Limerence (15 page)

“You okay now?” Her brow furrows in the middle and she exchanges a worried look with her friend. “Come on, come and sit down.”

They pull me to their car and I sit on the back seat with the door open, my breaths coming in short spasms until I calm down enough for them to slow to a steady pace. I clutch my torn dress around myself and look up at them, and then my eyes fall to my car.

My car—
just
mine.

There is no other car there. There is no one else. No Mr Breckt. I groan and clutch my stomach, leaning over, I heave on to the floor.

Watching from the trees, I am invisible to them, my car hidden under an illusion in their minds. My stomach burns with my animal instinct to feed. Her blood had been so close to my lips that the frenzy had started within me, like fire ants under my skin—moving, burning, biting, desperate for her blood.

I had been so close. Hell, she had been so close. I could sense that she was ready to give in to me, to let me take her.
Oh, how I would have taken her! So many ways…

A growl emanates from deep within me as I consider the ways in which I would have tasted her. I want her so much. It is a desperate and constant hunger that claws away at my insides, shredding away my dignity. My need for her is all-consuming.

I need to feel her giving herself to me, both body and mind. I need to know that she is thinking of me and me alone when I take her, when I devour her body. I crave the feel of her soft, plump breasts pushed up against my hard chest, her soft skin warm against mine.

Most of all, I want her blood.

I run a hand through my hair restlessly as I watch her climb into the car, her skirt lifting as she does. I swallow when I see her ankles: her delicate, slender ankles. Ankles, which lead up to shapely calves, calves which drive you upwards towards thighs so soft they would be like biting into a soft peach. Soft, milky thighs, which reach the apex of her…

My fangs release from their sheaths, and I imagine biting into those thighs. Her,
ne plus ultra.
I am panting for her, red sweat beading my brow. Her blood, it calls to me, begging me to drink it. I want to sink my teeth into the most delicate of flesh on her, biting, nipping and drinking from her. To taste her will be magnificent. To feel her warm blood pumping into my mouth, spilling down my throat. I swallow instinctively. She is like a siren calling to me.

My hands twitch restlessly, scratching at my arms until I feel my nails break through my skin to the flesh underneath. My blood seeps out.

I cannot take it anymore. She is going to drive me insane.

My every thought revolves around her—Mia. Drinking from her and making love to her. Her hips grinding against mine, her tongue in my mouth. My mind feels far away…

…She moves her long black hair to the side and offers her neck up to me in sacrifice.
“Take me, Robert. Take me, baby.”
I groan, thinking of how it will be; my eyes glow red. I can see the extra tinge of colour all around me. Every sense heightened. My body spasms at the image of her naked and writhing around, begging me to take her.

I hear her voice, calling to me,
“Robert, I’m waiting for you.”
She smiles, licking her lips. I lick mine in response. I know, Mia, I know. I am coming for you. It will not be long now. It will not be long until I am bathing in your blood, tasting and touching every part of you.

I blink when the image clears and realise it has started to rain. My hair is sodden against my head, my clothes clinging to me.

What am I doing? I gaze around, dismayed. No. What is she doing to me? This is all her fault. I’m losing everything because of her. There will be anarchy soon if I do not sort myself out, anarchy within the ranks. However, I cannot stop this now; not even if I wanted to.

I thought that she had wanted me, that she had been feeling the same things as I. After the song, the song she had sung for me. Yet something stops her every time. I sense something still gnaws at her. Guilt, perhaps? Over that pitiful man, Oliver? He’s out of the way now though; I have taken care of that. Perhaps she just needs another day to adjust to his absence. Yes, that’s it. She just needs more time to adjust.

My mind is in turmoil as thoughts float about. Images drift in and out of my consciousness. She doesn’t have long left until my patience with her wears thin, until I will wait no more. She is playing a very dangerous game, toying with me like this, thinking that she can keep teasing me and then rejecting me in favour of
him
. Well, it is a game she cannot win.

Oliver had to learn that the hard way. I grin. I always win, and I will have her soon.

A fire burns deep within me. A fire that I know only her touch and her blood can calm. I need to be satisfied now. I look around me but she has gone, left with the other humans. I should have ripped out their throats for interrupting us.

