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by Lucian Bane

  Hurrying to her drawers, she suddenly cared about her selection and chose more normal ones. A pair of soft cotton black shorts and a plain white t-shirt, nothing fancy. She dressed and hurried back down, worried he’d disappear again.

  Descending the loft stairs, she found him in the same spot, again watching her, maybe worried she’d not come back? At that moment, she became aware of her hair and detoured toward the bathroom.

  “Excuse me a second.” Once in, she snatched her hair clip from the towel bar then exited with it in her mouth, eyeing him as she twisted up her hair and clamped the plastic teeth securely onto the wad she’d created. “Would you care for some coffee?”

  He gave a slow nod, his gaze still locked on hers, like he was constantly taking readings on her.

  She busied herself, grabbing two of her blue willow cups from the in case you ever have company, ha ha, part of the curtained cabinet and set them down. “So,” she said lightly. “I wanted to thank you for the other night.”

  “For what?”

  She glanced back at him while rinsing the drip pot. “When you…saved me?”

  “Saved you?”

  She moved on to ready fresh grounds. Did he not understand her words? Had he forgotten?

  “Remember you came into my window? There was a man here?”

  “Yes. I heard you screaming.”

  Relief flooded her as she poured the hot water over the grounds, nodding. “Yes, and you came and helped me.”

  “No. Not helped.”

  She set the kettle down and turned, leaning against the counter. “Not helped? Then what? What would you call that?”

  He held his hands together on the table, looking at them. “I don’t know. But not help.”

  Okay, that was just weird. “You mind if I sit?”

  Again, he stared at her as though he wasn’t sure. “Should I mind?”

  Ooookay. She shook her head. “No, you shouldn’t. It’s quite normal for me to sit with company at my kitchen table.” The idea that he was lacking in basic intelligence was alarming but thankfully, not in a scary kind of way. A curious kind of way, scientific kind of way. What a specimen he would make kind of way, unless he turned out to be a psycho. That would suck. “So how can I help you?”

  “Teach me.”

  “Teach you what?”

  “Everything. I don’t…know words, I think.”

  “How are you talking to me?”

  “I learned a little.”

  She’d go with the amnesia probability. Seeing as brutal honesty was his strength, it was the only thing that made sense, somewhat. How else would he not know words? “What are these?” She pointed to the salt and pepper shakers and he shook his head. “Salt and pepper shakers,” she answered, picking one up. “I’m shaking it.” She pointed to the white granules. “That’s salt.” She repeated the same with the pepper. “That’s pepper. See?”

  “I see.” He looked at her, his green eyes erupting in a strange hunger that startled her. “Teach me.

  Teach me…all.”

  “I can’t teach you all, but I’ll do what I can. It will take time. What don’t you know?” He shook his head and she realized it was a dumb question for him if he knew nothing. “Never mind, I’ll assume the worst.” She stood and went from one thing to the next in the kitchen and he followed, thankfully keeping a three-foot personal space between them. After she named nearly everything in the kitchen for him, she paused. “Are you getting this?”

  He repeated back everything she said in perfect detail. Like a photographic memory but with hearing. “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Wow?”

  “That means I’m… that means you’re wicked smart.”

  “Wicked?”

  She nodded rapidly, excitement flooding her as she tapped her temple. “Here, you have… a brain, it tells you things, helps you?”

  “I know this part. It gets hot like the sun there. When I learn things, understand. I can feel it happening.”

  She gasped, her mouth remaining open. “You can feel it?” Maybe he was having some kind of seizure. Bloody hell.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea,” she whispered, astonished. “I mean… I’m not sure.”

  “Can you teach me? Faster?”

  Faster? She suddenly wondered if maybe… She hurried to her bookshelf and grabbed the dictionary and returned with it. “Sit,” she instructed, opening the book on the table.

  He sat, and she tapped the page. “Can you read?”

  He looked at the book for a long while and began reading!

