by A. Vers
I paced the width of the room as I waited for Ryder’s return. Every second that crawled by was an eternity spent straining for any glimmer of Beth’s signal. Though, logically, I knew she would wait until he arrived, there was a small part that could not shake the way she had looked at me.
And the look had not been friendly.
How was she alive? How had she survived a vampire attack, and why not go back to Ryder? To his father?
Why join the Horn?
There was so much going on that we didn’t know. So many answers we needed but could not get.
I folded my arms and the door handle clicked a second before it was pushed wide.
Ryder slipped inside, his eyes down, seemingly lost in thought.
“Hey.”
His head jerked up and he scoured me from head to toe. Something moved behind his gaze. Guilt?
I shifted in place as a million thoughts swam through my head. Thoughts I had pushed aside with Beth’s visit. Giving a small sniff of the air, I could detect nothing but a mix of fresh air and his scent. “You … okay?” I asked.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and just watched me. “I didn’t expect you to be up.”
Unease crawled down my spine. “I wanted to wait for you.”
He turned his face away at that, giving me the strong line of his jaw. “You need sleep more than I do.”
I frowned at him. “Ryder—”
“I’m going to go shower.” It was so abrupt, the way he said it, that I took a step back. Though he pretended not to see, the sudden flex in his cheek gave him away as he walked past me to the bathroom and closed the door, leaving me standing in silence.
I deflated, torn with indecision.
Whatever was wrong with him, he seemed unwilling to be around me. To even look at me.
Could it be my parents? Did being around the Horn remind him that some vampires, like humans, can be bad?
Does he think I am? I wondered.
I stepped toward the door and stopped, hands reaching and then curling into fists at my sides.
Forcing down my worry, I rapped my knuckles on the steel.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” His voice was muffled.
“Ryder, I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait?”
“No.” Silence echoed back, and I leaned closer. “It can’t wait. I want to talk to you now.” I paused, worrying over the snap to my voice. “Please.”
The door cracked and he peered down at me.
Staring into his hazel eyes, there were many things I wanted to say, but I settled on, “We need to leave. Tonight.”
He snorted. “I know.”
“I don’t – Wait.” I blinked, lips parting. “You do?”
“The Horn was never a long stop for us. And tonight proved Salem isn’t a good place for us to stay.” Again, there was that flash in his gaze. A flash of something I could not quite put my finger on. “But can I have an actual shower before we blow this place?”
It wasn’t sarcasm, not really. But he looked tired. Worn down.
All of my fight fled me and I went up on tiptoe. He turned at the last second, and my lips brushed his cheek instead. My stomach gave a nervous flip.
Trying not to wring my hands, I moved back. “Just don’t take too long,” I said. We had time.
I hoped.
Nodding, Ryder shut the door without another word.
Chapter 23
Ryder
I showered fast and rejoined Morgan in the room. It was hard looking at her now. I had seen the brief pain when I pulled away, but it was only a matter of time before she caught Ames’ scent on me and I wanted it off before she could. But my distance seemed to open a rift between us. She wasn’t talking and neither was I.
And with Ames in town, I couldn’t let my guard down. Whatever was between them was messing with the male vampire a lot more than it seemed to be bothering her. But there had also been those first few days when Morgan seemed stuck in a dark place mentally. Was it because she left Ames behind?
Did she miss him?
I glanced sidelong at her, but her attention wasn’t fixed on me. It was focused outward, on the ship around us. She tapped her foot against the floor, the small slap impatient.
“You good?” I asked.
Her head whipped over to me, and her lilac eyes were wide. “Yes. Why?”
“You seem distracted.” Hell, we both did. Trying to leave now was not the best idea I’d ever had, but I wanted Morgan far from the Horn and far from Ames.
I knew Airgid and the others were concerned with Ames. Their focus was on the young vamp, not on me. Or Morgan. Not right now, anyway. It might be our only chance for a while to get out.
“Do I?” She wound one small section of hair around her finger as she dropped her gaze.
“Yeah, you do.”
She didn’t speak for a long time. “Ryder …” I waited, but her shoulders drooped and she fell quiet. “Never mind.”
I peered sidelong at her face. My mouth opened. I don’t know if I was going to blurt out that I saw Ames or that I wanted to hear whatever she had to say. But I didn’t get the chance as a loud ass bang echoed from far off.
“What the hell?” I hissed as the boat rocked.
Morgan jolted. “Come on.” She grabbed my hand and ran for the door.
I pulled back. “Morgan, what—”
She rounded on me, her lilac eyes fiercer than I had ever seen them. “We’re leaving, Ryder, so come on or I make you.”
I stared at her long enough to know she wasn’t bluffing before I ran with her to the door. Wrenching the heavy panel inward, I scanned the hall, but it was empty.
Morgan didn’t say a word as I led the way toward the stairwell. We ascended the dim rungs, back tight to the steel wall. The low rumble of distant voices was the only sound I could hear. No further bangs rent the night, and I wasn’t sure what had caused the first.
“Hurry, Ryder,” Morgan told me. “We have to move faster.”
