Demons
Gun shots reverberated in my ears as I startled awake from the same horrific dream I’d been playing on repeat. I looked around, and at first, I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t in my bedroom. Where were my posters? My Christmas lights? My Chinese lantern? It took a moment to remember what had happened, where I was.
The motel.
I looked over my shoulder, finding Blaine still lying beside me. A low groan emanated from the bottom of his throat, but he didn’t open his eyes. His body twitched for a moment, and I noticed his breathing quickened. Another groan followed, and he suddenly jerked. It had been powerful enough that it should have woken him up, but he only murmured something I couldn’t quite understand.
“Blaine?” I whispered.
Nothing. He was out cold.
But then he made a strange choking sound, as if gasping for air.
“Blaine!” I shook him, hoping to rouse him awake when my breath suddenly caught as well.
***
The motel room vanished as darkness overtook my vision. It took a moment, but warm glowing lights eventually came into view. The shadows peeled away as muffled music filled the air.
“What’d you say?” a gleeful voice yowled behind me.
I whirled around, suddenly finding myself standing in the middle of a crowd. Everyone’s breath vaporized as they jumped about, rubbing their arms and hands furiously through chattering teeth as they all laughed and talked over the booming bass of the song.
A short sandy blonde haired boy stood staring at me expectantly. Something about him looked familiar, but I couldn’t place his face.
“What?” The voice behind me caught me off guard. It was rich and lilted with a distinctive silvery quality.
Blaine?
I looked over my shoulder, and sure enough, there he stood.
“I said I’m gonna grab a beer. You want one?” the boy reiterated.
Blaine shook his head. “I’m good, man. Thanks.”
What the hell? Where were we?
Blaine shoved his hands into the lined pockets of his jacket, shivering as another guttural wind coursed through the nightly air. I had to do a double take. Holy hell! I realized the real question was When were we? Blaine’s hair…it was black, and it was also shorter than I’d ever seen it. A lot shorter. And his clothes… Since his reveal on the night of my Great Rite, Blaine looked like he’d been raiding Colin Farrell’s wardrobe. Dark, rugged, and casual. But this? With a tailored peacoat, matching slacks, and Armani dress shoes, he looked every bit worthy of his old nickname “Gatsby.”
“Blaine?” I bellowed at him, but he simply turned and headed over to a rickety set of wooden stairs. “Blaine? Blaine!”
I raced after him down to a path overlooking a reservoir where smoke stacks and numerous industrial buildings rested on the other side. None of this looked familiar, until a flash of light caught my eye. In the distance, I could faintly see what I realized was a lighthouse. Harper’s Cove. We were in Mystic Harbor!
“Blaine!” I caught up to him, snatching his arm to turn him around. Only…my hand slid right through his bicep.
What the hell?
I reached out, trying to grab his shoulder. And yet again, my hand fell right through him.
Was I a…ghost?
Had I died?!
Blaine plucked his familiar Kevlar encased phone out of his pocket as it vibrated. I tried catching a glimpse of the text message that came up on the screen, but he put the cell away just as quickly.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“Hey, sexy!” laughed a drunken girl to him from up above on the raised dock. “You gonna dance with me, or what?”
He attempted a polite smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Rain check. I have to take care of something.”
She whimpered as Blaine began jogging away. I raced after him down the path running alongside the waterfront. We went all the way around the reservoir, going into the heart of the industrial complexes. Blaine navigated through the maze of factories before coming out onto the massive loading dock. By now, I’d given up on trying to get his attention. He couldn’t see or feel or hear me.
Then I remembered this wasn’t the first time this had happened to me. Once, I had fallen asleep in class, and I’d witnessed a murder that hadn’t taken place yet. The other was the night I’d been bitten. I was locked in the back of Russell’s truck and had passed out from my fever. When I thought I had awoken, I had somehow teleported myself back to the Reaper compound, in the prison cell with Blaine as Mr. Reynolds proceeded to torture him. Astral projection. Only this time, I was seeing the past.
“Pop?” he called out, peeking his head inside the vacant storage bays. “Oi, Dad? You in here?”
