by Kim Faulks
Her prey was hurt. Morgan felt the surge of exhilaration and bared her teeth. Her hand slipped and slid. She wiped her palm on her jeans and dug her nails into its shoulder. Throwing her head forward, she latched onto the beast’s neck with her teeth. Enamel ripped through flesh as she wrenched her head from side to side, tearing through slimy skin. The foul odor of rotting meat was nothing compared to the taste filling her mouth. The sharp, rancid tang of blood gave way to a sickening taste of death and decay.
Revulsion made her stomach heave as Morgan bit and spat and bit again. There was no stopping her body this time. Her throat worked as she wretched, forcing acid from her mouth to splash against the beast’s back. The demon pitched one way and then the other, before slamming her into the wall. Her head took the brunt of the impact. The muscles in her neck tore. She felt the pain rip down her back and tried to hold on, but her legs became weak and the nerves in her hands tingled.
No, hold on… hold the fuck on.
Her hand slipped and the wet, slimy hair fell through her fingers. For a second, she thought she saw Slade running toward her. Her body hit the ground and her vision faded into nothing.
Someone called her name. Morgan opened her eyes, groaned, and closed them once more. Her adrenaline was long gone, leaving her with the grinding pain of her actions. She was too frightened to move.
Slade's voice cut through the pain. She opened her eyes and focused on his. Slade... panic gripped her insides like a vice. His hands were real. He brushed the hair back from her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek.
"Thank God, you're alive. I thought for sure...."
Her voice was husky and raw as she whispered. "I thought you were dead."
"I guess we're both a lot tougher than we thought. Can you stand?"
She winced and nodded. "I think so."
The roar of the beast made her freeze. Slade held her as she struggled to stand. The demon had Digger and Glib pinned against the wall. Digger gasped and tore at the demon's fingers.
Morgan pushed Slade toward them with a simple command. “Go.”
Slade left her, weighing into the fight with a flying punch to the beast’s jaw. Morgan stumbled, unable to tear her gaze away, while Glib kicked and thrashed. The demon turned its attention from Digger, to Glib, and then Slade. The three of them together were a powerful force. Slade’s punches forced the beast to drop Digger. For a second, it looked as though Slade and Digger were winning, until the demon punched through Glib's chest.
Morgan's steps halted. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Glib’s face. His mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. The demon ripped his hand from Glib's body, and with it, his heart. The thick arteries inside his chest bulged and stretched when the demon dropped Glib’s body to the ground, still gripping his heart.
Charlie screamed. The shrill sound rebounded from the walls and seemed to gain momentum, triggering the beast to act.
"Charlie, no!" Morgan screamed as the beast moved. She tried to head it off. But her feet were slow and her mind foggy with pain. "Run!"
Charlie stopped screaming, her mouth opened wide. She stumbled backwards as Slade cut across Morgan’s vision. He slid along the ground, kicking the demon’s feet. The beast faltered and went down, falling to one knee. Slade crawled to his feet as the beast dragged its body toward them. Morgan yanked Charlie aside. Scuttling like insects, they moved back until they could turn and run for safety. Slade ran beside her, urging her toward the doorway into the smaller room.
Morgan gripped Slade’s sleeve. "We can't go in there. If we do, we're dead."
He didn’t listen, just pushed her and Charlie through the doorway as the deafening sound of the demon became louder. “If we don't move, we're dead either way!”
Charlie grabbed Morgan. "Come on, Morgan. He's right behind you. He’s right behind you!"
Morgan’s instinct burned in her gut like a fever. She tried to stop, but Slade pushed her deeper into the room. There had to be another way. Charlie swung around to face her. Her eyes widened, shimmering like glass. "Morgan, look out!"
She wrenched her head at the sound, but the movement was too late. All she could do was to draw her last breath and step in front of Slade, meeting the demon first. The beast’s fingers skimmed her face. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. Morgan was caught by its bottomless, black eyes, staring into hers. It kept coming... kept running, until it disappeared.
