Stygian

by Nashoda Rose

Not wine-induced. It was real. He was real.

  His hands gripped me on either side of the neck and his lips trailed slow warmth down the column of my throat, tongue darting out to lick and kiss my skin. I moaned as heat swept across my sensitive flesh.

  It was the slightest graze of his teeth, a nip on my throat that caused the flash of horror to come barreling into me like a punch to the stomach. I cried out, scrambling from his embrace, hand pressed to my neck as the memory hit me. I staggered backward, lost my balance and crashed to the floor on my butt.

  He came toward me, hand outstretched, eyes narrowed with a scowl on his face. I scuttled backward on my ass until my back hit the door. “No, don’t.”

  He stopped, arm lowering. The hurt that swept across his features was unmistakable. His eyes closed for an extended second, and the outer corners of his lips pulled downward.

  “That shouldn’t have happened.” His fingertips dragged through his hair. “Fuck. This was a bad idea.”

  My mind was a messed up confusion of colors as the feelings of now and then meshed together in a puzzle that refused to fit together. But I didn’t want him to leave—he couldn’t leave me again.

  Please, end my pain.

  His eyes flashed a deeper green for a split second and I saw the rage flare in his lethal expression before he abruptly turned on his heel.

  He was walking away. Leaving. No, he couldn’t do that to me.

  “Don’t you dare leave me,” I shouted as I scrambled to my feet. “Don’t you do this to me, damn it.” I ran after him, but he kept walking until I flung myself at his back, slamming my fists into him, pounding his muscles as tears of frustration ran down my cheeks. “Two years. Two years I’ve waited for you.”

  His spine stiffened and his hands clenched into fists at his sides, taking my attack without any attempt at preventing me. I punched him again and again, wanting to hurt him the way I was hurting inside, yet wanting him to turn around and take me in his arms and hold me.

  “Why did you come? To torment me?” My voice came out ragged. “I’m already tormented. I breathe it.” My hands stilled on his back. “But you can take it away, can’t you? You know what happened.”

  I heard him swear beneath his breath. My tears stopped, yet inside I continued to cry, for me, for him—for us.

  We’d both suffered. I knew this like I knew my own name. He’d protected me. That was how I felt whenever I looked at his picture—protected, sheltered in his embrace as if he’d done something to end the suffering.

  “You have to forget me, Danni. Let it go.”

  “No. I can’t. Tell me,” I begged. I don’t think I’d ever begged in my life until now. It broke me . . . and yet wasn’t I already broken? “What happened to us?”

  “We can’t do this. You’re better off forgetting.”

  My spine stiffened and my hands slid from his back. “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m better off forgetting. You came here. Why?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Look at me.” I grabbed the back of his coat and tried to force him to turn around. “Damn it, look at me.” A memory hit me of his voice saying those same words and I froze.

  He took advantage and with one yank he was free and striding to the back door. I saw him hesitate, hand on the door knob, and I held my breath hoping he’d come back. Then he flung it open and disappeared.

  I watched him leave, my body shuddering as the back door slammed and the uneasiness crept into me once more. It was as if this veil had been lifted while he was with me. Then it fell again and I was immersed in my own private hell.

  I kicked out at the legs of an easel and it crashed to the floor. Then I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  I leaned up against the door, hung my head, and ran my hands through my hair. “Fuck.”

  I stiffened when I heard the crash and then her scream. I wanted to bolt back inside and pull her into my arms and never let go.

  Fuck, this was one hell of a mess.

  But walking away had been my only option. If I told her what had happened, that I was a Scar, her life would be in jeopardy. What I’d intended was for her to see me and know I was real and not a figment of her imagination, to get her to stop tormenting herself with the paintings.

  It was all fucked up. Me. Her. This.

  The past two years had been hell fighting the poisonous blood that ran through my veins. Any Scar knew what a vampire’s tainted blood did to you—destroyed your virtue and made your thirst for blood so strong you’d do anything to relieve the agony. Kill anyone to get it. That made it pretty damn important never to drink the shit in the first place.

