《The Devil's Flock》


 Chapter 1: The Raven

    The treeline finally breaks into an open meadow from the previously explored forest. A sense of freedom washes over me as I lose myself in the thick scent of wildflowers and fresh-cut grass. My eyes train in on the fireflies as they begin their nightly dance across the field, glowing a soft green- their light replacing the heated glow from the sun as it disappears from view.


    Today was sweltering, our hottest day of summer yet. This would explain the lack of campers and hikers that usually clutter the national forest surrounding this mountain. There''s typically plenty of humans to pick off, but lately, they¡¯ve been scarce.


    I take a final drag from my cigarette, holding in and savoring that final puff before dropping it into the tall grass and snuffing out the cherry. The land surrounding me should bring me peace but nothing seems to relax me anymore.


    This hunt has been extremely long and not at all fruitful. Unfortunately, this means I will be coming home empty-handed; again. Micah searched in the opposite direction so I can only hope that he came across someone or something.


    Hell, I¡¯d even settle for animal blood at this rate. My mouth begins watering at the thought and hunger pangs deep inside my gut, causing me to wince in discomfort. I can¡¯t remember the last time I was this hungry.


    As the hunger pain begins to fade my nostrils are met with a pungent, undeniable scent that is tainted with so much nostalgia it almost knocks me down to my knees. Breathless, I attempt to suck in the air and follow it before it fades away completely.


    It can''t be¡­


    My nose forces me away from the safety of the treeline and I begin to wander. The meadow opens up to my right, revealing a quaint two-story home that looks like it was built in the early 1900s. Its green window panels are chipped and worn from years of weathering with a bright red metal roof that¡¯s riddled with rust spots.


    The back porch bows in the middle with old washed-out wood and a broken step leading out into the backyard. The place almost looks abandoned except for a light shining through a small window directly beside the porch.


    My feet carry me closer to the house against my will, curiosity and the overwhelming scent luring me closer to the source. This scent, I¡¯ve only come across it once before. My chest warms at the memory of her only to be immediately snuffed out by the icy chill of losing her. I shake my head like a dog trying to rid itself of an awful smell, doing my best to compose myself before taking a few steps closer to the old farmhouse.


    If I had to guess, whoever¡¯s inside is probably elderly, alone, and unsuspecting. The exterior of the house screams ¡°an old woman lives here¡±. Which is perfect because that means she won''t put up much of a fight and I won''t have to exert what little energy I have left.


    We¡¯ve been starving due to all of the wildfires closing down the local campgrounds. No campers means no food. While we can feed on animal blood, it doesn''t sustain us. Human blood is the main staple in our diet and without it we die.


    Which puts a lot of pressure on me to find something, anything, to bring home. I¡¯ve always been a hunter, and I¡¯ve always done well at it. Lately that hasn''t been the case, but today I might have found the motherload.


    As I approach the back of the house I notice something shift around the corner of the porch. The scent wafts even stronger as the figure disappears from view. The animalistic part of me wants to chase it down, but I realize how stupid that is.


    ¡°Take your time, be patient.¡± My father''s voice drones in the back of my mind. I roll my eyes at the thought of his voice regardless. I¡¯m very aware that rushing in can get you injured or killed, and while I am powerful I am not invincible. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    I decide it''s better to fall back, taking my chances on staying hidden inside the tree line to feel out the situation before barging in. Who¡¯s to say this person lives alone? What if they¡¯re armed? It¡¯s better to play it safe and watch from a distance, waiting to strike when the time is right. I¡¯ve gone this long without sustenance, what''s a few days more?


    I wait a few minutes, my keen hearing picking up on movement from within the home. A faint heartbeat raps in the distance, quicker than any heartbeat I¡¯ve ever heard from a human, and I grow more curious. My body leans closer in anticipation, eyes locked in on the little window that peers into the kitchen.


    A full head of golden waves pops into view first, taking me by surprise. This person is way too short to be an adult. Is it a child? My heart sinks at the thought. I can¡¯t kill a kid- I won''t. No matter how hungry I am.


    Eyes gradually peer over the windowsill before the girl, a woman, slowly rises to a full stand. Her entire upper body comes into view and I feel myself stiffen. Her hair, her eyes¡­ her scent;


    Rue? It can¡¯t be...


    I feel myself lunge forward, ready to bolt out of the woodline and tackle down the glass door leading into the back of the house until I realize what¡¯s missing. The red birthmark Rue sported from her shoulder to the underneath of her chin is missing.


    This girl is just a stranger, a look-alike that could pass for the girl I loved so strongly all those years ago that it killed her. Shame weighs my body down to the soft grass below as the memory of her flashes before my eyes, only for a moment before I¡¯m snapped back to reality.


    Questions pick at my brain the harder I stare. Is this a second chance? A way to redeem how foolish I was as a teenager? Does she live here alone?


    I dare a step closer, bringing my ear as close to the house as possible without being spotted when I hear a crash from inside. My brow furrows, recognizing the scent of a man inside and my excitement dwindles but doesn''t fully disappear.


    There¡¯s a fear in her eyes now, widening her eyelids around the whites and exposing those steel blue irises¡¯ that almost perfectly match Rue¡¯s. Her head shrinks into her shoulders like she¡¯s anticipating a blow to the back of her head when a man steps into view of the window.


    A tall, thin man rushes up from behind her. He grabs her by the hair at the back of her head violently, ripping her backward as he presses his mouth against her ear. The whites of my knuckles practically break through the skin with how tightly my fists are clenched. I¡¯ve never met this girl, but it already feels like I¡¯ve known her for a lifetime. With how closely she resembles Rue, it fills me with a heated rage to see some asshole manhandle her like this.


    The way she clamps her lips shut and doesn''t make a sound-- doesn''t beg for mercy or cry out for help. She¡¯s been through this countless times and knows better than to satisfy his violence with her weak cries.


    As much as I¡¯d love to barge in and slaughter this asshole, I hunker down and watch from a distance. Taking a mental note to make his death slow and painful once the time is right.


    There is a thud inside the home, indicating that he¡¯s brought her down to the floor. Seeing my moment to leave the treeline and use the darkness to my advantage, I sprint over to the other side of the house. Ducking down to hide from view behind an old tractor that¡¯s close to the house but not too close.


    He has her pinned down on the tan-colored tile floor, blood beginning to pool from her mouth from a busted lip. My mouth waters- my body aching to have just a taste as it streams down the fullness of her lips. It takes everything in me not to burst inside and kill this fucking bastard and drain her of every last drop of blood coursing through her veins.


    I watch as the light in her eyes fades, hazed over like her soul has left her body temporarily and my heart closes in on itself. Any motive to drain her dry is now gone. I watch hesitantly as he shoves her dress up, pressing her head down against the floor as he has his way with her and my blood boils.


    What am I doing? I should rush inside and rescue her¡­ but then what?


    Once human blood is involved I turn into something that would send most people running to find a weapon. If I killed him in front of her, she¡¯d likely be terrified of me for more than just murdering her husband right in front of her.


    The only human who accepted me for who I was is long gone, and just because this girl looks identical to her, it doesn''t mean she feels the same. I have to take my time with this one, but I¡¯ve already made up my mind.


    She¡¯s coming home with me and I¡¯m going to do things right this time. Micah and Dad will have to get over it.

 Chapter 2: The Hummingbird

    I know what I saw that night. Ever since then I have rarely felt alone when John leaves for work each day. Only recently have I begun to feel safe enough to lounge on the porch again during the day. Today is different, though. I don¡¯t feel like there are eyes watching me from beyond the meadow. It feels peaceful outside for once, and my tense muscles finally begin to relax.


    My little bluejay has stopped by the bird feeder, pecking away at the seeds I added in early this morning. I wiggle my finger at him, afraid I might scare him off. He tilts his head in my direction, giving me a onceover before snagging a few seeds and flying away. I feel myself grin, a foreign feeling as of late.


    The smile quickly fades as I notice some movement in the treeline past the meadow. My defenses return full force and I jump up, ready to retreat indoors if need be.


    When the doe and her spotted fawn emerge from the forest I let out a breath I didn''t realize I was holding. The two walk side by side and find a safe place to graze and I feel my heartstrings tug. My son would be five years old now, had the pregnancy gone to term. I look down at the empty space beside me wondering what he¡¯d look like now- if he¡¯d share my freckles and curly blonde locks.


    Watching the mother carefully clean her baby, giving it tiny little kisses on its head before going back to grazing creates a painful sting behind my eyelids. My arm wraps around my empty stomach, clutching to the fabric of my dress tightly. It''s only a matter of time before it happens again, and I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ll be able to survive another loss.


    Why do I continue to suffer like this? What did I do to deserve it? I wanted my son more than anything- but now he¡¯s gone and I¡¯m left with this gaping hole in my heart. It was truly the only thing I had left to look forward to. I curse John under my breath for being the cause of my loss, doing my best to erase the pain from my memory. It''s been years but my resentment only festers.


    Thunder rumbles in the distance, alerting the mother deer and her head rises up from the tall grass. Her ears turn each way, listening out for danger. In her own language, she guides her baby along with her and retreats on the other side of the meadow back into the forest.


    I gaze out from under the porch to take a closer look at the sky, noticing dark clouds looming in the distance. I sigh, knowing the meadow desperately needs a good rain but not looking forward to being trapped inside. I grab my coffee cup and reluctantly go back into the house.


    The wind blows violently from the storm beginning to roll in. I watch it mindlessly as I stare from the kitchen window perched just above the sink. My hands scrub the same dingy pan in a circular motion, brain buzzing with this unexplainable hum that''s plagued me since I married the devil.


