Disclaimer: Did you hear the Rachel, the chick who plays the Queen of Louisiana, was hooking up with Alexander? Aw, hell naw bitches! That just goes to show my complete lack of ownership. Damn…
A/N: Someone asked how Rochelle's name was pronounced. It's ro-SHELL; at least that's how Eric pronounces it. To the Southerners, it's rah-SHELL.
A/N: Just a reminder that this is a fanfiction.
A/N: On that note, this ties in with two other fanfictions. One, which is still in production, called Only By the Night features Godric and an OC and the other is a current work-in-progress.
A/N: angel-unknown, you're a doll. Thanks for getting me back on track. Here's a nice long chapter for all of you.
Warning: Sexuality. But hopefully not how you think!
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Another Way to Die
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I heard she broke your heart again
So now you're gonna come and see me
We're back to the start again
When's she gonna set me free
I've been there time and time again
The girl's no good for me and you
She hurts me too
- Heartbreaker, by Metronomy
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Chapter 7: Ventre de la Bête
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I stirred, my eyes blearily parting to the bedroom lights. The bathroom door was open ajar, steam trickling up towards the ceiling. Eric's place beside me carried lingering warmth; he must have just gotten up. Vigorously rubbing the sleep from the corners of my eyes, I stretched out arching my spine like a cat. The shower stopped and a sopping wet, blonde vampire stepped out of the bathroom. He threw me a sidelong, casual look as he towel dried his hair. I tried to keep my gaze on his face,
"Good evening," His voice was pleasant and I cautiously croaked a,
"Good evening," in reply. Eric was so confusing with his feelings. Sometimes I wondered if he flipped a coin every time he woke up to decide on his nightly facial expression.
He made his way to the walk in closet and I couldn't stop myself for reaching out for my sketchbook. I was on total autopilot, gripping my pencil as I skipped to a fresh page. He stood with his back to me, using the small towel in one hand and shifting through his shirts with the other. His muscles were coiled beneath his beautiful alabaster skin like steel cords. I began sketching, allowing my mind to go wonderfully blank. It was easy to let my pencil trace him; his form was disgustingly familiar to me. A surge of humiliation battered against my brain and I knew, somehow, that he was well aware of what I was doing.
I couldn't stop myself.
Lying on my stomach, tangled in the sheets, long, swift strokes of black outlined the shape of his back and the slope of his neck and shoulders. Whatever Norse gods breathed life into him really outdid themselves. He knew what I was doing; I could feel it in my bones. Eric slowed his movements, taking his sweet-ass time to brush aside a few droplets of water and use the towel to soak up the remaining moisture in his hair. I tried to recreate the affect, but my sketching did him no justice; it's hard to draw diamond skin.
I hated that he was mocking me. Hated it with a deep-seated, passive fury. There was nothing I could do about it. Part of me wondered why I was so angry. I didn't have time to dwell on it as the door burst open, slamming against the wall and shaking the bed. A beautifully disgruntled Pam stood in the doorway, arms cross, completely menacing in her pink skirt and matching suit jacket. She opened her red lips and a tirade of fluid sounds emptied into the air. Her hand shot out and gestured with sharp, wild movements. After a few moments and replies in the same tongue from a naked Eric, she stormed off, the door sweeping shut behind her,
"Wow," I set my sketchbook aside as he finally began to get dressed. He answered with a noncommittal noise, "What's she angry about?" He shrugged,
"A pair of her pumps was ruined," Shit, I would've been angry, too,
"And?"
"And she wants the night off to go buy ones," Eric picked up a pair of black, patent leather dress shoes and sat on the edge of the bed to lace them. I scooted back, despite the room already between us. Absently, I questioned when I would ever be comfortable with him.
