Runner: Book II of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  And what of my fate now? I don’t seem to age as I did when human, yet as we discovered on the fateful morning when Nicolas almost killed me with his passion, I am not quite immortal.

  But I am alone. And I have a feeling I will be for a very, very long time.

  The cold, black depths swallow me down. I feel myself sinking as though I’m immersed in the dark waters that lie in the shadow of Pikes Peak.

  Nicolas . . .

  FRIDAY

  CHAPTER 21

  Steeling myself to remain calm, I hit SEND on the cell phone. After several rings, Éva answers.

  “Hello?” The irritation in her voice tells me I’ve probably interrupted something important. Good.

  “Éva.”

  “Sunny. Such a surprise. I truly did not believe you would have the guts to call.”

  “Where’s Nicolas?” I demand. I refuse to play her stupid Game.

  “So… now you are concerned about him? It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

  Her voice and her words cut me like a knife.

  “Just tell me where he is.”

  “I recall telling you to stay away from him.”

  “Is that what he would want? For you to keep me from him?”

  “Nicolas has proved himself incapable of sound judgment where you’re concerned.”

  He’d said as much in his letter to me.

  “Éva.” I grit my teeth. “Please.”

  She takes a deep breath.

  “When I returned from our little visit and found Nicolas gone, I realized I should have just killed you, and I deeply regretted not doing so. Because you did this. This is all your fault.”

  Perhaps most of it. But you were the one who stole his lineage, you back-stabbing bitch.

  Growling, I bite my tongue to keep from speaking. Right now, I need info, not a fight.

  “I am possibly the last one on earth who would tell you where he is…” Éva pauses. “If I knew. But I don’t. He has vanished. We suspect he has Chosen to follow the path of the Old Ones. And if that’s the case, then none of us will hear of him again. That is their way.”

  Nicolas . . .

  “As for you,” Éva continues. “The only reason you are still alive is I know how much you are suffering. Your blood is toxic with grief, and I can’t think of a better punishment than living with that for the rest of your days. And trust me, you will. The pain of losing him will never leave you.”

  No…

  My gut clenches as I press END.

  Marie answers the doorbell on the second ring. She opens the door only a crack.

  “Mademoiselle.” Her tone is polite but cool.

  She probably blames me, too. Rightfully so. She’s had more time to think about my role in Nicolas’s disappearance.

  “Marie, I’m sorry I left without thanking you yesterday. I was… quite upset.” My own tone is distant as well. That’s how dead people sound.

  Because that is what I really am now. The real me has drowned in black sorrow, and all that’s left is the beast and its unceasing hunger for blood. The tether holding it back has worn thin, and I don’t have much time here.

  Marie nods, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Is Johan here?” At least I can talk to him without wanting to attack him.

  “No, mademoiselle. I have not seen or heard him since he left my door that night to check on Mr. Ambrus.” Her voice quavers.

  Oh God. They killed him. He was just a young Chosen, a servant trying to protect his master. And they killed him.

  “I’m sorry, Marie. Perhaps he’s—” But the words die in my throat at her pained expression.

  She’s not stupid. She knows.

  “I… I left some things here. Is it all right if I get them?”

  Marie nods and, stepping back, opens the door to let me in.

  I quickly head upstairs to the bedroom that was mine before I started sharing Nicolas’s.

  When I open my box of books and trinkets from my days in California, and the one containing my stuffed animal collection, I realize they mean nothing to me now. They’re just anchors to my past, a past I no longer feel a connection to, a past I wish to leave behind. I seal the boxes closed and put them back in the closet without taking a single item.

  One side of the closet is home to aristocratic evening gowns, silk blouses, tailored slacks, Italian high-heeled shoes—an expensive, sophisticated wardrobe, fit for a queen.

  A wardrobe I have no use for now.

  I sort through my remaining clothing, selecting rugged jeans, sweaters, and boots, and start filling my suitcase. Where I’m going, I won’t need much, so only the basics get packed. I almost leave the laptop behind, but stuff it into its carrying case at the last minute.

  The final item is one I’ve been avoiding, unable to even look at it.

  But I can’t just walk away from it. It contains too many memories to ignore, and I need to open it to know whether or not I want to hold on to them.

  The ebony jewelry box, inlaid with a pair of ivory- and onyx-spotted snow leopards, is one that Nicolas had made for me. I remember trying to hold back my tears when he gave it to me, his whispered words of love as he held me.

  I trace the outlines of the two leopards standing side by side on the top, one slightly larger than the other, then take a deep breath and open the box.

  Nestled in a black velvet compartment is the necklace he gave me to wear the night of my presentation to his Chosen council. The centerpiece, a large round sapphire in sparkling royal blue, is suspended in a chain of small black diamonds. Its matching earrings lie in an adjacent compartment.

  He told me the jewels paled in comparison to my eyes and were nothing more than weak imitations whose brilliance could never match mine.

  But it’s the bracelet that breaks my heart.

  It’s one I broke that night in a rage, sending glittering gems bouncing across the floor.

  It’s the same one he had repaired, with different stones, stones that reflected our sapphire and emerald eyes. The same one that he planned to give me on our bonding night.

  The bonding night we never had.

  I pick it up, my chest tight, then quickly place it into a satin jewelry bag and tuck it into the suitcase.

  Though the necklace and earrings are probably worth millions, I close the box. Perhaps they will help ease some of Marie’s pain.

  A final glance around the room reveals nothing more that I need to take with me. I shut the suitcase, grab the laptop, and head back downstairs.

  Marie is waiting for me at the foot of the winding staircase. She moves back into the hall as I descend, but her warm, delicious scent lingers in the air. The taste of her blood leaps from my memory as though it was only yesterday that it caressed my tongue.

