Challa

by Linda Mooney

  A sob rose in her chest but got lodged directly above her heart. The pain was hot and fierce, forcing Challa to turn away and look back out the side window so he wouldn’t see the agony spiking on her face. He may be able to smell her scent, but because he wasn’t Ruinos, he couldn’t detect her emotions like she could him.

  Because he isn’t Ruinos.

  Maybe the line won’t form because he’s human. The truck hit a rut in the road. Compton reached out to grab her by the arm to keep her from being jarred. His hand sent a blanket of warmth through her.

  “Sorry. I thought I’d dodged it.”

  “’S okay.”

  Maybe he really is my blood mate, but because he’s human—

  “Oh, shit.”

  Compton’s remark made her sit up and look out the front windshield.

  It looked like they were pulling up to the town’s own version of a carnival and sideshow, complete with colorful characters standing outside the sheriff’s office. Challa recognized several vehicles as belonging to carnie personnel.

  “Looks like they’re waiting for us,” Compton said.

  He pulled into the first empty slot and parked. Before Challa could open the door, he took her arm. “It’s going to be okay, Challa. Short and sweet, it was a case of self-defense. I’ll testify to that in court if I have to.”

  They exited the truck, and Compton waited for her on the sidewalk in front of the insurance office. Together they approached the city jail, but before they could get to the door, Lawson Hall stepped out onto the sidewalk. He nearly did a double-take to see her coming toward him. “Where the fuck have you been?” His face was dark with anger, and the air was rank with its acrid scent.

  Compton’s arm immediately went around her shoulders. His silent, sturdy presence kept her from bolting. They both halted next to a parking meter as a tall, slender man wearing a badge and a uniform, as well as an air of authority, exited the building, along with two of his deputies. The tag above the pocket of his starched shirt read L. Barstow.

  The sheriff squinted at Compton, then at Challa. “Hello, Compton.”

  Compton gave a little nod. “Larry.”

  “I’m a bit busy at the mo—”

  “I asked you a question,” Lawson interrupted, taking a step toward Challa. “Where the hell have you been? Where’d you go last night? We’ve been looking all over this county for you!”

  Instead of answering, Challa instinctively tried to back away but Compton’s hold on her was firm. And protective.

  Barstow placed a hand on the carnival owner’s shoulder. “Is this the girl?”

  Lawson paused and gave a little nod. “Yeah. That’s her. Challa.”

  “Challa Doon,” Compton supplied.

  Challa was aware of how the sheriff and Compton traded looks before the sheriff gestured toward the front door. “Why don’t we take this inside?”

  Lawson moved closer to hiss, “Just remember what I told you.”

  She nodded as Compton guided her into the sheriff’s office and deliberately placed himself between her and Lawson. The move sent another wave of warmth lapping over her heart.

  Sheriff Barstow led her and Compton through a room, and into an office that held a desk and two chairs, one of which was behind the desk. Compton made it clear she was to take the only other empty seat. The room quickly filled up, including two deputies, Lawson Hall, and a couple of the men Lawson always had with him when he was “conducting business”. Over by the corner she spotted Army, who gave her a little smile.

  “All right. Before any of this gets out of hand, Compton, you want to tell us if you and Challa are here together?”

  “That’s affirmative, Larry. I’m also here as a witness to what occurred last night,” Compton answered.

  Surprised, Challa looked up at the man standing behind her. A man who seemed to have emerged from out of thin air. A man who was different from the one she thought she knew. From the one who had made such passionate love to her.

  This new Compton spoke with the assurance of a man in charge, of a man accustomed to taking charge and giving unbending orders. His attitude had become rock-solid, no-nonsense. Even his voice was a different timbre—deeper and rougher. The scent of baked bread told her he felt fully confident and in control, regardless of the outcome.

  Sheriff Barstow leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you know we’ve been searching for this young lady ever since she amputated Wally McGinty’s hand last night?”

