Mine, Bitten

Chapter Thirteen

Lily

            She could hear the horrific cries, the incredibly uncanny screams coming from the throats of men. They were steadfast, just like the darkness that crept along the edges, smoothing over the grass, encasing the forest in sheer velvety blackness.

            Fear prickled uneasily down her spine, forcing her to her knees. She felt them coming, felt it in the tingle that trembled through her body.

            Lilith!

            The darkness spat an ominous trim frame and in one hand, bared a syringe. She moved to get to her feet.

            Lily...

            The voice that followed was so unlike the booming baritone of the man barreling toward her. It coaxed and gentled, but when she turned, the vision before her, forced a scream from her throat.

            A man, yet not a man, more a beast, with eyes trimmed in red and a mouth that bared a full set of glistening white fangs, extended an arm toward her.

            She peered at the man who held the syringe, moving toward her, yet somehow, time kept him at bay. She knew him, a part of her wanted to go to him and she would have, but it was the beast that rushed at her and swept her fleetingly into its arms, sinking its fangs deep into her throat.

Lily

            Lily woke to her own curdling scream and clamped tightly on the rising rush of panic that erupted.

            She pressed her body firm against the headboard and did a quick once-over of her apartment, listening, her ears straining; sounds of the night permeating through her feeble apartment walls.

            It had been a week since she returned from Romania; one long spineless week. Every night, a repeat of syringes and fangs, and always ending in her death.

            Fear curled itself around her spine and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake it.

            Jackson and Ruby had called countless times, filling her answering machine to the brim, but she hadn't returned their calls. She had no logical explanation for them. What could she possibly say that wouldn't make her sound cynically insane? She awoke in her hotel room with one badass headache and sore arm, dressed from head to toe in mud-caked clothes with no recollection of how she got there and oh by the way, my father drugged me?

            She hadn't felt anything, just a numbing sensation as she moved about the room, collecting and gathering her things. It wasn't until she entered the hall that she felt a sudden panic, an immediate urge to get the hell out of dodge.

            Every imaginable emotion had passed through her body, emotions, such as abandonment and betrayal, even irrationally insane repeatedly traveled her thoughts.

            She hadn't cried until she was safely within her apartment, far from analytical stares. She had cried until her eyes were swollen and aching.

            She felt strangely numb on the inside, her mind in disbelief as to what truly had occurred. She could still vaguely see him. It just wasn't possible; she tried telling herself continuously, eyes that burned precariously red and razor-tipped fangs were only something forged of Bram Stoker.