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

by Becca Lynn Mathis

  I screamed and ran down the stairs. “God! Please no!” I didn’t care who heard me.

  Downstairs, I scrambled for the basement door, throwing it open and slamming it shut behind me. I raced down the stairs. Sheppard sat in a chair at the bottom, his back to the stairs, and—subsequently—the door. Sweat beaded his brow, and his concentration and focus were entirely on the wolf in the cage. He hadn’t even registered my entrance.

  I grabbed his shoulder, urging him to face me. He did. Scratching wounds opened from beneath his shirt, pouring dust into his lap. He stared at the wounds and dust for a moment before meeting my eyes. I could only imagine the look of terror he must have seen there.

  “They will always fear you,” he said simply, his voice eerily calm. And then his jaw fell from his face as the rest of him burst into dust on the chair.

  Another scream of unadulterated terror rose from my chest, and the wolf in the cage sounded its broken howl.

  I ran back up the stairs, but the doorknob wouldn’t turn. I was locked in the basement with the ashes of my alpha and the broken, violent creature in its cage.

  “Somebody, please! Help me!” I slammed my fists against the door. “Please! I’m sorry! I don’t know what to do!” I pounded at the door again. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” Another strike on the door. “Please someone! Help me!”

  There was a voice on the other side of the door, “Lynn.” I couldn’t place whose it was.

  “Help me! Please!” I pounded at the door again.

  “Lynn!” It was Jonathan’s voice? How?

  “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it!” Something jangled in my head and I shook, trying to clear it.

  “Lynn!” Jonathan was shaking my shoulders under the blanket.

  I was screaming when I woke, unsure where the nightmare had started. In a single move, I threw the blanket from me and leapt from the bed. I ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. There was no roiling in my stomach, no vomit threatening to escape me. But my heart pounded like a kick drum against my sternum, and I could feel the adrenaline racing through me.

  “It was just a nightmare,” Jonathan said from the door of the bathroom. “You’re alright.” His heart was pounding too.

  I looked into my own panicked face in the mirror. The golden eyes of my wolf stared back at me.

  I would have brushed past Jonathan as I left the bathroom, except he had the forethought to step back. I had to get to Sheppard, to confirm for myself that he was alright, but also to...well, I wasn’t really sure. As I rushed down the stairs, the words from my nightmare echoed in my head: they will always fear you. God, that couldn’t be true, could it?

  Sheppard hadn’t gone to bed. I could smell that he was still in the basement. I slowed my pace as I got to the door and quietly turned the knob. I didn’t close the door behind me this time as I descended the stairs. Jonathan was a step or two behind me.

  Sheppard was in a chair with his back to us, just as he had been in my dream, and my heart pounded harder. Sweat beaded his brow, and he lifted his head as I approached, his eyes still focused on the wolf. The caged creature was asleep, the gentle rise and fall of its chest belying the violence it promised when it was awake.

  I wiped at my face. “I have to know if I’m a danger to the pack. To your pack.”

  Sheppard turned to me then. His shirt was open halfway down his chest now, and I could see the wounds that had poured ash in my dream. But his wounds were simply scabbed over with blood.

  “Grace Lynn Cartwright,” he said solemnly. “If I thought you could ever hurt this pack, I would have let the military take you long ago.” His eyes and tone were gentle, and it broke my heart.

  My vision blurred out of focus, and I had to swallow around the sob that threatened. I squeezed my eyes shut and saw the strands of the pack again, power shimmering along them, leading to Sheppard. I swallowed around the lump again. My own strand was just as strong as the others’. I took a breath to try to slow down my heart and opened my eyes, looking at Sheppard’s wounds.

  I gestured to his chest. “I thought we were nearly bulletproof. Shouldn’t those have healed by now?”

  Sheppard gave me a wry smile and touched the topmost scabbed injury. “Wounds from consanguinea take longer to heal. If I thought you were going to crash through that vamp’s body like that, this probably wouldn’t have happened.” He shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  My skeptical face must have been showing.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “And it’ll heal in another day or so.”

