Dahlia (Blood Crave Series) (5 page)

It seemed everyone had vanished while she sat in the bathroom stall. Even though it was the beginning of the week, people were probably already making plans for the weekend and she secretly hoped that the whole banana/condom catastrophe from earlier would be long forgotten.

She was not in the mood to have Sam poking fun at her when she got home. Nor did she want to deal with the ride back home with him, which was why she had ignored his constant incoming texts asking of her whereabouts. He gave up after she finally text messaged back, telling him to go home. She liked Sam—really, she did—but Dahlia always felt a little apprehensive with others around, especially when she felt insecure.

She just needed some time by herself and the walk home would be the perfect opportunity to de-stress. Besides, she preferred her own company, which solved the entire situation. She just needed to make it through the next nine months of school and she was set.

No more foster care or orphanages where she would always feel awkward. Having to spend time with people she didn’t care to be around, people who constantly judged.

Once she left Cedar Oaks, Dahlia would finally be able to be herself—find herself.

The heavy wooden door of the school slammed shut behind her with a thud, startling her out of her thoughts. It was a windy day, quite chilly too, the crisp red-brown leaves floating down to the pavement. Pulling her jacket tighter around her to prevent any heat from escaping, she hopped down the steps and strolled leisurely for about thirty minutes before she saw the park, one of her personal landmarks. Crossing the street, she walked toward it.

The park was huge and a quick short-cut Dahlia discovered while getting to know the area a few months ago when she got into town. It beat having to walk alongside the forest, especially when the evenings where getting darker, earlier and earlier.

Who knew what could be hiding in the bushes.

Cutting through the park, she took a step onto the sand, the wind whistling around her. It was dark and the wind was the only sound she heard, her shoes sinking deep into the sand as she tried keeping her balance. Looking up into the sky, Dahlia realized the day had quickly turned to night, the sun covered by clouds that were dark and daunting.

She suddenly stopped in her tracks as a feeling of apprehension overtook her body, almost like a sixth sense. It felt like an electrical shock—the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as a tingle ran down her spine. She shivered impulsively, the feeling of being watched so strong, as if two eyes burned a hole into the back of her head. Her breath catching in her throat, she turned swiftly, hair flying crazily in the wind.

All she saw was darkness, the squeaking sound of the swings amplified by the stillness of the night. They rocked back and forth against the wind methodically, as if children were actually taking a ride on each of the swings, their echoes of laughter almost heard.

Dahlia shivered again then shook her head at her own reaction. “They’re just stupid swings,” she whispered, scolding herself for feeling so uneasy. Taking a deep breath, she looked around. Made sure the wind was all she had for company. Satisfied that she was actually alone, she continued to walk. Cutting back onto the grass, she saw rows of houses not far from her.

Dahlia.

It was faint, but she could have sworn she heard her name spoken softly in the dark. Her heart drummed quickly against her chest as she again looked around anxiously, eyes wide with fright.

But like before, everything appeared normal, quiet and still.

Not taking any chances however, Dahlia clenched her jaw tightly and quickened her pace. She started into a slight jog as she made her way home, her bag softly pounding against her back. The familiar red door was finally in view as she made her way up the steps. Frantically searching for her keys in her bag, she rummaged deeply within it. Finding them, she clutched them tightly in her hand and managed to unlock the door with a shaky grasp before stepping eagerly into the house.

Once inside, Dahlia closed the door firmly and locked it, resting the back of her head against the glass panel. Clutching her chest, she tried catching her breath to calm the rapid fluttering of her heart against her fingers. She stayed like that for a second, feeling the wild beats pounding within her. Then she slowly turned around to face the door and gently lifted the curtain. Her eyes continued to scan outside, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“Is everything okay, Dahlia?”

She jumped at the voice and turned to see Deb wiping her hands with a dishcloth looking over at her in concern. A small frown formed on a face that looked so similar to Sam’s, dimples and all. Although in her early forties, Deb’s blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, and the bit of flour on her cheek, made her appear younger.

