by Lynch, H. G.
A hand shot out of the shadows as I passed an alleyway between two buildings, and clamped over my mouth. I was shoved roughly back against a wall, and the other hand held something sharp and cold against my neck—a knife. My eyes widened, and my nostrils flared as I sucked in desperate, panicked breaths. I couldn’t see the guy holding me—he was wearing a hoodie—but I could tell it was a man by the large, rough hand over my mouth and the sheer size of him. He was just a hulking silhouette in the dark.
My panic made me wild, and I pulled the key-chain from my pocket and slashed it madly toward where I assumed his face was. Angrily, he smacked the keys out of my hand and onto the ground, and pressed the knife harder against my throat, so I felt a small, sharp pain as it sliced my skin.
“Play nice, or else I’m going to fuck you and then gut you like a fish,” he snarled in a low, gravelly voice.
My heart froze, and so did the rest of me. The guy chuckled darkly, running his free hand down my arm. I wanted to cringe away, to punch him in the face, but I couldn’t move.
He patted my cheek with a callused hand. “Good girl. I just need you to take a little message to your boyfriend. Got it? Now, I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. If you scream, I’ll cut your tongue out.”
My eyes searched wildly for some escape, but part of my brain was stumbling over his words. Boyfriend? Does he think I am someone else? Is that what this was?
He removed his hand, and I sucked in a deep breath, but I held back my scream—barely. Instead, I said quickly, “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not who you’re looking for so please, please just let me go.”
The guy growled, and before I knew what was coming, pain exploded across my cheek and my head cracked off the wall at my back. I gasped, gagging on agony and the taste of my own blood. My vision blurred, and for a second, all I could do was think in shock, The bastard just hit me. He just hit me.
Then I got angry. He just fucking hit me! I glared into his hood, unsure he could see it in the dimness, and spat blood from my burst lip toward his face. He made a disgusted sound and lifted his hand to hit me again, but I jerked my knee up into his groin. He groaned, the hand holding the knife to my throat wavering. I took the chance to try to escape, but before I could even take a step, he slammed me back against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of me, and dug the edge of the knife against my neck.
“You little bitch!” he snarled. “See for that, I’m going to make this extra slow.”
For a second, I didn’t know what he meant, and then I felt his fingers fumbling with the button on my jeans in the dark. My stomach turned over so hard, I tasted bile in the back of my throat, and my panic roared up anew. I kicked and thrashed as best I could without cutting myself more on the blade at my throat, but he backhanded me again, and I saw stars. While I was too dazed to fight back, he got my jeans button undone and shoved the denim down around my knees. I hiccupped a sob, and he reached for his own fly, laughing horribly.
“You tell your boyfriend, Red said this was payback for what he did to his boys.”
I barely heard the words. I was hyperventilating, my chest heaving, the night air cold on my exposed thighs. Tears ran down my face, and I whispered over and over, “Please, please, let me go, don’t do this.”
But of course, he didn’t listen. I looked up at the glowing windows of the building on the other side of the alley—Brogan’s building, I realised. I’d gotten so close. I heard the sound of the man’s zip being yanked down, felt his hand slide up my thigh, and had to swallow down bile. I closed my eyes, crying silently, wishing, praying, waiting.
The horror I was waiting for didn’t come. Suddenly, the man’s hand and the knife at my throat were gone, and my eyes flew open at the sound of a masculine scream of pain. My eyes were still blurry with tears, so it took me a moment to figure out what I was seeing—two figures on the street, one crouched over the other. The one on top was slamming his fist repeatedly into the other one’s face with vicious intent and force.
I blinked a couple more times, and in the dim glow of a half-lit streetlight, I could see that the guy on the ground was wearing a hoodie—my attacker. The guy above him had his back to me as he pummelled the scumbag into the concrete. He stopped punching and leaned down, something glinting in his hand. With a start, I realised it was knife the scumbag had been holding to my throat. My saviour had it, and he ran the tip of it down the man’s cheek, drawing a line of blood, while my attacker gurgled in pain and protest.
