by Poppet
“When you left, I phoned him. I told him I was going to kill him if he hurt you. I warned him. Now he's back in his disguise. Check the call log, and dial it. This is the bastard who'll answer; why would I phone Erik? You know I wouldn't ever phone Erik. Unless, he is Erra.”
Oh God. It's happening again. Like being injected with fire, sapping me of my fight; my strength.
Dustin's going through my phone, pressing dial.
Erik's smile is bordering on obscene now. He knows I just said his name. He knew! He knew!
He gives me a lightning fast wink, looking innocently at Dustin when his phone starts ringing in his pocket.
“Sarah, I think you owe me an apology,” he says, ignoring the ringing of his phone.
Stepping sideways, I lean against Dustin for support.
“Tell the truth. Stop making me look crazy. Just tell him the truth.”
My tone's gone flat. My voice has lost all vestiges of rage. I now sound as if I like the man standing in front of me.
Dustin hands me my phone. Drawing away from me, I can't see his eyes with the bright door light behind his head.
“I'm going. Sarah, when you sort your shit out, you know where to find me.”
Desperation splashes frantically through me, but I'm sedated. I can't react. He's already across the lawn, getting on his bike.
“No!”
It's drowned by the Ninja revving. I stand helpless, watching the most amazing man to grace my life, fleeing into the darkness, getting away from little miss crazy-ass.
An arm drapes around my shoulder, “It's for the best.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs, it's deep and low.
“You're a fast learner, I'll give you that. If you hadn't said my name, this night would have been very long indeed.”
Slumping, I drop to the tiles, limp, staring after Dustin's long departed bike.
“Come inside. You're in no state to drive home now. I'll put your car in the drive.”
And off he goes, as if he has the right to dictate to me, to move the seat in my car back to accommodate his long legs.
“I hate you. I really hate you.”
I'm talking to myself, as he drives my car to park in front of the garages. Then he saunters back, looking so smug, I wish I had a grenade, just to watch his face blow up.
Stooping, he lifts me up under my arms, carrying me bodily inside over the threshold.
“And for the record, princess, I don't live here. Erik lives here. I live somewhere better suited to my looks, and taste in music and cars.”
“Where?”
Tell me, because I will find a way to detonate your house to rubble, with you in it.
“Right next door to your howling boyfriend.” He deposits me on the couch in front of the hearth, moving to stare down his haughty nose at me. “Granted, we're separated by a lot of land and nature, but I like to keep my women close, and my competition even closer.”
Closing my eyes tiredly, hope is seeping out of me, leaving me feeling like I've got no bones in my body.
He leaves me to shut and lock the front door; when he returns, he's the deceptively handsome Erra. All angles, brooding lusty eyes, pouting smooth lips, chiseled chin with a dimple in his left cheek, glossy hair that just makes you want to touch it.
Shut up Sarah. Shut up right this second.
He smiles, and it's captivating and gorgeous, filling the space between us with angelic harmonies, tinkles, just below hearing - music. It leaves a warmth on my skin, forcing the dread out of me, making me vulnerable for attack.
Sitting on the adjacent chair, he links long fingers over his stomach, “Did you have a good day at Spirit Rock?”
“How do you know where we went?”
And what's with the 'making idle conversation'?
“I don't let you out of my sight. I never will again.”
“You do realize you're breaking the law?”
He smiles again, stars twinkling in his wicked eyes, “Not my laws.”
“Wow, you really think you rule the world, don't you? What's it like being that crazy? Does it feel good?”
“I'm not crazy, Sarah. And neither are you. This is your life now, get used to it.”
“I don't want to get used to it. I want my old life back, where people were people, not mutants.”
His laugh is amused, making his expression so unguardedly happy, it's disconcerting.
When he calms his chuckle, he surveys me lazily, “You're going to be like that for a few hours. What shall we do? Would you like to see my house? Then you know where to find me when you get bored of the meathead.”
