Hunt the Dawn

by Abbie Roads

  “Do you remember where you are?”

  “Ward B of the Center of Balance and Wellness. The name doesn’t fit. It should be called the Center of Indifference. No one here cares—except for Liz. You know Liz?” He opened his mouth to answer, but she bulldozed over him, her words coming out in a rush. “She looks like Nurse Ratchet, but her personality is all Mary Poppins. She always lets me stay up past lights-out since it’s the only solitude to be had in the whole place. Once, she snuck a cupcake in on my birthday. Now isn’t that sweet? She—” The words were speeding out of her mouth.

  Not that he was complaining. He preferred her hyped up over out of it, but she might backslide if she didn’t stay somewhat calm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Take a breath. We’ve got all the time in the world here.” Had to be the meds or lack of meds—some strange part of the withdrawals—causing her diarrhea of the mouth.

  She grabbed in one good breath, then was off again. “You know there aren’t many people to talk to in here.” She turned her voice down to a whisper. “Everyone’s crazy. I mean really crazy. Certifiable. It’s hard to carry on a rational conversation with someone who keeps talking to the demon that lives in their ankle. You ever have that happen? Where you’re talking to someone, and all of sudden they lift their foot up in front of their face and start having a conversation with it? It’s a bit off-putting, if you know what I mean.”

  Her expression was full-on seriousness, and he probably shouldn’t laugh—definitely he shouldn’t—but he couldn’t help it.

  A smile—no, it wasn’t quite a smile—tipped the corners of her mouth, giving her a look that said she was thinking about something pleasing.

  “We’ve hit a new phase of your withdrawals. Speed talking.”

  “Oh my. Your voice. Wow. It reminds me of dark chocolate, a hot bath, and sex and—”

  “Apparently your mental filter is malfunctioning.”

  “—sweaty, dirty, hard fucking.”

  Holy Christ. Just the words sex, sweaty, and dirty had his dick going all skyscraper inside his jeans, but when she said hard fucking, he blacked out for a moment. When his mind came back online, it decided to flash him images of what sweaty, dirty, hard fucking would look like with her. Her nipples brushing against his chest as he rammed into her with a pace and depth and exuberance he’d never experienced.

  He needed to change the subject, but couldn’t remember how to get his mouth to form words. He might’ve swallowed his damned tongue.

  “Why do you suppose your voice sounds like sex on a summer day? It’s because I’m horny. I haven’t had sex in five years. That’s a long time, you know. I have needs.”

  He finally figured out how to flap his lips, while making sound to form actual words. Maybe he’d had a stroke. “Jesus Christ, woman.” The words exploded out of him. “You’ve got to stop talking about sex.” He scrubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to wipe out the mental images that still played. “You’re speaking every single thought that floats into your mind. No goddamned censor. It’s gotta be the meds or the shock treatments causing it. Something.”

  Her bottom lip pushed out in an utterly inappropriate—but adorably kissable—pout. “I don’t see anything wrong with talking about how I feel. Maybe that’s why I can’t get out of this place. I won’t open up. Won’t let Dr. Payne-in-My-Ass into my mind. Maybe if I—”

  “Christ on a crapper. You’ve got to stop for a moment.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “I need you to listen for thirty seconds. A minute tops. Then you can talk about sex, Dr. Payne, and your feelings all you want.”

  “You can’t go putting sex, Dr. Payne, and my feelings in the same sentence. Wrong. So wrong.”

  “Won’t argue about that. But I need you to keep your lips closed.”

  Pain pinched her features as she lifted her hands, placing them over her mouth. It should have been a comical gesture, but all Cain could see was her hurting. It had been five days since Dr. Payne had injured her, and the fact that her body still suffered scraped his justice bone. If he ever got the guy alone, he just might uncage that part of himself that thirsted for blood.

  Cain cleared his throat and emptied his mind of those thoughts. “There are some things you need to know right now. Important things. Like you’re not at the Center. You’re safe in a cabin in southern Ohio. You’ve been withdrawing from the meds for the past two days. Your short-term memory is shit from the shock treatments. I’ve been taking care of you the whole time.” He spoke the sentences as if there were a list he’d memorized—probably because he’d said the same thing so many times before. “That’s why we keep having this same conversation and you can’t remember it.”

  She lifted her hands off her mouth. “Cool. That works for me. Never liked that place.”

  Ooo…kkaayy… She obviously wasn’t fully grasping reality. “You’re not going to remember any of this, are you?”

  “Probably not. Not when I’m feeling half drunk.” She put her hand back over her mouth, but her eyes sparkled with laughter.

  She might be more coherent, but she definitely wasn’t fully functional. “I just want you to know. You are safe here. I won’t let you go back there. And I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

  She lifted her hands off her mouth again. “I trust you. I’d know if you were some creepy asshole. You’re the kind of guy a girl feels dainty and delicate around.”

  Yeah. She’d trust him until she actually saw him in full light, when fully aware. “Um…” He didn’t know what to say. Time for a subject change. “I need you to drink some water for me. It’ll help flush the drugs out of your system. I’m going to help you sit up.” He slid his hand underneath her back and helped her upright.

