Chapter 1
He crashed against the crates in the alleyway, his heart pounding, blood rushing through his head to echo the beat of his heart. Blood dripped from a cut below his eye, his nose, and his lip. He could feel it seep through his hair as a nice bump formed where his head had just become acquainted with the unforgiving brick wall of an abandoned apartment complex outside the bar called The Devil's Playground. He had little desire to continue the fight and little desire to do anything less. Life had become little more than a cycle of picking fights and healing wounds sustained in those fights. It was a convenient way to take out the aggression that had built up in his system throughout the years, feeling like acid streaming through his veins. It was an unhealthy acquisition since he had become as he now was.
He shied away from those thoughts as he drew himself up, fed up with the nonsensical fight with the humans before him. They were drunk, and the five of them had thought they could take care of him as easily as they could swat a fly that had made a nuisance of itself. How foolish. He supposed it was unfair of him to start what he knew the poor fellows had no chance of finishing, but it did provide a much needed outlet. And a certain measure of amusement, of course.
He drew a deep breath, closing his eyes and raising his head toward the night sky, before letting out an unholy hiss as he snapped his black eyes back to the men who stood frozen in confusion. His fangs were bared, and his muscles were tense as he prepared to pounce. Grabbing the one closest to him, he slung him to the other end of the alley, watching the body crumple like a rag doll as it slammed into the bricks of an old warehouse and slid to the dirty concrete below, knocking over a few trash cans and scattering rats and insects in every direction. The man didn't move again.
As he turned back to look at the four remaining men, their faces had changed from victorious aggression to shock. Nonetheless, drunk as they were, two of the men charged at him again, spurred on by their alcohol induced bravado. He snarled angrily and grabbed one of them by the shoulders, lifting him straight off the ground and staring straight through to the depths of the man's mind. He could see the things the man had done in his past; he was no model citizen to be sure. None of the men present were. He had chosen to pick a fight with them for that very reason. Who would miss them? Each had a horrible past of assault, drugs, and, with this one in particular, rape and murder. He took no mercy as he subjected the man to mental torment, allowing him to feel the pain that this man's past victims had. The man screamed in agony, closing his eyes and clenching his fists as he thrashed about. He waited until the man ceased his movements before dropping him to the ground and turning to the other man, only to discover the man had stabbed him in the abdomen while he had been concentrating on his delinquent counterpart. This one had taken advantage of his distraction before backing away in horror as his cohort screamed and died.
He slowly stepped toward the three men, ignoring the shooting pains from his abdomen and leg, which he now felt must be badly broken. He paid no heed to either. His attackers turned to run, but he enjoyed a chase as well. Let them run. He smiled devilishly before running after them, his strength restored momentarily as the predator roared at the chance to hunt.
Jocelyn was waiting outside of the local all-night diner where she worked. Her friend Nora was supposed to pick her up, but obviously something had come up. She had tried to text her, but there was no response. With a sigh, Jo gave up and started walking toward her apartment. It was two in the morning, and though she had confidence in the self defense she knew, and it was only three blocks to her apartment, she also knew she had to pass by a bar with a bad reputation and a shady neighborhood in order to get home. Lovely. Had to love having dependable friends.
She wrapped her coat more closely around her as she walked, and ducked her head against the cold November breeze. She walked as quickly as possible as she neared The Devil's Playground. As she neared the open alleyway, the sound of scuffling and a groan drew her attention. She glanced up to find the unsurprising sight of a man sitting in the shadows of the alleyway, obviously drunk and on the verge of puking or passing out. Maybe both. As she was about to turn, the man looked up at her. Something in his eyes stopped her. There was such sadness. Such misery. And emptiness the likes of which she had never seen. But there was more: hatred, pain, betrayal, and pleading. Before she realized what she was doing she had turned to walk towards him.
"Keep walking, little innocent," the man said softly, pain evident in his voice.
Jo paused. As he turned his head away from her, she saw the blood that covered his face and clothes. She covered the distance between them in a couple steps and kneeled beside him cautiously. "You're hurt," she gasped.
