“However,” she went on quietly, “I must meet my mother again. Edwin has…” Her throat convulsed, and with some effort, she met Philip's eyes again. Her own had a sheen of tears. “Died.”
Philip said nothing, but he and Vaughn exchanged a stare while Zaid sat nearby, cleaning his teeth with a small blade.
Jim shook his head. The Band dudes went hard.
“I hear you say you wish to use the bridge Vaughn and Zaid speak of,” Philip replied, “yet mayhap it is your grief giving voice to a plan you would otherwise not consider.”
Calia shook her head. “It is not as though I have a plan to stay there forevermore. It is that—I wish to see where I came from and with my own eyes, the vestige of my past. Perhaps there is something that will trigger a piece of joy that remains. Yet greater than my desire is my mother's need to have something not steeped in the tea of grief. With Edwin gone, she has only me.”
Jim looked at the ground, feeling like a voyeur in intimate discussions. But here in the vast Outside, privacy was moot.
Adahy raised a palm, and in halting English laced with Iroquois, he proposed the best idea Jim had heard—the one plan of action that with any luck would allow him to return home.
Vaughn grasped his chin thoughtfully. “You say that you and Elise seek safety for a time?”
Adahy nodded. “The Iroquois do not stay in one place for long. The life of those in the sphere is not the Iroquois way.”
The silence blew up in the middle of his words.
What Adahy didn't say—but that everyone immediately understood—was that it had been safe in the sphere, and the woman he traveled with was in jeopardy because of his wanderlust.
Jim got it, though. Adahy had felt trapped in a foreign environment.
Just like Jim.
“You are welcome at the Clan of Massachusetts,” Vaughn said.
Philip nodded. “It does make the most sense upon superficial reflection.”
Any reflection, as far as Jim was concerned.
Philip went on, “We are far from the sphere—our clan is no more. Edwin has passed on.” He lay a large palm on the top of her head and stuffed it against his side as she took a hitching breath. “It will be critical for Calia to reclaim her heritage, and further, to recover from having the disease of pox.” He gave Jim a significant glance, and Jim nodded to indicate he was correct. “She will need time to recuperate and reacquaint herself with her rightful clan.”
Jim could tell it pained Philip to make these concessions. Faced with the unknowns of the Pathway and a new clan, he might've chosen differently. He must have really loved Calia because it would have been easier for him to just take off with Calia and not look back.
Edwin had been the one pressuring them to go back to his clan for some kind of Rite. Jim didn't know all the details—things had been so chaotic, and no one had found out much about the other.
Zaid stood. “It is settled then. Adahy and Elise will accompany the rest of the party through the bridge.”
Six sets of eyes turned to Jim.
His palms flew up. “I'm in.” His eyes narrowed on Philip, and he pointed his finger. “No more kicking my ass, big guy.”
“Do not touch my female.”
“Deal,” Jim said.
He palmed one of the anti-sickness tablets, and when no one was looking, dry swallowed it. Its effectiveness would last twenty-four hours.
He kept his plans to take a detour once inside the bridge to himself.
CHAPTER THRITY-TWO
Elise
The group moved on, bolstered by full bellies and a time of gathering warmth and rest. The trek to the place where the mouth of the portal stood was a comparatively happy one.
Elise could not wait until she and Adahy made the uncertain journey through the “bridge” and to a place safe from the Tree Men. Yet there were things that disturbed Elise about the war between their peoples. It had never been made clear that Ulric was trying to kidnap, capture, or in some other way harm Calia and her. What Elise did know was that he had cured them.
She remembered his claim that they were of like blood.
Did that mean, that somewhere—deep in Elise's ancestry, her people had lived in the forests and drunk blood instead of consuming meat for their sustenance? Further, and more troubling, now that she had partaken of Ulric's blood, would she be tied to him? Yes, Jim had broken the tender blood tie with the use of the blood of the murdered Fragment. But how long would that assure the division?
Those thoughts were not ones that Elise outwardly considered but they crouched like hiding animals inside the deepest recesses of her mind.
What was foremost in her thoughts was fragile hope for a life without the daily strife and terror, as hers had been only a month before.
Adahy took her hand and lifted it to his lips.
His breath was warm and full of life against her icy skin.
When the portal shimmered in a loose circle above the frozen ground they smiled at each other.
Their journey was almost through.
*
Adahy
Adahy's relief was great. Abiding guilt had grown larger as the journey had become more treacherous. Picking up the odd Traveler named Jim was the least of the strange occurrences. Adahy thought briefly of Chasing Hawk and wondered if he and his tribesmen were safe.
He did not know, and it would not be something he would easily discover soon. Securing Elise's safety consumed him. He would not give her up to Fragment or to a Giant—she was his, and he was hers.
He kissed the top of her hand and was troubled by its coldness.
He regained his composure, confident that when they arrived, the clan of Edwin would welcome their group due to the presence of Calia, even though Edwin was lost to them.
