Blood Stained Tranquility (7 page)

Tonight, however, had been different.

Her stepfather had come home drunk and furious over God knew what. Eve had known the moment he barged into her room that his desires had veered into darker territory. She had felt the blackness of his emotions in the air and had been right.

He wasn’t going to be content with just touching that time around. He was determined to take what he considered his—her virginity. The memory of how he had climbed on her bed and ripped the covers off her was like being dunked in ice. Tremors broke out everywhere and her adrenaline spiked.

She wanted to call out for someone. Why had they left her alone for so long? There was a two-way mirror right in front of her. She had already caught her reflection. Had seen her drawn, beaten face and the blood caked on her skin. She refused to look again, but wondered if someone was back there watching her break down. Were they studying her? Getting some sick thrill out of seeing her suffering?

A tiny voice, one she’d become acquainted with over the last year, whispered that she should have just let him have her. Where had fighting him gotten her?
What
had it gotten her?

She had considered lying back passively as her stepdad crawled over her. Another voice, though—this one louder and stronger—had roared to life inside her at the critical moment. It screamed to her that her virginity wasn’t his, and had demanded she find a way to stop him. She remembered how rage took over and she lashed out, desperate to get off the bed and away from him. He took her struggles seriously only once she had
clawed
strips of skin off his face.

Other than that, she didn’t remember how she’d gotten out from under him, only that she’d made it to the other side of the room before he tackled her from behind. They bumped into her computer table, knocking over a small, blue vase. The sound of glass breaking and her desperate gasps for air reached her ears. He was choking her. She reached out, frantic, not even aware of what she was searching for.

Her vision was almost gone, darkness shrinking in from the sides, when she felt the shard in her hand, slicing the skin. She felt no pain, but blood gushed between her fingers.

A heavy fist smashed into her left eye, her skull vibrating with the blow. Her hand tightened around the shard. A broken cough sounded out of her throat. His legs trapped hers, and his fingers pulled on her sleeping pants, dragging them down.

Her vision shut down. Her racing heart sputtered. Fear shrieked like a banshee, flying through her nervous system. Her hand shot up, her body moving on autopilot. Her fist flew at his throat. Contact. A gurgled gasp reached her. The hand around her throat slackened. Enough air rushed back in for her sight to return.

That was when she’d heard her stepfather’s last, watery breath.

He’d fallen on her, dark eyes wide and unseeing. Lifeless. His blood had erupted from the wound on his neck, bathing her chest and neck. Some leaked into her mouth, hot and metallic. With a shove, she’d pushed him off her. She made it three feet, on her hands and knees, before the need to throw up won out.

Lord help her, she must have stabbed his carotid. Blood pooled on her bedroom floor. It coated her knees, spreading like a slow tide of red sludge.

She had no idea how long she knelt there, but she did remember throwing up a few more times before she was able to drag herself out of the room. She grabbed the phone and dialed 911 in a daze. Eve told the dispatcher everything, exactly as it had happened. Then once more when the police had showed up. When they arrived at the station, she’d repeated the process all over again in interrogation.

In a numb haze, she relived the events for a third time, up to the point where the cops had escorted her outside her house and she’d had to watch as the paramedics rolled her stepfather’s body into the ambulance. The tears had started then and they didn’t stop. Not until she had been left on her own in the interrogation room.

She shot out of her seat. The chair scraped across the floor. Fear-laced energy brutalized her, fueling her anxiety. For a second, she entertained the idea of flinging the chair at the mirror and demanding someone’s attention. Her emotions told her she’d be justified; her practical side told her the cops might feel differently.

There’s no way they haven’t reached mom yet. What the hell is going on?

The truth wailed out of her, intuition flashing an image of Alexis through her mind. Her mother had given him up for adoption five years before, when he’d been thirteen, simply because her stepfather had demanded it.

What would her mother be willing to do to her for killing the same man?

The answer came in the form of the male detective. He walked into the room, a blank look on his face, and motioned for her to sit down. He took the seat across from her, then placed a notepad and manila folder gently on the table. His movements were slow, deliberate, and each one was like a punch to her gut.

Her chest felt so tight that she had a hard time pushing words past her throat.

“What’s going on?”

“Please take a seat, miss.”

“Where’s my mother?” she asked in a small voice.

“Miss Salazar, please sit dow—”

“No.” Eve was surprised how steady her tone was considering she felt like the ground was shifting beneath her. She raised her chin and met the detective’s stare. “I want to know where my mother is.”

There was no mistaking it, pity shadowed the man’s eyes.

“I need you to sit down so I can explain.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. Her mother had done it. She’d turned her back on her own daughter. Just like she’d done with her son.

