Katie's Hellion (Rhyn Trilogy, Book One) (14 page)

"Brave little mortal," came the growl. "Don’t
know the size of the storm about to hit you, do you."

She hated how he spoke to her, like he knew
exactly what to say to terrify her. She was normally good at
covering emotions she didn’t want to display, but he read them all
and threw them back in her face.

"What’s it to you?" she groused.

"Need a mortal blood monkey. You owe me. Easy
blood."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.
She’d like to think she was saving poor souls every day she spent
with him donating her blood, but she couldn’t help thinking she
really wouldn’t care what he did to get blood if she was gone.

"I owe
you
?" she echoed. "Who wrestled
the crazy guy in a robe for the key? You wouldn’t be free if not
for me."

"You’d be in a thousand pieces if not for
me."

"Like being a mortal blood monkey is
soooooooo far above lunchmeat!"

"You’re alive, you’re fed, and you’re
free."

"I am deep in your debt, my most gracious
lord and master."

"Fuck you."

She skulked and imagined him doing the same
in the back of the cave. He rustled around, and she wondered what
he was doing so close to her precious rope. She feared asking him,
not wanting to tip him off that she was plotting.

"And I’m not free," she added under her
breath.

He stalked past her, his anger palpable. He
dived off the ledge, and she scampered forward. The pterodactyl
dropped and caught itself, coasting in the sea breeze.

She watched him until he disappeared, then
freed the fish. She tied the lengths of rope together and hunted
for and found the perfect boulder in the cave: a loose, rounded
rock the size of both her fists that was light enough for her to
throw. Tying her chosen anchor to one end of the rope, she sat to
eat her sugary cube, checked again for the monster, and leaned out
of the cave.

The cliff edge was around ten feet from the
cave. She looked down, stomach unsettled by the distance. This was
worse than ledge walking in the hotel; there was no balcony to
catch her!

She swung the boulder up, ducking as it
slapped the side of the cliff just short of the ledge and fell back
to her. She tried again, releasing more rope this time. It
clattered along the top of the cliff and fell. She continued to
throw it until it stuck. She pulled hard on the rope, feeling some
give, then tautness as the anchor lodged itself between unmovable
objects.

Sweating already from the effort, she braided
her hair to keep it out of her face and then leaned her full weight
on the rope. It held. With another look down, she found her first
foothold along the side of the cave and began to climb.

The ten feet to the top felt like it took
hours, though the sun had barely risen when she finished. By the
time she clawed her way over the edge, she was soaked with sweat
and panting, her muscles burning from effort. She rested on her
back for a short time before forcing herself up to sit up and look
around.

Wherever she was, it was beautiful. Cliffs
stretched as far as she could see in either direction with uneven
stone and shale between her and the rest of the island. Some sort
of goats watched her from the distance. Far, far, away, beyond the
stone and shale, she thought she saw a swatch of green.

She might not be on her street or even in her
neighborhood or city, but it certainly looked like she was back in
her world. She trotted away from the cliff, slowing when she felt
far enough from the edge. She walked through shallow stone valleys
and hopped across boulders and shale toward the sun, casting
frequent looks over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being
stalked by a shape-changing demon with an attitude.

She found a narrow, rocky road and hopped
from rock to road, surprised to see an older man leading a donkey
pulling a cart ahead of her. There were small white houses here,
one with a dog that barked as she passed. Fences that looked like
nothing more than stacks of rock shingles edged each property. She
followed the man at a distance, slowly confirming she was somewhere
on her planet. She didn’t know where exactly, but by the man’s pale
skin, she guessed Europe, maybe one of the Slavic countries.

The road rose, and she stopped at its peak to
stare at the small village edging a wide bay below. The word
"HOSTEL" was emblazoned across the side of what looked like a large
red barn/bar in the center of the village. There were several small
vehicles, several more men with donkeys, and a slew of boats
departing the harbor for the morning catch.

The old man was waiting for her on the other
side of the peak. He spoke a smattering of words she didn’t
understand.

