“Stupid butterflies.”
The good thing about driving this early was the lack of traffic. Street Road existed in a perpetual state of gridlock. The vacant roads only added to the eerie residue of her nightmare.
She slowed at the light just before the jug handle to Route One. Music. She needed music.
Reaching for the stereo, she stilled. Her head angled toward the window, a strange sense that she wasn’t completely alone seeped in.
Her breath caught as her gaze landed on a dark figure. A man. All alone, face hidden under the shadow of a hat, yet she sensed him staring at her. She suddenly wished it was rush hour.
Her fingers nudged the lock button on the door and his head cocked to the side. Bizarre eyes, so blue they seemed to glow in the fading shadows of dawn.
His size registered and her insides trembled. Thick muscle roped down his arms and though he appeared calm, all she could think was stranger danger. One drop of psycho and that guy could snap her like a twig. So why wasn’t she blowing this red light?
He studied her as if recognizing her. His shadowed figure triggered no feelings of familiarity, yet a chilling sense of déjà vu knifed through her, and not necessarily good déjà vu.
She didn’t want to see his face, so her focus jumped to the light. Still red. Damn it.
He took a step toward the car and she sucked in a sharp breath, gunning it into the intersection. Her heart exploded in her chest as another car shot out of nowhere and almost clipped her bumper, but she made it across the intersection unharmed. She sped onto the ramp and veered onto the highway toward home.
When she glanced in the rearview mirror, the man was gone.
Chapter Nine
Adam’s breath caught as the little car sped through the intersection, his heart rate spiking as another vehicle nearly ran her off the road. His fangs punctured his gums as his instincts battled, part of him wanting to follow her and another part urging him to chase down the driver that almost crashed into her.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle lingered in the air, accompanied by something … other. A growl rumbled in his chest as he recognized the other scent as something decidedly masculine.
Why had he not grabbed her when he had the chance? His memory scrambled to recall her face, but a curtain of hair had distracted him and then she was gone. To where? If he moved fast he could follow her scent.
The taillights disappeared as she jetted onto the highway. Adam’s heart sputtered in his chest, as she was suddenly gone. He sprang into motion, his nature taking over as desperation clogged his arteries and urgency thrummed through his veins.
The black night faded into gray as the purple shades of first light illuminated the horizon. He raced the dawn, knowing in less than an hour the sun would drive him to shelter.
His body pulsed with need as he bounded through the woods, leaping into the trees. His claws scraped into the bark of evergreens as he climbed higher, searching for his fleeing mate. Above the canopy, clinging to the flimsy branches of the trees, he glimpsed her car. She drove too fast. And if he didn’t move, he was going to lose her.
He let go and leapt to the ground. Pine needles clung to his clothes as he landed on the soft earth in a crouch. His knees bunched and he lunged into a sprint, traveling as fast as her vehicle, but several miles behind.
His senses were on high alert, his nose led him more than his eyes. His muscles screamed as he gave chase, his strength depleting rapidly as the approaching sunlight pierced the trees.
He clung to her trail, refusing to lose her. She should not drive so recklessly. Humans were fragile. Hunger, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, tore through him, elongating his fangs as a rumbled growl vibrated his chest. His pupils dilated and his vision shifted, competing with the brightening sky.
Pushed to the extent of his ability, he ran as fast as his feet could carry him. As the road split, he flung his body into the trees, catching branches and climbing to the highest point.
Gone. She was gone.
Stark regret choked him and then… honeysuckle. Shutting his eyes, he breathed deep, catching that familiar, feminine scent now imprinted on his soul.
His salvation was now heading north. He glanced at the horizon, his skin starting to tingle—a sign of overexposure. His body would surely punish him later if he stayed out much longer. But he couldn’t let her go.
Driven to follow her, he kept to the shade of the woods as much as possible. The roads crowded with traffic, limiting him more. He moved fast to camouflage his presence.
Branches whipped against his clothes. His surroundings blurred and her scent faded—too many others present and confusing her trail.
Launching to the tallest limbs of an old oak, he searched the distance. More cars. So many. Where had they come from? Which was hers? They all looked the same.
He dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch and raced toward the road.
A horn screamed as an enormous trailer swerved, missing him by an inch. Brakes squealed as cars stopped, turning to avoid hitting him. But all he could sense was his mate fading away.
“Get out of the road, asshole!”
Oncoming traffic whizzed by, so many people in such a rush. None of them her. Where did she go?
A horn blared and he hissed, baring his teeth as the driver paled.
He lost her.
His spine tingled, insisting he keep going. His eyes dilated and burned as the sun rose above the horizon. His gums throbbed as his fangs refused to retract. A fraying thread of self-awareness urged him back into the shadows. His self-control was slipping.
Once deep in the woods, he leaned into a tree and caught his breath. What was happening to him? He was unraveling and in need of shelter. In need of privacy.
Giving up his hunt left him weak, as if a layer of flesh had been flayed from his inner tissue. The fact that she’d escaped proved how much he needed her. His body was not operating in peak condition. Only a few hours after feeding and he was once again starved. His thoughts waded through a fog and his instincts lacked the ingrained humanity he typically possessed.
