Only after a passing man dropped his cell phone after seeing Thomas snarl did Thomas remember his frustration didn’t sound human anymore.
He started walking again, leaning forward and moving as fast as he could while navigating people and black ice.
He needed to be alone. He needed to sort this out. He needed to know he was sane, that he was walking through reality and not a nightmare.
The hope of relief swept over him as pushed through the double doors of his apartment complex. Thankfully there was no one there to greet him—it was on older complex with little security. But older gave it annoying problems, like the elevator. It worked, but it moved slow. Agitation built up inside him as he waited and staring at the flaking wallpaper didn’t help. The wait was agony, and he couldn’t bear the jitters any longer. He fled for the stairs, climbing the two flights and beelining it to his door.
The door offered little resistance as he yanked it open. Its hinges creaked and groaned from the sudden pressure then bounced back, smashing back into its frame. But he didn’t care; he was already inside staring at his old couch, wondering when the relief would come.
Yet it never came. The agitation kept building, and Thomas couldn’t stop moving. He paced back and forth, following the same small stretch in the dark worn carpet. Every few minutes he glanced at the dim oven clock to check the time. It was early enough he had a few hours before his late morning shift, but there wasn’t enough time to sleep. Not that he could fall asleep if he wanted to. He couldn’t relax.
Should he go to work? He needed a sense of normalcy, but wasn’t he technically carrying a disease? It might be better to call in sick.
Another wave of anger threatened to overwhelm him, followed by a hollow emptiness that felt worse.
Collapsing on his small couch, Thomas stared at the dusty ceiling fan. His chest felt tight, as if he was still speed pacing.
Nothing would be the same. It wasn’t fair.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there. It felt like days. Several times he almost got up and went back to the Red Lightning Pub, but every time he remembered Lawrence’s strange calm and decided against it. He wasn’t ready to be calm about this. He needed more time to let his emotions run their course.
Still, he couldn’t shake his growing desire for companionship. He needed an anchor, someone to tell him his life wasn’t over.
As if in answer to his unspoken call, a knock broke the quiet hum of his space heater.
Thomas rolled his head to the side and stared at the door. Chances were it was the landlord or maintenance. Thomas returned his gaze to the still ceiling fan.
The person outside the door knocked again, and this time a voice accompanied it.
“Thomas? Are you in there?”
Artemis.
Thomas bolted upright, his mouth dry.
In all his wallowing and self-pity, he hadn’t considered what to tell friends. He’d forgotten about them. Artemis always waited for confirmation texts that everyone had arrived home safely. He’d never sent her anything, not that he’d gotten home safely or that he could have contacted her—his phone was gone. He needed time to plan, but Artemis was already here.
“Thomas?”
He jumped to the door’s grimy peephole. A small, distorted Artemis bounced between her feet. She muttered as she held her phone to her ear. Whoever she was calling disappointed her, and she shoved her phone into her trench coat pocket and raised her hand to knock again. Thomas swung open the door, leaving her fist hanging in the air.
“Hey, Art,” he said, his tone failing at being nonchalant.
At the sight of her undistorted face, Thomas’ false smile slid from his lips like oil on water.
Old tear tracks glistened beneath puffy red eyes. Her curls stuck out more than usual, as if she’d been running her fingers through them, and the crinkled daisies beneath her coat hem belonged to yesterday’s dress.
A twinge of guilt pinched his chest.
Artemis didn’t speak immediately. Her chest rose as she inhaled and released in a drawn-out pattern. She mumbled her favorite mantra, low enough only Thomas could understand her with his vampiric hearing, and watched him with wet eyes. He cringed. What was he supposed to do when she cried?
“Where have you been?” Her voice was level and controlled, although it cracked when she started talking again. “We’ve been worried sick, Tom. You never texted me. Nelson’s been trying to get in touch for hours. And your neighbor said he didn’t see you come home last night. I, I got worried.” Artemis wiped her eyes.
