The Awakening: Liam (Entangled Covet)

by Niles, Abby

  Ava’s lifeless body was strapped to the board with leather bands that ran across her forehead, shoulders, wrists, stomach, thighs, and ankles. Bellowing in rage, he charged the glass, prepared to shatter it and kill this asshole. He rammed his body into the partition—and bounced off.

  Stunned, all he could do was stare at the barrier between him and Ava. A fresh wave of rage washed over him and he threw himself against the glass again, shooting pain through his shoulder.

  The man withdrew a syringe from his pocket. What the hell was he doing? Liam pounded on the glass. “Goddammit, leave her in peace!”

  With relentless punches, he continued to beat his fist against the surface. Thump, thump, thump ricocheted around the room.

  The man inserted the needle in the bend of her elbow. Immediately Liam’s blood heated in his veins, causing him to freeze mid-hit. Gasping, he backed away, patting his chest in disbelief. Glorious warmth spread to his extremities, burning away the darkness, until the lightness that was Ava reclaimed every recess of his body and soul. His beast lifted its head, ears tilted forward, then stood on its four legs, giving a mighty roar. A sputtered laugh burst past Liam’s lips.

  How could this be possible?

  She was dead.

  He’d seen it, felt it. Held her lifeless body in his arms, but her life force now sang in his veins, stronger than ever.

  He snapped his head up, and his gaze clashed with familiar amber eyes.

  Dea. Ava was alive!

  …

  Ava Michaels blinked against the fuzzy, bright lights with a low moan. Pain sliced through her temples and she squeezed her eyes closed. She tried to raise her hand to her forehead, but her arm refused to budge. Forcing her eyes back open, she attempted to lift her head. Again she was refused the movement.

  As her vision focused, panic replaced the pain in her head. The reflection of herself staring back at her in all its horrific glory held her transfixed.

  Her breathing escalated, coming in short, choppy spurts as terror squeezed her throat.

  Blood coated every inch of her skin and she was strapped to large plank of wood.

  She yanked against the leather. Nothing moved. No arm. No leg. Not even her head. The panic became consuming, she felt wild, caged, terrified, and she screamed.

  “Would you shut up,” an unfamiliar, irritated voice demanded.

  Snapping her mouth closed, she strained her eyes to the side, registering for the first time the other person in the room. Her gaze flew to the large window-like wall, seeing the masked man who held two syringes in his hand. One empty. One full.

  Fresh fear pumped through her veins. He’d surprised her, in her room, grabbed her, choked her. As she fought the hold he’d had on her throat, she believed she was dying. She’d been wrong. A quick death hadn’t been what he’d been after. Clearly, he had more in mind.

  Thank God Emma had been at a friend’s house.

  A muted thump came from behind the mirror. Her reflection shimmied then stilled. What kind of evil was behind that glass, wanting to get out?

  Whistling the tune to Andy Griffin, he pressed a needle into her skin.

  “D—” she licked her parched lips “—Don’t.”

  Warmth traveled up her arm then settled in her chest. The tension fled from her muscles and she slumped back to the hard surface behind her. Her eyelids grew heavy and she blinked. When the man held a glass of water to her lips, she opened her mouth and drank greedily, the tepid liquid running down her chin and throat.

  “I’m so glad you could join me.” There was an excited vibration to the man’s hand that made the cup wobble against her lips. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

  The liquid lodged in her throat and she choked, spitting some of it out of her mouth. “What kind of fun?” she asked between coughs.

  “Never you mind that, but I promise, you won’t get bored.”

  After he set the cup down, he came around to face her. The eyes that looked back at her were an unnatural neon green iris rimmed by a thick black circle. Contacts. Had to be. No one had eyes like that.

  No one human.

  “W-who are you?”

  He tsked. “Would I’ve dressed like this if I wanted you to know that?” He leaned close to her ear. “Fear of the unknown is part of the fun. Isn’t it exciting? The wondering? The questioning?”