    I thought marriage would be an improvement to my life, a way to prove that not all men were like my father. The very man that put his hands on me countless times before I met John. Instead, I ended up marrying someone exactly like my father. Had I not been so naive and desperate to escape the farm, I would have completely avoided this prison sentence of a marriage.


    As if it was prompted, the words ¡°I do¡± slipped from my lips and that''s when the abuse started. The manipulation began long before then, but I was too young and gullible to notice. Now I¡¯m trapped in a loveless marriage with a predator.


    ¡°God damn Salem, this house is always a wreck!¡± I think I hear him say, rolling my eyes and hoping he won''t notice the gesture. I hear him mumble something under his breath about ¡°What I do all day while he¡¯s at work¡± but choose not to dignify the response. Nothing is or ever will be good enough for him. The persistent ringing in my ears drones on, muffling any racket happening behind me. He typically comes home from work with this same attitude daily. One full flask of whisky consumed and ready to accuse me of anything he can to find as an excuse to hit me. Or worse.


    That is, unless he¡¯s been taken care of already. He¡¯s always cheated, and I¡¯ve always turned a blind eye to it. Well- most of the time. We¡¯ve had our fights but I learned quickly that I have no control over what he does. He¡¯s made that very clear.


    The water to the sink shuts off with a loud squeak, snapping me out of my daydream when I hear something crash to the floor. It''s the shepherd''s pie I¡¯d made, the white hand-me-down casserole dish shattering against the tile floor and splattering the food against John¡¯s slacks. I cringe at the sight, knowing this will set him off more.


    ¡°Why in the hell did you make this again?¡± he hisses.


    I shrink down, knowing any response I give will anger him further. But not responding at all sometimes makes matters worse. He won''t allow me to grocery shop without him, or go anywhere without him for that matter. Between his long work hours and no way to leave the house, shepherd¡¯s pie was all I could make with the leftovers we had.


    If I had made nothing for dinner, things may have gone even worse than they already have. So I swallow down my heart that¡¯s managed to leap up my throat in fear and begin to clean up the mess in silence.


    ¡°Are you mute? I asked you a question!¡± He yells, kicking the food in my direction hard enough for it to end up splattering on my face while I¡¯m bent down to pick up the pieces of my dish.


    ¡°That''s all we have here.¡± I say, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing the mess he kicked into my face. I take my arm and wipe away the splattered food that''s made its way into my right eye.


    ¡°Are you trying to say that I don''t provide you with enough to make me a decent meal?¡± He sneers, kneeling to my level with his arms resting on his knees.


    ¡°I¡¯m saying you won''t let me go to the store without you, but you¡¯re never here to come with me. You drive the only car we have to work each day, so what would you like for me to do, John?¡± There is a hint of sarcasm in my voice and he picks up on it. Smacking me hard across the cheek.


    My hand jolts up, covering my face where he struck me and absorbing the sting as it settles into my skin. Pain is the only thing that feels real anymore. It''s like an old friend- and he provides it daily.


    To think that at one time I had thought I¡¯d hit the jackpot finding someone like him. He was a hard worker, handsome, and even had a nice car that he¡¯d pick me up in after work. Turns out he was a wolf in sheep''s clothing.


    They all are.


    He managed to always find a seat in my section at the diner I was working at trying to make ends meet while living on my own, which was brief. It didn''t take long for me to notice his beautiful blue eyes. They captivated me the moment we locked in a stare.


    He was cunning, dressed in a nice suit with his hair shaved clean on the sides and long on top. I would fumble my words, barely able to take his order with how enamored I was with him just from one look. He was older, but that somehow made him more desirable. Blame it on my daddy issues or the chronic need to feel seen. Regardless of the reason, it was the worst mistake of my life.


    A handful of years later and here we are. Here I am. Back to square one with no money, no job, and countless bruises and fractures that have never seen a doctor or x-ray. Almost as if God thought it would be a funny joke to play on me. Plucking me from one abusive bastard to another who might be worse.


    At least my father never raped me.


    I didn''t think a husband could rape his wife until I found myself in that horrible situation the first time. Then it continued to happen over, and over. There has never been a time that I felt I was willing, not even the first night. I saved myself for marriage, for what? For this. To have it forcefully taken from me without my consent.


    A tear spills over my cheek and I quickly wipe it. He seems to find pleasure in seeing me suffer; almost like he feeds off of my tears. I refrain from screaming or crying because that tends to make his actions rougher. So I pretend to feel nothing even when I feel it all.


    ¡°Clean this up, and try again.¡± He says calmly, rising to his feet.


    I wait for him to leave before rising to a stand, wondering how I can still find him handsome after all the pain he¡¯s put me through. He¡¯s damn near perfect to look at, which is what makes him so damn dangerous.


    I take my apron and wipe off the potatoes he¡¯d kicked into my face with a scowl. He doesn''t know it, but I¡¯ve daydreamed about his death almost every night. I find solace in knowing that one day he won''t be around anymore and hopefully one of our deaths will come sooner rather than later.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The revolver on his nightstand has been singing its siren song, and it¡¯s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. Each night that he passes out drunk after forcing his way with me, I lay in bed as still as possible, wondering what it would be like to end this once and for all. I imagine killing myself, somehow making it look like it''s his fault. Or better yet, taking his life instead.


    But I know full well I wouldn''t last in prison. My weak frame and even weaker mind wouldn¡¯t withstand the abuse the other prisoners would force me to endure. Or maybe I¡¯m not giving myself enough credit? My father always said I was a ¡°persistent little shit¡±. Maybe prison wouldn¡¯t be so bad? Hell, I could probably make a friend for once.


    The dish rag sops up the remaining potatoes and juices from the ruined meal as I push my evil thoughts aside. My face continues to burn from the slap and I pray that¡¯s going to be the worst of it when I hear the cracking open of a beer can. My heart sinks. He¡¯s already become aggressive and the night has just started. A sigh escapes my lips quietly, loud enough only for me to hear.


    Maybe tonight I will get lucky and he will pass out in his chair. Leaving me to have the bed all to myself. I crave nights like that. They don''t come often enough.


    Those are the nights I sneak outside, unbeknownst to him, and draw on the porch. I¡¯ve managed to scrounge up some extra change without his knowledge. Just enough to buy myself some pencils and a sketchbook while we were in town one day.


    I love drawing, it''s my only escape from this hellish reality. My pencil carries me out of this house and into the open meadows that surround the land we own. In the spring, the wild flowers sprout up into the field beside the house attracting all sorts of creatures that are perfect references for my sketches. In between my chores, I will sit out on the porch with my coffee and sketch whatever my eyes can take in. I¡¯m beginning to fill up the book completely.


    Only lately I¡¯ve been too distracted to draw, honestly. Knowing that I¡¯m being watched makes it harder for me to focus on my craft. How can I fully immerse myself in it when I need to be on high alert? I warned John that I felt as if the house was being watched, but he waved off my concerns. Calling me paranoid and crazy for thinking anyone could find us out here.


    Maybe he¡¯s right?


    The living room is quiet now except for his show flickering into the entryway to the kitchen. He always listens to the TV far too loudly. He hasn''t made a peep since cracking open the last beer around an hour ago and I pray that he¡¯s fallen asleep.


    The soup has been simmering for around the same amount of time, mostly because I¡¯ve lost my appetite and haven''t felt implored to wake him if he¡¯s sleeping.


    I managed to scrounge a few potatoes, a can of green beans, some peas, and very little ground beef and combine them into a stock pot. Creating a vegetable soup of sorts. It smells as good as it sounds, which isn''t that great. My hopes were that the added seasonings may have made a difference in its blandness but I honestly think the pie would¡¯ve been better.


    Too bad it''s been tossed in the trash, along with my favorite dish.


    It was my grandmother''s dish. One that she used every chance she could. She left it to me, along with her house after she passed. Even after death, she managed to be a blessing to me. Leaving me her home along with the only pleasant memories I had during my childhood. Now it''s basically become my holding cell and I¡¯ve almost grown to hate the place.


    I walk over to turn the burner off of the soup and reach to make myself a bowl quietly. The ceramic clinks against the other bowls and plates crammed in beside it and I wince, praying it didn¡¯t wake him. When I don''t hear any movement, I continue my journey to make myself some dinner - late dinner. It''s past nine o¡¯clock at night and I had the first meal done at six just in time for him to come home. Beer sounded better to him, I guess.


    Steam rolls off the top of the brown liquid, hints of bay leaf and bouyon wafting into my nostrils. I close my eyes, allowing the scent to carry me away from here and hopefully warm my soul. The bowl rests on the counter while I turn my attention to the silverware drawer and quietly dig out a spoon to use when a chill runs through me.


    My body freezes in place, feeling eyes on me from somewhere in the house. Or maybe even outside of the house. Every hair on my body stands on end as that same familiar feeling of being watched dominates me.


    Fight or flight instincts are completely ignored and I freeze instead. My eyes turn with curiosity while my head stays in place, my body frozen with fear. A fear that I¡¯ve never experienced before, somehow.


    That¡¯s when I see it. Something, or someone, is standing right outside my kitchen window. A scream begs to escape but the person standing in front of me brings up their finger to their masked lips, shaking their head slowly. I cover my mouth as the scream catches in my throat. Making eye contact with the person who¡¯s somehow tall enough to see directly into the window despite how far it is from the ground. The top of my head barely reaches the bottom of this window from standing outside.


    Who¡­ How?


    The person is most definitely a man based off of stature alone but his features are hidden behind an expressionless mask. The type of Halloween mask that is left blank for children to color and make their own. A white slate begging for creativity, but this person is using it as a fear tactic or perhaps to cover something hideous underneath?


