Hybrid (The Healer Series Book 2)
Page 7
“Aldo,
Secrets are a terrible thing, my darling. If you are reading this, it means I am gone, which means the secrets I have kept from you for so long have gone with me.
You must contact a man by the name of Daniel O’Sullivan. Page him at the number below and he will find you. He knows what you are and he can help you.
Please know I hid things from you to protect you.
All my love,
Lucy”
Daniel O’Sullivan (501) 222-6844
Tears roll down my cheeks as I fold her letter and delicately slide it back inside the envelope delicately. She said I would find answers here, but her letter didn’t tell me anything. As I dig through the box, I find photographs of my mother and Lucy as teenagers; mirror images of each other, wearing perfect bright smiles and matching dresses. There are several pictures of my brothers and me at various ages and a picture of an older couple. When I turn the photo over, I see Allen and Dorothy Lawson written on the back in Lucy’s handwriting. Allen and Dorothy were my grandparents and I’m named after them. Lucy used the first two letters of their names to make mine. I’ve never seen a photo of them before. Lucy said they died in a car accident. I wonder if that was a lie, too. There are a few gold coins, a pocket watch, and a folded piece of notebook paper with a recipe.
Nosophoros Analgesic
4 drops holy water
10 drops healer blood
2 tsp. shaved silver (finely minced)
1tsp. Minced garlic
You only need a drop. More than a drop can be lethal. Mixture will leave victim immobile for several hours.
I have no earthly idea what Nosophorus Analgesic means, but the recipe appears to be some kind of vampire inhibitor. Placing the recipe aside, I rummage through the remainder of the box. When I’m finished, Cassandra takes me back to the bank where she hugs me tightly in the parking lot. My aunt left thirty thousand dollars in her possession, and she didn’t take it. I wonder how Lucy knew she could trust her.
“Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Cassandra wipes a tear from under her eye. “Your aunt saved my son. I’m forever in her debt. Now that she’s gone, I will be in yours. If you ever need anything, please let me know.”
I smile softly at Cassandra. “Thank you, Cassandra. I’m grateful for your help. But you owe me nothing. You’ve more than paid your debt to Lucy.”
Her eyes tear up and she hugs me. “Your gift is beautiful. I feel sorry for people who walk around every day not believing in miracles. You are a walking miracle and so was Lucy.” She steps back and smiles softly at me.
This is one of those moments I feel bad about resenting my gift to heal. Don’t get me wrong, I like my gift, but it’s more of a love/hate thing. Have we been called walking miracles before? Yes. Many times. The feeling of easing someone’s pain is wonderful, knowing you made their life better. Saving someone’s life is the most intense feeling ever, not because of the act itself, but it’s the gratitude in the eyes of the person you stole back from death’s grasp. You can see it in their eyes, how desperately they want to thank you, to make you understand what it means to know they will live. Cassandra has this look in her eyes right now. Lucy saved her son. Lucy may very well have saved Cassandra by saving Aiden. The gratitude is so deep it’s almost overwhelming me. It occurs to me that this is what Lucy meant when she told Cassandra to tell me, “He’s proof that there is good with the bad.” Lucy wanted me to see that although we can’t save everyone, we can save some, and that makes it worthwhile. I smile faintly. Lucy’s been gone about a year and a half, but she’s still teaching me, trying to make me understand.
“Thank you, Cassandra.” I squeeze her hand and slide into my car.
When I leave the bank, I stop immediately at a nearby IHOP for breakfast, scarfing down an entire order of French toast and bacon. Afterwards, I stop and buy a few clothes from a nearby Walmart and then check into a hotel and proceed to sleep for fourteen hours straight. In my dreams, I see Aiden from Cassandra’s eyes. I watch her memories play out before me. A mother holding the hand of her son—frail and weak, and barely breathing. I feel her powerlessness. Her anger. I feel the giant, gaping hole in her chest that grows bigger as each day passes bringing her closer to her son’s demise. But then, I feel her relief when she watches Lucy heal him; the wash of calm she feels is like a lake after a storm. I feel the sense of overwhelming gratitude that bursts through her. Lucy did save her son, and that’s why she agreed to hold the box. When I finish with Cassandra’s information, I wander idly through my subconscious, but my dreams are empty without Rhett, and I can’t help wondering if he’s okay. Did he wake up hurt and confused when he figured out I was missing, or just really pissed? Or both? I hate myself for leaving him like that, but I push down that feeling of guilt. It will only get in my way now. I must focus. Lucy wanted me to do this. I want to do this.
After I wake up I lie restless. Lucy’s letter sits slightly wrinkled—after reading it multiple times—next to me in bed. Anxious and unsure, I stare at the phone sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. Should I page Daniel O’Sullivan? She said he would have answers. I pick the receiver up several times before I finally dial the number Lucy left me. After entering the number to the hotel, I hang up. With a deep sigh, I lie back down and wait.
