Falling for Kindred Claus

by Evangeline Anderson

  “We do have to be getting back to the Mother Ship of my people,” Asher remarked. “But I am certainly looking forward to the feast and festivities tomorrow.”

  “Yes, me too,” Lisa said, smiling politely.

  “Your clothes and some provisions in case you get hungry or thirsty have been laid out on the sitting tables,” Lambada said, gesturing to several low tables at the opposite end of the large room. “And of course, there is a necessary chamber located there.”

  She pointed to a set of steps which led down about five feet into a small space with a narrow black door. It looked ominous to Lisa—like the set of basement steps you see in a horror movie and you just know the monster is on the other side of the door. Creepy!

  But creepy or not, she knew the minute Lambada left, she was going to go lock herself in the “necessary room” for as long as it took to try and wash the oil off the backs of her thighs again. She had been trying to ignore the burning, stinging sensation but it was only getting worse. Maybe if she could scrub her skin thoroughly she could finally get rid of the pain.

  She hoped.

  “Well then, Natillus and I will see you around noon tomorrow,” Lambada said, making her farewells.

  “Goodbye—thank you!” Lisa called, trying not to shift from foot to foot as she waited for the door to their bedroom to close. The minute it did, she made a B-line directly for the creepy downstairs bathroom—she had to get some relief for her stinging thighs now.

  Asher watched her go in some surprise. She must have really needed to use the necessary room, he supposed—no wonder she had been shifting around so uncomfortably.

  He went around the room, examining it in more detail. The low tables where their clothes and carry-all cubes were situated also held several heavy stone bottles of liquid and some wrapped packages which smelled like food.

  Asher set them all aside for the moment and put on his night clothes instead—a pair of simple black sleep pants made of a soft, satiny material which was very comfortable to sleep in. He was about to open one of the bottles and sniff its contents to try and determine what kind of food and drink the Chorkays had left for them, when he heard a frustrated moan coming from the fresher, or “necessary room” as Lambada had called it.

  Frowning, Asher wondered if he ought to go to her. But the fact that she had shut herself into the fresher—what humans called “the bathroom”—seemed to indicate that she wanted privacy.

  There was another moan and then an exclamation—almost like a surprised shout. Then the door began to rattle, as though she was trying to open it and couldn’t.

  Asher couldn’t wait anymore.

  “Lisa?” He went down the short set of stairs leading to the underground room and rapped lightly on the narrow door. “Is something wrong?”

  Frightened panting was what he heard on the other side. He tried the door himself but with no success.

  “Lisa—unlock the door!” he called, twisting the latch until the door rattled in its frame. “Lisa? Lisa!”

  And then he heard her scream.

  Thirty-One

  The Chorkay version of a bathroom was a bit odd, but that was to be expected, Lisa supposed. There was a sunken tub—large and square, about the size of a hot tub back home, she thought—as well as another, smaller door which probably held the toilet. But it was the sink she headed to—or at least she assumed it was a sink.

  It was a round half-circle cut out of the wall beside the door, about the size of half a beach ball. At the top of this semi-circular indentation was a metal spout and at the bottom half of it was a drain. So it must be the sink, Lisa reasoned.

  She was moaning in frustration by this time—the backs of her thighs really hurt! She had to get some relief—even if it was only cool water to put on her stinging cuts.

  She stuck her hands into the semi-circular hole in the wall…and the lights abruptly went out.

  “What?” Lisa exclaimed. She reeled backwards, blind in the sudden darkness. Oh God, she didn’t like this—didn’t like it one bit!

  Okay, take it easy—stay calm, she told herself, trying not to panic. It’s all right, everything is going to be all right—you just have to find the door, that’s all.

  Taking deep breaths, she felt along the walls until she came to the narrow door. She grabbed the cool metal latch in one hand and tried to turn it—but it seemed to be stuck. She twisted it again…and it came off in her hand.

  Her heart began to pound. Oh, no—this was bad. This was really bad.

  And then someone knocked on the door and a deep, male voice said, “Lisa? Is something wrong?”

  The voice should have been familiar but it seemed distorted and muffled by the door. Lisa stumbled backwards, away from it as it began to rattle in its frame. She fell over something and found herself in a small, confined space while the door rattled on its hinges.

  Alone in the dark—trapped!

  Last Christmas Eve suddenly came back to her full force—the memory didn’t just pop up in her head—it enveloped her whole.

  Seeing Cameron take that one drink of eggnog at the party and feeling that sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach…knowing what it was going to start…

  Watching as he took another drink and then another, getting more and more belligerent. I wanted to leave but he had the car keys—he always had the car keys.

  The drunken ride home—thank goodness it was only two blocks. Even so, he hit a mailbox—plowed it over—though he just kept driving.

  Getting home and watching him go straight for the scotch. Knowing I had to get out before he got any drunker…any meaner. Sneaking the car keys out of the bowl by the door and slowly turning the knob…

  But Cameron had heard her—of course he had. Drunk or not, he had the hearing of a freaking bat—especially when it came to Lisa trying to sneak away from him when he got drunk and violent.

