by Austin, RB
Within moments the home he’d built for his family came into view. He wasn’t breathing hard. His lungs didn’t ache. There was no stitch in his side. The muscles in his legs weren’t burning. Elias had given him a gift.
Smoke rose from the small chimney. Hope flared. He reached the door in a matter of seconds. A medium sized room served as the kitchen, dining, and living area. Sarah lay on the dirt floor in front of the fireplace, eyes closed. Her body shook with fever.
He was unworthy of Elias’s gift.
Caderyn crossed over to her, processing a barrage of information at once. Half-eaten food on the table and the floor. Two of the table chairs were missing. One wooden chair leg stuck out of the dying flames in the fireplace. Despite the rotting food stench, he caught the scent of sickness. Sarah smelled worse than a half devoured deer baking in the summer sun. Her labored breathing filled his ears. Along with her faint heartbeat. The smallpox marks had spread to her arms, neck, and chest.
He knelt next to her head. “Sarah? Sarah.”
Brushing the sweaty strands of long, scarlet hair off her face, incoherent thoughts slammed into his head that weren’t his own. His gaze traveled over her body. Her distended stomach appeared even bigger in comparison to her frail frame.
Caderyn gasped as pain stabbed through him. It was not his pain. Another spear of agony. This one sharp and piercing. It came from their unborn child.
Their son.
His gut clenched.
“Where were you?”
Gaze swinging up, he met Sarah’s accusing, green-eyed glare. She’d not spoken out loud.
“I’m sorry.” Picking her up, he placed his hands in the least hurting areas and carried her to their bedroom. He could have been holding Laura. Was this due to her sickness or his new strength? Laying her in bed, he covered her with the blankets. She was still cold. Caderyn walked two strides to the girls’ room and took the blankets from their bed.
Did you find the doctor?
“No. The whole town is infected.” The fever’s grip must be strong. Sarah hadn’t realized he was answering questions not voiced.
You’re better. She stared at his upper cheek. His red spots had vanished, replaced with deep-pitted scars, like months passed, not days. Her eyes narrowed.
Caderyn tucked the ends of the blankets around her feet. She was so cold. “I am.”
Did you get medicine?
He straightened. “I’m going to make you a hot drink. When did you eat last?”
Not hungry. The words lashed out through her mind leaving red, oozing welts on his heart. What she really meant was, I don’t want your help.
“I know.” His voice was gentle. “You need to eat for the baby.”
Her hatred could have burned a hole in his back as he walked to the kitchen. He deserved all she threw at him and more.
After pumping water into the kettle, he placed it over the fire. Adding two pieces of wood, he used the metal pick to stoke the embers until a fiery blaze burned around the bottom of the pot.
Caderyn ladled heated water into a cup and added one of the tealeaves Sarah saved for company. Stirring until the water changed color, he carried the cup and a spoon into the bedroom. He took one of the remaining kitchen chairs and sat it next to the bed. Spooning the liquid, he blew on the rising steam.
Murderer.
The spoon wobbled in his hand. The tea threatened to spill. He didn’t shift his gaze from the dancing liquid.
You killed my children. You deserve to be lying in this bed. Not me. This was not the life I wanted.
He inhaled sharply, but when he lifted his eyes along with the spoon, his face betrayed nothing. Caderyn had practice with that skill since he’d been old enough to know he heard what was in people’s minds and not just what they spoke out loud. The two were, in most cases, vastly different. The change made his curse stronger and instead of catching phrases here and there, he heard and felt everything.
It was nothing he wanted to hear.
For three days her progress remained steady and then with no forewarning she begun to decline. Standing by her side with a bowl of cool water and a cloth, he listened to her thoughts as they ran in circles and dips. The fever made her delirious. He removed the blankets and her thin nightdress. The rash that had consumed most every spot on her skin was now firm, whitish pustules. Careful not to wipe, lest the bumps open and scar, he saturated the cloth and squeezed the water on her face and body until the bowl was empty and the bed sheets were sopping wet.
She was still. No moaning. No shivering from the air brushing over her exposed hot skin. Her jumbled thoughts were silent. His son didn’t move.
Panic gripped his chest, squeezing hard. He moved to the bed. “Sarah.”
No response.
He took her by the shoulders and shook. “Sarah! Open your eyes.”
Nothing.
“I can save you.”
Slowly her lids lifted. Her gaze found his. No.
No? She didn’t know what she was saying. The fever was too strong.
“I can make you better.”
No.
“You can be cured. I can make you like me.” He’d find a way.
“No.” Her voice was weak but the meaning clear.
He stared, eyebrows drawn. Maybe she still didn’t understand.
“I want . . . to die. End . . . this misery.” She exhaled on the last word. Her eyes closed.
“Our son—”
Is dead.
He placed his hands over her stomach. Leaned in. Concentrated on drowning out Sarah’s ragged breaths. The mice in the next room. The cry of the hawk in the sky. Caderyn put his ear on her stomach. His son had to be still alive. Pushing all of his new senses outward, he focused on the baby in her womb. No heartbeat. No movement.
