Damned and Desolate

by S D Hegyes

  “Are you alright?” he asked, but she hoped he didn’t expect a response because he wasn’t going to get it until she stopped laughing.

  She looked up at him, eyes gray again, and caught his dark gaze. He froze, his mouth turning down and dropping open slightly, and then she saw his mouth move as he said, “Whoa,” in a low voice. Interesting.

  When she finally stopped laughing and climbed back to her feet, he seemed to rally his thoughts together for he said, “Why would you think I was joking?”

  “Because my name is Phantom.” She grinned at him as she put her hands on her hips and stood with her feet a shoulder-width apart. “Sorsha Phantom.” She didn’t tell him that wasn’t her name yet. That was none of his concern.

  He blinked and his mouth opened in a small circle of surprise.

  “And you are?” Her brows rose as she gave him an expectant look.

  “I am. . .” He stopped and thought about his answer. She watched him debate with himself for a short moment before he finally said, “You can call me Abaddon.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Abaddon? Really?” Was this guy for real? There was no way that was his real name.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a demon?” Abaddon was the demon of death, destruction, and the netherworld. She knew he was often referred to as a place rather than a physical being. She wasn’t even sure when he’d been labeled a demon.

  The stranger shrugged one shoulder and then the other. “In a sense.”

  She sneered at his words. “Alright, Abaddon. I’ll bite. What’s a phantom?”

  “Someone who sees and speaks to spirits. Vampire victims.”

  She laughed again and watched as his shoulders sank. She seemed to be bruising his ego. Good. She didn’t need another Preston.

  “Oh, man. That’s too good. For real though, what’s a phantom?”

  His shoulders sank further. Apparently he wasn’t used to not being believed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come on. Tell me the truth. None of this fairytale bull crap. You said I’m a phantom, someone who sees the victims of vampires. That’s the lamest thing I’ve heard.”

  He took a back when she took one toward him, as if afraid of her, but then he stood his ground. Interesting. He treated her almost like she’d treated the ghosts moments before.

  “So, what’s the truth?”

  He blinked and she knew she’d caught him off guard. “That is the truth,” he insisted.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Alright, let’s go back to safer questions. Tell me about spirits.” She watched his expressions carefully, looking for clues he was lying.

  Her reaction to him and his information confused him. She could see it in the way his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed and his frown deepened. She didn’t know what about her responses confused him.

  When he next spoke, she felt something wash over her skin, and her skin prickled but the feeling rolled over and off her like water off a duck’s back. She shuddered. It was the same feeling she got from her mother when her ability tried to influence Sorsha to speak the truth.

  “They aren’t like normal ghosts a medium would see. They are the victims of a supernatural creature, a vampire.”

  When she didn’t react beyond that first shudder, his brows further drew together, and there was no doubt in her mind that he meant for a different reaction. She shifted her weight so that she leaned heavier on her right foot than her left and considered his words. “Alright.”

  He took a step toward her, eyes meeting hers once more. For a brief second, his eyes flickered red and back, but she was sure it was just her imagination. Still, it wasn’t unlike the memory flash she had every once in a while of red eyes.

  The man cocked his head to the side, considering her. His eyes glazed over as he lost himself in his own thoughts, and he leaned toward her, almost instinctively, his nose tipped toward her neck.

  She froze as she heard him inhale deeply through his nose. Some instinct told her it would be a bad idea to move, even just a little. A shudder rippled through her once more before she said, “Abaddon?”

  He pulled away as if she’d struck him, an apology quick on his tongue. “Sorry.”

  She shook her head and told him not to worry, but she wondered if he could hear the way her heart raced in her chest.

  Abaddon reached up and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Her breath caught once more and her nostrils flared. He barely touched her, but the feeling of his skin against hers sent a bolt of electricity throughout her body, zapping her all the way to her toes and making them curl in ecstasy. She wanted more.

  “So,” he wondered aloud. “You are attracted to me.”

  His response jolted her back to the present. Her gaze lowered and then returned to his as she gave him a once-over. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re a fairly attractive man, after all.”

  He chuckled. “Most find me irresistible.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Ego, much? You aren’t irresistible.”

  As if her words had snapped something in him, he dropped his hand and took several steps back from her, clearing his throat.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.” He wasn’t. Even she could see that. She just didn’t know what was wrong or how to help. She let it go.

  She watched him struggle with some internal decision. His eyes flickered to her more than once, and every time they did, she cocked her head to the side, waiting for him to speak up. He didn’t.

  “I need to go.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She couldn’t explain why that hurt. She could tell there was something going on with him, knew he was fighting with himself about. . . something. . . but she didn’t know how to help.

  Still, she also didn’t want him to leave. Somehow, despite his ego being as large as Preston’s, he was completely different, and—just as odd—she felt completely safe and at home around this man. Like they were perfect together, which didn’t make any sense to her.

  Sorsha wouldn’t deny her attraction to the man. He wasn’t what she’d normally go for. She’d always been hot for blondes or pale eyes. This man was the complete opposite.

