NOTE: I don't own Riddick, sadly, but the plot and Angelica are mine! Since I can't seem to remember when was the last time I watched 'Pitch Black' /don't kill me TT^TT/ I wrote the story the way I saw fit. If you don't like the fact that some things have nothing in common with the movie - don't read! For all the rest that don't mind some imagination - enjoy! Reviews of any kinds are welcomed! ~ Nikkitosa
I groan and open my eyes. A sudden hit had woken me up from my cryosleep. The bright lights have me blinded for a second, but my eyes adapt after a few blinks. Looking around the first thing I notice is the hole in the glass. 'Gunshot' Like on cue a burning sensation spreads over my right shoulder and I look at it. 'Barely a scratch'. Pushing the little red button next to my right hand, the protecting metal clamps around my hands and legs retreat back to their hideouts. Still dizzy I try to shake away the leftovers of the sleep. In a second I'm a lot better and push another button, which opens the cryosleep lid. The huge glass rises only a few centimetres, before it comes to an abrupt halt. After a second of waiting I decide to open the 'door' myself. With a single kick the lid is send flying across the room.
"The hell?" I whisper as I notice the disarray in my compartment.
There are cryotubes scattered all around with huge blood puddles under them, indicating that the people sleeping inside were still there when the mechanism tore off from the wall. The lights are flashing, drowning the place in darkness for a second before throwing some light.
'What happened?' I wonder as I grab my sack from my tube and start walking around, searching for any survivors. It didn't take long to reach the other end of my department alone; all the other passengers were dead. Upon walking down the long corridor I come across a running girl.
"Oh!" she groans as she bumps into me. "S'cuse me!"
I smirk. Her fake boyish voice sounds so out of place that I have to fight the chuckle that threatens to come.
"No problem." I say and offer my hand. She takes it.
"So what happened?" I ask nodding towards the skip.
"We crash landed." Is her simple answer.
"Hm. And the others?"
"They're outside. We are not many though." A sad expression passes over her young face but it soon disappears.
"Ah. Then I guess you are leading." I smile and she nods eagerly.
"What's your name by the way?" she asks casually.
Raising my eyebrows at that sudden and quite impolite question she quivers and looks away, mumbling a low sorry. For a second I consider leaving her feel bad but then I laugh and pat her on the back in a friendly manner.
"Don't stress yourself. I'm Angelica but you can call me Ang."
My laugh and free-spirited manner has her relaxing momently, a small smile peaking at the corners of her lips.
"I'm Jack!" she squeaks but soon enough realises her mistake and tries to fix it. "I-I mean J-Jack." Her hoarse-sick voice this time has me chuckling.
"No worries, Jack. Your secret is safe with me." Winking her way we continue walking down the long corridor.
While trying not to step over a fallen panel or exposed cables, Jack talks about how she had woken up almost immediately after the crash, how she crawled out of her almost completely destroyed cryotube and compartment. Then she had managed to exit the ship, saw a huge desert and returned back inside, looking for any survivors. Eventually she found them lumbering around the Contol room, still dazed after the crash. Most of the time I listened to her half-heartedly as I really wasn't interested in how she found a room full of ripped apart corpses.
Eventually we exit the ship and just like she had said – a desert is spreading as far as I can see. Yet it is not the obvious lack of living organisms that takes me aback for a second but rather the exact opposite – the lurking scent of death has me believing that there are things hiding here. Dangerous killers that won't think twice before killing us. Frowning and suppressing a shiver I step in the sand and the heat washes over me like a tsunami. A hot, dry and dehydrating tsunami.
"There you are, Jack!" a woman calls out as she notices us.
"Shazza!" the girl groans, her voice slightly annoyed.
The woman is now a few feet away and I manage to look her up and down. She's in her mid-thirties the least, her hair dark and curly. As for her clothes – the usual black pants and tank-top.
"Where did you disappear to again?" preoccupied scolding the youngster, the woman seems to completely ignore me. Not that I mind.
Instead of aimlessly staring into the open space I look at the other survivors. There's a man, seems like a Muslim, with his sons; a man dressed like a cop who paces around nervously, obviously bothered by something far greater than the fact that we have crash landed in a fucking desert; another two men, probably crew members, judging by their uniforms and the last man is a short guy carrying some kind of a bag. From the female side there's the three of us and a woman kneeling not far away, seeming somewhat spaced away.
