How to Face Eternity: Part I (Dawn of Eternity Novels)

This’ll hurt you a little bit, how’s that sound

My lungs burned. A long, ceaseless scream reverberated against the walls of my wheel-based prison. Within a bent arm’s reach was every corner of the trunk’s interior—a space so confined I would have killed for the chance to stretch out my legs for a second. The claustrophobia summoned from breathing the same uncirculated air had become suffocating, inducing a kind of panic that tied my stomach in knots.

Every corner the vehicle took sent me rolling into a new wall of its trunk’s interior, making it seem like the space was encroaching on me with each curve in the road. I felt as though I’d been bound and locked in that mobile prison for hours, my limbs cramped and throat raw. But surely it hadn’t been anywhere near as long as it’d felt. In fact, not so long ago, I was having a perfectly boring Tuesday.

The spring sun had risen and set along the skyline without a hitch. All the while, I’d avoided any undue attention from my dear old Johnny. I’d left the Roufe mansion for a little time alone, hoping it would be the icing on the cake that was a refreshingly peaceful day.

Venturing downtown, I was positive that nobody in the city of Creswell would mess with Leanne Cowitz, the future wife of Creswell’s most notorious crime lord. For that reason, it didn”t feel necessary to call for an entourage, and I’d strolled the streets with no more than my cell and a smile.

Little did I know that trusting my reputation would be the catalyst for my downfall.

The Roufes were renowned in Creswell for being at the top of its organized crime ring. That made them like gods among men in a city ruled by crime, but it also meant they had plenty of rivals. Everyone wanted a piece of what they had, and it wasn’t limited to Creswell—the outlying tri-cities had rings of their own clamoring for Creswell’s treasures.

Being Johnny Roufe’s number one bitch came with plenty of those treasures, but it was also exactly what put a target on my back and got me stuffed into the trunk of a rival Mafioso’s Cadillac.

Now, we were speeding down a progressively windy road and I was merely a passenger for the ride. With each twisting turn and jarring pothole, it became increasingly obvious where we were headed. There’s only one place near Creswell with such chaotic terrain where a criminal would take a hostage like me—the forest on the outskirts of town, a location where teenagers ventured to get away with delinquency and criminals went to get away with homicide. Out there, nobody would hear me scream.

The man who’d kidnapped me definitely planned to murder and bury me in the woods. Even my overly optimistic convictions could admit to that obvious truth.

Others had warned me time and time again that ill fate befell any girl of Johnny Roufe’s, yet I still hadn’t listened to Jayleen when she’d told me to write up my last will and testament. She’d jokingly suggested it after I’d become steady with the infamous crime lord. In her words, “You’ve obviously got a death wish if you’re dating Johnny. In that case, I want your will to give all the grand mafia wife clothes you own to me when you inevitably die in a horrible ‘accident’ after your first couple’s spat.” While she’s my best friend, I’m not so fond of her stating such a morbid—albeit accurate—proposition.

Johnny and I had dated long enough I knew how to stay on his good side—or at least the side that kept me alive—but I’d always known I could get wrapped up in his family’s business. That meant I could, inevitably, end up in the trunk of a Caddy on my way to some unforeseen fatality. So, while I should have expected something like this, the bells hadn’t officially tolled for me.

My sweating palms and racing heart reminded me I still lived. As long as the heart in me continued to beat, there were ways to make it out of this situation with my vitality intact. I just needed to think of one.

Think, Leanne, think.

I took a break from my futile screaming and surveyed my surroundings. The interior of the tiny trunk was pitch black, but I’d long since adjusted to it. The inside handle to open the trunk lid had been removed. Any tools to jam into the handle’s void were also long gone. I’d already kicked on the door with all my strength, but to no avail.

With no solutions coming to mind in the small and dismal cavity of my mobile prison, the aching feeling of defeat threatened to rot in my stomach. I may have succumbed to it, if not for that inkling of bullishness burning hope into the back of my mind. It contested the bitter nausea and reminded me to breathe.