  “I figured you might be,” Compton admitted without sounding contrite. The baked bread smell became tinged with telltale saltiness. He was more than sure of himself. He was determined. Determined not to let anything happen to her.

  Challa took a mental step back. Compton was being protective of her, as a Ruinos male would be of his mate. The comparison was unavoidable.

  “You kidnapped her!” Lawson jumped in. Red-faced, he pointed a finger in Compton’s direction. “What the hell did you do to her? What did you say to her to make her go with you, you son of a bitch?”

  Rather than look at Lawson, Compton kept his gaze on the sheriff. His voice remained easy and unruffled. “I was heading back to where I’d parked my truck, and I found Challa hiding in the field. She was scared out of her mind and covered in blood. I told her she needed to go to the sheriff’s office and tell them what happened. I was there, Larry. I saw what happened.”

  “So why didn’t you bring her in?” Barstow asked.

  Challa glanced from Compton to the sheriff, and back. It was clear these two men had a history together, as well as a shared mutual respect.

  “Things were a bit too panic-stricken,” Compton replied. “I felt it would be better to wait a while until things calmed down a bit before bringing her in. Besides, Challa was a mess. She was scared to death, and I wasn’t going to push it.”

  “He kidnapped her!” Lawson shouted again. “He kept her hostage somewhere last night and only brought her back here today because he knew we were looking for her!”

  The sheriff turned his attention to her. “How old are you, Challa Doon?”

  “Twenty.” It was the age Lawson had told her to give, considering she was unable to reconcile her Ruinos age to a human one.

  “Did you go willingly with Mr. Scott last night?”

  This one she could answer without hesitation. “Yes.”

  Barstow nodded, apparently satisfied so far. Challa caught a whiff of affirmation coming from the man. “She’s a legal adult, Mr. Hall. You can’t make a kidnapping charge stick unless she’s underage, even if she did admit to having free will. All right. Let’s get down to brass tacks. Challa, tell me what happened last night.”

  “That bastard tried to attack her!” Lawson interjected. “He jumped my guard and crawled up on the stage!”

  Barstow signaled to his deputies. “Please escort Mr. Hall into the outer office so we can take Ms. Doon’s statement without further interruption.” He waited until Lawson was gone before coming back to her. “Sorry about that. Please continue.”

  Challa took a deep breath to assess the temperament of everyone in the room. There wasn’t anything she could smell that would warn her of any possible problems, now that Lawson was gone. Taking it as a good sign, she addressed the sheriff face-to-face.

  “I went to do my show. The crowd started taunting me and throwing things at me.”

  “What did they throw at you?” Barstow questioned.

  “Nothing bad. Straws and paper, mostly. I’m used to it.”

  “Did Mr. McGinty throw anything at you?”

  “I don’t know. Most of the time I ignore it.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Go on.”

  “They were yelling things at me. That’s pretty common, too. But then a couple of them tried to get closer to my cage.”

  “Was Mr. McGinty one of them?”

  “Yeah. Him and one other guy. But Army’s pretty good about keeping the crowd away from the stage.” />
  “Army?”

  “Armstrong Beecher,” Challa explained. “He’s in charge of taking care of the animals. He and a couple of the others trade off being my bodyguard.”

  “Is he one of the men who accompanied Mr. Hall here today?” Barstow asked.

  “Yeah. He’s the blond one.”

  “Okay. Continue.”

  She took another deep sniff. A faint banana smell was emanating from Compton, but otherwise the room seemed odorless. “The other guy started to advance toward the cage. Army moved to stop him. That’s when…McGinty?”

  “Wallace McGinty. Folks call him ‘Wally’. His father works at the co-op,” Compton whispered down to her.

  “That’s when McGinty jumped the stage on the other side of the tent. I had my hands sticking out from between the bars at that point. It’s part of the act. I wasn’t expecting him to get that close.”

  There was a loud click.

  “Hold on.” The sheriff moved aside and fiddled with a recording device sitting on top of his desk. After a few seconds, she heard another click, and Barstow said, “Okay. Go on. You said McGinty jumped the stage.”