    He¡¯s the one that¡¯s been watching me. I knew I wasn''t crazy!


    My hands slowly drop down to my sides. I cock my head to the side with narrow-eyed confusion, wondering how this man even found me out here when we don''t live anywhere near civilization. Our nearest grocery store is thirty minutes away. He must live close by, or maybe he followed John home from work? None of these options provide comfort.


    For some reason, he doesn''t move. He stands completely still but my heart never ceases its rapid assault inside my chest but I remain just as still. The two of us stare into each other''s eyes, only his are hidden under the shadow of his mask. That still doesn''t prevent the burning feeling of them boring into me.


    My gaze breaks from his and flashes over to the sliding glass door, wondering if it''s locked. It usually never is until I do my night rounds of the house and dread washes over me. When my eyes flick back over to the window, he¡¯s not there. Shit.


    Panic fuels my movements as I rush over to the glass door, heart pounding in my ears when my gaze is met with a broad chest covered with an old, ragged white tank top.


    My fingers play with the lock, knowing fully well that his hands are already on the handle ready to sling the door off its track. This man is massive, and his shadow engulfs me inside of it. Coffee brown curls rest on his muscular shoulders, a few pieces dangling in front of his white mask. He presses his forehead against the glass, causing a dull thud to rattle the glass door and I startle back allowing the door to remain unlocked.


    Maybe my prayers have been answered and he¡¯s here to take John and I out of our nuptial misery. At this point, I¡¯d almost welcome death with open arms. Life has been nothing short of dreadful since the moment I was forced from the womb. The man standing before me should be a bad omen but instead he¡¯s a stairway to freedom. I would say heaven, but I don''t believe in such a place.


    Against my will, my feet step toward the glass door which appears to intrigue the giant before me. My entire life has been filled with dangerous men. Abusive men. This one is no different, only much larger and capable of taking me out faster. His hand reaches up to just under his chin, knuckles brown and purple tainted with bruising and possibly mud. Or blood.


    I shiver at the thought. The red splatter against his off-white shirt confirms it''s the latter and my stomach churns. I watch as his index finger and thumb meet just under his chin, while the other three fingers stick straight out. His hand turns like a key before moving his hand up to his face, flicking his finger at his nose.


    He¡¯s¡­signing?


    ¡°Curious mouse.¡± I whisper to myself. Confirming his silent words. My grandmother became deaf before I was born, so sign language is not foreign to me.


    My cheeks heat and I quickly lunge forward to lock the door. Wondering why it took so long for me to do it to start with. I don''t dare glance back up, knowing full well that there is only a sheet of glass between us but still feeling safer that he¡¯s on the other side of it. His knuckles tap the jingle of ¡°match in the gas tank¡± against the glass and my eyes bulge out of my skull.


    Lightning crashes behind him and I suddenly regain my will to live. I race toward the counter and snatch the largest butcher knife we have out of the wooden block and dart toward the door to warn him that I¡¯m not afraid but he¡¯s already gone.


    What would I have done with the damn knife against someone his size? I don''t know. I won''t go down without a fight though, without leaving plenty of evidence of who my killer was behind.


    My hands tremble with the knife white knuckled into my fist as I press my face against the glass, not seeing any semblance of a person in the woodline or movement in the trees. Almost as if he was never here. Rain begins to finally proceed with it''s promised downpour and I¡¯m left wondering if any of that was even real.


    Perhaps I¡¯m losing it? Maybe there¡¯s lead in the old pots and pans left behind by my grandparents and I¡¯m slowly killing my brain cells with it. I shake my head in disbelief, wondering who this man was and why he didn''t just come in and kill me. Because that¡¯s clearly what he was here for. Or maybe he¡¯s just a sick freak that likes to stand by and watch women get treated like garbage. Maybe he¡¯s just like John and my father.


    ¡°What¡¯s up with the knife?¡± John¡¯s voice startles me.


    ¡°I- '''' I pause, wondering if I should be honest about our late night visitor. It¡¯s not like he¡¯s taken my accusations seriously so far. ¡°The coyotes are back.¡± I lied. But why? I should say something, call the police¡­


    He walks over, taking one look at the soup and curls his nose up. ¡°What the hell, when I said ¡®try again¡¯ I didn''t mean to make it worse.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± I mumble, still holding the knife and imagine driving it into his neck to shut him up.


    ¡°Whatever, go upstairs and get ready for me. I¡¯ll be up in a minute.¡± He orders, shooing me away.


    I know what that means, and my heart sinks. I was looking forward to having this night to myself and not being forced to pretend that I enjoy him flopping on me like a fish out of water.


    Not only is he forceful, he''s bad at it. With no consideration for how the other person feels. I can only imagine how he treats the girls he cheats on me with. He doesn''t try to hide the perfume trapped on his clothes or the makeup stains left behind, yet he still comes home to me every night wanting more somehow.


    Every time I¡¯m left feeling dirty and unsatisfied, I wonder if I¡¯ll wind up pregnant again. After losing Benjamin, I¡¯ve been terrified of falling pregnant a second time. I lost a piece of myself that day, and I¡¯ve never wanted to experience that feeling again.


    I want to be a mother someday. If only to heal the broken parts of myself and to love someone the way I wished I could have been. But not with him. Not like this. I¡¯ve learned that much from losing the only thing that mattered to me.


    Still, I do as I¡¯m told. I¡¯d rather not ruffle his feathers anymore tonight.

 Chapter 3: The Raven

    ¡°Do you see her?¡±  I ask, glancing over at Micah to gauge his reaction. His eyes are squinted, peering through his hand that¡¯s attempting to block the mid-day sun.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to see from all the way over here, honestly.¡± He huffs, finally giving up on trying to see the girl I found weeks ago. The breeze picks up only for a moment as if to prove my point, wafting her distinct scent in our direction. Micah¡¯s head perks up, eyebrows lifted with interest now that he¡¯s finally gotten a whiff of her.


    ¡°Whoa-¡± He breathes.


    I feel the corner of my mouth turn up with satisfaction. Exactly. I had to feed on seven damn squirrels before I could even get close enough to the house to feel like she was safe from me.


    ¡°And you¡¯re wanting to bring that home? She¡¯ll be drained dead in a week. Have you lost your mind?¡± Micah scoffs, just low enough to not grab her attention.


    ¡°She looks and smells just like her.¡± I reiterate, knowing I¡¯m dodging his concerns.


    ¡°She¡¯s not her little brother.¡± He reminds me. ¡°And bringing her home is a death sentence for her.¡±


    I sigh, rising to my feet. I don¡¯t want to be reminded of this. The memory of Rue is almost too painful to think about but this girl, she brings back some of the more fond memories that I have of her. I can control myself now, I¡¯m older. More experienced. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The unknown girl rocks lightly on the porch in the distance, sipping her coffee and sketching inside of a little book that lays open between her crossed legs. Her feet are perched against the railing of the porch, giving her a nice table to be able to draw against her lap.


    ¡°I can control it. We all can.¡± I know we can.


    Micah chuckles to himself, wanting to say something but keeping it to himself. The breeze picks up again and I watch his muscles tighten underneath his black T-shirt. They twitch just enough to catch my attention, alerting me that he¡¯s holding back the urge to rush down there and kill her. But he doesn''t.


    ¡°That blood type¡­¡± He mumbles to himself, almost in a daze. ¡°How the hell do you keep finding it?¡±


    It¡¯s so rare it''s hard to believe I¡¯ve come across it twice. When I approached her that night, I almost lost control. Ready to barge in and kill her husband before sinking my teeth into her and draining every last drop from her body. My stomach physically aches to be filled with her, but I behaved. Knowing she will be mine soon enough. Whether she likes it or not.


    ¡°So what, you bring her home. Lock her up and drain her every few weeks to feed us through the winter?¡±


    ¡°At first,¡± I confirm, never taking my eyes off of the prize. ¡°We can convince dad to keep her by offering to sell some of it and then Eventually she can live alongside us.¡±


    ¡°You really think she will stick around willingly? Like a human pet? You really are delusional.¡± Micah teases, rising to his feet but also keeping his eyes on the mouthwatering piece seated on the porch.


    ¡°She won''t have a choice.¡±

 Chapter 4: The Hummingbird

    Three weeks have passed since my visitor has come by. I¡¯ve been counting the days ever since. I¡¯m beginning to think it was all a dream and my mind was playing tricks on me. Honestly, it''s all I can think about. There isn''t much else to do around here besides cook and clean. There are no children to care for, John is at work from the early morning to the late evening, so the only thing to occupy my time is to draw, clean, and think.


    And for some reason, I cannot erase that man out of my head. Almost as if he¡¯s been my imaginary friend following me around the house as I piddle around with house work. I¡¯ve even drawn him in my sketchbook. I finally grew the courage to add him in the other night, and now I can¡¯t wait to get my hands on the book to look at him some more. The only tangible evidence I have of him.


    I know I vowed for better or for worse, but I honestly pictured my life being better than this. I thought he would be better for me. It''s wrong to fantasize about another man, especially one that looked ready to rip me in half with his bare hands. But I can''t help it. I¡¯ve always had a wild imagination.


    Blame it on the cartoons I watched growing up or the astounding loneliness of my childhood. But lately I¡¯ve been wondering what it would be like to be wanted, craved even. Wondering if the masked stranger feels the same way I do.


    There is something about him that has me in an absolute chokehold and I need to know more. It''s the only thing that¡¯s gotten me through these last few weeks. I¡¯ve caught myself staring out the window longingly, waiting for him to appear with his white mask out of the woodline.


    Does he intend on coming back? If he does, will he rescue me from this Hell that I¡¯ve survived the last six years? Or will he kills us both?


