Dangerous Lovers

by Becca Vincenza

  • • •

  I looked at her again, now. I could see her shaking. I thought she’d fall back to sleep. We’d been on the road for almost seven hours. We had about five more to go. I leaned down next to her. She moved away, but not enough to touch Dallas.

  “You should sleep. You’re safe.” I paused. “For now.” She flinched and I saw tears slip from her right eye first, followed by the left. I swallowed. She whimpered. Gods, she was so broken.

  “We havin’ a party down here?” Dallas’s loud voice boomed as he bent closer to us. The girl shrieked through her gag and start squirming.

  “Hey…easy.” I moved to touch her shoulder, but pulled away knowing she didn’t want to be touched. But shit, did I want to touch her. Something in my body demanded I comfort her, to do something for her.

  I gestured to Dallas, who had taken his helmet off the moment we got into the van, cheering of a job well done. No casualties on our side. His light blonde hair was longer than usual and messed up from the helmet. His brown eyes bore down on the girl until he turned his stare on me. I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. Who the hell was she?

  Chapter Three

  Audrey

  Stone and the loud one moved away from me. They muttered to each other. I used their distraction to move my hands to my face. I had convinced myself long ago that facing death would be easier. Just shut your eyes and let it happen. But this wasn’t death. This was a new prison. A new hell. I wanted to face it head on. The men behind me were wrapped up in their hushed conversation. I slipped the blindfold off and looked around. My dead eye saw more than anyone knew. I forced my movements to match that of the car, I didn’t want to be detected by those around me.

  I didn’t know what I was looking for. For approximately four years, thirty days, and ten hours, before I arrived in that room, I only had memories of uncaring hands. They were painful touches. At the time, I’d wished it all away. A year after that, I wished for the violent hands. The harsh words. The uncaring, hateful stares. Anything would have been better than nothing. Now I had it all. Sight, sound, touch…

  There were no windows in the back of the van where I was sandwiched between Stone and the loud one. I was waiting for a well-planned jarring bump. I could lunge forward, in order to get to the sunlight. That would be my way out. Suddenly the van started to lose speed. I wanted freedom, not another prison. I felt it in every fiber of my being. There was only one way out. The car kept slowing.

  “Damn traffic jam!” a new voice shouted.

  Maybe if I ran, they would kill me. It was wishful thinking, but enough to jar my hands and legs awake. I pulled down the gag and ripped the blindfold off, no longer trying to be stealthy.

  I threw myself into the loud man. He smacked into the metal wall and I leaped forward. I managed to grab the door handle before heavy arms wrapped themselves around my waist.

  It was violent touching but touching nonetheless. I didn’t want to squirm away, but I somehow twisted from his grasp. I pulled the handle, but it wouldn’t move. A new sound came through the grunts and protest.

  It was a click.

  I stopped and turned, so only my left eye could see in painstaking detail as the gun pointed at me. Not at my heart, but my shoulder. He wasn’t aiming to kill. He would cause pain. I didn’t want that. Death is what I wanted. I would survive that wound. My breath was shaky, but I let go of the handle.

  “Ah, so you can see with your left eye. I thought you could. Sit down, my dear. Right here will be fine.” It was the much older man who spoke, gun aimed and ready. His hair was more grey than blonde. His eyes were a deep brown, wise. I sat with my chained hands still up.

  “Don’t fear death, do you, child?” I didn’t speak or breathe. “Dallas, do me the favor of moving her hands behind her back.” His eyes never left mine.

  I didn’t want to look away, but I didn’t want whomever Dallas was to touch me. I already had too many encounters, I would grow weak and long for the forgotten warmth. If I wanted them to kill me, I had to provoke them. Dallas was the one on my right - blonde hair, same eyes as the older man. He unclasped the handcuffs, not touching me at first. He grabbed my wrist and forced it behind me. His hand left a searing pain of forgotten memories.

  “Now, will you speak?” The older man forced my attention to him. I didn’t answer. “Now, what could they have done to you that was so bad you’d want me to kill you?” His voice laced with malice.

