Alex Finch: Monster Hunter

by Cate Dean

  “Fine.” I tugged my hand free. “We don’t have much time. You’re just lucky I have plenty of experience mopping up my own injuries.” I searched the drawers in the cabinet against the wall, gathered antiseptic wash, gauze pads and tape. “Can you get your shirt off?”

  In another life, I’d be saying that to dream Sam, hugging my pillow. Part of me was still waiting to wake up.

  I had to help him, easing his left arm out of the sleeve, and lifting the bloody shirt enough to get at his shoulder. I swallowed a gasp when I got my first good look.

  “Oh, Sam.” The scars looked raw, fresh.

  “Just—patch me up, Alex. Please.”

  Once I started cleaning his shoulder, I understood his need to hurry.

  Only part of each scar bled; the rest was as faded and healed over as I remembered when I first saw them. I poured the antiseptic over his shoulder, clenched my teeth when he gasped, and kept going. We were fast running out of time.

  After drying him off with one of the gauze pads, I laid another one over the scars and taped it down, then helped him pull his shirt on. Right before Candace marched in. One look at the discarded supplies on the exam table told her everything.

  “You bleed out, and you only have yourself to blame.” She turned on one heel and stalked out. “Thanks for wasting my free hour, Misericord.”

  Misty flinched. “Don’t call me that!”

  “Stop calling me for pointless reasons, and I’ll think about it.”

  I had the distinct feeling she wouldn’t be hearing the end of this for some time.

  “She hates not being in charge,” Misty said, forcing a smile. “You’re really okay, Sam?”

  “Worse than it looked. Thanks for taking care of me. Misericord.”

  She choked. “If you ever tell anyone—”

  “Misericord,” I said. “As in the small wooden shelf under the folding seats in old churches?”

  “No.” She looked surprised that I knew such a random fact, and embarrassed. “As in the name of the main character from my mom’s favorite book. I had to resort to blackmail to keep it off my school records.”

  “What did you do?” I had to know what a five year old could threaten two adults with to make them back off.

  Misty smiled. “Threatened to tell all the neighbors I was the love child of Mom and her hairstylist.”

  I laughed so hard I started choking. Once I recovered, I rested one hand on her shoulder. “It’ll stay our secret,” I glanced over at Sam. “Won’t it.”

  He held up one hand, flinching at the movement. “I never heard a thing.”

  “Revenge will be swift and painful,” she said, through teeth clenched so tight I expected them to crack. I smiled at her threat. “I mean it, Alex.”

  “That’s why I’m smiling.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Oh. You’re proud.”

  “As a new parent.”

  Laughter bubbled out of her. Yes—bubbled. Cheerleader. She sobered, studied us. “You’re okay, Sam? You were really out of it.”

  “Yeah. I had a run-in with my cousin.” His gaze skated to me, then to the floor. Always easier to lie when they can’t see your eyes. “He managed to hit the same spot I injured in practice last week.”

  Misty frowned. “But you weren’t—”

  I talked over her, to distract her, and get us moving. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here when your sister comes back.”

  “Right.”

  As she led the way to the front door, I looked over at Sam, kept my voice low enough for only him to hear, and threw his own words back at him. “I need to talk to you.”

  He swallowed, and walked out ahead of me, his back tense under the bloody t-shirt.

  Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to say hi. Now I was ordering him around.

  How quickly life can get strange.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Alex, we don’t have time for this.” I ignored Sam and kept pushing him down the sidewalk. “Alex—”

  “We are going to my house, where you are going to sit, and eat enough to keep you from walking into walls.”

  “But—”

  “You need to eat, Sam.” He looked down at me, those clear grey-blue eyes studying me like I was a specimen in Biology class. “What?”

  “You’re not afraid of me anymore.”

  “I wasn’t—” To my horror I could feel heat spreading across my cheeks. With my pale skin it was always an extra embarrassment when I blushed.

