I was standing in a field, my breath misting on the air. Even though my dress was ripped open to the navel, I didn’t feel cold. My feet, now one bare and one clad in a dirty, scuffed, four-hundred-dollar heel, made a soft crunching sound through white snow that blanketed the ground. Oddly, my skin still felt the radiating warmth of an August night in South Texas.
There was fencing around the field, and beyond that, a long way off, a city skyline. Not a tall, angular, modern skyline, this was lower, with church towers, dome-shaped building tops, and smoke stacks. It reminded me of an old European city from two or three centuries ago. London? More like Vienna, Budapest, or St Petersburg.
As I turned, the view was similar in every direction until I spotted a figure in the distance. Just a small dark shape, but definitely a man with a hat and cane. I glanced to my left for a brief moment, and when I looked back, he was standing at arms distance before me. I could see little of him except a long black cloak and a plain black tricorn hat. His cane, penetrating the snow and held at a relaxed angle in his gloved right hand, was also black, except for the head of a hunting dog intricately carved out of silver on the handle.
He lifted his head revealing a pale face with penetrating but sad gray eyes, a smooth, firm chiseled jaw, straight nose, and full lips. He looked about my age, but his eyes held the look of lifetimes of wisdom. He was incredibly handsome by any standards and I felt my body reacting accordingly.
As his gaze met mine, I’m certain I noticed a glimmer of happiness cross his face, but only for a moment. His eyes travelled the length of me. Up and back down. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t open my mouth. My mouth was disconnected from my brain and just wouldn’t do what I commanded. The man trod a slow circle around me. I wanted to turn with him but, again, my body was unwilling to follow the commands of my brain. I sensed him close behind me, felt the soft leather of his gloves on my shoulders.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his mouth very close to my ear, the words dripping sweetly like honey. My stomach twisted as he gently slid the fabric off my shoulders, allowing it to drop to the snowy ground. I did manage to eject a small gasp this time. I tried to cover myself, except again, my body would not comply. It almost felt as though my body longed for this man. It made no sense. He continued circling me slowly, stepping around to face me again, his eyes absorbing all of me.
My heart was racing and my throat was dry. My tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I should have been cold standing in a snow covered field in my underwear. I should probably have felt embarrassed standing in my underwear being ogled by a perfect stranger. I didn’t though. What I felt was a craving, a fierce hunger for this man. My body was crying out for his touch.
What in the world had me yearning for a stranger in period clothing? The whole thing was insane. I don’t care how sexy he was; still crazy.
He leaned in close again, and since my body wouldn’t move, I could do nothing but breath him in. He smelled like fresh apples and blackberries, with a warm undertone of cinnamon. Delicious.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” his gently voice held a faint eastern European accent. Delicately, he ran a gloved finger along my jaw, down my neck, and tenderly along the inner curve of my breast. I felt my breath catch, my nipples harden, and a tingling begin even lower. I was desperate to speak now. If I had the capacity, I knew I would beg him to take me. That’s when the snow began to thaw.
No, not the snow, the whole field was melting away. I couldn’t see him anymore. The cityscape of St Petersburg, or Vienna, or wherever, was also gone. I looked down and saw blood. It was splashed over my legs.
“Miss? Miss?”
I was sitting slumped against my jeep with a pretty young girl, a paramedic, shining a light in my eyes. I tried to ask her what she wanted but my question emerged as a coughing fit instead.
“Got her!” she called out to someone else, then slipped an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth.
“Do you know your name?” the girl asked me.
“April,” I told her, my voice was dry and crackly and muffled by the mask. Blinking the spots out of my eyes, I could see I only had one shoe on and it, as well as most of my feet and legs, were covered in sticky dark red blood.
Chapter 3
The thought that I was doused in my own blood was quickly dispelled when my vision returned and I was staring at Rectum. His face was frozen in a wicked grimace, leering, wide-eyed at me, only now upside down, his head attached to his shoulder by only a thin flap of skin. His chest had been ripped in half in a rough line, running from just under his neck to his groin. Ripped. Not cut with a sword, not bitten by some wild animal, but ripped. As in torn. Like a paper doll. A wave of nausea shot through me as my eyes followed the pool of blood around his body to where it extended in rivulets towards my legs bathing me in the sticky, metallic smelling liquid.
Darla was next to him. She may have fared slightly better, but it’s all relative. Her chest was gone. A gaping hole going right through it. Whatever had been inside, lungs, heart, ribs, was just… gone. I had to look away before I vomited.
The girl, who was not actually a girl, but a small-statured female EMT with short red hair, intense light blue eyes, and a name badge that read ‘Emma’, draped a blanket over me. There were questions. I don’t remember the questions, but they must have been all the usual questions asked to someone with a head injury. I don’t remember my answers either, but after the Q and A, I was helped into the back of an ambulance.
As I sat on a cot in the back of the ambulance, a tall, African American man wearing a cheap but well cared for grey suit climbed in next to me and introduced himself as Sargent Gouldon. More questions.
After listening to my story, the Sargent let out a breath, looked around the crime scene, and shook his head.
“And you’ve no idea how your would-be assailants ended up mutilated?” he asked.
