by Sophie Stern
This is real life, and that means that if there is someone watching me, lurking around, they’re probably going to mug or murder me. I finish locking the school as quietly as possible. Then I turn slowly. My eyes sweep the parking lot, which is completely empty except for my car. Despite the street lights, the night is dark, and I can’t see very well. It’s not very far to my vehicle from the door, but the walk seems like forever, and for the first time since I started this job, I’m filled with a sense of fear and dread.
Still, I don’t really have much of a choice. Do I? I have to get to my car and go home. It’s not that difficult. I’ve done this a thousand times before. I can run to my car or walk slowly, but I have to get there and get inside. Once I’m inside, everything will be okay. Once I slip into my car and turn it on, I’ll be safe. I know I will. I just have to make it there.
I decide that a slow walk to my car is going to be best. That way, if there really is a monster lurking in the darkness, it won’t think I’m scared. That makes sense, right? Yeah. Total sense. Okay.
I move slowly, but steadily, trying to seem as normal as possible as I make my way to my car, but my eyes scan the forest and parking lot looking for movement. Is there actually something out there? Maybe I’m just tired. That could be it. I was up late taking care of the kittens and then I had to work. I’m just sleepy. Once I get home and take a nap, this will all seem like a bad dream.
That’s it.
I make it to my car. I fumble with my keys for a second, press the button to unlock the door, and then grab the handle. The whole thing feels loud and rushed, and I look around once more. I’m just about to slide in the car. I pull the door open. I move forward.
And then she’s beside me.
Grabbing me.
Covering my mouth with her hand.
“Don’t scream,” the woman’s voice is pained and low. The scent of blood fills my nostrils, and I feel sick. My heart begins to pound harder than it ever has before, and I realize this is it. This is when I die. I’m about to be kidnapped, taken away. I’m going to be shuttled off to a terrible, horrible, painful death that no one will be able to save me from.
This is how I go.
And the first thought that rushes through my head is that I’m worried about the kittens. Who is going to take care of them? No one even knows they’re there. I didn’t tell anyone I was taking them in, so why would anyone check my house for them? They’re going to starve, I realize, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman says. She’s standing behind me and her hand is clasped firmly over my mouth. She’s bigger than me. Even without turning around, I can tell that she towers over me. It wouldn’t be a fair fight: that much is for certain. “But I need your help. Please,” she whispers. “Don’t scream. They’ll hear.”
Then to my surprise, she lowers her hand and carefully spins me around. Her hands are on my shoulders, and I look up at the woman in front of me. She’s bleeding, I realize.
“You’re hurt,” it’s the first thing I say, and although I’m no doctor, I try to start assessing the damage. Blood is pouring out of her leg and her stomach is soaked with blood. She’s wearing a backpack of some sort, and dirt is smeared on her face. “We need to get you to the hospital,” I tell her, instantly forgetting my fear. Some things are more important than death. This woman needs help. “Get in my car,” I tell her, suddenly worried about her. She looks pale, even in the moonlight. What happened to her? Maybe she was in a car accident, or perhaps she was attacked.
“There’s no time,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “They’re coming.” She slides her backpack off of her body and thrusts it into my arms. That’s when I realize it’s not a backpack at all, but a child carrier, and there’s a little baby inside. The infant looks up at me, blinking, but doesn’t cry or make any noise at all. “Please,” she says. “Take her to Fablestone. They’ll know what to do. Find Cameron. Tell him Ellie sent you. Tell him Lucky is coming. Please.”
“But, I,” I shake my head, staring at the baby. “I don’t know anything about babies.”
“Vow to me,” the woman says. “Swear an oath. Take the baby. Please.”
In this moment, I realize I have two choices.
I can promise this stranger I will save her baby. I can swear that I will return this child. I can save the little one, or I can refuse. I can turn away. I can let whatever is happening proceed uninterrupted without any help or assistance from me.
But somehow, I can’t do that.
“I swear it,” I whisper, looking up at the woman. She looks relieved. She’s not calm by any stretch of the imagination, and her eyes are flittering around, constantly looking to make sure someone isn’t there. She’s running from something terrible. Even I can see that. “You need a doctor,” I insist, but she shakes her head.
She takes my wrist, then, and bites me.
“What the fuck?” I ask, pulling my wrist back.
“You swore an oath,” the woman says.
I look at my wrist. It’s not bleeding, but there are two little puncture wounds where her incisors dug into my skin.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you were going to fucking bite me,” I say. I look up, but the woman is gone. She’s disappeared into the night, and I’m standing in the parking lot, covered in blood, holding another woman’s baby, and I have bite marks in my wrist.
And I don’t know what to do.
What do I do?
Do I go to the police station?
Do I go to the hospital?
Should I drive around and look for the woman?
The baby seems unharmed, but where is Fablestone? And what does any of this have to do with me? Who’s Lucky? And why are they chasing Ellie?
Suddenly, it starts to rain, and I quickly get into the car, close the door, and lock it. The baby looks up at me and I realize I don’t even know her name, but something tells me this is all much bigger than I could possibly imagine.
