Reluctant Mates - 21 Paranormal Romance Stories (Werewolf, Vampire, Minotaur and Monster collection) (36 page)

The idea hit me like a wave in the chest.

“Me? A queen?”

“You,” he said in that leathery voice. “Gina. Queen of all of us.”

I looked at him again and he bent to kiss me with his mighty chest flexing under my fingers. I closed my eyes and let the idea of being royalty, even a wild, savage sort of royalty, carry me away on the summer breeze that drifted by at what seemed like just the perfect moment.

––––––––

E
ighteen years since my last dream, I had another.

The night before a trip home to Baton Rouge for a quick parental visit en route to a much needed camping trip, sleep came hard. Hours passed before I fell into a restless unconsciousness that was for the whole night too hot, too cold, too noisy or too quiet. I tossed, I turned, opened my windows, and moved the dog about six times, but nothing helped. After four hours, twelve minutes and forty-two seconds of that, I got up and poured myself a cup of coffee, an old family remedy for “the wakes”, what my gramma called insomnia.

About halfway through the cup, my mind started to race. A dull ache grew up the front of my face and spread across my forehead.

“Oh, seriously? When’s the last time I had one of these? Ugh.” Pushing my thumb into one temple and my index finger into the other, I squeezed, trying to calm the pounding, throbbing, jaw-clenching agony. And then, just as I started to steel myself for the hell that was certainly coming, it cleared.

“Oh. Huh.” I said, looking around my kitchen, half expecting the headache to reappear. It never did. I finished my coffee, indulged in half of the three-inch thick slice of cake I bought after dinner and felt like sleep was over me before my head even hit the pillow.

***

M
y eyes open, and my body no longer exists. I’m just a force of some sort, like a living camera watching things happen. Immediately, I recognize the place, but most certainly not the people. They seem like people anyway, at least from the strange bird’s-eye view I have. Every time I blink, a still image freezes in my mind for a few moments before the film resumes rolling. Every so often it clicks, it hitches like it’s running through an old reel-to-reel.

In a long, slow, swooping arc, my sight moves around the scene below, and I realize that the men below are all completely nude, and very large. Muscular, obviously tall even though they’re crouched in a circle, they remind me at first of cavemen or some kind of half-beasts. Closing in, I see that they are just men, but are larger than I thought. They seem unnaturally big, in the same way that a professional athlete is when you’re a kid, like nothing could ever possibly be bigger.

They’re talking. They’re speaking English, but it’s a rushed, hurried pattern of speech that’s hard to make out. Still, my vision spirals closer to them, until I can first make out the color of their hair. Three of the four have long, wavy, dark hair and the last – the man who is the biggest – has a shaggy, thick cascade of silver that runs down his back. Of the three with dark hair, one’s seems absolutely black while another has a bit of red and the third has a shock of white.

“What do we do?” Red-hair slides both of his hands backwards along his head, and all the muscles on his back and his shoulders flex. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“No, and we won’t. But we have to figure out how to keep her safe,” says black hair. “She’s too pretty to leave out here alone. With all the... Well, she’s too pretty to leave alone.”

“It’s not just that she’s pretty.” The white shock blows out of the man’s face when he speaks, and then looks to either of his fellows.

“What
is
it then? Why am I always the last to know anything?” Red says.

“Maybe you just need things spelled out the slowest.” The other two laugh, and one slaps him on the back.

“You’re young. Lotta things you don’t know yet, but it’s been so long since the pack got a new member that we forget.” I lose track of whose voice it is, but notice there’s something on the ground. A form, which must be the person they’re talking about.

Pack? And what is this? Did they rescue her, or is it...?

“No.” Silver hair steps out of the shadow cast by the fire that I notice for the first time, behind him. His voice is breath-taking. It’s deep, strong, and powerful, although he does not speak loudly. It just booms in my mind. “It’s because we haven’t talked about this in a long, long time. No one thought she was real.”

I notice then that they all have accents. Vaguely French ones, but it isn’t
France
French.

“What you mean
mon patron
?” Red says.

Cajuns! I’d recognize that accent anywhere
.

