THIRTEEN
At first his sleep was good. Being surrounded by the little female’s sweet, delicious scent was comforting and the sleeping platform she had given him was warm and soft. It was a little small, but much better than the straw mattress he’d had aboard the Monstrum Mother Ship. Of course, they had tried to give him nicer amenities, but Roarn had torn them to shreds when the Fury gripped him and eventually his guards had given up on giving him better accommodations.
He didn’t think there was any danger of that tonight—the female’s scent seemed to keep the worst of the Fury at bay. It cleared his head to breathe her in—he only wished she had stayed to sleep beside him.
Roarn had tried to think of a way to ask her—to promise that he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want. He just wanted to hold her, to breathe her scent and feel her soft, warm, curvy body against his own. It had been so many years since he’d had anyone to sleep with—not since he and his brother were cubs and had slept together, curled against their mother’s side.
But he didn’t want to think of Toarn and how he hadn’t been able to save him. He had been stuck in that loop of guilt and horror for so many years—he just wanted to relax and let sleep take him—a sleep with no night terrors caused by the Fury.
Never once, in the past five cycles, had he gotten an unbroken night’s rest. Never once had he been able to feel secure enough to sleep for more than a few hours at a time.
Tonight was going to be different though, Roarn told himself as he pressed his face to the soft pillow that smelled like Christine. Tonight he would sleep until dawn without fear or horror.
And at first, it seemed possible that he might actually sleep the whole night through. He didn’t dream, but that was all right. All his dreams were evil—they tormented him. A night without dreams was a good thing.
But then the drumming started.
It was a pounding beat that somehow made its way into Roarn’s dreams. Even worse, it was accompanied by frenzied screeching and screaming.
Like Toarn screaming when the Darklings took him…like the blood drumming in my ears as I ran to him but I couldn’t get there…couldn’t reach him in time…
It was the Fury again—pounding in his head, filling his mind with bloody images of the past, memories he could never escape for long.
Roarn moaned in agony as the horribly vivid scene of his brother’s death played out in his mind’s eye again and again. Over and over he saw himself running and over and over he was too late as the Darklings devoured Toarn, leaving nothing but his bones…
“No…no, please!” It was half moan and half roar that was torn from his throat. He had been so close to leaving the Fury behind—he was sure of it. But now the beating and screeching that filled the night was bringing it back.
The Fury was like a monster that was toying with him—it had let him think he had escaped, only to wrap its clawed hand around him and drag him back down into madness…
“No!” Roarn roared again, thrashing under the bedclothes that covered him. “No—I can’t! Please! No! NO!”
FOURTEEN
Christine had nearly drifted off when the damn death metal music began blasting from the Fenster’s trailer, cutting the silence of the peaceful night like a jagged, rusty knife. Guitars screaming and drums pounding and the singer screeching that he had sold his soul to Satan and he was happily bound for Hell or some such foolishness, all played at a volume so loud they were lucky it didn’t bring down an avalanche!
Groaning, Christine put a pillow over her head. How could they stand to play anything that loud? It must be deafening in their trailer. Probably they were all hard of hearing from playing such awful music at top volume so they felt like they had to turn it up even more.
She had read somewhere that the reason young men liked to play their music so loud was because the deep bass tones vibrated the same part of the brain that affected sexual desire. Apparently blasting their music at eardrum melting decibels made them feel strong and sexy—though of course, it was going to make them deaf later in life.
Christine had never been much for hard rock—it just wasn’t her style. And even if she had liked it, she wouldn’t have wanted to listen to it at top volume at three in the morning.
And just when I was getting to sleep! she thought to herself. It had taken what felt like hours to warm up in the chilly twin bed. Even after piling a bunch of extra blankets on top of herself, Christine had been shivering. And just as she had finally accumulated enough body heat to drift off, the Fensters had to start their music.