In a low, dark voice that sounded barely human, my rescuer snarled at the man on the ground, “You tell Red that if he or any of his guys come anywhere near me or my girl again, I will rip his life apart inch by inch, and then I will do the same to his body. Got it?”
The guy on the ground nodded miserably, choking on his own blood. My rescuer dropped the knife, lifted the man clear off the ground and threw him, like a tennis ball, straight across the street and into a car parked there. The scumbag hit the car with so much force that the windows shattered, and he left a dent in the metal as he slumped to the ground, the car alarm wailing.
I blinked hard, trying to figure out what I’d just seen. There was no way anyone could throw a full-grown man like that, as if he was a ragdoll. It was impossible, unnatural. My saviour turned to me, and I gasped. I found myself staring into a pair of bright violet eyes, glowing like car headlights and illuminating the rest of his face, unruly black hair, fine cheekbones, lush lips…and long, deadly fangs.
“Kester?” Brogan said my name softly as he approached me, his expression turning gentle. He held his hands up as if he was trying not to scare me, but it was too late for that. I’d just seen him toss a two-hundred pound man fifteen feet, into a car, hard enough to leave a dent. And his eyes…his teeth… It couldn’t be real. I was hallucinating or something. That was it. I’d never been rescued at all, and my mind was distracting me with this vision to keep me from thinking about what that bastard was doing to my body right now.
“Kester, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s Brogan. You’re safe now,” he murmured, all in that same, soothing tone.
He was almost close enough to touch me, and I cringed away, stumbling. My jeans were still around my knees. Horror and shame made my face burn as I yanked them up, my trembling hands unable to do the button. Brogan stopped where he was, watching me with luminous eyes, his expression a tangled mess of rage, fear, sadness, and concern.
Despite my terror, I couldn’t look away from his eyes, so beautiful, so strange. Slowly, I felt my body react to his presence and his gaze—my heart rate slowed, the fear ebbing away, the adrenaline waning. I didn’t know how he was doing it, but he was calming me down, comforting me, without even touching me.
That was when I realised it wasn’t a vision; it was all real. Even my mind couldn’t conjure up the feelings of relief and comfort. The same sort of odd comfort I’d felt sitting with him in Subway earlier.
However, the realisation shattered the spell, and my stomach heaved. I turned and bent over as the Cornflakes I’d had for dinner came back up. I pressed my hands flat against the wall as my knees shook, and my whole body quaked. My stomach spasmed again and again until there was nothing left to throw up but bile. My throat was burning, tears were scorching my cheeks, and I was almost too weak to stand. Gasping, I leaned my sweaty forehead against the cold stone wall, shaking so badly I felt as if I was having a seizure. Carefully, a hand touched my shoulder, and I flinched, but I was too tired and unsteady on my feet to move away.
“Come on, Kester. Let’s get you out of here,” Brogan murmured.
When I didn’t argue, he took me by the elbow to turn me around. I looked up at him and realised his eyes were no longer glowing, and his teeth looked very white but blunt.
“Can you walk?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, took a step, and felt my knees give out under me.
Brogan caught me easily, his breath warming the back of my
neck as he whispered, “I’ll take that as a no.” He swung me up into his arms, and carried me out of the alleyway, pausing to kick the knife into a storm drain by the kerb.
I curled against his warm, solid body, too exhausted to be afraid of him. I was just glad he was there. I felt safe in his arms, so I let go of the last of my energy, and passed out against his chest.
Chapter Fifteen
** Brogan **
Shit, shit, shit. That was the only thing I could think as I paced around the flat, waiting for Kester to wake up, dreading her fear and her questions. How could I explain what I was to her? She’d think I was a monster, a sick freak. Or just plain crazy. I didn’t know which was worse. I just knew I couldn’t stand it if she hated me after.
