Page 180 of Evil Hearts

Chapter Two

Akirako

W hen the morning light streaked through my window, I sat up with a start, sitting in my bed and very much alone. I still wore the clothes from last night, but as I touched my head, I couldn’t feel the grime clinging to it or dried blood, for that matter.

I was clean.

“But I…”

The words drifted away. Everything ached, and I knew that something had happened to me, but my mind was uncooperative at best. I’d been hurt, though. I knew I was. Still, there was no sign of an injury at all.

The fuck? No, that’s not…I was…

Maybe I’d gotten way drunker than I thought and dreamed up the whole thing. I could remember getting to the subway and some guys being annoying, but that was sort of it.

Thinking too hard about it made a blinding headache spring up behind my eyes, which I chalked up to a hangover thanks to copious amounts of whiskey. Ugh, today was going to be hell.

Thankfully, I had the day off to lounge around and recover, but at some point, I was going to have to get groceries. Last I checked, I was fresh out of everything. At least that could wait until I drank enough water to drown a fish and attempted to eat something without puking it right back up.

Weirdly, though, my stomach didn’t have the usual asshole vibe that it did after drinking enough to cause me to blackout, not that I did that often. As much as I could appreciate a good scotch, I worked 50-hour weeks in the lab. Getting black-out drunk on the regular was a sure way to get myself fired.

And there was the whole dead, alcoholic mother thing that kept my drinking to a minimum, too.

Thanking whatever strange gods or kami were responsible for me getting home safely and unaffected by horrendous nausea, I stood up out of my bed and decided a shower was an excellent first step on the road to collecting myself.

Warm water filled the bathroom with steam, and I was truly looking forward to this. Stepping inside the tile cube, the hot water was blissful. As I washed my hair, I thought I felt something like dirt or sand trapped against my scalp, but it quickly washed away.

Plus, it wasn’t like falling was unheard of for a wasted chick, particularly one who’d just been stood up. I felt sore, and I’d remembered…something about stumbling, I thought. It was probably a clumsy accident. But when I noticed a large bruise on the inside of my upper arm—vaguely hand-shaped and fresh—I frowned.

“Okaaay,” I dragged out.

A thick paranoia began to crawl up my spine, and I suddenly felt very vulnerable in the shower, invisible eyes watching me. I turned off the water, satisfied enough with my level of cleanliness, and pushed open the door. The cool air seeped in, and I walked toward my fogged-up mirror.

“You’re fine, Aki. Calm down.” I sighed, shaking my head.

Swiping a hand across the obscured glass, I screamed as a pair of red eyes glowed behind me. I spun around, nearly slipping on my ass as I struck out at whatever had the fucking nerve to be in my bathroom.

It was gone.

“Yeah.” I caught my breath, glancing around the room. “Maybe…I wait a minute before drinking whiskey again.”

As I grabbed some coffee and turned on the TV, my nerves never quite settled. But absolutely nothing was there. There was no sign of eyes or mysterious reflections that made me think I was seeing eyes. I was alone, and the apartment was quiet.

After a full thirty minutes of vaguely watching the last half of Practical Magic on Stars, there was still no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. I’d wrapped a blanket around me, hot dark roast was filling my belly, and it was raining again outside.

Perfectly normal.

The sound of the fat droplets hitting my window pane soothed my frazzled nerves, and watching the storm without being stuck outside in it this time was actually pretty nice.

I still felt uneasy, though, in my own damn home of all places, and checking my peripheral vision every few minutes had become a paranoid habit. I couldn’t understand why I was so worked up, but I could still feel something close by even though I couldn’t see anything.

When I tried to think about what the sensation reminded me of, that awful headache returned, so I decided that scrolling on my phone would have to distract me from my phantom sense of unease. Mental issues ran in the family, and dwelling on them—looking for one—wasn’t going to help me.

Watching internet videos occasionally helped me with insomnia, and it was a little early to be hitting my CBD pen, so I pulled up a random “For You” feed from one of my various social media accounts and started flipping. After a few computer-building videos that really made me realize I needed to update my gaming PC, I came across a news release about last night’s activities.

I stopped scrolling and put the sound on. Apparently, there had been an attack of sorts at the 23rd Street subway station. It was unclear what had happened, but it looked like a wild or rabid animal had torn into a bunch of college students coming home from the bar.

“Wait…”

A vision of my purse scattering open onto the concrete subway station eclipsed my perception of the phone. The sounds of inebriated frat boys had echoed off the tile. I’d been there. That station was how I got home, did I—

But pain suddenly lanced behind my eyes. I lost my train of thought; everything swam around in my head, and nausea pooled in my gut. I swatted at the table for my glass of water while I hid my eyes from the light. I forced myself to swallow down a gulp of the cool liquid and realized I’d flung my phone off my lap.

I reached down at the floor, aimlessly searching for it. Everything seemed so obnoxiously bright, and I could barely crack a lid to hunt for my cell.

The sound of something moving across the floor cut through the silence in the room, and then my phone was in my hand. My heart pounded in my ears as I tried to search the space, the headache finally backing off.

There was nothing.

Maybe I’d just hit it with my foot or something. In either case, when I picked it up again, the video was gone. When I searched for it again, curiosity and desperation swelling, I got zero results. Nothing, zero, nada. How was that even possible? I’d just seen the video. I saw—well, I supposed I wasn’t sure what I saw.

What was going on with my head today? I’d been hungover before, but this was something else.

“Okay, just take a nap and then order some pizza. That’ll solve everything.”

Trusting in the “scientific” proof behind sleep and delivery, I hurried to my bed, hopping under the covers like I might run into something on the way to my room. I tried desperately to pretend I wasn’t as freaked out as I was, failing miserably.

The last thing I heard, my head buried beneath the blanket, before weariness fully ushered me into the land of unconsciousness, was the sound of my breathing rolling in and out of me in time with the howling wind outside.

It was hot and dark, and the silk of my sheets sliding across my skin felt… good . Something more was there. Something else was flitting across my consciousness as I slept.

Was I asleep?

It was bizarre. I’d never lucid dreamed before, but I could sense the space of my bedroom suspended somewhere else in the universe while these sensations still clung to me, keeping me from being fully awake.

Darkness and warmth were everywhere here. But something was with me—a presence .

I swirled through the ocean of my sheets, black and slippery around me. I could almost see myself lying there in my bed, imagining my legs as they moved through the fabric, my waist as my shirt pushed up, exposing the underside of my breasts and revealing the tattoos usually hidden beneath my clothing.

I was ravenous, desperate for contact and release. It made me fist the sheets and then drag my hands down my body, finding the growing wetness between my legs. I had to have it, touch it, claim it.

It was making me feel this restless need. What was it?

The dream space was tight and all-consuming. Hands grazed over mine, directing me, pushing me for more. Was it hands?

I couldn’t think. I could just feel, just let go.

Guided inside my desperate center, a tiny moan slipped out as I found it slick and aching. I whined, burning at the contact as I stroked my clit, then dipped inside and twirled. It was everything. Everything was too much and not enough.

Something else took my breasts, squeezing, and dragged claws down my skin, finding my ass. Thin trails of blood, barely anything, bloomed under the scratches. I arched, pressing deeper and craving more.

It built up, the cresting ache getting stronger and stronger. I was so close.

Picking up my pace, I dove in and out of my cunt as my dream gave me the sensation of groping all over me. I could feel something exploring, and then imaginary fingers joined my own. Impossibly full, I panted as my release peaked, ecstasy just on the other side. A hand wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air as the other moved to pinch my clit.

I woke up coming on my hand, black spots dotting my vision.