Oh, but he was sorely wrong.
I cared nothing if the world discovered about us preternaturals. And yet, I'd heard it was bad business for hired mercs to get caught by ordinary humans performing any kind of abnormal activity. Or was he considering using them as leverage in exchange for my cooperation? I glanced around, taking a sip of my coffee to cover the motion and took count. Four people. Two women chatting excitedly about someone's wedding and someone named Josh Jr. who was the total douche canoe. Another girl, who looked young enough to be ditching school, texted furiously on her cell, and the fourth was a middle-aged woman eating some pastries, a reproachful look aimed at the ditcher, a cart full of groceries parked beside her. They were seated on the opposite side of the food court—not far enough, but it had given me the illusion of solace when I'd arrived.
Four people. Not what one would have expected with the storm in its full glory outside. Any other town and there would have been a couple dozen people waiting out the downpour to pass.
Four people. Not enough to really count… They were four too many.
Regardless of my uneasiness, I didn't know if I'd risk my life, my freedom, for someone else's. I wasn't selfish, or at least I didn't like to think that I was. However, I'd seen too much suffering and pain to risk my going back to the PSS over someone I never met. Besides, I harbored no fantasy of superwoman. I'd give my abilities up without hesitation to take back my life where I had left it ten years ago.
All those rambling thoughts passed through my mind between a step and another.
I took another bite of my sandwich, chewed a couple of times and swallowed the lump, almost choking when it refused to go down. I immediately took a sip of coffee and the liquid burned all the way down to my stomach. I barely noticed it. My heart raced wildly—and if his vampire senses were trained enough, he'd hear its faint thump thump thump the moment he reached me. At least, that's what I assumed. I wasn't a vampire and I could hear other people's heartbeats, provided I was close enough and listening for them. I took steadying deep breaths, slowing it down enough to pass as normal.
When he was over me, I glanced at him, as if his presence had just registered through. He gave me a lopsided, dazzling smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. I smiled back, a polite, distant smile and took a sip of the coffee, but I didn't touch the sandwich.
“That's a hell of a downpour,” he said with a shake of his head while pulling the chair across from mine. “Mind if I sit here?”
“I don't see why you should,” I murmured into my coffee. My voice was low enough to be muffled by the sound of the pounding rain on the rafters, but I was sure he could hear me loud and clear. Which he ignored, as I expected he would. My mind whirled with possibilities of skedaddling out of there. Absently, I noticed small things. He had a cup like mine in his hand, which he placed on the table in front of him. Since Starbucks was slightly to my back and there was a tall beam that blocked my peripheral view of it, it could explain why I hadn't spotted the man at first. His hands were broad around the tall cup, his fingernails clean and clipped.
“So, are you new in town? Haven't seen you around before.” he said after taking a sip from his cup, his eyes intent on mine.
That threw me. Was he a local, just passing time in a mall?
“Just meeting a friend.” I shrugged. “Guess the storm held him up.”
“Oh,” he said with interest, “who?” He had dark, stormy grey eyes, his irises ringed in black.
“Josh Jr.,” I replied without thinking. Yeah, Josh Jr. the douche.
His lips pursed and his eyebrows went up a fraction. Was that humor in his eyes? Of course, he could have overheard the conversation just as easily as I did.
“But where are my manners?” I asked with an abashed expression and extended my hand. Something flickered in his eyes, quickly masked. I went on, “Name is Eliza. Friends call me Liz.”
“Logan Graham,” he said, engulfing my hand in his large one, “and the lack of manners is totally mine.” He gave me a sheepish smile, my hand still in his. “Your beauty sort of distracted me.”
Well, I've heard cheesier. Not so subtly I tugged my hand free and “accidentally” bumped my cup of coffee with my elbow. It fell and spilled hot coffee all over my lap.
Shit, it was hot. I stood, toppling over my chair with an unbelievably loud crash, gaining the attention of the other occupants of the food court. Surprised, Logan jumped up, and, like magic, produced a wad of napkins and handed them over to me. I accepted them, and with a grimace began patting myself dry. All four women watched us avidly.
