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I could now smell fear on him. I don’t know if he’s aware of the fact that we’re shifters. Leo knows. But, I’m not sure about his drones. Never mind. I could show them firsthand what it’s like to see a bear shifter.
“What, she didn’t put out?” I realize that I’m talking much more loudly this time and I’m pissed off as Hell.
The girl looks like such a sweetheart. Her long black hair is spilling out of Theron’s lap and her breasts are slowly moving up and down as she’s breathing. She’s dirty and her clothes are torn. Her bra strap is peeking at me from the top of her collar bone. I can see the lace. They were probably keeping her somewhere for a few days. Were they even feeding her properly? The thought of these guys treating this girl like an animal sends me over the edge.
I jump onto the first guy, not even bothering to transform. This fucker doesn’t deserve to face a bear shifter in his true form. In a second, he is transformed into my own personal punching bag. Blood spatters to the left and right, and I don’t spare him, even when he drops to his knees. My elbow lands onto his back and he falls face down, unconscious. Now, the two were even, only this guy won’t have anyone to take care of him here. I glance at the other guy. He’s shaking. I think of smacking him, but decide against it. Someone needs to drive this trash away from my turf. Now.
“Get him in the van,” I tell the other guy, whose eyes are wide open with shock and fear. “Then, get the fuck out of here. I don’t ever want to see you here. You can tell that to Leo, too. Our pact ends now. Is that clear?”
The guy just nods quickly, like a stupid bobble head. We all watch as he struggles to get the beaten-up guy into the van, but no one offers to help. A few minutes later, their van is disappearing into the distance and we are left alone with the girl.
“Dex, do you think that was wise?” Zarael, who is the closest to me, asks.
I know what they’re all thinking. The girl is a stranger. She is a human. She isn’t one of us. But these fuckers were about to sell her. They were about to give her to someone who would have made her their slave. They would have done God knows what to her. We can’t leave her here. Even if that means stepping on Leo’s foot, like we just did.
“Probably not,” I reply, not really worried. If something bad happens, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
“We need to get the girl back to the village,” Theron suddenly says, as the girl’s breathing starts becoming faster, shorter, like she’s gasping for air. “I need to wrap her jaw.”
“She can’t ride, so I’ll carry her,” I tell them and suddenly, all eyes are on me. I guess no one expected me to say that. “Morus can take my bike back.”
“You need anyone to stay with you?” Theron asks, glancing down at the girl. For a moment, it looks like he’s reluctant to leave her.
“No, I know the way,” I grin. “She’ll stay at your cabin. Prepare everything by the time I get there.”
Theron just nods, as I walk over to the girl slowly. She looks so fragile. I understand exactly why Theron is reluctant to move. She’s already suffered enough trauma. She definitely doesn’t need any more. Theron helps me get her into my arms and she doesn’t even stir. She is lighter than I thought she would be, it’s almost like carrying an empty blanket.
“You’ll be OK?” Theron asks again.
“Fine,” I nod.
A minute later, all the bikes are gone and I’m left alone with the girl in my arms. She doesn’t smell like a girl should. She definitely doesn’t smell like the last girl I held in my arms, the girl who left me with scratches on my back and bite marks in places I don’t usually show the public. But, there’s something about her, about the way she sleeps, the way her little lips curl as if she’s bent on saying something, but the words just won’t come. I wonder what the story of this sleeping beauty is and I’m curious to hear all about it, when she wakes up.
A part of me is actually hoping that she’ll wake up while still in my arms. I want to see the color of those eyes. I want to hear the words that those lips want to say. But, holding her just feels right. It’s like she knows she is safe, so she can allow herself to sink into deep sleep and rest.
Chapter 7
I have no idea how long I slept, but it feels like forever. It was one of those you’re dead to the world kind of rests, when nothing could stir you. I was overwhelmed by everything and I still feel the weight of my current state bearing heavily on my shoulders, but gentle kiss of sleep on both my eyelids allowed me to take a breath with a revived sense of positivity.
When I open my eyes, for a moment, I think I see Vanessa’s room. I’m about to shout out her name, wondering where she is. Is she making me coffee already? But, a second later, I realize that it was just an image projection from the inside of my mind. Reality is much different. This is a room I don’t recognize and I immediately feel the rush of a thousand little ants running up and down, underneath my skin, crawling with a sense of urgency and anxiety. I quickly look down and see that I’m covered with a thin blanket I don’t recognize. I pull my hands from underneath and am relieved to see that there are no chains. My wrists glisten gently with some kind of ointment. I bring them closer to my nose and smell a faint fragrance of mint. The redness is almost all gone.
I prop myself up on the bed and look around. Wherever I am, it’s just one, big room. The walls are wooden and so is the door. I might even be able to break it down somehow, if I really try and run away. This time, I just need to keep going. Even if I have my eyes closed, I should just keep going. Maybe this way, I’ll forget how scared I am, how everything I start turns to shit and how I mess everything up, because that’s just how I am.
The door tempts me to run over to it immediately. I’m in a single bed and there is a little nightstand next to it. An oil lamp is placed there. I squint at something in the corner. It almost looks like a record player. I haven’t seen a record player in years, ever since my grandma used to play me her old records on it. I still
remember the touch of her dry, wrinkly hands, but despite that, they were always warm. Nowadays, no one has record players anymore. I guess they are just for old people and those who believe they were born in the wrong era.
A little further down, there is a huge bookshelf with tons of books. I almost smile at them. Ever since I was a little girl, books always managed to provide a kind of shelter for me. They never judged me. They never questioned what I did, what I said, what I thought. They simply accepted me as I am.
There appears to be no obvious order to them and yet, the mixture of different colored covers and sizes seems to soothe the eye, like some sort of pleasing mess. I’ll just walk over there for a second, to see what’s there and then I’ll head out. Maybe I can find something I like and take it with me. After everything that’s happened, I deserve some compensation. I’ll be happy to take it in the form of a book. But, before I can get out of bed, I realize that there’s something on my head. It’s actually, around it, preventing me from opening my mouth or moving my jaw too much.
I sit, with my legs down and feet touching the ground. It’s cold and my bare feet miss the warmth of the cover now. I touch my cheek with the tips of my fingers. There is something on my face. Something that’s going around my chin, my ear, over my head. All around. What the Hell is this?
I rush over to a small mirror on the wall and see that my head and my jaw are wrapped in a bandage. I press my right cheek and a sharp pain cuts right through me. I squeal with my lips tightly pressed together, trying to ease the pain. My memory is still foggy. I remember only cut outs. Slowly, the pain goes away and I can open my eyes properly.
But, I’m not alone anymore. There is a man in front of me, standing right by the door, preventing me from going out. For a moment, my mind mistakes him for David and I suffocate a scream inside my throat. I take a step back, like a wounded, cornered animal. I remember the girl who jumped, her sweet nameless face and the photo that I never got to see, my mind pregnant with a message I will never give to the recipient. I remember all the fright, all the hopelessness as I look in this man’s eyes.
He doesn’t move. He notices me staring at him and he stays put, like someone paused him. The look on his face is telling me not to be afraid, but I can’t trust him. I can’t trust anyone here, wherever I am. All I know is that I need to get home. I keep my distance and I watch out for every sudden move.