"I am fine," he muttered.
"You obviously are not fine. Let me help."
"I do not need your help, nor anyone else's. Leave me be, little innocent."
"Please. I can help you. Can you walk?" She asked, ignoring his protests.
"Why do you insist upon helping a stranger in a dark alleyway? It cannot be a habit that is beneficial to your personal health," he muttered sarcastically. "I am more danger to you than you could possibly know."
"Perhaps. But I cannot leave you here. Call it stupidity if you wish." She reached for him again to help him stand. "Can you walk?" She asked again.
"Aye, I can walk," he relented.
"Good. Come, and I will help you," Jo said softly, helping him to his feet. He groaned, but stood with little effort from her. "My apartment is less than a block away."
"How convenient," he muttered.
"For you I suppose it is," Jo replied, keeping a steady hand along his back and one along his shoulder lest he fall as she led him to her apartment, wondering all the while what had possessed her to help this man and praying that he would not take advantage of the vulnerable position she was placing herself in for his benefit.
Jo unlocked the door to her one bedroom, loft apartment on the top floor of an old apartment building in downtown Chattanooga. It wasn't much, but it worked for a college student struggling to make ends meet. At least there was plenty of space, and no one was likely to break in with her on the twenty-second floor. Thank God for whoever invented elevators, though.
Jo led the injured man to her spacious bathroom, where he leaned against the door frame. She turned to look at him for the first time since she had seen his captivating eyes in the alley. He was gripping his side and held his weight off of one leg. He was covered in blood, his face bruised and bloodied, his side oozing blood as he breathed laboriously. Obviously he was hurt worse than she had imagined. How had he walked?
"Oh my," she breathed. "You need to go to the emergency room. Now."
She tried to ease past him to grab her cell phone to call an ambulance.
"No," he said succinctly, grabbing her arm as she passed.
"But you're injured badly. You've lost so much blood. And--"
"No. I can't."
Something in his eyes convinced her that it was wiser not to ask questions.
"But you could die--"
"Please," he whispered, allowing her to see a bit of the sincere pleading that she had glimpsed in the alley.
"Lie down," Jo conceded, helping him to the floor as she laid out a couple towels. She pressed another one where he was holding his hand. He hissed slightly as he shied away from the pressure before covering the towel with his hand, holding it to the wound, attempting to stifle the bleeding.
He grimaced but tried not to let it show how much pain he was in. He lay back on the towels, praying for the death he knew wouldn't come. "Do you make a habit of helping strange men?" he joked.
"Very funny," she replied. "What's your name?"
He watched her bustle about the room, taking out thread, a needle, towels, first aid antiseptic, gauze, tape, and other items he couldn't make out. She was certainly well prepared. She filled the tub with warm water and soaked a few wash cloths before glancing up in anticipation of his reply.
"Carson."
"Is that a first or last name?"
"It's the only name I'm known by anymore," he answered softly.
Jo came to his side, laying all of her supplies there beside him before returning to the sink to wash her hands and arms to the elbow. Carson was amazed at how efficiently she was handling the situation. She was calm and organized, going about her business without getting overly flustered or erratic.
"And what name are you known by, little innocent?" Carson asked as she pulled gloves on from a box on the counter, snapping them on easily.
"Jocelyn, or Jo," she replied absently, kneeling beside him. "Do you have any idea what kind of injuries we're dealing with?"
"It's mainly minor ones that will heal on their own. I have a nice little gash in my side. Seems like a clean cut, with no major organs hit. And I'm fairly certain my left leg, just above the ankle, is broken cleanly as best as I can tell." Carson took stock of his injuries as he did on many a night. It was nothing new for him.
"Oh my. Okay, I'm going to have to cut your jeans and your shirt off first of all."
