Die By Night

by Kaitlynn Aisling

  “Natalie! Focus.”

  I was so lost in Hawke’s battle above us that I stopped moving. Now Gavin is further down than I am, which means my back is unprotected. I don’t think they’ll shoot me. They want the baby and me alive for some nefarious purpose. However, there’s no telling with aim. These guys have been locked inside a dark cave for who knows how long. Their eyes can’t be adjusted; mine definitely aren’t. I’ve been avoiding the sun’s glare since it first shone on my face in those glorious, initial moments of my escape from the cave.

  Move, move. I chant the mantra in my head as we make our descent. It’s a real disadvantage not to be able to fly, which is why they chose this location. An attack and rescue should have been near impossible. So, why are Gavin and Hawke able to move so fast, and with such grace? And why did Akim refer to them as wolves? Surely that was just a mangy dog variety insult. Surely.

  Gavin jumps down from the rock face when we’re about eight feet above the ground. I know without looking down that he’ll have his arms up, motioning for me to jump. Every awesome action-romance movie features a trust scene like this, and that’s the state to which my life has been reduced.

  Do I trust Gavin? Heck no! But I do trust his ability to save me more than I trust my own. And I do trust him over Akim’s vile wickedness. I scuttle down a little farther, the distance from the ground scaring me senseless.

  “Jump! I will catch you!” Gavin yells up to me.

  Yep, we’re in straight to DVD romance territory. My fingers loosen from their current handholds without my conscious permission. It seems some part of me trusts Gavin, but it’s not something I plan on examining right at the moment, not with my life hanging in the balance.

  Ha! My brain is creating puns even knowing I might die in the next couple of minutes.

  I drop like a rock, straight into Gavin’s waiting arms. He clutches me close, his fingers flexing over and over against my arms.

  “Gavin?”

  Shaking his head, he sets me down. The difference between the vamps and Gavin is obvious. Gavin not only treats me like fine china, he treats me like an heirloom pattern that’s been discontinued—priceless. When he holds me, it’s like I’m fragile, rare, and irreplaceable. The vamps, on the other hand, liked to throw me around just to see what might break.

  The watchers who didn’t jump are still shooting. We should run in zigzags. At least that’s what the online articles on self-defense for women say. Gavin doesn’t seem to be aware of those, because he grabs my hand and starts running in a straight line. There’s another thud as we take off, the sound of another watcher falling to its death. I guess Gavin’s not worried about Hawke.

  He’s running too fast for me to keep up. He seems to notice the predicament, slowing to a jog. Judging by the way he moves, he doesn’t want me to lag behind him, but rather to run close beside him.

  “I’d carry you but . . . ”

  I understand now that I’ve had time to gain my senses. He can’t tote me in the fireman’s carry because of my pregnant belly and the discomfort of that, and he can’t carry me against his chest because he needs his arms free to defend us. From his perspective, I can imagine he doesn’t want to haul me piggyback because it presents me as a target to our pursuers rather than him.

  Logically, I understand and even somewhat agree. Physically, I’m just not sure how much longer I can continue. If he had had the common sense to bring a whopper, hold the pickles, I might have been able to muster up the necessary fuel to escape without running out of breath. But as it is . . .

  A flash of white from ahead and to the left has me flinching closer to Gavin. It’s a watcher. As soon as the pale one spots us, his dark eyes shine. He keeps running closer, tripping over himself in his excitement, as he opens his mouth and yells out an awful call. It sounds like a dying bird.

  Gavin speeds up, and so do I. It’s our only option, pain notwithstanding.

  The watcher continues to signal. I’m slowing us down. He’s so close that I can now see his Adam’s apple bobbing with the yell. There’s a crashing sound through the grass behind us. It better be Hawke. We’re going to need the backup. The signal has attracted dozens of watchers. Some carry guns; some carry knives.

  “Gavin!”