"That's Fry, and she landed the Hunter Gratzner. Our hero." A slight irony slips from Shazza's lips after nodding towards the blond kneeling woman, which I was obviously caught staring at.
"I'm Sharon by the way, but you can call me Shazza." And she extends her hand.
Shaking it I nod towards the others.
"The one pacing around is William Johns. The man with the turban is Abu al-Walid. He's a Muslim. We call 'im Imam. The boys are his sons. "
Then she nods towards the crew members and shoots their names but I miss to hear them as my attention is distracted by Johns, who storms our way, holding a pair of chains in his hands.
"He's escaped. We need to be careful!" he barks at Shazza and I only raise my eyebrow at him.
Barely sparing me a glance he rushes to somewhere, obviously furious at the fact that someone had escaped. 'Wait a second..'
"Who was he talking about?" I ask as I return my gaze back to the ladies.
"Riddick." The name leaves her lips with a low hiss, venom dripping from her tongue.
"Riddick? As the convict Riddick?" I try not to fall into hysteria by this new piece of information that nobody seems to have provided me with when I embarked.
"One and only." Her foul mood and hateful eyes fail to notice the anger that flashes into mine so I try to cool myself down.
'No need to overreact. He may be dangerous, but c'mon! He's just as stuck here as we are. Furthermore I will sure notice him lurking around, right? -'
"Never mind!" the sudden groan startles me and brings me out of my thoughts. "The man with the bag is Paris. And the other one," she nods towards a male that I just noticed, "is Zeke. "
"So it's us and the convict?" I ask and once again look around, almost expecting to spot him hiding behind a rock.
'Oh, please! That man has spent the greater part of his life hiding and surviving, fighting for his life. Do I really expect to 'spot' him? C'mon Ang, clear your head of the bullshit. The hit wasn't that hard!'
Rolling my eyes at myself I follow the two that went off.
"Where to?" I ask after catching up.
"Have to ask the captain. Make a plan. We'll figure it out as we go." Shazza answers.
I sigh and shake my head as I trail behind them. 'What was I thinking when I decided to travel with a low-class ship? Really, Angelica, this may turn out to be your stupidest decision ever! ' scolding myself usually doesn't help, but who knows? Maybe this time I'll have some luck in getting out of here unharmed. 'A gunshot. What a start!'
Eventually the 'captain' and Johns decide that it is for the best if is a small group stays on the ship while they look around. The moment this brilliant idea leaves his mouth I feel sick to the bone. 'Is he for real? I mean, seriously?'
"Do you have something to say, Angelica?" Johns' piercing blue eyes shoot daggers my way and I frown. 'Dick-sucker!'
"Divide et impera." I whisper and shrug. 'I'm so not in the mood for barking.'
"Which means?" hushes Jack next to me.
"Divide and rule. Splitting in the dumbest thing we can do with a convict at loose. I mean, he's probably smart enough to fire the ship and fly away. And if you are counting on the fact that we," here I gesture at the ladies and myself, "can stop him, then you are not even half as smart as you look."
Baffled by my words, the group falls silent for a minute.
"Then what do you suggest? We stay idly by and wait for him to attach us first? Kill us in our sleep and then take the ship? Or we starve and die from thirst here?"
There are veins popping all over Johns' forehead and a sudden reek of medicine has me wrinkling my nose, a sign which he takes for defeat and smirks.
"Well then, you can come with or stay behind. Your choice." And with that he turns around and leaves, most of the group following him close behind.
'What was that smell? It seems familiar, but from where?' I wonder as I crack my neck and look around once again. 'They have painted a really murderous picture of this guy. I mean, yeah, he's a convict and all, but killing us in our sleep?'
I wander around the ship for a while, looking for something useful, but end up empty-handed. Upon exiting I find the left crew members sitting on the edge of the ship while the man with the bag is sitting not far away, hiding under a huge yellow umbrella. 'No point in staying here I guess.'
With equal steps, not in a hurry after all, I start walking in the general direction the others went. As I pass by the man, a strong smell of alcohol hits me and my eyes water.
"Dear God, what are you carrying?" I ask as I stop next to him.
"The finest and oldest booze in this galaxy! Wanna sip?" the proud smile over his face makes me shake my head no.
