The Bend-Bite-Shift Box Set

by Hardin, Olivia

  “The war—as in the second World War?” Devan asked with reticence.

  “I know you believe your father’s some hotshot with the Org. You might even think he had a hand in starting the system, but the potential has been around virtually forever. Before the War, the idea of a vampire choosing to acquire a magical host was neither unknown nor entirely unusual. But during the Depression and especially the War, it became a business, and these days it’s a very profitable one.”

  Devan considered this a moment, chewing her lip as she chewed on the information.“WPA projects, families separated, orphanages full to capacity–it would be very easy to divert the children without notice.”

  Kent nodded. “Yes, very easy. There were no legalities back then. But times changed, the country recovered—the world recovered—and the Org adapted. People like your father and the Dearmons became necessary.”

  “Adriel…he…you were his host?” She swallowed several times to relieve the dryness in her mouth.

  “Oh, no. He never fed on me.”

  Devan recognized the transformation in his expression as if it were a wave washing over a sand castle on the beach. All contours seemed to disappear and his stare became blank, far away, as if he were looking into the distance. She had the urge to go to him, to take his face in her hands, to kiss his pursed lips.

  “He never fed on me because I was too valuable for that–to his buyers. To the ones who would ensure that we could continue to afford the fine living he so ruthlessly sought to acquire. I was a sample for them to try. Still, I idolized him. Wanted to be like him. I can remember begging…” His lip curled into a snarl. “I begged him to make me one of his kind. He was sly, Dev. Very, very sly. He ensured my compliance by always dangling the carrot just out of reach. The next buyer was always the one, the one that would bring us enough. Enough wealth, enough social standing, enough power.”

  “And Langston saved you from all of that?”

  Kent laughed, a gravelly chuckle, like his voice were being chewed up by emotion. “I didn’t think so at the time, but yes, he saved me. As I said, I wanted to be a part of what was happening. Thought that I was just paying my dues, so to speak. And he was my brother. Why wouldn’t I have done anything he’d asked? Even when his strategy for me changed, I continued to hold out hope that I would eventually make him happy enough to let me join them.”

  “You blame yourself. You blame yourself for wanting to be like him. It wasn’t your fault that you venerated him. It’s natural. I studied a little psychology and one would almost call it classic.” She smiled timidly, trying to ease the situation. “I guess my schooling must have missed something with the whole vampire/witchy thing.” Her attempt at a joke fell flat, so she looked down at her hands as she continued speaking. “His strategy? How did it change?”

  “I began to come into my power. As a child, a magical creature’s energy is passive, contained, and easily absorbed. Once I began to find, use, and outlet my magic, I was no longer as desired. But I could detect magic, and therefore I could help locate new hosts. I had a friend–perhaps Adriel had planned it that way—posted him with me, but Robin and I were quite a team. I…“

  His words faded as Devan’s mind clamped down on the name. Robin. Robbie. Her fingers seized into claws—one snagged onto the arm of the sofa and the other onto the seat cushion. Kent continued speaking, but she didn’t hear. On one hand, things began to come into focus for her, but on the other, she felt dizzy, weak, and confused. Robbie. Her Robbie. Surely it could be another Robin? But his betrayal—it fit.

  “Dev.” Kent tried to get her attention, but it wasn’t until the warmth of his hand covered hers that she snapped back to the now. “Dev, are you okay?”

  “Fine.” She took a deep breath. “We’re lucky Langston found you, I suppose. You’d be on their side instead of helping to put an end to…to all of it.”

  Kent only stared at her, knowing by the look on her face that something wasn’t right. He wished Langston were there now to help him. He wished he could read her aura to interpret things. But she was blocked to him. He knew she was gifted, that whatever power she possessed, whatever energy she held, was different and special but he couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it. He was drawn to her, experienced a need for her unlike any he’d ever had for anyone else, and yet such an integral part of her was completely cut off from him. Why?

