Promises - Part 2

The continuation of my NaNoWriMo 2005 novel, Promises.

         “Haydn!” Her voice startled him, but he had no time to react. “You disabled the third boiler, right?” There was an urgency in what she was saying, and he could hear the heavy footsteps pounding toward them down the hall. Getting closer. His eyes drifted down the hall where the others were standing, preparing for the onslaught that was about to crash down on them. Only she was looking at him.
         “Yeah, I did,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear him. “He must have gotten it wrong.”
         The sound of automatic gunfire quickly drowned out the screeching of the super-heated steam shooting from the vents behind them.

         Haydn bolted upright in his bed. No, not his bed. A bed. A dingy bed in a shit motel. A bead or two of sweat rolled down the side of his head, as he turned to look to his left. In the other twin bed in the small room he could just make out the shape of a body curled up beneath the blanket which was rising and falling in time with the sound of breathing. Good, he hadn’t woken her. His own blanket, he noticed then, was not in his line of sight, but rather had fallen off the end of the bed. He’d been flailing again.
         Swinging his legs over the side, he cringed at the feel of the dirty, worn barber carpeting beneath his feet. He moved into the bathroom and clicked on the light, which flickered a few times before finally deciding to add to the ambiance of the place by producing a sickening yellow glow. The sound of a moth flitting against the light caught his attention for a moment before he turned on the faucet and held his hands beneath it. The water was cold, but he splashed it onto his face all the same, letting it drip down onto his old grey t-shirt unhindered. His reflection stared back at him through the grime on the mirror, and he realized how terrible he looked. His light brown hair was matted to his head, but only on one side, which caused it to stick straight up in the air on the other. Huge dark rings circled his hazel eyes, making him look old and tired. With a grimace to himself and a heavy sigh, Hayden clicked off the light and wandered back toward the bed.
         “You alright?” Again he was startled by her voice, though this time it was for real. In the dim light that was coming in through the Venetian blinds, he could see Rhiannon lying on her side, propping herself up on her elbow.
         Haydn sat down heavily and drew a deep breath. “Yeah.” It was all he wanted to say, but it was all he needed to say, too.
         “You have a nightmare again?”
         He nodded.
         “You want to talk about it?” She pushed herself up so she was sitting, pulling her knees and the blanket up to her chest. She always asked, and his answer was always the same.
         “No, but thanks, Rhian.” Haydn sat down on the bed, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. His eyes regarded her for a moment before he forced a smile. She was watching him skeptically. “Really,” he added after a moment. Finally she nodded in return and lowered herself back onto her pillow. Her deep red hair, pulled back in a loose braid, stood out against the cream-colored pillowcase, even in the darkness. His eyes stayed on her for a while as her breathing slowed to the rhythm of sleep.
         Leaning back, he entwined his fingers behind his head and stared up through the dark at the ceiling with its cracked plaster and water stains. By the time his eyes closed and sent him to an empty blackness of sleep, the dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky to the east.
         A voice, whisper soft. A gentle hand on his shoulder. His blinked himself awake slowly, and found himself looking up into startling green eyes.
         “Haydn?” He could only manage a quiet groan in response. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but we have to go.” With another guttural sound, Haydn pushed himself up onto his elbows, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. “I’m sorry to make you get up,” Rhiannon added, taking a step back. “It looked like you were sleeping soundly.”
         He nodded. He had been. Finally. Finally he was just too tired to think about anything at all, and so he fell into a completely dreamless sleep. The first time in at least a month. And of course it had to be the one time they had an itinerary to stick to. She ruffled his hair, as an older sister might do, and smiled.
         “Come on then! You can sleep in the car.”
         He couldn’t help but laugh. He had never been able to fall asleep on or in a moving vehicle ever, and she knew it. Rhiannon, on the other hand, could fall asleep more or less anywhere, and cars especially put her to sleep if she wasn’t driving, making her the worst driving partner. As it was, they’d worked out an agreement some time back; she would drive unless necessity dictated that he drive instead. That way, they’d both always have someone to talk to.

