by Lane Hart
"So where to?" he asks, rubbing his hands together, then blowing on them. I instantly feel bad for having his jacket. I start pulling on the sleeve to remove it, but his hand grabs my upper arm. "No, keep it on. I’m fine," he says. "Now where should I take you?"
"Um, back to Golden Gate Foods, if you don't mind? My car's still there."
"Sure,” he agrees while putting on his seatbelt and then pulling away from the hospital. “So how long have you worked at the grocery store?" Zaine asks.
"Too long," I respond before I can help myself. "Four and a half years."
"Is tonight the first time you've been robbed?" he asks softly.
"Yes, thankfully. What about you? What do you do?" I ask, not wanting to talk about myself anymore.
“I’m an EMT, you know, driving ambulances.”
“So I guess you spend a lot of time in hospitals,” I say.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Which is pretty damn ironic since I hate needles.”
“Then why do you do it? Why not find another career without the needles?” I ask curiously.
“Because my…family has this rule about only working in jobs where we can help others.”
“Oh,” I say, thinking that’s odd, but what the hell do I know about families since I’ve never had one?
Unfortunately, our ride ends quickly as we pull up at the grocery store. "The black Camaro is mine," I tell Zaine.
"No shit?" he laughs. "Nice. What year?"
"Nineteen ninety-nine."
"Those were some of my favorite models," he says.
"Mine too," I agree. My car is the one thing in my name that I own, and I’m proud of it, even if it is ancient. I take good care of it and hope it'll keep running for a few more years. "So, thanks for the ride. I'm sorry you had to come and hang out at the hospital on a Friday night."
"It was no problem at all," Zaine replies with a smile. I shrug out of his coat and hand it back to him. "You sure you don't need it?" he asks, and I shake my head in response.
"My purse and coat are still in the storage room, so it won't take but a second to run in and grab them," I tell him.
"Now it smells good, like you," he comments before slipping his arms back in it. "You want me to walk you inside?" he asks, nodding to the front of the store.
"No thanks. Jim, my boss, is still here, so I'll be fine," I assure him. "Thanks again."
I close his car door and head to the grocery store even though I’m not in a big hurry to leave Zaine. He was fun, and it’s nice to have had a companion, even if only for a few minutes.
As I walk back through the sliding glass doors, I can’t help but think that it’s been one hell of a night.
Chapter 4
Cash
“How’s it going, Rowan?” I ask the tiger that comes strolling past me. A roar is his response. “Yeah, I’m fucking great.”
I’ve been pacing back and forth in front of the iron gate around the academy for hours in the cold, waiting for Zaine to get back home. Can vampires get frost bite? If I stay out here much longer without gloves, I may find out.
After what seems like forever, I finally hear his engine roaring up the road before I see his headlights. As soon as the guard waves him through the automatic gate, I’m waiting for him. Going up to his car, I knock on his driver window and gesture for him to roll it down.
"What are you doing out here?" he says.
"Did you find her? Did you take her home?" I ask.
"Yes, I found her, and no, I didn’t take her home. Her car was at the store, so I dropped her off there."
"Was she okay?" I ask. “What did the ER docs say?”
"She's fine. More than fine. She’s smoking hot," he says with a wide, devious grin.
"I will knock that shit-eating grin off your face if you say one more word about her," I warn him.
"What?" he asks. "You can't handle a little competition?"
Oh, fuck no.
"Don't do this, Zaine," I mutter through clenched teeth before he revs his engine and peels out toward the parking lot. Thanks to vampire superspeed, I’m next to his car by the time he climbs out. “Did you hear me?” I ask.
"I’m going to pretend I didn’t,” he says. “But speaking of things not to do, what the hell were you thinking, Cash? Getting shot and giving someone your blood in front of witnesses? Do you want to burn at the stake?" he asks while crossing his arms over his chest. I swear I smell a whiff of Nadia for a second.
"She-she told you about that?" I gasp in surprise, which thankfully withers away some of my anger.
"Yeah. Nadia asked if I was 'like you.' Thank fuck I'm not."
I don't like how comfortable he seems saying her name, nor the reminder that I’m no longer human.
"You're not seriously going to date her, are you?” he asks. “I mean, you can't screw her without draining her, right?"
"Fuck you!" I spit at him, walking away, back toward the house, hating his remark but hating that he’s right even more.
“What do you think the council is going to say when they find out you outed yourself in that robbery, huh?” he yells back.
“Tell them, nark. I don’t give a shit!” I say while flipping him my middle finger.
It sucks so much that he’s right. I can't date Nadia, so why do I care if Zaine does?
Because I want her, damn it! I know it’s stupid and selfish and would never, ever work, but I’m so tired of the isolation and the fucking urges.
When Nadia and I had been sitting in the emergency room, a bleeding patient came in and I had lost my shit because I’ve gone too long without feeding. My fangs descended, and my cock hardened at just the smell of blood. It was so bad I had to come straight home and dig into a bag of the red stuff, then stroke myself off as I drained it.
And who had I imagined I was with? A certain crimson-haired, purple-eyed beauty. Damn it, there goes the lust again.
