Runner: Book II of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  “Good evening, Sunny. I trust you rested well?”

  The way she says it reminds me of Nicolas, with a warm formality so like his, underscored by a similar accent. My irritation melts at the familiar feel.

  “I did. Thank you.”

  She reaches out toward my hand resting on the seat and touches my ring.

  “That’s an interesting ring.”

  I almost didn’t wear it. I don’t want any reminders of Taz. He was nothing more than an unwelcome distraction in my search for Nicolas.

  But the ring works so much better than the necklace.

  At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  “It’s an herb ring.” I show her the windowed interior. “Taz made it. He thought it might help when I’m…”

  What did he call it? Oh yeah.

  “Having a moment,” I finish lamely.

  Alina smiles thoughtfully and nods.

  “I see. Do you have many of those? Moments?”

  “Not really.” Not as long as I avoid humans, that is. “But a couple times when we were out, he thought I was having difficulty staying… focused.”

  Alina frowns.

  “When you were out…” Her gaze hardens. “How long were you with him and his companions?”

  “Since Halloween night. Guess it’s been about a week or so.”

  “A week.” She turns her head and stares out the window. “It must have been… difficult. He and his companions are rather crude, don’t you think?”

  I’m not sure how to answer. I’m a guest, and guests shouldn’t whine to their hosts, no matter how trying the circumstances—but especially when the host holds the guest’s fate in their hands.

  “They treated me well enough. I have no complaints.”

  She nods, continuing to stare out the window.

  I opt to do the same, wondering why she’s suddenly become so distant.

  After about ten minutes of strained silence, the car pulls to a stop in front of an office building. Alina’s door opens and Isaac extends his hand to help her out. She ignores it and steps lightly onto the sidewalk. I join her as she turns to the hovering bodyguard.

  “Please stay with the car, Isaac. I’ll be fine.”

  “But Lady Dăneşti…”

  “I said I’ll be fine.”

  His eyes flicker at her sharp tone, but he says nothing more.

  Alina glances at me, then turns and heads up the steps toward the front doors. As I fall in behind her, Isaac moves, fast, and has one open for her when she reaches it.

  “Thank you, Isaac,” she says, her voice softening as she passes him. I quickly follow her inside.

  Alina remains silent while we wait for the elevator. When the doors open, we step inside and she hits the button for the third floor. The mechanisms whir and clank to a stop, but when the doors open, she presses another button, this one for the belowground parking garage. She turns, her eyes sparkling, and seems to be biting back a smile.

  “Come,” she said as the doors open, not bothering to hide the excitement now lighting up her face.

  An electronic chirp and flashing lights from a sleek black Porsche beckon to us from a parking spot near the elevator. Alina smiles and waves toward the car as we near it, then opens the driver’s door and climbs in. I follow suit, enjoying the soft German hum as she turns the ignition and the engine starts warming up.

  She flashes me a conspiratorial smirk, shifts the car into gear, and backs out of the parking space.

  “Poor Isaac. He will be furious with me once he realizes what I’ve done. He gets very upset whenever I slip my leash—the leash I allow him to maintain.” She laughs and glances sidelong at me. “But he forgets how old I am, how strong I am, making the mistake most large men make when assuming someone smaller—or female—is less capable than they.”

  I nod, recalling making that mistake myself with Chia.

  The Porsche slips out of the parking garage into the night, and the San Francisco streets become our own personal roller-coaster ride. I suck in my breath and Alina laughs as our tires momentarily part with the asphalt at the crest of a hill. But she’d taken it just right and the car lands as smooth as a cat and continues its headlong dash down the other side of the steep slope.

  We cross the Bay Bridge and leave the city behind, heading toward Walnut Creek. After about fifteen minutes, Alina takes the Orinda off-ramp, then turns into the parking lot of a small shopping center. A grey car parked beneath a tree flashes its lights and we pull in beside it.