  I saw the one called Stone – the one I tried to save - tense. I dropped my gaze immediately. I saw a hand move toward my face. I backed away, heart slamming against my chest in an unnatural rhythm.

  “Interesting. Do you know how you got those scars?”

  I shook my head ever so slightly. Liar, liar.

  “You don’t remember anything but that room, do you?”

  Again, so subtle were my movements. Pants. On. Fire.

  “Hm, well, I am sorry about this.” A quick prick and the world went black.

  Chapter Four

  Stone

  Jacobs held her shoulders as she slumped forward. When Jacobs spoke to her, I gauged her reaction. She had remained silent though I knew she could speak. I wondered briefly if she thought it gave her power. She had only said one thing to me, a warning. Yet, when Jacobs blatantly threatened to kill her with the gun, she hadn’t even flinched. She didn’t like to be touched but had no problem knocking Dallas on his ass. Dallas was in a sour mood because she caught him by surprise. I could hear his labored breathing.

  “Dallas, you all right?” I asked. I knew she hadn’t hurt him. It took a lot more to hurt a werewolf. There was no way in hell that I wanted to be in the same car as him if he started to shift. Werewolf shifts are nasty to be around. The idea of sharing a car with an overgrown wolf was not one I relished. Dallas should have been better at controlling his shifts, considering his age, but even a startled, pissed off wolf couldn’t control themselves at times.

  “Yeah.” It was more a grunt than an actual answer. When Jacobs looked at his son, he shook his head.

  “What is she?” Marcus called from the front. He was fey, and he couldn’t catch her scent like the rest of them. I couldn’t smell her either. All I could smell was the stench of shifting werewolf and the regular, overpowering smell of wolf with Jacobs in the car as well. Dallas leaned toward her. I’d never seen Jacobs lose his poker face, but his expression shifted for just a moment. Puzzlement. Then back to team leader, never showing emotion.

  “She will have to tell us,” Jacobs whispered, he kept his head forward, but would occasionally glance at the strange girl.

  “What should we call 'er?” Marcus again. The fey are always interested in names. But this time it made sense.

  “Scars,” Dallas grunted next to me.

  I didn’t like it, but Marcus was testing it out and Jacobs said nothing. Elijah, who was sitting next to Marcus, finally turned to the girl. I didn’t see any emotion on his face or in his black eyes. Elijah, one of our best, scared the shit out of me. Wraiths were scary like that though. The coldness in their completely black eyes and their touch made them almost impossible to be around. And to be honest, I was happy as hell when he turned away.

  “Ye jist wan' tae call 'er that because she caught ye off guard, Mongrel.” Marcus had moments when his Scottish accent would come out. From what I knew of him, he was almost two hundred years old. Fey were a strange race. I didn’t try to understand them.

  “Marcus, how long?” Jacobs called out, obviously done with us younger folk. I knew he was about as old as Marcus himself. The difference was that Jacobs acted his age. Then again, while werewolves live two life spans, they don’t live forever like the fey claim to.

  “Less than an hour.”

  Jacobs mumbled “good” about three times.

  “So, who is watching Scars? I thought we could celebrate New Year’s tonight.” Dallas apparently wasn’t going to let the nickname go. I ignored them and instead, watched her. The scars wer
e not from a werewolf or any animal I had ever encountered. They were more than an inch wide. The claw that was used to make them would have been pointed to a sharp tip; it was too small and clean for either a large cat or wolf. A bird’s would have more of a hooked ending. The skin wasn’t newly healed, but it was a scar that would remain angry for the rest of her life. I wondered how old she was when she got them. Is that why she warned me?

  “Stone? You all right?” Dallas looked at me, concerned. I realized I was clutching the armrest and I shook my head trying to reassure him I was fine.

  “Can’t wait for tonight. Who is taking first shift?” My voice was gruff with my lie. I was too caught up in my own thoughts.

