The Boy Next Door-
Dedicated to @Thursday_ for the lovely banner to the side.
So, obviously I didn't post when I originally planned on posting, for that I apologize. But my internet sucks rotten donkey balls and it's not been cooperating this week. When it has been on it's only on for a couple of minutes, so yeah, sorry.
Also, I did end up cutting this chapter in half because it's taking me so long to get the rest of it typed-that should be posted the beginning of next week sometime if everything goes the way it supposed to.
Happy belated birthday, Britz443!
Chapter Sixteen:
It lurked in the dark recesses of the male’s mind, weakened from generation after generation of mixing breeding and plain old ignorance on the part of the bodies blessed with such an incredible gift. Too weak, it had seemed, to slip the bonds restraining it, forcing it into a hibernation it had long since given up hope of awakening from.
At least, it had until the male had stumbled across the sweetest peaches and cream scent and followed it to where it was strongest: the oldest apartment building in the county. It hadn’t taken long for the male to figure out the owner of that addiction inducing scent lived in said building, nor had it taken him long to move into the empty apartment next to hers. But, of course, he had stubbornly chosen to believe it was simply the wolf in him that’d had him moving from a perfectly good cabin in the middle of Pack territory to a tiny apartment in the neutral zone between Pack and Pride territories.
Because, really, what else could it have possibly been, if not the wolf in him? The male had so stupidly believed the recessed genetics he and his brothers had unwittingly inherited from their mother were nothing more than a boost to the wolf that had overruled the watered-down genetics their mostly human mother hadn’t known existed within herself and had then passed down to the many children she had bore.
It wasn’t as though many shifters new the truth of what happened the species were mixed. The closed minded old fools, otherwise known as the Elders, had spent so much time in the past attempting to eradicate the offspring of such a pairing that none had bothered to take the time to study, to learn just how different the… abominations, as they were so eloquently called, were.
But finally, the animal stretched its lean form, comfortable within the reddened haze fogging the male’s mind, a savage sense of satisfaction filling it at the rumbling roars of pain being forced from the body beneath him as the fists of the male-who had all but forgotten the animal’s existence within his own psyche-pummeled the male threatening to take away the one thing that had finally awoken the beast: it’s mate.
Oh, it had been weak at first. So weak, in fact, that it had taken nearly all its energy to keep the male from noticing its presence during those first precious weeks. But after the male had finally met the woman that delicious smell belonged to… Well, he had been far too distracted with actually gaining the woman’s attention to notice the animal’s presence within his mind.
But it was there, lurking unbidden in the darkness, and now that the animal had it’s freedom to roam, to influence the male the way the wolf in him so often did, it had no intention of giving that freedom-or the woman responsible for its awakening-up without a fight.
****
“You know, Colton’s really a nice guy.” At Cullen’s voice, her pacing stopped and the anxiety burning up her esophagus was momentarily replaced by a bemusement that simply felt strange given the current situation-and the fact that the triplets wouldn’t let her out of her own apartment.
Of course, they’d already explained that it was for her own safety-as well as theirs, since they seemed convinced Colton would have their asses if she managed to end up hurt-but that didn’t mean she enjoyed being held hostage in her own home. Nor did she enjoy the constant bombardment of thoughts centering around the unconscious male in the hallway and what he just might do when he finally woke.
When she failed to respond to Cullen’s obvious attempt at distraction, he tried again. “You know, when I was little I broke my arm and Colton… he was the only one who didn’t laugh when I passed out… after I woke up of course.”
“He didn’t laugh at you when you broke your arm and you think that makes him a nice guy?” Was this how normal sibling relationships worked? If so, then she was suddenly glad her parents hadn’t had anymore children.
Cullen, of course, didn’t seem to see the problem. “Well, yeah. I mean, even Dad laughed at me. ‘Course,” he scratched his head. “That may have had more to do with what I was wearing than anything else, but-”
Part of her wanted to protest that his father shouldn’t have been laughing no matter what Cullen had been wearing at the time, but she simply had to know! “What were you wearing?” Curiosity had her sitting on the arm of the couch beside him when his cheeks flushed bright red as he ducked his head.
