by W. J. May
“Wuh – Wuh’ever,” I replied, my voice hoarse. It hurt to talk.
“Cook everything. I’m starving.” He sat back on a bar chair and crossed his arms over his massive chest.
“Excuse me?”
“Feed me, then we talk.”
“Feed yourself,” I mumbled. No way would I be his chef.
“Rouge…Don’t. Piss. Me off,” Damon hissed through gritted teeth. He jumped off the chair and sprang towards me.
I stepped back, but still tried my best to scowl at him. You don’t scare me by trying to act tough. The hate for him, and those monsters swelled inside of me, making my shoulders ache. Especially the weird spot near my scapula.
Except it was different this time. Like the inside of my skin burned and the flame found its way into my veins and began to spread everywhere.
Damon growled in my direction, his eyes narrowed and turned a dark red, almost black color. His face twisted and his teeth grew, his mouth and nose elongated at the same time his chest cracked and expanded beyond what any normal human could live through. His back took on a kyphosis look and then arched jerkily. The black eyes burned to an amber colour. Kinda like my eye color. The thought slipped away as thick, matted hair covered his body and his skin thickened to gross dark leather across his chest. Within seconds, he’d shifted.
Time stopped. At least I swear it did. My blood forgot to flow, thunder erupted in my ears and my insides shook with horror. This mammoth creature was no Grollic from the journal. The thing stood on its rear hunches, its front legs appendages used as arms or legs. No horror movie would ever scare me again.
It looked like some kind of demonized animal. A low growl rumbled inside its chest. I froze, too terrified to even scream. The big bad wolf from Red Riding Hood had nothing on Damon.
It stared at me, then shifted its head to purposely look at the groceries. I understood and hesitantly took a tentative step toward the counter. Either I cook or become dinner. With shaking hands, I began separating vegetables and setting the meat by the stove. I didn’t stand a chance and I doubted Michael would against a pack of these horrific creatures.
The beast spoke, its voice so evil it chilled me to the core. “Don’t tick me off again. Make the food. All of it.” Then it left the room.
Frozen, nothing inside me could move. Except my heart. It probably beat more in those moments than it had in its entire life.
Do something! My brain screamed. “What do I do?” I whispered back, unsure if I meant right now or in the bigger picture.
I turned the stove on and dumped the hamburger into a frying pan. I tried to cut the onion but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking and I came close to chopping a fingertip off instead. Leaning against the counter I focused on slowing my racing heart, taking slow, deep breaths. Hands covering my face, I couldn’t erase the horrific images glaring behind my eyelids, as if burned there forever.
Chapter 22
I shoved the chicken into the oven and kicked the stove door shut. Swearing under my breath, I dumped the cooked hamburger in with pasta I’d already bowled and then started frying an entire package of bacon. Somehow, without even realizing it, I’d made a salad and buttered an entire loaf of bread.
Pacing from the fridge to the stove, I tried to clear my head. I needed a plan, or something. I was terrified for Michael, Grace, and Sarah. Except not so much Caleb; he could handle his own. I hoped.
“Crap,” I muttered, flipping the bacon over. “Here I’m freakin’ cooking for the enemy.” What could this useless human do against a pack of Grollics?
Damon strolled back into the kitchen, whistling some stupid, merry tune. He opened the fridge door. “Never anything to drink.” At the sink, he poured himself a glass of tap water, downed it, and repeated filling his glass about ten times. He set the glass back down on the counter and turned to me.
“Did you buy any coke?”
“I don’t drink –”
“Just shut up.” He grabbed a plate and started tossing pasta on it. Dumping most of the bacon on top, he grunted when he noticed the salad. “Crap.” Flipping the oven open, he sniffed loudly. “Good. You can do something right.” He left the kitchen and shouted from the living room. “Make yourself a plate and get in here.”
I stood debating. There was nowhere to escape from in the kitchen, and if I took a knife to attack him, I’d probably be the one who ended up with it in my heart. I could read a freakin’ Grollic book and what good did it do? Filling a plate with salad and the rest of the bacon, I almost dropped it when I remembered the rye bottles. I had no idea if it would work, but if I could prevent Damon from turning into a Grollic, I might be able to get away. Yeah, and then face who or whatever’s outside.
