Red (VonRouge Book 1) Read online

  “Hey, about yesterday. You said I wandered home on my own . . . but are you sure someone didn’t help carry me back?” I question while grabbing a cup and pouring some coffee. I lean against the counter, sipping on my coffee, watching her while I wait for her response.

  Quickly, she looks back at the frying pan, avoiding my eyes. “No. No one helped you. Why?” She grabs for the saltshaker, keeping her back to me.

  Aunt Tasha doesn’t usually act like this. And immediately I sense what it means. She is lying to me. What the hell?

  With shaky hands, I set my coffee back on the counter so I don’t drop it. I try to tell myself I’m being ridiculous, but suddenly I’m faced with the reality that this is all real. Every memory is very real.

  Even if it was, though, what would my aunt of all people have to do with it?

  “Umm, no reason really.” My heart pounds as I lie to her, but I force myself to keep going. “I just have this odd memory of being carried by someone. But who knows? I was probably hallucinating.” I force a chuckle.

  She laughs along with me, but it’s that fake laugh people make when they are uncomfortable. Aunt Tasha places the spatula on the counter and turns to me.

  Cupping my face, she studies my eyes closely. “Oh yes dear, you must be hallucinating. It could be from that medicine.” She gives a quick squeeze of my cheeks, with a big smile on her face and goes back to cooking breakfast.

  Betrayal settles in my chest like a stone sinking in a river. The odd sense that I might not know exactly who the woman before me is hits me too hard.

  And breaks my heart.

  “Yeah must be the medicine.”

  God, I wish the answer was that simple.

  Chapter 3

  The next few nights are all the same.

  I fall asleep.

  He appears in my dreams.

  And night after night I tell myself that enough is enough. That dream or not, I’m going to stop him. These sex dreams will end. Then I see him, and all those thoughts of pushing him away go flying out the window.

  Each time, I end up giving myself over, greedily taking every bit of what he is giving to me.

  I’ve got to give my brain credit though. It went all out creating one hell of a fantasy-man. I’ve never watched porn, but man, that wolf-boy knows how to push all my buttons.

  I’m seriously going crazy. Clearly. That is the only explanation.

  Ugh, why else would I have turned into a sex-crazed pervert now? Sex wasn’t even on my radar before the night in the woods. It wasn’t even an afterthought. Most people my age had been fixated on it for years, who was kissing who and who was the latest to hook up, but it wasn’t appealing to me.

  Yeah, I’d always known it was weird for an eighteen-year-old like myself to not be even a little curious, but it never felt right and I’d accepted that.

  Now it’s all hitting me with a vengeance.

  A sexy, tall, muscular, black haired, gray-eyed vengeance that my mind conjured up—and for some reason gave him the ability to turn into a wolf.

  This sure is one hell of a case of post-traumatic stress, huh?

  Rolling my neck, I sit up and push back the covers to get out of the bed.

  What the hell?

  Bruises.

  Eyes wide, I stare at my thigh, my chest going tight as I take in the faint bruises on my thigh.

  Finger shaped bruises.

  Oh God. Breathe. I don’t know if it’s the panic from seeing the bruises, but the tingling I’ve been having since the wolf attack slams into me, making the room spin. My breathing goes erratic, taking more air out of my needy lungs—

  I fall off the bed in a hyperventilating heap.

  As I try to catch my breath and control the spins, my mind races with the memory of every dream. Every night, the mystery wolf man asks the same questions.

  Is my skin tingling? Does my breath keep racing?

  As if he knows exactly what I’m going though.

  Of course he does! In my dreams, he’s in my damn head.

  My eyes fall to the bruises on my thigh again. They’re not dreams, Sadie.

  No. They have to be.

  I have no other choice than to stop taking the meds. They have to be the cause of these weird dreams. Once I’m able to catch my breath, I shakily stand and take the small bottle containing the meds off the nightstand.

