Darklight

by Forrest, Bella

  As I watched, shock rattled my head and fury dried my mouth and throat. I was absolutely disgusted. These monsters had stolen the very citizens they were meant to protect. In my line of work, it didn’t get much worse than that. The Amish mother’s crying face flashed before my mind’s eye, and a shudder traveled my entire body.

  "Stay on my back." Dorian began to crawl toward the cabin, leaves and twigs crunching under his arms and knees. If they hurt him, he gave no sign.

  I clung to his back and kept the camera pointed at the cabin as steadily as I could. Two of the building’s windows faced us. Dorian made his way silently to the one farthest from the door, a spot where no floodlights exposed us.

  We approached an open window, and men's voices drifted through the screen. Angling the camera up so it could see what I couldn’t, I counted five police officers on the camera's side screen. Three other men in black shirts and trousers stood inside, their modern garb indicating that they, too, were not from the settlement. Their faces were hard and stern.

  You getting all this, Jim? I glanced at the camera’s side panel to double-check that backup mode was on. It was, and in spite of my radiating nerves, the sight filled me with a hard sense of satisfaction.

  The boy lay incapacitated on a table in the middle of the room, while an officer argued with one of the men wearing black. Every muscle in my body longed to jump through the window and beat the crap out of every person in the room, but I fought it and emulated Dorian’s quiet focus instead. I assured myself that karma was real and continued to stare at the camera screen.

  "That's ridiculous," the cop snapped. "We never agreed to a price change."

  "It's a fluctuating market," the other man said, completely devoid of emotion. "Nothing I can do about it."

  "Don't be cheap," another officer interjected, visibly flexing his chest in the man’s direction. "After all we've done for you, the least you can do is be consistent." He cracked his knuckles.

  "It's out of my hands, gentlemen," the man replied, like he was ordering a pizza.

  The officers scowled at each other, but one nodded. The other pulled the rag from his pocket and held it to the boy's face, like a cook might wipe down a counter. My stomach lurched from another wave of disgust.

  "Good. Let's get on with it," the man said. He flicked a finger at one of his companions, who stepped up to a cop and began counting a lump of bills.

  One of the officers left my sight and returned to the table with zip ties and a black cloth bag. He secured the bag over the boy's head, zip-tied his wrists behind his back, and tied his ankles together. Hogtied, I couldn’t help thinking. My teeth clenched down hard. Like an animal.

  "What are you using on that rag?" the man in black asked the officer. "The last one woke up before we reached base. If that happens again, we'll be working with other people."

  "This here's isoflurane. He won't be bothering you," the cop said through a dark smile.

  "Good. Just don't kill him, for goodness’ sake. We've got a long drive before we cut him open," the man said, typing into his phone.

  My hands shook violently, but I held the camera as steady as I could. I had never felt so angry in my life. I could almost feel my blood steaming under my skin. Beneath me, Dorian remained perfectly still—almost too still.

  I didn't recognize the officers in the room, but they knocked beer cans together like old chums and put the cash into a bank bag with "ECPD" written on it. Elmore County Police Department.

  My stomach knotted, and I swallowed my rising bile.

  "Move it. We've got a schedule," the leader in black barked. They wrapped a sheet around the boy's body and hoisted him off the table, toward the front door.

  The cabin door opened, and footsteps plodded onto the grass. Dorian pressed us against the corner of the building, hidden deep in the shadows.

  "Nice doing business with you, as always," the head officer said, his tone dripping sarcasm.

  “Whatever you say," the leader of the men in black said dismissively.

  The other officers continued their chatter, placing bets on an upcoming football game. A vehicle revved its engine from the other side of the cabin.

  "Let’s go around the back of the building so I can get the license plate," I breathed.

  I had no doubt I could convince Dorian to follow them, once we got closer to the vehicle. We still had a chance to get our evidence and save the boy, but I was wary about exposing a starving Dorian to such evil people. In Vegas he’d controlled himself, but that had been a while ago.

