by Danae Ayusso
“I do not know, Old Friend. I’m scared to ask,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Knowing Akia, it is merely a means to keep Eve as far away from her as possible. I cannot fault her for that; she is still young thus control she lacks in that sense.”
Louvel nodded his understanding. “If she did not fight her, there would not be a problem.”
“In theory,” he said. “Not all can boast such control as your young son can.”
“Control in one aspect translates to no control in nearly everything else. Have you seen his room? I cannot see the floor!” Louvel said with a chuckle.
Beowulf shook his head then pushed his hand through his falling hair. “My old friend, when did we become old men?”
Louvel refilled their glasses of wine. “The moment we took our first breaths we started to die,” he pointed out.
“Poetic yet depressing,” Beowulf said with a chuckle.
“Quand on n’a pas ce que l’on aime, Il faut aimer ce que l’on a,” he reminded him; if we have not the thing we love, then must we love the thing we have. “I fear we must prepare for the black moon…the calling will be much too strong for the children to ignore. I, myself, feel her call already, and it is still a night away.”
Beowulf nodded; he felt the call as well. “We will run in shifts with chaperones, and stay within the fencing. Hopefully Akia can steer away those that have been shooting up the woods. I will go to the station and make sure that I am seen in order to prevent the Stray from trying to tie the next victim to me.”
Louvel sighed, shaking his head. “Will you be able to withstand the call at that time?”
He shrugged. “I’ll run tonight once Varg is back. I’ll have him accompany me. That should satisfy him.”
“Ulrik would immensely enjoy running with you,” Louvel mentioned indifferently as he swirled the wine in his glass.
Beowulf chuckled. “Discreet you are anything but, my old friend. He may run with me,” he said.
“Woohoo!” echoed from up the stairs before the eavesdropping young man stumbled down the stairs, shedding clothing as he went.
The two men shook their heads in resignation, chuckling.
****
“And done,” Damian said, signing off on the last report.
There was a soft knock at his office door before Police Superintendent Manning stepped inside. “Working late, Captain?” he asked.
“Finishing up a few things before taking a long weekend,” he reminded him since Manning signed off on the request. “You sure you don’t have a problem with this?”
He shook his head, taking a seat in the glass walled office. “This used to be my home, so I have no problem with taking the reins again. With that said, I must request a change in your plans.”
Damian gave him a look. “I’m sorry, Sir, but my plans are very important and can’t be changed-”
Manning put his hand up to stop him. “I need you to head to Haven and assist de Wolfe,” he said.
“With what?” he reluctantly asked since that was exactly where he was headed.
“The case out there,” Manning said with a chuckle. “The FBI is pleased with the profile that she has put together, as is the RCMP, but I fear that her lack of a degree might cause a backlash once the case goes public. I would like to cover the Boston PD’s ass, as well as that of the FBI since they have allowed us to take the lead on this, and with your impressive resume and arrest record, as well as your degree in Criminal Justice with emphasis on forensic psychology, that makes you the one to call. I know that you had plans, plans that cannot be changed, but I am asking this as a favor.”
Damian leaned back in his chair and studied the man intently; if he didn’t know any better he’d swear that Manning knew he was headed to Haven already to see Akia, not to help in the case. “You are asking a lot of me, Sir.”
Manning merely shrugged. “Keeping those in positions detrimental to our own position happy, having the opportunity to be owed a favor to one, is not something that comes along often, so when it does you should be inclined to take it.”
“Is that a threat?” he asked.
Again, he merely shrugged then tossed a file packet on the desk. “Inside is everything you’ll need. The Winterfeld family has so graciously offered you the use of their private jet, which should get you there in only an hour, two at most.” He pulled a key off of his keychain then slid it across the desk to Damian. “If you would be so kind as to stop by de Wolfe’s place and grab her some additional clothing, and you need to pack for a month.”
Damian cocked an eyebrow. “A month?”
“You can never be sure,” Manning said innocently. “With your taste for designer, something you will not be able to get in Haven, you will need to pack accordingly in order to properly represent the Boston PD. de Wolfe shouldn’t have a problem with you stopping by her place; with her work ethic it’s as if she doesn’t live there at all. Your jet departs as soon as you’re ready thus you’ll have time to pack. If there is nothing else,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Apparently not,” Damian said and watched Manning head down the hall towards the elevators.
Instead of going to Akia’s apartment, since the only clothes there hadn’t been worn in years, he went to their loft. Damian couldn’t shake the feeling that Manning knew something, possibly about their relationship, and that he has an ulterior motive. True, nothing the man said had hinted at such, and yet could have been construed in that way, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Damian wasn’t planning on heading to Haven for a couple more days; he had an arrangement with his family he shouldn’t postpone, but now he was going to have to adjust things, including discussing some things with Akia that he wasn’t entirely sure how to bring up but wouldn’t have a choice in the matter now.
He tried calling Akia to give her the heads up, but it went straight to voicemail, so he simply said call in and left it at that. Once he was done organizing the piles of clothing on the bed, enough for both of them for the next month—not that he expected them to be there that long—he arranged his suits in a garment bag then zipped it up. The other clothing wouldn’t fit in his Louis Vuitton bag, so he headed towards the storage room in the basement of the building to find one that would.
