The Forgotten (Demons Book 2)

by Marina Simcoe

  The noise of the engine moved away. Only then I dared to release my breath. A painful knot twisted in my stomach, and I leaped to all fours just in time for my stomach to finally empty itself in the ditch. Again and again. Until the spasms came up in dry heaves, with nothing left in me.

  My arms and legs shook. Feeling drained, I fought the urge to collapse back in the ditch next to my own vomit, pushing up to my feet instead, then staggered through the undergrowth into the forest.

  Sooner or later the two in the car would notice I wasn’t there anymore and come back to search for me. Determined to put as much distance between me and them as possible, I kept rushing though the dark woods as fast as my shaking legs would allow.

  Chapter 6

  I RAN AS LONG AS I could, in a general direction away from the road, without letting myself dwell on the odds of my surviving the wilderness of the Yukon—or wherever it was that they had managed to get me to—in my condition. I simply let panic and fear drive me as far away from my kidnappers as possible.

  When I had no more energy to run, I walked, staggering through the forest, afraid to stop.

  I had no idea how long I marched between the trees and through the underbrush, but the sky above me had turned lighter with the rising sun, and I noticed the trees around me had thinned, eventually being replaced by a valley.

  Unnerved by being in the open, I scrambled to a copse of stunted trees in the distance and heard the sound of bubbling water when I reached it. A small creek wound its way between the trees and bushes, and I sank to my knees on its grassy bank.

  I washed my hands and face in the chilly water and rinsed the filth from my mouth. Thirst forced me to drink it, too, outweighing the fear of any possible bacteria in the open stream.

  Exhausted by trekking through the woods, I also felt ravenously hungry. My overall condition had improved, however. Whatever drugs my kidnappers had injected in me, must have worn off. Drinking the water had eased my headache.

  I sat on the bank, resting my arms on my knees, and swept the area with my gaze as my surroundings emerged in the pale light of sunrise.

  The valley that seemed to be an abandoned farm field ended in the distance with more woods visible on the horizon. Several forested patches were scattered throughout the open space. The unexpected sight of the hard line of a roof between the trees of one of them made me pause. My heart raced in my chest with hope filling it.

  The adrenaline that fueled me during the escape had worn off. I was hungry and exhausted. A house meant people and civilization—and hopefully food, rest, and a phone to call the police for help.

  I got up, every muscle in my body protesting with pain, and started towards the outline of the roof between the trees.

  THE MOMENT I GOT A good look at the structure, it became clear no one had lived there for some time.

  Disappointment shot through me—sharp and dark—as I stood in front of the house staring at the boarded windows. The gravel driveway was overgrown with tall grass, and white paint peeled off the garage doors and front porch.

  The thought of more was daunting. Maybe, I could hide inside from the two men, who must be looking for me out there, and get some rest? Would the owners, wherever they were, forgive my trespassing considering my circumstances?

  My stomach was so empty, it felt like it pressed flat against my spine. Maybe there was some food left in the house? Like a can of something. Anything.

  I swayed on my feet with exhaustion. What choice did I have? Get inside or sit out here until my kidnappers found and drugged me again?

  Decision made, I walked up the stairs of the front porch and tugged at the doorknob.

  Locked.

  I took a quick look around. The old porch was bare of furniture—no flowerpots, not even a doormat, under which the owner might have hidden the key. Wide pieces of plywood completely covered both windows on each side of the door. I hooked my fingers under the edge of one, trying to pry the corner off. It didn’t budge. Whoever nailed it was very thorough in their job.

  Walking around the house, I checked every window then the back door. Nothing.

  Disheartened, I stopped in front of the garage, searching the ground for a stick or a big enough rock that would possibly break through the piece of thick plywood when my gaze fell on the handle at the bottom of the garage door. The house seemed old enough to have manually opening garage doors.

  With renewed hope, I tugged at the handle with force. It gave in and moved up only to stop again almost immediately. I let go of the handle, leaving the door ajar, and crouched by the opening.

  In the darkness of the garage, I could see the glimmer of the thick, rusty chain that held the door from inside. The chain was locked with a huge padlock that came in my view through the gap.

  There was nothing big enough or strong enough around me to knock the lock off. The gap between the ground and the bottom edge of the garage door seemed too small to fit a person.

  Too small for an average person to fit through.

  Sitting on the ground, I unzipped my jacket and shrugged out of it then lay flat. First I wiggled my hips under, desperately hoping that whatever kept the door up would continue to hold, then squeezed the rest of me through. I had to turn my head to the side, glad the rest of me had shrunk with the weight I’d lost over the last few weeks.

  Once inside, I pulled my jacket in, too, then wrenched the door, letting it drop back down to close the gap behind me.

  Chapter 7

  PALE MORNING SUN FILTERED through the thin gaps between the plywood on the windows as I made my way from the garage to the kitchen of the abandoned house. The air was stale and musty. The house felt unlived in inside as much as it appeared to be on the outside.