  We crawled, ducking low to keep out of the light flowing from the windows. At the end of the cabin’s wall, I extended the camera just around the corner. A car sat running on a dirt road that disappeared into the woods. The car didn't have a license plate light, but I carefully zoomed in. I had to catch something.

  "We'll be back in three weeks. Don't make us wait again," the leader growled. "And tell your Hanes County friends we'll see them in two days."

  The two other men in black pulled the boy into the back of the car.

  The officers stepped closer to the car, cracking jokes amongst themselves. The head cop stood watching, his hands on his hips. I wracked my brain, searching for a plan that would allow us to save the boy. If Dorian murdered a human, our cause would be lost. But we could—

  The camera started shaking again, and I took a breath to steady my hands. But it wasn't my hands. Labored breaths shuddered out of the chest that my cramping legs were wrapped around.

  Dorian’s body was vibrating.

  My chest went cold. "Dorian?" I whispered. "Are you okay?" I kept the camera on but shortened the strap, tucking the device under my arm.

  He made a feral noise through clenched teeth, and I tightened my arms around his shoulders.

  "Dorian," I pressed, alarmed.

  I bent and peered down at the side of his face. In the dim light, the shadows under his cheek rushed down to his neck, eddying wildly.

  The noise caught in his throat escaped his lips as the slightest hiss, and his hands tore at the grass beneath us.

  Dorian tossed his head back, his lips curling in a wince. He clenched his eyes shut. This was exactly what had happened in the alleyway in Las Vegas—but worse. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. His fangs lengthened as I watched.

  The men in black got into the vehicle.

  "They'll be gone soon," I whispered into his ear, hoping I could talk him through this. The thought of these bastards potentially getting away with the boy tore me apart, but I steadied myself and put my mental priority list in order: calm Dorian, get the kid. We had a visual of the license plate to track them, and if Jim or any of his assistants were watching, which I was confident they would be, officials could already be on the way.

  I silently thanked the stars I hadn’t texted Zach. The last thing we needed was two vampires acting up.

  I continued speaking gently to Dorian, my voice barely louder than a breath. “We don’t have to let them out of our sight. We can follow from a safe distance. We can still do this, Dorian. Remember what happened in Las Vegas—”

  Dorian released a low, deep vibration from his throat that I felt reverberating from his chest through my bones. Then his eyes snapped open to the sky. In the low light, I could see his pupils dilate to the size of quarters, the shadows rushing up his face and turning his irises into swirling inky pools.

  His body went rigid, and fear stiffened my own spine—but not fear for myself. Fear for what was about to happen, for all the vampires who would lose their safe haven if we couldn’t prove that they could overcome their urge to kill.

  He was about to break, and bring our entire plan down with him.

  "Dorian, no!"

  Even as I abandoned our secrecy with my hoarse cry, Dorian moved.

  With me clinging to his back, the vampire lunged at the police officers who lingered by the car, moving at insane speed. The officers barely had time to turn and stare in shock at us charging from
the cottage. In the space of a breath, Dorian's hands reached for a throat.

  Before he could grasp flesh and squeeze, I tightened my arms around his neck and threw my weight to the left, unbalancing him.

  “Get out of here! Run!" I yelled at the men as Dorian tore at my arms. As much as I hated them, I couldn’t let us fail when we’d come so far. Jim’s team would have to deal with them from here.

  A few of the scum bolted, but others pulled their handguns. Now two things could kill me: a bullet, or Dorian’s seemingly uncontrollable fangs. We have to get out of here.

  Dorian stumbled backward into the trees, digging his nails deep into my forearms. I winced in pain, shocked by how deep they sank into my skin, but I couldn’t loosen my grip. He spun, trying to reach me, until I lost all sense of direction. I didn’t let go, even when he slammed me into a tree so hard that I lost my breath. I gritted my teeth, clenching my legs tighter. A few more seconds and he'd pass out—I hoped. His knees buckled and he tumbled forward, me with him. But instead of hitting the ground, we fell and kept on falling.