  “Man, everything hurts. Feels like a busload of sumo wrestlers sat on me.”

  He shoved the pillow behind her back. This was progress. The first time she’d been upright in days. “Dr. Payne did a number on you. Looks like he hit you in the face, the ribs, and on your thigh.”

  A furrow of thoughtfulness dug into her forehead. “I don’t remember any of that. You’d think I’d remember something like that. Why can’t I remember it?”

  “The shock treatments.”

  “Oh yeah. You said that, didn’t you? And I forgot it.” A thin edge of concern cut through her tone.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. The short-term memory problems are temporary. I promise. Drink for me.” He held the glass to her lips. She reached up and covered his hand with hers. His heart skipped a few beats, then returned to its regularly scheduled rhythm.

  She swallowed down the entire glass of water the same way she talked—full speed and without censorship, gulping and slurping like a child. “That’s good. Real good. I’m so thirsty all of a sudden.” She didn’t take her hands off his. He tried to move the glass, but she gripped it tight. “No. I want to keep touching you. It feels so good to have my skin on yours.”

  Holy.

  Christ.

  Those images of hard fucking jumped into his mind again. He should change the subject, divert her attention in some way, but what came out his mouth had nothing to do with those intentions. “I’m going to be sad to see this side of you go. I like you being affectionate and warm to me.”

  “Then hold me. Just for a little while. Until I fall asleep again.” The words themselves weren’t a question, but his heart heard the quiet query behind them.

  “Anything you want.” He would deny her nothing. She let go of him so he could place the empty glass on the nightstand. Instead of crawling in the bed with her, he picked her up. She nestled her face against his chest, and his heart banged extra hard trying to get her attention. A contented sigh slipped from her lips, and he felt more light and carefree in that moment than he had in his entire life. He sat in the chair directly in front of the fireplace.

  The fire had burned down t
o a few low flames, deepening and lengthening the dark, but still putting out a bit of warmth.

  “A girl could get used to having a big, strong man carrying her around.” Her words were a sigh.

  “A guy could get used to having a beautiful lady to carry around.”

  She laughed, the sound lovely in the same way birdsong enchanted the ear.

  “Are you flirting with me?” One of her hands stroked his chest.

  Christ. Was he flirting with her? Was he—Cain Killion, son of the man who’d tried to kill her—flirting with her? Hell yeah, he was. Wrong or not. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been so long since I had anyone to flirt with that I’m not sure what it is anymore.”

  “I think you’re a natural.” He rubbed his chin on the top of her head. “You’re doing better today. I was worried about you.”

  “You’re so sweet. I haven’t had someone to worry about me since my family died. Did you know my family died?”

  Everything good and warm and happy dissolved. He didn’t want to hear her talk about this. Not this. This was too soon. Too close to the bone. Too close to the blood. Too close to his own dark urges.

  “They were murdered. By…by…by Killion.”

  Everything inside him kicked like a reflex at the name.

  “Why am I talking about this?” Her voice hitched. “I never allow myself to think about it. Forgetting is good therapy. But I’ve never really forgotten how my parents screamed before he slid his blade into their throats.” Her voice took on a monotone quality. “The sound of their blood pumping, spritzing, dripping onto the floor—I can’t escape it. Or the way Killion stared into my brother’s eyes, caressed his cheek, ran his hand through his hair—almost as if he loved him—just before he cut out his throat. And when he turned to me, his blade dripped the blood of my family on my neck. The warmth of it startling and sickening and strangely comforting. I had been scared watching them die, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I wanted it. I wanted it over.”

  His body had turned to stone. His heart a mausoleum of sorrow. His lungs twin pillars of shame and guilt. That she would confess her most horrific moments to him… She obviously didn’t know who he was. And now was not the fucking time to tell her.

  A pained whine issued from her mouth, growing in volume to wailing, then leveling out at full-body weeping. She shuddered and shook against him, the force of her sobs startling in their power. Her face mashed against his chest, her tears wetting his shirt, his skin.

  Life had been perpetually unfair to her. He ached for the pain she’d endured. The pain she still experienced. And the pain she would experience when she recognized him. Because he knew. Knew she’d be afraid of him. And all of this—holding her, flirting with her—would be nothing but a memory.

  “Shh…shh… I’m right here with you.” He didn’t bother with bullshit words. He stuck with the facts. He was here. With her. Period. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly to him, hoping that by some strange osmosis she’d be able to absorb his strength.

  How long she cried against him, he didn’t know and didn’t really care. He’d sit here holding her for a hundred years, if that’s how long she needed to grieve. When the last of her sobs subsided, she stilled against him, sniffling and snuffling every once in a while.

  “I… Wow, sorry about that. I don’t normally go all crybaby. Maybe it’s the meds.” She pulled back to look at him.

  His lungs latched down tight, refusing to let in any air.

  The last of the firelight caught the wetness on her face and lashes, causing her tears to shimmer like melted gold.

