by Poppet
Whipping around, leaping up I head-butt him, nearly breaking my own nose. Yelling, “FUCK YOU!”
I sink my claws into his naked chest and rake down, hard.
My wrists are snatched, held in a clamp so tight pain shoots up both arms.
“That is enough!”
Tugging wildly, I drop, kicking both heels into his legs, my left shoe comes off. Pulling heavily with all my dead weight against his hands, I sink my teeth into the hand holding my wrists, biting for all I'm worth.
“Stop it. Sarah, that is enough.”
I pretend to give in. Going weak in his arms, waiting for him to let my hands go.
He pulls me up off the floor where he holds above my hands, waiting for me to stabilize, slowly releasing his grip.
“You always were such a fighter.”
Before he's even finished his sentence I lunge, digging my thumbs with their long nails into his eyes. Huge arms shove me hard, cutting down into my elbows, making both arms instantly lame, whipped around, I'm held tight against him, my heart pounding, breathing hard from exertion.
“Try that again, and I will hurt you for the first time in my very long life.”
He forces the air from me when he tightens both arms, emphasizing his words, “Are we clear?”
I nod, he's squeezing the life from me.
Maintaining his hold, he forcefully rotates me, slowly lighting up his wing-cave with his eyes. They get brighter in increments. Now I can barely see, I'm a little scared. He's like a devil.
“Are you going to behave?”
I'm aching, and his grip is harsh.
“Mmm.”
I can taste blood in my mouth. How did that happen?
“Why do you have to make this so hard? How long are you going to hate me?”
“Forever and ever. You haven't given me one reason to like you. Here in Austin, we like our men with charm and manners. You lack both. Move, you're not welcome here.”
Instantly we're back in pitch dark. He's shut his lights off. His hands finally letting me go.
Adrenalized, I turn, pushing against the wing igloo. It's silky soft, oven hot, but rigid hard, like granite.
Fuck!
“Say my name. That's all I asked from you before you launched your issues at me.”
“You can't keep me here forever. Melissa saw me here. People will notice when I go missing and they'll know where to look. I've got all night, asshole.”
A heavy sigh blows at me. Closing my eyes against the force behind it, I'm immediately aware of smells. I can smell his earthy scent, but in a really weird way, I can hear his smell. Tilting my head just so, there's a sound coming off him. His sigh smelled like smores. What? This is nuts.
“Just say my name. And I'll let you out.”
“Erik.”
“That's not my name, and you know it. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?!”
“Honey, you think the sun comes up just to hear you crow. If you think I'm going to indulge your overinflated ego and small dick syndrome, you can think again.”
He moves, and I can't see a darn thing. But it's made me nervous. My instinct is warning me. It's screaming blue murder, yelling get out of here, NOW.
My hands are gripped again, pulled hard toward him, pushed against something.
“Call that small? What you need is a good tanning, girl.”
“Oh god!”
I'm frantically yanking, tugging, pulling, kicking; wild now, I don't care if I get hurt.
“You're sick! Sick! There isn't a loony-bin bad enough for you!”
Writhing, squirming, twisting, thrashing, flailing in mad terror, I'll die before I let him make me touch that thing again.
“Say my name!”
I scream my longest, loudest, most wolf howling help me please, screeeeeam!
“You are getting boring. You can end this just by saying it.”
I've got desperation running out of my eyes; I'm finally getting scared.
“No.”
“Fine, I have eternity. You will starve long before then. You will run out of air. I will stand here and watch you wither and die before my eyes. I will not release you until you say my name. You determine how long this stand-off lasts.”
Dropping to my knees, I sit back on my ankles. The tears are on a roll now. Why does he want to make me so unhappy? What's the big fucking deal?
“Why?” I sob.
“Please? Please Sarah Tempest, say my name, just once.”
“Erra.”
There, I said it! Are you happy now, dickhead?
Clean air rushes in when his wings open, letting the living room and its heat back into my lungs. Sitting, staring up at him, the only damage I managed to do are the scratches down his chest.
“She-devil.” He turns, stalking to the bar, grabbing the bottle from the shelf.
Watching him, I'm lucky he didn't hit me back. At least I tried, right? He's colossal. He is without a doubt the biggest 'man' I've ever seen. And I thought Dustin was big.
He glares as he makes his way back to his seat before the fire, the wings retracting into nothing on his back, the skin smoothing over, unveiling hard muscle and the deep ridge of his spine.
“Take me home, Erra.”
“You can wait five minutes, ma'am.” His tone is mocking, scornful.
From here, I just see the bottle tilt up, dancing with merry firelight through amber liquid off glass.
Shaky, sore, I push myself off the floor, getting my shoe and putting it back on.
“I hope you feel better now that you've unleashed thirty years of anger at me.”
“No, I don't. You're a cold hearted bastard, Erra.” I sneer his name, almost limping back to my chair.
God, I hurt.
“I grew up an orphan. You admitted to keeping me homeless. Without a family for Christmas, Easter, or my birthday. Alone, a reject, my whole childhood!”
The anger is coming back, and this time she's bringing her comet's tail.