    Maybe he was right, maybe I am a curious mouse?


    I¡¯m curious about him, that is for certain. His presence that night shook me to my core. Rousing me from my deep slumber that I''ve been in since as long as I can recall. I¡¯ve been in a dream-like state since childhood. Just flowing through the motions, walking on eggshells most of my life.


    Once I laid eyes on him it''s like the persistent humming in my ears has disappeared and I¡¯m finally becoming aware of my life around me. Now that I¡¯m awake, I¡¯m not sure how much longer I can live like this.


    I want to venture out past the meadow, away from this prison in search of the stranger. I¡¯m aware how unsafe that might be, but honestly I didn''t notice a weapon on him. So maybe he wasn''t here with ill intent?


    Who am I kidding, he was splattered in blood and hiding his identity. He was probably here to rob the house and made eye contact with me instead. Probably thinking he could make a game out of it while robbing us blind and taking what he wanted from me in the process.


    So why do I want to see him again so badly? It''s not like he¡¯s been back to see me since then.


    There has to be something wrong with me. A screw that¡¯s loosened with each beating I¡¯ve endured over the years. Leaving me broken and twisted in search of anyone who will provide me a sliver of grace. Even if it''s someone potentially dangerous.


    I twirl the length of my french braid longingly, eyes fixated on the empty field ahead through the same window I first spotted him in. There is no movement, no inkling of a being beyond the tree line. The sun is setting, leaving a fiery red across the clouds in its wake. My heart sinks down into my stomach when I hear the familiar sound of tires crunching against the gravel driveway, then begins to thump on overdrive when I realize I haven''t fixed dinner.


    I haven''t even started on it.


    Like a caged tiger that¡¯s been released into the wild, I ravage through the cupboards in search of something, anything that will be quick enough to make it look like I started cooking already. Spam stares me right in the face and as much as I hate the stuff, John never complains so I rip the lid off and slide it out of the can. It makes a wet suction noise that causes me to gag, ignoring the slimy substance that coats the processed meat as it stares back at me on the cutting board.


    ¡°You just wake up or something?¡± John asks, unusually chipper.


    ¡°I got carried away cleaning and lost track of time I guess.¡± I lie, slicing the meat thinly as the frying pan heats beside me.


    He leans in to kiss me on the cheek, a good indication that he hooked up with another girl while ¡®at work¡¯. The scent of Chanel no.5 wafts into my nose, a scent that indicates infidelity to me because whoever he sleeps with must fucking drench themselves in it. It stinks.


    He never arrives in a good mood unless he slept with someone else the same day. I pull away from his kiss, skin crawling with the thought of his mouth being on another woman.


    ¡°You know how I love Spam.¡± He coos, rubbing my shoulder roughly. It hurts more than brings pleasure.


    ¡°Mhmm,¡± I hum. Not wanting to provoke anything that could squander his good mood.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be upstairs in the shower, make me a plate when you¡¯re done.¡± He half orders before walking away.


    When do I not make you a plate, asshole?


    My eyes roll upward then lock on another set of eyes, fantastically green and practically glowing, staring right at me through the window in front of me. I jump back, startled at first but my heart skips a beat. We do our same dance as before, standing completely still and staring into one another''s souls.


    The sun is setting behind him, leaving this beautiful orange and lava red glow behind his giant body. My mouth dries, anxiety riddling my nerves as I realize that this man wasn''t just a figment of my imagination. He¡¯s a real, live person that has come by my house twice. Possibly more than that.


    And for some reason I¡¯m enamored with him. A complete stranger.


    He¡¯s the spark that my life has been missing. The light at the end of a dark tunnel. The adrenaline coursing through my veins.


    I release a breath I didn''t know I was holding, shoulders relaxing some. His head tilts slowly, playfully. Bringing his finger to his nose again he slowly signs the word ¡®mouse¡¯ and my cheeks flush.


    His presence has melted my feet to the floor. The feeling of cement bricks tied around my ankles hold my body in place, preventing me from running away, not that I want to. My body moves without permission and leans forward over the sink, hand pressing against the glass timidly with a curious expression. Begging for him to reach through the window and yank me to freedom. Craving tangibility of this stranger who¡¯s turned my world upside down in the course of a few short weeks.


    A large hand comes into view, dirty and rust colored from old blood just as before. It presses against the other side of the glass, fingers towering over mine almost as if they could swallow my hand twice over. I suck in a breath, realizing the size of him and jolt backward. He could easily smash through any window and get inside, so what is he doing back here if not to kill us?


    My mind races with thoughts of what those hands could do. What they¡¯ve already done. And I begin to wonder what their plans are for me when blood rushes to my cheeks. There¡¯s humor in his eyes, as if he¡¯s smiling under the mask.


    My curiosity grows, wondering what his smile might look like when the faucet above turns off. My attention turns to behind me, double checking that John did not develop super speed and run down the stairs.


    Whipping my head back around I notice the stranger looking up as well. The humor has left his eyes, and all that''s left is heated anger. Or something close to it. His body language is tense, proving that the semi-relaxed moment we shared is over.


    My expression saddens, realizing our time has been cut painfully short. I stare down at the uncooked meat, pan smoking behind me as it anticipates something to cook. The desire to play house with a man that mistreats me is quickly dwindling, and I¡¯m ready to run out of the house and toss my bets on a complete stranger. Deranged, I know. But sometimes it feels like anything is better than this.


    ¡°I thought I told you to make me a plate?¡± John huffs, snapping me out of my dreams.


    My eyes jump up to the window, realizing my visitor is gone. I feel my heart sink, the painful reality beginning to seep in and how awful this night is about to be now that I¡¯ve wasted precious time. I should have been cooking his meal rather than eye-balling a masked psychopath.


    He grabs me by my braid, yanking me backward and pressing his mouth to my ear. A signature move that he always performs before harming me. ¡°You would¡¯nt be fucking around on me would you?¡± he hisses against the flesh of my ear.


    I shake my head frantically, ¡°No, John.¡± I whimper.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been real spacey lately. Almost like someone else has been on your mind.¡± He teases viciously. He wraps his fist around my braid tighter like it''s a rope, pulling aggressively against my scalp and I cry out in pain against my will.


    I know how he gets when he hears me in pain. I can feel his pleasure hardening against my back the moment the sound escapes my lips. I tighten them together, refusing to let any other sounds escape me. But he doesn''t relent.


    He slams my head down on the metal sink, forehead splitting open immediately. I hear a crunch and my eyes roll back, realizing it''s too late to try and talk him down from this high. He¡¯s ready to break me, and my only hope disappeared from the window.


    Warm liquid pools down my face and into my mouth as I pant, disoriented from the blow. My legs tremble beneath me, begging to run but too weak to try. Tears spill over my cheeks from the pain pulsating inside my skull but I don''t dare make a sound. I grit my teeth and brace myself for the next blow.


    He throws me down on the ceramic tile floor and I land face first, cooling my cheek and bringing some relief to my wound. I feel his hands fight with my underwear, yanking them down to my knees. His towel lands beside me, laying lifeless just as I do on the floor and I brace myself for what''s about to happen.


    I hate being here, I hate being alive.


    Please come back, take me with you.


    I force my eyes as far to the left as they will go to see if I can find my visitor standing by the glass doors but there¡¯s nothing but darkness. Even if he was there, I don''t think I could see him from here. I squint them closed, begging to be released from this hell I¡¯ve found myself in when a loud bang startles us both.


    The sound came from the front door. Loud and abrupt like someone threw their body against it. My nerves settle, praying it''s the masked man and he¡¯s come to save me. John slowly climbs to a stand, snatching the towel from beside me and leaving me on the floor with my underwear around my knees.


    Part of me is thankful for the interruption while the other is itching to know who or what caused the sound. Either way, I can''t seem to fight my way to a stand. My arms push against the floor, shaking with weakness as blood strings from my lips and connects to the floor. Leaving a brightly colored stain beneath my parted lips as it continues to pool down to the tile.


    Eyes hazed over with pain and confusion, I look over my shoulder toward the sliding glass doors leading to the back porch and smile when I see my masked visitor standing there, propped against the old railing with his arms crossed over his chest. I perch myself onto my haunches, which is about as much as I can rise from the floor when I hear John approach the front door.


    I feel a smile creep across my lips, relief washing over me as I realize this is the end. Finally, I¡¯ll be free.

 Chapter 5: The Hummingbird

    John stomps back into the house cursing under his breath. He snatches a clean pair of jeans from the dryer behind me, yanking each foot through the leg holes. Water drips down from his soaking wet hair as he moves frantically. There¡¯s a look on his face I¡¯ve never seen before. Riddled with fear and confusion.


    ¡°What was that?¡± I manage to ask, my voice eerily calm considering the circumstances.


    ¡°Someone is fucking with us, and I¡¯m going to find out who.¡± He tries to sound confident but I can hear the distress in his voice.


    Wondering what he¡¯s referring to, my knees wobble and almost give out as I come to a stand. My panties have fallen down to my ankles, but I don''t bother pulling them back up. Stepping out of them, my arms reach out to grab the nearest chair to hold my weight up. I glance beside me, realizing my visitor is missing from the back porch and a sense of dread washes over me.


    What if he isn''t here to save me? What if he¡¯s here to toy with John and I both until we¡¯re dead? If I call the police, they certainly won''t get here in time. I grab the linen napkin perfectly folded on the kitchen table and wipe my face with it. Removing the fresh blood from leaking into my eye. I wince from the pain but press down firmly to stop the bleeding.


