Become

by Ali Cross

  Wool.

  His suit was made of a fine weave of wool.

  Italian shoes, custom made.

  Of course.

  Six large, square tiles separated my knees from the man’s toes. One of the tiles was slightly off-color from the others. I wondered if Daniel knew—he always demanded perfection.

  My eyes watered as my mouth dropped open in the beginnings of a yawn—and I snapped to attention. I could not drift, not here, not now. Daniel would skewer me if I embarrassed him. And while I knew he couldn’t kill me, I didn’t doubt Father would allow him to torture me. I figured after what happened when I was last here, Daniel knew exactly how to cause me pain.

  In self-defense, I let my eyes wander up the body of the man sitting across from me. Mr. Wool-Suit and Italian Shoes. Mr. Custom-Made. I nearly jerked back when I saw his face. Salon-blond hair topped the overly-tanned, overly-stretched skin of a real, live mummy. He grinned at me and my blood ran cold. I knew that look.

  It was lust.

  And with that knowledge came the details I didn’t want to know:

  William Fennel.

  Forty-three.

  Divorced.

  Politician.

  Rapist. Sadist.

  This man was all about greed.

  And violence.

  I looked away, but his low chuckle promised his attention. There was no telling just how badly he’d misconstrued the glance. Or how far he’d go to find out.

  Adrenaline raged through my body—I had to get out of there, and fast.

  But when I tried to get to my feet, Daniel stood, pushing down on my shoulder, preventing me from moving. Everyone joined him—except for Custom-Made. I could feel his eyes still on me, practically feel him groping me already.

  I ran through my choices. Leave, and risk making Daniel angry. Or stay.

  But when I tried to consider what might happen if I stayed, my mind went blank. How far did Father expect me to go to honor Daniel? Did he even know how Daniel would use his stewardship over me?

  Would he care?

  But then Daniel left, and all the men went with him.

  All but for the dangerous man sitting across from me, his elbows on his knees, hands dangling loosely between them.

  With care, I raised my eyes to his.

  “Your uncle is a very powerful man,” he said, his tone relaxed but patronizing. He ran a pointy tongue over his lasered-white teeth

  He didn’t know the half of it. “He is.” I shrugged. I stood and eyed the open doorway of the cabana, estimating my ability to slip past Custom-Made before he could grab me—or to discourage him in the least damaging way possible. Daniel wouldn’t like it if I got blood on the furniture.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to meet his eyes, being sure not to flinch or look away. I raised my chin in defiance. A dare. Let him come for me. Let him be the one to cross Daniel. I’d only do what I’ve always done—take care of myself.

  And Custom-Made did exactly what I expected.

  He stood and moved in front of the door, blocking my view of the pool, of anyone but him. He closed the distance between us. I backed away until the edge of the lounge pressed against my calves.

  I let my eyes close in a long, slow blink. I needed to remember who I was—that this self-obsessed man had nothing on me. That I wasn’t trapped—he was.

  “Daniel certainly parades you around like a prized pony, doesn’t he?” For a moment his astute observation startled me. That’s exactly what I felt like—a precious pet. Custom-Made’s eyes travelled up and down my body, appraising.

  Except, I was a very well trained pet.

  “Well, the price of doing business with him is certainly high enough—the perks better be worth it.” His hands lunged for my hips, his head dipping toward mine.

  I reached toward him, and Custom-Made smiled. My fingers trailed down his forearm and clasped around his wrist as he pulled me close.

  His body began the slow seductive dance of conquest. The smell of his expensive cologne filled my nose. His hand tightened around my waist. Hungry. Demanding.

  I looked up at him, this man more than twice my age, his skin an advertisement of his wealth and vanity. My lips parted and his eyes clouded over with want.

  My thumb found the pulse on his wrist.

  I turned my hand. Twisted.

  Powerless to resist the simple defense technique, soon his hand was bent down and the back of it rotated toward his face, forcing his arm to follow. He hunched before me, his eyes the only part of his face able to show expression.

  “You bitch,” he said.

