To assault anyone who dared do her harm. The guys were just out for a joy-ride, and perhaps they'd go a bit too far if pushed in the wrong direction, but what they weren't expecting was her.
For this reason alone, she truly needed the help of Trevor and Lawrence. She needed to learn to control her power, before she hurt someone, before she killed someone.
From the other side of the car, she heard the door open, and the first guy stepped out.
He leaned over the side of the Cadillac, giving her the once over. They were at a standstill, playing chicken. She looked at her choices once again: to go back home was out of the question, take the alternate street, or drive straight through them.
“So what do you say, sweet cheeks,” he asked. “Ready for a little private party?”
More laughter seeped out from the open windows of the car. Tension vibrated through the air. Time slowed as they came to a standoff. The music shifted from inside the car, and “Love the Way You Lie” by Rihanna and Eminem flowed out, fueling the aggression.
Lily saw the guy's eyes flicker toward one of his mates in the car, and then a smile came over his face. He looked back toward her, and she felt it. Time was running out.
Pushed in the corner, her mind raced with any alternatives to violence. She hated being in this situation with no options. But physically, her body was more than ready to take over.
In the past, when her powers started to surface, Lily had lost control a few times. She didn't understand what was happening to her. At first, it seemed like a twist of fate, those that did her wrong or caused some type of harm to her had a little bit of karma head their way, and then the coincidences became too much.
The first time was one of the workers at the group home she lived at. It wasn't the main person, but someone on the outskirts of the organization. He preyed on the weakest in the home, taking money to purchase personal items and supplies and not delivering them. One girl, Cynthia, had bounced from house to house, and had suffered too much pain for a girl her age. Yet, she still dreamed about finding a home of her own. That asshole set her up, and made her think that she was going to meet a prospective family. He told her not to mention anything to anyone else in the home, or else one of the other kids might try to take the spot. Instead, he took her out to a park and had his way with her. Cynthia didn't tell anyone in charge for fear that he'd accuse her of lying—who'd believe a kid in foster care anyway? She was used to being treated badly. He was just one more in a long line of broken promises. But in the darkness of the night, in the bedroom they shared, she told Lily. When he came to Lily with a very similar story, she knew what was happening, and she was ready. He would never hurt another kid again.
Not sure about this. She looks mighty fine. I'd like a bit of that ass, but Marco, he has a habit of losing it. Like last week with that other girl. Thought we were going to have a little fun, and then he got all serious and cut her. Didn't mean for it to go that far, but once he got started, he couldn't be stopped.
The thoughts flowed into Lily's head, like a running dialogue that couldn't be censored. She looked at the guy across from her. The cocky smile on his face wavering a bit, as if he was second-guessing the entire situation. A bead of sweat dripped down from his forehead, down the side of his face, and he wiped it off his cheek.
“Come on, let's get this party started,” another male voice yelled out from the back of the car. Marco, Lily thought.
Time had run out. It was now, or never.
Fear pounded through Lily. She really didn't want to hurt anybody, but sometimes she didn't have a choice. Sometimes, a little bit of hurt stopped a lot from happening. She tensed up, ready to run. Running remained an option. And, perhaps, if she hoped and prayed enough, he—or they—couldn't give chase.
The music pulsed, fueling their fury at the world, and increasing her terror.
The creaking sound of another car door opening reached her, and she knew who the new person was going to be: the crazy one. He had grown tired of waiting, and wanting, and needing. She wouldn't be his first, and if it was up to him, she certainly wouldn't be his last. Moments before, she had been afraid of the unknown in the darkness behind her, and now a real, live evil lurked right in front of her. Which was the worse of the two evils?
She held her hands out, as if to ward off danger. A pulse of sonic waves flowed from her hands. Warm, pure energy shot through the air. The impact hit the car, as if an oversized boulder had landed on the windshield, the glass shattered inward, showering the inhabitants of the car with shards of glass. The guy on the outside flew backward onto the cement, covering his head and face with his arms to protect himself from an unknown and unseen assailant.
As their surprised screams rang out, she ran, high heels now slapping against the pavement, toward the safety of humanity in front of her, and from the demons of her past.
Chapter Eight
Trevor
As soon as Lily entered the store, Trevor took in her wide eyes and tasted the fear that clung to her skin and clouded her aura.
“What happened?” he asked first, and then. “Are you all right?”
She immediately threw herself into his arms, and he could feel her body trembling with fear and adrenaline, and then the sobs started. “Shhh,” he said, rubbing the back of her hair, and wishing to protect her. Whatever had happened, though, had already taken place.
