The Lost Years (6 page)

Part 3 – LOUISE (1989)

Chapter 10

“Craven?” I walked over to the door which was still wide open. “Stop messing around.”

The corridor was deserted. What the hell? Where was he?

A hand covered my mouth. Someone was standing behind me.

“Who did you think it was?” Craven whispered into my ear as he moved his hand away.

“You scared me half to death.” I spun around and thumped my palms against his chest.

“I'm sorry,” he said as he pushed the door closed with his foot. “You look exceptionally beautiful this morning.”

“Are you kidding? I look like shit. I haven't even had a shower yet.”

“In that case—” A wicked grin crept across his face as he pinched my nipple lightly through the thin fabric of the tee-shirt. “Maybe I could join you.”

“I'd like that.” I hurled myself at him—wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs tight around his waist. A tingle ran through my body as I felt his erection pressed hard against my sex.

“It's cold!” I screamed.

He'd pushed me into the shower—I was still wearing tee-shirt and panties.

Craven grinned at me from the other side of the shower door. “Don't worry. I'll soon warm you up,” he said.

I watched impatiently as he discarded his clothes. By the time he'd joined me, the shower was running warm.

“Why have you got your clothes on?” he said.

Before I could respond, he'd ripped off my panties. Then he ran his hands under my tee-shirt, and pulled the soaking wet top off over my head. I grabbed his firm buttocks and pulled him hard against me. I could feel his erection throbbing against my tummy.

He grabbed my leg and hoisted it up onto his thigh. Our eyes met as he slid first one, and then a second finger inside me. Water cascaded over our faces as we kissed with a ferocity born out of pure lust.

His thumb flit back and forth across my clit as I rode his fingers hard. I was on the point of orgasm when he grabbed me by the hips, and spun me around so that I was leaning with my hands against the wall of the shower.

After he'd nudged my legs apart with his foot, he whispered, “I'm going to fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked.”

“Do it!” I shouted, and then gasped as he thrust his rock hard cock deep inside me.

He fucked me with such force that my arms almost gave way.

“Don't stop!” I said, as I pushed back to meet his every thrust.

His hand slid between my legs, and his fingers found my clit.

As my own climax overtook me, I felt his body grow tense. I knew he was about to come. He began to thrust even faster—even harder—until I felt him spill his seed deep inside me.

It took me several seconds to catch my breath. When I turned around he'd gone. The shower had gone. The bathroom had gone. All that was left was the blackness.

I sat up in bed, and looked around my prison. A beetle made its way across the floor. Outside, a bird sang. I hated the dreams and the false hope they gave me. The nightmares I could handle—after all I was living one every day.

The back of the toilet door was covered in small nicks. I'd long since abandoned recording the days. I knew what date it was, but only because Marlow kept me posted. The days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. It was difficult to believe I'd been there fifteen years, and yet it felt more like a thousand. The boredom was the worst part. I knew every blade of grass in the small enclosure. I could pick out a dozen different bird songs although I couldn't put a name to any of the species. Occasionally, a small creature would appear in the clearing: a rabbit, a mouse or a hedgehog. That would make my day. I sometimes had to throw stones at the rabbits to keep them away from the fence. I'd even grown accustomed to the smell of the wender berries which filled the air all year round.

For the first few years, I'd held onto the hope that Craven would rescue me, but I'd long since realised that was never going to happen. Had he been killed or just given up the search? I had no way of knowing.

What was the point of living if this was all I had to look forward to until they decided it was time for me to die? Why had they kept me alive for so long?  That was the question that still drove me crazy. It made no sense, but then nothing about my life made sense any more.

The first three years had been the worst. During those years, I'd had to endure visits from a woman I'd once considered to be a friend. Layla had taken a perverse pleasure in torturing me at every opportunity. Not physically—she'd never stepped foot inside the fence. She'd inflicted her brand of pain with words. I hadn't seen her for twelve years. It was Marlow who'd told me she'd been taken by Milton as his mate. Having to associate with me was now below her status. I had three guards who worked a rota. Each of them covered one week in three. I didn't know the names of two of them, and had never exchanged a single word with either. Marlow was different. He not only spoke to me, but treated me like an equal. We talked. Or at least he did. I mostly listened to his tales of my pack. I'm sure he didn't tell me everything, but I was grateful for the small crumbs of information he fed me. From what he'd told me, it was obvious Milton's reign had brought chaos to the pack. For decades the Maja had lived in security under my father. His alliance with the vampires, and his tolerance of the humans, had meant the pack had thrived and expanded. Things had changed and not for the better. Milton had entered into a pact with Lassiter, but it was an uneasy alliance. Instead of co-existing peacefully with the humans, the vampires had persuaded Milton to turn a blind eye to their open blood-lust. As if that wasn't bad enough, there had been numerous attacks by shifters on humans. It was exactly the kind of folly my father had strove to avoid. Humans may be the weaker species, but they aren't stupid. While shifters and vampires had kept the peace and remained in the shadows, the humans had been content to perpetuate the illusion we were simply mythological creatures. The whole territory was now like a bomb about to explode.

