The Cabin

Chapter 1

It was a cold night on a snowy road. An old beat up Geo with its headlights on and wipers going as fast as they could bolted down the highway. The high pitched hum of the small engine was covered by the sound of Taproot on the stereo.

Gripping the wheel were two gloved hands. The fingers of the gloves had been cut off revealing slender digits and black nail polish. The gloves lead to the olive green sleeves of an army jacket obviously meant for someone two sizes larger than its current owner. The two sleeves lead to a the face of a young woman, shoulder length red hair, dark brown eyes with reddened veins, soft pale cheeks, and lips that only hinted at the color of a peach, and from those lips dangled a lit cigarette.

Her name was Megan Sanders and she was driving. Where she was going to was unknown even to her. She wasn't driving to anywhere but driving away from somewhere. Away from her home, if where Megan came from can even be called a home. The word home, at least for most people, implies ideals of safety, love, warmth, and family. Megan's was anything but that.

After her mother had drank her dinner and laid passed out on the couch with the TV on, Megan packed her things into her backpack from school, took all the money out of the hidden places in the apartment, and stole her mother's car keys and left in the middle of the night as it began to snow. That was two hours ago and the snow was only getting worse. Megan could barely see the road. Being tired and the complicated emotions that filled her tear ducts made it even harder to see through the snowy night.

At that moment, Megan suddenly felt the weight of her eyelids. Her eyes fluttered only for an instant before she fought it off, but that second or so of weakness was all it took for the car to begin to swerve. The car began to fishtail violently. Megan tried to compensate but her inexperience as a driver did not permit her. Her mother's car spun out and fell into a ditch.

After Megan had somewhat steadied herself in the off kilter but stationary car, she tried to turn the engine over but to no avail. The car was dead. "Piece of shit bitch!" Megan cursed aloud at everyone and no one in particular. She figured she could do one of two things: wait here until she froze to death in the car or make a run for the nearest gas station. She decided to run.

She picked up her backpack from the floor and flipped up the hood on her coat. She opened the door of the compact car and a mighty gust of icy air hit her in the face. She stood up outside the car and into the wind with only the few possessions she carried and began to trot along the shoulder of the highway in search of shelter.

As she made her way along the snow covered pavement, she thought how this situation so reflected her life. All alone in the world, her life restricted by some intangible but ever present force that impeded her progress, constantly bombarded by a multitude of tiny but painful stings. She thought to herself, "How can I stand against all of this?" The chill had run all the way though her now. Her trot had slowed to a shuffle.

Exhaustion, sleeplessness, her emotions, and the cold had taken everything out of her. Megan came to a stop seeing nothing but the snowy abyss before her. She fell to her snow caked knees and sobbed dryly. She fell to her side knowing she would die there in the snow, alone, and in the dark. She closed her eyes and faded to black.

Chapter 2

Along that same highway at that same time, there was a black pickup heading towards Megan from the opposite direction. A pair of thick gloves held the vehicle on its course for home. The gloves covered the cuffs of a leather bomber jacket. The sleeves circled towards each other and met at the fur lined collar that surrounded the throat of the man driving.

His age could not be read from his face. He could have been thirty or fifty. He liked to say that he looked young for his age. Long black hair, deep set emerald eyes, high cheekbones, and a pronounced five o'clock shadow characterized his face. His name was Viktor Drake, and he was on his way home.

He had just come from a gas station to fill up his truck and the fuel tanks for his generator. He knew all too well the effect of heavy snowfall on power lines around here. Around here the power could go out for days, even weeks before the power companies did anything about it. It wasn't all that uncommon for him to get snowed in during those times for a while. Whenever heavy weather came this way, he was always sure to top off his tanks and supplies.

He was about half way home when he spotted a strange lump on the side of the road. As he drove by it, he couldn't fully make out what the object was, but his instincts told him to investigate. He stopped his truck and backed up until his headlights illuminated the mass. The black door swung open as a heavy boot set itself firmly on the ground. He stood up from the truck, checking both directions for headlights before crossing.

