by Lucian Bane
He took her right hand and moved her away from the door, placing her against the wall. “I’ll return later, Scribbler. Be ready for me.”
****
Charlotte nearly crumpled to the floor when he walked out. Dear. God. Hell. Yes. And no. But mostly yes.
He’d heard her thoughts? Oh hell. That she’d played him? Double hell. And why did he loathe that so much? She groaned, knowing the answer to that question. The noble and just, Jeramiah Poe—of course he’d loathe it. And now he knew she’d used him, turned him into her own private porn character to fuck around with.
She bit her lip, torn with guilty desire. Dammit! Why couldn’t she succeed in anything related to love and sex? She liked Poe! A lot. As a person…. Even a fictional one. She didn’t want to upset him in any way, she… admired him. Respected him. He was a good guy. Of course he was! She’d made him that way! God this was all so awful. She hated how angry he was, disgusted even, but was it all from her? He seemed… different in other ways, maybe for other reasons.
But was there any amount of woe and weirdness that would stop her from flying to her suitcase and digging out that naughty little outfit she’d packed? If she were Saint Theresa maybe. And she was anything but. She bit her lip at the scraps of red lace, ready to orgasm and cry all in the same second. The way he’d talked to her, touched her… dear God yes. And no. No, no, no.
She’d just managed to finish her makeup and put on heels when a knock sounded at the door. Judging by the weight of the hand, it was definitely Poe. Or a very pissed off FBI person.
Hurrying to the door, her stomach quivered with her legs. She peeked through the peep hole. It was him. Lord.
She held open the door, hiding behind it in the skimpy outfit with the skimpy shawl. She’d never felt more naked. And vulnerable. And stupid! She stood in heels like a teenager stood in the outfield at a softball game!
He shut the door, forcing her to release it, still not looking at her. “Don’t move from there.” His low voice, like rough velvet, seemed to rub against her privates as he methodically, even slowly, locked all three locks. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Scribbler.
“Uh…” He finally looked at her, but the way he did, stole her ability to speak and think. He very slowly angled his head while his hand held the last lock. What was that nearly slit gaze seeing? Whatever it was, sparked feelings in her she didn’t like. “Poe? You’re… scaring me.” Yes that.
He slowly turned to her then, his stare burning into hers as he stepped toward her. “Am I?”
Shivers rode along her spine, but was it from the threat, or heat in his tone? Only six inches away now, she stared up at him, both hands flat on the wall, contemplating the set of his full mouth. His eyes could read dominant or… sadist, she wasn’t sure and she was officially too frightened to speak.
“The horror writer is scared,” he mused. But it sounded unconvinced as his gaze finally left hers and lowered to her mouth. She gasped at the sudden clamp of his hands on either side of her face, the firm slide of his thumb across her lower lip, wiping off her lipstick. “Always hiding.” He lowered his mouth at once and slid his tongue over her lips like an animal marking what it would soon consume. Charlotte could only whimper in shock. His right hand slowly slid down her cheek until he gripped her jaw tight. “Naughty Sasha,” he whispered at her lips, “Dark Sabrina… who are you tonight?”
How did he know these names? Names of her dark erotic works? Dear God.
He forced her mouth open with his in a devouring kiss that sucked the breath and strength from her body. His fingers raked along her bare butt, matching the ferocity in his grip on her jaw. Both were small degrees away from pain and it had Charlotte in the throes of dear God what have I done?
“Is this what you wanted, Scribbler?” He pushed his leg between hers now, sliding her up the wall a little with the force. “You wanted this? And don’t make me ask again.”
The universal answer to what she was feeling was a gasped, “Yes!”
“That’s not all you want, is it? Scribbler?” He nipped at her lips with rapid bites, hungrier and hungrier. “This is what you want,” he rasped, pressing her hand to his extremely hard length beneath the denim while forcing her mouth open with his again. Heat flooded her core as his tongue lashed with every thrust of his hips into her clawing fingers along his erection.