A distant clang echoed throughout the expansive, vacant space. Blaine followed the sound, coming to a large sliding metal door. He gripped the handle, struggling to heave it open. An empty beer bottle rested at his feet as he stepped inside the warehouse. Blaine took one look at the label and rolled his eyes. “Perfect.”
Carefully maneuvering between loose pieces of rebar and pipes that lay strewn about the floor, he made it halfway into the room when a lone light flickered on overhead. We both gasped, seeing the figure in the back corner—only I didn’t share in Blaine’s relief as he got a better look at the stranger. Matted brown hair clung to the man’s face as he staggered up from an old folding chair, ambling forward with uneasy steps. He would have been intimidating, given his broad build and lengthy stature, but he was a down-and-out mess.
“Pop, what are you doing out here…besides the obvious?” asked Blaine, motioning to the newly opened beer bottle dangling between the man’s fingers.
“What I should’ve done a long time ago.” The man stopped, letting the bottle clang to the floor. Blaine took one step toward him, but froze at the sound of an unmistakable click. He lifted his hands as slowly as he could, now staring down the barrel of a Smith & Wesson Governor revolver.
“D-Dad, put the gun down. Okay? You’re drunk—”
Dad?
The man standing before us wasn’t Blaine’s adopted father, leaving only one other option.
It was his birth father.
The man’s entire demeanor fell away as he straightened, his shaky hold on the revolver immediately steadying. “I should have done this years ago.”
Blaine swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat.
His father laughed, but it was a grievous sound.
“Pop-”
“I saw you…in the parking lot. I saw what you did to all those windows.”
Blaine’s already pale face somehow managed to go even whiter. “I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did!” the man barked, clutching the side of his head with his available hand. “You know what’s happening to you. Don’t deny it.”
Blaine cowered back a step, only to have his father center his aim right between his eyes.
“This has to be done, for the good of everyone. You’re only going to grow stronger, and you’ll spread your plague to others.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Blaine gasped. “You’d kill your own son?”
“I’m not your father,” he spat. “Your mother lied to me! All I ever tried to do was protect her, and how does she repay me? By fucking that filthy Underworlder!”
By the look on his face, I knew Blaine had no idea what the hell he was talking about. The young man just kept shaking his head. “You hear yourself right now? You’re drunk! Just put the gun down…please.”
“I’ve put this off for too long. It’s time I set things right.”
A deafening blast exploded into the air as smoke billowed from the revolver. My hands flew to my mouth, seeing Blaine stagger back. He stood shell-shocked in place for so long, he looked like a statue. I ran over to him, surveying him for a gunshot wound. Did the bullet somehow manage to miss him? Turning around, I followed Blaine’s petrified stare. Not ten feet from us was a single bullet, hovering in midair. The air around it rippled as it continued to stir, but it wouldn’t move forward.
Blaine’s father—or whoever he was—cursed as he raised the gun again, relinquishing every round from the chamber. This time, I watched as each bullet froze in place alongside its companions. “Devil!”
Blaine’s eyes were the size of saucers, and they only grew wider as he looked down. He lifted his left hand, staring horrified at the alien light that emitted from his palm. That’s when I noticed, he didn’t have any runes… Just as Blaine turned his palm outward, the bullets suddenly veered in the exact direction it faced, piercing into a crumbling plaster wall across the way.
I cried out his name, hoping to get his attention, but it was too late.
Dismay had overtaken Blaine, leaving him blind to his father. The man charged at him so swiftly, he nearly blurred. A sharp crack resonated as the corroded tire iron in his hand struck Blaine in the side of the skull. I screamed, but the sound fell upon deaf ears as I watched Blaine’s body limply fall onto the concrete floor. His eyes fluttered wearily. He was still conscious!
