Author's Notes:
Okay, I promise not to pull this one or edit it. For those who read the first version of part 10, I highly recommend reading the revamp. Otherwise this simply won't make sense for you.
To steal sbj's assessment of the situation, a huge thanks to the official good cop, bad cop duo of the Moonlight world, Hydriotaphia and starbucksjunkie. Without them, this story would not just be different, it would be worse.
A huge special thanks to starbucksjunkie for doing beta duty on this monster. And poor Lou for listening to my obsessing and rambling with unconditional support and minimal complaint.
All that's left is the epilogue and we'll be saying goodbye. For now ;)
Part Eleven
Beth stared at him from the buzzing screen. If Mick let his eyes focus too tightly, she descended into an amalgamation of pixels and light, lost in the details. But there she was – her face, with its pixie smile, her cascade of curls, gave him a challenging stare from the black background.
Her mug shot, her byline, her words were fixed for him to see, beating across the glow of the computer screen. He couldn't resist the urge to read her, to listen to her tell him tales again.
Mick didn't think he could stand more from her. Any closer and he would fall, into the dark place where her eyes could flash in terror, where his would flash in hunger of one kind and another, where she would see him without the innocence of a child to hold her gaze.
But her voice called to him, her eyes stared at him from across the chasm. Mick had no idea what was on the other side of the abyss, but he knew it wouldn't be good for either of them.
It was good that she'd been playing it safe. Beth had been almost annoyingly well-behaved since joining Buzzwire. A few murders, corrupt cops and perverts in all shapes and sizes, but mostly she'd been doing the dirty work, researching and fact-checking other people's work, writing the occasional story of her own. More and more of her byline lately.
The last time he'd watched over her, she'd been lit up by a wall of fire against the night sky. She was lit up by the not-so-distant flames, eyes intent on the clusters of men battling the blaze. He could hear her voice drifting to him across the field already eaten alive by the wildfire. The mellow rhythm of her questions, soothing sounds she made as her pen scratched paper.
Her scent had blown downwind to him, across the fresh turned soil, drowned in smoke and the heat of cooling cinders. Her clothes were dirty and her hair whipped in the hot winds. She looked wild and wonderful.
She'd turned toward him, marching away from the raging backdrop of the fire. He could see her pen moving in rapid strokes, scrawling notes, her lips moving silently as she sketched the scene into her consciousness.
Time stood still as she moved away from trees burning bright as the sun. Her movements, her breath, her beating heart overwhelmed the crackle and roar.
Without conscious movement, he'd cast off the safety of distance for darkness, leaning in the shadow of her news van, the firelight flickering shadows and light across his face. How many of her steps was she from him? How weak were human eyes? How willing was he to let her see?
Her eyes rose, squinted at his dark form. Twenty steps, twelve steps –
"Josh?" her voice had been uncertain as her heart leapt in a rat-a-tat rhythm. Her eyes began to focus.
Mick grasped at the shadows again, running from the light.
The heat of the wild fires faded to a distant memory as the cool breeze of an L.A. winter blew him back to her door. The dark days brought him to her. Days that ran into night in a ceaseless cycle of blood, violence and longing. Nights that dredged up the basest parts of him and pulled him to her, with the hope that she could give him something, some sign that even if she'd moved on, she hadn't forgotten
Mick launched himself to her landing, jumped to her window ledge and peered in. More than a month past the holiday, the glow of Christmas lights cast strange shadows against the living room wall. The tang of cold Kung Pao on the counter wafted through the gap between the French doors. The doors to her bedroom were thrown open, night shadows creeping across the bed.
Beth was in bed, but she wasn't sleeping. She was thrashing, moaning. He could feel the sharp bite of her fear on the air.
"No, no," the knocking of her heart against her chest drowned out everything else. His world shrank to the convulsing blonde two rooms too far away. Her unbridled terror became his as it blew the tattered remains of their blood bond to new life. Scenes from her nightmare scalded him.
Crimson nails, a shade past caress to cut, pressed into pale flesh. The whisper of white. A kiss on the cheek so cold it burned.
Sharp teeth grinned.
Then a deep voice, "I'll eat you up."
Nails bit at her skin, puckering, ripping away layers of skin beneath to the ribbons of blood waiting. The claws dipped into the red and wrote on the shredded parchment of her skin. Xs and Os, hatch marks of Sanskrit, looping letters she couldn't read.