It was Marlow's turn on the rota. My other two keepers spent the bare minimum of time with me. Just long enough to deliver food, a change of clothing, and any other provisions I needed. Marlow stayed much longer—sometimes as long as three hours. Today was his last before the change of guard.

It was late morning—I was in the cabin. Every day I washed with cold water from the sink. I'd managed to secure soap, hair shampoo and other toiletries, but it was still an unpleasant experience. My outer clothes and towel were swapped only twice per week. I did at least have a change of underwear for each day. That 'privilege' hadn't been introduced until the fourth year of my captivity. I don't think it was any coincidence it was granted shortly after Layla stopped visiting me. Marlow had never admitted it, but I was sure he'd been responsible for negotiating my additional privileges.

A clanking sound caught my attention. I stood perfectly still and listened. No one else had actually been inside the enclosure since the fence was erected. Even when I'd fallen ill with a severe stomach bug, the medicines had been slid underneath the gate. I heard footsteps—coming closer.

The door to the cabin swung open.

“Hi,” Marlow said.

I tried to speak, but the words died in my throat.

“Can I come in?” he said.

I nodded—still unable to speak.

During the early years, I'd tried every trick in the book to lure one of my guards into the enclosure. I'd planned my attack in minute detail. Once I'd overpowered them, I'd make my escape, and then find Craven. That seemed so long ago. Escape wasn't something which even crossed my mind now.

This was my opportunity. Marlow was only a few feet away. He was a strong shifter, but I'd be in with a chance in a fight. So why didn't I attack?

“I don't understand. Why—?” I managed at last.

“It's been fifteen years,” he said.

“I know.”

“Fifteen years is a long time. Even for shifters.”

“Are you going to let me go?”

“I can't. You know that. I wish I could—”

“So why this?”

“I thought it was time. I consider you a friend. I hope you feel the same way.”

“I'm a prisoner. You're the one holding me captive. How can we be friends?”

“I don't know, but it feels to me like we are.”

“What will you do if I try to take the key from you?”

“I won't let you,” he said. “You know that.”

“You'll fight me?”

“If needs be—yes.”

“Even if that means dying?”

“You're confident you'd win in a fight?” He managed a weak smile.

“Against you. Easily.”

It was true. I did consider him a friend of sorts. My only friend. Stockholm Syndrome no doubt. If I tried to escape, he'd stand in my way. In a fight to the death, I wasn't sure which of us would survive, but there would be no winners. Even if I managed to overpower him without striking a fatal blow, he'd face certain death from Milton for allowing my escape. 

“Did you bring my food?”

“It's outside. I brought extra today. I thought we could have a picnic.”

I brushed passed him to take a look outside. Sure enough, there was a picnic basket—much larger than the usual food basket.

“I have wender berry pie,” he said.

“What?” I almost gagged at the very thought of it.

“Just kidding.” He laughed. “I used to love wender berries until I was given this assignment.”

“Is that what I am to you? An assignment?”

He frowned. “You know that isn't true.”

I took a look inside the basket.

“What do you think?” he said.

“You've really pushed the boat out.” I held up a bottle of Champagne.

“It's only a cheap one.”

“What exactly are we celebrating? My fifteen years of incarceration?”

“Friendship.”

We laid a blanket on the grass around the back of the cabin. That side got the best of the sun at that time of day. My usual food rations were perfectly edible, but often bland and predictable. Today's picnic was anything but.

“That was delicious,” I said.

“Here's to friendship.” Marlow made a toast. He'd brought real Champagne glasses.

“To friendship.” I clinked my glass to his. “And freedom.”

Marlow stayed much longer than usual. It was almost three in the afternoon by the time he began to pack away the picnic basket.