The huge one with the silver hair shakes his head. “Not enough time to explain it all. The moon’s coming, and we have to get her safe from ourselves. I’ll decide tomorrow morning. For tonight, we’ll lock her up. She won’t be happy when she wakes, but better mad than dead.”

“You got a good way with the words, Sebastien. You really do. How long we got?”

“An hour, maybe two.”

As they talk, Silver, the one that Red called Sebastien hoists the unconscious woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, who is wearing a set of khaki outdoor clothes onto his shoulders. She stirs enough to groan when he wraps her arms around his massive neck, but that’s all. And then, as they begin to walk, their voices start to change. Their speech becomes rushed again, but more guttural and savage until the first of them – the red haired one – is no longer able to speak at all.

He wretches, and I watch in terror as he thrashes so hard he seems like he’s about to break in two. Going to all fours, he begins to shake his head back and forth like he’s...like he’s an animal.

“What’s happening, boss? Why’s he gettin’ took so early?” The black-haired man watches, his voice trembles.

“He’s young. Remember that. We all did the same when we were first turned.”

Turned? What on earth?

Before my eyes, Red rears up, lets out a horrifying roar, and falls back to his knees, shaking. He screams out, his nails grow long and his fingers turn under. He lets out another terrible, savage sound, and next I see, he is no longer a man.

“Go!” Silver-haired Sebastien says. “Go!”

In one direction, three men run, one of them with a woman slung across his shoulder.

In the other, as difficult as it is for me to believe, even though I’m the one having the dream, runs a wolf.  A black one, with hair tinged in red.

The beast howls, and for a moment, I lose track of which me is the real one and which one is the dream. My eyes shoot open. Bedroom is black. Clock says 4:31. It’s still before sun-up. I pat my chest and make sure I’m here and whole. Like clockwork, exactly three minutes later, three minutes of hard breathing and my eyes searching the shadows for wolves, the front of my head starts to ache.

“I forgot about the ones that came
after
the dreams,” I groan.

Lying back, I somehow manage to fall asleep again before the headache hits me with full force.

No more dreams, not tonight, anyway.

***

“I
t’s just for a little alone time daddy. No, it’s nothing about you and mom, or anybody else, I just like to get out into the bayou and think sometimes.”

“Well alright, I was just worried somebody upset you. You said you had another of those headaches, so it’s good to hear they’re not my fault.”

“No, no, not your fault. To be honest, I can’t figure out what’s causing them. Doctors weren’t ever able to figure them out and those flat-on-your-ass pills don’t seem to work. None of that stuff worked, even when I was little.” I chuckle, kick the emergency brake on my truck into place and hop out. The forest feels like home as soon as my feet hit the spongy ground.

“How far you going in? With the rain lately, some of the roads in and out have got a little difficult to manage.”

“Not too far, probably about a mile or so off the road. I’ve got all my gear, and I’m not expecting to do much exploring this time. Just some sitting and thinking.”

“Okay, well, be safe Jaz.”

“Sure thing, daddy.”

“Oh, I just thought of something,” he says. “These headaches you keep getting. Are you having those weird dreams like when you were a little girl again? I remember you used to get them at the same time.”

“Wow, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about those dreams in years. They sure were spooky though.” I just want to go, to get back out into the woods with all the earth and the water. I don’t want a long chat about my ridiculous dreams. Especially not that last one.

“Yeah, that’s good. Well hey baby girl, your mom’s calling. I better let you go. Be safe out there. Love you lots.”

“You too daddy, love you.”

With my car locked up at the trailhead, I wander down a path that runs parallel to the train tracks between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. When my lungs fill, I can taste it, I can feel the life, the trees and the water all around me.
I’m home
.

Walking along the trail, I let my mind drift back to those dreams my dad mentioned. When I was young, about fourteen or so, I started to have these incredibly vivid visions and, like he said, almost always had headaches before and after. Just like the one a couple nights ago. They weren’t normal dreams, either. They were like reality, but a little floatier and a little more blurry. Kind of like how soap operas look. Like watching someone else’s home videos, and in a way that’s what the dreams were.

