Seventh Mark (Part 1 +2) (24 page)

The grey snow
clouds made the sky get darker earlier than usual.
Does he plan
on walking all night, or worse, camp in the snow?
The loser may
be a Grollic but I’d freeze to death. The snow hadn’t stopped
falling and had covered all our tracks. I grabbed my hair, wishing
I’d left a ponytail holder around my wrist. I tugged a few strands
out, trying to use them as a pony.
Useless
. They just
drifted away or came loose.

Damon grabbed
my arm and glared at me. My heart stuttered. I hadn’t been paying
attention to where I’d been going. A gouged out creek that ran into
the lake had a small drop from years of water pushing through. One
more step and I’d have fallen the three feet and crashed onto the
ice.

His arm dragged
me left. “Keep walking and frickin’ pay attention to where you’re
going.”

I wrenched my
arm free and stomped through the heavy snow. Fifteen minutes later,
I could just barely make out a dark outline through the early night
shadows. As we came closer I realized it was another cabin – sort
of similar to Caleb’s but a lot older.

Damon, still
carrying the grocery bags in one hand, grabbed my wrist and pulled
me up the steps. I managed to grab the railing to stop from
stumbling. He barged through the open door and dragged me, and the
groceries, inside.

Flicking lights
on, he said, “Put these in the kitchen and wait there.” He stepped
back outside.

I waited by the
door, trying to stare into the darkness if I could make a run for
it. A quiet howl erupted followed by two shorts barks. No way was I
going to try running, or stand in front of the door. I grabbed the
bags and strode down the little hall, through the living room to
the kitchen.

Everything in
the place was dated. Old cabinets, almond coloured stove and fridge
that ran so loud, it made some of the cracked linoleum shake. I
dropped the groceries on the counter and checked my watch. Almost
seven.

The front door
slammed. Damon walked in and took off his coat. He started emptying
the bags. “Can you cook half decent?”

“Wuh –
Wuh’ever,” I replied, my voice hoarse. It hurt to talk.

“Cook
everything. I’m starving.” He sat back on a bar chair and crossed
his arms over his massive chest.

“Excuse
me?”

“Feed me, then
we talk.”

“Feed
yourself,” I mumbled. No way would I be his chef.

“Rouge…Don’t.
Piss. Me off,” Damon hissed through gritted teeth. He jumped off
the chair and sprang towards me.

I stepped back,
but still tried my best to scowl at him.
You don’t scare me by
trying to act tough.
The hate for him, and those monsters
swelled inside of me, making my shoulders ache. Especially the
weird spot near my scapula.

Except it was
different this time. Like the inside of my skin burned and the
flame found its way into my veins and began to spread
everywhere.

Damon growled
in my direction, his eyes narrowed and turned a dark red, almost
black color. His face twisted and his teeth grew, his mouth and
nose elongated at the same time his chest cracked and expanded
beyond what any normal human could live through. His back took on a
kyphosis look and then arched jerkily. The black eyes burned to an
amber colour.
Kinda like my eye color.
The thought slipped
away as thick, matted hair covered his body and his skin thickened
to gross dark leather across his chest. Within seconds, he’d
shifted.

Time stopped.
At least I swear it did. My blood forgot to flow, thunder erupted
in my ears and my insides shook with horror. This
mammoth
creature was no Grollic from the journal. The thing stood on its
rear hunches, its front legs appendages used as arms or legs. No
horror movie would ever scare me again.

It looked like
some kind of demonized animal. A low growl rumbled inside its
chest. I froze, too terrified to even scream. The big bad wolf from
Red Riding Hood had nothing on Damon.

It stared at
me, then shifted its head to purposely look at the groceries. I
understood and hesitantly took a tentative step toward the counter.
Either I cook or become dinner
. With shaking hands, I began
separating vegetables and setting the meat by the stove. I didn’t
stand a chance and I doubted Michael would against a pack of these
horrific creatures.

The beast
spoke, its voice so evil it chilled me to the core. “Don’t tick me
off again. Make the food. All of it.” Then it left the room.

Frozen, nothing
inside me could move. Except my heart. It probably beat more in
those moments than it had in its entire life.

Do
something!
My brain screamed. “What do I do?” I whispered back,
unsure if I meant right now or in the bigger picture.

