by Unknown
He turned towards her, ready to cross the port when he stopped. Someone had called his name, though Sam could not hear it over the clamor of construction. Roman hesitated a moment before turning back to his coworkers. He glanced over his shoulder at her one last time, giving her a chance to raise her hand in a friendly wave.
Roman returned the gesture and disappeared behind a half-built office building.
Whether they were friends again or not, he knew she was alive and well.
Sam let out a troubled sigh and turned north, ready to go back to her bed. Her ankle began to throb with each step and inhaling the cold winter air became painful. Sam wondered if the spells were wearing off or if she was just pushing herself too hard too soon.
“Sam!” Chad called as she passed the Res’ central courtyard.
She cringed before turning to look at her ex.
“What’s up Chad? Another murder?” she asked, disgusted with herself for hoping that someone else had died.
“What? No!”
“Oh.”
The stood in silence for a few minutes as Sam tried to ignore the growing aches in her body.
“Is there something you need?” she finally asked.
Chad let out a gusty sigh. “You asked me why I loved you.”
“And?”
He scratched the back of his neck.
“It’s like this… um… I can’t… I can’t live without you. I know that sounds totally lame, but it’s true,” he added when Sam began to roll her eyes. “You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. I can’t get you out of my head, and trust me I’ve tried. I wish I could get you out of my head, but I can’t. I’m stuck with you, and whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me too.”
Sam froze, amazed at what she was hearing. No one had ever spoken to her like this, and whether she liked it or not, she felt drawn to Chad as he rambled on. She wanted to be wanted.
Chad to a hesitant step forward, and when she didn’t immediately back away, he pulled her hands out of her pockets.
“Sam, I want you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to feel the touch of your skin against mine when I wake up in the morning. I want to give you everything I can, despite the seriously shitty hand that’s been dealt our kind.
“I know I’m not what you want, but I’m ready to spend my whole life working to make you happy if you will just give me half a chance.”
He took another step forward and raised a hand to gently caress Sam’s cheek.
“Please think about it.”
Whether she meant to or not, Sam’s head bobbed up and down. A slow smile spread across Chad’s features.
“Good. It’s cold. Go home, get warm. I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay?”
Sam nodded again.
Chad gently pressed his lips to hers before turning and walking away. A second later Sam blinked and found herself alone. A shiver ran up her spine, half from the cold of the night and half from the frenzy caused by Chad’s words.
Sam had prided herself on being an independent woman, but if she was being honest with herself, like so many women before her, she wanted love and acceptance. It was a common trait across all species, whether human, fae, werewolf, mage, or vampire. They all wanted a family, clan, pack, coven, or whatever the vampires called their little mafia groups. Sam wasn’t alone in wanting, needing to belong to a group.
But she was alone in not truly belonging to any one group. She was a fae working for a vampire gang, without a family.
Chad’s words of love and acceptance had pulled on just the right heart strings. She couldn’t help but be drawn to them, and she hated herself for it. Could he possibly love her? She wanted, needed it to be real.
Rather than continue to think about them in the cold, she forced her aching body forward, her thoughts still tumbling over themselves.
She was just limping her way back into Heywood’s territory—absently wondering why the human executives were working at ten p.m.—when a voice called her to a halt.
“I thought that was you, Samantha,” said the playful voice.
“Captain Reynolds.”
“I take it you heard about the other murder the night before last.”
Sam nodded, the muscles along her back and neck tensing as he caught up with her. Whatever Reynolds wanted to talk about, she doubted the weather would come up.
“You thought about my offer?” he asked as he led the way on into Heywood’s neighborhood.
Sam cringed. He didn’t waste any time getting to the nitty gritty.
“Why do you want me? You don’t even like mystics. You’re not one of those fetish creeps.”
Sam tried not to think of those few rich freaks who paid enough to get serviced by mystic whores.
Reynolds stopped, turning to stare at Sam. She stopped too.
“Do I really need to explain it to you?”
“Obviously, or I wouldn’t have ask.”
Reynolds grinned as his hand snaked out, catching her by the chin before she could dodge. Sam held still, giving him no reason to escalate matters.
“You want me to explain true dominance?” he asked, taking a step closer.
Sam swallowed, ignoring the butterflies playing in her stomach and the smell of garlic emanating from his mouth.
“No,” she said, suddenly understanding his brand of fetish.
Reynolds didn’t like the idea of sex with a mystic, he liked the idea of one submitting to him in the most basic sense. Sam felt another piece of her heart break away. Without thinking of the consequences, she jerked her cheek free of his fingers and stomped away.
“I’ll just get your answer later then,” he called as she hurried towards Heywood’s home.
Sam closed her eyes as she walked, forcing herself to forget the smell of his breath or the feel of his hand on her skin. What else would the humans take from her people? They had already taken their freedoms, their jobs, their educations…
The list went on and on. Would they take their rights to love too?
“What was that about?” asked Heywood, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
Sam jumped, realizing she had never opened her eyes again. She had trusted her feet to know the uneven sidewalk by heart.
Want to break an ankle again? her mind scoffed.