Life in Creswell wasn’t easy for anybody, but we all had our own ways to get through each day. If I gave up my fight every time life looked bleak, I wouldn’t have made it twenty-three years in this town.

Living a risky lifestyle meant I would duly accept my death once it became unescapable. However, my situation hadn’t escalated that far yet. I still had my fight in me, and I wouldn’t give it up until my feet were already in my grave.

Swallowing any lingering self-doubt, I planned to wait until the stout, bald man who’d nabbed me stopped to retrieve me. Once he lifted up the trunk lid, I’d be ready to start kicking and clawing, even biting, if that’s what it took. If that plan didn’t work, at least I’d be on the offensive. The idea of standing up to that man and failing stood the hairs on the back of my neck on end, but laying down and accepting my expiration left a much fouler sensation in my throat.

If this is my last night, at least I’ll end it kicking and screa—my body crashed into the roof of the trunk and crumpled into the wall above my head.

Accompanying the squalling of brakes and the gnashing of gravel under the wheels, the vehicle entrapping me shuddered to a stop.

There was a momentary silence before the contrasting sound of footsteps gave way to panic-stricken murmurs inside the car. The voice of the stout man was fraught but inaudible as it bickered with another. Close behind, a hoarse, ear-splitting shriek echoed within the confines of the vehicle. As quickly as it began, the scream halted, turning into a thunderous thud as a considerable mass rattled against a loose stone surface. Then, a dubious, wet crunch. The sound could have been anything: scattering rock, heavy branches snapping, the shattering of bone. But I didn’t want to imagine it as the latter. The image of bones splintering and squelching through flesh in harmony with that unnerving squish made my stomach churn. Even picturing the recipient as my kidnapper was a grotesque sight, certainly uglier in my mind than it could have been in person.

The ensuing silence was as deafening as the first and just as short-lived. Those heavy footsteps headed back in my direction. Not a single breath passed between my lips, fear of who might be on the other side of my prison keeping me as sedentary as the dead.

The footsteps didn’t stop. They continued past me and steadily faded into the potentially endless darkness of what could have been my last night among the living.

If we were on one of the forest roads, as I’d suspected, then I’d remain stuck inside the trunk of that car until somebody found me. It could be days—weeks, even. I’d have to gnaw through the damn floorboards to get out before I starved to death or got eaten by the rodents that could more efficiently gnaw their way in with me.

Wouldn”t a quick death be better than that? What if whoever is outside the car is on my side? What if they are working with Johnny? What if they are looking for me?In a sudden breach of rationality, I pummeled my fists against the metal trunk lid and screamed. “Help! Please!”

I never heard the approaching footsteps, but without warning, light flooded my vision; even the vast darkness outside was brighter than what I’d become accustomed to.

Highlighted only by the glow of taillights against its shadow, a figure hovered over my open prison. His skin was light like ivory, emphasizing his sharp, thin features and prominent jawline. Although cast in shadows, the man was clean—not a speck of stubble in sight. A dark tousle of hair fell over his forehead and framed his jaw, completely untamed and polar from the vividness of his face in the night.

He was gorgeous—most certainly not related to Johnny or the other poorly endowed Roufes. The dignified nature radiating from his stature shook me to my core, and he hadn’t moved; most certainly not comparable to any of the exhibitionist mobsters I’d become acquainted with.

So, who was he, and why was he there?

More importantly, was he an enemy? Should I fear him?

He narrowed dark eyes in my direction, his jacketed arm still holding up the lid to the trunk. He didn’t say a word, instead he stared at me. I, however, had my mouth agape and eyes wide, gripped with an inability to move, much less get a word out.

First to break the silence, the man finally asked through gritted teeth, “Who are you?”

Something about the malice that seeped from his glare took the air from my lungs and doused my body in trembles. “Uhm.” My voice cracked, my own name eluding me.