  Most vampires were soulless bastards who had no qualms about killing. Actually, they had no qualms about doing anything. Living with the constant thirst for blood made them a threat to humans, and it was the Scars job to make certain that didn’t happen. But that wasn’t the only war the Scars had to fight. New CWOs, Center World Others, were constantly rising from beneath the ground, and they were just as deadly. During my years of running, I’d run across lots of the assholes, and like the bugs they descended from, they were relentless pests.

  I’d nearly surrendered to the vampire blood a few times. It was the memory of Danni that kept me sane. Her strength. Her voice. Scent. God, it was everything about her.

  I’d been running from the Scars, from Waleron—my Taldeburu—from Danni. Shit, from everything I’d ever known.

  And my own kind were not easy to hide from since every Scar had one of nature’s gifts from the five distinct senses. I’d only managed to avoid capture because I was a Tracker. I could scent another Scar miles away, which always gave me a head start. I also excelled at covering my tracks and hiding my scent.

  I’d managed to avoid them by constantly moving, keeping to areas that were concrete and laden with humans. And never did I stay in one place longer than two days.

  Now I’d fucked up everything by seeing her. Keir and Jedrik knew I was back, and that meant Waleron would be notified. It wouldn’t be long before they found me.

  I deserved death for my betrayal. But this was my chance to prove to the Deaconry that Scars could fight off the vampire blood after consuming it. Death wasn’t the only choice for us.

  Admitting I’d returned for more than that was a harsh reality to face. My return to Toronto was for Danni. I knew from the day I had to leave her that it would be impossible to stay away. Even if it were from a distance, I had to make certain she was protected from the reality of the world she walked in.

  I’d hoped when I returned to Toronto, I’d see the fight in Danni’s eyes. The same fight I’d witnessed that first day I met her in hell. But what I saw ripped my insides to pieces. The paintings of me . . . I’d fucked up my hand from punching the brick wall the first time I saw the one above her bed.

  Revealing the Scars to her would seal my fate—instant death. No human could have knowledge of the immortal Scars unless Waleron approved. That was unlikely, considering Waleron was the most unfeeling bastard I’d ever met.

  I glanced up at the second floor and the bathroom light turned on. I caught a glimpse of her walk past the window in her silk red pajamas.

  I ran my hand through my hair and kicked out at the dumpster, the sound vibrating in the alley. “Fuck.”

  “COME ON ASSHOLE, JUST shoot the ball.” I rolled my eyes as Jedrik deliberated his next shot, his stance casual as he leaned on his pool cue.

  He raised his brows and looked up at me. “Sweet cakes, keep that forked tongue inside that luscious mouth of yours. I need to concentrate.” He grinned then raised his cue parallel to the green felt table. “This is an art.”

  “Ha. If this were art, I’d be kicking your ass.” I leaned my hip against the side of the table, pool cue in one hand, the other holding a pint of beer.

  Jedrik chuckled, took aim, and shot the white ball. It slammed into the red solid, which banked off the right and then sank into the side pocket. He grinned, eyes triumphant. “Fri
ggin’ brilliant, as usual.” He puffed his chest out like a proud lion after taking down his prey.

  I laughed. The guy seriously needed to be ‘taken down’ a few pegs. Unfortunately, it was our third game and soon to be his third win. I hated losing and thought I could kick his butt since I was pretty good at pool. But Jedrik was better, a helluva lot better, and I was beginning to wonder if he was bad at anything.

  “I can’t paint worth a damn.” Jedrik rubbed chalk on the tip of his cue.

  “Excuse me?” My hand tightened on my glass. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  Jedrik shrugged. “See it in your expression, sweetness. A woman’s face is like reading a book. Can see everything written right before my magnificent eyes.”

  I huffed. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t dawdle, Mr. Smarty-pants. Try to sink that green ball so I can have a turn. I need to pee.”

  Jedrik wiggled his brows then leaned over the table and made a tough double-bank shot effortlessly. He straightened, blew on the tip of his cue then winked at me.

  I snorted.

