by Eve Langlais
Out of the shadows steps a demon, a nightmarish creature with leathery gray skin, burning eyes, and a hulking body.
I do not even feel a quiver. I fear no evil. I am the light against it. “Step aside, foul creature from Hell,” I order.
The squat and ugly demon laughs instead. “If it isn’t the favored one. We’ve been waiting for you.”
How did they know I’d be here? Had I been betrayed?
Surely not…
The first hint of fear almost makes me shiver.
But I will not show it.
My sense of bravery means I won’t back down even as I am screaming inside to run away. I never run from the danger. And thus, the reason for what happens to me next. “You are no match for me, demon.”
But her dream persona was wrong. And that demon wasn’t alone.
Adara—all sides of her—screamed even as her body slept, the sound so high-pitched, so haunting in its misery, it sliced through the night and the minds of those able to hear.
It rolled out in an incoherent call, one full of misery, a request that begged.
Help me.
Chapter Six
“If that’s all the business we have for tonight?” Logan glanced around the room at his packmates. The meeting had gone quickly—once he arrived late from his patrol.
Before anyone could reply, his skin goose pimpled. His head swiveled toward the door, and he frowned.
Do I hear screaming? A shiver ran through his body like the shadowy step of death on his grave. For a moment, he felt an urge to run to the woman’s apartment. To check that she was safe.
Except, judging by the chatter of his pack, no one else heard it.
Only me. And he was being stupid. He couldn’t hear the woman from here. You’re just looking for an excuse to see her again. He squashed that idea. He needed to get to bed. The workday would start in only a few hours because even alphas had to pay the bills. If his mysterious lady survived the night, he’d see her on the morrow.
Maybe even get her name and number. And buy her a steak, with a potato loaded with all the fixings. The woman looked as if she’d not had a good meal in a long time. She could use a few pounds. I like my ladies with a little cushion. Feed her a few steaks, maybe pop some bite-sized cream puffs into her mouth, and lick the filling clean…
Freeze right there.
She wasn’t his lady.
Yet. Funny how that had an ominous sound to it.
After his pack had left, he readied for bed. He gave one last look out the window, still convinced he heard distant cries.
He shoved a pillow over his head.
A pack alpha did not go running willy-nilly, chasing after imaginary sounds.
But as the crying continued, he wondered if perhaps he should change that rule.
Chapter Seven
The scream kept rolling, almost like a wave, coming in strong one moment then receding to a whimper before surging loud again. It caught Titus’s attention as he headed home from the hunt. Especially since the piercing sound wasn’t heard by his ears but rather echoed within his mind.
What magic is this?
Concentrating on the origin of the scream, Titus meandered through the slums he’d just hunted, following the psychic echo until he stood outside a vile edifice. It was as if all of humanity’s depravity had at one time passed through this place, leaving a stain. He wasn’t one to condone wanton destruction, but he was willing to make an exception in this case.
But he couldn’t set it on fire. Not yet. Not when the sound came from this very building. He had to see what made the noise.
A moue of distaste twisted his features. The stench permeating the air would ruin his clothes and necessitate a thorough cleansing of his skin.
Do I really want to go inside?
Curiosity won over aversion, and with only a whisper of sound, he made his way into the building and climbed the stairs. A cloth held over his nose filtered the worst of the fetid odors assailing him but did nothing to dispel the disturbing sight of filth coating the steps he climbed.
Arriving at a dark corridor, he halted, for the screams had ceased. For a moment, he stood there, eyes closed, his body acting as an antenna tuned for a signal. The residue of the psychic cry hung in the air, clung to the very fibers of reality. He turned to stare at a door. Unremarkable. Dented. Scratched.
Locked.
As if that would stop him.
“Nebula.” The word whispered from his lips and drew power from the very air itself. It didn’t take much to activate this simplest of spells. He felt himself dissolve, the cells of his body losing cohesion and turning into a mist that crept under the crack between the door and the floor. He pulled all of his atoms into one area and re-materialized inside the poor excuse for a home.
At least he didn’t need his handkerchief anymore. The astringent scent of a lemon cleaner and bleach permeated the air, a vain attempt to clean a place that needed more than a scrubbing. A firebomb came to mind.
On ghostly feet, Titus walked over to the figure huddled on a mattress, a frail form that seemed too slight to have sent out such a powerful astral sound. And unconsciously at that.
Who are you? And how was it he’d not encountered her before? Titus made a point of meeting all non-humans entering his territory. A smart vampire didn’t condone surprises. Or possible enemies.
A sweet scent reached him, curling around his senses, making his recently quenched thirst flare to life again. What delicious treat is this? I want a taste.
Wanted, but didn’t need. Titus had learned long ago to control his bloodlust. He pushed aside the urge to feed from this sleeping beauty. Instead, he crouched down and peered at the perfectly oval face that appeared so calm in repose. A woman, out of girlhood, but he couldn’t have said how old, not without looking into her eyes.
Smooth, creamy skin was offset by dark brows and hair that lay twisted around her head. Her lips were full and pink, and even as he watched, they trembled as she whimpered in her sleep, a small cry that echoed much more loudly in his mind.