“He's not a meathead. He's sensitive and gorgeous.”
“He's a lost soul. You'll only get hurt with him, trust me on this.”
“And trust you? The lunatic who broke my bones last night, in this very room.”
“I see your point.” His tone is mild, normal. None of the lunacy I witnessed last night.
“Sarah, I really do regret losing control. You are the only person I know who can drive me to the brink of breaking.”
He's not being threatening. And if he's prepared to reveal a weakness, then I'm going to find out what it is. Starting with his lair.
“Sure, take me to your home, so I know where to hunt you down when I come to kill you.”
He sits forward, leaning his elbows on his legs, “Do you know, when you say it, I believe you mean it. And you are the only one who could pull it off successfully.”
“Good, consider that your warning. Hurt Dustin, and I will destroy you.”
“And if he hurts you, do I have permission to destroy him?”
“No. This is my choice, not yours.”
“Fair and responsible to a fault. It's very endearing.”
“Keep being a creep, and you're going to have to move me to the bathroom so I don't hurl all over your mama's living room.”
He gives me a contemplative stare, before standing, saying, “Right. Let's go. The sooner we get you there, the sooner you can kill me. And we can finally end this infernal misery.”
Chapter 15
I am such an idiot. I wasn't thinking fast enough. Right in the garage is the betraying Dodge Viper. If I'd only asked Dustin to look in the garage, I'd be with him now, instead of the Lethal Freak.
This time though, if he's telling the truth, which I think he is, I'll be close enough to Dustin to run to him, when my legs finally decide to come back to life.
Starting the Viper, reversing it out the garage not blocked by my car, music drowns out any attempt I'd have for interrogation.
Okay, I'm patient.
Using the journey to study him, noting we are taking the same route Dustin took, I watch him relaxing in his seat as if he was sitting in front of the TV, instead of driving an insanely fast throaty Dodge at a murderous speed.
He's too confident. I wonder how he'd like it if I broke his heart? He's intent on ruining my happiness. Well two can play at that game.
“It's the injection you gave me, isn't it?”
He's too close, putting me down in his monochrome living room. I'm trying to distract myself by staying mentally alert.
“Hmmm?”
Sitting next to me, I now wish I hadn't said anything. He has one arm pinned either side of my legs, paused in his movement to answer me.
“That's why your name works when I'm with you. It's the infection,” I explain.
His eyes deepen, making the lightning flecks in them brighter.
“It's a long story. And in this, I'll admit I am being entirely selfish. Yes, I have tried to engineer your flight response around me, because when you flee, you're impossible to find.”
His focus is sharpening on my lips, “Your fight response, I left intact. I just needed to make sure you wouldn't run away. How else do I ever get you to sit still long enough to have a conversation?”
“A conversation, huh?” I arch my eyebrows, doing the sarcastic 'teeth on lip' suck.
/> His chuckle is delicious.
“You are astute. Far too astute.”
Moving again, he looks at the hearth; it flares to life with snaps and spits.
What the hell?
“What would you like to drink? A hot drink, or alcohol?”
He's standing, winged black eyebrows shadowing his eyes into hollows because the lighting is so low in here.
“Coffee would be great, but I doubt I'd want to drink it through a straw.”
Smiling widely at me, his teeth are really white in comparison to his resin skin tone. Erra suits him. Erik was nothing to look at. When I don't want to kill him, he actually has a very nice smile.
“I'll give you a small amount of antidote to counteract the effects of your sedation.”
“Shoot, you're so dang kind to me. You wouldn't stand a chance against me lucid and adrenalized.”
He loses the smile, twinkles flaring in the hollows of his eyes, “That's what I'm counting on.”
With him stalking away, I'm left alone to study raw stone walls, luxurious cream carpet, low slung couches, and interesting implements on the walls. You'd think they were ranch inspired, but the bridles aren't bridles, the metal hoops aren't from tackle, they're something else. This room is so spacious you could do two cartwheels without touching sides.
