Citrine (Deliverance #3)

7. Eli

7

Eli

I'm relieved as the hideous creature finally drops me on the shore of the lake. Screams still want to bubble up out of me, but at the same time I'm numb.

And aroused, somehow, at the same time.

Something is definitely wrong with me.

The water glistens invitingly, and without thinking, I try to stand up and walk toward it. A sharp pain shoots through my right ankle, making me wince. The injury must have happened during the fall.

I sigh and drag my body across the mushy grass toward the water's edge. My throat is burning, parched beyond anything I've felt before.

I need relief.

Even though I don't know if this water is safe to drink, I have to take the risk. It's so clear, like a pristine mirror reflecting the lavender sky above. I can see fish swimming in it, some even resembling those found on Earth.

The creature watches me with predatory eyes, but I can't worry about that now. I cup my hands and scoop up the water, drinking it like my life depends on it. The cool liquid soothes my throat, and I can't help but gulp down more.

I feel the water slide down, bringing a wave of peace.

I look up at the freak with murder in my eyes afterward, but it just cocks its head, studying me. I don't even know how to process the fact that some sort of octopus-shark-dolphin-man just talked to me.

With water in my body, I go back to what I should have been doing right away and keep crawling down the shore, desperate to get away from the freak. I've seen that sort of violence in someone's eyes before and you should never stick around.

It quickly becomes obvious that it's hopeless as he easily keeps pace with me. After a few more sharp rocks bruise my knees, I give in and shift onto my butt, feeling numb again.

My mind doesn't want to deal, and I look back at the water.

" Dios , I took water for granted," I breathe out, staring at my reflection in the clear lake.

This new version of me doesn't disgust me quite as much as it did the first time I saw it. I have accepted that this is no dream.

This is reality. A cruel, unyielding reality.

I might as well take it all in, though I'm not quite ready to embrace it.

The lake stretches endlessly, blending into the horizon. Dense forests encircle it on three sides, their dark silhouettes reflecting in the purple-tinged water. Plants and insects of a dizzying array of colors catch the fading light in a luminous glow.

On the fourth side, jagged stones jut out, and perched precariously on one of them is the ship I assume I came here in, hanging as if only a strong wind is between it and a fall.

My eyes trace the path from the crash site to the creature.

Its tentacles spread out like the villain in that Spider-Man movie, Doctor Octopus—green and filthy. His dolphin-like blue body looks soft to touch, not that I ever want to feel his skin again.

A memory of the way his tentacles writhed over me like slick snakes intrudes and I shiver. I bet my skin still has circular patterns from where he was suctioned to me.

Gross.

Then our eyes lock.

Those shark-like eyes pierce through me, and arousal surges in me, quickly followed by anger. I'm pretty certain he was hunting me. Everything about him screams that he plans to kill me. That he's toying with me and enjoying my pain.

He's a monster. I shiver and gulp.

Why not just do it, then?

I drag myself farther away from the water, still feeling the sting of my injured ankle. My throat feels better, but the rage bubbling inside me overshadows any relief. I glance back at the lake, then at the creature.

Its tentacles twitch as if waiting for my next move, ready to keep following me if I try to escape again.

I can't get away, after all that I've done to keep fleeing in my life, and now I'm trapped. There's cracks starting inside, breaking my usual control, but I can't seem to pull up my sunshine to help me disassociate.

"You were going to throw me in there," I spit out, my words dripping with venom, even though I doubt he understands English.

"It's because of you I have this injury," I point angrily at my leg, the pain pulsing with each beat of my heart.

His expression remains impassive, devoid of any flicker of emotion.

I suppose taunting him isn't the best idea, though can it really get worse than something planning to kill me?

Then he speaks, his voice reminding me of whale song. "You stink."

I can understand him. But why?

Thinking back, I realize I was making the same whale squawks instead of English, and I realize it really can, in fact, get worse.

"Better than ugly," I hiss out at him.

He blinks at me. Slow and with menace. "A voice stealer."

The threat in his voice is clear.

I scramble to get myself away, my eyes scanning the ground until I find a sturdy tree branch.

I grab it, using it as support.

The pain in my ankle flares up, but I grit my teeth and push through it. I tried to flee, and know confronting him is foolish, but I can't live in fear.

I've been through worse.

I think back to when I left my stepfather's house—another bastard who thought he could control me. He thought I would stay in fear, just like my mother.

Then I picture the blood blooming on his chest and wait for horror to follow, but it doesn't. He had it coming.

I open my mouth to tell him to go away, hoping that it will make him stop following me, but no sound comes out.

Despite my bravado, a surge of anxiety flows through me at the thought of challenging someone. That never ends well, and here I am mouthing off to something that looks like it was made to kill.

Revels in it, even.

Stop being stupid, Eli , I chide myself.

I watch, wide-eyed, as the creature's thin lips move, forming each syllable of whale song with chilling precision. "You can't keep my words, my voice," his tone is low, but there's violence in his words.

Tentacles start to move against him, as if they are trying to dislodge something, and the sight makes me gag. Then one of his arms with its weird pinchers start scratching at his skin.

"I will kill you. Some day." His tone is calm, but beneath the surface, I can sense the simmering anger.

My mind stutters to a stop for a long moment.

His gaze roams over me.

Then he turns away, a clear dismissal as he turns toward the water. He dives into it, launching himself with his powerful tentacles, his movements fluid.

Every movement screaming predator.

I assume the itchiness of his blue skin drove him to seek relief in the water. His head pops up soon after, two of his long green tentacles lifting toward me in an unsettling way.

Instinctively, I take a step back, dragging my injured leg along with a stick for support, as he swims nearer to the shore, his alarming presence looming closer with each stroke.

"I will crack open your skull and feast, but not today."

His words hit me like a physical blow as he revels in my reaction, his satisfaction evident in his expression.

"Fear. That is good," he comments.

Of course I'm scared.

Which isn't helped in the least bit when he disappears into the water. There's no way I'll even see him coming.

I put two bullets in the chest of my greatest fear and have no regrets, but is this my punishment? To have him replaced? With something worse?

My leg is screaming at me, and my limbs are shaking too hard with memories of terror to hold me upright anymore. I already tried to get away, and I should try again, but everything hurts.

Instead, I sit down, the movement jarring a moan, then painfully pull my legs to my chest and make my body as small as possible.

Flashes of memories. Broken bones. Screams of rage. Accusations of doing things wrong just because I knew it would make him angry. Him hitting my mother because she couldn't make me perfect.

It was always our fault. Each wound earned, whether physical or verbal.

He was wrong. I know this logically, but it doesn't change the association. The pounding fear and the tight chest.

I did nothing to earn such violence in my old life. What could I have possibly done now?

Mere existence?

No. A line needs to be drawn at some point. I'm sick of feeling scared. It might be the hardest thing I have ever done, but this terrible, violent creature won't continue to make me feel small.

He's either going to kill me and eat me, or he isn't. Nothing I say or do is going to change it.

If there were an award for the rudest, scariest person in the world, he'd win it. Hands down, but that doesn't mean he gets to win by making me cower.

For the first time, I might actually believe those words I've been telling myself since I was thirteen years old.

People are only as scary as you let them be. You can't control them, only the way you respond.

Is it fatalism? No clue. I just know that suddenly I feel a lot better than I have in a very long time.