Obliteration Read online

  The small spark of happiness I have fades when I see the car they left for me. I make a mental note to kill Jameson the next time I see him. The small, vivid orange car parked in the space with my name on it—perks of my dad owning the hotel—is a two-seater smart car. It’s small enough that you can fit it in the back of a truck, or a really big kids wagon.

  To me it's like riding in a cardboard box with wheels on it.

  “Your secretary is an asshole.” Phobe comments, squeezing himself into the passenger seat.

  “Yeah, him and I are going to have a nice long, and body bruising talk.” I bet he’s the one who took the beautiful, cherry red Camaro that I bought a few days ago. One that I’m sure I'll completely total eventually, but have so much fun doing it. The annoying imp; I should’ve left him at the Sidhe, but Arista and Florenta are perfectly capable of running everything and leaving him there with her and a Sidhe full of old dragons, might get him dead.

  Of course, him being here with me might too.

  After climbing into the soda-can-car that has surprisingly comfortable seats, I put it into reverse and immediately hit another car in the parking lot. Whoops. Phobe grunts but says nothing. I correct myself and weave my way out of the parking lot without hitting any other cars. Fortunately, the small bump wasn’t hard enough to deploy the airbags; that would’ve ended our trip before it even began. When the bright lights of Vegas are long gone I settle down a little into the drive. The roads are straight, we should be fine.

  2

  Her hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight that it’s creaking under the pressure. Before too long, it will break and we’ll need to get new transportation. When I returned, with big gaps in my memories, I felt ill prepared for living in this world and being a part of her life. Both of which are necessary because I can’t seem to be away from her. It’s illogical and unexpected but it exists nonetheless. That’s why I’m in this ridiculous human car, with my knees nearly touching my chest, contemplating how to ‘connect’ with her, instead of doing other things that don’t make me feel so… uncomfortable.

  When I was on my way to her, I ate every ‘bad’ human that I could find—something in my brain insisted upon them being from the dredges of society. Absorbing as much information as I possibly could in that short amount of time, I managed to piece together exactly how this world works. There were a lot of things I didn’t know about it that I do now. The one who I was before—the one that’s still there in pieces—had only eaten a few of the creatures of this world, leaving him with a lot of antiquated ideas about how things worked. I wanted to be more than that, so I adapted and ensured it. Iza is under the misinterpretation that ‘her’ Phobe is gone when that is beyond untrue.

  We have simply merged and become what I am now.

  Not that I know how to explain it; not in a believable way, and not in a way that won’t cause her pain. Memories and emotions I had before are bleeding through more everyday but the Phobe she knew will never be again because I’ve become something else. One day, I’ll remember everything from the time before, but who I am will remain. How do I explain to a creature as unpredictable and stubborn as her, that every single second I spend in her company only makes me crave more?

  Whether I want to or not.

  The fragments left from before refused to allow me to leave… initially. Staying soon became my decision, and as time goes by I can see why he—I'm—so drawn to her. Iza is a force unto herself. A chaotic mess of power and ire, that can gently cradle a child with one hand and rip a man’s head off with the other. It’s quite delightful and since I’ve been with her everyday for a few months, I catch myself looking forward to seeing these moments. Both of them.

  That first meeting, I was freshly awake and had no idea who she was but couldn’t shake the desire—need to be near her. My body, my essence knows her on a level that gave me no options. My memories of what her skin tastes like, or how she looks with her lips parted on a moan, were too tempting to resist. Mixed in were other memories too, a broken jaw—mine to be precise—among them. Even that was alluring.

  As the days pass, I remember more and continuously discover how enmeshed she is in my very existence. But since she’s still foolishly grieving, I hesitate to tell her any of this. To say that the exact person she loved will never return might do more damage than good, resulting in her pushing me away and keeping me there. I can’t allow that to happen, because regardless of how I feel about any other creature in any other world… she matters.

