Decimate

by D. Fischer

  Her skin seemingly glows in the dark room left unlit except for the beam of the moon and streetlamps snaking through the disheveled blinds. The strain in my pants feels uncomfortable, and instead of adjusting, I lean forward and brush my nose against hers.

  “Yes,” I answer her. “I know some things about the future, but I also won’t share them. They are only instructions that lead to theories.” She frowns, but I hush her with my next words. “And I also know that you love me, too.”

  A small twitching smile tugs at the corners of her lips and her eyes water her admission. I peck the edge of the smile and salty tears trail down her cheeks, to her jaw, to the nape of her neck, slicking and glistening the skin.

  Grasping the hem of my jeans above my rump, she pushes the stiff denim, and it slides easily under her touch, pooling at my feet and freeing the ache.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  EARTH REALM

  Grunting, I yank my boots back on my feet, watching as Dyson pulls his legs through his pants. A grin is forever etched on his face, and it warms my heart. Instead of the grin being smug, it’s genuine like he finally can love me without reserving his true feelings.

  Zipping the boot, I lift my hand and touch the side of my neck where he bit me. My fingers skim the raised canine scars. What the hell did I just do? My chest swells with pride while fear scorches my every nerve. I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to a relationship, and I literally sealed the deal here.

  When shifters mate, their teeth extend, and they bite the other in the heat of the moment. For a normal shifter, the mark will heal over a few days. But since I’m not a shifter, not really, the tears that had still mingled on my neck had healed instantly and left faint scars as a reminder, a warning, to all other males. I don’t know how I feel about that – to be physically claimed for the world to see. It’s like a collar, a branding. But then again, it’s also this species’ nature.

  The bite had hurt, but not as much as I had suspected it would, not as much as the shock of being claimed, of fully submitting to a relationship. Dyson had reassured me the mark only looked like a hickey – a big hickey – when I had fretted over it as the thrusting came to an end. It didn’t ease my worry because truly, the mark itself may irk me, but the meaning behind it frightens me more. And then there’s the oncoming of everything else – the shared mental link on such a level that we should be able to feel what the other is feeling, even communicate telepathically.

  I still can’t sort out my feelings and thoughts when it comes to him. I do love him, but it feels unnatural. Love shouldn’t happen this way or this fast even though he’s shown me nothing but gentlemen-like behavior and sweet touches that drive home his truthful words. It frightens me to feel this deep down to the pit of my stomach that roots me better than gravity itself. But, at the same time, it decimates my fears of the future, for with him, I feel like I have one. At least one worthy of dreaming. And besides, this is how shifter mating works.

  I internally groan. What have I gotten myself into?

  With a thump to the heel, I place my boot on the floor. The sound draws Dyson’s attention back to me, and he smiles, bends his hips, and leans. Cupping my jaw, he first inhales then gently slides his lips against mine. I melt into him.

  A love that isn’t my own blossoms inside me like a butterfly spreading its wings for the very first time. It echoes my own feelings, but I startle in his hands. A rubber band snaps internally, a supernatural sort of sensation, and the flood of Dyson’s emotions invade my own. I stiffen against the assault.

  He grins against my mouth. “You feel that, don’t you?”

  “What is it?” I mumble as he kisses my bottom lip and pulls away to grab his shirt from the floor.

  Slipping it on, he clears his throat, drawing my attention away from his abs and the v-shaped dip that disappears into his jeans. “It’s the beginning of the bond. I have to admit; it’s moving rather quickly. Sometimes, it can take weeks,” he rambles.

  Mentally, I work on suppressing his feelings, so I can sort out my own, but they refuse to budge. I hold up a hand and stop whatever he plans to say next. “How do I control it?” I ask, hoping I’m dead wrong in my assumption.

  “The mating bond? You can’t.” He frowns and searches my face. “You’re scared.”

  “Of course, I am,” I spit and glance at my hands clasped in my lap. “What if one of us dies.” It’s a morbid thought, but it popped into my head and slid out my mouth before I could stop it.