Was he still angry with me? I couldn't tell; his face was smooth marble, as expressionless as Michelangelo's David. There was a sting when I remembered his words from the night before. Treating me like a child… I huffed under my breath. The prick. Who does he think he is? But my mémère and Salome and Durand… They were the only people I had ever really known. I was the youngest and they indulged in me. It seemed like a long forgotten, sleepy fantasy. I ached for them. I wanted mémère's strong hands braiding my hair, Salome's stories and Durand's deep, infectious laughter.
Maybe I was a child,
"Do you always leave things unfinished?" His voice quipped in my ear. I jumped. I didn't realize he was leaning over me until he spoke. I stared down at my sketchpad. He was right; I hadn't finished the picture of him. Part of me didn't want to. Eric loomed over me, his arms caging me on either side with his face close to mine. Briefly, I wondered if he could smell my blood dancing beneath my skin. I figured he could,
"No," I began slowly, "It's just hard when the subject won't sit still,"
"I can sit very still," It sounded like a flirtatious challenge. I felt heat creep into my neck and face and I ducked out from under him,
"Yeah," Averting my eyes, I slid out of bed and closed the bathroom door behind me. I pressed my ear against the wood and listened as Eric left. With a sigh, I turned the faucets on and began filling the tub. I hunted for some kind of bubble bath but why I would expect Eric to have any was beyond me. My searching came up fruitless, so I settled for using the last of his shampoo all for myself. I squirted some into the running water and watched it foam into white, billowy stacks. I stripped down and sank into the water. My skin prickled from the heat, but it felt nice so I turned off the faucet, leaned back and closed my eyes. After a few moments, I stretched out, the tension in my shoulders knotting and coiling. My hand brushed a candle jar I hadn't seen and I yelped, grabbing it before it fell off the edge of the tub.
That familiar slither ran down my spine and my body pulsed and I was still in the bath, water sloshing as Eric kissed my neck, holding himself up on the rim of the tub, burying himself up to the hilt inside me, hitting that sweet spot and I cried out, one pale, slender hand holding on to him for dear life, the other holding the lighted candle and I dribbled hot wax on his back, grinning when he tossed his head back, bearing his fangs-
I dropped the candle, shocked. My face was probably scarlet, my heart beating as fast as a trapped rabbit. I stared at the broken jar, pieces of crumbing vanilla wax contrasting against the dark tile. I had never, ever had a vision like… like that before. Nothing that… erotic. My body felt too hot and I quickly pulled the plug, jumping out of the tub and getting into the frameless shower. I turned on the cold water and gave a little shriek when it hit my skin. I hugged myself, sinking to the ground in a crouch as the icy water pounded into my scalp and shoulders.
It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me, itwasn'tme, -
I shook my head furiously, teeth chattering. I stood and allowed myself to adjust the temperature to be a bit more tolerable. I stared into the glass as I lathered my hair. This was the first not important vision I had ever had. When I touched people, I saw parts of their lives, which made sense. Objects were… trickier. With objects I saw important fragments, things that happened that meant something. When I was younger, I had held Salome's Star of David and saw death and sickness and people worked down to their skeletons in camps. I couldn't sleep alone for six months after that.
But I never saw meaningless things. I never saw someone go to a grocery store, or eat dinner, or watch TV. Everything had a meaning and if this vision of Eric's… escapade, was the first of many, then how was I supposed to filter? I couldn't control my power to begin with- but if I touched a broom from Wal-mart and saw how it became a broom, then what else was there? Would I soon touch anything and be attacked with an onslaught of visions?
I rinsed off and got out of the shower before the panic could take control. Drying off, I focused on how I was going to interact with Eric. If I saw him, I would only be able to think of his lips on my neck, taking me hard and deep and-
I hit my palm to my forehead, hard. Shaking my head, I wrapped the towel around me and walked back into the bedroom. All I would be able to think of was the vision. I had to get out, just for a little bit. As I browsed the drawers for clothes, an idea came to mind. Finding the chiffon top Eric gave me, I pulled that on along with some white shorts and ripped the brush through my hair. Putting down my hair based torture device, my gris-gris caught my eye. I stared at the leather pouch for a moment. I hadn't worn it recently; I didn't feel the need to. For some inexplicable, troubling reason, I felt… safe. Although Eric often loomed over me with his dominance, he also protected me. He broke me out of jail and saved me from Sabrina. I could trust him, to an extent.