  A male Chosen of an unfamiliar lineage, his aura a single shade of midnight blue, steps out of the car, which turns out to be an Aston Martin sedan. The dark grey wool of his finely tailored suit moves with him like a second skin—obviously not something off the rack. In contrast to his high-dollar clothing and well-bred car, he’s rather ordinary looking—about five-ten, medium build, with dark blond hair and pale blue eyes. But those eyes light up when Alina gets out and steps into his embrace.

  “Alina. It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long.” His warm smile appears genuine as they hug.

  She squeezes him, then shifts back, touching his face.

  “It has been too long. How are you holding up?”

  “As well as can be expected. I stay busy with my work. But it’s difficult sometimes. After so many years of looking over my shoulder, of living every moment in pursuit of our goals and being so close to achieving them, to have it end so suddenly…” He shakes his head. “I miss him.”

  “Me too.”

  My throat tightens. Even though this Chosen is not of Nicolas’s lineage, somehow I know that’s who they’re referring to. And they speak of him as though he were dead.

  As they step apart, he glances at me, his expression unreadable.

  Alina turns toward the Porsche and gestures for me to get out of the car.

  If he was close to Nicolas, I can only guess how he feels about me. I take a deep breath, open the door, and walk around to where they stand.

  I try to recall the brief protocol lessons Éva gave me in Colorado. But they were oriented toward my status as Nicolas’s mate, one that evaporated when I rejected him. The only status I likely have among The Chosen now is that of Betrayer, or worse, Saboteur, so I have no idea how to proceed.

  Alina and her associate watch me approach, remaining silent.

  What the hell. Here goes nothing.

  “Sunny. Sunny Martin.” I bow my head, as Chosen seem to avoid shaking hands.

  “Hello, Miss Martin. My name is Colin O’Neal.” He offers me a smile—one that reaches his eyes, surprising me. “I’ve heard much about you.”

  “And probably little of it good.” A rueful smile is all I can offer back.

  “On the contrary. Nicolas spoke quite highly of you. It’s such… an unfortunate turn of events.”

  That’s the understatement of the year.

  “Well, I must be off to my next appointment.” Alina leans forward and kisses Colin lightly on the cheek. “You two have much to talk about. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He takes her hand and walks her to the Porsche, then opens her door. She turns to me as she climbs in.

  “Sunny, since you have little experience with Chosen society, I asked Colin to instruct you in our basic social protocols. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Uh, no, I don’t mind. Thank you.”

  Great. Now he can add Clueless to my list of titles.

  I watch her pull out of the parking lot, feeling as though I’m a baton and have just been handed off to the next runner in my race to find Nicolas.

  Colin clears his throat and I look over to see that he has the passenger door open and is waiting for me. With a quiet sigh, I walk over and get in.

  CHAPTER 60

  The dove-grey leather interior absorbs all outside sound as we cruise along on the freeway, heading once again toward Walnut Creek. Speculations about this Chosen and his relationship to Nicolas war with questions about where we’re going and what’s
going to happen to me next. My impatience with being kept in the dark finally gets the better of me.

  “So. What’s with the cloak-and-dagger?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Alina leaves her security behind and meets you—a Chosen not of Nicolas’s lineage—in a parking lot? That seems a little odd to me.”

  He’s silent a moment before he answers.

  “Two things you need to know if you are going to survive among The Chosen. One—most thoughts and observations are best kept to yourself. Everything you say gives your opponent one more piece to your puzzle, and they don’t need many to figure out what’s missing and how to use it against you. Two—we need to work on your expression and body language controls. Right now your eyes are a billboard, advertising your grief, regret, desperation, and fear. The lines around your mouth, the muscles in your jaw, the stiffness of your back and shoulders—all broadcast tension, and tension increases your opponent’s confidence.”

  I swallow. Which probably told him how much he just freaked me out. I thought I had good control.

  “Well, I’m willing to learn if you’re willing to teach me.”