Jo picked up the scissors from her impromptu supply area and placed them at the hem of his black t-shirt and began cutting straight up the center. As she neared where Carson now held the towel to his left side, she moved the towel under the shirt before continuing to cut until the shirt could be peeled from his torso. Reaching to the bathtub, Jo pulled one of the wash cloths from the water. She pulled it over to where Carson lay, dripping water on the tile floor, and pulled the towel from the wound. She squeezed the water out of the washcloth close to his skin to allow it to cleanse some of the blood away from the open wound. Carson's stomach muscles tightened as the warm water washed the open gash in his side clean. The water turned pink and soaked into the towels beneath him. She continued to dip the cloth in water and rinse him until she could clearly see the wound. Carson knew it would already be beginning to clot as the sun drew closer to the horizon, but Jo silently marveled at how little wound was now bleeding compared to before. He watched Jo pick up a foaming antiseptic, not bothering to tell her that it was completely unnecessary. She carefully sprayed some of it in the wound, allowing it to soak in as she doused the needle with antiseptic as well. She then threaded the needle and looked to Carson with a grimace.
"I don't have anything to numb you with."
"Neither did the guy who stabbed me," Carson replied sarcastically. "It's okay, I've had worse," he added to reassure her.
She seemed nervous but determined to help him. She took a deep breath before pulling the edges of the wound together with her fingers. She steadily pushed the needle through both sides of the wound, threading it across to hold the sides together to heal. She did this silently and quickly in the hope that she could spare Carson some measure of pain. Jo knew her stitching was far less than professional, but hopefully it would be adequate enough to induce healing.
Carson looked away and focused on her beautiful eyes as she concentrated on repairing the effects of his reckless stupidity. Her eyes were green, a stunning shade to rival a vibrant emerald, framed by dark, curling lashes and delicate eyebrows. Her hair was dark mahogany and fell down her back in loose curls from where she restrained it at her nape with a hair band. Her entire face was delicate in structure, entirely feminine, as was her frame. She was petite to be sure, but there was strength in her eyes, and she exuded wisdom beyond her years. Her lips were full, rosy against her ivory complexion. She was beautiful. Young. Innocent. Compassionate.
Jo looked up as she finished her inexperienced stitching to find Carson gazing at her. She blushed and looked to her side to find an antibiotic cream and non-sticking gauze. She coated the stitches in the cream before laying gauze over them and taping it securely to his skin. She then moved to cut his jeans free of his left leg. The scissors argued a bit, but she managed to gain access to his left leg. She gasped as she looked at how his ankle sat at a very uncomfortable and unnatural angle to his calf. Carson sat up slowly, ignoring her protests as she urged him to lie down.
"Do you have anything to use as splints?" he asked calmly.
Jo shook her head no. He took a deep breath and reached for his ankle, quickly setting it back to its natural position with a horrid crack and a pain-filled yell. Jo screamed in shock.
"Oh! What...what did you just do?" she cried, not sure how to react.
"Calm down. I just set the bone. Now, can you help me wrap it with gauze and tape it?"
Jo set her shock aside and reached for the gauze, quickly wrapping his foot, ankle, and lower leg in gauze before securing it in tape and checking to make sure Carson's circulation wasn't being cut off by the unforgiving first aid tape. Afterwards, Jo removed the bloodied towels from the floor and placed them in the trash. She removed her tainted gloves before putting fresh ones on to finish cleaning up the mess.
"I don't have any diseases that you could possibly contract, so relax," Carson remarked, watching her carefully clean the blood from the floor before turning to him.
"And I'm supposed to believe that?" she replied absently, find a clean damp cloth before kneeling beside him again. "I'm taking enough risks with you as it is, thank you."
She gently cleaned the blood from his face and applied antibiotic cream to the cuts she found there.
"Trust me. I'm disease free," Carson said anyway.
"I need to get the blood washed out of your hair," Jocelyn said as she noticed the amount of blood matting in his hair. "I'm sure there is probably a pretty good bump back here with that amount of blood. Maybe if we let you lean back into the sink I could rinse your hair out."
"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine when the sun rises. But I need to leave before then," Carson said, watching her remove her gloves and replace the items she had used in their proper place.
"What do you mean?" she returned without thought.
Carson thought a moment before replying. Knowing he would never see the beautiful, innocent girl again, he softly whispered, "I am not human, Jocelyn."
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