Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  He nodded. “Come on, you heard me. Now, hurry up. It don’t flow when you’re dead. So, we gotta do it now.”

  She closed her eyes in disgust. Oh, my God, what a freak!

  “And, don’t go getting ideas about trying to jab me, instead.”

  “Of course not.” She opened her eyes and glared at him. “I’m not stupid, you know.” She already knew how well something like that would work out for her. But, now that she had the knife, she’d be damned if she gave it back. She just hoped he didn’t have another one hidden on him somewhere.

  She extended her arm, and slashed at her wrist. Quickly. Before she had time to think about it. Then she tossed the knife over her shoulder, and into the grass.

  “What the fuck?” Gregg sat up so fast, he was almost a blur.

  But a blur with a grip like steel. He caught her about the throat with one hand and demanded. “What did you do that for?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know,” Cara started to babble, trying not to stare at his other hand—the one pulled back in a fist, poised to strike at her face. She was shaking with fear and praying she didn’t blurt out the truth, that keeping the knife away from him seemed like her best bet of maybe staying alive. Because, now, when push came to shove, it had finally hit her, she did not want to die. She really didn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, almost sobbing now, as he continued to hold her and glare. Her hands fluttered about, trying to stroke his face, his shoulders, his hands and arms. Trying to placate him any way she could. She wasn’t sure which hand frightened her most. Either he’d squeeze and squeeze and squeeze; or he’d just begin to punch her. Oh, God. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–”

  “Shut up. It’s okay.” He sounded distracted. His gaze kept cutting to her wrist, and his eyes had this funny glazed look to them now. “C’mere,” he murmured as his fist relaxed. He let go of her throat and took hold of her shoulders, and sank back down again; lying flat on the crypt, pulling her down on top of him.

  Then he took her bloody arm and put it to his mouth and began to suck. The pull of his mouth on her wrist was just about the weirdest sensation Cara had ever known. But it was so much better than anything he’d done to her so far, she could have cried in relief, even despite the shudder which wracked her. She felt cold; an icy chill that extended right down to her bones, and which just seemed to keep getting worse. Gregg opened his coat and wrapped it around them both, wrapped his arms around her back and waist holding her close. She let her head fall on his chest as she closed her eyes and relaxed, safe for the moment, and too exhausted to fight anymore.

  An odd buzzing had begun at the base of her spine, barely noticeable at first, but growing in strength. It crackled and sparked like an electrical current, while she tried her best to ignore it. Before she knew what was happening, it had traveled up her back, to the top of her head. Then something seemed to pop. The next instant, Cara found herself floating above her body, staring down at the crypt.

  Pretty girl. Scary man, she thought, as she watched. The girl’s body seemed to shudder one, final time and her hand fell from the man’s face.

  His eyes looked glazed and groggy as they opened. There was blood smeared all around his mouth. He licked at his lips, as he glanced at the girl in his arms, his expression unreadable, just faintly puzzled. The girl’s face was white in the moonlight, her eyes were closed. He touched her hair, briefly, and then reached for her arm, placed it back across his face and closed his eyes once more.

  Cara felt a faint twinge of regret. So, this was it. Obviously, he planned to drain her dry, to use her up; to suck at her wrist ‘til her veins collapsed and her heart gave out. There didn’t seem any more reason to hang around now, when it would all be over soon. She wondered if she’d shrivel up like a raisin as it happened, and she was sure she didn’t need to see that! So, she turned her back on the scene below her, and let her thoughts die. Winking out like a star, as she vanished into darkness.

  Chapter Five

  Gregg lay back in on his bed while he waited for Cara to finish up in the bathroom. It was a good room, he decided as he glanced around, still his favorite room in the house. Everything somber and focused. And dark. Dark red walls, black furniture, black drapes; both at the windows and around the tall, four poster bed. Two leather arm chairs upholstered a deep, delicious maroon, and a black marble coffee table were set in front of the brick fireplace in the seating area; barely visible now, they could be cast in sharp relief with the flick of a single switch. But, normally, only the sheets on his bed stood out—virginal white, to show every spot and stain. So that nothing would go unnoticed. They’d be a bitch to wash, they’d never come completely clean. But, then again, why would he even try? He had two dozen identical sets stocked in his closets, and he could always buy more. The used ones fit nicely in the manor’s old furnace.

