“That was,” Nomad paused and swallowed, “a mistake. We didn’t mean for him to end up here.”
John got the distinct impression that Nomad was hiding something from him. “Yeah, but you sure aren’t doing much to stop it, are you?”
“We haven’t had time to get the extraction team here yet, but we will. Don't worry. In forty-eight hours everything will change, anyway. Now, just chill out.” The smile had fallen off Nomad’s face. “By Turin’s claw, you’re nothing like the guy I knew on Carth.”
The thing in the woods was still out there and Nomad had no intention of stopping it. It had been lurking around Camila's work; it had killed only miles from her home. What was he doing here taking in the sights? He had to get back. John pushed off the bridge into the air, wobbling a little. The wind battered him, but he managed to keep his eyes locked on Nomad. “I have to go.”
From the bridge railing, Nomad's hair billowed around his head like an angry rain cloud. “Go? You can't just go. The higher-ups want you taken in. Fixed. You have to come with me. We gotta get your brain back.”
John shook his head, bobbing down in the air. “I'm not going to be fixed.”
Nomad frowned. “You think they don’t know where you are and what you're doing? They won't be happy campers when they find out you're trying to put the bone to some human girl. And if she finds out what you are, they'll take care of her.”
John tightened his fists at his side. “What do you mean?”
“You've seen what that thing can do, right? How it rips them from here,” Nomad touched underneath one ear, “to here.” He drew his finger across his throat, down his neck to his collarbone. “You don't want that to happen to her.”
An image of Camila, bloody and shredded, flashed into John's head before he could stop it. He shuddered, the wind stinging his face. He couldn't think straight. He needed to get back. Why had he left?
Nomad pushed off the bridge and bobbed in the air before John. “So, I've got to report our coordinates and then we can catch a ride up. They'll know what to do about your brain wipe. Maybe it was the landing?” He pushed his hand through his rippling hair. “They'll probably send some—”
John turned and shot away from Nomad into the moonlit sky. He pushed through the air, eyes streaming, clothes slapping against his chest. Faster. A hand cinched around his ankle and pulled. John whirled in a circle, the landscape spinning into a blur. The pines below became a smear of dark green as he spun end over end.
Nomad clutched John’s leg with both hands. “What're you doing? We have to go back!” he shouted over the wind.
John shook his head. Back to where they would change him, manipulate him, and make him forget? No, he couldn't go back.
John drew both legs to his body and kicked hard with his free leg. His foot connected with Nomad's chest and the force sent him whirling like a trapeze artist. Nomad smashed into a tall pine below them, a spray of needles filling the air. He scrambled out of the branches and flew up. Now his glare was angry. “You shouldn't have done that,” he shouted.
“You shouldn't have threatened her!” John shouted. “Tell whoever they are that I plan on protecting that girl and everyone around her with my life.” John flexed his arms. He could feel power surging through his body. “I'll kill you if I have to.”
Nomad, picking pine needles from his clothes, shook his head. “It's not me you have to worry about.”
Camila
Thursday 10:32 p.m.
A knock tore Camila out of sleep. She sat up, wiping drool from her chin. The late-night news flickered from the TV. She blinked and shook the sleep from her head. The knock sounded again, a quiet tapping on her bedroom window. Was it John? She pulled herself off the couch and stumbled down the hallway, nearly tripping on some junk splayed across the floor. When she got to her bedroom, she could see Fer’s face pressed onto the window.
“Come to the front!” Camila yelled, miming to the front door. “My mom’s not here.”
Fer nodded and disappeared. Moments later she was letting herself in. Camila slumped on the couch and Fer joined her.
“Why is your phone never on? And where’s your mamacita?” Fer asked, scanning the trailer. “She run out again?”
Camila nodded. She muted the TV and dropped her head back on the tattered cushion.
“Sorry, dude. I know she is acting all crazy-like right now.” Fer offered a sympathetic shrug.
“You have no idea.”
