8. The Songbird

The paved road has only the faintest skid marks from feeble attempts to stop the car. The most evidence that something has happened is in the bent shape of the guard rail and the bits of fiberglass that litter the edge of the road beside the hard rock of the mountainside. I close my eyes, breathing in, willing the sounds and smells to bring anything back to me.

Kneeling, I grasp pieces of the broken car and let them slip through my fingers. I remember my distress, my rage. I can taste the salt of my tears and feel the crying blocking my nasal passages. The rain that pounded on the windshield was almost loud enough to mask the booming thunder overhead. Lightning tears through the sky, ripping into the world as if it shared in my anger.

Nothing before.

Where were we going?

Why was I crying?

Why was I so enraged?

A man, Spencer Brown, was with me. Where is he now?

Answers escape me as I eye the edge of the rail, where the car began its descent. It ought to be longer. I glance down the hill. Steep. The only reason it isn’t blocked is because the curve has ended. The mountainside becomes more level in this area, more forgiving of mistakes. Four, maybe five more feet of rail would’ve likely saved my life.

Oz and I travel the path the car took, but at my request, he remains silent for this part. I want to see it all and try to put myself back in my head that night. Broken limbs of trees surround us, and a side view mirror lay shattered nearby. I am surprised a tree didn’t stop the car entirely. I try to remember why, but the accident happened so fast, faster than my human mind could keep up with. I try hard to concentrate.

Moving further down, I see this area is surprisingly sparse with trees. Some bushes and shrubs, but the few growing trees are small and pliable. A large rock juts out of the earth, solid in its form. The tip looks chipped, as if something larger hit it with force. I imagine the car falling from above, the rear swinging, moving the vehicle to turn until the passenger’s side lined up with the rock. The force of the impact had sent us flying in the air.

Further down still, we are near the water now. More fiberglass litters the ground from where the car touched down. It leads me to the water’s edge. The car had landed on its bottom but flipped onto the hood as it rolled into the water. Sliding in far enough that the bank gave way, that the depths began pulling it down with me inside.

“Where did you pull me out from?” I stare into the water. Much like the cave, my eyesight allows me to see quite a bit better than a human, but the darkness is so thick I can only see so far down.

Pointing out about twenty feet from the shore’s edge, Oz says, “You were about fifteen feet below the surface of the water when I got to you.”

Damn, I’d been so close to making it.

I feel a flutter of nerves in my stomach as I kick off my shoes. I need to go down there. I have my bag and my ID, but there may be other personal items that could give some idea of who I am. Turning to Oz, I warn, “I don’t care if you look, but there’s about to be a naked lady here.”

I see his smirk, but he turns his back on me to give me my privacy. Smiling, I remove my clothes and stand before the icy water. I try to remind myself that I don’t need to breathe, that it is purely out of habit that I do.

“Any advice to help me not panic down there about the breathing thing?” Oz isn’t going with me for this part. I am glad he is willing to be my moral support and isn’t pushing to be more active in the process.

Back still to me, he calls, “Let all of your breath out before you dive. You’ll sink faster. If you breathe in while you’re under, force your body to still and close your eyes. It’s better to give into it at that point and cough it up later.”

Well, that sounds terrifying. “Here goes nothing,” forced confidence colors my words.

I wade into the lake until I feel the bottom slope in earnest. Lakes can be very deep, and I don’t know how far down I need to swim. I take one last deep breath and exhale fully.

Then I dive into the water.

Pitch black in the night it takes a while for my eyes to adjust. Vampire sight isn’t enough to penetrate it entirely, but I can at least see enough. Keeping myself close to the bottom, I swim as it slopes further into the lake. I hope this will be the right path, that the car didn’t veer so far to either side that I won’t be able to see a part of it.

Deeper I swim, the fish swirl out of my way as quickly as they can, not used to such an intrusion. I can’t make out the surface anymore. I remember a brief flash of my lungs burning as I swam for the surface. Now there is just discomfort. Oz told me that the condition I was in was more than he could have healed and that I would’ve needed to turn either way if I wanted to live.

Would I have accepted his offer?

I like to think I would have.

I can’t shake the feeling that there is more to this than he’s letting on.

I also know how important it is to him that I become whole again.

Whatever the reason for this odd draw we both feel, I trust that it will be revealed in due time.

Rocks and bottom-dwelling creatures are all I see as I continue swimming. It has to be close. The steepness of the downslope has eased. I am near the deep point now. Assuming it must be some fifty feet below the water’s surface, I shudder to think of what it would be like to have this place as my watery grave.

There, embedded in the bottom of the lake, is a piece of a taillight. Just a few feet more, the car’s husk sits eerily dark and empty. The body”s weight made the car flip right side up in the water. I cringe, seeing how the roof is bent in. It’s a miracle I survived the crash at all.

I swim to the broken window I must have climbed out of just days before. Is it too much to hope that this will trigger a memory? There could be something in the car that can help give me a memory. Maybe it can start a domino effect that will give me back my hidden past? I am inside the car again, trying to remember, seeing nothing but water and a growing layer of slime.