“Yes, yes,” again were the only words she could speak.
He growled and stepped away from her, sending Charlotte’s arms flailing as she fought to stand on noodles for legs. He paced before her like he needed to do something he couldn’t or shouldn’t. “Lay on the bed. No, sit.”
Charlotte didn’t waste a second due to his tone, making her way on trembling limbs. His voice was desperate and strained. Maybe threatening. She sat at the foot of the bed, hoping that’s what he meant.
He stopped pacing and she swallowed at seeing his gaze locked on her breasts. The sheer shawl had fallen open to reveal the top scrap of material, two strips of red lace framing her nipples. She didn’t need to look to know they were very erect and hard. The look on his face was intimidating to say the least. Hard mouth, glowing slits for eyes. He began undoing his pants and Charlotte’s heart hammered. He pushed them down, underwear and all, making her womb jerk and her breath catch at the sight of him. Stepping forward, he held himself in both hands. Like a weapon. Aimed at her.
Shit, shit. She didn’t want to do this with him angry. She didn’t like that he was angry with her. “Poe, please…”
He approached her, everything seeming merciless and rigid about him. Charlotte could only stare at his manhood within tasting distance. She looked up the line of his impossibly hard and beautiful body then closed her eyes tight.
“Poe, I have to tell you something.”
“Do you.”
She peeked out one eye to see him stroking himself before her. “I… I tricked you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Scribbler.”
“And… I’m sorry. I…” she swallowed looking up at him. “I just like you,” she said.
“Like me.” He sounded unimpressed. Disgusted.
She sucked in a breath when he stroked himself closer. “I… I’m sorry, I’ve liked you since I met you.”
“You liked my body? This?” He slid himself along her lips now. “Is this what consumes you?”
She turned her head. “No, it’s not.”
“Don’t lie to me. This is what you care about.”
She shook her head. “It’s not.” All.
He pushed her flat onto the bed, one hand on her chest before sliding it up to clamp her neck. “Who are you, Scribbler? Do you even know?” He pumped himself along her hip. “What name will you use to scribble me into the perfect fuck?”
She gasped in alarm. He’d heard those thoughts? Dear God. “It was just a fantasy.”
“Ah yes, one of your many, half-written fantasies. That’s all.”
“It’s not the same thing. I meant another kind. Poe, please. I like you.”
“You like me,” he ground at her mouth. “I like you too, Scribbler. You make me feel so complete. No romance writer you say?” he continued. “That is a sure fact. Because what you have in that pretty head of yours is morbid. A true horror feast.”
She turned her face to the side, pain stabbing her chest until a sob strangled her throat.
“Who are you, Scribbler? That you would fuck without even giving your real name? How many have you fucked this way, Scribbler?”
“I haven’t,” she exclaimed. “They’re just stories.”
“They are not just stories! Your words have power! Damn you!” He shoved off of her and sat at the edge of the bed. “You are a Scribbler, a creator of people. I am who I am because you made me that. And look at you,” he yelled at her, pulling his clothes on while Charlotte sat in shock. “You use your Scribbler’s power like a whore.”
Chapter Nineteen
Poe stood in the shower, fighti
ng a losing battle. His anger had far outmatched his arousal and he was exhausted from the war. He needed sleep as badly as he needed to do that… release thing. Maybe he could starve it. He was beginning to think releasing was a form of feeding, not subduing.
Yes, starve it. That would be his preferred measure of dealing with it. Touching it meant remembering things he didn’t want to. Like her and her lying and trickery. He loathed deception. Odd she’d make him that way. But it was more than her deception. It was realizing something worse than that. He couldn’t pin-point it but he well felt it. Some form of betrayal, deeper than her sexual trickery.
Poe heard noise in the room and grit his teeth. If she’d come to defend herself, he’d lose it, he was sure. When he’d left her, she had on such a perfect look of devastation. Right. Sure. Of course.
