From dusk a dark stalker.., p.15
From Dusk: A Dark Stalker Romance, page 15
The condition of the boats from England to Ellis Island is crowded, unsanitary, and foul-smelling. The journey is long—I can’t tell you how many days have passed. Some poor wretches have a tough time holding in what little food they have consumed, as the ship tosses on the rough sea.
With the cost of passage secured, our next step on this wild, split-second journey is getting to the port of departure. As we step off the boat, we take a deep breath, the air feels cleaner here—it’s less… dense than back home.
“He would have been so proud.” She looks around, and Charlie is playing with her silky brunette hair. Turning to look at him, she kisses his cheek—a faint lipstick stamp staining his skin. “Your daddy would have been so amazed.” The light from the afternoon sun glints off a tear forming in the crease of her eye, but she doesn’t allow it to fall. Looking up at me, “I don’t know what we would have done without you, Ollie.” The tear, defying her, submitting to the pull of gravity, plummets down her rose-kissed face.
“Charlie and you are family, love. Really, you’re the only family I’ve got.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and tap Charlie on his nose with the pad of my forefinger—his giggle lingers as the memory fades into blackness.
The darkness persists—a reliquiae of memories that haunt and torment me. Charlie’s laughter bled into her screams, “Oliver, no. Hang in there. Please don’t leave us!”
It’s been so long since that night happened. Mere flashes are all I remember. The fall air was crisp—the scent of pine chasing its skirt-tails, the anniversary of my best friend’s death—right around the corner. For three years, I searched for the answers and investigated the evidence I gathered. I finally found out who did it, but I was too late—they got me, too. I would have never thought they would follow us, but that was my mistake… I let my guard down. I held on, pushed through the pain that blurred my vision. I had to get them out of that crowd—I had to get him out.
Coming out of my daydream, my little bird is sitting on my lap, knife resting at my side. Her eyes are clouded with sadness. I can’t stand seeing her like this, all downcast while the thought of saying the wrong thing has her paralyzed. Moving my hand without thinking, I am stopped by the metal around my wrists, locking me in place. Damn it.
See-sawing my hips, with one jolt, I shift her, and she falls forward. Catching herself with her hands, I watch the sudden fear melt the moment her eyes meet mine. Slowly, I lick my lips, watching as her gaze follows the path of my tongue, “Don’t you have three more questions, dove?” I try to distract her mind and bring her back.
“Huh,” She wiggles. “What was that?”
“Your next question?” I fight to keep my arousal at bay. “Let’s hear it.”
“Where is my father? I thought he invited me here to help me find my sister?” Caught unaware by her sudden shift in topic, I stop to think—I must choose my answers carefully. It was one thing to tell her about the spiritual existence of the ‘being’. However, I am not overly sure that now is the best time to address the situation with her father. If she even gets the slightest clue, then she will leave me, and I will be doomed to walk eternity alone.
“He isn’t here. He… wanted those letters to be sent out, but he wasn’t expecting an answer so quickly.”
Her face twists. “Letters?” Tilting her head, she crosses her arms, eager for my response.
Shit, think, what do I say? The truth? No, then she will run. Half the truth? I may be able to manage that.
“Yes.” I start. ‘He wrote two… but I couldn’t find your sister, so I delivered yours.” I knew where her sister was. I visited the rehab center, that's when I overheard, Evelyn’s ‘puppy’ mentioning the plan he had for their escape. I was under the impression that I could save her, but I was quickly proven wrong. After hearing him, I washed my hands of the responsibility, giving him the room to be ‘provider’. I thought it best to go a different route—given my situation of being dead. So, I strategically planted the letter in her room for him to find.
Emory was already safe with Niven the night he had planned for the ‘prison break’—according to statistics, that center’s doctor-to-patient care was the lowest in the state. The kid pulled it off—he saved her. Not going to lie. I was. I am massively impressed with his execution of the whole plan.
Now, I know where she is and that she is safe, for now. The only thing left to work on is my character in front of Emory. When the time comes, I need her to choose me. She must choose me.