Afraid of missing his call, I wait by the phone all day, ordering room service to tide me over. Maybe he won’t call a number he doesn’t recognize. Or maybe Lucy wrote down the wrong number. At three in the afternoon I page him once more, but after two hours pass I decide I can’t wait any longer. I have to get out of my room and get something different to eat. I straighten my hair and apply some makeup with my recently purchased items from Walmart and change into the nicer of the clothes I bought. The afternoon is warm for Fall so I wear a pair of white shorts and a hot pink tube top, taking a jacket with me. At a nearby sandwich shop, I order a turkey sandwich and a cup of coffee. I’m still dragging from driving all night, even after fourteen hours of sleep, so, I’m pleased when the friendly waitress refills my mug each time it gets low and brings me a styrofoam cup to go. As I pay my bill, a man at the far corner of the shop staring at me, catches my eye. He’s wearing a three piece gray suit, clean-shaven, and has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s handsome, but not at all my type. Our eyes meet, and I smile slightly before tearing my gaze away from his. With a quick nod to the waitress, I exit.
The temperature has dropped since I stepped inside the sandwich shop. Goosebumps cover my skin from the chill of the air. Halfway to the hotel I realize I left my jacket at the café. Turning to head back to retrieve it, I see the man from the sandwich shop that was staring at me about sixty feet behind me. Is it coincidence he’s heading in the same direction as me or is he following me? I listen for his energy and I hear it. He’s not a vampire or a blood healer. I sigh with relief knowing I can handle him if he attacks me. Just in case, I opt to leave my jacket behind and continue my beeline for the hotel, but footsteps approach fast and make me pick up my pace as well. Seeing a set of buildings just ahead, I walk even faster toward them, hoping I can duck into a store to shake him, but in the blink of an eye, he closes the gap between us, and just as I reach the first set of buildings I’ve been sprinting to, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into an alley. His hand covers my mouth as he presses me against the cold brick wall and I squeal into his hand.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he hisses in my ear, his breath reeking of bourbon and coffee.
I struggle to break free from him, but he presses his hips harder against me, wedging me between him and the wall. The grit of the brick presses into my flesh as his erection bulges from under his pants against my hip.
His free hand slides down my hip where he pushes up under the hem of my shorts, letting his fingers graze the lining of my panties as he moans. My body tenses with disgust. For a brief moment, the realization I’m a victim of a sexual assault hits me. Shit! I can’t believe this is happening to me.
My eyes flutter open, and I lay on the ground staring up to see brick walls on both sides of me. Moving slightly, I realize my head isn’t swirling, and I can see clearly. I frantically check my clothing, but everything seems in place for the most part.
“I stopped him.” A deep voice causes me to jerk my head. Who the hell is this guy? My rescuer—I hope he is anyway—is hard to see because of the poorly lit alley. He moves quickly to the end of the alley where he has just flung my attacker like an empty soda can and bends down over him. I stand and back up against the brick wall, trying to calm my breathing as I watch him hover over the man unable to see what he’s doing. Checking myself once more to make sure everything’s in place, I touch my head, but there are no cuts or bumps that I can feel, but my mouth hurts like hell. Did the guy punch me and I don’t remember? A foreign taste, like copper, makes my mouth water. Am I bleeding? I touch and lick my lips, but I can’t find any traces of blood.
Finally, the man who rescued me stands up and walks past me. “Follow me.” He walks to the end of the alley, but I remain glued to the wall, unsure of what to do. He turns back and shakes his head as if annoyed with me. “I said, follow me,” he states adamantly. “I’m the guy that just saved your ass. I’m not going to hurt you.”
On shaky legs, I follow him, making sure to stay a few feet behind, just in case he tries something. He leads me back out onto the street and I follow him about forty feet until he turns into another alley, only this one has street lighting. I stand at the end of the alley and watch him. When he turns, he shakes his head at me again.
“Come here.”
I approach him slowly, but stop about five feet away from him. He’s tall, six-three maybe, built, with a tight beard. His thick, dark hair has hints of gray laced throughout and is tied back and he has the most unique set of gray eyes. His gaze is so intense, weighed with a confidence I have never seen in a man’s eyes before.
Stunned by the gray blaze of his stare, I stumble back. Thanking him would be appropriate at this moment, but his presence is so domineering my mouth doesn’t seem to want to work.
“Are you okay?”
I stare at him blankly. That’s a good question. Am I okay? I listen for his energy and it fills my ears instantly.
Yes. You’re human. I’m okay.
I nod.
I try to form words to thank him, to tell him how utterly grateful I am, but then he speaks and I realize he’s an asshole.
“Are you some kind of fucking idiot?” he hisses.
I blink at him. “Excuse me?” I murmur not entirely sure I heard him right.
“Do you always wear come-fuck-me clothes while walking around by yourself at night?” His tone is condescending.
Yeah, I definitely heard him right.
