Moonshadows Ch. 07

"I think it prudent for me to let you out here. It is not a long walk to your home." His expression was mild but his tone was still amused. Looking around at the midnight street, I saw he was right. It was only about a block to my apartment. Silently, I got out of the car.

"Until we meet again, Miss Dalton," he called pleasantly, handing me my purse. I slammed the door in his face and started walking.

It was only after I rounded the corner that I heard the purr of his car start again then ease into the distance. But even without the auditory cue, I would have known he was leaving. I could feel his presence receding – like moving away from a frigid draft, or the fading pain of an anesthetized toothache – until it was only the faintest sensation at the back of my mind. But not completely gone. I knew enough of the mythology to suspect what the reality would be: having tasted his blood, he would never truly be gone from my mind again.

With these morbid thoughts occupying me, I made my way distractedly home. I was hardly paying attention to my surroundings as I unlocked the door and – at last! – walked inside. So it startled me when a voice in front of me called out,

"Selene! Oh, my god!"

Before I could say anything, Cara had me wrapped in a fierce hug and was talking a mile a minute.

"Are you okay? What happened? When you didn't come home last night, I got kind of worried but then I thought maybe you just went to stay over at Rafe's. But then you didn't come home today and work called the house asking why you weren't there, and your bike was still locked up outside, so I called Rafe but he hadn't seen or heard from you either. We were about to call the police, Selene. Where the hell were you?"

She pulled away to hold me at arm's length and I saw that her beautiful face was pale and strained. Her hands on my shoulders were trembling. There was no way I could tell her the truth about my ordeal, so I looked away and prepared to lie. That was a mistake.

Because in the door to the living room was Rafe. He had the strangest expression: relief, stress, guilt and something close to rage, barely kept from exploding into violent action. His yellow eyes burned.

I couldn't help myself; I burst into tears. Cara pulled me to her again immediately, stroking my hair. "Shh, shh," she murmured to me. "It's okay, hun, it's okay..."

Still holding me, she turned her head and said over her shoulder, "Come take her for a minute while I get my bag." Her voice was shaking now too. "We... I think we should probably get her to the hospital–"

"No!" I gasped, then tried again as their shocked looks turned to me. "No, I'm fine. I'm fine. I just want to be home. Please..."

"It's okay," she said again then looked at Rafe doubtfully.

"It's what she wants." He said. His voice was as tight as his expression. At the sound of it, beautiful and familiar, I cried harder.

"Shh, c'mon. Let's get you into your bed."

"Shower first," I choked out. The intense desire to scrub every centimeter of my skin was nearly overwhelming.

"Shower first," she agreed and guided me down the hall with her arm around my shoulders. She cast another look back before we slipped into the bathroom, meeting Rafe's gaze, then shut the door behind us.

"Want me to stay or go?"

I was getting my wracking sobs under control now and shook my head. "Go, please. I won't be too long."

Cara looked a little concerned, but she wasn't about to push me. "Okay. Just call if you need me. I'll only be in the living room."

I nodded, but a smile was beyond me. She squeezed my hand then slipped out the door. Urgently, I began stripping myself of all my contaminated clothing, kicking the clothes savagely into into a pile in the corner of the bathroom. I wouldn't touch any of it again; Cara could wash them. Or she could burn them for all I cared.

Stepping into the hot spray, I began scrubbing. It was a thorough process: from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet I lathered and scoured and rinsed, then did the whole thing again. Shame and disgust suffused me along with the heat from the water as I felt the old slickness between my legs. I gritted my teeth and washed the area again.

I got out when the water started getting cool and the room was full of steam. Just as well for me; I didn't want to have to look at myself as I brushed my teeth.

The first round of tooth-brushing went all right. But when I was done and thought I could still taste the complex, seductive medley of flavors that was Cassian's blood, I went back for round two. Then round three, and four, until there really was blood on the toothbrush and I had to lunge for the toilet to heave up the painfully meager contents of my stomach. One good thing about the bile was that it covered up all other taste.

