A Place to Run (Trials of the Blood Book 1)

by Becca Lynn Mathis

  “Hmm?” She looked at him with glazed eyes, but continued swaying with the beat.

  “This fine specimen is going to take you home,” Frederick said, gesturing with an open palm in my direction. “Try not to miss me too much.”

  She smiled vaguely, nodded, and clambered to her feet, unsteady.

  “The next time a wolf even steps foot in this club, mutt,” the friend added. “They will be dead before they even cross the floor.”

  Anger continued to pool in my stomach as Grace tottered out of the booth. I held out a hand to her, but she missed when she reached for it, tumbling to the ground in an unladylike heap. I knelt and scooped her into my arms, where she laid limply. She continued to breathe steadily, and her heartbeat was strong. Well, good. Then she was unlikely to die unless these vampires attacked, despite whatever she had been drugged with.

  I looked to the vampire who had spoken. “The next time a wolf steps foot into this club, the pack and I will be along to burn this place to the ground.”

  Frederick glared at me, but his voice stayed level, “You’d dare to throw idle threats even now, you insolent mutt?"

  I gave him my most predatory grin. “It’s a promise, Frederick. Your days are numbered.” Turning on my heel, I stalked toward the door, Grace cradled against my chest. None of the unnaturally still vampires made a move to stop me.

  Tension knotted my shoulders until we’d made it safely into the back alley. The wet and dingy city scent was a welcome relief from the stink of the vampires. Letting out a breath, I closed my eyes in a silent prayer of thanks. That could have gone south fast, but somehow, we’d both made it out alive.

  I set Grace on wobbly feet. She grumbled, but managed to stay upright—if just barely.

  “Come on,” I said, placing an arm around her waist. “Let’s go.” The stench of vamp clung to her, prickling at my nose.

  We had to take the alleys to get back to my car without attracting too much attention. She looked like a strung-out coed, and I wasn’t intent on explaining to law enforcement that I hadn’t drugged her myself.

  She mumbled something about Frederick being a jerk to not take her home himself.

  “You’d be better off staying away from him,” I said softly. “But I’d be surprised if you remember any of tonight.” With any luck, she’d forget my face too and I wouldn’t have to worry so much when tracking her. “Just don’t throw up on the upholstery.”

  I scooped her into the passenger seat of my pride and joy—a cherry red ’69 Chevy Camaro Z28 with a pair of thick black racing stripes flowing back over the top from the hood to the trunk of the car—and buckled her in before getting in myself. The engine roared to life and I backed out of the parking spot.

  “Mm, that V8 engine purrs like a kitten,” she mumbled, stroking the door panel.

  She was appreciating my car now? I don’t think she heard anything I had said to her.

  “Maybe I’ll drive you around town sometime when you’re sober,” I told her.

  She grunted and fell quiet for the rest of the drive. Her breathing was slow and deep, though her heart raced faster than I thought it should.

  Thank God her keys were in her little purse on a string. Inside her tiny, second-floor apartment, I put her to bed, removing her shoes and leaving a glass of water on her bedside table. The pinprick bite marks on her neck had already closed. They would be nothing more than puckered little scars by morning. "Damn bloodsucker," I grumbled.

  I crept out of her apartment only to realize that there was no way I could safely lock her in. I was going to have to keep watch until dawn from the parking lot. Fine.

  Downstairs, I moved my car, backing into the empty spot next to her little purple Honda. It was within easy view of her front door. I reclined the driver’s seat and crossed my arms over my chest. It had been foolish of me to confront Frederick in the club, but the vampire had left me no other option. I got lucky. We should both be dead. Sheppard was going to be livid when he heard about tonight. Frederick and his brood weren’t long for this world.

  ONE (Consanguinea)

  IT REALLY SHOULD HAVE occurred to me that running alone in the nature reserve might not have been a good idea—even if it was daytime, and even if I’d been running the trails solo for months. But humans are creatures of habit, and I am certainly no exception—my morning run couldn’t wait.

