When the light had charged, she switched it on and looked into the woven plastic bag. Draven had brought good stuff—a package of cornbread squares, two cans of corn, a small round cake, and a box of crackers, three shriveled sweet potatoes with tender white sprouts. She stashed the food on the single shelf, the lightning giving her as much light as the flashlight. It had been raining for two days and two nights without stopping. Everything was wet.
She looked out the small square window. Draven had covered it with smudgy glass with black stains on it, like it had been burned. But it was better than having the cold and rain come in. The glass didn’t fit exactly. A corner of it was missing, but Draven had stuffed a t-shirt in the opening, and it didn’t leak unless the wind blew right at it. Outside, water pooled on the flat ground of the backyard, now too wet to absorb more.
Directly under her window, a pile of soggy cornstalks lay molding, perfuming the night with its musty smell. She’d woken one morning to find huge stacks of the dry stalks piled outside her house. Draven had come inside and showed her how to bend and twist the stalks, how to tear the leaves off to use as kindling, and instructed her on when to feed the fire. He hadn’t looked at her the entire time.
She’d burned most of the pile—it burned much faster than she’d expected—and he’d brought more, which now lay limp and bedraggled in the rain. She had no heat, but the walls had warmed from her nightly fires. Long before her arrival, smoke had stained them grey, and they’d absorbed the smell, so she didn’t worry about damaging the house.
Besides the visit to teach her how to make fire, Draven had stayed away from her house after the first few days. She hadn’t seen him in over a week, although she woke sometimes when he did things to her house, like installed a window or improved the hinging mechanism on the door. In the dark, she’d hear him moving around. To her surprise, she found herself missing him. Except for a few stiff conversations with Draven, she hadn’t talked to anyone in a month. Back home, she’d had people to talk to every day. Even at Byron’s, she’d had Shelly.
Hearing Draven working around her house reminded her that he still took care of her even when it seemed he’d forgotten her. He hadn’t, of course—he brought her food every few days without asking if she needed it, fixed things on her house, brought her fuel. But he didn’t read to her anymore, didn’t eat. She wondered if he did these things with the women he went to see.
It was her own fault. She could have gone into the house and talked to him if she wanted. But something had changed that day, something in the way she saw him. He’d always been the capable, strong, infallible one. He looked after her and kept her safe. She’d thought of him as remote and inhuman, even when she saw how similar they were. That day, though, she’d seen that other thing inside him. Of course, she’d seen him naked before, and she knew he had the same thing as a human man. But the other thing—the desire to use it—had remained a vague notion.
She could still feel him in her hand, that thing that she’d never fully realized he had. Until she’d touched it with a sort of curious wonderment, that soft thing that suddenly had changed. She hadn’t wanted to stop exploring even when she knew what had begun to happen; she had so much more she wanted to know. But she hadn’t thought of what exactly she was doing to him. She knew he went to see women, but it hadn’t seemed so real before then—that he did the thing he called sex, that he wanted it the same as any human, that he was a living, sexual being.
It made her heart catch and her face flush with heat thinking about it, exactly as it had done when it happened. He’d always been so cool and calculating that she’d thought sex was like that for him, too. Until part of him had moved on its own, as if a separate being from him, yearning and undeniable. Like a kitten pushing its head into her palm to be petted, the way it pushed up into her hand, retreated a second, nuzzled her hand again. But it wasn’t a kitten. She’d never known a part of him could be so alive, so raw and primal. That part of him, moving while the rest of him lay perfectly still, terrified her.
Something about it had excited her, too, though. She had to admit that. That she’d wanted to do something…not sex. Not that. But she’d wanted to see it, study all the wonder of it, without worrying he’d hurt her. She’d never known it could grow and throb and contract like that all on its own. Maybe, for a fraction of a second, she’d thought she could ask, could see it underneath his clothes. She’d been so scared, though, and when she looked at him…
He hadn’t thought it was wonderful or mesmerizing. Of course not. He knew all about those things, while she was just a stupid girl who had done something stupid. In return, he’d pulled a joke on her. Though she deserved it, she couldn’t quite forgive him, or herself, for it. So she’d stayed away.
She’d left to punish him, at least partly, but he didn’t even care. It felt more like he was punishing her. She ought to be glad he didn’t suck her blood anymore, that he had found someone else to feed from. But she missed him. Sometimes, she even missed him feeding from her, the way he’d hold her so close and stroke her while he pressed into her nourishment.
Her mattress was wet through. Everything in her house smelled of mud. She walked around the tiny room a few times until the floor developed a squishy, muddy feeling, and then she sat on her wet bed and shivered. When the rain stopped in the afternoon, she splashed through the backyard to Draven’s house. At the back door, she paused. She hadn’t been inside the house for two weeks at least. It didn’t feel like hers anymore, like a place she could just walk into. Draven didn’t seem like a friend anymore.
When she’d waited a while, and he hadn’t come to the door, she went inside. The house was colder than she remembered, as cold as outside. Draven must have turned on the heat for her while she’d stayed inside. In the bathroom, she showered in warm water until she stopped shivering. Still, she felt cold inside. She picked up her damp, dirty sweater, but she couldn’t bring herself to put it on.