I turned the
stove on and dumped the hamburger into a frying pan. I tried to cut
the onion but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking and I came close to
chopping a fingertip off instead. Leaning against the counter I
focused on slowing my racing heart, taking slow, deep breaths.
Hands covering my face, I couldn’t erase the horrific images
glaring behind my eyelids, as if burned there forever.

I shoved the
chicken into the oven and kicked the stove door shut. Swearing
under my breath, I dumped the cooked hamburger in with pasta I’d
already bowled and then started frying an entire package of bacon.
Somehow, without even realizing it, I’d made a salad and buttered
an entire loaf of bread.

Pacing from the
fridge to the stove, I tried to clear my head. I needed a plan, or
something. I was terrified for Michael, Grace, and Sarah. Except
not so much Caleb; he could handle his own. I hoped.

“Crap,” I
muttered, flipping the bacon over. “Here I’m freakin’ cooking for
the enemy.” What could this useless human do against a pack of
Grollics?

Damon strolled
back into the kitchen, whistling some stupid, merry tune. He opened
the fridge door. “Never anything to drink.” At the sink, he poured
himself a glass of tap water, downed it, and repeated filling his
glass about ten times. He set the glass back down on the counter
and turned to me.

“Did you buy
any coke?”

“I don’t drink
–”

“Just shut up.”
He grabbed a plate and started tossing pasta on it. Dumping most of
the bacon on top, he grunted when he noticed the salad. “Crap.”
Flipping the oven open, he sniffed loudly. “Good. You can do
something right.” He left the kitchen and shouted from the living
room. “Make yourself a plate and get in here.”

I stood
debating. There was nowhere to escape from in the kitchen, and if I
took a knife to attack him, I’d probably be the one who ended up
with it in my heart. I could read a freakin’ Grollic book and what
good did it do? Filling a plate with salad and the rest of the
bacon, I almost dropped it when I remembered the rye bottles. I had
no idea if it would work, but if I could prevent Damon from turning
into a Grollic, I might be able to get away.
Yeah, and then face
who or whatever’s outside.

Searching the
grocery bags, my throat tightened. Empty.
Did they fall out in
the jeep? Please no!
A last bag lay crumpled on the counter.
Already assuming the worst, the muffled “clinking” sounded like
music to my ears.

With shaking
hands, I poured the two bottles into one glass. Tempted to take a
swig to calm my nerves, I resisted simply because I couldn’t waste
a drop if it might work. Holding the glass up, I frowned. It sure
didn’t fill a glass much.
Ice.

I checked the
freezer and fist pumped before grabbing a tray of ice cubes.
Throwing three in the glass, I swirled the liquid with my finger
and then buried the empty bottles in a drawer. Forcing myself to
walk and act normal, I made my way to the living room, a small plan
forming in my mind.

Damon sat on
the couch, his plate already nearly empty. He glanced up and
pointed towards the armchair beside the couch. I set the glass on
the coffee table and sat down.

He snatched the
glass and lifted it to his lips before I could even pretend to
protest. Gone. In one gulp. He sputtered and shook his head. “What
the hell was that?” He coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of
his hand.

“A-Alcohol. I
poured it to help calm me down.” I swallowed, holding my plate with
two hands so it wouldn’t shake. “Guess it didn’t help me much.”

“Someone hid it
here in the cabin? Figures. You couldn’t handle the stuff, it’s way
too strong for you. Plus you’re going to need your wits about
you.”

“Why?” I
swallowed. Thank goodness he didn’t ask if there was more. I
relaxed a tiny little bit. He obviously knew nothing about rye.
Either that or it was useless.

“You have no
idea about any of this, do you?”

“Any of what?”
I blinked focussing back on him. Maybe he did know about the rye
and it was just folklore. I sighed.
Some freakin’
birthday.

“You really are
an idiot.” He shook his head and leaned forward, grabbing a piece
of bread off my plate. “For starters, Grace and the other chick
aren’t here.”

“Duh, I can see
that.” He was the idiot. “You’ve got them somewhere else.”

“Nodda. We
don’t need them, or your precious Michael. I mean, shoot, we’d be
glad to get rid of ‘em, whatever cost, but we already have what we
want.”

They have
Caleb?

“The bonus,” he
laughed, unable to continue and bits of soggy, chewed bread flew
out of his mouth, “is that we’ll use you to kill them off, as
well.”

