Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  I leaned back against the rear wall, and fought to collect myself once more. I grit my teeth and leaned in toward the mirror to get a better look at the scar. The circles were nearly perfect, and the symmetry was unmistakable.

  I had been branded.

  11

  Roma

  “DALE!”

  I screamed out his name into the house. This time, there was no edge of mild confusion or peace in my voice. The recognition of the marks on my skin had made the danger I had just passed through all too real. It’s one thing when you see a demonic mark on a character in a movie, and quite another when you see it on your own chest.

  When I recovered from shock, I screamed Dale’s name out again into the house. I was growing increasingly aware that the house was emptier than I was used to, and an unsettled feeling began to grow within my chest once more.

  Wearing only my bra, and my scrub pants, I began to search the rest of the apartment.

  Though Dale wasn’t a man of elaborate means, he did have a bit of money, and he preferred to spend it lavishly when it came to impressing women in his life. I got the impression this was a habit he had maintained throughout his existence. Admittedly, it was probably one of the reasons I found it so difficult to get rid of him. So maybe he wasn’t the greatest fuck in the world, but at least he knew to treat his women right — on some level. Problematically, that generous spirit only made things worse in the moment.

  I looked through the living room, and on the back patio. There was no Dale. I did, however, see a bit of mess and untidiness that would not have typically been there. The back door was open, and there was trash strewn about the living room floor. The chairs and couches were displaced from their conventional positions, and one pillow had been dragged into a corner. Upon closer inspection, the pillow looked as though it had been slashed open, or torn apart. Wind came in from the open sliding glass door for the back patio, and I watched as the stuffing swayed about with the air currents in the room.

  “Dale…”

  My voice grew less eager and more worried. These subtle details were framing a very different picture in my mind.

  Perhaps I wasn’t alone in the house, and perhaps Dale wasn’t here either. For all of his faults, Dale was not a messy person. As a matter of fact, one of the things that irritated me about him was his excessive commitment to a Type A Lifestyle. I had to make a concentrated effort to remember the simplest shit, like, washing a dish immediately after I used it. To Dale, this went without saying. I lowered my voice, and began more cautiously to explore the remainder of the house. Before I did so, I walked over to the fireplace, and reached above the mantle.

  On principle, Dale had purchased a fully functional antique rifle. When we had moved in together to this place, he had gone through the whole gamut of introductory tour information. I felt like I was somewhere between a lecture on US history, and a tour guide for a museum. Not one of those interesting, Met Art type galleries either. Some stuffy museum of small town cultural history that held no relevance any longer. No purpose except to serve the nostalgia of those who were also no longer relevant. I had to suck him off in order to break up the monotony, but I did remember what he had said about the rifle.

  “This was my grandfather’s,” he began. “I keep it loaded, and cleaned. If at any time you need to use it in order to protect yourself, I want you to know it’s there for you.”

  I remember nodding, and then suffering through a detailed explanation of the pH balance of the water in his fish tank. Now, I was alone, in a potentially dangerous situation, and Dale was not around. I became immediately grateful that I paid enough attention during the initial house tour in order to keep that bit of information at the ready. I didn’t understand how to shoot, of course, but I figured it couldn’t be that difficult. The end with the hole in it was pointed away from you — pull the trigger, try to hold on. I had seen enough movies to know that it was mostly attitude. All it took, frequently, was the appearance of having a gun in order to really give the “fuck off” vibe needed for most situations.

  I didn’t want to think about a situation where the pretense of violence would not be enough. Unwillingly, the images of those two creatures from the Admittance Room came back into my mind. I exhaled sharply, and forced myself to focus on the present moment.

  “Here, Roma,” I demanded of myself, keeping my voice low. “Be here, now.”

  My fingers wrapped around the weapon. I felt the wooden butt of the antique rifle begin to slip and grow warm in the sweat from my palms. My next move was to investigate the master bedroom and the guest room. Both were situated across from one another down the hall from the living room. I had no way of knowing how to do this sort of thing effectively, but I had filled in once on an action set. I figure if all I’m trying to do is put on a show, then I might as well draw from that well as deeply as possible. With vicious pronouncement, I kicked open the door to the master bedroom, and leveled the weapon around me.

  The room was empty, apart from more signs of torn pillows and ripped clothes. Drawers had been left open, and I got the distinct impression that someone had been in here, looking for something.

  Could have been a robbery, I thought, hoping secretly that I had missed the perpetrator, and would be off the hook for actually using the weapon in my hand.

  The same theatrics took me into the guest room, and yet I found nothing. I began to feel silly, and wondered if the threat was gone. Perhaps I was creating this scenario for myself in my own mind. I didn’t dare call his name out again, but so far, Dale was nowhere to be found.

  The final room in the apartment was a traditional study, at the end of the hall. The study was Dale’s favorite room. I would have checked there first, but it was all the way at the far end of the apartment. I approached cautiously, knowing that he kept valuables there, and if there was a robbery underway, this would be the last place to clear out.