Tolerating my semi-presentable state, I marched off with my mission; pleasantly surprised to see the door was unlocked. I wandered down the hall until I reached the familiar, heavy door. A heavy beat pulsed behind the steel and with a grin, I pulled it open. I squinted in the subtle darkness, lights swaying and flashing from the ceiling as bodies twisted and hands rose in ecstasy. I squeaked when I felt a hand on the small of my back quickly traveling south,
"Hey there, sweet cheeks," He breathed in my ear. I gagged,
"Not tonight, cheesecake," I muttered, slamming my heel on his instep. I ducked away, too intent on my journey to pay attention to his swearing. I happily took my seat at the bar and Janvier waved from his spot further down,
"Be with you in a moment, chéri!"
"Take your time!" I called back. Swinging my feet, I traced shapes in the waxed counter top until the space beside me smeared,
"I see you're out of the cage, birdie," She purred, sweeping her luxurious blonde waves over her shoulder. Pam had changed out of her pink skirt suit and into a dark, wine red corset and matte, black leather pants. Rubies encircled her throat like a bloody gash,
"Evenin', Pam," I smiled, a little nervous,
"I heard what happened last night," Her eyebrow arched and I briefly decided that if I ever got a cat, I'd name her Pam. My reply was a noncommittal noise. God, was I taking after Eric. But she didn't press it any further and eyed a foxy, young brunette who sauntered by. Janvier blurred before us,
"The usual, ma douce?" I nodded,
"How are you tonight, Janvier?" He grabbed a fistful of mint and began crushing it in a marble mortar with a pestle,
"Very well, merci. And yourself?" Janvier paused to give a few human customers their Bud Lights,
"I'm all right," I kicked my feet like a child. For some bizarre, and slightly disturbing, reason, I felt like a kid in an ice cream and soda pop shop back in the fifties. Janvier was certainly cheerful enough to remind me of one,
"Have you called your mémère yet?" He asked, mockingly stern and parental,
"No," I replied guiltily, "I'll ring her up in the morning, when she's awake," Janvier granted me an approving smile and handed me the virgin Mojito,
"Did she teach you any voodoo?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively,
"She taught me voodoo and hoodoo and things I haven't even tried," I grinned,
"Is she in practice?" He briefly took an order from another woman and popped a bottle of Tru Blood in the microwave behind him,
"Of course! People have traveled all over to ask her for readings and spells,"
"Is she from your mother or your father's side?"
"My maman. I never knew my father," The microwave dinged and he served the vampire her drink. Vaguely, I found myself surprised that she didn't just feed off of some human,
"Only child?" Nodding, I sipped my drink, "My, have families grown small!"
"I know!" I exclaimed, "Marie Laveau had fifteen children with Christoph Glapion. Can you believe it? Fifteen!"
"I can barely deal with one human child," Pam sneered,
"Fourteen," Janvier corrected absently,
"What?" My brow knitted, confused,
"Marie Laveau had fourteen children with Glapion," Quickly refilling a customer's glass, he slid it down the bar before starting up a martini. I frowned, leaning forward on my elbows to deliberate our crossed facts.
"But my mémère always said she had fifteen," He flashed me a toothy grin,
"Ah, but your mémère wasn't even born when I was still human," I pursed my lips. This could get interesting… Janvier did say that Marie Laveau was a friend of his family. Did she do readings for him? Did he ever see one of her ceremonies? Did someone in his family ever buy a gris-gris from her? Did he ever buy a gris-gris from her? Did he still have it, or did it decay after less than two hundred years?