    Regret begins to wash over me like a bucket of cold water. I started this, acting interested in him and now he¡¯s back. I could see it in his eyes just now, he won''t stop until he has me. I could sense it through the restricted touch of his hand through the glass. And I started the gesture. My eyes clamp closed. God, you¡¯re such a stupid girl Salem.


    ¡°What the fuck!¡± John exclaims after finally answering the front door.


    I stumble my way through the kitchen, weaving through our tightly furnished living room and turning toward the foyer when I see it. Gastly and mutilated, a deer head has been thrown at our front door and left on the welcome mat. There¡¯s a splatter of dark red plastered across the dingy white paint of our door from its impact. That has to be where the sound came from that startled us both.


    ¡°Come out and fight like a man, you sick freak!¡± John screams into the empty mountain air, waving his revolver around like a toy.


    ¡°John, don''t instigate him.¡± I whisper, sort of hiding behind him but peering around his body to see if I can find any movement going on within the treeline.


    ¡°Him?¡± He seethes, ¡°So you know who did this? Who have you been fucking around with?¡± His movements are frantic and wild, eyes beady with terror.


    ¡°Nobody, I just assume a woman wouldnt be able to toss a mutilated deer¡¯s head at our front door.¡± I frown.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    He frowns back, unamused by my answer. I watch as he stomps out onto the porch, cocking his gun and aiming through the sights into the darkness. Whatever he¡¯s aiming for, I can''t see. His arms stiffen outward with the gun locked into his sights as his torso twists around looking each direction.


    I roll my eyes. The man has a terrible aim. I¡¯ve seen him through the window during his little target practices and he couldn''t hit a still target five feet in front of him.


    Something finally emerges from the shadows, abruptly wrapping around his neck like a snake and John doesn''t have time to fight back. It''s a man, tall and thin but serpent-like and strong enough to take a grown man down. John wails, shooting into the darkness and missing completely.


    Terror washes over me but I can''t move, I can''t scream. His gun thuds against the old wood of the porch as he fights off the man wrapping around him. I contemplate rushing in to grab it, but it''s too close to the altercation for me to feel comfortable doing so.


    Finally my feet unglue themselves from the floor. I catch my breath, huffing in panic as my feet carry me backward. Who the hell is that? It''s not the stranger I¡¯m used to, he''s too slender. So, there''s two of them?


    I swallow the lump in my throat, wondering what the hell I¡¯ve gotten myself into when I see John fall to his knees limply. My brow furrows, eyes focusing into the dark when they zone in on the syringe being plunged into his neck and my feet glue to the floor once again.


    The snake-like man pauses beside my husband, dropping his lifeless body like a sack of potatoes and he lands with a groan. I can tell just by the silhouette of the stranger that he¡¯s trying to catch his breath. I remain frozen, watching his movements but unable to run away even though my body desperately wants to.


    When he finally steps into the light emanating from the foyer of the house I¡¯m starstruck. His fingers fumble with the same white mask I¡¯ve become familiar with and he reveals himself. My eyes almost pop out of my head.


    He¡¯s gorgeous.


    His sapphire blue eyes are locked in mine, causing time to stand still. ¡°Holy shit,¡± he breathes, taking a step closer. He looks starstruck too, and maybe a little confused? Either way, I finally manage to break our heated stare and step away from him when I run into something solid. The strange man¡¯s focus shifts to whatever stands behind me and my breathing hitches in my throat.


    Warmth radiates through my body but I don''t dare turn around or look up. I already know who¡¯s standing behind me but my panicked breaths don''t slow. His long fingers curl under my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet his. Another white mask stares down at me, taking the napkin from my grip and crinkling it into his pocket.


    His heavy arm wraps around me and for some reason I relax into him. The earthy scent of his skin wafts into my nose and I melt into him even more. He smells just as I thought he would. Like the fresh cut grass and dirt mixed with a little musk of his own.


    His bare skin is damp to the touch, soaking into me through my dress. I try to focus on it while my breathing slows and I begin to feel dizzy. My eyes fall to my side where I spot another syringe, only this one buried into me. He must¡¯ve done it so gently I didn''t notice the prick into my skin.


    I knew it. This was too good to be true.


    Before I can ask any questions, the room blurs and I feel my muscles finally give out as my world becomes swallowed up in darkness.

 Chapter 6: The Raven

    Micah hauls it down the curvy road, unusually silent for someone who never stops running his mouth. I glance over at him, taking notice of his tense muscles and even more tense jawline. His teeth are grit, nostrils flared like he¡¯s ready to drive us all off a cliff. He finally cracks the driver-side window to allow fresh air inside the cab and we both relax some.


    His eyes flicker between the rearview mirror and the road ahead, but he never utters a word. Something is bothering him. I understand he doesn¡¯t like disobeying our father, but he still agreed to help me do this. It¡¯s too late to turn back now. We¡¯ve made it too far, spilled too much blood.


    I flip through the small brown sketchbook, taking note of her talent before stashing it inside my back pocket. It took over an hour to find it but I knew I couldn''t leave without it. It will be a way to gain her trust, and by the looks of the drawings she¡¯s been beyond curious of me. Which means I have a chance.


    I turn to face the back seat, double checking her zip-ties and focusing on her steady heartbeat. Usually so frantic and rapid, it''s slowed down tremendously since the sedative was injected into her. The blood oozing from her brow has finally stopped but the scent of it still fills the tiny cab of the car. I continue to resist the urge to feed, knowing that once I start I may not be able to stop. The only safe way is to drain via IV, but we need to get settled at home before that can happen. I just have to be patient.


    ¡°I need to get the fuck out of this car.¡± Micah mumbles under his breath, knuckles white as they grip the steering wheel. His foot taps erratically against the floorboard. He¡¯s starving, the same as everyone else.


    This is the first time he¡¯s spoken since we left the house. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting himself and gripping tighter to the steering wheel. The acceleration of the car knocks my head back against the headrest and I snarl at him for being so reckless.


    ¡°Slow down before you get us all killed.¡± I sign aggressively but I doubt he noticed. What the hell is his problem?


    Her home is only about a thirty minute drive from our house surprisingly, but with Micah driving we made it home in about fifteen. As we pull into the driveway the garage door to our home opens slowly without either of us initiating it and my heart sinks.


    Dad¡¯s oil stained jeans and work boots come into view first while the rest of him is gradually revealed as the garage door opens the rest of the way. His tattooed arms are folded across his chest, teeth grit in the same fashion as Micah¡¯s. Proving their relation by looking almost identical when they¡¯re pissed off.


    Micah can¡¯t seem to get out of the car fast enough and flees the cab, leaving me inside with the culprit of everyone''s discomfort. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the lecture that is sure to come and slowly exit the BMW.


    Dad wastes no time laying into me. ¡°What the fuck were you thinking?¡± He roars, already catching a whiff of the girl laid unconscious in the rear seat of the car. He doesn''t give me time to answer. ¡°You weren¡¯t thinking up here!¡± He points to my head. ¡°I can assure you of that.¡±


    Rumbling and grunting thuds behind me, alerting my dad that there¡¯s not one- but two people brought here without his consent.


    ¡°Have you lost your mind?¡± He hisses in my direction.


    Micah pretends to wipe something off of his Harley with his shirt, inspecting it closely but listening in on the conversation. Dad stomps around to the back of the BMW and demands that the trunk be opened. Micah obeys, pressing the button on his keys to undo the hatch.


    The husband is gagged, but still manages to make quite a bit of noise regardless. Dad sighs through his nose, shaking his head in defeat before slamming the trunk closed again. The husband kicks and rocks from the inside of the trunk, his voice now more muffled by the closed off space.


    ¡°So what now boss man?¡± Dad¡¯s attention turns to me. ¡°Since you seem to have this all figured out without consulting me!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re keeping her.¡± I sign slowly, calmly.


    ¡°Like a fucking pet.¡± Micah chimes in sarcastically.


    Dad rolls his eyes. ¡°And the dickhead in the trunk?¡±


    ¡°Drain him.¡± I shrug.


    ¡°And then what happens when people start looking for them, son? They¡¯re locals! They work, eat, and sleep in the same God-forsaken town as us!¡±


    ¡°We can erase them like we always do.¡±


    I can tell that my lack of urgency regarding this situation is only ruffling more of Dad¡¯s feathers. While I realize what happened with the last girl I became infatuated with caused everyone a lot of grief, I know that I¡¯ve grown more controlled as the years have passed. I know what I¡¯m doing, and how to calm myself now. If only he¡¯d allow me to prove myself I could show him that. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The garage goes silent for a moment, including the racket coming from the trunk. I feel eyes on me from every angle, wishing for once that Micah would back me up. Only he was completely against this from the start, so I shouldn¡¯t expect his support- but it would be nice.


    ¡°I can handle this by myself.¡± I push past Dad who¡¯s muscular arms are still folded defensively across his chest.


    Micah pops the trunk once again as I stomp toward it. The husband ramps back up his kicking and hollering through the gag and I waste no time knocking him out with one fatal blow to the side of his head. There¡¯s a loud crack and he immediately falls unconscious which brings a level of satisfaction that I can¡¯t describe.


    Fucking pretty-boy, how does it feel to be on the other end of a fist for once?


    I toss his lifeless body over my shoulder like he weighs nothing, carrying him over to the hidden bunker door that resides on the far side of the garage. To most onlookers the door resembles part of the wall- completely flush with the drywall and blends in perfectly. One pull of a rope and the door is revealed, leading underground to the bunker the three of us built years ago when we moved here. It comes in handy.


    I carry him down the stairs, plopping him into a vacant room and chain him to the wall. I¡¯ll deal with him later.


    When I hike back up the stairs I notice Micah leaning against the open car door, peering into the rear seat along with Dad who¡¯s expression shows he¡¯s still not convinced that this is a good idea. I linger in the darkness of the stairwell for a few minutes, listening to their conversation.


