“Ohmygod.” I cried, my hand lurched to my chest as I jumped, ready to let out a horror level scream.
The road was vacant.
No one was there.
Falling against my car, I sucked in a deep breath, my heart hammering. I was terrified, but something about the man scrapped against my mind. Why did it feel like there was something familiar about him?
“Holy tinsel. I need to get home. I am going mad.” I yanked open my door, something in my gut hitching at my last word, stirring a memory. More streaks of my outlandish dream tapped at the hazy edges of my mind, prickling at my skin, making me edgy.
The dream felt so real. That man…
Falling into my seat, I closed and locked my door, scrubbing my face and head with a frustrated grumble.
Everything was off. Peculiar.
As I grabbed for my seatbelt, pulling it across my lap, an object in my pocket dug into my hip, painfully. I don’t remember putting anything in my pockets. I tugged at the item, yanking it out.
“Alice,” a deep voice whispered again, and my form jerked violently against the restraints. My gaze went to my rearview mirror, fear grasped my lungs in its claws, catching the scream in my chest. Bright blue eyes stared at me in the reflection. The man I saw in the street sat in my backseat. Terror battered in my ears like a drum, my body freezing in terror. “Drink.” The rumbling sound of his voice slid down my neck, sending an outbreak of shivers over me, chilling my fevered skin.
I yelped, whirling around in my seat.
Empty.
My heart hammered as I took in the unoccupied backseat, my breathing clipped.
What was going on? Was I hallucinating? Going insane?
My fingers ached, and I looked down to see I was grasping the item from my pocket in a death grip.
Somehow, I already knew what it was.
Apprehension prevented the air from reaching my lungs. Slowly my fingers rolled open. A choked gasp stopped in my throat.
A vial laid in my hand, a tag hanging from the neck. “Drink. Me.” I read the words, my lids closing momentarily. How did I know it would say that?
I continued to stare at it. It called to me like a drug I couldn’t say no to, my mouth watered to do as it said.
This is not real. You’re not supposed to be here. A voice deep inside taunted me.
I stared out, seeing Gabe exit the cottage. He strolled over as I lowered the window.
“Last chance, just making sure you are all right.” He leaned on my doorframe.
“Yeah.” I pinched my lips together, then letting out a deep exhale. “You know when dreams stick with you? Feel real? I don’t know, maybe whatever I caught is making me go a little bonkers.”
“I’ll tell you a little secret, Alice.” Gabe’s normal apathetic nature sharpened, a strange smile coiled his mouth. “All the best people are.”
“What?” My mouth dried.
“Time to wake up, Alice,” he winked, turning away. He got into his black truck and drove away.
This is not real. You’re not supposed to be here. My gut hissed. Wake up, girl! Wake up, or you will die.
I glanced down at the vial, feeling the pull to it. The harsh truth was if I didn’t drink it, I was going to die. “This place is not real.” I always acted before I thought anyway, so why stop now?
“Christmas balls, I am seriously bonkers.”
Without a second thought, I closed my eyes and gulped down the warm, delicious buttered rum. Like a club hit me over the head, everything went black and once again I felt myself drop into darkness.
Descending into madness.
TO BE CONTINUED!
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About Stacey Marie Brown
Stacey Marie Brown is a writer of hot fictional bad boys and sarcastic heroines who kick butt. She also enjoys books, travel, TV shows, hiking, writing, design, and archery. Stacey swears she is part gypsy, being lucky enough to live and travel all over the world.
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Prologue
Valerie
I wrap my trench coat tighter around myself, and scan the street before crossing it, silently praying that it doesn’t start to rain. The ominous clouds above me don’t give me much hope. I haven’t seen the sun in months, and I can feel the seasonal depression starting to kick in. This world is so different from the one I grew up in. It’s starting to take its toll on me. Still, just like every other day, I push through, walking from the train station to my office, through the busy city streets. Everyone is so distracted by the phone in their hands, by their own lives. They never stop and just enjoy the moment or offer help and compassion to a fellow human in need.
When I see a child sitting on the corner of the road, arms wrapped around himself, my heart squeezes at the sight of him, cold, fragile and alone. I waver as I walk past him, glancing back, noticing how everyone else on the street pretends he doesn’t exist.
