Marked for Darkness

by Raven Woodward

  Harlow

  By the time they arrived at the house with her belongings, the sun dipped low in the sky. They’d stopped for lunch in the city at a pizza cart near her hotel before beginning the trek back to Binghamton.

  There was no shortage of things for them to talk about, from music tastes to their interconnecting pasts in Binghamton. She discovered that her mother and Rex’s were in the same social circle and had been distant friends. Rex told Harlow how his mother had grieved for months when her parents had passed.

  Now as they each carried a suitcase full of Harlow’s things into the house, they argued about the best eighties bands.

  “AC/DC and Guns N’ Roses are still widely enjoyed today,” Harlow said, dropping the bag in the foyer.

  Rex scoffed. “Sure, but Metallica are basically gods in the world of rock.” He set his bags down beside hers and folded his arms over his chest. His navy T-shirt pulled tight around his toned biceps, accentuating them.

  Harlow rolled her eyes. “You cannot possibly be saying that Metallica will outlive AC/DC.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He smirked as he stepped closer. His hand snaked around her waist, pulling her close.

  She smiled, letting him press his lips to hers.

  “So about last night,” he said just a breath above her ear. “I miss the taste of you on my tongue.”

  She shivered before spinning out of his grip, then flashed him a wink. “Got to keep you guessing, Almstad.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the staircase. “But if you help me move all this furniture, I’m sure we can pick up where we left off.” Her stomach fluttered nervously but she didn’t dare turn to see his expression. She heard the anticipation in his next words.

  “We better get to it then.”

  With a steadying breath, she led him into her old room, directing him as he moved each piece. Some required them both, even though she felt like she wasn’t much help. They took out everything she no longer wanted and carried it onto the front porch. She’d have the Salvation Army come pick it all up.

  When they were all done, and Harlow’s belongings were brought up to her new room, the sky was dark and clouded in her circular window. She’d dusted the exposed beams of the ceiling and the antique lighting fixtures.

  Rex sat on the end of her bed, watching her set up her easel beside the window.

  “What’s in this?” he asked, gesturing to the worn forest green trunk sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed.

  “Old paintings,” Harlow said absently as she arranged her colors in a neat pile and stared at the canvas longingly.

  Perhaps later… Though later might have been promised to other activities. Her toes nearly curled at the thought.

  She turned to grab the last of her brushes, and when she looked back, Rex was kneeling in front of the trunk.

  “I wouldn’t…” she warned. Though she’d fully intended to reflect on the work of her fourteen-year-old self, she wasn’t so sure she wanted Rex to see them. But he didn’t listen.

  The clicks of the latches springing free filled the silence. The lid creaked as Rex pushed it open. Harlow shuffled closer to peer over his shoulder, embarrassment heating her face.

  First was a seascape. The colors weren’t as blended as they should have been, and the sea spray was overdone. To her, the painting was that of an amateur.

  “Wow, this is really good,” Rex said.

  Harlow snorted but she didn’t bother pointing out the errors. He set it aside and picked up another. Her heart caught in her throat at the scene. The back of her father’s favorite armchair—which still occupied the sitting room—where he sat. On his lap was a young girl with red curls, and at his feet knelt another girl, a few years older, with blond ringlets. Standing beside the chair was their mother. Only her profile was visible, but her smile was unmistakable.

  Harlow remembered that stormy night so clearly it was as if she both stood in her room with Rex and sat on her father’s lap, only six years old. The thunder clapped and the lightning shot bright bolts that lit up the windows, but in her father’s arms, she was safe. Untouchable.

  He told stories of witches and fairies and merpeople while she, her sister and their mother listened. Every so often, Harlow would look to her mother, as if seeking confirmation that such creatures existed. Her smile, in the mind of a six-year-old, had been all the confirmation she’d needed.

  Harlow had been so enraptured by the memory that she didn’t notice Rex procure the third painting from the old trunk until he’d gone rigid with it.

  She blinked away the sounds of rain battering the roof and windows and the low timbre of her father’s voice. Blinked away the smell of his cologne that was uniquely him.

  Blinked the last of the memory away and zeroed in on the painting Rex was holding.

  Of himself.

  “What is this?” his voice was questioning with a hint of accusation. As if she’d pulled some grand prank.

  Half of his face was identical—down to the scowl. But the other half was covered with a pure white fur, save for a patch of black surrounding his vibrant, indigo eye. On the human half of his face, his eye was his natural, crystalline blue.

  Harlow only vaguely recalled painting that picture in the way nearly all of her paintings came about.

  In a trance, or a vision.

  Where she was not aware of herself being in her body, but existing in the scene in which she painted. When she’d come back to herself, fourteen and terrified what would happen if anyone found out she’d been having frequent out-of-body experiences, she’d immediately shoved the canvas into the trunk, left there to never again see the light of day.

  Though even then she’d wondered who the handsome man was.

  Harlow shrugged. “I’m sure that’s just a freak coincidence. I don’t even remember painting that.” The lie tumbled out with ease.

  Rex blinked, examining it. “It’s kind of cool. Do you mind if I have it?”

