Page 4 of Craving Her Vampire
“You smell different,” Turner says.
“I dyed my hair, as you can see.” I look over my shoulder, glaring. Fortunately, he backs up. Unfortunately, he doesn’t leave me alone but leans against the counter beside me. I have blonde hair halfway to my waist. Every month, I visit my friend, Lace, a witch, who dyes it with purple streaks.
“Why do you let the witch close enough to spell you?” he sneers.
“She is my friend. You know the dye won’t stay as long unless she does it,” I point out again. We have had the same conversation many times before.
“You trust her that much?”
I continue to make my sandwich. “Yes. She is my only friend. Can you shut the fuck up about her?” Lace has given me a place where I can be at peace. We met four years ago and have formed a bond. She accepted me as I am without reservation.
“Alright.” He puts his hand on the counter close to me and leans in. “Remember, you have to go out tonight.” I look at his hand and then at the knife. It would be so easy. I know the blade is sharp, but he would heal quickly, and I’d be in for more cruelty afterwards.
“I remember.” I slide the knife under the edge of the plate and put my food on top of it. “You have reminded me numerous times,” I say dryly. “What you haven’t explained is why. Why do you need the item you left in the woods?” I have a feeling he’s trying to get me out there to kill me.
“I just do. Are you going to follow the rules?” He narrows his eyes, staring at me, hoping to find a weakness. He likes digging out weaknesses.
“Don’t I always follow the rules?” I tilt my head and pick up my plate. I almost make it past him when he grabs my elbow, and I freeze. “I’m not kidding. I will cut your small dick off,” I growl.
“Where are you going?” he asks but drops his hand.
“To my room. To eat. Is that alright? Is that against the rules, asshole?” I grit out.
“Nope.” He grins. “But be ready to go at six.”
“I got it.” I turn sharply and leave the kitchen. I calmly, steadily, and slowly walk down the short hallway. I turn right and walk up the stairs. I feel his stare on my back the whole way.
In this house, showing fear means death. Showing disobedience means death. Only a stupid shifter would show either of those.
I am not stupid.
I am a fighter. I have been trained since I was young to steal.
My hand only shakes a little as I turn the knob to my bedroom door. I don’t allow it to continue to shake until I am on the other side of the wood. I shut it softly and lock the six different locks I installed myself. I have to keep them out somehow. At least the locks would slow them down.
I drop to the bed. I look down at the plate and pull the knife I palmed underneath it. I have stolen many things from the kitchen and many other places, not for the joy of it but for survival. I am the queen of survival. I had to be.
My legs start to shake. It’s getting harder and harder to pretend I’m not scared out of my fucking mind. I’m also pissed off. I hate Turner. I hate living here with him and his pack. I fear for my life daily, but I will never let it show on the outside. I will never let them know the pain I live with every day because of this pack, not only the pain in my heart, but my legs.
Here, they start your education early. We are taught to steal. I wasn’t a fast learner, and to make the lessons stick, the others in the pack would bite my legs hard enough to hit the bone. I wasn’t allowed to shift after, not for days. Of course, I didn’t heal correctly. So I have scars all over my legs.
Every day I am in pain. My legs and my heart.
Why don’t I leave? They don’t lock me in; I lock myself in.
Turner is the leader. He has my brother. I have no idea where, and I won’t leave without knowing. He holds his knowledge over my head, forcing me to steal for the pack and run errands of all kinds for him. I must live in this house with fifteen other shifters who do whatever he wants without complaint. To even the scales, I stole one of Turner’s most valuable possessions, a coin worth a ton of money. I fondly remember his face the day I informed him I had it. At first, he didn’t believe me, but he searched for a week and didn’t find it.
He almost killed me that night. It took me a couple of weeks to heal, but it was worth it. I made him a deal: my brother forthe coin. He told me he would think about it. He’s been thinking about it for a month.
We are at a stalemate.
My friend Lace is a witch and a tattoo artist. Her power isn’t very strong. She told me she will reach her full potential when she meets her mate. I don’t know how she knows, but she has no reason to lie. She knows some location spells. She tried to help me locate my brother with no luck. The one thing she can do is dye my hair, be my only friend, and ink my skin. We are almost done covering every inch of my scarred legs with colorful tattoos. My right arm is covered from shoulder to wrist.
She also implanted the coin underneath one of those scars. It hurt. Bad.
I take pleasure from standing in the same room as Turner, his prized possession under his nose. He will have to peel the skin from my dead body to find it; I will never tell.
Once I find my brother, I will run away with him and use the coin to fund our new life.