Subdued and wrapped in a towel, I emerged into the comparatively-cold hall and made my way to my room, ignoring the low conversation going on down the hall. I dressed in the warmest pair of sweatpants I owned and a turtle-necked shirt and crawled under the thick covers. It was wonderfully comfortable. Familiar and warm, once the sheets had absorbed my heat and insulated me in a soft cocoon, but sleep was a long time coming. My mind refused to slow down, returning again and again to Cassian's smug face as he bid me goodbye.

Until we meet again, Miss Dalton.

Shuddering, I tried a trick I'd used when I had insomnia as a child. I counted my breaths slowly until I eventually fell into a restless sleep.

I woke with a start what couldn't have been much later to the sound of intense, whispered voices outside my room. The door was open a crack, spilling golden light from the hall across my blanketed legs; Cara must have been checking on me. I was about to close my eyes and try to go back to sleep when her voice rose.

"We should have taken her to the hospital!" She hissed. I hated to hear how anguished she sounded. "Maybe we shouldn't have even let her shower, but she was so desperate that I... But there still could be evidence on her clothes and we don't even know if she's hurt–"

"So you want to take her someplace unfamiliar and uncomfortable where she's gonna be touched and questioned and analyzed? It's her choice, Cara."

"But how is anyone going to catch the bastard that hurt her?" I heard tears and helpless frustration in Cara's voice now and closed my eyes sadly.

"Oh, don't worry about that." Rafe said, and there was lethal promise in his tone. "He'll get his."

Suddenly, I was filled with fear again, but not for myself. I had the awful premonition of Rafe going out into the night, hunting Cassian down and confronting him. I had no idea who was the more deadly of the two and the idea that it might not be Rafe made my stomach twist and nauseating tingles race up and down my body. I sat up quickly and called out, "Cara? Cara!"

She appeared in the doorway immediately, wiping her cheeks, then hurried to me and wrapped me in her arms.

"I'm here, I'm here. It's okay..."

I felt like a little kid again as she rocked me and murmured meaningless words in a soothing tone, but I admit, it did help. Still, I had to make sure Rafe didn't go out there.

"Cara," I said, disengaging myself from her embrace enough to look her in the eye. "Will you... will you sit with me tonight? It's good to know that you're here."

"Of course, sweetie. You shouldn't even have to ask. I should have known to –"

I cut her off before she could spiral too far into guilt. "And Rafe," I had to pause and swallow; it hurt to say his name. "Don't let him... Ask him to stay too, please? I would ask him myself but I..."

"I understand. I'll ask him."

I sighed gratefully as relief washed the prickling anxiety away. He'd be out of harm's way, for tonight at least. Tomorrow, I would think of some other excuse when I wasn't so very, very tired. She stood and walked back to the hall. "I"ll be right back, 'kay?"

At my nod, she went to inform Rafe of my request. When she came back, I indicated she should sit on the bed and I lay with my head in her lap, trying to relax my mind again. After a while, she stroked my hair and started humming in a soft, sweet voice until I eventually drifted off.

I woke up several times again that night, heart thumping too fast, straining my eyes in the darkness for a trace of my lingering nightmare, a sensual, malevolent whisper fading from my hearing. Cara was there each time, though asleep, and as soon as the adrenaline rush faded, I was able to fall back asleep too. Still, I only relaxed into true rest when I saw the blush of the rising sun coloring the clouds through my window.

***

When I woke up sometime in the early afternoon the next day, I was a little hungry. That made sense, I figured, given that it had been – how long? More than a day since I had really eaten. I got up, found my slippers and a sweater and went in search of food. Despite the sunny interior of the apartment and my extra layers, I was still cold.

As I passed the living room doorway, I saw a long form stretched out on the couch, but I hurried past. Probably would be wise to get some calories into me before engaging in that interaction.

So I rummaged in the fridge for something that would appeal. I found I had a craving for meat, the rarer the better. Dumping a full package of breakfast ham onto a plate and shoving it in the microwave, I stubbornly proceeded to heat it until the slices were shriveled and dry, almost inedible. They tasted awful, but I ate the entire package anyway and felt a little warmer afterward, if slightly sick to my stomach.

Then I just sat for a while, staring out the window at the tree branches swaying gently in the afternoon sun, even though the light hurt my eyes somewhat. I had a glass of water at hand that I took an occasional sip from for something to do.