Fer’s eyes flicked to the news. Then she straightened, her eyebrows popping up. “Oh, man, did the cops come here, too?”
“Yeah. I kinda freaked on Mama because of it.” She pressed her palms to her forehead. “I can't take this anymore, Fer. Maybe I should move out.” She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back tears. She'd driven Mama out into the night with a killer on the loose for Christ's sake.
Fer rubbed a hand on Camila's back. “Sorry, dude. She'll be back. She always comes back, right?” Camila nodded, her head down. They sat in silence for a minute. Fer leaned back and propped her feet on the cigarette-strewn coffee table. “You wanna hear something funny? Shaun freaked when the cops showed up. He flushed two dime bags before he heard why they were there. He was so pissed. He should be happy they weren't there to cart his ass back to lock-up.”
Camila lifted her head, her eyes straying to the muted TV. She stiffened and sat up. There was the sketch of John on the screen, with a number to call if he was spotted. He was officially a wanted criminal. Again doubt gnawed at her. What if he was the one? All the lame excuses about why the cops were looking for him. But he’d slept in her home and hadn’t laid a finger on her. She shook her head, remembering his kind eyes.
Fer glanced at the screen. “Whoever that dude is, he’s in for a world of hurt. They're gonna give his ass life in prison for sure.”
“Why?” A cold chill ran up Camila's arms. Everyone would know his face by morning.
Fer gave her a sarcastic look. “Why permanent lockdown when this dude viciously murdered three people in cold blood? Hmm, let me think.”
Camila shook her head and snapped the TV off. “How do they know they have the right guy?”
Fer shrugged, her eyes on her phone. “Of course it's the right guy. I just want him caught pronto so nobody I know ends up shredded.” Fer lifted her eyes. “Don’t you?”
Camila suddenly became interested in the cigarette pack stuffed in between two couch cushions. “I don't want anybody else killed.”
There was no way he was the killer it. It all had to be a misunderstanding.
Fer put down her phone and turned to Camila. “Listen, I know everything’s pretty shitty right now, so I arranged us a little something.” Fer smiled at her expectantly, took a big breath and blurted, “Shaun got tickets to Avenged Sevenfold tomorrow night!” She squeezed Camila’s arm excitedly. “Isn't that frickin’ sweet? I convinced him to swing two tickets. I even talked Lizzy into scheduling us both off work.” Fer bounced on the couch like a five-year-old and waited for Camila's reaction.
Camila attempted a smile. How could she tell Fer that she couldn’t go to a concert right now? Mama was gone. John was a murder suspect.
“Thanks, Fer. I just don’t know—”
“Don’t worry about the price. Shaun took care of it.”
“With his drug money?”
Fer stiffened. “Since when did you care about that?”
Camila crossed her arms over her chest. “I care, okay? I don’t want to go to some concert on dope money.”
Fer frowned, shifting away from Camila. “I do something nice, and this is how you act?”
Camila dropped her arms, exhausted. “Oh, Fer, you don’t understand.”
“Yeah, I understand.” Fer clenched her phone in her fist. “Do you know how hard it is to be your friend?”
Camila pulled back. “What?”
“You mope around all the time ‘cause your life is so bad. I get it. Your life sucks. My life sucks, too. That doesn
’t mean you stop living. That doesn’t mean you stop having fun.”
Anger flashed over her. “I don’t want to drink and do drugs—”
“I’m not talking about that,” Fer said. “All I’m talking about is a concert. No drugs. No drinking. Just a fucking concert.”
Camila crossed her arms over her chest. “Mama needs me.” John needs me.
Fer nodded vigorously, her ponytail bobbing up and down, a purple strand falling over her wrinkled brow. “And you love it, too.” She pointed a finger at Camila. “That's why you're always reading those psychology magazines. So you can fix everything. It gives you a purpose. It gives you an identity. Camila to the rescue. You ever ask yourself what you’d do if your mom got well?”
Camila stood now, her heart pounding in her temples. “What’re you, Dr. Phil?! You don't know what the hell you're talking about!”