"Mommy loves you," it hissed with its sweet venom.
Walls grew up around her and the ceiling snaked with shadows.
And the walls became burning things all around.
The woman in the moon, the woman was the moon, bearing down, growing bigger and bigger until she ate the fire alive.
"Tell Mommy you love her, baby."
And then the floor was sinking sand under her little feet, the breath of the woman hot from her cold mouth poured over her. Down through the fine bits to the earth. Burying herself at the edge of the ocean as the moon fell on top of her.
The gnashing of teeth, terrible roars. Silver eyes and terrible claws.
Then the deep voice again. "Be still!"
His blue eyes staring at the moon eyes without blinking. Teeth, row after row after sharp teeth eating away the night sky. Until there was nothing but the sharp teeth and ice blue consuming her world as fire chased them and her blood poured out.
A strangled scream cracked through the night, burning through the connection. Mick's senses returned to the room.
He picked up a second, slower heartbeat, faster now. Foreign arms wrapped around a shaking Beth.
"Beth, you're dreaming," the voice rumbled against her skin. "Wake up, sweetie."
Beth's blue eyes opened with a gasp, staring straight ahead. They flitted into the distant darkness before locking on the man peering down at her. Her hands settled in the man's as the waking world overtook her nightmare.
"I'm sorry, Josh," tears slipped down her face. Mick's hand moved to catch them and met glass.
She nestled herself into the arms of this Josh. The name she'd called at the fire.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Josh's hands ran through her hair, soothing her.
A valley of silence as the two held each other. Mick thought she wouldn't speak, but her voice came to him, muffled, a whisper against Josh's bare chest.
"When I was little, I was taken. Kidnapped," Beth's words pumped out of her in spurts. "A woman in white. She took me. Away. A cabin. Or a house. I... I don't remember much. Her face, something wrong with her face. Screams, fire, blood."
Josh's fingers moved in tight circles against her shoulder, still silent.
"At night, I can't run from her. She eats me alive at night, in the moonlight," the tears were slower.
"How long did she have you?"
"Forever, a few days. It's all a blur now of blood and tears. And fire," Beth's lungs pumped in time with Josh's. Mick's lethargic heart beat his own countertime.
"How did they find you?" Josh prompted.
Mick froze. She had to remember. How could she forget?
"I was rescued," Beth sounded disconnected, detached as she settled against Josh's chest. A flicker of a smile. Maybe. "My mother used to tell me it was my guardian angel. But nights like these he seems pretty far away."
"Who was he?"
"I don't know. I think I used to. I could see his face, his eyes, him. But he's gone now and all I have are the memories," Beth broke his quiet heart.
"She's gone, too, Beth, and you're fine," Josh kissed Beth's head. "And someone up there loved you enough to send an angel your way."
"Where's my angel tonight?" she choked on the words. "I see it again and again. Her face, the fire. I don't remember much, but sometimes I think that's worse. Sometimes I feel like it broke me. Something isn't right inside me and I don't know how it happened. And I have no idea how to fix it."
"Everything looks fine from here," Josh squeezed her closer. Mick wanted to squeeze him. Wanted to throw him out of the room and tell Beth that she was perfect. That the only dark thing about her was the vampire at the window. And that was easily remedied.
"Some days I'm just waiting for you to find out how broken I really am," Beth turned away from both men, her face hiding in the pillows, her lone guttural sob barely muffled.
"To live through that and not live your life in fear," Josh shook his head. "You are an amazing woman. You found a lightness of being in a dark, dark place."
His lips pressed against her hand, fluttering kisses over each finger. "Beth, I love you. I love every part of you. I love your questions, your truth, your beauty, your passion, your strength. I love you when you're broken and I love you when you're whole. I love the pieces, all the pieces of you."
He held a silent Beth in the bedroom dark. Then she turned back to Josh. She moved one hand toward his mouth, tracing his lips. A tiny smile peeked out.
"I think you're my angel."
Without waiting for more, Mick fled. He suddenly remembered what suffocating felt like. The pressure sent him to the ground. Running, hard and fast into the night.
He tried to outrun her smile and her touch, the memories of open windows and promises of a girl now gone, his shadow over her, teeth and hunger, the yearning that was worse than the hunger, the hope for something more.
When at last the air came back to him, it simply let him burn.