Page 3 of A Shadow of Betrayal

I keep my eyes on the monster that resembles an odd mix of wolf and bear, only scarier, as lightning flashes around us. Only the creature's eyes don't light up as the others do; they stay dark and soulless as it slowly moves in my direction. The twist of excitement that always comes at the first sight of the nightmares flares before swiftly turning to fear.

“Oh, fuck,” I whimper. I throw a desperate look to my side where the container of salt sits and instantly dismiss it. Salt might help the smaller, more mischievous nightmares, but not this one. No, this type of monster is the reason my mother went crazy, the reason I hide at night, and those sharp claws… I shudder as the memory strikes again; my back aching, echoing the pain from years ago as my stomach rolls.

Reaching behind me, I grab one of the knives I tucked into my waistband and launch it as fast and hard as possible at the terrifying monster. The blade lands with a heavy thump, making the monster’s black eyes widen in anger before it snarls and bellows in pain as it staggers back a few feet, standing up on its hind legs while batting at the hilt of the blade now lodged deep in its shoulder.

“Time to go,” I yell, getting another blade to keep in my hand before standing and grabbing the man under his arms. Using every ounce of strength I possess, I drag him through the mud and grass, keeping my eyes on the hurt and now very pissed-off monster behind us. Moving this guy can't be good for his wounds, but he’ll be dead if I leave him out here with that thing. “Oh. My. God!” I pant out with each tug. “You weigh a ton!” I curse as I continue dragging him closer to the house, my heart in my throat as I scan the yard for other threats.

When I’m about halfway to the cabin, the monster manages to yank the blade from its now bleeding shoulder. In the next instant, its head whips in my direction, teeth bared and eyes blazing in fury as lightning pops in the surrounding air.

“Shit, shit, shit…” I gasp as I almost trip in my hurry to get to safety. The beast charges us, and I drop the man’s shoulders, take aim and throw the blade through the air, watching in horror as the monster quickly darts to the side, narrowly avoiding getting another knife to the shoulder.

“No!”

I grab my last blade and look desperately at the man, who is still unmoving on the ground behind me. It would be very helpful if he woke up and got into the house while I tried to distract this thing. But he only lays there, and I shake my head as hopelessness crawls over me. The monster closes in on us, and I wait, knowing this is my last shot and I can't miss it.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my toes as the beast snarls at me, thirty feet away, twenty feet… ten. I grip the knife tight in my hand, grounding myself with the pain of the handle digging into my palm as I aim and scream before throwing it at the beast. The blade hits its mark, but not fast enough as the monster crashes into me, taking me off my feet and to the ground under its heavy mass.

I can feel the vibrations of its roar as it hisses and arches its back in pain above me, my blade lodged into its chest. I flinch as tiny drops of acidic, black blood fall on my face as the monster pants, its eyes moving from where my knife is lodged in its body, then back to my face, where it bares its teeth in outrage.

“Fuck you,” I hiss out, knowing this is how I will die, but glad it was with me fighting rather than being locked in some mental hospital. The large black muzzle of the beast lowers to my face, and I close my eyes, hoping my death will be a fast one, when I feel hot breath whisper over my cheek.

After a long moment, I crack an eye open and stare into the black eyes of the monster that has me pinned beneath it. Its face is only a breath away, tilted and eyeing me like it's unsure what to do next. Its nose moves closer, bumping my cheek, and I wince, holding my breath, not taking my eye off it as it drifts down to my chin and then my neck.

I gasp when a hot tongue drags down the column of my throat and shiver in disgust when it growls low, making goosebumps rise on my arms. Suddenly it takes a step back, then another, its eyes moving from me to the man lying on the ground behind me.

What the actual fuck is this thing doing?

Too scared to move, I stay there, watching as the monster moves its head back and forth, almost like it's shaking its head in anger. Then, finally, the monster's steps falter, and its body trembles before it turns on its heel and sprints back to the pine trees, disappearing into the darkness as it moves away from the porch light.

