by Roh Morgon
I nod.
Taz pushes off from the table and ambles past me to the front door. He opens it and turns to look back at me.
“Stay here. If you leave, I will find you.” The cold light in his eyes and hard set of his mouth promises that if he does find me, things might get a little unpleasant between us.
I hate being told what to do.
But rebelling won’t get me to Alina, so I just need to bide my time. If it turns out these assholes aren’t going to help, I’m outta here. And I guarantee that big bastard won’t be able to stop me.
His hawkish stare drills into me a moment longer, then with no further word, he stalks out the front door, slamming it behind him.
CHAPTER 40
I listen for the garage to open, for the roar of his bike. But the lengthening silence indicates he left on foot.
Maybe he’s going to visit a neighbor for a late-night snack.
A glance at my cell phone indicates the sun will be rising soon. Since it seems like no one’s here, I decide to have a look around.
The first thing I notice is that, in contrast to the garage, the walls of the rooms I’ve seen so far are bare, as well as those of the hallway stretching off to my right.
It makes me a little sad. Most homes have at least a few photographs out on display. Guess if you’ve outlived your family, you wouldn’t want those reminders around anymore.
I wander down the hallway and stop at the open doorway on the right. The bathroom. It contains normal toiletry items—towels, soap, combs, toothbrushes. The last makes me laugh as I visualize Redd and Taz brushing their fangs.
The sight of the mirror draws me farther inside. Recalling the colorful auras cloaking The Chosen, I peer at the edges of my reflection, straining to see a glimmer of my own. But no matter how much I stare, or squint, or unfocus my gaze, I cannot see even a hint of one surrounding me. Disappointment deepens into chagrin as my examination settles on the tangled dreadlocks the wind twisted into my hair.
After trying unsuccessfully to pick out the worst of the knots with my fingers, I give up and grab an elastic hair band from a small bowl on the counter. It doesn’t look quite so bad in a ponytail, but it’s still a mess. Frowning one last time at my auraless image, I continue my exploration.
Across the hall is a narrow laundry room, looking like any laundry room, with a windowed door at the other end leading to the backyard.
The remaining three doors down the hall are closed. I feel guilty snooping, but understanding these Chosen is more important than social politeness. I pause and listen at the first door, then do the same with the two at the end. Sensing no one, I take a chance and turn a doorknob.
A large piece of red-and-green plaid fabric covers the window. Another plaid in green and black, woven with thinner lines of red and white, droops from tacks on the wall, leaving no doubt as to whom this room belongs. Most of it is taken up by an unmade queen-sized bed, its covers spilling to the floor. The laundry piled next to the open closet appears to be migrating across the carpet. A sock and several T-shirts hang from half-open dresser drawers. Biker magazines sliding from stacks against the wall complete the picture.
Redd is a bit of a slob.
Quietly closing the door, I turn to the opposite one.
The large master bedroom is filled with candles and religious icons and wooden masks perched on shelves or hung from the walls. Knives in all sizes accent the displays. A king-sized canopy bed, covered by a deep purple quilt and draped with lavender sheers, occupies the center of an ornate rug. Hanging in the doorway of what must be the bathroom is a lavender-and-purple bead curtain, and next to it a wild rainbow of tiny sleeves peeks from the closet.
Chia. The room has a dark, disturbing feel to it, and I gladly pull the door shut.
My hand starts to turn the doorknob of the last room and stops. Though I peered into the other bedrooms without entering, and felt invasive just doing that, even the thought of opening the door to this one seems like a major trespass.
But this is probably the most important one. Taz, despite a lack of communication skills, appears to be the leader of this little group, and I need to find out what makes him tick.
I ease the door open.
The room is an immaculate island in the clutter and unkempt chaos of this house. A low oak dresser beneath the window and a wooden chair next to the door are the sole pieces of furniture. Neatly laid out in one corner is a huge, shaggy, brown fur. I can only guess that it might be his bed.