“I’m going as fast as I dare,” I hissed back. She shifted restlessly next to me. At the top of the stairs, I glanced into the main hall. The sparring room was empty and the doorway outside seemed clear.
I pulled her behind me as we crested the final riser.
“Hey. You need to get below—” The voice broke off. I whirled to find one of the hunters walking around the corner. Morgan huddled against my back as his face twisted. “And where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.
I didn’t speak.
He started over the floor.
Releasing Morgan’s hand, I didn’t give him a chance to sound the alarm. I dropped back and slammed the toe of my boot into his temple. His eyes rolled up until all I saw was white, and he hit the floor with an audible smack.
Shit.
“Ryder, we must go.”
I turned and found Morgan near the open door, motioning frantically for me to follow. Running toward her, we dove out onto the boat’s open deck and sprinted for the plank. The chains clacked and another shout went up behind me.
Pressing on Morgan’s back, I herded her so fast down the ramp that it teetered beneath our feet. We leapt off near the end and raced toward the parking lot.
Twin pops echoed in the night and I ducked on instinct. Morgan cried out and stumbled. Her fingers ripped from mine. I turned and found her holding pressure on her shoulder as blood oozed between her long fingers. Anger ripped through me. But we couldn’t slow. Wrapping my arm tight around her waist, I hurried her through the parking lot and to the Jeep.
She clamored into the passenger side as the chains clanked once more on the gangplank behind us.
I dove around the hood and wrenched open the door. Strong fingers grabbed at my arm, hauling me back. I slammed my fist into the hunter’s face and felt bone crunch. He howled, but the sound cut off on a choking gasp when I kneed him in the groin.
He doubled over. I pushed him off me and climbed into the car. The keys
were still in the ignition, a slight on Airgid’s part. One I hope he kicked himself for.
Hard.
I cranked the engine, threw the Jeep into reverse, and sped out of the lot beside the pier, making the vehicle fishtail as we slipped from gravel to pavement.
Morgan panted beside me, her slim frame curled inward as she gingerly tried to peel up the sleeve of her shirt. Blood blossomed over her bicep, trailing down to paint her side and the seat beneath her. Swearing, I grabbed a handful of fast food napkins from the center console and shoved them at her.
“Hold them over the wound,” I commanded. “We can’t stop. Not until we put some distance between us.”
With shaking fingers, she shoved the wad onto the meat of her shoulder and gave a gut-wrenching whimper of pain. It turned my stomach and made me grip the damn steering wheel so hard my hands ached.
She gave a shuddering exhale. “Where are we going to go?”
Every word seemed like it cost her, but I had never been more proud of her, either.
“We need to ditch the Jeep,” I said as I scanned the road behind us. There was no sign of a tail yet, but it was only a matter of time. “Then we need to get out of town.”
She didn’t remark, just continued to hold pressure on her arm.
I took the first right out of the docks and into the city. The South River faded behind us and Salem crawled into view. The city was pockmarked with the occasional glimmering light and it seemed almost asleep. Like it was waiting for dawn so it could come alive again. We needed to be far from Salem by the time the sun rose.
We whipped into a shopping plaza and parked. I killed the engine and climbed out before moving around the hood to help Morgan out. I snared the balled up jacket from the back floorboard and wrapped it around her shoulders to hide the blood. She didn’t smile. Just huddled deeper into the fabric. Moving as fast as we could, we walked through the cars toward the stores.
Two of them were closed with the hour, leaving a liquor store and a lone gas station on the corner as the only monetizing businesses active in the night.
I leaned Morgan against the far side of the convenient store and scanned her arm.
The graze was deep and would need stitches. Or at the very least butterfly closures.
With no cash, my only option was to lift what I needed from the store.
“Stay here, okay?” I said.
She grabbed my arm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to split up.”
I studied her face and saw the fear she was trying so hard not to show. “Morgan, I have no cash. But you need stitches. Or at the very least a first aid kit.”
“You mean to steal them?”
It was phrased like a question, but there was no choice. I couldn’t take her to a hospital. They asked too many questions. We had to doctor the wound on our own. I knew it. She knew it.
“Yes,” I said simply.
She released my arm. “We don’t separate.” There was that flash of ferocity again.
I leaned down and kissed her temple before pulling her gently toward the door.
The gas station was modern and bright. A clerk sat behind a sheet of bulletproof glass, cell phone in hand. “Evening,” he called.
I tossed up my hand in greeting and tugged Morgan through the aisles.
The first-aid supplies were near the automobile oil, but the kits were small little zip-up pouches. I grabbed two and slipped them into the inner pockets of dad’s jacket before sighing loudly. “Guess they don’t have one after all.”
Morgan gave me a funny look. I jerked my eyes to the clerk. Her eyes widened and she nodded.
“Shame.” That one word was soft, barely audible.
We moved back to the front doors, and I saw what I had missed on the way in.
Security sensors, great big white detectors. I stiffened.
The clerk glanced up. “You need help finding something?” he asked.
I shook my head. “You didn’t have my oil.” The lie rolled off my tongue as I pressed Morgan closer to the doors.
His head bobbed. “My bad, man.”