Damian never used the basement. He hated the smell, dampness, and the dungeon feel of it, so he made it a habit to never venture to the belly of the building, as Akia called it. She flipped him much grief about it, but promised she’d kill any spiders that ever crossed his path for him since he was a sissy boy. Akia used the basement as storage; bikes, camping gear that he had never seen her actually use, and the old boiler that was replaced by a new main floor boiler that fit in the closet instead of requiring a large portion of the basement.
Once down the narrow staircase leading into the darkened bowels of the building, Damian rolled the large, steel door open then gagged when the stale, musky scent slammed into him. He covered his nose with a handkerchief then hit the light switch on the wall. Slowly, one by one, hanging workshop lights flickered on, illuminating the hallway leading under the building. Each wood-lined bay was labeled and housed various items that were neatly organized. He hated to admit it, but Akia had apparently started to renovate the basement without him knowing it. The last bay had a few oversized bags that would fit their clothing for his trip to Haven, and he started to reach for one when the sound of dripping water pulled his attention to the back, stone wall at the end of the hallway.
“I don’t remember this being here,” Damian mumbled under his breath. He touched the wall, but it felt different and warm, so he pushed against it slightly, and it moved. “What in the…” his words trailed off as he pushed the wall completely inward, and it rolled away with a groan of protest. His hand searched the inside wall, trying to locate a switch, and when he did, the room illuminated by a single overhead light, and his eyes widened.
Along three of the four walls were large, iron cells that bolted in
to the stone beams running the length and width of the room overhead and the rough cut granite slab floor below. Stone lined the back wall of each cell, and the sides were made up of bars that separated each cell from the next. Riveted into the granite floor were industrial sized, d-ring latches, one on each side of the cell, and threaded through each were heavy iron chains that attached to thick leather and iron collars that were waiting for a neck to fasten around.
With a shaking hand, Damian touched the bars of the closest cage, pulling back fingers dusted with dried blood. Four out of the dozen cells had barred doors barely hanging on, their hinges had taken more abuse and strain than they were ever intended to, and those cells’ bars were bowed and bent from the force of a body being violently thrown into them repeatedly, compromising their integrity, so those cells had been abandoned. He stepped into the cell that’s door was leaning against the bars, the hinges bent to the point of not being able to move anymore. His fingers caressed along the deep gashes in the stone wall; they were caked with dried blood and hair.
“Oh, Latria Mou, what have you done?” Damian whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek.
****
Gray light filtered in through the sheer curtains over the windows and illuminated the white washed room in soft light. The dreary, overcast morning veiled the grounds in a dense fog that snaked through the open window and rolled across the floor, circling the bed. The flames of the candles on the nightstands flickered and danced, filling the air with the soft scents of vanilla and jasmine. The chandelier marking the center of the room painted the bedding and walls in rainbows from the light passing through each dangling crystal.
Softly Akia moaned as she stretched, working the knots from her body before slumping back down on the mound of feather pillows behind her. The high thread count bedding felt amazing against her nearly bare skin, only the thin, cotton camisole set hanging on her toned body guised her femininity. A soft growl rolled from the base of her throat before her eyes snapped to the doorway.
“Beautiful,” Varg murmured under his breath. He stood leaning against the doorway with his thick arms crossed over his bare chest; the thin coat of golden hair covering the expanse of creamy flesh did very little to guise the strength and corded muscles underneath; his broad shoulders caused his body to form a perfect triangle of strength that pulled her attention to the patch of curly, dark blond hair peeking out from the waistband of his cotton pajama pants that hung dangerously low on his hips.
Akia gathered the blankets up around her, pulling them up under her neck. “Get out,” she hissed.
He smirked; his wide lips pulling up on one side before he started across the room.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“I remember the last time we were in this bed together,” he said, his voice even deeper than it usually was, and heavily laced with desire.
She glared at him.
Varg crawled up on the bed alongside her, his brown eyes moving over her face many times. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get the taste of you from my tongue? Your scent,” he said with a snarl before pulling his rugged nose up the length of her neck, inhaling deeply as he went, “haunts me like a demon in night, and yet during the day there was no reprieve.” His large hand pulled the covers down, caressing over one of her breasts, pulling down the delicate, thin material as he went, then growled when the small, dark pink nipples instantly pebbled. “No other woman has spoken to him as she did, possessed the both of us as you had,” he huskily whispered in her ear, his large, calloused-roughened hand sliding in the front of her shorts, and his cock twitched when his fingers caressed down the strip of silken curls.
Akia gasped; her eyes fluttered and back arched into him.
His calloused-roughened fingers teased her clit, and as it hardened under his touch, Akia’s hips slowly started rocking to match his torturous rhythm.
“We will not allow you to run away from us again,” Varg snarled in her ear before sliding his thick fingers into the moistened heat of her.
