Anathema

  “Just go along,” he whispered in my ear, close enough that his bottom lip grazed my earlobe, sending ticklish shivers through my body.

  And then he was kissing me.

  I had only ever kissed a boy once in my life—a chubby, awkward fourteen–year–old named Stewart who was staying in the same foster home as me. The kiss had been the result of a lost bet. It had been a dreadful, open–mouthed fish kiss and I was sure he would swallow my tongue whole. Even I—unseasoned in the make–out department—recognized that Stewart wasn’t going to get far with the ladies without vast improvement. This kiss was nothing like that. It began soft and inviting, only to intensify into urgency. Caden knew what he was doing.

  Please don’t wake up right now! I pleaded with my subconscious, enjoying this too much.

  “Who’s back here?” a voice called.

  Caden’s grip around me tightened. His lips slid off mine as he guided my face into his strong, broad chest, away from the voice. I was relieved that my half–dressed body was well hidden against his.

  “Do you mind? We’re busy,” Caden spat toward the voice.

  “Indeed,” another voice said. “We’re looking for Jethro. These are his caves. You wouldn’t happen to know where he’s disappeared to?” The lilt in his voice screamed suspicion.

  “Don’t know. This place was vacant when we stumbled across it a few weeks ago,” Caden replied, his tone icy.

  “That’s odd … Jethro’s occupied these mountains since the war. I’m surprised he would abandon them.”

  War? My palms began sweating at the mention of Jethro, the image of those cold, spidery eyes clear in my memory.

  “What can I say? I guess they needed a change,” Caden answered, turning to caress my cheek with his cold nose, feigning ignorance. Another shiver ran through my body.

  “What’s with all the torches around here?” a second male voice said. “You planning on burning someone?”

  I tensed up. Caden’s arms gripped my body more securely. A warning squeeze.

  “We like firelight. Now beat it, unless you wanna watch,” Caden said, his lips now running along the side of my neck, as if he were dismissing the two men. My knees buckled but he was prepared for my reaction, holding me upright.

  “What’s that?” one of them suddenly hissed.

  Caden pivoted smoothly, turning so I was completely hidden from them.

  The dress, I thought, panicking. I scanned the cave floor but couldn’t see any green satin.

  “It’s called foreplay. If you don’t know what comes next, I suggest you go find someone to teach you. The Council has a bunch of prepubescent girls to practice on.” Caden smirked, acting nonchalant, trying to steer them away from whatever they had noticed. It didn’t work.

  “It looked like a wound.”

  My eyes instinctively darted to the raw, reddened skin on my shoulder where I’d hit the cave wall. Why would that matter?

  “You must be seeing things.” Caden’s voice was light and humorous.

  There was a pause. I thought his efforts had paid off. They may have, had the sounds from a violent commotion not drifted in from the main room just then.

  “Don’t—” Caden growled, but he didn’t have a chance to finish before being wrenched from me and launched across the room.

  A tall man took three quick strides to stand in front of me, his hand reaching out to roughly grip my arm as he inspected my shoulder. His steely blue eyes searched my face, stopping briefly at the light sheen of sweat on my forehead before locking with my own terrified eyes. With his short, strawberry–blonde hair and chiseled face, I would have considered him attractive had he not been looking at me predatorily.

  He let out a low whistle. “I’m seeing it but surely I don’t believe it.” He inhaled deeply. “I can’t smell it.” He paused in thought. “Where have you been hiding, little one?”

  I bit my lip and remained silent, though I doubt I could have formed two words, had I wanted to.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Caden grunted. “She can lead us to more.”

  I glanced over to see him pinned beneath an ape–like fellow with no neck, the kind who spends more time in the gym than sleeping.

  “Oh, I would never hurt you, trust me,” the man crooned innocently to me, his voice so soothing that my body intuitively relaxed, wanting to trust him. He reached up to grip my chin with his thumb and index finger, effortlessly pushing my head back until I couldn’t see anything but the cave ceiling.

  I sensed him leaning in. Oh God, he’s going to kiss me. And then probably rape me. I cringed.

