by Deanna Chase
This was the moment that every mortal feared.
“Let’s finish this,” he said.
Nausea erupted as slick blood poured from his nose and smeared across my face. “We can play games later.”
When his grip tightened to an excruciating degree, tiny flashes twinkled in my view. Seconds before I lost consciousness, he pushed me back down and pulled my arms over my head once more. I had never felt so helpless, so afraid… so pissed off as I lay there gasping for air.
“Mmm, I enjoy this part,” he muttered, pressing his body against mine. “Going to give you a little extra for the trouble you’ve caused.”
A current flowed between our hands and crawled through me like a living thing. The thick metallic taste of adrenaline was heavy on my tongue and I writhed beneath him—my bare heels dug in the dirt.
“Let me go! What are you doing to me?”
He ran his tongue over his bottom teeth. “Marinating.”
Life was flowing away. I was no longer able to speak, to move, and it felt as if there was no me or him, no grass below, no summer breeze.
I was becoming reacquainted with the universe as if we had been separated at birth. Death was imminent, and my soul knew it.
“Not quite, little girl,” I heard from my detached state of mind. “It’s the giving that makes the taking so much sweeter. And I have perfected the taking to the nth degree.”
Motion sickness overtook me and all I could do was look into that bastard’s eyes—those green, glowing eyes that looked like traffic signals.
“I can taste your fear. Want to know what it tastes like?” His tongue ran across my cheek and my body revolted; I jerked my head as far away from him as I could get. I didn’t want to look at him anymore, so I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out that hardened face and midnight hair.
“Delicious.”
I barely listened, but he kept going. “Humans are such ignorant things. All that struggling will only make it harder on you. Had you complied, you would have been put under like the rest. But now I think I should give you an extra something for the trouble. Call it a tip.”
I snapped out of my trance, focusing on the gleam of a knife held just inches away. Something dark and frightening dripped off the edge of the blade.
Blood. My blood.
The dark-haired man straddled me and observed with detached curiosity.
My hands went to the source of pain on my neck and my life poured out in a frantic, pulsing rhythm. I gasped, pressing my palms tightly against the gaping wound. The jugular was severed and I knew what that meant.
In the last fleeting moment of my life, I did not have enough time to make peace with it. A fire burned within me, not ready to be extinguished—especially not while being watched by a man who wiped his blade on the sleeve of his shirt without a hint of remorse.
God and the devil took a vacation that night, leaving me alone with the shadow of death. My eyes widened in a last attempt to hold me to the waking world. The universe silenced and I felt a million light years of elegance shining on me. A tear spilled out; one that held the entire contents of my life as the last heartbeat stilled my mortal remains.
My body quaked to an explosion that became the very last sound I heard. I prayed for rain; I wanted to feel it one last time. Instead, all I felt was the world slipping away.
That was the last thing I remembered when I died.
Chapter 2
“Pull over. I haven’t eaten since five and I’m craving a monster burger like a motherfucker. Don’t give me your look.”
“We’re not supposed to. You know we could get written up,” a voice replied, seasoned with age and cigars.
“Fuckin’ A, it’s not like she’s got someplace to be.” I heard a tongue click. “Live a little.”
“Fine, but you’re paying, and I want extra fries.”
Brakes in need of repair squealed as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Two doors slammed and I waited until the voices grew distant.
Darkness enveloped me; I was covered in some kind of smooth plastic. Straps secured me in three places and my fingers explored the material. A bag?
Before I went into full-blown panic, I pulled my right arm up near my face to feel for a way out. It was hot and stuffy, and while I was never claustrophobic before, it was a sensation that was rearing its ugly head. Two words came to mind when I pieced together the last few hours: body bag.
That’s when the ugly head of Medusa reared and something raw and primal took over. Using my teeth, fingers, and a shitload of determination, I tore my way free.
I sat up so fast that I almost fainted. White cabinets, a long bench, medical equipment—I was inside of an ambulance. Sickness rolled in my stomach and tightened like a hard fist.
I shuffled out of the bag and stumbled to the rear door so I could look out of the dirty glass window.
There wasn’t a single car in the parking lot except a beat-up VW. Straight ahead, two men stood in line at the counter of a twenty-four-hour burger joint. The older one with the gunmetal-grey hair and potbelly arched his stiff back.
These weren’t familiar surroundings, and I wasn’t planning on hanging around in the back of an ambulance to ask questions. Drawing in a deep breath, I lifted the handle and the door swung wide. The second my bare feet touched the ground, all the tension sprang out like a released coil and everything that tethered me to the world dissipated.
I ran so fast that it felt as if someone was chasing me. My throat ached for water, my lips were cracked, and I struggled for air with each leap I took. Each time I stepped on a rock or stick I winced but kept going.
I’m not sure what kept me moving—fear, anger, or an absence of clarity?
The woods thinned out and my feet hit hard pavement, still warm from the afternoon sun. I was fast approaching a figure up ahead. A man with a slow and steady gait, but no trench coat, so I knew it wasn’t the man who attacked me.
I shot right past him like a streak of lightning.
“Hey!” the voice called out from behind.