  “Holy shit!” This meant it had to be amnesia. He knew it, just didn’t remember he did.

  He paused, looking up. “Is this wrong?”

  Astonished, she shook her head. “No, no. You know how to read, that means whatever happened to you didn’t take your ability to read. You have no memory of what happened to you?”

  He thought a moment. “I remember opening my eyes in water. That’s all. Then I found you.

  Watched you.”

  Fear struck her. “Watched me? For how long?”

  He shook his head. “Two… times.”

  “Two days?”

  “I think, yes.” He went back to the book and she watched him read.

  “Are you understanding it?”

  “Yes.” He read for several seconds then looked up at her. “Can I have this?”

  She smiled. “You can borrow it? That means you use it then give it back when you’re done.”

  He nodded. “Can I sleep here?”

  Her stomach jolted in fear and excitement. To have such a specimen so close was like bringing home her flunk-a-monkey science project. Only, her science projects never…looked like that. She remembered the Cajun culture with its oh-so-famous hospitality and nodded. “Sure, why not? It’s actually customary to ask your company to stay.” Dear God, that was taking it too far. She hoped he didn’t learn too soon what a crock of shit that was.

  He went back to reading and when he turned the pages faster than he should have, she gasped, and he looked at her. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just… go on. Are you hungry?”

  “I think I am,” he said, not pausing. “Always.”

  She nodded and got up. “I’ll cook for you then.” After getting leftovers out, she regarded him, hunched over the book in the small chair and said. “Why don’t you go where you’ll be comfortable?”

  “Comfortable?”

  She got up and indicated to follow her. She led him upstairs and pointed to the bed. “Lay there.”

  He did, his movements oddly graceful, like at one time he’d been a pro at…something that required mega dexterity. Something physical. Maybe he was a dancer and had an accident. That was possible though highly unlikely. “I like this.” He moved around a little, experimenting.

  She smiled and grinned. “Good. Stay there and read.”

  “Read, yes.” He put his nose back in the book.

  “I’ll get supper on and bring up your coffee in a minute.” She stared at him for several smiling seconds then hurried down, amazement buzzing through her. Wow. Was he a genius? Just knowing

  somebody that smart was… just wow. Rare, even if he was suffering from frequent minor seizures. Aside from that, it didn’t slip her mind that he was deadly gorgeous and in her bed. And a man, technically.

  Coffee done, she wondered how he might take it. Going with a tiny bit of cream and sugar, she brought it up to him and found him staring out the window. “Bringing your coffee. This might help you stay awake while you read, it can get boring. Especially reading a dictionary,” she laughed.

  He turned and stared at her until she felt the urge to look away. Why did he have to stare so hard?

  “Here you go,” she handed him the cup. “How far did you get?”

  He took the cup. “I’m done with it.”

  “You’re done,” she mumbled sipping. “You’ll need to read a lot more than just a few pages to
learn. If you want to learn fast, I mean.”

  “No,” he said, “I read all of the pages. Each one.”

  The impossibility wiped the smile from her face. “The…”

  “Yes, the entire book. And as I read it, I became faster at it. And I understood it as you can see.

  I’m speaking, using words. Contractions even.”

  Isadore gasped and shook her head, feeling like a fucking idiot. “You’re shitting me.” She turned and set her coffee on her dresser and faced him, hands on hips. “There is no possible way you read that entire book,” she pointed at the bed, “and understood that entire book and are now speaking like a bloody genius, and I’m insulted that you would even think that you could try to tell me something so utterly ridiculous!”

  His brows crimped. “Fucking?” He retrieved the book from the bed. “I don’t remember that word.”

  She gasped a laugh. “Good one, Mr. Tarzan.”

  Again he paused, flipping quickly through the pages. “Tarzan.”

  “Neither of those is in there, as I’m sure you know! What is your name, sir, and what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Scaring you, apparently.”

  “No, not scaring me. Pissing me off, to a scary point.”