         Rhiannon turned to regard Haydn as she drove down the thruway. She’d been telling him a joke she heard recently, and had been amazed that he didn’t laugh. Wondering if maybe he’d missed the punch line, she turned and noted, with no small amount of surprise, that he was asleep. His head was tilted straight back and was balanced so precariously that the slightest bump would send it lolling to one side. She smiled and returned her eyes to the road. Poor Haydn. He never could get a good night’s sleep, it seemed. Plagued by nightmares ever since she’d met him, Rhiannon had become accustomed to being woken in the middle of the night by his gasps and yells when he woke himself. Sometimes she would just lie still, pretending that she hadn’t heard anything, that she was still asleep. She knew he felt terrible whenever he woke her, so sometimes she would pretend that she didn’t. But Rhiannon was a light sleeper, and she heard him every night.
         It was a warm day in April and Rhiannon had her window rolled down, allowing the temperate air to swirl through her Jetta. The music was on loud because of the wind whipping past the open window, but she reached her hand out to the little knob to turn the volume down. If he’d fallen asleep with Dropkick Murphy’s blasting like that, it probably wouldn’t wake him now, but she decided not to take the chance. The boy needed to sleep. And so, with her eyes fixed on the open stretch of road ahead of her, Rhiannon found herself wondering, as she often did, what his nightmares were all about.

         As the sounds of gunfire tore through the corridor, Haydn fell back against the wall. His eyes found her just ahead of him, facing toward their assailants. As he watched, her hand reached behind her, to her neck, sliding just below the collar of her shirt. There, the tendons of her wrist tensed, as though she was gripping something solid, and when she stretched her arm above her head, something came with it. It glinted in the fluorescent lighting, and even from where he was Haydn caught the unmistakable smell of silver. She turned to him, glancing over her shoulder and he clearly saw the fury in her eyes.
         “Stay back,” she said to him, though he couldn’t hear her over the cacophony of guns and shouting. Before he could react, she was stepping forward, charging in, and as she ran, her muscles bulged visibly and she seemed to actually grow in size. It took him only a moment to register that she was growing with every stride. Her clothing, even her shoes, flowed into her form as she moved, replaced by thick, shining fur. Her hands became enormous with claws like small knives desiring nothing more than to rend flesh. Even the sword that she clutched in one monstrous paw had grown to accommodate her new massive size. Ears, now positioned on top of her head, lay flat back, and even though he couldn’t see it, Haydn knew that her once beautiful face had shifted into a muzzle with a snarling maw full of canine fangs.
         Immediately following her, not more than a step or two behind, the others charged in. Most were unarmed except for the claws and teeth they had sprouted in nearly the same instance as she had. Behind them all, Haydn stood and only a moment later he felt the rage and anger stirring within himself. Almost beyond his control, every muscle in his body tensed all at once and he heard his joints popping as he swelled. He always hated this part—the pain—and it always seemed to only fuel the fire that he spent most of his time trying to hide. He screamed, as though to command his body to stop the agonizing change, but instead a bestial roar escaped his mouth, and he knew it was too late to stop it. He was here now. He might as well use it. He could easily smell the prey up ahead now, and Haydn ran in, jaws open.

         A quick jerk to the right. A swerve back to the left, and Haydn woke up. He turned toward Rhiannon, who was looking at him apologetically.
         “Sorry,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “Didn’t see that guy there.” Haydn shifted his gaze and noted the man ahead of them, vigorously displaying his middle finger. Their eyes met again through a peel of laughter.
         “How long was I out?” he asked, working out the crick in his neck.
         “Not long. Do you want to try to get a bit more before we get to the city?”
         Haydn’s mind drifted back to the dream he’d so conveniently been woken from only a moment before. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think so.”
         Rhiannon clicked the radio back on. He noticed the city skyline rising in the distance. “How much longer do you think before we’re there?”
         “Just another couple hours, I think,” she replied, beginning to drum the steering wheel in time with the music. “We made better time yesterday than I thought we did, so we might actually be a little early.”
         Haydn nodded. Not that he was really looking forward to meeting with the elders again, but he was anxious to be back in a real city. They had been too long out in the Adirondacks; time to return to civilization.