Finally, after a few moments, when the wetness of her tears had soaked through his silk shirt, she settled and looked up at him. A mixture of mascara and eyeliner ran down one cheek, her nose was running, and her eyes were already swollen. He still thought she looked beautiful.
“I-I-I thought I was going to kill them,” she said. “They scared me, and in my mind I heard what they wanted to do to me, and I thought I was going to kill them.”
Trevor started to gear-up for protective mode. His pack was being attacked, and he needed to protect her. If someone hurt her, he was going to kill the bastards, and he wouldn't feel sorry about it either. He steadied himself. “Who?” he asked. “Who tried to hurt you?”
“Some thugs on the street,” she said, looking out the windows at the streams of passersby.
He went to move, to go outside, but she held onto him. “Wait, they're not there. It was down a few blocks, and after how I left their car, I don't think they'll be going anywhere fast, and they didn't follow me.”
The way she phrased it, Trevor got a mental image of the night he met Lily, and the shattering of the overhead lights. “Oh, yeah?” he smiled. “Do you give them a little taste of your power?”
“Almost too much,” she whispered. “It felt so good. So powerful that I almost wasn't able to stop it.”
“But you did, and that's what matters. Given the choice, not everyone would stop. Some believe that people like that need to be stopped, no matter what the consequences.”
“Well, not me,” Lily said. “I need for this either to go away and stop happening to me, or to reign it in, before I end up killing someone.”
“No worries,” Trevor said. He didn't feel it, though. They certainly all had their own worries. For Lily, it was finding out who she was, and finding a piece of happiness. Lawrence didn't want to admit that he needed and craved the companionship of others. The vampire had spent so much time as a loner that it was difficult for him to let others in. And himself? Trevor knew he possessed his own hang-ups that he wasn't ready to admit to anyone yet. First things first, though. They needed to help Lily, and fast.
Her birthday was coming up quickly, and something deep within his bones told him that all of these happenings were going to culminate when she turned thirty. Who says not to worry about a milestone birthday? Something always changes.
Chapter Nine
Lily
After the adrenaline spike of her confrontation, Lily's energy level crashed hard. She had completely blown off her interview. Although the hour remained relatively early, she decided to call it a night.
“If you need anything,” Trevor said, before she set out, “just give a call out.”
Little did he know that most of her nights were spent doing exactly that.
The night air felt warm and sticky, as if it had a weight all its own. After growing up in Southern California, Lily wasn't used to air with a texture, like it could be held. She turned over in bed, tossing one leg out from under the covers. Sometimes, that act did the trick. If she was completely uncovered, she'd be cold; but if
she pulled the sheets and blankets up to her shoulders, too hot. It was such an uncomfortable quandary.
Try as she might, she couldn't stop thinking about the images and thoughts that she had received from the guys who had stopped her. Although she often had nightmares of a demon chasing her, evil existed right here, out on the streets.
After the relentless nightmares of late, she didn't want to slip into the dream world. She feared the images, feelings, and terror that lurked in her dreams. Even her damn pillow felt hot.
Sighing, she flipped the pillow over and sunk into the cool linen. In their spare time, both Trev and Law had been researching her “condition.” If they didn't find something soon, she'd really start to think she was just neurotic. From the hallway she could hear the tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock. Maybe if she listened close enough to every freakin’ click then she could tell time, and predict the next time it would chime. Nothing like a loud-ass clock reminding her that she wasn't quite asleep yet.
* * * *
Tremors wracked her body, and she wondered how the hell she could feel hot and cold at the same time. A lightning strike of pain shot through her head, running from the right temple to the opposite end of her jawline. She clenched her teeth, gnashing through it, and the pain faded away.
Trevor sat next to her on the bed, holding her hand. She could feel his settling presence. He alternated between holding her hand, soothing back her hair and pressing a wet, cold cloth against her forehead. She desperately wanted to thank him for the comfort, to let him know that his actions made a difference, that she was happy, finally, to not be alone, but she couldn't force her eyelids open, couldn't bear to say a word. There'd be time enough to tell him later. After the episode had passed. Hopefully.
And then the nightmares claimed her again.
Darkness. Always darkness. She ran from her captor. Although she couldn't see him, she knew he was there. Ever present. She could smell his rank odor, and if he drew even closer, she knew what his hot breath would feel like. Instead, she heard his panting. Since she'd already been captured once, she knew what was to come if he laid his hands on her again. Torture. For his pleasure. Not hers. Never hers. He relished playing with his living toys like a child, until he grew tired of them, or they broke. Whatever came first.