Stygian

by Nashoda Rose

A giggle escaped and then another and another until I was laughing hysterically. I laughed until my shoulders and stomach ached. It felt good to laugh again, even though it wasn’t because I found this funny. Rather, it was just the opposite.

  God, I was losing it. I’d end up like my father after all, sitting alone in the darkness, unable to decipher what was real.

  “You’ll stay at our place tonight,” Keir said.

  Anstice nodded. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  I stopped laughing. What had I done? I’’d turned every single portrait into what looked like a bloodbath of insanity. I tapped my forehead with the heel of my hand. “I . . . guys, thanks, but it looks like I have a little cleaning up to do before I open tomorrow. Wouldn’t want clients to think I’d lost it or anything.” Maybe I’d killed the pesky mosquito. It was time to let go of this and start living again.

  Keir’s tone was firm and unbending. “I insist.”

  “Oh, pull that insisting crap on someone else, Keir. It doesn’t work with me.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

  I liked Keir, but the man had a thing for being in control. If I were Anstice, I’d have punched him in the jaw a few times and threatened to leave him if he continued to insist or demand. But she did usually get her own way. When Anstice’s temper flared, and she was a redhead, Keir procured this little smirk and he’d back down. It was kind of cute, considering there was nothing cute about Keir and his over six-foot mass of tatted muscles.

  “I had a freak out. I’m entitled.”

  “We’ll help you clean up,” Anstice said.

  I shook my head and the pencil slipped from my hair. My almond locks fell to swirl around my shoulders. I picked up the pencil and twirled my hair around it again. “No, I’m good. I need some time alone. I just destroyed my favorite paintings and dumped red paint all over my gallery floor.” Keir opened his mouth and I shot him a glare. “Don’t say another word, Keir. I like you—most of the time—but I’ll kick your ass if need be.”

  Anstice smiled, no doubt laughing at the absurd idea. “Call me tomorrow, okay? And dinner is still happening.” Anstice hesitated, glancing at Keir as if they were mentally communicating. It pissed me off when they did that, so bloody connected together that they knew what the other wanted to say without actual words. “We want you to meet someone. A good friend.”

  I stopped mid-bend to pick up a canvas, but straightened and looked at her. “Blind date me, and I call off our friendship.”

  “No, no. It’s not like that. Waleron just might be someone you can . . . talk to.”

  “A head doctor? You want me to see a head doctor again?” I cursed under my breath several times. Doctors had done shit for my father, and right after my abduction, I’d seen a therapist in the hospital. All I managed to get out of therapy were more questions as to what happened to me.

  “He’s not a psychiatrist,” Anstice said. “He’s just someone who might be able to help with what you’re going through.” Anstice raised her chin. “I’m not taking no for an answer this time. You never go out anymore. All you do is work and sit here hibernating. So Saturday after you close, I expect to see you at our place.”

  If I refused, she’d be over here every night until I agreed, and that wasn’t happening. Space and solitude had become my two best friends.

  “Fine, I’ll come. But tell the boys to take a hike. They pissed me off the last time.”

  “Jedrik’s flirting is harmless. And he likes you,” Anstice said.

  “Yeah, well, tell him to take his charming ass out the door or I’ll do it for him.” The last time I’d gone for dinner, the thirty-something boys—and Hack and Jedrik were boys considering they bantered back and forth like a couple of ten-year-olds—had fought over who could get me to go on a date with them. They’d actually made a hundred dollar bet. I still couldn’t figure out why they even lived there with Anstice and Keir. It wasn’t like Keir needed the rent money. Hell, they lived in a mansion in the richest part of the city.

  “I’ll deal with it,” Keir said, then put his hand on the small of Anstice’s back and headed for the door.

  Even though I was happy Anstice had found the love of her life, it also brought with it a barrier between us. We’d grown up together, friends from the first moment we’d met in the playground in second grade. Anstice had been crying over an injured bird and some boys in the fifth grade were teasing her. I walked up to the little instigator, who was doing most of the egging on, and slugged him in the jaw. He fell flat on his ass and began crying. Anstice and I had been friends ever since.