    ¡°She smells so fucking good.¡± Micah comments under his breath.


    ¡°Hmm-¡± Dad agrees half-heartedly. ¡°She won''t last long here.¡±


    Micah stays silent for a moment, his brow furrowed like he¡¯s thinking hard. ¡°But what if she does?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t count on it, son.¡± Dad pats him on the shoulder before walking back inside, seeming to have enough of this and retreating indoors. ¡°You remember what happened to the last one. Don''t get attached.¡±


    My heart sinks. I wait for the door to close behind him before I emerge from the stairwell, closing the secret door behind me. Micah¡¯s gaze finally breaks from the girl in the back seat and trails over to me. His expression is indifferent as he steps away from the vehicle. I pause before reaching the car, eyes locking into his.


    ¡°She¡¯s safe here.¡± I confirm.


    He nods, but seems hesitant.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to make sure of that.¡±


    He looks concerned but he doesn''t disagree.


    ¡°I trust your judgement. If you ever feel that she¡¯s unsafe I need you to intervene.¡± He knows that I¡¯m referring to myself without me having to specify.


    Micah chews the inside of his cheek nervously like he wants to say something but yet again remains unusually silent.


    As much as I hate to admit it, especially in front of Dad- Micah is stronger willed than me. Mostly due to experience that comes with age. He¡¯s made a few mistakes in his lifetime and none of us have a clean record, but he¡¯s always been the more level-headed one of us. Even if he does run his mouth too much.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡± He finally agrees softly, eyes wandering back inside the car. Something is off with him tonight.


    ¡°Things will go right this time brother. I promise.¡± I confirm when he glances back in my direction. He nods cautiously before turning on his heel and going inside, leaving me alone with my prize without another word.


    I reach into the back seat and begin to shimmy her lifeless body out. Gently, she falls from the backseat and into my arms. I bounce her up to get a better grip on her, feeling how light she truly is now that the adrenaline has worn off. Her head rolls back, her long golden locks feathering over my arm. My eyes trail over every feature, every freckle and blemish on her delicate skin. Her lips part open revealing her two front teeth that stick out a bit resembling a chipmunk. Just like Rue.


    My lips curl into a smile. She¡¯s perfect, right down to her bare feet.


    I carry her past the threshold leading into the kitchen and kick the door behind me closed. The house is quiet, leading me to believe dad went to bed already. Good.


    I turn right, passing by the rustic living room furniture and heading up the stairs on the left. They lead up to mine and my brother''s rooms, mine situated at the end of the hall. It¡¯s the master suite of the house that ended up being mine. Dad prefers being on the first floor as the main line of defense for the house- should anything ever happen.


    I unlock my bedroom door with the pin pad built into the handle and push through. It''s been a while since I slept in a bed¡­ my bed. It''s still perfectly made with black satin sheets and a furry black comforter. Multiple pillows varying in size scatter against the wall patterning black and white. Everything is just how I left it and my shoulders relax some.


    I carry her over to the make-shift cell that I built a few months back. It¡¯s taken over the majority of my full sized closet but it¡¯s not like I was using it much anyway. The cell door slides open with a clang, metal bars hitting the wall. I stumble in, realizing this wouldn''t hold a man my size but for her it will do just fine. She can stand up fully and take about five or so steps in each direction. It¡¯s not spacious by any means, but serves its purpose.


    I hope she won''t hate me for leaving her here like this. It¡¯s better than the treatment her husband will be receiving, that much is certain. She will be thankful for this once she sees how he¡¯s being handled twenty feet below. In the meantime, this will be a safety precaution until she learns the rules around here.


    I begin to cut through her ties with my pocket knife when her body rolls onto her back as a sigh escapes her lips. My eyes fixate on her bloodied lips and nose, feeling a twinge inside my chest for her. The wound on her face is swelling badly and still oozing a little. It looks painful- and smells delicious. I lick my lips, resisting the urge to bend down and taste her.


    It''s not time yet. Not tonight.


    The time will come soon enough where she will let me feed on her, but in the meantime I can use her husband as my next meal to tide me over. I cover her body with a nearby blanket and leave her to sleep for the night, locking the cell door behind me. Tomorrow will be a new beginning for all of us.


    Sleep tight- Little mouse.

 Chapter 7: The Hummingbird

    My eyes flutter open, dim sunlight shining through a far off window that''s covered with a sheer black curtain coming into view first. I take a moment to adjust my sight, groaning as I push my stiff body upward. The pulsating pain in my head is unbearable. I reach up to rub between my eyes to counteract the pain but wince and yank my hand away. From the feeling of it, there appears to be a butterfly stitch on my brow, closing the wound that was inflicted by my husband last night. I¡¯m dizzy and a bit clueless on how I got here.


    There¡¯s something metal spinning in front of me, catching the reflection of the sun beam peaking through the curtains. It hits me in the eye like a flash of lightning each time it strikes my retinas. It takes a moment for me to realize it''s a knife being spun by a large bodied man, which makes me jump back and re-evaluate the situation.


    Holy shit- this is real.


    My eyes are met with an emerald gaze that hasn¡¯t removed themselves from me since I woke. I¡¯ve felt them burning into me since I came to, only I didn''t realize what that sensation was until now.


    My masked visitor is seated on the floor directly in front of me. His back is pressed against the side of his bed with his knees brought up at an angle. One arm rests across his knee while the other spins the knife. The pointed end stabbing into the floor. His hair seems damp and his clothes are much nicer than when we last saw one another. Dark washed jeans cover his legs with black work boots tucked underneath them. He¡¯s swapped out his dirty white tank top for a fresh one, perfectly complimenting his tanned skin.


    Still, the mask remains on. Hiding his features from me.


    My brow furrows as my eyes wander over the room I¡¯m trapped in, following each metal bar in search of a weak point. This looks to be a closet converted into some twisted holding cell in his room and my stomach churns. Maybe I was better off on top of the mountain? A shiver violently rattles my bones at the thought of what has happened here prior to my arrival.


    My eyes follow the floor leading up to where he¡¯s perched and we lock in a gaze. It feels as if it lasts forever and it holds me in place. An unsettling feeling ignites in my belly, turning me inside out as I realize what''s happening.


    I¡¯m a prisoner. Again. Only this time my holding cell is much smaller.


    The man rises to a stand, towering over me and swallowing me in his shadow. His knife is placed into its sheath and traded out for a pen and notepad. My nerves settle a bit, but I keep mental tabs on the knife. He approaches in two large steps, his boots thudding heavy against the hardwood and kneeling down before writing something on the paper. He turns the notepad around, pressing it against the metal bars so I can read.


    ¡°Elias¡± I read out loud. A biblical name, which is off putting to say the least. Religion has never sat right with me, especially with how strict my father was. Still, I can''t argue that the name is beautiful.


    My eyes drift up from the notepad and meet his. He has a staring problem, that much I''ve learned about him over the last several weeks. It makes me uncomfortable in a different way, one that makes me warm inside. I¡¯d never admit that outloud, though.


    ¡°Salem.¡± I confirm, offering my name in return.


    Remembering that he signed with me before now, I wonder if he is deaf. I sign the words, ¡°Can you hear?¡± and wait for a response.


    He nods, but confirms with his hands ¡°I don''t speak.¡±


    I nod back cautiously. Not really knowing what to say to the man that kidnapped me and trapped me in a cell inside of his room. Am I safe? Is he planning on killing me? Making me his sex slave? My mind races with awful possibilities that drain the color from my face. I shuffle back, not wanting to be close to him any longer.


    His body rises back up, towering over me once more. My eyes trail over every muscle etched into his tan arms and wonder how someone this large is even human. Powerful veins trail down to his overworked hands. He looks like something out of a horror movie, with a mask to boot. He catches me ogling him and signs ¡°curious¡± again. My face falls flat, humor prevalent behind his mask. I shuffle back as far as I can go, feeling my back press against the cold metal bars behind me.


    With my knees pulled up to my face I rest my cheeks against them. Averting my eyes from him but still feeling him stare diligently. The fact that he¡¯s quiet makes him all the more sinister. My imagination goes wild wondering what his voice would sound like if he could speak, and what he would say if he could. Using his hands probably prevents him from speaking without thinking. I wonder what goes on behind that mask?


    I avert my gaze while listening intently for the shuffling of his boots. The door to his room finally latches closed, a beep indicating that something has locked behind him. He¡¯s really into security, which leads me to believe this isn''t his first rodeo. My body relaxes now that I¡¯m left alone and I continue to look around for a week point within the cell.


    Hours seem to pass but there is really no indication of time other than the sunlight drifting through the window. Its beams gradually move past the end of his bed as a time teller. My stomach grumbles, begging to be filled. I begin to wonder if he¡¯s forgotten me up here when I know that¡¯s not true.


    He wouldn''t forget me. He¡¯s gone through too much trouble to get me here. I¡¯ve had plenty of time to recount last night''s events. Remembering them taking down John before drugging me to sleep. I don''t recall anything after that. How I got here still remains a blur. I¡¯ve tried to piece together the night before but haven''t had any luck.


    But why does he want me here so badly? That¡¯s the piece that has been wracking my brain more than anything else. I know nothing about him, his tendencies, or how his brain works. He could be holding me hostage to eat me for all I know. He¡¯s built this room as a holding cell, for what? Me specifically? Is that why he was missing those three weeks?


    Beeping rings in my ears from the left. My eyes dart over as I peer through the bars. My fingers wrap tightly around them as if I¡¯ll float away if I let go. His shadow comes into view first, sinking bricks into the pit of my stomach. Fear drains the color from my face and I release my grip on the cell bars.


