PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  She walked with purpose. She traveled the length of several cities, crossed through many small towns, thankful her uncanny speed as a Cruor allowed her to travel so far in mere moments.

  Ethan was out here, somewhere beneath this same dark moon. Lenore’s presence she could always feel, a steady undercurrent in her body at all times, but her connection to Ethan was something tender, something hidden in a quiet corner of her soul.

  She plowed through forests and over uprooted trees, stopping only when she reached a wood that a forest fire had recently claimed. What a shame the rain brewing in the air hadn’t come sooner, come before the dry earth and bright sun had set fire to this beautiful land. By her feet, a daffodil struggled to survive, and a lone butterfly sought life in the young flower. How she wished Ethan was with her, wished he was there to restore the forest to its greatness.

  She would find him yet.

  Perhaps she was mad. Perhaps what she felt—the pull that led her—was not really there at all. But the energy in the air guided her through shadowed woods, across vulnerable fields and into the crumbling walls of the outer city limits, until she reached a large building made of many small rooms. One of the windows was blocked by a thick blanket. Ophelia strode over and stood beneath it.

  “Ethan,” she whispered loudly.

  No response.

  What was she thinking?

  She shook her doubts away and lifted a small stone from the ground and tossed it at the window.

  “Ethan,” she hissed again.

  Again, no response.

  “Aye, I’ve right lost my mind,” she mumbled to herself.

  That twist in her gut—it’d been more heartache than instinct. And for what? Even if she had found him, he would have only sent her away. He would never allow her to risk everything.

  She rubbed her hand against her cheek and bit her lip, closing her eyes. Why did her heart have to betray her this way? Why could she not hate Ethan instead? Why not despise him for being the one to usher her into this world?

  “Ethan,” she said to empty room above. “I’m sorry. I am sorry, though ye will never know that I came here tonight. I’m sorry that my heart got in the way. Sorry for loving ye.”

  She choked on those last words, then sucked in a resolved breath. This was no good. She needed to move on. But she could not get her feet to move nor her gaze to leave the window. Could not get her gaze to leave that square of hope. So badly she wanted him that she could smell his sweet clove scent on the night air.

  “Ophelia?”

  The voice came from behind her, arresting the space in her chest where her heart would have normally sped.

  It was him.

  She held her breath and spun around. Moonlight lit the sky behind him. He stood unmoving, his gaze covering every inch of her, her emotions swaying slowly from disbelief to desire.

  “Ophelia,” he said, with more confidence.

  He strode over to her, and she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply. He pressed her back against the wall in the alley, his hands sliding around her waist. He stopped, tilting his forehead against hers, his eyelashes tickling her brow.

  “You’ve come to me,” he said. He kissed her again, as though unable to keep his lips from her mouth. Finally he broke away and pulled her a few steps further down the alley to a wooden door and then inside.

  Neither of them said a word until after he’d led her down the hall, up the stairs, and into a small, bare room that contained little more than cot, end table, and washbasin. He locked the door and turned to her again, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  She stepped up to him, closing the distance between them, and kissed him with the passion she’d been holding back for far too long. She did not know when she would see him again, but she knew she would not give him up, knew she would not sacrifice him.

  He put his hands to her shoulders, as if to stop her, but then held her tight and deepened the kiss, backing her up until her calves hit the foot of the bed. She cupped her hands around his face, breaking the kiss. His skin was paler than usual, his hair unkempt and the circles beneath his eyes dark.

  “Ye are not well,” she said.

  “I will be fine, my love. I will be fine.”

  “What of the work ye are supposed to do?”

  He shook his head slowly. “It is done. There was no calling for me beyond your delivery to the Maltorim. That is it for me.”

  “Oh, Ethan,” she breathed, frowning. “‘ow could ye say such a thing?”

  “I have failed even that, if you are here now. What happened?”

  He had not failed. No matter what anyone said, they deserved the hope they found in each other’s company. “I am with them still! I am sure I can hold my place with them for many years.”

  He pulled back. “You need to return immediately. You cannot stay here.”

  “We are together,” Ophelia said fiercely. “Don’t tell me that is wrong.”

  He stared at her a long moment, unspeaking, and she feared her chest might cave beneath the silence. “You should go. I shouldn’t have allowed this, shouldn’t have entertained these ideas.”

  As he stepped away, Ophelia reached out and grasped his hand to tug him back. “Don’t ye dare say that.”

  He was too close to her now to look at her as a package to be delivered. He could only look into her eyes. He could only face down her soul. Let him try to back away to that, let him try to back away from his own heart.

  “Would ye still be standing here if this was not meant to be? Would not the Universe ‘ave taken ye from me?”

  For a long moment, Ethan stared at her, his pained expression softening. Ophelia knew she was right, and surely he knew as well. The Universe would grant them this one gift in their otherwise dire existence. They would have each other.

  Ethan lifted her onto the bed, climbing between her knees as he lay her back and pressed his mouth to hers. His hands, shaky and uncertain, fumbled to undo her dress. He swept her hair away from her neck, leaving it to fan out its inky blackness on his sheets.

