Mona Lisa Awakening m-1 Read online

  Helen underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatments and I fed Joey on my own each night. There were no more bedtime stories. She grew gaunt and laughed less frequently, though she still cuddled me. I'd lay my hands on her and she'd sigh and say, "That feels much better, baby."

  She lasted a year, ten months more than what the doctors had predicted for her. When she was gone, Frank was an empty shell and I was sent from the only home I'd ever known.

  The discreet tap on the door pulled me back from past memories. "Yes."

  "It's time for dinner, milady," Amber said through the door.

  "You go on. I'm not hungry."

  He opened the connecting door and I caught a glimpse of Miles's curious eyes and shiny blond hair before Amber closed the door behind him. "Why are you sitting on the floor?"

  I shook my head mutely. How could I answer him when I didn't even know the answer myself? My eyes fell on the bed where Gryphon and I had lain, propelling me into motion. I scrambled up, tore the sheets off the bed and pressed them into Amber's large arms, mumbling, "Please have them wash these."

  "Yes, milady." He left and I sank back down against the wall and closed my eyes.

  I was ten when I bought a goldfish with the money I'd earned from weeding and raking neighbors' yards. It had fat cheeks and wriggled around arrogantly like a little empress in the round bowl I had also purchased. I named her Josephine in memory of Joey. I'm sure he would have liked her.

  I'd drop in a pinch of food for her each night, watch her gulp and gobble down each flake, and cleaned her bowl and gave her fresh water each and every week. I shared a room with two other foster girls younger than I. They'd been taken in by Mr. and Mrs. Jackson for the government check issued in the mail to them the first day of each month for their care, same as I.

  Mrs. Jackson was a thin woman, perpetually tired, who had worked hard all her life, and it showed in the stoop of her shoulders and in the dullness of her lank hair. Her faded blue eyes regarded us children as extra hands meant to help with the extra work that we brought along with the government check. I'd been with them for several months and had been content to look after the other two girls, my responsibility since I was the oldest. Dutifully, I performed the chores assigned to me.

  Things changed, however, when my breasts started to bud and develop later that year. Mrs. Jackson refused to waste any money buying me a bra and Mr. Jackson started looking at me there strangely. He began taking more of an interest in us, kissing little Carlotta and shy Nicole and tickling them on his lap.

  "I bet you're ticklish, too, Lisa," Mr. Jackson would say and try to tickle me as well. I'd dart out of reach and though he'd laugh, his eyes would be mad.

  He'd have the girls sit on his lap, give him a kiss on the check, and reward them with a candy bar.

  "Your turn, Lisa," he'd say, and wave the chocolate bar tantalizingly before me. I'd shake my head, knowing only that his smile never reached his mean eyes.

  When my breasts grew to the size of small peaches, he grew more surly and demanding. My chores were doubled and I barely had enough time each day to finish my homework.

  "The garbage's not taken out, Lisa," he bellowed one day after coming home from his construction job dirty and sweaty and reeking of beer.

  "I was going to take it out after I swept the kitchen floor," I said with wide apprehensive eyes, broom clutched in my hands. Mrs. Jackson was wearily peeling potatoes and didn't even spare us a glance.

  "You useless piece of trash!" Snatching the broom from me, he jerked me by the hair into the living room where little Carlotta and Nicole were watching TV. They glanced up at his mean red face and fled to their room. "I'll teach you to be lazy," he said, breathing heavily as he put me across his knee.

  I didn't fight him as his big hand lashed my bottom again and again. It wasn't the first time I'd been beaten. But when his hand lingered over my rear, stroking the sensitive painful flesh and one of his fingers slid down my crease, I struggled wildly and twisted out of his lap, falling onto the floor. He leaned down with glittery eyes and threatened in a mean low voice, "You better be nice to me, little girl, or you'll be sorry."

  Christmas came and Mr. Jackson put on a fake white beard. Carlotta and Nicole sat in Santa's lap, gave him a kiss, and got their candy cane.

  "Your turn, Lisa," the fake Santa said. His breath, as usual, stank of sour beer.