Blood began to pool from the side of Blaine’s head as he tried lifting his hand. It fell though once his father brought the iron down again for another swing. The jagged hook caught the side of Blaine’s face, tearing right through his cheek. A strangled cry escaped the beaten boy as his entire backset of teeth was ripped clean from his jaw, splattering across the floor. His cry only split the skin further, exposing gory muscle and broken bone, the sight so heinous it even made his assailant retch. Blaine’s frame convulsed as he gagged, trying to draw in a breath that wouldn’t come. He barely managed to roll to his side before coughing.
He’d been choking on his own blood. A mass of crimson painted the concrete as Blaine blearily spit out the contents lodged in his throat. He could barely keep his eyes open. The man knelt down and pried Blaine’s cell out of his jacket. The screen cracked as he slammed it down on the pavement, the final blow coming as his iron-toed boot hammered down on it for good measure.
Blaine’s weak fingers grappled for the pipe beside him, but it was just out of arm’s reach. Desperately clawing outward, his fingertips barely managed to grasp the end. He tried heaving it up at the man, but the metal cylinder clattered to the ground, proving to be too heavy. The man murmured an apology, the words barely audible as he raised the tire iron for the last time. He turned the device the other way around, having the pointed end faced down at Blaine. His hands shook ever so slightly. He couldn’t go through with it… How could he? How could anybody do that—do this—to someone?
The man pinched his eyes shut as his grip tightened on the tool. And with that, he drove the iron down. I couldn’t bear to look, but I wept at the unmistakable crunch that followed as metal sliced into flesh and bone. Nothing more than a guttural rasp escaped Blaine’s lips. Another heavy blow followed, forcing me to open my eyes. The man staggered back dazedly, the tire iron slipping from his grip as a piece of rebar clattered to the floor from behind him. He tottered sideways, patting the back of his head. Blood soaked his fingertips. Had Blaine hit him? Had he made the rebar fly at him somehow?
The man’s eyes rolled back into his head as his body collapsed. I yelped, knowing even before he hit the ground that he wouldn’t quite clear the load-bearing column behind him. With the full weight of his body driving him down, the base of his skull clocked the pole, leaving a pitched ring to resonate across the desolate space from the blunt impact. Though knelt on the ground, I could nonetheless see blood blossoming out from his head, fanning the floor around his fallen frame.
“Blaine?” I turned back to him, still hearing shallow breaths scrape from his lungs. Trembling hands clung to his torso as he grappled at the skin surrounding the wound. He’d been stabbed nearly in the center of his chest, right by the heart. His father had missed…
Someone had to save him. He’d been brought back. He had a Maker, right? Where were they?
Moments ticked away, and yet no one was here. No one was coming.
I couldn’t even touch him. My hands repeatedly slid through his body as I tried desperately to hold him, to assure him he’d be okay. I couldn’t help him. I was completely useless. All I could do was watch him as his body convulsed, watch him as tears streamed down his face, barely able to draw in a breath.
I cried out at the top of my lungs, begging for someone. Anyone!
Blaine startled.
Did…Did he hear me?
“Blaine?”
A distant light abruptly gleamed in from the entranceway. He angled his head up, taking notice to the source as well. It appeared to be headlights, but they were far-off. Blaine croaked as he attempted to call out, but the words were breathless, clogging in his throat. Against all odds, he rolled over onto his stomach. With one hand pressed against his chest and the other arm outstretched in front of him, he began to crawl. Reaching the slanted walkway at the front of the warehouse, Blaine clawed onto a latch nearing the bottom of the door. He heaved himself through, clumsily dropping to the pavement outside. His knees buckled under his weight, but bloody palms pushed off the asphalt, forcing him back upright. Short, visible gasps expelled from his lips, the blustery wind taking away my own breath as I frantically followed him.
The headlights came rolling up, eventually making the car behind them visible. Blaine made it not six more steps before finally collapsing to the ground.
He’d stopped breathing.
“Is this our boy?” The Englishman mused, climbing out from behind the passenger seat. He laughed as he approached the broken boy on the ground. “Gotta say, I was expecting him to be in better shape.”
“Oh, he’ll be tip-top when we’re through with him,” crooned a familiar voice behind the wheel. A black leather racing jacket came into view as the driver joined his cohort outside, observing Blaine with evident amusement.