  Gregg liked the room’s bleakness, its starkness. Most of all, at the moment, he liked the way it had shrugged off Cara’s attempts to blunt its edges.

  In much the same way he had, he supposed. She’d tried to soften him up, too, hadn’t she? To butter and warm him, to wrap him around her finger. She hadn’t gotten what she wanted in that department, and she never would. Funny, she hadn’t figured that out yet.

  She was stubborn, though. He’d give her that. Stubborn and stupid and, despite all that, surprisingly amusing, at times. In fact, she was surprising in a lot of ways. And that, more than anything else was the reason she was still alive.

  He’d certainly had no plans to let her live, for even another hour, back in the graveyard. She’d been sobbing quietly, growing tiresome, and, then... then she’d surprised him….

  “Let me touch you,” she offered, and he’d raised his head in surprise.

  What did she just say? She appeared serious. In fact, she appeared quite eager. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had volunteered to give him a blow job, in fact, he didn’t think anyone ever had—not without being told to. Generally, that’s what he expected from his women; that they do just what he told them to do. If they were smart, they usually figured that out soon enough. But, smart or not, they almost never offered to do anything more than what he told them, except as a last ditch effort to stay alive. And they certainly never appeared to enjoy any of it.

  “I mean it,” Cara urged. “Honest. Whatever you want. Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

  “Whatever I want?” he repeated, suspecting a trick. Of course she’d do what he wanted. She’d do that, or else, but–

  “I’ll make you feel good,” she promised. “I’ll get you off, I swear. Just let me up and you’ll see.”

  He frowned in sudden fury. Was that her game, then? She thought he had a problem, and he’d be so grateful to her for fixing him that he’d let her live? How disappointingly predictable. “You think I have problems with that?” If that was the case, she was in for a big surprise.

  “N-no, of course not,” she stammered, looking surprised at the question. “I just want to touch it.”

  Oh, she did, huh? Well, who was he to argue with that? “All right,” Gregg agreed, eyes narrowing as he continued to study her face. He still wasn’t sure what her game was. Did she think she could take him off guard and run? Well, that would be really stupid of her. He reached for the scarf and knotted it around her neck, his lips curving upward, in a faint smile as he watched her wince at his touch. “Don’t get any ideas about running away”

  “I won’t,” she promised, sighing happily as he rolled off her. Then, she closed her eyes and just lay there.

  Okay. Not planning to run. Hmm. He waited for almost a minute, but she didn’t move. He tugged on the scarf. “Hey. What’d you do—go to sleep, or something?”

  She opened her eyes and got quickly to her knees, still looking way too happy, way too pleased with herself. “I was just... taking a break.”

  He laughed softly, still wondering what she was up to. “I’ll tell you when it’s time for
a break. Come on, get busy.”

  She scooted a little closer and reached for his pants. Maybe she was planning on taking him by surprise some other way—by biting his cock, perhaps, or squeezing his balls. Well, bring it on, bitch. He didn’t mind rough, he didn’t mind it, at all. But she wouldn’t get the best of him playing things that way. And he was damn sure she would not like what she’d get in return. He had teeth, too, didn’t he?

  Maybe, he’d make a little test—just to see what she was up to. “Wait a minute,” he said, stopping her as she was about to take hold of his zipper. Before you do that–”

  She froze and looked at him in surprise, a little unsure again.

  He pulled his knife from his pocket and tossed it to her. “There’s something else I want—even more.”

  She stared at it for a moment, her face wiped suddenly blank. “Wh- wh- what am I doing w- with th- this?”

  “Open your wrist. I want to drink your blood.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Wh- wh- wh- what?”

