JUMP (The Senses)

by Cindy Paterson

  “No. If he comes back, it will go away.” The words came out of her before she even knew what she was saying. “I know it sounds crazy—shit, it is crazy, but he knows it. Balen knows. Tell him to come back.” She knew this like she knew her own name. Balen was what was causing the pain. He was getting farther and farther away from her, and the pain was worsening. “He’s left Toronto, hasn’t he?”

  Damien spoke into the phone. “Get me Waleron.” He paused for a second and then said, “What is going on? She’s human, for Christ’s sake . . . impossible.” He hesitated, then pressed the end button and shoved the cell into his back jean pocket. He walked to her bathroom and she could hear him shuffling through her cupboard. The sound of her things falling into the sink pierced her ears, and she raised her hands to cover them.

  “Take these,” Damien said, now standing beside the bed.

  She couldn’t speak any longer, so he placed three tiny white pills in her mouth and poured water down her throat. She coughed and sputtered, water dripping down her chin, and then she began tossing again, clutching her stomach, eyes glazed over, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. The pills were Valium from when her father had killed himself.

  She sensed Damien hovering near the bed as she fought against the pain that was tearing her apart. Maybe she should go to the hospital? Maybe she was dying. She thought she heard a phone ring minutes later, but deciphering time or anything else had become too much to bear. Her eyes slipped closed and she felt herself be swallowed up by the Valium Damien had forced down her throat.

  ****

  “How is she?” Balen asked in a calmer voice than earlier.

  “Sleeping.” Damien replied into the phone. “She’s human. So what the hell are you doing, communicating with humans? This is bullshit. You should be in Rest and I should be hunting CWOs, not babysitting some girl.”

  “What’s it to you?” Balen’s voice grew quiet with a ruthless tone. “I will defy any law for her,” Balen said with all honesty. But Danielle deserved a man who was loyal to his friends and family, a man who would never betray them. God, he was a bastard. All he knew was how to fight and be alone. Shit, what was he doing? He was on a plane to Spain. He’d never see Danielle again.

  Still, he needed Danielle like she was the one keeping his heart pumping, his limbs moving and his mind sane. She was his earth, his grounding.

  The frustration that raked his mind was overwhelming. He should be there for her, comforting her, looking after her, and it drove his wild nature to a dangerous level that he was confined in a plane thousands of miles away.

  He could tell that Waleron was uneasy with the situation. His gut said it had something to do with why he defied the council’s judgment and what had transpired between him and Delara.

  If anyone could discover what was wrong with Danielle it would be Anstice. She had the hands of an angel, able to heal any Senses with a touch. But Danielle was human. What did that mean? Could she heal her? What if she couldn’t? What if she was dying and . . .

  A frightening rage shifted through his body at an alarming rate. He had to get this plane turned around.

  ****

  Damien watched Danielle tossing and turning in bed in a delirious dream. She kept throwing the covers off, arms flailing. Every time he tried to control her movements, she screamed, so he pulled up a chair to the edge of the bed and hoped like hell for Anstice to show up.

  “Let me out!” Danielle gripped the bars of the iron cage. “Jesus Christ, get me the hell out of here,” she shouted.

  She yanked on the door—it rattled but refused to give way. The cage was hoisted three stories in the air, dangling by a chain that was attached to the ceiling of what appeared to be a subterranean cave.

  She was jailed in a cavern that was cold and damp with no windows and massive pillars that appeared to be holding the damn ceiling up. She peered down at two men standing beside a steel table. The room was dark, only an enormous hearth giving off light, but she thought she saw—oh, God—a man shackled to a table.

  “Who the hell are you people?” Danielle yelled. “What do you want?” Neither man looked up at her as if her voice wasn’t even been heard.

  The last thing she remembered was a group of men barging into her art gallery. One grabbed her, his voice calm and soft as he forced her arms behind her back, ignoring her kicking feet and flailing body. She was like a feather to his exceptional strength, and she had never felt so futile in her life. As if he were a snowplow and she the snow being swept up in his arms and then . . . her hand flew to her neck and she winced at the bruise.