Morgan hovered on the edge of knowing something so profound that it answered all her questions—it answered everyone's questions. This knowledge lingered, even as Charlie screamed behind her. She felt trapped, as though the beast had not only touched her soul, but left something behind. A face came to her—soft, grey hair and kind eyes, surrounded by wrinkles. The hurt was instant. She tried to push the image away, turning to see Slade barreling toward her.
"Morgan. Move!” He shoved her against the wall and out of the way. The demon lunged, claws reaching out to grab Charlie. "No! You leave her alone, you fucking piece of shit!"
The demon paid her no mind. It restrained Charlie by her arm and glared at the doorway. Morgan glanced over her shoulder to watch Jason shuffle into the room. His eyes glazed, staring into nothing, as he made his way to the demon.
The beast snarled and held up its hand. For one split second as he passed, Jason’s eyes found her, and in that second, she saw the look of pure fear. Then the moment was gone and he shuffled to the demon’s side. The beast let his mouth fall open. Drool made the row of tall, razor-sharp tines sparkle. There was some light sound, like he inhaled loudly.
Stunned, Morgan realized the goddamn thing was laughing at her—as close to the sound this devil spawn could make—as it wrapped his paw around Jason’s neck. The muscles in her neck shot pins of agony through her head and the pain… everything became overwhelming. This was all too fucking real. This room. This place. There was nothing left for her. Nothing but death and dreams… Morgan swiveled toward the demon and stepped forward, demanding its attention. And at last, was rewarded with its deadly stare.
"Morgan, don't!"
Slade called, tempting her back from her suicidal thoughts. For a short time, he seemed to know her, as though they'd somehow been together before. Morgan shook off the thought. If he did understand her, then he should know what to expect.
The demon drew back its lips and snarled. Its nostrils flared, drawing in her scent. The beast was pissed. At her. Her gaze shifted to the torn flesh and bite marks she'd left in its neck. Its right eye was opaque and milky and didn't seem to focus as well as the other. The demon had been damaged. She’d damaged him. She nodded, knowing what this was now. This was payback.
"It's me you want, isn't it? You want to get back at me for hurting you, don't you?"
Morgan stepped forward and the demon dropped its head, deepening the growl. It was a warning growl, do not move. She slowly lifted her hands, palms out. "Good dog. I only want to trade, see. Me for her."
Slade's choked whisper came behind her. "Morgan, please don't do this."
She couldn't think about him now. If she did, she'd lose her nerve.
Morgan’s gaze moved to Charlie. Her face was blotchy and wet with her tears. Morgan blinked and saw her sister, Abby.
"It's going to be okay, honey. I'm going to get you out of this. Just be calm, okay?"
Morgan felt as though if she willed the demand enough, she'd make it happen. She pointed to herself, and then to Charlie, repeating the words. "Me for her. Me for her. Come on, you stupid fuck. Me for her."
She took one step closer.
Jason screamed and Morgan jumped, yanking Charlie to the side.
"Stop… just stop!" Jason screamed. His face contorted with pain as he clawed at the demon’s hand. This was the first thing she'd heard him say since the eyeball episode in this very room. But there was clarity in his voice, as though the veil of insanity had finally lifted.
Morgan's mind was racing, trying to find a way to rescue Charlie. He must kno
w something, anything that could help them. "Jason, can you tell me what the fuck it is?"
“It’s the end.” Jason whispered. The demon’s arm bulged, squeezing his neck and Jason buckled. The beast lifted him into the air. Jason danced and jolted, a rag doll caught on a live wire. His face turned red and his eyes bulged. Charlie was crying and screaming at the sight. She wrenched her hand back and forwards, desperately trying to work free.
"Charlie, you have to stay very still. Listen to me. Stay still!" Morgan demanded as the sound of her heart thrashed in her ears. It was hard not to get caught up in Charlie’s fear. Morgan could feel her own will sliding into the black and white options of kill or be killed.
Jason kept kicking, kept screaming, and fighting as the demon squeezed harder. He took a breath and in a choked hiss he whispered. "Beast of burden."