  Despite losing, I was glad I’d come out tonight. Jedrik was easy to get along with once past the initial overconfident charm. I’d noticed women glancing at him all night and he returned their ogling with a charismatic grin. There was no question he had a way with women, but I suspected it was for show. Not the confidence—no, he had that in spades—but there was a hint of loneliness in him. It was as if he had to prove he was good enough. Not sure for who or what though.

  “I’m going to the ladies room,” I said. “And no cheating.”

  “No need to cheat, princess.”

  I set my beer on the bar table and my pool cue beside it before heading for the bathroom.

  The pub was crowded, being Tuesday and wing night. Hockey played on the big screen televisions, and men hooted and hollered between chugging back their pints of beer.

  I wore a forest green, long sleeved shirt, jeans, and my hair pulled back in a clip, messy and casual with a few strands escaping. I hated being around so many strangers. With my abductor still free, I was constantly tense; worried he was coming back to finish what he started. But with Jedrik, it felt . . . safer.

  I tried to ignore the leering eyes as I weaved my way through the bar. My mind spun with images of the man from my dreams. I hadn’t slept right in three days, since he’d shown up at my gallery. I was a mess of mixed emotions, but mostly, I was angry at his callousness for walking away. But meshed with the anger came emptiness. What sucked even more was every time I went into the back alley behind my place, I swore I smelled his scent.

  My sleeve snagged on something and I pulled, but the snag quickly became a hand wrapped around my arm. I spun around and the pungent smell of the guy hit me and my stomach churned. It was as if he’d spent the afternoon in a dumpster. He had an abnormally long neck and a case of bad acne scarring. His dead-straight, raven hair was oily and his eyes were wide, round, and reminded me of a buzzard.

  “Get your hand off me, asshole.” I yanked again, but his grip only tightened.

  The two men seated at his table laughed, and the man sneered. His fingers dug into my flesh and I cringed when I saw his filthy fingernails. He came to his feet and his scent grew stronger, making me gag. How the hell did his friends manage to sit at the same table with this jerkoff? But when I looked at them, I knew why. They looked just as filthy and had matching long necks—obviously a family trait that required an aberration of the gene.

  “Perfect.” He leaned closer and I held my breath. “You’re just what Kentar ordered for tonight. Human.”

  “I’m not for sale.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t pay. He takes what he wants.” His fingers tightened into a bruising hold as he turned to his buddies. “Well, boys, looks like I win. Kentar will be pleased, a human with the scent of a Scar all over her.”

  I glanced over at Jedrik, who was chatting up some petite redhead with a real petite skirt. His back was to me and he obviously had no idea what was going on. Okay, I could deal with this. I used to be able to deal with assholes like this.

  My smartass mouth wasn’t going to do me any good with a guy who was obviously drunk. No sober guy would be stupid enough to grab a chick in a bar full of people. I was so going to hate this.

  I cocked my hip and moved in closer, giving a sultry smile. I raised my hand and ran my index finger along the man’s jaw. My stomach revolted, and I swallowed to keep from spewing my beer all over the front of his shirt.

  “Sounds like a good time. Where we headed?”

  He grinned and I expected to see rotting teeth, but they were pearly white. Well, at least he had one good habit. “Somewhere real nice, honey,” he replied.

  His steel grip loosened, and it was what I was waiting for. It was either this or scream wildly and make a complete fool of myself over some guy holding my arm. I clenched my free hand into a fist and, with one swing, belted the guy in the balls. He bellowed in agony, falling to his knees and holding his hands between his legs.

  His buddies roared with laughter, and I took off before the jerk had the chance to recover.

  Without looking back, I ran into the washroom. As soon as the door closed, I realized my mistake. Trapped. No window, only one way in or out. Shit, I should’ve gone back to Jedrik. Okay, the guy wouldn’t follow me into the woman’s—

  The door burst open, hitting the wall, and my breath hitched. Hell, my horseshoe was obviously sunk in the mud—deep.

  The asshole stood with legs braced and broad shoulders, blocking any path of escape. I slowly backed away, my fear magnifying as his golden eyes glinted with victory.

