Droplets (DROPLETS Trilogy Book 1) (28 page)

     Looking down, I reached for the strings to untie the bodice. But just then the lock in the door clanged open and I whipped around to watch as the door swung wide, revealing the one creature I dreaded seeing. 

     His feet pounded heavily toward me, but his face was livid with anger and his eyes cold and harsh. I was frozen where I stood, blood pumping through my veins rapidly and my heart throbbing in my chest as though reminding me it was working. 

       Resting his gaze upon me, I shrank as far as I could into the dress. He looked at me as though I were something for his own pleasure. A blush like I had never felt before crept over my cheeks, warming my face while an embarrassment and anger of what he was thinking filled my mind.

     “Trying to tempt Gell, are we?” he sneered, his lip curling up over his teeth in a quick movement. My eyes widened in fear. Shaking my head, I backed away like a scared and trapped kitten.

     Morven surprised me by being the first to look away. His hand twitched while he pursed his lips and his skin was greatly contrasted by the all black garb. From the black boots to the black jacket, all of his clothing was richly made and perfectly cut. I could not help but realize how similar it was to the dress I now wore.

     His hair hung loosely, as it always did. The dark locks were both beautiful and somehow terrifying in their pristine perfect color. An unintentional shiver rippled through my spine, but I kept my eyes on him and waited for his next move. 

     He snapped his attention back to me suddenly, but the hatred and malice which was in his face before was replaced. Instead he was calculating, pondering, wondering, looking at me with judgment. I got the feeling that he was waiting for me to react, but didn’t know what it was he wanted me to react to. Again I waited, unsure of where to move or how to get away from him.

     Slowly, like watching a droplet grow into a ripple, a tight crooked grin spread across his small lips. Their color was a deep red in the firelight while odd shadows flickered over his face. With careful steps he moved forward, and I braced myself for what was to come.

     With each move my eyes flicked toward his dark boots that clacked on the stone floor. Gathering all my courage and gritting my teeth, I waited as he moved ever closer, his steps becoming quicker until he was before me. His mere presence caused me to fight the urge to run.

     Cold, vice-like hands snatched my wrists and I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. I jerked back in response when he pulled me toward him, and he chuckled softly.

     “You cannot run from me.” His chilling words crawled upon my flesh. I tugged from his grasp again.

     “Don’t touch me,” I said. My voice was weak even to my ears. Morven snickered at my feeble threat, a wicked sneer on his malicious face.

     “What will you do about it, Marina?” He taunted and pulled me against his body.

     I lurched back and pushed against him with all my might, but it was no use. His grip was firm and unbreakable. No matter how I struggled he held me fast, I continued to try and pull away.

     His head came closer and the hard, tight red lips smashed into my own forcefully, nearly knocking me off my feet. Panicking in his tight arms, I squirmed and then, desiring escape more than anything, I took his lip between my teeth and bit down ferociously, surprising myself.

     A muffled cry of pain reached my ears and the strong arms released me. I stumbled back, but regained my balance quickly and took my chance toward the door. Darting around him, I made it a few steps before his long fingers once more locked around my wrists. Reaching around, I scratched and clawed at his flesh, trying to pull his hand from my own. But once more he jerked me forward. This time I was ready, and I cocked my hand into a fist. With all the power I could muster, I threw my balled up hand at his jaw.

     His head snapped to the side while a stabbing pain surged up my arm, but he recovered too quickly and grasped both my shoulders tightly. I could feel his hot breath on my face as his thumbs pressed painfully into my collarbone. 

     Meeting his eyes with a fiery glare of my own, I realized what damage I had just done. The malice upon his face was like nothing I had ever seen before; this was a whole new creature.

     For a moment he stood there, his eyes boring into mine. But I gazed back just as ferociously. The feelings of fear were gone. At that moment I had no more fear for him. I knew that at some point the feelings would return, but right now I was too angry to feel anything but hatred for him. It was as though my body could only contain one powerful emotion at a time, and at the moment it was a scorching desire for Morven to be hurt. And hurt badly.