  “Good. Otherwise, all the rest of this is just a waste of time, and you will likely end up dead.”

  A chill runs up my spine and across my scalp, raising the fine little hairs on my neck and arms. I stare out the side window as we exit the freeway into Walnut Creek.

  I knew going into this it would be dangerous, but imagination and reality can be worlds apart. Again, I wonder if I would just be better off forgetting Nicolas and retreating to the mountains, far from Chosen intrigues.

  But that thought vanishes as quickly as it arises. I can’t forget him. The need for him, for his quiet assurance and fiery passions, occupies every cell in my body. I’m not going to give up, no matter how difficult this is or how many Chosen try to kill me.

  Or how many eagle-eyed Indians I run into.

  I will find Nicolas.

  Glancing over at Colin, I’m surprised to see the glint of approval in his pale eyes.

  “Well that answers my question—how committed are you to your goal? At the moment, you are. But each day is a new one, and each day I will ask that question once again. And you better do the same.”

  He turns into the parking lot for a small office complex and shuts off the car. As we step out and into the open-air hallway between two tan stucco buildings, we pass a lit marquee listing several dozen suites, most occupied by attorneys.

  Remembering what Colin said about body language, I study his as I follow him. Though he’s not as tall as Nicolas, he has a similar build, with wide shoulders and an easy, purposeful stride. He’s confident without the arrogance that seems to clothe most Chosen males, and I wonder if that’s something he controls, or just his basic nature.

  We stop outside an office bearing a sign stating C. W. O’Neill, Attorney-at-Law.

  He’s a bloodsucking lawyer. Literally.

  I stifle a laugh.

  Colin unlocks the door. He steps inside and taps in the code on a wall-mounted alarm, then gestures me inside.

  I walk past him.

  And then I’m slammed into from behind. The breath explodes from my chest at the impact and the floor rushes at me as I go down. My chin hits first. Pain lances through my tongue and I taste blood. Fear, quickly followed by rage, races through me as I spring up and whirl to face my attacker. But before I can even focus on him, Colin straight-arms me into the wall, then pins me there by the throat with one hand. Feeling the sting of his nails piercing my skin, I go immediately still in surrender.

  He releases me and steps back.

  “What the hell… ?” Rubbing my throat, I spit blood onto the polished wood floor and glare at him.

  His eyes flicker down to the blood, then back up to meet mine.

  “Your fighting skills need some serious work as well. But at least you had the sense to submit when you found yourself in an untenable position.” He pulls a black silk handkerchief from a pocket inside his suit jacket and hands it to me. “Please, sit down.”

  Colin gestures me toward a chair in front of the desk at the far end of the room. I wipe my mouth and give him a wide berth as I pass, never taking my eyes from him as he trails off to one side and takes a seat opposite me at the elegant walnut desk. I perch on the edge of the offered chair, its brown leather upholstery softly creaking.

  “Good. You learn quickly. Never turn your back on your enemy.”

  “I didn’t think you were my enemy.” I toss the bloody handkerchief onto the desk’s gleaming wood surface in disgust.

  “You must assume all Chosen are your enemies. Especially as an unbound.”

  “Unbound?”

  “An unbound has no blood bonds to a Maker or a lineage. They are considered outcasts and viewed with suspicion by lineage members. In some communities where the Elder has declared them outlaws, they are hunted down and destroyed.”

  Unbound. Outcast. Outlaw.

  As though I didn’t have enough problems.

  Unbound scum. That’s what the suit called Taz the other night at the waterfront club. I suspect Redd and Chia are unbound as well. And yet they all work for Alina.

  Colin is not of Nicolas’s lineage, either.

  “Are you unbound?”

  Colin only smiles.

  “Why do they hate… us?”

  “Without a connection to the lineage, they cannot read us or sense our motives. Or our loyalties. Chosen have an inborn hatred against all those not of their lineage. Those who are not of any lineage, whose loyalties can be bought and sold by anyone, are especially detested.”