“Next question?” I inhale deep, resetting my train of thought, “Also, while you are asking and since you have meticulously removed half my clothing, can you finish the job?”
“Maybe,” Remembering my mask is off, I smolder, “You can run that blade over my scars, like a good girl?”
She is fighting the enjoyment that ‘being in control’ is giving her. I can tell when a bite from the blade pressing between my bottom ribs makes me wince.
Ok, little dove... I’ll play.
“I told you before, my dove. I need release. This is the only way I can feel the remanence of the life I used to have. Oh, please… please… please,” I begged, watching her twitch with sexual frustration, “don’t be afraid to cut me.” I suck air in through my teeth, “it’s how I feel.”
The corner of her mouth twitches into a smile. “So, if I don’t like your answer-” Her pause is promising, I hang on to her words with an intense form of expectancy, “I can cut you?”
“If that-” I try to answer through my chuckling, “Is what you wish.”
Oh, fuck. What did I just say? The words flowed from my mouth, coerced by her seduction like acid in my mind—all rational cells dissolving to its touch.
Yes, my little bird set me free.
She adjusts, then continues, “Why is Peter here?” My muscles tighten as my lips pull into a thin line.
Killjoy.
I can sense my eyes darkening, a black hole opening in space, swallowing all that dares to enter. I think she catches on because I can feel the point of the blade in my abdomen. “Skip, Next quest-” My words stop, as they are replaced with a grunt, and then a howl. She struck my chest, and a pool of blood oozed from my skin.
“Answer,” she readies the blade again, “Now!”
Inhaling deep—I do just that. “Peter,” I spat out his name, “Is a worthless human.”
“Nice to know.” This time, she sinks the blade into my inner thigh close to my groin, shearing a hole straight through my slacks. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why is he here?”
“He is paying a long, drawn-out debt to your family.” She pushes the piece of metal deeper, twisting it upward with one sharp movement. A new side of her is sprawled out before me—A glorious display of power.
Oh, my dove. Just when I thought you had outshone all the beauty in every realm, you proved to me that you can shine even brighter.
“Not good enough.” Her words came out in a snarl. If she only knew the horrendous things this man and his family were capable of—she would have different thoughts. He was only with her mother to find her Father. Her voice rises an octave. “Why is he here?”
I canter closer. “You’re going to have to do better than that, little bird. Do you even have it in you to torture? Because if not…” I pause and lower my tone, looking her square in the eyes. “I will just keep giving you bull shit answers. You are pretending to be a ‘hawk’, but your actions are screaming ‘pidgin.’ HA! Maybe I should change your ‘pet’ name. What do you think… pidgin?” Just then, I watch something click.
Removing the blade, she turns it, placing the finely honed edge under the band of my pants. Then, with surgical precision, she slices at the material, cutting it away like she is hedging a bush. With skilled accuracy, she guides the knife. The slick fabric of my slacks parted like the Red Sea did for Moses. Wide-eyed, she gawks at me.
The clothing, leaving its place on my body, joins the slightly tussled sheets beneath me. She straightens her back, pulls her shoulders together as her chest pushes forward. I find myself distracted by her tits, not noticing the point of my blade as it enters one of the scars just below my waist.
“Whoa, dove. Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” The searing pain radiates throughout my naked body, tissue dividing under the cold steel. Her eyes are full of astonishment. She follows the flow of the garnet river on its short journey to meet the burgundy sea forming on the mattress beneath me.
Her voice startles me from my daze when she speaks. “Maybe you should be a good boy and tell me what I want to know.” She slides off my lap to rest between my legs, prying them open with her knees, continuing her thought once she has settled, “Why is Peter here, and what was the ‘mist’ that took him away out in the garden?”
“Took him away? A ‘mist’, what do you mean?” The atmosphere changes as fear creeps over her face. “Emory, I need you to free me… now. The game is over, no more questions.” It was then that I felt her hand tighten around the corpus of my dick. “That, my dear, will not get you any answers.”