In contrast to the stained and filthy carpeting in the rest of the house, the mottled beige carpet in here is clean. Other than a brown quilt covering the window, the walls are bare, devoid of any hint about the occupant’s interests, and the closed closet doors offer nothing by which to gauge his wardrobe tastes.
Something on the dresser draws me into the room against my will, and I find myself drifting toward it to get a better look. It’s a bundle of silvery sage leaves, its charred end resting in the ashes filling an abalone shell. Beside the shell is an eagle feather fan. The feathers look real, not painted like the ones in the tourist shops.
But what intrigues me most lies next to the fan—a worn copy of an old travel book on Europe. I can’t resist picking it up.
The pages are yellowed and dog-eared, and tiny notes scrawl down many of the margins. I carefully flip through the book and, stopping on the page for Paris, begin to read the barely legible handwriting beside the print.
The City of Love.
That’s what they call it.
Its real name is the City of Pain.
I understand now why Angelique was the way she was,
and why I’m the way I am.
It’s in the Blood.
And it’ll never let me go.
“Put that down and get the fuck out of my room.”
I nearly drop the book. Without looking at Taz, I set it back in its place and walk toward the door. He says nothing as he steps back to let me pass, and my nerves receive another shock, this time from the scent clinging to him, a scent I know all too well.
It’s the musky scent of deer blood.
Before I can turn around, the door slams behind me and the deadbolt rams home.
The distant rumble of a Harley brings me back to reality.
I’ve been curled up on the couch for the last half hour, trying to process what happened in the bedroom. I’m not sure what has me more stunned—that this crude, aggressive Chosen feeds on deer, or the glimpse those written words gave me into a tortured soul.
Yet in thinking about the violence that feels as though it will explode from him at any moment, I realize that it hasn’t. Not when I slapped him, nor when I initially refused to leave with him, and certainly not when he found me in his room going through his belongings, an offense that might actually merit bodily harm.
The garage door opens and the house vibrates with the thrump-thrump of a Harley engine until the door closes and the motorcycle shuts off. Redd and Chia are laughing as they enter the kitchen.
“Well, look what the cat drug in,” Chia says, heading down the hall. “Good. We need a maid around here.”
I stare daggers at her retreating back.
Redd pauses at the dining room table, tossing a handful of mail onto the pile in the middle, and shoots me a grin.
“Pay her no mind, lassie. She’s harmless. Most of the time.” He laughs. “Exceptin’, of course, when she’s pissed off. Which happens a lot, come to think of it.”
“What the fuck!” Her shrill voice echoes through the hallway.
“And I’m guessing she’s a wee ticked now. That’s my cue to leave.” He waves and starts down the hall, only to stop.
“Get outta my way!” Chia shoves past him and storms over to the couch. She glares at me with crimson eyes, her pulsating aura the color of a fresh bruise. “What the fuck were you doing in my room?”
I want to tear out her throat, but force myself to calm down and remain seated. From out of the corner of
my eye, I notice Redd slip down the hall.
“I didn’t go in.”
“Like hell you didn’t! Your stink is everywhere!”
“I did not go in. All I did was open the door for a minute. I never went into the room.”
“Liar!”
“Easy now, Chi. She’s tellin’ the truth.” Redd crosses the room and places his hands on the tiny shoulders.
“Bullshit. I don’t even know why she’s up here!”
“Be reasonable, Chi. I checked things out. Her scent isn’t anywhere past the doorway.”
She snarls at me.
“I still don’t want her up here. She should be downstairs. I wanna vote.”
Downstairs? Did I miss a door that leads downstairs?
Redd looks at me, shaking his head.
“We only have a few rules around here,” he says. “One of them is to stay out of each other’s space.”
“I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.” I sit up a little straighter. “But I needed to get an idea of my surroundings, and no one was here to explain any rules.”