Thomas fumbled for words. He wasn’t any good at this sort of thing—a frustrating shyness always took over when she confronted him like this. He had to say something. His friends always knew when he was lying, but he couldn’t tell the truth about vampirism, either.
Then again, if any of his friends were likely to believe him, it would be Artemis. She was a practicing Wiccan. She had an open mind to foreign ideas that made her other friends roll their eyes.
Even if she believed him, could he really involve her?
“I’m, I’m fine, Artemis.” Thomas tried to sound convincing. From the disappointed droop of her shoulders, he’d fallen short.
“What happened? Why haven’t you answered any of our calls?”
“I lost my phone last night. Over by the school. Haven’t gone to look for it yet.”
He’d said too much.
Artemis tightened her jaw. “May I come in?”
Thomas stepped aside and led her into his apartment, his fists tight in a ball. She planned to manipulate the conversation—she always steeled herself before attacking verbally and taking control. Thomas’ heart pounded in his chest as he panicked. He needed to dodge her questions and keep her from asking if he was hurt. He had to—she smelled different as she passed him. Lavender clung to her exposed skin, mixed with a bit of salt. Was it because she’d been crying? He crinkled his nose and followed her into the living room.
Dammit. He was already distracted by her.
He stepped into the kitchen as she sat down on the couch, putting some distance between them. Her scent was still too strong. He needed to drown it with something else.
“I don’t have any chakra tea, but I’ve got coffee,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s instant though.”
“Coffee’s fine,” Artemis replied.
How was he going to avoid Artemis’ questions? Cutting his friends out of the picture wasn’t an option. They were his family. But he couldn’t tell them what had happened to him, could he? But wouldn’t he have to? If nothing else, they would certainly notice he dodged sunlight.
Thomas avoided Artemis’ gaze as he handed her a mug of coffee and sat next to her. Her eyes bore into him, sending occasional shivers down his spine.
His every sense was heightened beyond anything he’d ever experienced. He could hear every tiny rustle of her cotton dress and wool coat, could see her breath tremble as she held in her emotions. He could still smell her despite the coffee’s warm aroma. That was the worst.
With Artemis close, her smell was stronger and more varied than the lavender and salt he’d first noticed. Now he smelled a faint blend of her usual shampoos and oils, dried glue, and remnants of last night’s dinner, but that wasn’t all. He could also smell her sweat and skin. The scents clung to her and wafted toward him every time she moved. The longer she sat there, the more he could smell her natural scent over the fragrances she used.
He could also hear it. The steady beating of her heart, the faint rush of blood through her veins. Thomas peeked at her face in alarm. To his horror, her pulse quivered in her throat.
Thomas swallowed nervously. Being so close to her, the dormant hunger in his stomach lifted its sleepy head and tasted the air hopefully. There was blood here, fresh blood. Despite drinking at the pub, he could feel the craving grow as inescapable as gravity. This was worse than everything else. Something inside him wanted to drink from her.
He gripped his o
wn coffee cup as tightly as he dared. The ceramic under his fingers developed hairline fractures and the brown liquid had small waves across the surface. He tried to focus on the coffee’s aroma. It was different than what he remembered. Weaker with a layer of burnt chicory.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Artemis asked, breaking the spell.
Thomas finally met her eyes. Their cool blue hue soothed the red hunger rising in his gut. His unholy desire for blood paused as he regained control over himself.
“Nothing happened,” Thomas said, grimacing when he meant to smile. “I told you, I dropped my phone.”
“Don’t lie to me, Thomas.” Artemis sipped calmly from her mug. “You’re a mess.”
Of course. He hadn’t changed. His torn and blood-stained clothing told Artemis a different story.
“I—”
Thomas couldn’t manage a full sentence. Artemis watched him with an eerie calm. How was she doing that? The rapid beating of her heart exposed she wasn’t as composed as she looked.
“Tom, just tell me.”