“That-” Cullen cleared his throat, reaching over to smack Luca in the back of the head when he snickered. “That really isn’t the point of this conversation, so I don’t really think I-”
“He was wearing a hot pink, leopard print thong.” Ian, who hadn’t said more than ten words since he’d been forced to remain where he so clearly did not want to be, smirked at his brother’s embarrassment, laughter lightening the deadened dullness that had seemed to completely take over his incredible blue eyes. Alas, as quickly as that laughter had appeared it vanished, making her wonder if it had ever really been there in the first place.
But it was what he had said that really caught her attention… Well, that and the pillow Cullen launched at Ian’s head. Given that he had to throw it over her head in order to reach his brother, it was just a bit difficult to miss.
“Wait, I’m sorry, you were wearing a-a pink…” Laughter snuck up on her so quickly she couldn’t stop it and before she knew it she was choking on the multitude of questions she wanted answers to. Like why, or how he’d even gotten his hands on a… a hot pink leopard print thong. Samara dissolved into laughter all over again at the thought.
“That’s not even the best part,” Luca cracked a grin, jumping from the couch when Cullen lunged for him, ignoring his threats of bodily harm as he moved so that the coffee table stood between them. “Do you want to know why he was wearing the thong?” He waited until she nodded before he continued. “He thought-”
“Luca, I swear to God, I’ll-”
“-it would make him fly when he jumped off the roof.” Roof came out on a higher pitch than she would have thought him capable of thanks to the impact of Cullen’s body colliding with Luca mid-air, sending them both sprawling onto the floor.
The brothers rolled, growling, fists flying, on the sparse expanse of floor between the coffee table and tv until Luca straddled Cullen’s chest, lifting his fists into the air with a triumphant “Ha, ha!”, followed by a squawked, “Ack! Not the face! Not the face!” when Cullen took the opportunity to swing what looked like claw-tipped fingers at Luca’s eyes.
And while her conscience swore amusement was the last thing she should be feeling given that she still had no inkling where Colton had been taken or why, she couldn’t control the laughter Cullen and Luca’s fight inspired.
At least, she couldn’t until Ian bolted upright from where he’d slouched in front of her door in an attempt to keep her from leaving. The expression on his face when he stood, pressing his nose to her door, had all of that ill timed amusement dying a short, fiery death, and that knot of panicked terror that had unraveled amid her distraction rebuilt itself in her throat, choking off her laughter with a strangled gurgle.
“Cullen,” After a quick glance through the peephole in the door, Ian jerked away as if he’d been burned, backing farther into her apartment that he had willingly moved since he’d locked the door after Griffin and the others had stalked out. “Cul-”
“Yeah, I smell ‘em.” Cullen stood, shaking out his fist as he stalked to the door for his own peek out whomever or whatever it was that they could… smell. “Fuck.”
“What smell? What can you smell?” When the Cullen and Ian ignored her she turned to Luca who flushed bright red, clearing his throat awkwardly when she caught him staring in the direction of her ass. Deciding she could be indignant later, Samara snapped, “What do they smell?”
“Pu-er,” he slanted a glance from her to his brothers and back again. “Feline.”
Feline? They smelled a cat?
“Mrs. Drescott down the hall has a calico.” She offered hopefully, but the identical looks she received in response had her cringing.
“That’s…” Cullen seemed to be searching for the right word. “Great. But that’s not what kind of feline we’re talking about her, Sweets.”
“Then what kind of feline are you talking about?” To say she was confused was an understatement, but she was tired of simply stumbling blindly through whatever it was she’d inadvertently put herself right in the middle of by being involved with Colton. If he expected her to be on board with the budding relationship between them, then she simply refused to keep second guessing whether or not he’d told her the truth or if he’d kept things from her in an attempt to keep her from freaking out on him.
“Lions-four of them, if I’m hearing right.” Cullen tossed the comment so casually over his shoulder that it took a moment for her to actually wrap her brain around what he’d said.