  “Elijah has generously offered to take over our duties,” Jacobs answered, not looking at me as we parked. The wraith turned around not to acknowledge his name, but instead, his completely black eyes landed on the girl. I swallowed hard. Maybe I wouldn’t go out tonight. Getting home though, made me relax slightly. We lived in a hotel that was converted into apartments. Though the building on the outside was hideous, the inside thrived. We had thrived.

  “Marcus and Dallas, you’re going to debrief. Elijah, Stone, you’re going to take her to room 640.” Room 640? Damn.

  I moved and grabbed the girl again. I climbed out, ignoring Elijah standing there. He didn’t look as if he was willing to take her and I wasn’t willing to give her up. We headed inside going in the back way so that no one ran into us. She was a bit taller than average, but unbelievably skinny, in a sick way. I released her handcuffs and threw her left arm around my neck while keeping the left side of her face hidden against my chest. Elijah and I took the elevator up. I didn’t spend much time with Elijah; well, no one spent much time with him. I knew he was quiet and observant, unlike the others on our team.

  “She's stronger than she realizes.” Elijah said without looking at me or her, but I felt his attention on us.

  “She's probably scared.” God, I was a dumbass. Of course she was scared.

  “Yes.”

  I wondered for a moment if Elijah was replying to my own thoughts, but he didn’t say anymore as the doors opened. This floor, meant for “special guests,” was barely used but I knew 640 was one of the most spacious, reinforced rooms. The special guest was usually not a prisoner, just someone who needed more protection. I guess that was what we were pretending she was. Elijah opened the door; the room was set up like mine and everyone else’s. A small kitchen and living room area; off to the right, a bathroom; and to the left, a bedroom. This room was filled with the best furniture in the building, though.

  There was a huge plasma TV, which would have excited the others on the team, but Elijah and I barely gave it a second glance. I was too concerned with the girl in my arms. There were two couches, a love seat, and a three person couch; the other rooms had a different layout.

  I headed to put the girl down on the bed. For some reason, my hand was itching to move the hair that covered her scars. Elijah stayed by the door. I didn’t really want to leave, but I had other things that needed to be done. I left her alone with Elijah standing outside the door of the apartment.

  Chapter Five

  Audrey

  I dreamt of hands on me. I thought that I had longed for this contact, but the hands were where they shouldn’t be. They touched and pulled, tore me apart. Dissected me. Then, suddenly, it all stopped.

  “Don’t you wish for solitude?” A dark laugh filled my head.

  I was alone again. I was alone. I was alone with mirrors. I saw my face as it was when I was eight. Flawless. A monster came and marked me. I watched in the mirrors as it happened over and over again. A scream always rose.

  I screamed myself awake.

  I usually didn’t remember my dreams, just woke up scared. This time was different. Why? I looked at the pale white walls of my room, no sharp edges or tight corners. The bed was too soft. I pulled away and hit a wooden board. I moved to the edge of the bed and stood shifting my weight. My exposed feet touched too soft ground, the feeling was too alien. I wasn’t in my room.

  I needed a room with a door. I ran to the bathroom. I didn’t look inside. I just shoved the door shut and locked it. The cold hard tile was familiar. It felt safe.

  I couldn’t trust the softness, I wouldn’t. I stared at the door for a long time until I turned. A mirror. Staring back at me was a gaunt faced girl. Scars from claws that pulled apart the skin, and separated muscles. I cringed the memory of the pain. I moved my eyes back to the ones staring back at me. Her one eye was a beautiful pale color I moved to touch it, instead I pulled away. The girl in the mirror’s eyes had widened and her body started to shake. I grabbed the first thing I could find and shattered the mirror. I wasn’t watching my footing and I stepped on multiple shards. I tried not to scream, and fell back against a wall.

  A door slammed open. Footsteps followed. I held in my whimpers of pain, hoping the newcomer would leave.

  “Where the hell is she?”

  I knew that voice…Stone. That’s what they called him.

  “I smell blood. Bathroom.”

  That voice, too. Dallas – the too loud one. I pressed my hands over my ears. The footsteps sounded again. Then, there was a timid knock.

  “Are you okay?” Stone asked.