He made his way to the snow shrouded mass, kneeling down next to it. He wiped away the layer of ice flakes, revealing olive drab fabric. Wiping more snow away, he quickly realized that this was a body. He found the arm and rolled the body onto its back. The glow from his headlights illuminated the features of an unconscious young woman. Viktor pulled off one of his gloves and pressed his exposed hand to the woman's throat. Her flesh was frigidly cold but a faint slow pulse still lingered. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't far from it. Scooping her up in a swift move, he carried her to his truck. She was so light in his arms. "I've raised pups that weighed more than her," Viktor thought to himself.

After setting her in the passenger seat of his truck, he removed her snow-caked backpack, jacket, boots, and pants and left them on the floor. He turned the cabin heater on to full power hoping to buy some time before hypothermia could fully take effect. He drove off with more speed than he would normally dare in such weather.

The nearest clinic was a half hour drive and the nearest hospital was further than that. He had to get her warm and quickly. The closest place was his cabin, less than ten minutes driving time. There, he had a large tub in his bathroom and a fifty gallon water heater in the basement. It could do the trick... if she still had time.

Along the way, Viktor began to realize the implications that this situation held for him. "What am I doing?" He thought to himself, "The next full moon is two nights away and the weather as it is, she'd have to stay at least that long. She could learn what I am! The ritual could be jeopardized! All the grief over this... human." He looked over to his passenger and as much as his baser instincts despised her presence, his humane instincts pitied this girl, this... innocent. "'Innocent,'" Viktor thought, "There's a word with meaning." The word triggered the sweet part of a bittersweet memory and he resolved himself to the situation: he was going to take care of his passenger and deal with the rest later.

Just then, Viktor's train of thought was broken when he saw another lump in the snow, this one much larger. He slowed and saw it was a car spun out on the side of the road. Seeing no one around or inside the car, he drove on.

By the time Viktor parked his truck, he was sweating in his jacket, but his passenger was still out and cold. Not bothering to park in the garage, he left the vehicle in the driveway, just in front of his cabin. He rushed into the house with the girl in his arms, not bothering to remove his boots. Setting her on the bathroom floor with a towel under her neck, Viktor set about drawing a hot bath.

With the water temperature set just below scalding, he left the tub to fill as he stripped the woman of her remaining clothes. Gently as he could, he set her into the tub, making sure her head would remain above the water line.

With the tub full, Viktor sat on the toilet and watched for signs of life, taking her pulse and temperature and changing the water when it cooled. Slowly the woman improved. The color of caramel and cream came to her skin. Her pulse became stronger and the rise and fall motion of her chest was evident in the ripples of the water. Satisfied that she would live through the night, Viktor left the bathroom to attend to other matters, such as his truck and its cargo of fuel.

Chapter 3

Viktor stood on the veranda off the master bedroom smoking a cigar. The icy swirl of wind and snow beat against his face and wiped through his hair. Normally he would be sitting in one of the chairs looking off into the distance, towards the mountains, but now he was standing, leaning against the deck railing. His gaze was directed into his bedroom peering through the insulated glass of the French doors to the young woman who laid asleep in his bed.

He stood there contemplating his guest, observing her as she slowly breathed. Soon she would be awake and that would be when his problems would begin. Her recovery and the weather would require her to be here for several days, and that meant she would be present for the ritual. That means she could easily discover what he was and that was a problem.

He engaged in guessing on how he should approach the situation. He had two choices, one to keep her oblivious to the ritual and his true nature, or tell her plainly about everything. Each shared its risks, but each had its advantages.

If he managed to keep his secret, she would eventually recover, the snow would clear, and she could be on her way, none the wiser, and he would be safe. The problem with this plan was that it would be extremely difficult at best and impossible at worst. Performing the ritual while keeping her oblivious to it would be hard enough, not to mention not dropping hints of his true nature in the mean time.

However, if he told her what he was, he wouldn't have to hide anything from her and the problem would be resolved however that left her knowing what he was and that meant doing one of two things to protect himself, and neither of which he was prepared to do to her, at least not yet.