  A low chuckle came from behind the man and I looked up to find Daniel leaning against the doorframe, blocking the setting sun and looking very much like a force of nature.

  “Tsk, tsk, Will. You didn’t think Desi was part of the bargain, did you?” He stepped around Custom-Made, his eyes gleaming. Daniel made no move to free him from my grip, and Custom-Made groaned in frustration and pain.

  A man snickered and I looked up from the one bowed low in front of me to see a handful of Daniel’s buddies gathered around the open cabana doorway. I was pretty sure I saw Custom-Made’s face grow red with embarrassment underneath his spray-on tan.

  “I suppose I should have warned you. Desi doesn’t play nice, do you Desi?” Daniel winked at me. “You should consider yourself lucky though—the last man who tried to get fresh with her was taken away by the paramedics. I wasn’t near enough to offer him rescue, and Desi, well, she takes her virtue quite seriously—for some reason.”

  “Let go of me.” Custom-Made’s breath squeezed out in short bursts. With one more tug on his wrist, the pressure making him gasp, I dropped his hand. I didn’t like hurting him—at least, not really. I’d only wanted him to stop. Custom-Made backed several feet away and rubbed his wrist, his face filled with hate.

  “That bitch is crazy.” Like a wild animal, he searched for a friend among the groupies. Not one of them came to his aid—and this is where a childhood in Hell came in handy. I knew that everyone turns on you. No one has your back—or if they do, it doesn’t last. Every person has exactly one priority: themselves.

  Daniel smacked me on the butt, and anger, immediate and stunning, surged in my veins. But I wouldn’t let these foolish men move me to abandon. I’d resisted Akaros’ temptations to Become—I wouldn’t give in now.

  Instead I crossed my arms and curved the corner of my mouth into something that might pass for a smile—if you were blind.

  Daniel walked up to Custom-Made, put his arm over the man’s shoulders and directed him away. Soothing, schmoozing. I didn’t waste a second in my escape.

  By the time I reached the patio doors, Custom-Made had a drink in his hand, already turning his little brush with ‘Daniel’s crazy niece’ into something that didn’t make him look like an asshole. Much.

  chapter seven

  Music blared from my speakers as I put away the boatload of clothes Lucy talked me into buying. They filled up three rods in the giant walk-in closet, while the plaid skirts, white blouses, and navy sweaters of my school uniform filled the last. Tomorrow I’d start at St. Mary’s Academy, and according to Knowles, that’s when I’d start my training. Whatever that meant.

  My mind flashed to Akaros. I wondered what he’d be doing without me to torture day in and day out. I was pretty sure I was the only creature in Hell capable of giving him a good workout—I didn’t think anyone else could survive his particularly violent form of exercise.

  When the first screams filtered through my open windows, I sighed, releasing all the tension from living in a world I didn’t understand. Screams I understood. I’d never gotten used to them, but at least they were familiar.

  Screams have a life of their own, a brand, a flavor. You can tell a lot from them. Male, female. Angry, surprised. Fear. Pain.

  And this scream spoke volumes. Female. Angry and in pain.

  And fear drove it all.

  When she screamed aga
in, I dropped the shirt I’d just pulled from a bag onto the floor. I knew the voice behind that scream. Lucy.

  I don’t remember the stairs, the kitchen or the back patio. I ran into the dark, the party having long since moved into the house. I ran until I came to the soft grass beyond the pool, and silence greeted me like a heavy blanket. I wasn’t out of breath, but I struggled to still the beating of my heart so I could hear.

  Not a scream this time, but a desperate, whimpering moan.

  Running toward the shadowy gazebo I wished I’d thought to grab my staff, or even my nun chucks. Right now, I’d give anything for shoes on my feet that I could use to beat whatever bad guy I found. Because there would be a bad guy—I just didn’t know of what variety. Here at Daniel’s hell-on-earth there was no guarantee I’d find a man—any number of demons were welcome here. Though, by the time I could see the gazebo, clearly looming white against the stand of trees behind it, the soft grunting and quiet whimpers told me all I needed to know.