Dahlia smiled in relief at seeing a friendly face and replied, “Everything’s fine. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me. You know, first day of school jitters.”

Taking a step toward Deb, her smile grew as she tried to brush off the feeling of uneasiness that was still located in the pit of her stomach, although not as strong. At the smell of food, she slowly began to forget the recent scare as her stomach grumbled loudly and she eyed the kitchen curiously. “What’s for dinner?”

Outside, blending quite perfectly into the shadows, Greyson stared intently at the house. His green eyes glowed unusually bright in the dark as he tracked her movements from within. Taking a deep breath, he breathed in her intoxicating scent, which still lingered in the air.

“Dahlia.”

As soon as the word released from his lips, he disappeared in the blink of an eye. There was absolutely no trace of him—as if he had never been there at all.

Only the echoes of a name said almost gently.

Chapter 4

I stood motionless, my long hair moving freely with the wind. Bowing my head as if praying to the skies, brown locks hid my face away like a curtain...as if I didn’t dare let the forest see me. It was a position of comfort, I gathered, wanting to hide from everything and anything.

It was almost as if, even as a young child, there was some innate force advising me against trusting others by hiding my true self—even before I knew who I was.

What I was.

I raised my head, almost timidly, hazel eyes staring out into the forest, boots firmly planted on thick, heavy snow. Eyes squinting against the brightness of the white substance, my naked hands gripped the cold, metal fence that separated me from the forest. I was hungry, my stomach growling in protest, but I refused to move from my spot. I shivered in the bitter air, feeling the harsh burn as it permeated into my palms and traveled throughout my body. Even so, I refused to let go of the fence, my body somehow transfixed and unable to move.

I guess I wanted to feel the pain—feel something. Perhaps even then I knew the stark reality of my forgotten past, buried deep in my subconscious as it struggled to break free.

I scrutinized my surroundings and narrowed my eyes in concentration, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Although nothing appeared out of place, something was off. I didn’t know how, but it was as if I knew deep down in the bottom of my core that I wasn’t alone.

Someone was waiting for me.

At that exact thought, a loud noise suddenly erupted from within the darkness of the forest, startling me. I quickly looked back toward the orphanage to see if anyone else had heard the strange sound, but nothing seemed out of place. Children outside played as if they didn’t have a care in the world. They were too busy making snowmen and angels to pay any attention to anything except for what was right in front of them.

I glanced back at the forest, my face peering intently through the fence, waiting to hear any further noise. I held my breath in anticipation but released it regretfully as nothing greeted me but silence. I was just about to give up and turn back toward the orphanage when—

I heard it again.

My head whipped in the direction of the forest, eyes narrowed suspiciously. I tilted my head to the side and closed my eyes as I tried to conjure up an image of what I was actually hearing. It was almost like a cry for help, one that only I seemed to be able to hear. It pierced my core so deeply that my heart felt heavy from the ache and tears unexpectedly formed at the corner of my eyes. Whatever it was, it called out to me, as if we somehow had a special link or bond of some sort.

I had no other choice but to follow the sound that captivated me.

Instantly releasing the fence, I ignored my stiff, frozen hands as I dropped down onto the snow-covered ground. I looked for any type of opening where I could squeeze my body through. There, at the bottom of the fence, I found a small gap about the size of two fists. A few of the metal bars bent upward, perhaps damaged by an animal wanting to break through. As I stretched out my bare hands toward it, I began to dig away as much of the snow covering the area, ignored the numbness developing in my fingers.

The hole was finally large enough so I stopped and took off my red winter coat, dropping it onto the ground. The coat would have made it much more difficult to pass through such a tiny space, probably hooking into the bottom of the fence.

I wore nothing but a knitted red sweater and black jeans.

Getting back down onto my knees, I forced my small body through the opening. I tediously made my way forward on my stomach and elbows until I was finally on the other side. Standing up, I gazed back toward the fence and stared at the orphanage through the barrier.