Her grip tightens. “Last I checked, it was you cuffed to the bed. I just felt the need to give you more restrictions.” She leans forward, and after that, I am gone. Her lips crash into mine, and we melt together.
Breaking away, she yanks the shemagh from off my shoulders… blindfolding me with it. An intense sensation works its way into my throat as I feel her hot breath brush against my skin. The way my other senses heighten the moment one of them is disabled... is riveting. “Let’s see how long you last before you are ready to give me answers.” Following the predicted path of fiery breath down my torso, I inhale sharply as she licks my shaft from its base, on a ‘warpath’ to my ‘warhead’.
A pace that is equally pleasurable as it was nerve-racking. Suddenly, ambushed by this feeling, I’m caught off guard by the tingling that coats my body as her tongue collides with the nerve center located just below my tip.
So sensitive, so delicate, ah, gods. What is she doing to me? My body is twitching in apprehension.
She lingers at this spot for a little while. Kissing and lapping up whatever pre-cum escapes, I feel her latch onto the head and begin sucking—the force behind it is like a vacuum that even NASA would pay extreme money for. Instinctively, my body resorts to flailing and jerking till… agonizingly… the sensation comes to an abrupt halt.
“Did you get these scars that night as well?” All my ‘scars’ were from that night. I nod with a simplistic response. The lack of words and longing she has me experiencing right now is conjuring a feeling of guilt that it wasn’t enough. I can’t even prepare myself—I sense the tip of the blade, the sting like angry bees on defense, she nicked my cock, drawing forth, what I can only imagine was a small trickle of blood.
I feel the warmth as I slide deeper down her throat. The soft touch of her lips while they hover, then a centralized heat rolling over me—I envision the little red stream vanishing with a swipe of her tongue.
Shivers dance up and down my spine, forcing my toes to, involuntarily, flex and curl. Her moaning penetrates my ears, a siren dragging me. Willing. To my end. Her lips barely leave my dick as she grumbles, the rasp in her voice weakening me even more, “Do you realize how wonderful you taste?” She skates the metal over me, and I feel the opening of a few more old wounds. “Let's see how much you can take.” Whispering against my erection, I can feel her menacing smile hidden behind the words she speaks. The cool breeze spiraling and clashing, her groans vibrating, intensifying the sensation. Warm. Wet. Silken.
This feeling alone, “Oh, my gods.” The words spring from my mouth before I'm able to bite my arm, an action that may have prevented me from sounding foolish. Like a feather, her hair sweeps over my stomach.
With a firm grip, her hand grasps my sack. The other one guides the tapered metal. The image my brain paints as it is trying to follow her movements is that of the knife becoming her medium of choice, doodling with it like an iron quill pen—my blood being its ink. Drifting it over my thighs, she hits all the responsive bits, a direct connection to my soul.
Gratification rises. The proximity closes. I am completely and utterly at this goddess's mercy, as her beauty tries to force it all to happen too quickly, so I try to distract myself. Convincing my mind to focus on irrelevant things: Sifting through the Rolodex of knowledge I had on knives. Reciting their names, qualities, and uses till my brain jumbles them up, “Little dove... you need to... slow… down.” She swallows me, her nose presses to my lower stomach, the head of my cock slamming the back of her throat. “D-d-dove e-easy.” I stammer through deep breaths.
An incredibly audible pop startles me, tearing me away from my ineffective attempt at being distracted. "You okay there-” My ability to hear her is muffled by the euphoria. A ringing from the sheer pleasure I can no longer keep at bay.
The Frigid draft. Lustful popping. All mingled together. Topped off with the prickle of awakening that followed the dismount of her swollen lips—it was too much—I couldn’t fight it. A rush of my senses disables me further as I explode. "Well, I'll never say you're a bad shot ever again.” She laughs heartily while haphazardly removing my blindfold.
I burst out laughing... I had shot her directly between the eyes, covering her pretty little face like those glazed doughnuts she used to love.