I drew my oxygen mask away from my face for a moment. I was exhausted, nerves shattered, dress torn, and I just wanted to go to sleep and pretend tonight never happened.
“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Death Squad?” I offered.
He didn’t smile.
“Look here, Miss Hamilton,” he growled angrily, “I’m just trying to make sense of this mess and figure out why it’s not you lying there raped and murdered, instead of these two bloody messes!”
“I should be more grateful?… Is that what you’re saying?” I asked. “Or is it that you resent me for making your job tonight so much more difficult?” Hell, I guess I couldn’t blame him for being tense, I was completely baffled as to what might have happened and I’d been here the whole time.
“Shit, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, calming down. “Of course, I’m very glad you’re okay, and I’m not suggesting you are anything other than a victim. Please, while the incident’s fresh in your mind, I’m just asking you to try and remember if anything else sticks out. Anything else that might have happened before you lost consciousness.”
“I’m sorry, Sargent,” I told him.
“I’m sorry too,” said Emma, my EMT savior, “but you gotta hop out now. She needs a head CT and lots of rest. If you want any more answers you’ll have to find her back at the hospital.”
The tiny woman almost shoved the large cop out the doors and we got underway. Over the gentle rocking of the ambulance and the hum of the engine, I wondered why I hadn’t told him about the other motorcycle? I may be a smart-ass, and even a pain-in-the-ass, but I wouldn’t normally break the law or intentionally hamper an investigation. It seemed obvious now, if unbelievable, that the noises I heard where Darla and Rectum being ripped apart. But what type of creature could do that and ride a motorcycle? Hell, maybe Gouldon was better off not knowing, for his sake. In case he found it and it didn’t want to come quietly.
At the hospital, I was poked and prodded and tested up the wazoo. In the end, the diagnosis was that I had a bump on the head, a little gravel rash on my knees and arms, but no int
ernal injuries or bleeding in my brain. It was still thought that I had a concussion, though, so I was going to have to spend the night in the hospital.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone to inform of my ‘accident’ and subsequent hospital stay. The gallery would be closed so I wouldn’t be expected at work tomorrow, and with the exception of a cousin living somewhere in Arizona, I had no family. My career had been my life for as long as I could remember, leaving no time for friends or relationships. As pitiful as it sounded, my job was all-consuming. I tackled each piece as a personal quest, and I was driven to find and obtain certain works of art. The Dobronravov had been a pinnacle to me. I had been obsessed with it for four years, and was prouder of my successful efforts to procure it than I had been about any other piece.
I was checked into a room, given a ridiculous gown and a toothbrush, and finally, at about three am, a young nurse told me to rest. Finally. The thing is, even though the adrenaline rush had worn off hours ago and I was beyond exhausted; I couldn’t seem to sleep.
My mind wouldn’t quiet down. At first, the focus was what could have happened to me, had my attackers not been killed. I think I slept a little, having nightmares about that, but, soon enough my brain slipped into thinking about the dream; who was that guy? It had all been so incredibly vivid. How was he able to exert such power over me? How come I felt so attracted to him?
I opened my eyes in the snow-covered field again. I was aware that I must have dreamed myself back into it, but it wasn’t the same. This time, I was wearing an outfit from centuries ago. A long, sunflower yellow dress that fanned out at the hem, covered my shoulders and slashed straight across my breasts which, thanks to the corset I’d been shoved into, were pushed up and very full.
“And there’s my beauty,” I heard his voice again but, this time, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. My pulse started racing. I now understood why those Regency ladies were always fanning themselves.
“Who are you?” I managed to say this time.
“You know who I am,” he whispered back. I felt his soft lips graze the skin between my neck and shoulder. I felt the fine hairs on my arms stand straight up, and a tingling in my nether region. “You love me,” he continued. I could feel his fingers loosening my gown, until he deftly slipped it off my shoulders and it fell to the floor. My corset stopped just below my generous bosom, which was now only concealed by a thin, silk chemise, while my legs were hidden beneath a petticoat. I had a dim recollection that drawers were out in this period, so I took a nervous swallow and assumed that, aside from some thigh-high hose, I was naked under there.
“I do?” I sighed, my mouth going dry as his fingers moved lightly across my back. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against his shoulder, my breathing quickening further as his fingers traced under my arms and moved easily under the loose fabric, to stroke delicately across the sensitive skin of my breasts.
“You do,” he confirmed, a low moan escaping from my lips as his soft fingertips brushed my achingly hard nipples. “Just as I love you and have been waiting for you for centuries.”
His hands eased my chemise down, exposing me, but I didn’t care. My loins were burning, a throbbing desire emanating from my core. I knew I wanted to feel him inside of me. I turned around to face him as fast as I could. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled his face to mine. His hands wrapped around my waist, pushing my petticoat to the floor. The cool breeze tickled my bare backside, but I was too overwhelmed with yearning to be ashamed of my exposure.
His lips descended over mine. I could feel his hands sliding over my stomach. His tongue parted my lips and I met its velvet touch with my own. The sensation brought another low moan from me and my feminine juices were dripping, preparing me for his joining. I was aware this was a dream, and I wanted him. It was the hottest dream, and sadly, the most action I’d had in… forever.