  “You think to make me look the fool in front of others, human?” He dove for me and I ran for the last stall, slamming the door and attempting to slide the lock across just as his fist crashed into it.

  I cried out as the corner of the door hit my temple and I fell backward.

  “Bitch, you’re coming with me, whether you want to or not.” He entered the tiny space barricading me inside. Panic surged. Trapped. Unable to move.

  No. Hell no. This wasn’t going to happen.

  I curled my fingers into fists, ready to fight; although, I knew my chances were minimal against him. But everything inside told me to rebel, don’t give up. Never give up.

  Suddenly, the man went flying backward and smashed into the mirror above the sinks. Glass shattered and went flying in every direction. His body slid from the counter then fell to the floor in an awkward heap. A hiss escaped his lips before he passed out, unconscious.

  I stared in shock at the man for several seconds before I stepped out of the stall, expecting to find Jedrik. Instead, I stared into rainforest-green eyes.

  I gasped. “You.”

  His mouth pursed into a tight, firm line and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had this overwhelming danger about him as he stood watching me. Jesus, he looked really freakin’ pissed off.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” His eyes drove into me and, yeah, I was smart enough to be scared of him. “Jesus, Danni. If I hadn’t been here . . .” He reached into his boot and pulled out a knife.

  I stiffened and took several steps back.

  His eyes narrowed, and then he sighed and turned the knife so the handle was facing me. “I’d never hurt you. I fuckin’ told you that. Take it.” He nodded to the groaning body on the floor. “You have no idea what that guy is capable of. And you’d like his friends even less.”

  I stared, unable to react, still shocked he was here and he’d just thrown the bulky, smelly guy through the air and into the mirror so hard it knocked him unconscious. He strode toward me, grabbed my hand, and placed the cold hard hilt in my palm.

  His gaze jerked to the door and I heard him swear beneath his breath before he started to move away. “I have to go.”

  I quickly asked, “Your name?”

  He hesitated, eyes roaming over me from top to bottom, slow and lingering—heated. Holy Jesus, I f
elt like he just fucked me with that two second look and I felt the distinct clench between my legs.

  “Balen,” he said. Then he walked away—again.

  Knife in my palm, I stood frozen, looking down at it. I’d never held a weapon like this before—razor sharp, deadly, and making my butcher knives look like spatulas. On the far right, scratched into the surface was his name. Balen.

  The door burst open and I jumped, my grip on the knife tightening. Jedrik stood there, gaze sweeping over me and then to the body lying on the floor.

  “The other guy . . . I saw him come in here. Where did he go?” Jedrik asked. When I didn’t reply right away, he asked again, this time his voice deeper with a sense of urgency. “Danni, do you know him?”

  I looked at the knife and then back at Jedrik. “No.”

  Jedrik nodded to the weapon. “And that?”

  I tried to snap the blade closed into the handle. “Umm, it’s nothing. I had it. I carry it for protection.” My voice quivered and I knew Jedrik heard it when he snorted. I had no idea why I lied, but Jedrik didn’t say anything. “It’s late and I have clients coming tomorrow. Can we go now?” Another lie.

  He frowned, but gave an abrupt nod then reached for the knife I was still struggling to close. He waited patiently until I reluctantly handed over the weapon. He snapped it into the safety position and passed it back. “If you ever need to use it, go for the neck.” He gestured toward the man on the floor, who was beginning to wake up and groan in pain. “Want me to nail him one in the groin?”

  I half-smiled. “No, I already did that.”

  “Fine, but next time some foul-smelling buffoon follows you into the bathroom, scream your bloody head off or take his head off.” He shrugged. “Whichever.”

  By the time Jedrik dropped me off at home, it was one in the morning and I was wide awake. The scene from the bar replayed in my mind like a broken record. I touched the knife in my back pocket. Pepper spray I could handle, but a knife? Did he expect me to stab some guy just for being a drunken asshole?

  Balen had appeared out of nowhere as if . . . he’d been watching me. There was no way in hell him being at the bar was a coincidence.