by Adele Huxley
“Okay, okay.” I quickly got dressed, my frozen fingers refusing to cooperate. I gave up on tying my laces and just stuffed them inside the top of my boots. It sounded like the truck was slipping up the steep drive, but Rick was coming ever closer. God, what was he going to do once he got here? A wave of nausea swept through me but I swallowed it down.
“Come on,” Bryan shouted as he hung out the back door. I said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d parked it out back. It wouldn’t give us much time, but every second could count.
I strapped the helmet on as I ran out the door. Bryan leapt onto the back, the loud engine coming to life with one try of the ignition. I climbed on, gripping him tightly but feeling very exposed on the back.
“Hang on!” he shouted. I grabbed my wrist until it hurt. I was not going to fall off the back of this.
The snowmobile shot forward, heading straight into the thick of the trees. We rounded the corner of the house and I chanced a look back. Rick had parked his pickup just behind Bryan’s. He was just stepping onto the ground as we zipped into sight. Everything was a blur, but I could see how pissed off he was. I forced myself to look forward, trying my best not to cry out as Bryan weaved through the trees. He steered us to the road, turning left towards the main road.
Once we hit the open stretch, he pushed the machine faster than ever. I squeezed him with my thighs, hugged him with my arms, and expected Rick to come up behind us any second. The roar of the snowmobile drowned out everything but my fear. Was he ever going to give up?
The helmets made it awkward, but I glanced over my shoulder and screamed. Rick had managed to whip the truck around and was plunging down the driveway at an alarming rate. My heart broke as I watched our little cabin disappear into the forest, a dark curl of smoke coming from the chimney, the last reminder of warmth.
I whacked Bryan on the thigh urgently, trying to signal to him that Rick was on our tail. He leaned slightly to get a look in the side mirrors and shook his head. He patted my hands, I held tight, and he went even faster. I could tell he was trying to follow the tire tracks Rick’s truck had just left.
I looked back. He was still there, but the snowmobile easy outpaced him. Rick was driving like a maniac, though. The bed of the truck was fishtailing left and right. Several times I thought he was going to slide right off into the ditch but he somehow managed to maneuver away. A part of me almost waited for the gunshot to the back…I wouldn’t put it past him.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to look a few steps in advance. So we get far enough away from him to do what? Get help? Crash some poor family’s Christmas morning? Could the snowmobile actually get to town from here? I didn’t even know how far away we were from Tellure Hollow. I’d been so out of it the other night, I hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to how long it’d taken us to get to the cabin. Maybe we could outrun him and hide? Sneak back to the cabin later and still salvage whatever we could of the day. After that, we’d go to Denver, fly to wherever the hell we wanted and just try…try to…
Hot tears welled up in my eyes, falling down my cheeks before I got a chance to blink them away. In the tight helmet, I had no choice but to suffer through it. I glanced back, fully expecting Rick to be feet away but I saw nothing. We’d just rounded a slight curve, coming into a straightaway, so I kept my eyes glued behind us. Nothing. We carried on a few more seconds before I tapped Bryan on the thigh again.
“Look!” I tried to shout. “He’s gone.”
Bryan glanced in the mirror, slowed, and checked over his shoulder. He drew the snowmobile to an angled stop so we could look down the road.
“He was right there and now he’s gone,” I yelled.
“There isn’t anywhere else he could’ve turned off.” I couldn’t see much of his face but his eyes, dark with worry.
Bryan hesitated before cutting the engine, his hand hovering over the ignition. My ears still rattled with the phantom sound, but the silence of the forest quickly returned. Faintly, just off in the distance, I could hear the continuous blaring of a car horn. We both looked at each other knowingly. Rick had crashed.
“There’s nothing we can do…”
“Hopefully he’s dead,” I said with a bitter laugh that surprised the both of us. I shrugged. “Let’s at least check and then we don’t have to keep running, right?”
Bryan nodded once, the snowmobile firing between my legs. I steeled myself for whatever we were going to come up on. As we rounded the corner, I instantly spotted Rick’s truck. It looked like he’d lost control, swerved across the road, hitting one side and then slamming front first into the embankment. The front tires were swallowed up by the deep ditch, leaving the truck tilted at a harsh angle. At least he won’t be driving after us, I soothed myself.
As we got closer, Bryan pulled to a stop. I couldn’t see inside the cab of the truck, but the windshield was spider-webbed beyond repair. He left the engine running but climbed off the snowmobile. When I made a move to get up, he waved me down.
“Let me go look.”
I reluctantly nodded but stayed standing beside the idling machine. Bryan approached the truck like he was walking near a wild animal, which, I suppose Rick was. I wanted to scream as the incessant high-pitched horn continued to blare. The passenger side was facing us. He stepped closer, bending to look inside. Closer, closer, until he was at the window. I watched him put a gloved hand up to the glass. He glanced over at me and waved to stay put as he walked around the back. I stepped forward as he disappeared around the other side. My heart thumping in my chest, I started to run towards the truck, fearing the worst when he didn’t reappear immediately. Bryan stepped backwards, looking at the forest around us.