It’s not just her blood that I want though, but her body. Her soul. Her everything. And I want to be her everything in return. At least I can see now that she is not totally immune to my powers. I do affect her in some way; she is weaker without Oliver by her side. She will submit to me.

I was so close.
I weep into my hands.
So, so close.

Hot, red tears spill down my cheeks and I look at my bloody hands with trepidation as the world seems to shift on its delicate axis.

I rub my hands down my jeans to remove the blood. I am a mess, hiding in the woods like a coward instead of the predator that I am. This has never happened before; even in my human years, this never happened.

I smile again when I picture Mia’s face and the fire leaps within me at the thought of her. Her smell washes around me in a hazy memory, her face as it looks upon mine with those piercing blue eyes. Her beautiful full red lips so eager to please me, so full of wanting for me to kiss them. The feel of her warm thigh beneath my palm as I massaged it greedily.

My stomach twists painfully and I crumble to my knees, groaning in agony. I have wasted all my energies on her; there is no time to get back to the mansion to feed. I will have to feed on who ever or whatever I find. I hate that. It’s like eating junk food.

Nevertheless, I need to keep my strength up, now more than ever. I need to show her how strong I can be, how strong I will be for her—for us.

I clamber up from my knees. I look even worse now, I realise; mud and blood cover my clothes. My face is streaked red with tears. I do not like the power she has over me. The hold she has is fierce.

I need to rid her from my thoughts, get to work, and show my people who is in charge. Let them feel the full hierarchy at work.

Yet…my mind strays again…

I need to find a way in, a way to get her to crumble and give in to me, to find her weakness. Then she will be mine.

I step out from the woods and go to my car. Mia’s car is alone by the side of the road and I sigh when I pass it. Her smell still clings to it, drifting towards me like flames. As I climb into my car, I sob at the irritation of it all and the anger I feel at myself for getting in such a state. I sit in my seat and let the light go out and my tears dry up. I need to clean myself up before I can go back to the mansion.

And I need to feed.

Turning up in this state is not going to help the situation with my Pawns and that pathetic Pledge. They are scrambling to please the Queen in the hopes of advancement, but it is useless. It’s me that they need to please, and me alone. The Queen is hundreds of miles away and I am here. Their disloyalty grates on my nerves. Who do they think they are anyway? I have the power to make them or destroy them. Do they not realise this?

I start up the engine and let the car idle as I ponder my next move. Car lights shine up ahead as a car swoops round the bend.

I smile.

I have an idea.

Morning light filters in through my closed eyelids, stinging my eyes, and I peel them open with a groan. I feel the thumping of a headache at the base of my skull before I have even begun to move.

I need some painkillers.
I rub my temples gingerly.

Stretching out under my throw blanket, I try to loosen my aching muscles. I have slept all night curled up on the armchair in the living room, fully dressed. Shoes and all.

By the time I got back from having the car towed into town, it had been way past midnight. I had snuggled wearily into my favourite chair whilst I waited for some tea to cool down before I went to bed. I had only meant to stay up for a few minutes, but exhaustion had crashed down on me from every angle, and I had fallen into a deep but fitful sleep. I hadn’t even had time to drink the tea, I notice when I stand and make my way to the kitchen. My head is thumping away manically, and I reach up into the top cupboard for painkillers.

I pad quietly to the bathroom to take a shower. I let the water work deep into my muscles. I don’t feel well. My head is killing me and my stomach is in knots. Something feels wrong, as if I have drank too much and am recovering from the side effects. There is a feeling deep within my chest, an over-fullness, a swelling almost. I can’t explain it. I shake my head and wince when pain shoots through me, like it’s slicing through my brain. Something isn’t right.

I roll my head from side to side and turn the water up hotter, standing directly underneath its spray so that it pounds across my shoulders and back. I stay in the shower until my skin prunes and the air is so stuffy and humid I struggle to breath. I feel safe here, though I know I should feel more vulnerable because of my nakedness.

Reluctantly I step out of the shower and into the steamy bathroom, wrapping one towel around my body and another around my hair. I still feel awful. My headache has reduced to a dull throb, but it’s still there, nagging and insistent, and my stomach is aching
.

I rub my hand on the steamed-up mirror and catch a glimpse of my pale face. My blue eyes stare back at me lined with deep worry. I don’t know what happened last night, and I’ve avoided having to think about it, but I can’t any longer.