"I've heard alcohol dehydrates the body even faster, so I'll pass."
"Suit yourself." And with that he returns to scanning some old piece of paper.
'Boy, this guy smells like dust and old. And booze. The finest.'
With my special sunglasses on, a shawl wrapped around my head and a few sips of the water that I had in my sack, I find the trek not as bad as I had expected. It's hot, yes, but at least the light wind sends some kind of freshness and coolness my way. After some time I reach something that reminds me of a valley. Yet with a few steps to the side I notice the gigantic bones peeking from the sands. 'Graveyard.' I roll my eyes, 'How fitting.'
It takes me more than five minutes to come down the slope but after I do I'm left amazed. Up there the bones looked imposing, yeah, but from down here they are even more colossal. 'Those creatures must have lived here at least a millennium ago. And had quite the booties as well.' I state to myself while cautiously nearing the remains. After all Riddick may be hiding here somewhere and the last thing I want is an encounter with a murderous convict. 'God, I'm falling for the popular fallacy without even having met the guy!'
The bones, obviously ribs, form the perfect cage with thick shadows where I can rest untroubled and think. So finding the most hidden place with the thickest shadows, yet with the perfect view, I throw my sack in the sand and sit, letting my back rest against the cool surface. 'It's soon about to get crowded.' I groan and push the glasses up on my head, securing a few strands away from my face.
Closing my eyes and rubbing them I try to calm my breathing and just listen. It takes a while to distance myself from the heat and dryness, but eventually the only thing that I hear is the steady rhythm of my heart.
Thump… thump …thump …
"God, you're like a freaking supernova in action!" a sudden voice brings me out of my trance.
'Here we go.' Blinking against the light I crack an eye open. I see a large crowd, gathered in small groups around me, their curious and frightened stares almost making me close my eyes and pretend I don't see or hear them. Because some of them are kids, not older than ten. Because I see soon-to-have-been mothers stroking their round bellies in a protective and at the same time reassuring manner. I see boys, younger than Imam's sons, gazing down at me like I am some kind of a wonder of nature. I look and spot decrepit old men, young girls with braids, boys holding their mothers' hands and wish I can help in a way, to make things better for them. But I can't. No one can for that matter. Because they are all dead – killed in the crash landing; crushed in their sleep by the machines that were supposed to protect them.
"What happened?" asks a young woman that holds her few months old baby.
I look up at her from my position and for a second wonder how to tell them the truth. 'I've been doing this my whole life and from experience I know there's no such thing as a 'nice way' to break them the news. ' So taking a deep breath I softly say:
"You all died."
The silence that follows lasts for almost a whole minute. It's awkward and intense as the ghost at first are literally paralysed then start shifting around, making the air shift with them and get colder, and all of a sudden they start shouting at me, begging me to do something. I only look at my feet and wait for them to cool down. It's not easy to tell someone that he or she has been dead for the last couple of hours. And telling young people and children makes it a lot worse.
"Can't you do something?"
"I can't be dead! My parents need me!"
"I don't wanna die!"
"Please, help us!"
"This is some kind of a bad joke, no?"
And many more voices bombard me from all sides until the noise becomes unbearable. Squeezing my eyes shut I grit my teeth in last attempt not to shout at them. 'They're dead. They're afraid. Try to be a little bit more patient.'
"Please, calm down, all of you." I plea, my voice weak.
The silence settles almost immediately and a sigh of relief slips by my lips. Opening my eyes once again I look at the crowd and try to explain the situation as simply as possible, without showing disrespect. No one wants an angry ghost hunting them for the rest of their life.
"We were all on the Hunter Gratzner. It seems there was some kind of breakdown in the system and the ship had to land somewhere immediately or we would have collided with a meteorite coming our way. So we crash landed here. Unfortunately the landing ended up in the ship overturning a couple of times. " here I make a pause, think over the things I should or should not add.
"So this is it? We're all dead. And what should we do?" asks a woman in her early forties.
"And why can you see us? I mean we are dead after all." Another woman says from the other side.
"Well this is my gift – to see the dead and help them pass on." I simply answer, looking at no one in particular.
"Pass on? As hell and heaven?" asks a man from my left.
"Yeah, I guess. I've never been there." I say truthfully.
"So you don't know what awaits us there?"
"Whatever there is after you pass on, it's nothing you should be scared of." I reply.
