by K. Webster
“Mr. Zombie,” I begin, but he cuts me off.
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Mr. Zombie? Nah, I’d rather you call me Leif.”
What sort of odd name is Leaf? Certainly not any better than Rob Zombie.
“Like as in trees?”
His lips spread into a breathtaking smile. I can’t look away from his mouth. It’s so—it’s so—alluring.
“Yes, Blondie. As in trees. But its spelled l-e-i-f.”
“My name’s not Blondie. It’s Willow.”
Where does he come up with these unfamiliar names?
This time he chuckles and awareness tickles the hairs on my flesh. I like the sound of his laughter.
“Like as in trees?” he questions, mirroring my earlier one.
My brows bunch together. “In The Farrow, do you all speak in riddles?”
“I’m from Seattle, not Farrow,” he murmurs. “Are you not named after a willow tree?”
“I am afraid I don’t know what a willow tree is, Leif,” I huff. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to let the council know you’ve regained consciousness.”
I go to stand, but the panicked expression on his face has me holding steady.
“Willow, please,” he begs softly, “I don’t know where I am or what sort of Twilight Zone I’ve entered, but I don’t fucking belong here. Just untie me and I’ll be on my way.”
His words, all different and foreign on his lips, mesmerize me. I’m eager to learn more about this intruder from The Farrow, or Seattle as he calls it. The council can wait a while longer can’t they?
“What is the Twilight Zone?”
He lets out a rush of relieved breath and grins at me. “You’re living it, baby.”
I want to frown at him for spouting out more nonsense, but I find my lips pulling into a shy smile. “I’m seventeen. Certainly no baby.”
I’m embarrassed that he sees me as some child. I am almost of marrying age.
“No,” he says, his eyes melting me as he looks me over, “You are certainly no baby. You’re beautiful.”
My skin heats at his words and I drag my gaze over to my sister. Her rhythmic breathing can be heard, and I sigh in relief before turning back to him. He’s watching me with an odd stare.
“What?” I pout.
This intruder, Leif, frustrates me. He’s different and scares me half to death. Yet, I’m intrigued by him and that worries me. My heart belongs to Jordy.
“Willow, please untie me. I can’t feel my fingers.”
I glance up at his hands and my heart sinks to see them turning an ugly shade of purple.
“I’ll untie your hands if you promise not to run away.” I send him the firmest glare I can muster and he nods, his mouth twitching.
The rope is knotted too tight, so I search for a pair of shears to aid me in my task. After I saw the first arm free, he cradles his hand to his chest. And when I free the other, he does the same.
“Thank you.”
I smile at him and am about to ask him more questions when he attacks me. His arms slip around my body and he flips with me in them until we roll off the bed. My head thumps the wooden floor hard enough to dizzy me when we land. I yelp when he grabs my wrists and jerks them above my head, pinning them to the hard floor.
“Tell me where the phone is and I won’t hurt you,” he snarls, all playfulness gone.
Terror seizes my throat and I choke out my words. “What is a phone?”
His eyes go wild and for a moment I’m afraid he’ll hurt me. “So help me, Willow. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt that you’re just a dumb girl that doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but you need to tell me where the damn phone is so I can get the fuck out of here.”
Tears well in my eyes but I blink them back, refusing to let this monster see me cry. I wiggle and thrash beneath him. His grip on my hands loosens and I’m able to free one. Balling my hand into a fist, I hit him hard in his ribs on one side. He grunts in pain and his chest slams down on mine, crushing me into the floor.
The air is pushed out of me and I gasp to catch my breath under his weight. My movement is futile and he easily captures my free hand, pinning it back to the floor.
“Willow,” he murmurs, his mouth against my hair over my ear, “I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making this really damn difficult.”
His unusual scent envelops me and I attempt not to gulp it down. The men in Empyrean are clean and usually smell of tobacco from their pipes or hay from the barns. They never smell like something you’d want to taste.
Leif smells good enough to eat.
He lifts slightly, giving me a reprieve from his crushing form, and peers down at me. His overgrown locks hang around his face and I want to push the hair behind his ears to see him better. Truth is, this decadent man on top of me is testing the limits of my sanity. All rules and laws I’ve had hammered into me since I was a small girl run into the corners, leaving me all alone to defend myself against this man.
“Willow, tell me where—”
His face blanches white and he collapses on me, once again smashing me beneath his weight.
Chapter Three
Leif
Water splashes me on my face and I’m jolted awake. It takes me a second to blink away my daze. The moment clarity is on my side, I realize I’m still in the fucking nightmare from earlier. I must have passed out.
Two ice-cold blue eyes meet mine.
The angel.
Or a devil in angel’s clothing.
It’s still up for debate.
Her plump lips are pressed into a firm line and she glares at me. I take the moment to devour the pretty little thing. Unlike the wild chick I banged the night before last, this one drips with innocence. Her pale face is free of makeup, yet she is ten times more beautiful than the woman from the club that tried so hard with her blood red lips and fake lashes. This woman is perfection.
And weird as hell.
“You hurt me,” she hisses, her voice wobbling as tears well in her eyes.