That was how he found me. I had another, bittersweet instance of deja vu seeing him standing in the door to the kitchen, dark hair mussed from sleep and the lingering scent of breakfast in the air. This time though, he kept his distance and his expression was set in lines of strictly-controlled neutrality. I found it pretty remarkable that things could get so screwed up over the course of a night. And I didn't know how they could ever be made right again. If they could be made right at all.

Seeing that he had my attention, he moved to the opposite side of the table from where I sat. He moved very carefully, as if afraid of startling me with any sudden movements. Rafe pulled up a chair then asked, "This okay?"

"Sure."

We sat in silence for a minute or two, him restlessly, me just waiting.

"Cara had to go to work," he said at last, "But she said she'll be back in time to make dinner tonight."

I nodded. Maybe it was craven, but though I knew that wasn't at all what he wanted to talk about, I wasn't in any rush to start into the "real" conversation I knew we had to have. A minute later when he tried again, haltingly, I cringed internally.

"Bab– Selene. I'm so sorry I wasn't there to... I should have at least kept an eye on you, but I thought that... Like an idiot, I was so..."

He was working hard to keep his emotion in check. I could see it in the tight grooves around his mouth and the way he held himself too still. I probably should have said something to try to assuage his guilt, or at least make this painful speech a little easier, but I was still so tired and I needed all my strength for the part to come.

So I just sat and listened until he burst out suddenly, "But I swear to God that I will find this guy that hurt you and—"

My world seemed to come to an abrupt halt. "This guy," he'd said. Not "him" or "monster" or even "thing." This guy. Could it be possible he didn't know? My own sweet example of the supernatural entirely in the dark about what he was chasing? In a sudden moment of clarity, I realized that since Cassian had so flippantly revealed his knowledge about Rafe, I'd been operating under the impression that Rafe would also be aware of what Cassian was. But maybe... A sense of urgency filled me.

"Rafe," I said carefully, and my heart only hitched a little at saying his name, "He didn't rape me. That's not... what he was after, ultimately."

The relief on his face made me feel awful, guilty and ashamed and hurt. And because I now thought I had some notion of the trauma a sexual abuse victim might endure, I felt terrible again because in a way, it might have been simpler if what Cassian had done to me was physical rape. There were support systems in place for that, even if they weren't ever really adequate for the task. At the very least, I would have been able to go the police and maybe get some form of justice there.

But what Cassian had taken from me, and worse yet, what he had given me, I feared altered me at a level beyond repair. People talk about the dehumanization inherent to the act of rape, but there was a deep and soul-consuming terror inside me that because of what he'd done, I myself really wouldn't be human anymore. In the end though, however much I would have given to keep from revealing the extent of my damage to Rafe of all people, I would not trade my feelings for his safety. So I took a deep breath and made myself just say it.

"He bit me."

I watched as the relief drained from his face along with some of his normally robust color. Still, there was a certain incomprehension there too that was reinforced when he echoed, "He bit you."

Please don't make me say it. My inner voice was pleading and desperate but when I spoke my actual tone was neutral, even patient.

"He fed from me. My blood. And..." This was the hard part.

Say it! Just say it!

"He gave me some of his blood too. I drank it."

I had never seen him so pale; his stillness now was born of shock and horrible realization. I wasn't happy by any means, but it did give me the tiniest thread of satisfaction to know I wasn't the only one who had been blindsided by Cassian. It didn't take long for shock to darken into fury, however. Even if this time there was a calculating edge to the murder in his topaz eyes.

"Good to know." His rich voice was low and ominously steady. My uneasiness was justified a moment later when he continued, "But it doesn't matter in the end. I'm still going to kill the fucker. Vampire or not."

The word, articulated at last, seemed so cartoonish when held up to the nightmare memory of the real thing that I almost laughed. Almost. Vampires were something out of Hollywood. A pop culture fascination –even more so than werewolves– and a far cry from the purely evil thing that had so altered my world. Evil was also something that was supposed to exist only in fiction. Sure, people did bad, hideous things every day. But a person who was one-hundred percent wicked? That was supposed to be just an archetype, a concept, something to mark the opposite end of the spectrum from the equally-mythological "good." No wonder Cassian had so rocked my world: he was doubly impossible.