“In high school, the social worker told me about co-dependency. You're the fucking poster-child. You need your mom to be sick. You’d have no idea what to do with yourself if you didn’t have her to take care of.”
Camila clenched her hands into fists and shook them. “That’s not true. I hate that Mama’s sick. I hate my life. I hate this dump.” She swung her arm around the trailer. She dropped her voice to an angry whisper. “You have no idea what it’s like to be me.”
Fer shot an angry finger in the direction of her trailer. “Have you seen my life?”
Camila opened her mouth to answer when someone knocked on the front door. Both girls froze.
Camila walked over and peered out the peephole. John stood on her front stoop, hands in his shorts’ pockets. She shot a glance back to Fer, her heart racing. “Just a second, Fer.”
She slipped through the door and onto the stoop next to John. John peered down at her with sheepish, apologetic eyes.
“Come on.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him around the back of the trailer.
As they jogged around back and out of the porch light, Camila glanced up and down the street. She caught the eye shine of a stray cat skittering under a car, but that was it. Once they were in full darkness, they stopped. They stood for a moment in the dark, the night air wet and sticky on her bare skin. Camila cleared her throat, pulling on the hem of her tank top. There was awkwardness between them that hadn't been there a couple of hours ago. What she wouldn’t give to go back to the lake before everything had fallen apart.
“You shouldn't be out here. Someone could see you.” She glanced down the street again. Then she forced herself to meet his eyes and ask a question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered. “What did Nomad say?”
John shook his head. “Nothing. What's going on? Have you been crying?” He nodded toward her face.
She touched her cheek and then shook her head. “No. Listen, you have to get out of here. The cops are looking for you. I don't have any money, but maybe we could get someone to get you a train ticket. I know that—”
He held a hand up to stop her. “What are you talking about?”
She stared up into his face. “You don't know?”
He shook his head. “Know what?”
She pointed back to the house where she'd seen the sketch of his face. “They're looking for you. The police. They came here tonight. Fer said…” She paused and met his eyes, weighing her words. “It's bad, John. Really bad.”
He grabbed her hand and gave her a reassuring smile. “It's okay. They won't be able to catch me.”
Camila tightened her grip around John's hand. “Everyone knows what you look like. And the cops around here, they might shoot you, John.”
John smirked. “I'm not worried about it.”
“How can you say that?” She stood and began pacing in the dark. “We have to think of a plan.”
“Camila, listen…” He paused, as if getting ready to tell her something. “It's okay.”
She stopped pacing and looked up at him. “It’s not okay,” she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her into an embrace.
His skin on her skin. His breath on the top of her head. She buried her face into his chest and sank into him until she could feel her heart thumping against his stomach. All the doubt melted away. Safe. That's what this was.
“Mmm,” he sighed, pressing his lips to the top of her head.
She let out a soft sigh and lifted her chin until she was facing him. There was his mouth, soft and inviting. She smelled the sweetness of his breath and a wave of want surged through her. His eyes flicked down to her lips. She raised her chin, thinking Yes, kiss me. I want you to. He leaned down. She stood up on her tiptoes and closed her eyes.
“Get away from her, you asshole!”
They jumped, falling out of each other's arms. Fer stood in the side yard, a butcher knife clutched in her hand. It flashed under the streetlamp as she pointed it at John.
“Fer, what're you doing?” Camila asked, stepping in front of John.
Confusion flooded Fer’s face. “What're you doing? Isn't he…?” She mouthed the next words, “The killer?”
She shook her head. “He's… He's my friend.”
“Since when?” Fer asked, letting the knife droop.
Camila shrugged, offering an apologetic smile. “I was afraid to tell you.”
“Well, shit,” Fer said. “I thought he was gonna rip your head off. I called the police. They're on their way.”
John
Thursday 10:42 p.m.
John looked to Camila, but she was already turning, her hand tugging his arm. “We gotta go.”
“I'll go,” he said, touching Camila's arm. “You stay here. Stay inside.”
