by Kelly, Holly
“Are you okay?” Gretchen squatted next to him.
He must have dropped to his knees. “Yeah, just a headache.”
“Maybe I should drive you home.”
Kyros smiled as he staggered back onto his feet, “No way. This place is awesome. Besides, my head is feeling much better now.” He took her hand and tugged her forward. “Come on.”
She frowned, but relented. “Okay, but if your head starts to hurt again, we’ll call it a night.”
“Sure.”
He took her around the rocks, and into a jungle. The foliage was so thick that it was difficult to tell where they were going. The trees opened up to a wonderful view. The ocean shore spread out before them.
“We’re not going swimming, are we?” she asked, the color draining from her face.
“Don’t you like to swim?” he asked. His voice didn’t sound like his own, didn’t feel like his own.
Gretchen slowly backed away. “Kyros?” He thrust his hand into his pocket and found what he needed—two balls of wax. He shoved them into his ears and turned to Gretchen. She looked stunned by what he’d just done. “What’s going on, Kyros?” He could still hear her, but the sound was faint, muted.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked as he smiled.
Gretchen’s eyes grew wide.
Kyros could sense her fear. It was sweet on his lips—sinfully delectable. He chuckled.
And then she was running into the woods. Kyros was impressed with how fast she could move. Despite her short legs, she flew over the ground. He tore after her. His legs felt awkward, cumbersome. But because of his long stride, he was able to keep her in his sights.
She scrambled up and over logs, under low branches, and sloshed through muddy puddles. He nearly caught up to her as she tripped and fell over a thick vine. But she was immediately on her feet again. He remembered how difficult she found climbing the stairs at the lighthouse. She sure seemed to have energy now.
He wondered for a fleeting moment why he was chasing her in the first place. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he stumbled into a tree. Why was he being plagued by headaches? He’d never had so much as a twinge of a headache in the entire 116 years of his life, but now they seemed to afflict him at every turn.
The hurt subsided, and he pushed himself away from the tree. Getting back to the task at hand, he scented the air. Gretchen’s sweet perfume was like a beacon showing which direction she was headed. Kyros took off running. His legs felt more natural, more a part of him with each step. Soon, he could hear something. It was faint at first, but then became clearer. Stumbling footsteps, gasps of air—breathing in and out, in and out…
“Gretchen, you don’t need to run from me,” he said. “I would never hurt you. I love you.” At the expression of love, it happened again. Pain, like he’d never felt before, slammed into his head. He staggered and pressed his hands against his temples. It felt like someone had opened his skull and put an angry viperfish inside. It seemed to be trying to bite its way out with its long, razor teeth. He roared, the sound echoing across the treetops.
Understanding dawned on him. Someone had taken over his mind. Who could have done this? This was a power born of the gods. But what god would have even an errant thought for a human, much less want to harm one. A demigod? A mermaid? No, mermaids were extinct, all except for Sara, and Sara certainly wouldn’t have done this.
Pain continued to slice through his head. Regardless of who did this, he had to make the agony stop. He could give in and just go along. But he didn’t know what would happen. Whoever had done this had Gretchen in their sights. A surge of protectiveness filled him. He had to protect her. An explosion a thousand times greater erupted in his skull. Crying out in agony, he sank down to his knees. He had to make it stop. Any way he could.
His hand shook as it inched closer to the knife in his belt. A vision of plunging it into Gretchen’s body accompanied a significant lessening of the pain. If he killed her, it would stop. He was certain of that. His flesh leapt at that thought, eager to complete the deed, but his mind fought it. Like a tsunami, pain once again slammed into him. He finally touched the knife, his fingers tapping the handle as his hand shook. Making one last effort, he made a grab for it. If he had to, he’d thrust it into his own skull. That would surely stop the torture.
“Kyros?” Gretchen’s faint voice shook.
He looked toward her, and there she was—trembling, her legs looking as if they would give out at any moment. Why did she come back for him? She should have kept running. Snarling, he hurled himself up and leapt at her. He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her to the ground.