  He removed her gown, kissed her ribs, grazed his lips over her breasts. As he placed kisses along her jaw and neck, she tilted her head back.

  Then, they were falling. Falling through time and space. But this was different from when Ethan had moved her this way before. This time they moved through space as though floating through water toward the bottom of a lake.

  She kissed the space behind his ear, traced her lips against his shoulder. His hands explored her body, the fullness of her breasts, the contour of her hips, the insides of her thighs. As his fingertips traced over her hips, she closed her eyes. Soon she was lost in touch, in the way his fingertips brushed across her skin, lost in this space with him where no harm could come to them and no obstacle could prevent them from being together.

  Ethan’s fingers dipped into her, gently exploring her depths and sending notes of arousal through her body. As Ethan entered her, pressing himself into her body, she gasped. His need swelled with an urgency, his breaths coming heavier. He slowed, stopped, pulled back before trying to press in again, more fully, until his hips pressed flush with her own. For Ophelia, the moment was a surrender, and she knew it was for Ethan as well.

  When finally they lie still, Ethan whispered in her ear. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” she said.

  He grinned widely. “Oh, Ophelia. I could die that I didn’t think of this sooner.”

  The realization swept over her as well. Here, they were safe to be together. When moving through time and space—when they were here in the inbetween—time did not exist. She could spend days with him and still return to the Maltorim’s asylum within hours.

  For all of Ethan’s ability, she could return to Maltorim minutes before she’d even left, if she so chose.

  “I will not live without ye,” she said, pulling him closer.

  “I will never ask it again,” he promised.

  To no longer ha
ve to deny her feelings sent a rush through Ophelia, and in that moment, Ophelia’s heart fluttered in her chest. The heat between them intensified, and even the serpent’s mark on her neck burned once again with ferocity. But she didn’t care. Not now.

  In these moments, she was human again.

  Human, and very much in love.

  If it were up to Ophelia, she would remain in his space, suspended for eternity with Ethan, her love, her sweetest downfall.

  About the Author

  Rebecca Hamilton writes Paranormal Fantasy, Horror, and Literary Fiction. She lives in Florida with her husband and four kids, along with multiple writing personalities that range from morbid to literary. Having a child diagnosed with autism has inspired her to illuminate the world through the eyes of characters who see things differently.

  http://www.theforevergirl.com

  Other Books by Rebecca:

  The Forever Girl

  Coming Soon:

  Come, the Dark (Forever Girl Book 2)

  Something Like Voodoo

  Made to Forget

  by

  Samantha LaFantasie

  In the year 2452 . . .

  ONE

  THERE’S NO WORSE FEELING than thinking you’re waking from a really bad nightmare, only to find yourself in the hospital with no memory of why or how you got there.

  When I opened my eyes, I expected to find myself in the comfort of my own bed instead of wrapped in crispy sheets and a holey bedspread. My vision was blurred and my head pounded with an incredible headache. Something covered my head where the pain was centered. Lifting a hand, I discovered gauze taped into place. Touching it with slight pressure caused more pain, forcing me to wince. My uniform and gear were missing. Instead, I wore drawstring pants and a t-shirt made from thin material, covered in small, brown trees and tiny, green birds. A small box was taped in the center of my breasts. It chirped with each beat of my heart.

  Panic filled the darkest depths of my soul as I struggled to remember what happened. I couldn’t remember anything. Just flashes of still framespartial memorieslike watching a movie with the most vital scenes blacked out. I took deep breaths, recalling what I could of my training, and then took in my surroundings, desperately seeking anything familiar.

  The small, square-shaped room was adjoined with another small room that I assumed was the bathroom. The cream walls were dotted with a few blond-stained cabinets and drawers. Two burgundy chairs sat in the corner of the room in front of a row of sealed, vertical blinds. There was nothing that I recognized and nothing to suggest I had been compromised.

  The irritating contraption in my nose pulled against the skin and formed a raw spot. Whenever I shifted my head, it felt like it was slicing through another layer of skin. I pulled the oxidizer from my nose and the heart monitor from my chest then slipped my sock covered feet to the floor. I was determined to storm through the door and find someone with answers—or fight my way out, if need be.

  Apparently, ripping off monitors and running from my room freaking out set the medical staff on edge. They tackled me to the floor and gave me a bullet full of some sedative, causing me to wake up and freak out again later. The difference being, my wrists were cuffed to the sides of the bed. The top was raised slightly, allowing me to lie in a partial sitting position. I struggled with my restraints, then slammed my head to the back of the bed. They were treating me like some prisoner! A surge of dizziness and pain swam through me, bringing with it a bout of nausea.

  A shadow from the corner of the room moved in my periphery. Without looking directly at the figure, I could tell it was a woman. She was around five-six or five-seven and thin, but the curves along her legs and arms were well-formed. I had no doubt she could hold her own.

  “Who are you?” I asked, still not looking directly at her. I closed my eyes to force away the remaining effects of my fit.

  “Jenna Malcom. I’ve been assigned to you.”