Black inked over the Englishman’s eyes as he knelt down. “What say you, Val? Should we get to work?”
***
The calm of the bedroom came back into focus as I jolted away, breaking my hold on Blaine as I gasped. I fell back, shaking. He shot awake, wheezing painfully for air. The blind panic in Blaine’s eyes vanished as he too acclimatized to his surroundings, realizing where he was. His whole body still convulsed, his hands shaking as he wiped them over his eyes. A damp, cold sweat had perforated all the way through his shirt, and there was an unnatural clamminess to his skin. Worst of all, he still looked petrified.
“Blaine?”
My voice only startled him more as he jerked at the sound, his eyes snapping up to mine. I slowly drew back, noting the serrated blade wielded in his grasp. Where had he been keeping a knife? Under his pillow? Shame filled his eyes as he dropped his gaze to the weapon.
He hadn’t even realized he’d grabbed it, fetching the blade on instinct alone.
The sight only made me want to cry.
Cry more.
Because I already was crying, feeling the warm streaks running down my cheeks.
His eyes slowly drew back up to meet mine. He looked downright horrified, letting the blade drop to the floor. “I’m sorry.” The words were barely audible as he flung back the covers and darted into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.
I remained there, sitting on the bed, shaking, knowing the feeling all too well. After the accident, after what Russell did, I still woke up nights in blind panic. But seeing Blaine like this… I couldn’t rationalize it. He suddenly seemed…all too human. What other kind of horrors had he endured?
I’d been sitting back in bed for about fifteen minutes or so, hearing the water running on and off from inside the bathroom. The faucet squeaked off once again. Silence hung in the air for a good half a minute when a walloping crash sent me hurtling out of bed. Blaine cursed as I could hear bits of debris shower down onto the countertops and floor of the bathroom. Without thinking, I grabbed the knob and forced the door open, seeing the small mirror over the single sink smashed with a circular point of impact. Blaine’s back faced me.
“What the hell happened?”
He slowly turned around, revealing a bloodied set of knuckles he was coddling with his other hand.
“Oh my God…”
“Don’t!” he warned as I stepped inside.
I looked down at the broken fragments of glass around my feet and retracted back to the doorway.
“Go back to bed,” he said lowly, extracting a sizable shard from the joint of his pointer finger. The skin sizzled.
I didn’t move, watching blood slowly drip off between his fingers. “You need help with that. It’s silver-coated glass. If you don’t get all of it out, your body will heal with it still in there…”
“Please, just go.” His breathing was jagged and his nostrils flared as he curled his injured fist. “Go!”
Blaine had never yelled at me before. Not like this. I actually jumped at the order. He looked like a feral dog. Unable to argue, I slowly retracted from the doorway and turned the corner back into the bedroom area. The door remained open, and I could still see Blaine’s reflection in the remaining glass of the fractured mirror as I peeked around the corner, unable to muzzle my worry.
He gripped the edge of the counter, his shoulders shaking with every aching breath as he leaned forward, his eyes locked on the tiles. After a moment, his hands finally slid from the counter, only to take residency in the front strands of his hair. He staggered away, his back slamming into the opposing wall as he crumpled over onto the floor with a shudder.
I couldn’t breathe…
An ache had settled in my chest, robbing me of air, along with my sanity.
He’d been killed, same as me, but by someone who claimed to love him.
I stayed curled up on the mattress, unable to shut my eyes. When Blaine eventually returned to the bedroom, he stood cowering back by the bathroom, his eyes focused on his clumsily bandaged hand.
“I’m sorry,” he finally muttered, his throat raw. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The very sight of him threatened the tears burning behind my eyes to pour out. To see him so vulnerable and…embarrassed.
“May I?” I pointed to his hand, and he slowly extended it out as I climbed out of bed to meet him. Delicately undoing the dressings, I looked at the beaten skin and scathed knuckles. It was still too inflamed.
“I couldn’t get a couple of the splinters out,” he muttered, flexing his fingers. The skin stretched, revealing a few tiny glints of glass.
