Stygian

by Nashoda Rose

  She sighed and squeezed my hand. “I understand what she went through. You watched. You knew drinking Ryszard’s blood would turn you into something evil and that you’d be killed for it. You knew giving Anstice’s location was a risk to her life. To think of the pain you’ve lived with having to make that decision . . .” She straightened her shoulders. “This is why we’re Scars. To protect the innocent. To sacrifice ourselves for one another. That is our nature. That . . . is our salvation.” She looked at Zurina. “Will you take me back?”

  “Of course.” Zurina came out from behind the table, held out her hand and Delara took it.

  “Delara,” Waleron said. “We need to talk.”

  Delara raised her chin. “I did exactly what you’ve done numerous times.” She nodded to Zurina and they Traced from sight.

  I stood, still in shock at what went down. My emotions were whirling like a tornado—gratitude, hope, and finally, I felt relief. I’d known that I’d have made the same choice if given a chance to do it again, and I’d assumed they all thought I’d betrayed them, especially Anstice. Delara believed in me, trusted I’d made the right decision and stuck by me. Most of all, my sister had believed in me. I realized they’d all believed in me. I just hadn’t believed in myself.

  I RAN ACROSS THE snow-covered lawn after Anstice’s dog, Finn. The bugger had grabbed my leather gloves out of my hand when I’d opened the front door. I was finally going home and the big black furball was playing games.

  “Get back here, you big tub of lard. I swear, if you drool all over those, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Okay, nothing, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’ll stop slipping you leftovers under the table.”

  Finn loped across the snow, shaking the gloves as if they were a fresh kill, and then, suddenly, he stopped, his muzzle in the air. He dropped the gloves and lowered his neck, skulking back to the house. I didn’t know what made the dog suddenly play the sympathy card, but I was glad when I no longer had to run through the mid-calf-deep snow after him.

  I picked up the gloves and began walking to my car. The breeze drifted across my face, and I stood for a second, soaking in the sweet scents that I was now able to pick up on. The pine trees, the hint of Finn, the wetness of the millions of crystals of snow, and something else. The familiar scent of earth, of . . .

  Oh, God.

  The gloves slipped from my hand, forgotten.

  My breath hitched and my heart slammed into my rib cage.

  Blood rushed like a raging river though my veins.

  Was it my imagination? Could it be real? Please, let it be real.

  I stood in the middle of the yard. The moon danced off the white snow, reflecting a blue glow. I closed my eyes and a sob escaped as the wondrous earth smell drew closer. Stronger. And then I knew.

  Footsteps crunched in the snow behind me.

  Steady.

  Familiar.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t look, because I was so afraid it was a dream and my hopes would die.

  But then . . .

  Then his arms wrapped around me from behind and I choked on the cry slipping from my throat. He pulled me back up against his chest, his cheek next to mine.

  Tear streamed down my cheeks like rain on a window pane. Every shred of strength evaporating as his touch sent my control over the edge.

  “Little one,” he whispered in my ear.

  “Balen.” I collapsed to my knees and he went with me, his arms still holding me to him.

  He’d returned. He held me in his arms. He was here.

  “Danni,” he murmured into my ear, causing a sprinkle of shivers to spark over my skin.

  He slowly turned me so I faced him. He cupped my chin and tilted my head up and I met his brilliant green eyes. He stole my breath away.

  His thumb wiped my tears with a tender caress, and then he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on my quivering lips.

  That was all I needed.

  I crumbled into his arms, burying my head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. He stroked my hair, his fingers entwined in the strands, holding me to him.

  He rocked me back and forth. “Fuck, I missed you.”

  I pulled back so I could look at him. I needed to see him, make certain he was real. I reached up and ran my fingers down the side of his face. I’d memorized every detail, knew every crevice, every texture, every angle. But to touch him, feel him beneath the pads of my fingers . . . it was salvation.

  “Tell me you’re here to stay. Please,” I whispered, my breath hesitating as I waited for his answer.