"Then how do you know? Did she tell you?" I asked eagerly. He scoffed,
"No, ma petit imbécile idiot, I was there!" Janvier waved his hand dramatically, dropping an olive or two into the glass, "She had fourteen children with Glapion and one with me; my sweet Heloise," I almost choked. Mémère had mentioned that name before,
"Heloise? How many girls in the Laveau family have been named Heloise?" He shrugged,
"Well, my Heloise, and perhaps another. It was in the talks of her granddaughter's granddaughter," My mouth opened and closed like a fat fish drawn out onto dry land,
"Keep your mouth like that and you'll catch flies," Pam quipped but I disregarded her, whispering to Janvier,
"Was her name Magdalene?" His eyebrows rose in surprise,
"Oui," I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop a shriek,
"That's my mémère's mother!"
"Vraiment?" Janvier's eyes lit up like the Fourth of July
"Vraiment!" I exclaimed, "Then, that makes you my great-great-great-"
"Great-great-" He added,
"Pépère!"
"Oui, bon petite!" We stared at each other for a moment,
"Oh, puke," Pam muttered in the background. I ignored her,
"Now, that's just hinky…" He laughed,
"There are people who discover their ancestors almost every night now that we're out of the coffin! Is it really so strange to you, ma beaute douce?"
"No… but can I just keep calling you Janvier? Pépère would be a little awkward…" Janvier's smile was a far cry from the disappointment I anticipated,
"Whatever you wish, ma ami. I look a little young to seem like your pépère, no?" And he blurred to my side and gave me a strong hug, "Ma fille douce," It felt so good to find more family. I mean, of course I loved mémère and Salome and Durand, but to know that there had been someone else out there and by sheer, fucking luck we had found each other? It made my heart ache with happiness,
"Janvier, I'm sorry to interrupt your little family reunion, but you've got customers waiting for you," Pam snapped. He simply smiled, affectionately patted my head and went back to work. I was feeling too good to be annoyed with her. Giggling, I sipped more of my drink but from the corner of my eyes, I could see she seemed to feel a little left out,
"Eric says you want to buy some new pumps?" I could be attentive when I wanted to be. A look of half surprise crossed her face,
"He ruined a pair having me trek through the mud," Offering a exploratory smile, I said,
"That really sucks," I sympathized. Ruining a nice pair of shoes was a terrible waste. She glanced at me, judging just how sincere I was being,
"Yeah," She finally said, "It does,"
"Can I," I began hesitantly, "Come with you tonight when you buy new ones?" Pam studied my face,
"Ask Eric," I sat up straight and glanced around. I didn't see him in the crowd, or on his throne acting high and mighty as usual,
"Where is he?"
"Probably in his office," And she disappeared from my side to seduce the foxy brunette. I finished up my drink and waved goodbye to Janvier, making my way back from the door I came in from. With some difficulty, I avoided several grinding couples and pushed the heavy door open. The noise instantly died down behind me as it closed. I breathed a sigh of relief. I liked Fangtasia, really I did, but the peace and quiet was nicer. You can take a girl outta the bayou but you can't take the bayou outta the girl.