  Flicking the light switch and turning on the taps, I determined that there was no running water or electricity. The fridge was empty and perfectly clean. I went through the kitchen cabinets methodically, searching for any scraps of food that might have been left behind and finding none.

  Disheartened, I moved from the kitchen to the living room then down the hallway. Opening doors as I went, I still harboured the hope of finding a pantry stash with some canned food behind one of them.

  A dark bedroom. A bathroom. A linen closet, with bedding and towels folded neatly inside. Most of the house was furnished—a dining set in the kitchen, a couch in the living room, beds in the bedrooms.

  Was it too much to hope for a can of tuna lying around somewhere, too?

  I pushed another door open and glimpsed a bed inside yet another dark bedroom then froze, shock nailing me to the spot.

  Someone was in the bed.

  The door slowly swung open all the way, and I jumped from its soft thud against the wall. The figure on the bed didn’t stir.

  Was the person asleep?

  I ducked sideways to hide behind the wall in case they saw me. Now what? Get out of here before the owner caught me snooping around their house? Or wait until they woke up and ask for help?

  Something was not right, though. The whole idea of someone sleeping in a house that seemed completely abandoned didn’t make sense. The nagging feeling at the back of my mind formed into questions. Why was the house boarded, with no electricity, and not a crumb of food anywhere if someone actually lived here?

  Lived?

  An uneasy sensation churned in my empty stomach. Did the owner die, and I had just stumbled upon a dead body?

  No longer afraid to wake anyone up, I stepped through the doorway, entering the room. The dead didn’t scare me. Finding a corpse would be eerie and definitely unpleasant, but hardly dangerous.

  Oddly enough, there was not a trace of the stench of a decomposing body in the air inside the bedroom. Instead, a faint tendril of pleasantly spicy scent reached me along with the dusty smell of an abandoned place.

  As the rising sun filtered in through the boarded windows, it became apparent the person was a male. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt, he lay on his back with his arms stretched over
the quilt that covered him up to his chest.

  His enormous body appeared too large for the bed. Even at rest, his biceps stretched the short sleeves of his t-shirt to the limit and his shoulders spread wide.

  The thick ropes of muscles in his forearms and the hard planes of his chest straining against the t-shirt spoke of vitality and strength. Yet the eerie feeling created by his utter stillness wouldn’t leave me the more I stared at him.

  There was something ethereal in the peaceful beauty of his face and in the pale glow of his long, golden hair fanning over the pillow. The unearthly perfection of his features didn’t seem to be touched by death, even as it hardly belonged to the world of the living, either.

  The glowing beauty drew me in, making me forget any caution. I went and sat on the bed at his side.

  From close up, I noticed the near translucency of his pale skin. The shadows around his eyes and in his sunken cheeks marred his perfect features, giving him an expression of eternal suffering. My heart ached with compassion for the complete stranger in front of me.

  Only then I realized that his chest did not rise and fall.

  He was a corpse, after all. Did he die recently?

  Compelled by need to check for a pulse, I touched his neck.

  His skin was cool but soft and pliable, far from the stiffness of dead flesh. I slid my thumb along his jawline, enthralled by the exquisite sensation of his skin under my touch.

  A deep rumble rolled through the silence of the room.

  With startling speed, his hand shot to mine, pressing it to his face with crushing force. His back arched, and snarling groan tore out of his chest.

  An icy cold sensation seeped into my palm from his face then spread up my arm alarmingly fast.

  Startled into shock initially, I finally jerked on my hand in a futile attempt to yank it free. It felt like my skin fused with his face, frozen solid, filling me with cold horror.

  I jammed my knee into the mattress, leaning all the way back, away from him and off the bed.

  For a brief moment, I believed my hand slid a little under his, giving me a tiny flicker of hope. Then I recognized the grey glove on his hand. I’d seen the same ones on every guard in my basement jail at the base.

  My head swam, as my vision dimmed.

  Thick veins bulged in his neck and across his face, turning it from beautiful to terrifying.

  The last I saw before the darkness took me completely were his eyes opening wide with the white-blue light shining bright through them in the poorly lit bedroom.

  He was one of them.

  Chapter 8

  IVARR

  Pain twisted his insides, cutting sharply through his whole body. Every muscle hurt. The agony spread everywhere—from his scalp to his fingernails. He could have sworn even his hair hurt.

  A thin, delicate string of calm floated through the raging storm of pain, and he held on to the brief sense of relief it brought.

  The sight of the white ceiling came into focus, making him aware he was in his bed in his bedroom. Awake.

  Why?

  He recognized the tendril of calmness as someone else’s presence inside him. The life force of a human.

  Some poor soul had woken him up. He closed his eyes with a groan, trying to re-claim awareness from the fog of oblivion.

  Waking up brought nothing but trouble—a brief flash of relief from consuming a human life force then renewed suffering that came with falling back into Deep Sleep again.

  He sucked in another gulp of air, putting his lungs back to work after who knew how many years of idleness.

  How long had it been?

  Did it really matter?

  He dug through the few memories he could access, remembering what he had to do now. The list was short—get rid of the corpse and go back to sleep.