  This false grief needs to be dealt with soon. She needs to clear her head for what’s coming in the near future. Fighting the urge to trespass and bring the barrier in her mind down, I turn to look out the window. She puts a new one up every time I get through, each one consecutively stronger than the next, but none of them can keep me out for long. She’s the reason I have some of the memories I do. She loved the man who came before. Enough so, that she’d have damned every one of her precious Feyrie to save him. The emotion behind that makes me feel odd. Not because the emotion exists, but because it’s not for me.

  Yet, it is.

  For now, I’ll have to keep reminding myself that she’ll accept me when she’s ready and I know that it will happen. Until then, I’ll stay by her side, killing those who need killing and protecting her with everything that I am. The need to be away from her faded the moment I saw her and hasn’t returned. I’ll settle for her ‘using’ me as a weapon. It keeps me here, with her. If that makes me weaker than my previous version, then so be it.

  Why fight something that feels right? She does it, and it exhausts her. Unfortunately for her, I’m not willing to leave.

  Somehow during this transition, the emotions tangled with her have become easier to deal with and understand. The old me, struggled. The new me, accepts. Well, accepts most of it. I’m obsessed with her; there’s no denying it, and that colors everything else. This mess of softness she pulls out of me is still rather confusing but I don’t try and hinder it. As I’ve already discovered, it does no good. I briefly contemplated killing her but the reaction inside of me was enough to cast that idea off immediately.

  How do creatures exist with this confusing shit inside them without flinging themselves off cliffs? Is there a book somewhere that explains how to navigate these pathways of insanity? The memories of the humans I’ve consumed are useless when it comes to this type of thing. It appears that human males are no better at navigating romantic entanglements than any other creature.

  “Have you remembered more?” Her soft question pulls my gaze around to her. She caught me off guard, asking, and her clenching jaw tells me she’s annoyed with herself for it. Naturally, I’m going to completely exploit this chance.

  “I remember more every day,” I answer, watching her wage an inner war inside of herself. She wants to know more and has for awhile but always stops herself from asking, until today.

  “What happens when you remember it all?” I can taste the hope that she’s trying in vain to hide. She’s presenting me with a perfect time to be honest about everything. It’s going to happen sooner or later; might as well have it happen in a controlled situation.

  “I will still remain who I am, with all of the memories of who I was, before shaping into who I’ll be in the future.”

  “You used to hardly ever talk, but now you actually give answers. It’s unsettling,” she says and snaps her mouth shut. Ah, her impulsiveness strikes again.

  “There’s always room for improvement, no?” I ask. Her eyes flick to me again and the car wobbles. As she turns back to look at the road, the steering wheel cracks under her hands but doesn’t break. This needs to come to a head soon; war is here, and she needs to have her head on straight. We both do.

  “I… I miss him.” Her admission takes the breath from me. I clench my teeth and look out the window once again. Jealousy is among the tsunami of emotions ripping through me. Jealousy of my fucking self.

  Anger rears up and I look at her and s
ay, “Have you ever considered that I’m still him?” Anger is something I rarely feel, and since I came back, it’s different from before. Not as easy to control or ignore. I blame her influence for this change.

  The anger I expect from her in return, is not what I get. “No, because you’re so fucking different than him.” She sounds so defeated, the volatile emotion evaporates. A thousand lies jump to my tongue but I swallow every one of them. Wasn’t I thinking about how I needed a way to tell her everything? So why the fuck am I suddenly being a coward about it?

  “Not really, Iza. The creature I was before was held back by his own prejudices and his own limits. He was a slave for an eternity and didn’t have the freedom that this incarnation of me has.”

  “Freedom?”

  “I’m more to you than a weapon.” I’m not sure she’ll understand; not even sure I do, but it’s been spoken and can’t be taken back. Emotions are the bane of free will. How anyone deals with these detestable things for any length of time is beyond me, but for her I have to try.

  “He’s not coming back, is he?”