After standing in the bathroom looking at her clothes for a long time, she wrapped a big, soft towel around herself and went into the bedroom. Before she met Draven, she’d never worn anything as nice as the towel. If she’d been able to figure out how to keep it on, she would have been happy to wear that. In the bedroom, she moved quietly, remembering with shame how she’d woken him last time she’d been in the room with him. He lay in the bed, deep in his still, silent sleep.
In the dim light from the open door, he looked even deader than she’d remembered. His skin had turned from light brown to grey, and his eyes had sunken into his head, like a very old man but without wrinkles. His face wasn’t thinner, but his cheeks appeared sunken somehow, his mouth drawn down at the corners.
Cali kept glancing at the bed while she looked for clothes, but Draven lay motionless as a corpse put to bed. She opened the drawers as quietly as she could and found a pair of white underwear that looked close enough to the regulation sapien ones she had worn her whole life. Having checked to make sure Draven still slept, she dropped the towel and pulled them on. Then she searched for a pair of pants. Though the person who lived in the house was skinny, when they’d arrived, Cali had been so thin the woman’s clothes hung loose on her. Over the past month, she’d eaten well and regained her natural shape. She could just barely button the pants she’d chosen, but since she’d worn nothing but a shift her whole life, tight clothes felt too restrictive. She peeled them off again.
She heard the sheets rustling, but she didn’t look at Draven again until she’d found a strangely shaped shift and pulled it over her head. Then she turned back to the bed where he lay in the same spot, his eyes open. He wasn’t moving, not even breathing.
“You’re sick,” she said.
“I know.”
His admission surprised her, that he didn’t say he was fine, like usual. “What’s wrong with you? I didn’t know you could get sick.”
“I don’t.” He smiled, a tiny pulling at the corner of his mouth. “And you? Are you well?”
&nbs
p; “I’m okay. But I won’t be if you die. What do you need?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop being like this,” Cali said, turning to him with her hands on her hips. “Tell me what’s wrong. I know I moved into the sapien house, but that’s where I belong. You don’t have to punish me for it. I said I was sorry about the other thing. Are you still mad at me?”
“I was never angry at you, Cali.”
“Well, then stop acting like it and let me help you for once. You’ve taken care of me and kept me alive this whole time. Now you need me, so let me help you.”
“There’s nothing to be done. I already tried.”
“Well, you look awful. Here, can you eat without being sick?” Cali sat on the edge of the bed and held out her arm.
“Don’t,” he said, turning his face away. “Don’t come closer. It could be dangerous for you.”
“Well, I’ll probably die if you die, so why does it matter? Just eat if it might make you better.”
“I don’t—.”
Cali leaned over and pressed her wrist to his lips.
He flung her arm away so hard her shoulder caught with a jolt of pain.
“Stop. Merde. What are you thinking?” he said. “Do you not know that I am dangerous to you?”
“I don’t care. I’ve staked Superiors before. Do you really think I’m scared of you?”
“You’re a fool if you’re not.”
“Fine, then I’m stupid. Just a brainless sap, right? Now please eat and stop being a baby.”
“A baby?”
“Yes, a baby. So I moved out to the sapien house where I belong. That’s where I should be and you know it. But you can’t just accept that and treat me like a regular master would. No, you slink around pouting and sulking and looking all hurt like I wronged you.”
He looked surprised, but after a moment he said, “I wronged you.”
“No, you didn’t. I was the one who looked at your…down there…”
“And I made you—”
“No, you didn’t. I wanted to. Okay? So stop acting all oddball. I’m not stupid. You think I didn’t know what I was touching?”
“I don’t—”
“Good. Then eat something.” She shoved her wrist against his mouth, and this time, he took it. He pressed his nose against it, closed his eyes, and drew in one long breath. When he released her hand, he had a vulnerable look about him, almost like he was the innocent one.
“Did you know,” he whispered, “what it would do to me?”
Her skin warmed, and she could feel him like she had that night, relentless and demanding, lunging into her hand the way her heart gave a little lunge every time she thought of it. She swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. If she admitted she hadn’t known, he’d laugh at her again. If she said she’d had known, he might think…
After an endless moment of silence, he spoke. “Can I…can you…” He didn’t finish, just pulled her towards him. Cali hesitated and then pushed back the blankets and slid under. She’d forgotten the bed’s wonderfulness, although anything dry would have felt wonderful right then. This bed was soft as clouds but cold now. And Draven wasn’t slightly warm like last time she’d touched him. He was as icy cold as the house.
“You want me to lay with you?” she asked.
“More than you know.” He smiled, a ghost of his usual amused smile.
“Well, I’m here. Go on and do it.”
“If you knew what you were saying,” he said, pushing up on one elbow and smiling down at her. He put his hand on her chest, ran his knuckle up her neck and raised her chin. “You look well,” he said. “You’re lovely in a party frock.”