    Elias¡¯ body comes into view bending down to my level. His overwhelming presence looms over me like a demon. Lurking and waiting for its chance to devour me. I swallow down the pit that''s formed in my throat but don''t say anything. Blood has splattered its red hue across his once clean tanktop and my heart freezes over.


    He unlocks the cell door and I shuffle back as far as I can, never taking my eyes off of him. We haven''t made physical contact since he broke into my home last night to kidnap me. The thought of him touching me sends me spiraling, sickness settling into my already empty stomach.


    My body curls into itself, a squeak escaping my throat when I feel his fingers touch my bare arm. I cower away, wishing I was made of slime that could squeeze through the bars and escape. His hand grips my upper arm tightly, yanking my body to a stand but fear prevents my eyes from looking at the monster dragging me from the cell.


    He pulls me through the exit of the cell and I stumble behind him. Eyes fixated on the hardwood floor. As much as I¡¯d like to know more about the home I¡¯m being held hostage in, the fear I feel in the pit of my stomach prevents my eyes from wandering past the floor. His grip forces me to follow him down the stairs and I unwillingly do so.


    We pass through the kitchen where an unfamiliar man sits at a large cherry wood dining table. He¡¯s handsome, with a chisseled jaw thats peppered with facial hair. His arms are covered in tattoos, which catch me off guard. I¡¯ve never seen anyone this tattooed before. His eyes squint as they follow me out of the room. A semblance of irritation lurking behind them.


    I am dragged further, this time through a door that leads to the garage. Elias never releases his grip on me, pulling my body past the parked vehicle and finally stopping. He pulls a rope that opens the wall like a door. A hidden door with one tucked behind it. There''s a keypad on this door as well. He secretly presses the numbers necessary to unlock it and the bolts unlock mechanically.


    He yanks my arm again, only this time my heels dig into the concrete flooring. Eyes wide with terror, they focus on the narrow entrance into the darkness. Cobblestone walls frame the hall that leads into nothingness. As if pulling a stray dog by a leash, he forces me forward with a swift pull of the arm and I topple forward. Another squeak escapes me, but I don''t cry for help. Almost as if my lips have been super glued shut.


    Is this the end? Is he taking me down here to meet my fate? A million possibilities run through my mind, a few repetitive ones from earlier lingering in the back of my brain. Where the hell is he leading me? And why?


    A single tear spills over my cheek. My free hand grips the railing leading down the stairs in retaliation and he freezes. His head turns toward me slowly, the mask covering his expression. I can''t tell what he¡¯s feeling because of it. My heart sinks into my stomach when he bends down, tackling me and tossing me over his shoulder.


    ¡°NO!¡± I scream, hitting him as hard as I can into his back. My fists wail on him but he acts as if he feels nothing. It feels like I¡¯m punching concrete slabs, only hurting myself.


    He takes each step further down without a word, grumble, or sound. Eventually I give up on fighting, realizing it''s useless. When we finally reach the bottom of the steps, a light turns on automatically and my tense muscles relax slightly. My arms press against his body to lift myself up in order to take in everything.


    It''s a short hallway with large, prison-like doors on each side. Four of them to be exact. It''s eerily quiet down here, the sound of my racing heart almost audible on the outside of my chest. He carries me further to the end of the hall to one of the last doors, opening it with his secret pin number and bringing me inside.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    The smell inside the room is unexplainable. Metallic and rotten in the most suffocating way imaginable. I cough it up but it continues to restrict my lungs regardless. Tears well in my eyes from how pungent the smell is.


    He drops me to the floor, landing on my rear and I complain. When he steps out of view I freeze, color leaving my body and flowing down to the drain placed in the middle of the room. Blood has tainted every surface. It drips from the medical table placed on the other side with a mangled body resting on top of it. A single arm drapes over the table side, a man''s arm. Covered in tattoos and cuts that have sliced into them. His face is unrecognizable.


    My hands cover my mouth, taking in the scene in silence. What the hell is this place? A torture chamber? Saliva builds in my mouth as my stomach churns on empty. My body trembles with fear and sickness as I watch Elias approach the body with a hack-saw. His attention turns to me, pausing for a moment before getting to work.


    The saw sloshes and cuts through the deceased man''s leg, making a noise that I¡¯ve never heard before now. Once it hits bone, the scraping noise is almost unbearable. Elias saws even harder, cutting through the bone and remaining muscles before detaching it completely. I cover my ears, singing Happy by Mazzy Star to erase the sound from my brain. It''s the only one that I can remember off the top of my head right now.


    I hear a loud thunk and I jump, eyes darting over to a large blue barrel that now contains the leg that was just removed. Blood has tainted each of Elias¡¯ forearms in a thick, red fluid but he doesn''t seem to mind. He pushes onto the next leg, manually sawing it off in a matter of minutes.


    The acid in my stomach can''t be contained any longer and I heave, turning away from the grotesque sight as it expels from my body. Nothing comes out when I try to remove the sick feeling. I heave a few more times but still, nothing. Tears stream down my cheeks and I sob into my knees, curled up in the corner like a child.


    My hands have clamped my ears shut so tightly that I can''t hear anything around me other than the constant beating of my rapid pulse. Feeling as if I¡¯m being watched, my lids snap open and stare at the devil locked in the room with me. His head is cocked to the side. A curious look plays across those dark eyes. Only for a moment before he continues on to the arms.


    The more he saws, the more blood begins to spill over the table and splatter to the floor. It follows the path of grout between the tiles until eventually draining down to the hole in the middle.


    I sing louder, clamping my eyes as well as my ears shut and pretend I¡¯m anywhere else but here. Home may not have been so bad after all. At least there, I had my meadow. My sketchbook. My son.


    This place, it''s not a home. It''s a chamber of horrors. Not unlike my home, but at least there people didn''t get dismembered. A sob escapes the next lyric that I force myself to remember as liquid begins to fall from every hole in my face. I¡¯m a blubbering mess, wishing death would¡¯ve come sooner than now.


    Something sharp bites into my skin just under my chin and my eyes flash open. Fear prevalent on my face, I beg with tearful eyes for death to be quick when they lock onto the white mask directly in front of me. Blood has splattered across it, making him ten times more terrifying than he already was. His knife is holding my jaw steady, forcing me to look at him and I freeze. Afraid that any movement will pierce my throat and that will be the end. I¡¯ll be stuffed into a blue barrel next, like the stranger before me.


    He¡¯s kneeled down to my level. Calm as ever, as if this is something he¡¯s done all his life. Meanwhile I¡¯m about to crawl out of my skin just being in here. I shake uncontrollably, wondering what''s going on inside his head when he brings the knife down.


    ¡°You¡¯re even prettier when you¡¯re scared¡± He signs.


    My lip curls up in disgust. He¡¯s just doing this to frighten me, to get his rocks off! Anger washes over me, warming my body and bringing color back to my face. Against my better judgment, my hand strikes him across the face. The mask takes most of the blow, but it''s enough force to knock his head to the side.


    He turns back slowly, brow lowered and breathing uneven. Realizing how stupid that was, I scoot away from him not caring about the cleanliness of the floor. His hand wraps around my throat, catching me and crushing into me as my body is slammed against the cobblestone wall. The wind in my lungs exasperates from the force as he lifts me and holds me up by my neck, just enough for my toes to dangle and brush against the floor.


    I whimper, but don''t cry out. If he¡¯s anything like John he will enjoy my cries for help. I grit my teeth and look away from him, nails digging and pulling into the bloodied skin on his arm that holds me up. His head inches toward me, turning it into the nape of my neck and I force my face as far away as it will stretch.


    He inhales deep, slowly dropping me down to where my toes touch the ground. Eventually my feet flatten against the floor, but his face and hand never remove from my neck. His grip loosens but doesn''t completely release from my throat. Finally, I take in an adequate breath and my body relaxes some. The room is quiet except for the long breaths billowing from his nostrils. Trailing down my back and sending chills throughout my body.


    The scent of his skin mixed with metallic blood sends me into a frenzy. Will he kill me quickly, or make it slow and painful? The slap was well deserved, but I¡¯m not sure where the sudden bravery came from. I learned a long time ago not to fight back. It only makes matters worse. So why on earth would I think striking a man three times my size would be a good idea? Especially after watching him dismember a corpse. My gaze flickers over to the side of his head still buried into my shoulder. Breathing me in like some sort of animal. His brown waves tickle against my cheek with each panicked breath I release.


    What is he doing, why hasn''t he killed me?


    My eyes fall to the dismembered torso laying across the metal slab in a pool of blood and my stomach churns once again. He releases his grip and I fall to the floor limply. Stomach heaving as I direct myself into the corner with embarrassment. Finally, something comes up but it''s mostly stomach acid. It burns on the way up and more tears flood my eyes.


    He looms over me, quietly watching me get sick. Repeatedly heaving until the muscles in my stomach feel as if they¡¯re splitting open. The skin on my throat feels tacky and wet from the blood smeared across it and my body shivers.


    This room and the man trapped within it- it''s a nightmare.


    Elias yanks me up by my arm again and I limply rise to my feet. Disregarding his insistence on me looking at him, I continue to look the other way with a hateful glare and panicked tears caked to my cheeks. I hear the familiar sound of his knife going back into its sheath before spinning me around with both hands. He forces me to look at him, fingers clenched into my jaw so tight I feel like it may dislocate.


    My teeth click shut, eyes burning with fear and rage as the two emotions fight with one another. I can''t believe I thought this man would be the better option. What the hell was I thinking? John is ten times better in comparison, and that¡¯s saying a lot.