  Colorado Springs in November was probably colder than most people were used to, but I grew up here. To me, the day was brisk, but clear. I wore layers, but otherwise ran light. I had at least remembered to bring my phone with me, but it was no secret that cell service was unreliable at best on the wooded trails. I didn’t like foregoing music while I ran, but since I didn’t have a running buddy, it was probably smarter. Most of my friends had signed onto the military and been shipped off to basic training or wherever else they ended up. So, I ran the trails alone, without music, and let my mind wander.

  I thought about how sad it was that there were no wolves in Colorado. At least, the editorial piece I had just edited about the Wolf Management Plan seemed to indicate that was the case. I mean, sure, there were coyotes all over The Springs, but I’d heard they could and would live practically anywhere. And there was a wolf sanctuary outside of Manitou, where they rescued wolves and wolf-dogs and educated whoever they could get to go out there and donate. There had been increasing reports of wolf sightings in the northern areas of the state, but here? No wild wolves.

  My thoughts were interrupted by something huge crashing through the underbrush toward me. It had black fur, sharp teeth, and yellow eyes. Forgetting all knowledge that running from predators only provokes them to chase you, I turned on my heel and headed toward civilization, ignoring the winding trails altogether. Big mistake, of course. I had only taken a handful of steps when the creature tackled me full force, knocking the wind out of me as I fell across a tree stump that marked a bend in the path. There was a meaty snap that must have been my femur breaking as pain exploded through my right leg and stars swam in my vision. Jaws clamped around my wrist, crunching through the bones, and I wailed.

  A wolf's howl sounded elsewhere in the woods and I started to shake as more adrenaline pumped into my system. Well, at least I was wrong about the wolves in Colorado. Barring some sort of divine intervention, I was about to be a hungry wolf pack’s next meal. The thing let go of my wrist as I cried out in pain and brought my one good arm up to protect my face. In a momentary flash of clarity, I remembered that going fetal and limp is supposedly one of the best ways to survive a bear attack. The creature was certainly huge enough, and while it more closely resembled a canine, I hoped the theory would still hold true. Through the pain, the best I could manage was to curl around the mess of blood, bone, and muscle that used to be my arm and squeeze my eyes shut.

  The creature’s claws tore at the arm covering my face as it tried to get a grip on my head, attempting to drag me out of my half-balled position with a mouthful of my hair. Warm liquid slithered down the back of my neck. Blood? Drool? Despite my heart pounding in my ears and the adrenaline racing through me, I tried to go limp. I hoped that if I could make myself boring enough, maybe it would go away. It was a delusion. I fought against my own body, my muscles tightening when I tried to relax them. Tears streamed across my face and into my hair.

  When it let go of my hair, sharp teeth scraped against the bones of the ankle on my already hurt leg and dragged me out of the fetal position. My head was swimming from the pain, but I finally managed to be limp. I could hear nothing but the crunching scrape of my body against the brush and my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The terrible yellow-gold eyes of the wolf-thing met mine and I knew I was going to die.

  The fucker. Rage filled my chest.

  I was not going to go down without a fight. Yelling my anger, defiance, and pain at the creature as more adrenaline surged through me, I took a kick at its head with my good leg. My heel connected with an eye socket and the creature yelped and backed away, shaking
its head. I sucked in a lungful of air and put just enough weight on my good leg to start a scrambling, crawling search in the underbrush for a branch I could potentially use to beat the huge wolf.

  That's when a flash of brown and black fur slammed into the side of the first creature. It was another huge wolf. I must have somehow managed to get in the middle of a fight for territory. Or the newcomer was interested in picking off an easy meal now that the first had weakened it. Well, not today assholes. I was not going to be taken down by a couple of wild animals, no matter how large they were.

  Scooting away from the two wolves, my eyes finally landed on a sturdy fallen branch just an arm's length away from me. One more pain-filled shuffle across the floor of the woods and grasped the end with the only hand that could close around it. Clutching it to my chest, I tried to use it to get upright, but renewed pain crackled through my right leg and I crumpled to the ground again.

