Call Her Mine by Lydia Michaels

he did not talk to her. She hated that he never looked on her kindly. She
hated that an ache had formed between her thighs from his rough handling that
never had time to heal. And she hated that she was jealous of the whores he
used, because when they lay together he sometimes heard a gruff sound escape
his throat that she assumed was laughter. Why could he be pleasant to strangers
when cruelty was all he ever showed her?
    They eventually moved
on. They settled in one village than another, until Adriel lost all sense of
time and place. She no longer cared where they were or where they were going.
Sometimes she tried to remember the soft, clean scent of her baby brother’s
hair, but as more time passed, the more surreal those memories became.
    He only called her girl
and after several years she found it difficult to recall her name. All of the
business he’d spoke of never came, or if it did Adriel did not see it commence.
    They settled only to
move on again. Settle and move on—over and over. She cooked, laundered his
clothing, and stitched the holes that needed stitching. Some days, if she
talked, her voice was so neglected she had trouble forming words. She lived in
her thoughts, which had ceased being healthy long ago.
    When they reached the
Kingdom of Leon they settled and to her surprise, he declared it home. It
wasn’t until the first cycle of the moon that she saw a change in him. It was
as if he had grown tired and finally, after so many years, decided to relax.
    One evening she had
served him dinner and he was quiet. “Sit with me, girl.”
    Surprised by the
invitation, she hesitantly lowered herself to the bench. He ate and stared at
her. His introspective mood unnerved her more than she already was in his
presence. He said not a word, but ate and ate, chewing and watching her as if
waiting for her to do or say something. Adriel had nothing to say. No one had
talked to her in years.
    “Your hair is the color
of the devil,” he stated after a long sip of ale.
    She supposed she would
be punished for that as well. Her body tensed in preparation for whatever was
to come.
    “Why do you not speak,
girl?”
    She looked at him,
afraid to answer and afraid not to. “I do not know what you want me to say.”
    “Say your name.”
    She had to think in
order to recollect the word her family called her. “Adriel.”
    “Adriel what?”
    “Adriel…” She had to
think. “Schrock.”
    His eyes narrowed and
her spine tucked instinctively, protecting her body, preparing to pull into a
ball if he struck.
    “No,” he said
dangerously low. “That is not your name. You belong to me and therefore have my
name.”
    “I do not know your
name,” she whispered.
    His brow twitched as if
he had not realized this. “It is Cerberus Maddox. You may call me Cer.” He had
said Cer, but she was never sure how he intended it.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Take off your frock.”

 
    * * * *

 
    They remained in
Portugal. Adriel liked watching the mortals during the day. She sometimes, from
her window, caught sight of other immortals. Seeing those of her kind brought
about an incredible ache of homesickness.
    Once, she saw a male
immortal with black hair and black eyes. He looked back to her and she knew he
saw her too, knew what she was. She waited for days to see him again, but he
never came. She convinced herself she had imagined the black haired immortal.
    One afternoon Cer had
left on business and she spent the day at the window again. She could only go
to the window when he was not there.
    Cer did not like her
watching the people go by. That was when she saw the dark haired immortal male
again. Her mouth opened and he stared at her from across the thoroughfare. He
was a beautiful male.
    Eleazar. The word
intruded in her mind as though purposely sent there. Was that his title?
    The sound of a strange
male’s voice in her head caused her to gasp. That had never happened before.
She sat back and stared at him. Had he done that?
    What