"How do you know? You, yourself, just said that you've never been there!"
"No one has come back to complain, so I guess it's a lot better than here." I mumble under my breath.
"So we go to hell?" a little girl, no more than six, asks, her big blue eyes looking at me dewily.
A small laugh rumbles in my chest and I pat her on the head as I kneel in front of her small form.
"No need to worry, little one, I'm sure you are not going to hell."
"Why?" the typical childish curiosity seems to have not left her even in death.
I only smile and gently stroke her little round face, trying not to touch the deep gash that splits it in two.
"Because if you were supposed to go down," here I point my thumb down, "you wouldn't have come to me in the first place."
"So the good people pass through you?" the woman next to the child, probably her mother, asks in disbelief.
"Well, yeah, you can put it like that I guess." I say as I sit back down and tilt my head.
"So what happens then?" the kid seems to be too eager to know, so I decide to tell her.
"Well, you touch me and pass through me. Then I see your most vivid memories and feel your strongest emotion, but after that you just move on, I guess."
"W-will it hurt?" her tiny voice quivers from fear.
I smile at her and shake my head.
"You won't feel pain. Just warmth. And completeness. You'll feel like you are going home." I say, my voice barely above whisper.
And then she smiles like I just told her that she'll be alive again. She turns around and looks at her mother, whose petrified and still confused expression makes her stay away from me.
"Let's go, momma! We'll see papa on the other side!" she chirps and grabs her mother's hand.
For a moment the woman fights back, too afraid of the unknown to take a decision or ask. The man behind her does it for her.
"And what if we decide to stay and not pass through you?" his tone is rude as he leers at me.
I have to try really hard not to glare his way and banish him. Instead I calm myself with a few deep breaths and explain as slowly and calmly as possible.
"If you decide to stay here there's nothing I can do. But you need to know that staying behind is not the better option."
"And why's that?" he grunts.
"First of all no one apart from me will be able to see, hear or touch you. Secondly, with time, you'll start losing your memory until eventually you turn into a floating ball of energy, hiding in old abandoned houses, scaring people away. And lastly, there are things out there that will hunt you down and devour your remaining energy. You'll disappear and that will be quite the painful experience, I can assure you. "
The old ingrate just scoffs and looks at the others, as if asking them do they really believe me. Suddenly the little girl comes rushing to me and stops mere millimetres away from my stiff form.
"Can I go?" her voice is squeaky from excitement and some fear.
Either way I nod and try to prepare myself for the upcoming torture. Truth to be told, they may not feel a thing after they pass through me, but I do. If the spirit's body died in pain I'll feel the same amount of it when he or she passes. Basically the last emotion that the person felt right before their death will come rushing back down on me. And as much as I wish that all of these people died in not so painful circumstances I know better. After all, judging by the uniforms and the wounds, at least ten of the ghost died in inhuman pain, which I'll have to experience in a few minutes. Over and over. Don't get me wrong – I'm no cry baby or a newbie in this sphere, but I have my limits. Two or three painful deaths won't be that much of a problem. More than a dozen? That'll hurt like a bitch.
But I save them all these details that either ways don't concern them. They have had enough troubled experiences for the past few hours than their whole lives, so I'm definitely not going to add up to that pile. After a deep breath and a slight nod I extend my hand and catch the little girl's.
"You are so warm and shiny!" are her last words before she vanishes.
Her passing is not painful but rather leaves me with a numb feeling. 'She died in her sleep. Never realised what happened.'
"Well?" asks the mother.
"She passed on."
A faint smile curls the ends of her lips upwards and she nears me with cautious steps. Extending my hand she hesitates for a second before gently taking it. In a heartbeat she is gone. Numbness is all that's left behind. 'If half of them are just as numb I'll lose my empathy for some time.' I tell myself, but manage to push away the worry that rises deep in me. 'No time to get scared. The others will soon notice my absence and start looking. I need to get this over with as quickly as possible.'
One by one, with barely seconds apart, the ghosts come to me and touch me. At first I manage handle the numbness in a way, but soon the pain comes. With the short intermission between their crossings I can barely take a gulp of air; still not recovered after the last one, when a new wave of pain washes over me.