         Isolde could see the sky beginning to grow light in the east. Time to head home. She had been walking for some time. Both her body and mind were wandering, and even as she saw the stars begin to fade with the coming of dawn, she wasn’t sure if she should actually head home. But in the end, she had no where else to go. If he’s smart, she thought to herself as she approached her building, He’ll be gone. At least for the day.
         Her steps made no sound as she walked up the stairs and down the hall to the door. The door that was still unlocked. Had he been foolish enough to stay? Or, she realized with a shudder, had she hurt him too badly for him to leave? The interior of the apartment was dark save for the small bronze lamp on the desk. Her eyes searched the room quickly and saw only the broken pieces of a chair and a discarded baggie of water that had been ice. No Liam. Isolde breathed a sigh of relief.
         Her footsteps carried her through the room to the closed door at the other end. Pushing the door open silently, she was welcomed by the nearly complete darkness afforded to her by the heavy curtains which always remained drawn. And something else, too. Breathing. Liam. She could see him now, or at least the outline of him where he was lying beneath the blanket of the queen sized bed. Not only had he not left, but he was asleep in the bed they shared, as though she hadn’t nearly killed him a few hours before. As though he trusted her even after that.
         Isolde was still puzzling it over as she untied her boots and slid them from her feet. The skirt slipped easily over her narrow hips before she pulled her tight shirt over her head. Another garment was in her hand after a moment, and she let the silken gown fall over her body, clinging to her curves. Not wanting to wake Liam, she pulled the blanket back gently and slid beneath it, keeping a respectable distance from him. Now was not the time to talk. She would talk to him tonight.
         Her black hair barely hit the pillow before he rolled over, moving across the space she had intentionally left between them until he lying beside her. Just within her field of vision, Isolde could see the slightest reflection of light in his eyes. He was looking at her. It was that hurt puppy look again, though Isolde had never felt like she deserved it so much as she did in that instant. Beneath the blanket, she felt his arm move to drape across her, as he often did. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. He inched closer, keeping his arm lying over her stomach in a comfortable embrace.
         “I love you, Isolde.”
         That made her look. She had to arch her neck so she could turn to face him without them bumping noses, he had moved that close to her. “You what?”
         Those eyes. Damn him for those eyes. “I love you, Isolde.” The arm around her squeezed tightly for a moment; a momentary spasm to convey the truth of his words. She blinked, though she could see he meant what he said.
         “Why?” It was the only thing she could manage to say.
         His response was only to squeeze her again, harder this time, as he leaned his head forward the short distance to place a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. Isolde closed her eyes and shifted onto her side, tilting her head to meet his lips with her own. She remained like that for a moment, enjoying the feeling and warmth of his breath against her face as she kissed him. How could he want to give that up? He couldn’t realize how much she missed things like that. When she leaned back, her eyes opened to look upon him.
         “I’m sorry,” she said, and it seemed to her that it was the most pathetic thing she could have chosen to say. “Are you… Did I hurt you badly?” She’d had to ask that question before, and every time it tore her up to remember what she’d done to him.
         The faintest trace of a smile crossed his lips. “Just a little bruised,” he said, and she took it for truth.

         And it mostly was. He truly was only bruised—it just was more than a little. He knew what it did to her, or rather he imagined that he knew, when she lost control like that. The guilt was nearly overwhelming for her, even though it rarely happened, at least with him as the target. So he chose to bask in the slight understatement, rather than see her wracking herself with remorse. He pulled her close and kissed her again. She already felt bad enough, he could tell. He didn’t need to make her feel and worse, and so he decided she didn’t truly need to know. Liam held her as he turned onto his back, causing Isolde to move with him, though she sat up as she moved so now she was upright, her legs straddling his hips. She leaned down to kiss him, and this time their lips did not part for a long while.
         When they were in the midst of their passion, Liam could feel with the tip of his tongue that Isolde’s fangs had extended, and he tilted his head to one side, exposing the pulsing vein in his neck as though in an invitation. His eyes were closed as their bodies moved together, though he knew her eyes were on him, searing holes into his flesh with their intensity. She leaned down, her hair falling over his face, brushing softly against his skin. There was an instant of something cold against his neck, but it was replaced immediately by an intense warmth, though after that his mind could not register anything at all.
         It was as though he fell, spiraling into darkness, into oblivion, with nothing around him to grab a hold of to slow his descent. A shiver, violent and uncontrolled, ran through his body kissed his neck and her sharpened teeth penetrated the tender skin. Liam held on to her, clutching at her so fervently that his dulled nails, bitten nearly too short, almost drew blood themselves. She never took much—only drinking of him until they were both satisfied.

         Once she was satiated, Isolde pushed herself up so she could look upon Liam. Returning to full awareness was always difficult for him, and so was not at all surprised when he managed only a sleepy half-grin before sleep overcame him. The two punctures on his throat were still bleeding she noted, and so she tilted her head downward, licking the wounds gently. As her saliva mixed with the blood, it coagulated and caused the flesh to mend in only a few moments, leaving nothing but the smallest of bruises behind. Isolde swung her leg over him so she could lie beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as she rarely did.
         “I’m sorry, my love,” she whispered, though she knew he would not hear her. “But I promised long ago that I would never subject you to this hell of mine.” She closed her eyes and, as dawn broke over the city, she too fell asleep.

To be Continued