What was that saying, “You are what you eat?”
I laughed a little more due to the joke in my head. I offer an apologetic smile as she cuts away the rest of my shirt and uses it to clean up. We lay there in silence. Sweat from both of us mixing and forming swirls of the most intoxicating aroma.
To no one's surprise, the moment ends as elevated voices bounce off the stone walls. Crashes and bangs follow shortly after, interrupting what could have been my paradise. I recognize the deeper voice—Brennan. I knew then I had to get her out of here. Not because he might see her. No, I can't allow her to see him.
Chapter 20
Emory
"Intamacy is not just of the body, but the soul--dare to be seen."
It’s been pure torture that I haven’t been able to, truly, touch him till now. It was only recently that I held his hand, and now this and whatever ‘this’ is… is intoxicating.
The control.
The intensity.
A strong, intimate connection, like a string tethering our souls to one another. I’ve never enjoyed causing someone pain—I’ve always been the peacemaker, fixing problems I was never originally a part of. I never had it in me to hurt another human or otherwise, but he wasn’t human, was he? No, he wasn’t. His body died a long time ago, and while his soul ages like top-shelf whiskey, his appearance prevails, unfazed by time.
With every wound of his I open, I feel one of mine close. A fleeting moment in time, and this man has made a mark on my heart. Not a smudge, which can be smeared over time. A deep laceration that would leave behind an ugly scar—one that would heal but would always remain. Slowly, he became the only real thing while everything else dematerialized and faded into the background. The world revolves around him and me in this moment. The way he feels in my mouth, his taste, the subtle sounds that escape him, all mesmerizing.
All this power should be illegal. The reactions this man has… are magnetic. When I suck, he moans. Rhapsodies of praise and elation radiate from deep within his core. Breaking away from him, I allot the right amount of suction to provide that satisfying pop on release.
Not even seconds after the sound echoes off the stone, I feel a sticky, hot, mucus-like substance hit my face. “Well, I’ll never say you’re a bad shot ever again.” My laughter is a difficult obstacle to talk through as he bursts into a giggling fit. I lean over, relieving him of the scraps that once formed his shirt, and use it to clean up the mess we made.
My mind drifts to his words about the ‘being’. His voice becomes muffled as my mind is bombarded with thoughts, images, and more questions. I couldn’t get his story out of my head.
What could it have been that had such a hold on him that he would choose to exist in misery? Did he love my Great-Grandmother? Or was it my Great-Grandfather? What was the promise he made?
Then my thoughts shifted to the words on the headstone he said belonged to him:
“Eternally shall I be a thorn upon the stem of thy Rose”
Voices interrupt our recently obtained joy, and I see the look in Oliver’s eyes—his pupils were consuming their irises. As a compilation of emotions oozing from their sockets, telling a story of pure ecstasy interjected by fear.
He kicks at me, trying to get my attention. “The keys. Get the keys.” He demands in a hushed tone. “They're in the nightstand.”
I yank open the first drawer—I almost send it flying across the room. There, in the front right corner, sat a vintage set of keys. I grab them. Noticing the clothes they rested on, I make a mental note that they are there, knowing my clothes are still soaked.
As my fingers shake, I insert the key into the olden day cuffs, turning it and allowing the lock to release so the metal vise can spring open. Once free, Oliver scrambles to his feet, grabbing clothes from within the stand on the opposite side. Quickly stripping the wet material from me, I pull a thin white button-up from the drawer, and I begin to fasten it over my body. A rush of air brushes across my face, and I am swept off the bed and into the darkness of yet another hidden passage.
Beating on Oliver’s back, bartering with him to put me down. “I have legs, damn it.” It was only with the vanishing light that the corridor came to life. The sconces on the walls flickered on, dimly lighting the old stone catacombs.
“Oliver, at least tell me what is going on?” I holler, “Who were the people yelling? Where are you taking me?” No words, just the silence and the wind as it hastens past my ears.