“No,” she said, glancing out toward the road. “I want to go with you.”
He began to shake his head, but stopped. If he left her again, how could he know if she was safe? And who knew what Nomad had planned? He took her hand. “If you're sure.”
“You can't be serious,” Fer said behind her. “Camila, don't go with him.” She gripped the knife.
“Fer, I’m safer with him than home alone. Just keep an eye out for Mama.”
Fer shook her head. “I wanna go on record as saying that this is a stupid idea that will likely land in your face on a milk carton. This guy is a murder suspect.”
Camila patted Fer's arm once. “Nobody buys milk in a carton anymore.”
Fer scowled. “You know what I mean. Don’t do this.”
Camila turned and tugged John. “I know he didn’t do it, Fer. I was with him when one of the murders took place.” He turned to John. “Let's go.”
“Camila, no,” Fer begged.
With one last look at her friend, Camila turned and pulled John forward. They sprinted out across the lawns of brittle grass, past the dark sheds and carports. John plowed over a plastic bucket as they ran through a weed-filled sandpit and felt it splinter beneath his feet. When they reached the field, John tugged Camila toward the woods.
I should just pick her up and fly off, he thought, but someone might see. Camila was already lagging behind and halfway through the long grass her panting sounded loudly in his ears. At this rate, they'd never outrun the cops.
Camila stopped, placed her hands on her knees and sucked air. “Just…a sec. I…gotta catch…my breath.”
John’s legs itched to run. Above the buzz of insects, police sirens sounded. They both stiffened and turned toward the road.
Camila pushed John forward. “Let’s go! I'm fine.”
They ran. In the dark, shrubs and brambles tore at their clothes. John had no trouble avoiding obstacles, but only a few minutes in, Camila tripped and fell into a thick crop of shrubs. John bolted to her side, yanking shrubs out by the roots, kneeling beside her.
“My ankle.” She reached for it, her face pinching in pain.
“Let me carry you,” John said, feeling helpless. Dogs barked in the distance. Flashlights cut through the trees. They were gaining. It would only be a matter of time.
“I'm too
heavy.” She stood, wincing. Blood dribbled from her knee.
He shook his head. All this was his fault. “You're not. Please.”
She tugged damp hair out of her eyes. “I can make it.” She limped forward.
The dogs were closing in. Men's voices shouted. Shadows danced between the tree trunks as more flashlights joined the search. A beam of light skidded over his face. The dogs' frantic baying cut into him. They'd be here any minute. How could he protect her from a jail cell? Nomad had said that knowing his secret would put Camila in danger. As John looked down at her twisted ankle, the scratches on her arms and legs, he realized he'd already done that.
“Grab my neck,” he said, lifting her. He pulled her body to his. The heat that he felt every time he touched her stirred, but he pushed it aside. The pain left her expression as she looked into his eyes. For good or bad, she would finally see him for what he was.
Then he ran.
The forest blurred to a dark smudge around them. The wind whistled by, blowing her hair back from her face. Soon they couldn't hear the dogs.
“John,” she said, but her words were sucked away by the rushing wind. He stole a glance at her. Even in the darkness he could see the awe in her eyes.
He had a lot to explain.
Nomad
Thursday 11:20 p.m.
Nomad stood in the darkness and watched John and Camila bolt past. Beside him, Borrin shifted, shaking his mane, sending up a cloud of pheromones thick as the July heat. His clawed hands flared and then retracted into fists. Nomad could understand his desire. Borrin wanted the girl the same way Nomad wanted a Coney dog with everything on it. Borrin pushed a low, guttural growl through his fangs, his hot breath flooding the air. Nomad turned, batting away the fetid stink. What had he been eating, dead mouse intestines?
“Calm down, buddy,” Nomad said, putting a hand on Borrin’s massive bicep. It felt like gripping a scaly Arnold Schwarzenegger. The beast flexed under Nomad’s hand, but he obeyed, his breath slowing. The cloying scent of desire faded.
20 Shades of Shifters_A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 160