  Bracing myself, I gingerly sat on his lap and pecked him quickly on the cheek. He gave a ho, ho, ho. Under the guise of giving me a hug, he ran a hand over my breasts. I jumped off his lap, candy cane in hand, and saw the knowledge of what he had done in Mrs. Jackson's weary, resigned eyes. She bought a bra for me the very next day during the after-Christmas clearance sale. "Don't make him mad," was all she said.

  He came home early from work one day when Mrs. Johnson was out of the house grocery shopping. Carlotta and Nicole's school-books were spread out on the kitchen table, their school bags at their feet, and I was helping them with their homework.

  "What's this crap?" Mr. Jackson roared, his eyes drunk with alcoholic outrage. "I don't bust my back all day to come back to this mess in my home!" He kicked their schoolbags out of the way and with one violent swipe, swept the books off the table, sending them flying. The girls darted out of the kitchen but he snatched my arm before I could run off.

  "Clean this garbage up!" he shouted and shoved me to the floor. I scrambled on my hands and knees, picking up the scattered books and loose, flying paper. Only when I heard his breathing grow harsher and his heartbeat quicken did I look up from the floor and catch him staring down my shirt, which had gaped open in my bent position. My only bra was in the laundry.

  "Whore!" he breathed and I froze.

  I broke for the door, too late. He lunged and tackled me back down, scraping my elbows and banging my head hard enough against the kitchen floor to addle me a bit. Yanking up my shirt, he started roughly pawing my breasts, squeezing them painfully.

  "No! Get your hands off me!" I screamed. Instinctively I jammed the heel of my palm into his nose, sending him staggering back.

  "Bitch!" he cursed, clutching his bleeding nose. "You'll be sorry for that."

  He made good on his promise. Josephine was dead the next day when I returned from school. Her fishbowl had been upended and she lay orange and lifeless in a puddle of water, her fat belly still, her eyes unseeing.

  I never dared keep anything for myself after that, even when I moved on to other homes. I learned a painful lesson that day: Don't love things. Don't grow attached to things. It hurts too much when you lose them.

  A young housemaid fixed my bed with clean sheets, eyeing me curiously. She came and went and I barely noticed. I shut down my senses, went somewhere deep inside where I hardly felt anything. Nothing hurt when you couldn't feel it.

  Time passed meaninglessly by. At some point I dozed off and big, gentle hands lifted me up, put me onto a soft mattress, and covered me with a blanket. I continued to sleep and dream.

  Chapter Ten

  "You have to eat something, milady," Amber said with pugnacious persistency.

  I looked past him. Through him. I'd told him already that I wasn't hungry enough times during the past ten minutes.

  "Jamie's mom made this spaghetti especially for you," he coaxed.

  I had only two words for him. "Go. Away."

  "Not until you eat something," Amber snapped. His tone softened. "Three mouthfuls and I'll leave you alone," he wheedled.

  I opened my mouth, chewed and swallowed the allotted times. He left and I sank back within.

  Another day. Moke murmurs that I tuned out. A loud knock I ignored. Persistent rapping that wouldn't stop. "What?"

  "Prince Halcyon has come to see you," Amber said through the door.

  "No."

  "She doesn't wish to see you," I heard him say.

  Silence. Then the door swung open and Halcyon walked in with Amber shadowing him.

  Halcyon came to the bed and sat down bes
ide me. He turned on the lamp and I blinked, dazzled by the sudden light.

  "How Victorian," Halcyon said with a flash of pearly teeth. They were startling white against his golden visage. "Your lover leaves and you fall into a sad decline."

  I stared beyond him. Didn't blink when those long nails passed in front of my eyes. Didn't flinch when they brushed against my skin as he pushed a lock of hair back from my face.

  Amber growled.

  "Down, boy," Halcyon said, amusement in his words. "I will not hurt her. "

  His amusement fled when I turned my face deliberately into those lethal nails. His hand was suddenly gone.

  "Go away," I said. No heat. No emotion.

  Halcyon's eyes softened. "It is hard, yes. But you will get over it. You are young and beautiful. You will have many more lovers."

  "No," I said with certainty.

  "Yes," he returned just as surely. "And I will be the first in line."

  With effort I stirred myself. "No."

