by Kim Faulks
His face. His voice…I’ve got you now, Harlow.
And another…War…the word sent shivers down my spine. War lingered, savage and hungry, and the battlefield was me.
I stumbled for the shower as acid spilled from my mouth. My spine bowed, the ache driving an unseen talon into my mind. Soft padding met my fingers as I skimmed my head.
Agony flared, tearing across my scalp. I glanced at my arms, to the pale coverings in the faint glow of the moon. I was covered with dressings, from my belly to my arms…and my head.
My legs refused to work, shuddering and shaking as I tried to stand. I made it to the basin and reached for the box of matches. One strike and I touched the flare to the candle, two more illuminated the room.
The faint orange glow caught the shine in the mirror. I lifted my gaze to find haunted eyes staring back at me.
Black nebulous eyes like billowing clouds of volcanic ash.
What the Hell happened to me?
The room swayed, blending past into present. I could still hear the roar of the audience, still see their filthy faces, smiles wide, kill her! Kill her!
I clutched Kenya to my chest. Her whispered words came back to me.
You have to save them.
Those words nailed me to the spot.
She needed me, she hinged everything on…me. The book, the plague…
And I failed her. I failed them all.
Tears spilled as I clawed my head. The dressing lifted, pulling strands of hair taut as I jerked it free.
I wanted it off. I wanted it all off.
I wanted me hurting, feeling anything but this ache—this emptiness.
The wad of cotton came free. I cast it into the basin and yanked the tape on my arms.
You don’t want to do that.
My heart leaped, fingers stilled. I wrenched my gaze over my shoulder to the shadows in my room.
The voice was familiar…this is the last one, Harlow.
I tried to still the shake in my voice. “Who’s there?”
Orange flames flickered, casting amber shadows against the walls. I yanked the dressing and reached for my clothes. I stared at the green surgical shirt as I dragged it over my head, and then shoved down the sweats.
They weren’t my clothes…and this wasn’t my body.
This me was numb, homeless, and trapped inside familiar flesh. Goosebumps raced as I unhooked my bra and stepped into the shower. The water was fast…and cold.
A shudder tore free with the shock, nipples tightened, puckering under my touch as I dropped my head back and stepped under the spray.
Do you know how long it’s been since I had chicken?
“Three years,” the answer slipped from my lips as heat flared.
Memories surfaced, my bedroom…my bed.
Is she ready? The question sent a quake through my body.
No, but she will be.
I remember them now, ghostly forms in a dream. Heat flared, carving a path to the valley of my thighs as their touch was resurrected in my mind.
Candle flames flickered as a gust of wind billowed the curtains.
I’m on fire where he touched me. I can still feel his warmth on my skin, and his hunger in my mind. He came for me, came to take me away from all the hurt and the hate. I want to fight him. I should be fighting him. But I’m ablaze, burning from the inside out.
Through the blur of the water I searched for the marks on my skin—there were none. But I knew where they dwelled. I knew where I’d find them. I pressed my fingers to the bone between my breasts and felt the ache.
That’s where they were, hidden, secret…a knowing only for the two of us.
Shadows moved behind the flapping curtain. Those eyes…those eyes came to life as he stepped from the bedroom to find me. And I knew in that moment I’d lost.
I can’t look away, mesmerized by the predatory way he moved, and yet there’s an air of fear. I can see it in his eyes now…I can see it all.
He wants me…
He needs me.
They all do.
He reached for his shirt and dragged it over his head. Buckle rattled, jeans shoved from his waist.
My heart thundered, feet moved, stepping backwards as he dragged the plastic curtain all the way to the side.
“See me,” he whispered. “See me, Harlow.”
And with the sound, another curtain parted, only this was the inky darkness of my mind. Fragments of memories slipped into place. Strong arms held me close as we left the remains of the lab behind…I remember now, remember the green flash of brilliance as Kris blackened and crumbled where he stood.