  I don’t remember how I managed to get to my feet, since I couldn’t put any weight on my right leg, but I did. Snarls and yelps came from the masses of fur and teeth and claws behind me, but I tried not to look back for fear that it would draw attention to my getaway. Blood poured from a wound on my right side, drenching my shirt and the waistband of my sweatpants. That couldn’t be good. Where did that even come from? I pressed a shaking hand to the wound to try to stop the bleeding and started making unsteady progress away from the fight. I tried to stay quiet as I attempted to even out my breathing and my racing heart. I've seen enough zombie movies to know what I must have looked like dragging my useless right leg the way I did. If I survived this, maybe I would look back on this mental image and laugh. At the moment, my vision tunneled into darkness and I closed my eyes for a moment just to catch my breath.

  When I opened them again, I was face down in the dirt and leaves. Furrowing my brow in confusion, I tried to push up with my good arm and saw bare feet and ankles in front of my face. I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Who the hell comes out to these trails barefoot?

  Uh oh. Senselessness from lack of oxygen to the brain was setting in.

  I blinked to try to clear the black from the edges of my vision, but that only made everything foggy. I had fallen from my adrenaline high, and every inch of me screamed in its pain report.

  As I tried to look up, to see who these bare feet belonged to, a man's arm scooped under me. I fought against the blackness, but my eyes rolled back into my head as it overtook me.

  TWO

  “THERE'S ONLY FIVE DAYS between now and then.” A man spoke somewhere in my vicinity, his voice gruff and matter-of-fact. A vague sensation of softness surrounded me. I smelled something wet and metallic, as well as some sort of animal. Someone was grilling nearby, I could smell the smoke and the meat, but that didn't make any sense to me either. Who grills outside of a hospital?

  “And if she wakes up,” came another man’s calm reply, “she’ll make it. She’s not the worst I’ve seen survive.”

  I groaned as sensation floated back to me. Everything hurt, but I managed to open my eyes. Well, one only half opened—it was clearly swollen, and likely black and purple as well. I could see the night sky through a window. Paisley wallpaper lined the walls of the room, and golden light from a lamp on the bedside table bathed the room in a soft glow. The sheets of my big, plush bed were white, the blanket was warm, and the pillow was soft. It felt homey and welcoming, a stark contrast to my own experience with hospitals.

  A middle-aged man wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt sat in a chair next to the bed. His shoulder-length sandy blonde hair was brushed back, and he regarded me with golden-brown eyes. No lab coat. No name badge. Nothing beeped in time with my heartbeat, and no IV line ran to my arm.

  This was not a hospital. My heart started to pound in my ears.

  Another man with short blonde hair and a vicious scar across the left half of his face pushed off the door frame and stepped into the hallway beyond my field of view. No lab coat on that one either. My pulse kicked into high gear and I shifted under the blanket. It hurt, but at least I confirmed that my arms and legs were not restrained—that was a good sign. Maybe these guys rescued me? But why didn’t they take me to a hospital?

  “What—” I croaked. My mouth was so dry that the sound was barely more than a whisper.

  The seated man handed me a glass of water from the bedside table, and I gulped half of it down before I tried again.

  “What happened?” I asked, pressing the glass to my lips for another sip.

  “A werewolf,” he replied, closing his hand into a fist. “A crazed werewolf.”

  I nearly choked on a gulp of water. “That’s not funny at all,” I managed to get out. I cleared my throat and tried again. “A werewolf? Really? That’s just folklore and stories. Besides, it was broad daylight.” And maybe I'd read too many books like that one with the sparkly vampires. The werewolf stories were always my favorite, though.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “You know, all legends have a hint of truth to them.” He rolled with it, and he looked me square in the eye like he was telling me I had cancer. Sick bastard.

  I squirmed and looked away.

  “It’s no joke,” he continued. “Human lives are too short to joke about something so serious.” He said ‘human’ like the nature of it simply didn’t apply to him.