Stalking to his chair, I don't even wait for him to lower his baby's bottle stuck like a pacifier to his mouth; I slap him with every last shred of dignity and righteous anger left in my trembling body.
Breaking two nails in the process, I watch the bottle fly, pouring an arc of fluid through the air.
The roar that follows rimes me, stripping me of my soul. Before I can blink, he's up, over me, wings shimmering, snapping like flags in a gale, two ice-pick eyes turn coal black, losing all sparks.
Terrified beyond measure, the room tilts when his roar hits me like a physical blow.
Lifted off the floor by two hands, I'm crushed, compressed into a space my body can't fit. I can't breathe, sharp pain shoots through me, he's breaking me, physically snapping ribs, pushing them into lungs, my head lolls back, and a wave judders me, rattling me like an unwanted ragdoll in his hands. But it's warm.
It's peace.
Peace.
Chapter 10
“Don't move.” It's an order.
A reinforcing hand presses down firmly at the base of my throat.
Opening my eyes, I'm unnaturally relaxed.
His head is next to my side. I can feel... 'something'.
“What are you doing?”
I want to scream it, shout it; dive away from his hands, but I can't make my limbs move, or put force into my voice.
“Fixing you. Now hold still.”
Barely managing to lift my head to look down where he lingers next to my ribcage, a needle is deep in me.
Oh God!
Where the hell is my dress!?
“Sarah, I will put you under again if you don't stay perfectly still.”
Put me under? Anesthetized? Tranquilized?
Dropping my head, I stare at the ceiling in this all aqua room.
Frankenstein is in the house.
Why is life so unfair?
“Do you know what it was like?” I mumble into the silence. “Do you have any idea how many nights I cried myself
to sleep? I wanted to be part of a family too.”
I feel movement in my chest, then a swab runs cold over my skin.
“It was your choice. It was always your choice. You can blame me all you want if it makes you feel better, but it doesn't change the facts.”
He lifts his head, moving away and dropping something on a table, it pings. He comes back with a syringe, half-full of weak-tea looking fluid.
“What the hell are you doing, Erra?”
His smile seems genuinely amused.
“You were condescending about me being a mathematician. What you didn't care to discover is I have written hundreds of papers on gene manipulation, splicing, and cloning. I'm leading a revolution, baby. I am fixing you using this technology.”
Oh sweet Jesus. I am in hell.
“Don't you dare.”
I wish I could shout.
“Too late. How else could I force you to heal your broken bones before taking you home?”
“You shouldn't have broken them. You're a monster, you really are. You're the nightmare come to life, hunting the innocent, dogging my steps, dragging me into your madness, and then justifying it as helping me. Get over yourself. A gentleman wouldn't hurt a lady.”
I hate this helpless body. I'm a puddle of relaxed. Heavy and useless.
He holds the needle next to my temple.
Squeezing my eyes shut, terror swirls a vacuous horror through my chest, but I can't react.
“What are you doing?”
Panic filters a strange tone into my words.
“Infecting you.”
“What!?”
I can just see his thumb pushing the plunger in, expressing the liquid directly into my head.
“Don't worry, it's coded to your DNA. You'll be contagious for a day, and then you'll be fine. It won't infect anyone else.”
“Infecting me with what?”
“Truth.”
Standing up straight, he puts the empty syringe on the table behind him.
“I'll be right back. Remain still. You can't walk yet, so don't try.”
He walks out of the room.
I can't feel much. Not cold, not fear, not thirst.
What did he do to me?
Footfalls come closer, and he walks in, straight to me, lifting my shoulders and slipping a sweatshirt over my head, dressing me like his child, putting my arms in the sleeves.
Then he picks me up, carrying me leaning heavily against him, out the room, down stairs, back to the living room.
He stretches me out on the couch, a smirk flirting with his lips.
He leaves me alone again, and I can just make out the noises of him pouring liquid, a tinkle of glass connecting with crystal.
When he returns, he pulls his chair so he's facing mine, right next to it, sipping at something clear, watching me.
“What do you mean it was my choice? None of this is my choice. This is you inflicting your unwanted presence into my life.”
“The orphanage. You don't remember, but it was your choice. You've blocked out so many memories, you just end up hurting yourself.”
“Bull.”
“Is it?” he leans back, relaxed, smiling now, sparkles back in his eyes.
“When can I move again?”
“Not until I take you home. You'll be fine when you wake-up.” His mouth twitches, he thinks something's funny. “You'll only have to see me again in a day. The only person you can infect, is me.”
Breaking the moment, my iPhone starts belting out Rock You Like a Hurricane.
Stretching, he picks up my jacket, extracting my phone and answering it. Talk about taking liberties. Prick!
“Hello?”
“Oh hi Mel. Yes she's right here, hold on.”
He puts the phone against my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi sweetie. You okay? You sound a bit tired,” she says.
“I am. I'm exhausted.”
“Funerals do that. It's been an emotional day for all of us. That's why I'm calling you.”
“Oh?”
“Out of respect to Erik and Ruth, we're closing the library for a week. Tomorrow's Sunday, just stay in bed and recuperate. I've told Erik you'll keep him company and show him around Austin during the week. Ruth would expect nothing less from us. He deserves our hospitality.”