He was disease, this man who saved me…this…Horseman of the Apocalypse.
He was the enemy…he was the dark—and I…I fought for the light.
I fought for redemption.
I fought for God.
Hoarse words tore free. “What do you want from me?”
“Protect you, love you. Use you, and be used by you,” his words echoed, slipping from the past.
He touched me again. Fingers skimmed the length of my spine, taking their sweet time, and lingered at the small of my back.
“Come,” he whispered as his fingers crested the curve of my ass and slipped lower, only this time it’s no command—this time it’s a plea for release.
But not his…mine.
I couldn’t breathe. My lungs clenched tight. I coughed and tasted ash as his fingers dipped. His hand cupped my breast. My nipple slid under the gold band. The ring came to life, filling the shower stall with green.
“Only for you,” Pestilence murmured. “The ring comes to life only for you.”
And somewhere in the apartment, Angel howled.
The mournful sound sent a tremor along my spine. My body tightened with his touch. Heat raced under the freezing spray.
His hand cupped my breast as he slid his other fingers between my legs. I arched my spine as a heavy thud tore through the apartment.
I could hear her now, out there—my Angel, my warrior. She was fighting the horseman…fighting for me.
“Come.”
My feet quaked, sliding wider on their own. Fingers pinched my nipple, molding, forcing my flesh to yield through his fingers and spill against his palm.
Savage growls echoed through the space, a backdrop of terror as his other hand found my center. “Come for me.”
I shuddered, narrowing in to the vicious sound of her fighting, and the soft touch against my core. This was a battle, a cruel, merciless war—a fight not just for survival—a fight for soul.
“Stop,” I growled, but my voice mirrored my words—weak…spineless. “Stop this…”
My breast burned, nipple plump and swollen from the assault of his fingers before he left it to the mercy of the icy water, grabbed my shoulder, and pushed.
My body bowed, yielding to this monster with the perfect face. The icy spray hit the nape of my neck, plastering strands of my hair to cover my face as I bent at the waist, legs splayed wide.
He was nowhere and everywhere, touching, caressing, sliding against my core to rub higher. Lightning raced…and that storm—that violent, wild storm still brewed.
But it wasn’t the tempest of vengeance in the sky. This storm was lust and rage all tangled in the howling wind inside me. Lightning cracked through my mind. In this moment, I was the storm—I was the vengeance.
Hate raged inside me, hate and loneliness—and there was no redemption—not in this moment—not for me. I was cast from Heaven, beaten and bloody…I was broken.
“That’s the way.”
I shuddered, hands hitting the wall, fingers splayed wide. I was holding on…holding on as he slipped inside. My heartbeat raced, filling my mind with thunder.
“You can’t fight me,” he whispered. “So just give in.”
His fingers…I shuddered…his fingers circled the tight nub high on my crease.
“Do you want this?”
I couldn’t answer—couldn’t scream, o
nly tremble as my body pulsed. He felt the tremor, muscles tightened around his fingers as he slipped inside.
“I want,” he whispered as my knees trembled. To use you, and be used by you…
One knee buckled, and then the other, but I was captured in the fall. I was lifted, and not by God’s hands—but by his.
Strong arms held me as he moved. My feet left the shower floor, hands found his arms as he turned me, and I was lost in the eclipse of his gaze.
Thick, dark lashes clumped together, a rivulet of water carved a path along his nose. I’d never seen anyone so breathtaking, so perfect…like a god himself.
He gripped my waist, hands slipping until he dropped lower to grip the back of my thigh. I was lifted, weightless like a bird, as he twisted the tap and ended the spray.
“You’re not lost, Harlow,” he murmured, and carried me from the shower, and into salvation. “You were never lost—not to me.”
Power raced like a drug through my veins. He was my Nirvana—my speed. He was the one I’d gone to, the one I begged—the one I’d pleaded with. I searched for him, but it was he who found me.