  Holy shit! He had bitten her neck. He had fangs. She paced the five-by-five-foot space, her fear escalating at the memory. Who the hell were these psychos? The bastard had bitten her neck. And then she’d passed out. Had she fainted? She never fainted. Impossible. He must have drugged her and then dragged her down into this godforsaken hell.

  Shit, what did they want from her? Some fetish they wanted to live out. God, she prayed not. The thought of some guy biting her neck again made her want to toss her cookies.

  A loud crack sounded. She looked through the bars again and the sight made nausea pool in her stomach. She covered her hand over her mouth as a sledge hammer came crashing down on the man’s leg. She staggered backwards, her spine crashing up against the bars.

  They were torturing that man. His eyes were open and he didn’t even flinch as the man lowered the sledgehammer. Was he dead already? Was she next?

  She had to get out of here. But there was no escape, even if she managed the impossibility of getting through the bars. She was twenty feet in the air with nothing to break her fall if she jumped. She covered her ears as the crack came again. She couldn’t take the sound of bones shattering. This had to be a nightmare. Wake up. Stop.

  Crack. A groan, but no scream.

  Crack. Laughter.

  “Stop! Stop it,” she screamed.

  She slid down and curled her legs up to her chest and put her hands over her ears. The swirling in her stomach persisted, threatening to rise. She rocked back and forth, tears filling her eyes as the reality of what she faced came hurtling at her like a rocket.

  Whoever these men were, they enjoyed the suffering. She was helpless and that was what hit her the hardest. Being trapped, having no choice but to sit here and wait for . . . for what that man suffered? What would they do to her? What did they want?

  Her head snapped up. Chains clanged as another cage was hoisted upwards. She scrambled to her feet and gripped the bars as dizziness hit her. Must be the drugs they gave her.

  She saw a man below dressed in a black overcoat crank a lever, and another man walk across the room and disappear behind a pillar, and then heard the sound of a door opening and closing.

  The cage came to a swinging halt a foot away. She sucked in air as she saw the man they had tortured lying on the metal floor, his leg in an odd position. His jeans were ripped, his black T-shirt torn across the chest where blood seeped from two deep gashes. The scream inside her throat pulsated, threatening to emerge at the horrific sight. She swallowed several times, trying to keep the vomit from rising.

  “Mister. Hey mister,” she said.

  His broad shoulders jerked and his head shifted to the side, eyes closed, face pale and haggard. God, how long had he been here? She heard the sound of water crawl through pipes and then watched as it trickled into a device on top of his cage. It sprayed water onto him, and then stopped. A few minutes later it sprayed again.

  The man groaned and then grunted as he pulled himself up to lean against the bars of the cage. He used his hands to pull his mangled leg to a more normal position.

  “Mister?” she tried again.

  His eyes flashed open. Danielle trembled as the sharp green eyes met her own. Dark and tortured, fierce like a wild animal ready to attack. His lips pursed together, sharp angular jaw clenched, he looked like he was ready for battle but so ravaged with pain that every muscle in his body refus
ed to cooperate.

  “What do they want?” she asked.

  His eyes locked on hers, watching, steady and calm. “Pain,” he said.

  She felt her heart pound faster, harder, and the nausea swirl inside like a tornado threatening to sweep across her and take any sanity she had left. “Why? I don’t even know who these freakin’ psychos are?”

  His head shifted and she gasped when she saw the ravaged area on his neck. Her hand went to the bruise on her own. His smile was cruel, eyebrows rising as he watched her reaction.

  “Yes, blood too,” he said.

  The contents of her stomach came hurling to the surface and she ran to the corner of the cage, fell to her knees and vomited. She had a will of iron, but that had been the last straw.

  His voice was deep and ragged as he continued, “They’ve no feelings, no remorse. And . . .”

  She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and turned her head. “What?” she said, raising her voice. She had to know. She needed to know what they would do to her.