The pain was gone. He nearly shouted with joy.
A whistling sound turned his attention to the task. Gretchen looked up at him, tears springing from her eyes. Her terrified face shone pale in the moonlight, her full lips staining blue. This woman was beautiful, witty, and kind-hearted… and Kyros had never in his life wanted to kill anyone as much as he wanted to kill her.
“You thought you could escape me?” The voice once again came from his lips. His laughter rang out. “You’re a fool, Ambrosia.”
Gretchen’s mouth gaped open, over and over. A small squeak escaped each time she attempted to draw breath. When her eyes started to dim, Kyros loosened his grip and she greedily sucked in a breath of air. “I would have killed you quickly,” he continued, “painlessly, when it was time. But you left me. You turned your back on me. Now you’ll suffer. I’ll make you suffer at the hands of the man who loves you.” A wicked smile spread across his face.
“You see how much power I have? You are nothing but a shadow of me. My father was a god, a powerful king. Your father was a lowly human, a pathetic creature worth nothing. I killed him the day you were conceived, slit open his belly. You should have heard him beg me, cry for me to finish him, to end his suffering. Now you’ll suffer your father’s fate.”
Kyros kept her throat tight in his fist as he stood up and stepped into the forest, dragging her behind. Her legs snagged thorny branches and scraped jagged stones. He could smell her blood as images swirled in his mind—Gretchen bleeding, broken, dying… The images were alluring, appealing beyond belief. The rumbling roar of the sea increased in volume as they neared the shore.
A tall, thick tree stood out alone in the sand, its jagged branches slashing toward the sky and across the bloated moon. Kyros strode toward the tree and slammed Gretchen against the trunk, cracking her head against the bark. Her whimpering cry caused him to pause. He shrunk back from the cresting pain his pause brought. Snatching her wrist, he yanked it up and pressed it against the tree. He was immediately rewarded with relief. He let go of her throat and pulled out his dagger. Gretchen took a whooping breath and eagerly sucked in air.
“Kyros, please,” she cried. “Don’t do this.”
“Kyros can’t help you,” the voice said, coming from his lips. “No one can.” At those words, he raised his blade and thrust forward, piercing flesh, muscle, and bone in her hand—pinning it to the tree. Gretchen screamed, high and loud.
Kyros, horrified at what he’d done, was hit immediately with blinding agony. He collapsed, writhing on the ground. He lay there in misery, not wanting to give into the voice, not wanting to cause Gretchen more pain. He peeled his eyes open, forcing himself to look at her. She sobbed loudly—attempting to hold completely still. The blade was so sharp that it would take little pressure to slice it cleanly through her hand. Blood dripped down her arm as her body trembled violently. “Please,” she said with a sob. “Please, Kyros. You’re strong. You can resist her.” Her shaky voice was barely audible over the earplugs, but the fear and pain written across her face was clear.
The pain grew a thousand times worse as he briefly considered freeing her. “No.” The word tore from his lips in a desperate cry. He knew what he had to do. The image burned clearly in his mind. If he ever wanted the pain to stop, he had to slice her open. It subsided as he accepted her fate and climbed back u
p to his feet. He pulled out a long, curved blade and stepped up to her. He stood, heaving breaths into his oxygen-deprived lungs.
He allowed the other entity free reign of his mind as he cowered mindlessly in a dark corner of his brain. What other choice did he have? He approached her, and her eyes widened in pure, unadulterated horror. She knew he’d given in. She shook her head in denial of what her eyes were telling her. Her lips formed words. He couldn’t hear the words, but he knew she was pleading for mercy. Those lips, the lips that he so recently kissed, were now asking him to spare her. Another growl escaped him as he brushed away the memory and the pain. He couldn’t fight it any longer. The agony of resistance was too great. This was a fight to the death, her death or his.