Guilt consumes me, despite the fact that I’m the fucking prisoner here, and I go to reach for her. I groan to see one of my arms is tied to the bed. Thankfully, she tied it with a lot more slack and not as tight as before. Climbing up from the floor, I eye her as I stand. She watches me as if I’m a snake and might strike at any moment. Instead of attacking her, I sit back down on the bed willing the dizziness to subside. I must have a concussion or something.
How is it real that I’m being held prisoner by this harmless woman?
Her wispy, almost white, blonde hair has been neatly braided to where it ends about midway down her back. Bright blue eyes with dark lashes jutting out over them watch my every move. Naturally pink lips pout out and when I smile at her, the pink in her cheeks grows rosy red. She’s cute. Really fucking cute. Her outfit, on the other hand, is hideous. The cream colored dress is long sleeved and doesn’t show much skin. It hangs on her lithe frame and drags the floor when she walks.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just,” I sigh and run my free hand through my hair, “I want to go home. It was my mistake stumbling upon your weird-ass society and if you’ll let me, I’ll be on my way. No harm done.”
Her eyes dart back and forth as if she’s considering my words. She’s about to say something when my phone starts ringing from my pocket. “November Rain” by Guns N Roses wails from my pocket and her eyes widen in shock.
I, however, am happy as fuck to have a signal and fish my phone from my pocket.
Mark.
I only have one bar of service and one bar left on my battery so I need to make this count. Swiping it open, I jerk the phone to my ear.
“Mark, listen, I careened off the road somewhere near the California Oregon border and am being held captive.”
The line crackles and I think I hear him laughing. Willow’s eyes are on mine as she watches me warily.
“Man, listen to me. I said—”
A f
ew beeps indicate the call’s been dropped and I curse under my breath. This is unbelievable.
“You have a music box?” she mutters, mostly to herself.
My brows furrow together as I ponder her confusing words. “That’s a phone, Willow. It plays music too. Are you guys technology deprived or what?”
With caution, she approaches me. “Can I hear it again?”
The battery is almost dead and I don’t like the idea of using the rest of it to entertain her. She may have innocent intentions, but that phone may be my only lifeline.
“I can do you one better. Get my guitar from that case and hand it here,” I instruct, nodding to my case.
She hesitates briefly, as if mentally warring back and forth about what to do, before she huffs and falls to her knees in front of my guitar. It takes her a minute to figure out how to get it open and I watch with amusement. Her cute nose is scrunched up in frustration as she tries to determine how it works. When she finally manages to unlatch the last part, an accomplished smile graces her lips.
I like her smiles.
“What is it?”
I gape at her as if she’s lost her mind. “A guitar? Where am I and why do I feel like I’m in another era? How the hell do you not know what a guitar is? It’s like the backbone of all music.”
Her smile is gone and she drops her gaze to the ground. “Music is,” her eyes lift back to mine, “forbidden.”
The way she says the last word has a chill creeping up my spine. “It’s forbidden, but you want to hear it?”
She casts a quick glance toward the door and lifts my guitar from its case. “Can you play a song?”
I smirk at her and like that she blushes under my gaze. “I can play them all.”
My words are in jest but when her eyes light up, I can see that she believes me. Damn girl is gullible as hell.
Once the familiar instrument is in my grasp, I turn my head to my hand. “Can you untie me?”
She frowns, the warring emotions in her head as clear as day, and shakes her head. “Last time you—”
I pin her with a firm stare and interrupt her. “I won’t hurt you again. I promise.”
Once again, the naïve girl believes me and sets to untying me. As she leans over me, I inhale her. The sweet scent of maple permeates my senses and I close my eyes. My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten, and I hope these freaks will feed me soon.
Who am I kidding?
The moment I have a chance, I’m getting out of the weird-ass community and hightailing it back to the highway.
She frees me and I nearly push her to the ground, ignoring my promise not to hurt her, and attempt to escape. But the moment her shining blue eyes meet mine, glittering with excitement, I know I won’t negate my vow.
In an odd way, it is gratifying to have someone besides me excited about music. My family sure as hell isn’t interested like I want them to be. Even Mark puts up with my music because he has to. Nobody understands my need to create and play what I write.
Situating the guitar in my lap, I pluck the pick stuck between the strings and nod my head toward the sick girl.
I strum once, in a soft manner, before regarding Willow. “What’s wrong with her?”
The glee at hearing me handle my guitar melts off her face as she glances at the girl. “That’s my sister Alice. She’s fallen ill with a sickness that my people usually don’t recover from.”
My people.
I suppress a shudder and my mind flits in a million directions. Are these people a social experiment? Part of the government? Aliens planning on taking over the human race?
The girl’s skin is littered with red whelps and it reminds me of when I had chicken pox in preschool.
“Was she not vaccinated?” I question, strumming the guitar again, not really making any music with it yet.
Willow frowns and shrugs. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
I blink at her several times before I begin playing a song the small girl might like—one I learned to play on the piano at church, long before I ever learned it on guitar. “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” comes out smooth and beautiful. I’m careful only to play loud enough for her and Alice to hear, being that music’s forbidden and all. I find myself humming the familiar words, and eventually, singing them barely above a whisper. When I finish the song, I glance up to see Willow’s reaction.
