Authors: Cecy Robson

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #New Adult & College, #Vampires, #Werewolves & Shifters, #Coming of Age, #Genre Fiction, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Witches & Wizards

A Cursed Bloodline (WG 4) (46 page)

“Shit!”

Air shoved its way through my lungs like thickening cement, tightening my chest and constricting my throat. I forced myself forward, stumbling back when someone grabbed my arm. I jerked away, hitting him in the face. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed.

But there was no one there.

Only desolate silence waited with me in the blackness.

Fleeting images flashed through my mind, confusing me and fueling my mounting hysteria. Someone else grabbed my arm. I bounded backward, yanking something heavy with me. Objects fell in all directions as my mind worked to sort out what was true and what my terror had created.

I clutched my head, digging my short nails into my scalp. “There’s nothing here. Stop.
Stop
it!
”

My feet hurried forward, barely managing a few steps before my knees buckled and I collapsed, sprawled against the cold floor and crying. Nausea burned like acid, boiling through my stomach and into my narrowing throat. I panted even faster, willing my throat to open so I could breathe. I needed to breathe. Why couldn’t I breathe?

Every painful gasp closed my throat tighter. I was going to die. “No. No.
No!
”

Light spilled into the room and heavy footsteps stormed across the length. The fluorescent bulbs overhead blinked to life before the door slammed shut like an explosion. I curled inward, sobbing.

A deep, rough voice called to me. “Evie.
Evie
. It’s okay.”

No. It’s not.
My choked sobs grew louder, sounding more like pained retching
.

“Evie…It’s okay. You’re all right now….I won’t let anyone hurt you….”

My brain latched on to the strong reassurance of the husky baritone as it echoed along the expanse of the room. Mateo. Of all people,
he
had come looking for me.

“Breathe. Don’t think, baby. Just breathe for me.”

I did as he asked, working to slow my breaths and knowing I needed to get the hell out of there. Mateo was dangerous. I’d seen him “escort” clubbers out. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t pretty. It was a display of dominance.

And I refused to succumb.

In and out, in and out, I struggled through my pathetic cries.
Fucking
panic attack
. I knew what it was. Knew my body was out of control. But no matter how hard I tried to rationalize my way through the terror, it didn’t make it any less real.

“That’s it. Good girl. You’re safe now.”

It took a while for me to break from the fetal position I’d collapsed into. My rigid muscles gradually unwound. With great effort I sat, and pushed my blond hair from where it lay plastered against my face.

Mateo crouched just a few feet away, meeting me with soft hazel eyes that didn’t belong on someone so fierce. I released a shuddering gasp. “You’re safe,” he said again. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. I promise.” He took in my state and looked around. “I’m going to stand now, okay?”

He didn’t move until I nodded, and even then it was with care, taking two steps back before moving toward the shelf with the disco balls and cocktail napkins. He dug through the closest box.

“Th-those aren’t the right ones,” I managed, my voice cracking.

“I know.” He withdrew a stack of the misspelled napkins and returned, keeping his distance so he had to stretch his muscular arm to hand them to me. “Here. Wipe your face. We’ll go when you’re ready.”

Sam and Dale barreled into the room. “What the hell happened?” Sam hollered. “All you had to do was get napkins!”

Old plastic shot glasses and Halloween decorations littered the floor. I sat among broken cups and black and orange garlands, still working to catch my breath. The garlands had hung from the shelving posts. I must have tangled myself in them somehow. Now the torn strands strewed the area in bunches. I thought someone had grabbed me. I thought…I wasn’t sure what I thought.

Sam and Dale loomed over me. Mateo remained crouched.

“The door shut before I could get to the light,” I managed.

“And?” Sam asked when I said nothing more.

I didn’t want to tell them about my fear of the dark. People found me weird enough. But I needed to say something. I opened my mouth, sure I’d manage a decent response. Except nothing came to mind, so I pressed my lips tight and reached for the fastener barely holding the rest of my hair.

“She’s claustrophobic,” Mateo answered for me.

It wasn’t true, but I think he knew that.

Dale took in the large open area and huffed. “You can’t be serious. I can park three cars in here.” He waved an arm across the mess. “The room doesn’t even have a lock. You’re a real head case, you know that, Evelyn?”

Mateo stood, his hulking figure appearing to swallow the room and his stare freezing Dale where he stood. “And you’re a fat fuck who still lives with his mother and doesn’t know his earhole from his asshole.” He shrugged. “No one’s perfect. Get to your post.”

There was an underlying threat to his order. I heard it. So did Dale. He scowled at the floor and hurried out, letting the door slam hard behind him.

Mateo offered me his hand. I don’t think he would have if Sam wasn’t still in the room, but I couldn’t tell for sure. I’d worked at Excess for six months and still didn’t really know anyone there. Not really. Except maybe Sam.

I shook my head. Mateo may have helped me, but I didn’t fear him any less.

He withdrew his hand and stepped back once more, watching me as I slowly rose.

Sam retreated the moment I straightened. “Come on. The little pukes are pounding on the door.”

“You ready for them?” Mateo asked. At Sam’s nod, he spoke into his earpiece. “Ant. Tell Jace to start the music and give the signal to open the doors.”

Music detonated against the cinder-block walls, followed by Jace’s muffled “Are you readyyyyyyyyyyy?” The faint excited screams were barely audible over the blast of sound, but I heard them. Enough of a crowd had gathered, ready to drink, dance, and hook up.

Mateo grabbed two boxes of the napkins I’d been sent for. “Go. I got it.” As he walked, his heavy black boots kicked one of the plastic decorative pumpkins. I bent to retrieve it, more out of instinct than my desire to remain in this hellhole with him. “Leave it,” he said. “I’ll take care of the mess after closing. Get cleaned up and then come out when you’re ready. The girls will cover for you until then.”

I walked swiftly across the room as Sam held the door open, passing him in my rush to reach the locker room situated on the other side of the club, beside the women’s bathroom. In my mind, that tiny bright space meant safety and an opportunity to wrangle in my nerves. I charged out the door like a woman in danger. But then, maybe I was.

Pitbull’s latest burst through the speakers as the first of the co-eds rolled in. The blaring bass cuffed my ears; so did the hoots of the patrons.

But I didn’t care.

The music and rowdy calls intermixed with the spiraling club lights cut through the darkness, helping me settle.

Just like the thrum of Mateo’s deep voice.