  Harlow shook her head, expelling a breath of relief. She fingered a pleat in the skirt of her dress. “I’m getting kind of hungry. Do you want anything?”

  Rex looked from the painting in his hands to Harlow and back. Something dark flickered across his expression, gone before she had time to analyze it.

  He shook his head. “Actually, I’m going to get back to my mom’s house. She’ll never let me live it down if I don’t hurry.” With a sheepish smile he nodded to the painting. “Thanks again. This will look really cool in the pub.”

  Harlow’s lips quirked to the side. “Isn’t it a little vain to have a painting of yourself in your own establishment?”

  He laughed. “It’ll serve as a warning not to piss me off.”

  Harlow’s smile widened. “Oh, totally. That certainly strikes fear into my heart.”

  They both laughed as they headed down the stairs. At the front door, Rex brushed a kiss to Harlow’s cheek, surprising her.

  “Rain check on the continuation of our date?”

  She nodded. “After all the work I made you do today, you deserve it. Oh, wait, let me get you some money for your gas.” Before she could turn away to find her purse, he caught her wrist, stopping her.

  “Don’t worry about it. I was happy to help out. And it’s cool that you came back to Binghamton, though I have to admit I’m more than a little disappointed that I’ll only be able to see you on the weekends.”

  Harlow shrugged, smiling. “Maybe I’ll come and visit on occasion. I just need to get a new car.”

  “Well if you need any help with that, I’m more than willing to lend my expertise. My father worked on cars every second he wasn’t working in the pub.”

  “I will almost certainly take you up on that.” She smiled.

  Rex opened the door and leaned in to kiss her once more, but she turned so their lips met instead.

  The soft touch sparked something inside her that drew her closer, until their bo
dies were pressed together, and their tongues danced. A low, guttural sound rumbled in Rex’s chest, sending a jolt of white-hot desire through her.

  He broke away first, his eyes so bright, they appeared to be lit from within. “If you kiss me like that, I’ll be forced to stay and take you back upstairs.”

  She smirked. “That was just to tide you over until I see you next.” Though she didn’t want to admit that she secretly hoped he’d stay. She preferred his company to the silence.

  His lips tilted to the side. “Enchantress.”

  With a laugh she said, “I’ll see you soon.”

  He backed up a step onto the porch, then paused, eyes still locked on hers. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here by yourself?”

  A little late for that question, she thought. Biting her bottom lip to keep from spilling the truth, she nodded. “I’m sure.” To make it more believable, she gave him a reassuring smile.

  He hesitated for only a moment. Then he turned and stalked off the porch, got in his car, and disappeared into the dark night.

  Wind carried through the trees like a collective hush. Harlow breathed in the crisp air deeply, then closed the door and headed through the foyer to make herself some dinner.

  At the threshold of the kitchen, she froze.

  In the same crystal vase that had been empty that morning stood a dozen red roses. But there was no note beside it this time.

  A chill ran up her spine. Reasoning with herself that Rex had been with her all afternoon and no one else could possibly be inside, she grabbed the roses without thinking. Thorns pierced her palms and she winced. Opening the window above the sink, she tossed the roses out and slammed it shut before locking it.

  Her hand was spotted with tiny beads of blood that she washed away under cool water from the faucet.

  Just as she dried her hand on an old tea towel, a clang sounded on the other side of the kitchen, in the garage.

  She jumped, heart leaping into a fierce gallop. For several seconds everything was still, save for her racing pulse.

  Then came a long, grating sound. Like claws running against the wall. The hairs on the back of Harlow’s neck stood on end. She spun and grabbed the biggest knife she could find before creeping through the kitchen and pausing at the door to the garage.

  A thump.

  Then silence.

  It’s just a racccoon. It’s just a raccoon.

  She sucked in a deep, steadying breath, then gripped the door handle.

  And turned.

  The first thing that caught her attention was her father’s truck parked in the garage. She’d just assumed that after her parents’ death the truck had been sold or even stolen. She hadn’t even thought to check.

  A shadow stirred behind it, forcing her to look away. A large creature with silver eyes had somehow crammed itself between the wall of the garage and her father’s truck. Yet the door was locked from the outside, and there was no visible damage.

  So how could it have gotten in?

  A low, haunting growl echoed through the space. The sound knocked the air from Harlow’s lungs. From the scant light pouring from the kitchen, she could only just make out the glint of fangs when the beast bared its teeth and snarled.

  Then it lunged, over the hood of the truck. Metal creaked and groaned as its mammoth body sprung toward her. Harlow stumbled back, a frantic scream lodged in her throat. She brandished the knife, but the creature didn’t spare it a glance.

  It kept coming as Harlow retreated.

  At last it roared, and she spun on her heel and ran.

  The sound of wood exploding inward was punctuated with splinters flying by her. Harlow’s heart thundered in her ears as her body carried her through the house. Up the stairs.

  With a glance back, she saw the full, lithe body. Thick grey skin, curling ram horns and black, glinting claws. It snapped its mighty jaw.

  Close.

  Too close.

  This time her scream rang out through the house.