  The bottle feels heavy in my palm. Something that small causes this much mayhem. I know I need to throw them away, but I don’t. I can’t. A part of me worries that I will need them; another part of me fears that throwing them away will confirm I’m simply crazy.

  Sighing, I place them on my dresser instead and promise myself to stop taking them at night.

  The next morning, I awake fresh off another dream. The pill bottle is still on the dresser where I left it. Just for the hell of it, I count the pain pills. Ten. No, no, no. There should be eleven not ten! I didn’t take it. I know I didn’t. At least, I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

  This is ridiculous. It feels like I’m going crazy. Maybe I just dropped an extra pill on the floor or something.

  I search the whole room, but nothing. And thus another day goes by—me, battling the panic rising in me, and the panic adding to the million other sensations springing up all over my body.

  I’m heading for a mental breakdown, I’m sure of it, and I have no idea how to stop it.

  That night, I decide to hide the pill bottle. I know that the best option is to throw it away, but I can’t bring myself to do that, this is my last test. If the bottle is hidden, I shouldn’t be able to take one, then there should still be ten in the morning.

  I don’t even humor the idea that a pill will be missing in the morning. My sanity can’t take that idea. Nope. I will wake up, all ten pills will be in the bottle, and my life will go back to being normal. As a matter of fact, tonight I’m going to take back my dreams. No more wolf-boy, no more sex-crazed dreams, I will dream of chasing butterflies. I’ve got this. I can do this.

  Day four, I go to bed, resolved.

  The dream doesn’t stay gone for long. It seems once I close my eyes, I find myself perched on the end of my dresser, my back against the mirror, wolf-boy between my legs, grinding into me as he licks the bite he gave me over and over, until I’m shuddering with an orgasm.

  I jolt awake, covered in sweat. My heart is ramming inside my chest. A strange violent craving pounds through me.

  I jump out of bed, throw open the dresser drawer.

  The bottle is still there.

  It’s right where I freaking hide it.

  Ten pills.

  They’re all there.

  I definitely didn’t take a pill last night, but I still had a dream. The most realistic one yet.

  One point during the dream, he fisted my hair, sliding his tongue straight into my mouth, making me whimper with hunger at the taste of him.

  His taste is still lingering in my mouth.

  My scalp even feels sore.

  It’s real Sadie. Face it already.

  I let my mind open up to the idea that this whole thing is real, but doing so unleashes something inside me. A cold pressure pushes on my head making it hurt like its caving in.

  The pain triggers something feral inside of me. Hysteria takes over. Fear clouds my senses.

  Shaking, I crawl out of bed, the room spinning slightly as I struggle to once again erect my denial. Internally, I feel like I’m thrashing around, moving at warp-speed. The reality is I can barely stand. Stumbling toward the dresser, I crash into it. When I look up into the mirror, my heart dives straight down into the basement of the house.

  The bite.

  The bite I had left exposed without the bandage so it could get fresh air on it . . . the bite that was still pink and puffy around the stiches last night . . .

  I cup my mouth with a trembling hand.

  It’s healed.

  The bite’s completely healed.

  A faint pink scare is the only thing
left.

  The stiches are freaking gone!

  The scared girl looking back at me in the mirror is shaking her head, her stark eyes watering.

  All of this is real. It’s not some messed up delusion. I got tackled by a wolf in the forest, and he really did change into that guy. The same guy who has been plaguing my every thought. The same guy who had been coming into my room every night.

  The same guy that’s been touching me in ways I’ve never allowed anyone to, who I’ve been secretly lusting after.

  A . . . a . . . werewolf.

  Tears fall from my eyes.

  My nails dig into the countertop as my body shakes with pent up anger and panic. A scream rips from my throat. Rough. Raw. Desperate.

  My screams turn into my aunt’s name. Tearing out of my room, I fly down the stairs. My sobs choke me as the panic I’ve been holding in for days erupts inside me.