I cannot explain to you what the feeling of dying more than twenty times in a row is but it's definitely more than an ordinary person would have handled. I only know that by the time all the painful deaths pass I am barely holding myself together, my consciousness slipping between my fingers not once or twice. Yet I hold my ground, grit my teeth and bear the consequences stoically, barely emitting a sound apart from a hiss or a low groan. The last few ghosts seem to have died in their cryotubes so their numbness is the last thing I feel before my own takes over my exhausted body.
I was born like this – different, premature. God, I remember the day I was born like it was yesterday! It's not one of my most pleasant memories for sure, but it's a memory none the less. And truth to be told, I remember each and every day of my life. Moreover, if I dig a little deeper I'll probably find the memories of the ghosts that passed through me! No kidding!
You can guess for yourselves what kind of childhood I had, being able to see dead guys while no one else could. I grew up in isolation and loneliness. My own parents were partially terrified of me; they thought I was some kind of freak, retarded, damaged. I won't fall into detail – I want neither your pity nor your compassion. I just want you to understand why I'm different.
Everyone is born with a mission. Some are to become leaders and free the people. Others have to be the oppressors. There are the historians, who keep up with the data, the artists who capture moments from the present and turn them into myths. And then there's me – the one who has to make sure the 'good' souls move on. The Grim Reaper. The angel of Death. Pick your choose. That's my job – to keep the balance, to guide the crowds of ghost like a shepherd guides his herd. And before you start drawing weird conclusions and images – no, I have no black cloak on, no scythe and am definitely not a walking skeleton. Well, technically I am. Ah, you know what I mean! Moving on.
Becoming the Grim Reaper is not hereditary, thank God, but can happen if you do not find in time the next one and teach him or her. Usually he or she is born during a natural phenomenon – I was born in a village in which the climate was warm. Upon my birth a storm hit our area and penitents appeared all over the sea we bordered with. Penitents are extremely rare and form only in places with high altitudes. The blades were as tall as a grown man and didn't go away for years. I heard that after we moved they started melting down.
Another factor that you are marked to be the next Reaper, apart from a birthmark that can stay unnoticed, and the ghosts you see, is the sudden loss of people you care about. Later, when the previous Reaper took me under her wing, she told me that the death of the ones closest to you is actually a safety mechanism that can also trigger your hidden powers. And that's true – my parents died in a crash, with me on the back seat. I was still in the hospital, with minor injuries, when I started seeing things differently. I felt different. Awakened. Like until then all my senses had been working only partially. After that I felt full and at the same time terrifyingly empty. Jasmine, the Reaper up until then, came to me in the hospital, identified herself and took me with her. She told me everything; taught me how to cope up with the stress; how to control my newly awoken and developing senses. She kept me sane and going. And after I hit the sixteen candles she vanished. 'My time's up. Have one hell'a of a ride!' was what she had scribbled on a piece of paper I found the morning I went to her room.
And here I am. Four years later on a deserted planet, with a handful of survivors, one of which is believed to be a dangerous murderer, a broken ship and creatures lurking underground, waiting for their time to come out and kill us. 'Joy.'
My head hurts like a bitch. The sand is warm against my cold cheek and I feel someone watching me. Despite the tiredness and the empathy that course through me, I somehow manage to wake my body up and command it to move. Opening my eyes I find myself staring at a dune. Rolling to my back I look around; to my right is the rib I had been lying on, on my left is the dune and ahead of me is the sky. Suddenly quite a though comes to my mind.
"Sky is the limit." I croak and frown.
'God, I hurt!' I whine internally and roll back around. The desire to fall back asleep is so alluring that I find no reason to fight it. Obviously Karma has one for me.
"I wouldn't stay here for too long. You never know who may come across." A deep male voice comes from somewhere.
For a second I freeze, running through the survivors' voices. 'Not Imam's. Paris's is too womanly. Not Jack's for sure. Johns' not this deep. Zeke? No. His was like a cowboy's voice. Then who? ' and then it clicks. 'Shit!'
Jumping to my feet I bend my right foot at the knee and kick up, towards the intruder's face. It would have been I spending knockout if the bastard hadn't grabbed me by the ankle.
"Hm. Nice kick." He chuckles.