I try to walk by, to carry on with my day like everyone else, but my feet become heavier with each step. I stop. I can’t just walk on by with that vision in my head. It’s the day before Christmas, and no one deserves to be alone around this time. I know from experience that help is hard to find. Compassion is a lost trait, and as the world continues to change, humanity continues to harden itself. As the food and water resources dry up all over the country, so does hope. No one blinks at the sight of an innocent child silently begging for help. No one even sees him. This world we live in is a ruthless one. Only the hardened survive. The kind hearted get used up until they are nothing but shells of the people they once were.
Until they turn into everyone else.
Until they are cold hearted, too.
I crouch in front of him, the hem of my beige coat brushin
g the dirty road. I make sure my movements are slow, so as not to scare him. His face is covered in dirt and tear stains. Who knows what he has been through?
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask him, waiting for him to glance up at me. When he doesn’t, I wait a little before gently trying again.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
Still, nothing.
“I can buy you something to eat. If you have no place to go, I know of a shelter that will help you. I know the owner, she’s lovely and--”
I pause as he finally lifts his face up and looks me in the eye.
His eyes are a pale blue. I’ve never seen such a colour in my life.
They search mine, and then he gives me a slight, approving nod.
I don’t understand it, but I’m mesmerised by him. I can’t look away.
He reaches his hand up and turns mine over, so my wrist is turned upwards.
And then a sharp, stabbing pain. My eyes are so glued to his I don’t even glance down, but a cold shiver runs down my spine, my hair standing on end, and I know with my gut, something is not right.
And then, agony. All I see is darkness.
Chapter 1
Sitting up and rubbing my eyes, I wake to the sound of Spanish music, feeling extremely well rested. Where am I? Where is this music coming from? Panic creeps in as I wake myself up fully, and realize that I have no idea where I am.
I’m lying on a four poster bed with thick, black velvet bedding, in a candlelit bedroom. It has an old, Victorian feel to it, almost like I’ve gone back in time. I’m alone, and in my own clothing, but without my coat. I cover my face with my hands, trying to remember how I got here. My mind is a blur. I glance around and see my coat folded neatly on a chair in a corner. How did I get here? The last thing I remember is that little boy. What happened to him? What did he do to me? I slide off the bed and press my bare feet into soft, plush carpet. I personally could never afford such luxury.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, panic settling in. I take a deep breath and walk to the door, as light on my feet as possible, and turn the knob. It’s locked. I look around, searching for another exit, but I don’t see one. There are no windows in the room, but there is a small ensuite, with a sink, toilet and shower. Other than that, it’s basically a fucking dungeon. The walls start to close in on me, as claustrophobia starts to kick in. My heart racing, I take deep breaths and clutch at my chest, bending over at the waist.
Where the hell am I?
I have no idea what happened to me, but this can’t be good. I’m not hurt, but that doesn’t mean that I’m safe.
I start to bang on the door. “Hey! Let me out!”
Hearing footsteps, I move away from the door, bracing myself for whatever is about to come next. I silently curse myself for dropping out of that mixed martial arts class I once attended, wishing I was more of a weapon, and less of a victim right now.
The door opens and a very tall, very large man dressed in a thick, black cloak steps in. Wrapping my arms around myself, I step back further, narrowing my eyes on him.
“Where am I?” I ask him, proud of myself for keeping my tone even and strong.
The candlelight hits his face as he takes a step into the room.
He’s good looking, there’s no denying that, with thick dark hair, full lips and a dimple in his chin. But it’s his eyes that get me, draw me in and scare me all at the same time, because they are a light blue, so light that it looks unnatural against his dark hair and olive skin. Just like the little boy I tried to help, the little boy who is the last thing I remember before waking up here.
“My house,” he replies simply, expression giving nothing away. He has a deep, accented tone and has a menacing vibe about him, like he’s someone powerful, or someone who has a dark side and you wouldn’t want to mess with. “Well, my guest bedroom, to be more precise.”
I find myself not wanting to back down or let him know how intimidated I am right now.
Pursing my lips, and trying to control my temper, I manage to reply through clenched teeth. “Why the hell am I here? What do you want from me?” I glance around. “It’s obviously not money, not that I have much of that anyway.”
I’m not here as a ransom, which I’ve heard happens more and more as of recent, as people get desperate with the crashing economy, lack of jobs and the farming industry going under, resulting in food shortages in some areas. The world is not what it used to be, and it’s all because we have destroyed it. Only now are we feeling the repercussions of that. I don’t have any family who would pay for me to be released, either. Growing up in the foster system, I tracked down my biological parents when I turned sixteen, only to find out that by that time they had both passed away. Besides my work colleagues, who would be worried when I didn’t show up today, I’d have no one else searching for me. Not that I’ll be sharing that information with this man.