Slowly, I push up onto my elbows and gape at the darkness, my mind reeling from what just happened. How the hell am I still alive? Why didn't it finish what it started? A pained gasp makes me jump, and I flip onto my stomach to find the man lifting a hand in the air, then moan as it falls back to his side.

“Crap, I’m coming!” I shout, jumping to my feet and dashing over to grab him under the shoulders and drag him the last few feet to the cabin, moving around my bike I dropped carelessly hours earlier.

Unable to do anything else, I drag him up the stairs, taking them as slowly as possible, all while casting panicked glances around my yard. The heavy feeling of something watching me is an all too familiar weight on my mind. The man groans on the last step, his eyes flickering open just a moment before closing.

“Almost there,” I try to reassure him, not sure if he can hear me, but feeling guilty for dragging him when he's obviously in a great deal of pain. It's not like I’m a small person; actually, for a girl, I would say I’m on the taller side, standing at five foot eight. Plus, I exercise daily with all my biking, but this guy has to be well over six feet tall and weighs a ton because I’m struggling to move his enormous body.

Finally, I shove open the front door to the cabin and practically collapse into the living room, moving to my knees to drag the man the rest of the way inside before I jump up and slam the door shut, keeping the harsh elements of the night outside with the shadows and monsters.

THREE

Meyer

Rushing to the small bathroom attached to the kitchen, I open the cupboard and yank out the big white metal box that houses all the first aid supplies. Dashing back out and grabbing my phone to call for help, I fall to my knees beside the man who looks like he’s slowly regaining consciousness.

“Not yet,” I whisper, grabbing the bottle of antiseptic, the stack of washrags, and all the large cotton pads in the box, my hands shaking from the amount of adrenaline still rushing through my system. Now that our lives are no longer in danger, it will be better for him to stay unconscious. I need to clean out his wounds, and if he wakes up, I know it will only cause him more pain. Grabbing the small pair of scissors inside the box, I cut away what's left of the man's torn black shirt, revealing the full extent of his shredded skin.

“Oh, my God!” I murmur, my eyes widening in shock at the damage to his golden skin, before I shake my head and grab the bottle of antiseptic, turning it upside down, emptying almost the entire thing over the man's stomach.

He moans and grunts, the muscles in his chest and arms tensing as I grab my phone to call for help while using stack of washrags to staunch the bleeding. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, tucking my phone to my ear with my shoulder as I use both hands to press against the wounds, uncertain of what to do next. Grandpa had received a few injuries over the years that I was with him, and I became an expert at patching up the minor ones, even stitching up the large gash on his shin when the plow blade fell and cut him. But these wounds are way above my medical expertise.

I shake my head in exasperation and fear when my phone doesn't start ringing, yanking it from my ear and staring at it in confusion as it blinks ‘no signal’ at me. “No!” I breathe, looking down at the man next to me. “He's going to die,” I whisper, sadness filtering through my body. I tried so hard to save him. I almost died to help him, and in the end, it didn't do anything.

The man's breath starts coming in short, wheezing pants, and I know that he's almost out of time. I could bike to the Hampton's house, but they live nearly a mile away, and this man doesn't have enough time for that.

I war with myself about what to do while I lean over him, dabbing at the cut on his face. I must have misjudged the severity of it; it’s barely a scratch. “Well, at least there’s one thing going well...” I mumble. “You’re giving me serious Prince Eric vibes. Too bad I don’t have red hair,” I say quietly as I brush his soaked bangs off his forehead, my fingers gently tracing his strikingly handsome features. “Meyer, that was like a bad pickup line…” I say to myself.

Feeling ridiculous, I snatch my hand back and then lean over him to check to see if I just missed the jagged cut that had been sheeting blood down the side of his face when I first found him, but aside from the small scratch, no other injury marks his face. I check the three lacerations, still oozing faster than I can manage. For a man that has gaping wounds, he looks peaceful, but I’m guessing that’s not a good thing. Do I leave and try to find help, hoping I'll get back in time to save him? Or do I stay here and hold his hand so he doesn't have to die alone?

---