  We plunged down a steep slope, leaves and sticks flying about our faces. Fear of bullets dissolved into the terror of careening through the pitch black into trees or giant rocks. I lost my choke hold on Dorian in the fall, focusing only on keeping my grip around his chest. The video camera’s strap jerked against my shoulder, and I lost it in the chaos. I tucked my head against Dorian’s back, praying it wouldn’t find a rock. Hold on.

  We plummeted through sharp brush, a rushing sound like wind roaring in my ears, and suddenly I inhaled water.

  A swift current propelled my body forward, the two of us thrashing, limbs everywhere. For a moment I had no idea which way was up or down, my lungs burning as I choked on water. Then Dorian’s body jerked, and we broke the surface, spitting and coughing. We drifted down the river in the dark while I clung to Dorian’s back, and his powerful kicks kept us afloat.

  An awful sound emanated from his core. Fury, pain, and grief braided together into a long howl. If he got his hands on me right then, it could be ugly. I reestablished my grip on his shoulders in the shifting current, kicking beneath us, hoping we wouldn’t snag. I couldn't try to knock him out—he'd drown.

  In front of me, his mouth widened, his fangs glinting in the moonlight as he howled from his gut like an angry wolf. He turned his head toward a sky that was a tangle of black tree branches sliced with moonlight.

  "Dorian." I coughed, fighting to keep my head above the water. "Stop!"

  His nails sliced the tip of my chin, and I jerked my head to the side, barely registering the sting.

  "Dorian.” I’d tried yelling and hadn’t seen the slightest effect, but I couldn’t float here and do nothing. I couldn’t think about how he’d tried to attack me or the bleeding gouges in my arms. He wasn’t himself. And he could’ve done so much worse.

  I willed my voice to be calm, not to shake, even though this was the most fearful of him I’d ever been.

  “You have to calm down,” I murmured to him. “It’s going to be okay."

  His head swiveled, the howl deepening into a gurgling snarl. He tried to hit me again, swinging his arm around behind him, but missed my right eye. I grabbed his wrist to keep him from striking. He started sinking, unable to tread with just his legs, and I hastily let go, keeping my grip on his shoulder with my other hand.

  Dorian’s head went under for a moment, and I yanked frantically at his shoulder. He pushed up again, gasping. He still rumbled in his throat—I could feel it in his chest—but he didn’t howl again.

  As the water carried us downstream, Dorian grew stiller, and though he still halfheartedly tried to swim back in the direction of the officers, the distance between us and them grew.

  I watched the side of his face to make sure he wouldn’t lash out again, and loosened my grip on his shoulders. His pupils shrank in the few beams of moonlight that bled down to the water's surface. His skin, pale and pearly in the dimness, darkened, swirled, and lightened again as shadows spread over his body, predatory and unsatisfied. They seemed softer, after his exertion.

  All the while, I murmured to him, resting my forehead against the back of his neck. I was barely aware of what I was saying, but I hoped it helped.

  “It’s going to be okay, Dorian. I won’t let you hurt anyone. We’re going to fix things. We…”

  We continued floating. His breathing steadied, and he let out one last growl, his thrashing less desperate. I wondered if he was exhausting himself or feeling defeated that he hadn’t caught his prey. I still wasn’t entirely sure if I was currently in the prey category.

  Deep inside, I trusted Dorian and couldn’t imagine him seriously hurting me, but the truth was that I knew very little about the power of a vampire’s hunger, especially considering what I’d just seen.

  "Dorian?" I asked carefully over the burbling water.

  He didn't speak, but he tilted his head slightly to acknowledge me.

  Cold seeped into my bones, and I could feel my lip trying to tremble. “Shore,” I bit out. “Let’s get to shore.”

  I detached from him, and we pulled ourselves from the current toward a patch of shoreline touched by moonlight. Dorian’s knees hit the embankment, and he started dragging himself out of the river. I crawled out of the water before collapsing beside him, our shoulders overlapping. The demon had left his body; he was finally fully calm, and my fear of getting gouged by his fangs disappeared in my turmoil over what we’d just seen.