Frustrated, I push myself into the back seat. I picture the bags that had been at the cabin. Of loading them into the car. Of the face that belongs to a man who makes me sad when I think of him.

Nothing.

Clamoring my way back into the front seats, I look down at the center console. The armrest bows in. It seems like the briefest of flashes, but I visualize opening the compartment and dropping something inside.

What though?

Pulling on the hard plastic, it won’t budge. It is bent and trapped on itself. I pull harder than I should need to, tapping into the strength that being a vampire gives me, and pry the damn thing open.

Inside are waterlogged papers and a dark rectangle. Pulling it out, I realize that it’s a phone. Mine? Maybe. It will be useless having been in the water for so long. But the device itself could trigger something from holding it. Deciding I will take it, I give the car one last sad sweep of my eyes.

What a waste of time.

I turned towards the window and began pulling myself from the car.

A colossal fish speeds past me.

Startled, I instinctively try to take a breath to scream.

Fuck.

Water is pouring into my lungs, and it hurts. I am gagging on it. My limbs start to flail, and I am vaguely aware of a sharp pain in my thigh as I kick myself off the car’s body and swim straight up.

I am panicking.

I try remembering what Oz said about relaxing and letting it happen. I attempt to take an intentional breath of water.

Nope.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

I heave, forcing the water out of my lungs just to take more back in. Tears are pouring out of my eyes, mixing with the water the second they do. I am drowning again. I am drowning, and I can’t fucking die. There is no peaceful darkness protecting my mind. No nothingness to fall into. There is just pain and terror.

I break through the surface of the water, flailing, coughing, and sputtering. But I’m not alone.

Oz is already here. He supports my weight as I convulse, easily keeping me above the water. I hold onto him like a fucking life preserver. I can’t speak or do anything other than try to breathe. Most of the water has been expelled from my lungs, but the breaths still aren’t clean. A few more body-shuddering coughs take care of the remaining lake water.

I gulp clean air at last.

We stay like that for two minutes as I breathe deeply and try to calm myself down. When my breaths finally even, and I don’t feel half dead anymore, I look at Oz’s concerned face.

“You ok?” He asks, still holding me close.

I press into his chest and nod.

Drowning the second time is much worse than the first. “I am now, yes.” I notice he is still fully clothed. He dove into the same water he’d saved me from a week ago without a second thought, and this time there is no real danger to my life. I am just a silly new vampire who bit off more than she could chew and paid for it.

He doesn’t even address that he is holding me against him, and I’m nude.

Oz is a strange man indeed.

I like it.

We swim to shore together, but when we leave the water, I feel air sting my leg and look down. A piece of glass is shoved deep into my thigh. The stupid window…

Fucking fish.

“Well, there goes my career as a leg model.” I joke, reaching down to yank the glass out. His hands beat me to it.

He kneels before me, holding my leg gingerly as he clasps the glass between two fingers, his other hand gripping my calf to hold me still. I am very aware of how close his head is to me. Even injured, even after drowning again, even with a gaping wound in my thigh, I can’t get my mind off of a physical relationship with this man. His eyes haven’t even moved to look at me that way.

Maybe because he is in savior mode?

Or the gentleman thing again.

Honor?

I laugh quietly to myself and wobble on my one ankle. His eyes flash up to mine, and my smile is immediately gone with the intensity of his stare. He pulls the glass from me with a quick jerk. That bad boy was embedded deeper than I thought.

“Son of a,” I start, bringing my forearm to my mouth and growling my pain into it instead of the night.

Oz brings his wrist to his lips, bites down, and blood pours from it. I gasp as he presses it to my wound. It starts to stitch itself together again. Well, that’s a neat trick. He places the gentlest of kisses on my knee.

I take a sharp breath as arousal sends a pulse to my center.

My skin feels electrified where he kissed me.

I want him to kiss me more.

Mesmerized, I don’t think anything of it when he releases my leg and stands close to me, raising his wrist to my lips. “Drink,” he insists. His voice is firm, and I am reminded of that night. He’d told me to drink then too. Commanded it.

I do as instructed. God, he tastes good. “You’d have healed eventually, but this is faster,” he said. I release his wrist from my lips, licking them to get every drop.

“Ready to go home?” His eyes bore into me in a way that makes me think his hunger for closeness is as intense as mine. He’s just better at denying it than I am.

I don’t understand.

Why are we fighting this?

Settling my hands on his chest for balance, I stand on tiptoe and press my lips against his. His lips return that kiss ever so gently at first. Hands wrap around me, I fist mine into his hair. Oz tastes like heaven and home as I kiss him. He walks me backward until we press against a tree. The force and passion grow as his kisses deepen.

Moaning into the kiss, I sigh with pleasure as his hands roam over my bare hips and legs. As he turns the attention of his kisses to my neck, I sigh. It feels right. Everything about Oz feels like it is supposed to be this way. I can’t explain it.

I want to be near him. I need his comfort and his affection.

I’m tired of being denied.