     With a quick motion that caught me by surprise, Morven grabbed one of my arms and tugged me toward the door. My shoulder was thrust up at an awkward angle as he pulled me roughly behind him. His large hand reached for the door handle and it opened when he gave it a massive tug, finally revealing what lay outside of the room.

     As soon as we stepped out the door, the anger I had felt inside dissolved and was replaced by a consuming dread of what was to come; somehow I just knew he was taking me somewhere very different than the room we had just left.

27. Dungeon

Through the door and down dark corridors I followed Morven’s angry footsteps. My mind whirled over what I had just done. I had no idea where I was headed, but all I did know was that I would rather die than have him ever touch me like that again.

     His footsteps thundered on the stone pathways. I stumbled along behind him trying to keep up. I knew that if I lost my footing, he would not hesitate to pull me across the ground. Concentrating as best I could, I made my shaky weak legs follow him and avoided slipping on the grimy stones.

     We flew down staircases in a whirl of dark fabric. The skirt of the black dress flowed behind me and whipped out in a large circle every time Morven flew around a corner. As we plunged deeper into the castle, I could feel the air growing colder and thinner. Smells of dirty flesh and unclean clothing reached my nostrils. I gagged at the putrid stench and tried to breathe more through my mouth.

     A dim light became visible at the end of the corridor we were descending. Morven strode toward it even faster while I tried to maintain my balance. The stones in this corridor were slippery, the walls oozing with salty, briny drips.

     We reached the end of the hallway where a spiral staircase lit by torches plummeted steeply even deeper into the castle. I shuddered to think of stepping down the steps with bare feet once I saw the grime blanketing each step.

     Ignoring the gush between my toes, I followed the creature who still held my arm tightly and pulled me behind him. My arm throbbed, but I would not give him the pleasure of knowing I was in pain.  

     The repulsive smell of rotting bodies and human sweat filled my nostrils. Bile built in my throat and I almost emptied my stomach on the floor.

     We stepped down onto the landing and Morven jerked me forward violently, making sure I lost my footing. Without pause, he led us into a dimly lit, skinny pathway.

     Rounding a corner, before my eyes, was a dungeon, a place of human desolation that I had only seen pictures of in a history book. Two overly large mermen stood guard at the gated entrance. I found myself wondering how their appearance did not match the fowl stench; they were well groomed, their clothing spotless and clean.

     They expressed shock at our appearance, but straightened to attention and bowed slightly at the waist. “Lord Morven,” they both muttered.

     One of the men, who had pale blonde hair just long enough to reach his eyes, stared at me with disgusting desire. I recognized him immediately as one of the mermen who had been on the
Lady Maria
the night I was changed. His fierce grey eyes roved over my body, and I silently hated myself for ever having put on the black dress. Ignoring him, I turned my head defiantly and watched as the other merman unlocked the iron gate. Morven waited impatiently and strode past both guards once the gate had opened with a long and loud squeal.

     He pulled me forward past many different cells that lined both sides of an aisle. Flashing glimpses of the insides of the cells revealed their emptiness. Some were spacious while others were cramped, but all were empty. The reality of being alone in such a place hit me like a punch to my stomach.

     The aisle between the cells was like a horseshoe, curving inward to the right with large cells on our left. Thinking back to where we entered, I realized there had been two entrances. The other must have been for the other side of the loop.

     Halfway through the horseshoe, in the middle of the bow, Morven came to a halt. I slammed into his side and slipped on the floor. He pulled me upright with a jerk while I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

     Reaching into his pocket, he produced a key and squeezed it into the lock. He fumbled with the catch momentarily until it clicked loudly. The sound echoed against the bare, dripping walls. He opened the grinding gate and thrust me inside, throwing me to the floor.

     I caught myself just in time as I hit the dirty stone floor. A groan escaped my lips, but I whipped back around to look up into Morven’s face. 