  A slight accent underlined his words. Cajun maybe, but the deep raspy voice was completely foreign to her.

  “Why?”

  The question came out slurred. Not surprising since his movement seemed sluggish, a trail of colorful lights following each lift of his hand or turn of his body.

  “For shits and giggles, of course.”

  A roaring rushed through her ears as a wave of panic made her entire body shake. This man was flat-out crazy. She looked back at her image in woozy despair. The amount of blood she was covered in made her vision tunnel. Where had it all come from? Except a dull ache behind her eyes, and her throat was sore, she didn’t have any pain. “The blood?”

  “Ah.” Placing his hands on his hips, he stayed silence a moment before he shrugged his shoulders. “What the fuck? Letting you in on that won’t hurt anything. Blood’s not yours. I wasn’t ready to actually hurt you, so I had to get creative. I stole some pints of blood from the hospital to make it look real. Wasn’t that genius?”

  Everything was said in a pleasant, conversational manner, like grabbing a woman and pouring blood on her was an everyday occurrence. Maybe for him it was and that terrified her even more.

  “What did you have to make look real?”

  Those eerie eyes blinked at her as if he couldn’t comprehend how she wasn’t following along with his plan. “The crime scene. Jesus. How hard is it to understand that? If you’d simply vanished, everyone might think you just took off or something. Blood,” he shook his hands at her, “lets everyone know you are dead.”

  “But I didn’t die.”

  “Oh, no…you did.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. What did he mean, she had died? Had he choked her until her heart had stopped, then resuscitated her? What had he left behind to make someone think she was dead?

  Oh God…Emma. What would her little sister find?

  Her eyelids drooped and she fought to open them again. What had he given her?

  “Fantastic. The drug is working. It’s time to take a little nap, but as soon as you wake, I’ve got a surprise for you. You’re going to love it.”

  He started unbuckling the restraints. First the ones across her calves, then the ones holding down her wrists and head. He saved the ones around her upper torso and hips for last. As soon as the tension from those released, she slumped forward, hitting the ground hard. Waves of drug induced exhaustion zapped all her energy and she lay there with her cheek pressed against the cold floor as he left.

  This man was mentally troubled. The way he spoke, his mannerisms, reminded her of a hyperactive child, but there was nothing innocent about his actions. He had hurt her, would continue to hurt her. Considering his massive build, fighting him wouldn’t prove easy.

  Would she ever leave this room alive? Who would protect Emma?

  Their parents would take her back, of course. But they couldn’t protect her. They didn’t know...

  A muffled cry tore from her lips as a tear slipped out the corner of her eye. How long had she been unconscious? Hours? Days? Was her younger sister still safe or had the man threatening her life made good on his promise?

  No. She had to be safe. Ava may have disappeared, but that bastard still had what he wanted. There was no reason for him to retaliate just because Ava wasn’t around. Nothing had changed.

  Still she needed to get back to her, make certain nothing happened to her.

  With that rationalization, she fought against the drug keeping her sedated, determined to get up and escape. As she pushed up, the room pivoted wildly. Her remaining energy drained out of her and she slammed back against the floor.
>
  Minutes, maybe hours, later she awoke. A heavy feeling made her head fuzzy, but she was able to sit up and look around.

  At what? Nothing, really. The room wasn’t much to look at. All padded white walls, with a makeshift floor mat in the corner. And a door.

  As she struggled to her feet, a wave of dizziness caused her to stumble, but she regained her footing and pushed forward. Leaning against the door, she slid her palm over the metal. No knob. A prison?

  She slapped the door. Stinging pain spread through her hand, but she hit it again anyways. “Let me out!”

  When a thump came from behind her, she slowly turned toward the mirror, watching it shimmy with each strike that whoever…or whatever…was behind it inflicted on the glass. Was it a wild animal? Was that how she’d eventually die? This crazed lunatic believing he was bringing her a pet but it was some rabid creature that would rip her apart?