Akia growled under her breath as his fingers slid in and out of her tight depths, her hips rocking to meet each intrusion, causing him to go deeper until she was riding his knuckles.
“You are mine,” he hissed then smashed his mouth into hers and aggressively kissed her. Her eyes fluttered before they snapped open and locked on his; liquid amber burning between gold and black.
Akia’s eyes snapped open, and she struggled to catch her breath; she was overly hot, in a strange room, and wasn’t alone.
A thick arm wrapped around Akia’s waist then pulled her back into him. She inhaled deeply through the nose then sighed and relaxed into his embrace: Faelan. Looking back at him, she saw Rafe’s arm wrapped around his waist as he spooned Faelan from behind. “That is a sight I could have lived without ever seeing,” she mumbled under her breath. The blankets in front of her moved, so she pulled them back and found the disheveled black hair of Connell who was fast asleep. Soft whimpering pulled her attention to the foot of the bed where a blue tinted ball of fur slept, using Connell’s legs as a pillow, his paws treading bedding as if he was running in his sleep.
A chuckle from the doorway pulled Akia’s attention, and she shook her head. “Don’t ask,” she said.
Beowulf smiled. “But I am most certain the tale is nearly as amusing as the visual,” he teased.
She sighed. “I suppose. How did I get here?”
“You fell asleep on your dinner plate, and Connie carried you to bed,” he explained. “Fae refused to share, thus he crashed the party, so to speak. I am not entirely sure how Rafe got involved, but when I returned from my run he was cuddling with Fae, then Kid crawled up to join the party, feeling left out.”
Akia pushed her hair back from her face. “Huh, I don’t remember that. I must be more exhausted than I thought.”
His smile fell. “Can we talk for a moment?”
After the nightmare she just had, she needed to talk to someone or else she was going to completely lose it.
Carefully she crawled out of bed, covering her brothers back up before following Beowulf from the room and down the hall.
“What’s on your mind, Father, other than the obvious?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Much,” Beowulf admitted. “I am concerned about the pills you are taking,” he said, and her face dropped. “Please tell me what is going on,” he pleaded, pulling her to a stop when they reached the foyer.
Akia fingered the pendant around her neck as she struggled to find the words that would explain her actions without telling him everything, but without lying. “Father, for years I’ve been working with Connie to come up with a medication cocktail that will regulate my estrous cycle. We’ve got it pushed to every thirty weeks, which is a god sent. We also started working on something that would, hopefully, keep Eve restrained beyond the restriction of lunar phase. Due to hyperthyroidism, a standard pill a day wouldn’t work, and it wasn’t until trial and error for nearly six years that we found a combination that apparently worked: high dosage estrogen plus progestin twice a day at scheduled times. And for Eve, a high dosage of Risperdal twice a day…it’s an antipsychotic that’s used to treat people with Schizophrenia and Bipolar disorder. With the help of Connie and…an outlet that shall not be named, I wouldn’t be here. I honestly wouldn’t be. If it wasn’t for them I would be a big hot mess, as Fae would say.”
Beowulf’s eyes were wide and complexion extremely pale.
“I have to…subdue myself monthly to coincide with the calendar,” she continued in an ashamed whisper. “The risk is too great, so I medicate with flunitrazepam…Rohypnol in order to attempt to subdue her, and if she gets out, it’s a means to retain no memory of it.”
Beowulf pulled her into him and hugged her tight. “I had no idea,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Akia said. “I finally have control. It took a while, but I have it now, and that’s all that matters. I’ll n
eed the cellar for the black moon. It’s already calling out to her, and I’m not strong enough right now to do this without help, and Connie will have to medically intervene since I ran out of the house without my anti-Eve kit.” She swiped her hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears that she very rarely shed then stepped back from him. “Father, I need to ask you to do something for me without asking why. Can you do that?”
Beowulf nodded. “Always, you know that.”
She struggled to swallow the lump in her throat before speaking. “I need you to send Varg away, far, far away…only for a little bit. I cannot be around him with my approaching cycle. It is far too dangerous for me since I don’t have my outlet available. Eve is already rearing her head in my subconscious, and we don’t see eye to eye when it comes to what we need and want.”
Tenderly he patted her cheek. “If what I’m sensing is true, that will not be necessary,” he said then headed towards the dining room for breakfast.
Akia watched his retreating form; that was not the response she expected from him. She was ashamed by the means in which she goes through to fight what anyone else would embrace, but she was different than the others thus they wouldn’t understand. As much as her family was ridiculously open about everything, regardless of one or two members not saying much most of the time, and when they did you wished they hadn’t, Akia was extremely private. It took over a year before she started opening up to Damian, and even that was simply the present and not talk of the past. Strangely enough, Damian was the same way when it came to his family and past, and that level of commonality was refreshing to her.
When she left Haven, it was to get away from the past, from mistakes, and from him. Finding Damian was unexpected, but he was exactly what she needed. Now that she didn’t have him, with Eve flooding her unconscious mind with what she wants, and with her object of release being under the same roof regardless of Akia being able to stay out of the same room as him over the past week, only iterated how much she needed Damian…