Sam hesitated, considering trying to lie her way out of the situation. She rejected it. No one lied to Heywood, especially if he already knew the basics.
“Captain Reynolds has made me an… an indecent proposal.”
Heywood smiled at her before clapping her on the back as though she had just hit a home run in little league.
They trekked up the steps, into the row house, and continue up to the second story living room, where Heywood took his usual seat, a smile still on his face.
“Dare I ask why you’re smiling?” she finally said as she took her own seat.
“My girl got ‘an indecent proposal’!”
“And?”
“You’ve just become invaluable.”
“You say that like I’m gonna say yes to that bastard.”
Heywood’s smile faded into a frown. “Aren’t you?”
“Hell no!”
“I beg to differ,” Heywood replied in a chillingly calm voice.
Sam glared at him, ready to match him pitch for pitch. “I may work for you. I may run drugs for you, but I will not whore for you.”
Heywood’s mobile face morphed back into a smile. “Not even for poor little Carl.”
“Go to hell, Heywood. The answer is no.”
In one of those lightning moves he rarely used except when fighting, Heywood crossed the room, grabbed her by the shoulders, and lifted her to her feet. Sam winced, feeling the bite of pain in her magically-healed shoulder. Heywood stared down at her, letting the power and age of his eyes peek through his carefully created teenager façade.
“You do as I tell, and I keep the secret that c
ould get him killed,” explained Heywood as though she didn’t understand their agreement.
“I said ‘no’,” replied Sam.
“You don’t get to negotiate in this deal.”
“Then the deal’s off.”
“You’d let Carl die?”
“He got himself into this mess.”
“And Amber?”
“Amber?”
“You told her. When I expressly forbid you to tell her about our deal, you took her into the kitchen, tried to mask the sound of your voice with the faucet, and told her my secrets.”
Sam glared at him, pouring all her hatred into her face.
“This is the one thing that is not negotiable,” said Sam, shaking off Heywood’s grip and turning toward the door. She was ready to pack up and run if she had to.
Amber and Carl would understand.
“There’s more, you know.”
“More what?” she asked the door frame, not daring to turn and look at the vampire.
“More secrets.”
“Ha! Sure there is.”
“Like the fact your dad supported the FMB putting more iron in the walls to control the fae.”
Sam spun around. “That’s a lie!”
“Is it? He was the representative of the fae for the FMB committee, and you’ve been to the wall a thousand times for me. How does it feel? You look like death warmed over when you come back. You really think they didn’t have fae input to get the levels just right to keep you weak but not kill you? How would the clan leaders take it if they found out? How would your mom handle it if Dave were shunned by the fae?”
Sam stared at him, the picture he had meticulously painted in her mind one of horror. Tears began to press against the back of her eyes.
“And then of course there is Chad. Now, I know he’s you’re ex-boyfriend, and you don’t love him and all, but you still care, right? Of course you do, Sam. Biggest heart I’ve ever seen. Well his dad—Mr. Newberry to you—his dad tried to stage a coup against the Harcos Clan. Now, that’s your clan isn’t?” Heywood added with a playful chuckle.
The Harcos—or warrior clan—had unofficially ruled the fae since the very beginning. The very idea of a coup against them was considered high treason. If even a whisper of this got out, Mr. Newberry would come upon a terrible accident and die.
Sam swallowed another lump, the pressure in her eyes growing until a tear spilled over her lid and rolled down her warm cheek.
“Then of course there’s that Amber, spending so much time with that mage. He is so very powerful. I wonder what sort of tragedy might happen if she manipulated his emotions. He could really hurt her. Then, of course, the fae would act against the mages. Things could get really scary here in the Res if the mages went to war with the fae—all hush hush, of course. What the feds don’t know, won’t kill them.”
Sam flinched as Heywood closed the distance between them. She had never heard of two factions going to war within the confines of the Res under the noses of the feds, but if anyone could make it happen, it was Heywood.
“How many people would die if that were to happen? And to think, you could stop it all if you could just have a little bit of sex with one man.”
Sam squeezed her eyes shut, more tears spilling free, rolling down to her jaw, and dripping off her chin. Her bottom lip was beginning to tremble and she pressed her lips together to control it. Finally, she nodded once. It was all she could do to give in.
“That’s my girl,” whispered Heywood, wiping her tears from her cheeks as though he were comforting her.
Sam flinched, more tears taking the place of those he had dried. When he stepped away, she ducked out of the room and hid herself behind her locked door, collapsing on the floor and pulling her legs up under her chin.
Sam stayed on the floor, crying until she had no more tears to shed.
Sam woke the next morning, looking around her room. For a short moment she wondered why she had slept on her floor, pressed against her door and fully dressed, but all too soon, the previous night came back.
This time, Sam didn’t cry. She had already done that in spades. Her decision was made and, while it gave her a sick feeling in her stomach, there was nothing she could do about it now but move forward. Instead, she left her room, ready to escape Heywood’s house, even if that meant skipping breakfast.