  Right before opening the door, I heard a low growling noise coming from within the study.

  Summoning my courage, I slammed the door open, and dropped the weapon into a firing position. Before me, was a monstrous dog with glowing red eyes glaring straight at me. I faltered, and the dog bared its teeth at me. Then something in me refused to be a victim once more. I couldn't resign myself to being helpless in two tragedies, in one day.

  I fired.

  12

  Roma

  My total lack of training in firearms betrayed me when I needed the skill most. The dog, as large as it was, was incredibly quick. With little more than a dipping of its shoulder, it lowered its body to the ground and growled at me. The bullet went straight over the animal, and shattered one of Dale’s special awards.

  I realized then, that I didn’t know how to reload the weapon once I had fired it. I had been too busy being irritated with Dale to really pick up on that information in time. My finger pulled down on the trigger, only to realize that no further explosions would be coming out from the far end of the rifle.

  I was stuck, and in front of me was a dog that should have had a place on a movie set about Red Riding Hood.

  “RAaaAH!” I yelled, trying my best to sound vicious and heroic.

  I swung the rifle down at the animal. I wanted to strike it over the head and curse it for taking up space in my home. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a normal dog. This creature had the same demonic energy about it that the two people in the admittance room had about them. Unfortunately, much in the same way as the fell beings in the admittance room, I was horribly outmatched.

  With little more than a sideways dodge and a push forward, the demon wolf snapped its jaws down around the rifle as I struck it down toward the floor. The animal was too fast, and what’s more it was far too powerful for me. Not only did I watch its teeth sink into the wooden stock of the rifle, but it seemed as though its jaws were powerful enough to bend the hot steel itself. Terrified, I let go as the wolf yanked the weapon out of my hands. I saw it discard the rifle like a chew toy — bent, br
oken and splintered. All of my pretenses of being a badass action hero vanished, along with my courage.

  For the second time in an hour, I was faced with a creature I could not understand, and for the second time in an hour, that creature was trying to kill me.

  The wolf let out a snarl, but I had already rushed out of the study, and down the hall toward the living room. Behind me, I heard the cruel beast closing in on my position. Furniture had been put out of place. I was so confused that I couldn’t tell the difference between my own heartbeat, and the stamping of feet on the wooden floor of the hallway. Everything was loud, and hope seemed very far away from my current reality.

  I felt the beast closing in on me, and I realized that I would never make it past the living room. I did then, the only sensible thing that any grown girl could do. I cut a sharp turn into my bedroom, and slammed the door tight behind me. The movement was desperate, and if the animal could make short work of a rifle, then I had little doubt that it could knock down a door. For whatever the reason, the door held, and my hand secured the lock at just the right moment. The door buckled under the attack of the dog, and the wood actually knocked me slightly in the forehead, causing some blood to trickle down on my face.

  I was hyperventilating, and in shock. I realized that though the door was holding, I might only have a short time before the creature finally made it through to seize its ultimate goal.

  I sprinted over to the phone and dialed 911. Each number and every second thereafter was punctuated by repeated impact. The demonic animal's body was being hurled against the solid oak door of Dale’s apartment. I felt the shudder of the door pass through my body in waves of fear. After what seemed like an eternity, the 911 operator finally picked up.

  “Thank God!” I yelled, I’ve got a mad dog here, and I need you to send someone immediately.

  “Please remain calm.”

  Easy for her to say, I thought, still hearing the pounding of the animal at the door.

  “Can I get your name and address?” the operator continued.

  I gave her the information, though I was certain that it was a formality. If the big brother state didn’t have that kind of information already as soon as I called 911, then they had work to do. My anticipation of their power was that they would have been able to track me based on the number. I couldn't tell if that was the case, but I prayed that it was true enough. I was running out of time.

  “Remain calm. Animal Control will be there shortly.”

  “Animal Control!” I yelled into the phone.

  I was about to unload my rage and indigence toward the helpless operator. She needed to be informed that the dog which was bothering me had incredible strength. In all likelihood, the beast was spawned from hell itself. I was about to explain all of this, but the phone was disconnected. I was left once more in the silence of isolation with the sound of the persistent strike of the animal’s body against the door. I slammed the phone onto the nightstand so hard that the top drawer spilled open. Dale’s private drawer.

  There, in front of me, amid the pounding of the wolf at the door, and the disconnected phone line, was a final ray of hope. A small pistol that I had not noticed before was there before me. Undoubtedly this one was also loaded, and from the looks of it, there would be more than one shot available after pulling the trigger.

  On one level, I was growing increasingly skeptical of Dale. I was learning more and more about Dale by the moment. It didn’t put me at ease to know that a man was sleeping next to me with a loaded pistol hidden in his nightstand. Without a moments hesitation longer, grabbed the weapon, and then moved toward the door.