Caderyn removed his hands from Sarah’s stomach and sat back. When he finally lifted his head her gaze was fixed on him. Empty. Cold.
“Let me save you.” His voice broke. He couldn’t have meant to lose all of his family. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
I was denied everything I wanted from life when I married you. Don’t deny me my death as well.
Sarah no longer had the strength for thought, but the moments of her life she now reflected upon came through strong enough. Pregnant with Sally Mae, Sarah visited with her father. She sobbed. Begged to come back to the city. He refused. Another memory. Sarah pleaded with Caderyn to accept her father’s job offer at the bank. Caderyn promised that things would get better. The next memories came in flashes. Cold, hard winters. Resentment growing. Days with little food. Enough money for only the cheapest fabric. Hatred took over.
Caderyn’s breath left him. He was stronger than he’d ever been before. Stronger than any human on earth, but she’d made him feel as weak as their dead babe. How had he been so blind? So deaf?
She was watching him. Waiting for his reply from her earlier words, not realizing what he’d seen. He swallowed once. Twice. Then nodded his acquiesce. Slowly he stood, pulling the covers back over her body. Caderyn wouldn’t deny her last wish. If death were better than a life with him he’d allow it to take her.
The next hours, days, passed in a blur. He made her as comfortable as possible. Covered her with extra blankets. Cooled her heated forehead. Brought pease soup, tea, and even juice from a plum he’d picked from a tree near the house.
Her lucid moments became less and less. She refused to eat. Turning her head to the side when she was awake. Keeping her lips tightly closed. Her fever raged. The heat from her skin would have burned him if he were still human. Sarah had to take substance.
She’d been unconscious for most of the day. Even her mumbling subsided. He carried in half of a plum and a small knife. Cutting the fruit into quarters, he propped Sa
rah’s head up with one hand and squeezed small droplets of juice into her parted mouth. No movement. He repeated this until the fruit was squeezed dry. Tense, senses alert, he waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.
His shoulders sagged. The juice should have made a difference. She’d open her eyes one last time. He’d get on his knees. Beg for forgiveness. Tell her he still loved her even if she did not feel the same.
Slowly he gathered the remains and the knife and stood. His foot caught in the leg of the chair. Balance immensely improved, he righted quickly, but the knife fell from the tray and headed toward Sarah’s exposed arm. In less than a second, he moved the tray to one hand and stretched to grab the knife. Caderyn caught the handle, though still not used to his new strength and speed, his starting momentum didn’t slow and the side of the blade grazed Sarah’s wrist.
The cut was small and not deep, it would stop bleeding in a matter of minutes. Blood seeped from the cut. It trickled down Sarah’s wrist and pooled in her upturned hand.
He froze.
Changes overcame his body. Uncontrollable. Unknown.
Breath quickened. Heart pounded as loud as a horse’s gallop. Sarah hadn’t awakened. The pain from her cut was insubstantial compared to the pain of her sickness.
The thick, crimson liquid flowing from the wound was anything but insubstantial to Caderyn. Still unable to move, his eyes hadn’t wavered from the blood. The tray left his hands and clattered to the ground. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, bringing himself an inch from the cut. The scent of blood filled his nostrils. Consumed all thought. Sight. He wanted to close his eyes and savor the reverent aroma filling his senses. Something awakened inside of him.
Foreign.
Monstrous.
Wrong.
He was hungry, yet didn’t want food. Thirsty, but didn’t want to reach for a cup of water. Another drop of blood welled from the cut. A growl tore from his throat.
It was the switch and it had been thrown.
One moment he was himself. The monster inside separate. Next the wall between the two vanished. He was the Behnshma. His humanity gone. Another growl. It echoed around the house. Filled his ears.
He was ravenous. The fact he hadn’t eaten in a little over a week ached his empty belly and burned his dry, parched throat. There were two pricks of pain in his top gum. Finger in his mouth, he found two long, sharp as knives, teeth. Like Elias. Like the wolves in the forest when they tore into a deer carcass. Their muzzles bloody, meat dangling from their mouths. Blood.
He knew what he wanted to do, what his body demanded he do. Caderyn licked his lips and his tongue nicked an elongated tooth. His own blood melted decadently over his tongue. A flood of senses erupted. Never had he tasted anything this wonderful. His mouth zinged with flavor. The blood coated his throat. He’d been dying of thirst his whole life but hadn’t known it. Warmth spread through his body.
His hands shook as he brought them to Sarah’s arm. Grasping her wrist and forearm he leaned toward the blood. Inch by inch. He was a magnet and her arm was the polar opposite.
Her inaudible yelp of fright permeated through the rushing noise in his ears. He tore his eyes away and met her wide-eyed startled ones.
Stop.
Fear was an acrid, burning stench in his nostrils. Her thoughts a chaotic jumble weaving through his mind. She tried to move her lethargic limbs. Tried to escape. To break free.
He flexed his hands, squeezing her arm as his gaze trailed from the vein in her neck to the one in her wrist right below the cut. The blood slowed and the edges of the wound begun to dry. The tangy, copper scent of the fresh liquid underneath her skin reached his nose. Caderyn listened to it pass through her veins. Faster and faster.
