Runner

by Roh Morgon

  And I cannot move.

  The sound of crickets slowly penetrates the fog in my brain. I try to ignore the inferno that seems to be turning me to ash, seeking the strength to roll over. I summon the hunter and the beast, but they are trapped behind flames and do not respond.

  Nicolas…

  Nicolas. What did they do to you? How could Éva…

  Éva.

  And the beast growls.

  Éva. I’m going to hunt you down and rip out your heart for what you did to Nicolas.

  As the heat of rage begins to join the flames of starvation, the beast and the hunter break through the wall of fire.

  You bitch. I’m going to kill you.

  Pushing off from my hands, I rock back onto my knees, then reach out to the top of the tire and use it to pull myself upright. I grab the fender and force myself to stand. The torch that is my body flares anew with the effort.

  You better be watching for me, Éva, because I’m coming for you.

  I get myself into the car, start it up, and turn around, leaving the lights off. When I get to the main dirt road, I turn right and head farther up the mountain.

  The house is set back, up a long driveway, its barbed-wire fence butting up to the road. Thankfully its dim porchlight doesn’t extend past the small lawn.

  And there they are, bunched up in the corner of the pasture, oblivious to the death that will soon be among them. I ease the car to a stop and quietly get out. They watch as I climb through the fence, but they’re used to people, and most of them continue to lie there, chewing their cud.

  The one I choose doesn’t even have time to moo.

  WEDNESDAY

  CHAPTER 18

  It’s a little after nine p.m. when I enter the outskirts of Colorado Springs. Thoughts cartwheel through my brain and I’m unable to slow them down long enough to formulate a solid plan. All I can think about is finding Nicolas and killing Éva, and I’m not even sure in what order those things are happening.

  I’m running on pure instinct and I hope it’s enough to keep me alive.

  That, and the loaded .357 sitting in my leather bag on the passenger seat.

  The gun came with the BMW several years ago, both gifts from an unusual bar owner in California whose past I’d decided was straight out of a spy novel. He’d also been my employer and took me under his wing when I’d first ventured back into civilization from my solitary life in the Sierra Nevada mountains.

  I smile as I recall Joe’s insistence on teaching me how to shoot after he’d seen me toss a guy—literally—out of the bar. He said anyone who could handle themselves like me in close quarters better know how to do it from a distance, too.

  But I never thought I might actually need that skill. And need it I do. Because the only way I’m going to slow down Éva long enough to kill her—before she kills me—is to empty that big gun into her face.

  The drive to Nicolas’s estate is surreal. I did not expect to see the raven-crested gates again so soon. It’s only been a week since I left, and yet, once again, it feels like a lifetime.

  I punch in the code and the ebony steel flashes as the gates open, forbidding in the moonless night. The macabre topiary creatures in the garden stare as the BMW creeps up the driveway, curious as to what horrors may be unfolding this hour.

  The house is dark, its black windows watching as I stop in front of the stairway and quietly get out. I pause for a moment next to the car, searching for the familiar vibration of power that signals Nicolas’s presence. But he does not seem to be here—I can feel no trace of him.

  Or of any Chosen, for that matter. Including Éva.

  Huh.

  Well, maybe they’re at the club. That changes things.

  Not wishing to disturb the housekeeper, Marie, I get back into the car and head down the driveway. The gates open as the car approaches and I shake off a ripple of fear as I go through them.

  Thoughts tumbling, I drive across town to the club and pull into the parking lot. A black Ferrari is parked in Nicolas’s spot with a license plate that reads LEANDRO. I don’t think it’s one of Nicolas’s cars. The car Éva was driving yesterday doesn’t appear to be here either. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t here, even though I don’t feel their specific signatures among the multitude of Chosen energies emanating from the club. I really don’t have any choice but to check it out.

  Both parking lots are full—must be a busy night—so I park on a side street near the front of the building. Any of the other exits have too many keypads to deal with, and I may need to leave in a hurry. And entering through the front door is my only option since I don’t have keys to the others.