  I sigh and fight the urge to rub a hand down my face. The problem with absorbing so many humans is that their behavior rubs off eventually. I absorbed a lot. Hundreds.

  “I’m sitting right here—slathered in this cursed humanity that I fed upon so I could…” I struggle for a word and then settle upon, “understand how you turned a monster into a man that loves you.” The car comes to a screeching halt and I have to put my hand out to keep myself from hitting the dashboard.

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” Her voice shakes with emotion, her eyes are black and deep, swirling with a mix of emotions. Looking at her, I understand exactly how she got a monster’s heart.

  “I never left you. I became something more, something better, and the sooner you get over the bullshit, the sooner we can move forward,” I say as gently as I’m capable but it still comes out with an undercurrent of harshness that can’t be helped.

  A tear leaks out of her left eye, sliding down her cheek unhindered. I reach over and wipe it away before it can escape. The space between us is charged with tension and unspoken words as her eyes search my face and her Magiks rub against mine. Remaining silent, she turns away and we’re back on the road moving towards our first destination. I start beating on the barrier in her mind; I need to know what she’s thinking. Whether she wants me to or not.

  3

  Is he fucking saying that he’s still my Phobe? It’s taking everything I have to not pull over again and shake him until he tells me everything. Not that I think that’ll go over well, but this Phobe hasn’t tried to hurt me in any way. He pushes me, he’s always sarcastic and likes to antagonize the ever living shit out of me, but never once has he hurt me. Have I had this wrong all along? For weeks, I’ve looked at him like a ghost of what once was. Should I have been looking at him as someone who’s grown into something else?

  Gods, this is ripping up my heart and there’s not a lot of it left.

  If this Phobe is all versions combined does this mean I still have my Phobe? I mean, there are a lot of differences. Right? I compare the two side by side in my mind; maybe there's not as many as I thought? This one is sarcastic and has a different type of humor but is it really that different? The Phobe I knew was cold; he was ancient and had suffered so much that emotions weren’t something he shared nearly as readily as this one does.

  I'm not even sure he had any before we were involved.

  Yet, I saw anger a few minutes ago. True anger. Seeing it nearly made me wreck the car. Phobe was not one to display anger, but he also hid things from me unless he thought I needed to know. This one is more… forthcoming. I run a hand through my hair and pat it as an afterthought. It’s stirred up because I am and combing my hand through it doesn’t help that.

  I chance a glance to the enigmatic man beside me. He doesn’t have to travel this way… he can run faster than any car can travel, but he’s here in this awful freaking car with me. There’s only one reason for it.

  It’s because he wants to be.

  A little bit of the grief surrounding my heart with poisonous thorns, loosens. Dare I believe it?

  “I want you to stay in the car when we get there.” It’s a cheap trick to gauge his response and from the sideways glance he gives me, he’s aware of it.

  “That’s stupid.” Excitement flits through me.

  “Are you saying you won’t do it?”

  “Of course I won’t. Something you’re already aware of.” I squeeze the steering wheel again and then cringe when the top of it snaps in half. Well, driving the rest of the way is going to be fun. Holding the sides to keep the wheel from falling apart, I keep staring forward. Hope is a dangerous thing, especially for someone like me, but I have it just the same. “What is our goal in this endeavor, besides killing Schoth?” he asks me, his gaze a weight on my shoulders.

  Swallowing past the muddle of emotions that are determined to make my life even more complicated, I explain, “Places all over the world were hit hard when they first got here, but now they’ve gone quiet. That seems strange to me. Schoth are all or nothing types. They don’t hit and run. I’m thinking that these ‘bases’ we’ve gone to are nothing more than rest stops for a much larger force, but where is it?”

  “They’re capable of hiding them, even from me,” he doesn’t sound happy about it either, “which makes me think they’re waiting on a signal,” he muses.

  Rolling my bottom lip between my teeth, I concentrate on keeping the car steady. “What kinda signal?” This has crossed my mind too but I wasn’t sure if I was reading too much into things. Since he’s come to the same conclusion, then I was on the right track.