  The first watcher lunges for me, his nails tearing at my ankle, but Gavin yanks me behind him. I press my fingers into his backpack, huddling as close as possible. He fights valiantly, rotating to meet each threat, keeping the minions from getting too close to me. But there’s too many of them. There’s no way he can keep this up. None of them are shooting, giving credence to my idea that they’ve been commanded not to kill me. That doesn’t prevent them from using their knives to try and eliminate Gavin.

  If he dies, that’s it. No one else knows where I am. No one else would know where to look, or how to begin to handle the paranormal nightmare in which I’m entrenched.

  He’s my only hope. That Mandy Moore song from A Walk to Remember plays in my brain as each attack weakens Gavin. He’s fast, but not fast enough. His hissed breath as a slice lands to his side confirms what I’ve already realized: we’re not making it out of here.

  Then a game changer I never expected. The backpack slides from his shoulders to land in front of me. That same bone cracking sound from when Gavin first appeared in the cave sounds again. His spine bulges, each individual disc standing out in stark relief beneath his shirt. The shoulder seams strain over his arms before ripping apart, the sleeves dropping to his wrists, then fluttering to the ground. His pant legs experience the same fate, as his thigh muscles grow too large to be contained. His fingers knot in on themselves, claws extending from the tips.

  A growl joins the noises of ripping, shredding, tearing, and breaking.

  “Gavin?”

  But the creature in front of me is no longer Gavin. It’s a huge, snarling wolf.

  No. No. No!

  The wolf thing was supposed to be Akim’s little insult! This isn’t real! Yet when I rub my eyes and look again, the wolf is still there, and Gavin is still gone. The wolf has more power, speed, and force than the man did. He’s able to take down the watchers with ease. His huge jaws sink into a calf muscle here, tear off a hand there, rip open a neck next.

  It’s a bloodbath.

  The wolf’s onyx coat ripples in the sunlight, shiny and thick. It’s a beautiful creature, if one discounts the violence of which it is capable. Another wolf bounds into the fray, its coat sandy brown with golden variations and the same golden green eyes as Hawke.

  The last watcher falls to the ground, his blood joining the pools already staining the grass. The jet black wolf looks up, beginning to pad toward me.

  Those eyes I’ll never be able to forget, flash amber.

  The wolf is Gavin.

  I do something that I’ll later blame on pregnancy, hunger, and shock. Though it is an action engineered of fear and cowardice.

  I faint.

  Up and down, up and down. My bed is jostling too much for comfort. I try and flip to my side, but something keeps me from turning.

  What is going on?

  The consistent up-down movement jolts out of rhythm, causing my body to jerk forward. Something hard presses into my arms in reaction.

  Giving up on the possibility of sleeping a little bit longer, I let my eyelids open. There’s a strong chin, covered in brown stubble, with a slight cleft in the middle.

  “Sorry about that,” Hawke says, hitching me up higher in his arms.

  Well, it seems I got my wish; I’m being carried, though not by the person I requested.

  “Where is Gavin?”

  “Uhh, yeah, about that . . . ”

  “What? And not to sound ungrateful, but will the entire rescue occur on foot? Because I just don’t think that’s very smart, considering the . . . ummm . . . people we’re running from. What happens when night falls?”

  “We’ve got everything taken care of, dove. Nothing to worry about with the MacCrae pack watching over yo
u.”

  There it is again: pack. This time Hawke has specified that it’s MacCrae’s pack. What is he, king of the wolves?

  “Put me down! And would someone please explain to me what is going on here? Why was I abducted? Where is Gavin? Why are you all Scottish?”

  “I’m not sure it’s wise to explain anything to you, considering your reaction to discovering our true form. But, if you insist, you were abducted because you’re Gavin’s mate and an intriguing mix of human and vampire. Gavin is taking point, up ahead, and we’re all Scottish, because we’re from Scotland. Sound good?”

  No, it doesn’t sound good. I’m Gavin’s mate? What does that mean? Mate is buddy in Australian, but these guys are Scottish. I know wolves mate for life; but no, there is no way I’m some fated, eternal mate for some mystical half-human, half-wolf creature. And I am not an intriguing mix of human and vampire.

  Just no.