Midnight air licked my skin as he held me against his chest and strode from the bathroom. I could almost taste the night, cold, sweet, and cruel.
Pages fluttered near my bed as he lowered me to the covers. Cotton sheets stuck to my skin. Angel’s growls filled the room as he loomed above me. Drops of water smacked my skin as he leaned down.
His lips were fire against my skin, brushing my shoulder and then my breast. White paper flicked with a frenzy. I turned my head to stare at the open Bible beside my bed.
Reach for it…see if it saves you this time…the words raced through my mind as Pestilence lifted his head and seized me with his gaze. There’s a flicker of terror, bone deep, hungry, terrifying…and I’m seized with urgency to turn and run.
My nails find the comforter, fabric crumpling under my fist. I grip the covering and yank myself higher, millimeter by millimeter toward that sound.
Fluttering…fluttering…fluttering.
His knees press against mine, forcing me wider and wider. I’m drawn to his power as muscles ripple…
Fingers reached higher, falling from the side of the bed. I skimmed the hard surface of my bedside cabinet as he gripped my hips.
There was no waiting, no warning, only one body meeting the other as his cock found my entrance and drove in deep. My spine arched, fingers helpless…reaching for the pages as he withdrew, only to thrust again.
The hard brunt of his body shoved me higher. Stars exploded in my eyes. Through the glare those white pages fluttered, like one last call…one last plea.
My nail caught the edge of a page before the paper buckled.
The fire…my eyelids fluttered…God, the fire.
The greedy lick burned as he buried deep, stealing hope, stealing everything. I was lost in the feel of his body as I turned to meet that hunger in his gaze—lost in the fight, lost in the darkness.
I was drowning as my fingers curled and drew away…down…down…down…
Down to the darkness, as outside my window lightning severed the midnight sky.
I fisted the sheets as the hunger flared, pulsing, savage, and cruel. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t anywhere near enough. I needed more, more hands, more fingers…more. I reached for him, raking my nails along his shoulder, and cried out.
Energy raced, tearing through my body with a heady pulse as he gave a brutal thrust and stilled.
In that moment, I saw them…all four of them surrounding me, touching me, filling me.
They gripped me, held me, rocked me as I floated.
“My little lamb,” Pestilence murmured, but the sound echoed through my head. Different voices, different tones. They were hungry and savage—they were cold and removed. They were the fires and floods, and hunger and disease all wrapped up in a hurricane—and I was the eye in their storm.
Strong arms wrapped around me. His body was heavy, plunging me deeper into the mattress.
“There’s no escaping, Harlow,” hoarse words were carried on the gust of his breath. “We came for you.”
19
Sunlight poured in through my open window, and a soft breeze followed. I cracked open my eyes and felt the world slowly return.
There was a bird singing, a piercing high-pitched call, and the longer I lay there…the longer I listened, the more ominous the cry.
The sun ebbed with a passing cloud, darkening my room as a soft snore beside me drew my gaze.
My heart surged with the sight of bare flesh. Legs entwined, mine…his…
His hand rested on my belly, fingers splayed as though he held claim to the flesh underneath. That thought filled me as last night filled my mind.
A body was a body.
A soul a soul.
But they were still mine…
I lifted my gaze to his face. Perfect lips resting closed. He had the face of pure beauty, pale skin, long lashes…a chiseled jaw. Movement gripped me as he muttered something in his sleep. “Never tell her…never tell.”
I was captured by the lies, was I the her he spoke of? I eased my foot from the sheets and ground my teeth. It was hard to untangle yourself from a lion, when he had the first faint stirrings of your heart between his teeth.
Inch by inch, I eased my leg from under his, waiting for the moment his eyes would flutter open. But his breath never changed as I gently gripped his wrist and slid from the bed.
My feet touched the floor, and I slowly rose to stand beside the tangled covers indented by our bodies.