From under my lashes, I watched Logan reaching with a napkin, hesitate and drop his hand again.
Yeah, that's right. You try that and I'll bite it off.
I dropped the mess of crumpled, stained napkins on the table and looked up at Logan with an apologetic, chagrined smile. “I am so clumsy.” I gestured down to my black, low riding pants as if he hadn't noticed them before.
“Ah, uhmm, guess I'll go to the restroom, see what I can do about this.” Again I motioned downward, noticing Logan wasn't saying anything. Had I overplayed this act? I cleared my throat, feeling a mortifying flush creeping up my neck. “Uhmm, if—” Was that exasperation or frustration I saw? I cleared my throat again, my flush deepening. “Ah, if Josh Jr. arrives, would you mind telling him I'd be right back?”
I hoped fate wasn't so cruel as to send Josh the douche swaggering into the food court just then.
Logan frowned and looked around, his grey eyes—wolf eyes—skimming the food court in a way that I could tell observed everything and missed nothing. They were trained eyes.
My heart skipped a beat, but I managed to tamper down on it. I picked up my purse, left my jacket and food, and got going while the going was still good. I moved as fast as possible without giving the impression I was running.
I felt eyes on me all the way to the restroom and knew more than Logan watched the progress. Had I pulled a convincing act, or had I been too obvious? Vaguely, I wondered what kind of gossip would be told about the sudden appearance and mysterious disappearance of Josh's “friend”. And my beloved baby blue Prada?
I sniffed, opened the door to the restroom and stepped inside.
Chapter Four
The first thing I noticed was the lack of windows. “Figures,” I muttered. It had been too easy getting to the bathroom without complications. Perhaps Logan had already known there was no escape route from here.
Or maybe the acting, the food and the jacket I left behind had done the job and he was waiting for me to return. Or maybe he was just dense. I recalled the sharp look he had cast around the food court and shook my head. No, dense he was not.
But perhaps he hadn't been hired by the scientists and his interest had been genuine. I sighed inwardly. I did always attract unwanted attention.
When I was younger, I considered it a blessing.
I searched the stalls for company and—as expected—I was alone. I went back to the door and cracked it open a little. The man was still where I left him, mopping coffee with soggy napkins. He looked distracted, but he would definitely see me if I left this way.
His interest might have been genuine and, the fact that he seemed to be local gave him credibility, but I wasn't taking chances.
What if the PSS found out I had holed there for the night and it just happened Logan had been handy?
Hello, paranoia.
And there had been the speech that the vampire, fire mage, and werewolf gave me prior to their attack, which had been odd and seemed rehearsed and totally something the PSS would insist upon. Something about a contract and ten-year documents and if I didn't obey and accompany them like a good girl, then they wouldn't have to hurt me and yada yada yada, or something to that extent. Either I hadn't given Logan the opportunity to recite it or he'd heard what I had done to the previous hired men that had tried shanghaiing me and had decided a more deceitful approach was necessary.
Not that I ha
d intended to kill any of his predecessors. My head still hurt from whatever that psychic thing I'd done against the vampire had been, and guilt and nausea walked hand in hand where the fire mage was concerned.
The mage had found me the very next day after I had escaped the fortress, in the parking lot of a diner where I had stopped for my first meal outside the PSS in nine years, and had threatened to burn me alive if I didn't accompany him back. In hindsight, I could tell his threat and demonstrative white ball of fire had been nothing but a perfunctory warning, but back then I hadn't known that. Back then, I hadn't yet understood that I was nothing but a paycheck for people like him. All I cared about then was that I didn't want to die so soon after I'd managed to escape, even if I had vowed to myself never to let the PSS catch me alive again. So I'd reached deep inside me, past the anger I feared, into the slumbering part that lived in the depth of my soul, and without giving myself a chance to think twice about what I was doing, yanked it out and engulfed myself with it.