  “Hey, wait up!” Misty’s interruption was more welcome than she could ever imagine. Until she opened her mouth. “I’m coming with you.”

  Both Sam and I talked over each other.

  “You have no idea—”

  “It’s none of your business—”

  “It is so my business,” she snapped, crossing her arms. Trust me on this—don’t ever get a cheerleader riled. All that rah-rah bubbling goes right out the window. “Who else got chased down by a giant hairy something? And lost three inches of hair trying to escape? Three inches!”

  “Misty.” Sam moved to her, looking less like a potential corpse, and more like the gorgeous hunk of—right. Back on track. “We don’t have time for this. I need to talk to Alex, and you can’t be here.”

  Wow. Sam could have slapped her and Misty wouldn’t have looked more surprised.

  “This conversation is not over.” She stomped to her car, and spun around, pointing a finger at Sam. “So get your priorities straight, because next time I’m not taking any excuses.”

  Sam and I stared at each other after she left.

  “She has a point,” I said. “I’d want to know what the hell tried to tear me into tiny morsels and eat me.” The courage that had pushed me through the day drained out of me as he continued to watch me, not saying a word. I crossed my arms, to keep from checking to see if I had something sticking out of my nose. “Sam?” My voice came out a nervous squeak. The usual tone when I was in his presence.

  “I really want you to stay out of this, Alex—for good. But I need your help.”

  He touched my arm. It sent a shock through my system that left me breathless. And terrified. The easy to live with crush was starting to morph—to become something not so easy to live with.

  I backed out of further Sam-touching range. “I can’t—”

  His cell phone rang. Sam fumbled it out of his back pocket with his left hand and looked at the display. “It’s my mom.” He swiped to answer it. “Hey, Mom, what did you—” She obviously cut him off, and the panic flashing in his grey-blue eyes told me it wasn’t good news. “No, I can meet you at home. I’ve got my car at school. I’ll see you soon.”

  He ended the call, clutching the phone. Hair curtained his face as he lowered his head.

  “Sam?” I didn’t want to know, but the pain coming off him hurt me, and I couldn’t let him bear it alone. “Talk to me.”

  His shoulders slumped, and he raised his head. The despair on his face had my heart pounding.

  “Jake just attacked one of our neighbors, and he’s on the run.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I pressed my back to the wall of the clinic, just to feel something real. “Are you sure it was—”

  “The first time he changed, he attacked our gardener, nearly killed him.” Sam pushed both hands through his hair. “Dad had him tagged with the tracker, and sent him to our estate in Northern England, near the border of Scotland. Acres of field and forest between him and any innocent.”

  “That’s where he’s been all this time?” Sam nodded. “What is he doing here?”

  “He wants his freedom, and threatened Dad, telling him the consequences would weigh on his soul if he refused.”

  “You don’t think—he wouldn’t—” My overactive imagination had my voice choking off.

  “I think—God, I’m hoping it’s just a warning to my parents, to get what he wants. I’m going after him.”

  “No.” I stepped in his path, shocked by my bold m
ove. Sam looked just as surprised. “You can’t, not alone. You can hardly stand up straight.”

  “Come with me.”

  “What? No.” I backed away from him, terrified at the thought of facing Jake again. My luck would only hold out so long. “I’m not like you. I can’t—”

  “You have good instincts, you can think under pressure, and you have the fastest reflexes I’ve seen in a long time. Please.” He reached for me, and gasped at the movement. My gaze skated up to his shoulder. He was bleeding again. “If Jakes hurts anyone else, I don’t think I can—”

  He cut himself off and turned away from me.

  Normally I would have been faint with joy at him needing me. But not for this. I was terrified of Jake, of not surviving the next time I ran into him.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t.” He swallowed, nodding. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

  “It’s not your burden to carry, Alex. I never should have asked.” He brushed stray hair off my cheek. I stilled, those familiar tingles shooting through me from the point of contact. Towering over me, so close I could feel his body heat, Sam studied me, his grey-blue eyes all I could see, all I wanted to see. I think my heart stopped beating and I started to hallucinate, because I swore he leaned in, his breath warm on my face, his lips getting closer to mine—close enough to touch. “Alex . . .”

