Stalking the Others

by Jess Haines

  Biting my lip, I looked away again before answering him. The tears made it a little hard to speak clearly, but I’m pretty sure he still heard me just fine. “My soul. My free will.”

  Shaking from a mix of stress and fatigue and a sickness more of mind than body, I jerked out of his grip and put some distance between us, turning my back on him as I drew the covers up to my chin. He might own me now, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

  What hurt worst of all was knowing that my dad was right. I wasn’t fit to be a Waynest. I wasn’t even my own person anymore. Without the belt, I was just another helpless, hapless human, at the mercy of a monster who could feed on or kill me at any time with no cost to himself. No safety nets. No taking it back. I’d put myself here, and now I would have to suffer the consequences of my own choices.

  The vampire’s hand settled on my shoulder. The irony of that possessive gesture coinciding with my thoughts wasn’t lost on me. If anything, it made it harder to get the tears under control. When I didn’t turn around, he gripped my upper arm, not tight enough to hurt, but definitely enough to keep me from pulling away from him again.

  “Shiarra, please look at me.”

  I wouldn’t—couldn’t do it. He made a soft, frustrated sound in his throat before speaking.

  “I wish I had some way of expressing to you how much you mean to me in a way that you would accept. You saved my life, Shiarra, back when I meant nothing to you. You’re brave when you have every reason to run scared, you’ve shown a remarkable ability to think on your feet, and you’re resourceful. You’ve faced many of your fears, which is more than could be said for some of the most loyal of my number—but you hold to this idea that belonging to me makes you less than a person, and it’s simply not true. You are no less the woman you were before you let me touch you last night, and I have no intentions of discarding you like some broken toy.”

  “This isn’t something you can fix, Royce,” I said. My voice might have been thick with tears, but I was proud of myself for being able to say what I was thinking for once instead of choking on my own angst like a brooding teenager. “You were just ... you. It was my choice. I let it happen.”

  His voice was deadly cold and quiet. “Are you telling me you consider last night a mistake?”

  I twisted to look at him, shocked.

  He leaned in, using his grip on my arm to push me to my back. Before I knew it, his fingers, icy and implacable, tightened around my wrists. The growl rumbling in his throat made my knees quiver, and I gasped as my hands were abruptly pinned above my head, his lips brushing over my throat with a teasing rake of fangs as he leaned into me. His usually smooth voice came out rough, ragged, and I could very nearly taste the anger and frustration radiating from him around the bitter flavor of fear on my tongue.

  “You are the most aggravating woman I have ever encountered! I have fought everything that I am to be what I thought you would desire of me. I have left you to live your life as you wished it, rather than as I willed it. Do you know how difficult it was to wait idly by while you hemmed and hawed about whether you could trust me? Don’t you know that the temptation to interfere with your choices was nearly unbearable? I have been as kind and generous and understanding as I know how to be, Shiarra. I waited for you to come to me of your own will—and now that you have, you think that what we did was a mistake? After all that I have done? Still you spurn me, fear me. Am I not generous enough? Have I not been merciful? What must I say or do to make you understand that I have leashed everything that I am so that you would choose me of your own will?”

  Though my heart was still beating a million miles a minute and every breath was taken on a gasp thanks to the adrenaline rush, I didn’t struggle. It took some effort to calm down, but his grip eased up as the tension in my body did. His lips were still but a hairsbreadth away from my jugular, but I didn’t think he was about to bite me. Not yet, anyway. My reply came out small-voiced, not in the accusatory tone I was going for.

  “You’re taking away what makes me ... me. You scare me, Royce. You scare me half to death, but I want you, too, and that just makes it worse. Am I even human anymore, or am I just a reflection of who you think I should be?”

  My question gave him pause. He withdrew—though he didn’t let me go—and I relaxed marginally as the harsh edge left his voice.

  “You are every bit as human now as you were when you first entered my home last night. I have done nothing—nothing—to change that. Don’t hate yourself for letting me make you feel good. Giving in to me isn’t a crime. Liking the things I make you feel isn’t a sin against your family or your God. There is no shame in it. I won’t tolerate these misconceptions any longer, or see you destroy yourself, physically or emotionally, now that you’re finally mine—do you understand? You mean too much to me for me to allow that to happen.”

