Page 63 of Fragile Wicked Things
"This one's mine," he said.
My body shook with fear. It was to be then that I would meet an early death.
"Let her go, Franklin," the she-devil said, and the creature who held me obeyed. "Why she's not beautiful at all. How is it then that you let her tame you, Edward? Make you believe you could be a man, live among them, hiding, when the world is ours for the taking? Bring her to me, Edward."
Rochester stood. His clothes were modern, jeans dark, his black shirt unbuttoned, exposing the definition of his chest streaked with blood, feet bare. He took a step towards me and I backed away, which brought a smile to his face. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I wanted to look away, but to what? The creatures in the far corner, still writhing in pleasure, in pain? A cry escaped me as he held my face in his hands. He stared deeply, his eyes penetrating me. He swayed to the right. Then the left. Back to the right. I followed. My movements, under compulsion, mimicked his. My eyes never left him, and he brought his face closer to mine and kissed me, gentle at first, then harder and harder still. Rochester thrust his tongue in my mouth. I swallowed the dead man's blood. I fought Rochester off but was powerless against his grabbing hands roaming my body, pulling at my clothes, and biting my lip until it bled.
A woman cried in ecstasy. Two men groaned.
A whimper escaped me and I dropped my arms limp to my side. Rochester pulled away and looked at me, brows knotted. No, he would not have me give up and grabbed at me again, but my rage was spent. It was no use. How could I win against them all?
He pulled away again, the look of disappointment remained on his face. "No fight left? Now you are like me."
"I could never be like you," I said. "I was heartbroken when I learned of your demise. Now, I wish the lie had been true and that you were dead, Mr. Rochester."
Rochester started at this but then seemed to change his mind and turned away from me. He walked behind the sofa, leaned over the red-haired creature and thrust his hand down the top of her black dress, stroking her breast, bringing her to moan. "Show me you have spirit left," he told me. "There is nothing more intoxicating than the smell of fear. Running gets the blood pumping faster. Give it a go."
I turned and sprinted out the front door, feet pounding the wet gravel where I stumbled and almost fell down the drive while rain pelted me. If I could outrun him, perhaps the rain could wash away my scent and save me. Buoyed by this thought, my legs carried me farther, and then I heard him behind me, taking his time, playing with his prey. Thomas’s cottage was near and I ran up the steps, flung the door open, stepped inside and pressed my body against the door, closing it and turned the flimsy lock. I backed away, breath coming in deep spurts, my heart beating against my chest, the taste of the dead man's blood stuck in my dry mouth.
"Jane."
I turned, and there, sitting at the kitchen table by the light of a candle, sat Thomas. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Between his hands, he held a worn-out Bible, its binding split in two.
"Thomas. What are you doing—?" I stopped. Comprehension was sinking in and the horrible thoughts roaming my mind were trapped in my throat, suffocating me.
"Jane. Why are you here?" he asked and stared at me before continuing, the expression on my face unable to conceal what I had witnessed. "Please tell me you didn't go to the house." He stood from the kitchen table, took a step towards me and I quickly took a few back.
"Stay away," I said before uttering what I had finally grasped when I first saw him at the table. "You’re one of them now, aren’t you?"
"No!" He seemed genuinely horrified by the thought, yet, I no longer knew whom to trust.
Rochester's footsteps were on the stairs outside, and he threw himself at the door, busting it from its hinges. With Rochester blocking the entryway, my instinct told me to run closer to Thomas.
"Don't invite him in!" I said.
Rochester's silhouette stood at the threshold of Auntie's cottage. Behind him, the storm raged on. The oak trees swayed, their branches thrashed by the wind. Lightning flashed, lighting Rochester. He looked down at his feet, unable to move forward, blocked by some invisible force. We were safe. Then I saw the flicker of a fiendish smile upon his face, and he stepped over the threshold.
"He owns the cottage, Jane," Thomas said.
Rochester came towards me, and when I found myself backed up against the wall, Thomas stepped in between us.
"Mr. Rochester, enough! It's Jane."
Rochester flung Thomas across the room and he landed, head first, against the kitchen table. I gasped at the sight of Thomas unconscious on the wood floor, the overturned table next to him.
"Thomas." I moved to go to him, but Rochester blocked my way.
"You cannot pretend you weren't warned. Countless times I asked you to be with me, to keep me from the darkness. Now you will stay," Rochester said.
"You lied to me! Now I see you for the monster that you are."
"Yes, a creature of the night that feeds off your kind, sucking the life out." His voice sounded wicked. "When Blanche returned from the dead, I was not the same that had turned her away a century before when I fled Scotland to escape her grasp. When she found me this time, I was ripe to fulfill her every whim, follow her back into the dark, and allow it to devour me. I was glad for it, that I could feel again, feel anything except for the emptiness that was left behind. Such is my nature with Catherine gone."
He paused and stepped away, and I saw a part of the old Rochester return when he spoke her name. His shoulders sank, and his voice became softer as he continued. "You know nothing about me and nothing about the love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own. I'm asking you again to stay with me. Keep me in the light."
The tone of his voice and the pleading look of his eyes were sincere, still I remained convulsed. "You defiled her memory in the home you shared with her."
This angered him and he crossed the floor, grabbed me and bared his sharp teeth. I smelled blood on him. "Do you refuse me?" said Rochester.