  He smiled a little, seeming all happy. “I actually understood every word you just said, except pissing. I understand it, but not in the respect ofo how you used it in the sentence.” His gaze lowered as though seeing if she’d wet herself.

  “Wow, you’re good. Who sent you? My mother? She sent you to fuck with me?”

  He stared at her. “Fuck. You used it in a different sense.”

  “It means to mess with my head,” she tapped her temple. “Try to make me think I’m crazy.”

  “Is there another book with more words?”

  She stared at him, incredulous, then stormed downstairs, retrieved the thesaurus from the bookshelf and ran into him as she turned. “Shit!”

  “Shit?” he muttered, curious.

  “It means you scared me and you shouldn’t sneak up on people!” she nearly yelled.

  “I didn’t sneak up on you.”

  She planted the book on his calm, naked chest, not allowing the distraction—for more than a second with the tattoos.

  He took the book. “I don’t know what they are,” he said.

  She raised only her eyes to him. “What, what are?”

  “The tattoos.”

  She gave a light snort.

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “You sound shocked.”

  He smiled and studied her. “I like you like this.”

  Her stomach flipped at his words. “Like what? Pissed that you’re a con and are playing me like a broken, old, rundown violin? Was it worth the money? Is it Dr. Fresdo? He still pissed that I didn’t let him throw me under the bus so he can take credit for my work?” she jabbed a finger at him. “That was my work; I worked my ass off for it!” She stormed to the kitchen and banged out pots needing something to do that had lots of banging and slamming involved. “I should have kicked his ass when I had the chance, but noooo, he was too frail. Frail, my ass!” She turned and again he was near her, making her jump.

  “Would you quit sneaking up on me?”

  She stared up at him, her heart ready to beat out of her chest at seeing the look on his face. That hunger again. His eyes seemed brighter somehow as he stroked her cheek with his index finger. “Silky.”

  Shit, was he going to start touching now? Discovering? The sarcastic remarks melted on her tongue with the emotion she heard in his description. Like he’d sought a fitting word and was glad to have it now. “Very funny.” The retort came out all frail and whimpery, like a stupid teenager.

  “Despairing azure…” he observed under his breath.

  Chapter Four

  Once again, Isadore was caught in his pensive gaze. He’d trapped her before, felt like he looked into her…brain. Wait. Despairing azure? What the hell did that mean?

  “You like me.” His tone was conclusive, but it sounded like this was a disappointing discovery.

  “What? I don’t like you.”

  His face turned instantly hard. “Don’t lie.” The bite in his words hammered fear into her spine and his lips tightened over perfect teeth as he put his fingers to his temples, clenching his eyes shut.

  “Stop. Your fear… disgusts me. And your lie infuriates me!” He spun away from her, breaths labored.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  The last strained whisper zapped her fear away and she hurried to stand before him. “What’s wrong, do you feel sick?”

  “Stop! Don’t give me your remorse. I—” He jerked away again.

  She got back in front of him, the persistent scientist. “Talk to me, explain what’s going on.”

  He growled and paced, holding his head. “There’s heat… when you’re afraid especially afraid of me. Heat in my body. I don’t like it, but not because I want you to not fear me. And then there’s the ice in my veins, they seem to be… at war. The ice seems safe, but the heat…”

  Fear shredded her stomach as she watched him pace and growl now. Heat. She remembered how hot the room got that night when Jared was there, remembered she’d wanted to ask about that. “The heat… wants to hurt?”

  He roared and dropped to his knees. “Stop! Stop it!”

  She stared at him, suddenly scared out of her mind at what he was saying. This wasn’t normal science, and try as she did to make it normal, he kept adding these impossible components and making this all seem… not natural. But wait a minute, God was real to her, therefore this man should fit in science, what was she thinking?

  She hurried and knelt before him. Taking hold of his distractingly rock-hard shoulders, she shook him. “Snap out of it! Right now!”