I paused outside of Eric's office. What exactly was I supposed to say? No. I knew what I was supposed to say. I just didn't know how to say it. Raising my hand to rap my knuckles I- hot, possessive lips on my neck and the angry thrust of hips- my face burned and I quickly lowered my hand, wiping my damp palms on my shorts. I swallowed, licking my dry lips- hard, harder, deep, that spot, over and over and- I stepped back, clapping my hands over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut and spazing. No, no, no, no! No! Nu-uh, not happening! Not. Happening. I inhaled deeply through my nose, allowed a shudder and straightened, approaching the door. I knocked,
"Enter," I peeked out from behind the door before sliding in. He was seated in a plush black leather chair, reading a newspaper. The headline screamed FELLOWSHIP OF THE SUN STARTS ANTI-VAMPIRE CAMP?? It made me wince,
"Hi," I greeted awkwardly. Eric raised an eyebrow,
"Hello, Rochelle," I decided to dive right in,
"So, I'm thinking that I should go with Pam when she goes out to buy new pumps," I rushed, clasping my hands behind my back and rocking on my feet,
"And why is that?" His expression smoothed over, going back to some papers on his desk. He clicked open a pen and began signing away. My ears burned. So he said that he'd treat me like a teacup human as long as I decided to act like one, but I thought we were over that at the beginning of the evening! I clenched my teeth, breathing in deeply. Take the high road, Rochelle. Take the high road,
"Well, I do need club appropriate attire," I stressed, shifting on my feet and staying as pleasant as possible,
"Uh-huh," His blue eyes flickered up at me and I was berated with a series of images, his mouth on my throat, the sheer dominance and lust in his gaze-
"Seriously, Eric," I cleared my throat, a little too loudly, "Cute, bright t-shirts and shorts kinda make me a giant target in a gothy vampire bar, don't they? I mean, some guy grabbed my ass earlier,"
"The scent of your virgin blood makes you a giant target," He replied casually. I balked,
"All right, now that's a little creepy," Eric cocked an eyebrow,
"I thought you were aware of this," I bunched the hem of my shorts in my fists,
"I am. But the way you just said it makes you sound like a pedophile," We stared at each other for a few minutes. I tried my best not to look away,
"Very well," He finally said, "You can go shopping with Pam," I grinned, "I'm sure she'll be thrilled," He deadpanned, reopening his newspaper. I didn't mind the sarcasm. As long as he didn't suspect that I was trying to avoid him, things would be cool as a cucumber. But considering that Eric had over a thousand years on me, my hopes were set probably a bit too high. I stopped right at the door and turned back to look at him,
"Thanks," I jerked open the door so I wouldn't see the expression on his face, if he even had one. Pam was waiting for me outside,
"Come on. Let's go," She ordered, hips swaying as she sashayed past me. Her clothes had changed once again, into a velvet, plum colored tracksuit and her waves straightened to fall down her back. A designer purse was tucked under her arm,
"How did you-?" I jogged to keep up with her,
"Eric is my maker," She shot me a sidelong glance, as if inviting me to some deeply personal secret. Which, I suppose, it was. I had never heard Salome or Durand speak much of their makers, "I know," I followed her out a side hallway and into the cool night. It was late, but not so late,
"What time is it?" We fell into an even stride as Pam removed a set of keys from her bag,
"Ten thirty seven,"
"Are places still open this late?" I inquired. It's not like we were in Vegas or anything. Were there twenty-four hour shopping malls?
"Of course there are places still open," She scoffed, unlocking the sleek little sports car. I recognized the blue and white symbol. It was a BMW,
"Will we be staying in Shreveport?"
"There's a boutique in Bossier City that has the pumps I ordered," I buckled my seat belt,
"Couldn't you have just gotten them shipped to a store in Shreveport?" She stared at me with the keys in the ignition, perfectly frozen,
"They're custom Italian leather pumps," Pam said, as if I were the biggest idiot in the world. I liked shoes and all, but not that much,
"Okay, okay," I backed down. She sighed and shook her head before starting the car. We mainly drove in silence and I stared out the window, watching lights whizz by as we passed buildings and cars,
"I thought we were headed to Bossier City," Her finely plucked eyebrow arched up like a cat's back,
"You need some clothes, don't you?" And I realized it was an invitation, of sorts, to some quality girl time. I didn't know if I should've been excited or terrified. I settled on a nice cocktail of both. We pulled into the parking lot of an expansive mall and I'll admit to being surprised at how busy it seemed. I supposed I'd never get used to vampires being out in the open when I had spent much of my eighteen years hiding mine under my bed. The car beeped behind us and I let Pam take the lead. She stopped short and I nearly collided into her. Spinning, she surveyed me head to toe,
"Uh-" My mouth didn't seem to want to work with my brain. I wanted to feel embarrassed, but something about Pam told me that it didn't matter either way. I'd always feel like an idiot around her,
"What are you? Five, five? Five, six?"