  I shuddered at his pronouncement. Though a part of me was absurdly pleased with his words, the rest of me was screaming in horror at that finally mine part. It only validated the terror of losing my own identity, only to be overshadowed by a new “master” I couldn’t live without.

  “Damn it, Shiarra, look at me!”

  I did. His normally black eyes were blazing red with anger, shining like bright beads of precious stones set in a lake of tar. He lifted one of my hands and pressed it to his cheek, twining his fingers with mine, much like we had done last night.

  “Why do you not believe me when I say you will remain your own person? Is it because you are frightened by what I made you feel? I still taste you, crave you, want to be inside of you again. Can you honestly tell me you don’t want that, too? That you don’t want me?”

  I wanted it. I wanted it so badly, I could taste the remembered mint and copper of his mouth on my tongue.

  But I wanted to stay me, too.

  “Please,” I croaked between shallow pants, my fingers against his cheek lightly stroking his skin and pressing the length of my body against his to ease the growing heat and need, even though I knew I should have drawn away. “Please, Royce, I can’t do this again. Please don’t make me lose myself. Please.”

  “No more tears. Not because of me.” His hands cupped my cheeks as he tilted my head up so he could briefly press a kiss against each eyelid, his cool lips following the path of my tears as he whispered against my skin. “You don’t need to be frightened anymore, my little hunter. You’ll always be safe—and yourself—with me.”

  When he loosened his grip on my wrists and coaxed me to embrace him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and clutched at him. He stroked my hair while I battled an internal struggle between the dark corner of my mind telling me what a horrible idea it was to trust him and the hurting, lonely, emotional side that wanted to believe it all—heart and soul.

  “You aren’t a pet or some mindless puppet, Shiarra. I’ll only take what you’ll freely give me, never force anything from you. I might tease you now and again, but it will remain no more than the occasional attempt to fluster or coax you into trying something beyond your comfort zone.” The fanged smile that curved his lips spoke of wicked things he already had in mind to talk me into. Even the dark, rational side admitted that might be some fun to go along with. “You have my word.”

  I believed him. He hadn’t hurt me, hadn’t driven me away, hadn’t done anything other than reassure and comfort me. True, his methods were sometimes abhorrent, but his intentions, though not always clear, were good. I was the one with the hang-ups here, and felt no small measure of shame for constantly treating him as the bad guy or thinking him responsible for every evil that had befallen me since I’d been drawn into the doings of the Others in this city.

  I pressed a kiss to his chest before ducking my head, mumbling a few words that might or might not have been coherent. Spitting out the truth hurt, but I meant everything I said. “Sorry ... I’m sorry, too. Shouldn’t have said—shouldn’t think so little of you. I’m sorry, Royce.”

  He rested his cheek on the top of my head
as his fingertips ran soothingly along my back, just holding me. It took a while, but eventually my tears tapered off.

  I’d done some abhorrent things during that time I thought I might be turning into a werewolf, but maybe with Royce’s help, picking up the shattered pieces of my life wouldn’t be as hard as I feared. Tackling everything alone had been incredibly foolish—as had my decision to go to the White Hats for help—so why not accept that the vampire could assist me? Doing things alone and ignoring his offers before had only gotten me into more trouble. The idea of trusting him no longer seemed like the epically bad idea I’d once thought it to be.

  When I tilted my head back to give him a speculative look, considering the possibilities, he leaned forward just enough to brush a kiss over my brow.

  “It’s been an intensely stressful month for you. I imagine there may be other times in the days ahead when you will need reassurance. There is no need to suffer in silence. You will come to me and allow me to help you instead of rushing off on your own now, yes?”

  That hit a little too close to home. I gave him a sharp poke in the side, giving him a disgruntled snort. “Can we talk about anything other than that right now?”

  “After you promise you will come to me if you need assistance.”