I didn’t have tweezers or anything to help remove them, so I did my best, using the tips of my fingernails. Blaine kept steady, only letting out a low hiss as I removed the final particles. Before I even had time to clean the wound, the skin was already looking better.
Properly rewrapping the injury, I fastened it and returned his hand to him. “Is it bound too tight?”
Blaine flexed his fingers again and shook his head. “No, it’s good. Thank you.”
His eyes finally met mine, but his gaze fell away just as quickly as he moved around me.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded, still unwilling to meet my eyes.
It was a little chilly in the room, yet he still looked like he had fallen asleep in a sauna, his hair moistened across his forehead, his skin glinting in the low light.
“Hey, I’m serious.”
His chest rose and fell, still too fast, still too panicked, when he finally met my eyes. “What did you see?”
One look at him, and I knew what he meant. He knew… “Everything.”
He sank down onto the mattress, his back resting against the headboard. His eyes suddenly seemed to find everything else in the room to be infinitely more fascinating, because he looked everywhere but back at me.
“Who was he?” My voice was so quiet, so weak, yet I could feel vibrations raking up my arm. I couldn’t explain why, but all I knew was that I wanted to slam my fist through something. “Your…your father?”
Blaine grimaced at the word. “He wasn’t my father.”
I know, I wanted to say.
“I thought he was. Hell, he thought he was.” Blaine laughed, but his breathing was still uneven, making it all the more aggrieved. “Since full-blooded female Reapers are so rare, it’s customary for the women in their respective packs to be set up in arranged marriages with the Alphas, as to ensure they have the strongest offspring. The same thing happened to my mom. When she learned she was pregnant, she ran away. Donovan assumed it was because she didn’t want their child growing up in their world. He finally managed to track her down, but she’d already given the child up for adoption.
“Donovan reached out to me when I was fourteen, explaining what had happened. He explained why I was the way I was, being able to heal so quickly and whatnot. He told me all about Reapers, and how he wanted me to join his pack. He told me that he was my birth father. I spent two years getting to know him, growing closer with him. We even started training together… And then I turned sixteen.” His eyes fell into his lap, at his injured hand. “I didn’t know what was happening to me. I started getting visions, seeing people’s auras, and then one day I got into an argument with Trace in the school parking lot. As soon as I yelled at him, all the windows around us blew out. The cars, the busses, the side of the building, all of it.”
“I saw what you did,” his father had said.
“Reapers weren’t supposed to be capable of doing that, and apparently, my old man witnessed it. It was only then that he started to put the pieces together.” Blaine’s injured fist curled, testing the bandages. “My mother never loved Donovan. She found out she was pregnant just before she was forced to marry him. It took her a couple months to plan her escape, and because she was only a month along when she found out, Donovan safely assumed I was his kid. But when he learned the truth…well, you saw how that went.”
“But… Val. I thought he—?”
“He’s my half-brother. Astaroth’s other heir. Same father, different mothers.”
Blaine’s breathing finally seemed to calm, even if just a little bit, as I sat down on my side of the mattress. “If he’s older, then why isn’t he the Crown Prince?”
“He was, for a short while. Val actually knew I was his brother when we met a few years back, but he didn’t want to tell me about it until I ‘came of age.’ As soon as he turned seventeen, Raelynd set his sights on him, and in consequence, it caused a chain reaction. Demons began talking, and then word spread to Hellhounds, and Mages, and eventually it got back to Reapers what he was planning. Val became public enemy number one.” Blaine rested his head back against the headboard, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. “If you met him a couple years ago, you wouldn’t have recognized him as the man you see today. He decided to take the demonic approach, and turned off all his emotions. He doesn’t feel pain, even physical. And I can’t necessarily say I blame him. After what they did to him…no one comes out of that the same.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say he’s had it rough.” Blaine seemed rather disinclined to elaborate, so I took the hint. Conversation: terminated.
But I couldn’t help recalling Raelynd saying something similar about Blaine as well. “The world has not been kind to him…”
The only thing I knew now with any certainty was that I didn’t know the first thing about Blaine Ryder.