Trying to free my leg I pull, but Riddick's grip doesn't loosen. Unfortunately he is too tall and too strong for me to do anything in this position. 'Well, not quite anything.' I hum, and in an eye-blink pull a hidden knife from my belt. Twisting my body I aim at his neck, bending by captured leg at the knee, which hits him in the chest. Yet even that ends badly for me. He catches my hand, twists it and I drop the knife. Pulling my leg, still bend mind you, under his arm, and my hand forward, I somehow end up a mere millimetres away from his chest. Him being almost a head taller, I lift my head and look him in the eyes. Or the goggles actually.
"Anything else?" he mocks me, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
With my right leg and left hand out of the game I know I'm not the winning side today. 'Better die fighting rather than in tears.' Pulling and tossing only makes him tighten his grip and I groan. My body is still too tired and sore for this kind of action but yet I push it to its limits with a last desperate attempt to break free.
Being the right-handed woman I am, the uppercut hits its target with almost surgical precision. I say almost because he seems to have noticed my action a second before I even did it and tried to get away. Unfortunately for him my hand's faster and instead of hitting him square in the nose I hit his jaw. Either way he lets me go in an instance and I try to run. Yet his recovery is faster than I expect and not even three steps away I feel his hands around my waist.
And then bam! I'm slammed against the solid rib I had been sleeping only a few minutes ago, with my air knocked right out of my lungs, my wrist caught over my head and my lower body completely immobilized by his.
"Let go of me!" I hiss as I twist around, trying to get him off.
Yet the only thing I achieve is even a tighter hold over my wrists and a lot more pressure over my legs.
"Little minx." He growls, his expression one of irritation and amazement. 'Didn't even know such a combination existed!'
I wiggle for a little bit more before he groans:
For a second I contemplate on continuing but then it strikes me. The position we are in is quite misjudging. With me pinned underneath him, my lower regions are pressing to his lower regions quite firmly. And then the friction. 'Oh God…' my terrified expression makes him chuckle and do a light swirl with his hips. 'Oh God!' - this time for a whole new reason.
"Get off, pervert!" I hiss his way, anger boiling alongside with shame and the slightest bit of arousal.
He just hums and presses even closer. Now our faces are inches apart and I feel heat rising to my face. 'Too close. Too damn close!'
"I'll scream!" is the first rational thought that comes to my mind apart from kissing him.
His laugh, low and vibrant, has certain places in me on fire a second later. Gulping I try to distance myself as far as possible, wishing that right now I would be a mere girl with a normal sense of smell. Because, for a third time in less than a minute, dear God!, this man smells like sex on a stick covered with dark chocolate – the right amount of bittersweet mixed with the scent of a man, primary and sinful. There's no perfume or aftershave that usually all men have on them, and which make me sneeze. No, the man in front of me smells like a man in the good sense of the words. And I find myself intoxicated by it, at the verge of actually sniffing him! 'Good Gracious! Take yourself in hands, woman!'
Another chuckle brings me out of my thoughts and I once again glare at Riddick while trying to breathe through my mouth. It turns out to be a failure as the moment I take in the gulp of needed oxygen I can feel his scent on my tongue. And that almost pushed me over the edge.
"Let. Me. Go." I demand, getting riled up by the weakness of my own body and his obvious enjoyment over my torture.
"Or what? By the time they hear your screams, you'll be dead."
I never knew it's possible to threaten someone's life in a sexy and arousing way.
"Fine then!" I hiss and my left knee flies towards his groin. Yet once again he deciphers my moves before I do and catches my leg.
"Nuh-uh-uh!" he scolds playfully before the unthinkable happens.
The hand that holds my wrist releases them for less than a second, hooks under my bum and lifts my body up. Then the other leg that has been bent this whole time ends up trapped between his. The one that almost reached his nuts is firmly held around his waist with his left hand. Before I manage to even process what's happened, his right hand returns to its place around my wrists and I find myself completely disarmed. 'I can't even move my ass!'
"Asshole!" I growl his way.
He smirks and presses to me a little more. This time the pose is even worse – with my legs spread apart, his groin comes in touch with mine. Knowing that only four thin layers of fabric separate our private sectors makes all the blood rush to my face. 'Blushing like a little girl! I'm a grown woman for God's sake!' fuming and trying to break free from the vicious circle I somehow stepped in, I fail to notice just how close Riddick's face has come to mine.