The crack and crunch that followed made Morgan’s stomach twist and fill with acid. The demon tightened his grip, compressing Jason’s neck until the words ended on a hiss. Blood dribbled from his nose. Morgan's legs turned weak. She dropped to the floor, her stomach heaving. Her mind reeling.
"Morgan!"
The sound of Charlie’s voice yanked her back to what was at stake. She shoved herself upright and stumbled toward the demon. The beast dragged Charlie and Jason backward. Its gaze fixed on Morgan—laughing.
"No. No, you don’t, you fucking piece of shit. Take me. Take me!" Morgan launched herself at the demon. There was nothing but air—Charlie was gone. Morgan lashed out with her fists, beating the floor. Dust and dirt scattered as she sobbed. "No… no. No. It’s my fault. All. My. Fault."
Slade’s lips moved, but she heard nothing. She was numb, crushed by her failure. She could feel his hand on her, smoothing her hair, soothing her heart. Morgan hit him, her voice cracking. "Go away, Slade. Just leave me alone."
"Ah, Morgan, see that's what I've been trying to tell you. That's not me. I’ll never go away… Jesus, what the hell!"
Morgan wrenched her head up and stared into the face of a child. For a second, all she saw was her sister, Abby when she was eight. Until the girl placed one hand on her arm and bent low to stare into Morgan's eyes.
A shiver rippled through Morgan, chilling her to the core. The child smiled at her, stretching her perfect little lips tight. Morgan couldn't tear herself away. She was a hideous creature that tried to resemble a child. It was dressed in a blue-and-white checkered pinafore dress, with knee-high white socks and shiny black leather shoes. But one look at this thing and you knew it was no kid. Morgan was trapped inside the child's shimmering, red eyes. Its crimson irises conjured a memory of blood. Blood that had blossomed on the drawback on her needle, right before the plunger was depressed, delivering her to hell once more.
The thing smiled, whispering in a child’s voice, soft and tender, although the words were a knife that sliced Morgan’s insides. "She who curse her father or mother shall be put to death and her blood shall be upon her."
SLADE STARED AT THE YOUNG girl as she straightened and skipped past him, wondering what fucking rabbit hole he’d fallen through. This all had to be a dream. A bad fucking dream. But it wasn't just his bad dream, was it? This was a shared nightmare.
Morgan sat on the floor, pale and open-mouthed. Her thin arms trembled, even wound tight around her knees. Fragile whimpers filtered from her hunched form. They grew louder as her chest caved with each ragged breath. Her eyes glistened and tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving traces of clean skin and freckles on her dirty face. His chest throbbed. He’d never seen a woman look more beautiful.
Morgan was not the kind of woman to be pressured. Comfort was given and received on her terms alone. The damn woman was stubborn, that was for sure. He moved cautiously and sank to the floor next to her. She didn't fight him this time. Instead, she allowed him to pull her into his arms and hold her against his chest as she wept. She felt so small in his arms. Nothing like the warrior who, moments ago, fought a beast three times her size. In that moment, he was the one in her shadow. He was the one in awe.
Morgan was like no other woman he'd ever seen, strong, powerful. As though she, alone, would choose their fate—and in a way, she had. He would've been dead, if not for her, many times over. He felt her shudder and he held her tight. She could do no more than she'd done.
She would take Charlie's death hard—there was no doubt about it. He could see the pain in her eyes and feel it with each sob that broke free. There were no words he could say. I’m sorry would never be enough. All he could do was hold her, absorbing each shudder and each tear.
He didn't know when his intent changed, sometime between rubbing his hand along her back and feeling her warm breath against neck. Instead of giving her comfort, he found himself taking. He touched her body, exploring where she allowed, and his own body responded in kind. Part of him said to stop, that this was not what she wanted, or needed. He was a selfish fucking bastard. But there was no stopping this—it was inevitable. He knew the moment she became aware of his desire, because she froze.
