Living in Darkness (Bloodbreeders)

BLOODBREEDERS:

Living in Darkness

By Robin Renee Ray

I am honored to give thanks to
several people who are dear to me.
 
To my
firstborn grandchild,
Akasha
Leigh,
whom
without the sight of I may have never sat down with a
pencil and tablet.
 
To her baby sister,
Shya
Rayne, my second muse who has driven me further in my
desire to create.
 
To Edna Jeanette
Miller, my beautiful mother, for starting this tale by being born in the
setting that fed my mind with the life of living in the darkness.
 
To my sister, Deanna Earlene Slayton, who
explored more cemeteries and abandoned homes with me than one can even
imagine.
 
We will miss her dearly. To my
brother, Sydney Bruce Slayton, for lending me his home when the need to write
another book in this series arises.
 
And
finally to my daughter,
Kysha
Rockell
McBee
, the other half of my heart, without her this
would not be possible.
 
Thanks for
sharing your time with me, Robby!

Living in Darkness

Book one in the Bloodbreeders series

By: Robin Renee Ray

Copyright © 2011 Robin Renee Ray

Published by: Hellfire Publishing,
Inc

www.hellfirepublishing.com

All rights reserved. No part of this
document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by
any means (electronic, photocopying, or otherwise) without the prior written
permission of the publisher.

Digital ISBN: 978-1-937179-73-1

Cover art by:
Dara
England

Edited by: Jen Hart

This book is work of fiction. Characters,
names, place, incidents, or organizations are a product of the author’s
imagination or used fictitiously.

Bloodbreeders:

Living in Darkness

Prologue

 
I lie in the cold silent darkness
with no way of knowing how much time has passed, for what seemed like an
eternity. Saturated in the putrid demise of others, I feel the absurdities terrorize
what is left of my mind. All that I have to keep me lucid are my memories of
home, and my
ever present
wish that someone will save
me from the unimaginable nightmare that is now my unthinkable reality. The pain
that’s throbbing with every beat of my heart, coursing its way up from my badly
broken ankles is just one of the many obstacles standing in my way of escape. I
know now that he never lied to me. I’ve known it for quite some time, but I had
allowed my vulnerability to sway me into the deceitful arms of my creator’s
long time enemy, and her evil plot for revenge.

Even as I lay broken, both in body and spirit, I know that somehow, I will
one day find my way back home—back to the place from which all this madness
manifested. I know I will never be able to show my family that I’m not in the
grave where they so grievously placed me. They have every right to believe me
dead and rotting in my hand-made coffin, and to them, as well as the rest of
the normal world, maybe that’s exactly where I should be. But I will go to my
final death trying to get back to them, only this time things will be on my
terms and not on those of my maker. Oh, how I have prayed that my body would
die before the setting sun, and that my final thoughts before the dawn that
takes me to my daily death would be my gift for suffering. Then I would at
least be at home with my family, in a sense… or would I be cursed to the final
fire, because he took my soul?

I lie feeling the gore soak into my flesh, while the stench threatens
to steal the already tainted air from my lungs. Bones of others now surround me
in my dome-like cage encasement. The thick slime covered floor will be my bed
for as long as they wish to keep me. I close my eyes to the already black
silence, hoping for a slither of solace in a place filled with nothing but
vulgar brutality—and undeniable death. I still often pray to the Lord, having
no way of knowing if he even listens, that I can someday envision, just once
with my eyes and not in the many dreams of fantasy rescues, that beautiful farm
back home. Slipping deeper into the darkness of my mind, I work hard to find a
dim memory.
One, that
I can vaguely evoke, but
desperately grasp through the misty clouds of my thoughts.

The one that I find and hold is of my mother in the kitchen, what now
seems like centuries ago, with my little sister Edna hanging on her apron
string. I had found my form of escape in that small piece of my mind, and
that’s when I reclined in my desolate domain, giving way to the pain as I
started to recall how it all began.

Chapter 1

I will never forget the night that he arrived at the farm. My family
had already sat down for supper when we heard the knock on the door. Even
though it was late in the evening for company, it was not unusual for a lone
traveler to take on work with my father for room and board. Most would ask to
stay for a few nights and at times end up staying until the following spring,
while others only wanted a short rest, accompanied by a hot meal. So it was no
surprise when my father opened the door to yet another stranger in need. The man
standing on the other side caught everyone’s attention, especially mine,
wearing his long black coat and tailor made gray suit, spruced up with shiny
black shoes.

You could tell by his manner and the way he took off his gray silk hat,
tilting his head as he gave us his greeting, that he was a true born gentleman,
apologizing without delay for interrupting our meal.

"Forgive my intrusion," he said softly.

I was so busy staring that I almost missed the accent that carried the
words that he spoke. He was a very handsome man and absolutely not from our
neck of the woods
. From what I could tell, he was somewhere
in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He was tall with a slender build,
and his hair was a bit long for what I was used to seeing on a man, but he wore
it well.