  Straightening his pants legs, he swallows thickly, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Then, so does the other if the mating is complete.”

  It’s a sealed fate for both if one of our hearts stops beating in our chests. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. If I die, so will Dyson for the simple fact that his life is tied to mine. We’re wrapped up in each other so fully that even I can’t untangle the web to sort it all out.

  “I see,” I say again and then look away.

  Tucking a finger under my chin, he draws me back to him. “Fate, mating, even war, if you die, I’m not sure if I’d survive anyway. A world without you in it is the darkest of places.”

  His words make my shoulders sag. It’s almost the exact thing Jane had asked me to tell Eliza before she sacrificed herself for our escape. Such a declaration can only come from the heart.

  Pulling myself together, I straighten my shirt and hold out a hand to him. He grasps it with a grin and kisses the back of it. We look at each other and hold the gently probing gaze like feathers brushing against skin. There’s so much in those sparkling depths that it weakens my knees.

  Standing with little effort from my tugging, he strides from my room. His scent swirls around me, calming my nerves. I follow after him, but not before I turn back and stare at everything I once was.

  A witch’s satchel, a messy bed from a woman whose only job was to take care of herself, and clothes that once meant so much to her. I don’t know that woman anymore, and with Dyson by my side, perhaps I can bury her in peace with hope for the future. With my hand hovering over the light switch, I linger for one more moment, and then, I cast darkness back into the room.

  “Dyson,” I begin. I tread from the hallway and find him hovering by the TV. The one station I have available is bright across the screen, and he watches it with a rigid posture. The news is being broadcast by a woman in a purple dress that shows a bit too much skin for someone in her profession.

  I press on with what I had originally wanted to declare. “I need to go see my coven.”

  Though the witch in me is gone, I still need to close that chapter. I need to see my mom. To say my goodbyes before this big battle we’re supposed to be preparing for. And maybe, just maybe, I can convince her and the coven to join forces with a banned witch.

  He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he’s glued to the news. I smack my lips in agitation, tread to stand next to him, and lift a finger to poke his shoulder. I stop as the screen flashes ‘breaking news.’

  Snatching the remote from the couch, he raises the volume. “They’re flushing us out,” Dyson mumbles.

  “The increase in patients diagnosed with this new flu strain isn’t our only concern,” begins the woman in purple. “There’s another epidemic on our hands with those seemingly infected. A record-breaking number of patients have been admitted to the psychiatric branch of the hospital. Let’s go to Rick on the scene.”

  The screen changes to a scrawny man, less pleasing to the eye, who shivers in front of a brightly lit brick building. I’ve seen the building before while driving by. The original structure is ancient but has been renovated and added to as the years have passed.

  Rick lifts his mic and begins talking, thanking the woman first. “Dr. Casandra Grant is with us,” he begins. The camera zooms out to a fuller picture. A woman with cocoa-creamed skin is standing next to him. Her small afro wiggles in the breeze and her sharp eyes stare back into the ca
mera as if this is the last place she wanted to be tonight.

  “Dr. Grant,” he starts, “there are many patients trickling into your hospital’s ER, showing signs of extreme sleep deprivation with this flu virus. Though they’re put under observation and are witnessed to have slept, they continue to show signs of not sleeping at all.” He turns fully to Doctor Grant. “Can you tell us the signs of sleep deprivation and why this is concerning.”

  “Sure, Rick,” she says awkwardly. “Sleep deprivation is dangerous. Our patients’ symptoms are paranoia, hallucinations, mood changes, memory loss,” she ticks off.

  Rick fidgets, wanting to add a few words, but she presses on, finding the confidence she didn’t have a moment before. “All of these symptoms are minor at most, but the majority is rising to complete mental breakdowns. For the safety of the hospital and themselves, we’ve moved them to facilities like this one.”