  Just as she had been easing the door open, a big hand planted above her head had slammed it closed.

  “Going somewhere, my dear?” His voice always got extra polite and upper-crust right before he got really mean, Lisa had found. It was a warning to her—a sign that he was just on the edge of massive brutality.

  She had turned, trembling, to see Cameron with a cruel smile on his handsome face.

  “I just…I thought…” she stumbled, trying to find the right words—the words that would keep him from hitting her again. She had never found them yet but she was still hopeful they were there—that there was something she could do or say to escape the inevitable beating.

  “You thought what?” her husband sneered. “Thought you could get away from me on Christmas Eve? Is that it?”

  “I just…wanted to go get your Christmas present,” Lisa said, having an idea at last. “It’s out in the car but I didn’t want you to see it before I wrapped it. Please, Cameron—just let me get it.”

  “Oh, is that right? You just want to get my present?” He’d snatched the keys from her hand in a swift, unexpected move. Lisa tried to hold onto them but he was too fast—too strong. He snatched them away and dealt her a hard, open-handed slap with the other hand across her face that made her ears ring.

  “Please,” she repeated, her eyes tearing from the blow, but by now she was losing hope.

  Cameron had leveled a finger at her.

  “I’m going to go check the car, Lisa my love,” he said in that cruel, cultured voice of his. Scotch fumes hung heavy on his breath—a smell she had come to associate with pain and violence. “I’m going to go check the car and if I don’t find a present—if I find you have been lying to me, well then…” He shook his head and made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Well in that case I’m afraid we’ll have to have a punishment.”

  That word—punishment—set off all the alarms at once in Lisa’s head. Cameron only used that word when he was feeling especially brutal. The last time he had used that word she had ended up in the ER.

  She had been intending to wait until he opened
the door to go check the car, and then run to the neighbors’ house and beg them to let her in. But when that word—punishment—left his lips, her instinctive urge to get away was too strong to fight.

  Lisa turned and ran, putting as much distance between herself and her abuser as she could.

  She headed for the kitchen and the back door but it was locked—locked with a key that was usually kept over the lintel. Reaching up, she fumbled for it madly but came away with nothing but a handful of dust.

  “Looking for this?” Cameron came strolling into the kitchen, a wide, cruel smile on his face. “Is this what you want, my dear?” he asked, waving the key in front of her face. “You know,” he continued. “I’m beginning to think that there is no Christmas present out in the car. I’m beginning to think you lied to me. And you know what that means, don’t you? I think tonight you’ll need a double punishment!”

  Oh God, no—no!

  Lisa broke and ran again—frantic to get away. She felt like a wild, hunted thing—a rabbit running from a wolf and knowing that it can’t really get free—not for long.

  She fled past him, feeling him make a grab for her and miss, except for a few strands of hair he yanked painfully from her scalp as she passed. Up the stairs she went, with Cameron pounding after her. He was laughing that low, ugly laugh of his—laughing like it was a fucking game!

  Lisa found herself in their bedroom. She slapped the door shut and threw the lock—a fairly sturdy one, since Cameron thought home security was important—then backed away.

  “Lisa?” he called from outside the door. “Lisa, let me in—let me in right now!”

  The door rattled on its hinges and then the pounding began as he threw himself against it.

  Lisa backed away, her stomach knotting in terror as she stared at the rattling door and wondered how long the lock could possibly hold. Cameron was a big man—six foot five and two hundred and fifty pounds. He could do a lot of damage with that big body of his—she could certainly attest to that—she’d worn the marks of his fists often enough.

  “Leave me alone,” she’d managed to call out, though her voice was breaking in terror. “I…I’ll call the police! I swear I will!”

  Only, as she fumbled for her cell phone, she realized she didn’t have it anymore. She searched the pockets of her sweater desperately and then the pockets of her jeans but it was no use—the phone was gone.

  Must have dropped it somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, she thought as fear and despair welled up in her like black water. There was no other phone in the bedroom and now she was stuck—trapped with no way out.

  The door rattled in its hinges again and Lisa did the only thing she could do—running for the bed, she dived beneath it and scrambled as far back into the dusty darkness as she could. She crammed herself into a corner, praying Cameron would give up, praying he would decide he needed another drink. If only he would pass out. It happened sometimes, even though he had an enormous capacity for alcohol. If only he would go and leave her alone…

  But of course Cameron didn’t go…didn’t leave her alone.

  Lisa didn’t know how long she’d spent crammed under the bed, hearing the door rattle on its hinges, knowing that pain and violence and bloodshed were on the other side and coming for her. It had been an eternity…and no time at all. But it had stayed with her—the terror and the awful anticipation of pain.

  It had stayed with her and this moment, trapped in the small, dark, alien bathroom, she went back to that awful space in her mind—that terrible time when she was nothing but a cornered animal, waiting for the predator to strike…

  The door burst open and a huge dark male shape, faceless in the shadows, reached for her. Reached out to grab her and drag her away from safety and into pain…

  Thirty-Two

  “No! No!” She scrambled backwards, away from his seeking hands. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

  “All right…all right!” The male shape backed away and then the lights came on revealing not her ex-husband with a cruel gleam in his muddy brown eyes but the big Kindred, Asher—Asher, that’s his name! standing there looking at her with a blank expression.