I quit pacing and dropped onto the sofa, knotting my fists in my hair, and the image of how she’d looked when I’d Flash-Travelled onto the street haunted me; pinned against the wall by that disgusting brute, her jeans around her knees, tears and terror streaking her face. Just thinking about it made rage, hot and liquid as molten lava, race through my veins. It made the Dark Hunger roar for blood, that man’s blood—one of Red’s goons. Every cell in my body was on fire with fury, and I wanted more than anything to go back out there, find that fucker, and kill him. Actually fucking kill him. Rip him apart piece by piece and feed him his own balls, break every finger he’d touched her with.
The only reason I hadn’t was because, in some tiny still-sane part of my brain, I’d known that Kez was watching, and she’d never let me near her again if she saw me kill a man—even in her defence.
I’d never felt like that before. Sure, I’d been angry before, a hundred times. I’d been blind with rage when I’d found Brent dead in a mess of blood and sheets. However, this was deeper—this was a protective instinct I’d never known I had. It was the beast inside gnashing his teeth with fury that someone had tried to hurt…his girl.
Oh, hell. Oh, fuck.
The beast fucking wanted her. That Hungry creature inside my skin had claimed her. No wonder I was so messed up over her. The beast had latched onto her because it liked her taste, her scent, and I didn’t know how to undo that. Whatever the beast wanted, I wanted. It was a fucked up, symbiotic kind of relationship, me and this Hunger. I was screwed because Kester was going to walk away from me as soon as she woke up and I explained what I was, and I fucking needed her.
The Hunger wouldn’t let her walk away, but I also couldn’t make her stay.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I spat, lurching to my feet. Before I could start pacing again, though, I heard a whimper down the hall, and I raced to my room. Kez was sitting up in my bed, dazedly looking around as if she’d never seen the place. Then she spotted me in the doorway, and she froze, her eyes going wide. I could practically taste the fear around her. I could only feed on Lust, but I could sense other strong emotions occasionally, and Kester was putting out enough Fear to feed a whole army of Wraiths.
I came into the room slowly, trying not to look intimidating, but it was kind of hard. I’m six-foot-three of pure muscle, and she’s tiny. Amazingly, though, despite the fear she was emanating, she didn’t cringe away from me when I reached the bed. I flipped on the lamp on the bedside table, and sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, keeping my eyes on her, watching for a sign that she was about to either run or attack me—fight or flight.
Although she was breathing fast, and her muscles were locked, she didn’t run. I was impressed by her courage. I’d met full-grown men who’d pissed themselves at the sight of me when I’d Turned. When I’d let the beast out completely. I knew I was scary when I did that—glowing eyes, fangs, the whole shebang—but I’d needed the extra strength to get that asshole away from Kez.
In the light of the bedside lamp, she stared at me with those green eyes, her golden hair tangled, and the black streak in her fringe falling into her lashes. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed in red, her black eyeliner smeared down her face, her cheeks tear-stained. Even then, she was sort of beautiful—in a homeless Goth sort of way.
“Wh-what are you?” she whispered.
I closed my eyes briefly. That was the question I’d been dreading most. I didn’t know how to tell her, except to just say it. “I’m an Incubus,” I told her roughly. The words felt all wrong in my mouth. I’d never had to say them before. Jet had taken one look at me when we’d met and just known—one of his magical godly powers, I guess.
Kester continued to stare at me, and I watched her, waiting for a flicker in her expression to tell me she’d even heard me. Then she nodded, slowly, and said flatly, “An Incubus. As in, a vampire who creeps in bedroom windows to have sex with unwitting women.”
I winced. Mythology hadn’t done my kind justice. “No, not quite. I don’t crawl in bedroom windows for a start. An Incubus…I guess we are sort of like vampires, but we don’t feed on blood.” Not strictly a lie. I’d never fed on blood, though my Dark Hunger wanted it. We feed on…Lust. We can taste it. Eat it. Absorb it, I suppose.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I could tell she was thinking about all the times we’d met up, all the times she’d been longing for me to touch her, and I’d been able to tell. Her face flushed dark pink, and her lips thinned. Oh, she didn’t like that one bit.