Back then I had no idea that the fire would bounce back and attack the mage, only that once the PSS had wanted me to use it as a shield and I didn't know how.
So there the mage was, lying dead by his own weapon, adding one more guilt to the pile of accumulating regret. I'd buried the body then, not out of respect but out of fear that the PSS would realize what I'd done and send the next merc sooner. Though I had thought I'd spotted a figure on the other side of the diner's glass door, no one had come out to inquire why I was digging a hole with my bare hands. No one had seen me, no one had heard the commotion.
Back then, I didn't wonder why.
* * *
I paced the length of the bathroom for a few moments, trying to figure out a way to get out of there without any undue confrontations. Werewolves were notoriously vicious fighters and vampires were fast and strong. It was a dangerous combination to have for an enemy. True, it was the made vampires who were the strongest and fastest, but even born ones had some semblance to their dead—or undead—kin. That is, if I was reading Logan's aura correctly and he didn't turn out to be something entirely different. My gut tightened with anxiety at the possibility.
It was only when I began gnawing down my already short thumbnail that I spotted the ventilation on top of one of the stalls.
“Why not? It works in the movies,” I murmured.
I locked the bathroom and advanced to the third stall where the ventilation window was, then stood atop the closed toilet, trying to peer inside.
It would be a tight fit and the dust would stick all over my wet clothes, but I was desperate and couldn't see any other options.
I reached for the shutter, my hand trembling as it transformed into talons and fur and a pinkish padded palm/paw. Underneath the fur there were soft, flexible scales, on the palm the pads were coarse, like the tongue of a cat. I inserted my talons in the narrow slots and pried the cover out, some of the screws flying as far as the sink. I was confident no one would hear all the racket because of the pounding rain.
I peered inside the airway, jerking my hand back to normal. The inside dead-ended about ten feet ahead and opened both to the right and left. I sighed, pushed my purse inside, a last thought going for my baby blue Prada I'd gotten for a song and a whistle. Then I followed behind my monstrosity of a purse. I took the left and kept going, taking random turns, dust gathering and sticking to my wet pants.
Outside, the downpour was still in full swing and I was soaked to the bones in mere seconds. I cursed the foolhardy decision of leaving Thunder by the laundry to give my legs some much-needed stretching. I ran all the way, and still, by the time I reached the laundromat I was freezing cold, turning into a light shade of blue. I stuffed my warm-dry clothes into my duffle, knowing they were going to wrinkle something fierce and dashed to the truck, throwing the duffle on the back and climbing inside. At least the rain washed away the worst of the coffee and dust.
There was a flash of light, instantly followed by the tumble of thunder. I looked around and… nothing. There was nothing. No cars, no people, nothing but thunder and rain. Rain and rain and more rain. A downpour like this one would eventually be discussed in history books. Followed by a religious title, the talk of doom.
Bad omen. I shivered and reached for the ignition key. Fortunately, it roared to life at the first try, and I slammed the gas pedal and sped away from that forgotten small town.
Maybe I should give big cities a try, seeing that the PSS were surely in on my small town plan.
Chapter Five
I crossed to the state of Nevada somewhere around sunset the next day and took the first exit I found before heading for one of those no-name motels. Driving for more than twenty-seven hours made my leg throb anew, even if there were nothing but ugly scars where the vampire had bitten me. To top it off, a low-grade headache had started a few miles back, and I decided to call it an early night. Plus, there was a loud grinding noise coming from Thunder's old engine that worried me. I parked in front of the office, took out my wig and contact lenses and applied them. I didn't want to be recognized if Logan—on the off chance he was following—happened to describe me. I paid cash for the room to the clerk behind the simple desk, a paunchy middle-aged white guy with greasy hair, who was too busy eating sunflower seeds and watching a game to really notice me. He didn't even bother with any niceties. He motioned to the soap and travel sized shampoo for sale with a grunt and flicker of his hand in case I needed them. I did. I paid for a bottle of shampoo and conditioner and a bar of soap and headed for number thirteen.
