Page 170 of Lost in the Dark
THE NIGHT VISITOR
S.J. SANDERS
Iam nothing now. I have escaped, but I am broken in every way, pain a constant companion, pulsing within me with every beat of my heart. Even here, I am a shadow as I wander the meleth, the human world, instead of returning home, unable to give up what little there is left to enjoy. Here, at least the brilliant bloom of mortal life provides some comfort against my loneliness. No one sees me or speaks to me, but I am fine with that. Curling my dark wings around myself, I breathe the air in filled with the scents of humanity. Many are terrible, but there is a sweet note that draws me.
I drag it into myself, claim it and crave more of it. I track it relentlessly among the winding masses, caring little for those who shuffle around as I slip among them with inhuman speed. The dark feathers of my wings rustle around me as I draw nearer to the source of that intoxicating smell, a dark excitement stirring within the pit of my being. It is completely foreign to me and yet fuels my sudden obsession. I need more of it. The need to surround myself in it, to feel something other than the pain that haunts me, motivates me to move quicker.
Mine.Whatever it is, it is mine.
There! The crowd parts at just the right time, and I see a visage that pierces my soul. Shining with an ethereal light of magic that touches on her dark curls, her golden complexion warm with the kiss of the sun, she embodies all the warm, earthly vitality of the meleth, the human world, and is, at the same time, an infernal flame drawing me. She is in profile, but she stills as if she can feel the weight of my gaze. Her soft cheek catches the light as she turns, her dark eyes scanning the crowd. I silently bid her to see me, but I know that she does not.
That she is aware of me, however, is enough.
But then she turns away, her curls teasing the air like a dark veil obscuring her. Her hand tightens on the strap of the small bag she carries over her shoulder as she walks at a clipped pace, the beautiful curve of her bottom swaying delightfully with every step. A rumble of pleasure rises into my throat, a primal lust stirring deep within me. It is an intriguing, but not nearly as intriguing as her as I watch her push her way through the crowd.
With eager fascination at this foreign feeling, I move closer, slipping among the humans with ease. The more clairsentient ones among them who can sense my presence shift out of my way to avoid the brush of my wings. I pay them little mind. I am wholly riveted by her and only her.
“Do not run,” I rasp, my once beautiful voice torn.
Those nearest to me shiver as the wind howls with my words, but she drags her jacket closer around her and increases her pace. Frustrated, I dart forward and reach for her. My dark claws skim her shoulder, and I pause for a moment to admire the way her skin shivers in reaction to my touch. My wings fold around her in a dark caress, and I can hear her heart speed. It calls to me and me alone, reordering my existence to align with her. My destruction preserved me for this moment that I might find her. My one and only.
Wheels squeal and voices shout and scream as chaos abounds, sweeping her away… and it gives way to silence and blood. My hands are empty, and she is gone.
Not for long. I will find her. She is mine.
Naomi
A week later
Some call midnight the witching hour, but they are wrong. In truth, the hour of impossibilities is in the early hours when the world is silent and slumbers. I rub my eyes and look over at the clock over the mantle. It is a quarter to three in the morning. The devil’s hour nears. Fatigue pulls at me, whispering seductively for me to surrender to it and let down my guard. I blink and rub away the grit from my eyes, resisting the pull of bed as my other hand smothers a yawn.
“All good little witches should be in bed,” I mumble to myself. Stretching, I rub my fingers back and forth over my scalp, sending my curls wildly flopping as I yawn. “Fuck, Ineedto go to bed.”
At least I don’t have a normal nine-to-five job. Doing transcriptions from home for various clients allows me to set my own hours for the most part, but it will not help me if I am sleep deprived.
Unfortunately, my dreams as of late haven’t been all that sleep conducive. A shadowy presence has haunted me, every time I close my eyes. Powerful and merciless, he toys with me. His glowing eyes tracking me through my dreamscapes, his hot breath sliding over my skin as he demands to know where I am, conjuring a visceral reaction within me that I can’t explain. His voice is a deep, rumbling growl that drives fear deep into me even as it inspires a sick lust to rise, tempting me to give in to his will.
I shiver, dragging my throw blanket tighter around myself as I watch the fire dancing in the hearth, recalling his parting words the last time I closed my eyes.
“Why resist? You cannot remain hiding behind these walls. Let me in. I sense that you want to. You pull me into your world of dreams night after night, even as you push me away. You wish for the bite of this promised ecstasy even as you fear it. Do not be afraid. I will fulfill those longings within your heart,”he promises, his long tongue skimming along my neck, the breath of his raspy moan heating my skin.
The problem is that he is right, and that scares me.
I long for him even though my heart fills with terror at the idea of seeing him again. There is not so much as a hint of softness to his appearance. If anything, despite his incredibly pale features, he is more a part of the shadows than he is anything else. Despite that, there is something that draws me to him, and I can’t keep from reaching for him, eager to experience the thrill of awareness I feel in his presence despite my fears, as I drop to sleep.
Because of that, I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to chance seeing him again, to see his terrible, possessive smile full of sharp teeth, to feel that strange longing for something so inhuman in appearance. The details beyond that are fuzzy. I know he is deathly pale and surrounded by an impenetrable inky darkness, but nothing else, not even the rest of his face, forms with any clarity in my mind. That may be a good thing. I’m not really sure I want to remember more if I am haunted as I am that terrifying smile. It has even followed me into my waking world. I am starting to see shadows of him around my house, and that scares me even more than the nightmares that plague me.
Breathing out, I glance down at Nutella. My roommate’s cat stares back at me balefully with wide green eyes as if possessed. I ease back in my chair and give her a puzzled look.
“Hey, girl,” I murmur. “What are you doing in the no kitty zone?”
A low, unpleasant yowl issues from her, and I raise my eyebrows at her uncharacteristic display of temper as she arches her back and hisses, causing my familiar to screech unhappily from his perch. I give him a passing glance to assure myself that he’s not overly disturbed by the much larger predator before leveling a frown at the cat. I lean forward to peer at her.
“What has gotten into you, hmm?”
She spits viciously at me and follows it with another of her terrible yowls, and I eye her cautiously as I scoot back my chair and stand.
“Enough of that, I think.”