Awaken the Darkness Read online

  As the beagle jumped down into the hole, she reached for the shovel.

  A deep voice, full of pain and carrying a… Russian?… accent, filled her head. Careful. Please.

  It should concern her. Should actually send her fleeing up the stairs and out of the house. But it didn’t. She had to know what was down there. The curiosity was killing her!

  Gingerly, she poked at the dirt with the shovel.

  Jax’s claws caught in something just under the surface.

  Kneeling, Susan set the shovel aside and reached out to explore Jax’s find.

  Something rubbery, with a texture similar to a car tire. Weird.

  But very intriguing.

  Forgoing the shovel, she shooed Jax back and began to scoop the dirt away with her hands. More rubber. Rounded. Sliced and torn in places. Definitely not a tire. It was more like a rubber cover encasing something solid that gave a little when she tested it. Some of the dirt she scraped away from it was rust colored.

  Her heart leapt as her fingers brushed something different. Something harder. She could feel the outline of it beneath the loosened soil and—

  “Oh shit.” It was a man’s boot.

  Keep going, that mysterious voice whispered. Don’t stop.

  It compelled her as much as the curiosity riding her did.

  “Why the hell am I doing this, Jax?” she murmured, uncovering another boot beneath the first.

  Jax leapt out of the hole.

  “Great,” she muttered. “You started this. Now you’re going to abandon me?”

  But he didn’t. The faithful beagle stood above her, tail wagging wildly, making happy little whining sounds as he watched her.

  Susan continued to scoop dirt away.

  Legs came into view. The odd rubber that encased them looked as though someone had peppered it with buckshot or something. Lots of ragged tears and holes she couldn’t see into for the dirt that had settled in them.

  Then a hip. A man lying on his side?

  Fear struck, almost instantly obliterated by that strange calm and inexplicably intense curiosity.

  Mannequin, the voice whispered in her head.

  Doubt rose, again vanishing as eagerness replaced it. She had to see what else the dirt concealed.

  A narrow waist. An arm drawn up over a head, concealing a face.

  “Please let this be a mannequin or some bizarre art project abandoned by the previous owner,” she murmured.

  Why the hell was she even still digging? Why was common freaking sense not kicking curiosity’s ass and hightailing her out of there?

  Because you have to know, that deep voice murmured. You need to know.

  “I do,” she agreed. “I need to know.”

  Her fingers tangled in soft hair.

  She stilled, rubbing the short dusty tresses between her fingers until the midnight color was revealed. Flying into motion, she brushed dirt away from the head those soft strands hid. Careful, but urgent, her heart slamming against her ribs.

  Breathing heavily, she sat back on her heels and stared down with utter amazement at the treasure she had uncovered.

  A man—a very tall man—lay curled on his left side, facing her, his right arm drawn up over his face, a large hand sporting numerous lacerations shielding his head.

  He was thin. So thin as to be almost skeletal. But his skin…

  It didn’t look leathery or decayed or mummified.

  Nor did it appear to be plastic. This was no mannequin.

  So why wasn’t she afraid? She should be very afraid. She should be shaking in her proverbial boots right now.

  Cautiously, she grasped his wrist and lifted the arm a couple of inches, slowly drawing it down away from his face.

  “Oh no,” she breathed. Lowering his arm to his side, she leaned in close and brushed his dark hair back from his dusty face. “What did they do to you?” she whispered.

  He was handsome… or would’ve been were it not for the wounds that scored his compelling features. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as though he still suffered. His ears had bled, as had his nose. His cheeks, coated with perhaps a week’s worth of dark stubble, were sunken and marred by so many deep gashes and scratches. What had happened to him?

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  How long had he been buried there? She glanced down his long length. And how had he remained so well preserved? As though he had just lain down and breathed his last breath five minutes ago?

  She returned her attention to his face, drew her fingers across his forehead, carefully avoiding the jagged line carved into it.