The fire crunches and flares, drawing my attention back to the hearth. How did he do that?
The windows reach the floor, and he's got a seriously big telescope aiming out into the night.
Voyeur.
A shadow darts through the arch, snaring my attention. He's walking toward me, having changed out of Erik's trousers, and back into snug black. Hmm, I can smell coffee.
Sitting next to me, he pushes my sleeve up, holding my wrist in a firm warm grip. Discomfort gags me when his other hand flicks over to reveal another syringe.
“Promise me you're not messing me up more,” I say.
“My promise is meaningless. Proof is the only thing that'll satisfy you.”
Not the only thing. But he's next door, and I can't move yet.
He hides the insertion with his thumb, and I'm expecting pain, but none comes.
“Give yourself two minutes, and you'll be able to walk around and hold things, but I doubt you'll have the strength to sprint.”
“This is entirely unfair. What are you exactly? Because as things stand, I couldn't outrun you if I tried, so why not give me a fighting chance?”
“You ask the wrong questions. In your shoes, I would ask who, not what. And I told you, I'd like a little conversation without you trying to claw my skin off.”
My reactions are diluted, and it's with muted frustration that I stare at him with my head heavy against the suede of the couch. He stares back; a wild storm in his gaze.
A man can say so much with just one look. It brands his words, liar.
“It's time for you to let me go, Erra. I'm not yours. I have never been. Praying for it won't make it happen.”
Tragedy shutters his eyes to wasp black, “That's where you're wrong.”
“I'm not wrong.”
He's still holding my arm, the thumb rubbing slowly back and forth, distracting me.
He leans in, his eyes so close I can clearly see each individual constellation in the midnight of his irises.
“If you dared to drop the anger, you'd know I do not lie. You wear your rage like armor. It's the only thing you've got to save you from us.”
“Us? Ha.”
But his faint music is rubbing against my skin, trickling and pooling in the hollows of collar bones, and my heart is pounding. It's fear, not lust. Not a thrill of excitement.
Is it?
“Nice try. Stop messing with my head.”
Except my voice is all windswept, throaty and needy. Ugh. What the hell did he just stick in my arm?
“Are you challenging me to give it my best shot?”
His voice is steady, running true, without a hint of emotion tarnishing his tone.
Am I? Yes, darn it. I am. There's nothing here. Prove it to him.
“Yes,” I say. Smugly defiant; overly confident.
I just secretly flexed my other hand, and the strength is quickening back in my veins. I can fight back!
Keeping my wrist in his grasp, his fingers tighten, deliberately restraining me.
I should have known he'd do this. He depletes the inch of air between us, connecting lips, his other hand curling fingers around my throat, while he savages my mouth like a beast ripping a throat out.
Focusing, closing my eyes; I launch with the tension supporting my back, kneeing him, shoving his shoulder to twist him, slinking under him and onto the floor. I springboard up, and run.
Flung round like a lasso when he doesn't let go, the hand on my wrist flips me off my feet, hurled horizontally through the air and slammed back onto the couch. My breath is coming quick, gripping his hand, I shove back against his arms with every muscle straining.
His laughter swirls around us, his face almost glowing with cheer.
Diving under his elbow, twisting our arms so one of us has to let go, I brace against his back, digging my heels in, my arms contorting in an aching strain, fighting his strength for all I'm worth.
“You lost, Erra. Your kiss did nothing. Let go.”
Roughly drawn back past the underside of his arm, he rams the point of his elbow under my heart, winding me. Leaning into the elbow, his bulging muscles are clearly etched into his black shirt.
“I wasn't finished. Benefit of the doubt, Sarah. Play fair, or I won't either.”
This is tickling my hidden sadist.
I am going to break your heart into so many pieces you'll never fix it. I'm going to yo-yo you into despair.
Slumping against the gray padding, I stare up at him, deliberately injecting guile into my gaze.
