by Naomi Martin
“I need some air and a minute to catch my breath,” Elliot adds.
It all sounds perfectly reasonable, but I know they’re splitting up like that so one of them has an eye on me. I have no doubt that when Gray is done with his shower, Elliot is going to need one while Gray needs some air. I pretend that I don’t know what they’re doing, though.
I find it both cute and annoying. But my annoyance is directed at myself—I should be having Gray teach me to fight, as well. Without my powers, I need to know how to defend myself.
“Walk with me?” Elliot asks.
“Sure,” I chirp. “Some air sounds nice.”
* * * * *
“You know, if we took away the giant rock walls and the presence of so many boys and girls wearing prison chic,” I start, “I could almost pretend you and I are strolling the grounds of our massive and beautiful mansion estate in the countryside in some Jane Austen novel.”
“Ah yes, I can see Mr. Darcy now,” Elliot grins. “Up ahead, holding a top hat and a large caliber machine gun.”
“The image of true romance,” I crack.
We share a laugh as we walk the perimeter of what Elliot called the yard. Like the common area of our prison, it looks like a giant hole was scooped out of the earth and had steel laid over the bottom. Also like the common area, the top of the hole, dozens and dozens of feet above us, remains open to the sky above, allowing natural sunlight to rain down on the basketball courts, bleachers, and tables scattered around. Except for the men with guns, it looks like a public park, in some ways. Just more of those enrichment activities you see in the zoo, I guess.
“You’d think somebody would see the giant holes in the ground from up there,” I say. “Holes that big have got to be noticeable.”
“Glamours,” Elliot replies.
I turn to him. “What’s a glamour?”
“Glamours are energy that’s manipulated to project images over the holes. Make them look like solid ground,” he tells me. “And unless you’re sensitive to the energy, you’ll never know they’re there. It’s easier for them to hide the underground facilities that way. It’s probably something you can learn to do.”
“Can you do it? Make these glamours?”
Elliot shakes his head. “No, I never learned how.”
“Neither did I. But it sounds like a neat trick,” I say. “Has anybody ever fallen in? Like through the glamour?”
Elliot smirks. “This prison facility is on a massive parcel of land in the Badlands of South Dakota,” he informs me. “Fenced-in government property. Security outside makes places like Area 51 look like open houses.”
“How do you know all that?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been here for three years. You learn things along the way.”
I can’t help but hear the note of sadness in his voice, which breaks my heart for him. To have been held here for so long, knowing you may never get out and breathe free air again—I just don’t know how he hasn’t given in to despair. I’m pretty sure I would have, after three years in this place. To me, that speaks to his strength and his character. And I can only hope to be as strong as him.
“Well, lookee here,” a voice drawls. “Ol’ Red got hisself a girlfriend.”
I snap my head around and see a guy with dark hair, dark eyes, and a thick, shaggy beard standing before us. He’s heavyset but still looks stronger than an ox, and has what looks like a permanent sneer on his face. He’s unattractive in most every way and even from a few feet away, I can smell his pungent body odor.
“She’s my friend, Clint,” Elliot groans. “Now, if you’ll excuse—”
“Shut up, Red,” Clint growls.
He looks at me in the same way Sherman does, and I get the same creepy feeling. He licks his lips as his eyes slide up and down my body and I suddenly feel the need to take a scalding hot shower.
“He sure got hisself a pretty one,” he chuckles.
Elliot takes my arm and starts to pull me away, but Clint reaches out and grabs hold of him, then shoves him backward. Elliot stumbles but manages to stay on his feet. He turns back to Clint, his face red and his eyes narrowed, rage painted upon his features.
“Get out the way, Clint,” he hisses.
He ignores Elliot and focuses his attention on me. I grimace and turn away from him.
“You two fuckin’?” he asks.
“That’s none of your business,” I spit.