  He managed to aim his face at her, his eyes half open, skin shiny with sweat and breathing like he fought a thousand men.

  She nodded at seeing the tumultuous green of his eyes lighten. “That’s it. Get control of yourself.” She couldn’t imagine how frightening it was to him. The poor man.

  He became a snarling animal again, and that close up it scared the shit out of her, and she fell back.

  He lunged and pinned her to the floor with his boiling body, fingers of fire around her throat. His face hovered right before hers, she gasped on his breath, a fire in her lungs, mixed with those shards of ice. Her eyes widened as he slowly strangled her. She fought her fears, knowing it was driving him but God, what about her triggers!? Strangulations were at the top of her lose-her-shit list.

  This was just a drill. This wasn’t real. He wouldn’t kill her. He wouldn’t…

  Something hard pressed into her thigh as he growled, and right there in the middle of dying, her lonely body recognized what it was. Like a dry shriveled leaf in the rain, she responded, sought for it with a tilt of her hips. It was purely instinct. Delirious death reflexes.

  He leapt off, his billowing power surge suddenly cut in half. Plastered to the wall, he eyed her as though she was the perpetrator.

  She climbed to her feet, holding a hand toward him, fighting for the emotion that seemed to stabilize his insanity.

  Anger. That was easy to manage. “Listen to me," she jabbed a finger toward him, "mister." Her bruised throat still struggled for air, making her cough. "You will not do that again, do you understand?”

  He closed his eyes and a huge breath left him. Covering his face with both hands, he croaked,

  “Why do I need to kill scared people, Isadore? What is wrong with me? And people who are bad.” He dropped his hands and stared at them. “I want to kill." He slowly raised his head, torment drawing his brows. “I want to kill weak people. I want to hurt them, Isadore. Weak and scared people, they make me… sick.”

  Isadore was speechless with a ‘Well shit. That’s not good.’

  He shot a hand out as though warding her fear off. “Sorry!” she exclaimed. “It’s just… this is new to me.�
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  He stared at her, winded again. “I hate it even in myself. Any kind of weakness or…or imperfection, it’s like I have to have everything perfect. But look around us," he said, glaring at her.

  "What is there that’s perfect?” The conundrum was clear in his wide eyes. “Nothing is perfect!” He went to agitated pacing. “What is wrong with me? I need answers.”

  “I will get you answers.” She fought to sound confident.

  He turned to her, hope in his bright green eyes. “How?”

  “I’m a goddamn scientist, that’s how,” she snapped.

  He closed the distance and pulled her into his arms and hugged her, sending her emotions running for cover.

  “Uh… I can’t…”

  He shoved her away with wide eyes.

  “Don’t do that!” she exclaimed, putting a yard’s distance between them.

  He appeared confused, looking at her like he’d just stumbled into yet another pile of shit. “Why is your body doing that?”

  The question threw her. “Doing what? Use your new-found words and speak plainly.”

  He lowered his gaze to her heaving chest. “Your nipples hardened and your…” his gaze lowered more, “clitoris did as well.”

  Oh dear God. She covered her face, shame spinning her away from him. When he began to growl, she snapped back around. “Are you kidding? I can’t even be ashamed? Fuck me, do I have to be pissed all the damn time for you to not want to kill me?”

  He calmed immediately and let out a breath of relief, bending over and holding his knees. “That’s not even the worst of it.”

  She focused on keeping fear out of her mind. “Really,” she said dryly. “And by the way, that reaction in my body? That was a false reading on your part.”

  “No, your nipples did get hard, as did your clitoris.” He raked a hand through his hair, like that was the least of his bothers but she couldn’t keep her mouth out of overdrive.

  “It’s a purely reflexive response, like eating, or…or sleeping.” She widened her eyes before sputtering, “or yawning!”

  He paused to regard her, his head angled. “Maybe. But not you, not in this case. You clearly liked it.”