  "Are you afraid of me?"

  I shook my head.

  "Then why not?" he asked.

  I looked at him with my hollow eyes and let him see down into me, into my bleeding gaping soul. "Because I could care for you. And I do not wish to. It hurts too much. "

  He bowed his head. "Ah, my fascinating Queen. You stir feelings inside me that I had long thought dead." He let out a deep breath and stood. "I will give you time," he said, and I did not know to whom he made that promise. To me, or to himself.

  My lethargy was shattered the next sunset by a woman's piercing screams. I sat up, looked out the window, and watched with disbelief as a man threw up a young woman's skirts, ripped off Her panties, and being raping her in plain sight. People were staring but no one made any attempt to stop the brutal violence or rush to her aid.

  "Stop!" I opened the window, jumped to the ground twenty feet below, and rolled to my feet. A wave of dizziness hit me as I stood up, weak and light-headed from my days of bed rest. Impatiently, determinedly, I shook it off and raced toward them. "Stop it, you bastard!"

  The man's pale buttocks worked obscenely over the woman, pumping up and down like an enraged piston. He did nothing to prevent her screaming. In fact he seemed to encourage it. Only when she tried to rake his face with her nails did he swat her. The woman's face snapped to the side with almost neck-cracking force, stunned from the almost gentle blow. My God, I realized. She was a Mixed Blood.

  I ripped him off of her and he landed on the ground twenty feet away, his engorged penis stained red with her blood. He stood up with a smile, casually pulling up his pants. "Not a bad pot of cream for a Mixed Blood."

  The woman moaned and fumbled with her skirt, trying to cover herself and I saw her face clearly for the first time. Her hair was a darker shade of red, but the freckles and pert nose were just like her brother's. She was Tersa, Jamie's older sister. And she had been a virgin.

  With a roar I leaped for the man and found myself jerked up short.

  "Let me go," I snarled at Amber. My four other guards were behind him, and like all the others watching, doing nothing to help. Useless creatures.

  "He did nothing wrong, milady."

  I stared at Amber with amazement. "He just raped her!"

  "She is a Mixed Blood. There is no law against it."

  Rage swallowed me up so terribly that I trembled with it. "You're saying he won't be punished."

  "No, milady."

  "Then I'll see to it."

  Amber's hands kept me chained. "Think. They did this to draw you out." He shook me slightly. "Raping is nothing. There is no law against killing a Mixed Blood. And you are a Mixed Blood. You are not protected even though you are a Queen. Until they amend our laws, you are vulnerable. Do you understand?"

  "Does the little Queen wish to come and play with Samson?" the rapist taunted. He grabbed his dick and pumped it lewdly. "There is enough of him to please two Mixed Blood whores."

  "Release me," I said coldly.

  "Milady…"

  "Release me."

  Amber did so reluctantly. "It is against our law for a Mixed Blood to kill one of the Monère."

  "Your laws suck."

  "That is a splendid idea," the man said, strolling toward me. "Maybe I'll have you suck Samson."

  I smiled at the walking piece of carrion before me. "Oh, yes. I want to play with Samson. Come to Delilah," I crooned.

  Amber shifted behind me. "Milady…"

  "Don't worry. I understand. If he starts to hurt me, you can jump in and defend your Queen. Your law allows that, right?" I walked forward to meet the bastard and he was too stupid to be scared. "What Queen do you serve?" I demanded.

  "Mona Teresa."

  The Fire Queen. That fact somehow didn't surprised me.

  A large, dark-haired woman wearing an apron burst from the main house and rushed over to Tersa, sobbing. I closed it off and focused on the leering man before me. Insolently, her reached out his right hand and ran his fingertips over my nipple.

  I leaned forward, gently pressing his hand to my breast, my fingers over his, and bared my teeth at him. "You know your problem? You're used to raping women who don't fight back." With a casual twisting upward jerk I broke his fingertips. The sound of bones snapping was the sweetest of melodies.

  He screamed with great pain and even greater surprise.

  I tsked in sympathy. "Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it."

  He swung at me with his good hand. I ducked and, sweeping his foot out from under him, rode him down to the ground, knife in hand. His head hit the ground with a loud crack and he lay beneath me, stupefied and stupid. I sliced open his pants and bared his organ, still semihard.