Titus reached out a hand as if to soothe, but stopped himself. He had no wish to wake her. Women tended to react badly when they opened their eyes to find a strange man in their bedroom.
They always asked, “Who are you? How did you get in here?” But usually screamed before he could answer, “I am the neighborhood bogeyman, come for dinner.”
Titus never claimed to be nice.
The scream died off, the whimpers calmed, and the woman’s features smoothed. She was experiencing a nightmare, an intense one, with the ability to send out a call. Fascinating.
Titus sat back on his haunches, contemplating her existence. What is she? Despite appearances, she’s obviously not completely human. Nor lycan. Shapeshifters had a distinct, primal—make that animal-like—scent.
Titus had run into his fair share of Otherworld creatures in his lifetime. Things of legend. None of them bore this delicious scent.
Add in her magic. I’ve never felt a power like hers before. Effortless. No spoken words to initiate a spell. No noticeable pulling on the forces around them. It was as if her ability came from within. Innate.
Impossible.
Then there was her aura. Why can’t I see it? It’s as if it’s been covered in a fog, one I can’t penetrate. It bothered him. He could discern much of a person’s intentions via the color of their aura—a special talent of his.
He felt dumb and blind, not something Titus was used to.
Why, I’m almost like a human in this moment.
The thought did not amuse.
He could touch the woman and attempt to read her thoughts, but given the shielding on her spirit, what kind of traps might her mind hold? Self-preservation had kept him alive this long.
If he were smart, he’d kill her right now. Unknown things tended to signal danger. However, intrigue stayed his hand. How long since something had fascinated him?
Intrigued or not, though, the surroundings
she found herself in would not do at all if he was to get to know her and ascertain her purpose. I refuse to slum even to satisfy my curiosity.
Titus composed a mental to-do list. One that someone else would have to handle. Dawn approached; the prickling warning honed over centuries tickled at him. He needed to leave.
With a last lingering look, Titus muttered the magical word and vaporized his corporal body, this time choosing to slip through the window she’d left cracked. He misted down to the sidewalk before reshaping himself and heading for home. He waited a few blocks before calling for his driver. He’d have to make haste to arrive before the dawn.
Ensconced in the luxurious back seat of his expensive sedan, his mind whirled with his discovery. A new type of being. And a fetching one at that. Something his body had noticed. It had been decades since he’d taken a lover. Humans tended to be such fragile creatures, obsessed with aging and dying. They always eventually begged that he turn them. Once that happened, they no longer held interest for Titus. Fledgling vamps were only consumed by one desire, and while it involved the flesh, it wasn’t the type Titus preferred.
For a long time, he’d searched for a companion, someone who could handle his dark side. His passion. One that would not prove as fickle as a succubus or bloodthirsty like a newborn vamp.
But he was getting ahead of himself. Sex wasn’t the important thing here. That could be bought. What he couldn’t purchase was the mystery of her existence, an enigma he planned to unravel.
He couldn’t wait.
Titus entered his home—a large mansion within a gated community where no one asked questions—with a lighter step than he’d left it. As he stripped for bed, he dictated to his personal electronic servant, fondly nicknamed Sasha after the programmer who’d made it, and then died with the secret. He explained his orders in succinct terms, knowing his servant, Stefan, would understand them.
Basically, Titus wanted his day servant to find out more about the girl. Armed with the information Stefan would gather, tonight, when darkness fell over town, Titus would introduce himself to the intriguing stranger.
And his courtship would begin.
Chapter Eight
The day dawned, and Adara woke, eyes gritty with fatigue, lashes gummed with dried tears, and her blanket ripped. A restless night.
But she’d done it. Slept without a pill. And she was still alive.
Living meant she shivered uncontrollably in the shower under the cold water. Stupid building didn’t understand the concept of hot.
Since her place was depressing in daylight, Adara ran some errands, never realizing she’d acquired watchers. First, she bought some groceries—one measly bag. All she could afford and would hopefully last the week. Because she led an exciting life, with the change she had left, she ran a load of laundry down at the laundromat. Having very little clothing, she had to stay on top of the laundry situation.
As she sat in one of the hard plastic chairs bolted to the floor, waiting for the dryer to stop—the tumbling motion hypnotic—she caught a glimpse from the corner of her eye of someone peering through the steamy window. Looking surreptitiously sideways, she got an impression of blond hair before the watcher turned and walked out of sight.
Nothing to worry about. Probably just someone checking to see if all the machines were busy.
What if it wasn’t?
She chided herself for being jumpy. After all, the sun shone brightly. The monsters of the night hid or slept during the daytime and were certainly not watching her wash her underwear. When the dryer finished, Adara folded her laundry and headed back to her place, the sensation that someone spied on her following her all the way home.
Paranoia. The only friend she had. She could understand why some people resorted to aluminum foil. Except, wasn’t that to screw with radio signals from space? How would that solve someone stalking her?
Basket on her hip, she fumbled with her keys to open her apartment door. In that moment of vulnerability, she stiffened, her body almost expecting someone to grab her or shout “boo.”