  “Yeah. Then he managed to grab my arm.”

  “Where?”

  She wrapped her fingers around her right arm, just above her wrist. “Here. Like this.”

  “Then what did you do?” Barstow said.

  “I told him to let me go.”

  “Did McGinty say anything to you?”

  * * * *

  In the two years she had been working her act, many had tried to get up on the stage. No one had succeeded. Until now.

  The man was rank with alcoholic fumes. He was big and strong. His eyes were bloodshot, and his grip threatened to break her arm with a flick of his wrist.

  “It’s fake! The costume’s a fake!”

  His thumbnail literally scraped away a layer of her skin until she bled.

  “What’s wrong with you, bitch? Do you really look like this? Huh? Are you really a fucking alien?” His words were slurred. There was no telling what the guy would do next, and that’s what terrified her. All she could see were teeth, spittle, and the sweat shining in beads on his upper lip.

  “Let me go.” She tried to pull away but his hand was a shackle. “Let me go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She was on the verge of panic, and Army was nowhere to be seen. The tent was noisy with hoots and screams that made her head ring. And Compton. Where was Compton?

  The man gave her arm a tug. “Come here, bitch. Let me get a good, close look at those teeth.”

  “Let me go!” She tugged again, and this time her defiance infuriated him. He lifted his other hand and reached for her.

  “Quit struggling, you bitch! I wanna see what your wings are made of!”

  “Let me go! Don’t make me hurt you!”

  “Oh, yeah, right. Come here! What am I gonna hafta do? Tear the fucking things offa ya?”

  He meant to hurt her, and she knew he would have no qualms about doing so. He was like the Arra, who doled out pain and terror without any regard for the prisoner.

  Challa snarled, no longer playing the part. Something inside her opened up and her Ruinos self stepped forward to protect herself. She hissed, showing him her sharp teeth, distracting him from seeing her other hand coming down fast and hard, slicing through his wrist with ease.

  The man shrieked as blood pumped out of the stump. Challa quickly tore the detached hand from her arm and threw it back at the man, who was screaming now at the top of his lungs.

  “Just you wait, bitch! Oh my God, my arm! You cut off my arm! Just you wait! I’m going to get you for this, you fucking cunt! Just you wait! Oh, Jesus, my arm!”

  * * * *

  “Yes. He said, ‘Just you wait, bitch.’”

  “‘Just you wait, bitch.’?” the sheriff repeated. “Any idea why he would say that?”

  Challa shook her head. “I don’t know why he said it. I don’t know what he meant. I just remember he wouldn’t let go of me, and he was hurting me. And he stunk so badly.”

  “Stunk? Of what?”

  “Alcohol. Beer.”

  “The carnival doesn’t have a license to sell alcohol,” Barstow stated. “We’re a dry county.”

  Compton interrupted. “You know as well as I do it’s just a six-mile drive over the county line to Mickelworth’s. I noticed a lot of kids lugging their own bottles and cans onto the grounds. With an open area like that, it would be practically impossible to prevent the stuff from coming in.”

  “Not to mention what they may have imbibed beforehand,” Barstow conceded, turning back to Challa. “So far everything you’ve told me is a repeat of what others have said. I also know for a fact that McGinty’s blood alcohol level was nearly twice the legal limit when they tested him at the clinic. So far your testimony backs what I’ve learned. Okay. To recap, he jumped onto the stage and grabbed you. You asked him to let you go but he refused. Then what happened?”

  “I reached for his arm with my other hand to try to get him off of me, and…I…I cut off his hand.” Challa stopped and dropped her gaze to her lap. “I didn’t intend to. Please believe me. But he was hurting me.”

  Pushing himself off the desk, Barstow walked around to the other side to shut off the recorder. “Last I heard McGinty’s over at Methodist General in Shaffer. The doctors are trying to reattach his hand, but even if they do, the boy’s football days are over. Shame. Wally had a decent shot at a scholarship at NESU. Oh, well.” He shrugged. “Sounds like an open-and-shut case of self-defense.” He eyed Compton. “Is that what you were going to say, too?”

