Willow Dark Storm

by ZL Morris

  I swallow the lump in my throat at how close his words come to being right on the mark, and I try to think of a way to explain. “Please, call me Willow, and I’m sorry I’m being really ungrateful. I just… I was held captive by wolves for four months, and I’m caught off guard. Up until then, I didn’t even know supernatural stuff existed.”

  He turns towards me at the top of the stairs and smiles sadly. “I’m sorry the Blood Moon pack kidnapped you. But I’m glad you’re here with us. Things can only get better for you now, Miss—sorry, Willow.”

  Unable to understand how things can get any better for me while I’m in a house with a load of blood-sucking vampires, I keep my mouth shut. Cassius must realise I’m not going to respond or ask anything else because he leads me to a large door. After opening it, he again waits for me to enter before he follows me. I’m a little unnerved he has such good manners, considering he’s not human. Perhaps some part of me assumed all supernatural beings would be as barbaric as the wolves. After all, they dragged me around rather than be gentlemanly.

  Remembering those times, I tentatively touch my neck, and I’m left shocked. There’s no pain. Maybe the cream has a numbing agent, and that’s why it doesn’t hurt as much as it did.

  I gape around the room in awe but stop dead in my tracks. No way did they manage to shift that bed in so little time. It’s huge! It’s a four-poster canopy bed about the size of my cell at the wolf’s camp, and I’ll likely need a step to be able to climb onto it. Heavy velvet curtains, similar to the ones downstairs, drape around all four sides but instead of being soft grey, they’re a deep red. Because they don’t match the dark blue curtains hanging above the windows, the bed is a little out of place

  As I peruse the room, Cassius opens a door and disappears inside. I wait a few moments, unsure if I should follow him or stand here and wait until he comes back. A groan and a loud clunking noise echoes from beyond the open doorway. The sound of gushing water hits my ears, and I realise he must be in the bathroom.

  The clunking moves up the wall and across the ceiling. My gaze moves rapidly between the ceiling and walls, and I worry the rattling pipes will flood the bedroom. The house is old, but surely, they’ve updated the water system by now. I shake my head at my thoughts. I shouldn’t concern myself with stupid shit like the pipes. Instead, I should concentrate on making it out of here in one piece.

  Quietly, I scan the rest of the room, taking in the details while I’m alone. A huge wooden desk occupies the space under the window, a couple of leather-bound books set neatly on top. A quill pen sits beautifully atop the books. I also see what I can only assume is a solid gold ink pot. I don’t even want to speculate how much the thing might have cost—likely more than my life is worth. I vow to never go near it. Next to the desk, a bookcase brims full with more books. They must have copious amounts of time on their hands to read, especially since they don’t sleep.

  The water turns off. As the pipes settle within the walls, the room goes eerily quiet. I turn towards the door and realise too late Cassius waits in the doorway, I almost jump out my skin from not hearing him move.

  He regards me for a few seconds before he announces, “The bath is filled. Some towels are on top of the toilet. There’s a mixture of bubble baths and shampoos on the shelf next to the bath. I hope they’re to your liking. There’s also a robe on the back of the door if you’d like to wear that while I have someone run to fetch you the essentials. If you could leave your soiled clothes outside the door, we’ll get you similar ones and discard of those for you.”

  Not knowing what else to say, but with the knowledge I should at least say something, I call out a quiet, “Thank you.”

  He nods once and strides towards the bedroom door. Before he leaves, he looks back at me. “I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen. I need to prepare some things before the food arrives for you. The new clothes will be on the bed when you’re finished. The kitchen is downstairs, the first door to your right. Take your time.”

  Chapter Five

  The door clicks shut behind Cassius, and for the first time since arriving, my shoulders relax—only to tense back up. I rush over, secure the lock, then test the handle to make sure it’s locked. Satisfied, I head into the bathroom; I follow the same procedure to shut and lock that door too. If they really want to, they could likely get in, but I won’t make it easy for anyone to get close to me, especially while I’m naked. After spending four months locked in a cell, I’m surprised being behind a locked door doesn’t give me a mini freak-out, but I know all I have to do is turn the lock. Then, I’m free to explore the house. Although, that would be a stupid thing to do.