  I pulled my lip between my teeth. I wish I knew what the heck was going on with me. Or how to stop it from hurting the pack. But I couldn’t even put together how dusting a vampire and turning a werewolf human again were even related. It just didn’t make any sense.

  “We’ll figure out what’s going on,” Sheppard said, his voice as patient as ever. “I just need to hear what Kristos knows.”

  “What do I do in the meantime?” It came out as a hoarse whisper around the lump in my throat.

  “Patience is hard when you’re not used to the idea of being around for centuries,” Sheppard said with another wry smile. “You try to get some rest. Maybe help Chastity crack into that flash drive in the morning.” He nodded in the direction of the sleeping wolf. “I’m going to keep trying to save this one. Getting it to sleep is good, but it’s not enough. If I can get it to change back, then there’s a chance of saving them.” He spread his hands. “But the effort is leaving my pack vulnerable, and the last thing we need is for the vampires to try to come down hard on us while my focus is shifted like this. I don’t have the same control, nor the same power.”

  “What does that mean?” I couldn’t fathom what it even meant to have the kind of power being an alpha entailed.

  “It means he can’t keep trying forever,” Jonathan said from where he sat at the top of the basement stairs. “Or we may lose our alpha.”

  My eyes went wide, and I snapped my attention back to Sheppard. “It could kill you?!”

  Sheppard’s gentle smile returned and he shook his head. “No. The exertion of power over this wolf won’t kill me, but the instability could fracture the strength of the pack. And if the vampires attack, we could splinter apart. If you concentrate, you can feel the imbalance of power straining the pack bonds.”

  “We’re stronger than that, Shep,” Jonathan replied.

  Sheppard nodded. “I would hope so. The pack needs my attention much more than this stray does. Pack must come first, or we lose the ability to save others.”

  “Lone wolves aren’t effective,” I guessed.

  Sheppard’s golden-brown eyes met mine. “Lone wolves don’t survive well. We’re meant for packs.”

  I looked to the sleeping wolf in its cage, watching the rise and fall of its chest.

  “Go. Sleep.” He jerked his head toward the stairs. “Help Chastity in the morning.” He looked up at Jonathan on the stairs and gave him a smile that felt distinctly fatherly.

  Reassuring warmth shimmered in the air, and I was glad I had come to bother Sheppard. I may not have any more answers about what was happening to me, but he had all but told me that pack was where I belonged anyway. As I followed Jonathan out of the basement and back upstairs, my nerves settled. Maybe there was a place for me here.

  THIRTY-THREE

  IN MY ROOM, I STARED at my bed for a long moment. It was childish, but I was afraid to go back to sleep. When I was little, my nightmares had always returned upon going back to sleep. Though my nightmares as an adult had been rare, I still had trouble getting back to sleep those nights. My nightmares waited for me, and I hated it.

  I turned to Jonathan. “Will you—” I pushed my hand into my hair and focused on his bare feet. “Will you stay with me? Tonight, I mean?”

  The electricity crept back into his woodsy scent. “I’d be glad to,” he replied with a gentle smile. His heart pounded too.

  He waited for me to get into the b
ed. When I finally got settled, he laid down on top of the blanket next to me, draping his arm across my stomach. Though the blanket was between his arm and my body, it was warm. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t get the image of me accidentally flailing into him in one of the aftershock nightmares and turning him to ash.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s just—” I squeezed my eyes shut and took a breath. “I just don’t know how good of an idea it is for you to be here in the bed.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “What if I accidentally, you know?”

  “What if you accidentally dust me, you mean?” There was a half-hearted attempt at a joke there, but it was too serious a matter for it to carry any weight.

  I nodded.

  He placed his hand over mine and squeezed through the blanket as he sat up.

  “I still don’t think you’re going to affect me. Not given all the touching we’ve already done since your change.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “But I’ll grab one of the blankets and a pillow from the linen closet and sleep right there on the floor.” He pointed over me to the space in front of the nightstand and met my eyes. “Just to be on the safe side.”