  And then I felt pain. Sharp, stabbing pain as something pierced my exposed neck. My mouth opened to scream but only a gurgle escaped. I struggled to break free, swinging my arms in defense, but every move sent jolts of acute pain through my body, as if I were snagged on a barbwire fence. I stopped fighting.

  The ceiling began spinning as dizziness set in and my body slackened. Soon my arms hung limply at my sides. The pain finally dulled to an uncomfortable pressure. Only then did I sense the extreme burning sensation against my chest.

  “Stop. Please,” I heard Caden plead.

  “You’ll kill her before we find out where she’s been hiding,” someone else—it had to be the ape man—warned.

  The pressure continued.

  “Hey!” the ape man shouted more sharply a few moments later.

  The pressure subsided as my attacker stopped whatever he was doing to me. He held my body up as my head lolled back. I didn’t have the strength to lift it anymore.

  “Strange. Her blood doesn’t taste like anything,” I heard my attacker say, followed by, “She’ll cooperate more as one of us.” His voice seemed distant, even though he was standing right next to me.

  Everything seemed distant.

  And then I felt that uncomfortable pressure again. This time a new sensation came with it, like an inoculation pumping something into me to snake through my veins. It carried a warm, numbing tingle through my limbs. What can it be … poison?

  Something sharp and blistering hot suddenly stabbed me in the chest. I moaned feebly, all I could muster. Seconds later I was falling; my body hit the ground like a rag doll at the same time that I heard a skin–peeling shriek. Was that me screaming? No, it came from beside me. Caden!

  I struggled to turn my head. My attacker was convulsing on the cave floor like an epileptic.

  “You alright?” a voice called.

  Another screech sounded. The cave plunged into complete darkness.

  I faded in and out of consciousness, unable to move, my breathing strained and irregular. I had no idea how much time had passed since the lights went out—seconds? Hours? Only silence and darkness surrounded me.

  “Caden?” I finally whispered, my voice feeble.

  “Shhh … it’s over,” a deep, soothing voice murmured. Something cool stroked my cheek. A hand, I think. I felt my body shift slightly and then I was being cradled in arms—warm, protective arms. Caden’s arms.

  “What … happened?” I asked.

  “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” Caden said, his hand tenderly cupping my chin, followed quietly by, “Please be okay.” His thumb caressed the corner of my mouth.

  “I’m … cold.”

  “Here. Let me help you.” There was a gentle tugging as something slid over my head—my shirt. Oh, right. I was only half–dressed. Why was I only … oh right.

  “Sorry about earlier. You were too slow. It was the only thing I could think of,” he apologized softly.

  My lips crooked into a tiny smile as I recalled that incredible kiss. The smile only lasted until I remembered the excruciating pain that had followed.

  “There’s a hole … in my chest … It was on fire,” I croaked.

  Caden’s hands fumbled with my shirt, his fingertips gently inspecting me, careful not to expose or touch anything inappropriate. It sent a quiver through my limp, weak carcass of a body. My heart began to wallop against my ches
t wall, as if in its last–ditch effort before handing in its resignation.

  “No holes. No fire,” Caden confirmed gently.

  “What did he … do to me?” I panted, tears welling up in my eyes. Something about blood and the taste, I remembered that much.

  “You’re okay,” he said again.

  “I can’t see. Am I blind?”

  I heard Amelie’s voice then. “What happened?”

  “Light, please,” Caden requested softly and in the next instant a torch was burning again. Caden looked down at me, worry tarnishing those perfect jade eyes. Rolling my head slightly, I saw ape man lying facedown on the ground, another torch jutting out of his back. My attacker lay motionless where I had seen him last, his glassy, unfocused eyes assuring me he was dead.

  “Where’s Rachel?” Caden quietly asked Amelie.

  “Dealing with the last of them,” Amelie responded levelly, her concerned eyes never leaving me.

  Caden turned back to gaze down at me. Despite everything, I sighed. I could happily stay like that forever.