Ignoring his wife’s futile attempts to escape, he leaned closer and inhaled. A growl erupted from his throat. He bent. Licked the wound. Groaned. His cock hardened.
Sarah, panicked now, tried to yank her arm free. It was the most she’d moved in days. Growling, like a dog with his bone, he held down her upper arm and her squirming hand. Pushed it back until her forearm bowed, and the cut extended to him like a present.
Caderyn. Please. I beg you.
He was hurting her arm. Scaring her. She was begging.
Flicking his tongue over her wrist, he caught another drop of the thick liquid gold. Then another and another. It wasn’t enough. He bared his teeth, striking fast to sink them deep into her wrist. She gave a weak jerk. Caderyn drew her blood into his mouth with long pulls. His cock jerked and warmth spread inside his breeches. There was no stopping. Her struggles to escape were an annoying insect buzzing around the room. The pleas to stop were shouts in his head. Both were easy to ignore. Sarah ceased to struggle.
He was killing her.
He couldn’t stop.
And didn’t stop until she was dead.
Chapter 1
Astoria, Oregon
Present Day
Laid off?
The words reverberated in Emma’s head. How could they lay off the art teacher? Kids needed more than math and science. Rick had gone on and on about the economy, the school budget, how difficult it was for the Board to make this decision, she was a fantastic teacher, blah, blah, blah, and the parting comment, “We hope to reinstate you if enrollment increases second semester.” Like that would make things all better.
In a fog, she packed her personal belongings, put the two boxes in her beat up car, and drove away. A brightly lit sign brought the world back into focus.
After her third Sex on the Beach, she suspected the bar hadn’t been a stupendous idea, especially since she’d yet to eat dinner and had skipped lunch to allow Skye time to finish the holiday picture for her mother. What possessed her to stop at Buddy’s Tavern? She wasn’t an emotional drinker, but a girl’s-night-out or girl’s-movie-night-at-home wine drinker. She painted or drew when she was upset. But here she was. Drinking. Alone. I’m such a loser.
Sighing, she rubbed her temples. Time to go home, eat, crawl into bed, and decide the rest of her life tomorrow. Tears pierced her eyes, but she blinked them back. She learned a long time ago crying did nothing, gained nothing, and proved nothing. If she wanted to cry she’d grab her pad and pencil. If she needed to scream in indignant frustration, she’d use her paintbrush and easel as her voice.
Her phone rang. She glanced at the small screen and cringed. Debated answering it for the length of two rings, then flipped it open.
“Hi, Jenny.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you on your date.”
“Please, I dropped him after fifteen minutes. I don’t know what my cousin was thinking. Why would I date a man who wears plaid pants?”
“Uh . . .”
“Exactly. Enough about me. What did Rick want with you? Are they starting your after school program?”
Emma pondered lying for all of three seconds. Jenny’d discover the truth soon enough through the Ashten Elementary School gossip train. Rick’s secretary was the conductor. “They laid me off.”
Dead silence reigned for three seconds. “What!”
She held the phone away from her ear.
“They can’t do that. I’m coming over. Where are you? Are you at home?”
“No, I’m not at home. You don’t need to come over. I’m fine.”
“Stop it. Tell me where you are.”
“Buddy’s Tavern.”
“Awesome. Alcohol therapy. I totally approve. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“No, really, Jenny—” Click. “I just want to be alone.” Emma sighed and put her phone away. She signaled to the bartender. “I’ll have another one of these.” She handed him her empty glass, the ice clinking against the sides. “And an order of chicken wings.”
Thirty minutes and a plate of wings later, Jenny strolled into the bar followed by Sean.
Every male head turned to watch Jenny walk across the room. Underneath her open fur coat she was wearing a micro mini-skirt, knee-high boots, and a tight, low-cut top. Her naturally wavy blond hair hung to the middle of her back. If they weren’t friends, Emma might hate her.
Sean was the boy next door. Brown hair, brown eyes. They were alike in so many ways. It’s why Emma started going out with him, but he turned out to be more a friend than a lover. There were no sparks when they kissed. No fireworks when they made love. Not that she minded, but when Sean started talking about his sparks she ended it. They’d parted friends.
Sean’s arms were around her. “I’m so sorry, Em. This is horrible. What can I do?”
Emma turned on her bar stool and leaned into his embrace. “There’s not much to do.”
“Did you call the Board?” Jenny plopped down on the stool next to Emma. The bartender was immediately in front of her.
”What can I get you?”
Jenny twirled a piece of her hair, leaning over the bar to look at the liquor bottles stacked on the back shelves. The bartender, who only tended to Emma with a bored, is-it-time-to-go-yet expression, was practically panting, his eyes glued to Jenny’s cleavage. “I’ll take a martini on the rocks.” She turned back to Emma. “So, did you? Rick can’t do this to you. Go to the Board. Sue. You have a contract. Call the union. Did you call the union? You have to fight. You can’t accept this.”