  My eyes widen from shock when I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. My hair is a rat’s nest, and I dread trying to put a brush through it. My green eyes appear huge because my naturally rounded cheeks have sunk from starvation. Not wanting to analyse them too closely, my gaze drops to the bandage around my neck that hides what I can only imagine are hideous sores.

  Even though my clothes no longer fit, they cling to my emaciated body because of the dirt, grime, and other unquestionable things covering them. I lift my hands to begin the task of removing my clothes. They’re beyond recognisable from what they were when I first set out with my camera so long ago. At this point, my mind can’t recall what I put on that day.

  I swiftly turn my back to the mirror and grimace at the stench that wafts from my clothes and body as I peel off the layers. With this stomach-turning smell, how could the vampires bring themselves to come anywhere near me?

  Do they have sensitive noses like wolves, or do they have completely different senses?

  With a shake of my head, I blank my mind. I really don’t want to delve into the differences between wolves and vampires. The whole topic is beyond fucked up, and my little human brain can’t even begin to work it out.

  Once naked, I remember Cassius’s instructions to place the dirty clothes outside the bathroom door. I don’t want to get any of the fresh towels dirty by using them to cover myself, so I decide to risk opening the door while naked. I clumsily grab the clothes, and my nose wrinkles in concentration when I put my ear to the door.

  I listen for a few moments concentrating on any noise that may be coming from anyone in the bedroom. Met by silence, I unlock the door and open it a fraction so I can drop the clothes outside while still covering my nakedness. With a sigh of relief at the sight of the empty bedroom, I push my arm out the gap and drop the clothes on the floor.

  After shutting the door and clicking the lock back into place, I move across the bathroom to the bath. On shaky legs, I climb in and gently lower myself until I’m sitting. Lying down, I set my head against the top of the tub with a sigh. In the quiet, my mind wanders to my home out in the real world. There’s no one at home to be worried because I’ve not returned. No one to pace by the phone, waiting to hear if I’m alive. I’m alone now as I was then.

  As I contemplate the situation I’ve landed in, I realise I’ve managed to escape one hell, but I can’t decide if I’ve been shoved into another one. This can’t be hell though, right? They haven’t hurt me, and so far, their actions and offers reflect how gentlemanly they are. Would they put this amount of effort in if they wanted to harm me? A sick feeling goes through me, and I can’t stop my thoughts from taking a nosedive.

  Are they wanting me clean and fed, so I taste nicer?

  Remembering the bandages around my neck, I sit up and slowly unravel them. I control my movements, in case the cloth sticks to the wounds underneath. Once unravelled, the gauze slips through my fingers and drops to the floor. I’ll dispose of it once I’m clean.

  Near the taps, three different bottles of body wash line up next to two bottles for my hair. The three body washes consist of citrus, floral, and a sensitive skin one. Before I was picked up by the wolves, I used to buy the luxury citrus shampoos and body wash, but it lost its appeal when the wolves commented on me smelling like food. Not sure if the smell
is as appealing to the vamps, I decide to play it safe and not use it. And knowing my skin is beyond the point of being sensitive, I choose the floral bottle.

  Since first relaxing in the water, I didn’t look down at it. Morbid fascination grasps me as the water goes from clean to dirty when my hands brush across my stained skin. Moving my feet, the grit along the bottom of the tub scratches the bruised pads. Even the bubbles from the body wash are brown. Not wanting to lie down in the disgusting water and knowing the water will only get worse, I reach for the jug, so I can get my hair washed and finally clean.

  From outside in the bathroom, a door opens, and my shampooed hands freeze in my hair. I remember locking that door. Please, please don’t let them come in here. Frantically, I search for something I can protect myself with and spot the razor I didn’t notice before, hidden behind one of the shower gels. I grab the razor and ignore my hair as it slaps with gritty shampoo against my back. Petrified, I stare at the door, waiting for the handle to turn. Someone stops outside the bathroom door, and it all goes quiet.