“I . . . was attacked last night.” He only stated the obvious. He winced, still unsure how much he wanted to share, and panic welled up in his chest.
Artemis’ façade broke, her face twisting with worry and fear.
“Attacked?” she asked, her voice barely escaping as a whisper. “Who?”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Someone that wasn’t all there. He—” Thomas broke off before he let it slip the attacker had bitten him. Thomas glanced at Artemis. He was skirting the details, and hoped Artemis wouldn’t press him.
“He what? Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m—” Thomas’ voice broke. He cleared his throat. “It was a small fight. Nothing really . . . nothing happened.”
Artemis cradled his jaw in her hands, peering into his eyes. Her fingers were cold and smooth, though they were warming with each heartbeat, and the veins in her wrist pounded too close to Thomas’ fangs. The monster within him wanted to grab her thin wrists and yank them closer. Her sweet scent was overwhelming. Each breath Thomas drew made his fangs heavy in his mouth, and he tightened his lips to keep them hidden. He wanted to look away, but Artemis held him steady.
After several long heartbeats, she released him and inspected his arms and shoulders. For a split second, Thomas was grateful for his enhanced healing abilities. She wouldn’t be able to find a single scratch. Except from the corner of his eye, Thomas saw the dark marks on his hand where the man from last night had bitten him.
He jerked away from Artemis’ inspection, pulling his hand from sight. It was too late. She’d already seen the matching wounds on his neck.
The little color left in Artemis’ face drained.
“Thomas, your neck,” she said, appalled. “What happened to your neck? Your hand?”
Panic choked him like a stale pillow pressed against his face, and he stood up to escape and breath. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t do this. Not now.
“I’ve got to go to work,” Thomas said, grabbing his spare coat and stepping toward the door.
Artemis followed him.
“Did they drug you or something? What are those puncture marks from?”
“If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late. Can’t afford to be fired.” He ignored her questions, hand already on the doorknob.
“Have you gone to the hospital yet? You’re really pale. Are you sick?”
Thomas paused. There was nowhere left for him to go but out. Artemis was still approaching, her eyes searching. He wanted desperately to run, but what about Artemis?
“Look, I’ll drop by after work,” he said, glancing at the clock again. He didn’t want to work right now, but prowling the hospital halls would be better than explaining everything. “I really need to go.”
“Thomas—”
“Artemis, please,” he whispered.
For a moment, their gazes met. Artemis’ stare was filled with immense concern, as well as something else Thomas couldn’t quite place. She started crying, her tears wrenching his gut. Chanting softly, she looked away once more and closed her eyes.
“Fine. But when you get back, you’re telling me what happened.”
He nodded, too relieved to speak.
With a confirmation from Thomas, Artemis brushed past him, out the door and down the stairs.
It wasn’t much, but he had time. He needed to know what to say by the time his shift finished. Artemis was waiting.
◆◆◆
The words on the papers didn’t make any sense. Or at least, not at the moment.
Thomas had filled out these medical forms a hundred times, but tonight it was more difficult to concentrate. He was two minutes into his shift, but he already felt tired and on edge. He hoped it was only lack of sleep.
Deep down, he knew it wasn’t sleep deprivation. Fatigue didn’t make him twitchy—the constant barrage of sensory detail did.
Colors leapt out to him with an intensity he’d never noticed before. Vibrant scrubs brightened the dull gray hallways. Dirt, sweat, blood, and bodily fluids speckled the walls where cleaning crews hadn’t been careful.
When Thomas squinted and gave his full attention to a passing physician. She seemed to move a bit slower. He frowned. Slower wasn’t right. The physician had walked past more clearly, to the point Thomas had predicted her footstep placements with pinpoint accuracy.
His pen slipped from his twitching fingers and fell from the clipboard. Before it hit the tiles at his feet, Thomas knew the exact spot it would bounce and land.
