Chapter 5 5

Lying beneath broken mosaic patterns of autumn's withering leaves, Leya feels something rough brush on the tip of her nose.

The dull, dappling sun spots purple and black hues under her dark eyelids. Her eyes shift back and forth restlessly, soot-black lashes fluttering when the rough tongue is replaced by an insistent, cold paw on her cheek, her nose, her eye.

Meow.

Mustard's impatient noises pull her from her state of unconsciousness on the forest floor. He whines again, bending low to bop the soft crown of his face on hers, rubbing, purring, then meowing his demands for his unusually late breakfast.

Leya stirs with a sibilant intake of breath, eyes peeling open just as the cat rubs his face on hers once more. He bares his teeth as if threatening he should bite her should she continue being idle whilst he starves.

"Mustard?" she murmurs, her addled brain still grasping for a shred of clarity from the nebulous cloud of confusion that entraps her.

The cat purrs his acknowledgement and crouches low, simply gazing at her with slow blinking olive eyes before turning back to the forest, seemingly indifferent to his human's odd position.

Leya stares at the feline a moment longer as she begins to feel something dully nascent inside her growing... fear.

The Beast.

Leya jerks upright violently, startling her cat in the process, but she ignores Mustard's sudden feral hiss as her head swivels around wildly in search of the creature - somehow expecting its large, demoniac form to manifest in broad daylight.

"Anna." Her whisper of terror thins as the knowledge of the girl's disappearance batters down her throat, forcing blood to rush through her limbs that begin to rise.

Leya scans the small area, hands cupped around her mouth. "Anna!" Her voice is a muffle to her ears, the buzzing sound of her hearing aids completely gone and now replaced with a damaging hum. "Anna!"

She stumbles over felled trees, ducking under leaves still encrusted with gems of the night's previous storm. One drop falls on her cheek like a cold tear. "Anna!" Leya pivots on her heel, slipping on a small puddle of mud, and falls on her behind, but that does not stop her movements.

"Anna!"

Each falling minute only directs her dread in one particular direction, a notion she did not wish to consider.

Not until she stops before a small clearing painted in broad strokes of bright blood.

Blood.

Leya stares at the scene before her. It flecked the bases of tree trunks, swallowed the snow in scorching crimson, white crystals outlining the streaks like ermine. The absence of a body would have saturated her with some sort of relief, but the amount of red is enough to indicate that something terrible had happened.

A low, mournful breeze picks up through the forest, tunnelling into her ears with a sad hum.

Anna was gone.

Leya trudges home, Mustard wrapped contentedly in her arms while the rifle remains rigid by her side. Each step is taken with careful, heavy consideration and followed by her skittish gaze darting from one tree to the next, as if awaiting for a monster to appear and devour her before she can blink.

The Beast could still be prowling in the open, searching for her, taking utmost pleasure in the terror it sets alight in her belly.

Pushing against the front door, it creaks open and she sets Mustard down, allowing him to scamper away and into the depths of the cabin. With a queasy stomach, Leya forces herself up the short flight of stairs, almost staggering into the bathroom where she desperately grasps the sink basin for support and stares wildly at her reflection in the mirror.

Pale, haunted blue eyes gaze back at her, along with a symmetrical face smudged with dirt and wet, crisp leaves matting the better half of her jaw, a sparse scattering of sunburned freckles on her bobbed nose. Her warm, upturned russet face is not harmed in any way.

She stands there for what feels like hours but must be mere minutes. Blood paints the walls of her mind, blood from the scene in the woods, dripping luxuriously down sharp edges that make her shiver and squeeze her eyes shut. Swallowing, she takes a tremulous breath.

After coaching herself to move, she tentatively begins to strip and pat down her body, conscious of any wounds or gaping injuries but to her relief, there are none save for a few bruises and scratches here and there.

Turning on the tap, Leya cups handfuls of warm water and splashes her face gently, then brushes her teeth while drawing on a clean pair of jeans and the closest shirt she had near, which happened to be a thrift store grey Led Zeppelin tee - a band she had heard of but whose music she had never bothered to listen to.

Mustard sits in the centre of her room, lazy eyes trailing after her slow, drifting figure opening one drawer after the next, withdrawing socks that she slides on while balancing precariously.

"Shoot," Leya mumbles to herself as she removes her hearing aids, drenched in mud and rain water. Their replacement is inevitable; such things take precedent in her life, yet thinking about the cost makes her wince as though an invisible hand had pinched her forearm.

Guilt threatens to swallow her whole once she realises what she had been doing: here she was growing concerned over the price of new hearing aids after witnessing a potential murder scene.