  This was the oldest kind of evil. And I could totally handle it.

  I approached the gazebo in silence, trying to see where the couple was and how I could best gain the advantage over the scumbag. The guy’s bottle-bleached hair gave him away—I so should have put him in the hospital when I had the chance.

  Custom-Made stood in the corner of the structure, his right hand braced against one of the corner beams high above Lucy’s head.

  And the reason I couldn’t hear Lucy screaming anymore? The animal had one end of his belt wrapped around his fist, while the other end encircled her neck like a noose. Blood trickled from where the buckle pressed against the skin beneath her left ear.

  Every cell in my body urged me to fly at him with a sidekick that would break his back, but I couldn’t risk hurting Lucy. I needed to get him away from her—now.

  “Hey! Custom-Made!” Man, I wanted to bash the guy’s face in. My shadow-self lurched in anticipation. And for once, I welcomed it.

  He swiveled as if in slow motion, his fist still holding the belt tight around Lucy’s throat. The whites of his eyes flashed as they turned to me, and his teeth shone in a slow, creeping smile. “Come to join the party, little pony?”

  Lucy squirmed. Her feet scrabbled to gain purchase and her fingers clawed feebly at her neck. A low gurgling sound escaped her lips.

  My fingernails dug into my palms. Focus. Breathe. But the sight of Lucy’s eyes rolling up into her head and Custom-Made’s sick grin made rage roar through my veins. Power consumed me as I lost myself to the Shadow.

  My anger and hatred for this waste-of-skin roiled through my blood like a cancer. I could feel myself expanding, the evil taint of my shadow-self stealing my thought, my self-control, my humanity.

  And then I saw the reaction I was looking for. The fear that breathed life into my Shadow.

  Custom-Made faced me, the belt slipping from his grasp, his smile dropping from his face, as Lucy slumped to the floor. I barely registered the fear that overtook him or the way he backed away from me, stumbling over Lucy’s still form.

  I didn’t think about ‘movement with intention’ as Akaros had taught me. I didn’t stop to wonder why the coward before me trembled, or why a wet stain spread across the front of his pants. I didn’t question why the shadow darkening his stretched face loomed like the blackened soul-self of a demon.

  My clawed hands tore into him without thought, without care. When my teeth cut into his flesh and hot blood spilled into my mouth, I didn’t think at all.

  Not once did I think I should stop.

  Eventually my brain began to take inventory of my surroundings. I stumbled back on shaky legs. My hands gleamed dark and sticky in the moonlight and the sick realization of what I’d done took hold of me.

  Blood spattered the white beams of the gazebo, but little remained of the man. You couldn’t have guessed it was him. Except I knew.

  “Tsk, tsk,” Daniel clucked as he stepped up beside me. “You’ve made quite a mess.”

  The tremors shaking my body made my teeth chatter so hard I could barely hear him. I stuck my hands under my armpits, afraid to look at them, terrified to remember. I focused on the trees—anything to avoid looking at the tangle of bodies that hid in the shadow of the gazebo’s floor.

  A loud rushing sound shushed around in my head. I couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think.

  Desolation, I heard my father say. I am so proud you have chosen to Become. Your birthright is yours, at last.

  I didn’t want it. I don’t want it! But I said nothing. Did nothing. Where I had resisted the choice for centuries in Hell, I had Become not twenty-four hours into my first day back on Earth.

  Daniel gave instructions to his cronies, including the call they should make to 911 about two fatalities.

  Two.

  My gaze slipped from the safety of the trees to the gazebo, to the very thing I didn’t want to see—to a man, torn to the bone as if he’d been folded inside-out and to . . .

  to . . .

  Lucy.

  I hadn’t touched her. I hadn’t hurt her. I swear I didn’t do it!

  But her skin gleamed with oily-slick blood. And her eyes, open, seemed to look directly into my soul.

  Oh. Oh. What have I done? What did she see?