  His skin was gritty from the dirt. Cool to the touch.

  She shook her head. “What did they do to you?” she whispered again.

  One of his eyelids lifted.

  She sucked in a breath.

  His brown eye blinked, then focused on her.

  Amber light flashed in it.

  The fear that she should have been feeling all this time now struck with a vengeance.

  Her heart doing its damnedest to burst from her chest, she yanked her fingers back and tried to scoot away.

  His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist, preventing her from withdrawing.

  “Oh shit!” she cried, struggling to free herself from his hold while Jax began to bark.

  Agony contorted the man’s features as she strained against his grip. A moan rumbled forth from his throat.

  Glancing down, she saw bone protruding from his forearm and stilled. She returned her wide-eyed gaze to his face, breathing heavily.

  His brows drew down as he squeezed his eyes shut. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he clenched his teeth and hissed in a breath.

  “This isn’t happening,” she whispered shakily. “This so isn’t happening.”

  I’m sorry.

  She could hear the pain that afflicted him even in his thoughts.

  I’m sorry. Don’t leave. Please.

  Drawing in a ragged breath, he fought the pain. Excruciating. Unbearable.

  Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, he chanted over and over again, wishing he could speak the words aloud.

  Shouldn’t have grabbed her. Didn’t mean to frighten her. Hurts so fucking bad. I just didn’t want her to leave.

  He tightened his hold on her wrist. Not to restrain her, but because he needed the contact. Been so long. He rubbed his thumb against her soft skin. Been alone for so damned long. Just didn’t want her to leave. Please don’t leave me.

  The dirt shifted near him.

  He opened the eye that wasn’t swollen and damned near wept when he saw she had stopped straining to get away from him and had actually inched a little closer.

  Every movement hesitant, she reached out with her free hand and brushed his hair back from his face. Moisture sparkled in her eyes as her throat worked in a swallow. “I won’t leave,” she promised softly. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you.”

  The courage it took for her say that and to remain with him when the pain pounded him so hard that he could no longer dampen her fear…

  Gritting his teeth, he slowly brought her hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss to her knuckles. Thank you. He met her gaze, tried to speak, but couldn’t. Thank you, he thought again, wishing he could convey his gratitude.

  Smiling through her tears, she nodded and again drew her free hand over his hair in a caress that was pure ecstasy.

  Forgive me, he pleaded silently.

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. It didn’t hurt. You just caught me off guard.”

  Surprise struck. Could she read his thoughts?

  Not for grabbing your wrist, he thought.

  She tilted her head to one side. “Then for what?”

  She could. She could read his thoughts.

  For this, he told her. Altering the angle of her arm, he brought her wrist to his lips and sank his fangs in deep.

  The woman cried out in protest, her pretty features creasing with pain as s
he tried to free herself from his grasp. A few seconds later, she swayed. Her eyelids lowered as her brow smoothed and her struggles ceased.

  He moaned as his fangs siphoned her blood directly into his parched veins. Sweet relief.

  The dog began to growl.

  Calm your pet, he thought, knowing somehow that she would comply with his request.

  The woman murmured something that seemed to soothe it. The growls ceased.

  Sleep, he encouraged her.

  Eyes closing, she sank down beside him, her face inches away from his own.

  She smelled so good, so fresh after an eternity of being surrounded by the scents of dirt, blood, and smoke.

  When her skin grew cooler and her heartbeat picked up a bit, he withdrew his fangs. Any more and she would require a transfusion.

  He gritted his teeth and moaned as the worst of his wounds began to heal. The bone in his arm slowly shifted back into position in torturously small increments. Those in his legs did the same. Organs damaged by hunger and dehydration regenerated. Flesh parted by the deepest gashes slowly began to knit itself back together. But none of it healed completely. He needed more blood.

  He stared at his rescuer.

  If he took any more of hers, he might have to give some of it back. Something bad would happen if he did that, wouldn’t it? If he returned her blood after it had been in his body, wouldn’t it harm her in some way?