  I find her in the kitchen and almost slam into her, I’m running so fast. She grabs me by the arms, trying to calm me down. Through my hiccups, I tell her the wound is healed, that I have no idea how it happened.

  The truth of how the bite happened and what’s been happening every night since doesn’t come out. My mouth can’t form the words. No matter how scared I am I can’t tell her about him, about my wolf.

  She seems startled with how quickly the wound healed. Her eyes stare at the bite in shock. Then she snaps out of it, forces me to sit at the kitchen table, and brings me a glass of water. She shushes me, caresses my hair, but the worry in her eyes is what makes some common sense leak through the hysteria

  Fighting to control my breath, I sip at the water and watch as my aunt grabs her cell phone and calls Dr. Snow. She puts him on speaker so I can hear his explanation.

  “The bite must have not been as deep as we originally thought,” he says calmly.

  The water spews out of my mouth. “But . . . but the stiches are gone!” I cry out, feeling the nerves building again.

  My aunt’s worried expression is doing little to help my nerves.

  Dr. Snow goes silent for a few, as if contemplating his next answer. “The stiches . . . I put in the dissolvable ones. They must have dissolved over night as the bite finished healing.”

  “The wound is nothing but a light scar now!” I slam my glass on the table and jump to my feet, furious now because he’s not taking me seriously and I’m starting to feel like he’s lying to me.

  “Sadie,” my aunt Tasha murmurs.

  “Sadie, I know you must be very confused right now,” Dr. Snow says in that same calm tone of his. A tone that I’m starting to hate. “Just trust me when I say that this is all perfectly normal.”

  Normal? There is nothing normal about a bite that needed that many stiches healing in four days.

  “He’s right, Sadie. Try to calm down.”

  I can’t help but stare at my aunt in shock. An odd feeling of betrayal twists inside me.

  He’s lying to me. Dr. Snow is lying to me.

  And so is my aunt.

  What are they trying to cover up? Why won’t they tell me the truth?

  Suddenly, I want to yell in my aunt’s face that I know they’re lying. I want to tell her what really happened that night in the woods, and every night after, and see the expression on her face when I do.

  But I don’t. The part of me that’s hoping all this isn’t real refuses to speak the truth out loud.

  What if I really am going crazy?

  Aunt Tasha opens her mouth to say something but I can’t take any more lies. Shaking my head at her, I run out of the kitchen, going straight to my room. I lock myself in there for the rest of the day, refusing to answer her each time she knocks softly on the door.

  The pleading to believe her falls on deaf ears.

  I’m not sleeping tonight. Somehow, I’ll handle going without sleep, but I will not leave myself vulnerable, an open invitation to that werewolf, or whatever the hell he calls himself.

  I want to hate him for what he’s done to me. Ever since he attacked me in the woods, my life, and my sanity, seem to be crumbling all around me.

  Instead, every time I think of him, all I remember are those gray eyes as he conquered me. Owned me. He brought my body to heights of pleasure I never imagined possible. He never used anything other than his fingers on me; it’s still the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

  The only thing I’ve ever experienced with a man.

  Beast.

  Whatever the freak he is.

  I want to die of embarrassment thinking about everything I’ve eagerly let him do, all the while lying to myself that it was just a dream. Just like I lied to myself about that first night being a hallucination.

  Desperation still begs me to believe it was all a figment of my imagination.

  Deep down, a voice calls out that I know the truth.

  Two days later, I’ve barely slept a wink during the night, therefore I’ve been taking naps during the day. The only time it seems that I can get any rest. Today, just as she’s tried to do for the past few days, my aunt comes to my door.

  I forgot to lock it.

  She opens it and walks in quietly, laying with me in bed as the cool autumn breeze blows through the window. I ignore her, staring out into the woods, I’m too tired to fight with her anymore.

  She curls up under the quilt with me and starts to play with my hair, till my eyelids are almost too heavy to keep open. “Let me tell you a story. Perhaps legend is a better word for this tale of a witch, a wolf and a young girl."

