Moon Tortured (Sky Brooks Series Book 1) (11 page)

“How do you change so fast?”

He shrugged. “You do anything often enough it becomes easy. Become one with your better half and when you call, it will answer freely.”

Better half? Who the hell was he kidding with that? Referring to my wolf as my better half was as ludicrous as wanting to change to it without the call of the moon.

I don’t think I could ever understand the way Ethan felt about his animal half and he was simply abhorred by the way I felt about mine. Instead of arguing, we sat in uncomfortable silence as we waited for our food. Several times, I caught him looking at my eyes, not into them, but
at
them with that same peculiar look on his face.

“What are you looking at?” I finally asked.

He smiled, “You have nice eyes.” I could feel my face burning a bright strawberry color. I looked away, becoming increasingly interested in whatever was going on outside as I mumbled a thanks.

When the food arrived and the waitress left, he stabbed his fork through my chicken and removed it from my plate and replaced it with one of his steaks.

The steak was delicious and prepared better than I could have imagined. Savoring each bite, I took my time eating each piece. Ethan smiled, sitting back in his chair as he watched me attentively. Once again, his attention focused on my eyes—I’ve heard of breast men, leg men and even butt men but I’ve never heard of an eye man. “It’s rare I can bring a woman such pleasure with
jus
t food,” he said with a smirk, his gaze shifted from my eyes to my ruddy cheeks.

As soon as we had taken our last bite of food, he placed cash on the table and rushed me out the door as though the sun were about to set within seconds. This was my life now, fearing the sunset. I now had to find safety before the sun disappeared, ushering in the night and all the things that dwelled in it. At one time, I considered myself somewhat a creature of the night. I loved it, the calm and tranquility it offered. Now I was running from it.

Ethan stayed close to me, his arm at my waist as we threaded through the crowds. His gaze darted through the crowd. His hold on me tightened when the crowd thickened. He whispered directions to me as he guided me through the mass of people. It was the end of the workday and the city had become busier and more unsettling. The tall buildings blocked the sun making the city look dark and oppressive. The sounds of rushing loafers, tennis shoes and high heels against the asphalt were harsh and distracting.

The sordid combination of perfume, cologne, noise, chatter, and the negative energy from a long, hard day at work was overwhelming. I didn’t mind the crowds. I hated the noise and smells. But it was the chatter that bothered me the most. Auditory discrimination was still difficult for me. Far too often, I found myself engrossed in several conversations without really trying. After several minutes of conversation hopping, I was exhausted.

“This way.” Ethan took a firm hold on my elbow and directed me toward the alley behind a restaurant. It reeked from the garbage that filled the large bins that lined the narrow enclave. Debris that didn’t manage to land in the containers blew across our pathway. The smell was nauseating. Leaning against the brick wall, he sunk into the darkness. Someone walked toward us but with the sun glaring behind him, I couldn’t make out the face. Once closer, I realized I didn’t recognize him; but he had a look of familiarity as though he knew me. As he inched closer to me, I greeted him with a placid smile.

Ethan appeared behind the stranger and with one sweeping move, he wrapped his hands around the man’s upper body and twisted his neck, breaking it. The stranger let out a faint strangled cry before his eyes rolled back and blood seeped from his mouth.

Gaping in shocked silence, I stifled my cries. Ethan’s eyes were a smoldering gray, and I knew who was in the pilot seat at this moment.

“What the hell did you do?” I choked out. I didn’t give him a chance to answer before darting past him and running as fast as I could toward the street.

“Skylar wait!”

I didn’t bother turning around. There wasn’t any explanation he could have given me that would have made this situation right. The man was human. There was a weakness to his struggle. There wasn’t anything supernatural about him. He wasn’t a vampire. This was bad, really bad. What the hell had I gotten myself into? My thoughts went into overdrive. Why did I trust the were-animals? Had they really given me a reason too? Nothing really made sense at this point. All I knew was that Ethan had just killed a human for no apparent reason and I needed to get away from him.

“Skylar!”

Ethan’s footsteps pounded heavily across the pavement as he gained on me. My mind was bombarded by a dichotomy of thoughts that I couldn’t sort out fast enough. These people were murderers—period. All I needed was to get to the street and catch a cab. I would have to figure the rest out later.

Running blindly to escape from Ethan, I collided with a man at the end of the alley. I fell and stammered out a quick apology. Before I could come to my feet, the stranger grabbed me and pulled me to him. He held me so tight it was painful. I pushed his hands off my shoulder and flipped him over on his back. He grabbed my ankle and yanked hard, pulling me to the ground with him. He was human; breaking his hold was easy, but he was quick. Pulling something silver out of his pocket, he jabbed it in my direction. I couldn’t quite see what it was until I gripped his hand and held it steady. A Taser. He struggled to connect it with my body. I kept rolling, moving and twisting from left to right to keep it from touching me. He may not have been as strong as I was, but human tenacity was a bitch. He worked hard trying to disable me with the Taser.

Quiet steps approached. Ethan grabbed the Taser out of the assailant’s hand and lifted him off the ground with ease. His hand grasped the man’s neck. The human struggled for what seemed like an eternity as Ethan squeezed the life from his body. The sharp pop of a gun firing resounded and both Ethan and the assailant fell to the ground. My ears rang from the sound and blood from Ethan’s wound splattered, covering both my face and shirt.