  “He will never give up until he has what he wants,” he said.

  “And what does he want? I’ve never seen these bastards in my life.”

  “A woman. A powerful woman who will make him stronger.” He ran a hand over his face, wiping the water away. “You?” He shrugged and then grunted at the slight motion. “I don’t know what he wants with you.”

  She kept on her knees and slid across the metal floor until she was closer to him. “How long have you been here? Who are they?”

  He remained silent, eyes delving into her, sliding down her body and then back up to her face. A throbbing rose in her head as if his magnificent eyes were drilling into it. Then suddenly it stopped.

  “A week maybe, not sure. Time tends to get away from you here,” he said. He ran his hand through his wet umber hair. “You must not fight him.”

  “Are you crazy? The first chance I get, I’m getting out of here,” Danielle said. “Why the water?”

  He stayed silent.

  She saw the pain tear across his features, brows lowering, eyes closing, and the lines in his face accentuating. “Are you okay? I mean I know you’re not with what they did to you. How can you still be conscious?”

  “Do not fight him,” he repeated. “If you do, it will be worse.”

  “Fuck that,” Danielle said. “You might just sit and take what’s dished out, but I sure as hell won’t. One chance, that’s all I need, and I’m out of here.”

  “A chance you will never get,” he said. He laid his head back against the bars and closed his eyes.

  She sat and wrapped her arms around her legs. She hated the silence, the sparks of the fire below the only sound in the massive dungeon. Talking always helped her relax when she was nervous. Okay, terrified. “So, what’s your name?”

  “Balen,” he replied.

  “I’m Danielle. These bastards grabbed me at my art gallery on Queen Street. I was just closing shop when they burst in from the front and the back.” She heard him curse beneath his breath. Several times, in fact. She thought he said “I’m so screwed,” but it was too muttered to be certain. “Are these guys wanted by the police? Are they at least looking for us?”

  He huffed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The police will never come to your rescue, little one,” he said.

  “Don’t call me that,” she said. She was five foot three and had a small frame, but she considered herself strong. She worked out four days a week and walked everywhere. Shit, she was in great shape. She was not a piece of china.

  He opened his eyes, head rolling to the side so he could look at her. “You are little compared to me. And . . . delicate.”

  Delicate? Why, of all the . . . she hadn’t been called that since her father had died. Even though she was this rebellious smartass kid who spoke her mind, her father refused to admit his daughter was anything but his delicate rose. Her mouth had managed to get her into all kinds of trouble in school. “Hey, Balen, when I escape, I’ll get the police to come get you. Just don’t think I’m going to leave you here.”

  “You won’t escape, little one.” He sighed. “Perhaps others will find us, but without their help, we won’t ever escape this place.”

  “God, you’re negative.” She shook her head. She was beginning to feel better just talking to this guy. At least, her stomach had settled. Normality. That was all she needed, some sort of normality. “Can’t you have some hope? I mean, people get out of bad situations all the time. All we need is one mistake and—”

  “Damn it, woman, you don’t understand. They aren’t normal.” He pounded his fist against the floor, and the metal echoed.

  Danielle fought the desperate need to yell at him. To get him to shut up with the negativity and have hope for escape, but in a rare instance she bit her tongue. The guy was in pain and didn’t need her harping at him. Who knows how long he’d been here suffering, his hope flushed down the toilet.

  Footsteps. She scrambled to her feet and gripped the bars as she peered down. It was that man, the one who bit her neck. He strode across the stone floor as if he were floating. Calm, confident and tall, with long black hair that reached past his shoulders. He gave a single nod to the man at the cranking device and then his head tilted up and their eyes met. Red. His fuckin’ eyes were red. God, what the hell kind of drugs was he on? She lost her footing as her cage began to lower.

  Fear pounded through her, stomach tossing.

  Balen jerked. “Do as I say, little one. Do not fight. Understand? Don’t fight him. He likes the fight. He enjoys seeing it. It only makes it worse.”

  Danielle ignored him as the cage lowered inch by inch.