There was pain with this revelation, a fuckload of it, but Eve’s mind threw up a wall, blocking it. The human brain sometimes knew its limit, and hers had just been reached. She knew what was happening around her, yet she was unable to react. Her eyelids were glued in place, her limbs locked tight. She was actually surprised her lungs were still drawing in breath.

The detective rifled through the manila folder, his lips moving, so she knew he was speaking.

With effort, she focused on what he was saying.

“ . . . you’re thirteen, so hopefully they’ll try you as a minor. Honestly, I know you’re going to win either way because the evidence is obvious. But the state has already assigned a lawyer to represent you . . .”

Eve shut him right back out. On weak legs, she walked to her chair and fell into it. The detective stopped talking abruptly. He stared at her and she stared at the wall behind him.

Yelling drifted from down the hall, a raised voice that Eve knew well. A voice that, despite everything, she
loved
, damn it.

The tears slid down her face when the door to the interrogation room shot open. The detective jumped to his feet and ran toward Evesse’s mother. Another cop rushed in behind her and joined in the effort of holding her back.

Eve stared into her mother’s pain-filled eyes. Her mother fought against the men holding her as she yelled at the top of her lungs. Eve didn’t bother hiding her tears as she watched her mother try to break free so she could get at her.

Her mom screamed at her, telling her how much she hated her, asking her how she could do it. Oh, and Eve’s personal favorite; telling her how she would dedicate herself to making sure Eve paid for what she had done. As if her husband hadn’t been a sexual deviant. As if he hadn’t tried to rape
her daughter
after spending a year touching her in ways he had no right to.

The cops eventually dragged her mother out, leaving Eve alone with the fucked-up truth. Her mother blamed Eve for her stepfather’s death. No doubt she had told the police a fake story, saying Eve had done it on purpose. Her mother had done it in the past, every time Eve had brought up the abuse.

“You tempt him, you selfish girl. Pay attention to how you come across to him, or I will punish you for tempting my husband away from me. He’s mine, Eve. I love him.”

She clapped her hands over her ears, trying to block the memories out. The detective had mentioned something about a lawyer. They were going to put her on trial. She might end up in jail and her mother . . . her mother would probably dance with joy over it. Disbelief and pain choked Eve, dragging her under a wave of misery.

Her small sobs were the only sound she heard. Her brother’s face was the only thing she could see. Evesse had no idea what was about to happen to her, but as much as she missed her brother, she was glad he wasn’t there. Had he been there to witness what their mother was doing, he would have murdered the woman. It was the only positive thought she had, and the cruel irony of that wasn’t lost on her one bit.

There was a stretching inside her, a pull on her organs and skin. Evesse gasped. Several voices rose, sounding frantic. Was that Ismini and Soleria calling out to her? She tried to roll over, and ended up being burned for her efforts. A fire had been set inside her. God. What the fuck was happening?

She opened her eyes and a blurry mess met her. Colors and shapes coalesced, making it impossible for her to make sense of what she saw. Parts of the blur moved and she realized that she was surrounded by people.

Was she lying on a bed? She tried the whole rolling-over thing one more time, but the memory of what had happened with her mom hit her, threatening to suck her back into that time in her life. She cried out from the rage. The fire in her grew, demanding she reach out for someone who wasn’t there.

Zeniel.

She struggled to push back the darkness.

“We’re losing her again. Move back.”

Was that Vedlyl? Her friends really were there. One of them could go get Zeniel for her! She thrashed, violent in her need to get the words out and beg one of them to find Zen. A hot hand landed on her shoulder. A biting shock went through her veins, followed by a burst of pain that robbed her of all energy.

“What the hell is this?” Soleria sounded outright enraged.

“To put it simply, her molecular structure is unstable and the
R’mannev
is taking over. Her soul can’t be blamed for trying to escape her body. I don’t know what to do for her other than to put her back under.”

Vedlyl smoothed his hand over her temple, and it was like getting KO’d. Darkness punched her, making her eyes roll back into her head. The last thing she heard was Nylicia’s voice.

“Remember that it’s not black and white. Nothing is black and white. You’re going to have to teach him that. Remember that, Eve.”

Chapter 6

“Remember that it’s not black and white. Nothing is black and white.”

Black and white.

Light and darkness.

Zeniel and Mavrak.

Eve gasped, and darkness sucked her under. Further, deeper, until . . .
 

The light had faded. It had remained with him for days, it seemed, before disappearing. The lack of sight didn’t bother him, though. It served to help his mental turmoil, a turmoil he’d been steadily fighting—and overcoming—since he had awakened. The roaring in his head was nearly gone. It had been destroyed by his will to remain tranquil and strong.

He would not let the beast within him break free once more. He had been reborn inside himself. He was a new being, unable to dredge up more than one solid memory of what he had last been.