  “I’m not sure. No one I’ve yet encountered has provided any clues.” He means ate but we’ll roll with it. He’s not the most patient man when it comes to interrogation; he asks them once—they refuse, then he eats them and gets the information the digestive way. I can’t fault the option to save time.

  Speaking of saving time. “Can’t you eat them all and be done?” I’ve often wondered about this. He’s taken dozens before, all at once into that great black maw of creepy. I mean, I figure there’s a limit—there always are—but he’s not chosen to share it with me. Even though this version is more talkative.

  “No, if that was the case we wouldn’t be in this car. There are protections on some of them that I can’t break, despite my strength. And I do have my limits on how many I can take it. It creates a feedback that can overwhelm me and essentially makes me useless for a time.” He pauses and I bite my lip to keep from looking at him. After a short breath he continues, “When Light has touched someone with his power, our Magiks cancel each other out. It’s... frustrating.”

  “Well, getting covered in blood and guts is the fun part, right?” At least, for me. Well, normally. Killing those last Schoth was like killing kittens—ok, murderous kittens who like to torture for fun—but still, it lacked any sense of justice to it. Taking the good from it, we saved some humans, but that’s about it.

  “This small force of Feyrie is more than sufficient for what we’ve fought so far, but they’ll struggle when we go up against a trained force.”

  “That idiot dragon wasn’t wrong when he said the Feyrie at the Sidhe weren’t fighters. It makes me want to rip his face off and eat it… with ketchup, but even separating out the fighters,” the precious eight or nine hundred that there are, “won’t give us an army big enough to take on a Schoth invasion force.” There would be a couple thousand if I pulled in every able bodied Feyrie, and deciding against it when I considered it, was a tough decision to make, truth be told.

  Initially, I planned on luring the Light Fey away but that didn’t stop the progression of their weird ‘invasion’. And the only reason I have any with me now is because most of them refused to let me go alone, including the pain in the ass shifters under their Alpha—whateverthefuckheis.

  They were cocky befor
e this jaunt. Against humans, they’re always going to be the top—but we’re not fighting humans. Against a trained or truly Magikally gifted Schoth, they’re a casualty waiting to happen. They got their first reality check about their ancestors in the first skirmish. When all you can do is run fast and grow claws, and the guy in front of you turns into a godsdamn dinosaur—you accept that you’re not at the top of the food chain anymore.

  Then they had their second reality check with a Light Fey. A fucking unicorn.The damn thing tore through half a dozen of them before they pulled their heads out of their asses and realized it had bigger teeth than they do. Now, they listen better and the egos have somewhat subsided. They’ve also learned to rely more on their natural weapons than their guns and bows. Who thought it was a good idea to go after a damn near immortal beast with a bow and arrow? I laughed really hard when one got the horn up his ass. Literally.

  Since then, we’ve had this mix of non-military Schoth and random Light Fey. Even those few Light Fey we’ve come across weren’t what I considered warriors. Their Magiks were low caste and meant more for growing a pretty flower than exploding heads. Which takes me back to the cannon fodder theory. I think Phobe is onto something. These are distractions and speed bumps.

  They’re testing us.

  Slamming the brakes on the car I pull into a rest stop and park. After a few seconds, I put the car in reverse and back off the sidewalk; I can honestly say I didn’t see it and completely ignored the sound of metal grating on concrete. My driving skills are still a work in progress and asshole Jameson gave me a car that’s an inch off the ground. Potentially less than that now.

  Giving Phobe—and his amused expression, a quelling look, I put the car in park and go inside to raid their vending machines, and deal with the angry bladder issue. Washing my hands I stare in the mirror to check my glamour. The news is steadily reporting on the ‘alien’ presence throughout the world, so humans think we're aliens instead of bloodthirsty Fey from another realm. Apparently, little green men who want to anally probe you is a more believable story than their fairies and elves. Who knew?