  A loud throat-clearing had us jerking apart. Candace leaned against the doorway of the clinic, arms crossed. “Sorry to interrupt, but isn’t that your dad?”

  She pointed at a black car dodging through traffic—a sleek black Bugatti. Only one man owned that car.

  Sam pushed past me and started running.

  “Sam!” Candace and I both shouted after him, and I followed, waiting for him to collapse. Instead of chasing after his dad, he flagged down a taxi. It sped away before I could reach him.

  “Hey.” Candace touched my shoulder. “He’ll be okay. Let’s get the rest of that blood off your hands, and I’ll take you home.”

  I let her lead me away, my mind blank, and every step heavy.

  Sam was far from okay. And I knew, in my gut, he was headed straight for Jake.

  7

  Candace dropped me off, and raised an eyebrow when I thanked her.

  “For letting you treat my patient and waste my only break? My pleasure.” She flashed a smile that softened the sarcasm. I had to learn how to do that. “Make sure he doesn’t need my services again soon. Finishing my surgical rotation is exhausting enough, without moonlighting on top of it. And take care with your arm—it’s far from healed.”

  I stared at her. She was observant. “Okay. Thanks again.”

  “Any time—just make that any time after the holidays.” She touched my shoulder. “Keep me in the loop. Sam is a mystery, and I do love mysteries. Now shoo.”

  I got out of the car, dragging by the time I reached the front door. Thank heaven my parents were in L.A. for a design thing. I could be miserable and in pain without an audience.

  Just as I closed the front door a voice filtered out from the kitchen. Dad’s voice. So much for private misery time. “Sweetheart, is that you?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  He appeared in the doorway, smiling. Dad smiled most of the time, counteracting Mom’s constant worrying. They were the perfect yin yang couple. “Do anything special today?”

  No demands of where I’d been, why I was late, no threat of grounding. I earned their trust a long time ago by telling them the truth, and sharing my life. Most of it, anyway.

  It may sound geeky, but my parents are beyond cool, and actually fun to hang out with. I could tell them anything, which made this whole scenario a nightmare for me. Because I was forced, again, to do what I’ve almost never done: lie to them.

  “Hey, Dad.” I smiled. At least it felt like a smile. “What are you doing home?”

  “The convention was all design this year. Your mom is in heaven, so I left her there with her cohorts, figuring we could have a father-daughter night.”

  “Okay.” I tried to sound upbeat. But even I knew I failed miserably.

  “Alex.” Dad proved me right. He moved forward, rubbed my back, and I could tell by his frown that he felt the vibes coming off me. “Let’s go sit down.”

  He slipped his arm around my waist as we headed into the living room, still holding on when we sat on the sofa, so I ended up almost in his lap. Like I was still his little girl, he gathered me up and hugged me, his strong arms a safe haven. And I finally let go, every muscle unclenching.

  “Dad . . .”

  “I know something is going on, Alex.” He tucked my head under his chin, and I pressed my face against his chest, fighting the tears that burned my eyes. He always made me feel so loved, without being overbearing or weird. “I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

  “Dad . . . I don’t—”

  “It has to do with Sam Emmett, doesn’t it?” I pulled back, looked into his eyes. I inherited the clear, dark blue eyes and unruly brown hair, but not his height. Since both my parents are tall, and all my relatives, I obviously got the short gene from some ancestor.

  “How—”

  “Your mom told me about him bringing you home after your accident. I was surprised you were friendly with him. He’s a good kid, but his family has always kept themselves apart, especially since the boiler accident.”

  “The one at the school?” He nodded. Ten years ago—it happened ten years ago. I did a mental head slap. Why didn’t I see the connection before? It happened not long after the attack on Jake and Sam. On Halloween. There had to be a reason. I let out a sigh, and added the question to my ever growing list. “Dad, can I ask you something?”