  But something had changed since the ‘episode’—that was how we referred to my abduction. Anstice was leery, refused to talk about what had happened, and seemed withdrawn. Something had changed.

  Mostly, I felt disappointed with myself. I’d always been free-spirited. Now I felt trapped. The funny thing was, I didn’t even recall the days I’d been held in captivity. The doctors said it was normal, a way to protect my mind from something so traumatic. But my mind was snowed under with flashes of sounds and scents that reminded me of the horror I’d survived.

  Goose bumps rose and I ran my hands up and down my arms. I was always cold now. It was this bizarre feeling, as if I’d been in sub-zero temperatures, constantly shivering, and my body unable to get warm.

  It had been two years since I’d been intimate with anyone. No wild sexual encounters, no erotic flings, no dating. And I certainly didn’t do relationships. The reminder of my father’s brains splattered all over his mahogany desk was vivid enough to end any attachment before it ever got to the point of more than a fling.

  I’d always been pretty bold about approaching a guy I found attractive, whether in a grocery store, pub, park, or the bank. If I thought a guy was cute, I asked him out.

  Rejection came with the territory, but it never bothered me. Now, if I saw a guy I was attracted to, I walked the other way. Inside, I was a tornado of emotions—tearing, pushing and pulling in every direction. I couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with me.

  After I was released from the hospital, I began obsessing over the man in my paintings. It was as if he was begging me to discover who he was. I thought painting him would get him out of my system—instead, it intensified the urgency to paint him again and again. Desperation was strongest after the sun set, keeping me awake to stare at his portrait hanging over my bed. Some nights, I sat on the end of my bed cross-legged, staring at him as if waiting for him to say something.

  Crazy. Shit, that’s what I was. Bat-shit crazy.

  I grabbed a new canvas from my closet and propped it up on my easel. I pressed play on my stereo and Hinder’s “Lips of An Angel” blasted. Pulling the pencil from my hair, I began sketching. My hand moved with precision, knowing what it was drawing, having done it repeatedly. I ignored the red paint drying on the floor, the ruined canvases, and the promise to stop thinking of him. The buzzing in my head began singing its familiar song.

  THIS SUCKED. I DIDN’T want to go, yet here I was tugging on my faded, button-up jeans. The day I arrived home from the hospital, I’d thrown out all my zippered jeans because, for some unknown reason, after the abduction, the sound of zippers freaked me out. I sifted through a pile of clothes on the floor and found a clean, chocolate-colored turtleneck that didn’t have any paint splatters.

  Socks I lacked—period. I preferred bare feet even in winter. It had something to do with smothering my feet; a childhood thing I never outgrew. My mom used to say it was because I was a little angel—part of the earth—and I liked to feel it between my toes. She never made me wear shoes until I went to kindergarten and the teacher called complaining it was unsanitary for a child to be running around with no shoes and socks. My mom had ranted about someone trying to tell her how to raise her child, but finally caved only because the school refused to let me come back until the rules were conformed to.

  I grabbed a pair of shoes from the closet and sat on the edge of the bed to put them on.


  “Can you believe this?”

  Splat, my obese, orange tabby cat, who found it hilarious to unravel my toilet roll, stretched and yawned beside me. “I’m being set up. I know it. And you get to lie sprawled out without a care in the world.” Splat meowed. “Sorry, you care about when you get your next meal.” He pawed at the mess of clothes on my bed.

  I went to my dresser and shifted aside the books piled there. “Where the hell did I put my keys? Splat, if you were playing with them, I’ll take away your treats.”

  Splat rolled over on his back and stretched out his short, stubby legs. He rubbed his head on my pillow and began purring.

  I found them in my coat pocket, along with a crumpled pack of watermelon gum. I grabbed my cell off the bed, glancing at the time. Shit, I was going to be late. Despite my life being uprooted, I was still punctual.