  Terrified at any moment the glass would shatter and some monster would be on top of her, she inched toward the half-wall on the other side of the room and eased behind it into a tiny bathroom..

  Enough for a toilet, a small shower, and sink. White towels were stacked neatly on the corner of the sink, along with a white nightshirt.

  She looked down at her blood-crusted skin and clothes. Someone else’s blood. Knowing the fluid was disease-free was small comfort. The fluid was thick on her neck and face, dried tight like a mud mask. Horrifying images of that awful man ripping open blood bags and pouring them over her while she’d been unconscious flew through her mind.

  Frantic need to get the gore off had her stripping off her sticky pajama top and pants. The slow stream of water coming from the showerhead made her scowl. It wouldn’t give her the powerful spray needed to make her feel clean, but it’d have to do.

  After she stepped under the trickle of water, she tilted her head back to wet her neck and chest first. She ran her palm down her throat and flinched at the tenderness of the skin there. Most likely from that man having his hands clamped around her neck. He’d choked her. Until she’d blacked out…maybe even died.

  She leaned her forehead on the plastic wall encasing the small shower.

  Definite mistake. The red water swirling around her feet caused her stomach to lurch as the truth hit her.

  This was really happening. This wasn’t a nightmare.

  Desperate to get the rest of the blood off, she snatched up the bar of soap and scrubbed. Then she wet her hair and used the soap to cleanse the strands. She repeated the process until the rivulets of water running down her body no longer held a pink hue, but were crystal clear. After she washed again, she turned off the spigot, grabbed a towel, and inspected every inch of her skin while she dried off.

  Not one single scratch marred her body except for the two bruises the size of a thumbprint on the inside of both thighs. Supposedly marks of ownership—not left by this man but by another. A man she’d believed to be just a man, but had learned later was a shapeshifter—the man she had loved. But nobody owned her. Nobody.

  Refusing to think of Liam, she slid the nightshirt on over her head. Thankful to see a pair of white cotton panties folded underneath, she slid those on, too, then stepped out from behind the divider.

  A muted thud came from the mirror and it shimmied again. Her reflection made her cringe. Now she knew why her throat had been so tender as she’d washed away the layer of blood. Bright purple bruises circled her neck. The soap had gnarled and matted her hair, making her look deranged. Maybe she would go mad before this was all through.

  The room suddenly went black. Her breathing stopped. A total darkness. Terrifying. Disorienting.

  Then the room filled with light The unexpected brightness caused her to flinch. As her vision focused, her mouth parted on a stunned gasp.

  The mirror that once made up the entire wall had disappeared.

  Pressed against a pane of clear glass, blood covering him and a look of savage rage twisting his handsome face, was the only person, besides herself, who could keep her sister alive.

  Liam.

  …

  Liam knew the moment Ava could see him. The pure astonishment rounding her eyes gave her away as she stood frozen. Though the glass prevented him from hearing her, he made out the one word she uttered by the way her mouth closed around it.

  No.

  When he placed his palms on the glass, her bottom lip trembled then her face crumbled as she slumped to her knees, arms wrapped around her middle, rocking. Aching to gather her in his arms, to comfort her, he cursed the barrier that made it impossible.

  Tears streaked her face as she mouthed the word, “Why?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t know why. He was still reeling from feeling her death and rebirth inside him. How had she died within him when she really hadn’t? Never had he heard of such torment happening to another bonded shifter.

  But she was alive, and that was all that mattered.

  Suddenly, she whipped her head around to look in another direction then shot to her feet as the masked man walked in. Liam banged against the glass. “Leave her alone!”

  Backing up, she kept distance between her and the man, who blocked her only means of escape. When she darted to the left, trying to dodge past him, he grabbed her around the waist. She kicked, twisted, and bit, but couldn’t break the hold he had on her as he dragged her to the door.

  Liam pounded the glass. Bang, bang, bang. “No!”