     A flicker of a smile on his lips was visible through the flat steel, grid-like bars of my cell. But he stepped away wordlessly and stormed back the way we had just come. His strong pounding footsteps retreated and the iron gate that was the entrance to the dungeon creaked and then slammed with finality.

     Tears threatened my eyes—whether from relief or fear I did not know. Sitting up, I tucked my chin against my knees and one tear fell down my cheek. A torrent of water followed, the one tear causing an avalanche of emotions to pour from my soul. I cried silently, letting the tears stream down my face on my slippery skin to where they hit the dirty dress with soft patters.

     Taking a deep breath to relax, I shuddered and gagged once more on the awful smell. Choking on my own saliva, I spit it onto the stone floor.

     Pressing a fist into my stomach, I refused to give in to the contractions in my gut. Feeling shaky, and my palms and head sweaty, I tried to stand, but fell down once more with a small cry. I regained my breath gradually, even though each inhalation almost overturned my stomach.

     Just then I heard a soft movement and froze, holding my breath. Images of rats and mice that nibbled on flesh entered my mind and my heart thundered loudly.

     The sound repeated and again I stayed still. It was a heavy drawn out brush, the dragging of something heavy across the floor. Goosebumps rose on my flesh, and my body began to shake as I tried to figure out where the sound was coming from.

     I inhaled shakily, no longer caring about the disgusting stench. Frozen where I sat, my ears picked up every sound. And still the dragging came closer, but it was muffled as if blocked by something. I looked at the walls to make sure that there were no holes large enough for anything to sneak through.

     “Hey.” A low almost-grunt reached my ears, shocking me so much I nearly screamed out of fear. The dragging scratch filled the dungeon once more and I trembled.

     “Hey.” The word was spoken again, this time a little closer. The voice was low, scratchy, weary, and yet familiar. I conjured up a picture of a tired old man in my head; maybe he was in the cell next to mine.

     “Hello,” I said, my voice shaky and thick from tears.

     “Lissie?” The scratchy voice asked, shocking me even further. The voice was worried and desperate, but something inside me recognized it. My mind whirled as I realized with horror who had spoken.

     “Patrick?” I called just as desperately, and I crawled to the end of my cell up against the bars. I tried as best as I could to see into his, but could just barely make out the gridded steel.

     “I’m here,” he rasped earnestly. His voice was so foreign that it caused tears to fill my eyes. Thinking of what he had been through worried me even more.

     “Are you okay?” I asked, knowing the answer.

     “Fine,” he rasped and then coughed loudly, his throat dry and cracked. The sound rattled in his chest. He hacked for a moment. “You’re here now. I’m fine.”

     “Oh, Patrick,” I said, and reached my hand through the bars toward his cell. “Can you reach my hand?” There was a low grunt and the sound of a body sliding across the ground. I closed my eyes and a tear ran down my cheek as I tried not to think of him painfully crawling on the floor.

     I pressed the side of my face against the bars to try and see him, but I couldn’t. A hand came into view and I grasped it quickly. His hand fell limply into my own and I struggled to hold up its surprising weight. We could only touch up to our wrists, but I was so thankful to be given even this much of him. 

     Rubbing his hand with my thumb, I reveled in touching him. I remembered the words he had spoken to me on the night of Nixie’s wedding. The conviction of his love rang true, and more than ever before I believed him. I knew I could never love someone as much as I loved him.

     “Patrick, your hand is freezing,” I said softly and the worry increased, but I tried to keep it from my voice. His icy fingers held me tighter as a scratchy laugh poured from his lips before turning into a dry, cracking cough.

     I cringed and brushed his hand even more gently, but something wet and slimy was on my fingers. Leaning forward, with my cheek pressed against the stone wall, I was able to reach more of him. The farther I went up his arm, the more damp skin and bumps I felt.

     “Are you okay?” He asked. His voice was filled with so much love that I nodded at first, unable to speak. Then, I stupidly realized he couldn’t see me.