  Sorrow and shame overwhelmed the implications of the evil I had Become. I thought of Lucy and tried to grasp onto the fact that I’d never see her again. Never hear her laugh. Never feel the safety of her embrace.

  Never forgive myself.

  Daniel sighed. “Such a shame. She was so reliable. So useful. But him? Ever heard of overkill?” He laughed, a soft rolling sound full of genuine humor. “What did you call him? Custom-Made?” His laughter climbed over my skin, and I doubled over with nausea.

  He kept talking and chuckling but I couldn’t follow, couldn’t even stand. I dug my fingers into the grass, into the moist soil and curled myself around them, tried to forget what my hands had done. Tried to send my consciousness away, to be anywhere but there. To be anyone but me.

  chapter eight

  I sit in a beautiful garden, the precious staff Odin gave me balanced across my knees. I love this spot, it’s my favorite in all of Asgard. I set my knife to the side and blow on the wood, sending fine shavings into the air. Odin said he chose this rarest of gifts for me, a branch from the Tree of Knowledge, so that I’d always remember.

  I can’t imagine ever forgetting.

  With a smile, I run my fingers over the carving Michael added to the staff—the symbol for love. Two hearts entwined as one.

  As if he’d been summoned by my thoughts, I feel warm hands slip over my eyes.

  “What would you do if you couldn’t see me?” my love whispers in my ear.

  “I would touch you,” I say, laughing at our familiar game and reaching my hands up to touch his soft curls.

  He gathers my hair to the nape of my neck. When he places a kiss there, pleasure courses through me.

  “What would you do if you couldn’t touch me?” he asks. His hands leave me and I feel him step away. And even though it’s just part of the game, a different kind of shiver skips over my skin, like the momentary cooling when a cloud passes before the sun.

  “I would call you.”

  Michael steps to me and covers my ears with his hands. Though his voice is muffled, I know he asks, “What would you do if you couldn’t hear me?”

  “I would smell you,” I say, shrugging my shoulders and using my best know-it-all voice. The fragrance of citrus fills my nose and I open my eyes to see Michael peeling an orange. He pops a piece into my mouth with a mischievous grin. Oh, how I love that smile.

  He laughs and pulls me to my feet. I close my eyes and rock forward onto my toes—the next part is my favorite.

  I feel my love step close to me, feel his breath on my cheek.

  “What would you do if you couldn’t smell me?” he asks, his voice little more than the wind.

  I lean into him. I k
now by instinct where he is. Our hands clasp together, fingers intertwining, hearts joining.

  “I would taste you.” My mouth barely forms the words—the kiss that follows says so much more.

  My whole body melts into him. We are one.

  The kiss deepens and I lose all track of time, all sense of self. My mind only holds one thought: love.

  Our lips part, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm on my face.

  “Something to help you remember,” he says, tracing his finger over the knotted hearts on my staff. And I laugh because, of course I will never forget.

  I search his eyes, so warm and golden I could get lost in them forever. But then there’s just his fingers in my hair, his lips, his kiss.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Akaros’ smooth voice says, startling us.

  Things have been so trying lately, so many difficult decisions made, so many hearts broken. And all because of Loki and Akaros. I sigh and press my eyes closed for a moment, stealing myself against the argument that’ll be rehashed. Again.

  “It isn’t enough that you betray me, but you have to throw it in my face with that?” He stands a few feet away, his arms crossed, shadows flickering across his face. When his eyes meet mine, I flinch—there’s nothing left of the warrior I once cared for. I grip the staff until my knuckles turn white.

  Michael faces him, his hands spread wide, his face calm. “We want you to stay. But you can’t disobey Odin and expect everything to be okay.”

  Akaros’ face resembles a thunder cloud. We used to spar together, Akaros and I. He had been the best, the bravest among us.

  But all that changed when Odin created the quest for Ascension so Asgardians of noble heritage could become a god if they chose. Loki didn’t like that Odin made no guarantee we would return. And he certainly didn’t like that Odin required his own sons embark on the hero’s quest and return with honor and valor. And so he was leaving—him and a third of all the citizens of Asgard.