  He slid his fingers across her hand, a caress almost so subtle that it might have been missed. But Devan felt it. To her very core she felt it, and she looked up at him with eyes wide and glossy. She licked her lips, needing to take in his strength, the essence of him, into herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He blinked. “What are you sorry about?”

  Devan’s lips curled ever so slightly into a smile and she stood, taking his hand when he tried to step away. Her fingers linked with his, and she skimmed her body close against him. She spoke softly, slowly, deliberately. “I’m sorry because I’m not good at this. I’m sorry because I know you’ve tried to put distance between us, but…” She took a deep, shaky breath, struggling to find the courage to do something so totally outside of herself so much that it terrified her.

  Placing her hand against his cheek, she stepped up on her toes and pressed her lips to Kent’s. She felt the tension in him ease away as she moved her mouth against his. The kiss was soft, her lips pliant. It wasn’t demanding or hungry, just intimate and sensual. And just as he would have pulled her to him, she gave a soft pat to his cheek with her fingertips and then pulled away.

  He might have been knocked over by a feather at that moment, groaning a bit as he reeled, disoriented by the sudden loss of contact. Devan moved towards the kitchen and he was at least pleased to see that her legs appeared just a bit unsteady.

  “How–” She coughed, cleared her throat. “How about a sandwich?” She glanced back at him over her shoulder.

  Kent nodded, following her to the kitchen and seating himself on a stool at the breakfast bar. “A sandwich sounds good.”

  Devan began fiddling around in the kitchen, lighting the fire under a skillet, removing items from the refrigerator and the cabinets, and lining everything out on the counter. He’d noticed over the last several days that she kept her hair pulled back and tied into a knot at the base of her neck. He knew she was probably keeping to herself the lengths to which those brown locks had grown in the last several days. He watched her, and although her magic was blocked to him, her personality was easy to read, and he could tell by her frequent sideways glances that she felt nervous under his scrutiny.

  “Wait a minute–what is that?” he asked, his face scrunched into a confused frown when she opened a canister of something white.

  Devan giggled, her cheeks turning pink. “I should have asked, but I guess you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Ever had peanut butter and fluff?”

  “Peanut butter and what?”

  “It’s sort of a comfort food for me. Our housekeeper, Meggie, she used to fix it for me whenever–well, whenever I needed it. Morning, noon, or night. This was a special treat and it always seemed to make things better. You’ll love it.” She bit her lip. “At least I think you might.”

  He continued watching as she spread a layer of marshmallow onto one side of a piece of bread, peanut butter onto the other, and then folded the two sides together. She slapped a thin slice of butter onto the skillet and it sizzled and danced along the heated surface until she caught it quickly under the sandwich. She placed another pat of butter onto the top side and then began dressing up a second sandwich, all the while keeping a close eye on the first and flipping it when it became done on the bottom side. After one sandwich was finished, she dropped it onto a plate and cut it in half diagonally.

  While she hurriedly began frying the second sandwich, she pushed the first towards him, shoving it across the counter. She’d used her magic absently to push his meal towards him without even touching the plate. Kent said nothing. He just lifted the c
oncoction to his mouth and took a hearty bite.

  It required all of Devan’s effort not to immediately demand his opinion about the sandwich. Still frying her meal, she watched him from the corner of her eye and waited for him to finish a third bite before she finally asked. “So? How is it?”

  Kent smiled when he heard the anxious anticipation in her voice. “I can’t tell if I’m eating a meal or a dessert.”

  She cocked one of her eyebrows up and continued watching him, expecting more, and when he remained silent, she demanded, “What does that mean? Do you like it?”

  “Damn, Dev, relax. It’s great. Sort of like a s’more, but with peanut butter instead of chocolate. I like it!”

  Devan laughed nervously before realizing her sandwich was scorching just a bit. She promptly turned off the burner and flipped it onto her plate. When she took her first bite, she closed her eyes, almost enraptured with the taste. The sticky mixture of mallow and peanut butter mingled in her mouth and she enjoyed several extra chews before swallowing.