    His forehead presses against mine. The cool plastic melting against my damp skin. I shake him away but he locks my head in place. Forcing me to look at him. His body tenses, shoulders rising and falling slowly with each excited breath he takes in and out. My eyes wander over the mask, desperately trying to see behind it to get a better idea of who I¡¯m looking at. Only my imagination can come up with what he must look like. He¡¯s so close, all I would have to do is snatch it from his head to see.


    That would probably be the last living thing I did. He must wear the mask for a reason, and fear prevents me from removing it. His bloodied thumb trails over the flesh of my lip and my entire body tenses in disgust. My eyes lock into his, both of us staring with equal intensity at one another without making a sound until he pushes away from me.


    With my back pressed against the wall like a caged animal, I watch him cautiously. My arm wipes away the blood left on my lips and I spit the remainder into the floor. Not like the ground isn''t dirty enough already. What''s a little saliva added to the mix of fluids, right?


    ¡°Pay attention.¡±


    I scowl at him but don''t answer.


    ¡°You will be obedient.¡±


    I feel my eyes begging to roll but decide it''s not worth the punishment.


    ¡°Your place is here with us. No running off. No escape plans.¡±


    Great, so I¡¯ve traded one abusive, controlling asshole for another. Only this one seems to know how to make people disappear.


    ¡°And if I don¡¯t obey, I''ll end up here. Is that your point?¡± I ask, arms crossing over my chest defensively. I try to sound confident but my body betrays me, trembling uncontrollably.


    ¡°Worse.¡± He signs, a smile playing across his eyes. ¡°You will beg for death long before it graces you.¡±


    My stomach churns from nausea mixed with hunger. Audibly growling and I hunch over uncomfortably. I don''t need clarification on what he means. I¡¯ve seen - and heard- enough already.


    Still, How can I be hungry after all of this? I¡¯m aware that I¡¯ve missed several meals since arriving here but still? How can my body want nourishment after everything it''s just witnessed?


    He removes his tanktop swiftly, revealing the toned muscles underneath. There are a few tattoos scattered across his torso, most of them faded from sun exposure and possibly age? I¡¯ve never had a tattoo or known anyone that had them. My father was very against them. John never had any either, he said they were trashy. But I was always curious about them. Seeing them on other people has fascinated me. I guess I just don''t understand the desire to inflict pain on yourself like that.


    He wipes his hands and mask off with the shirt. Using it as a towel before tossing it into the barrel along with the dismembered body parts. I close my eyes in hopes that it will erase the memories from my brain. But it doesn''t.


    My eyes flutter back open and trail down to the V peaking above the top of his jeans and my cheeks heat. I¡¯ve never laid eyes on a man built like him and it''s painfully obvious to him. A chuckle whispers from behind his mask, the first sound I¡¯ve heard from him since meeting face to face. I hate the conflicting feelings of attraction and crippling fear swirling in my belly. As he passes by me, his arm brushes against mine and I suck in a sharp breath. Every glance and touch in my direction from him sends me spiraling. John never made me feel that way. Not before or after we married and I begin to wonder what¡¯s wrong with me.


    Speaking of¡­ Where is he?


    ¡°Elias?¡± I squeak. His name tastes like honey on my tongue.


    He stops dead in his tracks. If I didn''t know any better, I''d think I saw goosebumps prickle along his arms. His broad back faces me, but he doesn''t turn to look in my direction.


    ¡°Where is my husband?¡± I breathe, panic beginning to set in as the blue barrel looms behind me. Is he dismembered, stuffed inside one of those things ready to be dumped or dissolved? Or whatever happens once they leave here?


    The better question should be why I even care. Our last interaction is one i¡¯d rather not remember. He¡¯s not good to me or for me. The world would be better off without him, so why do I care?


    Elias turns to face me, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the room once again. His eyes look me up and down. Fingers rubbing against his thumb nervously as he thinks silently. Finally he signs the word ¡°Gone.¡± without giving me a chance to ask anymore questions.


    Gone.


    Just like that.


    I should be sad, but part of me feels admittedly relieved that there¡¯s one less man on the planet here to hurt me. Elias grabs me by the wrist, dragging me toward the dreaded stairs that lead us down here originally. We fly by the doors on both sides and my mind wonders what goes on in each one before being dragged to the surface.


    Hopefully I¡¯ll never find out.

 Chapter 8: The Hummingbird

    The walk back to the main level of the house is a blur. I can¡¯t seem to force the horrific sound of saw grinding through bone out of my head. It haunts me the entire way back into the kitchen where the same man from last night is now seated with the heavily tattooed one I¡¯d walked past before. Their eyes follow me as I walk in, but I don¡¯t dare make contact with either of them this time. They say nothing as I¡¯m ushered around the table and stopped in the middle of the kitchen.


    Elias opens the refrigerator to show me what food is available, closes it, then walks a few steps over to the cupboards. Basically giving me a silent tour of the kitchen. For three large men living here, there¡¯s hardly any food around. What is here is enough for maybe one or two people, which I find strange. As much as I¡¯d like to ask, I¡¯m still too shaken up to speak.


    My body vibrates with lingering adrenaline and my heart pounds rapidly in my chest. Should I cook for everyone, or only myself? I¡¯m so used to being the homemaker. What do they expect from me? Too afraid to ask or even move, I stand frozen in the middle of the kitchen. With the way the atmosphere feels in the room, I almost wonder if I¡¯m whats for dinner tonight. My skin prickles with another wave of fear and I squint my eyes shut, praying that when I open my eyes again this will all just be a dream. I should¡¯ve taken my chances back at home¡­


    A heavy hand rests on my shoulder, frightening me and I jump. Elias looks down at me through his mask, eyes unreadable. I so badly want to shimmy away from his touch, especially after catching a glimpse of the rust colored stains burned into his skin, but my feet remain cemented to the floor. Finally he signs, ¡°This room is all yours.¡±


    The other two men keep their eyes on me, never speaking or even offering to introduce themselves. I feel my presence here is unwanted and based off of the evil glare I¡¯m getting from the man I saw last night, I must stink or something. I shrink down, doing my best to ignore how uncomfortable I am but it''s impossible. A single tear spills over my cheek but I quickly wipe it before anyone can see.


    ¡°So we¡¯re all just going to ignore how fucked up this is?¡± The man from last night finally chimes, breaking the silence and making me feel worse somehow.


    ¡°Micah, please.¡± The tattooed man seated next to him shakes his head before resting it in his hands. He sounds irritated, like they¡¯ve already discussed this.


    ¡°It''s like tossing a newborn lamb into a pack of wolves!¡± Micah shouts, slamming his fists on the table and rattling the bowl of fake fruit positioned in the middle. I¡¯m unsure what he means by this but he couldn''t speak further from the truth- because that is exactly how I feel right now.


    ¡°Enough!¡± The man shouts over Micah. I jolt from the volume of his voice, never quite getting over my fear of yelling. Elias stands completely still, never moving from his close proximity to me like he¡¯s used to this type of behavior.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°The deed is done. You and your idiot brother decided to kidnap this girl and bring her home so now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions! She stays, and you two are in charge of her while I work with the club to cover up your damn mess!¡±


    Micah shoots a look at me that could cut like a knife and it knocks the wind from my lungs. Despite the aggression scrunching up his perfect face, there''s a softness in his eyes that I recognize from last night. ¡°Holy shit¡±- His words echo in my brain. It¡¯s one of the only memories I have left before falling unconscious. What did it mean, why did he say it, and why is he looking at me the same way now? If only a little more agitated.


    Elias pushes me around behind him as if to block me from Micah¡¯s wrath, making the situation worse somehow and setting off Micah even more. ¡°Don¡¯t act like I¡¯m the one that needs to be feared, little brother. You know good and damn well who the unstable one is here.¡± He hisses, jaw clenching as he rises to a stand.


    Elias remains still, blocking me from his brothers fury. I peer around Elias¡¯ giant frame and lock eyes with Micah immediately. He almost looks hurt by my fear, ¡°Don''t fucking look at me like that.¡± He snaps in my direction before finally exiting the kitchen. The house is silent except for his stomping feet up the stairs to the second floor before a door slams behind him.


    I glance over at the tattooed man still seated at the table. He pushes back his coffee-colored hair from his eyes and releases a stressed breath before leaning back in his chair. Who is this man to them- their father? He looks too young to have kids at Elias and Micah¡¯s age. Is he their brother as well? The family dynamic here is confusing, along with everything else. What¡¯s really stumping me is why Micah is so bothered by my presence when he helped bring me here?


    ¡°Get her fed and then get her out of here.¡± The man waves us both off before exiting the kitchen abruptly through the garage door entrance, acting as if he can¡¯t stand to be in the same room any longer. I glance up at Elias who¡¯s attention slowly turns down to me and my heart begins racing all over again. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s worse- being alone with him or in a room full of strange men that don¡¯t want me here.


    His eyes trail over my every feature for what seems like an eternity. The mask covers his expression but somehow I can still feel what he¡¯s feeling. Tense, conflicted, sad- maybe? When he reaches a hand out to touch my face I take a step away from him sheepishly, not comfortable being in the haze of his presence anymore. He seems hurt by this, if someone like him is even capable of such a thing, but doesn''t persist. Instead, he takes a seat at the table in front of us but never takes his eyes off of me.


    I calm my breathing, trying to relax enough to unglue my feet from the floor but the feeling of being hunted lingers in the air. Every step I take after the first feels followed by the emerald eyes from across the room. My hands shake with every movement between gathering the sandwich supplies to the creation of the meal, feeling like it''s going to be my last. As I put away the mayonnaise and mustard I feel the crushing weight of my reality finally set in.


    This is real, and there is no escaping it.