  On top of that, there was something about him that screamed danger to her. It was something she wasn’t sure she was ready for after putting up with Shaded Glade. Still, that didn’t mean she didn’t want him, didn’t mean she didn’t want his hands touching her, teasing her, pleasing her.

  She suppressed the moan that wanted to escape as her thoughts drifted places she knew it shouldn’t. It wouldn’t do to jump his bones. That wasn’t the kind of person she was.

  A snort escaped her. She didn’t know what kind of person she was. She’d lost her virginity to a random stranger as defiance to Shaded Glade’s moralities that a woman should be pure for her husband. That young man, who’s name she never learned during the whole transaction, could have been Preston’s lookalike. Blond hair. Blue eyes.

  She glanced at Abaddon. Black hair. Almost black eyes. Dark clothes. Preston wouldn’t have been caught dead in dark clothes. Even the blue jeans he wore were light blue and his favorite color seemed to be kaki.

  This man was nothing like Preston. The dangerous vibe she got off him never seemed directed at her the way Preston’s seemed to be.

  That was the kicker. This man exuded an air of violence she couldn’t pinpoint, but none of it was aimed at her.

  “Do you come here often?”

  She beamed at him, unable to hide her excitement at the possibility of seeing him again. “Same time every day,” she said. “It beats being at home.”

  He bit his tongue, as if to prevent himself from asking questions and staying longer. Part of her wished he would. The other part realized it might not be a good idea.

  Abaddon grinned instead. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stepped toward her once more, pausing right before her to run his thumb over her bottom lip. Then he pressed his mouth to her cheek.


  Desire, hot and molten, rose up within her and threatened to bubble over. She wanted to bite his thumb and suck on it.

  A cheeky grin aimed her way revealed he knew it too.

  “Something to remember me by.”

  “Such a cheesy line.” She grinned though.

  He winked at her. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Bye, Abaddon.”

  “Until tomorrow, Sorsha.”

  She didn’t know what his accent was, but she’d give anything to hear him say her name again. Over and over again actually. She repressed another wave of desire and watched him walk out of the Indian Monument, following the left-hand path toward the main road.

  “Until tomorrow,” she whispered under her breath when he disappeared from her sight.

  8

  “You missed dinner.”

  “‘Oh, welcome back, Sorsha. Did you have a good day?’ Why, yes. Yes, I did, Father. It was actually the best because I didn’t have to worry about dealing with either you or Preston. All. Day. Long.” She knew the amount of sarcasm in her voice was likely to get her in trouble, but she didn’t care.

  He spun his wheelchair until he was only a couple feet away from her. He pointed at her. “Don’t you sass me, girl. Now that you’re engaged, you’d better start acting right. There’s rules here, traditions that you’ll need to start following now that you’re getting married.”

  “I’m not a prized cow to be sold off to the first man who offers, Father.”

  “You’re getting married, Sorsha. It’s time you started acting like a respectable woman of Shaded Glade.”

  She could feel her anger rising, but as she watched her father turn spitting mad, it cooled. It was much more fun to watch him blow a fuse. In the end, she knew it meant nothing to her.

  “A respectable woman of Shaded Glade? Since when did you think I’d ever fall under the guidelines of what Shaded Glade considers respectable? You must be out of your mind.”

  She kicked off her shoes and lined them up near the door. Then she hung her jacket on the hook near the door beside the rest of their jackets.

  Without waiting for a response, Sorsha walked down the hall toward her room.

  “You come back here, young lady! I wasn’t finished talking to you.”

  Even though she knew she’d probably be punished for it, she ignored him. She didn’t have the energy to put up with him that evening. She’d rather just fall into bed and sleep.

  “I expect you to be back for dinner every evening from now on, now that you’re engaged, Sorsha!” her father continued to yell.

  “Fine. I will be.” She generally had dinner before heading to the cemetery anyway. It just hadn’t worked out today because she’d hidden at the motel all day instead of in her room.

  She closed her door as much as she thought she could get away with. Then she flopped down on her bed, her mind whirling. The now-black card? Private Thaddeus? Her upcoming wedding to Preston? Charlotte? Abaddon? She tried to compartmentalize everything she’d said and done throughout the day, but she discovered she couldn’t.

  With an agitated growl, Sorsha flipped over on her back, picked up a pillow and shoved her face into it. She screamed in frustration, but no one could have heard unless they were standing outside her door.

  When she flopped the pillow back down on her bed, her breath came out in heaving gasps. She’d screamed over and over again into the pillow until she’d been too exhausted to do anything more.

  An hour later, when her mother came to check on her. She’d fallen asleep in the same precarious position, half on the bed, half off, with a pillow half-curled in her arms and her head directly on the bed.

  Her mother straightened her out so that she was on the bed and put the pillow under her head. Then she covered her daughter and kissed her temple before whispering, “Good night” and leaving the young woman to her dreams.

  Preston was as insufferable once he and Sorsha were engaged as he’d been beforehand. The difference was that he pretended to be a devoted lover to Sorsha in front of her parents instead of just tolerating her as he had in the past.

