by Rita Herron
Clarissa hesitated, shaking all over, willing the voices to be quiet.
“What is it?”
“This is the mine where all the miners lost their lives. I hear their voices screaming in pain.”
He squeezed her hand, and she drew in courage. If Wulf was inside, she had to save him. She couldn’t let her fears imprison her as her mother’s had.
Her heart racing, she pushed past Vincent and raced ahead to the mouth of the cave. Vincent grabbed her hand to stop her. “Let me go in first, make sure the mine is safe.”
But Wulf was inside. Clarissa heard his low growl of pain. Recognized his scent. Knew he’d welcome her but that he might not Vincent.
Racked with fear, she jerked away and charged inside. “Wulf! Wulf, where are you?”
She shone the flashlight across the rocky dirt floor, noticed weathered rotting boards jutting from the ceiling as she plunged deeper into the mineshaft, listening.
The spirits gathered from the stone walls, floating and drifting toward her with outstretched skeletal fingers, their cries screeching from the depths of the tunnel to taunt her, crowding her mind with wails of sorrow. “Help.”
“We didn’t deserve to die.”
“Get us out. We’re trapped here . . .”
“A demon caused the explosion.”
“He killed us, took us from our families.”
A sob caught in her throat. How could she possibly help them all?
Wulf’s whimper mingled amid the roar of spirits. Then a rumbling sound followed, and rocks and dirt crumbled from above, raining down. Dear God. The mine was collapsing.
She stumbled and dropped her flashlight. It hit a rock and flickered off, plunging her into total darkness. She pivoted to search the ground just as another rumbling exploded behind her. Rocks and dust swirled in a brown and gray cloud as the mineshaft collapsed behind her,
“Clarissa!” Vincent shouted. “Come back, it’s too dangerous!”
She yelled his name and started to run back toward the mouth, but rocks pelted her, and she ran the opposite way, dodging falling debris. Like a mudslide, the walls tumbled down around her and the floor shook. A wooden beam slammed against the back of her head, and she stumbled forward, the sharp, jagged rocks tearing at her hands as she pitched to the ground.
She tasted blood and dirt, and pain splintered through her calf just before the endless darkness swallowed her.
Sadie Sue had never been so furious in all her life. She’d always had a temper, just enough to give her the grit to do whatever the hell she had to do to survive.
The reason she’d slapped the living shit out of her drunk daddy when he’d tried to crawl in her bed one night. The reason she’d slept with anyone who’d given her attention as a teen.
The reason she’d kept her baby instead of giving it away to strangers, like Petey’s daddy had wanted. The reason she’d taken the dance job and then spread her legs to make ends meet for her and her son.
The reason she’d made the deal with the devil.
Ever since that fatal night when he’d wrapped that snake around her skinny neck and offered her eternal life, she’d felt different, as if blood no longer ran through her veins. She burned with heat and an energy that pulsed through her soul, tormenting her with vile thoughts and telling her to do things she’d never considered before.
Like whipping Vincent Valtrez until she’d licked the blood from his back.
Now she lay like a rag doll while another john screwed her, his grunts bouncing off the cheap hotel room walls as he rutted.
Finally he finished, heaving for air, sweating profusely.
Sickened by him, she laughed.
He snatched a hank of her hair. “What are you laughing at, you bitch?”
She laughed harder, watching as his jowls reddened with rage. “Your puny little dick. No wonder you can’t keep a wife.”
He slapped her, so hard her ears rang. Laughter died in her throat, and rage replaced it, oozing from her pores. Every time she’d given a blow job to some ugly creep flashed into her mind, followed by the time her daddy had pinned her between the wall and the bed. She’d grabbed his balls and twisted them so hard he yelped in pain, and she thought his head would spin right off.
“Don’t mess with me again,” she said as she lunged up, shoved him back on the bed, and glowered over him. That strange feeling suffused her, as if she no longer owned her body, and she blinked, then felt her eyes swirling back in her head.