  I walked down to the parking garage and got in my red Mini Cooper S. I took the side streets, zipping in and out of traffic, between cars whose discourteous drivers decided to pull over wherever they damn well felt like it, thinking hazard lights meant you could do anything you wanted.

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to the iron gates on Post Street. Massive trees hid the house in the summer, but now in November after the leaves had fallen, you could catch a glimpse of it. It emanated coolness with gray stone encasing three stories. The property was surrounded by an eight-foot wall and an alarm system that would test any burglar.

  I had yet to find out how Keir afforded the place. Anstice didn’t work anymore, and considering she had studied for six years at the University of Guelph to become a veterinarian, it was strange. Anstice’s dream had always been to practice veterinary medicine, until Keir came into the picture.

  I pressed the button on the intercom, and before I could say anything into the black box, the gates opened.

  I glanced at the clock on the console—two minutes late, not bad.

  I got out of the car, shut the door, and took two steps before it hit me. My breath hitched and I staggered back against the car as my heart thumped wildly. Goose bumps rose on my skin, and I wrapped my arms around myself as if I needed . . . something.

  The cold wind blew an intense gust, sifting through my hair as my eyes darted from side to side. It felt . . . it felt as if someone had run their fingers across my skin.

  “Danni, you coming?” Anstice stood on the porch with the door wide open.

  “Umm, yeah.” I took one last look around, seeing nothing but tree branches swaying in the breeze. “Just locking the door. Never know what crazies live in this slummy neighborhood.”

  Anstice laughed.

  I walked up to the door, my flesh still tingling. Maybe I’d give this Waleron guy a chance.

  “You’re a dick, you know that?” I said to Jedrik who leaned against the wall in the living room, looking his typical cocky self with ankles crossed and wearing a smirk. I glared at Keir. “You promised this smug ass wouldn’t be here.”

  Jedrik’s blond curls danced around his handsome face, dimples rarely absent from his cheeks, charm working at full tilt. According to rumor, his interests involved slipping between a woman’s legs and one-night stands.

  Anstice passed me a glass of red wine. “Waleron cancelled about an hour ago. Jedrik overheard and, despite Keir’s threats, he changed his plans and decided to stay in for the evening. But Hack went out.” Anstice gave me an ‘I am soooo sorry look.’

  Fuck, I hated being the object of some ongoing bet, and Jedrik was the type to never lose. Well, he was losing this one.

  Jedrik didn’t appear to take offense to the insult, rather the opposite. His boyish grin widened and I had to admit, two years ago, I’d have been on the guy like a badger. Player or not, Jedrik was one inked up hottie. Although, he acted more like a one-night stander rather than a flinger, which I defined as a sweet few months of hot sex.

  After a couple drinks we had dinner, an exasperating experience considering Jedrik sat across the table from me and every so often offered to let me try what he was eating . . . as if we had different meals. When his mashed potatoes fell off his fork into his wine because he was fooling around, I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop from laughing. I had to give the guy credit, he never became embarrassed. His chuckle was contagious, and after several more glasses of wine, I found myself relaxing.

  It was close to midnight when Anstice and Keir headed to bed. “Guest room is done up for you,” Keir said.

  “Thanks. I’ve drunk enough to blow the needle right off a Breathalyzer.”

  Anstice gave me a hug. “Night.” She lowered her voice. “It’s good to see you laugh. You look better.”

  Probably due to my flushed cheeks because of all the wine I drank, but I did feel better. It had been a long time since I spent an evening with friends, eating, drinking, and laughing. I was lucky to have them; even Jedrik—who was presently refilling my wine—had won me over. But he still wouldn’t be winning any bet.

  He passed me the glass and sat on the chair across from the couch I was lounging on. I pulled off my shoes and tucked my legs beneath me.

  Jedrik raised his glass. “To laughter.”

  We clinked glasses then sipped our wine. It was comforting sitting with him, no thoughts of tomorrow or yesterday, just enjoying the now. It was the first time since my abduction that I felt as if I could relax and breathe. That my past was swept away—I just wish I could keep it there.