I put my plate
of food down, suddenly sick to my stomach. I asked the question
though I was pretty sure I knew the answer, even if I had no clue
as to why. “Who’ve you been after if it’s not them?”

He leaned back
stretching his arm along the back of the couch, a wicked grin on
his face. “You.”

Fear leapt into
my throat, blocking my airway. I tried to swallow it back down.
“Wh-What’re you going to do? Bite me and turn me into a Grollic?”
So I can’t be with Michael?
It didn’t make sense. Nothing
made any sense anymore.

Damon huffed.
“Stupid girl. We don’t reproduce by biting someone.” He pulled the
collar of his tee shirt, exposing his mark. “This is royal blood.
You are born into this family, not made. We officially shift when
we turn eighteen.”

“What?” Nobody
thought any of this might be important to explain to me? Either
from the Knightly’s or in the stupid Grollic book? I couldn’t stand
Damon, or any other Grollic. A sudden thought made my heart
stutter, I was eighteen today. Did Damon know? Or, was it even
important? It didn’t matter, I didn’t have the mark on my
chest.

“Close your
mouth, Rouge. Your new family failed to teach you our history?” He
leaned forward. “I told you not to trust them. They’re after you
for the same reason we are.”

“They’ve never
been after me.” I glared at him. “Except probably now they are,
since you kidnapped me.”

“I hope they
are. You’re our destructive weapon.” His mouth curled into a snarl.
“But, you have no idea about any of this, do you?”

Maybe the
alcohol had gone to his brain. “I don’t have a clue. Why don’t you
fill me in and quit being cryptic.”

“Cryptic?” He
cackled. “Let me start with this. Michael knows who you are, and
once you’re eighteen he’s never going to want you back in his
life.” He let out a ferocious laugh.

My stomach
clenched with dread. “What’re you talking about? Wait…What did you
mean when “I” turn eighteen?”

Damon crossed
his arms and dropped his feet onto the couch. “Poor little orphan
girl no one wanted. Did you ever wonder why your parents abandoned
you? Or wonder who you were?” He laughed. “You’ll never see your
eighteenth birthday.”

About to tell
him I was already eighteen, I paused. Maybe keeping that quiet was
the only advantage I had. “How do you know so much about my
past?”

“Don’t you know
anything about your real parents?” He made a fist and punched his
other hand. “I didn’t clue in until that day in school when you
said
Bentos.
Then I figured everything out, all by myself.”
His chest puffed out. “When the Knightly’s moved here a few years
back we knew they were after something. We just had to wait until
it revealed itself. You gave away your secret so easily that day.
It was like take candy from a baby.”

He had no idea
about the journal and I had no intention of letting on. “Bentos is
just a name in my head.”

“Of course it's
in your head!” He leaned forward. “Do you know anything significant
about it?”

No way would I
admit I knew Bentos had killed Michael’s family. My silence must
have been an answer for Damon. “I don’t know anything.”

“Here’s your
history lesson and listen well, it’s important. Bentos was the
seventh son of a Grollic.” He held up one hand and two fingers.
“Remember that number. Seven. Way back, the seventh child of a
Grollic was given the Christian name Benjamin or Bentos to protect
him from becoming a Grollic. He’d be different and unable to join
the pack. However, this one Bentos got pretty pissed off his family
would be Grollics and he couldn’t shift. So
this
Bentos, in
anger, murdered his father.”

I shifted,
uncomfortable where this story might be going, and moving because
my neck, back and shoulder blade ached. All of me did.

“Bentos’ father
was an Alpha and after he killed him, he figured out how to control
his father’s pack of Grollics. He could control any pack, even an
Alpha. The seventh son with a special ability.”

“What does this
have to do with me?”

“I’m getting to
that.”

I stared dumbly
at him. None of this made sense.

“A hundred and
something-odd years ago, Bentos took a bunch of packs of Grollics
and used them as if he were an Alpha. He controlled them, the
paranoid dick-head. Had them prey on humans for money or women or
whatever he wanted. He raped many women, bore children, and killed
his offspring so they couldn’t take his gift from him. He hated
Grollics, but loved the power he had over them.” Damon flexed his
bicep, staring at the upper muscle in his arm. “You don’t know
this?”