Captive: Of the Succubus (The North Shore Fae Book 5) by A.S. Green

Author:A.S. Green [Green, A.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Collinwood Publishing, LLC
Published: 2022-03-26T04:00:00+00:00

15

CJ

CJ was gonna be ready the next time Eilish came to him. He had his cot up against the wall and sat with his back to the stones. He would not be taken by surprise again, and he wanted to see how it worked. Did she pop in all at once, or was it a gradual fade-in, like a ghost becoming embodied? Or maybe there would be a fluttering of particles that eventually re-assembled themselves, like in the old Star Trek re-runs.

Judging by how his body felt after they’d brought him into the cell, his money was on the particles. He still didn’t feel one hundred percent right. No wonder she’d seemed so surprised he’d survived.

Now it was another kind of survival he was worried about. He knew what was happening. She warned him against it. And now he was so far gone, he’d turned down his fucking freedom!

Maybe if she’d offered it a few days ago, he would have grabbed on. But something had changed. He'd seen it in her face. She was looking thinner, more gaunt and haunted every time he saw her. And there were more bruises too. On her arms, her neck, even her thigh.

Something was happening upstairs, but he didn’t understand the setting or the creatures in it well enough to guess what it might be. All he knew was that he was calling bullshit on her claim of being clumsy. Someone was hurting her.

So when she’d offered him his freedom he’d said no, simply because he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving her behind. It wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t leave anyone else behind ever again. Especially not a woman who was hurting.

She kept coming to him, so obviously he was giving her comfort. And maybe she was doing the same for him?

He glanced down at the sheet music. The song that had been haunting him for days was now down on paper, complete with guitar chords, melody line, and harmonies. Half of the lyrics were done, too. Not bad from a guy who’d once known less than shit about music. He’d learned a lot from Michael. He also felt a burning pain of understanding for how Michael had felt about Eilish—romantic or not.

“What are you saying?” Michael had asked when CJ voiced his concerns. “She’s amazing. We have to hold on to her.”

“We?” CJ had said. “I’m not the one holding on to her. What I’m saying, bro, is that I don’t think she’s good for you. You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.”

Michael had held up his own sheet music—nearly one hundred times the amount of material that now lay on CJ’s cot—and argued, “How can this not be good for me? How can I afford to sleep? The music is pouring out of me. Can you imagine the kind of vocal talent we can pursue with material like this?”

CJ held his own song in front of him now, hearing the trembling vibration of the opening violin—zing, zing, zing, zing, zing, zing, zing—followed by the thunderous crescendo of tympani—BOOM—and the sweet swell of more violins.

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