"English?" she asked hopefully.

"Aye," he said with a chuckle. "Bit early fo’
the tours to be comin’ up this way."

"I wasn’t on a tour. Could you tell me where
I am?"

He looked her over, eyes lingering on her
neck. She covered the bite marks self-consciously.

"Ye drinkin’?"

"Um, yeah," she said slowly. "I had all
my…things stolen."

He gasped and crossed himself.

"Mother Mary," he murmured. "This is the
second time in a year some thug’s attacked a tourist. The world is
going to shite."

"It is," she agreed. "Listen, I need a phone.
I have to call my sister and tell her to send money so I can get
home."

"Come, come with me," he said, resolution on
his face. "Not all us here are thugs."

He led her back the way she’d come and to a
small house with a couple dozen fluffy sheep in a pen in back. She
paused on the sagging porch until he beckoned her in. The house was
cozy and simple, with creaky wooden floors covered in rugs, a
pot-bellied stove still warm, and worn furniture.

"Toilets are there," he said, pointing.

She grimaced, expecting an outhouse, and was
pleasantly surprised at the cozy but modern bathroom. She looked
first in the mirror and froze. Aside from the scarring, a maroon
tattoo seemed to wind all the way around her neck. She turned
slowly and craned her head to confirm the design covered every inch
of her exposed neck.

"Son of a bitch!"

Rhyn.

He’d not just claimed her in deed but had the
nerve to brand her like chattel as well! She’d never in her life
wanted a tattoo, but to have some blood-sucking, shape changing,
ill-tempered,
inhuman
beast’s name on her neck was
infuriating! She tried to scrub it off with no success.

When she emerged, she saw tea and cookies on
the small table tucked into a corner of the living room. She joined
him, hesitating before gulping down most of the cookies.

"Here ye go," the old man said, handing her a
cell phone. "Yer American?"

"Yeah."

"Dial oh-one-one then the number."

He eased into the chair across from her and
poured them both tea as she dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hey sis!" Katie exclaimed, never as happy as
that moment to hear Hannah’s voice.

"Oh, god, Katherine! Where are you? What
happened? Gio had the police looking everywhere for you! They said
you’d been kidnapped from the --"

"I’m fine, I’m fine. I was…taken. Not sure
where I am now, but I’m free and okay."

"Are you in the city? We’ll come get
you!"

"No, I think I’m in some other country."

There was a pause, and Katie covered the
mouthpiece.

"Where am I?" she asked the old man.

"Innisheer."

"I’m in Innisheer, sis," she relayed. "You
know where that is?"

"God, no. How did you get there? Did someone
take you or….maybe you forgot?" Hannah asked in a hushed tone.

"Sis, I have no money, no passport, no
identification, and I haven’t eaten in a few days. I didn’t forget
anything. I even remember Toby, the Masquerade, and some guy
snatching me when the lights went down."

"Thank god!" her sister sighed. "Toby’s been
staying with us. You really let him eat that many
marshmallows?"

"Don’t tell him where I am," she said
quickly. "I don’t want to worry him. Just say I’ll be back
soon."

"I don’t even know where you are. I’m
Googling it now."

"Sis, can you send me some money to get
back?"

"Yeah, sure," came the distracted response.
"Ireland? You’re in Ireland?"

"I don’t know where I am."

"It says it’s an island off the coast of
Ireland. I bet it’s nice."

"I really don’t care, Hannah."

"I’ll send you money. It doesn't look like
the place you're on has an airport. Can you get to Dublin? I'll
book you a flight."

"I'll figure it out," she replied. "Thanks,
Hannah."

With the old man's help, she caught the last
ferry across the channel just before sunset. She stepped off the
ferry and stood in a mostly empty parking lot, wondering how the
hell to get to civilization from there. There weren’t any cabs or
buses like in the city; she didn’t even see a town nearby. Just a
road leading to the small parking area and a closed ticket booth
for the ferry. The lone two people on her ferry got into a car and
left. She stood for a long moment before striking out after them on
foot.