  His face was only inches from mine. And dammit if I didn’t want to just lose myself in his kiss right now.

  My chest ached. I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be able to kiss him again without risking losing him altogether.

  He closed his eyes then, and I heard him inhale as he leaned a fraction of an inch closer. Closing my eyes, I pressed my head against my pillow, willing him not to try to come any closer—trusting him not to come any closer. Tears slipped from the corner of my eyes as he took another breath and pushed himself off the bed.

  I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to quell the sob that was trying to tear through my chest. Hadn’t I cried enough over this stupid ability?

  He came back a moment later with multiple blankets bundled against him with one arm, and a fluffy pillow gripped in his other hand. He folded one of the big comforters in half and laid it on the ground, arranging the pillow up near the nightstand. He then laid down on his side, facing the bed, and pulled the other blanket over him.

  “Try to get some sleep, Dreamer,” he whispered. “Sleep away as much time as you can until we hear from Kristos. Then it won’t seem so long.”

  I smirked at him. “Did that line work on your brother for Christmas or something?”

  He laughed then, a sound I wasn’t sure I was going to hear from him again. My chest grew tight.

  Dammit.

  “I tried,” he said through a chuckle, “but Jamie was more the stay-up-all-night type.”

  I put my head down on top of my hand at the edge of the bed, my knuckles pressing into my cheek. “You know, I believe it.”

  He watched me for a moment, hooking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear.

  “What happened in that nightmare?” His voice was quiet. “Did you just go crazy and attack everyone?”

  There was no malice or fear in the tone, of course, just curiosity.

  I pressed my lips into a line and looked away from him. “No. I just dusted everyone. It started with you,” the lump in my throat formed again, “and ended with Sheppard.”

  Jonathan nodded slowly. “You’re so scared to hurt pack that your dreams are attacking you.”

  I tried to swallow past the ball of grief lodged in my throat. “Pretty much.”

  “There has to be something that triggers it,” Jonathan said, his brow furrowed in thought. “You’ve probably had the ability to do that since your first change. I don’t think this is something that just spontaneously develops. So why didn’t it happen before? What happened now?”

  “I don’t think...” With a huff, I wiped at my face. “I can’t think about that right now. I can’t even run through what happened in the cave without wanting to throw up.”

  Jonathan smiled, and there was mischief in it. “It’s probably gonna be a while before you can eat grilled ribs, huh?”

  I threw a pillow at him. “Rude!” But I could feel the smile pulling at my face. “But yes, it’s probably gonna be a while before I’m interested in having anything with a bone in my mouth.”

  “Well that’s a shame,” he winked at me. The impishness hadn’t left his eyes.

  I threw my other pillow at him. He caught it. “I can’t even touch you right now and you’re sad I can’t give you head?”

  “Sausage-fest, remember?” He tossed the pillow back onto the bed. It landed behind me.

  I lifted my chin playfully. “You’re just a horn-dog.”

  He sobered then. “For you.”

  I propped my head on my hand, my elbow on the edge of the bed. “How can you be so sure you want anything to do with me at all? You don’t even know me.”

  “Sure I do,” he replied. “Grace Lynn Cartwright; age 22; born March 20th, 1997; freelance copy-editor; drives an old Honda Del Sol, purple; mom died in a car accident sophomore year of college; dad’s off in Europe; no siblings; hangs out in used bookshops and cafés; heads to the club with her girlfriends on weekends; runs the trails every morning; loves peanut butter and raisin sandwiches.”

  I stared at him. That was an alarming amount of specificity.

  “Ew! Wait a minute! No I don’t!”

  His eyes glittered. “I know, I just wanted to see if you were actually paying attention.”

  “And my car’s not that old.” I rolled my eyes at him and retrieved the pillow. “That’s a lot to know about me. I thought you guys had only been tailing me for a month or so.”