Blinking back the sinister thoughts that overtake her, she draws out the bag of kibbles and shakes a random amount into Mustard's bowl.

The feline winds around her feet nimbly, his thick tail curling over her calf affectionately, olive eyes gazing at her imploringly and with slight inflection. She places the bowl by her feet and immediately, he chows down the cat food.

Hovering above Mustard who eats eagerly, Leya studies her cat thoughtfully for a moment, vaguely wondering if she should take him with her to town.

"No," she murmurs. If he could keep himself deceptively safe during a terror-filled night, surely he could survive an hour or two in broad daylight.

She locks the door for extra measure on her way out, then stands before the caving forest, her gaze fixated on the tall looming trees; gnarled branches void of leaves; tree bark now a deep mahogany from the rain water. Leya licks the back of her teeth cautiously and makes for the truck.

Once inside, she adjusts the rearview mirror, glancing once more at the forest before revving the engine.

The drive to town is seemingly drawn out at a slow, maddening pace. The weight of her boot settles vaguely on the gas pedal, eyes constantly darting to the side mirror and the windows as she drives past the forest. The adrenaline, though subsided, still rubs its gloved hands up her forearms, marbling them with goosebumps despite the dusty hot air billowing from the old AC vents.

Blindly, her hand reaches across the seat and fishes for her phone in the backpack. There is only one number echoing in her mind, and the thought of it vaporizes all moisture from her mouth, leaving it parched, tongue clinging to the roof desperately. Fumbling for the number, Leya turns up the volume and presses it to her ear.

The ringing sounds are smothered, almost blunt, and she glances at the screen every second to confirm that he had not picked up.

Each call that goes unanswered only confirms the weighted dread in her body.

Entering the town, Leya's eyes dart from one person to the next. Most are clothed in autumn paddings, conversing idly on the pavement. Most shops are open, and those that are not still remain in the process of removing the wooden planks from their window displays.

Everything seems... normal.

So much so, Leya finds herself questioning what truly happened last night. The evident splatter of blood in the woods now fades into background noise, uncertain and clouded. As she rounds the final corner towards the familiar butchery, the peace that had begun to grow, shatters.

Two police cars are parked before the butchery.

One officer stands before the closed shop, a notepad in hand, Anna's bloodied sweater in the other.

But that's not what catches Leya's attention.

Kit is hunched over on the sidewalk, crouched low on himself, his head buried in his arms. He rocks back and forth almost rhythmically to the intermittent flashing of red and blue lights.

The sickening sensation in her gut rises to her throat and Leya finds herself drawing to a slow halt before the butchery, her eyes never leaving Kit's form.

The policemen are talking between themselves, casting cursory glances at the rocking man. Leya timidly approaches him but stops halfway, unable to say something when the man's wretched distraught face rises to the sky. His eyes are blood-shot, mucus lining his upper lip, ragged face stained with tears and blood from cradling his daughter's sweater.

He is wailing, she realizes, and can make out his words despite the stifling sounds in her ears.

Anna.

Anna.

Anna.

Anna.

Leya knows she should do something - say something - but images of the previous night's events only anchor her to the ground, each limb paralyzed with the knowledge of what happened to his daughter.

One policeman's attention swivels to her and she blinks as he starts to approach her. His lips began to move, and she would have caught most words had the fog of disorientation not clouded her judgement. Leya's eyes lift to his and she wordlessly cups both ears then shakes her head.

The man's eyebrows furrow at the centre in confusion.

She repeats the action.

When he does not process her communication, Leya reaches into her pocket for the phone and types on a notepad.

I'm deaf.

The man's eyes widen, almost guiltily, and his gaze slants in an apologetic manner. He speaks again, almost casually, before catching his mistake. Reaching for her phone, he begins to type into the notepad.

Do you know this man?

Leya nods, and as an afterthought adds: What happened?

His lips thin grimly: His daughter passed away last night. She was out after curfew.

Leya stares at the screen for a drawn moment, the steady rhythm of spiration hitching slightly. She hesitates as Anna's figure paints itself before her; chained to a pole naked, brutalized and weeping... and the council.

Her fingers tremble slightly as they type in the next words: She was out?

The officer nods. He begins to type but her gaze remains on his face, studying with him with sudden clear-eyed precision. The confident set of his jaw, a slight twitching muscle in his cheek.

Teens. We warn them all the time not to leave but they still do.

Her eyes slowly move back to Kit who is still crying. Tentatively, she pockets her phone and walks away after thanking the officer, each step towards the truck icing her veins.

Fortunately for her, the hospital is empty when she arrives with one ENT doctor on site.

"What happened to them?"