He lifted his knife and honed in on the target, centered just below her ribs, at the top of her abdomen. He would cut her down to her pubic bone—opening her stomach.
The knife sliced down as Gretchen screamed his name. “Kyros!”
Just before blade met flesh, his consciousness leapt out to the forefront of his mind and forced his arm to take a different path. He grazed Gretchen’s belly and pierced himself through his thigh.
The explosion of pain was unbearable. Collapsing to the ground, he clutched his head in his hands, pressing hard, desperate to stop the agony. Regardless of having a knife pierce his leg, he didn’t feel it at all. The pain in his skull was so great, that being stabbed in the leg was a caress, a mother’s kiss in comparison.
Why was he awake? Suffering this great was just not possible. He should have passed out by now. But here he was, wishing he could die rather than have to endure a moment more. Tears flowed from his eyes. He’d never cried before, not even when Kassi was murdered. These tears that came were beyond his control. The pain had grown too great to fight.
Somewhere in his head, he heard Gretchen cry out. Slick hands pulled on his fingers, attempting to pry them off his head. “Kyros, let me help.” Gretchen’s voice was soft—seemingly coming from far off.
Kyros attempted to crawl away from her. “No!” he roared fighting her off with his elbows. “Get… away from me.” He bit off the words between jagged, pain-filled breaths.
“I can help you,” she cried out, while continuing to try and approach him.
She was making it impossible for him resist murdering her. “Kill...me,” Kyros urged her. “Please,” he begged. The idea of the sweet relief death would bring was his only comfort in that moment.
“I can make the pain go away,” Gretchen said. “But I have to get the ear plugs out. You need to move your hands.”
Kyros desperately wanted to believe she could do what she claimed. It took a tremendous amount of courage to even move his hands at all. He felt as if they were holding back the sea and if he moved them, he would release a tidal wave of pain, causing his skull to explode. But somehow, he did it. He moved his hands away.
Her fingers brushed his ears.
And then the angel came, releasing the pressure in a sea of sweet bliss. She came by way of a heavenly song. The song was as sweet as his pain had been sour. Kyros again cried, but this time, he was crying for joy. His suffering was over.
How long he lay there sobbing, he had no idea, but he came to himself at the close of the angel’s tune. He was lying with his head cushioned in softness, gentle fingers stroking his head. His eyes opened to the loveliest sight he’d ever seen—Gretchen smiling down on him, his head in her lap.
“You had me worried,” she said, her voice ragged. He could feel her shaking.
Kyros pushed his body up. “Gretchen, by the gods, you’re hurt. I hurt you.” His voice was thick with regret as he lifted his shaking hand and examined her injury. The first thing he noticed was the blood dripping off her fingers. Then he saw the gaping wound.
“What did you do? My blade’s not that thick.”
“The blade isn’t, but the handle is.”
Kyros’s eyes widened in horror. “You pulled your hand…”
“I did what I had to do. I couldn’t pull the knife from the tree, so—” Her voice caught, tears sparkling on her cheeks.
“Oh baby. That must hurt.”
She gave a shaky nod. “Yeah. Probably about as much as your leg.”
Kyros looked down. He’d forgotten his injury. The knife was impaled in his leg so deep, only the handle was showing. He reached for it. Just as he pulled, Gretchen screamed, “Don’t pull it out.”
It made a wet sucking sound as he slid the blade out of his leg.
“Kyros!”
He examined the wound for a short moment. It was oozing blood, but it was nothing serious.
“You should have let a doctor pull that out,” she said. “What if you had pierced an artery?”
Kyros shook his head. “The knife was nowhere near the artery.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
He stood and, despite feeling weak and injured, scooped her up off her feet. “I need to take you to a hospital.”
She shook her head at him. “No, no hospital. They’ll ask too many questions.”
“Gretchen, you need your wound tended.”
“And you don’t? Straton. He could do it.”
Kyros pressed his lips together.
“He’s a doctor, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Of sorts.” Or rather—of Dagonians. Humans were… A thought struck him, followed by many others—memories of what had transpired that night.
