Authors: Heather Killough-Walden
She hid her surprise and anger well and peered into his mouth. Blood was slowly seeping up around the next to the last molar on the bottom left side.
“Can I feel?”
He nodded.
Brave boy
, she thought. She gently nudged it and it moved, but just a little.
“It’s loose, but it might be fine.” She stood and he closed his mouth. “I’ll get you an ice pack and a glass of water.” She went to the door and then paused, turning back to face him. “Did he damage anything else?”
He looked up at her and it seemed to her that he took forever to do anything at all. And then, noncommittally, he shrugged. And stared back down at the carpet.
Logan was packing ice into a plastic bag when the door knob turned behind her. She jerked in place, surprised by the sudden sound, and spun to face the doorway.
Taylor Wright slowly shut the door behind him. His face was gaunt and pale, his eyes blood shot as if he’d been crying. He was visibly shaking and there were dark shadows under his eyes.
He looked well and truly haunted.
He glanced up at Logan and then froze there in the doorway, his expression instantly and tremendously pained. And then, without warning, he broke down before her and Logan’s heart instantly ripped itself to shreds.
“I’m…. I’m sorry, God I’m sorry, Logan. You gotta believe me, I can’t –” He sobbed loudly, his whole body shaking with the wracking, painful sound. Logan stood frozen to the spot, as torn as she always was when Taylor was faced with the aftermath of what he had done to his kin.
“I can’t help it, I don’t know why I do it…. Jesus Christ, I’m in hell, Logan. I wanna die, I just wanna die.”
He fell to his knees before her, his knee caps slamming against the ceramic tile. If he noticed the pain, he made no indication of it. Instead, he buried his face in his hands and cried. His shoulders shook, his body bowed, and the sounds he made thrust Logan head-long into spiritual agony.
Her brother was in immense pain. And he caused the same to those around him.
As always, it wasn’t long before she went to him and held him in her arms. She let him cry, gently rocking him back and forth. As she did, the ice in the make-shift pack on the counter began to melt.
It was night and she was standing in a field of red roses. They were growing from the ground as would sunflowers or poppies, and Logan knew that it was a dream.
The moon was full and bright and tinted ever so slightly blue. A few wispy clouds floated across its face as a wolf howled in the distance.
The air was crisp and cool and Logan could actually feel it through the thin long-sleeved shirt she wore. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Logan wasn’t used to feeling anything at all in her dreams.
“I can make him stop hurting you,” came a voice from behind her.
Logan turned to face him, already knowing who she would find when she did. And she was right. It was the same young man who had haunted her dream before. Dark brown hair, tall strong build, gorgeous young face, but with eyes older than creation.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am Sam.”
“You already said that,” she countered, recalling what he’d told her before. “Who are you, really?”
Sam pondered her question, his light blue eyes piercing her to the core. She stood her ground beneath the weight of that gaze and waited for an answer.
Finally, he seemed to straighten and come to a decision. “You gave me this form, Logan Wright,” he told her. “You gave me my name. But you can call me whatever you like.” He shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“Okay,” Logan ventured, slowly.
His name doesn’t matter.
“Then…
what
are you?”
She regretted the question almost as soon as it had slipped past her lips. What was he?
His name doesn’t matter, Logan…. Because a rose by any other name would still….
She remembered Meagan’s whispered, repeated words. October. An open door.
Did people move through open doors?
Anything can move through a door once it’s been opened.
She thought of the new kid and his name, Sam Hain. She peeled her gaze away from Sam’s and looked around them at the field of red, thorny roses – and watched as they slowly darkened into the deepest, midnight black.
Black as the one she’d pierced her finger on.
She glanced down at her finger and watched as blood welled up around a fresh wound and then dripped to the dark soil beneath her.
“What am I?” he repeated softly.
She looked up, already knowing the answer. His eyes captured hers once more. “You know, Logan.”
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Her throat, swollen. “A rose by any other name,” she muttered, not knowing why she said what she did.
He smiled then, as if she amused him. Logan saw that his canines, once slightly elongated, were now full-fledged fangs.
Logan was no longer feeling calm. Her finger hurt and the roses felt thorny around her and her chest felt too tight.
“You know full well what I am,” Sam said. He took a step toward her and the flowers swayed, parting to make way for him. “In all of its many forms.”
Logan shook her head.
“Forms that
you
gave to me, Logan.”
She backed up and the thorns caught at her jeans, ripping gashes into the material.
“I think this one is my favorite.” He gently gestured to his own tall form, his fangs flashing in the moonlight. “In your world, I would be nothing without your words. I would have no shape, no structure, no purpose or reason beyond that which acts as a close to all things,” he continued as she took another step back and several thorns pierced the taut skin of her legs. They dug deep, as if grasping at her, longing to hold her in place…
…
keep you forever….
“An ending,” he said. “A period at the finish of a story. And nothing more.”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Logan found herself asking, even as she continued to back away, despite the blood now running down her legs. “You’re the new boy in school. Sam Hain.”
He didn’t answer, but the blue in his eyes began to lighten further and then to glow. Within seconds, they were pools of molten, spinning silver; utterly inhuman.
“You’re Samhain,” she said, now pronouncing his name correctly. Samhain was the Celtic god of the dead.
Again, he didn’t answer. It was as good as a confirmation.
“You’re also the one who hurt Meagan. Aren’t you,” she said. It wasn’t really a question and it sounded like a wild accusation, even to her ears. But she knew it was true. She didn’t know how and she didn’t know why. She just knew it was true.
He still said nothing, but now he laughed.