Calia had been important enough for her home clan to send two warriors to intercept her.
He glanced at Philip as he lifted Calia to his shoulders.
Her fingertips brushed the glittering bottom of the portal.
A low keening portent sunk into Adahy's marrow.
He was not one to dismiss those feelings of intuition. The Iroquois listened to their spirit side.
His spirit whispered a warning—one he did not heed.
His path was set.
Elise had to be protected at all cost.
*
Jim
Jim felt the warm euphoria that came with the pill-popping. Now he wouldn't get Pathway cancer and die wretchedly.
Maybe he'd only puke a little as the Pathway spit him into his world.
Jim dug that. It'd been a long damn haul, and he had some samples in his tote that he'd managed to hang onto the entire way.
And one more pill.
Jim glanced at Adahy and Elise. They were probably enough Band to make it without a pill. Jim only had one left.
He couldn't wait to spill the beans to someone bigger than the HC about what was really going on here in the sphere world.
They weren't collecting samples. Well, Jim had been doing his actual job. Then his job became saving his own ass.
What the “Travelers” of his world had actually been doing was a slow genocide, infecting the females of this world with smallpox, which was absolutely incurable in this desolate and primitive place. Once they died out, the result would be simple: no babies.
Jim had managed to identify the problem but watched helplessly as the two women had succumbed.
It was actually the blood sucker, Ulric, who had given them the gift of some freak immunity and saved them.
But at what cost? What had Ulric wanted in return? They'd avoided the forests all the way to the bridge Pathway, but Jim still felt the presence of the all-seeing tree guys. He couldn't shake it. He was sure it was his science brain, pissed as a tick without a deer, wanting to get a sample of that group.
That would have been a hell of a coup.
Jim strode to the circle just as Vaughn rolled a log. With Zaid helping, he turned it on its side like a step stool
.
Everyone was in the Pathway except Jim.
He advanced to the stump and put his foot on the fat stump.
The portal did not activate the travel of an individual until every part of the body was completely inside.
Vaughn hung outside the wide loop of the Pathway entrance, his hand extended toward Jim. His lower body was entombed within the Pathway entrance.
Jim grabbed his hand, and Vaughn jerked him inside then let go and hurtled in a popping suction behind Jim.
Jim's fingers clung to the edge. Ninety-nine percent of his body was inside the Pathway. The buzzing pulse tunnel clawed with magnetization perfectly geared to his body.
Triumph at his survival of this place and excitement to return swelled inside him.
Jim gave the Outside a final glance before he let go—and met Ulric's eyes.
Jim was so startled he prematurely released his hold, and was sucked helplessly backward into the darkness of endlessly falling without landing.
Fire and ice bit along his skin as his mind screamed an unheard alarm.
THE END
Subscribe to the spam-free TRB Newsletter HERE
Love Savage? Read on for a multi-chapter sampling of TRB works...
A TERRIBLE
LOVE
A novel
Marata Eros
A TERRIBLE LOVE
Copyright © 2013 Marata Eros
Excerpt
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. 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 to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
You're Mine:
I took your everything
took it for myself
my enjoyment and no one else
you're mine...
Prologue
The solid wooden doors of the closet shake as he pounds them. “I’ll hurt her, Jewell,” he says in a voice thickened by his usual rage. Thwack, punch, rattle. “And there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it!”
I clench my eyes, arms wrapped around my knees; if I ignore him he’ll go away. He always used to.
But it’s different this time. Faith came. She knew something was wrong and she came.
I listen to her wail in the background, sweat beading on the tender part of my upper lip as I roll it in my mouth to keep from crying out. I thought I could hide.
I thought it would end if I ignored it.
I kept the secret, but now, as my stepbrother assaults the only friend I’ve ever had, I squeeze my head between my knees and shake with my silent sobbing.
It’s me he wants to hurt. It’s me he’ll punish in this horrible moment of suspended time; Faith is merely the vehicle.
Faith is in the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.
Her arguing got Thaddeus to notice her. However, Faith will never submit.
Her pleas go unheeded. I bear witness in a dark locked closet; shamed, terrified and soaking in my own sweat and tears, I hear what he does and I can’t stop it.
Faith saved me, and my apathy is murdering her.
Black
Black is everywhere; it’s in the sky, the ground, the pounding rain that pings off the casket.
It’s on my dress.
My shoes. The umbrellas are a sea of it, rolling endlessly on and on.
But there is one spot that’s red. The flare of my mother’s dress I can see from just beyond the polished lip of the wood.
My stepbrother meets my eyes with the deep gray of his own and I shudder with keen revulsion.
I count backward silently, the tears that scald my face chilling as the rain meets them, mingling with them in a dance of sadness that washes my face. Though it doesn’t cleanse the guilt. It never will.