"Five six,"
"Hm," and she turned sharply on her heel. I hurried to catch up with her. Under Pam's military-esque direction and guidance, we rang up Eric's credit card; I found it was oddly therapeutic and satisfying. I had gotten several skintight pants and skirts, a few edgy tops and a pair of knee high leather boots, upon my vampire chaperone's insistence,
"Boots," She began, "Are your best friend," It was my turn to quirk an inquisitive eyebrow, "They help you stand up to all the bullshit and rise above it," Wow. That had to be the single most intelligent thing I had ever heard from a woman while shopping for shoes. I was genuinely impressed.
We stopped off in the food court for a break. The Starbucks advertised Tru Blood, which I pointed out to Pam. Her upper lip curled in disgust, but she was still beautiful,
"That's disgusting,"
"You don't drink Tru Blood?"
"Does it sound like I do?" But I had come to recognize that she was being far more playful than intentionally hurtful,
"No," I agreed, "It doesn't," Something from my memory popped into my immediate attention span, "Does Eric drink Tru Blood?"
"Are you kidding? He hates the shit,"
"I saw him drink it once,"
"When?" She asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously,
"When I first started staying with you guys,"
"Oh, that," A smirk graced her pink lips, "Eric lost a bet with Chow,"
"About what?"
"None of your business," A flashy neon sign caught my eye,
"Oh. My. God. Corn dogs," I almost dropped my bags from sheer excitement. A part of me felt rather childish, something I'm sure Eric would've pointed out had I been with him. But I was with Pam and she just gave me a blank stare,
"What?" I balked. How could she not know the delicious, deep fried, golden wonderfulness that are corndogs?
"Corn dogs. They're amazing. I haven't had one since the county faire when I was seven," I rushed over to the stand, Pam languidly trailing behind me, "Please?" I begged, turning to her, "Please, oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, oh-"
"If you stop that incessant noise," She snapped. I smiled, making a zipping motion across my sealed lips. I swore I caught a hint of a smile. So, I got my golden corndog and extra large, green lemonade to go with it. Pam watched me with some amusement as I devoured the greasy thing, slurping down the icy drink to wash away the oily slickness in my mouth. Bags in one hand and tall, cool drink in the other, we left, rushing to get to Pam's fancy boutique before it closed. I tossed the empty cup into a nearby trashcan,
"Thanks for letting me tag along, Pam," She nodded,
"You drank that pretty fast. You might make a good vampire," Although it was an offhand comment, my heart gave a jolt. But I ignored it, smiling as I placed my bags in the trunk. Even though we had only been out for a couple hours, I was beginning to feel the exhaustion in my bones. I was used to lounging around Eric's room, not running around with a shopaholic vampire. The car sailed smoothly over the asphalt and the luxury seat contoured to my body. Soft, smooth jazz played somewhere in the background; Pam must have turned on the stereo. My eyelids sagged and my head lolled against the seatbelt.
I knew I was dreaming as soon as I felt the gentle, rocking waves. What was it with boats and water in my dreams? I sat up. I had been lying on a raft, mist clouding my surroundings and the horizon. The sun was a hazy orb above me, soft and golden. The water lulled the raft and it lightly floated along, directionless. The fog curtain parted momentarily and Eric stepped onto the raft, barely tipping. I almost groaned. Not again. He knelt beside me,
"Vad er du gör här, älska?" His cool hand cupped my cheek and I felt my face fire up like the Human Torch, "Er du forskande för jag?"
"Uh," I couldn't have started off more stupid, "I don't understand what you're saying," I mumbled as he rested his forehead against mine. My heart was beating so fast, blood screamed in my ears. This was tender and kind and freaking me the fuck out. Eric wasn't like this. Eric wasn't anything like this. Or was he? How much did I really know about him?