He got out of the shower, needing something that he couldn’t get or understand to get. His powers were spiking, his human levels were off the charts—everything was in chaos inside him. He was not fit to be around people right now. At finding he’d neglected to bring clothes, he wrapped his waist in a towel and walked to the little kitchen for one of the stocked drinks, then walked into the living room area.
Quarks and hadrons, it wasn’t the Scribbler. Lark.
Immediately he recognized and understood the look on her face. Did all women suffer with the same thing his Scribbler did? Divinities, he didn’t need two like that.
A knock sounded on the door and Kane yelled come in before Poe could think of what to do. And in walked his Scribbler. He stared at her, curious over the tightening in his stomach at seeing the look on her face. Poe’s learning curve with the human emotions seemed to also speed up. And that look on her face registered in his mind as pure jealousy.
He realized now that she’d had that since the girl first joined them in fact. How very funny of the wanton Scribbler to be jealous. “Can I help you, Scribbler?”
“Uhhh, no,” she said, looking at Kane. “I was just here to see if Kane wanted to join me in my room while you got some rest. I see you’re nowhere near resting yet, however.”
“Nowhere near.”
“I was here to see if Poe would accompany me to the lounge,” Lark said.
“I think Poe needs his rest,” Scribbler said.
Poe suddenly wondered what a lounge was exactly and decided he should like to find out. “I’ll be happy to.”
His Scribbler jerked as though his words had slapped her. “I thought you needed to sleep. That was the point of coming here.”
“Well, I think sleeping is the last thing I’ll be able to do at this point, Scribbler.”
“Charlotte,” she corrected, her voice lowering.
He couldn’t bring himself to say the lie. Her name was not Charlotte. And he’d be damned if he’d call her anything except Scribbler until and if he ever learned her true name.
He glanced at Lark, catching the girl openly doing that thing he’d seen the Scribbler do with him. There was something he particularly liked about the effect it had on his Scribbler. “I’ll get dressed.”
“I’ll… wait for you at the lounge.” Lark bit her lip and hurried out, leaving Poe and Charlotte at a stare off with Kane looking back and forth between them.
“Are you having a fight?” Kane asked.
“No,” Charlotte said, not taking her eyes off of Poe. “Not a fight at all. We’re fine.”
“Just fine,” Poe said, noting the look in her eyes. Poe hardened his jaw in anger at feeling her pain. Ah yes. It hurts to be used, doesn’t it Scribbler?
“I’ll be back for you, Kane. Maybe we’ll go for a swim.” His Scribbler’s words gasped as she spun around and exited the room. Poe caught the final look on her face as she did and it made him want to kill something.
Kane shook his head on the bed and Poe knew why. “You don’t have to swim. She forgot about your dislike of water, that’s all.”
“Will she be mad you think?”
He went sit by Kane and looked at him. “She would never be mad at you.”
“Cause she’s my mom?”
Poe smiled. “She’s a very good friend.”
He looked down and nodded. “I know. I know she’s not really my mom. And you’re not really my dad, but I like to say it in my head”
Poe’s wind left him at his words. “Well…. I do happen to do everything a dad should do for his son. Nearly gets him killed in a kooky hospital rescue.”
He looked up and smiled. “No you didn’t. You saved me!”
“The fairies saved us.”
“But you came for me. Like a good dad would.”
“That I did. And would do twenty million times over.”
“Like a good dad would,” he nodded, proving his point.
Poe angled his head, considering. “I will always be whatever you need me to be. And you can call me whatever you wish.”
Kane leaned his head on arm. “I had a dream you know.”
Poe tensed a little at his small voice. “Did you?”
“I dreamed I was a hero.”
Poe nodded and stroked the boy’s hair. “Why do you sound sad then?”
“Cause… I killed a man.”
“Was he a bad man?”
He nodded real fast on his arm and Poe pulled him in his lap, letting the boy snuggle his face in his chest. “It’s okay to stop bad people. That’s actually a good thing.”