Searching the grocery bags, my throat tightened. Empty. Did they fall out in the jeep? Please no! A last bag lay crumpled on the counter. Already assuming the worst, the muffled “clinking” sounded like music to my ears.
With shaking hands, I poured the two bottles into one glass. Tempted to take a swig to calm my nerves, I resisted simply because I couldn’t waste a drop if it might work. Holding the glass up, I frowned. It sure didn’t fill a glass much. Ice.
I checked the freezer and fist pumped before grabbing a tray of ice cubes. Throwing three in the glass, I swirled the liquid with my finger and then buried the empty bottles in a drawer. Forcing myself to walk and act normal, I made my way to the living room, a small plan forming in my mind.
Damon sat on the couch, his plate already nearly empty. He glanced up and pointed towards the armchair beside the couch. I set the glass on the coffee table and sat down.
He snatched the glass and lifted it to his lips before I could even pretend to protest. Gone. In one gulp. He sputtered and shook his head. “What the hell was that?” He coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“A-Alcohol. I poured it to help calm me down.” I swallowed, holding my plate with two hands so it wouldn’t shake. “Guess it didn’t help me much.”
“Someone hid it here in the cabin? Figures. You couldn’t handle the stuff, it’s way too strong for you. Plus you’re going to need your wits about you.”
“Why?” I swallowed. Thank goodness he didn’t ask if there was more. I relaxed a tiny little bit. He obviously knew nothing about rye. Either that or it was useless.
“You have no idea about any of this, do you?”
“Any of what?” I blinked focussing back on him. Maybe he did know about the rye and it was just folklore. I sighed. Some freakin’ birthday.
“You really are an idiot.” He shook his head and leaned forward, grabbing a piece of bread off my plate. “For starters, Grace and the other chick aren’t here.”
“Duh, I can see that.” He was the idiot. “You’ve got them somewhere else.”
“Nodda. We don’t need them, or your precious Michael. I mean, shoot, we’d be glad to get rid of ‘em, whatever cost, but we already have what we want.”
They have Caleb?
“The bonus,” he laughed, unable to continue and bits of soggy, chewed bread flew out of his mouth, “is that we’ll use you to kill them off, as well.”
I put my plate of food down, suddenly sick to my stomach. I asked the question though I was pretty sure I knew the answer, even if I had no clue as to why. “Who’ve you been after if it’s not them?”
He leaned back stretching his arm along the back of the couch, a wicked grin on his face. “You.”
Fear leapt into my throat, blocking my airway. I tried to swallow it back down. “Wh-What’re you going to do? Bite me and turn me into a Grollic?” So I can’t be with Michael? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made any sense anymore.
Damon huffed. “Stupid girl. We don’t reproduce by biting someone.” He pulled the collar of his tee shirt, exposing his mark. “This is royal blood. You are born into this family, not made. We officially shift when we turn eighteen.”
“What?” Nobody thought any of this might be important to explain to me? Eith
er from the Knightly’s or in the stupid Grollic book? I couldn’t stand Damon, or any other Grollic. A sudden thought made my heart stutter, I was eighteen today. Did Damon know? Or, was it even important? It didn’t matter, I didn’t have the mark on my chest.
“Close your mouth, Rouge. Your new family failed to teach you our history?” He leaned forward. “I told you not to trust them. They’re after you for the same reason we are.”
“They’ve never been after me.” I glared at him. “Except probably now they are, since you kidnapped me.”
“I hope they are. You’re our destructive weapon.” His mouth curled into a snarl. “But, you have no idea about any of this, do you?”
Maybe the alcohol had gone to his brain. “I don’t have a clue. Why don’t you fill me in and quit being cryptic.”
“Cryptic?” He cackled. “Let me start with this. Michael knows who you are, and once you’re eighteen he’s never going to want you back in his life.” He let out a ferocious laugh.
My stomach clenched with dread. “What’re you talking about? Wait…What did you mean when “I” turn eighteen?”