  I coughed on water. I stared at the sky as I panted, trying to wrap my head around what had happened. What would happen, if Jim’s team didn’t intervene in time. The boy would die; his organs cut out of him for money. More bile climbed my throat. Tears bit my eyes. I couldn’t get the image of his limp, thin body on that table out of my head. The only one who greeted us. Jim couldn’t let him down. He couldn’t fail.

  Dorian’s chest heaved beside me.

  "Are you okay?" I rasped.

  "I have to go and kill them," he said darkly.

  Maybe the demon hadn’t fully left. I tensed, my exhausted muscles protesting.

  "No,” I said, dread rolling through me. “You can't… the regulations. Your people. This is for your people."

  "What they did… unforgivable," Dorian managed through his breaths, his voice venomous but faraway, almost resigned.

  "I know you're starving. I'm sorry," I whispered, closing my eyes.

  I felt so powerless in that moment, the events of the past hour playing over in my mind like a nightmare. Dorian had cracked, we’d almost lost our mission, and the boy had been taken. It had been such a near miss—and still could be, in regard to the boy. The feeling shook me to my core, and I grappled for the strap on my waist, fumbling for my phone case. It had flown off during the tumble or the swim. I couldn’t contact Jim to check that his team had caught the relay.

  "It's not the hunger," Dorian said, his voice distracting me. It had leveled slightly, still resonating with a growl that came from deep inside. I thought I could sense his rational mind slowly coming back. "On the deepest, most fundamental level, what they did is unforgivable to vampires. Those who are supposed to protect others, selfishly abusing their power for their own gain… they're the worst beings in the universe."

  I watched his face as he spoke. He looked worn out, angry and tired in equal measure, and perhaps a bit contemplative. Dirt streaked his cheek. His human makeup had completely washed off, leaving just his own swirling skin, heightened by the moonlight. It was oddly beautiful, and I couldn’t help but become absorbed by it for a moment, despite the weight of everything else.

  "That kind of darkness overwhelms us,” he went on. “The craving is uncontrollable.”

  I exhaled, my own disgusted rage with those police officers souring my throat. That kind of darkness overwhelmed me, too. Black market organ trading, involving more than one police department. No wonder Jim had run into roadblocks gathering evidence. They’d manufactured, plot
ted, and schemed the whole damn thing. Part of my brain just couldn’t process it yet.

  "Jim will get them,” I promised, trying to soothe Dorian, but also myself. Speaking the words aloud, they felt more real. “I recorded all of it, and the camera streamed the whole thing."

  He turned toward me in the moonlight. His pupils had returned to their usual pinpoints, and the ice blue of his irises shimmered. He drew a breath, then paused as if sidetracked. I felt his hands on my forearms, testing for injury where he’d dug his nails into my arms. He winced when his fingers came up smeared with blood. Fortunately, the chilly river water had numbed it a little.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. That was the Dorian I knew, back firmly in control of his body. Relief calmed a bit of my internal anger.

  "Sorry I choked you," I breathed, trying for a joke, but my voice came out mournful instead.

  Dorian’s words stayed low, disappointed. “You shouldn’t have had to. I know I said this urge is uncontrollable. But hurting you… I should’ve tried harder.”

  “I’ve seen you fight, Dorian,” I pointed out. “I know you could’ve done much worse. But you didn’t. I never believed you’d hurt me too badly. I just worried about our project… all the work we’ve put into it…”

  Even now, the thought of how close we’d come sent shivers up my spine.

  Underneath the fear that had consumed my mind, my distress at the thought of him turning on me, there was a far stronger feeling. I can trust Dorian with my life.

  I stared at him over the damp patch of riverbank between us. His eyes looked haunted and faraway.

  “The project,” he said, his voice going even darker. “If I’d killed those men, everything would’ve been ruined.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying,” I told him, expecting him to maybe crack a smile. But his response floored me.

  "Thank you," he whispered, his eyes glinting with his glowing, ice-white honesty. "You saved everything."

  Dorian brought his free hand up to my chin, as if to examine the scratch there. The brush of his finger stung, but it also sent spirals of feeling through my cold, exhausted body.