Still, the end result was that I, who had never been comfortable with ideas like the death penalty or revenge outside the most superficial methods, found I had no qualms about the idea of someone ridding the world of Cassian Grey. My only hesitation lay in whether or not it could be done. And there was something else. Some nagging impression that I was missing something...

"Shit. I'm sorry." Rafe said. "I didn't mean to upset you." I realized he had interpreted my distraction for distress and was about to shrug it off when he continued intensely. "Tell me what to do Selene. I don't... Tell me how to fix this for you, and I swear I will."

I stared back at him at a total loss. What was there to say? I didn't know what to do either, but he looked at me with such desperate, focused attention that I had to say something.

"You don't have to take responsibility for what happened, Rafe. It's not your fault."

It wasn't anyone's fault. No one's but Cassian's and a cruel, unlucky twist of fate that he'd singled me out for his sadistic game... I frowned. There it was again, that nagging sensation of something lingering just on the edge of my memory.

"I should have been there to stop him. I shouldn't have left you." Rafe's low voice was almost a growl in his helpless rage; his tanned fists were clenched white on the tabletop, but I only half-noticed. I was chasing the elusive thought. Whatever it was, I was increasingly sure it was important.

"Wouldn't have mattered." I returned distractedly. "He was waiting until you were gone."

Hell, I would have waited too. Who in their right mind would knowingly take on a werewolf? Not even a vampire, apparently. That was encouraging. Whatever else happened, at least I could be somewhat assured that Cassian wouldn't be able to hurt my Rafe.

I looked at him across the table from me. His handsome face was strained, almost aged-looking with grief and fury. I almost heard the mental "click!" as the missing piece finally fell into place.

Cassian couldn't hurt Rafe. Except by hurting me.

My mind raced. All the times Cassian had come to me, always there had been a reference to Rafe. What I had written off as passing, mocking comments had in actuality been probing questions. He had been ascertaining the depth of our attachment to each other. It had never been about me, just as it had never been random. It was about Rafe all along. My ego might have been bruised by the realization if I wasn't so floored.

It made sense. After all, as much as I despised the idea of him laying a disgusting finger on her, someone like Cara was a much more logical choice of prey for a fiend like Cassian than I was. Beautiful and vibrant and social, she was much more likely to stand out in a crowd if it was only a matter of random selection. Oh, I was certain that my small talent for resisting him had made me a more interesting meal, maybe even saved my life, but he had only ever singled me out as a means of getting to Rafe. The only element of uncertainty in this horrific picture was what Rafe had done to earn such a terrible enemy.

"Selene!" Rafe's urgent voice broke into my consciousness and I focused my gaze to see him leaning towards me over the table, one hand partially outstretched as if to shake me. I realized I had been holding my breath and let it out slowly. I was shaking again.

"Maybe you should lay down. You look like you're about to fall over."

"Rafe," I said in a small voice, "Why does Cassian Grey want to hurt you?"

Poor thing. Just as he started adjusting to one unpleasant surprise, I sprang another on him. He sat back down slowly, consternation, unease, confusion all taking their turn playing over his face before it settled back into careful anger. No recognition though.

"Grey. Is that the bloodsucker's name?" His amazing golden eyes were narrowed dangerously.

"Yes, but why is he after you, Rafe?" I pressed. He was in danger of missing the point in his vengeful zeal.

"Why do you think he's after me? You're the one he–" He cut off the rest of what he'd been about to say with a dark twist of his mouth. "I'd never even heard of him until just now."

Interesting.

"But he's heard of you," I insisted, thinking aloud. "Even before you showed me what you are, he was making references to you. I didn't understand until now that's what they were, but I'm almost certain he only bit me to get to you. He wants you to try to go after him. He's baiting you."

I had his attention now. His face was almost calm save for the burning yellow stare as he asked the million-dollar question.

"Why?"

"I was hoping you would be able to tell me."

He huffed a sigh, frowning, though I knew he wasn't mad at me. "Like I said, I've never so much as seen the bastard. There hasn't been a vampire in this area for... upwards of fifteen years. Back in my dad's time. I was too young to run with them when they drove that one out, but I should have... I would've thought I'd recognize the smell of their blood."