He pondered his conundrum, weighing his options carefully, but then he realized that he was only thinking of the ramifications for him and not his guest. He had no desire to throw her into the middle of his personal situation. As far as she would know, once she woke up, that he was just a kind stranger. She wouldn't know anything about him.

If he moved everything he needed for the ritual into one part of the villa and kept her out of it, he might just pull it off. All he had to do was to keep her in the dark and they could go their separate ways. "In the dark," Viktor mused himself, "There's a contradiction in terms." Besides, if she found out, he could always resort to plan b.

Chapter 4

Megan's last memory was of darkness and cold. That was her impression now. She felt cold, not nearly as cold as before but still cold, and darkness. Her body didn't seem to be attached to her mind anymore. She had no sense of her legs, arms, or anything else, only the darkness and the cold.

Then a new sensation, weight. Slowly she became aware of her body, not so much feeling it in terms of touch, sound, or sight, but rather she became aware of its weight. It felt heavy, impossibly heavy. She tried to move, but nothing happened. She was unable to move anything, as though she were buried in sand. Panic gripped her. "Have I been buried alive?" her mind screamed. Her mind thrashed trying to get something to move, but to no avail.

Then another sensation: warmth. Megan's mind stilled, absorbing this new feeling, a much welcome change to the cold. It came slowly but as she warmed, her mind calmed. The weight of her body lifted some but she was still unable to move.

Another sensation, a dull ache all over her body. This wasn't nearly as pleasant as the warmth, but it was reassuring that she could feel something. The more aware she became of the ache, the more she could feel her body. She could feel herself breathing and she could control it somewhat in terms of length and depth, but the rest of her still felt immobile.

It seemed like a long time, but then she realized that she was merely asleep. It was a deep sleep, but still just asleep. Her mind aware of this, she began to force herself to wake up. She always thought of dreaming as being like swimming in pool of infinite dimensions, and waking up as coming out of that pool. Now she was swimming up to the surface.

Taking as deep a breath as she could, she managed to force her eyes open. Her lids pealed back slowly allowing the dim blurry light into her eyes. Her mind winced at the light and her lids closed again. After collating herself for another try, she forced her eyes open again. The lids of her eyes slid opened slowly. This time, the light wasn't as blurry and it didn't cause her to wince.

Her eyes shifted about. She was in a room she did not recognize. The steeply vaulted ceiling had an exposed timber frame of darkly stained wood. The walls were covered in dark purple wall fabric. There were four narrow vertical windows on the far wall that let in only minimal light.

Megan, able to move her eyes, decided to try and move other parts of her body. First, she tried her arms. Her muscles quickly revealed themselves as the source of the ache she felt. She persevered in her efforts. She found her motions cumbersome and awkward. Her body didn't seem to fit anymore. She tried to sit up but was immediately confronted by dizziness. She laid back deciding to wait to summon up more strength before trying again.

In the mean time, she began to investigate the bedding she was laying in. A soft mattress with high count fiber sheets if her touch was to be trusted. The top layer felt like a down comforter with a velvet cover. To either side of her, she felt several plush pillows. No doubt that she was laying on a few pillows of the same verity. She was quiet content to remain there until she discovered something startling: she didn't have any clothes on!

Just as she was about to panic, a man walked into the room from a door right next to the bed. "Oh good, you're awake," he spoke in a soft voice, "How are you feeling?"

"Where am I, who are you, and where the hell are my clothes?" Megan asked in a barely audible and fragmented voice.

Viktor smiled seeing that even after nearly freezing to death she had some spunk in her. He had a feeling that as she got better he would be seeing more of that attitude. "You're safe," he said, "This is my cabin. I brought you here when I found you out in the snow. I am Viktor, Viktor Drake. As for your belongings, they're over there, in the dresser. The clothes you were wearing are in the dryer and will be ready in a little while. In the mean time, you should be able to find something appropriate to wear in the dresser as well."