Keep reading in DRAGON’S OATH. Available on Amazon.
Take Your Time
Want more contemporary romance from Sophie Stern? Check out this sample of TAKE YOUR TIME: a contemporary ménage romance.
I take the long way home because after ending my relationship with my parents, I need a freaking break. Driving through the mountains is the perfect way to unwind and chill out before I go back to the real world. At least, that's what I think until I'm caught in a freak snowstorm and find myself stranded in the mountains.
I'm lost without cell service and there's no help coming.
I'm lost without a family.
And that's when the lumberjacks come to my rescue. At least, they LOOK like lumberjacks. Keagan and Eli are strong, fit, and brave. They're everything I want and everything I don't need right now.
My life is messed up enough as it is without throwing a menage relationship into the mix.
But I can't help what I want.
And something tells me they want me, too.
Turn the page to read the first two chapters OR visit Amazon to get your copy now!
1
Melody
Family reunions are the worst.
They’re literally, absolutely, completely the worst.
I didn’t even want to go to mine, but my mother offered me a free guilt-trip, and I accepted. That’s the problem with me: guilt wins me over. Every time. It’s like a sickness or a disease. I always say I’m going to stand up for myself, but in the end, I’m weak. In the end, I’d rather not rock the boat, especially when it comes to family. I don’t know why I still think this way, why I’m still stuck in this mode of thinking because they’ve never been there for me.
I’ve always been on my own and somehow, I’ve managed to do all right for myself. I have a decent job and I make decent money. I have an apartment and a car. My student loans are paid off. Somehow, none of that matters when you enter the world of a family reunion, though.
Somehow, what matte
rs then is when I’m going to have a baby or when I’m going to get married or when I’m going to buy a house. Somehow, what matters is that I’m still a little overweight and not nearly as thin as my younger sister, Mandy. What matters at family reunions is that I have too many piercings and not enough modesty.
What matters is that I don’t fit in.
And I never have.
“It’s not that I’m telling you to lose weight,” my mother says, picking up a carrot and waving it around. “It’s just that I think you’ll be happier.”
“I’m happy the way I am, Mom,” I insist. She glares at me when I reach for the cookie on my plate, and I don’t pick it up. Instead, I act like I was reaching for a piece of celery, and she nods in approval as I start to munch on that, instead. Inside, I hate the way I’m giving in to her. I might talk a big game, but I’m avoiding things I want to eat because I don’t want her to complain or fuss at me.
“She’ll never get a man looking like that,” Uncle Henry says, walking by the picnic table where I’m sitting with my mother. He shakes his head as he makes his way over to Aunt Eloise, who is much too thin for her height.
My entire family is much too thin, I’ve decided. I’m the only normal one. That must be it. They all have body issues and self-esteem issues and they definitely all have eating disorders. Why else would they all be so gangly and scrawny?
It’s not me.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
I repeat this silently to myself, over and over. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine the way I am. I don’t know if I really believe this anymore, though. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m starting to question whether I really am fine.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe there is something wrong with me.
Maybe there’s a reason all of my friends are getting married and I, at 29 years old, am not. Maybe there’s a reason the rest of the world really has settled down and I seem to be content with my same old job, with my same old life. Maybe there’s a reason for all of it. I don’t know.
I can’t think straight anymore.
Suddenly, I realize I’m close to tears and if there’s one thing I promised myself I would never do, it’s let my family know just how deeply their words really affect me.
“Excuse me,” I say, getting up from the table.
“It’s almost time for games,” my mother says, wrinkling her nose, as if the idea of me missing a game is just too much for her to handle.
“I need to use the restroom,” I say. I need to be polite right now, proper. I need to have good manners even though no one else seems to have them.
My mother presses her lips tightly together in a thin line and glares at me. Usually, she gives me this look and I cave. We don’t live together. I don’t even see her that often: maybe just twice a month. It doesn’t matter, though. She glares and I obey. It’s what I’ve always done. I’ve always been this huge pushover, but right now, I don’t want to be.
I stand and climb back over the attached bench, then head toward the restrooms.
“Well, I never! That ungrateful-” I block out the sound of my mother’s voice and make my way toward the bathrooms. I just need a few minutes to get myself together, a few minutes to calm down and unwind, and then I can go back to being the daughter. Then I can go back to being the well-mannered overweight dork nobody likes. Yeah.
What a life, right?
The tears are already streaming down my cheeks when I reach the bathrooms. I push open the door and go into a stall to cry. Somehow, I manage to do this silently. Good. I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than I already have. The last thing I need is for someone to judge me further. The last thing I need is for someone to know how much their words really hurt me.
Suddenly, the door to the bathroom squeaks open and I hear giggling and laughter.
It’s Mandy, my little sister, and two of our cousins. I will myself to be silent until they leave, will myself to be invisible for just a little while. Just a little while and then I can sneak out of here, go back to the party, and socialize for another hour or two.