He whimpered in fear. Thrilled by his terror, she gave his balls another vicious twist, then retrieved her clothes while he rolled into a fetal position.
A sliver of moonlight played off her hands as she grabbed the money he’d put on the table.
“That slap will cost you extra,” she said with another bitter laugh. Still glowering at him, she took his wallet from his pants where they lay wrinkled on the floor, emptied it of cash, and stormed out.
Reeling with the humiliation of having Valtrez dump her for crazy Clarissa, she contemplated revenge on the woman.
And she would have Vincent one day. In fact, he’d be her servant, worshipping at her feet, licking her ass if she told him to.
This time she’d be the one taking pleasure while she’d leave him hard as a rock.
Yep, Sadie Sue had the devil on her side now, and there was no stopping her.
A few minutes later, she let herself into her house. Trina was sleeping on the couch, snoring softly. Sadie Sue shuddered and walked past, then hurried into little Petey’s room.
When she saw her reflection in the window by the crib, her chest constricted. The devil had sunk his claws into her. She could see his fire burning in her eyes.
Little Petey stirred, then looked up at her, the scent of baby powder sweetening the air. Her head spun as vile voices whispered in her head.
“Your baby will only get in the way.”
“He’ll be better off without you, you whore.”
“Let the devil have him.”
Her head throbbed, vision blurring, and she reached for Petey.
He screamed as her hands closed around his body, and she pulled him from his crib.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Vincent’s heart thundered in his chest as he ran deeper into the mine after Clarissa.
He almost wished he could see them so he could fend them off for her.
More rocks tumbled around him, pinging off the walls, jerking him back to the present.
Clarissa . . .
Dammit, she was supposed to stay behind him, but he’d screwed up and she’d gotten past. Then he’d spotted bones, stopped to check them out, and the mine had begun to rumble.
What if she got killed in the collapse? He couldn’t lose her . . .
Ignoring the panic rippling through him, he shouted her name as rock and rotten wood tumbled down, but she didn’t respond. He smelled animal blood, then saw more bones jutting out from inside the cave. A human skeleton. Years old.
Dodging more falling debris, he veered to the right, pebbles scattering below his boots as he searched the tunnel.
Suddenly another rumble rent the air, the ceiling ahead totally collapsed, and more rock and dirt crashed down. He coughed against the dust and screeched to a dead halt, nearly plowing into the mound.
Cursing, he threw up his hands, but his anger sparked the power in his hands, and he sent a side wall caving in. Realizing he might make things worse, he forced his hands by his sides and inhaled a deep breath.
“Clarissa, make some sound. Let me know you’re back there. That you’re alive.”
He closed his eyes, focused on each sound in the dark mineshaft, but the scattering of more rock and dirt colliding filled the deadly silence. Somewhere in the distance he zeroed in on a dog’s pain-filled whimper and knew it was Wulf.
At least the dog had survived. Maybe Wulf would find Clarissa and protect her until Vincent could shovel his way through the mound to reach her.
He unpocketed his cell phone to call
the sheriff for a rescue crew, but his phone showed no service.
He didn’t have time to hike back to call—Clarissa might be injured or run out of air.
Knowing that the mineshaft was still unsteady, he assessed the sides and roof before he started to yank away rock and wood.
Carefully he moved stones and splintered wooden boards, leaving enough space so they could crawl back through in case there wasn’t an opening on the other side.
If not, he’d have to make one himself. Because he would get Clarissa out. He had to.
A whistling sound floated through the mine, then the sound of a sinister laugh echoing from the hills. Vincent froze, recognizing the voice in the recesses of his brain.
His father’s laughter. His voice assuring Vincent that one day he would win. That destiny was calling.
An image of his mother’s face flashed against the darkness, her screams mingling with his father’s vile laughter, and he flung his hands out, tearing away rock and boards with such a fury that his body vibrated from the force.