He waited for her to respond, for her to pull away and slap his face, which was what he deserved. Instead, she pushed against him, contouring her body around his until she sat in his lap, her legs wrapped securely around his waist. He slid his hands under her shirt to explore the taut muscles of her back and dropped low to skim her hips. The feel of her hands were like water to his parched skin. He couldn’t help but shudder, his body pulsing, desperate for more.
Slade reached for her face and wiped away her silky tears. Even in the horror of this place, he’d found beauty. He found love. Morgan lowered her chin and kissed him. Her lips were soft, tender. Her kisses were shy at first and then they became hungry. Her body turned harder, taking from him, like he took from her. She clenched her thighs tighter, squeezed the muscles on his arms, demanding more.
Morgan pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. He reached over his shoulder and yanked his shirt free in one swift motion before casting it aside. Her gaze trailed over his chest and the puckered lines of a knife wound on his shoulder. She lowered her lips to his skin and traced the scar with her tongue. The sensation sent shivers along his skin. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth. Her fingers danced over his chest to slide down his stomach, settling against the bulge in his jeans.
Slade closed his eyes, savoring her touch. He wanted to take his time with her. He wanted to lay her down and take his time exploring her body over and over. He wanted to know how she moved—how each moment of pleasure would sound from her lips. But that would have to wait. For now, they had this moment, however long it lasted, and he was determined to enjoy it while he could. He slowed their frantic pace, kissing her face, her tears… her lips, until she released his waist and stood.
Her trembling fingers reached for the button on her jeans. She yanked at the opening as he ran his hands along the backs of her thighs to stop at the sweet curve of her ass.
He glanced to the doorway, listening for the others. “What if they—”
“I don't care,” she growled, cutting him off.
He pushed off the floor and lifted her against him. God she felt good, perfect even. The scent of her made him heady, a sweet, musky perfume that he wanted to bury himself in. He stumbled forward holding the crease between her thighs hard against his cock, until they met the wall with a thud.
Slade pressed Morgan into the wall, determined to fight through the layers of their clothes by the force of her body against his. She weighed almost nothing in his arms. He balanced her against his hips with one hand, while he used the other to explore what he'd only dreamed of before. He yanked the bottom of her shirt and shoved it up. Slade moved against the wall, blocking her from view of the doorway. He wouldn’t risk anyone seeing her. Her body was his and his alone. The sweeping curve of her breast bulged over the top of her black bra. He shoved the fabric down, and her dusky nipple slid free.
He felt himself stiffen and then he was lost to the feel of her. He lowered h
is head and sucked her nipple into his mouth, savoring the silken flesh. She groaned and banged her head against the wall. He glanced up at her, her eyes closed, her lower lip pinned underneath her teeth as her desire succumbed to his.
She opened her eyes. Lightning ripped through his body. He jolted, almost losing his load like a fucking kid. The feel of her in his mouth and her piercing gaze was overwhelming. Their connection was like a re-connection, like two halves returned to a whole. He slid his hand inside the zipper of her jeans, desperate to be inside her, to fill her with part of him. Her jeans slid down her body, pushed along by his insistent hands.
He pulled off her boots and tugged at the cuffs of her jeans until they slid free. They were quickly chased by her panties. He reached for her, sweeping his hand along the center of her body. She was warm, feverish, and he realized suddenly how hot he felt. He pushed his finger inside, rubbing past her nub to slip deeper. Slade heard her breath catch and then release in a low moan, which urged him on. He wanted to do so much more, he wanted to taste her with his mouth, but there wasn't time. He vowed that the next time, he’d make time. He would make anything for her.
“Hurry,” she whispered, and that was all he needed. He didn't want to remove his hand. But she was more than ready and so was he. Her legs splayed wide as he pushed his body into hers. Her eyes widened and held his gaze as he slid home, for home was what this woman felt like. This was the home he’d searched for his entire life.
His throat clenched and words left him as he gripped her hips, rising with his own until the ring of flesh slapping flesh filled his head. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her hair fell across her face. Those dark strands jumped with each thrust as he rode the tension inside his body, waiting, drawing it out for as long as he could.