  As soon as she speaks, something about this story starts to push an old memory to the surface.

  “Is this the same story my mom told me when I was little?” I roll over to face her.

  “Yes, this is our family’s story. My mother told it to me and your mother, and your mom told it to you when you were younger. Before your parents moved you away from Casterton, your mother would rock you in this very room, telling you the legend passed through the generations. Maybe one day you will tell it to your baby girl.”

  As we relax in my bed, overflowing with different colored throw pillows, she begins to tell me what I call our family’s fable.

  There was once a young witch that had an enormous amount of untapped power. She was in love with a boy from the village who happened to be a werewolf. This was a time in the world when these creatures had a balance amongst one another, witches and werewolves living in peace to survive with the humans.

  The wolves roamed the forest on one side of town while the witches were able to practice their craft on the other. It was a fine balance; one that the young wolf and witch took advantage of. They played every day together and come night, they would share their gifts with one another. Everything seemed perfect in their lives.

  Until one day a new girl moved to town. She was the granddaughter of the town doctor and came to live in Casterton with her grandmother after losing her parents. The wolf became enamored with the girl, from her light reddish hair to her fair skin. Soon the boy spent less and less time with the witch who had been his friend his whole life.

  The witch eventually became jealous and began to act erratically; her family tried to harness her powers, but she had grown by leaps and bounds. Soon the humans of Casterton began to notice the odd behavior of the family. Murmurs of witchcraft crept along the kitchen tables of the townsfolk.

  The young wolf did his best to defuse the rumors without drawing suspicion, because he was also keeping his secret from the new girl he’d fallen for. When the wolves talked of running the witches out of town for being careless, it was the young wolf who spoke on the young witch’s behalf.

  As the years passed, the young wolf turned into a handsome man and began courting the red-haired human girl he’d fallen in love with. Sadly, the young witch was now heartbroken and alone. She caught the wolf and the girl wandering around the forest one night, sneaking kisses.

  She watched as the wolf slipped his hand around the girl’s waist while he had her pre
ssed against a tree. The last piece of sanity she possessed cracked.

  His actions infuriated the young witch, and she decided to confront them. She would give him an ultimatum; her or the girl. The witch was confident he would pick her just as he had all those years ago when protecting her against the rumors of wickedness.

  What the witch didn’t know was that the wolf had grown fearful of her, his old friend, as her powers started slipping incessantly.

  In answer to the witch’s ultimatum, the wolf confessed he was deeply in love with the red-haired girl. She had stolen his heart and she was his forever. When he pleaded his feelings, trying to make his friend see they were not meant to be, the witch’s heart shattered. Her eyes suddenly saw him in a new light. This man was not the boy who protected her as a child; he was no different from the members of the village who shunned her and her family.

  He was a monster who crushed her heart and if she was to live a life of unhappiness then so should he. Thus, using the power of the full moon, she cursed the man to live a life of loneliness. The spell she cast was meant to make the man shift uncontrollably which in turn would show his true nature to the human girl he so loved. The witch was sure the sight of this change would scare the girl, making her run home, never to return to the wolf, causing him to live the rest of his days without her love.

  There was a flaw in the witch’s curse though—the red-haired girl held her own secrets.

  The girl in red was shocked to see the man she loved turn into a wolf, but instead of running, she did the oddest thing. She laughed. Her deep laugh echoed through the air causing the witch to become confused. Power began to flow around her, a power very different from the witch’s but just as deadly.

  She was no regular human, the witch realized, feeling her first frisson of fear.

  The girl circled around the two mythical creatures, telling her own tale. She spoke of a family who were one of three noble families who roamed the night and happened to be the things of their nightmares. As she circled the witch, the girl trailed her long nails from the witch’s shoulder down her arm, causing goose bumps to rise and the witch’s heart to pound. Whispering in the witch’s ear, the girl explained that the family drank the blood of others in order to survive. By doing this, they would live life as immortals.