Hunted Ch 02 4

Cindy woke hours later on the floor with the sun shining through the window. Blinking awake, she sat up, groaning in discomfort.

"What the hell happened last night?" she muttered, looking about the room fearfully, the once safe space feeling threatening.

Pushing herself upright, she grimaced as her battered body protested the move. Looking down at her naked body, her heart skipped as the bruises and scratches screamed to life with her movement. Her shirt shredded was scattered around her on the floor. Hands trembling, she held them out, grimacing with dull pain. As she looked down at her breasts, she cupped them gently, face clenched with a soft whimper as she lifted them both, staring with bewilderment at what looked like bite marks.

A sudden surge of terror stabbed her chest. She brushed her hands run over her body, gingerly finding more bites, bruises and scratches, her hair sticky in plastered clumps. Pulling her hands away painfully from her head in stunned disbelief at the sticky mess. Reacting in horror and disgust, her stomach heaved, painfully retching before she rolled to her hands and knees, vomiting on the floor.

Breathing frantically, she lurched upright, barely able to support her weight as she staggered to the wall. Hugging herself tightly while fighting back a scream, her eyes flash about the room. Feelings of terror and violation raged within her as the familiar room, once so safe, now seemed to hold terror in every shadow. The subtle ticking of the clock made her head snap, knees bending as she curled lower to the floor, tears streaming as she bit her lip to stay silent.

With a sob, she pushed herself upright against the wall, walking slowly as her body protested painfully with every step. A sound outside made her freeze, ears straining. The sound of a truck across the road, Fred's heavy-duty diesel roaring to life as he tore off on another of his endless errands. A shadow crossing the window at the end of the hall brought a fresh whimper, almost dropping to her knees again as a tree swayed in the spring breeze. Fighting to keep control, she slowly stood to stagger to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Turning on the light, she jumped slightly as the bright glow filled the room. Bracing against the countertop, fingers curled around the lip of the sink, she squinted a moment at the bright lights on each side of the mirror. Afraid of what she expected to see, she took a breath before opening her eyes.

A hand covered her mouth, wide eyed in horror as her ragged reflection stared back, fresh tears streaming as she bit off a scream. Her long black hair hung greasily in a twisted mess. Scratches and bites leaving stark, angry red marks on her pale skin. While tall, her shoulders curled in upon herself, shudders racking her body as she cried silently. In the reflection, a cry finally breaks free as she noticed bruises on both wrists and arms looking like odd-shaped handprints.

Gingerly dropping her hands, she finally noticed the black collar around her neck in the mirror.

"No, no, no!" in a terrified whisper.

The black material, leather like, arched from the base of her neck to just under her chin. Wrapping around her neck, the collar supported a glowing green gem that pulsated dully.

Fingers touched it tenderly, fearfully, pulling back sharply as she felt a slight thrumming with the contact. The material felt warm, almost alive, the vibration increasing with her touch. Reaching slowly, she gently caressed the material with both hands, the texture and vibration perversely comforting, the subtle vibration in her throat becoming stronger and spreading.

The feeling intensified as it spread down her body. Almost pleasurable as the scratches and bruises fade, the aches in her muscles easing. Within moments, the wave had swept over her and fades. As the pain eased, the fear and anxiety pass like waking from a nightmare, lingering but untouchable. Looking in the mirror again, she realized all the injuries were gone. Moving her arms, she watched the mirror in disbelief, amazed how good she felt. A sense of relaxation, almost perverse, masking terror.

"What the hell..." she said, softly.

Moving easily now, she stepped back from the mirror to walk back to the living room.

"Hello?" softly in the quiet room.

Hearing nothing but the steady ticking of her clock, she crept into the room, staying close to the wall. Looking around the room she took in the couch cushions on the floor, her laptop lying open against an arm rest where her feet would have been last night. She carefully closed her laptop to place it on the table, then arranged the cushions, her mind struggling to make sense of what was happening.

Sitting on the couch, she slowly scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. What happened last night? Why am I naked on the floor? What the fuck happened?

Her mind racing, the wave of panic so carefully controlled to this point crashed over her. Heart pounding, she grabbed the collar with both hands, trying to pull it off her. Grunting with effort, her fingers dug into the material, pulling her head back as she tried to wrench it off.

"Get off me! Get off me!"

