Claws and Effect (3 page)

He held a hand out toward Everett. "Key."

As I watched, Everett fished around in his pocket, then pulled out a keyring, selected a key, and held it out to his brother. Ellis took the key and his hands moved to the cuff on my leg. I had half a mind to fight when he touched my ankle, but I remained still, instead. Watching.

Waiting for a window that would allow me to escape again.

He bent over the cuff and began to unlock it. "I want you to go to the main house and get some linens," he said, speaking in a low, smooth voice and it took a moment for me to realize he was talking to his brother. "Fresh blankets, pillowcase, everything. Some cleaning supplies. Bathsheba will know which ones. And get some fresh clothes." His fingers looped around my ankle and then he squinted at my figure. "She looks like she's about Sara's size."

"But--"

"I'll handle things from here," Ellis said. "And towels. Get towels."

"Got it," Everett said, and then he headed out of the cabin, disappearing into the woods. I watched him go through the windows, then peeked over at Ellis again. The angry, tattooed one. As I did, he removed the cuff from my leg and it fell away onto the bed. I held my breath.

Ellis said nothing. He simply watched me.

Was this...was this a hint that I could run and it would be okay? Was he letting me go? Or was this another mind game that I was supposed to play along with? I didn't know. There was only one sure way to find out.

I scrambled up from the bed and sprang for the door.

"Nope," Ellis said, and just as quickly grabbed me by the waist and hauled me back down on the bed again, using his body weight to trap me.

I let out a frightened little whimper, but when he lay on top of me, I didn't fight. I just squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the inevitable. For the biting. For the hurting. For the disgusting comments about how sweet I tasted and how, if I was bad, I'd get the bites I hated the most -- the ones on the vein that ran along my inner thigh.

But Ellis said nothing. He simply watched me and waited. His hand stroked my tangled, filthy hair occasionally. It was probably meant to soothe, but I was beyond all soothing. I just lay limp underneath him.

Eventually, he eased his weight off of me. When he did, I slid backward, returning to my corner, my eyes asking a silent question. Is this okay?

He said nothing, but he didn't pounce on me.

I counted that as a win.

The stare-down continued for what felt like forever. Eventually, though, there was another knock at the door. Ellis gave me a long look, then headed back to the door of the cabin. The other twin stood there and held a bag out to him.

"I've got it from here," Ellis said, taking the proffered bag. He shut the door in the other man's face and turned around to look at me again. He pulled a few towels out of the duffel bag his twin had brought, his motions slow and easy and calm. "Then, we're going to take a shower."

We? We were going to take a shower? A whimper threatened low in my throat but I swallowed it, not wanting to make any noise. So this is how it would be. These creatures hadn't fed on me yet, but people kept slaves for other reasons, too. Andre had never wanted me sexually, but that didn't mean that this one wouldn't. I wanted to run, but I was weak and tired and he was strong. My body already ached with bruises from my last escape, and my ankle felt swollen where the chains had been.

The best thing to do would be to not fight at all. So I closed my eyes, and I waited for the worst.

"Stand up," Ellis told me.

Biting my lip, I did so. My arms crossed over my breasts, over the dirty shirt I wore. I kept my eyes closed, waiting. I didn't want to see his face when he swooped in and attacked.

I heard a rustle, and then the mattress nudged me.

"Can you move to the side, please?"

I opened my eyes a little, flinching as I looked around. He was hauling the mattress up, the mattress I'd peed on. I stepped aside and watched, dumbfounded, as he carried it to the front door and headed outside with it.

Was he...leaving?

I watched as he propped it up against a nearby tree, studied the stain I'd made, and shook his head. And then he turned and grabbed me, just as I tried to sneak out the door again. "Come on," he told me, ignoring the fact that I'd just tried to escape again. His hold on my arm was gentle. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

I dragged my feet as he pulled me back behind the cabin. I wanted to scream in protest, wrestle against his grip, something. Anything. Truth was, I was too scared and exhausted to fight. I'd learned that fighting got me nothing but punishment. If he wanted to grope me as he washed me, I'd just, well... I'd endure it. That was all I had in me anymore.

