Warning! This is a horror/dark fiction story so may be disturbing to some. There is strong language and sexual situations.
Summer lay on the thin mattress listening to the blowing of the wind. Another low rumble vibrated through the dark enclosure, reminding her of the deafening fall of snow and earth she had heard on the long ago night when she had become entombed on the high mountain.
Bobby, his face pale and waxen in the firelight, lay beside her, his strong arms limp at his side.
The sweet taste of his blood was still strong on her tongue and she hated herself for what she had done; what she had forced herself to do.
She reached out to touch him, tracing her cold finger over the beautiful painting on his naked chest. He was her love, the love who had been willing to die for her.
She would never stop loving him, for he was everything that was good in the world. He was proof that the humans were not, as she had always been taught, low and vile creatures, that they could be as noble and brave as any hunter.
“Bobby.” She whispered his name, pressing her face close against the smooth skin of his chest.
His eyelids fluttered open and her heart leaped in her breast. He was so very weak.
He looked around the low-ceilinged space, squinting at the flickering firelight on the rough walls. “Did we make it, honey?”
She smiled, nodding.
“I love you, Summer.” He slurred the words. His soft eyes fell shut again and his chest rose slowly in rhythm with his shallow breath.
When she was sure that he was sleeping soundly, she stood and moved to the fire. Pouring herself a cupful of thick black coffee from the enameled pot hanging over the flames, she sat on the warm stones. They were safe now, she thought, safe from the cruel prince and his murderous ways.
She was certain of it.
Another low ominous rumble shook the stones beneath her and she went to the door, opening it and slipping out into the snow.
The light from a buzzing sign made up of glowing tubes of twisted glass bathed the six tiny cabins in a blue glow, endlessly flashing its message to travelers on the nearby interstate highway: PINEY REST CABINS – FIREPLACES – KITCHENETTES. The snow-covered Accord was the only car in the parking lot. Mr. Peabody, the kindly owner who had helped her get Bobby into the cabin after she had explained that he was suffering from “theflu”, had long since gone to sleep.
The ground vibrated beneath her feet as another huge tractor-trailer rumbled past on the highway and she felt sad that no one ever stopped at Mr. Peabody’s anymore.
A gust of wind-driven snow stung her face. Summer looked back toward the line of rugged mountains through which they’d traveled, glad now that she had decided not to return to her old territory. She didn’t think Bobby would be happy living in the wilderness with no vehicles to repair and nowhere to drive his Accord.
She had told him that she was frightened at the prospect of having to live among humans and he had promised her they would find a new place in the vast range of mountains far to the north; a place where they could both be happy. As always, Summer had trusted in his judgement and he had steered the Accord toward the magnificent peaks of the Sierra Nevada.
Summer felt the beginnings of a smile curving the corners of her mouth as she turned and re-entered the small cabin they had rented. Of course there would be many problems.