     “Yes, I’m fine.” I heard him sigh.

      “Where’ve you been? I was really worried about you.” His voice grew terribly cracked at the end and I realized the effort that it took to speak was difficult for him.

     “He put me in a room.” I would not say Morven’s name. “I’ve been locked in there this whole time.” I paused and decided to carry on, giving him something to entertain his mind. He had been down here all this time alone; it was amazing that he hadn’t gone crazy yet.

     “I was actually in the room that Nerissa put you in.” I paused, wondering if he would comment, but he didn’t. “I figured it out from what you had told me. I don’t think they’ve changed anything about that room.”

     “How so?” he asked, his scratchy voice sounding interested and slightly relaxed. I smiled softly to myself. If I could give him comfort by talking, then I would talk all night and day for him.

     “The room still looked like a man’s room and I found a bunch of your clothes in it.” I broke off not wanting to tell him about the bloody shirt that I had seen. “Your old hunting knife, I found that, too.”

     “Really?” his voice was amused, yet still weary.

     “Yes,” I said, trying to sound casual. I stopped talking since I didn’t know what to say anymore. The silence spread and I continued to rub his hand gently with my fingers. I wasn’t sure, but I had the notion that this movement was making him relaxed.

     “Why did he bring you down here?” his voice was hoarse and concerned. I hesitated before I answered.

     “Well,” I said sort of stuttering, “He forced me to kiss him and then I punched him.” The silence grew long and then Patrick groaned angrily.

     “What?” I asked, worried.

     “Why did you punch him? You should’ve just let him kiss you! You cannot realize what—” He broke off with a loud cough that rattled in his chest. He was angry with me, that I could tell, but I didn’t know what he would’ve me do instead.

     “What was I supposed to do Patrick?” My voice came out more desperate than I had wanted it to. “Was I supposed to let him take advantage of me? To let him have me?” Cold silence met my questions and Patrick heaved a frustrated sigh.

     “No, not that. Anything but that. I’m sorry,” he said and I could tell that he was exhausted. We sat in the quiet just holding hands. I tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. He broke the silence first.  

      “Lissie?” he asked softly, his creaky voice splitting the silence. “Can you tell me some stories from when you were younger?” I smiled to myself, knowing I could finally give him something to soothe his mind.

    “What do you want to hear about?” I asked, wondering what would interest him most.

     “Anything that you want to tell me,” he rasped and I grasped his hand a little tighter, afraid that he would leave me.

     My mind sorted through different stories and memories that came back so easily. It was incredible to think that I was still on the same planet, in the same time period as the rest of my family.

     After a moment I settled on a Christmas memory. It was the Christmas when I got my first pair of ice skates. It was one of my earliest memories, one of the few I had of my mother. Warmth filling my heart, I remembered Derek and Sean as they were when they were little. Still protective, but excited for me to learn how to skate. 

     My voice filled the silence, explaining everything in detail. The snow, the ice, the visit to see Santa Claus, my first attempt where I fell flat on my face. Each moment was precious in its own way, and without pausing I moved into other memories. No matter what I said, Patrick listened, never interrupting, but continuing to let me speak. I didn’t know if he was even awake, all I knew was that if I stopped talking his breathing got louder and his hand twitched for me to continue.

     At the end of one such story, I paused and waited for the twitch while I thought of something else to tell him.

     “Thank you,” he said. His voice filled with gratitude and affection I didn’t deserve. In response I rubbed his hand. Once again silence filled the dungeon and I assumed he had fallen asleep.

     “Lissie?” His voice made me jump with its abruptness.

     “Yes?”

     “Can you promise me something?” His words were weighted and serious.

     “Promise what?” I asked tentatively, not sure where he was going with this.

     “Promise me that you will save yourself if you have the chance.” His voice was commanding, the request clearly sincere. “Promise me that if there comes a point when you think you can escape, then do it. I don’t want you to even pause and think about me. I want you to get out of here.”