  “How dangerous are we talking here, Doctor?” Rick rattles, quickly shoving his words out of his mouth. “Is it deadly?”

  “Demons,” Dyson growls. “Demons are going after those weakened from vampire attacks.”

  Dr. Grant twists her lips and leers. “I don’t believe so,” she says just as quickly as he did. I mentally thank her for it. The last thing we need is to have panicked humans to contend with. “They’re sleeping, but we need to figure out why their bodies don’t think they are.”

  “What would cause a mass number of patients to suffer from such an . . . issue?” Rick asks, his voice a little more shaken than it was before.

  “We don’t know,” Dr. Grant admits. “But we have a team investigating it.”

  “Are the flu and this sleep issue tied together? Is this a nationwide concern?”

  “We don’t know, Rick.” The look on her face is snarky, and by her appearance, she hasn’t slept well either.

  “And is it nationwide?” he repeats.

  “No,” she says finally. “This is just in our city.”

  As Rick closes his moment of fame, Dyson presses mute on the remote. We stand there for moments, listening to only the clock ticking on the wall.

  “It’s a miracle the people attacked by vampire’s don’t remember it,” he whispers. “The vampires must have some way of concealing their appearance, or maybe the whole ordeal.”

  I rub the ache beginning in my forehead. “And now demons.”

  “We should tell the others when we get back.”

  The door to my apartment creaks open behind us, and Irene’s shoes squeak across the floor, followed by Flint’s. Dust bunnies skidder like tumbleweeds across the desert and fresher air wafts in with their entrance. We don’t turn to greet them, and they don’t voice their own. With their sharp hearing, they probably heard every word.

  “What is this?” Flint asks as he and Irene stand at the other side of the couch.

  I lift a hand and run the tips of my fingers over my mouth. “They’re flushing us out,” I repeat Dyson’s words.

  “The fee?” Irene asks.

  I nod. “The flu isn’t the flu. It’s blood loss from vampire bites. The symptoms are very similar, and the sleep deprivation isn’t sleep deprivation. It’s demons. Probably lack of sandmen delivering dreams too. The entire realms are either in chaos or working like hell to draw us into some sort of trap.”

  “I’d love to know what they’re hallucinating then,” Flint grumbles.

  I move my hand to scratch the edge of my jaw and turn fully to face them. “Demons come in all shapes and sizes.”

  “We should call Erline,” Dyson suggests, setting down the remote. “Tell her what’s going on.”

  “No,” I say firmly, drawing each of their attention like a cat to a flickering light. “Like I said, this could be another trap like the one they had for Erma. As much as I loathe all the fee, we can’t involve her. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but . . . we actually need her. She’s the only one who knows the ins and outs of all three fee. We need her.”

  Dyson harrumphs and crosses his arms heavily across his chest, begging to differ. He’s protective, my mate. My cheeks flush at that thought and reactively, I touch the edge of my jaw and trace the faint scar. Flint and Irene’s gazes travel with it, and I close my eyes to the knowing grins gracing their faces.

  Before they can utter a word, I blurt, “I need to see my coven.”

  “What?” Irene questions with a tilt of her head. “Why?”

  “Several reasons,” I shrug, dropping my hand back to my hip. “With any luck, we can get them to side with us when the time comes. We need more than just the shifters to deal with this mess. Shifters can take care of the vampires, but who’s going to take care of the sleep deprivation and demons? Maybe they can cast a spell on the affected humans and act as sandmen for the time being.”

  “You really think we have enough time for that?” Dyson mumbles, not as an insult but a genuine question. I shrug.

  “She makes a good point,” Flint murmurs to Dyson, cringing at the thought of working with witches. He’s grown accustomed to me, but it’s apparent that he still has some sort of prejudice against the witches as a whole.

  “When?” Dyson asks.

  I purse my lips, my focus traveling the length of my walls and the dusty objects hanging on them. “Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “We’ll go tomorrow,” Dyson corrects. I look at him and double blink. “I won’t let you go alone.”