Had I imagined him being there? It had felt so real though, I frown. His hands on my skin, his mouth on my neck. I place a hand on my chest, feeling my heart pounding underneath. I stagger backwards, bumping into the closed toilet, and sit when my knees go weak. I feel like I’m going mad.

The people I hitched a ride from definitely thought that I was having some sort of meltdown. I saw the looks they kept giving each other when I tried explaining that Mr Breckt had been there. Telling them that there was something wrong with him, and that I thought he was stalking me.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I draw in a shaky breath. I have been thinking about him nonstop now for almost two weeks—what did I think was going to happen? Of course my imagination is going to start going a bit wild.

I don’t understand it though. He couldn’t have been there. I had seen what those other people had seen: nothing. There had been no one there, not even a car speeding away. I slide to the floor, my back against the bath, holding my head in my hands, and I cry louder.

I pull the towel tighter around me, and as I do the towel lifts higher up my legs and I see my thighs. My sobs abruptly stop, but the tears continue to flow down my cheeks as I stare in horror. Long red scratches tear up the inside of my pale thighs, hot and angry. They don’t quite break the skin, but leave raised welts.

I know now that it was real. He was there last night, and I had nearly given myself over to him. Or had he just been taking me regardless?

Something is happening to me, and it all centres on Mr Breckt. I don’t know whether to be relieved that I am actually sane or terrified by what could be happening. I had wanted him last night, but I held back, thinking of Oliver even as Mr Breckt’s mouth slid over my neck. I trace my finger down one of the scratches. He did this to me, caused these vicious red scratches on my body, and yet here I am thinking of him again.

Thinking of his nails dragging across my skin and his hands in my hair when he pressed his firm body against mine. Why can’t I get him out of my head?

I want Oliver.

I miss him.

On the other hand, if I love Oliver so much, why am I sat here thinking of Mr Breckt?

*

I phone for a taxi to take me into town after a large cup of coffee and some more painkillers; my stomach is still too sensitive for food. I feel nauseous, alongside this killer headache.

Rachael comes into the kitchen whilst I’m slipping my shoes on, and makes herself some coffee.

“You look awful, Mia.”

“Thanks, Rach, that’s just what I wanted to hear.” I grab my coat and slip it on.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…” she looks up guiltily. Sorry.”

I give a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s me, not you, and you’re right, I do look awful. I’ve not been sleeping well since Ollie left.” A beep sounds outside, and I look out the window and see a taxi waiting.

“I’ve got to go out, but are you in later for a chat? I really could use a shoulder right now. There’s stuff I need to talk about.”

Chris comes out of the bedroom. He’s wearing only his boxer shorts again. I find it uncomfortable seeing him like this. This is my apartment and I hardly know him, yet he’s walking around like he owns the place.

“Hey, Mia.” He smiles and wraps his arms around Rachael’s waist and kisses her neck. His eyes never leave my face.

“Hey, Chris.” I turn to leave, and give a small wave from the doorway. “So what do you think, Rach?”

“I can’t. I promised Chris I’d stay at his place for a change, but we’ll catch up in the week, okay? I promise.” She says guiltily.

“Fine.” I can’t stop myself from slamming the door on my way out. Chris looked far too smug for my liking.

I slide into the taxi and lose myself to my thoughts. I still haven’t heard anything from Oliver. My heart aches for him. I don’t even know if he arrived okay, I realise with a frown. I had at least expected a phone call from him to let me know that, but no—nothing, nada, zilch. I’m struggling with feeling both sad and angry.

The buildings pass by me in a blur. The sun is shining up above; it’s late in the year for it to be so high. We’re normally starting to feel the chill in the air by now, but it’s still quite warm. Despite this fact, I’m huddled into a fluffy black jumper and blue jeans, because my chill feels bone deep, regardless of the weather. The taxi drops me outside the garage. I pull some change out of my purse, pay the driver, and go inside.

The smell of oil and grease hangs in the air. I press the bell on the counter and a large, burly man with a name badge stitched to his greasy overhauls, verifying that he’s called Frank, comes towards me.

“Yep?” He wipes a rag across his greasy hands.

“I’m here about the Corolla that was brought in last night; someone called and said it was ready.” I look about trying to see it. “It's that one I think.” I point into the corner where a black Toyota sits.