I cut across an open field when I heard his quickened footsteps from behind. My knees finally buckled and I collapsed on the dry, brittle grass.
Who was he and why did he do this? I drove my hands into the ground, so pissed off at myself for not having fought him hard enough. I let out a primal scream, but that didn’t make me feel any better. Something else was wrong.
The energy within me was reversing itself like a black hole and I wrapped my arms tightly around my body. It wanted to leave… it wanted to escape. It was fire burning in my veins, life throbbing at my fingertips, and power. I felt it just as sure as I felt a tiny ant crawling on my ankle. That man did something to me—changed me.
The footsteps slid right up behind me.
“Are you all right? You shouldn’t be out in this part of the woods, are you lost?” an out-of-breath voice questioned.
“Stay away.” My voice cracked.
But he didn’t. The demanding tone softened. “I won’t hurt you; do you need help? Look, I don’t have a phone but my house is up the road.”
My knuckles must have been white from the tight little fists I made as I turned to face him.
“Je-sus Christ,” he exhaled.
A beam of light from a flashlight stung my eyes and I flinched.
“Take that off of me,” I croaked. With each hard breath my throat burned, so I tried to swallow.
His arm dropped and the light bounced off the grass, illuminating the man from bottom to top. He was tall and dressed in black, but I felt no threat from him. He wasn’t a cop either, like I initially thought by his questioning. His dark hair was as lovely as those big brown eyes—serious eyes—that were frozen on me. While I saw his mouth moving, the words were drowned out by a steady hum in my head. Stars burned my shoulders as the world became a disappearing speck of light.
“You need help, you need a doctor,” he started but never finished.
The flashlight tumbled to the
ground as he surged forward to collect me in his arms when my body gave out.
I looked at him with fading eyes. “Just leave me here. I don’t need you; I don’t need anyone.”
“I’m not leaving you.” He glowered. “Who did this to you?”
He asked because I was covered in blood.
“I don’t know.”
Images spiraled out of control and my head lost gravity. The last words that fell from my lips were “You need a shave.”
***
Adam was about fifteen minutes from hitting the front door and turning in for the night. But those fifteen minutes changed his life.
He pulled out his pocket flashlight and looked at his watch—just a couple hours left before dawn. Occasionally when he got a little lonely, he paid a visit to Nina. She was single, independent and always willing to let Adam into her bed. Not one of those girls who wanted him to stay the night either. They worked out a quiet arrangement and neither one of them had ever mentioned taking it any further than the bedroom, or the kitchen counter for that matter. Adam wasn’t a complete bastard, but Nina wasn’t the girl he saw himself settling with.
A rock tumbled into the darkness and he slapped a mosquito on his arm. It took only seconds to realize that someone was coming up fast and hard behind him. Twisting his back, he saw a woman running as if she were a gale-force wind.
At least, he thought it was a woman. The figure was cloaked in blood with torn scraps of clothing fluttering behind her. But what made him uneasy as she flew right by him was the panic in those eyes. He looked on, but saw no one chasing her.
Before he knew it, that fierce compulsion to protect overtook him and his legs were pumping right behind her and closing in fast.
She stumbled in the grass and even from behind he could almost smell death and fear on her—a scent he knew too well. Nothing ever happened in this small town, that’s why Adam came here—to get away from all that. Except for a few local kids shooting off fireworks and setting the grass on fire, it was a quiet place to live.
Adam stared at the young woman in his arms just after she fell unconscious, now able to see the full extent of her condition. Her shirt was cut open all the way down the front, blood was smeared across her neck, and her hair was matted with it.
He knelt to the ground and gently put her down, cradling her neck so that he could scan her body for injuries with the flashlight. A quick check revealed a steady, strong pulse—not typical for someone who lost a large quantity of blood.
His brow furrowed when he brushed her hair aside. Blood everywhere, but no cuts or puncture wounds. Was this the face of a killer or a victim?
She moaned. Adam went still as he looked at her face again.
A lovely face. His pulse raced.
Light freckles were splashed over her cheekbones, and her lips had a pronounced Cupid’s bow. She wasn’t the kind of beauty splashed all over fashion magazines, but the kind of girl who could have made a man blush with a compliment because if she said it… she would mean it.
Intelligence carved her features, not at all dolled up with jewelry and expensive makeup.
Poor girl, what kind of sick motherfucker would do something like this? But then, Adam had seen everything.
I should call the cops, he thought.
He glanced over his shoulder; if someone was after her then they weren’t safe out here. He couldn’t shake the imploring look in her eyes before she fainted, the ones that searched for meaning.
Adam wiped his brow with his bicep and knelt on one knee. This wasn’t the kind of attention he wanted to draw to himself, not the kind of trouble he needed. She would be better off if he called the cops and left her here.
He scratched his chin and watched her face—worried brows pinched together and left a tiny little line in the center.
She looked scared.
That triggered something hardwired and primal in him—he needed to protect her. Didn’t know who she was, where she came from, or what kind of trouble she was in.
Adam pulled the fragile body into his arms, into his life, and walked into the unknown.
Fuck it.