Worse than his new visual accuracy was his sharp sense of hearing. Every step, every ruffle of clothing, every conversation, every beep of someone’s smart watch notification was amplified. Ironically, his sense of hearing was so acute it transformed all of the sound into a backdrop of white noise—a confusing, static hiss he tried to force out of his mind. The noise and heightened vision made his head throb.
His head felt better than his stomach, however.
Thomas had never cared for the stereotypical hospital smell, and that feeling went for almost everyone who worked there. If there wasn’t a chemical stink of disinfectant clogging the air, it was replaced with more unpleasant smells like unwashed bodies or bedpans.
Right now, all of those scents were so potent they congested Thomas’ sinuses as they fought for dominance. Thankfully, they were strong enough to distract Thomas from the numerous sources of warm blood crowded around him.
“Hey, Thomas.”
Thomas jolted, accidentally snapping the clipboard he held in half. He dropped the two pieces onto the counter he’d been leaning on and turned around, not missing the cosmic joke that his heightened senses made it easier for someone to sneak up on him.
Gary stood three feet away, dressed in his usual mint green scrubs and crocs. He glanced at the broken clipboard, raising his eyebrows but not commenting on it.
“I was glad to see nothing about you on the news. You made it to dinner and back home okay, then? No grim reapers hiding behind dumpsters?”
Thomas forced a chuckle, blinking at the mint scrubs. “Yeah. I made it home okay.”
It wasn’t a full lie. He’d made it safely the second try. It’d only been his first attempt that went awry.
His stomach growled.
Loudly.
“Easy there.” Gary chuckled, clapping Thomas’ shoulder. “You won’t last the shift if you’re already making noises like that.”
Thomas made a noncommittal gesture with his hands. Gary’s proximity made his head pound harder, and Gary smelled heavily of disinfectant and latex.
“You look a little pale,” Gary said, a flash of genuine concern passing through his penetrating eyes. “You feeling okay?”
“Lousy, actually. Should be fine though. I don’t think I’m sick or anything.”
Before Gary could press him any further, Gary’s watch went off.
“That’s it for chitchat,
” he said, waving his wrist and grimacing. “I have to run. Be sure to eat something. It’s going to be one of those days.”
Gary rushed down the hall toward the emergency room, his mint green scrubs mixing among the blues and greens of other doctors. Within a minute, Thomas’ watch beeped as well.
“Yeah,” he said, swallowing as he made his way to the prep room. “Gonna be one of those days.”
◆◆◆
“Car crash,” Dr. West grumbled, ducking his head into the prep room. He was a massive man, looking more like a professional athlete than the attending physician. “I don’t think it’s too bad. No major organ damage or head trauma to any of the patients as far as we can tell, but one of the vehicles rolled, so there’s a lot of blood.”
Blood. It coated Dr. West’s latex gloves, and its metallic scent mixed with a swirl of new smells as he ripped off the gloves. Sweat, chlorine, and rubber bombarded Thomas, helping him maintain control.
“Dr. Gribble is running them through the Glasgow Scale, and Nurse Richter already pulled their medical records and administered anesthetics. Pretty much get in there, clean ‘em and patch ‘em up,” Dr. West continued as he washed his hands next to Thomas. “Got it?”
Thomas reminded himself to nod, dread and excitement sending jitters through his hands as he washed them. As his anticipation took control, he envisioned exaggerated images of blood dripping from lacerations and abrasions beyond the sealed doors. The idea of opening the thick doors and passing through them destroyed his nerves. He was lucky this was a mild crash. Some major crashes resulted in barely controlled chaos with lives on the line.
He finished washing his hands, shaking warm water from his hands into the sink basin. His head still ached from all the noise and the ER smelled more heavily of disinfectant, strengthening Thomas’ nausea. However, the chemical disinfectant burn in his airways wasn’t strong enough to hide the pungent aroma of blood. Fresh mingled with stale, and Thomas thought he could determine different blood types by their aromatic undertones. It made focusing difficult.
Shadows of Colesbrooke Page 5