  Several moments’ contemplation didn’t recover the reason why, but he wouldn’t risk it.

  Releasing her wrist, he raised his shaking hand and brushed disheveled auburn hair back from her face. Her features were relaxed in sleep. Dirt-smudged. Damp with the tears she had shed for him.

  At his touch, she made a sound somewhere in the back of her throat and snuggled closer with a sigh.

  He didn’t know who she was.

  He didn’t know who he was.

  But in that moment, he loved her for freeing him.

  The dog voiced a plaintive whine.

  Speech still eluding him, he sent feelings of calm to the loyal animal.

  Then, taking the woman’s small, pale hand in his, he tucked it against his chest, pressed his forehead to hers, and succumbed to a deep healing sleep.

  Whistling under her breath, she strode up a sidewalk toward a sprawling one-story house. Voices carried to her ears long before she entered without knocking and closed the door behind her.

  Shrugging off a long black coat, she hung it up on a rack that held a dozen or more others. Hers bore wet patches that carried a metallic scent. Her shirt and pants did, too.

  A chorus of greetings made her smile and turn toward a large living room with high ceilings. Several sofas and love seats held a multitude of men and women, most of whom had black hair and brown eyes and were garbed in midnight hues like her.

  Tossing them a wave, she headed for a darkened hallway on the opposite side of the room.

  “Stanislav!” someone called over the jumble of conversations.

  Turning, she saw her friend claim a seat at a table in the corner. He motioned to the chessboard atop it. “Join me for a game?”

  She nodded. “Just give me a minute to clean up after tonight’s hunt,” she called back, her voice deep and flavored with a similar Russian accent. The room blurred as she shot into the hallway and down to a basement bedroom. Peeling off black clothing, she crossed to the bathroom, stepped into a large shower, and turned the faucets.

  Water struck her in rhythmic pulses, warm and welcome. Soapsuds flew as she bathed so swiftly it was all a blur.

  Turning the water off, she stepped out, grabbed a towel, and dried her body as quickly as she had cleaned it. Her hair felt short as she rubbed it vigorously. Dropping the towel on the long granite counter beside the sink, she looked in the mirror.

  She had showered so fast that steam had not had time to gather on the glass, leaving her view unobscured.

  A strikingly handsome male stared back as she combed her fingers through her damp hair. Warm brown eyes. Jet-black hair and eyebrows. Dark stubble coating a strong jaw. Broad, muscled shoulders. A well-developed chest. Thick biceps.

  Staring at her reflection, she reached out and turned on the sink’s cold-water faucet.

  It squeaked, then squeaked again as she adjusted the temperature.

  Then squeaked again. And again.

  Frowning, Susan sighed as a persistent whining sound dragged her from sleep. “Too tired, Jax,” she mumbled. “Give me another hour.”

  More whining.

  “Thirty minutes?” she bargained hopefully. “I’ll give you some beef jerky if you wait.”

  He barked a protest.

  “All right. All right,” she groaned. “I’m up.” But she didn’t move. Exhaustion pulled at her, urging her to go back to sleep. Soooo tempting.

  A shiver shook her.

  Sighing, she would’ve snuggled deeper into the covers to sneak in a few more minutes of rest, but something hard pressed against her forehead. She frowned. And no sheet or blanket covered her.

  She tried to move her arm to search for them and couldn’t.

  Grumbling, she pried her eyes open.

  A face swam into view, blurry at first because the man’s forehead rested against hers.

  Oh crap. Her eyes flew wide. A man’s forehead was pressed against hers!

  Gasping, she reared back and stared at the stranger.

  His eyes were closed, his breathing long and slow with sleep. Brow furrowed, he cradled her hand to his chest as if he never wanted to let it go.

  What the hell?