“I know,” he said, his voice small. “It’s just… the bad man didn’t really want to be bad, to start.”
Poe slowed his strokes, wondering. “Who was the bad man?”
He was quiet for a long time before he mumbled, “Me.”
****
After getting Kane settled for the evening in a safe sleep in his own bed, Poe left out to find Lark and then the Scribbler. He was ready to leave. There would be no resting for him.
On his way to finding the lounge, Poe caught the stare of every female in his peripheral view. Divinities, they all had the same disease as the Scribbler and Lark.
At finally locating the lounge, he found Lark and some male with his hands all over her body right in public. Their bodies moved in strange ways to the music and Poe walked over and took the girl’s hand, pulling her off the stage and out of the lounge.
“Where we going?” she asked, sounding confused and maybe hopeful.
“You’re going to the room where I don’t have to worry about you engaging in an activity that could lead to a roadblock on this mission.”
“What?” She yanked out of his hold. “You’re not my… pimp.”
Poe angled his head, tapping into her memories for leverage. Big mistake. In five minutes he had seven years of her miserable life burning holes in his veins. Beginning with her first memory of waking up cold in a dark room, followed by rapid images and scenes involving sexual exploitations that turned his stomach. Racing through it as fast as he could, Poe realized the most horrifying reality in the flood of toxins was feeling the slow erosion of her hope until all that was left was a shell of a person. A sad, lonely girl, addicted to pleasure in any form she could get it. Anything to mask the pain she lived with daily. Worthless. She was worthless.
Divinities, the problem in Octava existed here as well. Poe gasped, suddenly overwhelmed.
“Are you okay dude?” He braced his hands on his knees and shook his head. “You’re not going to puke on me I hope.”
“Lark,” he said, finally straightening. She looked into his gaze and he took hold of both her shoulders, feeling like he really needed her to get this. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re good. No, don’t look away, look at me. What they did to you was wrong. All of them. They’re not supposed to do that. Nobody should ever touch you unless they care about you. Do you understand me?” He shook her a little until she met his gaze, her eyes filled up with tears. “Do you understand me,” he demanded.
She barely nodded and wiped her tears. “Sounds kind of familiar,” she muttered. “Don’t know from what o
r where.”
Poe now wondered from what and where too. Did she have a life before this? In the realm of Sound? “I need you to go to the room, please,” he said. “It’s not safe out here and I need you to trust me.”
She met his gaze and nodded. “I do trust you. Don’t know why again, but I do.” She swiped more tears. “Wow, didn’t know I could still do that.”
“Do what?” he whispered.
“Cry.” She looked at him and gave a light laugh.
“As soon as I have more answers Lark, I’ll give them to you. You forgot a lot of things. I’m going to help you remember. Somehow.”
She looked right, holding her arm. “Not sure I want to know.”
“You do,” Poe said. He wanted to say he didn’t think it could be worse than the seven years of hell she’d lived here but he couldn’t promise that.
“I need a hot shower anyway,” she said.
“Yes, whatever you need to do before we leave. Thank you, Lark.”
She shook her head. “Nah. Thank you.” She looked at him and the tears welled in her eyes again. “I don’t know all the answers either, but I know when you got me from that place?” She looked down again when the tears fell. “Was like a miracle, really. I was gonna have to do something I really, really, didn’t want to do that night. So, thank you.”
The girl needed a hug but Poe was too afraid to touch her and cause the wrong reactions. “Nobody is going to hurt you again. Not as long as I’m alive. Not as long as you’re with me.”
That was one thing he felt sure he could guarantee.
Poe dropped her off at the Scribbler’s room, finding it empty. Where was she? He knocked on the next door and Cado opened it. “Do you know where the Scribbler is?”
“Miss Charlotte?”
“Yes.”
“Her and Lucas went to the pool, I think.”
“Thank you,” Poe said. “Stay indoors.” Again he packed the words with power and hit his brain with them.