  “Damn it, Danielle, don’t try to escape.” Balen raised his voice.

  “I have to try,” Danielle said. He might be unable to walk, but she sure as hell could and she’d fight to her death if need be. No way in hell were these crazies getting her without a fight.

  The cage jerked to a halt as it settled on the floor. She kept her eyes riveted to the guy who looked like the one making all the calls. He stood with his hands behind his back in a casual stance beside the metal table. She shivered at the sight of his red eyes gleaming with the firelight. Shit, he looked strong.

  Her eyes darted to the man who unlocked the padlock on the cage and the door swung open. The smell of black licorice came barreling into her as if someone punched her in the stomach. He reached out to grab her arm.

  “Keep your filthy hands off me,” she said.

  His eyes narrowed and he shot forward with a flash, gripping her forearm and dragging her out of the cage. Screw this. She reacted, kicking him in the shin, then swung her arm and plowed her fist into his chest.

  His fingers tightened and she winced as his nails dug into her flesh. “Let me go, damn it.”

  She was like a feather against his strength. He had no reaction as he pulled her towards the table. Her fear escalated. Shit, this wasn’t working out as planned. She renewed her effort as he shoved her against the steel table. She cried out as her thighs rammed up against the hard surface. She placed both palms on the table and then kicked out both legs. He grunted as her legs hit him in the stomach, but he didn’t let go.

  Suddenly, she felt something cold wrap around her left wrist from behind, and a chuckle emerged from the guy who had bitten her neck.

  “It’s useless to fight, Danielle. If I desired, I could have you at my mercy with my voice alone.” He shrugged. “However, I like to see you struggle. It’s rather amusing.”

  Her ankle was grabbed and a shackle was placed around it. “Let me go, you son of a bitch,” Danielle shouted.

  “A fighter. Ah, so sweet. It will be a pleasure to tame you.”

  She managed to punch the lackey in the face as he attempted to get a manacle on her other wrist. He refused to relent and soon she found herself spread-eagled, lying on the table, her breathing haggard and her anger seething. She continued to fight t
he unrelenting bonds, oblivious to the cuts surfacing on her wrists and ankles.

  “I am Ryszard,” the neck-biter said. “And you . . . are magnificent when you fight like that.” He lowered his hand to her neck and she jerked her head to the side, trying to avoid his touch. He had long, sharp fingernails and white skin, almost translucent.

  He gripped her neck, holding her still. She felt her breath being halted and she struggled anew. Her limbs fought against the bonds, body flailing. He loosened his grip and she sucked air into her lungs.

  His brows rose. “Breath is life, my sweet Danielle. I can take it away in a second.”

  She spat at him, just missing his cheek. His hand came down, slapping her across the face. She gritted her teeth, refusing to allow him any satisfaction at her pain. Then he smiled and the terror came barreling forth like a bullet slamming into her chest. Fangs. The devil had fangs.

  She screamed, her struggles wild, mind and body gripped with madness. Blood trickled down her wrists and ankles, metal slicing into her skin. She saw him lick his lips, his grin widening. Oh god, this guy had more than a few screws loose. Balen’s words haunted her mind. Don’t fight. God, how could she do that when all she wanted to do was get free?

  “Don’t do this,” Danielle said. She knew what he was going to do. Knew his intent with those fangs. “God, no.”

  His eyes cold and direct, he said, “But I must. You are too tempting to resist.”

  She screamed.

  Chapter 7

  “Danielle. Danielle wake up.”

  Someone was shaking her shoulders.

  She opened her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks like a violent rain on a windowpane. She shivered uncontrollably, her mind reeling with the images that haunted her mind. She looked at Anstice and saw the concern in her expression. She had her hand on her forehead, gentle and kind, smoothing her hair back from her brow, which was soaked in sweat.

  A shadow stood over in the corner of the room, arms crossed, leaning up against the wall. “Balen?” she whispered and then his face turned at her voice and she saw Keir. Her heart dropped and she turned her head away from Anstice.