  He said “us.” A roundabout way of answering my question, but an answer nonetheless.

  “Alina doesn’t seem to view unbound as outlaws. She has several working for her.”

  “There is some benefit to having Chosen in one’s employ who are outside the lineage.”

  “Are you in her employ?”

  “No. But we share enough of the same goals to be allies on occasion.”

  If Alina didn’t trust Colin, then I doubt she would’ve handed me over to him. I finally relax, settle back in the chair, and take a look around to see what I can learn of this mysterious Chosen.

  His office is decorated in the latest successful attorney style without being ostentatious. The subtle elegance of the room speaks of someone who pays special attention to details, a trait he’s already revealed to me several times. Behind me on the other side of the room is a smaller desk—something a receptionist might use—and a door.

  “So tell me, Sunny—how long ago did you complete the Change?”

  “About… two-and-a-half months ago.” It seems an entire lifetime.

  Nothing in Colin’s face registers his reaction.

  “You seem to be functioning remarkably well for one so young. How long ago was the Change initiated?”

  “Nearly six years ago.”

  I still can’t read him. But his silence tells me that perhaps my answer surprises him, and he’s choosing his next question with care.

  “Nicolas had indicated it had been somewhat recent, but I had no idea that recent. He was quite intrigued by your circumstances.” He leans back in his chair, his loosely curled fingers against his chin. “As am I.”

  Here it comes. The question I’ve been dreading.

  But he says nothing for a moment as he studies me.

  “Your jaw is clenched. Your body has shifted into a subtle but taut crouch. Your nails are likely near to drawing blood in your fists. You just shouted at me your discomfort with this line of questioning, and if I was your enemy, I’d be zeroing in on whatever it is you’re hiding with the ferocity of a hungry shark.”

  Who is this guy? Just what did he do for Nicolas? Or are all Chosen this perceptive, and I’ve just been a blind, naïve fool?

  He smiles. I swear he can read my mind.

  “I wouldn’t have needed anyone to tell me that you’ve had little to no trainin
g as a Chosen. It’s apparent in your every expression and movement. You may have mastered enough control for the human world, but it won’t fly here.”

  “Then help me.”

  “I am. Raising your awareness of your reactions is the first step in controlling them.”

  I nod.

  “You’re new to the Bay Area. How do you like it so far?” Colin tugs at the knot of his burgundy tie, loosening it.

  “I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too… chaotic. And—”

  “And what?”

  “And noisy. And—”

  “Where would you rather be?”

  “In the mountains. I—”

  “Where were you Made?”

  I snap my mouth shut.

  My automatic responses to his harmless, rapid-fire questions nearly spilled the answer.

  A look of satisfaction crosses his face.

  “What did you just learn from our exchange?” he asks.

  Frowning, I consider his question.

  Colin sits back in his chair.

  “You paused and are thinking,” he says, pressing his fingertips together. “Good. That’s what you should do every time you are asked a question, no matter how innocuous it appears, because when you are dealing with Chosen, most of the time the question is not. Whether the question is indirectly extracting information about you, or setting you up for an interrogative attack, pausing buys you time to consider its purpose and prevent you from blurting out things you’d rather not reveal.”

  I’m reminded of how on guard I had to be around former black ops Joe when I worked for him at the bar, and realize that even though I don’t have to hide what I am when I’m among Chosen, I need to be every bit as vigilant. And apparently even more so.

  “So let’s begin again. You are new to the Bay Area. How do you like it so far?”

  I stay silent.

  “Ask yourself what I really want, besides just an inane exchange of pleasantries.”

  After several moments of contemplation, I offer my answer.

  “You want to know if I’ve been here before, been here long enough to get acquainted with the city, relaxed enough to sightsee, if I’m comfortable in this environment, made any friends to enjoy it with.”