Leya glances up from the mirror, her hands still hovering over each ear, tracing the new set of sound amplifiers. The doctor sits behind his table, jotting down prescription gel for her itchiness, the old set of hearing aids poised beside him.

At her puzzled silence, his head lifts. "Your aids," he says and points at them with the tip of his pen, "I've never seen any in such a state before."

"Oh." Her hands drop to her lap as she clears her throat. "I was out hunting two days back and... fell..." The lie sounds strange on her tongue and the doctor watches her for a moment, clearly not buying her excuse yet too disinterested in the true reason to ask.

He grunts noncommittally and rips out the page. "This should deal with the itching. My advice is to care for them properly and return every three months for routine cleaning."

Leaping off the small raised bed, Leya murmurs her thank you and pockets the folded piece of paper.

The hospital hallway is partially empty, a steady stream of patients sidling through the doorway. Reaching for her debit card, she pays for the new device and gel, grateful for the ability to hear again. There had always been a sense of vulnerability to her each time her body was deprived of sound and regaining the sense was heaven. Mercy.

Stepping out of the hospital, she begins to cross the parking lot but hesitates at the sight of the weaponry shop slotted between a cafe and small, second-hand bookstore. Her legs begin to move with a mind of their own towards the gun shop, mentally calculating the number of bullets required and possibly some safety equipment after the previous night's events.

Hurriedly crossing the street, she steps onto the sidewalk and starts to beeline for the shop when a sudden, high pitched shrill strikes the air hotly.

The sound is magnified tenfold by her sound amplifiers and she flinches back, hands rising to cup either ear reflexively in a futile attempt at blocking it.

Leya's eyes search the street in alertness.

Murmurs rise around her as heads peek from shops and searching eyes slide back and forth behind glass windows, all falling on the source of disruption.

At the centre of the road is a car, half-turned at an awkward angle; an attempt by the driver to avoid colliding with something- someone.

Leya grows still at the sight before her.

A tall, naked man stands before the car.

She remains there, stunned, contemplating whether the figure is just a figment of her imagination after a traumatic night and lack of peaceful sleep, but she soon realises that his existence is undeniable.

Hunched over the hood of the car, the sinews of his back move with fascinating ease beneath pale, mud-caked skin as the man stoops and turns his head, allowing her a glimpse of the side of his face. He runs his nose along the seam of the window, angular jaw, defined cheekbones, plump lips parted and all on display as he sniffs intently.

Matted with dirt and small twigs and crumbling leaves, his hair appears darkened into a caramel brown but Leya can only wonder of its true hue. His veiny hands grasp clumsily at the metal before his head tilts further towards her.

Only for a moment does she catch a glimpse of his eye - a marriage of warm, honey hues and predatory gold ripples along his cornea towards his reflection in the car window, and it is then that he sees her.

Leya watches his brows furrow with bewildering awe, as if he was transfixed by the foreign concept of reflections and mirrors, and then he turns. Her body involuntarily tightens at the sight of his lean, towering body facing her now, the defined planes of his torso descending into muscular thighs. Vaguely, she makes out traces of black around his wrist, his shoulders, even his chest and face.

He almost seemed godly.

Inhuman.

His expression slowly shifts at the sight of her; a flash of passionate recognition darkens the ardent hues of his eyes. The muscles on his legs ripple and his shoulders flex powerfully as he begins to stalk across the street with fiery determination in each step.

Saturated with shock, Leya remains fixed to the spot, somewhat unable to move as her eyes follow the man's movement of bright impatience. The further and further he drives forward, the more vivid the black markings become but she doesn't quite process what they are. He watches her like a starving person locking sight with a golden meal, drawing an unnatural guttural growl from his chest.

The foreign animal sound momentarily pulls her from her fog of confusion and she reacts too late as the distance diminishes to a mere hairsbreadth.

He reaches for her.

The hand that clamps down over her mouth and slams her back against the cafe's window is bare, dry and rough and big enough that its fingers touch her jaw from edge to edge. The hand smells like woods, dirt and blood.

The brutal impact against glass sends a jolt of pain from the back of her head and down her spine.

His behemoth frame crowds into her like metal to magnet, the strong front of his body pressing with an unnatural intensity that has her feeling each ridge and marbled plane of muscle with absolute clarity.

Her survival instincts kick into hyperdrive and she blindly shoves one-handedly at the man. Her palm presses on his bare chest, feeling an odd imprint on the surface, like a scar, before pushing hard.

He does not budge.

