by Lisa Kumar
Should she answer him? She’d sound like a loon if she did, unless the unspoken meaning of him being ... something else was true. That prospect was horrifying. But really, did it matter? No matter what or who he was, he clearly wasn’t in his right mind.
His warm breath fanned over her cheek, and he questioned her again, “Who are you, and what do you know of me?”
She shivered, all words failing her as fear mixed with a disconcerting awareness of the strong arm around her middle. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t possibly be aware of him as an attractive male, but she was. What was worse, she’d drawn him numerous times before. How was that even possible? It sounded completely crazy, so maybe she was finally losing it. Somehow, she knew that wasn’t true, though.
There was no mistaking him. She’d seen his face, and it echoed the one from her drawings perfectly, with sinfully elegant yet masculine features that screamed arrogance and vitality. Even the blue cat’s-eye pupils were present — and definitely otherworldly. Light stubble covered his chin and the area around his mouth, giving him a rakish look. Instead of it making him look more human, it enhanced the dangerous, foreign air he carried.
Everything fit him. Even his voice — dark and rich with a sinful decadence and a slight accent that she couldn’t place. With all that, and his long, black hair, he resembled a fallen angel.
And fallen was what he was. Just as her drawings had, his voice and his very movements painted him as a being that had walked in darkness for too long. His aura’s clarity was among the strongest she’d even seen, and that fact concerned her. It wasn’t often that she sensed auras, and his purple-black, yellow-lined one practically oozed off him. But below it, a warmth and light beckoned her, though they sputtered and flittered like a candle being snuffed out. Or was that just wishful thinking since he could easily kill her? Though he felt somewhat familiar because of the drawings, she couldn’t claim to know him or what he would do.
As if reading her mind, he tightened his arm around her neck. “Answer me.”
That was all the warning she needed to stop getting lost in her mind and instead focus on the present moment. She peeled her dry tongue off the roof of her mouth, and the words practically bubbled from her mouth. “It’s going to sound crazy, but if you are who I think you might be, I guess it’s not so insane.”
He whipped her around to face him so quickly she almost fell on a patch of ice, but the hands on her arms held her steady. As she stared at him, her heart thundered in her ears. He stared right back. She didn’t fight his hold, because she knew it’d do little good. And he hadn’t hurt her ... yet, though he looked like he wanted to bathe in her blood. Maybe he did. His eyebrows, just barely discernable black arches in the weak light coming above them, had snapped together, and a permanent snarl lined his lips.
He could be a serial killer. A rapist.
But she knew he wasn’t.
He probably was something just as fearful, though–a megalomaniac. On him, a purple-black aura screamed that he loved power and control — and didn’t hesitate to use fair or foul means to achieve them. Unfortunately for her, he was awash in that color, which strengthened her belief that he was used to, and even abused, the respect that authority brought.
After an indeterminate yet soul-shattering amount of time had passed, he finally spoke. “What are you talking about, and why do you stare at me so, mortal?”
As if she could do anything but stare — he couldn’t be trusted, and she was powerless at the moment. ”I’ve seen you in drawings.” And mortal? Meaning he wasn’t?
The frown on his face grew more thunderous. “Drawings? What drawings?”
“Mine,” she said, not sure how to even begin explaining something she didn’t understand herself. And by his response, it seemed he didn’t know anything about it, either.
The word “mine” hung between them like a thousand pound weight until he made a hissing sound. “You’ve drawn me?”
She nodded.
He lowered his head until his nose nearly touched hers. “Who and what are you?” he asked, accusation, along with a touch of confusion and awe, lacing his tone.
The black around him seemed to intensify and nearly overtake the purple, which was probably never a good thing unless one wanted to die. She cringed away from him as much as she could. Given that the auras she perceived were always stable in color, that his fluxed in the way it did was beyond frightening. Did it speak of his mental state or some other strangeness about him, of which there seemed to be many? Maybe her synesthesia had gone into overdrive or morphed into something else entirely?
“Ju-just a normal person.”
“Normal?” He shook his head violently as if to dislodge a hateful thought or two. “Nothing feels normal about you. In fact, the light —” His grip on her tightened before he released her as if she were on fire.
Caralyn didn’t know what to make of his words — didn’t know what to make of the whole situation — so she stayed quiet. At least, more purple was seeping back into his aura. If she weren’t so scared, she’d find the color change fascinating.
“You have much to explain.”
She had much to explain? The arrogance of that statement raised her hackles and pushed past the fear. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Do you not?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.
“No.” Unfortunately, her voice quavered and made it sound more like a question than an assertion of confidence.
He laughed, a dark, rich sound that sent tingles up and down her body. How could he be sinister and sexy at the same time?
She was being stupid. I have to stop going against him until I know I can make an escape. He could end her life in a heartbeat if he so wanted. Her dog wouldn’t do a thing about it, either. Archie had run off after some animal and seemed to be totally unconcerned about her wellbeing. She had to get herself out of this.