There was no word for this. Not lust, not weakness—not love…definitely not love. There was no word for the way my body betrayed me, even standing here, my mouth was dry…my stomach aflutter.
His fingers curled, clawing the bedsheets, searching for my skin.
My will was weak. So fucking weak.
You’re stronger than this, Harlow. Dad’s voice filled me. There’s always a second chance, and a third, and a fourth, as long as you don’t give up—never give up.
The faint flutter of pages seized me, like the desperate call of a white flag. Never give up. Never stop fighting. I grabbed a set of clothes from the top of the dresser and headed for the bathroom. The further away I was from him, the more I could think—and the more I could breathe. He was still the darkness…he was still the plague.
I sat on the toilet and hurried with my panties and clean jeans. The thin straps skimmed my shoulders as I hooked the bra clasp behind my back. There was still time for me to undo this, still time to set things right.
The Calling still raged inside me, it pulsed against my barriers, urging me to do what was right. I hurried, rose, and made for the bedroom on the other side of the bathroom and stared at Sarah’s things. We shared a lot of memories, and a lot of fights. We shared things I’d taken for granted, parents who loved us…a strong family bond.
But the one thing we’d struggled with—the one thing that divided us more than anything, was our DNA…that was the only thing we didn’t share.
She was her mother’s daughter, and I was a castaway, a child of neglect, left abandoned at the entrance to a police station on the coldest day in December.
It was those words she said to me as we watched our Mom die that haunted me now as I crossed her room and headed down the hall. It’s always been you, Harlow…always been you.
The hard snuff under the laundry door drew me as I stepped into the kitchen. I crouched outside and thrust my fingers under the door. “I hear you, girl. It’s me, Harlow, and I hear you. Be patient now…just a little longer.”
A plan was forming in my head, one built on the strength of trust.
I’d made a decision in that church. I’d traded the cold offerings of darkness for the cruel glare of the light.
I knew what I’d chosen. This wasn’t an easy path, but it was right—it was honest—it was the only one my heart would allow—the only one that made sense.
&
nbsp; The only one that had hope.
I dragged my fingers free and rose from the doorway. Angel gave a sharp whine and then was quiet. It wouldn’t be long now…not long at all.
I paused at the kitchen counter, at the mess of half-used notepads, pens, and junk piled in a corner, and pulled a small sheet of paper free. I scribbled the note and signed my name, and then made for the hallway, my steps light, filled with pure purpose.
The soft echo of his snores reached me before I stepped into my room. He’d shifted, now rolled onto his back, his arms splayed wide.
I didn’t let my gaze linger, didn’t see the hard curve of his body under the sheets—didn’t relive that moment where his body collided with mine—didn’t feel the rush of desire…the almost violent way he held me even standing here now.
Or the way his darkness called to mine.
I cast the small slip of paper to the bed beside him and turned away.
There was no stopping this now, no second thoughts.
There were no thoughts at all, only action, only retribution, as I made for the front door of the building.
I stilled at the entrance, where the rows of heavy boots and dainty shoes still filled the space. I couldn’t move them, not then…not ever. They’d taunt me, this sight, as though any moment they’d all come clamoring through the front door of our home and fill this ache with the sounds of raucous laughter.
But it wasn’t the shoes I needed. It was the tall cupboard designed for umbrellas and sodden coats. I gripped the door and yanked, there were no bright yellow slickers in here anymore. I reached for the sawed-off shotgun with one hand and a box of cartridges with the other.
I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but if it did, I was ready…
God still lingered in my heart.
I gripped the chain on the front door and eased open the lock. The tiny clicks of links on links filled the room as I twisted the deadbolt and eased open the front door.
I stared at the wide, thick tubing that ran in a line through the building, a makeshift catchment Dad had made before he was gone. The drain fed the water through filters he made from charcoal into the basement store in a room filled with barrels.
I had enough water to last another three full years before I had to start looking—if I survived that long.
