by Sara K
Her weak trembling hand pushed back her hair and she allowed herself to look at the cabinet mirror. It was a mistake. She gasped at her reflection, and then studied the unrecognisable young woman before her pitifully. Bruises on her forehead, blood on her lips, the eyes were huge and swollen from crying. Get a grip, pull yourself together.
She took in several breaths and felt the cold air on her body, she noticed she was shivering; she didn’t look down at her figure in fear of what she would find. She reached for the shower and gently lifted her aching legs into the tub; the warm water was a miracle on her body. Rubbing soap over her arms Clara glanced down at the droplets of blood. She was certain she hadn’t started her period, which meant Brett had made her bleed with his fierceness she could only hope the bleeding would stop quickly. Her teeth clattered in anger. Why did she allow him to do this to her? He had more control than her and she was dependant on him because she was an orphan and don’t forget homeless too. She feared that his continuous behaviour would destroy her mentally and what if she conceived his child. What would happen then? The very thought was terrifying.
She shuddered at the thought and shut of the shower. The door was broken. What an idiot and a fool to damage the door only so he can be brutal. Very slowly she tiptoed into her room and rushed over to the window. She squinted her eyes and saw Brett riding the horse across the field, lifting her face to the sky Clara saw the darkness approaching, the sun would set soon and he would be back in the house.
Sometime later Clara sat on her bed with a blanket wrapped around her, her head rested on the headboard and her eyes strayed to the wall. She sat frozen like a statue, unable to move. The sun had started to set the faint light of twilight beamed into her bedroom window.
Clara continued staring at the wall; her lips pressed together, her eyes dry. She wouldn’t cry because she would gain nothing in the process. Her feelings and her thoughts reflected to years ago when she was a depressed teenager on the verge of suicide and helplessness. Up until the last several months, she was fine. Clara knew better than that, she knew it was starting again. Shutting her eyes against all the memories, she thought of the emptiness inside her during the days and at night, she would feel a sense of peace when she dreamed. At first, she did not understand the differences in her feelings at night a sort of relaxation seeped through her mind. She had dreamt of happiness of a protected life in the last few months and most of the time she thought she saw a glimpse of a figure guiding her into light.
Sometimes when Clara felt burdened, she dreamt of a man, a tall, dark figure with chocolate brown eyes. She swore it was the same man in every dream she had, he entered her mind, talking soothingly to her, his fingertips brushing across her cheeks and then she would wake up and he would be gone leaving her stone cold.
She had no idea who he was, neither had she seen him before. Was he part of her imagination to invent someone who was wonderful and protective? Alternatively, had she gone completely insane? Once she had tossed and turned in bed, hoping sleep would come and take her away from her bed to the stranger who’s presence in her mind relaxed her and made her want to cry out in joy. How was it possible that she can forget his voice? Often she would fantasize about her invisible friend, her nightly protector who kept her nightmares away and filled her mind with beautiful images of freedom. Every morning she would cry in bed because she hated the reality, she hated being herself and wanted an escape route. She was suddenly ambivalent about the man who appeared in her dream. What if he wasn’t real? What if he also hurt her and let her down. How could she trust someone she did not know?
The door opened slowly snapping her out of her thinking; funny thing was she did not even need to glance up to see whom it was. Wasn’t it obvious? There was only one person she shared the house with, a beastly, perverted troll. Brett switched on the lamp by her bedside table, the light hurt her eyes, and she closed them shut. What the hell did he want now? Couldn’t he just leave her alone?
She refused to look at him and kept her eyes tightly shut. She felt him laugh, that evil laughter that made her shiver. “Ah, don’t pretend you’re sleeping. We have company.”
He sat down on her bed with one hand he pulled on the blanket she had wrapped securely around herself. Clara’s eyes flew open.
“No, Brett. I’m not well, please leave me tonight.”
Obviously he took no for an answer. He yanked harder on the blanket whilst she squeezed it tight in her hands. Fear and panic overtook her as the events of that day replayed in her head repeatedly until she screamed at him, tears running down her face, her back stiff with sitting in the same position for a long time. He had the victory as Clara let go of her blanket, she saw his face twist in disgust. Clara smacked his hands away and shrieked loudly, even if she died at his hands she would not let him take of her clothes. For few minutes she struggled against him, the tears running down her cheeks, she felt fire burn behind her eye sockets as the anger boiled within her. He continued using his hands to pull her hair; his fists struck her hard in the stomach. Suddenly Clara fixed her eyes on the lamp; her eyes blazing into the light, hot white pain sprinted from behind her eyes at the same time, as her body became boiling hot and sweat poured down her forehead, before her eyes the light bulb crashed into a million pieces and smashed into Brett’s head sending him crashing to the floor.
Clara rubbed her eyes to clear her vision. What had she just done? Her mouth hung open; her skin was still hot and red. Her head felt dizzy and strange. For a few seconds she couldn’t believe what she had just done. The lamp lay broken on the floor, tiny glass pieces were scattered all over the rug, whilst Brett lay on the floor with a little gash to his head. She closed her eyes, wishing this incidence would go away. Oh God she had killed him and at this moment she had no idea who she was.