I step back from him, completely blindsided by his rude comment. I want to lash out at him for being a jerk, but I remind myself that he did just save me from being raped. Of course, I could have taken care of it myself, but he didn’t know that. He was just an average guy who happened to be walking by and saw a woman getting attacked and intervened.
“Thank you for helping me.” I ignore his comment and take the high road. I start brushing off my shorts and situating my tube top again while my gallant hero, who happens to be a jerk, watches.
“That didn’t answer my question,” he presses.
Feeling the weight of his eyes on me, I stare up at him. “Look, I appreciate what you did, but—”
“Why do women walk around half-naked, and then act surprised when guys do stuff like that?”
“Are you saying I was asking for it?” My spine stiffens, angered by his words.
“You’re practically naked.” He motions a hand at my outfit.
Okay, I might be wearing revealing clothing, but I am most certainly not ‘practically naked.’ “I don’t care if I was walking around butt-ass naked. That doesn’t give him the right to attack me,” I hiss at him.
“You might as well be ‘butt-ass’ naked.” He shoves his hands in his jeans and smirks condescendingly.
“You know what? Thank you for helping me out, but I’ll pass on the fashion advice and the how-to-avoid-rape lecture. Have a nice evening.” I turn to walk away, but he grabs my wrist. My eyes jerk back to his and something runs through me. Not the feeling of energy, but some kind of connection. It’s not sexual either, more like a stirring. Something is moving inside me that wasn’t there before. An awakening.
His eyes flicker, and I can tell he felt it too. He drops my wrist, and we stare at each other, silence looming like a thick fog. He turns his body so he is directly in front of me. “What’s your name?”
“Apparently, it’s fucking idiot.” I give him my most saccharine smile and try to pass him to walk away.
He grabs my arm again and pulls me back so that I’m facing him. My heart catapults into my throat, but he holds my arms and stares down at me. He’s a big man. But his size is nowhere near as intimidating as his stare. His stare possesses the ability to cower me. I hate it.
“What’s your name?” he repeats, his eyes searching my face.
“Why do you want to know?” I try to wiggle out of his grip, but he holds me in place. His strength is unreal and I vaguely remember him tossing the guy that attacked me like he was nothing and now I can’t even budge under his grip.
“I just saved your life. Can’t I at least know your name?”
“No,” I reply plainly and his hands drop from my arms. “Thanks for your help.” I turn and walk away, leaving him in the alley.
Back in my hotel room, I take a hot shower to wash off the dirt and the feeling of the guy’s grimy hands that attacked me. I can’t deny I’m shaken. I came here focused on the threat of blood healers and vampires, not average humans. I was so sure when I heard his energy it meant I could handle him, but he got the jump on me. It was a good lesson, and I remind myself to be more careful. Wrapping a towel around me, I crawl into bed, leaving my long hair tied up in a messy knot. I’m exhausted, but I lay wide awake, replaying the scene with the man who saved me. I’m grateful for his help, but I wish he hadn’t been such a jerk afterwards. Hours tick by mercilessly slow until finally, just as day breaks, I nod off.
Hours later I wake to a dark room covered in a cold sweat from head to toe. My stomach churns and my body feels as if someone has beaten me with a bat. I stop counting how many times I’ve vomited. Nothing stays down. Every time I sip water it comes back up immediately. I lose track of time as I lay on the cold tile of the hotel bathroom floor begging the good Lord to end my agony. There is nothing worse than the stomach flu. Finally, I manage enough strength to run a hot bath for myself, and after soaking until the water gets cold, I wrap my towel around
me and crawl back into bed. After pulling the comforter over my head, trying to gather as much warmth as I can to stop my body from shivering, I doze off.
Once asleep, my subconscious creates the alley where I was attacked, and I stare at the brick wall to my left. An image of my attacker with his blonde hair and blue eyes sits beside an image of the man who saved me. I turn toward the end of the alley and see myself lying motionless on the ground. Suddenly, Rhett is standing beside me. It’s not really him. It’s my subconscious posed as him, here to help me work out the information I absorbed.
“You should come home now,” Rhett speaks sternly.
“Not an option.” I shrug. I avoid looking at him. His image will only distract me. I blink hard and try to make his image disappear and change into Hudson, but when I look back he’s gone. Guess my subconscious is leaving me to figure this one out on my own.
I watch as the man that saved me leans over my body. He checks me over, and then bites his wrist. Blood drips down his arm before he presses the dripping wound to my mouth.
Holy shit! He fed me blood! That’s why my mouth tasted so funny when I came to. I turn to the wall where his picture stares back at me and clear everything else, but his image.
“What’s his name?” I ask the wall.
Daniel O’Sullivan appears beneath his image.
I snap awake, sitting up abruptly, my eyes wide with shock. He must’ve found me after I paged him my number and watched me. He was following me when the guy attacked me. What the heck is he? He’s human; I heard his energy, but he fed me his blood.