  Kent watched her sheer enjoyment for a few moments. Then he shook his head and laughed. Her response was to indignantly poke her tongue out at him, but then she too chuckled and they finished their meal mostly in silence. He took their plates to the sink and washed them. There was suddenly an easiness between them. She stepped in and dried the clean dishes and together they put them and all of the food back in their respective places.

  “Dev,” Kent began, closing the refrigerator and then turning to lean his backside against the countertop as he faced her. “Did you often need ‘comfort food’? Were things that bad?”

  She smiled. “Not really so bad. Mostly my younger years were just lonely. We obviously lived well and I never wanted for anything except perhaps affection. I just thought ours, the coldness in our home, was the way things were supposed to be. I had Roon and Meggie. I was a pretty good kid, at times mischievous, but mostly that was Rooney’s intercession. It wasn’t until I got older, more able to comprehend what the outside world was, that I started questioning things. And when questions brought no answers, I meddled and snooped and…” She snapped her mouth closed, her teeth knocking noisily together.

  Kent recognized the sign that she had clammed up on him. And that was okay because he didn’t feel controlled enough to face whatever else she might have said just then. He wanted her, wanted to consume her. Not just sexually, though he could feel the heat of his physical need for her driving him. No, he wanted to possess her, to have her surrender all to him, and that was dangerous and frightening. No, it was better that he diffused his reaction now before he took them both to the precipice.

  “You should practice your meditation. Langston believes you need that as much as anything. I think I’m going to go for a run.”

  Pouting just a bit, Devan put her elbows on the bar and her chin into her hands as she watched him move into the bedroom. She nibbled her lip and absently turned to glare out the window for a moment.

  Kent poked his head around the doorframe and looked back at her. “I mean it, Dev. Your magic’s getting stronger and you’ve got to learn control so you don’t overextend, like when you shoved that plate of ‘fluff’ to me just a few moments ago–without using your hands.”

  She snapped herself upright and considered what he’d said. She tried to replay the moment and couldn’t for the life of her remember if she’d used her magic to pass him his sandwich or not. Frowning and scrunching up her face, she dropped her hands to her side and marched off to “practice” her meditation.

  * * *

  There was a trail system through and around the overall lodge property. In the days they’d been there, Kent had jogged it multiple times, looking for but not yet finding that outlet of which Langston had spoken. Looking for the means to release his pent up frustration and even, he supposed, his hormonal needs. Today was no different except that the simple moments and sharing he’d just had with Devan strengthened his want for her and threw him even more off balance.

  As Kent ran along the path, his gaze cut to the side, and there was a valley near a creek with a thick patch of brush and trees. Finding he needed more than the tame nature trail could provide, he veered off to his left and began to maneuver through the forest growth. It took some time but he eventually fell back into a smooth pace and his speed gradually quickened even as he dodged his way through one grove of thick foliage to another.

  And it was when he allowed his mind to relax and his instincts to take over that he became aware.

  Something wasn’t right. He slowed and his eyes darted back and forth, examining his surroundings to find what was wrong. He couldn’t immediately see anything out of the ordinary, at least nothing that should have triggered his response. Still, that animalistic part of him was awakened and he knew better than to ignore it.

  A spot off to his far right caught his eye. Trampled undergrowth and some broken limbs. He sent out mental feelers, searching for any sign of another person in the vicinity. Nothing. Cutting towards that direction, he found what was almost a nest of leaves and sticks near a hollowed out tree trunk. Panting, he put his hands behind his head and took a moment to breathe. Then he leaned down and brushed his fingers across the pile of leaves. Nothing. Still crouched, he scanned the panorama of forest all around but didn’t find anything. No one.

  When he returned to the cabin later, he took some time to look around. He wasn’t surprised when he saw footprints along the circumference of the building, skirting just around the edge of the protections. They were small feet, probably just Devan’s. No, his mind screamed. Not her. Someone else.

