Living Nightmare

Nika turned away, striding toward the vehicles. “You’re not like me, Madoc. That doesn’t mean that I’m wrong, though. I get things done my own way. If you don’t like it, don’t watch.”



Madoc caught up with her and, despite his better judgment, wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her to a stop. She was so delicate, all he’d have to do was tighten his fist and crush her bones, so he paid close attention to the pressure he exerted.



“You’re not driving back using borrowed knowledge of how to operate a car,” he told her.



“Watch me.”



She shouldn’t push him. He knew how close he was to the edge—how fast he could lose control. But she didn’t know. She’d never seen one of his rages. She’d never seen what he could do when provoked. He’d been able to turn all that rage on the Synestryn, but right now, there were none to be found. He was out here alone with Nika with no one to witness a thing.



His fingers tightened around her arm. His blood was running hot. The dark side of him urged him to show her just how dangerous he could be. Maybe then she’d leave him alone.



A sharp jab to his chest startled him. She’d poked him with her finger and was scowling up at him. “Stop being a bully. I don’t like it.”



“What makes you think I care what you like?”



“I know you. I’ve felt the thing growing inside you. It’s big and it’s ugly, but you’re stronger than it is. You’re a good man.”



Madoc let out a humorless bark of laughter. He couldn’t help it. “I’m a lot of things, little girl, but there isn’t a single part left of me that’s good.”



Nika grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down until he was at eye level with her. He let her do it. He knew better, but the closer she pulled him to her, the more willing he was to let her have her way. He’d let her scream at him all she liked; then he’d put her in his truck and take her home. As long as he didn’t give in to his urge to toss her to the cold ground and fuck her, she was relatively safe.



But Nika didn’t yell. Instead, before he could figure out what she was going to do, before he could stop her, she pressed her lips to his in a sweet, chaste kiss.



Desire flared to life, eclipsing everything else. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had kissed him—he always took his whores from behind—but even if he could remember, those memories would have faded to meaninglessness inside this moment.



Nika’s mouth was soft and warm, her touch so brief and light, it was over before he’d even gotten a real taste of her.



He wanted more. The darkness inside him rose up, demanding more. She was sweetness and light and he wanted to consume her so that that sweetness was all his, forever.



He took her head in his hands, holding her still. He was going to give her a real kiss—one that staked a claim and showed her just what she’d gotten herself into. He’d warned her to stay away. Repeatedly. She hadn’t, and this was exactly what she deserved.



Her soft breath feathered out across his cheek. “I always wondered what that would be like. Thank you.”



“For what?” he managed to grate out through his clenched jaw.



“My first kiss.”



No. Fuck no. He did not just hear that. “First?” It hadn’t even been a real kiss, just a peck.



He felt her try to nod, but his grip was too tight to let it happen.



First kiss. Too innocent. Too trusting. He had to let go of her. He couldn’t make her cry like he did in his nightmares.



It felt like he was stripping off his own skin, but he managed to move his hands away from the softness of her skin and hair. Smudges of mud from his hands dirtied her wherever they touched.



He stepped back, his chest billowing like he’d been running for days. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, and with every beat, the pressure in his head grew.



Nika reached for him. He took another long step back, evading her touch. If she touched him again, he’d lose control. The darkness would take him and Nika would pay the price.



He reached into his wallet, pulled out several bills, and tossed them on the ground at her feet. “Go,” he told her. “Go home and don’t try to follow me.”



“Where are you going?”



To find as many Synestryn or hookers as fast as he could. “None of your fucking business. Leave. I got the damn bone for you. Don’t make me regret it.”



She picked up the money, never taking her eyes from him. “You need me. One of these days I’ll be able to show you I’m not crazy—at least, not about that.”



“Go. Now.” Before he stopped her.



“I’ll wait for you at home. If you don’t come back so we can talk, I will come find you.”



Her promise fell heavily on his shoulders as she turned and left.



Madoc waited until she was out of sight before he dared to move. The sun was nearly up, making the chances of finding any snarlies slim. He had the number of a whore in Omaha he’d used before. He only hoped he’d get to her before the pain ripped him apart.



Connal rushed to the meeting spot, ten minutes late. He’d already had to change the time, thanks to that paltry scratch on Nika’s hand. If he didn’t get there soon, he was afraid his food would no longer be waiting for him.



He pulled up to the vacant building and hurried to the door. It swung open easily, and the smell of filth assaulted his nose. He allowed a trickle of power to aid his vision, forcing the darkness to dissipate.



This building was clearly a place where the homeless hid from the cold. Three stained, discarded mattresses lined one wall. A meager pile of belongings filled a rusted shopping cart. A battered metal drum held the remains of a fire left untended for too long.



