Edge of Hunger. Rhyannon Byrd

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СКАЧАТЬ OF HOME. Dreaming of the Deep South in the late fall, when he was young. It was the same strange dream he’d been having since he’d run away at sixteen. He sat huddled around a crackling fireplace with his small family. Dinner simmered on the stove, filling the weathered house with the rich scent of beans and corn bread, while young Riley sprawled on the threadbare rug and little Saige cuddled on his mother’s lap, begging for another story about their ancestors.

      â€œMany years ago,” his mother murmured, “before this country was even discovered, our ancestors walked the earth, but they weren’t like us—”

      â€œThey were Merricks, weren’t they?” Saige interrupted, all but bouncing with excitement.

      â€œYes, sweetheart,” his mother answered with a smile, “they most certainly were.”

      â€œAnd they kicked butt, didn’t they?” his brother added, grinning a little.

      His mother winked at Riley. “That they did.”

      â€œUntil the Casus massacred them,” Ian inserted drily, sitting on the floor by the fire. He wrapped his thin arms around his scuffed knees; his lip curled in a snide expression his mother had always said was too scornful to belong to a twelve-year-old.

      â€œThat’s not true!” Saige protested, sticking her tongue out at him.

      â€œOh, yeah? Why do you think they’re all dead?”

      â€œBut they’re not all dead,” his mother said softly, and all three heads turned sharply toward her, big eyes curious and uncertain. This was a strange twist, for the stories had never taken this direction before. Not once, in all the countless tellings.

      â€œWhat do you mean they’re not dead?” he asked quietly, though his words sounded belligerent and hard against the heavy silence of the house. He fought the urge to flinch as a log cracked sharply in the fireplace, the wet wood popping, then splitting.

      Their mother’s slim brows arched high on the worry-wrinkled span of her brow. “Did I ever say they were dead?”

      â€œIf they’re not dead—” his eyes narrowed in suspicion “—then where are they?”

      â€œRight under your nose,” she explained with a small smile that made him feel a little sick inside. She held his stare, the corners of her mouth curving just the tiniest bit—a strange glow warming the deep, dark blue of her eyes. “And one day, when the darkness calls to you,” she whispered, her voice so low he could barely hear the words, “when you can feel it in your bones, feel it roaring through your veins, in the beat of your heart—when your dreams are no longer your own, Ian—you’re going to meet him.”

      Trapped within the oppressive layers of sleep, Ian stared at his smiling mother until his vision became cloudy, the silhouette of her body hazy against the thickening darkness. He knew what would happen next—but he couldn’t stop the recurring dream from bleeding into a nightmare. His throat hurt as the beginning vibrations of a feral growl shivered in his chest, his body aching as every muscle went rigid with a painful, gripping tension.

      He tossed beneath his sweat-soaked covers, struggling to throw off the thick curtain of sleep, but he couldn’t shake it, as if the dream had lain itself out over his body in a wash of warm, wet cement, binding him in place as it hardened. His teeth gnashed, grinding and angry, but the dream kept going, like a film clip set on continuous replay.

      The dream was changing…sucking him deeper… pulling him into darker, treacherous waters, where danger lurked in the thick, murky depths beneath his feet. Gone was his childhood home, his mother, his freckle-faced sister, Saige, and scrawny, pain-in-the-ass little brother, Riley. Now the ripe scent of the forest filled his head, humid night crowding around him like a falling sky, smothering and dark and too close for comfort. The heavy weight of midnight black surrounded him while the tension in his gut wound tighter, knotting and coiling…and then he saw it. The small, flickering glow of a campfire in the distance, its shivering light just visible through the stygian darkness. The wind surged, bringing with it the rich, provocative scent of sex, while a deep, rhythmic pulse of music suddenly began to fill the unnatural quiet of the woods.

      He stood silent and still, aware of the slow, heavy thudding of his heart, of the intense surge of blood swirling through his rigid body. His hands flexed at his sides, the tips of his fingers burning with sharp, piercing sensations, while the thick wave of hunger rolling through him settled heavily in his cock. He breathed in, and broke open in some weird metaphysical way, aware of something unfurling from deep within him, stretching to existence within his fevered skin. Something that felt at home there in the clinging web of darkness. His senses sharpened, acute and predatory, while his body swelled, growing stronger, the muscles buried beneath his burning skin bulging with a primitive, animal craving that demanded freedom.

      That wanted to answer the provocative call of the darkness.

      Suddenly he was aware of the warm wind against his now-naked flesh. Of the damp air in his lungs, the fertile ground beneath his feet, too many smells assailing him with a chaotic swarm of information. The details consumed him, crowding his mind, battling for supremacy, until one need conquered, dominating all others.

      The urge to hunt.

      Lifting his nose to the wind, he searched for the thing he craved, just so that he could chase it and take it down. His nostrils flared and he sniffed, sorting through the sensitive data intake rushing into his head, and then he found it.

      Yes, the creature within him hissed with thick satisfaction. Right there.

      The change was almost complete. Some inherent part of him struggled against it, but the hunger was too strong. He exploded into action and felt himself running, charging, lungs heaving, thighs and calves working with preternatural force as he raced through the thick tangle of foliage and trees, their leaves and branches whipping against his face and arms and legs, leaving bloody scratches on his skin…and he knew what would happen next.

      He’d been having this nightmare for weeks now. And each time it ripped something inside of him open a little more. Cut him just that little bit deeper.

      No! Ian roared from the darkest depths of his unconscious psyche, while the dream kept going, each moment pissing him off more than the last. Goddamn it! No! Wake up, you idiot! Wake up!

      But he couldn’t shake it. No, something dark and hungry in his gut wanted this too much—needed it—and an ugly, twisted feeling cut through him. Shame. Bitter and foul and consuming. But the craving was too huge to ignore—to overcome.

      He needed what was out there.

      Ian thrashed in the tangle of his damp sheets, drenched and aching as he struggled to throw off the infuriating bonds of the nightmare. But its claws were sunk too deeply into his flesh, trapping him in place. It was the same as it had been in all the other dreams. He saw himself breaking through the edge of the forest, rushing into the middle of a gypsy campfire. He saw the rapid, sensual swirl of the dancers as they spun around the rioting flames, the rich colors of their skirts flapping rapidly in the breeze, long hair flowing behind them in a wild explosion of curls. Along the shadowy edges of the campsite, couples writhed in ecstasy, the ripe, musky scent of sex filling the air while the pulsing music grew louder. Around the fire, the dancers moved with increasing urgency, clapping and stamping their СКАЧАТЬ