"Jag er rätt här. Med du," And he tilted my face up and brought his lips to mine. An electric tingle shot through my spine. My skin prickled and his hand moved to the back of my head, easing me down. My body heat seemed to bounce off him and his cool hands intensified the feeling rippling through me. His kisses were languid and slow, inspiring a deeper want in me. I found myself curling my fingers into his corn silk hair, breathing in his scent of elderberry and pine. He hitched my knee high on his hip and I could feel him against my inner thigh, already stiff. I flushed, pulling away slightly. He didn't seem to mind. He traced my eyebrow with his thumb and whispered,
"Väckande,"
"Wha-?" I blearily opened my eyes. My body ached a little from sleeping in such an odd position. Remembering my dream, I flushed. I hoped I hadn't made any… noises while I was out like a light,
"We're on our way back to Shreveport,"
"I assume you got your shoes?"
"I got my shoes," She smiled. I returned the gesture and shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable. I could feel the familiar, grainy sensation in my left foot. It had fallen asleep. As darkness and vegetation rushed past us on the empty road, I squirmed suddenly well aware of the pressure in my lower stomach. Fantastic. Maybe I could hold out until we got back to Shreveport… We passed a green and white sign that read Shreveport 17 mi. Nope, holding out was not going to happen,
"Can we pull over for a second?"
"Why?" Her eyes narrowed and I briefly wished she'd pay more attention to her driving,
"I have to go," I stressed, crossing my legs,
"Go where?" She seemed oddly bewildered and it would've been cute if I didn't have the incessant need to pee,
"Pee, I have to pee, Pam," A look of realization dawned on her face,
"Can't you hold it?" She asked irritably, "We're not that far,"
"Pam," I whined, "Can we please pull over?" She shot me a sidelong look, "I really have to go," Pam rolled her eyes, disgusted,
"Humans," but she obliged and the car sailed over to the side. I was out before she put it in neutral, "Hurry up!" She called after me. I half walked, half jogged a good minute into the woods and looked around for a spot to relieve myself. After finishing, began wandering back to the road. The night was alive with fireflies and a symphony of crickets and owls. I breathed in deeply, relishing in the earthy smells. It took a moment for me to realize that the trees had gone quiet. I paused and something instinct in me began to panic. Stopping, I slowly turned. An owl hooted and there was nothing. My lips quirked to the side. Something didn't feel right… But I shook it off; Pam was waiting and if I took any longer, I'd get an earful. Or get left on the side of the road to walk back to Fangtasia.
A pain, scorching and icy, ripped across my back. I choked, flailing and I reached out and grabbed on to sheer, folded fabric and smooth flesh. The ripple went through me and there was fire and chanting and sweat slicked naked bodies, dancing, writhing, the smell of wine and blood and I was alive and the Horned God was among us and th- Lo Lo Bromios, Lo Lo Dendrites, Eleutherios, Enorches, Bacchus-
Shrieks tore out of my throat like valkyries,
"Pam!" I screamed, "PAM!" I fell on my back and a bull's head loomed above me, claws raised up against the leaves and the moonlight. A whistling tore through the trees and a blurred Pam slammed into the thing. Hot, cold, white bright sizzle snap pop something, something devouring my veins and marrow. My eyes rolled up into my skull as I spasmed in the dirt, muscles twitching, spine arching in exquisite pain. Dying was probably more peaceful. There were roars and screams, a deep, hateful bellow that was cut short by teeth and the sound of suction. Then, I could hear sickness, a violent noise. Gurgling and puking, hoarse, forced breathing. I tried to focus, to see-
Pam was on all fours in the mud, vomiting something black and putrid. The creature was nowhere to be seen.
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Props if you can translate the French and Swedish in this chapter. :)
CLIFFHANGER!
Reviews are Love,
The Author