  “The past is past. It may be the reason why we’ve become who we are today, but we can change our tomorrow. Another past is seconds away,” Jedrik said.

  “Wow, a philosopher and a charmer. What a mix.” How had he known what I was thinking?

  Jedrik chuckled. “Chicks like it. And I love chicks. Beautiful, sexy, enticing, and when they melt in my arms—”

  “You mean when you fuck them.”

  Jedrik threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah, that too.”

  “Well, don’t expect me to be one of them. I might be tipsy, but I’m not obliterated enough to fall for your charm.”

  “I know,” Jedrik said, the twinkle in his eyes dissipating. “I just want you to know that if you ever need to—”

  “Get back in the saddle, you’d be happy to oblige?” Damn him. Just when I was starting to like him, he had to go throw sex into the deal.

  I stood.

  Jedrik put his glass down and rose, grabbing my hand before I could walk off. “No, that’s not what I was going to say. I’m saying if you ever need to talk or just hang out, you know, go to the pub and have a few drinks, shoot a little pool, well, I’m up for it. No sex. Just friends.”

  “And the bet?”

  “Screw the bet, Danni.”

  I slipped my hand from his grasp, eyes narrowing. “Why? Because you feel sorry for me? Because I can’t get over what happened? Because I continually paint the same damn guy over and over again? Or maybe because—”

  Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me into his arms and tears slid down my cheeks. Sobs racked my body, uncontrollable pain and hurt storming through me.

  Jedrik held me, his hands soothing as he rubbed them up and down my back. After a couple minutes, I calmed down to a respectable sobbing. I never cried in front of others. It was a weakness my father had displayed continually after my mother died.

  Jedrik drew back and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I lost my best friend, Delara. She just up and left one night a while back. You remind me of her. She’s stubborn, determined and man, she can kick a guy’s ass, but beneath that . . . she’s hurting. ” He dropped his hand from my chin. “I thought if we hung out, maybe I wouldn’t miss her so much.”

  “Oh.”

  He wiped my tears away with the pad of his thumb. “So what do you think? Tuesday night, pool, beer, and wings at the Rivilie? Eight o’clock.”

  I nodded. “Fine. But you’re buying.”

  I paced back and forth along the shadowed tree line. Every muscle strung tight, h
eart pounding, fists clenched. Fuck, I hated this. I hated being near her and unable to touch her.

  My enhanced tracking ability allowed me to scent her movements through the house, even when walls impaired my vision. I felt her uneasiness in the beginning of the evening and wanted to crash through the fuckin’ door and get her the hell out of there. But I kept my shit together. I had to if I didn’t want Jedrik and Keir coming after me. And that wouldn’t be fuckin’ pretty.

  I scented her move into the living room and positioned myself so I could see her through the bay window. I felt the low rumble in my chest when Jedrik’s arms wrapped around her. Fury whirled. Rage churned. The branch I held onto snapped and I flung it aside so hard it hit a garden statue and cracked it.

  Fuck this. I approached the house, ready to jump through the window if I had to, when I saw her shoulders shaking and tears staining her cheeks.

  I slunk down behind the row of bushes and put my head in my hands. Jesus, Danni.

  I was taking a chance being here. Fuck, being anywhere near Danni. But, it was a driving force inside me that I couldn’t control ever since I came back to Toronto.

  Two years I stayed away, fighting the toxic vampire blood inside me that threatened to take my existence. Finally, I’d done what no other Scar had managed . . . I overpowered the tainted blood I’d consumed. Not that it mattered. According to our laws, I was to be killed for drinking vampire blood.

  But there was no way in hell I was going to face the executioner before I saw Danni again.

  I’d seen the painting above her bed, the portrait of me, and she’d captured my eyes perfectly. What bothered me was that my hair was wet in the painting like it had been when we were trapped in the cages. That meant she remembered something from that night, which wasn’t supposed to happen. Waleron, our Taldeburu, had erased her memories of the incident in order to protect the Scars from being discovered by humans.

  The air suddenly shifted and I focused my tracking ability, catching the scent of Keir’s quick movement through the house.