Abruptly filled with a raw biological need to flee, I surveyed the dark, wooded scenery behind the man. Tightly knit evergreen trees loomed overhead, only adding to the darkness of an already black night. The smoldering red of the Caddy’s taillights did very little to illuminate the scenery, though I had a feeling there wasn’t much to see. Trees, and more trees, filled with a silence so loud it echoed of nothingness. On the gravel, close enough to be seen in the shadows, a ruddy liquid flooded the ground like a pond had surfaced in the road. At the center of the pool laid the crumpled body of the man who’d kidnapped me and thrown me in his trunk. An incomprehensible heap on the ground; a form mangled beyond recognition as a human corpse.

My throat tightened, making me suddenly grateful for the darkness that shrouded most of the gruesome scene.

Other than the man standing in front of me, there was no one else around. The woods were deathly silent, and there wasn’t a lick of motion within eyesight. Could this man have possibly done such a thing so quickly on his own?

He still stood over me, a heavy scowl painting his facade where slow, steady breaths almost concealed the way his nostrils flared in my direction. He was rigid, all the way up to the hand that clenched tight against the metal in his palm. Though his size was not wide in relation to his height, he probably still weighed two of me. That size difference was apparent when he leaned in, making me cower, although I had nowhere to physically retreat.

His steady eyes flicked over me, but their sockets were taut and nothing about the way they narrowed revealed a hint of prospective mercy.

With an adrenaline spike akin to a baseball bat to the chest, I did what felt most natural in such a presence: I bolted.

Triggering a little bit of fight and a hell of a lot of flight, I kicked the lean man blocking my exit and sprung out of the trunk. Without a moment’s pause, I scrambled into motion over the loose gravel.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get more than a foot outside my prior prison before I was halted by his grip, tight around my arm. I tugged, but the man hardly shifted an inch. His strength was uncanny on such a lean build. It was like being restrained by a linebacker, and he only held me by the wrist.

One heavy sigh later, he demanded, “I asked you a question. Who are you?”

“M-My name is Le-Leanne? Leanne Cowitz.”

“That’s great,” he drawled, his tone completely blasé. His once narrowed gaze had softened, hardly hinting at his prior hostility. “But I don’t care for your name. Who are you? Why were you in Paulo’s trunk? Why are you relevant to me?”

If I answer truthfully, will it incriminate me? “Uhm.” I shook violently.

“I’m growing exceedingly tired of this. Answer the damn question.” His voice, though robust and baritone, was also clipped and rolled, as if he spoke with an accent, but not one I recognized.

I had no attention or time to dwell on it as he cinched my wrist tighter in his already firm grip. “I don’t know why he kidnapped me! I’m Johnny’s girl. That’s all!”

He looked me over, his nose hovering like a search dog sniffing for contraband. This man’s now apparent accent only exaggerated his apathetic drawl. “One of Johnny’s consorts, huh?”

Consort? What century is this? And who is he calling a consort? I’m Johnny’s one and only—thank you very much!

He continued, “I don’t have any beef with Johnny right now, so I don’t know exactly what to do with you. But I suppose if all you are is one of Johnny’s whores, nobody would miss you very much.”

How dare he.

Like the optimistic idiot I am, I did what I could to escape the grueling maniac. I whacked his restraining arm, spun my wrist upward, and head butted him with as much strength as I could muster. Darkness filled my vision, blacking out the world for a split second, but before I knew it, I was running. My feet were doing their job without me asking them to.

I sprinted until my legs burned, the sudden burst of exertion unnatural to them. That, and any other aches, had to be suppressed or they might hinder my escape. As branches snagged my hair and blood from my open wound blurred my vision, I ignored it all. Sight didn’t matter, there was nothing to see but the endless void of grey trees as I flew by.

In a single moment, that void stopped rushing past, the air stalled, and my dashing legs were subdued, completely severed from the forest floor.

With a slam, my body was wracked with pain as it impacted against the nearest tree. Rough, callous bark snagged my clothes and tore at my shoulder’s showing flesh. A force constricted around my neck, hindering the air in my lungs. Grasping for the source of my suffocation, my hands landed on warm flesh—a single fist wrapped around my throat, holding me off the ground. Materializing in front of me was the glowing pale skin and sharp eyes of a predator.