The motel was an L-shaped, two-story brick structure, and room thirteen was the last one on the shorter leg, on the ground floor.
The lights outside had burned out, giving a deserted, eerie feel to the place. There were only three vehicles in the entire parking lot, including mine.
Now, I'm not usually a superstitious person, on the contrary, I like to believe I'm very sensible. Still, something about number thirteen, that dark doorway, that feel of abandonment, combined with that still present sense of foreboding—well, let's just say that number thirteen gave me the heebies. For a long time, I just sat in the darkened car. I don't know what I was expecting to happen, but still there I sat, hands gripping the steering, waiting.
Finally, I sighed, opened my door, walked purposefully to my room and unlocked the door, determined to get a good night's sleep.
As far as those kinds of establishments went, the room was just a common room, if not a little thready. But at least the room was clean.
Before going inside, I gave one last look back at Thunder, then closed and locked the door with a flimsy chain that wouldn't hold a determined child back, much less a preternatural.
* * *
I woke up a couple of hours later and knew I was not alone. Years in the PSS taught me not to react and give myself away. My mind, fully awake, whirled with all the possibilities to incapacitate the intruder. If I could just see what he was… oh, but he was good. I could hardly hear anything. And he was close. Very, very close. He shouldn't have been able to get this close without waking me.
It was probably Logan, but I had learned long ago never to assume. I wanted to crack my eyes open and make sure, but was afraid the intruder—whoever it was—was watching for any signs he'd awoken me. So I played possum and waited for him to get closer. He was so good; I could barely hear the rustling of clothes and his low, even breathing as he closed in.
I waited, one more step. Not having the advantage of knowing what I was against, all I had was the second I'd get if I could surprise him. A step and I rolled, catching a glimpse of something long and metal hitting the pillow where my head had been just a second before. Stuffing from the pillow exploded from the sides, and—I swear I felt the iron frame of the bed bend and dip a little.
Shocked, I wondered—even as my little inner voice screamed for me to run—if he was trying to kill me. Had the PSS given up on capturing me and just wanted me out of the grid? Was it because of the vampire
incident? I didn't have time to ponder that. I grabbed the cold metal thing he'd tried to hit me with and pulled. He didn't let go like I had hoped but came forward with it. I jerked my hand into talons and tried to slash his neck, but he dodged just in time and I only managed to slice a small gash high on his cheek. I jumped out of the bed, pulling the metal thing with me, but he jerked it away and it slipped from my hand. Blood, really dark blood, began to ooze from the gash high up on his cheek.
He wobbled once, unbalanced when the metal thing slipped from my hand and turned to face me. He was holding what I could now tell was a baseball bat. And he was definitely not Logan. The man had a blue aura twisted with something very dark—black? Blue was for ordinary humans, while black… black could be many things I couldn't take the time to ponder. I noted though that the blue was very faint and that whatever the black was, it was taking over his humanity.
He gave me a wide, deranged smile, something I could see clearly despite the dimness of the room, and took a step forward, swinging the bat at my head. Instead of backing away, I took a step forward, grabbed the bat and held on to it while going for the neck again. Again he dodged by a fraction, pulled the bat back. A hand snaked out, grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked me forward. Awkwardly, I raised my talons and sliced a path from shoulder to shoulder. His face twisted with a ferocious snarl, and he twisted his hand in my hair, increasing the pressure. I cried out and slashed at his wrist, and the pressure in my scalp loosed. I immediately took a step back and fell straight into someone else's arms. There were two of them!
How could I have missed something like that?
I struggled to pull my arms free, and to my astonishment and increasing alarm, I couldn't. The man behind me had me locked into a bear hug, efficiently keeping both my arms pinned to my sides. He smelled like sour sweat and leather. I struggled, trying to get free, but he kept me immobilized with apparent ease.
Heir of Ashes Page 3