  I grab my bag with the .357 and get out, then pop open the trunk and contemplate its contents.

  It was during the long drive south from Casper that I recalled my last fight with a Chosen. Katarina, like Éva, had quickly demonstrated I was no match for an Elder. But Nicolas had just as quickly demonstrated how to actually kill another Chosen. I might not have the necessary strength to tear off Éva’s head, but I’ve got the next best thing.

  A really sharp machete.

  I’d picked it up in Denver, along with a sheath and a long coat to conceal it. Strapping the sheathed blade to my hip, I slip into the coat and quietly shut the trunk. I unleash the hunter and loosen the bounds on the beast, but not all the way. Vigilance and focus are what I need right now, but a bit of savagery just below the surface won’t hurt.

  This should be very interesting. I steel myself and walk across the street to the entrance. As full as the parking lots are, there’s no line outside tonight. Wednesdays do tend to be quieter, catering more to the regulars of both species. But there are definitely Chosen inside. I can feel them. I open the front door and slip inside to the jarring thunder of heavy metal.

  Standing in the entryway is a tall, broad figure dressed in black. Chosen energy hits me as he looks over, his expression quickly shifting from curiosity to animosity. His snarl is matched by my own.

  Before I can react further, a second huge Chosen is there, every bit as hostile as the first. As their red eyes bore into my own, electric tension prickles across my skin.

  “I’m here to see Nicolas,” I growl, holding their gazes.

  “What business do you have with him?” The first one, hair as black as his clothes, steps forward menacingly.

  Holding my ground, I open my mouth to reply.

  A masculine, silken-smooth voice bearing an unidentifiable European accent cuts me off.

  “She is welcome here. Steven, Michael, please.” The black curtain across from the front doors ruffles briefly, and the Chosen who walks through it is the tall, blond male I’d seen here before. The one Nicolas threatened to kill for just looking at me.

  Instantly submissive, the two Chosen bow their heads and step out of the entryway. The volume of the pounding music rises briefly as they move through the heavy black draperies and into the dance area.

  Powerfully built and devastatingly handsome, the blond stands a moment looking at me, then slowly smiles. His blue eyes tinged with pink, he walks forward, arms open in welcome.

  “Come in, come in. I apologize for the misunderstanding.” He stops a few feet from me, halted perhaps by the wariness I can’t help but project, and lowers his arms.

  “My name is Leandro. And you are Sunny, correct?” His gaze slowly rakes me up and down, the pink flaring in his eyes again.

  Alarm lances through me. I’ve been so focused on Nicolas and Éva, I haven’t given much thought to the other Chosen I might encounter.

  Smiling, he steps closer. I freeze when he reaches out and lifts a lock of my hair. He leans toward me, taking in its scent, and with a low growl, I shift away from him—just as his other hand brushes against my breast. With a roar, I slash out at his face, nails fully extended. He traps my wrist in an iron grip, laughing as his other hand slides beneath my coat to relieve me of the machete.

  “Nicolas is a fool to have let y
ou get away. But his loss could be my gain, perhaps?” His eyebrows raise as he curls one side of his lip, exposing a gleaming fang.

  “Not in a million years.” The venom drips from my voice as the beast and the hunter howl their outrage. I yank my arm back and he releases me.

  Leandro laughs again.

  “We shall see. I have everything else here that was his, why not you?”

  Fear rips through me again, but not for myself.

  Nicolas. What have they done to you?

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” He examines the sharp edge of the machete, then raises his long lashes to look at me.

  “Is Éva here?”

  “Now you’re looking for Éva?”

  “She and I have some unfinished business.”

  “She’s not here either. But I have her number in my office.” Leandro slowly smiles, and tendrils of fear crawl through my veins.

  “Come.” He turns and walks to the curtain, parting it with the tip of the machete.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I growl, stepping back.