“No one should have to tell you to stay out of people’s stuff.” Chia looks up at Redd behind her. “I’m serious. Let’s vote. Now. I want her— ”
“She stays up here.” Taz’s gruff command cuts her off. I didn’t even hear him come out of his room.
“Taz—” Chia pleads, turning to him.
“She stays.” His face is unreadable. He disappears down the hall and closes his door.
“Redd, that’s not fair.” Her face screws into a pout and she crosses her arms.
The big Scot shrugs.
And then we all feel it at the same time.
The pull. The inescapable pull into darkness by the rising sun.
“Shit,” Chia mutters, then staggers off down the hall, followed by Redd, who waves before stumbling out of view.
Grateful for the interruption, I slip off my jacket, curl back up on the couch, and tug the ratty blanket over me.
Beginning to wish I never got on that damn bike.
THURSDAY
CHAPTER 41
Panic jolts me awake and my eyes snap open. I lurch to my feet, growling. Scanning the unfamiliar surroundings, I take in the blanket-covered couches, the engine parts on the coffee table, the big screen TV. Memory clicks into place.
Crap. It wasn’t a dream.
Trying to calm my jangled nerves, I listen for sounds of movement. The house is as silent as a tomb, which it kind of is, now that I think about it.
A black quilt over the window blocks out the light well enough that I can’t tell what time of day it is. But the hunger in my belly doesn’t live by the clock.
And it’s informing me that it’s time to hunt.
Taz can kiss my ass.
The feel of the three auras hangs in the air, like invisible fog. Cat-footing it to the front door, I quietly unlock it, then ease it open and slip through, snugging it shut behind me. The light of late afternoon greets me as I step off the porch and try to get my bearings.
Mill Valley sits in a cluster of communities strung along the Highway 101 corridor north of the Bay. From what I recall of my internet research, the areas west and north of here are mostly undeveloped, and dotted with state and national parks. They’re also filled with a booming population of blacktail deer.
Heading up the driveway, I pick up the pace. At the county road I turn left, traveling in the opposite direction from town and the freeway, and break into a brisk trot. The birds singing and flitting through the brush bring a smile to my face. I savor the scent of oaks and dried grasses lining the roadway, and the tension coiling my muscles begins to unwind. The houses tucked against the road thin, and spotting a promising ravine, I jog up it and into the wooded hills.
It’s just after dark when I step off the road and start down the driveway. My hunger’s feeling pretty satisfied, as much as that’s possible with deer. I’d rather have bear, but can’t afford to leave their carcasses lying around as I did in the Montana wilderness expecting the carrion eaters to take care of them. There are too many people and not enough big scavengers, and a rash of dead bears would stir up both the rangers and the media.
Taz is leaning against a porch post as the unlit front of the house comes into view, his arms crossed and his expression murderous. He says nothing until I get closer.
“I told you not to leave.”
“I don’t recall actually agreeing to that.”
He straightens and unfolds his arms, hands clenching into fists.
“We need to get a few things straight if you wanna stay healthy.”
“Yeah, we do. Like—what am I, your prisoner? Cuz I’m not really sure what I’m doing here.”
Taz sneers at me.
“You’re staying alive, that’s what you’re doing. And you can keep doing so, as long as you do what you’re told.”
“Why? Why keep me alive? You still haven’t told me why I’m here.”
The air whispers and he leans over my face. His eyes, palest gold, glitter with streaks of red in their depths. Surprise creases his brow and he frowns for a split second, his nostrils widening, then his lip curls and an ominous growl rumbles from his chest.
“You waltz into our territory uninvited, a foreigner, prowling our streets, huntin’ and leavin’ bodies we can’t find. And then you have the balls to demand to see the ruling Elder?” His deathly laugh sends a shot of fear up my spine. “You’re lucky we didn’t take you out the minute you crossed the bridge into the city.”
I swallow. And then his words sink in.
“Wait. How long have you known I was here?”