Sam skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs, amazed to find Heywood still awake. He was just ascending the steps, no doubt making his way up to his own bedroom. He smiled up at her as though nothing unpleasant had passed between them the night before. Sam averted her eyes, staring resolutely at the wall molding.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his expression crumple, as though he didn’t understand why she was upset. Sam slipped past him before he could speak. Breena met her at the entry way, a breakfast roll slathered in butter and wrapped in a napkin, held out for her. For some reason, Breena had become her staunch ally since Sam had shown her who was boss.
“Thank you,” Sam mouthed to her as she slipped through the half-opened door.
Once outside, Sam stopped and glanced back. Through the half-closed curtains, Sam spotted Breena making her way back into her small bedroom. Had Breena, with her werewolf hearing, heard their exchange last night? Did she know what Sam had agreed to do? Did she know how low Sam was about to fall?
Sam swallowed a fresh lump in her throat. She wouldn’t think about it until it was time to go through with it. Surely she could put Reynolds off for a few more days, or at least avoid him.
She had nowhere to go, with no official job, and so she wandered in the cold as she ate her roll.
“Sam!” Amber called as she reached the main thoroughfare. “I was just coming to find you!”
“What’s up?” asked Sam, happy to find a distraction before she could revert back to her depressing thoughts.
Sam rethought her joy upon seeing Amber’s pinched face.
“There’s been another murder.”
Sam waited for her stomach to do a little flip of surprise or her heart to skip a beat, but nothing happened. Belatedly, she realized she had expected it all along.
“You don’t look surprised,” Amber accused.
“I guess I’m not. I never really thought the newbie vampires did it.”
“But you said…” grumbled Amber. “You said the spilled blood and the bruises pointed to a newbie vampire.”
“I said it could. I also said nothing about these cases made sense.”
Amber pushed her hands into her pockets and started marching toward the slaughter house. One of the other potential work options for the Reservation inhabitants was butchering and skinning cattle. Even at night the northwestern corner of the Res rang out with the sounds of cattle waiting to be funneled in through special tunnels that led into the warehouse used as the slaughterhouse.
“You coming?” Amber asked over her shoulder.
Sam jogged to catch up with her, feeling a fresh ache in her ankle. She needed to find her brother and ask him about the healing spells he had used on her. Was she supposed to feel so crappy?
Amber slowed to Sam’s pace, her eyes flickering to the slight limp Sam was trying her best to hide. Sam saw Amber’s brows furrow into a frown, but ignored it. They hobbled up to the edge of the parking garage when they heard the door of the slaughter house bang shut, followed by muffled voices.
“Chad,” came Mr. Newberry’s voice, “how are they in there?”
“Antsy,” replied his son.
“Did you get to talk to Sam yesterday?” Mr. Newberry asked.
Sam grabbed Amber’s arm and pulled her to a stop. Amber frowned at her again, but obediently slid up against the cold cement of the parking garage. They hid in the shadows and listened.
“Yeah. I think you were right. All that crap. I said it and she just stared at me like an idiot. I never thought in a thousand years that would work.”
“You underestimate the need for a woman to be loved and wanted, es
pecially Samantha. She has been ostracized by her entire race. Being wanted by someone else is her greatest desire.”
“Needy. That’s what she is,” smirked Chad.
“Yes, but that is to our advantage. You keep working her neediness until she agrees to marry you. The clan needs a strong alliance with Harcos, specifically with the Gollets, and since no one can get close to Ryan, it’s up to you to get Sam to the union table.”
“Sheesh, Dad, I know. I heard you the last thousand times you told me. I’ve all but got her begging me to elope. If these damn murders would just stop and Heywood would leave her be, I’d have her married yesterday.”
“Married and with child. The union has to be proven.”
“Ugh… yeah that too,” groaned Chad.
Sam closed her eyes, willing herself not to feel the sting of his words. Instead of pain or embarrassment, Sam felt her emotions shut down. A numbness spread over her heart, not from the cold of the night, but from the tumult of too many ups and downs. She couldn’t handle any more hopes and disappointments anymore. It was easier to just not feel.
Her face relaxed into what some of her classmates had once called her “resting bitch face.” It was easier to give this subtle glare than to try and look happy or even calm.
“Sam?” Amber whispered, having also heard the disparaging words of Chad and Mr. Newberry.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam whispered back before Amber’s sympathy could punch a hole in her resolve. “Not like I wanted him anyway.”
Sam could see the doubt in Amber’s eyes, but she ignored it. She stomped out of their hiding place, making plenty of noise.
Mr. Newberry stood just outside the entrance, smoking a precious cigarette, Chad hunched up next to him. Sam frowned. The clan leader didn’t smoke, though if anyone could afford it, it was him.
Belatedly, she realized it was his effort to look nonchalant as he loitered outside the warehouse.
When she approached, he tossed the fresh cigarette on the ground and squished it with the toe of his shoe. He slipped into the warehouse, Chad in tow, ahead of Amber and Sam, barely making eye contact. The slaughterhouse was one of the few industries entirely run by the mystics, other than the occasional inspections done by the human executives and health experts. Like the organic diaper cleaning, the humans wanted as little to do with it as possible.