  “Yeah. So you’re not going to press charges?” Compton added.

  “No. I checked the tent out last night. The cage is on a platform, above the audience, and other witnesses have corroborating testimonies, saying that there was a bouncer on duty. With Challa inside the cage doing her act, she clearly wasn’t the one who instigated the attack. And Brian, he’s the other young man who was with Wally. The one who acted as the decoy. Brian confessed that he and several others, including Wally, had been drinking before they went to the carnival. No. I’m satisfied.” Barstow looked at Challa. “You’re free to go.”

  “What about the man whose hand I cut off?” Challa asked as she got to her feet.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Seems to me he has no one to blame but himself. Speaking of,” Barstow narrowed his eyes, “I need to confiscate that glove you wore. The one with the blades on it that you cut him with.”

  Challa felt Compton’s eyes boring into her back as she nodded. “I-I threw it somewhere in the field last night. It had blood on it and…” She made a helpless gesture.

  The sheriff nodded. “I’ll send a deputy over to look for it. Thanks for coming in. And, Compton? Thanks for bringing her.”

  Challa watched as the two men shook hands before Compton placed a hand at her back and guided her out of the office. As she expected, Lawson was waiting for her.

  “Well?”

  “The sheriff isn’t pressing any charges,” she told him and watched as the carnival owner visibly relaxed.

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Come on, Challa. We need to get back to the show. Act four’s tonight,” Lawson ordered her, casting an eye at Compton.

  “I will,” she promised. “Wait for me outside, would you?”

  “Wait?” Compton paused in surprise as Lawson left. “What do you mean, wait for you? Challa?”

  Challa turned around to face him. “Compton, I can’t leave the carnival and my friends without telling them goodbye. You understand, right?”

  He acquiesced. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have thought of that. Want me to follow?”

  “No.” She gave him what she hoped would be a warm smile. “We have one more show tonight. Are you coming?”

  “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” he promised.

  “I’m glad. I’ll feel much safer knowing y
ou’ll be there. All right. Tonight then. I’ll have everything packed and ready after the show.”

  She waited for his warm kiss, not caring who would see them. Not even Lawson, if he happened to walk back in. Challa took a deep breath, soaking his orange scent into her cells, into her blood. When he pulled away, she could give him a smile that was filled with love.

  “Be careful, Challa. I love you,” he murmured.

  “You, too, t’kor.”

  She memorized his face and the light in his brown eyes, then turned and walked out of the jailhouse, knowing she would never see him again.

  Chapter 21

  Separation

  Do you know what my world does to people like you?

  Outside the sun was brightly shining, the air was cool, and the smell of fall was in the air. To most everyone, it was a Chamber of Commerce day. Unfortunately, Challa could not appreciate the picture perfect morning when her soul was shriveling in blackness.

  Lawson’s phone rang. Challa had come to hate hearing its doorbell ding-dong chime.

  “Yeah? You got it. Start pulling stakes. The sheriff cleared her of any wrongdoing, so we don’t have to worry about the authorities putting out any roadblocks or anything looking for her. Okay. Fine. We’re on our way back now. Be there in a jiffy.” He hung up and shoved the cell back into his shirt pocket.

  She kept waiting for his tirade, for the threats and accusations. But to be honest, Challa didn’t care anymore. Nothing he would ever say to her would hurt as bad as she did now. Nothing he could ever do to “teach her a lesson” would rip her apart inside the way she was being torn this minute.

  Compton.

  Even the thought of his name squeezed all the hope from her. Fortunately, Lawson mistook the reason for her tears.

  “You damn well better be crying, young lady. After what you put me through. You’re damn lucky that sheriff didn’t throw you in jail. And then where would you be, huh? How long would you have been able to stay in there before you were forced to turn back into what you really are, huh? Answer me!”