His answering snort tells me just how naïve I was.
Taz eases back.
“Since the night you checked into the motel. Been tracking your every movement for weeks.” He shakes his head. “Boy, are you dumb. Pretty. But dumb.”
I bristle at the insult.
“So what now? Are you going to take me to see Alina?”
He laughs again.
“No. Not until you tell me why you need to see her so badly.”
I’m tempted. But he’s not of Nicolas’s lineage, and for all I know, might actually be working against Alina. I have no idea if The Chosen in the limo that Redd followed belong to her, or an opposing faction within the lineage.
“Like I said before, my business with her is my own. And as for the bodies you couldn’t find, there are none because I didn’t leave any. The only hunting I did in the city was for Chosen.”
His eyes narrow as he studies me. He takes a breath as though to speak, then stops at the sound of the front door opening.
Light momentarily pierces the surrounding darkness and Chia steps out, wearing an orange tank top beneath her green leather jacket, her kinky chocolate hair surrounding her head like a furry helmet. The moonless night envelops us once again as she shuts the door.
“She came back? Shit. Well, you better put a leash on your pet, Taz, cuz I don’t wanna have to look at your mopey face the next time she takes off.”
“Shut the hell up, Chi. Give it a rest. Go tell Redd we’re gonna jam.” He turns and walks toward the garage, long black braid swinging against his leather biker jacket.
Chia wrinkles her nose in a toothy grin, then grabs her crotch and points at me and then Taz, nodding and thrusting her hips. Laughing, she disappears inside the house.
God, she’s disgusting.
The garage door machinery hums and clanks and fluorescent light floods the dark driveway. A second later I hear the door to the kitchen open and Redd’s laughter. The bikes start, one after another, their twin galloping engines booming from the open garage. Redd rolls out with Chia perched behind him and gives me a thumbs up along with his perpetual grin. Taz follows a second later and gestures me over.
“Get on,” he yells over the engine, handing me a black half-helmet that matches the one on his head.
“Where are we going?” I shout back.
“Taki
ng care of ‘business.’” He smirks.
I look down at my sweater. Though it’s black and I tried to be careful, it’s stiff with dried deer blood and it reeks.
“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”
Taz rolls his eyes, kicks the stand down, and leans the idling bike onto it. Swinging his leg over the seat, he mutters something about “women,” and vanishes into the garage. He reappears a few seconds later with a black Metallica T-shirt and my jacket and tosses them to me.
Turning my back on the trio, I’m conscious of their stares as I quickly change. The shirt is huge on me, but at least it doesn’t smell of deer. It does smell of him, though, rich and masculine, and triggers all sorts of unwanted feelings, including a flush of desire.
Stupid body.
“Wow, Taz. She’s pretty hot. Bet you can’t wait to see what the rest of her looks like. I might want some of that myself,” Chia hollers, giggling. Redd guns his engine and laughs.
Taz is staring at me curiously when I turn back around, and I remember the silvery scars from the bear—scars that did not disappear when I completed the Change.
I pull my ponytail out from beneath the T-shirt and chuck the sweater into the garage as the door’s closing. Shrugging into my jacket, alarm jolts through me and I quickly check my pockets.
They’re all empty. No wallet, no cell phone, no keys.
Shit.
Taz is shaking his head when I look up, his mouth tugged into that infuriating half smile. He mouths the word, “Dumb.”
Guess he’s right. I am dumb.
With a heavy sigh, I step over to the bike, take the helmet from him, and slip it on. Taz settles onto the bike and rocks it upright, nudging the kickstand back into place. I get on behind him as he revs the engine and it answers with a throaty roar.
“Gimme your hands,” he yells over his shoulder.
Why do I keep ending up with Chosen males whose only communications with me are in the form of an order? Not that I’m with Taz, but he’s even worse than Nicolas.
I extend my arms on either side of him, and he grabs them, yanking me forward, and wraps them tightly around his waist.