  Her gaze roamed over him. He couldn’t remember what he should say to soothe her, to reassure her. Words seemed inadequate. He tried to tell her with his gaze that he meant no harm. That he wasn’t his father. And for a moment she seemed to understand. Then her eyes widened and rolled in their sockets like a frightened foal. She bucked away from him, all the force of fear in her movement. She landed on the ground—nearly in the fireplace—a grunt of pain shooting from her mouth. Mindless in her fear, she scuttled back from him, placing her hand near the glowing coals.

  “Careful.” He reached for her, to get her away from the fire before she hurt herself.

  She screamed, the sound no canned movie scream but filled to bursting with genuine terror.

  He went statue still, arms still outstretched to her.

  She pushed herself away from him, further and further until she huddled in the far corner of the cabin, gasping for air like she’d been holding her breath for too long.

  He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. Had been paralyzed by her reaction. If he was the crying kind—which he wasn’t—he’d have felt like having a good old-fashioned water party. That look on her face was something he’d never wanted to see. That was why he’d never sought her out. He’d known what was left of his soul couldn’t handle it.

  And he’d been right.

  His stomach contracted. He grunted from the unexpected pain of it. All the humiliation of lost hope rolled up his throat. He tipped forward in the chair, opened his mouth, and dry heaved. His innards seized and spasmed, refusing to release him as he gagged on self-disgust.

  The room went hotter than an incinerator. Sweat dripped off his face and splatted onto the floor. The sounds coming out of him were as wretched as he felt. The phantom barfing lasted a short eternity.

  He needed to reassure her that he intended no harm. He turned his head toward her corner, opened his mouth—

  She was gone.

  His eyes nearly leaped out of their sockets.

  Shit.

  He jumped to his feet, gaze darting around the cabin, at the same time he knew that she had run off while he’d been sick. “Mercy.” Her name came out on a sigh of defeat. He should just let her go. Let her run toward whatever fate awaited her. She didn’t want him. She preferred Dr. Payne over him, so let her have Dr. Payne.

  No.

  He might be a monster, but he wasn’t an asshole. Duty, obligation, and remorse propelled him out the door after her. To her, it wouldn’t be a positive sign that he was chasing her. But what other option did he have?

  The night was starless and moonless, casting the world in varying shades of black. A sea of dense forest surrounded the clearing the cabin rested on. The woods were thick and dark, the kind that would claw and bite and close around you tighter than a prison. No, she wouldn’t have gone in there. She would’ve found the lane more appealing. She would’ve hoped to find a road. To find help. To find salvation.

  He ran as if her life depended on it. And it did. If someone found her, she’d eventually end up back in the Center. And Dr. Payne would have a second try at frying her mind.

  The late-spring night was too quiet and too still. Almost as if it were holding its breath waiting, waiting, waiting to see what was about to happen. Cain’s breath rasped, his footfalls pounded, his soul died a bit more.

  Christ. He didn’t know how long she had been gone. How far away she could be. If she could even hear him.

  “Mercy.” He tried to add a reassuring quality to his tone, but it was impossible while running and yelling. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not him. I’m Cain. I’m Liz’s friend. She asked me to save you from Dr. Payne. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you. I’m trying to save you.”

  The lane ended abruptly, dumping him out onto the solitary road. He looked right—nothing. Looked left—a shadow lying on the road. Any vehicle heading down the pavement would run right over her. “Shit.” He whispered the word and ran toward her.

  She lay on her stomach, arms stretched up to her head as if she’d been trying to fucking crawl away after her legs couldn’t carry her any further.

  Goddamn it.

  He couldn’t deal with this. Yeah, he might be a masochist, but this was a level
of suffering he couldn’t endure. Didn’t have it in him to let her keep stabbing his dying soul.

  He went down on his knees beside her. Not daring to touch her, he let his head drop on his shoulders and stared at his lap. “Mercy.” He tried to make himself sound as harmless as possible without going falsetto. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to take you back to the cabin where you’ll be safe.”

  When she didn’t say anything or move, he forced himself to look at her.

  Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed. He touched her cheek. She didn’t flinch away from him.

  For the first time since he’d taken her from Liz, he was grateful for her unconsciousness.

  * * *

  Cain stood in the farthest corner of the room from Mercy, staring at her tucked up under those covers. In the predawn light, the scar across her neck seemed to glow silver. Sleep had relaxed her features, making her look younger than her age. He could almost see the girl she’d once been.

  When she had looked at him, she’d only seen his father and assumed he was the same. But had he really expected anything less? No. Yes. No. Yes. Stop it.

  He might’ve saved her from the Center, but the way she’d looked at him locked him in a prison he’d always feared—being seen in the same light as his father. He’d been a big, dumbass idiot for thinking this would’ve worked out any other way than her being terrified of him.

  He couldn’t do this with her again—couldn’t tolerate that fear on her face again when she woke up. Once was bad enough.

  Cain nabbed his cell off the table, then walked out the door into the gray dawn light. A lone bird began singing a solitary song. He walked down the driveway, heading toward the road—the only place where he could pick up a cell signal. A woodpecker began rapping against a tree. Nature usually soothed him, but today it did nothing for him.

  Ten feet from the road, he turned on his phone, waited until it booted up, and found a weak signal. At least there was a signal. He punched in Liz’s number.

  It rang. Once. Twice. “Hello. You’ve reached Liz Sands—”