Sweat soaked his shirt and body as he dug with his bare hands. He coughed again, spitting out dirt as he dropped onto his belly and slithered through the narrow opening. Dirt caved around him, dust and the stench of blood filled his nostrils, and rocks scraped his hands as he dug away more debris.
His lungs ached from trying to conserve air as he lev-ered himself between some wedged stone and dropped to the clearing beyond. It was so dark that even with his heightened senses, he saw nothing but shadows.
He felt for the flashlight he’d tucked into his belt, but he’d lost it in the mess.
“Clarissa!”
No response.
“Clarissa, dammit, answer me! Where are you?”
A low moan emerged from his right, and he slithered forward, clawing his way along the stone until he found her. She lay slumped in a bed of rocks and dirt, limp and barely breathing.
Heart hammering, he reached out to check her for injuries and felt blood trickling down her forehead.
Clarissa moaned, covering her ears with her hands to drown out the sorrowful cries reverberating off the walls. The dead who lay trapped beneath the rubble from years before stared up through the ground with horror-stricken eyes as flesh fell from their bones and their skin disintegrated into dust.
She saw and heard it all as if it was happening that moment. The terrified, shocked screams and panic as the mine collapsed. The bloody hands clawing through dirt and rock for freedom before the suffocating darkness and dirt sucked the last breath from their lungs.
Crippled by the dead who held her prisoner to their tortured souls, she barely realized that Vincent had found her.
He patted her cheek gently, and slowly she responded, battling her way back from the dead to the living.
“Clarissa, I feel blood. Are you hurt?” He ran his hands over her arms and legs, over her torso, checking for injuries, his fingers gentle, his voice gruff with concern.
She pressed her hand over his. “I’m okay . . . it’s the voices . . . the dead crying out to me.” She gulped for a breath. “There are so many here.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m going to find a way out.”
She nodded, although she wasn’t sure he could see her in the dark.
“Just rest while I explore the cave.”
She clutched his hand, suddenly not wanting him to leave her alone. “Some of these mines go on for miles and miles underground. The tunnels connect to underground caves.”
“I know. I’ll be back. I promise.” He squeezed her hand again, and she released him, but a chill invaded her as he scrambled away.
Somewhere in the distance, water trickled over a rock, and Wulf whined. The scent of decay assaulted her, the sound of a small animal skittering along the ground. She shivered, a sob catching in her throat as the spirits returned to haunt her, begging her to save them from where they lay trapped for all time.
She closed her eyes and prayed for the souls, begged God to help them find peace, then whispered for the lost souls to look for the light.
“You have to move on, cross into the light. God is with you,” she said softly.
A sliver of light warmed her, yet another bevy of screams bombarded her, and she rolled into a ball and rocked herself back and forth, continuing the prayer as she waited for Vincent’s return.
But panic set in like a slow-eating virus. What if they died in here tonight? What if they couldn’t escape and she was buried here among the lost souls, forced to listen to their tortured cries through eternity?
Her breathing turned shallow as she faded into a semiconscious state, her head pounding from the torment.
Footsteps and skittering rock tore her from her panicked state, and Vincent’s voice came as blessed relief, soothing in the darkness.
“Clarissa, there’s a clearing about a half mile up where the mine connects to a series of tunnels and caves. There’s an underground spring there. Wulf is resting by the pool.”
“That’s one of the sacred places,” Clarissa whispered. “I’ve heard about them. He’s safe from demons there.”
“Let’s go, then. We can rest, and I can check your head injury. Then I’ll find a way to get help.”
She nodded and tried to stand, but her legs wobbled, and she was so weak she clutched at him. He slid an arm beneath her waist and they crouched low, shuffling their way through the mine. Vincent led her as if instincts were his guide, and a streak of light illuminated the clearing, light that seeped from above ground and shot a ray of moonlight across the pool. Cool air offered a reprieve from the heat, and the soft gurgle of the water lapping against the stone walls brought a sense of peace.