“Lions,” Samara whispered, unable to keep the quiver of shock from her voice when she asked, “You mean like the Lion King Lions?”
“Right. Only not like Simba and Mufasa… more like Scar-” he scratched the back of his head in thought, “-yeah. They’re like as ugly outside as Scar was inside...and outside-Ow! What was that for?” Cullen turned on Ian, who’d slapped him in the back of the head, effectively forcing his forehead into the door before him. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Cullen cursed when he saw the paleness of her face. “He never told you about the Lions, did he?” When she shook her head, nausea keeping her silent, he groaned, “Why?”
“You know why,” Ian sighed.
“But, she’s nothing like Kara!” Cullen burst out, instantly halting whatever Luca had been about to add.
“I-” Samara frowned. Why would Colton think she was anything like Kara? God, did she reminded him of the other woman? She did, didn’t she. That’s why he-no, now was not the time to wonder just how much she reminded Colton of his ex. Just the thought gave her hives, so she steered the conversation back to the subject at hand. Sort of. “How many kinds of-of… shifters are there?”
“Well, there’s wolves, as you know.” Cullen dug his cell phone from his pocket, peeking once more out the peephole. “And there’s Lions.”
“Tigers,” Ian shot her a tense smile.
“And bears,” Luca happily added, either completely oblivious to the tension in the air or ignoring it entirely.
"Oh my," she breathed.
A loud, booming knock, sounding like someone was simply kicking her door with their big booted foot, cut abruptly through the silence that had fallen. Cullen and Ian jumped away from the door in shock.
“Who is it?” Luca sang in a high pitched, grandmotherly voice.
“Open the door, boys.” That voice. The voice of the man who’d tauntingly told Colton he could put her mouth to good use, the man Samara had felt certain Colton had given some kind of brain damage from the amount of blood on the hall wall and the sickening crack of his skull meeting it, floated through the door, sending a shudder of revulsion racing down her spine.
“Not by the hair on your chinny, chin, chin.”
Ian, who had grabbed her hand and proceeded to pull her down the hall toward her bedroom, stalled so suddenly she walked into his back at Luca’s answer to the male’s demand. “My chin,” he snapped.
“Huh?” Luca blinked.
“The saying is, not by the hair on my chinny, chin chin. My, not your.” The silent duh hung in the air between the brothers.
“But,” Luca frowned in confusion, carefully eyeing Ian’s chin through narrowed eyes. “You don’t have any hair on your chin.”
Disbelief had Samara leaning over Ian’s shoulder to peek at his chin to see if it was, indeed, hairless, but a knock sounded on the door again, this time followed by a snarled, “Give us the girl and we’ll leave you alone. No one else needs to get hurt.”, scaring her witless and she stumbled. Cursing, Ian snatched up her hand again, dragging her down the hall and slamming her bedroom door behind them once he’d pulled her inside.
“Stay in here,” Ian stopped her before should even process the fact that she had in fact been about to march right back out into her living room. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the place will smell enough like you to distract them until Noah and Colton get their asses up here.”
“But… why are they even here in the first place? Colton was with me when your-your girlfriend was killed.”
Samara had figured that much out from the little bits she’d heard being discussed around her. How anyone could think Colton could murder anyone, let alone his brother’s pregnant girlfriend, however, she couldn’t understand. But when you add in the fact that Pearce had pretty much accused Colton of killing Kara as well and part of her-a teeny, tiny part-was beginning to think she never should have involved herself with Colton and the insanity that apparently came with him.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Cherise.” Ian fixed with a pain filled glare, eyeing her miniscule closet like he was seriously considering shoving her inside it.
At the moment, though, she had other worries.
“But he said-”
“Pearce will say-or do-whatever he has to in order to get what he wants and cover his own ass in the process.” Agitation had him pacing closer to her bedroom door, head cocked to listen to something only he could hear. “He couldn’t have cared less about Cherise. He’s just using her death as an excuse to punish Colt.” Sardonic laughter filled the room. “Ten years and he’s still determined to make his life hell-you wouldn’t happen to have a gun or a taser, or something, would you?”