Dipshit Zaine is right. I can’t even consider being with her. Not only would I end up draining her, I'd put her in danger of being on the receiving end of the supernatural police’s wrath.
The next morning, I have to work. I get to the fire station around seven a.m., and Officer Ellis shows up a little after lunch.
"Hey, Tom. How's it going?" I ask when I go outside to meet him.
"Hey," he says, and just that one word sounds off.
Shit. I hope he doesn’t have questions I can't answer without outing myself.
"What's up?" I ask him to get it over with. "Can I get you some coffee?"
He shakes his head and follows me inside to the lounge, taking a seat at our small dining table.
"The robber from last night didn't have any ID on him,” he starts. “So, we ran his prints, and nothing came up. I just find it hard to believe someone with no criminal record would dive right into armed robbery as their first offense."
I exhale in relief that it isn’t me he’s concerned about. "Did he give you a name?"
Tom laughs. "After he woke up from your knockout, he said he didn't remember his name or anything else that had happened."
"Damn. Sorry. He probably hit his head on the ground when he fell," I say, trying to make up an excuse.
"I think he's full of shit, but either way, with his next breath he asked for an attorney, so our Q and A session ended. He couldn't remember his name, but he remembered he had a right to counsel."
"Huh." That was somewhat usual.
"Even stranger," Tom says, pulling something from his back pocket. He throws a plastic evidence bag with a photograph in it down on the table between us. "This and some cash were all that he had on him. More cash than was in that register, that's for damn sure."
My lungs seize up when I finally glance down at the photo. It’s a picture of Nadia. She looks a little younger in the picture and her hair is shorter. It’s somewhat blurry, like it had been zoomed in from far away before being printed.
"Have you told her yet?" I ask Tom when my brain decides to work again.
"You think it's something else?"
"Yeah,” he answers. “Don't repeat this, but the robber had five thousand on him. Why would someone with that much cash take the chance of getting caught robbing a grocery store that maybe had a thousand at most in currency? Nowadays everyone but little old ladies pay with debit cards. Criminals know that shit."
I had a feeling Tom was right, and I didn't like the feeling of cold dread crawling down my spine.
"Have you questioned Nadia? Asked her what, if anything, he said to her?"
"Not yet. I don't want to scare the poor girl, but I don't want to have her caught off guard either."
"What do you know about her?" I ask.
Tom leans back in his chair. "Not much. She was born in June of nineteen eighty-six, exact date unknown since she just showed up at the orphanage. No birth certificate, so no clue as to her mother or father. Admin gave her a name and a social security number. She has a clean record, not even a speeding ticket."
"She's older than me?" I ask in surprise. "She only looks twenty, if that."
"Yeah, I know,” he agrees. “Also, she lives alone in a shady part of town. She’s never missed a car payment, and, according to her credit report, that's all she owns."
"Huh." The beautiful girl was like one big question mark.
"So, let's go over your statement again," Tom says, pulling out a notepad and pen front the front breast pocket of his uniform.
"Right. Well, I walked in and immediately saw the man with the gun. I thought he looked pretty crazy, so I knocked him out."
"After he fired his gun at you three times?" Tom asks skeptically with a raised blond eyebrow.
"Uh-huh. His hand was shaking so bad I knew he'd miss."
"Cash, come on now. Do you have a fucking death wish?"
"No. The guy was a scrawny little bastard, and I knew he wouldn't hit me," I assure him.
"There was no way for you to know that. Do you know what it feels like to be shot? Because I do, and I can tell you it hurts like a son of a bitch. Oh yeah, and if you get hit in certain areas, it'll kill you."
"I know it was stupid. Lesson learned, I swear," I tell him, my hands up in surrender.
Tom shakes his head and smiles. "If you think of anything else that may help, let me know," he says when he gets to his feet and thankfully leaves.
Chapter 5
Zaine
You know what it’s like to get a song or jingle stuck in your head and you can’t get it out? That’s how I feel about Nadia.
Ever since I met her, it’s like there’s no room in my brain for anything but her.
I want to see her. I need to keep talking to her. I want to make sure she’s okay after the shit that happened last night.
In all my life, and after many, many hookups, I’ve never felt this way about a woman. Usually I don’t even remember their names, but Nadia, it’s like I can remember every strand of her dark red hair, every tiny fleck of lavender and blue in her eyes. I swear I can still feel her warm palm in mine from when we shook hands. It’s like we’re still…connected, which is insane.
I had to be at work at seven a.m. after not getting much sleep, so maybe the exhaustion is making me go crazy. No wonder Cash never goes out at night.
Speaking of Cash, I wonder if he’s still intends to try and date Nadia. He wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?
After my shift, I head into the kitchen to fix me a cup of coffee even though it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.
“A little late for that much caffeine, isn’t it?” Kingston, the most powerful warlock alive, member of the council and my former professor, asks.
“I’ve had, like, an entire pot today and I still feel drained,” I tell him honestly. “And the crazy thing is that I couldn’t sleep last night even though I was beat.”
“Maybe you should pay a visit to the nurse,” he suggests as he leans his back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. Grinning, he says, “Or maybe you should stop going out partying all night.”