Chapter 3
There are few things in life that are worth waking up to: sex, the dark spices of freshly brewed coffee, and bacon.
Sex didn’t wake me up.
I smacked my lips, rousing from my sleep with an eager stretch. The bacon smelled delicious and I couldn’t wait. I was starving.
Maybe it was the feel of the mattress, or the one hundred thread count on those sheets that tipped me off, but at some point in that dreamy state, I jolted awake. The sheets were battleship grey, but not my sheets.
Not my bed.
The décor gave off a very masculine feeling with its light grey walls—empty of decorative items except for a single photograph of two children standing in front of a cabin in the snow. The sun bled into the room, leaving a heavy veil of light across the bed.
I touched the long white T-shirt I was wearing that smelled like sunshine. Where the hell was I?
Pulling myself out of the bed, I went into the adjacent bathroom and felt for the light switch. When it flipped on—I couldn’t believe it.
I didn’t recognize my own reflection. Inky hair spilled past my broad shoulders; green eyes the color of polished glass swallowed me up with their gaze.
So there I stood, for I couldn’t count how many minutes—staring, waiting—as if by some magical spell I would reappear or wake up.
But nothing happened.
I don’t know how long a person can hold their breath, but I couldn’t remember in that moment ever taking one. Sure enough, the hair was real—smooth and silky like a newborn. Was it possible I was dead and this was the afterlife? Maybe when I was running down that road I was a ghost escaping from my body.
Yet, how could I be a ghost? I could touch things, feel things, I even slipped on a red baseball cap I found on a hook by the wall and tucked in my hair. Ghosts can’t wear baseball caps.
Can they?
I continued staring at my eyes, waving my hand as if I would catch the figure in the mirror as an imposter. They were vibrant and intoxicating… yet strangely familiar.
“You’re awake.”
I jumped and gripped the sink with my left hand.
A male figure framed the door, flushed in the cheek. He was strikingly handsome; a strong, charismatic face lurked behind some of the unshaven stubble that shadowed the lines of his square jaw. His dark brown hair was a thick and luscious length, the kind you wanted to curl your fingers in. A heavy brow lowered with concern over his earthy brown eyes. I never saw a man who looked equally boyish and stern.
I looked down the length of his weathered jeans to his bare feet and his posture relaxed with a near hint of a smile.
Grabbing a pair of scissors, I held them out defensively. “Who are you?”
“Adam,” he politely replied.
I was three seconds from going batshit after catching my reflection again.
“You don’t have anything to be afraid of.”
It was the kind of thing you would idly say to someone. But it was the way he said it—the conviction in his tone told me that his words were a fact that no one should doubt.
“Take all the time you need. I have food ready when you’re hungry. This is my home and I brought you here, remember?”
“How come I’m not at a hospital?”
It was a stupid question because there was no trace of a wound on my neck.
“If you want me to take you, I will.” He closed the door without another word and left me to spend more quality time questioning my sanity.
The sound of my hands brushing along my arms caught the attention of the man standing in the kitchen by the sink. He shut the water off and turned around, wiping his large hands on a tiny white dishtowel.
“Sit. I’ll bring you a plate of food.”
He gestured to the oval table surrounded by flimsy chairs with metal legs. It reminded me of someth
ing I saw in an Ikea magazine once. The chairs were curiously small for a man of his size and stature. I wrapped my fingers around the back of one as I watched him set down a plate of sausages and toast.
“How long have I been here?”
“Three days.”
“What? That can’t be,” I whispered in disbelief.
A heavy finger wagged at my chair as he went back to pull something from the fridge. “Maybe you need to sit down and eat first.”
I eased into the chair, looking around at the small home. The kitchen was closed off with a row of cabinets that served as a divider between rooms. I faced the sink and stove, the fridge was farther to my left.
His approach was slow and calculated as he leaned forward to set a cold glass of juice on the table before taking the chair across from me. Our proximity was closer than I cared for, so I scooted back. The sausages captivated my attention, taunting me to take a bite, and he reached out, nudging them forward.
“Take all you want.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I mumbled.
One sausage was devoured in roughly five ravenous chews and one giant swallow. He leaned forward on the table with his fingers laced together loosely and his head tilted. I didn’t feel threatened by his demeanor, but I was still on edge. While he took me in and fed me, I still knew nothing about this man named Adam. Our eyes met and he lowered his gaze to allow me privacy to eat. But I could see a smile play across his features as he considered what I said.
After three swallows of juice and another two sausage patties, I eased off when my stomach did a somersault. It was delicious going down, but I didn’t want it to come back up for an encore.
“How did I get clean?”
He bit the inside of his cheek. “I waited a day but you didn’t wake up; it wasn’t right to leave you like that.” He ruffled his fingers through his hair with a look of embarrassment before his eyes hardened. “Who were you running from?”
Before I could think of what to say, he continued with the interrogation.
“Whose blood was it?”
I touched my unscarred neck. “What do you mean whose was it?” I didn’t like the accusation, or the fact I couldn’t appropriately explain how it was mine and yet I had no injuries. “Why don’t we start with introductions before inquisitions? I’m Zoë Merrick.”