  He nodded, not really caring for her reaction; because this was something he really did want, something he wasn’t likely to get without some measure of co-operation on her part. It was also one of the very few things that would be lot less pleasurable for him if she struggled, or fought him. “Come on, you heard me. Now, hurry up.” He was glad he had thought of it. It had been so long, so very long. And now—he just couldn’t wait.

  “Don’t go getting ideas about trying to jab me, instead,” he warned, giving her notice, in case that was on her mind.

  She tossed her head and looked at him angrily. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  That was a matter of opinion. He watched happily as she fumbled with the knife. Hurry, hurry, he urged silently, his anticipation growing as she bared her wrist, as she chopped at her arm, with quick impatient gestures and then– “What the fuck?” He watched in horror as the blade flashed once in the moonlight and then arced off into the dark.

  He came off of the stone in an instant and grabbed her by the throat, ready to pound her to paste with his fist. She’d just turned what had been a toy, a tool, a weapon, into something far more dangerous to him. Into evidence for the police to recover.

  “What’d you do that for?” he growled, trying to think. He’d have to wait for morning, wouldn’t he? To find it.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know,” Cara babbled, crying and shaking, trying to soothe him with her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I–”

  “Shut up. It’s okay.” And maybe it would be. It was an ordinary knife, after all, not easy to trace. Plus, it had her prints on it, now. He was having trouble focusing on the possible problems, anyway; the smell of her blood was having its usual lure. Fuck it. He’d worry about the damn knife later. For right now– “C’mere,” he murmured as he lay back down again and pulled her on top of him.

  A moment later, he had what he wanted. As the taste of her blood rolled over his tongue, he felt his cock stir and harden even more. His muscles tightened, his nerves burned, his skin flushed with pleasure. It was bliss, nirvana, heaven on earth.

  She started to shiver, and he couldn’t tell why; could be shock, could be cold, could be fear, or pain, or even pleasure. He didn’t really care. But, all the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep her warm for a while. She’d grow cold soon enough.

  He wrapped his coat around her and held her tight—keeping her right where he wanted her, while he took what she had to give. Her head dropped to his chest as she settled into his embrace—and that was another surprise; the way she snuggled against him, as though she, too, had found her peace. Her breath grew even and steady and slow; and he felt himself relaxing into its rhythm.

  Then her hand fell away from his face.

  He opened his eyes, feeling groggy. Feeling not quite sated, not yet content—but, a lot closer to it than he’d been in years. He glanced at the girl in his arms, wondering just what she thought she was doing. Had he told her to stop? Did she think he was done with her already? Her face was white and peaceful, her eyes were closed. He touched her hair, her face, but she didn’t move. She was sleeping?

  And that was perhaps the biggest surprise of all. He’d never had anyone fall asleep in his arms. Maybe she really wasn’t afraid to die?

  He stared at her for a moment longer, and then reached for her arm. Placing it back on his mouth, he closed his eyes once more, sighing in contentment, as he did.

  There was only one small problem, marring his happiness. It would be no fun at all to kill her now, while she was sleeping and at peace. It would be boring and a waste and it would end this.

  It would end it for a while, too, since it was rare to find such a willing host. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt him to keep her for a while? A little while, to be sure, but even another couple of nights offered so much entertainment value... .

  The bathroom door opened. “It’s about time,” Gregg muttered, as Cara finally emerged, dressed in a filmy purple nightgown that was too bright for the room. “Is that new?”

  Cara nodded and smiled, pirouetting to give him a view from all sides. “Do you like it?”

  Gregg shrugged. “It’s okay.” It was deep cut, front and back, and almost completely see-through—which didn’t do that much for him. If he wanted to see her naked, he could. Any time he wanted. Besides, it wasn’t her looks that interested him so much. Other than her hair. He’d always liked that.