When I do notice, the thought that he's about to kiss me almost makes me squeak out loud. Instead my blush deepens and I turn my head to the side, trying to play the angry and pissed off look. Yet to my amazement his face ends up near my neck. I can feel my heart pounding hard against my ribcage. Millions of different scenarios rush through my head, some creepy and frankly terrifying, others hot and quite inappropriate.
His nose slowly traces my neck, his breath sending goosebumps down my back, making me shudder. Obviously noticing the effect his actions have on me, Riddick smirks and a knowing hum vibrates through his chest. I bite my lip to stop the meowing noises from leaving, but I know I won't last long. 'He's barely touching me! How can I be so hot and bothered after a few touches?' I wander for a second before all thoughts are wiped away as he takes a deep breath, inhaling my scent.
In moments like this one the thoughts 'God, I probably smell like a pig!' and 'What's the last time I put some perfume on?' cross my mind with inhuman speed, making me question my own sense of hygiene. And after they disappear I question my state of mind. 'And since when did I start carrying about how I look in front of a convict?' Yet that thought as well vanishes after his nose slowly follows the lines of my neck up to my jaw and back, stopping for a second near that oh-so-magical place on my neck.
His lips gently pass over it, his tongue darting out the slightest bit, licking it. This time the moan, low and throaty, slips by my lips and I close my eyes, tilting my head back. Obviously Riddick takes this as an invitation; his victorious smirk dancing over my tender skin as he once again takes in my odour.
"You smell like sunshine." He whispers against my skin and I grit my teeth.
'God, his voice is so.. ah!' I think before he pulls away, a smirk still playing on his face. I look at him through my halfway closed lids and try to make my body move. I'm about to tell him to let me go, when he steps away. Truth to be told, a feeling of disappointment runs through me, but I chase it away. 'Be glad, dammit!'
Rather than playing the spoiled brat I push away from the rib and take a step towards him, expecting that he'll take one back. Well, he doesn't. That way we come chest to chest once again. He smirks and bends down. Halfway expecting something bad, my body stiffens when his hand goes behind my head and unclasps my hair. Dark chocolate strands fall around my face and I raise my hand to push them away. Riddick's larger hand is faster, though, and he gently grabs my wrist. I look up and wish that his eyes aren't hidden behind the goggles. As if having read my thoughts he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow my way. Suddenly he lowers his face and buries it in my hair, using my wrist as a rope to pull me towards him. This time I don't stay idly by. Tilting my head to the side I both give him a better angle and hide my own face in the crook of his neck. The sudden tightening of his muscles under my nose, still cold from all the ghosts that passed through me not so long ago, makes my smirk and even dare trace his artery with my plumb lips. A low, animalistic groan rumbles within him and he pulls away, his face a mixture of two yet again opposite emotions – primal lust and warning. And before I can even say something he's just a breath away, his hand on my face gently, about to kiss me.
An air-freezing scream reaches us and we both jump away. The moment's destroyed and steps behind us indicate that someone's coming. I turn and manage to glimpse Johns in the distance running our way with Fry right behind him. Turning around to warn Riddick I'm met with empty space. 'Dang!'
Deciding not to think about what happened and what didn't more than it's needed, I return to my previous sleeping place, grab my sack and leave my little hideout. In the distance, now ahead of me, I see Johns and Fry running towards the ship. With a sigh I fix the shawl around my head, put my sunglasses back on and start walking after them. I don't go far though, as a sudden shift in the air tells me that I'm no longer alone.
Turning around I see Zeke floating next to me, his pale and transparent skin covered in deep gashes.
"What happened?" despite my best attempts I fail to hide the fear that courses through my system in this very moment. 'What did this to him?'
The man only looks at me and I almost expect to see his cocky smirk from before. Instead his eyes are full of fear and agony, his lips twitching in an unpleasant and unhappy way. Before I can ask something else he touches my shoulder and vanishes. At first I see his memories – he's digging holes to bury the dead ones. Then Shazza comes and tells him something which makes him frown and spit, anger and spite boiling in his body. The last memory is a tail covered in long spikes, its end ramifying in double oppositely branching clips, that shoots from the hole, clasps around his midsection and pulls him down in the darkness. And then the pain comes. It's not long and tormenting one, but the amount of it is dangerously high. And now that same pain he felt a few minutes ago crashes my body, making me fall to my knees, shaking, biting my tongue and barely breathing, tears streaming down my face.