Frank looks across to my car and then back to me. “Oh, the broken Corolla, eh?” He winks.

I can’t decide whether working for so long in this awful stench of oil has somehow disconnected some of his brain cells, or whether he is trying to be funny with me.

“Yeah, the broken one.” I repeat with a raised eyebrow, daring him to come back with another smart remark. I feel like crap. I do not need some smart-ass mechanic making my day any worse, especially after the extortionate amount he charged for tows at one o’clock in the morning.

He gives me a smug look and gestures with a nod of his head to follow him, picking up the keys and a clipboard and making his way over to my car.

“Well,” he says. “We took a long hard look at the engine to see what would make it—sorry, what did you say it had done again?” He looks down at me, his finger against his chin in thought.

“Cut out with a splutter,” I say, unamused. I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s mocking me.

“Yeah, yeah, it cut out with a splutter, that’s what you said.” He looks to my car again.

“I said it, because that’s what happened.” I grit my teeth and try to contain my annoyance.

“Well, sometimes it’s hard to figure out what’s going on with cars, especially for…”

I swear if he calls me a little lady or a girl, I may actually strangle him.

He sees my sour expression and changes his mind on where he is going with his original comments. “Well anyway, sweetheart, we had a look under the bonnet at the engine to see what we could find. I’m happy to tell you that it all seems to be running fine now.” He watches me, waiting for a response, to which I manage to keep my expression impassive—even when he adds on the end, “Definitely no spluttering.” He continues in a mocking tone. “We took it out for a couple of test drives, but the car ran great for us. So, that will just be,” he looks at his clipboard and back up to me without stopping a beat, “… one hundred and thirty pounds for the tow and just forty pounds for the garage time.” He smirks. Again.

I wish that he would stop smirking at me; the ability to stop myself giving him a hard slap across his chubby face is becoming more and more difficult.

“Look…Frank,” I stare at his name badge and emphasize my words. “I didn’t imagine my car spluttering, or whatever it did last night, and I certainly didn’t imagine it cutting out on me leaving me stranded in the middle of Maple Highway, on my own, in the middle of the night no less. So please, please stop talking to me like I’m some stupid little girl, and give me some clue as to what the problem was, or could be, before I really lose my temper!”

I am so fed up of being nice to people and being treated like an idiot in return. My head is banging again and the scratches on my thigh are burning as if on fire. I feel like I have been branded like a cow for god’s sake.

Frank, with all his height and brawn, looks at me with open mouthed shock. It would have been amusing if I didn’t feel so angry. A loud laugh comes from behind him and we both turn to look behind him. A scrawny looking guy wearing similar overhauls to Frank is looking out from under the bonnet of a car.

“Sorry, Frank,” he calls out, the smile fading from his face as Frank’s expression hardens, and he quickly dips back underneath without saying another word.

Frank looks back to me, suddenly unsure of himself. He mustn’t be used to people speaking to him like that. Well tough, I am sick of self-assured, arrogant men thinking that they can talk down to me. Clearly Frank here hasn’t had much contact with Mr Breckt. Otherwise, he would know that Mr B is the only guy in the running this month for the Mr Superiority contest.

“Well I erm…like I said. We can’t seem to find anything wrong with it so you just owe us for the tow. I’ll let the cost of the garage time go.” He looks from the car to me, and as an afterthought says, “Maybe it was grit moving through the engine. Everything seems to be okay now though.” He smiles to ease the tension.

“Right, okay,” I say without humour. For some reason I feel worse than when I got here. If there was nothing wrong with my car, then why had it stopped? I am not buying into the grit idea. If Mr Breckt was there last night, then where—and how—had he gone so quickly? Moreover, if he wasn’t there, then where the hell did I get these scratches?

I begrudgingly pay for the tow and begin the drive back to my apartment, checking my mobile on the way. I feel so alone that my chin quivers. I am exhausted, and yet when I reach the apartment, I keep on driving. I can’t stand the idea of going back inside. The thought of an empty apartment, or worse and apartment with Chris in it, makes me feel even lonelier.

I drive noncommittally, letting the buildings and trees pass me by in a blur. My thoughts whirl around uselessly in my head. I don’t even realise where I’m driving until I reach the bridge. The bridge to the Island.