  Before long, bedroom door shuts. My breathing slows, but I wait a few moments longer to make sure the silence isn’t some sort of trap. I slowly allow myself to relax and place the razor back on the side of the bath but within easy reach.

  Keeping half my attention on any noises in the bedroom, I get back to the task of rinsing the shampoo out of my hair. I repeat the process to make sure I’ve expelled every bit of dirt, then I use a generous amount of conditioner. Hopefully, that’ll make it easier to run the brush through my hair once I’m done.

  A glance at my legs makes my nose wrinkle. Picking the razor back up, I use the same body wash and make quick work of making my body feel like me again.

  Happier now that I’m clean, I stand and quickly empty the bath. A thick layer of dirt covers the bottom of the bath. With a twist of the knobs, I turn the taps back on, but I wince when the pipes groan loudly and rattle throughout the walls.

  After using my foot to slide the dirt and suds from the tub and with the bath clean, I refill it with fresh, hot water and climb back in to relax for a while longer. Lying down, I bend my knees, so my feet can’t touch the end and let my upper body sink until my face is completely submerged. I only do this for a few seconds, but it’s all I need to clear my head. For the first time in months, I allow myself to just be.

  Surfacing, I push the hair out of my face and look at my fingers. Wrinkles form from mulling around in this huge tub for too long. Since it’s time to face reality, I hope that whoever brought me clothes picked something in my size. I run my fingers over the bones protruding from my skin. Whatever size that is now.

  After pulling the plug, I stand and grab the fluffy towels off the toilet. I encircle the small hand towel around my curly red hair and another larger towel around my body. Once dry, I wrap my body in the softest robe I’ve ever felt. Folding the bath towel, I place it on top of the toilet and check the tub to make sure it’s clean. Spinning on the spot, I make sure the bathroom is in the same state as when I first entered.

  Spotting my bandage on the floor, I swiftly place it into the small bin under the sink. My attention turns to the mirror above the sink. Silently, I weigh whether I want to look or be a coward and hide from it. Swallowing thickly, I decide to get it over with.

  The cold porcelain bites into my fingers as my eyes slowly move down from the top of my head. My jaw drops when my gaze lands on my neck where only a slight pink tinge to the skin that was torn to shreds four, maybe, five hours ago. Nothing remains from the wolves’ treatment over the last four months.

  How the hell did my neck heal that quickly? What the fuck was in the cream they used?

  I don’t want to know what was in the cream. If anything else is revealed, I might lose my mind. My soul rests on the edge of the cliff and on the verge of walking off the end of it. The slightest thing could push me into a crazy I’ll never pull myself back from.

  Slowly, I take several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. Once I have a handle on my emotions, I unlock the door. A quick glance down shows a clear floor where I dropped my dirty clothes.

  I cross to the closed bedroom door and relock it. They’ve proven they can gain access even though it’s locked, but knowing they can’t simply walk in puts my mind at ease. A neatly folded set of clothes rests atop the bed. My cheeks flame when I spot a pair of knickers, a bra, and socks on top.

  Unfolding the clothes, I check the labels, all a few of sizes smaller than my soiled ones, and I wonder if I’ll fit into them. Shaking my head, I ignore how they could have guessed my approximate size and quickly dress. A brush on the bed lays next to where the clothes were piled, so I give my hair a good brush, happy when I don’t snag on any knots.

  With nothing left to do, I look around the bedroom to make sure everything is tidy before I try to remember where Cassius said the kitchen was. Quietly, I make my way out of the bedroom and down the stairs. I stop on the bottom step when voices from the direction of the kitchen reach me. Not knowing the layout of the house, I’m unsure which direction to go to escape whoever it might be.

  Forlorn, I glance at the door on the left where I know the study is and where the guys most likely still are. I don’t have the courage to interrupt whatever they needed to discuss. Swallowing my nerves, I step off the stairs and slowly push the kitchen door open.