I said nothing as he led me to a well-pump. He looked at me, looked at the pump, and then sighed. "I don't suppose you'd stay here while I went back into the cabin to get the soap, would you?" At my silence, he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Yeah, that's kind of what I thought. Come on, then."

Off we went, back to the cabin, with him holding my elbow in a gentle grip. He rummaged through the items his twin had brought, grabbed soap, a washcloth, some shampoo and conditioner, and tossed them all in a bucket, whistling to himself. He tossed one of the towels in as well, and then took it by the handle. "Back we go."

And we went back out to the pump. Once we were back out there, he set the bucket down, placed the contents on a nearby rock, and then hung the end of the bucket on the pump. Still holding my elbow with one hand, he began to prime the pump with the other, muscles flexing. It looked a bit annoying to have to juggle me and the pump and everything else at once, but he never voiced a word of complaint. He just acted like this was all very normal, and still whistled under his breath.

Once he filled the bucket with water, he set it down. He released my elbow. "Take your clothes off, please."

I looked at the trees in the distance, wondering how far I could get before he tackled me again.

"You won't make it," he cautioned.

He was right. A sob catching in my throat, I clutched at my shirt and didn't undress. Panic swelled through me.

"Cause and effect," he said easily. "You run, I have to catch you."

I trembled. If I ran, he'd be furious.

"Look, Becky. I don't know your name, but I have to call you something, and Becky's as good a name as any. Your clothes are filthy, Becky. I'm sure they started out clean, but you're a little dirty and they smell like piss, so we're going to take them off, wash you, and then we're going to get you in something clean, all right?"

I just stared at him, clutching my shirt to my body. "Please don't hurt me," I whispered.

He - Ellis - groaned and rubbed his face, as if weary. "I'm starting to think I was too hard on Everett," he mused as if to himself. Then he shook his head. "Come on, sweetheart. Becky. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to clean you up, all right?"

I didn't move a muscle.

His hands went to the hem of my shirt and began to drag it upward.

Big, fat tears rolled down my face. I sniffed hard, biting back my sobs.

He groaned again and shook his head. "All right, all right. We leave the clothes on." He released my shirt and gave my shoulder a pat of reassurance. "Fair warning, though, the water's cold."

And with that, he picked up the bucket of water and dumped it over my head.

I sputtered, shivering and shocked at the feel of the water. My filthy hair clung to my face and Ellis held out a bottle of shampoo to me. When I didn't take it, he said nothing. Instead, he squirted a huge amount into his palm and began to wash my hair for me as I trembled and quaked from more fear than cold.

When he was satisfied that my long, tangled hair was sufficiently clean, he refilled the bucket. "Close your eyes."

I did, and he dumped water over my head again.

He washed my hair twice more, then rubbed conditioner into the length of it, and we moved on to scrubbing at my skin. The washcloth ran over every inch of my exposed skin and he washed me like I was the family dog. Bucket after bucket of water was tossed over my skin, until I was scrubbed pink on all visible surfaces. Then came another humiliating rinse or two, and he washed the conditioner out of my hair.

Once he was satisfied, he picked up one of the towels, wrapped me in it, and said, "Come on. Back into the cabin."

I walked ahead of him, noticing as we headed back inside that in the distance, there was a small, person-height wood cube with a moon in the door. An outhouse. It just emphasized the fact that I needed to pee all over again, and I pointed at it with a trembling finger.

"All right," he said, but stopped me when I started to head through the woods toward it. "Your feet are bare. You're going to cut them up worse than they already are."

And his hand went under the backs of my knees, the other at my shoulders, and lifted me up to carry me to the bathroom.

It struck me as absurd, and I had to swallow the hysterical giggle rising in my throat. He was hauling me like a man would haul his bride across a threshold. Except, I wasn't a bride, and that wasn't a dream house he was taking me toward. It was absurd. All of this was so very, very absurd.

I kept thinking that as I left the outhouse, he picked me up again, and then we went back inside the cabin. He set down fresh clothes for me, gave me a wipe to clean my hands, and said, "Change. I'm going to fill up the bucket and I'll be right back." His dark gaze fixed on my face again. "Also, I'm not saying this to scare you, but don't try to run again, all right? Your feet are torn up, and you know that we change forms. You should also know that I can scent your trail from a mile away, so you wouldn't be able to hide for long. Just...spare us both the trouble, all right?"