  “Lisa?” he said in a worried tone. “What’s wrong? What are you doing here in the dark?”

  Lisa opened her mouth to answer but instead of words a sob came out. Then another and another and soon she could barely catch her breath for crying.

  “Lisa…sweetheart…” He crouched low, getting down to her level, his green eyes worried. “What is it?” he asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…I can’t. I’m sorry.” She shook her head. None of her words made sense and her heart was still pounding so wretchedly hard it felt like it was shaking her entire body. She was huddled in the sunken tub, back in the far corner, as far as she could go, she finally realized. She blinked and looked around. What was she doing in here? Hadn’t she been under the bed just a minute ago?

  “Can you let me help you up?” Asher asked, his voice low and gentle. “Would that be all right?”

  “I…I guess so.” Slowly, Lisa began to climb to her feet. He held out a hand to her and after a moment, she took it and let him help her out of the tub.

  “Come on—let’s go upstairs,” Asher suggested.

  “Okay.” Lisa nodded shakily. As the fear and panic subsided, they were replaced with a deep and abiding shame. What must he think of her now after finding her in the dark freaking out?

  He’ll think he brought a crazy woman with him on an important diplomatic mission, that’s what he’ll think, Lisa thought dully, as they made their way up the stairs. He’ll probably want to take me back home right away so I don’t ruin the coronation ceremony tomorrow.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted, as they finally reached the top of the stairs and were standing in the low-ceilinged, windowless bedroom. “I didn’t mean to freak out but the lights went out and then the door latch broke off in my hand so I couldn’t get out and then you were banging on the door and I know you were only checking on me but it made me think of…I mean it reminded me…”

  She shook her head, unable to go on, unwilling to shame herself further by telling him what had happened that awful last Christmas Eve with Cameron.

  “Reminded you of what?” Asher settled himself on the mossy floor, beside one of the low tables that held their luggage, and leaned back against one of the colorful moss wall-mosaics.

  “Nothing.” Lisa looked away, her cheeks burning with shame. “Just…something bad that happened in the past. That’s all.”

  “I guessed that much. But I’d like you to tell me about it.”

  “I…I don’t want to talk about it.” Lisa heard the tremble in her own voice and looked down at her hands. Gods, this was awful—so shameful, so embarrassing.

  “But I need to hear about it.” Asher’s deep voice was gentle but implacable.

  “Why?” She frowned at him mutinously. “Why should you need to hear about it?”

  “Because you obviously suffered a recurrence of trauma from something in your past,” he said in a low, reasonable voice. “What you humans call PTSD, I believe—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I need to know about what happened so I can keep you safe from whatever it was that brought it back to you—from whatever triggered you in the first place.”

  When he put it that way, the request seemed perfectly reasonable.

  Lisa hesitated, nibbling her bottom lip.

  “It’s…embarrassing to talk about. And awful.”

  “Even so.” Asher patted the mossy floor right beside him. “Come, sit here and tell me just once. And I swear we’ll never have to talk about it again if you don’t want to.”

  Lisa really didn’t want to—she’d already relived the awful night once tonight and that felt like more than enough. But she could see his point—he needed to know he could be sure of her and that she wouldn’t go freaking out in public and ruin his mission.

  “All right,” she said at last,
sitting down beside him on the mossy floor. At least the cool moss felt good on the inflamed scrapes on the backs of her thighs—which she had almost forgotten in the stress of reliving last Christmas Eve. She looked up at Asher, who was waiting quietly and shook her head. “I don’t…I hardly know where to start.”

  “Begin at the beginning,” he said simply. “Tell me everything you can.”

  “It…” Lisa took a deep breath. “It started with a glass of eggnog…”

  Asher listened quietly while she spoke but inside he was growing angrier and angrier—not with Lisa, of course. With that abusive bastard who had been her mate.

  She told of how he had gotten drunker and drunker and how she saw all the warning signs that meant she would be beaten later. She talked about trying to steal out of the house, only to be caught in the act—of the way her mate had chased her through their domicile until she was trapped in their sleeping chamber, hiding under the bed and hoping that the lock held as he battered against it, trying to break it down.

  “But of course it didn’t hold,” she said in a dull voice, looking down at her hands. “He got in eventually and dragged me out from under the bed. And…” She shook her head.

  “And what?” Asher asked gently.

  “And it was bad.” She looked up briefly and shrugged. “I spent last Christmas in the hospital. Didn’t get out until a day before New Years.”

  No wonder she became so panicked when I broke down the necessary room door, Asher thought. It brought back her fear of being dragged out of hiding and beaten—beaten like an animal by her mate.

  Of course, Lisa didn’t say as much but he could read between the lines, could hear the pain in her flat delivery of the facts as she told what her life had been before she had run.

  No wonder she said she had nowhere in particular to go—she’s just staying out of his way—just trying to keep one step ahead, he thought.