On two of those three mattresses lay a human corpse. One was missing a leg. Another was still being fed on by small cat-sized Synestryn with barbed heads and spines. The wet sound of their feasting made Connal’s stomach turn.



Across the room, handcuffed to a metal pipe jutting from the wall, was the woman he’d been feeding from for months. In front of her was a trio of Synestryn guards.



Each of the guards was tall and spindly—their shape disturbingly humanoid. Their skin was gray and looked slick, almost reptilian. Their mouths had no lips, only sharp rows of teeth left constantly visible. Saliva slid down their chins, adding to the shine of the skin along their too-long necks.



The guard in front blinked with odd, sideways eyelids, then stepped out of Connal’s way, indicating he could go to the woman to feed.



Hunger burned inside his belly, clawing at his mind to the point that little other thought was possible. The unwanted distraction Madoc had caused tonight had been nearly more than he could tolerate.



He was allowed to feed only once a month, and Connal had no question that Zillah would withhold the woman’s blood if he did anything to displease the Synestryn lord.



“Where’s Zillah?” he asked the guard.



The thing’s neck twisted around one hundred eighty degrees and hissed in the direction of the woman. Clearly, speech was beyond its capability.



Connal let out a relieved sigh. At least he wouldn’t be asked to do any favors for the bastard tonight. Normally, his food didn’t come free, and as hungry as Connal was, he was beginning to fear these meetings almost enough to refuse to show. Almost.



As he neared the woman, she cringed away from him, pressing herself back against the wall. She’d been bathed since he’d last fed from her, and he could tell now that her hair was light brown, no longer matted and filthy. Her hazel eyes were just as dead and unresponsive as they had been every other time he’d fed from her.



A pang of sympathy squeezed Connal’s heart, but there was nothing he could do for her. Even if he had wanted to set her free, the blood of the Synestryn child she’d once carried—blood he’d consumed when feeding from her last summer—now prevented him from acting against Zillah in any way. He was as much of a slave to Zillah’s whims as she was.



At some point over the fall, she’d lost the child. Connal almost asked her what had happened, but thought better of it. She was for food, not conversation.



He gripped her hair and pulled her head back. Her long hair fell back over her shoulder. Only then did he see the note that had been pinned to her shirt.



So much for avoiding Zillah’s whims.



Connal ripped the note away to read later and sank his teeth into the woman’s neck. A pitiful whimper rose up from her, but he ignored it. The taste of her blood flowing over his tongue was too heady and consuming. All other thoughts vanished as her power filled him up and made him whole.



Strength and warmth flooded his limbs as he continued to drink from her.



He felt her pulse weaken, but didn’t care.



“Please,” she whispered, speaking to him for the first time. “Kill me.”



Shock rocked Connal as he realized he was doing just that. Before it was too late, he willed her flesh closed and ripped his mouth away from her neck.



His hands still held her head still, but her eyes shifted, looking up at him. Tears shimmered there, and the raw look of pleading in her eyes was enough to rip a cry of denial from Connal’s chest.



“Please,” she said, her voice strained, as if it had been a long time since she’d used it. “I want to die.”



Connal let go of her and stumbled back. He knew what Zillah would do to him if he killed her. He’d suffer for a long time before he found any peace in death.



“I can’t. I won’t,” he told her.



She swallowed and suddenly that frozen, dead look came back into her eyes, as if she’d gone somewhere else.



Zillah’s note was still crumpled in his fist. He smoothed it flat and read the scrawling text. “Activate Ricky,” was all it said, but that was enough. Connal knew what Zillah meant for him to do.



A boy of seventeen was probably going to die because of Connal, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.



Everything had gone so wrong. What had started out as a way to ease his hunger had turned into something far worse than he could have ever imagined. He was Zillah’s puppet. His tool. Not only was he aiding the enemy; he was doing something he never would have thought possible.



He was harming innocents.



Connal looked at the woman in front of him. She was dangling by her wrists, not even bothering to support her own weight. Life for her was a series of horrible nightmares. She couldn’t even find peace in death—the Synestryn wouldn’t allow that. They would keep her alive for her body, her blood, and the power it held over him for as long as possible.



Unless he did something. But what? He knew better than to think he’d refuse to feed from her again. He knew without a doubt he would. The hunger was too strong to resist—the power of her blood too intoxicating.



The only way he’d stop feeding from her was if she was no longer available. Unless she died or escaped, her hold over him would remain.



A hissing warning came from behind him. The guards were getting agitated.



He spun around and imbued his words with a portion of the power he’d taken from her. “I’m not finished.”