Enticed by the Satyr (Kindred Tales)

Storn took a deep breath.

“If it is necessary to sacrifice my life for hers, I will not hesitate. I love Mia with all my heart, Goddess—I will gladly die for her.”

“You speak well, warrior. Get back into your ship and I will guide you,” the strong, female voice replied. “We have no time to lose—the crisis is coming.”

And then her voice was gone. But her presence remained—a rich, almost overwhelming feeling of peace that stayed with Storn as he climbed back into his shuttle and started the engine.

He knew the Goddess would guide him and he was thankful—he just prayed that he could save Mia from her dark fate, even if it meant taking that fate upon himself instead.

24

The sun was rising higher as Hank finally pulled his cruiser into the driveway of an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It was a corner lot, Mia saw, and there was a row of houses on its right side, continuing down the block.

The sight gave her a tiny bit of hope. Maybe Hank wasn’t planning to kill her after all. Surely he wouldn’t plan a murder in the middle of a residential neighborhood with people all around—would he?

There was a For Sale sign in front of the house but Hank was already digging a set of keys out of his pocket. Probably he had gone around and sweet talked whatever realtor was representing the property, Mia thought. He could be damn persuasive when he wanted to be. They would have given him the keys if he’d spun some story for them about looking for evidence of a homicide or staking out a suspect who lived in the neighborhood or something along those lines.

But there’s not going to be a homicide, she told herself firmly, even as he came around the car to get her out. As soon as Hank lets me out of here, I’m going to scream bloody murder and run as fast as I can!

Because even if Hank told people that she was an escaped criminal, drawing attention to herself was still a good thing, she had decided. It would, at the very least, make people question why a policeman was bringing an unarmed woman into an empty house instead of taking her down to a police station. All it would take would be one skeptical person to question what was going on to stop or at least slow things down…or so she hoped.

But there was no way she was going to telegraph her plan to Hank. She sat with slumped shoulders, looking down at her hands, cuffed in her lap, trying to seem defeated and small as he unlocked the door. She wasn’t going to give him any clue that she wasn’t still the same, downtrodden, abused spouse he’d kept under his thumb for so many years. There would be no warning before she put her plan into action.

“All right, peanut—here we are.” Hank grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and hauled her out of his squad car. “Hurry up now—need to get inside,” he ordered.

Mia began moving, but slowly. She cut her eyes to the right and left, looking for anyone she could call to for help. If she didn’t see anyone, she would just start screaming, but it would be better if there was someone she could see.

Just as she was looking, a girl who looked to be in the fifth or sixth grade opened the front door of the house beside the empty one where they were headed.

“The bus isn’t here yet, Mom,” she called over her shoulder. She looked about to go back in the house, but Mia knew she had to take a chance.

“Help!” she screamed, lifting her head and looking directly at the girl as she did her best to yank her arm out of Hank’s iron grasp. “Help!”

The girl gasped, her head jerking in Mia’s direction. Clearly she hadn’t seen her until just now.

“Help me!” Mia shrieked again, even as Hank tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her faster towards the empty house with the For Sale sign. “Help me—he’s going to kill me! Tell your mom! Help—”

At that point, Hank yanked her around and punched her right in the throat.

The pain was blinding. Mia gasped and choked, doubling over for a moment, trying to get air into her lungs through a trachea which felt like it had folded into itself.

“That’s what you get, you bitch!” Hank hissed at her. To the little girl he said, “Don’t worry, sweetie—police business. No need to bother your mommy.”

Looking up, Mia saw the girl staring at them with wide, uncertain eyes. Then she scurried back into the house with no indication of what she might do.

Will she tell her parents? Mia wondered, still trying to get air through her wounded throat. It was impossible to say. But even if she did, would they believe her? Or would they think she was making things up?