Shifting away from him slowly, she pretended to look around for Archie. “I need to go get my dog. He’s probably off looking for help, so unless you want trouble, you better let me go.”
“That mangy thing? I believe he’s off frolicking with some other animals.”
She kept edging away. “Look, the police are out this time of night, and they’ll take you in if you don’t leave me alone.” Sure, they mostly cruised up and down the streets in their cars and didn’t get out unless they received a call, but hopefully “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Psychotic” didn’t know that.
At her words, indecision flashed across his face, and he glanced around. Though that was a small opening, she took it with both hands and bolted.
As she raced through the park, she tried to be as quiet as she could manage. But fear and adrenaline made that next to impossible. So did the crunch and slushy sound of ice and snow. More than once, her feet slid, and she flailed to stay upright. No slipping! No slipping!
Her ears strained to pick up any telltale signs of pursuit behind her. All she could hear was her own bumbling footsteps and drumming heartbeat.
She didn’t know where Archie was and prayed that he’d be okay until she could get him or he arrived back at her apartment by himself. Though she knew the park well, she might as well have been running blind. Though the snow had nearly stopped and there was the occasional light in the park, her mind couldn’t process much of anything in the way of landmarks.
The cold seared her heaving airways, but she didn’t slow down unless confronted by a slick patch of ice. Not that she was going very fast, anyway. Her speed wasn’t more than a cautious jog. Yet that felt much too slow and fast all at the same time.
A familiar bark broke the near silence of the night, and she lurched to a stop. Before she could decide whether to go after Archie or not, a hand slapped over her mouth and an arm banded around her waist.
She started. Was it — No. The shape of the form behind her was all wrong. This man was bulky and overweight, and thankfully, the only thing she felt pressing against her was his large belly. The str
ong stink of alcohol and unwashed skin wafted from him, making her nauseous. Her mouth filled with the taste of rotten eggs bathed in battery acid. That, more than anything, warned her of the dire trouble facing her.
She kicked and punched at the man behind her, but he remained unfazed. The drink must’ve dulled all his senses, which could help or hinder her.
He pulled her over to a tree, where he forced her back against the rough bark. As he leaned in, his hot, fetid breath puffed across her nose. “Why don’t we go have some fun?”
His hand was still over her mouth, stopping her from screaming for help.
Her assailant’s body pressed against hers, and the prodding against her hip made bile rise in her throat. Anything but that. Oh God, where was the scary stranger from earlier? Right now, she’d gladly suffer his presence because his brand of craziness didn’t seem to include rape.
The drunk forced a knee between her thighs. She bucked and strained to get him off her, but it did no good.
The fingers of his free hand fumbled at the button of her jeans. She closed her eyes. Oh God. This couldn’t be happening. She wanted to scream, to cry, but the dirty palm over her mouth prevented any sounds from escaping.
A wet, slobbery mouth slid along her jaw. Her eyelids shot open, and she tried to jerk her head to the side, but he held her in place. The rough bark bit through the hood of her fleece jacket and into the sensitive skin of her scalp.
An idea flitted across her mind. Could she head-butt him? It might not work, and the tactic would definitely hurt, but it was her only choice.
As she geared up to do it, a black figure dashed toward them in the moonlit darkness. Before she could take another breath, the other person ripped the rotund man away from her and threw the drunk to the ground. Her attacker’s head hit the blacktopped walking trail, and he moaned before lying still. The tall-cloaked form above him delivered a brutal kick to the prone man’s ribs.
Warm relief flooded Caralyn, and she blinked to make sure her eyes weren’t fooling her. But she knew they weren’t. It was the stranger from before. Her stranger, her dark knight.
A rusty knife glinted in the darkness, and all relief iced over. With a blade fisted in his hand, her stranger bent over the groaning guy. Disbelief chased some of the numbness from her body, and without thought, she darted toward her savior but stopped short a few feet from him.
“What are you doing?” She meant to shout, but her voice came out a whisper.
The man from her drawings lifted his head and stared at her, but he still kept a restraining hand on the drunk’s chest. “Disposing of this scum.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why do you protest?”
Why? He was seriously asking that? “You can’t just kill him!”
Her assailant stirred, and her stranger calmly reached down and slammed the man’s head against the ground. Apparently not satisfied with that, he put the knife to the man’s throat.
She gulped and held out a staying hand. He had to be some kind of sociopath. “Don’t do that. Please!”
He paused and withdrew the blade slightly. “Why not? He was going to force himself on you. Such a crime, even against a human, can’t be overlooked. There are some things even I can’t condone.”
“Because we don’t do vigilante justice here. We have police and a court system that take care of the likes of him.” As she spoke, a shiver coursed through her. She didn’t look forward to that whole process and hoped it didn’t fail her, like it’d done for so many other women.
He stared at her, but even with the scant light, she could feel his intense gaze boring through her. The hand she’d been holding out fell limply to her side, and she couldn’t force herself to look away.
“What do you propose we do with this refuse, then?”