Trying to smile, I grabbed her hand and walked through the detectors. They let out a series of loud beeps.
“Run,” I told Morgan.
Despite the blood loss, she bolted at my urging and we ran from the store, the clerk’s shouts following behind us.
I didn’t slow until we were several blocks away and Morgan was pulling against my hold. It wasn’t intentional. I knew her energy was gone.
I fell into a brisk walk as her panting grew labored behind me. “A little farther,” I coaxed. “Just a little farther.”
Her hand was ripped from mine and I whirled to find her on her knees on the sidewalk, her lithe body swaying.
The glassy haze to her eyes said it was more than blood loss. She was in shock.
I bent and wrapped her arm around my neck before I lifted her in my arms. She curled against me, her body hot for someone normally so cool.
My eyes took in the sleeping city. A nearby hotel still had lights on for more than one floor, but without cash or a credit card, I couldn’t get a room.
Most of the cars parked on the streets were too open, too. Too obvious. Flashy. I needed something older. Something without an alarm that would be easier to wire.
An old Econoline van sat at the end of the street outside a studio apartment. I headed for it.
The doors had locks, but no alarm. Setting Morgan down, I slammed my elbow into the glass and it shattered. No shouts sounded despite the loud echo of breaking glass. No dogs barked. Reaching in, I pulled the lock for the side door and shoved it wide.
The van was clean despite the faint odor of age. Climbing inside, I lifted Morgan and set her on the open floorboard. She curled up in the jacket, still holding her arm.
“Hold on,” I told her.
Her nod was minute.
I slammed the door and moved to the driver’s side. Rummaging through the wide center console and the glove-box, I found a rusted Swiss Army knife.
The whole thing was so locked up with age and what looked like stale soda, I had to pry the file out. Pressing it into the empty ignition, I pounded it twice with the side of my fist. It dropped into place and I turned it. Though the engine sputtered, it caught, and I slipped the van into gear.
Pulling off, I headed for the far side of town and some hopeful peace and quiet.
Chapter 24
Morgan
My arm burned. With every turn that Ryder took, I had to hold the wound harder as I rolled this way and that. My teeth were clenched so tight together I waited for them to break. But worse than that was the thirst. The scalding lava in my throat.
I needed to feed, needed to replenish what I lost. But I couldn’t feed from Ryder again. Not so soon. His body required weeks to produce new blood. Not hours.
But I couldn’t go without. Not for long.
Closing my eyes, I willed the pain to fade. For the thirst to leave me. My eyes were already casting lavender light along the roof of the vehicle and my jaws ached from the press of my fangs.
I would not feed from Ryder again. I would not.
I don’t know how long we drove. The city faded through the window and trees darkened the already pitch night sky. There was a soft crunch and Ryder parked the van under a streetlight, but didn’t turn it off.
He clamored into the back with me, making the vehicle rock and sway. I watched as he opened the jacket and pulled out the first aid kits.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, his cheek and forehead smeared with my blood.
“It hurts,” I managed.
His eyes darkened. “I know.” He eased my arm so that he could see it. Nothing showed on his face. “Vamps can’t get infections, right?”
“The transitioned cannot.” He ripped open a little foil square and something acrid filled the interior of the van. “What is that?” I asked.
He took a small wipe from the pouch of foil. “Don’t hit me,
okay?”
I blinked.
Gripping my arm, he swiped the cool wipe over the wound. At first there was just the same burn. Then it turned stronger than even the initial injury, and I screamed.
Ryder clamped his hand over my mouth, muffling the sound as I twisted and flailed in an attempt to get away from the fire filling my arm.
He climbed over me, straddling my hips as my feet kicked. “Stop,” he told me. “And breathe.”
I sucked in air through my nose, and each breath was frantic, full of the ache. The burn.
Ryder waited. “I have to clean it out before I can cover it,” he told me. “I know it hurts, but we are on the side of the road in a van. If you scream and rock this stupid bus, cops are going to pull up and arrest me before I can explain.” His head cocked. “Not that I know how to explain you being shot to begin with.”
His words soothed me, and I tried to calm myself. The sting eased bit by bit. I finally managed to nod. With one brow arched, he pulled his hand away.
“I’m sorry,” he said and looked so lost as he gazed down at me. “Alcohol burns like a bitch.”
I could not bring myself to smile. “It’s okay.” But it was not, and it showed on his face. He chucked the wipe to the floor of the van and picked up another. I stared up at him, eyes wide. “Ryder?”
“I have to clean it,” he said again. “Please, don’t fight me on this.”
My lip trembled before I could stop it. “Ryder—”
He sagged over me, his eyes closing as he bent and pressed his forehead to mine. “I know. God help me. But I know it hurts. We have to clean it though.” His words were warm over my face, my lips. “Just one more. You can handle it. I know you can.”
My good hand found his side and I dug my fingers into the fabric of his shirt. With his heat over me, the burn inside my throat blocked out the prick of the wound. “Do it.”
He leaned back and ripped open the wipe. I turned my head and closed my eyes tight. Pressure and fire arced through my flesh again.
I bit my lip and groaned through it, tossing my head.