Chapter 3: The RACE AGAINST TIME
An Owl howled and the wind carried its sound across the sky towards the hilltop where a figure stood motionless in the dim twilight scanning the ground below. Michael Cole Edmund stilled and sniffed the surrounding air for any signs of disorder in the countryside of Havenport. Something had lured him out specifically from his study room in his mansion to stand here and observe the sight before him.
Was her presence getting any closer, is that why destiny had brought him here? After so many long centuries of existence as an Immortal, he felt hopeful that someone out there had the power to save him from the relentless doom approaching. He had a vague idea of what she looked like, beautiful and soft as a feather. Even from afar, he had picked out little of her memories all that made his heart ache and made him more desperate to find her swiftly.
He knew time was running out but for her or for him. Often he wanted to destroy every city and every town, to rip them apart and find her before it was too late for either of them. One week ago, he came to Havenport after hearing that Vampiress Shea was targeting the surrounding areas; Michael had believed she would strike in Havenport and he wanted to be there when she did. A crazed Vampire out for vengeance for destroying her children two years ago, Michael had been there and was a witness to the sorry sight, his friends wife had been kidnapped and held prisoner by Shea. There was no solution, no agreement as Dominick moved hell and heaven to find her. When he did, the first thing he accomplished was to destroy Shea’s children to make her suffer. It was a day Michael clearly remembered, the day Shea had gone completely mad with grieve and cursed his race for retribution.
Michael felt the sudden chill again this time coming from the west, he lifted his head, and a sudden uneasiness settled in him. In his mind’s eye, he knew she was close, very close in fact and he must find her. It was a necessity for him, he felt as though her fate was hanging from the thread. Dark mist surrounded around him as he took into the air, heading west.
She was running now as fast as she could, she needed to get away from here especially from Brett. She was making a life changing decision, for better or for worse only time would tell. Her
fate was sealed. That much she knew.
He was alive. When he awoke, he would come after her. She could never allow herself to be captured. She tripped landing with a thud on the ground. There was little light in the sky, occasionally she glanced over her shoulders to see if anyone was following. Where would she go? There was no place for her; she brought nothing except the blanket that was draped over her shoulders. She had no money, no clothes, no shelter, and no food. The necessities of life she was lacking. What would happen to her? Now that she had left the life, she knew behind. Where would she go?
What had happened to her dreams? Her future. Her ambition. Her childhood. Most important of all what become of those happy childhood memories she had of being surrounded by love, laughter, and family. Twelve years later and a series of adventures in children’s homes those heart aching memories of birthday, parties, and holidays were starting to dissolve into ashes.
Clara allowed herself to slow down when a jolt of pain tore through her body she still ached from before. Ignoring the aching pain in her muscles and the new bruises that were already forming on her body she stumbled through the field like someone who had been mugged. Far head she heard the stream as the sound drummed in her head. Where would she spend the night? She figured when sleep overtook her she would drift off in the grass. Perhaps tomorrow morning she would go back to him and it would start again. Did she not read somewhere how domestic violence victims always returned to the perpetrator? Psychologists called it the Stockholm syndrome. The phrase was coined after the bank robbery in Stockholm in 1973 where hostages empathised with their captors. Clara couldn’t do that anymore. In her heart, she knew she had to draw the line somewhere. She simply could not return to him. The gushing sound of water ran loudly in her ear. She could feel herself getting nearer and nearer the idea made her sob loudly. No one could save her now. Not even her imaginary friend. Tomorrow there will not be any tears, because it will all end tonight.
Michael raced across the sky urgently, his form hidden by the mist. He was sensing her closeness, her distress signals that drew him insane. He was determined that tonight nothing would change; no death would separate their hearts from each other. Just as always he remained calm, his mind working hard to process what was happening whereas his heart contracted with fear and hopelessness. No. It will not end in this manner. He landed swiftly near the riverbank; his features were set hard, his eyes caught the slim female figure floating beneath the water. With fast thinking he floated over the river thankful that the current was not strong, very gently he lowered himself on the river pebbles. If her head remained below the surface any longer, she would die. As quickly as he could he lifted her head and cradled it in his arms, his eyes skimmed her face, just as he had imagined. She was beautiful, however her face was pale with bruises making him frown at her injuries and with his other hand, he lifted her lower body into his arms, and she was not that heavy at all. Once he set her on the ground, he removed the blanket and pressed at the centre of her chest, whilst his mind sought hers and he controlled it to keep her alive, he gathered her in his arms, his free hand rubbing her back tenderly.
Come back to me Michael whispered the words of solace in her mind as he took control of the situation. She had swallowed water that needed to leave her body, with each rub she coughed, and spluttered water from her mouth before sinking into unconsciousness, her body went limp again her hands dropping on the ground lifelessly.