We only have these get-togethers once a year. All of the cousins and aunts and uncles from all over Colorado meet up and share an afternoon picnic. My mother promises it’s a chance to “catch up,” but that just means it’s a chance for people to gossip and figure out who’s doing the best for themselves.
Every year for as long as I can remember, I’ve hated the family picnic.
It’s never been fun for me and as far as I can tell, it’s not fun for anyone else, either. So why do we do this? Why do we get together and have this charade? Why do we get together and pretend we all like each other?
Obviously, we don’t.
“Can you believe what she was wearing?” Adele asks, and I cringe. They’re going to be talking about me, of course. What else is there to gossip about? No one else has screwed up majorly this year. No one got arrested or lost their job. The only fuck-up is me: the fat girl.
“So hideous,” Mandy says, and Janet laughs.
“She thinks she looks good,” Janet says.
“She doesn’t.” Mandy’s voice is harsh, shrill, and suddenly, I wonder why I’m here. Why did I even come? Do I really have a family obligation to be here? Do I really have an obligation to be around people who hate my guts?
“I feel bad for you,” Adele says. “She’s your sister, you know. Her looks reflect on you.”
I’m almost 30 years old and I’m hiding in the bathroom because my family hates me. I’m at an event that I chose to come to, and I’m hiding in the bathroom.
There is something seriously wrong here, and the realization is a little bit freeing, to be honest.
Suddenly, I understand I shouldn’t have come.
Suddenly, I realize no one would have missed me.
Suddenly, I realize it’s time to cut ties with my family and move on.
It’s time to be strong.
It’s time to be brave.
It’s time to be a fucking adult.
I push the stall door open and walk over to the group of women gathered at the sink. They looked surprised to see me. Mandy has the decency to blush briefly, but Adele and Janet just stare at me.
“Melody,” Mandy says. “We, uh, didn’t know you were in here.”
“Obviously,” I say, then I give her a chance to say something for herself, but she doesn’t. Mandy doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t deny what she said, she doesn’t apologize, and she doesn’t make up anything to ease the tension in the room.
She just stares at me, and I realize I don’t know her at all.
I never did.
“You know what, Mandy? Adele was right.”
“Um, she was?” Mandy looks confused.
“I feel bad for you, too,” I say, and Adele suddenly grins, but the smirk doesn’t last for long because I keep talking. “Yeah, I feel bad that you’re such a shallow person you have to put others down to feel good about yourself. What is this? Third grade?”
“Hey,” Janet inserts herself into the conversation. “That’s not nice.”
“Oh, you want to talk about ‘nice’? Is that what you want to do? Sure. We can do that. Let’s talk about how nice it is that your husband cheats on you with Adele when you’re not around. Let’s talk about how he was arrested for drunk driving three weeks ago. Oh, or we could talk about the fact that you’re still unemployed because no one wants to hire an employee who steals.”
“Melody!” Mandy tries to shush me. She looks around wildly, like someone is going to hear. “That’s not polite.”
“No, it’s not polite, Mandy. It’s not polite that Adele is a cheater. It’s not polite that she thinks it’s okay to mess around with her cousin’s husband. It’s not polite that you’ve known about it all year and never said anything. It’s not polite that you’ve slept with him, too.”
“WHAT?” Janet shrieks and starts hitting Mandy before I’ve even left the bathroo
m. I should feel bad about everything I just said, but I don’t. For the first time I can remember, I stood up for myself, and it feels really good. It feels great.
I head out of the bathroom and walk straight to my car. I don’t bother looking over at the park pavilion or peeking at who is gathered there. I don’t want to say goodbye to my parents or aunts or uncles. I don’t plan on speaking to them again.
After today, they can consider the relationships severed. I don’t know why I didn’t do this before. I don’t know why I wasn’t brave before. I don’t know why I didn’t stand up for myself before.
The truth is that not talking with them isn’t going to change my life in any way. I’ll still go to work. I’ll still pay my bills. I’ll still study in my free time and I’ll still hang out with my friends. The difference is that I won’t feel guilty when my mother sees me eat food. I won’t feel bad about myself when my father wants to know why I don’t have a husband. I won’t be comparing myself to my little sister.
I’ll just be able to be me.
I get to my car and unlock the door, but before I can sit down, I feel someone grasp my arm.
“Mother?” I ask. Her hair is wild and her eyes are wide.
“What did you do?” She says through gritted teeth.
“Did you just race over here? Mom, you know you can’t run. Your asthma is too bad. Do you need a puff?”
“I do not need a puff, young lady,” she says, but she’s breathing hard and I know she needs her inhaler.
“For the love of dragons, mother! Take your inhaler. I’ll be waiting right here and you can yell at me once you can breathe again.”
She glares, but fishes the inhaler out of her pocket and brings it to her dry, chapped lips. She pushes the top of the inhaler and dispenses a single dose of her Albuterol, then shoves it back in her pocket. I give my mother a second to start breathing normally again. I shouldn’t. I should take off, but I don’t. I wait a second.