  The flash of his grin was all I needed. “No one gets to be with you but me, little one. Told you that.” His mouth crushed mine and we fell back into the snow.

  To: Quill@Scar.com

  From: Kilter@Scar.com

  Meet you at the compound in five days. Midnight. Don’t be late, asshole.

  Glossary of Terms

  Center World Other (CWO): For thousands of years, numerous organisms that survived the Ice Age remained hidden until a hundred years ago when they emerged to the Earth’s surface in the form of insects. Intelligent. Can inhabit a recently deceased human body, possessing them body and soul. Transformation occurs within seven days, depending on the species. Immune to Wraiths’ powers. Protected by heat and minerals from the Earth’s core.

  Deaconry, the: Assembly comprised of four Wraiths, two Scars, and one witch. Decide laws and punishments for all who live under the Goddess Azzurra.

  Deep Sleep (DS): A state of sleep which one can be contained for short periods.

  Grits (CWO): Derived from the common cockroach. Odorless. Difficult to track. Able to heal within seconds. Means of destruction: decapitation.

  Assumes the bodies of attractive males with a strong presence. Will lure women to bed with the intent of siphoning the air from their lungs to live longer in their human states.

  Goddess Azzurra: Goddess of the realm. Created the Scars and Wraiths. Also is the Goddess of Witches.

  Ink: A tattoo on a Scar that can be called to life.

  Lilac (CWO): Lepidoptera order of insects. Assume the bodies of females. Known to be strikingly beautiful to lure their targets. Their skin emits a powdered substance that smells of lilacs. Able to trap prey in webbing. Victims are stored in cocoons which are later used as sustenance.

  Long Necks (CWO): Derived from the common beetle. Known as followers. Have unusually long necks. Characterized by bad acne, substantial bulk, and foul odors compared to rotten garbage.

  Maite: Husband or wife of a Scar

  Pests (CWO): Derived from the common mosquito. Spawn from swamp, or marsh-like areas near gravesites. Emit a buzzing only Sounders can detect. Possess excellent eyesight. Skin emits an itching agent.

  Realm, the: An otherworldly dominion where the Wraiths reside and Deaconry convenes.

  Rest: A coma-like state of mind a Scar is placed when punished. Length of rest determined by the Deaconry.

  Scars: Immortal warriors with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries, and the rare Reflectors.

  Evolved in 1610 in Zugarramurdi, Spain during the Spanish Inquisition. In order to combat the devastation of the masses, five witches swore fealty to the Goddess Azzurra. In exchange, she granted them immortality, unique abilities of the senses, and an Ink that could be called forth for protection.

  Scar Healers: Females with the capability to heal other Scars and humans. In rare instances, capable of healing animals and other entities. Able to envision the injury and heal the wound from the inside out. Experiences the pain of the injury.

  Scar Reflectors: Possess a strong empathy toward emotions. Can alter emotions of others.’ Characterized with stronger telepathic abilities.

  Scar Sounders: Able to detect high frequencies from long distances.

  Scar Tasters: Able to detect others’ emotion by a distinct change in molecules in the air which affects taste.

  Scar Trackers: Pos
ses the ability to track shed skin cells.

  Scar Visionaries: Able to see through certain objects. Some are able to read in hyper-speed or burn through objects.

  Sublymns: Children living in the Realm who have died horrible deaths on Earth.

  Talde: Group of Scars, similar to a covenant.

  Taldeburu: Leader of a Talde of Scars.

  Tracing: Ability to teleport to a past location.

  Wraiths: Four witches, who had been burned at the stake, were offered a reprieve by the Goddess Azzurra. Each spirit was resurrected as a Wraith with the power of one of the four elements—Earth, Water, Fire, and Air.

  Live in the Realm, but may walk the Earth for short periods of time.

  Books by Nashoda Rose

  Tear Asunder series.

  With You

  Torn from You

  Overwhelmed by You

  Shattered by You (coming 2015)

  Pierced to You (Date TBA)

  Unyielding.