The voices of the dead momentarily quieted.
Maybe the ones who’d made it this far had crossed over.
Wulf lay by the edge of the pool, looking weary, but he was alive. “Oh, baby.” She knelt and hugged him, checking him for injuries. His paw looked bruised but the pool water had washed away the blood and he seemed okay. She petted him. Had Wulf instinctively come here because he’d known the water would heal him?
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as Vincent helped her sit down by the pool edge and Wulf nuzzled up beside her. She’d never seen water so clear and beautiful. Her reflection caught in the shimmering softness, and so did Vincent’s.
He looked like a giant primitive Roman god, his expression etched in granite as chiseled as the naturally rough, statuesque walls of the cave.
His expression softened, and he removed a handkerchief from his pocket, knelt and dipped it in the water, then gently pressed it to her cheek. The water felt blessedly cool, soothing, as did his touch. Her breath hitched as he wiped her scratches; then he pressed the cloth against her forehead. The throbbing in her head eased slightly.
“Vincent—”
“Shh, I want to check your injury.”
He circled to her back, parting her hair, and examined the wound where the board had slammed into her scalp.
“It’s really okay,” she said. “Just a bruise.”
“It doesn’t look like it needs stitches,” he replied. “Do you feel dizzy? Light-headed?”
Yes, but not from the head wound. From having him touch her here in this private cavern. The mineshaft had echoed of the dead and pain, but this place felt like a sanctuary. The faint light spilling through the darkness created shards of colors like a rainbow across the gray walls.
But the fear she’d felt earlier, the panic, rose to taunt her, and she pressed her hand to his cheek, need spiraling through her. If—when—they left, they had to face the world again, fight the demon.
His throat worked as he swallowed. “Try to relax. I’ll go ahead and hunt for a way out.”
“Not yet,” she whispered. “It’s safe here, free from the demons.”
She parted her lips on a sigh, then pressed a kiss to his lips. He was so handsome and virile, so protective and strong, that her body ached for him.
�
��Clarissa, don’t,” he growled. “I told you my rules.”
“We might not make it out of here alive,” she said softly. “And if or when we do, we might not survive this demon.” She wet her lips, traced a hand down his chest, and began to unbutton his shirt. “I don’t want to die without having you one more time.”
He caught her hand, jerked away, and turned to face the stone wall. But tension laced his big hard body, and he seemed to be struggling for control. “I said stop it. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know that I can’t help myself, that I want your hands on me, Vincent. I want you to make me feel alive again. I need you to fill the emptiness inside me.”
He clenched his hands by his sides, but she massaged the tension from his shoulders, then pressed a kiss to his back and pulled his shirt over his shoulders. The scars on his back made her throat convulse, yet tenderness filled her. He had suffered, possessed a dark side, but concern and tenderness underscored his touch as he’d washed the dirt and blood from her cheek.
He wouldn’t hurt her. Even now, he was trying to protect her from himself.
And she knew what it was like to have him throbbing inside of her.
She kissed one scar, then another and another. His breath hissed between clenched teeth, and he stood rigid, unbending. She slipped around in front of him and trailed more kisses over his chest, each one tender and erotic. His dark gaze met hers, a battle raging in his eyes.
She took his hand and gently coaxed him to the water. His dark gaze flared with the fierceness of a warrior lover as she removed his shoes and socks.
Quivering with longing, she stripped her clothes and stood naked before him. Naked except for the angel amulet he’d given her.
His erection pushed against his jeans, begging for freedom. Whispering her desires, she lowered his zipper and shoved his jeans down his legs. He stood ramrod straight, as if he refused to take part, and she smiled, then pushed his boxers down his legs.
With a shiver of anticipation, she pulled him into the crystal clear water with her.
Pan cursed the saints—Vincent had run into the mine to save Clarissa.
Maybe here the voices of the lost souls would finally drive her over the edge.