“What did you do to her?” Logan demanded, her cheeks wet with tears she’d unknowingly shed.
“Nothing,” he told her, a simple shake of his head. “I didn’t touch her. She was too young and too foolish to keep me at bay. Her essence paid the consequence of my appearance.” His expression became harsh, just for a moment. “She was lucky, in fact.”
“How are you here?” Logan asked. “
Why
are you here?” She shook her head. “What the hell do you want?”
“The little witch let me in,” Sam told her. He was drawing ever nearer and Logan didn’t think she could fight the roses any longer. Her legs were on fire as if they’d been poisoned, and the pain was easing up her body, slowing her down.
“As to what I want,” he said as he tilted his head to one side and smiled at her with slight admonishment. “Of course, I want you, Logan. I should think that would be obvious.”
“You can’t have me,” she told him stubbornly.
He threw back his head and laughed then, and the sound was both beautiful and terrifying. “Oh, you are a passionate and strong girl,” he said, shaking his head. “But I always get what I want, Logan. In the end,” he told her, softly, “
everything
comes my way.”
“Why me?” She stopped trying to back away. She felt tired and the pain was becoming overwhelming. She felt a little sick.
She also felt warm. Standing there, gazing up at the most gorgeous boy she had ever seen, it struck her that he was everything she’d ever wanted in a man. He was tall and strong and magic. And he definitely wasn’t human.
“You gave me life.” He seemed bewildered suddenly, as if surprised by the fact he was voicing. “Your words gave me life. It’s impossible.” He shook his head and glanced down at his hands, turning them over slowly and then flexing them for good measure. “And yet, I live. I breathe. I smell and eat and drink and
feel
.” He looked back up at her and Logan saw that his pupils had expanded hungrily.
“I don’t know how long I have,” he told her then, his tone softer and more serious. “But when I do go back,” he shook his head slowly. “I won’t go back alone.” Another step and he closed the distance between them. “I’ll take my bride with me.”
Logan stared up at him and tried to catch her breath. Her heart was beating too hard; it hurt in her chest. Her head felt light and yet ached at the same time. Her mouth was too dry, her tongue too swollen for her to form words.
So, she shook her head. Just once. It was a final act of rebellion, and she didn’t even know why she did it.
Again, Sam smiled, flashing her those long, sharp, white fangs. “You write very well, Logan,” he told her as his hand gently cupped the side of her face. “But the characters you create reflect an emptiness and a yearning you have within yourself.” With his other hand, he brushed a thick lock of hair from her shoulder, exposing the long pale column of her neck to his ardent gaze. “Why else would they all be so…” his gaze found hers and captured it. “Hungry?”
With that, he lowered his head until his lips hovered over the taut flesh of her throat. Logan could not have pulled away if she’d wanted to; the poison of the roses had paralyzed her, and Sam’s grip behind her neck and at her back held her firmly in place. And there was a part of her – the very part he’d spoken of – that did not
want
to get away.
That part of her yearned to know what it would feel like to give in.
To let someone else be strong for once; to let someone else take control.
And now she had no choice but to do just that.
Sam smiled against her skin and she shivered, almost violently. The tips of his fangs grazed her, ever so slightly, and Logan closed her eyes.
“You smell so sweet,” he whispered.
Logan was lost. When Sam gently cupped her neck and nudged her chin to the side, she tilted her head back willingly, giving up the fight.
“That’s it,” he spoke against her pulse and she felt his fangs once more.
A touch, a hesitation….
Her eyes flew open when his grip on her tightened and his fangs sank into the side of her neck. She hadn’t been expecting the pain. In her dreams, it had always felt like a push and a give and one long stream of endless almost-orgasms.
But this was real. Dream or not, it was real. And it hurt and Logan went stiff beneath the onslaught of sensations that rushed through her. Sam’s fangs were no different than two thick, wickedly sharp prongs of a fork, slowly sinking into her body. She thought she would die under the attack; die of pain, die of blood loss.
And then, like a
miracle
of mercy, came the pleasure.
It washed over her like a wave of ecstasy, drowning the pain of his bite, smothering the fear she’d nearly given into only heartbeats before. The warmth was back, and piggy backing on the warmth was a weakness, a sweet surrender, and a moan of delight that she could not keep from escaping from between her lips.
As if in response, Sam pulled her closer, hugging her tightly against his hard body as he began to drink. The pull of blood through her veins was a kind of agony, but now a delicious one. She knew it was wrong. She knew he was a monster. She should know more than anyone.
And yet his hand, so strong and possessive at her back, the tender touch of his fingers in her hair, the taut cording of his muscles as he took what he needed… they were wreaking blissful havoc on her mind. Another pull, another swallow, and she was spinning wildly out of control.
No
… she thought.
He’s going to kill me.
It’s what he does best.
Her body jerked and her heart beat thudded painfully as a rude, vicious sound sliced through her consciousness. It was a beeping. A screeching. Loud and unforgiving and relentless.
Logan opened her eyes…
… and found herself in her bed. Her body was heavy and soaked with sweat. The sun was already high in the sky and pierced the curtains across the room.
Her alarm clock was screaming its warning. She’d set it for noon.
Logan slowly sat up in the bed. Her muscles were sluggish to respond and she felt a little queasy as she swung her legs over the edge. She ran a shaky hand through her damp hair and tried to gather enough saliva to swallow. When she did, her throat hurt.
She left the bed and made her way across the hall to the upstairs bathroom. She bypassed the toilet and shower and headed straight to the sink, turning it on to splash water on her face. When she was finished, she grabbed the towel and dried off.