A few of his friends, guys equally as big and equally as smelly, step up behind him. They all have long, greasy hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in days. In fact, they all look like they haven’t showered recently. If I had to guess, I’d say they were shifters. I know how racist—or maybe the right word is speciesist—that thought is, but shifters are the only ones I’ve ever seen who let themselves walk around this filthy and think it’s perfectly normal.
Gray, though, is an exception to that rule. He’s always clean and tends to smell really good. I give myself a swift mental kick the second the thought passes through my mind. This is so not the time to be thinking things like that. I clear my throat and stiffen my spine as I look at Clint.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You’re the leader of this pack of degenerates?”
Clint turns to his buddies and they all share a laugh. “She’s got some balls on her, don’t she?” he says then turns back to me. “You got a hell of a lot more balls than that red-haired pussy you’re hangin’ out with.”
With a shout of rage, Elliot rushes forward and throws a punch. He misses the mark, though, and drives his fist into Clint’s shoulder. Clint erupts in laughter, his friends doubling over and slapping each other on the back as they howl. Elliot’s face grows an unnatural shade of red and his rage twists his features so bad, he’s almost unrecognizable.
“El, stop,” I hiss. “He’s not worth it.”
“Ya oughta lissen to her, Red,” Clint continues to chuckle. “Ya don’t wanna go down this road with me, boy.”
Before I can stop him, Elliot throws another punch. This one connects and splits Clint’s lip. Blood flows down his lip, spilling droplets into his beard. Clint falls silent as his eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw as he stares at Elliot. Then, with a speed that betrays his size, his arm shoots out and he grabs Elliot by the throat. His other hand pistons out, crashing into Elliot’s face. His eye immediately starts to swell and turn an ugly shade of purple.
When Clint delivers another punch, Elliot lets out a strangled gasp, the fight quickly draining out of him. Clint’s friends crowd around him, cheering him on as he continues to pummel Elliot. He delivers punch after punch with a sound like somebody driving their fist into wet meat. It’s sickening to listen to. My heart is thundering in my chest and my stomach is twisting around on itself, sending bile to the back of my throat.
My vision blurs with tears. “Help us!” I scream.
A pair of guards are leaning against the far wall, talking with each other. They casually glance over at me when I call out but after looking at us, turn back to each other and continue to chat.
My panic is rising. There’s blood all over Elliot’s bruised and battered face. He’s limp and looks half dead already. But Clint keeps on pummeling him as his friends egg him on. My rage building, I push my way past his friends to grab Clint’s arm. He looks at me, a similar rage shining in his eyes as he shakes me off and smashes his big, meaty fist into Elliot’s face with a wet crack.
Fueled by my fear and my anger, the power rises inside of me. I know that I’m going to get zapped when I release it, but if it makes Clint stop beating on Elliot, if he somehow gets hit with it, too, it will be worth the agony I’m about to go through. I grab hold of his arm again and, with anger burning in my eyes, I lash out with it as I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut, readying myself for the jolt.
Instead, I hear screaming and when I open my eyes, stunned that I didn’t get zapped, I see Clint and his friends on the ground ten feet away from us. I turn to Elliot—wh
o is amazingly still standing, though his face is swollen and bloody—and he looks at me, his one good eye wide and filled with awe.
“H-how did you do that?” he croaks, his voice hoarse with pain.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
I look down at my hands, marveling at the fact that I’m still on my feet, unhurt. More than that, though, I’m amazed that I had somehow managed to channel and use some of my power without getting zapped by the collar. Clint gets back to his feet, his face twisted in rage.
“You fuckin’ bitch,” he roars as he runs at me.
The two guards who’d been standing idly by are there immediately, their arms wrapped around the charging bull of a man. One of them drives a fist into Clint’s midsection and he doubles over, gasping and wheezing. Together, the guards deliver a flurry of blows with their batons, driving him down to his knees. One bends Clint’s arms behind his back and the other slaps a pair of cuffs on him. They haul him to his feet and drag him out of the yard, and I am, surprisingly, somehow forgotten in the whole mess.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” a voice behind me says softly. “You never draw attention to yourself like that.”