The new assailant ran toward us with his gun drawn. I moved closer to Ethan, the muscles of his neck pulled tight as he labored to breath. He was close to changing. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, trying to sound soothing but the panic tainted my voice.

He steadied his gun, preparing to take another shot, this time at Ethan’s head. I threw the Taser that had fallen next to my feet. It lodged hard against his face sending him stumbling back. I lunged at him, helping his fall to the ground. He clawed at me as he tried to push me off him. Eventually I gained control and held him down firmly thrashing him repeatedly with my fist. I pummeled into him with a violent rage, ignoring the distinct feeling of bones separating and pressing into my skin, and reveling in the feel of fragmented bones and battered soft tissue underneath my hand. I hit and punched at him until he was limp, and I had sufficiently exorcised my anger and panic. I looked down at the bloody, disfigured man. He was dead.

Too shocked to feel any guilt, I stared at the results of my rage. My hands were bloodstained and bruised, and still I thirsted for more violence. It wasn’t the animal part of me that killed this man. It was an act done by the part of me I considered human. The so-called humane part of me wanted to cause more violence and inflict more pain.

“Skylar,” Ethan breathed out behind me. The sound of his voice pulled me out of my dazed state. I took another look at the stilled body and the results of the malevolence. I absorbed the violence, took in the horrific image and wondered where the line between my animal and my humanity lay.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, leaning into me. His familiar calm washed over me. I leaned back against him trying to make the images of what I’d done disappear. Eventually, I gave up on that lost cause and followed him back to the car.

By the time we got to the car, Ethan was noticeably in pain. I drove as he settled back in the passenger side. He pulled out his phone. “I’ve been shot,” he stated in a strained voice “ … of course it was silver; I wouldn’t call you if it weren’t.”

Jeremy’s voice came through clearly as he tried to determine how far we were and the extent of the injuries. “Should I come there?” he asked in a hurried voice.

“Skylar’s driving, I should get there before there’s too much damage,” he assured Dr. Baker. Each word pulled a painful grimace to his face. Sweat started to form along his brow and his color became ashen. He had already pulled off his shirt to assess the damage. I didn’t have a severe aversion to silver so I never knew how traumatic it could be to a were-animal. Silver stopped the healing process, and the skin inflicted with the silver darkened, appearing to go through phases of necrosis.

I didn’t know how much time we had. Ethan didn’t look well and the traffic was horrible. We took a back road, which kept us out of stop and go traffic, but it added to our drive time.

“I think I can take the bullet out,” I offered as we navigated through the back streets. My hands were quite steady and, in the past, I exhibited the necessary dexterity to apply stitches to myself on several occasions.

It must have been really painful because he agreed without hesitation. We pulled over when we found an area less populated. I went to the trunk to see what they had. I figured they had to have an emergency kit or something; after all, these people had a hospital in their home. They did. I pulled out the emergency kit and a toolbox.

The bullet hadn’t penetrated that deeply, I could feel the edge of it when I touched his chest. I used the alcohol, box cutter, and needle-nose pliers as best I could. Placing the box cutter firmly against the skin, I pressed it deep enough to separate the bullet from the tissue. I was so nervous, my hands slipped several times cutting him. He winced but never made a sound. Once I separated the bullet from the tissue well enough, I used pliers to dislodge the bullet. When I finished, I cleaned and bandaged the wound.

After the bullet was removed, the tissue quickly repaired itself.

As I navigated my way through traffic, Ethan laid back against the seat, periodically glancing in my direction.

“Why did you run from me?” he finally asked in a calm voice. I glanced in his direction. His appearance was less distressed; his eyes no longer held the grayish hue.

“Scared … I was scared,” I admitted. “I thought you had killed someone without cause,” I continued in a small voice.

“You think I am capable of that?” he asked in a low, sharp voice.

Yes. I thought he was capable of that and so much more. “I didn’t know what to think.”

He inhaled deeply and I could feel his eyes bearing on me. “Who were they?”

“They were part of the vampires’ garden,” he said flatly, his eyes still fixed on me. “They are humans who serve the seethe in various ways but mostly as food supply. Some do it in hopes of being changed and others to satisfy their own perverted needs. Those who do it in hope of being changed become slaves, willing to do anything to please their master, including abducting you,” he said as he looked at me.

He shifted in his seat and looked out the window. “You don’t trust us.”

I didn’t know how to answer that question. “I’ve never had to trust anyone other than my mother. I don’t think I know how to,” I admitted. But it was only a partial truth. No, I didn’t trust them and I doubted I ever would.

I wanted to say something to put an end to this long uncomfortable silence. We drove the rest of the way in silence; every so often, he looked in my direction and I couldn’t quite read his expression. After I pulled into the driveway, I quickly got out the car and went to the passenger side to help him. He closed the distance between us as he stepped out of the car. His face was mild, almost gentle as he grasped strands of my hair. Rolling them absently over his fingers in a manner that seemed intimate, his gaze roved over my face carefully. “You need to trust us, or at the very least learn to fake it,” he stated in a cool voice. He held my gaze; it was rapacious and hard. His comment wasn’t so much a suggestion as it was a well-worded threat. Dr. Baker met us at the door, his face etched with concern. Holding the bullet between my fingers, I looked at it again and dropped it into his hand.