  “Stray kittens bold enough to walk into the lion’s den shouldn’t be surprised when they get pawed.” His eyebrows arch suggestively. “Unless that’s what they really came for.”

  Asshole. I’m done here.

  I turn toward the door. His hand is suddenly on my shoulder and his breath on my neck.

  “Don’t be so hasty. Éva was quite adamant that I give you her number if you showed up,” he whispers, his voice husky. He noses my hair and softly groans.

  I duck out of his grasp and, turning, aim again for his face. This time my nails hit home, leaving thin red streaks on his cheek that vanish within seconds. The beast howls for more.

  Eyes glittering, he steps back, the machete held loosely at his side.

  “Do you want her number or not? It doesn’t matter to me.” He rubs his cheek. “I won’t harm you. Éva was quite specific about that. She said you belong to her.”

  Like hell I do. She belongs to me.

  Leandro pulls the drapery back. The high-pitched whines of guitars are drowned out only by the guttural screams of the vocalist. Heavy drums reverberate off the walls.

  Hesitant, I look through the opening into the main room, then glance at Leandro again. He remains still, his face impassive. The crashing noise vibrates uncomfortably through my body, ratcheting up my tension, and the beast and hunter shriek in warning.

  Gritting my teeth, I go through the curtain.

  The stage where the DJ is normally set up is a frenzy of black leather, instruments, and screeching sound. I can’t tell if the band members are human or Chosen, because Chosen energy is pulsating throughout the whole room. The area in front of the stage is a mosh pit, with rabid fans running, crashing, and throwing themselves into each other and the mob surrounding it.

  As we wade through the pierced and tattooed crowd, I’m able to spot Chosen sprinkled throughout. The humans, eyes fastened on the stage, jump and slam fists in the air as they rage along with the band. The Chosen, eyes fastened on the humans, are for the most part still, with only their heads turning as they avidly survey the banquet before them.

  The whole mood of the club is dark and sinister, much like I expected it would be the first time I visited it with Nicolas. But what I’d found then in the upscale dance club had been lighthearted seduction and mutual satisfaction between Chosen and donors. The absence of violence had changed my perceptions of The Chosen. With the exception of Katarina, I’d begun to believe they were not the monsters I’d thought them to be.

  Until my last visit, that is.

  Tonight the danger permeating the air is tangible, as solid as a living entity. The Chosen feel far more predatory and the humans far more innocent, in spite of their black clothes and makeup and death metal music. I’m not sure how many of these “donors” will make it out of here alive.

  “Like what I’ve done with the place?” Leandro leans in, too close, whispering in my ear.

  “Not really.” Flinching, I swerve to avoid any further contact with him.

  He laughs and strides on ahead, his body cutting a swath through the metal-mad crowd. He is rather striking, his blond good looks set off by the black leather blazer, black jeans, and biker boots. All eyes follow him as he passes. I trail him to the dark draperies at the rear of the room, where another large Chosen holds them open for us. We weave through the stacked liquor cases and stop at the door.

  I try to see the code Leandro taps into the keypad, wondering if it’s changed, but his fingers are too fast. He opens the heavy soundproof door and holds it for me as I step into the hallway. The tumultuous din from the stage abruptly shuts off as the door closes. We walk in silence to Nicolas’s office where Leandro quickly enters the code and opens the door.

  As I walk into the room, Nicolas’s scent wraps itself around my body. I inhale deeply, trying to capture as much of him as I can. The black emptiness in me—where he is supposed to be—gapes open, roaring like an animal in pain. But I refuse to give in to it and use my anger to slam it shut, my instincts screaming to keep this weakness for Nicolas hidden from the big blond Chosen.

  Turning to face Leandro, that anger surges at the pink-tinged desire shining in his eyes.

  “So where is Nicolas?” I demand again. Though his scent is strong, it’s old. He hasn’t been here for at least a week. Probably not since the night I ran.

  “As I said before, I don’t know. It’s not my turn to watch him.”