Damon crossed his arms and dropped his feet onto the couch. “Poor little orphan girl no one wanted. Did you ever wonder why your parents abandoned you? Or wonder who you were?” He laughed. “You’ll never see your eighteenth birthday.”
About to tell him I was already eighteen, I paused. Maybe keeping that quiet was the only advantage I had. “How do you know so much about my past?”
“Don’t you know anything about your real parents?” He made a fist and punched his other hand. “I didn’t clue in until that day in school when you said Bentos. Then I figured everything out, all by myself.” His chest puffed out. “When the Knightly’s moved here a few years back we knew they were after something. We just had to wait until it revealed itself. You gave away your secret so easily that day. It was like take candy from a baby.”
He had no idea about the journal and I had no intention of letting on. “Bentos is just a name in my head.”
“Of course it's in your head!” He leaned forward. “Do you know anything significant about it?”
No way would I admit I knew Bentos had killed Michael’s family. My silence must have been an answer for Damon. “I don’t know anything.”
“Here’s your history lesson and listen well, it’s important. Bentos was the seventh son of a Grollic.” He held up one hand and two fingers. “Remember that number. Seven. Way back, the seventh child of a Grollic was given the Christian name Benjamin or Bentos to protect him from becoming a Grollic. He’d be different and unable to join the pack. However, this one Bentos got pretty pissed off his family would be Grollics and he couldn’t shift. So this Bentos, in anger, murdered his father.”
I shifted, uncomfortable where this story might be going, and moving because my neck, back and shoulder blade ached. All of me did.
“Bentos’ father was an Alpha and after he killed him, he figured out how to control his father’s pack of Grollics. He could control any pack, even an Alpha. The seventh son with a special ability.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“I’m getting to that.”
I stared dumbly at him. None of this made sense.
“A hundred and something-odd years ago, Bentos took a bunch of packs of Grollics and used them as if he were an Alpha. He controlled them, the paranoid dick-head. Had them prey on humans for money or women or whatever he wanted. He raped many women, bore children, and killed his offspring so they couldn’t take his gift from him. He hated Grollics, but loved the power he had over them.” Damon flexed his bicep, staring at the upper muscle in his arm. “You don’t know this?”
I shook my head, too afraid to speak.
“This Bentos killed Michael’s family. The story goes on that he’d seen Grace in town that day and wanted her. There was something weird about those twins back then. Bentos knew it. He had the Grollics attack at dusk, but the Fallen were in the forest nearby and interrupted.”
“The Fallen?”
“Michael’s kind. We call ‘em Fallen. If you don’t get why, figure that one out yourself.”
I smiled as I realized Sarah must have been close on Bentos’ heels.
“Your Fallen aren’t going to want anything to do with you, dear Rouge. You’re tainted, you’re almost one of us.” Laughter erupted from him, so loudly it made me jump. “Except to us, you’re worse than a weak Grollic.”
“Whatever. I’m not a Grollic. You’re disgusting” I hated them, no freakin’ way their blood ran in my veins.
Damon slapped my face hard. My head swung so fast to the right, I swore it cracked and adjusted every bone in my vertebrae.
“Get it through your head,” he growled, “you are one of Bentos’ offspring. You are the seventh generation and the seventh child. You, bitch, are the one thing none of us wants. No Grollic wants you and your new little family’s going to let you rot when they learn the truth.” He dropped down, his face inches from mine. “My only question is how Bentos didn’t kill you off.”
My cheek burned, but I refused to rub it. My childhood flooded back. No one had ever wanted me – even my own mother abandoned me. The euphoria I’d been feeling the past few weeks dissolved in an instant when I realized Damon was right.
What if Michael hated me? He’d have good reason. My father or ancestor killed his family, and I had the same blood running through me. I slumped against the back of the chair, suddenly exhausted. Happy freakin’ Birthday. Wahoo. Could Michael already know?
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Damon’s hands grabbed the end of the arms on my chair and tilted it back. “Or, maybe it's the realization you knew all along.”