My stomach clenched as he jogged towards me.
“He’s not in there,” he said shaking his head. Bryan grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly back to the snowmobile.
“Then he’s hurt. He couldn’t have gone far,” I said. His behavior was really starting to confuse me.
“We need to go, especially if that’s true.”
I wrenched my arm away, stopping short. “Why? What the hell is going on?”
Bryan flipped the visor of his helmet up, his dark green eyes urgent. He pulled me close so he wouldn’t have to shout. “There were a couple empty boxes of rifle shells. If he’s out there, he’s close…and armed.”
Can’t wait to find out what happens next?
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Lauren read the text message for the tenth time, nervously biting her bottom lip.
Wear something sexy. Remember, you’re single, flirty but not slutty. Follow his lead with conversation and above all, show him a good time. You’ll do great, sweetie!
Well hopefully I’ve got the sexy part down, she thought as she smoothed a wrinkle from her black pencil skirt. She tugged at the ruffled collar on the sleeveless blouse, exposing more cleavage. I just hope I can manage the rest.
She reapplied the red lipstick she’d nervously chewed off and briefly considered telling the driver to keep going. As the car stopped in front of the
restaurant, she realized it was too late for that. She was already in too deep. Taking a few calming breaths, she paid and stepped out. Winding her way through the crowd, Lauren searched for the man she’d seen only briefly earlier that day.
Damon Kael wasn’t a man easily overlooked. Mid-40’s with salt and pepper hair, even from a distance she’d noticed a fantastic body beneath the tailored suit. Within moments, she spotted him sitting at the bar, his arm casually draped over the back of the chair. She flicked her dark hair back, squared her shoulders, and sauntered over to him.
“Mr. Kael, I’m Lauren Kemp. I believe you spoke with my colleague Faith earlier,” she said extending her hand.
He took her hand and kissed her softly on the cheek, his stubble scratching her slightly. His eyes were focused, penetrating. She felt stripped bare by just one glance. “Yes, please have a seat. Do you drink?”
Swallowing her nerves, Lauren gracefully sat on the chair beside him and nodded. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him her normal drink, he flagged the bartender over.
He eyed her for a moment before saying, “She’ll have a Bee’s Knees. Another tonic for me.”
She was taken aback. No one had ever ordered for her like that before. She nearly corrected him by ordering something different but remembered who she was with and why she was there. Instead, she smiled sweetly.
“I’ve never heard of that particular cocktail, thank you.” She crossed her legs slowly, the skirt riding up her thigh.
“It’s sweet but has a bite, not unlike most women.” He held her gaze, his eyes a pale shade of sea green.
“Aw, I promise I won’t bite,” she said touching his knee.
He arched his eyebrow slightly. “That’s too bad,” he said calmly and looked away.
Lauren’s gut lurched at that comment but she steadied her reaction. She was used to always being the one in control, the one being chased, playing the games. Maybe this is what it’s like with older men, she thought. She couldn’t deny there was a part of her that wanted to grab his attention, make him look twice. He couldn’t just dismiss her so quickly. I can’t be this rusty…
“Well maybe if you ask nicely I could accommodate you,” she purred.
“No, I never have to ask.” His smile, while disarming, didn’t seem to reach his eyes. She felt her stomach flipflop in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. I know this is supposed to be work but I suppose there are worse people I could accompany to dinner.
As Lauren chewed on his last statement feeling completely out of her depth, the bartender delivered their drinks. A murky, faint pink concoction swirled in the cocktail glass. Lavender and honey scents wafted through the air. After a tentative sip she had to stop herself from swallowing the entire drink. Not only was it delicious, but she hoped the liquid courage might settle her nerves. She noticed he was watching her reaction.
She turned to him and laughed softly. “Mr. Kael, you have impeccable taste. I think I might have found a new favorite drink.”
“Please, call me Damon.”
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We came crashing into the Lord Nelson like a destructive whirlwind. I’m fairly certain the bartender would’ve thrown us out if I hadn’t flashed my Coutts silk card.
“For the tab,” I said handing it to the shocked barman. I walked away without placing an order, sure that five rounds of shots were headed my way.
Distanced from the rowdiness, I scanned the pub with mild interest. I was going through a spell of self-enforced celibacy, something I received nothing but stick for since it’d begun. I’m a red-blooded male, sure, but there are only so many nameless, faceless women a guy can take home before it starts feeling a little empty. Still, I did enjoy the chase.