He needed to find her. Soon.
A predatory growl escaped his throat at the memory of her scent mingled with another male’s. His knuckles flexed as the urge to hunt, to kill took hold, shaking him to the core.
He was not a violent creature, but the thought of someone getting to her before him… Touching what he already considered his…
His fangs bit into his lower lip and he tasted blood. Whoever’s scent she wore, she would not wear it again. He’d make certain of it.
Chapter Ten
“I need two Buds—draft—and a bottle of Rock.”
Kyle reached for two glasses and pulled the tap. “How’d your exam go today?”
“Good. It was hard. There were a lot of essays.”
“You probably got an A.” He placed the beers on her tray.
“I’d settle for a B.”
It was Friday. Jimbo’s was busier than normal and as soon as she dropped off one order, she was given another. By nine, her feet were aching and she wanted her bed.
“Hey Annalise, settle a bet for us?”
Tucking her tray under her arm, she went over to see what Gus and the boys were debating tonight. “What is it now?” They loved to argue over the most trivial nonsense.
“Sweetheart, will you please explain to my friend here what makes a Boilermaker. I got ten bucks saying there ain’t no vodka involved.”
“I thought boilermakers were made of bullshit and brawn,” she teased, knowing several men belonged to the local boilermaker’s union.
“Ha, ha. The drink, missy.”
She gave a cheeky smile. “We serve them with a shot of whiskey and a beer.”
“Hah!” Gus shouted as he grabbed the ten-dollar bill from Bruce.
“Do I get a cut for being your lifeline?”
Bruce laughed. “I think you should get all of it, but Gus is too cheap.”
The barb worked, and Gus tucked the tip into her apron pocket. “There you go, missy. How about another round?”
“Coming right up.”
Her ass was dragging after a week of late nights, early mornings and too many finals. Once she grabbed Gus and Bruce their refills, she stashed her tray on the bar.
“I’m gonna run next door and grab a cappuccino,” she told Kyle. “You want anything?”
“Can you grab me a Powerade?”
“On it.”
Stepping out of the smoky bar, she breathed in the warm air catching the scent of oncoming rain. The moment she stepped inside the convenience store two doors down from Jimbo’s, thunder cracked and the skies opened.
As soon as the sun set, Adam set out on his hunt again. He’d been at it for hours, sure she was close but unsure where she hid. Too many people and emotions clouded his senses. He needed to feed. He wanted to give up but couldn’t walk away. It seemed hopeless—
Adam’s head snapped up as something tugged at his conscience. Rain muffled his hearing as it pelted his hat and masked the air. Breathing deep, reaching through the scent of damp leaves and wet earth, he scented the fragile trace of honeysuckle and his legs were moving.
Bursting from the woods, he entered an industrial complex. Without the shelter of the trees, his clothes were immediately drenched. He sniffed, his mind and instincts tracking her like a compass. He bolted toward a busy intersection, wove through a cluster of automobiles idling at a traffic light, and ignored the honking horns, as he sprinted to a small alcove.
Where to now? He paused, his focus trying to veil the surrounding emotions of strangers as he sent out a mental probe, seeking any recognizable sign of her.
He burst into dead run, hurtling his body over the median of a busy road and moving too fast for anyone to see. He could smell her damp hair, hear her timid heartbeat. His body throbbed as the distant “thank you” of her voice carried.
The dank waft of smoke and the sound of music then she was gone. Where? Her scent disappeared.
Up ahead he spotted a small strip of stores with an overhang. Shaking off his drenched clothes, he regrouped in front of what was obviously a coffee shop. A glowing green sign hummed two doors down where music played from within the walls.
He could smell the distinct, crisp burst of tobacco smoke. And men. There were several men behind those brick walls. And if he breathed deep enough… Honeysuckle.
The electric green sign read Jimbo’s. Who was Jimbo? Did he have something to do with his mate? Was he a threat?
His heart hammered against the muscle of his chest. Visions assaulted his mind as several dreams from the past week pushed to the forefront of his mind, all vying for his attention at once, blinding him to the present. Laughter. Singing. Making love.
Hunger ripped through him with a ravenous need to feed, but he didn’t want just anything. He wanted her. And she was on the other side of this door.
His ears zeroed in on her pulse, memorizing the soft chug of her blood pumping through her delicate veins. So fragile. So petite. He could easily steal her away.
His. She was his, belonging only to him. The relief of salvation stole his breath and left him dizzy, in a state of drunken euphoria. Tonight, his worry would end, and he could return home by morning.
His grandfather was right. It was so simple. He could feel how well she’d complement his soul without even looking at her. They were part of the same whole. So incredibly perfect, it could only be by God’s design that they found each other. She was his.
His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated with a jolt of excitement. God help him, he wanted her. His palm slapped against the damp brick as he tried to find his bearings. He couldn’t go to her like this. He needed to make a calm entrance, approach her gently, and then whisk her away.
His fangs punched through his gums. His body hardened like granite, every muscle taut and wired from the chase. As his pulse skittered with hungry anticipation his insides seemed to purr.