“Leif, that was…” She trails off and sniffles. Tears swim in her eyes and the smile on her lips is breathtaking.
“If it was anything like your smile,” I grin at her. “It must have been beautiful.”
Her cheeks blaze at my compliment and she turns toward her sister. “I’m sorry you have to be exposed to her. It might mean certain death for you too.”
The fact that she seems saddened by the idea gives me hope. Everyone else in this town might be drinking the creepy Kool-Aid but she, at least, seems compassionate.
“I’m not afraid, Willow. I had the same disease as a child and I’m still here.”
Her brows furrow together as her mind works. She absently reaches toward the guitar. “You survived the disease too? Like me?”
I watch as her slender fingertips trace over the strings and something beautiful strums out at her touch.
“It’ll take a lot more than that to bring this sonofabitch down.”
She flashes me a sweet smile and her cheeks once again blaze crimson. Her finding me attractive will definitely play a role in me getting my ass out of here.
“Why did you come here?” she questions finally and starts to pace the room as if her common sense suddenly reminded her I was an intruder and not a friend, albeit a handsome one.
I run a shaky hand through my hair. “It was by accident. A deer ran across the road and I swerved to miss it. After I crashed, I walked toward the scent of food cooking, hoping someone would help me. Turns out, everyone thinks I’m some terrorist.”
She frowns. “You’re a confusing man, Leif. My people have never once allowed an outsider into our community. I’m afraid of what they’ll do to you.”
That makes fucking two of us.
I seize her hand, causing her to yelp. She struggles to get away, but I forcefully tug her to me. One swipe of my thumb over the back of her hand causes her to calm though, and she stops resisting me.
“You have to help me get out of—”
Another wave of dizziness has the world spinning into a kaleidoscope of various shades of black.
Soft brushes along my cheek have me fluttering my eyes back open. A migraine throbs behind my eyes as I attempt to focus on the blonde vision before me.
“I brought you something to eat,” she says softly and drags her fingers away from my face.
The soothing touch disappears and I crave it more than the scent of maple wafting from nearby. I reach for her and find her wrist. All the other times, she seems to pull away, but this time, she remains still. The blood thunders through her veins at her pulse point and I wonder if it’s from fear of me or something altogether different. Like desire.
“I keep thinking I’ll wake up and I’ll be in my hotel bed or in my truck at a rest stop. But each time, I wake back up in this hell where I’m a prisoner held captive by an angel. I want to complain but I’ll suspend reality for a moment to let you care for me.”
My eyes focus on her parted lips and I crave to touch them. Willow is the kind of woman that musicians write songs about. She’s a muse in every sense of the word. Her face and mannerisms are sweet, yet a part of me wonders what’s not only underneath her hideous clothes, but what dances around in that head of hers. Does she wonder about her society and its validity? Does she ever consider ways to escape? Could I rescue her from this hellhole?
“Do you like it here?”
She reaches over to the bedside table with her free hand and picks up a piece of the bacon that originally lured me into this place. “I live here.”
I take a bite of the delicious meat and ch
ew while thinking about her answer. After I swallow, I grip her wrist tightly. “That doesn’t answer my question, Willow.”
Her eyes dart over to her sister and then out the window, before finding their way back to mine. “I suppose so. My life is about to find its purpose finally. Since I’ll be eighteen soon, I will be of marrying age. The elders will choose a suitable match for me and—”
Thundering footsteps on the front porch cause her eyes to widen in fright.
“Leif, if you’re awake, they’ll take you,” she hisses, fear clutching her throat.
I wink at her before slamming my eyes closed just as the door swings open and cold air rushes in around us.
“Has the intruder woken up yet?” The voice is harsh.
“No,” she lies in a shaky voice. “He must have hit his head rather hard.”
The man grunts as he steps into the room. He closes the door behind him and the room is silent for several long moments. All I can hear is him practically snorting like a caged bull and her ragged, short breaths coming out quickly, like a cornered puppy.
“Your proximity to the man is disgusting, Willow. If only your father and the other elders could see. Perhaps I should inform them.”
She runs forward with a clomp of her boots. “No! Please, Jude. I’m only trying to heal him.”
He scoffs. “You don’t need to heal him. You need to wake him. Then, we’ll set to taking him to a trial to determine his fate. He’s diseased and I’ll have no future wife of mine becoming infected.”
Future wife?
I peek an eye open to see the man’s shoulders heaving with fury. If the motherfucker so much as touches one hair on her pretty little head, I’ll level his ass.
“Did the council say you are to be matched with me?” Her voice quivers in fear and part disbelief.
“If you’re not chosen by then, then it is I they have matched for you. Not your precious Jordy. I’d wanted to keep it a secret, but if you’re to be mine, you need to start behaving as if you belong to me.” His words drip with deception and the poor girl believes every word he says. “I know it is an honor to be chosen for the Circle of Corcoran but the council won’t do that to me again. Emily was also matched to me before she was chosen. They’ve promised to not make me wait five more years again.”