  His beast roared, lunging forward in snarling, spitting rage. And for the first time in months, the prickle of change erupted under his skin. The sensation stunned him into silence and he took a step back from the window, arms wide, breathing heavily as he stared down at his body. The feeling was over as quickly as it had started, but his beast still displayed its fury within.

  Liam snapped his head up in time to see the door in the other room close. Ava was gone. The room was empty.

  Citrus erupted in his mouth as her terror iced the blood running in his veins. His muscles started to lock, her feelings beckoning him into oblivion. With a stuttered inhale, he closed his eyes.

  “It’s her. Not you,” he muttered, repeating the familiar mantra, needing to hear his own voice, anything to keep himself grounded in this reality and not at the mercy of his body.

  For what felt like hours, he stared at the empty room across from his, battling her desperation, rage, and fright, bobbing in and out of her emotions like a buoy in rough waters until he felt beaten alive. Then the darkness crept back in, replacing her essence with emptiness.

  He ground his molars against the burn at the back of his eyes.

  What had the bastard done to her? Was she really dead this time? No. There was no way he’d found out she was alive, only to lose her for real.

  Time passed, how long he’d never know, as he waited to feel anything from her—a twinge, a flutter, anything. But he was empty again. Unable to stay still, he paced the room, wanting to rip something apart.

  A movement in her room stopped him in mid-stride. The masked man carried a limp Ava to the floor mat, laid her down, then left the room. Liam crossed over to the glass, staring at her lifeless body. One arm had flopped over the side of mat, while the other lay across her midsection. Her chest failed to rise and fall. No movements twitched her face. She was so still. So deathly still.

  Lowering to the floor, he wished he could reach through the glass and take her hand. But he’d have to make do with being this close to her—so close, but miles away.

  He closed his eyes. Please, Dea, please, let her wake.

  Chapter 3

  Ava rolled onto her side. A feeling of déjà vu went through her as a wave of nausea lurched in her stomach and she clutched her middle, moaning. What did this maniac keep injecting her with? Would the drugs have life-altering side effects?

  Would she live long enough to find out?

  The game he’d just made her play had let her know just how truly sick this man was. After he’d dragged her to the other room, he
’d apologized for being so rough and asked if she was okay. Not knowing how to respond, she’d only given a jerky nod. A gleeful gleam had entered his eerie eyes as he explained the rules of the game—a game of chase.

  The open door had been too tempting to resist, and she’d bolted. She’d made it out into the hallway before he caught her and brought her back to the “starting line.”After a “ready, set, go!” the game would start again. Over and over. And each time he caught her, his was rougher as if some fury was starting to build within him, begging to be unleashed. The switch in his emotions had terrified her more than anything. When he’d finally grown tired of his cat and mouse game, he’d forced her to the floor, straddled her body, and jabbed a needle into her neck.

  Then she’d been lost to the darkness again.

  Slowly she rose up on her elbow, seeing she was back in the first room. Flashes of Liam, covered in blood, in a complete rage, went through her mind. Had he been a drug-induced hallucination?

  She twisted to look behind her and a pained moan shot from between her lips. He hadn’t been an illusion. He was here. Liam was here.

  And Emma was in danger.

  He rose up on his knees and pressed his palms against the glass separating them. Harsh lines etched his face, making him appear much older than his thirty-four years. Deep purple stained the skin under his bloodshot eyes, but a small smile suddenly tipped up the corners of his lips. Her heart caught, then squeezed tight.

  Gingerly, she moved a couple of inches forward and laid her cheek against the glass. The action was selfish, weak even, but she needed to feel close to someone else right now—even if that someone was the last person she should be seeking comfort from.

  When he shifted forward until his torso flattened against the clear pane, she closed her eyes and imagined the feel of his heart beating against her cheek, his warmth…his strength.

  Why was he here too? Was it at all possible this was connected to the threats against Emma? Possibly. But there was one clear difference between the man who held Ava captive and the one who threatened her sister. That man wasn’t insane. No, he was very sane, articulate, calculating. He didn’t play children’s games to instill fear, he was fear.