  There were no indications that the person, whoever they were, had encroached beyond the protections, but still, hot and sweaty, Kent paced the area to cool down and to consider things. It could be nothing, even just some transient vacationer walking the lodge property. Every nerve in Kent’s body was alive, awake. His nose twitched a bit and he raised his face high, the sunlight beaming through the trees and glinting into his eyes.

  “No,” he told himself. “It’s not a tourist. Someone’s found us.”

  The shadow-child was a little boy. This time they were in a very tiny bedroom that was sparsely decorated and looked nothing like a child’s room except for the huge dollhouse in the center of the floor. There was nothing inside the dollhouse. Instead, an assortment of tiny furniture pieces and knick-knacks were sprawled all around. The little boy—still mostly a shadow but in this dream somewhat more defined and detailed—was lying on his stomach, considering the assortment of pieces around him. Gradually, he began to pick up the miniature furniture, one by one, and to place them in the dollhouse.

  When he’d cleared enough room for her, Devan knelt down beside him to watch more closely. He decorated each and every room—the dining room, the kitchen, multiple living areas and bedrooms—paying attention to the tiniest detail. The table was set with teeny plates and silverware. A cat was situated cozily beside the fireplace in one of the parlors. When he’d finished all that, he sat up, folding his legs Indian-style, and cocked his head at the nearly finished product.

  There were only five pieces left: a bed, a dresser, a desk, a chair, and a hope chest. Unlike the other fine dollhouse furnishings, these objects looked worn, old, and all except the chest were very meager and bare. When he began to place those objects into the only empty room, Devan’s breath caught in her throat. She watched as he tucked the bed against the left wall of a very small room on the lower level of the dollhouse, and without thinking, she reached inside and stopped him.

  “No, it doesn’t go there. By the window. She liked the breeze beside the window.”

  The shadow-boy giggled. “You ‘member?”

  Devan’s dream-self began to tremble.

  “’Bout this’un?” the boy asked, handing her the dresser. She placed the piece against the appropriate wall and turned back to the child. A smile was just barely evident in his smoky, gray form.

  “These?” She took the offer
ed table and chair and placed them too where they belonged.

  Both of them looked down at the final object, the small replica of a hope chest. Devan ran her fingers along the tiny box. It looked to be made of cedar, and she rubbed the ornate carvings on the top with her fingertips before bringing them to her nose. She could almost smell the musky scent of the wood.

  “Open, open!” the little boy exclaimed, clapping his shadow hands together.

  Devan smiled and excitement sizzled through her as she reached to lift the latch on the chest to reveal what might be inside. Suddenly a scream pierced the air, and she and the shadow-boy looked at each other in bewilderment.

  The bloodcurdling scream tore through Devan’s sleeping mind and she sat bolt upright, shaken from her reverie. Another cry, this one more angry than alarmed, was followed by the sound of scuffling outside her window. She tossed the covers aside and hurried to the glass, heaving the window open and squinting so she might see through the darkness outside. The motion lights kicked on, momentarily blinding her, and when she drew back to cover her eyes, she banged her head with a thud. She hissed in pain even as she rubbed the back of her head.

  “Son of a bitch!” she heard Kent growl. “Hold still!”

  Sans shoes and wearing only a pair of cotton pajamas, Devan bounded through the house and out into the night. Without even considering what she was doing, she recalled a time she’d played with a sheet of bubble wrap, stepping on and giddily popping the little air pockets. Instead of feeling the hard, coarse ground and pine needles, her feet were cushioned on air.

  “No, no, no, no!” a young woman cried, clawing towards Kent with what appeared to be very long, sharp, and lethal nails. “Let me go!”

  The two rolled and tousled across the ground, the girl trying to flee and Kent constantly bringing her back. At one point, he caught her by the waistband of her jeans and tugged her with such strength that she fell onto him. The force of it knocked the air from his lungs in a wheezing whoosh. He snatched her across the ribs and swung her towards the ground, but she fought back by using her legs and flipping them both in the opposite direction. She shoved him down, pummeling his chest with her hand a few times. Then she tried to run again, but he only grabbed her ankle and brought her back.