“You’re here because of fate,” he replies, glancing back towards the door as another man approaches.
“Prince Luca--”
Prince?
What the fuck?
Am I in some kinky role play basement or something?
Just fucking great.
“I’m a little busy at the moment, Gerald,” he tells the man, in his stuck up tone.
“Yes, he’s a little busy about to explain to me why the hell he has kidnapped me and brought me here,” I interrupt. God, I wish this was all a dream. He hasn’t hurt me, but I don’t know if he intends to. Am I meant to be fighting for my life, or trying to negotiate my way home? I don’t know why he chose me, out of all the people in the world, but I feel like I could have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Gerald narrows his eyes on me, and I get a feeling he’s less than impressed at me speaking up.
“I’m sorry, did you expect me to just stand here and say nothing like a good little hostage? If so, you posh, fancy ass assholes kidnapped the wrong woman,” I declare, lifting my stubborn chin.
Luca shares a look with Gerald, then throws his head back and laughs, a deep booming sound. He pins his light blue eyes on me and says, “She will do.”
I will do?
I will do what?
What the hell is going on right now?
“I will do what? And she has a name,” I mutter, glancing around the bedroom. “You creeps allergic to fresh air, or are the lack of windows in here so no one can escape? I feel a little claustrophobic.”
They share another look, this time one I can’t decipher.
“Come on, Valerie,” Luca says to me, letting me know that he does in fact know my name. “I’ll explain everything to you while you eat something.”
Eat?
I’m a huge foodie, but now is one of those rare times that I’m not hungry. However, I’m curious, and want to know what I’ve managed to get myself into. I plant my feet, hesitating before I follow behind him, stepping to the side when his hand accidentally brushes my stomach. I take everything in as we walk down a long hallway and step into a large open, Victorian themed room. I eye the large crystal chandelier hanging above us, then the beautiful paintings on the wall. Money is clearly not an issue for this man, but that doesn’t explain why they’ve brought me here against my will. I scan the room for a means to escape, but once again come up short. I wouldn’t even make it to the other side of the room before they caught me. This place is huge, and I have no idea which way I’d even run, or if I’d ever find the exit. The vibe is calm, and quiet, and although I’m still scared, and angry, it does relax me a little and I can feel the tension leaving my shoulders. Maybe it’s the vanilla incense that I smell, or the fact that instinctively, I feel like this ‘Prince’ won’t harm me. He’s given me no reassurance that this is the case though, so I need to be on guard until I know what he wants from me.
After I tell him no, I don’t know if he’s going to be as kind.
And I am going to tell him no.
Whatever he wants from me that warrants a kidnapping
, can’t be good.
He leads me to a dining table longer than my entire bedroom, and pulls out a chair for me. I sit down, but don’t bother to thank Luca, because, well, fuck him. I cross my arms, lift my chin and watch him, waiting to see what happens next. Men and women appear out of nowhere and place more food down on the table than I’ve seen in a long time.
“You could feed a whole school with this,” I note, waiting to see if anyone else sits to eat with us, but no. It’s just me and Luca, sitting on opposite ends of the ridiculously large table. “Is anyone else joining us?”
He shakes his head, studying me so intensely I want to look away.
But I don’t.
I don’t want to give him an inch. “I feel like I need a speaker phone for us to have this conversation.”
His lip twitches, but he says nothing, just picks up an apple from the fruit bowl near him and takes a loud, crunchy bite. I read somewhere that this is a technique people use when they want to know what type of person you are. You stay quiet and see what the person ends up doing with the awkward silence.
Do they fill it?
Or do they wait?
I don’t know what either says about said person, but I decide to stay silent and return his unwavering stare.
“Aren’t you going to eat something?” he finally asks me, chewing his apple thoughtfully. “You commented on the food like you were surprised, and yet you sit there without so much as a bite.”
“How do I know this food is safe?” I ask him, tilting my head to the side. “Besides, all I’m hungry for right now is answers.”
His jaw tightens, like he’s annoyed at me about something.
“My Kingdom is at war,” he starts, serving his plate with food.
Such Violent Delights: A Holiday Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 8