Cupping a hand over his jaw, he forced his fangs to retract. He rolled his shoulders and stood straight, blinking his eyes until his vision settled. Calm. He needed to be calm.
Once he found his composure, he pushed through the entrance into the stale air of a dimly lit tavern. He scanned the numerous faces, all male, but saw no sign of his female.
Music played from a machine in the corner. Sliding off his hat, his nose twitched. Honeysuckle.
Turning toward the bar, his breath hitched as she disappeared through a doorway. His heart vaulted in his chest, punching him in the back of the throat and he staggered back a step.
She was stunning, slight but curvy. The delicate peaks of her breasts pressed against the damp fabric of her shirt as she twisted to tie an apron around her hips. Her legs…
He frowned. She was barely dressed.
“It’s pouring.” Her voice cut through him and his knees wobbled. It was her.
He staggered to the closest table, every instinct he possessed demanded he claim her now, but her beauty disarmed him like an opiate. He could hardly remember his name, let alone how to walk. He needed to get ahold of himself.
He slid into the booth and stared as she lifted a tray. Did she work here?
His body thrummed with pulsing need as his eyes followed across the bar. The other men didn’t seem to see her. Except the one behind the bar. He watched her and Adam watched him, a feral growl forming in his throat as he fought back the urge to rip the man’s throat open with his teeth.
“What can I getcha?”
His attention jerked from the bartender to her face. Her scent overpowered everything else, stealing into him and rendering him speechless. Heady. Intoxicating.
“You need a minute to decide?”
The decision was made. She belonged to him and here she was. He only needed to reach out and grab her.
“We have dollar drafts ’til midnight. And the kitchen’s open for another hour.”
Enchanting. The way her lips hugged every syllable, the delicate flutter of her pulse against the column of her throat… “I’m … thirsty.”
A small V formed between her brows. “Is that a yes to the draft? What kind?”
He shook his head, breaking his transfixed stare and remembering where he was. “Any drink will do. Thank you.” He wanted to drink from her.
“You bet. I’ll be right back.” Her hair swung in a long tail as she sauntered away.
His gaze lowered and narrowed, as half her backside showed beneath her short pants. Along the way to fulfill his order, she stopped to say a few words to the men at the bar. Adam’s jaw ticked as he breathed in the stink of testosterone and smoke.
She returned a moment later, seemingly unaffected by the number of eyes watching her. “Let me know if I can get you anything else. Here’s a menu in case you want something before the kitchen closes.”
She placed the menu in front of him and he caught her wrist, a spike of awareness preening inside of him, followed by the urge to pull her under him and claim what was his. “What is your name?”
“Uh…” She smiled and twisted her hand out of his. “Annalise.”
“Annalise,” he repeated, tasting the word as his tongue grazed the sharp tip of his fang. He quickly angled his face toward the table and covered his mouth with the beer. “Thank you.”
“Yell if you need anything.” She pivoted away and he lowered the glass, his eyes never leaving her form as she replenished beverages for other customers.
He glanced at the tall pint of amber in front of him. If he finished it, she’d come back. He drank down the robust ale and waited.
She was good at her job, as she returned to his table only minutes after he finished the drink.
“Refill?”
He nodded and she took the empty glass to the bar.
He should speak to her, find out what she liked, and figure out where she lived. He’d been so preoccupied with finding her, he hadn’t considered what he’d do once he foun
d her.
Ultimately, he’d perform the bonding and bring her back to Lancaster. They’d have an eternity of getting to know one another once they returned home.
She returned with a fresh glass. “Here you go.”
“Do you like working here?”
She paused, appearing a bit thrown by his question. “Sure. The customers are nice.”
He sensed dishonesty in her answer, but also truth. “You like to work?”
She leaned a hip against the booth, drawing his gaze to her tapered waist and lush thighs. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you from out of town?”
“I’m visiting.”
“Oh. Gotcha. Then to answer your question, the hours are good, and the tips are okay.”
“Tips?”
She tilted her head and laughed, the sound going right to his gut. “Yeah. Tips. You know, after a waitress brings you a couple beers, you leave her a few dollars for being prompt and friendly.”
He wasn’t familiar with the practice.
Mesmerized by the casual way she carried herself and the ease at which she spoke to him, he asked, “How old are you, Annalise?”
Her stomach dipped as he said her name. Her heart was beating like a trapped hummingbird in her chest. Who was this guy and what was he doing at Jimbo’s?
With a face that could make Brad Pitt jealous, she wondered if he was some sort of model. His eyes were the color of ice under northern lights and his skin flawless. He had a perfectly square jaw and straight nose. In Renaissance times they would have made sculptures of him.
His clothes were soaked from the rain, exposing every dip and divot of his chiseled body not blocked by the table. And what was that scent wafting off him? Someone should bottle it for an instant fortune.
She didn’t typically care for men with long hair, but this guy was owning it. She hated that the rain had made it impossible to discern the exact color, but it looked a few shades past a sandy blonde, bordering on light brown. Her fingers itched to comb through the strands, maybe stay with him until morning to see what color it turned out to be once it dried.
Original Sin (The Order of Vampires Book 1) Page 7