We are both willing adults here. I don’t need memories to know that I want this. That I want him.

“Wren,” he breathes against me. I know he wants to stop before he gets carried away.

“Oz, please,” I practically beg. “I want you to,” I whisper into his ear, my yearning evident.

I think that’s what breaks him.

A grumble from his throat surprises me. He forces me to turn around. “Hold on to the tree,” he directs.

Excitement rings through me.

Not quite how I imagined things, but I am a good listener and do as he tells me. Gently, he kicks my legs apart, giving him full access to me. His wet clothes press into my back, and his lips find the curve of my neck again. I moan as he kisses me. A hand settles on my hip and slips forward, dipping between my legs. I gasp as he touches me.

Stroking between my folds as evidence of my arousal covers his hand, I hear the shudder in Oz’s breath. He knows I want him, but he didn’t expect me to be this ready for him so quickly. His muscles feel tense against me and I realize he is fighting to contain himself and holding back. A thick finger slides inside me. I press my back into him, and my head lolls on his shoulder. Slowly he moves against me, sliding the digit in and out with a teasing pace unbecoming of him.

I tremble against him, my breathing getting heavier and my mind foggier. Oz sinks a second finger in to join the first. I cry out, unable to stop my hips from bucking against his hand. A chuckle escapes his lips as his free hand settles at my hip, keeping the speed under his control. I can feel his own need behind me. On impulse, I move one hand from the tree and join it with his. Gathering my wetness before slipping my arm behind me, searching for him.

Rewarded with a gasp as I find his shaft, I stroke him in time with his movements. Oz’s thumb draws torturous circles around my clit, avoiding it on purpose. I press down on his hand, grinding myself on him, fucking his fingers. A growling sound escapes his lips, and he nibbles at my throat. I can feel the promise of an orgasm building in my belly.

“Oz,” I beg. His touches are deliberate and cruel and wholly intoxicating.

“I know, baby, I know,” he gasps into my ear.

A pulse of excitement cuts down to my center. I almost lose my mind when he adds another finger. Crying out into the night, my hand around him grows more desperate. Circling him, massaging him, teasing his tip as I try to keep myself present instead of going insane with the pleasure he gives me.

I am so close to completely falling apart.

He strokes my clit now, pressing down. “Oh God,” I cry, the crescendo mounting higher and higher. “Oz,” I moan as the fluttering begins, and I feel myself clamping down on his fingers. His teeth sink into my neck as I explode. Every piece of my body comes unglued, breaking into a million pieces. The crashing sensation as release washes over me almost makes my legs buckle.

“Fuck, Wren,” Oz groans as he shudders against me, warm ropes of his cum shooting into my hand. Panting, his chest presses into my back as he leans against me, blood drips down my neck.

We lean against one another for a few moments, gathering ourselves. When his hand slips from between my legs, I feel empty. I want to have all of him. And memories be damned, I intend on doing so soon. I won’t let whatever happened to me stall my life when I want to live it so badly.

“Okay,” I say, turning to face him. “I think I’m ready now.”

He laughs at me, pulling me in for another kiss. Sweet and soft this time, the hunger of our need is sated for now.

I am still entirely enthralled by the whole experience. Hurriedly I dress and feel terrible that he is in soaking wet clothes because of my stupidity.

“Sorry that I freaked out,” I apologize. “But thanks for being there for me.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Wren.” He means it. He really does. He will give me anything I desire. All I have to do is ask. This makes me confident that we can move forward with each other if my memories continue to be lost. That thought comforts me as we return home.

The warm shower is heavenly, and completely erases the scent of the lake from my body. A knock at the door. It is Oz, I call for him to come in, and feel his arms wrap around me.

Sighing into his hug, I let a moan escape me as he presses his lips to my neck.

“Did you see anything to jog your memory?” He says softly into my hair.

“No,” I frown. I hate this state of not knowing.

“I’m sure it will come in time. I know it’s not happening as fast as you would like, but I will do everything I can to help you regain your memory.” He strokes my hair gently and kisses the top of my head. The sun is beginning to rise, and I am growing very weak and very tired.

I climb into the bed. My mind needs a break from all of this.

“Goodnight, Wren,” Oz’s voice is quiet and soothing as he turns off the light.

I sit up, panic forming a knot in my stomach. “Wait, Oz,” I call. He stops and opens the door a few inches wider. “Will you please stay with me?” I don’t even want to get up to any funny business. I just don’t want to be alone. His silhouette frames the doorway as he studies me for a moment. Half a second is all it takes to shift his entire resistance and convince him to take his place at my side.

“Of course,” he said, entering the room and closing the door. Sliding into bed with me, I notice he only wears his boxers. He curls behind me, being the big spoon, wrapping his arm around my middle and holding me close. “Whatever you need, little bird, it’s yours.” I wiggle into him, ensuring I am as close as possible. I feel safe and warm like this and I don’t want it to end.

When I drift off, I have no fear of nightmares about the crash bothering me tonight.

Oz will protect me and fight them off.