  "Now what exactly happened to Samson?" I mused. "Oh yeah, Delilah cut his locks off." I grabbed his offending organ. My knife flew and blood spurt over me. His scream was horrendous.

  I stood up, stepped aside, and watched him with a cruel smile as he rolled on the ground, clutching his bloody dickless groin. The missing piece drooped flaccidly in my hand.

  "If something offends me, I break it, cut it off, or destroy it." Calmly, I dropped his severed prick—it hit the ground with a wet plop—and methodically mashed his manhood to a pulp beneath my heel. All the watching men winced and many hands flew protectively up to cover their own groins.

  "Will it grow back?" I asked.

  "Yes," Amber said. He stood by my side and stared dispassionately down at the screaming, writhing, bleeding man.

  "A pity. I may have to cut it off again."

  Someone whistled in admiration. I turned and stared into Prince Halcyon's golden visage.

  "How terribly brutal," he declared. "I'm in love."

  The neutered man was screaming, one long breath after another, his eyes filled with horror as he gazed at his mashed pride and joy. His broken fingers were cradled against his chest, oddly bent and swollen quite nicely by now.

  I leaned down and buried my blade in the dirt, millimeters away from his face. "Shut up!" I roared.

  The screams ceased abruptly. He whimpered as I whipped the blade out of the ground and wiped it on his white shirt.

  "Now return to your Queen and tell her what I said."

  He crawled away from me, stark terror in his eyes, and it pleased some dark part of me to see it there.

  Then the smell of blood and raw meat hit me suddenly, along with the knowledge of what I had done. My stomach revolted violently. I bent over, gagging, and heard my heartbeat slow down. I barely had time to remember the medical term for the reflex—valsalva maneuver—stimulating the vagus nerve by gagging or holding your breath, causing the heart rate to decrease—before the world spun and darkness overtook me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Back in my room, once I had revived, I celebrated the small victory with a big, bloody T-bone steak prepared for me by Jamie's mother. My five men winced as I chewed the beefy chunks with relish and licked the plate clean. I had let myself get dangerously weak. Not a smart thing to do
among a crowd of carnivores.

  I stripped out of my bloody gown and showered, lathering up and scrubbing myself completely from top to toe three times. Too bad I couldn't wash away the stain within me as easily. There was a cruel, sadistic part of me that was emerging that scared me to death.

  The dirty gown was gone when I stepped out of the bathroom. Adrenaline still pumped in my veins and the room was suddenly too small; I had to get out. I threw the other black gown over my head and knocked on the adjoining door. Miles opened the door, his eyes wary. "Milady?"

  "I'm going for a walk," I informed him curtly.

  "We will accompany you," Amber said from behind Miles, towering over the other man.

  There was no smell of blood in the forest, just the clean scent of pine and the earthy smell of damp leaves and woods. It should have made me feel better. Instead, I began to cry, uncontrollable sobs that choked my breath and jerked my body. Amber's strong arms swept me up. He sat down on a fallen tree trunk and cradled me against his chest. The comfort and bigness of him reminded me of Helen, my human mother, and I wept even harder.

  "It's all right," Amber murmured, awkwardly patting my back. The Four Colors, what I called my loaned guards, stood a cautious distance away. Men either wanted me or were afraid of me. No middle ground, it seemed.

  "No, it's not," I gasped. "They hurt her because of me."

  "You returned the pain doublefold back to the assailant."

  "I'm glad," I said with ferocious pleasure. "I wanted to kill him!"

  "Next time," was Amber's calm reply.

  "I don't want there to be a next time." I sobbed and buried my face against him. "I hate it here. I thought coming here would give me everything I wanted. Instead, it's taken everything away."

  A twig snapped, jarring me from my grieving, careless disregard of the area around me. I expanded my senses and heard it—seven, no, eight other slow heartbeats. Amber set me on my feet, drew his sword, and moved silently forward, signaling to the other four guards who surrounded me in a circle as the intruders glided into view. Eight of them armed with knives, dressed with tattered, patched tunics and worn boots. A ragged lot.