  “Assigned to me? For what? By who?”

  Finally, I looked at her directly. She was pretty—in the black widow sort of way. Her blonde hair was pulled into a long ponytail, situated dead center in the crown of her head. Her eyes glistened in the fluorescents. They weren’t an icy blue, but were rather bright and warm. Yet the feeling I got off her said otherwise.

  “Someone who has taken an interest in your safety. Relax.” Her smile reached her eyes. “All will be explained soon.”

  She removed herself from the chair with smooth, fluid movements then calmly sauntered to the intercom attached to the wall in front of my bed. She kept her gaze on me with a smile that would make any guy drool and every self-conscious school girl even more insecure. I know, because I was just like that. Always striving for that seemingly unobtainable perfection. At least until some point in my life, lost in my missing memories. Apparently, it no longer affected me the way it used to.

  Her attire left a lot of questions unanswered. She wore jeans, knee-high boots that clicked with every step, a grey shirt that went over the waist of her jeans, and a black jacket that barely covered the length of her long torso. Her appearance conflicted with the energy she gave off, like she was trying to project a façade that didn’t fit. As she stretched her long, graceful fingers to the button on the intercom, I wondered why someone with her superficial grace wouldn’t have a better manicure. Her skin was smooth and milky, with long, slender fingers, but the cropped nails looked like they had never seen a shade of polish. Definitely something that didn’t match the appearance she was clearly trying to portray.

  I struggledand failedto get a definitive reading of her energy. Everything conflicted. I squirmed in unease. There was much more to the story than what I was seeing, like she somehow knew of my abilities and was purposefully trying to throw me off. My initial instincts warned me to not trust what she said.

  A trickling beep sounded from the small speaker, followed by a cracked, feminine voice, “Ye-eh-es?”

  “She’s awake,” Jenna responded. Her gaze lifted to mine, and she smiled again. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay,” the voice said as it came through clearer, cracking with heavy static afterward.

  “How long have I been here?” I asked.

  She shrugged and walked back to her small chair in the corner of the room. She took a seat and crossed her legs and arms.

  The blinds were pulled open, and the glass door was unlocked. The room overlooked a small courtyard complete with small ponds, rivers that curved in and out, and a small waterfall.

  “Do you not remember me at all? Do I not look familiar to you in any way?” Jenna asked.

  “Should you be familiar?” I asked, unable to hide the snide tone in my voice. My discomfort with her presence was rapidly morphing into irritation.

  She smiled again. “Wow, they really did a number on you, didn’t they?” She chuckled softly then turned her gaze to the courtyard.

  “They?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I considered letting a few more remarks roll off my tongue, but the door to my room slid open and shut with a soft hiss. Footsteps padded into the room, and before me stood a pseudo-brunette man in a long, white coat. He carried a D-File in the crook of his arm. His cold-as-stone grey eyes matched his plastic smile.

  Immediately, I didn’t trust him. Of course, I never really trusted any medical staff.

  He stepped to the side of the bed, slipped his hand into mine, and gave me a half-assed squeeze.

  Never trust a person who doesn’t give you a firm handshake. I don’t remember where I learned thator from whombut it went along with my instincts, so I didn’t fight it.

  “Good morning, Miss Ellery. I’m Dr. Barlow, your attending physician. I’ve been asked to monitor your progress and oversee all of your care. How have you been feeling?”

  “Like someone had better start giving me answers and release me from these restraints.” I felt like adding an insult to his deficient façade but held my tongue. There was a time and place for that,
and I knew right then wasn’t it.

  His smile widened. “Let’s get you all checked out first, then we’ll see about the restraints and maybe some answers. Sound like a plan?”

  I shrugged. Do I have a choice? No. Of course not. As long as I was chained up, so to speak, I had to play by his rules.

  “Miss Ellery, five days ago you were in an accident involving a transporter. You’ve been in a coma until today. With the extent of your injuries, massive memory loss was expected. But we won’t be able to determine the severity or give a prognosis of recovery until we know how much you remember.” He moved around me as he explained, running a bio scanner over the length of my body, except for my head. Then he parked himself on the foot of the bed, moving the D-file to his lap, and looked at me expectantly.

  “You want to know how much I remember.”

  He nodded. “That would help tremendously.”

  “Nothing. I remember nothing,” I admitted sourly.

  “But you remember your name?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Your home address?”

  I hesitated but nodded again. Was that unusual?

  “Do you remember where you work?”

  I shook my head, though it wasn’t entirely true. I remembered that I worked for the Aurora Vanguard, but not what I did, specifically. I remembered it was undercover work and very secretive. He nodded in return and removed himself from the bed, leaving the D-file at my feet.

  “Do you remember anything from your childhood, like school, family, favorite places to hang out, first boyfriend?” he asked, taking out a penlight and shining it into both of my eyes individually.

  I tried to think. Really I did. Only flashes of images would come. Things I recalled but with huge pieces missing. It was like thinking through Swiss cheese. I tried to remember a boyfriend or special someone, but no luck. Only a big blotch of nothingness.