Michael stroked her forehead, his fingertips touching the dark bruise on her soft skin. He knew she had hypothermia since the water in the river was cold, her body was pale and lifeless, he needed to get her home, she was still human and what happened could be fatal. He carried her in his arms and took one last glance at the river, and of the young woman he carried and her true intentions. Deep down he was aware of what really happened the knowledge shocked him. As quickly as he could he drifted off home.
Chapter 4: The DESPERATION
The four-poster king size bed was magnificent and could possibly accommodate four people. Michael placed the woman on the bed; with her thoughts shut off, he could not read her memories since she was in the state of unconsciousness. To care properly for her was very vital. He tried not to think of how she had deliberately jumped into the river to end her life, and neither did he allow himself to think about the bruises on her face. Was it possible she fell over and hurt herself? He glimpsed back at the woman on his bed whilst he fetched warm blankets, some clothes, and herbal medicine. She looked very innocent and young and as he stripped off her clothes and saw the bruises and the marks on her body of being mistreated, every protective nature in his body took over him, he froze with her cardigan still in his hands. His jaw hardened and his fists clenched together in a fiercely red rage.
When he took of her ripped trousers, he saw more dark bruises and small cuts on her inner thighs and legs. His fangs lengthened and he roared loudly into the empty room. He vowed to himself that someone would pay for this, it was too early to figure out who did this, but once she awoke, he would be able to extract the information from her mind. A telepathic bond he shared with her. He tossed her clothes to the side and reached for the herbal balms, which he applied to all her bruises and marks. Michael had every faith they would heal her, he would just have to wait and be patient.
His hands drifted down her back to unclasp her bra, the act made him pause slightly. He hated to invade her privacy, she knew nothing about him, and when she awoke, he would be someone who took advantage of her and witnessed her nudity. Whether he saw her now or later he knew it would happen, he unfastened her bra and jerked it off as her breasts entered his view. He gasped at their beautiful shape, his fingertip caressed the soft creamy skin marred with bruises and his mouth watered and he felt hazy, his lips drifted lower and lower until his tongue stroked the soft swell of her breasts. Red. So red. Like blood. The temptation overtook him and he could not stop himself he drove his fangs into her skin and allowed her blood to fill him up, to satisfy the animal hunger he latched on, as he sucked harder. The sweetness filled his mouth, causing every fibre in his being to string alive with need and pleasure. It was then he started to tremble with the sudden intensity.
No! No! No! Horrified at his actions Michael let go of her breast and turned away. How could he do this to her when she was in such a state? To take this much blood was dangerous, it would surely leave her weak. Michael licked his lips guiltily and reached for his shirt, which he drew over her to cover her up. He sat beside her as he studied her.
“I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” He whispered the words near her ear; his hands felt her pulse that was weak, her skin still pale. He found two woollen blankets and wrapped them around her to warm her up. He retrieved to the kitchen to make her hot herbal tea that he rested on the coffee table.
He worried about her health; it was too late to take her to a human physiologist who would use their methods. He rubbed his hands together to heat them up before running them all over her body as he chanted an ancient spell. He was not a wizard or a sorcerer as some believed despite his ability to create magic his powers came from a long line of ancestors who had passed their blood as well as their unique supernatural abilities down the line of the Immortal ones. After completing his tasks, he lay beside her his arm wrapped around her waist. He closed his eyes and chanted more protection spells to guard the house from intruders. A sudden pressure eased into his chest causing his heart to tighten, he blinked to clear the horrifying details, and his eyes glanced over the young woman on his bed, who laid deathly still her expression childlike.
Several months ago he had connected with her telepathically he had felt the sharp force of her inner pain, her memories were full of sadness and even from afar it seemed she had obliviously sent him wave after wave of her emotions, ones that threatened him and ones that squeezed his heart and made him cry out helplessly. Half way across the country, an eternity away he struggled for sanity as it stripped him bit by bit. Her pa
in was unbearable, her suffering intolerable. Every day his mind sought hers immediately, released the essence of a wonderful life and happiness when he knew she was giving up as time grew by. He waited patiently and eagerly for her to open her crystal green eyes and see the world once again, a world she had desperately wanted to leave.
Clara’s eyes fluttered open in panic and a soft sound tore through her throat; she took in her surroundings, very surprised that she was someplace warm and comfortable, unexpected though. The room was beautiful, something she had never seen before. Did she die and gone to heaven. Is this what heaven felt like? Then the surrounding frightened her, when her eyes lifted to the face that stood by her bed she felt terrified. She glanced uncomfortably at the beautiful face of a man; he was tall and muscular and wore a black silk shirt. His eyes were dark and beautiful that stared down at her, imitating her. Clara recoiled in shock as the events came crawling back into her mind, she was fully aware of jumping in the river and the rest was blank except awakening in this bed, naked with only blankets wrapped around her. She tore her eyes away the peculiar face, did he save her, and brought her here? This was far from heaven. It was more of a ‘out of the frying pan-into the oven’ type of scenario.