  Each stair she flew up, she could feel the vibrations of a mighty beast’s paws shredding the steps below her. Time slowed. It was as if every second was drawn into a minute. Her toe caught on a step midway up and she tripped. The knife flew from her hand and clattered somewhere below in the foyer. She righted herself, every nerve ending in her body alive and blistering. Like a soda can shaken until the pressure became too much.

  At last she reached the top landing. Without thinking she turned right and ran for her parents’ bedroom. It was a long shot, but her father had kept a hunting rifle under his side of the bed in case of intruders.

  The creature that was bigger than a bear but wolf-like in appearance tore after her, shredding her beloved home with each step.

  Harlow dove over her parents’ bed and scurried on the floor, reaching. When her hand met cool steel, she sobbed in relief. She drew out the rifle just as the creature crashed through the doorframe.

  She released the safety and pulled the trigger.

  Bang.

  Her body jolted back from the recoil. The beast didn’t even flinch.

  She pulled the trigger again, this time prepared for the force of it.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Click. Empty.

  Harlow’s blood turned to ice as the creature reared up on its hind legs. One giant paw slashed through the air, the other going straight through her parents’ bed. She shielded her face with her arms.

  Pain exploded from her shoulder down her arm. Her other hand felt the coursing warmth and she held up the crimson stained hand, stunned. She looked down to find three long gashes and gagged. A glimpse of white revealed what she assumed was bone.

  She’d bleed out in minutes.

  Another roar sounded, though Harlow couldn’t tell how far away it was. The creature in front of her turned, letting out a snarl.

  Sounds grew muffled.

  A giant black bear sprang through the obliterated doorway, latching itself onto the first creature’s neck. They fought in a tangle of growls and razor-sharp claws.

  Harlow slumped against the wall. The edges of her vision darkening.

  A loud crack, the one a creature fell to the ground, though everything was too blurry to tell which one came out the victor.

  Green eyes filled her mind as her lids fluttered closed. Hot, strong arms scooped her up as her head lolled, resting against something solid and equally warm. The scent of pine and smoke mixed with the coppery smell of her blood.

  Soothing blackness reached up and pulled her under.

  Rex

  He’d driven only a few minutes before pulling over. Everything felt too small, too tight, and he stumbled out of the car. On his hands and knees, he forced himself away from the vehicle. Away from people. His fingers dug into the damp soil as though they were roots eagerly seeking sustenance. The pressure in his head swelled, making his vision blur.

  He fought against the rising tide inside himself and crawled over twigs, branches and pine needles, heedless of how they bit into his palms and knees.

  The blackness came fast and his face fell into the dirt.

  When he awoke, the pressure was gone. He lifted his face from the ground, spitting the dirt out of his mouth. The pain pulsing in his temples had ebbed. Rex clambered to his feet unsteadily, unable to see the forest around him.

  A beastly roar split the night and he froze. Although uncertain, it seemed to him as though it had come from the direction of Harlow’s house.

  Something base and instinctual spiked through his veins. He ran toward his car. In an instant he was behind the wheel and speeding back to her place, eyes peeled for any bears roaming the area.

  Before he could turn onto the narrow lane that led to her house, he saw a man carry a human form in his arms and lower the body gently into his back seat. Rex leapt out his car, heart thundering.

  The body was unmistakably female, and though the
re was nothing but the light from his headlights, the yellow dress and Harlow’s mane of bright red curls told Rex all he needed to know.

  The man that had carried her whirled toward Rex, teeth bared. An inhuman snarl erupted from him, his eyes flashing from green to gold, then back to green.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing with my…girlfriend?” Now was not the time to debate the trivial details.

  The man with dark hair and a lethal look straightened before slamming the door that separated Rex from Harlow. He stepped forward, assessing Rex. Then he paused and his nostrils flared as though he were smelling the air.

  “You’re not her boyfriend, you’ve only just met. What business could you possibly have here with Ms. Marks?”

  Rex blinked, taken aback. How did he know that? “None of your damn business. Now get her out of your car before I call the police.”

  A cold smile twisted the man’s lips. He took another step forward and everything in Rex screamed at him to turn and run. But he couldn’t. Harlow was clearly in danger. He needed to save her.

  “Listen closely, mortal.” The man’s clothes were torn and the closer he got, the more Rex began to recognize the shadows that covered him.

  It was blood.

  The man’s eyes were suddenly all Rex could focus on. “Forget what you saw here. Forget the woman you know as Harlow Marks. She does not belong to you. Go home and get some rest. When you wake in the morning, you’ll only remember rushing back to the city to deal with a plumbing problem at your abysmal pub.”

  Each word grew heavy in his mind. As if he processed them before they vanished.

  Why was he standing here talking to this man?

  Save…someone.

  Save who?

  His brows drew together in confusion. There was something he was forgetting… He glanced at the black car behind the man.

  “You have a good night, sir,” Rex said.

  The man smiled, though it was all teeth. Predatory. “You as well.”

  Rex turned and headed back to his car. His muscles felt sore. Stiff. Pain stabbed behind his eyes.