A raccoon looks at me from a little bough of tree branches. “Got any babies up there?” I say. It’s getting close to the right time of year for them, but she doesn’t answer. I check my map and decide on a place about a mile from where I am. It’s a little camping area pretty deep in the bayou, and there’s usually no one there. Again, my mind drifts as I wind my way down the narrowing path.

When I dreamed, it was like watching flashbacks of a life that wasn’t mine. They always followed the same pattern: I met someone new, and that night, I’d have a dream of their past. Like I said, it felt like watching their home movies. Nothing much ever came of them. For a while, I got it into my head that I was some kind of psychic, or a clairvoyant. But then one day, just as suddenly as they started, it all stopped. Dreams and headaches both just stopped coming. This last one was different though. I hadn’t met anyone new that I could remember; certainly no one that reminds me of the girl in the dream.

I duck a tree branch, push some dangly Spanish moss out of my face and come upon a wide, shallow creek. “You’re not supposed to be here.” I check the map. Sure enough, no creek. “Only thing to do is follow it, I guess. Let’s see where going south gets me.”

A hundred yards or so north from the path, I notice the overgrowth getting deeper, so I turn around and try south. To the south, I find the same – overgrowth and ankle deep water. Perfect for crawdad fishing, but also perfect for snakes. Wandering back to where the creek floods my path, the best idea seems to be to make like a wagon train and ford the silly thing.

***

I
settle into my little lean-to that’s propped between two mossy trees on the highest ground I could find, take a deep breath and relish for the second time since arriving the vibrant scent of green, of life, that surrounds me. I kick off my shoes, squeeze out my socks to get the remnants of creek water out, and drape them over the ropes holding my tent to the trees.

“Well, Jaz, here you are! Got everything you need, and even some things you don’t.”

I arrange my meager belongings – two magazines, a book I promised to read but don’t want to, a little pouch with a few sandwiches and apples inside, and my tiny, snub-nosed Smith and Wesson – on top of my sleeping bag to make sure I do, actually, have everything.

Through my tent flap, I see that outside the whole world has that cool yellow color peculiar to deep bayous in late February afternoons. Misty, thick fog hangs around the water about fifty yards to the east, and a couple of big, fat swamp flies buzz around my tent, bumping against the fabric. I thump one of them, wipe my hand across my forehead and decide to stretch my legs for a couple of hours.

Pushing off my mattress, I grab a sandwich and my pistol, pull on some fresh socks, and step out, drawing deep the magical scent of the world all around me.

Out of nowhere, I feel a twinge in the front of my brain.

“No, no, no, not now. Not right now.” Pinching my temples between my fingers, I grit my teeth and try to will away the pain.

My heart pounds two times, then a third, and my brain feels like it’s about to explode. Somewhere deep inside my mind, I think I hear a voice, or a whisper, or some kind of suggestion. It’s almost like something is trying to push through the fabric of reality and inside my head. I think of the, and then I think of The X-Files.

A car engine revs, whirring around in my head, just like the sound that wakes me when I’m on the verge of sleep.

And then, as mysteriously as the pain and the noise appeared, they vanish without a trace.

“Ugh, thank God. No time for that sort of business.” I squeeze my eyes shut, and rub them with the back of my hand.

Three birds look at me, cock their heads, and fly away.

***

A
fter being alone for the better part of the afternoon, except for one run-in with a swamp logger, less than a hundred yards or so behind where I’m walking, I hear feet. There must be four pairs, I think, maybe more - heavy, crunching, thudding feet pounding through the forest – following me, and not stopping. I first noticed them about an hour ago, but at the time, ignored them, and then forgot. I kept moving. I know that my camp is a half-mile ahead, if even that. I know that if I can reach camp, I can phone for help if it comes to that. I’ll be safe.

I stick my hand in the little pouch I’m carrying, and wrap my fingers around my gun’s grip.
If anything jumps out at me, it’ll be sorry.

“You’re an idiot, Jaz,” I say. “Animals are following you through the forest. Whatever they are, as soon as they catch you, they’ll sniff and then they’ll go. Probably foxes. Lots of those around here. Just be calm. As soon as you start rushing, you’ll trip and fall and that’ll be that.”