  I seem to be allergic to whatever cologne Hawke is wearing. My skin feels itchy everywhere his touches me. Wrong. My body seems to recognize something I don’t. The mark against my neck itches too, like an ant keeps biting every minute or so. I rub at it, causing Hawke’s gaze to zoom in on the spot and a smirk to tilt his handsome lips. I kick my feet and shove at Hawke’s chest to create some space.

  “Hey, don’t think you’re exempt from some old-fashioned discipline just because you’re in the family way.”

  He hitches me higher once again, eliminating any distance I managed to create. Old-fashioned discipline? He better not be referring to a spanking. Oh, hell no.

  “PUT ME DOWN! DOWN! RIGHT NOW!”

  “Hey, now Queenie, there’s no reason to be all—”

  Whatever Hawke was about to say is interrupted by fierce growling ahead of us. Hawke sets me down. He’s so quick to remove his hands from me that I stumble in the transition, causing the wolf to step forward, still growling. It’s the dark wolf. The wolf that is an animal, but isn’t. Gavin.

  “Hey, man I didn’t hurt her! I couldn’t hurt her if I wanted to. You know that.”

  Hawke raises his hands, backing up slowly. I back up with him. The wolf is not appeased. Saliva drips from his fangs; they stand out in stark relief against the fur of his maw.

  “Pick me up! BACK UP!”

  I grab hold of Hawke’s shoulders and jump into his arms. His own arms come up in reflex.

  “Are you trying to get me killed, woman?”

  Would Gavin really kill his friend? If so, what hope is there for me? He still hasn’t confronted me about the fact that I’m carrying his baby and never told him. Now it seems there’s a possibility that confrontation could be deadly. He seemed to have so much control as a man, but what about as a wolf?

  The growls increase in volume and ferocity now that I’m back in Hawke’s arms, as the wolf creeps closer.

  “You’re scaring your mate, Bràthair.”

  Bràthair must mean brother. It sounds similar, and Hawke and Gavin are like the male equivalent of Meagan and me. The mate thing, well, I’m content to leave that topic alone. The thought that Gavin might feel he has some otherworldly claim on me is terrifying.

  I’ll stick with Hawke. I’m pretty sure he’s the other wolf I saw, but I can stay in denial because I didn’t actually witness him transform from a human into a beast with my own eyes.

  Whatever Hawke’s strange words mean, they resonate with Gavin. He slows in his pursuit, tilting his head up and to the side, as if he’s confused. We had a pet dog when I was a kid, and she used to do the same thing.

  However, Masha never shuddered like Gavin is now. She never seemed to pulse within her skin, as if trying to gain control of herself. Her eyes never glowed from within with a weird, passionate fire. No, Masha was your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, loyal pet. Oh, how I miss ordinary.

  Wolf Gavin seems to zoom in everywhere Hawke and I touch—my hands clasped in his blue tee shirt, his right arm supporting my legs, his left supporting my back. I glance up to try and gauge Hawke’s reaction. I would be offended if one of my girlfriends ever looked at me with such threat while I was next to her man, as if I’d break girl code to get a guy.

  Thankfully, Hawke’s words seem to do the trick. Whatever Gavin sees when he looks at us doesn’t inspire an attack. He turns away from us and then lopes from view, leaving me in Hawke’s care. If Hawke’s heaving sigh above me is any indication that took quite a bit of trust.

  “You sound like you didn’t know how that was going to end,” I accuse.

  Hawke begins walking forward again, still carrying me.

  “It infuriates him to see me caring for you. It hurts him to see your fear of him. You’re supposed to run to him for protection, not run from him for protection. So, yeah, it took a lot for him to leave you with me. But he did, for you. Just keep that in mind next time you talk to him.”

  “You’re his wingman, huh? It’s a shame you suck at it.”

  Why should I listen to one crazy promote another? Why should I believe or trust anything Hawke says?

  “Why did you run?” he asks.

  I don’t pretend not to understand. He’s not talking about today. He’s talking about that first morning, after I woke up next to Gavin, hung-over and freaked out of my mind.