He gives me a little smirk and I cast my eyes down so he can’t see the burning hatred in my gaze.
Thad thinks he’s home free. His crime buried beneath the prestige of his standing in the community.
He hasn’t counted on how far I’ll go to secure his future destruction. And my own survival. I’d do it all.
For Faith.
I suck in a shuddering breath, my plan firmly in place, my fear as well.
I drop a single deep-cream rose on Faith’s casket. It spins in slow motion, making a soft thump as it connects with the mirrored finish, and I turn to leave, the good-bye caught in my heart for eternity.
The reporters are already here.
I flee, my high heels stabbing the sodden earth beneath my feet. When the limousine driver opens the door for me I slide inside, breathing a sigh of relief when I see I share it with no one. My vacant mother and stepfather will dutifully stay and shore up my best friend’s parents against the tragic loss of their daughter. For duty’s sake, not empathy’s.
Thaddeus MacLeod stands watching my limo, the closing glass of my window beginning to shield me from him. As the reporters gather around him he has eyes only for me. I shiver at that quiet look of contained menace, despairing. I gather my resolve like fragile collected blossoms.
I can do this.
“Thaddeus!” I hear a woman reporter yell. “What does Senator MacLeod think of your attempted rescue of your dear family friend?” She heaves a microphone above her head and toward Thad’s face, skimming the heads of reporters who stand in front of her.
He turns his face away from mine and even in the dim light of the outside I can see his one-hundred-watt smile come online, dazzling the reporter who posed the question. It makes me want to hurl. There’s no food in my stomach but my body goes through the motions nonetheless.
I let the glass swallow the view, turning away and sinking into the plush leather as I allow my tears to come.
Our limo driver flicks his eyes to my wet face in the rearview mirror, then discreetly away.
I hit the up button on the divider and the glass partition slides up.
It is the last moment of grief I’ll allow myself. Soon I will run.
Toward anonymity, freedom. And maybe someday, absolution.
Chapter One
Two years later
“Jess!” Carlie calls, chasing after me. I listen to the rat-tat-tat of her high-heeled boots stabbing the poor hallway behind me.
God, if it is another scheme to get me to go along with some crazy-ass plan . . . I’m going to be pissed.
“Jess!” she shouts, and I turn.
It’s impossible to stay mad at Carlie; she is too over-the-top ridiculous for words. My eyes take in her customary look, the perfectly coiffed hair, the skinny jeans jammed into second-skin boots that somehow house thinly knit leg warmers. And don’t even get me started on what she rams her boobs into. It is surely a manacle for tits.
How did she get them to look like that? I shake my head and smile despite myself.
“She smiles! Excellent!” Carlie runs and throws her arms around me, saying in an uncharacteristic whisper, “Look what I have, girlfriend.” She waves a paper around in my face like a flag.
I can’t make anything out, it’s just a grayish blur. “Stop that, ya tool!” I say with false rage.
Carlie gives me the bird and holds it steady in front of my face. The words come together in a collision of—no. I'm not going,” I say, beginning to walk away.
“I’m not going,” I say, beginning to walk away.
“You are so going,” Carlie says. Then softly she calls, “Jess.”
I stand with my back to her as other stude
nts ram through the hall, jostling and loud, maybe a minute left until class.
“What?” I ask, still not turning.
“It’s ballet,” she says.
“I know,” I whisper. I break out in a light sweat, an automatic response. The opportunity to indulge my passion for dance, my former privileged life’s only oasis, now teases me with its nearness.
“They’re coming here . . . to our school. You could, like . . . audition.”
I could. “No, Carlie.”
She takes me at my word, throwing the paper in the trash and slinging an arm around my neck. Carlie uses me for balance as she totters around on her stilettos. “You have to admit it was a good idea.”
I look up into her face; she’s a damn Amazonian. “Yeah,” I say.
“You can’t run forever, Jess.”
Her words jolt me, but then I realize Carlie is just using an expression. She isn’t being literal.
It seems a little too easy; she’s usually a dog with a bone.
Carlie stops hanging off me like a monkey and we part ways for our respective courses.
I listen to the sound of her heels as they echo down the nearly empty hall.
I take a deep breath and pass through the door for English lit class. Just one of many sophomores in a generic university in the great state of Washington. I like blending in.
My life depends on it.
Ballet was my life—before. I can’t give it up, because it won’t give me up. The music plays in my head night and day. It’s a wonder I ever get anything accomplished. Some of the other students might see a subtle bob of my head and wonder. I smile at the looks and stare off into space during lectures.
I do a similar internal music routine when I work at the coffee shop like a good drone; my partial scholarship at the University of Washington requires a little sideline income. I’m lucky to have it. I had to test out of a bunch of freshman courses, prove proficiency and then cop out as poor. I certainly couldn’t use my former grades and prestigious private school to get the full ride I’d had. That was from before.
savage 06 - the savage dream Page 18