  I stumble to a stop, my brain unable to keep up with what my eyes see. The kitchen is beautiful and huge, but that isn’t what grabs my attention. On the centre island, fifty or so blood bags are piled high. My stomach flips dangerously when whoever has his head in the fridge throws more bags over his shoulder to join the fast-growing mountain on the countertop.

  Silently, I glance around to find who he was talking to, but I’m the only other person in the room. His muttering starts back up, and I realise he’s having a conversation with himself. The words don’t register though because my eyes unwillingly move back to what’s on the counter next to the blood bags. Two paper bags full of food… my food.

  One hand flies to my mouth and the other to my stomach. Bile fights its way up and wants to make itself known across the kitchen floor. If my stomach wanted food before, it certainly doesn’t want any now.

  That really can’t be hygienic, but then I remember no food, other than blood, has likely ever been served in this kitchen. I force my breathing to slowly flow through my nose as another wave of sickness washes over me.

  The stranger with his head in the fridge must hear the whimper that escapes because his head shoots up and hits the inside of the fridge. He curses as he pulls his head out, and my eyes grow wide when he turns with his hand pressed to what I imagine is a growing bump… Do vampires even get knocks and bumps like humans?

  As soon as his eyes lock onto me, he straightens, and the scowl wipes off his face to be replaced with an easy smile. If I couldn’t see his fangs, it’d come across as friendly. I cautiously step back. Confusion crosses his face for the barest of moments before he smiles more gently. His face appears slightly familiar, but I can’t work out why.

  He steps forward while holding a hand out to me to shake. “Hello, you must be Willow. My father said you were staying with us, and I’ve been given the task of emptying the fridge out for your human food.”

  Hesitating, I cautiously offer him one hand to shake while the other still holds my churning stomach. “Y-y-you’re putting my food in that fridge… where the blood has been?”

  The smile drops off his face, but he nods. “Yes. The lady at the store said it needs to go into the fridge to stay fresh. Is that wrong?”

  Not wanting to piss him off, I step back. “N-n-no, she’s not wrong. It’s just… are you really going to put food in there where… blood has been stored?” My mind wants to revolt at the knowledge, but I’ve gone too long without any decent food. As much as the thought makes me queasy, my empty stomach pushes me to want to stuff my face.

  When he turns towards the fridge in question, his bro
w wrinkles slightly. God knows what’s going through his head, but his eyes light up when he spots something still in there.

  He roughly scrapes a good amount of what looks like red jelly off the bottom of the fridge and turns towards me while he tosses the jelly into his mouth. Mouth full, he speaks, “Meh, not bad… You use those spray bottle things on TV? The humans use them to clean stuff, right? I can go and get some now, then it’ll be clean. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  My mouth opens, but I don’t have a chance to say anything before the kitchen door bangs shut behind me. He’s gone. Confused, I glance around to see if this is some kind of trick. Checking behind the counter, he’s not here. Damn! Let’s hope I don’t have to try to escape if they all move that fast.

  Resigning myself to the fact I have no clue how far away the shops are or how long it’ll take for whoever the fast dude is to get back, I grab a stool from underneath the centre island and move it towards the sink. I don’t want to sit within reach of those blood bags. Who knows what I’ll catch.

  My brain conjures up images of me growing fangs and an unhealthy thirst for blood. It’s completely unrealistic and stupid to think something like that could be caused by being in close proximity to the bags, but six hours ago, I didn’t even know vampires existed. My brain won’t let go of the fact that at this point, anything is bloody possible.

  Something clicks in my brain, and I look back at the fridge in horror. Oh, fuck! That wasn’t jelly he was eating—it was congealed blood!

  Stomach churning dangerously, my backside hits the stool when I waver on my feet. I almost wet myself when the kitchen door bangs open, and the guy who went to get the disinfectant stands by the counter, loaded down with bags. From the state of the bags, it looks as though he bought every damn bottle on the shelf.