  Her lip curled in disgust as she watched him where he sat on the couch and talked to her father about his intentions for Sorsha once she was his wife.

  “How many children are you hoping for? I know how the community works. They always seem to want more and more children. If I hadn’t been injured, I might have been able to provide the community with more children myself. I’m sure my wife would have loved that.”

  Sorsha’s disgust heightened, but this time at her father. He hadn’t wanted children in the first place. There’d never been any reason to hide that Sorsha was an accidental child her father wished—on more than one occasion, she was sure—hadn’t ever been born.

  Of course her mother wanted children, but paralyzed or not, there was no way her father would have supplied her with more. He’d put his foot down about that when Melinda found out she was pregnant with Sorsha.

  Preston, for his part, seemed to look at Sorsha with the same discontent he always looked at her. Her father was just oblivious to the expression.

  “Yes, honey,” she mocked, crossing her legs over one another at the knee and cupping it as she leaned toward them. “How many children do you expect us to have?”

  “Sorsha,” her father said in a warning tone. “We’ve talked about this.”

  She saw Preston give her a wry grin, but she ignored it. “You talked about it. I never agreed.” She returned her gaze to the other boy. “So? How many?”

  “At least three,” Preston said.

  “Three?” The fact that he seemed to think she’d lay with him that often astounded her. It shouldn’t have, she knew, as the community made it clear women were for reproducing more children, but it still shocked her.

  It was her turn to smirk. “I would like to know how you plan on accomplishing that,” she muttered as she drank water from her glass.

  Preston, who clearly heard her, cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I think three is the least, and if we can succeed at it, I’d like to try for twelve.”

  At that, Sorsha spat out her drink at Preston. Twelve? Was he insane?

  The grin on his face, even as he wiped the water and spittle from it, told her he was serious.

  “Sorsha. Really now. Go get a towel to clean this up.”

  Face burning with anger, Sorsha complied before she could curl up her fist and punch her fiancé in the face. She grumbled to herself even as she reached into the bottom drawer next to the sink where her mother kept the kitchen towels.

  “Everything alright?” her mother asked, keeping her voice low.

  “That little prick wants twelve children. Twelve.” She scoffed. “If he thinks he can get twelve children from me, he’s got another thing coming to him.” She dug through the drawer and found one, straightening to find her mother staring at her in horror, her hand covering her mouth.

  She gestured toward her with the towel. “My thoughts exactly.” Before she could get anymore worked up about the situation than she already was, she left the kitchen and returned to her seat beside Preston. Her father placed her there only an hour before.

  “I’m sorry about that, honey. Here. Let me clean you up.” She shoved the towel into Preston’s face and scrubbed his entire face. She pretended to apologize for her roughness when he complained.

  When he finally moved his hands up and knocked hers away, his eyes were lit with a furious fire. She gave him a smug smile. He looked run through the ringer. She covered her mouth with the towel, hiding her grin of pleasure.

  “Thank you,” Preston said. “I think that’s enough.” He returned his attention to her father.

  “To answer your question, it’s because twelve is a special number. It’s the symbol of faith and the church.”

  “Divine rule, as well,” her father pointed out, to which Preston nodded.

  “Jacob had twelve sons who formed the tribes of Israel. Dad believes
Sorsha and I are going to make way for a better way of life in Shaded Glade. I’d like to think ahead.” He paused, holding up his hand to strengthen his point. “And, Jesus had twelve apostles. I think it’s a perfect number of children to have.”

  Sorsha snorted. There was no way she would ever have twelve children. Preston was delusional. That was the only explanation for this madness.

  Except for a quick glare from her father, neither he nor Preston paid her any mind as they continued discussing her future with each other.

  If she listened to them, she knew she’d only get angry. Sorsha quickly tuned them out. It was easier to turn to her thoughts rather than try to keep up with their conversation. She sat back in her seat, leaned against the arm of the couch and placed her chin upon the palm of her hand.

  She had other things to worry about than their plans for her, after all. She didn’t have any intention of being in Shaded Glade once Preston turned eighteen, so there was no need to worry about their plans.

  With that in mind, her thoughts turned toward her future. What would she do when she left Shaded Glade? She needed to figure that out.

  She’d told her mother she’d go into the military. At the time, it seemed the most logical idea. In a lot of ways, it still did. What branch though? Her father had been in the army. Would she follow in his footsteps?

  A smirk crossed her face. If she did, it would surely make him angrier. His daughter? In the army? He’d have a heart attack. She knew from his rants and raves, when he did talk about his time in the military, how much he despised the fact that women were allowed to join. He was old-fashioned enough to have that belief—even before they moved to Shaded Glade. It had been his biggest complaint about the army.

  Thinking about joining the army reminded her of Private Thaddeus. What was she going to do about him? She had no idea how to release him from the card. No idea if she even could.

  She closed her eyes as a wave of pity washed through her. There was nothing she could do for Private Thaddeus, and the guilt threatened to eat her up. She swallowed, refusing to succumb to it.