He pressed the clothes into my hands, and then headed back out of the cabin.

I stared after him, my gaze on the open door.

I could bolt. I could run as far as I could in my wet clothes and aching bare feet. I was starving, but maybe I'd be able to get far enough before he caught me. Maybe.

I glanced down at the dry, warm clothes in my hands. Or...I could change into new clean clothing in privacy, since that was a sure thing.

I opted for that, and quickly took off my old clothes, exchanging them for a warm, fuzzy sweatshirt and a pair of checkered flannel sleep pants that were so big they hung off my hips. I had to double-knot them to get them to stay up, but I couldn't stop touching them. They were so warm and soft.

I felt like I hadn't been warm in forever. Or covered. Even when Andre had me in his basement, it didn't matter how cold it was down there, all I ever got was my ratty bikini.

I left my wet clothes on the floor, considered the door once more, and then decided that I didn't want to make my shapeshifting captor madder at me than he already was. I found a corner (since my bed was currently without a mattress), huddled in it, and waited for him to return.

He did after a bit, with a bucket of fresh water. "I sprayed some cleaner on the mattress, but that stuff bothers shifter noses so we need to let it air out for a bit," he told me casually, hauling the water to the small kitchenette in the cabin. If he noticed I was huddled in the corner, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he put a metal teapot on the iron-bellied stove, filled it with water, and then picked up my wet clothing and disappeared with it outside.

Ellis returned a few minutes later, sat down at the table, and looked at me. "So, Becky, you going to talk?"

I tucked my body closer to the wall, averting my gaze.

"No rush," he said easily. "I'm not going anywhere."

He didn't, either. He puttered around the cabin, a one-sided conversation constantly going. He made hot tea, poured me some in a mug and set it down in front of my feet on the floor. "Drink all of that," he commanded. I did so, too terrified to object despite his pleasant tone. If he was commanding, I'd obey.

He cleaned up the cabin, too. Everett had apparently made a mess with his cooking, and Ellis grumbled good-naturedly about his twin's thoughtlessness even as he scraped plates and rinsed them. Ellis, it seemed, was more of a neat-freak than his careless, happy-go-lucky twin. Once he was done, he took some of the hot water, made a big bowl of oatmeal, and set it down near my feet as well.

"Eat," was all he said.

I ate. It was flavored like maple syrup and was the first solid thing I'd had in nearly a day, ever since Andre had died. It was delicious, too. I scraped my spoon along the sides of the bowl, getting every morsel, and when Ellis noticed my scraping, he made me another bowlful and put it in the same place. "Eat."

I ate again. By the time I was finished eating and had drank all my tea, I was getting exhausted. My belly was full of warm food and I was clean. I still felt weak, but it wasn't the dangerous, shaky weak I normally had when Andre had fed too much. This was just a pleasant sort of exhaustion, and I leaned my head against the rough wood of the cabin wall and closed my eyes, drowsing, as Ellis cleaned the tiny kitchen again.

Chapter Three

I drifted off to sleep.

A hand touched my arm, waking me out of a nightmare of teeth and vampires and blood everywhere. I screamed, coming to with flailing limbs, and the back of my hand connected with a bristly chin.

A man grunted. Hands grabbed me, arms pinning me down. "It's okay, Becky. Calm down."

Becky? I swam out of sleep, startled to realize that I was pinned to the floor, a hard form over mine. Through the haze, my eyes focused and I recognized the face close to mine. Ellis. His eyes were gleaming green in that unnatural way, and I shivered, trying to scrunch down smaller.

"Sorry," he breathed, body pressing against mine. "I wanted to put you to bed."

Bed. Bed? Oh. I blinked repeatedly, trying to process that as Ellis got off of me. He stood, and offered a hand down to me. I ignored it, cringing away.

"Okay, if you don't want my help up, at least get to your feet," he said, and his voice was slow and soothing. "You want to sleep in a nice warm bed, don't you?"