I threw my arms up in the air. “It won’t do any good.” At his blank look, I said, “I’m reliving all our past lives, mine and my sisters. I’ve been cut, beaten, starved, raped, drowned, and even blinded.”
His eyes hardened at each method of torture I listed, but I barely paid his reaction any attention. Listing the things that I had experienced brought the memories too close to the surface, and there were so many more ways his kind had hurt me that I left unsaid.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see more, and there’s no rest when that’s what I see. When I wake I’m just as tired as I was when I went to sleep. And I don’t just see the past, I feel it. Every injury. Every forced intimate moment. If I let myself dwell on it, I won’t ever feel whole again.” I gave a pained snort. “I’m not really sure I do now. If I’ve ever had a happy past life, I don’t remember it. Instead, I remember the pain, and death. Always death...” I said, starting to cry in anger and in fear. “I don’t want to die again,” I whispered brokenly. “But if you’re here to try to get me to choose you, you can’t have me.” I said the words to help remind me, too. He was so...nice. It made the Taupe Lady’s warning hard to remember. “Even if it means I have to die again.”
He growled, and I saw how what I said had affected him. Jaw clenched, he fought the skin-rippling change trying to consume him. He turned and forcefully yanked open the door. The trim splintered near the latch. When he slammed it shut behind him, a piece fell to the floor.
Stunned, I flopped back down on the bed with a slow sigh. I’d baited him—what? Twice now? Three times?—and I was still unharmed, breathing. A crazy half-sob, half-laugh bubbled from my chest.
The roar of his motorcycle reached me. I hopped off the bed and raced to the door, opening it just in time to see him speed away.
Stupefied, I stood in the doorway for several long moments before my brain kicked in. What an idiot for clarifying who I was when I knew I couldn’t trust him. Who knew what he was up to? They always appeared in packs. Maybe he was getting the rest of his pack. Then, I thought of Baen. He’d been alone the first time; but he’d made me bite him before he ran off. So, this was different. And I wasn’t a clueless, stupid kid this time. Yet, I still made tired mistakes. I needed to move.
Closing the door, I quickly circled the bed looking for my shoes. They weren’t there. I checked the bathroom, using it quickly in the process, and didn’t see anything there either. My chest started to tighten. I didn’t have time to waste but couldn’t just leave without them. My feet were tough, but the temperature was dropping. I wouldn’t make it far.
Growling in frustration, I grabbed my bag and dug for as many pair of socks as I could find. Two. I sat on the bed to pull them on over the ones I wore, but didn’t get the chance.
I fell into a dream. Hard.
A sprinkling of water on my face woke me before I died. Still caught up in the dream, I looked up at Luke and blinked in confusion at his disgruntled expression.
“You already slept ten hours. How can you still be this tired?”
“I’m not,” I said sitting up quickly.
He stood before me with a white paper bag and a large thick paper cup in one hand. The other hand shone wetly.
“The dreams take me over sometimes, no matter how rested I am,” I mumbled feeling the need to explain. He held out the cup to me. I didn’t move to take it as I remembered how he’d taken off. “I thought you left to get the rest of your men.”
He huffed a martyr style sigh and sat beside me on the bed. Too close in my opinion.
“What men?”
Instead of answering, I looked down at my hands while trying to ignore the quick erratic heartbeat his close proximity caused. He misunderstood my move and made a small noise of annoyance.
“Never mind,” I mumbled.
“Bethi, I really am here to help you. No strings. I just don’t know how,” he said softly.
He thought I just didn’t trust him. He was right. I didn’t. But that wasn’t the reason for my hesitancy. I didn’t like feeling so dependent on him. Especially since my insides kept going crazy when he was close or I when looked at him or when I smelled him. It was getting ridiculous.
“You are helping me,” I said trying for brusque detachment. “If not for you, I’d be walking.”
He studied my profile for a moment before handing me the cup. “I thought coffee might help.”
My throat dried at the quiet concern laced in with his words, so I accepted the cup and took a hasty swig. It scalded my tongue and I almost spit it back into the cup. Instead, I swallowed, burning a layer from my throat. Ignoring his concerned frown, I suggested we hit the road. It was uncomfortable just sitting there.
“I brought you something to eat, too,” he said opening the bag and pulling out a plastic carton.