  His cheeks were sunken and marred by scratches and gashes. She cast a frantic look down his body. He was underweight, emaciated, his form clad in what appeared to be a rubber diving suit that bore numerous tears and holes.

  She looked up at the dirt walls around them and found Jax peering down at her. As soon as she met the beagle’s big, soulful eyes, he barked and his body began to rock as he wagged his tail in relief.

  Fear and confusion buffeted her. She remembered Jax waking her up last night. Remembered following his barks down here to the basement and finding him digging like crazy. Remembered curiosity overwhelming her, driving her to grab a shovel and start digging so she could find out what had caught Jax’s attention.

  She returned her gaze to the tall dirt walls. Had she dug this hole?

  This was a really deep hole.

  The sore muscles of her arms and legs and the blisters on her free hand told her she had dug it.

  She looked at the man beside her. But who was he? Where had he come from?

  He couldn’t have…

  She grimaced at the absurdity of the question that arose but couldn’t seem to stop her mind from posing it.

  She hadn’t found this man down here, buried at the bottom of this hole, had she?

  She shook her head, then reeled with dizziness. Throwing her free hand out, she braced it on the man’s hip, then jerked it back. She didn’t know what other injuries he might be sporting and didn’t want to jar his wounds.

  “Not possible,” she whispered. “It’s not possible.”

  She couldn’t have removed several feet of dirt from her basement floor and uncovered this man. This man was alive. She could see the faint rise and fall of his chest. And he clutched her hand. He clutched her hand, not the other way around.

  But she had been in the house for about a month now. No way could he have lived down here that long.

  So who was he?

  Panic rising, she tugged against his hold in an attempt to free herself.

  He sighed in his sleep and drew his thumb over the back of her hand in a light caress.

  Terrified now, she rose onto her knees and tugged harder. She didn’t know who the hell this was, but—

  His eyes opened sluggishly, as though he was having difficulty coming awake.

  Susan scooted as far away from him as she could and yanked against his hold.

  Brow creasing, he glanced ov
er at her.

  She froze, afraid to move now that she had drawn his attention.

  He started to smile, then must have noticed the fear she radiated, because his eyes widened and he swiftly rolled onto his back.

  His hand clamped down hard around hers as he closed his eyes. “Ahhhh!” His face contorted and the tendons in his neck stood out as he threw his head back and cried out at the agony the sudden movement had spawned.

  Pain shot through her fingers until she worried he might break them.

  The pressure immediately lessened. I’m sorry. He drew sharp, jagged breaths in and out through his nose. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. The pain just caught me off guard.

  His deep voice flowed into her head with ease, as though he had spoken to her telepathically many times in the past.

  She stared at him, wide-eyed, as his breathing slowed. The taut muscles of his body relaxed somewhat.

  Was the pain receding?

  The fear that held her in place abruptly fell away. The tightness in her chest faded. Her shoulders unknotted. Her head still swam a bit and her stomach remained unsettled, but that awful fear was gone.

  He eased his grip on her hand a bit more, rubbed his thumb over her skin in another caress. “Forgive me.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. His voice was deeper, rougher than the one in her head. Hoarse from long disuse perhaps?

  He opened his eyes.

  She sucked in a breath.

  They glowed now with an incandescent amber light.

  He licked chapped lips. “Please don’t fear me. I mean you no harm.”

  She didn’t fear him, though she couldn’t say why. “Who are you?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, paused, then closed it. The amber light in his eyes flashed brighter. “I’m…” His frown deepened. “I’m…” A sound of frustration escaped him as he carefully raised his free hand and gripped his forehead. “I don’t know.”

  She studied him. “You can’t remember?”

  “No.”

  Now that panic didn’t cloud her mind, she delved into his thoughts and kicked herself for not thinking of doing it sooner.

  Usually when she read someone’s mind, she found a mixture of short-term and long-term memories combined with whatever they were thinking in that moment. If she chose to delve deeper, she could often reconstruct the man or woman’s past.