  She was a little too thin, a little too small for his tastes; and this outfit only seemed to emphasize those flaws. Still, there were more than a couple of men in his flock for whom she’d become a total obsession. They might like this look, he thought, cocking his head to the side as he considered the matter. In fact, it might be very interesting to let them see her like this, to see how much more they could squirm, how much tighter he could get them wound. He might even let them have her, at some point. But, not yet.

  “Just okay?” Cara’s brow crinkled up in disappointment, as she looked down at herself. “I thought it was pretty.”

  Gregg sighed. “Yes, you’re a very pretty little slut. Now, why don’t you come over here and show me what you bought for me?”

  “Maybe this is your present,” she suggested, smiling slyly as she spun in place again.

  “Good,” Gregg replied feeling more than a little annoyed. What the hell did she do with all his money? This better not be all she brought back with her today. “Then after I’m finished ripping it off you, I’ll wrap it around your neck and use it to strangle you. How does that sound?”

  Cara sighed. “You know I don’t like it when you talk like that,” she muttered, pouting just a little as she bent down and pulled a couple of gift bags from behind the dresser where she’d hidden them. “Okay, here,” she said, extending the smaller one toward him.

  He grabbed her wrist and made her sit beside him on the bed while he opened the bag. Buried amid an annoying amount of tissue paper was a set of padded, red leather handcuffs. He pulled them from the bag and dangled them from his finger while he looked at her questioningly. “And who are these supposed to be for?”

  “Well, they’re for you, of course,” she answered, frowning just a little. “I figured you’d like them. They’re pretty and– Well, you know, they’re made especially to be used in bed. I know how much you like that kind of thing, so…”

  Pretty, huh? Yeah, pretty and soft. His eyes narrowed in displeasure as he studied them. They’d be as much fun to use on her as velvet whips—which was not at all. And he was quite sure they had a hidden release, too. “I already have handcuffs,” he reminded her, not that he supposed she needed reminding. “Perfectly good handcuffs. Nice, shiny, stainless steel ones. With a key. These don’t need a key to unlock them, do they?”

  * * *

  Cara squirmed. Fuck. She’d had a feeling he’d be like this about those handcuffs, hadn’t she? Still, she had to try. “Well, you can have more than one kind, can’t you?” she asked, pouting at him. “It’s
called variety.” She hated those fucking cuffs of his. She’d hated them right from the start...

  She’d been wearing the handcuffs when she woke up in his bed, for the very first time; the handcuffs and nothing else, although it had taken her a few minutes to notice either of those facts. She didn’t even know where she was and, at first, she thought she was home having a really bad dream. Until she tried to turn over and her wrist stuck.

  She tugged on the cuff as she stared at the unfamiliar room, still trying to piece things together. The place was incredibly ghetto, blacked out windows and dingy as shit with a ceiling that appeared at least two stories high.

  Where am I? How did I get here? And, Jesus, what’s happened to me?

  She felt sick and cold and everything—just everything, everywhere—hurt. Every last, single part of her body was aching and sore. Especially her arm, where she’d cut herself. She lifted it in front of her face. It felt hot and swollen. It was throbbing and... it was bandaged. She stared at the gleaming white strip wrapped carefully around her arm, at all the neat little knots that held the gauze in place. What the hell? Since when did rapists and murderers tend to their victims’ wounds? There was something seriously whacked about this.

  “Good. You’re awake.”

  At the sound of Gregg’s voice, Cara started to shake. Her heart hammered in her ears. She wanted to disappear, to fade right into the wall. Her mind might not remember what he’d done to her, but her body sure seemed to have a pretty good idea about it.

  Oh, God, not again. Please, please, not again, she prayed as she stared at him, speechless with fright. He’d lost the leather coat and was dressed in a wife-beater tee and black jeans. He looked haggard and hard and in need of a shave. She felt cold staring at all the muscles in his arms, at his tattoos, at all the angry, red scratches that marked his right shoulder, his neck and cheek and, from what little she could see of it, a good part of his chest. She had the distinct feeling it wasn’t the first time she was seeing any of this. There wasn’t anything as clear as a memory, just a vague recollection of terror and pain.