The speed with which he changed topics left her momentarily dumbfounded as she tried to process all that he’d let slip. And it was obvious, from the expression on his face as he waited for her to supply him with an answer, he’d never meant to say what he had.
“I-no, I don’t have-” Samara shook her head, gestured to her closet. “I have a baseball bat.”
Since her father’s death weapons, of any kind, had not been something she could stomach be around. But the aluminum bat had been a gift from her father on her 9th birthday, back when her father had been trying to get her interested in the sport and, even when she’d finally been forced to admit baseball was simply not her sport, she hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it. So, it had taken up residence in her closet since she was 11 years old.
“A baseball bat,” Ian snorted in derision even as his pacing stopped and, after a few silent moments, nodded. “That just might work. Get it.”
“Here,” Once she had dug the bat out of her closet, Ian grabbed her shoulders, gently maneuvering her into the corner beside her dresser that would be hidden once the bedroom door opened. Obviously, he didn’t expect his brothers to simply be able to talk those men into leaving.
Panic had her shoving the bat at him, but Ian merely gave it back to her, wrapping both of her hands around the rubber covered handle until she clutched it tightly in her fists. She really didn’t like where this was going.
Hands gripping her trembling shoulders tightly, he leaned closer until they were nearly nose to nose and whispered, for only her to hear, “When they come in-” Samara felt the blood leaching from her face and Ian hurried to correct himself. “If. If they come in-not when… if-I want you to stay hidden until I get them far enough into the room, okay? When I do, I want you to, as quietly as you can, shut the door and… Well,” he glanced at the bat between them with a wry smile. “I want you to play Tee-Ball with their heads.”
Tee-Ball? He wanted her to-No, she really didn’t like this at all.
“I-” She was shaking her head, the denial on the tip of her tongue when Colton’s face and the expression on it when he’d been wrestled to the floor, appeared in her mind, stalling whatever she’d been about to say. The relief she’d seen on his face before Griffin had shut and locked the door on him had tears pulsing behind her eyeballs.
He’d done it for her, she knew. Colton had allowed himself to be taken-she refused to believe he had actually been overpowered-to keep her from harm’s way. Pearce had had every intention of using her against Colton and, it seemed, he still did.
She wasn’t stupid, Samara knew Colton’s father and brother would do all they could to make sure Colton wasn’t taken-essentially kidnapped, really. But what could they do if he willingly went with the male convinced he was a murderer? If he left of his own volition, and she had no doubt he would if it would keep those he cared about safe, then she didn’t imagine there would be much they could do.
He’d already proven he would do whatever necessary to keep her safe… Didn’t she owe it to him to make sure that protectiveness couldn’t be used against him? To make sure she couldn’t be used against him.
Ian seemed to take her silence as a denial. “Think about it this way; if they take you-and, make no mistake, they will-you won’t get the chance to chew Colt out for not telling you everything, will you?”
The crash of her front door being kicked in reverberated around her cranium like a rubber bouncy ball. She flexed her fingers around the bat, hoping Ian was right and the apartment smelled enough like her to buy her the few precious seconds it would take to actually work up her nerve… Because, that’s not strange.
“Okay.”
Grunts and snarls, curses and crashes filled the silent air of her bedroom and Samara cringed the subtle crack of flesh meeting flesh coming from the other room. She could only imagine the beating taking place in her poor living room and the thought had her close to hyperventilating, her hands trembling around the bat she held clutched to her chest.
“Samara,” Ian watched her carefully, sympathy darkening his eyes. “Alright?”
“Mmhmm,” she nodded, though she doubted he bought into the quivering smile on her lips. “I’m fine.” At least, she would be once this nightmare was over and done with.
Another crash had her jumping, clamping her lips together to hold back the whimpers building in her throat… but it was the silence that followed that final crash that really had her on edge.
“Ian?” she breathed his name on a whisper.
He put a finger to his lips in response, inching closer to the door until his ear rested against it. Anger furrowed his brow, tensing his entire body, at the stilted silence that greeted them, but Samara caught the prayer on his lips. Please, God, please…
“Ian!” Luca’s desperate, muffled shout followed by the curse of the ones attempting to keep him silent was all the warning they had before footsteps thundered down the hall, pausing outside her bedroom door only when an unbidden whimper slipped past her lips.