I half expected her to slap me, but she gritted her teeth and said, “That’s why you sleep around. To feed off the girls you’re with.”
There was disgust in her voice, and my stomach clenched with the feeling that it was going to get worse before it got better. I nodded carefully. “That’s a big part of it, yes. I need to feed a few times a week. I don’t always have to sleep with the girls, though they are naturally drawn to me because of my…aura or whatever. My uncle called it The Pull. Anyway, sometimes, just being around people who’re horny gives me enough juice to make it a few days. That’s why I like clubs, like Grimshade. They’re always full of people wanting to get their kicks off.”
“So you’ve been hanging around me to, what, snack on me?”
Shit, she was getting really angry. “No!” I said quickly. “Not entirely. I…it’s hard to explain.” I couldn’t tell her my beast had claimed her, not yet. She’d really lose it then.
Her eyes flared, and she clenched her fists. “Then find a way to fucking explain!” she snapped.
I held up my hands in surrender—or self-defence. She really looked as if she might hit me. “Look, I don’t really understand it myself. All I know is, you’re different from the other girls. There’s something about you that just…” I trailed off, seeing the sceptical look on her face. I sighed. “I know it sounds cheesy, but I swear I’m telling you the truth. I…I just…” Fuck, just spit it out, you pussy! “I like you,” I blurted. “I mean, I—”
That was when she hit me. It was good, fast swing. Though I could have caught it, I let her do it. She landed her fist solidly just under my cheekbone. It was a decent hit, and I rubbed my cheek at the sting.
“You bastard!” she screamed and lunged at me again.
That time, I stopped her. I grabbed her wrists as she flung herself at me, and she shrieked in outrage, struggling against my grasp until she wore herself out. When she stopped fighting, breathing hard, I let her go. She rocked back and slammed both boots into my ribs, knocking me off the bed. I landed on the floor in a heap, one foot still up on the edge of the mattress, and stared at the ceiling. Then I started laughing, holding my ribs with one arm because, damn, those boots gave a solid kick. If I wasn’t an Incubus, she’d have broken a rib.
Kez leaned over the edge of the bed cautiously, scowling down at me, and I knew I should stop laughing, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t believe the tiny creature had just kicked me off my own bed after I’d possibly just saved her life.
After a second of watching me spasming with laughter on the floor, she finally cracked a reluctant smile. “Incubus—Nil. Badass boots—One.”
I rolled onto my side, grinning like a fool, and sat up. My ribs ached a bit, and I gave her
a wry smile. “You’ve got a hell of a kick.”
She seemed pleased by that and gave me a smug smile in return. However, it faded quickly, and her eyes turned anxious again. “Brogan? How did you know I was in trouble?” she asked softly, apparently giving up on beating my ass for a moment.
I sighed. I’d been surprised when I heard her cries for help—not with my ears, but with my brain. It started as a sudden headache, followed by a buzzing sound in my ears, and then the buzzing turned into words. Oh, god, no, please help me, don’t let this happen to me, please no. It had taken me roughly twenty seconds to figure out what was going on. Twenty seconds I had wasted standing around like an idiot. Twenty seconds that easily could have made me too late to save her. I’d almost been too late as it was.
“Brogan?” Kester murmured.
I looked up at her, saw her eyes shining with unshed tears, and my heart clenched. I stood up and slid onto the bed with her. She let me put an arm around her, and slowly she relaxed into my side. I let out an internal sigh of relief—maybe she wouldn’t flee from me in terror after all.
Quietly, I said, “I heard you begging for help…in my head. I heard your voice. Your…thoughts, I guess. I can’t normally do that, but I suppose since I’ve been dropping into your dreams so often, I’m sort of attuned to your mind in a way…” I had no idea if that was true. I was making the shit up as I went along, but it sounded like it made sense. I had nobody to ask about it, not anymore. Not unless Jet could tell me something. Suddenly, Kester pushed me away and stared at me with her mouth open, and I realised I’d said something I really shouldn’t have. Oh, shit.