I stared at him, wide eyed. Here I’d been hoping I had the same blood of Michael’s running through me. That I’d be part Fallen, or angel, or whatever they were. The pull to the house, and yet the urge to stay away nagged at the back of my mind. “Shut up, Damon.” I suddenly didn’t care if he hit me again.
His eyes narrowed, and a vein on his neck bulged. He dropped my chair back to four on the floor. He grinned and straightened. “You’re in the middle of a war you know nothing about, and you don’t have a friggin’ clue how much you’re involved.” He grabbed the plates and headed into the kitchen, only to return with another full plate.
I felt tied to the chair, even when there were no ropes around me. “You’re wrong. I’m not who you say I am.” I ripped my collar down. “I’ve got no mark to prove it.”
He paused, mouth full, and peered at my neck and partially exposed chest. “Maybe it’s different for you. Maybe it shows up when you turn eighteen. When’s your birthday by the way?” He shrugged and continued not giving me time to answer. “Seems you’re the last of Bentos’ offspring. Everyone else has been killed off.” A fork full of chicken meat pointed in my direction. “Someone hid you well by sending you into foster care. It took us till last week to find out anything about you. When I told my Alpha what you’d said, I knew right away it was big. But you not having a clue…now that’s priceless.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
“I’m not a Grollic,” I whispered. “I’m nothing.”
“Yeah, by tomorrow you will be. Nothing, that is.” With his thumb, he drew a line across his neck. “Shame really. You know nothing of who you are or what potential you could have. No one to inform or teach you – I wish I could say my heart bleeds, but it doesn’t. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
A long roar, followed by two short shouts echoed outside the cabin. A moment later, the sound repeated. Damon went to the window and stared out.
I blinked, surprised at how dark it was outside. Blacker than black.
Damon tapped the glass and pointed at several different locations. “There are twelve Grollics outside hoping you try to escape. I suggest, for the sake of your new family, you stay here. It’ll give them a few more hours of living. Or maybe they care to meet up with the twelve Grollics at their c
ottage.” He took his plate and as he headed to the kitchen, he added, “Sleep, sit, cry. Do whatever you want in here. The Grollics outside are ordered to kill if you go outside, and they will. If I were you, I wouldn’t test them to find out.”
I watched him walk out of the room and then turned my head toward the bay window. The only thing I could see was the room’s reflection. How could I warn Michael and Grace to stay away? What weapon did I have on my side? Two measly bottles of liquor hadn’t done jack. If I tried attacking Damon, he could handle me with one arm tied behind his back. My other option of sneaking out didn’t look beneficial. Big hairy beasts lurking in the bushes outside ready to kill me on sight held little chance of survival.
I didn’t stand a chance.
Damon said I knew nothing about who I was. Was there strength in that? I hit my palm against my forehead in frustration. I had a useless Grollic book I couldn’t read.
I leapt from the chair, needing to pace to get my mind to think properly. The Grollic book. That they know nothing about. I moved, my palms gathering sweat. I might not be able to read it all, but I could read some. No one else could read it. If Bentos actually was my father –grandfather/whatever – could I read it because the book belonged to him? Could this book have found me because of who I was…because of my bloodline?
A warm feeling rose in my chest – a twinge of hope. Maybe there was a chance, a small possibility.
The momentary optimism disappeared when Damon returned from the kitchen, his eyes narrowing when he caught me pacing and saw the look on my face. My heart flip-flopped when his face darkened, his eyes turning an ugly yellow colour. He stomped over and shoved me hard onto the couch. Pain shot across my shoulders and up my neck when he grabbed my already bruised throat with both hands.
Chapter 23
“Don’t try to figure some lousy plan. There’s no way it'll work.” With each word, he squeezed his fingers on my throat to match the cadence. Damon pulled his hand away, as if I burned him. “You pace, and you're going to bring the Grollics inside. Pacing makes them nervous,” he said, getting inches away from my face, his hot breath blasting across my cheeks, “and we don’t like anxiety. I want full glory for this, and if I have to kill you myself to bring you to my Alpha, I'll do it in a heartbeat. Don’t piss me off!” He pushed away from me and swore under his breath.