  My heart continued its nearly frenzied pounding in my ears. Using my uninjured arm, I propelled myself up on the bed and winced with pain. That was a mistake. Every movement I made pulled at fresh scabs. Everything itched where it stretched, but worse, it all hurt in that dull ache sort of way that makes you wish it would just stop throbbing for a moment so you could go back to sleep. I bit my lip to stifle a groan and tasted blood.

  “That thing was nearly as big as a bear.” My head started to feel too heavy for my neck. “And Colorado hasn’t had wolves for decades.”

  “No one believes me the first time.” Nodding, he pursed his lips. “I’ll have to show you then.”

  When he stood, my eyes went wide. I took a breath to scream, but he turned away from me and walked over to the door. “Jonathan, we're ready for you,” he said in a patient tone.

  It felt almost fatherly. Weird.

  I narrowed my eyes as well as one can when one of your eyes is nearly swollen shut. A huge wolf-thing like the creature on the reserve padded into the room. As if my heart wasn’t racing fast enough, a chill went down my spine. I took a breath to try to stay calm. “Jesus—”

  “I take that to mean a creature like this is what attacked you,” White t-shirt said, gesturing with an open palm.

  The creature next to him was pale grey with black blending in on the face, ears, and tail. Its disconcertingly human green eyes were flecked with gold and it regarded me with what I was sure was quiet amusement. It reminded me of a raccoon in a way I couldn't quite explain.

  I slowly bobbed my head once. “Just what kind of dog is that thing?!”

  The creature sighed.

  White t-shirt shrugged. “He’s a werewolf, like I said. Jonathan, if you could please rejoin us and show our doubting guest.”

  I swear the thing nodded as every part of it started to contort. Its legs elongated, and its torso changed to be more upright, above the hips. The grey fur on its head gave way to a dark goatee and dark brown hair that fell to broad shoulders. As fur became skin, I realized that if there was a man under all the fur and claws and teeth, he was going to be naked. I turned my head away.

  “No use being shy about skin anymore,” the naked man said with an amused chuckle. “People clothes don't fit wolves.”

  I heard clothes rustling and turned back when I heard a zipper. Scars crisscrossed his entire torso, and I looked to my own bandages. I was pretty sure this is what it looked like to be run over by a cheese grater. I kind of felt like I had too. I smelled steak and potatoes and wood and warmth and wet metal and my stomach did not feel capable of holding down food. Black started creeping into the edges of my vi
sion.

  “Oh, Shep, she's got a ways to go, this one,” Jonathan said as the glass of water hit the carpet with a dull thud.

  I didn't even remember dropping it.

  “She'll make it.” White t-shirt looked at me, concern plain on his face as he eased me back onto the pillows.

  How did he get across the room so fast?

  “Jonathan's the joker of our little pack.” He pulled the blanket back into place around me, brushing wayward strands of hair out of my face. It reminded me of the way my father used to do it when I was a child, hiding in my parents’ bed from thunderstorms. “I'm Sheppard, the pack alpha, and this is my home. Believe it or not, you are perfectly safe here.”

  Yep. Blackness won that round, but I must not have been out for long, Sheppard was still standing over me when it cleared. He was looking at me expectantly.

  Oh yeah, he had just introduced himself.

  I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell them my real name. I wasn’t fully certain I should even trust them. But something in my gut felt a sincere truthfulness to everything they’d said. It was strange and disconcerting.

  “Call me...Lynn,” I said. That’s a better name for them to know me by. Sheppard raised a brow, but nodded. I tried to narrow my eyes again to read his face.

  “Pack doesn't keep secrets, it goes deeper than family or blood. You'll see,” Sheppard said.

  “I'm not in your pack.” God, I was just a girl who clearly didn't show the best judgment with her choice of running locales. What the hell did he mean by pack anyway?

  “Well,” Sheppard pursed his lips. “Maybe not, but you are a werewolf now, and there's no getting around that.”