Another deafening growl reverberates from his chest at her actions and she winces once more as the sound strikes her sensitive aids. Briefly disoriented, Leya feels his chest cave into her face as his nose burrows into her hair, smelling, inhaling with a starving desperation. As though unsatisfied by the mere scent, she feels his jaw suddenly shift by the crown of her head, and a heartbeat later, something rough and wet and hot runs through her hair.

His tongue traces a thick stripe of wetness along her scalp, down the line of her temple. She feels him lick across her brow, over her closing eyelid, further down the soft curve of her cheekbone and over the bridge of her nose. By the time he reaches her mouth, she is drenched in his saliva, her jawline dripping ropes of the viscous fluid.

The hand that presses over her mouth lowers to her chin, fingertips bruising her skin. The pain of it is hardly registered as the man's face suddenly hovers before hers, the cold tip of his nose pressing insistently on her own.

"H-Hey now, wait a minute-"

He uses the thumb that presses on her lower lip to draw her face to his.

Leya's eyes widen as his lips land clumsily on hers, already parted and wanting as his tongue rolls over the outline of her mouth, slobbering it with saliva. She purses her lips reflexively, earning another deprecatory growl. His other hand suddenly snakes down her spine and cups her rear end viciously, drawing her pelvis to his naked one, forcing her up onto her toes in an attempt to match his height.

The fingers dig into her left cheek in a manner that would leave marks for weeks. He slides her further up along the glass window until her toes leave the ground, now supported by his hands and pelvis.

Leya gasps and his tongue slips into her mouth; the invading muscle is strong, slick and burning as it slides over her teeth indulgently before pressing on her tongue as he tries to draw it into his mouth possessively. He curls it upwards, dragging his tongue along the roof of her mouth, and lightning strikes down her spine at the sensation.

He grunts against her mouth, mumbling growls jagged and slurred as his hand drags down the curve of her throat, squeezing there for a moment before sinking to the curve of her chest.

His mouth leaves her for a moment, a bridge of saliva webbing between their lips which he breaks with a lazy loll of his pink tongue.

Leya's breath hitches at the foreign feeling of his large palm which suddenly squeezes her bra-less breast hard. The action is unrestrained and nearly unhinged as he pinches her nipple to a taut peak painfully.

"I-wait!" Her protests are muffled by his guttural growl, the heat of his mouth back on hers. His torso briefly leans away from hers, only to return albeit with something hard and long and thickly defined pressing between.

Leya's face grows incandescent.

His sharp canines bite down on her lower lip, piercing the skin, sucking the blood as he shifts his hips against her, all but fucking himself against her stomach.

It's vulgar.

Demeaning.

Her fist is flying seconds later like a runaway moon, connecting with his jaw. Pain jolts up her knuckles upon impact yet he seems unfazed by the action, only breaking away from the kiss to snarl at her in a reproachful manner.

"Oi! Mister!"

The sudden voice draws the man's attention away from her and towards the small gathering of people around them.

Leya feels him tense, muscles pulled taut as the hand that grips her behind digs in further, nails breaking past the barrier of her jeans and pinching her skin through the thin material of her underwear.

The cops that had catered to Kit now stand before the crowd, aiming tasers and a gun at the man. "Step away from the girl," one officer demands, "Now."

His chest trembles with a dangerous growl, lips pulling back to flash canines as a feral sound echoes from the back of his throat, pebbling Leya's skin.

"Step back, now," he orders once more.

The onlookers' eyes dart from the looming man, then to Leya, wide-eyed.

His defiance burns outward and brightly. Leya feels him shift her higher against the glass which screeches and whines. Her belly rubs on the prominent vein beneath his cock, only serving to kindle the flames dotting her cheeks in terror and sickening humiliation.

"I'll count to three," the officer says and steps forward.

The man remains firm, stone-cut face unyielding beneath the blatant stares.

"One."

He growls.

"Two."

He shifts Leya into him possessively.

"Thre-"

"Wait!" Leya's voice startles even her captor and she takes the opening to shove him away, hard. Ripping herself from his arms, she teeters unsteadily as her feet touch the ground, then ducks as his long arm reaches for her once more. She backs away hurriedly, stumbling on her ankles in the process, still glowing with his saliva.

The man begins to step towards her when the officer moves between, barricading the path with his gun aimed at his chest. "Step down."

He studies the officer for a moment, the vicious expression on his face falling to a blank, empty one.

"On your knees," the officer demands yet the man does not react, as though the words make no sense to him.

Leya shifts, inadvertently recapturing his attention, and he makes a move to step forward once more when the officer waves the gun, yelling his threats.

The man's lips curl in a snarl of dominance, antagonized by the rival's actions. Ignoring the officer who now yells into his radio, calling for backup, the man holds his hand out towards Leya.

Her eyes drop to it, then back.

Come.