Megan closed her eyes momentarily trying to retain everything just said as well as to moisten her corneas. "Ok," Megan thought to herself, "So I remember walking on the road; he says he found me; I'm at his cabin, he said his name was... Vic... Vic something or other; and," Megan reopened her eyes, getting her first real look at her apparent rescuer, "Damn he's tasty!" The well fitted black teary cloth robe he wore perfectly matched Viktor's black hair and did little to hide his svelte build. His emerald eyes were gazing at her in a most disquieting way.

Viktor saw the carnality of her shocked expression on her face. He tried to disguise his grin as a soft smile. "I brought you something," He said as he sat on the edge of bed, "This should bring some color back to those cheeks." One of his arms deftly slid underneath Megan's shoulders and gently sat her upright as his other arm extended to offer her a mug that smelled of a good chicken broth with a hint of curry. For Megan, the smell was heavenly. That's when she realized how hungry she was.

With both hands she clasped her weak grip around the cup. The heated ceramic cup was steadied by Viktor's hand as Megan took a healthy sip. Both the temperate heat of the broth and the peppery heat of the mild curry could be felt as it poured into her mouth. The trickle of the steamy liquid down her throat left a thawing tingle in her chest.

Almost immediately she felt better. Her head was clearing and she felt the strength return to her hands. She grasped the cup fully. Viktor withdrew his hand seeing it no longer necessary to support the cup. Megan quickly emptied the mug in a few short swigs.

She rested the empty cup in her palms on her lap, using the residual warmth of the ceramic for her hands. That's when she noticed that the bed sheets had fallen away and that she was exposed from the midriff up. Immediately she clutched the sheets to her chest and looked over to the man beside her for any sign that he had been staring.

This time Viktor couldn't disguise or contain his grin. While he had noticed her exposure, and he had derived some enjoyment at the sight of her naked breasts, he was far more amused by her reaction.

"What are you looking at?" Megan asked venomously; not so much irritated at her visitor, but embarrassed at herself.

"You," Viktor answered smirkingly. By the smolder of her brown eyes, he could see how easily her emotions could become flared. "I'll leave to give you some privacy. I'll come back when lunch is ready," Viktor said as he stood up, turning towards the door.

"Lunch?" Megan asked confused, "What time is it?"

"Oh, it's a little after noon."

"But why is it so dark outside?"

"It's snowing. It hasn't stopped since last night."

With that, Viktor walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Megan sat there for a moment suddenly confronted by the world around her. She began to realize how close she had come to death and that the man who had just walked out had saved her life. She cursed herself.

She hated being saved. She hated herself even more for having been in need of saving. Being rescued left her feeling incapable and weak. She hated that feeling. It would frustrate her to no end when others tried to do things for her. She didn't want to be treated like an invalid. 'Oh you poor girl' was the one phrase in all the English language she most fiercely despised.

As she sat there chastising herself, her stomach rumbled audibly. Remembering her hunger, she scooted over to the edge of the bed. Shakily, she stood up. Feeling the plush dark purple carpet under her feet, she walked over to the dresser Viktor had mentioned.

The dark stained cherry of the dresser matched that of the vaulted ceiling. She pulled open the top of the five drawers to find the contents of her backpack inside. Her wallet, CD player, CD's, headphones, cigarettes, lighter, and all the other junk she carried was all there, except for her clothes. She closed the top drawer and pulled the next drawer open. Here were her clothes. Her pants were stacked and folded, so were her shirts, and everything else... including her underwear.

Something unnerved her about the idea that a man had touched her most intimate garments. At least they were all there. At least he hadn't taken any for his "personal use."

Megan took out a pair of panties and slipped them on. She was about to just pick out something from her own collection, but then she remembered Viktor's comment about "something appropriate." Somewhat curious about what he had meant, she continued down the drawers.

The middle drawer contained what looked like a black terry cloth robe similar to Viktor's. It felt soft and looked about her size. She took out the robe. It unfurled from the drawer as she took it out. Holding it in mid air, it seemed to be the right length. "Ah what the hell," she thought as she sheathed herself in the robe. It felt like downy fur against her skin.