He put his face to her throat, penetrated quickly, drew in a breath, and pulled. Shivers coursed through her, from his cold and the pull she could feel through her whole self. As she breathed past the first moment of pain, she realized how much she’d missed this. His cold breath on her skin, his mouth on her throat, the gentle way he petted her, and the feeling she got when he did all that. Like everything was right again. A dreamy, peaceful feeling blanketed her, like she had to relax whether she wanted to or not. And this other feeling, tingly and languorous, while he caressed her in that familiar, adoring way.
The light from outside had quit the sky, and she could only see the shadowy shape of Draven. She raised her hands to his head and petted his hair, still soft. Instead of looking bouncy and floaty, it lay limp and dull on his head. The rest of him had come to life, and his pulls had become less gentle and more urgent. Something in her responded, and she tugged at his hair, pulled him closer, into her arms, rose up to meet his need. He shifted his body around, keeping his hold on her waist, sucking harder and turning so he lay on his stomach beside her. She hardly noticed the small moaning noises he made, the way he pressed against her with every pull of his mouth, or that she still held his hair in both her hands.
She was dizzy and weak and cold and tired. She might fall asleep or float away… But he was pulling her leg toward him, holding onto her knee painfully hard. She thought she made some sound of protest, but she was so tired she wasn’t sure it passed her lips. His other hand pulled at her hair, and she pulled his in return…His hand released her knee and moved up and stroked the inside of her thigh. Automatically, her knees fell open for him. She hadn’t meant to, hadn’t meant anything. It just seemed too great an effort to stop him, and she couldn’t remember why she had wanted to.
She didn’t want to anymore. His mouth had cast a spell on her, and her skin trembled with cold but something else, too, a terrifying, careening anticipation. For a second he met it, frozen fingers fluttering over the cotton barrier, seeking her warmth. She thought she said something, or made some sound, but she didn’t hear it. He jerked back though, pushing her leg back against the other one, breathing hard against her face. His breath smelled like blood.
In her mind the words echoed far away, now, now, but she didn’t know if she’d said or only thought them.
“What are you doing?” Draven asked, still clenching his fist in her hair.
“I didn’t…you’re hurting me.” The room spun slowly, and she only knew for sure she’d uttered the words this time because he released his hold, pulling his hand away like he’d suddenly realized it was covered in snakes instead of hair. “Cali…” he said slowly. “What you do to me…” But he didn’t finish the sentence. He sat up, swung his legs off the side of the bed, jumped up and left the room.
Cali lay there shivering, and soon, warm air began blowing into the room, and she slept. She heard him move about in the room, felt him lift her and scoot under, and she lay on his lap, her head on his chest, and slept. She woke and he was holding a rectangle with a glowing screen.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Reading.”
“Reading…what?”
“A book,” he said. “Take sleep, my jaani. You’re with me now. I’m sorry I took too much. You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you.”
Cali wanted to point out the hypocrisy, to demand something of him, but she couldn’t think of what. Maybe he’d planned it this way so she’d come back to him. But he didn’t seem to want anything more from her than he’d taken. When she woke again, he held a spoon to her mouth, fed her too fast from a bowl of too-cold soup. But she was warm now, under the blanket, warm and safe despite what he’d done. The next time, he brought her water and vitamins, and she took them without question and slept again.
Later, she woke to find him combing her hair, and again, she woke while he slept. She slipped away to the outhouse, her legs shaky and her head swimming and dizzy. She sank to the ground outside and waited for the dizziness to subside before she made it to the outhouse, on her second try. She was so tired she didn’t know if she could make it back, but while she waited to decide, Draven came and carried her back to the bedroom, groping his way through the light like a blind man. She felt only relief when he laid her in the bed, none of the fear she knew she
should feel.
CHAPTER nineteen
Draven hated what he’d done, his inability to control himself. More than that, he hated the sense of guilty contentment he’d had while Cali rested in the house after he overdrew her. She didn’t say much, but sometimes he looked down from his reading and found her eyes open, her head resting in his lap while he stroked her hair absently and learned everything he could about the area around Moines.
Afraid the house’s owner would return and find Cali defenseless, he didn’t leave to find more food until she regained her strength. He stayed close a few days longer, watching her. He was afraid for her, afraid of what he wanted from her and what it would do to her. And in her delirium, she’d yielded. If she could stay inaccessible, separate as she’d been in the hut, he could control himself. Oh, but that moment when she’d urged him to go on…
He didn’t know how he’d stopped himself. It didn’t seem possible that in his moment of frenzied fumbling he had resisted the urge to tear through her underthings like a man possessed and put his fingers into her.
In a kind of torment, he waited for her to go back to the mud hut in the backyard. She’d been back in the house with him a week before she spoke of returning. She agreed to take a few more clothes this time, and Draven helped her carry them out, though he wanted nothing more than to beg her to stay. That was impossible, ridiculous now. Still, as he watched her appraising the house for anything else she might need, he wondered if they would go back to being strangers and neighbors instead of—what? What had they been before that? They had only shared the tent out of necessity. If she’d had the choice, she would have slept in a separate tent.
The Fugitives, A Dystopian Vampire Novel: Book Four: The Superiors Series Page 10