Between the tables of oldies and hipsters, were a handful of young women. I cataloged them out of habit more than anything, until my gaze fell on a blonde across the room. If I’m honest, I kept looking. She wasn’t a stunner but it’s not like she was homely either. There was something about her that pulled me in. I watched as she laughed with her friends, obviously talking about someone in the group I came with.
And then our eyes met. I knew she felt the same thing I had, that electric connection from even so far away, but she looked away quickly. Whatever. It gave me time to take her in. Her hair came to just under her chin, fringe dusting the tops of her eyebrows. Even in the bulky top, I could see an ample chest. She was fit but in a way you had to really focus on before seeing it. Still…I couldn’t stop looking at her.
The group settled in, pinning me in the center of the table. They were loud and brash, talking over one another and brimming with testosterone. Not for the first time, I began to feel guilty by association. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get them to calm down. And no matter how much I willed myself to look away, I couldn’t stop glancing at that girl.
Frustrated by this uncharacteristic distraction, I forced myself to go chat up some random girl at the bar. Within a minute, I was shocked to discover I’d managed to pick the most vapid person in the place. Great. Well, at least I can have a little fun.
After a little chitchat, mostly her asking me how much money I made or what kind of car I drove, I decided to go in for the kill. Brushing her hair back, I whispered in her ear.
“Do you think you could put in a good word with your friend for me? You’re nice and all, but she’s well fit.”
I didn’t think she was actually going to slap me but she did seem like the kind of girl who liked to start fights. Rather than give her the satisfaction, I shifted back. Strangely enough, I found the shift easy to perform, especially given my exhaustion and headache. Saying a quick goodbye, I could’ve sworn I’d felt…nevermind. Couldn’t have. I settled down at the table again and took a sip of my pint. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.
When I saw the girl across the room get up and head to the back of the pub, it was like my legs were moving on their own volition. I couldn’t make sense of this compulsion, the undeniable need to speak with her. Even during my celibacy, I’d chatted girls up no problem, but this felt different. While waiting for her to emerge from the loo, I found a way to reconcile my emotions.
There’s nothing wrong with you that a wank wouldn’t fix. She’s just a girl, nothing special. Buy her a drink, flirt a little, get it out of your system.
When I laid eyes on her up close, my excuse faltered. When I heard her accent, I braced myself for failure. But when I discovered how witty and smart she was as we talked, I was an absolute goner.
I fully intended on saying goodnight and walking away, happy that I’d managed to get her number. I figured I’d call her when I decided to break my dry spell. It took a lot of willpower to convince myself not to break it that night, yet that urge tugged me back. Even if I never saw her again, I’d want a memory of her lips.
I leaned forward, slipping my hand along her smooth cheek and into her hair. I pulled her against me, her mouth hot and soft. Her hand went to the chest in surprise, wafting a light floral perfume. We kissed like lovers long apart; urgent, familiar, expectant. My tongue explored her mouth with a growing need. The all-consuming kiss threatened to break my will. I quickly pulled away, shifting a little in my jeans to hide my growing bulge.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I muttered to myself. She questioned the comment with only her eyes, but I shook my head. As much as I want to, even with a girl like this, I can’t.
Just as I’d done a thousand times before, the world around me slowed and began to twist yet there she remained. I nearly stumbled backwards from the shock. Why isn’t she moving? I looked down to make sure I wasn’t still touching her, the only way I knew I could pull people with me, but we were feet apart.
Reagan looked as shocked as I felt but recovered faster, a sly smile curling her lips as she tilted her head. “Surprise?”
“What the fuck…” I muttered. In my haste, I didn’t slow my control, I simply dropped it. The pub around
us returned to normal at a jarring speed.
The next thing I remember was Jimmy and the lads pulling me back to West Street, laughing and cheering about pulling girls and getting wasted. My mind felt like it’d been put through an industrial mixer. I jogged to the front of the group and grabbed Jimmy at his elbow.
“I’m gonna go home.” My voice sounded strange and distant.
“Aw come on—” he began to protest. When he saw my expression, he stopped, apparently seeing there was something seriously wrong. “Alright, if you’re sure.”
I merely nodded in response, peeling off from the group unnoticed. Tucking my hands in my pockets, I wandered, gradually following the slope of the streets down to the seafront. I turned my back on the bright lights of the pier and walked with my thoughts.
Does she have the ability too? She must, if I didn’t move her. She didn’t seem shocked that it was happening…just that I was doing it. Fuck! I even kissed her! Oh wait, she must’ve seen me do it beforehand, too. So she knew before I even started chatting her up…
Aside from my prick of a father, I’d never known anyone else who could shift. He’d told me once that his father had been able to do it, so I assumed it was hereditary, like families who are all double jointed. I had to wrap my brain around an idea of a world with more than one of me. That meant there were definitely others, but how many? How rare? Is that why I’d been so drawn to her? Did a part of me know we were made of the same stuff? I’d spent a big portion of my life searching for answers. Maybe she knew more than I did?