  “What happened to him? What did you do to him?” My voice, thick with anxiety and rage, sounds shrill even to my ears.

  “Temper, temper, little kitten. I did nothing. As for what happened to him, I don’t know, and it’s really not my concern.” He sets the machete down onto the desk.

  “He’s your Maker! How can you say it’s not your concern?” Both baffled and outraged at his indifference, I glare at him.

  “He isn’t my Maker anymore. I hold no allegiance to him.”

  Shock floods through me. Just like that? Their loyalties shift that fast?

  Leandro looks at me intently, his mood darkening.

  “So tell me, who is your Maker? What lineage are you from?” The threat in his voice only aggravates me further.

  “It’s none of your damn business.”

  “But it is. When a foreign lineage waltzes into our territory and seduces our Maker, it tends to raise questions. But when that seductress unmans our Maker and causes a power shift the way you have, we want answers.” His tone turns dangerous.

  I slide my hand into my bag and wrap my fingers around the grip, but don’t take the gun out yet.

  “Don’t bother. I can smell the steel and gunpowder, and nothing short of a cannon’s going to stop me. And we already know that I’m much faster than you.” He quietly laughs.

  Shit. Didn’t think about The Chosen sense of smell.

  “You know, you’re very cute. You come in here all teeth and claws, but underneath you’re really quite fragile, like a suckling still on her mama’s teat. I completely understand Nicolas’s attraction to you.”

  Leandro is suddenly standing inches from me, his eyes flashing red. I leap back, and like we’re in some kind of strange dance, he follows, then grabs my arms and smashes me into the wall. Pinned there, I struggle as he presses himself against me, and then his mouth is on my neck.

  “Don’t move, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next,” he growls, his voice hoarse. “Understand?”

  I freeze, then slowly nod. This is the dance of predator and prey, fueled by pure instinct. Any sudden movement on my part could trigger him. I should’ve known better, because I’m usually the other partner in the deadly tango.

  He lips my neck and presses closer as panic races through me, everything telling me to fight, to run. But the hunter knows this game and waits, tightly coiled, ready for her moment.

  Leandro snarls a curse and abruptly releases me. He steps back,
looking at me curiously.

  “Éva knows you’re here, and apparently disapproves of my intentions, so it seems you will not get to experience the pleasure of sharing blood with me. That is unfortunate for you. Perhaps another time.”

  As the red in his eyes fades, so does his tension and his guard.

  I launch past him for the door to the outside, dragging my nails across his throat as I pass.

  But instead of retaliating, Leandro turns to face me, wiping off the blood with his fingers as the deep wound seals shut.

  He licks his fingertips and smiles.

  “That’s twice you’ve blooded me. Should I consider that foreplay?” He smirks, eyebrows arched.

  “Consider it a warning,” I growl as I punch the code.

  But the light doesn’t flash green and the door doesn’t open.

  Crap. I was afraid of that.

  Turning back to face him, I give myself to the beast and the hunter, prepared to fight to the death. I whip out the .357 and point it at his face.

  Leandro laughs. “Relax. I’m done. I just wanted to play a little and see what you’re made of.”

  But I don’t believe him and I don’t relax.

  He turns, picks up a pen and a notepad from Nicolas’s desk, and writes on it. Tearing the sheet off of the pad, he starts to walk toward me, the paper pinched between the fingers of his outstretched hand.

  Cornered, with nowhere to run, the beast rips a growl from my throat and I pull back the hammer.

  Leandro stops and smiles, then sets the paper on the corner of the desk.

  “You really are quite adorable. I think you could keep me entertained for a long time.”

  “I’d rather die.”

  “I said a long time, not forever.” He smiles again, then walks behind the desk and reaches into a drawer. I hear the electronic hum of a button being pressed.

  “Now, where was I before you decided to crash my party?” He steps out to the center of the room.

  The hallway door opens and a dark-haired young woman enters, followed closely by the first Chosen who’d met me at the club entrance. His large hand engulfs her slender arm as he ushers her in.