It was strange being on the opposite side of the confinements—almost freeing in a way. Many children gathered outside and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing no one would miss me. Then I raised my eyes to the sky and saw the glaring sun burn even brighter than when I had first woken up. Had the air not have been so frigid, the snow would have melted against the rays.

I turned my head, looking in the direction of the woods once more. All of a sudden, a gust of wind crashed into my body as my hair flew in disarray, moving it away from my face. It was a force so powerful that it took everything inside of me to remain standing as I tried to stay planted to the ground, but not before staggering back a few times.

Had anybody else had been there, they would have been slightly alarmed at what they saw in my eyes.

The moment finally passed and I was then able to move again toward the forest. I knew no one saw me leave. The only sign of my existence being the footprints left behind by my oversized boots in the snow, and my red coat that blanketed the ground like a large splatter of blood.

Little did I know how symbolic the image would be.

I walked until I was deep within the forest. The cries got louder and louder as I made my way over broken tree branches and through snow-covered shrubs. I was determined to get to my destination, to this unknown call that summoned me. My heart squeezed tightly as I felt a sense of panic, an urgency of needing to get there as quickly as possible. I paused and looked up to the sky, felt the trees suddenly engulfing me and for a moment, I was afraid. I felt as if the forest would trap me in its grasp and with no means to escape if I moved forward.

It was then that I noticed it, at the corner of my eye. A few feet away, next to a fallen tree, lay a dog. Or so I thought at first. It was, indeed, a very large dog. Its thick, black fur was soaked with blood as it panted loudly. As I drew nearer, I saw that it was not a dog at all, but a wolf. I had never seen one before but I was certain it was. I imagined it looked just like the wolf in the story read to me the night before.

Big and frightening.

For some reason my racing heart unexpectedly slowed down. The beats more steady, but just as loud, I continued to stare at the creature. As opposed to feeling fear, gazing at this animal seemed to have an almost calming effect on me. I slowly stepped closer, noticing that the wolf was gravely injured, fresh blood covering its fur. Perhaps it had been in a fight with a larger animal and lost. Bears often frequented the area, the reason why the fence around the orphanage was built, and why we were given warnings about safety.

Kneeling beside the wolf in the snow, I stretched out a trembling hand toward its belly and stroked its warm, bloody fur. I watched as the wolf breathed quickly, its chest rising and falling in painful whimpers. For some reason I knew the wolf would not attack. I don’t know what made me so sure of this fact, but it was a powerful feeling that came over me.

Like instinct.

Another thing that was strange was my reaction toward the blood. Maybe it had been shock or something but whatever it was, the smell of blood was intoxicating to me as I saw my bloodied hands intermingled with the wolf’s fur. It smelled like all the flowers in the world infused into one unique scent, my salivary glands acting on overdrive.

Looking down at the red, pulsating color, my stomach growled loudly. I instantly knew
it
, was what I wanted a taste of. A deep throb formed within my mouth as I began to feel a hunger so strong, more than anything I had
ever
felt, that I physically ached in pain. I knew it was wrong, but it was like when you had that strong itch that you just had to scratch.

I tightly closed my eyes, took deep breaths in and out, as I fought to overcome the urge. Then suddenly time stood still for me, like I was almost in a trance. I was there, but it was as if I was watching myself instead of actually experiencing what was really happening. I may not have tasted the blood, like I wanted too, but the next thing I did was just as bizarre.

I saw myself, huddled on the ground, almost frantically searching for something. Then I grabbed a piece of wood that lay next to the wolf, holding it tightly within my grasp. I rolled the left sleeve of my red sweater up past my forearm and reached down as I slowly sank the wood against my skin, hesitating as my skin dipped from the pressure of the sharp tip. Then slowly—almost methodically—I pressed firmly, breaking the skin as blood started to seep from the wound. I stared at myself doing this, no emotion crossing my face.