It didn’t happen, and yet she didn’t relax until the door of her apartment slammed shut behind her.
She dropped her basket and froze, every hair on her body standing at attention.
Something’s different. Someone was here. Had she been robbed?
Looking around, she noted everything seemed in its place but slightly shifted. Almost as if things had been lifted, inspected, and put back in their places. Had someone invaded her space and rifled through her stuff while she’d run her errands?
Adara bit her lip. Am I still safe? Should I find somewhere else to sleep tonight? She wished she knew if she was overreacting. Or even imagining things. Spending time in an asylum meant second-guessing even the most basic of her instincts. She didn’t know if she could trust herself, or the things she felt.
I’m not imagining it. Someone was here.
She wandered around her place. Given its size, that didn’t take long. The kitchen could barely be called that with its handful of cabinets, small sink, fridge that only stood as high as her waist, and, for cooking, a toaster oven. Her mattress on the floor was her bedroom. The single chair in the place, her living/dining room. Then there was her bathroom with its cracked yellow tile, once cheerful and bright, now dingy and sad with age.
As far as she could ascertain, nothing appeared missing; however, she couldn’t shake the certainty that someone had been there, nor could she ignore the fact that a scent lingered in the air, one that made her shiver.
Burnt cinnamon. Which caused her heart to both race and stop at the same time.
It also gave her an overwhelming urge to run.
Run where? I’ve got nowhere else to go. It did occur to her that had the person meant her harm, they could have just waited for her and ambushed her as she came in the door. And she obviously had nothing to steal. Adara sighed. Why couldn’t her life be simple and safe? Especially safe. Living in fear had become so tiresome.
Time passed as she stood there, indecisive. Stay or go? She couldn’t make up her mind, but given she had yet to flee, hadn’t she in a sense?
If I’m staying, then I need to get moving. She still had one more task to take care of before she went to work. Quickly, she changed into some clean clothes, and then Adara locked up and went to use the payphone. Probably one of the last left in the city, although not for long, given the cracks in its casing. She dropped in a few quarters before she punched in the numbers on the card she held in one hand. Leaning against the Plexiglas case around the phone booth, she waited as the call went through—ring, click, ring, click.
“Dr. Forrester’s office,” answered his ultra-efficient secretary. Adara had met her a few times, as she tended to accompany the doctor to takes notes since he eschewed modern methods that involved recording sessions. Adara wondered what color Betty’s hair was this week. It was one of the things she had looked forward to when meeting with the doctor.
“It’s Adara,” she said softly.
“Hey there, sweetie. How’s the real world treating you?”
A part of Adara wanted to scream, “The world sucks!” but instead answered, “Okay, I guess. Is Dr. Forrester in?”
“He sure is. Hold on a second while I transfer you.”
Adara clutched the phone with both hands and listened to the soothing orchestral music that piped into her ear. She still hadn’t decided what she’d say when he came on the line.
“Adara. How is my favorite patient today? Oops, I mean ex-patient.”
“I’m fine, doctor.” Except for the fact that either I saw a zombie and a giant wolf last night or I blacked out and hallucinated. “Just calling to check in like you asked me to.”
“I’m glad you did, Adara. You still have that job I found you?”
“Yes.” Adara twisted the cord, eager to hang up. Her feelings for Dr. Forrester confused her. On the surface, he’d always appeared helpful and kind—look at all he’d done to help her. But
deep down, she didn’t know why, but something felt off about the doctor, as if he had a hidden agenda.
Which is dumb, not to mention self-important. Why would he give a second thought about me?
“How are you sleeping?”
“F-fine,” she stuttered.
“That doesn’t sound too reassuring. Have you been dreaming?”
Adara hesitated rather than immediately replying. Dr. Forrester had always shown the most interest in her dreams, but in the light of day, they seemed unreal and unimportant, especially considering she could never remember anything but the fear. She lied. “No. No dreams. Everything is just fine. I’m sleeping great thanks to those pills you gave me.”
“Good. Glad they’re working.” He didn’t catch the fib, and she held in a sigh of relief. “I’m happy you checked in. You are going in to work tonight, right?”
“Yes.” She wondered why he cared. Surely, he didn’t take this kind of interest in all his patients. She still wasn’t even sure why he’d asked her to call him. He’d claimed it was so she’d have a friendly voice to talk to while she adjusted, but Adara found these calls felt more like an interrogation. If I give him the wrong answer, will he put me back in the hospital?
“How about your memories? Anything pop up?”
“No.” Her past remained locked up tight.
“Anything odd happen?”
She must have hesitated a second too long because he prodded, “Adara, did something happen?”
Telling him about the wolf and zombie wasn’t an option. “Some men tried to accost me last night on my way home.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” A wolf rescued me. She changed that to, “A stray dog actually frightened them off.”
“A dog, eh? Good thing he came along.”
“I’m scared, Dr. Forrester.” This was something she knew she could admit.
“Nothing to be scared of, Adara. I’m sure it was an isolated incident. I want you to forget about it.”