  I was going to fire, and then I heard something that gave me pause.

  The wolf had ceased attacking the door, and was now growling once more. The disconcerting thing about that was that there was something not altogether inhuman about the growls. Pacing closer to the door, with the firearm held ready toward the hall, I listened to the sound coming out of the throat of the monster.

  “GRRRRrrrooOOMa”

  A name was hidden in the sound. Decoding the noise didn't take much work at all. The sound was clear enough.

  The demon was calling my name.

  13

  Roma

  Before I could fire off any rounds from the handgun, or fully process what was happening to me, the window over our bed shattered inward. I was so focused on the sound of the dog that the noise from the window took me by surprise. I whipped around, ready to spray whatever it was with whatever came out from the inside of that handgun.

  I know operating a deadly weapon with that level of ignorance is not a useful or smart thing to do. When you are pushed to the edge, being foolish and alive seems preferable to being rational and dead.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have time to react.

  A man was on me in no time at all, bouncing from the bed and knocking my arm wide so that the aim of the weapon was off. I got one squeeze of the trigger off, and the sound of the firearm brought a deafening to my ear. The violence from within the room elicited a continued reaction from the monster outside. The door began to shudder under the persistent attacks of the creature.

  The man, whom I identified up close and personal as Patient 888 had me pressed up against the wall. He held me with a firm hand, directing my weapon toward the door and away from his body.

  “Know your enemy,” he said, simply.

  The sound of his voice brought me back into a sane form of reality. While few other things may have been making sense at the time. I didn't know how he had found me, or known which window to enter — at least his touch gave me a bit of solid grounding to stand on. I took a deep breath, and focused on the present moment.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he understood more about this situation than myself.

  Having seen him engage the two creatures in the clinic, and now seeing how he maneuvered out of the way of my involuntary assault, I was impressed. I knew that he was an ally and not a liability. If anything, I was more dangerous than anyone else in this situation except for the monster. However, I felt an empowered sense of respect from him, as he didn’t disarm me. I felt like he was teaching me how to fight — how to stand up for myself. Dale had done as much as well, now that I thought about it, but there was something a bit less patronizing about this man. Somehow, I felt like even though I was obviously not on the same level of physical prowess as this man, he was treating me like an equal.

  “It’s a hellhound,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at the door.

  “It said my name,” I balked, struggling to actually describe this degree of personal madness to another human.

  I shouldn’t have been ashamed. He knew exactly what was going on, and the information did not surprise him in the slightest.

  “That’s because you’re its target. It was sent for you.”

  Our brief moment of communication had not come without a price. The hound was increasing its fervor against the door, and just then, splinters began to fly out from the hinges. The door frame was weaker than the door itself.

  “Quickly!” he demanded, as the door began to give way. “I see you are equipped, where do you keep your arsenal!”

  I blinked hard at him.

  All of this was too unreal. He gestured at the weapon, in my hand, and I realized what he was talking about. Suspicion flew up in my mind for no good damn reason, and I grew selfishly protective.

  “I don’t want to take away your weapon,” he said, narrowing his eyes in frustration.

  I got the distinct impression that if he had wanted to disarm me, he would have done so already.

  “Right!” I said. “Baseball bat… under the bed.”

  “Baseball?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

  Just then, the second hinge burst off of the door. I screamed, while splinters showered into the room all around me.

  “Get into the closet!” he shouted, while vaulting over the bed, and across
the room.

  I didn’t want to go into the closet. I remembered how he had handled those creatures at the clinic, and the awareness of my own lack of confidence came back to me full force. I’m not proud of what I did then, and I wish I would have stayed out to fight, but I did as he suggested.

  Quickly, and without complaint, I moved to the closet, and held myself there in the corner. I was hidden in clothes and shadows, tucked into the corner of the closet. The firearm was pointed out toward the door. If the wolf came into the room, and got past Patient 888, I would release every single bullet in the chamber into its body.

  I may have conceded to hide, but I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  Just then, the door to the closet slammed shut, and the door to the bedroom sprayed open. I could hear the growling, and the broken pieces of wood as the door exploded inward. There was no place for me to hide now, and so I sat there, crying, and holding tightly to a weapon I didn’t know how to use. Outside of the closet, I heard a low, wrathful growl come out from the Hellhound. The beast was inside. The only thing that stood between myself and certain death, was a shaky handgun, and an unexpected ally with a baseball bat.

  I did what any neglectful catholic girl would do in such a moment.

  I prayed.

  14

  Roma

  The beast came at me in slow motion, and I remember realizing that if I didn’t take some form of action, I was going to die. This would be the end of a very sad, and disappointing life path. Something inside of me reached out with the intent of making a claim. I was not going to stand by and let some nightmare spawn claim me. I would not be a bystander to my own demise if I could help it.