Ravenous (The Ravening #1)(9)
Author: Erica Stevens

“I’ll be back.” I barely managed a nod. “Soon.”

“We… we could come with you.”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll move faster by myself and Aiden could still return. You have to stay here.”

“But…”

He broke off my protest. “You have to stay with your mother Bethany, and you have to see if your brother returns. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. My place is only half a mile from here. I’ll be safe in the woods.”

I was surprised to learn he lived so close. Cade had bounced around so much over the years that it had been difficult to keep track of where he was living at any given time. “What if you don’t come back?” I whispered. “What if something happens to you and I could have helped to stop it? Abby can wait for Aiden.” Even as I said the words I knew that I couldn’t leave her again.

“There are more of those things out there than there is of us now Bethany. Their technology is better, they planned this, and they have the upper hand. I don’t think there’s anything either of us could do to stop them right now. Besides, you don’t want to leave your sister again.”

“You’re not safe out there Cade, you can’t go alone.”

He was before me now as he had moved steadily closer throughout the conversation. I had to tilt my head back to take all of him in. His eyes and hair blended in with the night, giving the sinister impression that he was a part of the darkness and far more at home in it than any other person would be. His handsome features were half hidden in shadow, his full mouth pinched. I was breathless as he pushed the hair back from my shoulders. His fingers stroked over my cheek, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. My mouth parted in amazement, my face tilted instinctively into his caress. I didn’t know what was going on, what he had in mind, until his lips pressed against mine.

And then, I just didn’t care anymore.

CHAPTER 5

In the beginning his lips were warm, supple yet firm, as they pressed against mine. But his mouth became steadily more demanding, and his hand became more forceful upon me as he pulled me closer to him. I was caught up in the warmth and pleasure of his kiss, ensnared within the whirlwind of emotions and passion that sprang forth. Engulfed by the tempest his exquisite, desperate kiss created as his tongue entwined with mine.

I didn’t know what he was desperate for, but I sensed the full force of that desperation beneath the rolling joy and passion that swirled rapidly between us, escalating higher and higher until I was certain that it was going to consume us both. I found I didn’t care if it did. I only wanted to ease the passionate need I sensed simmering so fiercely beneath his calm facade.

Why he would need or desire me, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. Not right now. I was too entangled in the astonishing sensations encompassing me to care. His arm encircled my waist as he lifted me against him and held me firm against his chest. I had never felt like this before, never experienced something so fantastic, and joyous, and right. And it was so very right; it was as if everything in the world, no matter how awful and horrible it was, would be ok. I had found a place to belong, a place of safety within his arms. As long as I was here, and he was here, I would survive. We would survive.

Then something else began to happen. Something within my mind began to unravel, opening before me like a morning glory to daybreak. Memories spilled forth, engulfing me as they spiraled rapidly beyond my control. Memories that I had buried years ago, because that was where I preferred them. Memories of that horrible day. A day that, until this one, I had never thought could be topped as far as terror and devastation went.

I had been trapped, upside down, pinned by the twisted metal of the car. Stuck within the backseat I could do nothing more than stare at the broken body of my father in front of me. In the beginning he had been awake, he had asked about me and tried to calm me, but as time dragged on, and more blood was lost, he’d stopped speaking.

It had been awful, horrendous. So awful in fact that I had been too numb to cry, too engulfed by melancholy to fully understand what was going on. I was only nine, the most I knew of death was the small ceremonies we’d held to bury our pets in the backyard. I didn’t know much of death, but I knew the exact instant when my father left me. I knew the man I loved more than anything wasn’t coming back to me, and I still didn’t cry. I’d been trapped within that wreck for hours, unable to break free no matter how hard I tried before they found us.

It had taking another hour for the rescuers to free me from the car. For that hour they had draped a sheet over my father, not to protect me from seeing him, it was too late for that. They had done it because they were unable to handle the sight of his ruined body, especially in front of his eerily composed and somewhat unnerving young daughter.

I didn’t cry that day, or the three that followed it. I didn’t speak either. I didn’t talk about what I had seen, what it had been like to be imprisoned, unable to break free, while I listened to the sound of my father’s blood dripping against the roof. I didn’t talk about the fact that his small moans of suffering, moans that he had tried to stifle from me, haunted my every moment.

I didn’t mention the awful silence and desolation that had engulfed me when those moans had stopped. I was left with only the endlessly dripping blood, and the horrifying realization that my father was gone. I had been unable to tell him that I loved him just once more before he left me. I told no one about any of it, not even my mother, who even through her own grief was more concerned about my wellbeing, than her own.

That was the main reason I didn’t cry. I didn’t want her to know how badly I was damaged, how haunted and tormented I was. I wanted her to believe that I was strong, that I would be ok. I wanted her to believe that no matter what had happened she wouldn’t have to worry about me too. I was fine. I was brave. I would survive, no matter how distraught and broken I really was.

It wasn’t until the day of the funeral that I finally cried, and thankfully my mother hadn’t been there to see it. But Cade had.

The funeral had been over but I was still wearing the small black dress my mother had picked out for me. Abby and Aiden, also dressed in black, hadn’t been as stoic as me throughout the ceremony. They had wept openly. It was a fact that wasn’t missed by most people and at the reception after I was the main topic of conversation. Though they whispered, and thought they were keeping their words from me, I wasn’t as gone as they seemed to think I was.