The collar tightened and her cries suddenly cut off. Moments before the collar gave her waves of healing and strength, warm and comforting. With her pulling, the collar grew cold and rigid, her breathing tight as it slowly constricted. Gagging, she dropped to her knees, falling off the couch coughing, trying desperately to breathe. Frigid lances of agony spear through her, back arching in pain as the collar tightened her. As her vision closed in, she fell to her side, barely able to whisper.

"Ok! Ok I'll stop!"

The collar relaxed instantly, warmth returning and easing the pressure on her throat as quickly as it started. Gasping painfully, she coughed, vision returning slowly.

"Ok," she whispered as the pressure faded, "Ok, sorry! I'm sorry!"

The pressure gone from the collar; it eased back to a warm, supple sensation.

Crawling back on the couch, the ache in her throat making her cough again as she slowly caught her breath.

Pushing herself upright, she carefully took a breath, thankful when the collar did not react. Some part of her mind remembered she was standing naked in front of the living room window. Already feeling exposed, she drew curtains across the blinds half way, afraid to darken the morning light.

Taking a deep breath to control wire tight nerves, she felt the need to keep checking the house. Moving past the front door, still locked, she peeked out the window. Seeing nothing but a sunny spring day, she turned toward the back door, just off the kitchen. Everywhere she looked, everything seemed right, yet the feeling of wrong persisted.

Entering her kitchen, she noticed her back door was slightly ajar. Carefully controlling the feeling of panic threatening to crash over her again, she opened the door enough to stick her head out. Her backyard in the subdivision was not overly large, although the above ground pool and privacy fencing made it seem smaller. Everything felt normal in the cool air, reminding her she was still naked in the doorway. Stepping back, she shut the door firmly, turning the lock.

Nothing.

She stared at the wall, her mind, normally so analytical, racing from thought to thought. What happened?

She remembered the couch. Her sadly normal Friday night routine of chat rooms and masturbating to videos was oddly foggy. Struggling, she felt like something interrupted her evening. With a bitter laugh she was thinking, yeah obviously.

Something with a mist, and someone? A person but not a person?

Frustrated, she pushed off the wall, anger filling the emptiness of fear. With a sigh she walked back to her bathroom. The rancid stink from her hair finally reaching her nose. Her lips curling with disgust as the normally painfully organized woman struggled to make sense of whatever nightmare had found her.

***

Meanwhile, in another dimension.

Jirax, war leader of the Goblin Hogtooth Clan, pushed aside the heavy cloth door outside the grotto used by his shaman, Fruild. The space was dimly lit, candles and a small fire making shadows dance in the corners. Glaring into the cluttered room, ignoring the shadows near the rocky ceiling that seemed to melt away as he passed the door, he growled past the usual sneer curling back over sharp teeth. Larger than many of his species, with their normally light physique and short stature, Jirax was more heavily built, leaving many to suspect there was northern Orc blood in his line.

Since becoming clan chief following his killing of the popular chief, Kiltan, a year ago, the neighboring tribes had been in turmoil. Organized in a loose association of several tribes, his aggressive rise to power had been making life difficult for his people and unease among the other goblin tribes. Adding to the general turmoil, several of the Orc tribes further north had been more active, aggressively pushing outward with talk of a foreign god giving them power. The same power Jirax was driving Fruild to harness before the Orcs arrived, a power he intended to bend to his own plans.

At the moment, none of that mattered to Jirax. Thoughts of conquest pushed aside for the moment as he focused on Fruild. Fruild, crouching over his table, looked to the door and quickly dropped from the chair, striking his forehead on the cold stone floor in his haste.

"What news?" Jirax growled.

"It is well, Master," Fruild replied from the floor, "The spell holds and connection strong."

"See that it does." Walking to the table, Jirax looked over the messy collection of scrolls and bowls of powders or liquids, shaking his head in disgust. A bowl resting on a tripod near the fire caught his eye, drawing his attention. Brushing past Fruild, he peered intently at the black oily liquid within, seeing only the reflected light and his own rough features looking back.

"Can we see it?" he said, looking at the figure still crouching on the floor.

"No Master. The spell is not so made. We can guide and sense its activity, but cannot see through its eyes yet."

Snarling, Jirax's lip curled, and he spit on the floor by the tripod.

"Keep it under your power. When we gather enough of its force, strengthen your magic. I have needs of you and it."

Walking back to the door, Jirax tossed a small bag onto the table. The sounds of metal clink in the quiet room. "Get what you need to make this work."

"Yes master, we already harness its energy."

With a nasty smile, Jirax replied. "Good. We look forward to returning to that world."