Completely concealed in a black button up jacket, I couldn’t tell if this man strained at the weight of me, but his lax expression suggested no. While I gasped for breath, he stayed completely composed.

Who is this man? What is this man?

He looked me over once again, a low brow brooding as I struggled in his grip.

Pulling me in by the neck, he let my feet tap the ground, relieving the pressure of gravity on my spine. In the oddest gesture, he leaned into me—like a lover might to their beloved—but instead of bringing his lips to mine, he slithered them up and over my brow before dragging his tongue across my forehead.

“Egh.” A single disconcerted noise escaped my lips as my entire body tensed.

When he retracted, crimson blood stained the recesses of his mouth.

The man smiled wickedly, revealing elongated incisors that came to a point which disappeared below his bottom lip. The long, vicious fangs glowed in the moonlight, reminiscent to those of a cat or a snake or maybe, most accurately, a fictional creature of the night—a vampire.

This can’t be real.

“Are you scared?” he asked, his tone picking up with his giddy grin. Curiosity in me renewed; he looked… playful?

“I-I…” Couldn’t speak. The shakes were coming back and crippling my voice.

In front of me stared the face of death—calculating eyes too obscured by darkness to tell their color, but not too much to prevent sensing their nature. My heart weighed heavy with the truth that I wouldn’t escape this. Not with my life. Not from something that was too strong to break and too fast to outrun.

I wasn’t entirely na?ve, only chiefly optimistic. So, while I would fight for every opportunity to avoid meeting my maker, I’d also had my whole life to come to terms with the fact that things very well could end like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this—as this was an unforeseeably strange event in the presence of an equally strange foe—but I knew I would ultimately succumb to the hands of a powerful man who would see me as nothing more than an objectifiable pawn. I was beneath the kind of men I catered to. That was the world I’d chosen to live in. I knew my place on their chessboard, and like that little plastic figurine, I had no control over when they captured me. I’d only ever been living on borrowed time, not even worthy of a checkmate.

Finally, that euphemism was catching up with me in the most literal way, and this strange man’s face would be the last that I’d see before I died.

The tremors wracking my body abruptly stopped.

At least I’d die at the hands of this bizarre, inhuman stranger, and not at the hands of someone I knew—someone I was supposed to look to for safety, someone I loved, someone who would, in time, betray me.

If this man killed me, it wouldn’t be betrayal, it’d be some awful coincidence, and that was a superior way to go. If I needed to find the positive in this situation, that would be it. I was positive that this was the hand I wanted to die by. Not the others whom fate had waiting for me up the road or back at home.

Accepting this death was not pessimism. It was merely seeing an opportunity to escape and taking it.

Every muscle in my body relaxed, and I fell limp in the man’s grip. “I’m not scared,” I finally responded.

His impish smile dropped. “Why not?”

“Because you should kill me. Get it over with so I don’t have to go back to a life of true fear.”

“Well, that’s no fun,” he murmured, pulling me close as if we were going to embrace in a familiar hug.

Wilted, I let him drag me in and wrap his arm around my waist, one hand still clasped at my neck. Whatever he had in store, surely it would be over soon, and I’d receive my glorious escape from this dreadful situation—this dreadful life I’d chosen. That was my encouraging outlook—my encouraging outlook for the end.

Locking his eyes with mine, the man whispered, “This won’t hurt you.” He leaned in, paused, then pulled away to look me in the eyes one last time. “Actually, that’s no fun. This’ll hurt you a little bit, how’s that sound?”

The words tumbling from his lips fogged my mind, but I didn’t have much time to ponder the feeling before he leaned in and sank his teeth into my neck.

Fire spread through my veins from the puncture of his teeth, and I could do nothing but scream. Even reserved to let this man take my life, it was only natural how I fought against his grip, my body’s innate response to flee from the sensation of his dagger-like fangs buried in my skin. It was useless, however, as he held me in his powerful arms. Although unable to move, my cries continued to escape me until the world began to fade.

As I slipped into unconsciousness, the torture also slipped into nonexistence.

This was it, the moment I’d both feared and awaited.

Finally, I would die.