  Slowly, he sat up, his gaze sweeping the bed for the body of the human who woke him up.

  Nothing.

  With a sigh, he threw the covers off and swung his legs to the side. His muscles listened well enough. It was just his mind that dragged way behind.

  Getting out of bed, he almost stepped on the body but managed to halt his foot the very last moment.

  Small and thin, a form was curled on the floor by the bed, drowned by a pair of loose flannel pajamas.

  A child?

  Regret twitched painfully somewhere in the area of his heart, adding to the agony wreaking havoc on the rest of his body.

  All humans died sooner or later. However, draining children of their life before it had really begun didn’t sit well with him. The fact that he had no choice and no control over what had happened didn’t make him feel any better over this.

  He kneeled by the body.

  A female, judging by her delicate features.

  Brushing the dun-brown hair from her face, he examined it. Small, slightly upturned nose with a dusting of freckles. Full, pink lips, still slightly parted after the release of her last breath. Fooled by her size, he was surprised to find fine lines and angles of maturity on her face.

  Not a child, after all. A young woman.

  Still the heavy feeling weighing on his heart didn’t ease. Her death was useless. Completely unnecessary. And he knew humans well enough to believe that she would have preferred to live if given a choice.

  Why did you come near me?

  He sighed again. Curiosity afflicted humans of any age.

  Carefully, he hooked his arms under her knees and shoulders and lifted her up, trying to think of the most suitable way to dispose of her body.

  Her head rolled off his shoulder, and he felt a sudden, slight jerk through all of her.

  She was still alive?

  He stopped and scanned her carefully.

  A tiny, faint spark of light glimmered inside her.

  His breath hitched with shock. How was it even possible? He couldn’t remember if any human ever survived waking a sleeping demon before. True, he only had a few memories at the moment, but the newness of the notion of one actually surviving it was rather clear.

  Carefully, he lowered her on top of the covers then just stood there, staring.

  Now what?

  He had no list in his memory of what to do in this situation—a sure sign that this occurrence was irregular. How did she even manage to keep any life force to herself? He had been incapable of stopping before he took everything.

  Her position on the floor when he found her indicated that she must have broken their connection just in time somehow by falling off the bed.

  He shifted through his short stack of memories again. From what he remembered about humans, she would need sleep and food to regain her strength.

  Something else nagged at the back of his mind, something about her that was not entirely right. The thought buzzed inside his head somewhere, unable to break through the fog, and he had no choice but to let it go for now.

  Hunger hollowed him from the inside with more pain. He needed some food, too. What he took from her was not nearly enough to clear his head. And she had nothing else to give at the moment.

  Well, it’ll have to do.

  He covered her with the quilt then got some money from one of the safe places inside the house and walked to the garage to fetch his car.

  Chapter 9

  THE HEADACHE HAD RETURNED with a vengeance. I rolled my head on the pillow and regretted it immediately, as the sharp pain shot in a series of arrows through my skull. I moaned then froze with fear, scared to make another sound.

  Where was I this time?

  My eyelids were impossibly heavy, but I pried my eyes open. There was almost complete darkness. However, I recognized the room by the smell of dust and stale air. I was still in the abandoned house, lying in bed—possibly the same bed where the beautiful corpse had lain.

  The one that came to life.

  The thought jolted me out of my hazy dizziness, and I sat up. A debilitating bolt of fire exploded through my brain, making me double in half as if from a physical blow.<
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  “It will pass.” A raspy, hollow voice sounded from somewhere in the corner. “Try to avoid sudden movements . . . for now.” I heard a rustle of clothes, as though someone had gotten up.

  Was it him?

  “What do you want from me? Are you going to take me back?”

  “Back where?” He sounded confused.

  “To your base.”

  “Is that where you came from?” A slight note of interest filtered through his flat tone as he came close enough for me to see the pale outline of his tall figure in the darkness.

  He wore a grey hooded sweatshirt over the white t-shirt, a pair of drawstring pants, and the leather gloves. My gaze slid down his thighs, and I recognized the material of his pants—the grey flannel that my own pajamas were made from.

  Definitely a demon!

  My worse suspicions confirmed, I bit my tongue, fearing I already told too much and afraid to say anything more.

  “I'll get some light and food for you.” He didn’t insist on my reply to his question, I noted with relief. Then I heard the door open and close.

  Not waiting for him to come back, I threw the covers off and leaped out of bed. My head swam with a severe bout of dizziness that threw me back. My ass bounced off the edge of the mattress, and I slid to the floor in a heap.

  Dammit!

  I couldn’t even get up to all fours—my hands and knees shook so much, I collapsed face down as soon as I tried.

  What did he do to me?

  The door opened again.

  “Why are you on the floor?” The genuine puzzlement in his voice would have been comical if I could laugh at the moment.

  I turned towards the light from the candle in his hand.

  “What did you do? I can’t move.”

  He heaved a sigh.

  “You need some rest . . . and some food to regain your strength.” His voice impassive, his speech had the same halting pattern that reminded me of Garrett.