Then why the hell can't you do it?
“Uhm.”
“You sound really tired, sweets. Go home, get some sleep. Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
I want to argue until the sun burns out, but I can't muster energy.
“Bye honey.”
“Bye.”
He takes the phone away from my ear, flicking through it after disconnecting.
“Your boyfriend phoned.”
Closing my eyes, I want to cry.
“Don't worry, I didn't answer it. But I was sorely tempted.”
“Are you happy now? You've ruined my life.”
He leans forward, putting my jacket and phone on the arm of the chair I'm lying on. His scent washes over me. It gives me a dull hurting ache, deep inside.
“You've got your orders. I'll be picking you up, expecting a tour, ten sharp, Monday morning.”
“I hate you. I really hate you.”
There's that sound again. What is it? He's too close, leaning over me, staring into my eyes with his strange ones.
“No, you don't. You just really want to. You aren't capable of hate.”
“Erra, I want to go home.”
Languid heat washes through me, imbuing an odd serenity.
“I've always loved your eyes. They're the color of the ocean on a hot summer day, deep blue with a gloss of turquoise. The gold flecks look like sunlight catching waves.”
“Erra.” I want to go home.
It doesn't come out. Mute, useless, frustrated.
I have an odd dizziness, my body tingling.
“I love it when you say my name.”
Swallowing hard, I attempt moving, but nothing happens.
I try again, “Erra, I...” want to go home.
Why is this happening?
“Yes, Sarah?”
“Uhhhhmmmumble.”
What the hell? My body is reacting to his nearness. NO! NO!
“It took long enough.”
Knowing I can't speak, I concentrate to frown at him. It's a silent question.
“My name, Sarah. My name - you cannot say it without remembering. You've successfully blocked out the memories. You've chosen to focus on your physical self. You have your whole life. You work out, you train hard, you play everything you can, you climb mountains, hike, practice Tae Kwon Do, and smash tennis balls like a navy Seal. What you focus on grows. You've become so physical, your body reacts first. It's now your dominant side.”
He leans back, all rugged and tough looking, but with a gentle smile.
“If I had taken the time to think you through properly, I wouldn't have tried appealing to your intellect. Presenting myself to you as a scholar was an error. You're competitive, and you respect physical prowess. You respect might, speed, skill.”
Sighing, he pushes his hard fingers through his black hair.
“Now I'm stuck in this fucking disguise. But you, now all you will see, is me. The infection will keep you attune to me...” He leans forward, whispering into my face, “And all of my might. In all of my glory.”
Home. I want to go home. I don't want to be with you anymore.
“Home.”
Hey, I spoke!
“Yes, I am. I am your home.”
He misinterprets it. Egocentric a-hole.
“Take me...” Come on, do this Sarah. Focus.
But he thinks – oh God – he thinks 'take me'. It's in his eyes, his face, all lusty and passionate.
“Home!” squeals out.
Chapter 11
It's too late, his lips are already touching mine.
I'm desperate to shove hard. Knee him. Break his no
se. I need a gun. I definitely need a gun.
He's breathing into me, tracing that hideously long tongue around my mouth.
Lifting me off the couch, he starts walking.
Na-ah! No!
“Relax.”
“Nuuuuh.”
He's not walking to the stairs, we're going...? Wait. The car! Oh thank God! He's taking me to the car.
“Don't start a riot,” he says, putting me in the passenger seat. “I'll be right back with your clothes.”
That reminds me.
Looking down, I'm drowning in another man's shirt. And it freaks me out. There's no comfort here, at all. It's too personal, like he's staking his claim, replacing the image he had of me wearing Dustin's sweatshirt.
He returns, now wearing a tight thinsulate black vest with long sleeves, hiding the marks on both arms, and invisible wings. It gives him thug appeal. Watching him as he slips into the car next to me, putting my stuff in the back, I have to admit black is his color. It suits him. His hair is really glossy, long, touching his shoulders, thick but fine. It looks soft.
“You're staring, princess.”
I want to be able to argue. How dare he incapacitate my ability to speak.
Turning back, he smiles at me, running his hand up my naked thigh.
“Give me that week, and I'd bet my rank you'll have a change of heart.”
Rank? What rank? Fuhhhk. He's probably military with the stuff he works on. Gene warfare, the dawn of the new age. What was he really doing in Russia?
When he moves, that subliminal music whispers over me, buzzing against my skin, doing a fun ride through my ear canals. How does he make music? For the record, it's not possible.
He leans over me, pulling the seatbelt on. He's radiating heat! And smells like dry sand, covered in honey. It makes me smile, thinking of ants running all over him. Hahahaaa.
“You're smiling. Careful now, I might get the impression you're going soft on me.”
There's not enough room in this car for your ego.
“Your narrowed eyes speak a thousand words.” He sits back in his seat, stretching long legs out to the pedals. “I told you looks are deceiving. Believe me yet?”
Laughing at my expression, he starts the car, and immediately the music that was playing earlier scowls into the four corners and out the back window at the road. Daring anyone to mess with six strings and an epileptic drum-kit.