“Okay. Try again. Put a little effort into it this time.” My tone is purring, husky, saturated with desire.
I can be anything you want. And just when you trust me, I'm going to slice your throat into a smile.
Arching his eyebrow, his mouth slashes into a half-smile. “Put some effort into it? Cruel and coy, how fetching.”
My breathing is still ragged from connecting to the chair, and it's working magic, because his gaze keeps darting down to my cleavage.
“Try me. Let my arms go, and I'll kiss you. If you're going to be sticking your tongue in my mouth, at least do it with some finesse.” I'm deliberately licking my lips, inhaling so my breasts brush against him, speaking and looking to his mouth as if I can't wait to delve in there and rape it.
His body is rigid tense, but he carefully loosens his grasp, keeping his hands poised to reclaim my wrists if need be. I guess the eye gouge left a lasting impression.
Still staring at his mouth to hide my mild victory from his eyes, I slip my hands to his face, cupping it, and ever so tenderly putting my lips to his.
Snaking closer, pressing myself squashed against him, getting him off balance, I tilt my head, softly sliding my tongue between his lips, waiting for them to part. When they do, I keep pushing forward, falling with him onto the floor, straddling legs on either side of his hips, still delicately holding his face, and kissing him as if it's the last wish of a dying woman.
Drawing back, I depress our lips together, satisfied with the way his breathing's changed, and the slackness of his hands. Using the moment, I lean all my weight on his wrists, pinning knees on his elbows.
Sitting erect, I stare down, “Nope, sorry. This is me, leaving.”
Ready to uncoil the adrenaline in my legs and flee, he rolls me over faster than static shock, and I'm fully held down under his weight.
Shit.
“Okay, let's see if I'm a fast learner.”
He put the growl on, his baritone vibrating through my chest, jamming up my insides with fluffy purring. Slanting his body so it's pressured between my legs, which is my own bloody fault for straddling him in the first place, he's holding
my wrists down hard.
His kiss is murderously slow, so soft and deliberate, my body thrums into ecstatic frenzy.
Closing my eyes, hiding them, I'm holding fast to the belief it's fear, not attraction.
The sound coming off his skin is sending chirping crickets through my veins, and every time I inhale, it's sweet and wild. Melting syrup basting desert sky, sweet.
I'm dissolving from the inside. His soft touch slides over my tongue, flicking my palate, sucking my cheeks in with an inhale, letting them go when he moves back in, vacuuming my tongue into his sedating heat to tease it with a nip between teeth, setting it free only to suck my lip in and do the same thing, snaring it between teeth and sliding a seductive lick over it. Slowly he pulls away, my lip still in his mouth, finally letting it go.
I think I'm dizzy. The world is spinning, yet I know I'm lying still.
I'm mortified by the moan drumming its way out my throat when he slides his tongue from my jaw to my ear, sucking and nibbling the skin on my neck.
His voice is hoarse, barely discernible against the whooshing inside my ears. “If your nipples get any harder, you'll pierce through skin sweetheart.”
My world is tilting on its axis, and I'm afraid to speak. I'm afraid if I try, I'll be sick.
I'm weak.
A hand leaves my wrist, covering my breast, burning through the material and adhering to my skin. It's deceptively divine. If he takes his hand away, my skin will be stuck to it, leaving me raw. He's just going to have to keep it there now, so I don't die from hundred degree burns.
The ache is back. The deep slippery ache of desire. It's hollowing out my hips, eating its way down my legs.
This isn't supposed to happen. This can't be happening.
I barely have the strength to breathe; my chest heaving, fighting to get its equilibrium back; his lips and hands, and heavy pressure, aren't helping.
My ears have shells stuck on them, because I can hear the ocean thrashing. My entire body is snugly blanketed and lethargic.
Maybe it was in the syringe? Maybe he injected me with something that gives me two minutes of strength, and then plummets me back into catatonic.