The flowing locks were as black as night, pushed back behind his ears
and draping down over the front of his shoulders. His eyes were like a clear
summer’s day, the palest blue that I had ever seen, but they stood out
brilliantly next to his extremely white skin in the glow of our lanterns. His
skin was by no means that of a working man; it looked as smooth as silk from what
little my wandering eyes could see.

When my father asked him what it was that he needed, he only replied,
“A place to rest good sir, for I have traveled far and I am very weary." Every
single one of us had to pick our mouths up off the floor, because not even my
parents had ever heard someone speak in that fashion.

"Why don’t you join us? You must be
starvin
’,
and we got plenty," my mother asked, getting up from the table.

"That is most kind, but please do not worry yourself, I have need
only for rest," he replied, then looked back at my father.

My father grabbed his hat from the nail by the front door and put it on
before taking our guest—the most intriguing thing to cross my path since I've
had one—to our bunkhouse, where we boarded those who stayed. The hat was just a
ritual and something my father did whether he was going to work in the fields
or out back to the outhouse. God love my parents, they never turned down anyone,
not one single soul. My mother, being the sweet woman she was, made me take a
plate of food out to him, regardless of his choice to decline, along with some
extra blankets. Needless to say, I was scared to death. I had never seen a more
beautiful man in all my days, and I guess you could say I already fancied him
just a bit.

It wasn’t often a man could turn my eye. I knew my family needed my
help, so it was just something that I tried not to think about. But while I
gathered the blankets, I couldn’t stop hoping that I didn’t look as bad as I
knew that I did.
Sloppin
’ pigs and
milkin
’ cows wasn’t something to curl your hair for.
 
God knows I didn’t have time to fix the
strands of hair that had made their way out of the tightly woven braid that had
been wrapped in a bun at the back of my head all day, nor did I have a snowballs
chance of changing my soiled dress. So, I pinched my cheeks to give myself some
color, smoothed my hair best I could, and out the door I went. I remember to
this day how stupid I felt on my way to the bunkhouse, thinking to myself,
Do
I say ‘Howdy, sir’ or ‘How are you? My name
is
Renee.
’
?
What actually came out of my mouth made me seem like a stuttering
fool.

I walked through the open door to the bunkhouse, and didn’t see him
anywhere. I took a few steps in, and as I opened my mouth to say the words
‘excuse me’, a voice with a foreign tongue from behind me said, “Yes?” I jerked
around, somehow managing not
to
 
scream
, but at the same time lost my
footing. The man reached out, taking hold of my arm to keep me from falling,
simultaneously grabbing the stack of items that I had in my hands. When I was
once again steady on my feet, he handed me back the stack that was meant for
him in the first place. I swallowed the lump that had firmly cemented itself in
my throat and smiled.

“Oh, hey, I was just bringing you some blankets to eat.”
You blooming idiot
, I thought to myself,
immediately feeling the blood rush in massive amounts to my cheeks. “Um... I
mean, I brought some food to keep you warm.”

I closed my mouth, biting at my bottom lip to keep any other dim-witted
ramblings from slipping out, and just stood there looking as ridiculous as I
felt. As soon as I saw the corner of his lip start to creep up, I held the
items out in front of me. He smiled a small gentle curve with his luscious lips,
as he leaned down, taking the items for the second time. The moment my hands
were empty, I spun on my heel and bolted straight toward the house without so
much as a backward glance. I was almost there when he called out, “Rest well
this night... Renee.”

I turned back to look at him, not recalling introducing myself, but didn’t
put as much mind to it as I’m now sure that I should have. His beauty was a
snare and it had me trapped. Absolutely frozen where I stood, I watched as he
slightly lowered his head, never once taking his eyes
off of
me. He continued to gaze at me as he slowly turned and walked back into the
bunkhouse. I blinked a few times, feeling almost dazed, like I wasn’t sure how
long that I had been standing there or how long he had been gone. I shook the
feeling off and turned in for the night, thinking of nothing else on the
matter, other than the captivating color of his eyes.

The next morning, I woke to the smell of bacon frying. My mother always
knew how to wake us up, and today I wasted no time. I hopped out of bed, and
went straight to the mirror. I wasn’t about to let the beautiful wanderer see
what he had last night. I pulled my hair into a tightly braided bun and
splashed water onto my face. I wasn’t one for makeup—didn’t even own any, so that
was the best I could do. I decided to give my cheeks a nice hard pinch for good
measure. I headed downstairs, said good morning, and then headed out the door.

Chores came first on the farm, even before breakfast, and today was no
different, other than I moved somewhat faster. My first chore of the day was
milking the cow, so we would have fresh milk for breakfast. Normally, I would
mosey on out, taking my precious time. Today, I practically sprinted. After
all, the barn was right next to the bunkhouse. I peered in as I walked by and
was disappointed to see that the stranger had already left. There was a five
dollar bill lying on his bunk, and that was a lot for one night. It was
actually more than enough for the whole month. The plate of food that I had
taken out the night before sat atop the folded blanket, completely untouched. As
usual, while we were having breakfast, curiosity got the better of me.

“Pa?” I started, in a voice almost too low to hear.