“I think you may be right,” I agree. “Guess I’m getting too old to burn the candle at both ends. And I met this woman…”
“Oh yeah?” Kingston asks.
“I was only with her for like half an hour, but I can’t stop thinking about her, like not even for a second. You ever had that happen?”
“I have,” he replies with a nod. “But only with my witch. Warlocks don’t form deep, obsessive bonds to humans. It’s why most marriages never last but a few years.”
“Well, I am already in deep, and obsessed sounds about right. I went by the store where she works today. Twice. Before and after my shift, without even realizing it until I was there,” I admit. “There’s like a gravitational pull or some shit to her.”
“Are you sure she’s human?” he asks with a furrowed brow.
“Yeah, I think so. I mean, I haven’t run a DNA panel on her or anything,” I joke.
“Just be careful until you know for sure,” Kingston warns. “There are more supernaturals than just warlocks, vampires, and shifters in the world.”
“Okay. I will,” I assure him as he grabs a bottle of water and leaves. My coffee finishes, and I pour myself a big mug. Then another, because I’m not sure I have the energy it takes to climb the stairs up to my room just yet.
Nadia
"Thanks, and have a great day," I tell one of my regulars when I hand her receipt over. I then glance up and notice a police officer strolling in through the sliding doors, heading right for me. I guess they have questions for me, and I just have to make sure I don't say anything to draw attention to Cash.
"Hi," I say in greeting to the blond male model-looking cop with a cocky smile. I glance down to his hand, and of course, he’s wearing a wedding band. I can still look appreciatively at the merchandise even if I can't buy it.
"Miss Ryans? Hi, I'm Officer Tom Ellis. I didn't have a chance to get your statement last night with everything that happened, but your manager gave me your name and said you'd be back in to work today."
"Yeah, let me call him to cover for me so we can go talk." I pick up the intercom and page Jim to the front.
"Officer," Jim, my jerk boss, says in greeting to the policeman when he arrives.
"Mind if I ask Miss Ryans a few questions and get her statement?" the cop asks, his smile gone. I’m getting the feeling that he didn't care much for Jim either.
"Sure. Take all the time you need," he says with a quick peek at the watch on his wrist. I'm sure he'll count every second I’m gone and that each one will no doubt cut into my lunch break.
I walk the officer to the break room in the back of the store and take a seat in one of the metal folding chairs at the small, wobbly table.
"So, Miss Ryans, let's start at the beginning," the officer says, pulling out a small notepad.
"Right, so it was a slow night, and I hadn't had many customers. My register was the only one open when the man in the black hoodie walked in. There was no one in line. The robber came straight toward me, which caught my attention. Then I saw the gun. He pulled it out of the front of his jeans and pointed it at me. I froze up at the sight, and he said something, but I don't remember what,” I explain. “Then, he threw a bag at me and said to empty my register and that … oh, then he said something like we were going to go for a ride. I was still standing paralyzed when he started to reach for my arm, but that’s when the old man came up to the register. The robber cursed and paused just before the glass doors swished open. That's when Cash walked in and confronted him. He swung at him, and down he went."
"Do you remember how many times the robber shot at Cash before he knocked him out?" the officer asks with heavy skepticism.
"Um, I think it was three times, like high in the air, sort of warning shots," I fib.
"Okay. So, did the robber say a
nything else to you?"
I think about it and shake my head. "Not that I remember. He just wanted the money."
"And he said he wanted you to go with him?"
"Well, yeah, that too. I'd forgotten that part until just now, but I'm sure he was just trying to scare me."
The officer pulls out something from his pocket and lays in on the table. Pushing the clear plastic bag toward me, he asks, "This is you, right?"
I look down, and my heart begins to race at the image. I reach for the photo with a shaking hand to bring it closer. There’s no doubt it’s me. My hair has since grown out, and it looks like it'd been taken in the store while I was working. If I had to guess, it was maybe six months ago.
"Where'd you get this?" I ask the officer.
"The robber had it in his pocket. Along with five thousand dollars in cash."
"What? But why …" I try to swallow down the panic. “I didn’t give him any money before Cash knocked him out.”
"That's what we're trying to figure out. Do you know anyone that would be threatening you or coming after you?"
"Coming after me? What the hell? No, I'm a nobody. I grew up in an orphanage and then in foster care," I explain.
"Anyone you think might want to hurt you from one of the homes? Anyone from school?" he asks.
I shake my head, thinking over the shitty years of my life. "No."
"Well, you should be careful until we find out more. The robber is nameless, and his prints don't connect him to anyone in the law enforcement database, so for now he's just John Doe."
I nod in understanding, still in shock.
"We've got an undercover officer stationed out in front of the store just in case. He'll be keeping an eye on you. Do you live alone?" he asks.
I nod again.
Getting to his feet, the officer tucks the photo back into his pocket. "Maybe you should consider staying with a friend for a few days."
Right, because there are so many people in my life I can count on. No family. My friends from high school moved away for college and never came back. I didn't go to college since I'm a certified idiot, and the only people I talked to were coworkers from shitty jobs where people came and went like a revolving door because of the minimum wage pay.