I spin around and see a tall, lean, but well-built man behind me. He’s got straight, stark white hair that falls just below his shoulders. His bone structure is absolutely perfect, and his skin is flawless. His eyes are a stunning cornflower blue I’ve never seen on a person before. They’re so blue they almost look unnatural, and his gaze is piercing. As he looks at me, it’s as though he can see straight into my very soul and it leaves me feeling breathless.
“Excuse me?” I ask. “What did you just say to me?”
My insides churn and I feel a warmth spreading from my belly to lower parts of my anatomy. The man oozes sensuality from every pore and it seeps into me, stirring things within me I’ve never felt before. And I find that I’m unable to tear my gaze away from his. His eyes are compelling and in them, I can see some hidden pain. Some trauma from his past that he keeps buried deep inside.
He breaks eye contact with me abruptly, like he knows I can see into him, see that pain he takes such care to hide away from the world.
“I said, you’re a fucking idiot. You used your powers. Don’t know how, but you did, and everybody saw it,” he says, and his voice, rich and smooth, washes over me like warm honey. “That was stupid. They’ll come for you now.”
Elliot tries to move in front of me, trying to shield me from the vampire standing in front of me. He has to be a vampire. There’s nothing else he could be. A small laugh passes his lips at Elliot’s attempt to protect me from him.
“That’s sweet,” he says. “But even without my fangs, I can tear you to pieces, little man.”
“Try it.”
The white-haired man looks at Elliot for a long moment, the thick tension of a challenge hanging in the air between them. But the moment passes as the vampire looks around Elliot at me, his eyes boring into mine.
“Watch yourself,” he says. “When they come for you, do not let them see what you can do. If you value your life, you’ll hold your power back.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me standing there with a million questions firing through my head.
“What was that?” I ask.
“That was Zane,” Elliot says thickly. “By far, the most dangerous person in this prison. Be careful around him.”
“I don’t intend to go anywhere near him.”
Elliot nods. “Good. That’s good.”
I look around the yard and see that all faces are turned to me, everybody staring with some measure of awe and fear on their faces. Uncomfortable beneath all the scrutiny, I wrap Elliot’s arm around my shoulders.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you back to your cell so I can clean you up.”
Chapter Ten
Eight Years Ago…
Zane
“You’re a monster,” my mother shouts at me. “A beast. An ungodly, murderous beast!”
I look up at her then back down at the bloody mess in my lap. And all I can think is that for the first time since I changed, I finally feel sated. For the moment, my hunger has been satisfied. But, even now, I can feel the stirrings of it returning. They’re faint, but it’s there. And those stirrings will only grow stronger as the days go by until they, once again, become unbearable. Until they drive me mad. Until they force me to do what I’ve just done—take an innocent life.
I look down at the limp, lifeless form of Tommy Moreno—he lives next door and has been my best friend since we started kindergarten together. We were inseparable and hung out together just about every day. And I killed him. There’s a ragged hole in his neck and I’m sitting in a pool of his blood. I can taste it in my mouth and feel the tackiness of it as it dries on my lips.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say. “I-I didn’t mean to—”
“Shut up. Just shut up,” she howls in rage.
I watch as she folds her arms over her stomach, pacing back and forth, her face curled into a stricken expression tinged with utter disgust. She can’t even bear to look at me.
I push Tommy off my lap, and he hits the hard wood with a wet thud that makes her shudder. I look to her as confusion and even revulsion with myself sweep through me. I don’t know what to do. I barely even know what I did. It’s all just a jumble in my head.
“I was just so hungry,” I try to explain. “I couldn’t help it. It just happened.”
“These kinds of things don’t just happen, Zane,” she hisses.