  “Always, twinkle toes.” I smiled at the old nickname. He used it when I was down like this, and only used it in private. Unlike Mom—who would shout my full name across a crowded mall if she thought it would get my attention. “Ask away.”

  “If there was something you had to do—in your job, or on a site,” I added, trying to make it more about him and less about me. “If that something meant helping other people, even if you might get hurt, would you do it?”

  He studied me, so long I could feel a blush spreading over my cheeks. “Is this life or death help?”

  I swallowed. “It could be.”

  Big, work hardened hands closed over my shoulders. “What have you stepped in, Alex?”

  “I can’t—” God, this was so hard. I wanted to blurt it out, to get his input, his level headed reasoning. “I can’t tell you. I made a promise.”

  “Okay.” Letting me go, he leaned back against the sofa. “My instinct is to protect you, sweetheart, because I’m your dad and that’s my job. My most important job.” He took my hand. “Your mom would lock you in your room and hire an armed guard.” I choked out a laugh, fighting off the tears his words pushed closer to the surface. “I just want you to be safe, whatever you decide. You’re growing up so fast, Alex. I want to keep making choices for you, but this one is your own to make.”

  I sighed. I so wanted him to make this for me, or forbid me to do anything. I wanted him as the fall guy when I tried to justify not helping Sam find Jake before he hurt someone else. None of it was working the way I hoped.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Just promise me you won’t let anyone force you into making a choice.” He cradled my cheek. “And come home to us Alex. Always come home.”

  That was when I finally lost it. I crawled into his lap, letting his strength hold me up when I wanted to fall apart. It was one promise I couldn’t make.

  Because if I said yes to Sam, I didn’t know if I would come home.

  8

  With my throat still raw, and my stitched arm itching like crazy, I pulled my British racing green MG Roadster to a stop in front of the Emmett mansion an hour after Dad and I talked.

  A gift from Dad on my sixteenth birthday, I only drove it when I needed to get somewhere in a hurry, or when it was not smart
to ride my bike. This occasion met both criteria. I had even taken the soft top off, pretending it was a pleasure drive.

  With a shaky breath, I walked to the front door, every step slower. I finally made a decision—and I had to tell Sam before I lost my nerve. I wasn’t a hero for heaven’s sake, I was a teenager with loner tendencies who spent more time talking to my laptop than other people.

  All excuses, but I would take them, use them, to get me out of this.

  The door flew open just as I raised my hand to the doorbell. Mrs. Emmett bolted out and almost knocked me over.

  “Alex?” She gripped my upper arms, so hard I knew I’d find bruises there later. “Have you seen Sam?”

  Her panic jolted through me, sparked my own. And I couldn’t say anything without lying to her, or telling her that Sam had probably gone after Jake. So I decided on a half-truth. “Not since after school.”

  Mrs. Emmett dragged me after her. “Is that your car? You can drive. I need to track his phone.” I never had a chance to refuse; she had me in the car and headed down the driveway before I could think beyond keeping my car on the right side of the road.

  “Mrs. Emmett—”

  “Call me Evelyn.” She kept her gaze glued to a small device in her hands. “How long ago did Sam leave you?”

  “About two hours. Maybe more.”

  “Damn—” She added a few more swear words, expanding my personal vocabulary. “He could be anywhere by now. He was supposed to come straight home.” She pushed hair off her face, shifted the crossbow I only noticed after she slid into the low two seater MG, when it was too late to do anything—like drive away before she could drag me into this. “He promised he would—here,” she said, her voice sharp. “Turn left here.”

  I barely made the turn, downshifting and screeching across lanes, pissing off more than a few drivers to do it. I was too scared for Sam to worry about road etiquette.

  We bumped down a two lane gravel road, the loose rocks bouncing off the low underside of my car. I could mourn the damage to my paint job later.