Creatus

Creatus Creatus 1 by Carmen DeSousa

Chapter One

Kris staggered down the stairwell of the apartment building, cursing aloud for what her life had become. Just twenty-two and she’d poisoned her body so many times she hardly even recognized herself.

A stale stench of sweat and liquor assaulted her senses, causing her stomach to lurch, compelling her to escape the dilapidated structure. The rusty railing swayed beneath her grip, giving her minimal support as she descended the stairs. As soon as she stepped onto the street, she inhaled a deep breath, trying to rid herself of the rancid smell. The smell persisted, which meant it was on her. Sadly, she wasn’t sure if the odor belonged to the stranger whom she’d spent the last few hours dodging sexual advances or if she smelled like the walking dead. How had she let herself become such trash?

“Why did you save me?” she screamed into the black void, similar to her life. She hadn’t asked him to save her when she was eight years old.

As always, no one answered her ridiculous peal, which was probably just as well. Attracting attention in this part of town wasn’t smart. She clicked the key fob for her Grand Am as she scanned the street. She barely even remembered driving here after she left the nightclub. The problem with drinking too much, which she did far too often these days, was that as her inhibitions fell, so did her standards. The man from the bar had been cute, but he’d obviously wanted something other than money in exchange for a hit. What else should she expect when she followed a man home whose name she couldn’t even remember.

She hadn’t planned to go home with a stranger. But when he’d suggested they could get high together, it had sounded like fun, a chance to escape her nightmares and her empty apartment. A chance to do anything but feel the pain she endured by her guilt every time she closed her eyes.

Kris strained to hear the chirp from her vehicle as she weaved along the sidewalk. Her heels lodged into the cracks in the concrete, causing her to trip several times. Somerville was such a dump. She should have used the money from selling her mother’s jewelry six years ago on eBay and moved to California. Instead, she’d stayed in this frigid, run-down suburb of Boston. But she knew why she hadn’t. She was afraid if she left, she’d never see her protector again. A day didn’t go by that she didn’t get an eerie feeling that someone was watching her.

Out of nowhere, a chill would travel the length of her spine she’d swear was her Dark Angel’s breath on her neck. But every time she turned around, no one was there. So instead of escaping, she’d used the money to buy a P.O.S. car and drugs and started on her debauched journey. She knew she was better than the life she’d been living, but every night she found the answers no one offered her at the bottom of a bottle.

Sometimes she wished her Dark Angel hadn’t saved her. If he didn’t care, why had he bothered?

Not once, but twice.

She was beginning to think she’d conjured up his image to erase the guilt of her mother’s death. Her Dark Angel, as she called him since she had no name for the handsome stranger, had accosted a degenerate who’d attacked her mother and her when she was eight, allowing her to escape. Unfortunately, her mother had still died.

When she was sixteen, he’d rescued her a second time. She’d been so excited to go to her first college frat party, but her date had laced her drink with some type of date-rape drug. Seconds after he’d helped her outside to get fresh air, he’d ripped at her clothes. When she’d refused, smacking his hand away, the college sophomore had turned aggressive. He’d smashed her head against a brick wall of the dorm, slamming his hand over her mouth. He would have raped her, and she wouldn’t have been able to stop him. The drugs he’d given her made it impossible to stand, let alone thwart off his attack.

But again, out of nowhere, she’d felt the warm embrace of her Dark Angel’s arms after he tore the loser off her, the same way he’d wrenched the thief away from her mother. His mysteriously ebony-colored eyes had gazed into hers as he’d whisked her away. His deep, melodic voice had whispered that she’d be okay. The same aspects she’d distinctly remembered about him when she was eight, but then he’d disappeared again after depositing her inside her vehicle, ordering her to lock the doors until her best friend came out to the car.

She’d never told anyone about him. Not even her best friend. Beth would have said, “Dark, mysterious stranger who watches over you… yeah, right!” It did sound preposterous and melodramatically romantic, so it couldn’t possibly be true. But no matter how many times her brain tried to convince her he didn’t exist, her heart refused to listen. He’d protected her for a reason, she was certain. Though sometimes, Kris wished her Dark Angel had allowed the thief in the alley to kill her too, saving her from a life of loneliness.

The sun hadn’t come up yet, but the hue of the horizon was fading from a deep navy to a lighter shade of violet. Another beautiful spring day she’d spend sleeping off a massive hangover she felt making its way to the surface. Another day she wouldn’t make it to work, and this time they’d fire her. Her boss had made that crystal clear last time.

Another sharp odor hit her senses, knocking her backward a few steps, stumbling again. The pungent scent of rotting vegetables instantly transported her to the night of her mother’s death. For years, she’d been unable to keep fruit for more than a day in her apartment because the scent brought back the painful memories. But this time, it felt as if she were actually there again, as if the scent had literally transported her to that horrible moment when she lost everything.

Kris took a moment to survey the alley where the reek emanated. Her eyes raked over the faded red brick, a flickering sign at the end, and a dumpster overflowing with garbage from the mom-and-pop grocery store, the source of the insulting pong. Sucking in a breath, she almost retched as the memory hit her fully.

Oh, God! She was in the same alley where her mother had been murdered.

Shaking her head to dislodge the painful recollection, Kris tottered in her high heels. The rough texture of the wall dug into her skin, reinforcing the memory. The image of the thief’s face flashed in her head. Even before he’d plunged the knife into her mother’s chest, she’d detected the murderous gleam in his eyes.

Nothing would obliterate the memory of him shoving them against that decaying building, the glint of the knife as he’d wielded it erratically. The blood—so much blood. Her mother’s blood.

Kris whipped her gaze to the rooftops, knowing her Dark Angel was watching her, knowing he was always close by. “You were there,” she cried. “I don’t know who or what you are, but I want to know why you didn’t save my mother?” She gasped out a breath, attempting to contain her cries. “And why you left me alone!”

No matter what she wanted to believe, the memory was real. She hadn’t imagined him coming off the building, landing in front of her with a soft thump, the sliver of light from the street revealing he was much larger than the guy who’d attacked them. Nor had she dreamt up the anguished scream that had escaped his throat as he tore the thug off her mother, the crack of the degenerate’s skull as he slammed him into the concrete.

As they’d tried to get away, her mother collapsed in her arms. She’d pleaded for the angel to help her. But he’d just stared from where he squatted by the thug, his dark eyes focusing on her as though he recognized her, and said, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do to save her.” She’d blinked the tears out of her eyes, and he was gone. Kris had buckled in the dark alley, crying over her only parent’s lifeless body until the police arrived.

She’d hated him for protecting her but not her mother. Since her mother had never told anyone her father’s name and no relatives had claimed her, she’d spent the next ten years of her life in a different foster home every six months or so. Every time she’d gotten into trouble or the couple was able to adopt a newborn, they had tossed her back to the state, and the state pitched her right into another unloving home.

Realizing her Dark Angel wouldn’t show unless her life was in danger, Kris yanked off her shoes and started running down the walkway. The icy pavement burned her feet, as if she were running on coals, and the uneven surface caused her to stub her toes. But she had to escape the rancid memory of her mother’s death, and she had to force him out of the shadows.