  I liked his voice, but not enough to believe he actually cared. This was a trick. I remained silent. I scooted back, grazing my hand on a shattered piece of mirror. I sucked in a sharp breath. The knock was louder and demanding now.

  “Open the door!” He sounded angry and I folded into myself. I was safer here. I was safer here. I was safer here.

  “You want to do the honor?”

  I looked at the door for a moment, not understanding. I didn’t know this new voice. It was musical and too calming. It was unnerving me.

  “My pleasure. Back away from the door, Scars.” Dallas said. Seconds later, the door exploded open. A large figure stood in the doorway, staring at the mirror. I curled tightly into myself. Don’t notice me. Please don’t touch me. Don’t torture me. Please.

  “What the hell happened?” the musical voice said, sounding closer than before. “Did ya do this, ya idiot?”

  “Move.” Stone said.

  I didn’t look anywhere; my small, safe room was crowded and dangerous. It was infected.

  “Whose blood…” I felt Stone’s eyes on me as he moved toward me. “Hey, where are you hurt?” His voice was calmer than before. I didn’t trust it. I shook my head. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll look.” Hands, touching everywhere.

  “Why?” I whispered too quietly.

  “We only want to help you.” He paused like the words were hard to say. Like they weren’t natural. “I want to help you.” There was a lingering silence that was waiting to be filled with the rest of his statement, but he wouldn’t finish. I noticed just a slight tremor in his voice. Fear.

  “Feet. Hand,” I whispered, not looking at him. I looked at the white. The comforting whiteness of the tiles. The sanctuary I didn’t know I had.

  “Can…” He cleared his throat. “May I touch you?” His voice taking on more of that timid, scared tone. Now I wondered if I scared him so badly. Was I really that hideous to look at, to touch? Maybe that was why I was alone for so many years. I remembered…once I grew out of being little, or being small and somewhat approachable, I was locked away. Hands didn’t touch…they hurt.

  I nodded, tears falling. I shut my eyes. Hopefully the memories could be shut out so easily. He touched me gently, trying his best to avoid skin to skin contact and lifted me.

  “Move.” His command was followed by a growl. He set me down on something that was soft and cradled my body. I tried to move, but his hand found my shoulder. I opened my eyes then.

  “Don’t move.” I had never noticed his eyes before, such an unusual brown, they almost appeared red. A deep crimson red. But they were beautiful. He didn’t take his eyes off of me. “Dale, Marcus, go find some doctors and Jacobs.�
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  “Why?” My voice was unbelievably quiet.

  Stone turned to me viciously.

  “What?” His once crimson eyes now burned red, but that was impossible.

  “Why are you doing this?” Tears slipped down. This was a new type of torture. I knew it would end. I wanted it to end. The pain of this kindness was too much. A false seed of hope could be more damaging than anything else. The shards may as well have been stabbing my heart. Stone glared at me, and I flinched away.

  “She thinks we are toying with her. Pain is all she knows. Give her kindness as you are now and you are attacking her.” This was another new voice. It was flat, unemotional, but it understood.

  I closed in on myself, this sterile voice was what I needed. Before I could retreat too far, Stone’s hands pulled me apart again.

  “Elijah, leave.” Stone’s voice was quiet but demanding.

  “As you wish.” His last word came out as a hiss, and I physically recoiled this time. Too close…too close to past memories.

  “Hey, I know wraiths are hard to be around at first, but you get used to it.” Now he was trying to be conversational.

  “What is -” Before I could ask, the door exploded open. The wood snapped, new voices started, footsteps. All the sounds surrounded my head, demanding to be heard. It was too much, far too much. I wrapped my arms around my head painfully tight, whimpering against the pain. Suddenly, an unfamiliar hand touched me. The skin radiated, way too much heat. I screamed, pulling away. Heat, I remembered. Heat burned. Heat…

  “I told you not to touch her.” Stone’s voice came through the clearest. I held onto his voice. Footsteps retreated, and then came forward again. “Hey, we need you to show us your feet.” His voice again.