  I pulled back, tugging the sheets over my chest as I sat up, and frowned at him. His pointed look as he curled his arm under his head and stared back gave me the courage to say exactly what I was thinking.

  “Fine. I promise—” Royce’s triumphant smirk faded when he realized I was tagging my own stipulation onto the deal. “—if you promise you’ll stop trying to blackmail or manipulate me every time you want something.”

  His smile became more genuine. “Is that all?”

  I thought about it. “You’re also going to answer some questions. I’m tired of being scared and left in the dark. I hardly know anything about you. I want that to change.”

  “A reasonable request. Agreed.”

  “Good. Then I have something to ask right now.” He nodded for me to continue. “What the hell is with the futon?”

  He blinked. Then another slow smile spread, followed by a chuckle. “I suppose you were expecting some vast acreage of satin sheets and mounds of pillows, hmm?”

  I knew I was turning red, could feel the heat blossoming in my cheeks, but I folded my arms, and gave him a raised eyebrow while waiting for him to answer. “Maybe I was. You’re not some college frat boy who can’t afford better, and every other piece of personal property of yours I’ve seen, from your clothes to your office—offices—whatever—practically screams ‘look at me, I have more money than God!’ So, explain it to me. Make me understand this piece of you.”

  He’d lived up to a number of vampire stereotypes in our previous encounters, being broody and dark and mysterious—but I knew there was more to him than that. The odd choice of furniture was one piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit, and I thought it might be a safe place to start learning more about the real man hiding behind the mask of a monster. From the looks of things, he didn’t mind my prying, either. He rolled onto his back and folded both hands under his head, giving me a boyish grin and an excellent view of the scars ranging across the toned muscles of his chest.

  “Yes, I lived up to the cliché. Up until recently, I had the huge bed and all the necessary accessories to make this place a suitable haven to live out every imaginable debauched and depraved sexual fantasy that I desired.” As hard as it was, I kept my gaze steady on his, even though I was pretty sure I was about to ignite from my own embarrassment. “Do you know, less than a year ago, a woman—a human woman—reminded me how very important it was to value my freedom and humanity?”

  I was getting an inkling that he was referring to me, but I still didn’t see what that had to do with his futon or the sexcapades he was referring to. I’m sure he gathered I was confused. As he continued speaking, he rolled onto his hands and knees and crept toward me. I laid back as he approached, a teensy bit apprehensive about the predatory nature of his movements; he didn’t stop until he was positioned above me.

  “A very brave and foolish girl saved me from the very fate I had subjected countless others to. She freed me from what could have been lifetimes of slavery to someone who cared nothing for who or what I was. And while she could have taken that artifact and used me for her own ends, she did not. Though I wished that she would let me do something to show her how thankful I was for showing me such mercy, she would not have me.”

  I bit my lip and pressed my palm to his cheek, not sure what to say to this strange confession of his. He was still smiling, so I knew he wasn’t angry with me, but it was surreal to hear him talk about me like I was some brilliant savior. Considering how little I knew about his world, that could be taken as very flattering, or very alarming.

  “When I saw how humbly she lived, it served as a reminder of who I really was and where I came from. A futon is not quite the same as the bedding from my home on the farm when I was human, but it serves as an adequate reminder. Every night—from the moment I wake, and again, before I take my day’s rest—I am reminded that despite all of the luxuries available to me, they are not to come at the expense of another’s freedom. That there is no shame in taking the weak and making them strong.” He leaned in to kiss and nip at a spot that nearly had me come off the bed. “... and, perhaps now I can get that great big bed back and keep you close instead. What do you think? Will you remind me when I should show mercy?”

  “If you keep doing that thing with your tongue.” I tangled my fingers in his hair, gasping when he repeated the motion. “I’ll ... I’ll ...”

  He paused, glancing up at me with a fangy grin and raised brows. “You’ll what?”

  I laughed and pushed him back. “I’ll think of something. Don’t stop!”

  And after that, he didn’t.

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

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  Copyright © 2012 by Jess Haines

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  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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  ISBN: 978-1-4201-2839-0

  10987654321