  He leaned forward, his mouth against my ear. “Don’t tell her. Rachel can’t find out. Please.”

  I nodded feebly.

  “Take her for me,” he whispered to Amelie.

  I felt a slight jostle and then Amelie was in Caden’s place as my cradler.

  Caden left, dragging the ape man with him.

  I lay in silence, mulling over his plea. Of course Rachel couldn’t find out about the kiss. It would hurt her even if it hadn’t meant anything. If she had a heart underneath that prickly exterior. Highly unlikely. What would she do if she found out? I didn’t want to find out. She seemed like the vicious, jealous type.

  “ … and it killed him?” I heard Rachel saying in her typical detached voice as she strolled in, Caden and Bishop behind her.

  Bishop grabbed my attacker’s leg and began dragging him away, mumbling, “Let’s just make sure.” He glanced at me as he passed by, the same worried look on his face that Caden and Amelie wore.

  “Are you okay?” Fiona asked, crouching down beside me.

  “I will be … when I wake up from this nightmare,” I whispered. I keep forgetting this isn’t real …

  She gave me a reassuring smile—a smile that slid from her face when she glanced up at Amelie. “Do you think she’ll change?” she whispered.

  Change? Does she mean back into my dress?

  Amelie shrugged.

  They both looked back down at me again.

  Amelie’s hand grazed my throat. “It’s so bizarre—all this blood and it could be mud, for all I care,” she murmured, adding, “thank God.”

  What blood?

  “It’s the pendant. It must be masking it,” Caden said.

  Rachel crouched down to inspect my throat. “It doesn’t want her to become one of us.” Those eyes stared at me, in deep thought. “How did they figure it out?”

  “A scrape on her shoulder,” Caden was quick to answer.

  Her eyes slid to my shoulder. She frowned. “Where? I don’t see it. How could they see it?” she asked slowly.

  “I’m as shocked as you.” The lie rolled off Caden’s tongue as effortlessly as if it were the truth.

  I averted my eyes guiltily. As much as I disliked Rachel, I hated lying. More importantly, I was terrible at it.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you believe us now?”

  Believe … What am I supposed to believe again? I couldn’t remember.

  “I wonder what her blood tastes like,” she murmured, eyeing me curiously.

  “Leave her alone. She needs rest,” Fiona growled, magically producing a cool, wet cloth. She began gently patting my neck.

  As if her words had given a signal, I drifted off to sleep.

  I stared vacantly at the plaster swirls on the ceiling above my bed in Viggo and Mortimer’s room, my body cold and stiff. Why do I feel so weak? Am I getting sick? No. I’d had plenty of colds and flu bugs. This didn’t feel like any of those.

  Max whined, resting his head on my chest, giving my neck a few gentle licks. “Hey boy,” I whispered, struggling to lift my hand to scratch his head.

  The clock indicated noon. I’d slept in. Again. I forced my body to sit up, fighting the overpowering urge to curl back up under the covers. I couldn’t do that. Sofie needed me. Moaning loudly, I dragged the cozy duvet off my body and gave my eyes a good rub with the heels of my hands to help focus.

  Huh … The last thing I remembered was lying down in that gorgeous green satin gown. When did I put on these old sweats?

  7. Crazy?

  I staggered to the bathroom in a daze, my eyes barely cracked. Shrugging off the mysterious sweats without giving them another thought, I stepped into the shower stall. I intentionally turned the faucet to cold and let frigid water stream down my body until it was borderline torturous, hoping that would wake me up. It helped, marginally.

  Fumbling with the tap, I leaned my forehead against the tile, reveling in warmth, waiting to come alive.

  My shoulder began to sting. Peering down at a sizeable scrape on my shoulder, I cringed. Where did I get that? I wondered, wracking my brain.

  The cave.

  Caden.

  The attack.

  It hit me like a speeding train—a wave of recognition as everything from the night suddenly pulsed into my head at once, the flood of memories overwhelming.

  I pushed on the glass door and stumbled out of the shower, dropping to the cold tile floor before faintness could drive me down.

  But, that had been a dream.