The old man, Liam, had fed her and given her
a handful of euro coins before putting her on the ferry. Grateful
to him, she was likewise anxious to leave the island before the
beast returned and flew off the handle.

She scratched at the tattoo winding around
her neck, furious with him. She didn’t walk far before someone in a
tiny car speaking only Gaelic pulled alongside her and motioned to
her. After several failed attempts to communicate, they proceeded
in silence to the nearest town, a coastal resort-like town. As if
sensing she was some poor tourist, he dropped her off at a youth
hostel located above a bar already teeming with people. For an
extra few Euros, the hostel manager gave her a clean though worn
sleeping bag that matched the clean but worn bunk beds in the
women’s section.

The two German women sharing her room ceased
talking when she entered and looked her over before one said in
halting English, "You’re American."

"That obvious?" Katie returned, tossing the
sleeping bag and a small shaving bag filled with basics on one
bunk.

"Yes."

"I like your clothes," the other said, gazing
at her jumpsuit. "Very fashionable."

At least Hell kept up with the latest styles,
she thought darkly.

"Your…" the other woman said, motioning to
her neck. "Very nice."

Katie snatched the shaving bag and a towel,
stalking to the bathroom. She bathed in the unisex shower room,
grateful for the lukewarm water and the chance to scrub herself
down and assess the damage. Her arms and legs were only faintly
scarred despite the glass shards from the rocket attacks and the
damage done by Sasha. She marveled again at Lankha's healing
skill.

Her first shower in days made her want to
stay in the hot water forever, until one of the men staying at the
hostel entered the bathroom. Self-conscious, she turned off the
water and wrapped herself in a towel before crossing to the sinks
lining one wall with bright mirrors hanging above them.

Her eyes were drawn to the
Rhyn
tattoo
snaking around her neck like a collar. The name was black against a
band the color of red wine, both intricate and bold, with odd
characters etched into the edges of the band. The geometric shapes
changed as they circled her neck rather than stuck to a pattern;
she assumed it was some kind of writing.

She wore a collar like a dog with her
master’s name on it. There was no other explanation. She’d never
wear anything but turtlenecks ever again!

"Son of a bitch!"

"Awesome tat," a distinctly American male
voice said.

She dropped the hair she’d been holding up
and wrapped the towel around her tightly. She met his gaze briefly
in the mirror. He looked like any normal nerdy American with big
glasses and a scrawny frame. She thought she saw tattoos flash
across his exposed chest. She blinked, and they were gone.

After her time in Hell --where most of the
monsters looked human --she didn’t trust this one. He shrugged as
she ignored his hello smile.

She returned to the room, where the two
Germen women still sat and talked while cleaning their camping
gear. She dressed quickly to avoid comments on either her collar or
her scars and flung herself into her bunk, reminded of her cell
with Lankha.

She’d never had an opinion of bunk beds until
this moment. She
hated
them!

"American, you like beer?" one of the Germans
asked.

"Yeah."

"We’re going down to the bar. Come with
us?"

She hesitated. The Irish rock blaring from
the bar below was loud enough, and cigarette smoke already curled
in through the window. A shot of whiskey sounded heavenly!

"Yeah, I’ll go."

She joined them at the door with enough loose
euro change for a couple of beers and dinner. They spoke in German
as they made their way down the narrow wooden stairwell to the
packed bar. The music blared louder, the smoke became thicker, and
the scent of food intermingled with body odor. They made their way
to a small group at one side of the bar and squeezed their way into
a booth meant for four and already holding four. They made room for
her and pushed fries at her, which she accepted.

Her gaze took in the crowd. She looked for
Rhyn. She looked for Kris. She looked for any face she knew.

She was done with them. All of them. When she
got home, she was kicking Toby out, buying a gun, and taking back
her life. Her paranoia faded with the first round of beers and
disappeared completely by the third. She joined the Germans and
other backpackers in an Irish dance as the cigarette smoke
thickened and the rock band grew louder.