Every time he spoke, his voice became smoother, his grasp of her language better than her grasp of his. "Annabell is redress. Annabell is the only one. My one. I take Annabell forever."
"Yes, and I take you forever."
His mouth opened over her shoulder, his teeth against her skin. "Yes."
Teeth pierced her skin, heat suffused her, and her body seized with heaven. Lightning flashed behind her eyes and thunder crashed in her heart. Magic happened as her wishes came true and her being was bonded to his.
They made love again and again. Her feverish need lessened along with other symptoms of sickness. Thankfully when she woke on the backward schedule, blinking her eyes open to light instead of darkness, he didn't hurry her through the morning routine and take her from the comfortable nest they had made together. Wrapped up in the shelter of his body, she sighed in quiet wonder at how good she felt. Whole. Healthy. Alive.
His favorite position seemed to be curled around her, his legs drawn up and his face buried in her hair. The position gave her all kinds of feelings. Clutched to his heart, secured in his arms, she felt safe and protected. Another unique experience with him.
Annabell soaked up the moment. She didn't move a muscle. If dreams came true, she would get to stay like this all day. He was her world, and this was her heaven.
Weeks ago, Annabell woke day after day to the monotony of being alone. Her curse ruled her life. But the debt of the red moon morning hid behind long days of get-it-done survival, until the day came when she found herself taking her brother to his grave. The person who had cleaned up his death moved through the aggrieved haze of that day without a heartbeat. And Annabell was no longer that person.
The price of isolation marked her with a life-long damnation she never thought to question or escape. The world around her stared and pointed at her mark, an ugly stain on her face, feeling the need to remind her of it every moment of the day. None of them offered a different way.
Fitting together like puzzle pieces, the contrasts of her life were glaringly different. Her childhood with her father and her family glowed with fairy tale perfection. The baby of the family, the only girl, her parents indulged her with their attention. Papa's spoiling put Mama in the position of disciplinarian, not that she minded too much.
It was Mama who made sure Annabell washed her hands when she came in after following her papa around outside. Mama checked to see if Annabell cleaned her room, did her chores, and schooled her on rules of politeness.
Because Papa had the role of best friend, they were inseparable.
His death broke Annabell's perfect world, fractured it right down the middle, plopping her hard into a new reality, life changed forever. Afterwards, Mama cried herself to sleep every night. And her brothers broke into fights, arguing with each other almost daily.
Mama sat in her chair, growing thinner and thinner every day. The light and the laughter left, replaced with worries and harried superstitions."We need to go wash. We need to wash that off you, a little water does redeem."
Their mother and father dead, her older brothers became her parents and town leaders. Responsibilities and expectations landed with every shovel full of dirt on her parent's graves. Responsibilities her own papa never wanted or asked for. Papa had no time for governing a town, refusing the responsibility his neighbors wanted to shove on him. His forefathers escaped the steel cities to escape the corruption of power.
His sons didn't share the view.
Cuddled in her Doku-ni's arms, she remembered things, saw things, the grief and disappointments in her life distorted. Her indulgent, thoughtful mother became a critical disciplinarian because of the weight of guilt Annabell carried for her death. A lie her mind created, that she wore like a truth.
She failed to be good enough to keep her mother alive. It was silly. Like blaming herself for Papa's death, it made no sense. Yet, she believed it and lived it. Since she failed at making Mama want to stay with her, she, therefore, deserved the bitter side of Mama's tongue, which in life had never been so cruel to any of her children.
Woe followed her all her days. And woe was a dress, a thing she woke up and put on every day, to wear with pride, to show off to the town, a tool of self-punishment.
Did she still need to be punished?
Vision clear, body sore in a good way, all her impulses dimmed to a manageable low fire. She was whole. The only emotion that troubled her: joy. Pure sunshine and flowers, everything-is-wonderful joy.
There was no room for woe.
The vague impressions of the foggy last days parted like window curtains, and she saw her environment as clear as she saw the male who claimed her. Brown wall at her back, in a corner, away from others. The design of this space gave the Orki room to spread out. Recognizing wood walls, the natural shape of them mystified Annabell. Not a cabin, shack, lodge, or house. From her position she couldn't see anyone else, although she could hear the shuffling and muttering of other life. The war beasts, talking to each other, murmuring. One day she hoped to understand their running commentary. In contrast, the Orki didn't talk to each other during the day when the sun was high. They kept to themselves. Some were resting since this was their night. She heard the higher tones of other human women. Not looking around to see, Annabell knew she was not the only one who had found pleasure with her Orki lover.
Chapter 13
We Need To Talk
Staring at the walls, the floor, the various shadows of brown and the way the light came into the structure, she decided they were not in another cave or surrounded by rock. But the walls weren't man-made either. The wood had a natural feel but no seams or nails. What she saw with her eyes made no sense to her brain.
Her memories of coming here floated through her mind in blurred moments. She'd been at the edge of sanity the night the Orki arrived in Righteous Way. She remembered crying, mourning her losses, struggling with her grief and carrying the weight of her curse. And then the crazy sickness that made her body hurt and crave.
Had she really done those things with him?
Annabell hugged the arm wrapped around her, a smile spreading so far across her face that her cheeks cracked. Her dream-come-true fantasy, the white Orki, Doku-ni, held her wrapped up in his arms after days of seduction and passion. Her body felt him still, sticky between her legs, sore in her thighs, back, and breasts. Bubbling up from her middle, she giggled, amazed at herself. She did those things and looked forward to doing more. Delicate and fragile, optimism and hope floated through her head, little butterflies searching for flowers. Her guilt and self-disgust, her failures, disintegrated under the brush of their wings.
Having lived without hope, having it now tickled her senses.