Just as suddenly, though, he pulled away, stepping back. I stood before him, naked but for the corset still laced around my body, breathless and trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he said bitterly. He looked away from me. “I’m afraid I may have put you in danger. I fear she may find you now.” I was about to ask what he meant, who’s ‘she’, and why’s she looking for me, but in a heartbeat his hand raised and he snapped his fingers.
When I opened my eyes, I was in my hospital bed.
Chapter 4
Soft breathing from the shadows by the door told me I wasn’t alone. City light filtered through the blinds, and I waited for my eyes to adjust to the room.
“Who’s there?” I called out quietly. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could make out a pair of steely gray eyes and a row of bright, shining teeth below them, but it was probably my imagination. I could definitely smell a sweet, sexy perfume. Miss Cherie, by Dior, if I wasn’t mistaken.
“Hello, kitten,” came a teasing, sultry reply. A tall woman stepped forward into the half-light. She wore a tight leather bustier lashed to firm breasts, a fashionable, soft leather jacket and matching leather pants. Her face was beautifully sculpted and meticulously, but heavily made-up, pale skin, high cheekbones, and an aggressive, short, spiky hairstyle.
“Who are you?” I asked quietly. Why I was keeping my voice low, I didn’t know.
“My dear, my name is Valentina,” she explained casually and took a step closer. Every move she made was seductive but the look on her face said she could easily devour me. “My, but you are pretty. A little full-figured for my taste, but you might make a pleasing distraction.”
Okay, that was a strange thing to say, and very creepy. Something was definitely not right with this woman. She took one more step before I decided I’d had enough. What the hell was making me so attractive to sociopaths lately? I scooted away from her, slid out of the bed, grabbed a nearby drip stand and pointed it at her, threateningly.
“The fuck do you want, ‘Valentina’?” I yelled this time. I thought it might be good to make some noise and perhaps alert a few people.
Calmly, she replied, “I wanted to see what the fuss was about, kitten. I wanted to see if I could turn his obsession with you into a more advantageous situation for myself.” She reached the bed and mounted it, crawling slowly across it ass up high, like a stripper looking for tips. “Then, after your dream, I wanted to warn you to LEAVE MY SASHA ALONE.” She shouted the last part. I slowly backed up until I bumped against a cabinet, wondering who the hell Sasha was. Valentina kept skulking towards me until her stomach was pushing against the end of my drip stand weapon. “Now, I want to simply rip out your heart and drink from it.”
She moved like lightning. One simple upswing and she knocked the stand from my hands, somersaulting it across the room to land with a loud crash. She thrust the same arm straight out before her, grabbing me by the throat. I couldn’t scream; I couldn’t breathe. In a blur, her face was right next to mine. I felt my feet leave the floor as I stared into her wild, gray eyes.
“A pity,” she growled, “We could have enjoyed such pleasures, the three of us.” She made a sad face then pulled back her other arm, ready to eviscerate me. I had no time to pray, no time to plead, no time to even close my eyes before she swung.
Only, nothing hit me. The window beside me imploded instead. I felt a force rush in, and he was there. The man from my dreams.
He was different than in my dreams, though. His hair was styled differently, like some urban outlaw. His skin was darker, his jaw stubbled, and he wore jeans, cowboy boots and a gray tank top that brought out his eyes and showed off his heavily muscled shoulders and arms, but it was the man from my dreams. He had grasped the fist that Valentina was about to kill me with and held it fast.
Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing in incandescent rage, she turned her head towards him. “Hey, baby,” she said angrily, “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yeah,” he replied, all trace of the European accent gone, “I do get around.” He head-butt
ed Valentina in the face. The woman lost her grip on me and fell back, rolling onto the bed. She sprang back up, teeth bared and fists raised. The guy put himself in front of me so he was shielding me from her. I laid a hand on his shoulder to steady myself while he moved his arm back, to keep me behind him. “April,” he said, not bothering to explain how he knew my name, “I need you to trust me.”
“Trust you? I don’t even fucking know you. AND I have no idea how you know my name. AND you just flew through a sixth floor window…” I wasn’t done with my tirade, but he cut me off before I could continue.
“The way I see it, you can stay here while she disembowels you, or you can trust me and maybe see tomorrow. It’s your choice.” Well, since you put it that way.
Valentina was looking for an opening. She feinted left, but he covered it. “Sasha, honey,” she pleaded in a sing-songy voice, “Be reasonable.”
“Val, dear,” he replied, “I think you passed reasonable about three exits back.” She growled furiously, spitting like a panther.
“Well?” urged Sasha in my direction.
“Tomorrow!” I yelled. The wind was howling through the broken window and whipping my hair into my face. “Tomorrow, please!”
He grabbed my wrist, in a grip tight enough to hurt, and jumped. He leaped backward, out of the window he’d recently crashed through, this time taking me with him. I felt a searing pain in my shoulder as we dove out of the building, and wondered how I was going to see the next few minutes, much less tomorrow.
The wind screamed past my ears, until I realized it was me screaming.
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