  “Guys,” Flint calls. He shifts nervously. With is jaw ticking, he takes several moments to respond, lost deep in thought. Then, he stares at me with flaring shock, rigid, statue-like. It’s eerie seeing that usually elated face completely stony.

  “Evo?” Dyson asks, dropping his arms from across his chest. “Did he contact you?”

  The alpha of every pack can use telepathic communication with their wolves, and their wolves under their protection can respond in kind.

  “Yes,” Flint says. Whipping around, he grabs Irene’s hand and drags her to the door. “We need to get back to the territory.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AIDEN VANDER

  EARTH REALM

  By the ocean, the water laps gently at the large rocks on the edge of the bank. The rocks and boulders are rounded in some places and jagged in others, but each one is coated in a salty residue over the array of browns and grays.

  “It’s beautiful,” Eliza says as though this is the first time she’s truly seen the ocean. She squeezes my hand, and I nod solemnly when she looks at me.

  A lighthouse sits behind us, it’s light beaming and swirling across the calm waters as a fog rolls into the banks. Everything is completely silent save for the water sweeping against the land.

  The tangy yet calming aroma of the misty air reaches my nose with each inhale and eases my nervous energy. I’ve never seen a pyren away from her home of black lava, and for a second, I dive into my memories of my home realm and how the lava goop gently flows and puffs steam of sulfur.

  “How do we call her?” Eliza asks. She shivers under the light blanket I found at the back of the car the pack had lent us. It was odd, driving again, and with the added height, it had taken me several moments to get used to it. The large vehicle was almost too cramped for me.

  I could have shimmered, but I wanted to feel as human as possible, at least in the presence of humanity, and it was dark enough to where I wasn’t worried others would see me through the tinted windshield. Plus, it allowed Eliza and me time for idle chat, precious moments we haven’t been able to enjoy in the past. She had looked put out when I told her this wasn’t a date. I might as well have ripped out my own soul after the disappointment of it all. Driving here together was the least I could do.

  She told me about her mother’s life, and I told her about. . . well, my foster family. Most she already knew about because she treated Mrs. Tiller when she was a doctor. Through Eliza’s retellings, I was able to see the Tillers in a way I couldn’t when I was a child. Shortly after, she went silent, st
aring out her window and grieving for the life that died under her hands.

  And every single mile, I wanted to tell her about the woman I killed. I wanted to help her, to make her feel like she’s not alone, but I didn’t have the guts to do it. There’s a difference between her and me. She has a knack for saving people, and I . . . I just kill them.

  A realm without her in it is too dim for the darkest of souls. That is what her mother had said to Kat. Those were her last words. So true and painful, and they’ve chosen to strike me, over and over, while they repeat inside my head.

  I look at her, staring. Absorbing. Committing every inch to memory. The fog is lit by the moon as a backdrop and the water laps at the same melody of the breeze that sways her hair. She catches my stare and returns it with a shy smile. I gulp. I don’t deserve her.

  “Like this,” I say. Bending my knees, I lower myself to the ground and dip my black, sparkling finger in the water. I don’t actually need to – calling her name would suffice – but I’ve been curious how the water would feel against this new skin. It feels exactly the same as it did when I was human. A gentle pressuring. A calming caress by a force so great.

  “Ferox,” I whisper to the wind which blows the mist against my face. The breath I’ve been holding exhales, and I close my eyes, relishing the cold spray.

  I stand back to full height and pocket my hands in my borrowed, tight jeans. They’re not meant to be this snug, but I’m still larger than the largest of the pack. It’s not like I can go shopping on my own, either.

  Seconds. Seconds it took for her to pop her head from the surface. The water and fog parts around her and ripples around her green skin. Here, in this realm, she’s more aqua than green. To Eliza’s gasp, she scans our surroundings, checking every surface, every shadow, and pocket of fog. She’s several feet from us. The shore is too shallow for her to properly wade any closer.