A low, exasperated sigh slithered across her nerve endings. “I know she’s in there, Ian. I can smell her.”
Oh, God. Bile rose in her throat.
Ian shot her a concerned glance and she clapped a hand over her mouth, biting her lip when he barely escaped being hit in the face with the door when it was suddenly shoved open, jumping in the corner he had urged her into as it bounced off the corner of the dresser.
A male, undoubtedly a shifter, strolled arrogantly-and she knew without seeing his face it simply had to be arrogance that had him so casually walking into her bedroom-through the doorway of the one room she had allowed herself to think she would ever truly be safe in.
Her bedroom was, and always had been, her sanctuary and this man walked right into it like her was meant to be there, as though he, as well as those with him had every right to be tearing away at the cocoon of safety she had turned her tiny apartment into. Like they thought she would simply, without so much as a thought of fighting back, allow herself to be taken when she knew what that would mean.
Did she really seem that pathetic? That… helpless?
Just because she didn’t fully understand why they were willingly going through so much trouble just to get Colton to wherever it was they wanted to take him didn’t mean she would allow herself to be used against him… like she had been used against her father.
She couldn’t-wouldn’t-allow her terror at facing a male so like the ones who had so irrevocably changed the way she lived her life that night to leave her frozen, standing idly by as someone else’s life went to shit around her. She had been used once… she wouldn’t willingly allow it to happen again.
“How’s the head, Mal?” She didn’t need to see his face to recognize Ian’s sneer for what it was, but curiosity demanded she peer around the safety of her bedroom door anyway until she could see that twisted glower on his boyish features for herself.
“Don’t you worry yourself about my head, boy. I’m sure that pretty little pet of your brother’s will have me forgetting all about it.” Malachi, if she remembered correctly, replied smoothly, tilting his head to the side in such a haughty way she clenched her teeth on the sudden, blinding urge to bash his brains in.
Where the bloodthirsty need came from, she had no inkling, nor did she care. These men had invaded her home, had tarnished the fragile sense of security she’d spent so long attempting to find. She would not feel guilty for wanting so badly to beat them until they realized their mistake in thinking she would just sit back and allow their intrusion into her or Colton’s lives.
“You’re delusional if you think I’ll let you anywhere near her.” Ian’s voice dipped low into a vicious growl that she never would have expected him to be capable of making. He’d been so quiet, so withdrawn, she’d completely forgotten he was a shifter. As unbelievable as it seemed, he was most likely as dangerous as Colton.
But Malachi ignored him like he hadn’t even spoken.
“Where’s the girl, Ian?” The voice was low and gruff, impatient, instantly conjuring an image of a bear being rudely awakened from its winter hibernation. “I know she’s here; there’s nowhere she could have gone. Make it easier on everyone involved. No one else has to get hurt-you give us the girl and we’ll be gone.” The male followed Ian’s cautious backward steps, stalking far enough into the room that Samara felt confident she could sneak from behind the door before the male even realized she was there. I hope.
“I won’t let you hurt her.” Ian, in fact, looked as though he were seconds from lunging for Malachi’s jugular.
“Oh? You going to protect her like you should have protected Cherise?” Malachi took another step forward when Ian stumbled over his own feet at the taunt and Samara eased, silently, out from behind the door.
“I couldn’t-” Ian shook his head, raw pain fueling his denials. “There wasn’t anything I could have done for Cherise. I didn’t know… I didn’t-I didn’t… know.”
Malachi strolled closer, forcing Ian back against the side of her bed. “You saw her Ian. You’re the one who found her. You saw the terror on her face, in her eyes. Do you really think she-”
Samara, unwilling to allow him to keep taunting Ian with the death of the woman he loved, with both hands on the bat the way her father had once taught her, swung with every ounce of anger and fear infused strength she had, not allowing herself to dwell on the sickening, stomach churning crack that skittered down her spine when the bat made contact with the back of his head.