I get to my feet and try to go to her. My arms are open wide and I’m terrified, my entire body is shaking. I move to wrap my arms around her, seeking comfort, but she pushes me away. She looks at me, horrified.
“Don’t touch me,” she spits. “You’re a fucking monster. Just stay away from me.”
Tears roll down my face and a choked sob escapes me. I stand there, covered in gore, my mother staring at me with a look of pure disgust on her face, and all I want is for her to hold me. To tell me that everything is going to be okay. I want her to comfort me like she used to do when I was a child. But she’s acting like she can’t get far enough away from me. Like my very presence—no, my existence—is an affront to her. And at the same time, like she’s afraid of me.
In that moment, I have never felt more alone. I’m thirteen years old and all I want is my mother. I feel like a scared little child who needs his mother. But she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me. I choke back a sob. I never asked to be like this. It’s not like I set out to become a vampire. And if I could give up what I am, I would. In a heartbeat.
“I-I just need some time to think,” she says. “I need to figure out what to do.”
“Mom—”
“Just stay here, Zane. I need to think.”
I take a step toward her and she takes one back, bumping into the wall behind her. She stares at me for a moment and her expression suddenly changes. It shifts from one of revulsion to something else. It’s not happiness or love—I can’t really tell what it is. But she looks at me and her lips compress into a tight line that sort of looks like a wavering smile.
She steps forward and reaches out a trembling hand. I can tell it takes a monumental effort on her part to touch me, but when she lays her hand gently on top of my head, I suddenly feel warmth and gratitude.
“E-everything’s going to be okay, Zane,” she says. “I’m going to fix everything.”
“Promise?”
She nods quickly. “I do. I’ll take care of you. Just like I always have.”
My heart swells and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. She’s going to fix this and we’ll go back to normal again. She’ll go back to loving me, I can find a way to forget I just killed my best friend, and everything will be exactly how it was. She says everything is going to be fine, and I believe her.
“Lay down,” she says. “Get a little rest. It’s been a long night for you.”
“Okay, Mom.”
I do as she says, anxious for everything to be okay again. For everything to go back to normal. I close my eyes, the coppery taste of Tommy’s blood still in my mouth, breathing in the scent of his body on the floor. It soothes me. Relaxes me. But at the same time, I feel bad. He was my friend. But the hunger took hold of me. The hunger made me do it. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t control myself.
“I’m sorry, man,” I say. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
I yawn wide and stretch. I kind of feel like I used to after gorging myself at Thanksgiving, content and sleepy. And as my muscles, so tense and taut just a few minutes ago, start to relax, sleep overcomes me.
The sound of my door bursting inward, slamming against the wall behind it, pulls me from the warmth and comfort of sleep. I’m disoriented and dizzy, trying to figure out what’s happening. I don’t know how long I’ve even been asleep but there is darkness beyond the windows now—it was still daylight when I laid down.
Terrified, a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through me and my insides churning wildly, I sit up in bed to see men in black storming into my room. The flashlights mounted to the end of their guns are bright. Blinding. They force me to turn away.
“Mom!” I cry out.
Rough hands clamp down around my arms, yanking me from my bed. They slam me down to the hardwood floor, driving the breath from my lungs, and I find myself staring into Tommy’s wide, sightless eyes. Gripped by a fear I’ve never known before, I struggle and thrash beneath the hands of the men, trying to break their hold on me, screaming for my mother the whole time.
I wince, feeling a sharp sting as they hit me in the back with something hard and blunt. Tears stream down my cheeks and terror grips my entire body as I feel my hands being bound by hard steel. A collar is attached to my neck, locking with a loud clicking sound.
Fear gives way to rage as they haul me to my feet. I summon my vampire strength and try to break the shackles around my wrists. The bindings grow steadily warmer until it feels like my skin is on fire. I turn to the man closest to me, trying to extend my fangs to bite him, but the collar around my neck reacts like the shackles around my wrists, growing hot almost immediately. I cry out and smell my flesh burning.