  Perfect Chaos

  Perfect Ruin (Date TBA)

  Perfect Rage (Date TBA)

  Scars of the Wraiths.

  Stygian (prequel #1)

  Tyrant (prequel #2) Date TBA

  Untitled (prequel #3) Date TBA

  Now Available : Take (standalone Scars of the Wraiths)

  I SMOOTHED OUT the wrinkles on my bedspread then placed my stuffed brown bunny rabbit against the white-and-pink flowered throw pillow. At sixteen, I was a little old for stuffed animals, but it had been a gift from my brother the first time he went away to Afghanistan with the military.

  I straightened, then saw the sheet hanging down in the right corner and quickly tucked it back into the mattress. Perfect. I liked . . . no, I was obsessed with being organized. Everything had its place, even me. I kept to the same bland, colorless clothes, the same schedule, and the same hair style. Why mess with what worked? My brother often teased me and said I should join the Canadian forces like him. I may like neat and tidy, but I hated fighting, blood, guns, and, unquestionably, any killing.

  Connor knew that. He’d helped me bury my goldfish, Goldie, in the backyard when I was seven, then the hamster, Fiddlehead, when I was ten. To this day, there is a marked stone Connor had made for him near the back fence. I could see it whenever I looked out the kitchen window.

  I jerked as a car door slammed, which sounded as if it was in our driveway. The sun had just peeked over the horizon; six in the morning was too early for any visitors, plus it was Sunday and Dad had the rule he and Mom sleep in. I always rose early wanting to get ahead of the day, another reason Connor said I’d excel in the military. Although, we both knew he’d never allow me anywhere near danger, which I was very content with. Danger to me was if my shampoo was missing and I had to use my brother’s instead.

  But Connor wasn’t due back for another month, so that meant . . . A sudden freeze hit my body, locking my limbs in place as I realized why someone might be in our driveway at six in the morning on a Sunday. My breath trapped in my throat as if clamped hands were strangling me.

  No.

  No. I shook my head back and forth. Please, don’t knock.

  It was the newspaper boy. Early. He was an hour early today. In a second, I’d hear the clang as the newspaper bundle hit the metal screen door.

  Eyes squeezed tightly shut, I waited for the familiar sound.

  Nothing. I sucked in large amounts of air for my starved lungs.

  Not him. Please, not him.

  Connor.

  Connor.

  My heart thumped harder and harder in its cage and tears pooled in my eyes. I couldn’t hear his footsteps, but I knew his team leader’s black combat boots were walking up the stone path toward the house.

  I can’t lose him. Please.

  Run.

  Run and it won’t be true.

  But I couldn’t move. My legs were locked in place as I waited for the nightmare to begin.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  It was as if each knock was a punch to the stomach. No air. I couldn’t breathe. I was silently screaming and nothing could stop the fear gripping my insides.

  Please. No. I need him.

  I heard my parents’ bedroom door open and the shuffling of feet down the hallway on the hardwood floors. The distinct click as the lock turned and then the front door opened, followed by the screech of the screen door.

  Then silence.

  It felt like hours as I stood in the middle of my room, afraid to look out the window and see the car I didn’t want to see. Afraid to run. Afraid to move. Hoping I was still asleep and this was all a dream.

  Yes, it was a dream. I’d wake up any second. I’d call Connor today. I’d tell him how much I missed him and loved him. It had been weeks since we last spoke. I should’ve emailed him more often. Why hadn’t I?

  My mother’s loud wail pierced the air, and my perfect world crashed to my feet. It was like I was being coiled in the death grip of an anaconda and dragged under the water.

  I fell to my knees, my arms wrapped around myself, and I rocked back and forth as my mother’s cries became muffled as if she was being held against something.

  There were more footsteps. Not quiet and soft like my mom’s. Not slow and lumbering like my dad’s. Long, confident strides.

  No. Go away. Just go away. It’s not real.

  The steps stopped outside my door, and I heard the click as the door handle turned. It was opening my soul and ripping out my heart.

  I stopped rocking.