She expected the rush of guilt, of adrenaline sending her blood surging through her veins with enough power to have a roar echoing in her ears, much louder than she remembered possible. She expected the nausea that rose in her esophagus and the trembling that overtook her limbs when his body toppled to the floor.
The last thing she ever expected was, upon impact, for the gun she hadn’t realized the male held clutched in his hand to go off as the finger he had on the trigger clenched reflexively.
Almost in slow motion, Samara watched in dawning horror as Ian staggered, shock rippling across his features before he, too, fell in a crumpled heap to her bedroom floor.
“Ian?” The bat fell soundlessly to the floor as she dropped her knees beside his prone form and, quaking from head to toe as the roaring in her ears seemed to get louder and louder, checked for his pulse. There was no blood that she could see but, when he’d been shot in the chest and had fallen chest first to the carpeted floor, did that really mean anything? She didn’t know and she really didn’t think she wanted to know.
Please, don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead. Please, don’t be-oh, God! He’s dead!
Frantic when she felt no pulse beating at his neck or wrist, Samara grabbed his arm, struggling to roll his body over when a low moan from behind her had her screeching in shock. Blindly, she grabbed for the bat, clutched it tightly in her hands and swung without looking behind her until another crack echoed through the still room.
She turned when Malachi’s torso dropped to the floor again, fully prepared to beat him once more if he so much as twitched when the sunlight sneaking through the curtains glinted off of metal at his side. The gun.
Samara scrambled over his unconscious body, gagging at the sight of blood on his temple, what seemed like a slight dent in his forehead, and grabbed the gun, prying off his stiffened hand, before rushing back to Ian’s side.
His nose was smashed into the carpet so she turned his head, brushing wayward curls from his forehead as her fingers again strayed to his neck in search of a pulse. He couldn’t be dead, he just... couldn’t!
“Ian,” She nudged his cheek with the tip of her finger. “Ian, come on. Please, you can’t be dead. You-you… you’re not allowed to be dead, dammit!” Frustration and guilt had her slapping his side once, twice, and then again when she received no reaction... and still the roaring in her ears became louder.
Desperately, she shook her head, shoved one last time at his inanimate body and watched as, with a groan-Could dead men groan?-he rolled onto his back, giving Samara her first glance of the strange looking dart lodged where she had been certain a bullet wound would have been. So he wasn’t dead? She stared blankly from the dart to the gun, pieces of the twisted puzzle slowly clicking into place.
“A tranquilizer gun,” A disbelieving laugh built in her chest and she shook her head, pausing only when a crash from the living room shook the floor beneath her.. Lips curling back from her teeth in a snarl, some inner voice viciously demanded action.
Samara embraced that violent part of her she hadn’t known existed before she had been forced to interact with Colton and the insane members of his family. Without pausing to give herself time to reconsider her actions, she lifted the gun, ignoring the memories that rose to the forefront of her mind that the action triggered. Checking once more to make sure Ian was still breathing before she inched toward her bedroom door, the gun held tightly to her chest.
The roaring in her ears, she now realized, had stopped but her heart still raced, pounding against her ribcage in a staccato rhythm that had her wondering how it didn’t just beat right out of her chest.
Of course, it was right as she allowed herself to relax, thinking that perhaps there hadn’t been as many men in the hall as Ian had thought, when her bedroom door flew open and a shaggy, blonde headed form burst into the room.
Samara shrieked, her first thought to protect herself as well as the still unconscious Ian, and pulled the trigger on the gun, barely registering the fact that the roaring-although it didn’t seem like it was in her head this time-had started once again and was louder than before when she realized what she had done.
“Oh, God.”
Disbelief and anger filled his eyes right as her name was bellowed on a half roar/half howl, and Colton filled the doorway behind the body swaying as the tranquilizer entered his bloodstream.
“Sheshotme.” Mac stumbled forward and back, his words slurring together and he toppled, falling into a heap on top of Malachi’s prone form.
God, she’d royally fucked this one up, hadn’t she.
Let me know what you guys think!