“You’re not human,” he blurted, jolting to a stop midstride.
Gretchen’s cheeks drained of color. “What are you talking about? Of course, I’m human. What do you think? That I come from another planet?”
“No. You’re a daughter of the sea—a mermaid.”
“Kyros, do you know how crazy you sound? Do I look like I have a fish tail?”
“Of course you don’t have a fish tail. That would be crazy.” He looked toward the sea.
“Kyros, you’re an intelligent man. You can’t believe mermaids exist. You’ve had a hard time tonight, with your headaches and all. And you blacked out for a while.
“I did not.”
“Yes, you… you were unconscious. After we got out of the car, you passed out. You looked like you were having vivid nightmares.”
“And how did you get your hand injured, and my leg. What happened there?”
“Oh, uh… well, you kind of went a little nuts before you passed out, which is why we should be getting you to a hospital.”
Kyros ignored her blatant lies. “While we’re there, we can have them look at your hand.”
“What? No. I’m fine. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’d be in if I told a doctor what happened?”
“Perhaps I should tell them I was mind-controlled by one mermaid and saved by another. She was your mother, wasn’t she?”
“You remember her?”
“No, but I remember you. Your voice saved me.”
“That doesn’t make me a mermaid.”
“Okay, so you’re not a mermaid.” Kyros shifted his weight off his injured leg. It was throbbing, but compared to the other pain he’d felt tonight, it was literally nothing. Still, perhaps he could use that excuse. “Listen, my leg is killing me. I just need to wash it out in the cool surf.”
“No way. You don’t want to get sand in it. Besides, the ocean water is filled with microscopic creatures. They could cause an infection.”
“I’ve never had that problem before.”
“Do you get injured near the ocean often?”
“Baby, I’ve only ever gotten injured in the ocean.” He looked down at his blood-soaked leg. “Until tonight. Your hand could use some fresh seawater to clean it out as well.”
“No way. Where did you get this ridiculous thinking?”
With Gretchen in his arms, he hobbled toward the water.
“Kyros, I don’t want to get in. I changed my mind. A trip to the hospital is exactly what I need.”
“Come on,
just a quick dip. But…” He narrowed his eyes and looked her over. “This won’t work.” He sat her down and slipped his t-shirt over his head.
“You’ll need to put this on,” he said.
Gretchen’s eyes darted from the shirt, to his face, lingering on his bare chest, which he tightened to improve the view for her. She looked down at her own shirt.
“Why do I need your shirt?”
“For modesty. You’ll need to take off those shorts. You can’t be wearing them when we get into the water.”
“What? You think…? I told you—I’m not getting in the water, and I’m not a mermaid!”
Without asking permission, he shoved his shirt over her head. When her head popped out the top, she was cursing. “You are crazy—certifiably insane.”
His shirt was so long on her, the bottom of it touched her knees—perfect. When he reached to pull off her shorts, she screeched, “You are not taking off my pants!” He ignored her and attempted to slip them off. She pounded on his chest with her good hand and shouted. “I’ll do it myself!”
Smirking, he stepped away. Holding her injured hand against her chest, she used her other hand to unbutton and yank down her shorts. “You know, after all you put me through, you’d think you’d be a little more sympathetic. Here I am, hurt and bleeding, and it’s all your fault.” When her shorts were off, she stood and jabbed her finger at him. “I am not getting in the water.”
“You’ll need to remove your sandals too.”
She scowled, yanking them off.
He strode forward and made a swipe for her. She dodged him and stumbled away. He caught her before she fell down and made her injury worse.
His heart broke when he saw how white she was. He lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. He could feel her tremble. She had to be in tremendous pain.
“I don’t feel so good,” she whispered. “Can’t you please just take me home?” She sounded on the verge of tears. He wanted to give in to her pleas, but that was not what she needed right now. She needed to get her focus off her injured and broken self and put it where it needed to go—on him.