  The door swung open.

  I clamped my eyes shut, not wanting to see him. Unable to face him, face what he was here to tell me.

  “Georgie.”

  Deck’s gruff tone, I’d recognize anywhere. It scared me. He scared me but what scared me more was my body’s reaction to him. The strange tingling between my legs, the warmth on my skin and the whirling in my stomach as if I was falling from the sky.

  I sniffled as my nose dripped, and I felt the trickle of tears slip from the corners of my eyes.

  “Look at me, Georgie.” If I ignored him, it would all go away. “Georgie.”

  It was the hint of softness in his voice when he said my name which had me opening my eyes.

  My gaze hit his legs first, the long, lean length covered in black cargo pants. There was a rip in the material just above his knee. Dirt. Smudges of dirt on his pants as if he’d come straight from whatever hell they’d been in.

  They. In a second, the word they wouldn’t exist anymore.

  My gaze moved upward, hesitant, as if my brain was fighting every step. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles strong notches which had felt the harshness of pounding into another man. It was odd because his hands were clean, and yet I saw the dirt on his tatted arms and the . . . blood? Was it his blood or—

  “Georgie.”

  The loud, abrupt sound of my name made me lurch and my gaze flew to his.

  His jaw was tense. Eyes hard and cold—unemotional. He looked directly at me, not an ounce of compassion in his unyielding stare. But I saw other things. There beneath his stoic solidity . . . the torment, the pain, the darkness which was soon going to become my own.

  I started shaking violently, and my throat tightened against the sobs that racked my body. “No.” It was the only word I could get out.

  Please, no.

  He stood and watched me tremble and cry on my knees in the middle of my room for several minutes before he said, “I couldn’t save him.”

  His words cut into me with the finality of the truth, and my breath hitched as more tears pooled and slipped from the confines of my eyelids. I tightened my arms around my body as if that would help the pain ease.

  It didn’t.

  Nothing would.

  Connor.

  He was gone.

  I’d never hear his teasing. Feel the touch of his hand ruffling my hair. Hear his voice calling me ‘Georgie Girl.’

  He pr
omised to come back.

  Pain.

  Hurt.

  Devastation.

  ‘Chaos.’

  My head screamed with anarchy as Connor’s image played across my mind. It was distorted and broken with bits of light being sucked apart by the darkness.

  Destruction. I had to destroy. My perfect world was no longer. Nothing would ever be the same again. I’d never be the same again.

  I scrambled to my feet, grabbed my duvet and tore it off the bed, the flowered throw pillow and bunny tossed to the floor. A strange sound emerged from my throat as I dove for my dresser and swept my arm across the shiny, neat surface—books, my jewelry box, and a vase crashed to the hardwood floor. I could hear glass shattering, and silver stud earrings, pearls, and rings scattered in every direction.

  I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

  Destruction.

  I grabbed my light off my nightstand and threw it across the room. The bulb made a loud pop as it hit the wall. I needed to destroy. Everything I’d made into a neat and tidy place was no longer. It was all gone. Nothing would be perfect again. My world had just burst open, and I was bleeding. It hurt. God, it hurt.

  I tripped over my duvet as I went for the closet and fell to my knees. It didn’t stop me . . . the physical pain was nothing, almost welcoming to the emotional pain taking me apart piece by piece. I got up, then staggered to the closet and threw open the doors.

  I wrenched my clothes off the hangers—the pretty, soft-yellow dresses, white ones, black ones. Then the plain, button-down blouses and the black pants. The empty hangers swung back and forth on the metal bar as every single piece of clothing was thrown to the floor. When the closet was empty, I picked up whatever was in reach and began tearing. Buttons popped. Silk and nylon tore, sleeves ripped from the cores—like me. This was me being shredded apart.

  Carelessly, I yanked and pulled at whatever my hands could get a hold of.

  Rip.

  Tear.

  Ruin everything. Destroy.

  I was breathing hard when I finished. Nothing was left alive. Just like me. I had nothing left except to run.