  The attack.

  My hand trembled as it reached for my throat. I sensed the wounds as soon as my fingertips grazed the area. Working up the courage to stand and face the mirror, I immediately spotted two distinct round marks across my jugular.

  Bite marks.

  I stared at my reflection as if expecting it to talk back to me, to provide some rational explanation, something other than the obvious.

  That I had lost my mind.

  There has to be a reasonable explanation. My brain churned frantically, searching for a thread of logic to grasp. Maybe I changed before going to bed last night and I just don’t remember. I did bump my head on the bedpost, after all. I could have amnesia. That I had incorporated these old sweats into my dream was coincidence. Though I didn’t know where the clothes came from. Leonardo wouldn’t have bought these for me. One of the maids must have accidently left her laundry in my room.

  What about the scrape on my shoulder, how could I explain that? I must have banged my shoulder on something in the middle of the night. Maybe I was on my way to the bathroom. That could do it. And the bite marks on my neck? Max must have bit me. He has fangs. I knew that dog was odd. But why would he bite me? Why would anyone bite me?

  A vampire would bite me …

  A tornado of explanations whirled around inside my head, none of them plausible, all of them creating more questions than answers.

  A trick. Maybe this is a prank. A game. Vampires. Vampires and games. Sofie’s screams from the other day rang in my memory: “Do you think this is another one of your games?” she had said to Viggo.

  My eyes widened suddenly as I put two and two together. Could they be drugging me and dropping me off across the street, in Central Park? Caden, Amelie, and the others could be hired actors. That would explain their movie star looks and their perfect nails and their well–groomed hair. Viggo and Mortimer had more than enough money to pull it off. And they had been so interested in hearing about my “dream” yesterday morning.

  Even considering this as a possibility bordered on insane but I was growing more fond of the idea by the second.

  Yes. It made sense. It explained why I was in and out of consciousness so much. Not normally a fainter, I was unconscious all the time lately. Being drugged could do that, couldn’t it?

  By the time I dressed—in a turtleneck sweater to hide the bite marks—I was convinced that I had to do some research. I couldn??
?t accuse them without concrete proof.

  If I could just run across the street to the park, maybe I’d find it.

  I pushed through the double doors to the atrium in time to witness Sofie deliver a vicious slap to Mortimer’s cheek.

  “Evangeline! There you are,” Sofie said, turning to smile at me as if everything was fine.

  What is going on between these two?

  “Evangeline,” Mortimer greeted in a gruff voice before spinning on his heels and walking briskly toward the statue.

  Viggo sat at the bistro table beside it, quietly reading a newspaper. He looked up. “There you are! Come, Evangeline.”

  I practically ran down the path toward them, until I realized what I was doing and deliberately slowed to a saunter. What if they had nothing to do with this? Maybe it was all in my head. Is this what a paranoid schizophrenic feels like?

  A mysterious expression flickered across Mortimer’s face. “Are you feeling alright?”

  My stomach tightened. “Yes. Why?” I lied as calmly as I could.

  “You look stiff. And your face is much paler than usual.” His eyes darted to Max, narrowing suspiciously.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine. Just tired. Must have been from all the excitement yesterday,” I said, striving to make my voice light as possible. It came out sounding strangled.

  “How did you sleep?” Viggo asked from behind his newspaper.

  I paused for a moment, searching for a standard answer. “Like a baby.” Lie number two.

  “No bizarre dreams again?” he asked, his attention still half–buried in his newspaper. He seemed indifferent today. Could he be feigning indifference?

  “Nope.” My hands hurt. I glanced down to see them clenched into fists by my sides, so tight that my knuckles had turned white. I forced them to relax, my fingers unwinding painfully, as if crippled.

  “Well, you’re probably well rested then,” Viggo said.

  Can they tell I’m lying? I wondered. They both seemed more bored than culprits in an elaborate rouse.

  Sofie’s stilettos clicked against the cobblestones behind me as she approached. “I have some business to tend to and I’ll be away for the afternoon. I’m sorry to leave you alone.”