  “I didn’t like what I found that morning. I discovered Gavin was crazy and a player. You’re a jerk in text messages, you know.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  His tone is caustic, but his hold and pace don’t change. He continues to carry me forward with the same ease and casual gentleness. I’m too tired to leap from his arms and run like I know I should. What I wouldn’t give for a glass of water, a burger, and a hug from my papa.

  “That doesn’t change a thing,” I insist.

  “I knew you’d be difficult,” he says.

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Maybe, but it’s true. You better be worth it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Once again, I fall asleep. It’s impossible not to after all that I’ve been through. When I wake, I’m still tired. I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone. What is my family thinking? Are they searching for me? What about Meagan? Rent will be due soon. Will she come up short?

  The sun is now high in the sky, its harsh light illuminating more than just my surroundings. I’m in quite a dire situation. Gavin isn’t going to want to let me go. He likely feels I owe him now that he’s rescued me. And the vampires won’t give up; that was obvious from Akim’s zeal and his minions’ obedience. There’s too much to this.

  Where does that leave me? I’m a pawn between two supernatural factions. The rope in tug-of-war never fares well. I need some leverage. I need some power. But at the moment, all I can think about is how hungry, thirsty, tired, lonely, and scared I am.

  I’ve met Gavin a total of three times now and Hawke once. But they’re my best option. Maybe I could go online again and find some vampire hunters. I found sites where people claimed they were the undead. Where there’s a yin, there’s always a yang. It’s just a part of life. Death needs life; life needs death. Balance. It’s all about balance, which means if there are vampires, there must be vampire hunters, or slayers, or whatever they call themselves.

  What was that movie with Wesley Snipes? Blade? I need Blade.

  That’s my new game plan. It’ll be simple. I’ll promise myself as bait, and it’ll be a piece of cake to entice a slayer to come and take care of my little mosquito problem. That’s it! I’ll just think of them as overlarge mosquitoes. Vampires are just like overlarge mosquitoes. I’ve got a pest problem. That’s all. I’ve just got to find the right person to squish them with some major stakes and firepower.

  “What’s got you focusing so hard?” Hawke asks.

  I forgot all about him, which is impressive, considering he’s my mode of travel. Trains? Planes? Automobile? No, thank you. I like to travel muscle man express.

  “Nothing,” I answer.

  It’s none of Hawke
’s business. I can plan my own contingency plans, thank you very much.

  There’s that same cracking sound that I’ve come to hate from ahead of us. That must mean that Gavin is rejoining us now. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for the confrontation that will follow his reappearance; but from the sounds of it, I don’t have a choice.

  Then he’s there, a man again, in all his bare-chested glory. He stops just within view and leans down to rummage through his pack, removing a blue flannel shirt. The dude likes flannel, which insanely enough, I find attractive. Or maybe I’m just reacting to the eight pack the man sports above his low slung jeans, or those enticing biceps, or even those eyes.

  Get ahold of yourself, Nat!

  He buttons the shirt quickly, though my hormones beg for slo-mo, while my heart beats rapid fire. Hawke chuckles above me.

  “I have a feeling you two will be just fine.”

  He lowers me to the ground as Gavin approaches, wanting to avoid a repeat of earlier.

  “Easy travels?” Gavin asks Hawke, as he slings his pack back over his right shoulder and walks toward us.

  Yet as soon as the words leave his lips, he turns his gaze from Hawke to me.

  I can feel Hawke’s gaze boomeranging from me to Gavin and back again as he answers, “Easy enough.”

  Gavin, on the other hand, never diverts his attention from me. His perusal is unnerving. It’s like he sees more than my outward appearance. When Gavin looks at me, I get the sense he’s seeing past the present to the future, and he’s including himself in every scene. It’s possessive and presumptuous all at once.

  “Guid. The pack awaits at the camp ahead.”

  There it is again. Pack.

  “Look, I appreciate all you’ve done for me, I do. But I would love a chance to go home and see my family,” Find an army of vampire slayers. “Let everyone know I’m alive and well,” Get you two admitted to the nearest mental health facility, “And go to sleep in my own bed.” And pack up all my belongings and move out of the country.