  “Well, yea,” Jonathan said, raking his hand through his hair. “But Sheppard knew about you for longer, and he shared what he knew about you with us after the military stuck their nose in on pack territory.”

  “Are you guys really so picky about that?”

  “We have to be with the military around,” he replied. “They have their own werewolf program, and we’re not interested in crossing with them. Those guys are ridiculously regimented, and they have their own agenda.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well look.” He sat up then, crossing his legs and facing me. “The military has its own pack, probably more than one, and the base is just north of The Springs, right?”

  I nodded.

  “So, if there’s a military base crawling with werewolves right outside of town,” he said, gesturing north with his hand, “then why are there still so many vamps underneath the Chateau?”

  That was a damn good question. One I couldn’t possibly have an answer to.

  “And that’s why Sheppard doesn’t trust the military,” he said. “There shouldn’t be any vampires at all anywhere near here, but there are. And now that we’re in town, the Chateau is part of our territory, so the military has lost their chance at it, unless they want to take us out.”

  “Would they do that?” My eyes were wide.

  “Hell no,” Jonathan replied, his voice emphatic. “They wouldn’t dare. If they tried to take us out, the packs we’re friends with would come down hard on them. It’d probably lead to so much infighting that the bloodsuckers would take over North America.”

  “Wow, you think so?”

  “Well,” he hedged, “maybe not all of North America, but it’s hard to fight a war on two fronts. And it’d be just the kind of thing that the vampires would love to see happen.”

  I yawned. “How do you guys keep the fighting between you and the vamps so quiet? How come the whole world doesn’t know?”

  “Shep says the world isn’t ready.” Jonathan yawned too. “But I think part of it is that they simply don’t want to believe.” He laid back down on the blanket, propping his head on his hand. “People make up excuses and rationalize things that don’t otherwise fit into their worldview. I think the world isn’t ready for werewolves because the world’s too busy being blind to itself.”

  “I’m scared to go back to sleep,” I whispered as my eyelids grew heavy. />
  Jonathan’s gentle smile returned. “I know,” he whispered back, “but I promise I’ll wake you if you start having another nightmare.”

  “Without touching me?”

  He nodded. “Without touching you.”

  That helped, actually. I settled my head against my pillow. “Goodnight, Jonathan,” I whispered.

  I could hear the smile even in his whisper. “Goodnight, Dreamer.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  MY NIGHTMARES DIDN’T return for once, and I marveled at the peaceful sleep I had gotten. I did, however, wake soon after dawn, judging by the light from my window. Jonathan’s deep, even breathing told me he was still asleep on the floor, which I confirmed by looking over the edge of the bed. He had spent the whole night on the floor of my room. Just so that he could be there for me if I had another nightmare.

  With a quiet yawn, I stretched my arms over my head. It had been too many mornings since I last went for a run. A lot had been happening these past few days, sure, but I missed the routine of my morning. Nodding to myself, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and crept from the bed to keep from waking Jonathan. At the chair in the corner of the room, I put my tennis shoes on and checked the battery of my phone. I was at forty-three percent. That should be fine for a run around the neighborhood. It wasn’t like I was going to be gone all day.

  Still, I didn’t want anyone to worry. I tapped out a quick message, sending it to both Jonathan and Sheppard.

  Taking my morning run. Be back soon. No worries.

  Jonathan’s phone buzzed from under the bed. And it sounded like his breathing had changed. Dammit. I looked back to his spot on the floor. If he was awake, he hadn’t moved, and it certainly didn’t look like he was going to try to stop me from running. Thank God.

  I crept out of the house, closing the front door with a nearly inaudible click, and broke into a jog down the driveway and ran through the neighborhood. I didn’t try to run through the events of the cave, and I tried not to let myself focus on the pack not touching me. Instead, I just tried to enjoy the crisp fall air. The chill of winter breathed over the mountains, a promise of snow to come. The birds woke as I ran, their chirps and caws sounding through the trees, though I didn’t know enough about the wildlife to be able to identify any of them.