“Uhh, leave him here?” Though she knew it wasn’t a good idea, it was the only one that might allow her to get away from both men. Though, how she’d pull that off, she didn’t know. Her stranger was fast and agile. Only luck had gotten her this far, and look how that had turned out.
The tall man propelled himself up with a swirl of his cloak and prowled toward her. “It’s either my justice or yours.” He fingered his blade and glanced at her through the strands of hair covering his eyes. “Choose.”
What other option did she have? After releasing a deep breath, she chose.
EAMON DIDN’T KNOW IF he approved of her mercy, but he shrugged that off for now. “Go alert your authorities, then.”
The human stood frozen as she apparently processed his words. He sighed impatiently. At least Aistiane couldn’t send the wrath of Talion down on his head. He’d only been prepared to kill for the sake of the human woman, not himself.
The woman’s hand traveled to her coat pocket before she uttered a groan of despair. “I left my cell at home.”
Though he didn’t know a cell’s exact functions, he knew what she was talking of — those shiny, held-held objects that humans seemed smitten with. They incessantly talked and typed on them.
“So go borrow someone else’s. You humans always have one pasted to you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll have to leave the park to do that.”
“Or you can check that garbage’s pockets.” He gestured toward the human scum with his blade.
“Err, true, but ...” Her whole posture spoke of her distaste at the thought of nearing the man.
He ground his teeth and stalked over to the man before he’d regret it further. Since when had he been eager to help a human, even if she were attractive and had a nice glow about her? He’d taken leave of his senses. Yes, that was it. The banishment had driven him mad. There was no other explanation.
After a cursory check through the man’s pants pockets — Eamon had never wished to wash his hands more — he found the desired item. With a curt nod, he made to toss it to the woman but then thought better of it.
There were conditions, and it was time he enforced them. “Before I give this to you, I need ... some assurances from you.”
“Assurances?”
He sent her a humorless smile, hating to ask for anything from a human. “Yes.”
The wariness in her stance doubled, and she inched back a few steps like a sparrow ready to fly. “What do you want?”
He intercepted her with a firm hand around her waist. The soft curves underneath his hand called to some baser part of his instinct, but he tamped down on the kindling fire in his lower stomach. The indignity of it — he’d been without a female for so long he was now lusting after a human. How low could he sink? But he had no choice — he had to ferret out the truth of her earlier words about drawing him.
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere.” His anger at himself — and her — made his words harsher than intended. “You owe me reparation for this” — he gestured to the slightly inflamed area around his eyes — “and for saving you from sexual assault and maybe even death. You must now pay your dues.”
She gulped but didn’t try to free herself from his hold. “H ... how?”
“I need accommodations.”
“A hotel room?” she asked slowly, the hope in her voice sparking a new line of ire in him.
“No.” Though that option would’ve seemed perfect a day ago, now it wasn’t. He needed a human guide in this world if he were to survive its assorted dangers — and end his banishment. Since he’d been deposited here, Aistiane surely meant for him to learn something. This human was as capable as any other and would do.
As she apparently came to the correct conclusion, alarm flickered across her face, and she pushed against his chest. He released her, though the arm that had held her felt listless and as if a great, weighty cold pressed down upon it. Since he was freezing, it was probably due to the loss of her body heat — nothing more.
She stumbled a few feet back from him and folded her arms across her chest. “No way. You can go elsewhere. I don’t care how much I have to pay.”
Try as she might to look brave, her q
uivering gave her away, and he pounced on that fact like a predator. “I don’t think you have any right to deny me refuge in your home. I will go to no other place.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Is everything that comes out of your mouth arrogant sounding?”
“Only when I’m in the right.” Which was most of the time.
“And that’s —” She broke off and stared at him.
If he were anybody else, the heaviness of her regard would’ve made him shift uncomfortably. It was if she saw through him, which was nonsense. As it was, he had to force himself into stillness.
She made a shaky, if dismissive, gesture with her hand. “You know what? Never mind. Please, may I have the phone?”
“Your promise first.”
A sound that was half sob and half laugh escaped her. “Didn’t your parents teach you to say please?”
Though her question dredged up unpleasant memories he’d rather forget, he smiled as amiably as he could. “My mother, maybe, but I’m afraid her instruction didn’t remain with me for long.” Then he lowered his voice to an unpleasant pitch. “My father ... well, I doubt you’d like what he taught me.”
His words had the desired effect, and she shivered. A frisson of satisfaction coursed through him. Served her right for dredging up matters that were better left buried. “So do I have your promise for accommodations at your home?”
“You leave me with little choice.”
He left her with no good choice, but he’d be kind enough to leave that unvoiced. “So that is a yes?”
“I guess ... yes, it is.”
With a smile he knew mirrored the victory that thrummed inside him, he threw her the phone.
Chapter 4
Caralyn stared out the window of the police SUV and sighed. When would Police Officer Benemore be done with his report? And when she got out, would she be able to find Archie? Worry for her dog twisted her stomach into knots, but that wasn’t the only thing gnawing at her.