  Hers was the first human blood to cross my lips. It was after the bear attack that nearly killed me. Nicolas gave it to me without warning, without my permission. Though it was mixed with that of a horse, and I drank it from a cup, the attraction I feel for it is undeniable.

  I was so focused on Nicolas when I came by yesterday that Marie had no real effect on me.

  But it’s a different story today, and I need to get out of here before she sees the beast peering from my eyes. I open the door and step outside.

  “Thank you, Marie. One more thing—I’d like to leave you my cell phone number, just in case you hear from… Mr. Ambrus.”

  Reaching out, I hand her the piece of paper I’d written it on. She takes it, nodding.

  “Thanks again, Marie, for all your kindness to me. I truly wish things had gone differently.”

  “So do I, mademoiselle, so do I,” she whispers.

  I turn to leave, but remember something I’ve always wanted to ask her.

  “Marie.”

  She stops closing the door and cracks it back open.

  “Yes, mademoiselle?”

  “How long have you been with Mr. Ambrus?”

  “Since I was a little girl,” she
breathes.

  “How long?” I persist.

  “Fifty-four years, mademoiselle.”

  Shock penetrates the numbness in my brain. She doesn’t look a day over twenty.

  “Goodbye, mademoiselle.” And Marie closes the door.

  The BMW screams north, following the asphalt trail. I have nowhere else to go, nowhere that I fit in, except in the wild. Far from humans to tempt me, far from Chosen to hunt me down and kill me.

  Far from the memories of love that haunt me.

  Run and hunt and swim and sleep. Maybe that will bring the hunter back. I do miss her.

  But, Éva, don’t rest too easy. I will come for you some day.

  Just not this day. I need to regroup, to plan. I need to get stronger.

  I glance at the sign as it flashes past my window. There should be plenty of wild here.

  WELCOME TO MONTANA.

  I doubt they would welcome me if they knew what I truly am.

  Without You

  The wind

  Whispers your name

  A song drifting through the air

  I cannot listen without you

  The sun

  Kisses my skin

  Like the heat of your touch

  I cannot feel without you

  The sky

  Echoes the blue of your eyes

  Their image peering into my soul

  I cannot see without you

  You live

  Wild and free

  Without me

  I cannot live

  Trapped and broken

  Without you

  ~ CN

  WEDNESDAY

  CHAPTER 22

  His sightless eyes stare accusingly at me, but I feel no remorse. He was like all the others before him, rash and overconfident in his ability to subdue me. I’d chosen him for his youth and inexperience, using both to my advantage. His young male pride had interfered with his common sense, and he’d realized too late that my smaller size and apparent helplessness were just a cover for a bloodthirsty killer.

  But thirsty no longer. His sweet blood now courses through my veins, and my only regret is that I can’t take in any more. I close my eyes and wallow a few moments longer in the red warmth that bathes my insides, and nearly convince myself that this is enough, that I do not need or want anything else.

  But it’s a lie, the same lie that I tell myself over and over.

  Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes and pull the dagger from its sheath on my belt. I pick up a massive paw and cut off the largest claw to add to my collection back at the cabin.

  No matter how many bear claws I take, no matter how much bear blood I drink, I cannot forget.

  I cannot forget that there is something out there that is infinitely sweeter, more satisfying, and truly what my body craves.

  What I crave, what my kind evolved to live on, is not the blood of animals.

  It is human blood.

  And it will never stop calling me.

  Approaching the darkened log cabin, I taste the air for any sign of visitors. There’s a male bear that seems to have taken an interest in my cabin lately, though I have no idea why. Usually cabin lurkers are attracted by the food and garbage around the summertime rentals. But I’m not the typical hiker or tourist. My cabin has no food and I don’t generate any odorous garbage. And I certainly don’t smell like the average inhabitant either. So I can only assume it may be a territory issue, which makes him that much more dangerous.

  But thankfully I don’t detect any sign that he’s been here. It’s been nearly a week or so since his last visit and it’s possible he’s moved on.

  Normally I would welcome my dinner coming to me, but in this case I don’t really know what I’m dealing with—except that his tracks are big. The black bears that I target tend to be smaller and inexperienced, so there’s less chance of injury. But the risk is worth it. I’ve come to prefer bear over the deer and elk I normally hunt. Like people, they’re omnivores, and their blood is the closest to human.

  But human blood is infinitely richer, a multidimensional tapestry of taste and smell and feel. My veins twitch at the memory.

  I abruptly shut off thoughts of blood as I unfasten the padlock from the hasp, thumb the rusty latch, and walk into the dark room. Grabbing the butane fire-starter, I light the oil lamps that are scattered around the tiny one-room cabin. The wood-burning stove is next, and the kindling and newspaper I stuff into it catch fire after a moment with the lighter.

  This place is far back in the mountains, so primitive it doesn’t even have running water. But at least there’s a well with a hand pump. I head back outside with the bucket to fill it for my tea and bath.

  I’ve thought about buying a used bathtub so I can bathe the old-fashioned way with water heated from the stove, but the thought of lugging it on foot through the mountains sounds like too much hassle. So I content myself with icy lake plunges and warm sponge baths. Sometimes I rent a motel room in town for one night, then stand under the hot shower for hours, getting out only when I’m yanked back to reality by a concerned call from the front desk about the running water.

  But I don’t do the motel thing very often. That requires me to be around people more than I can handle. Without the hunter—who vanished the day I read Nicolas’s letter—to help me focus, the beast is nearly unmanageable. It’s best to stay out here where I have little chance of human encounters. In the two months I’ve been here, my reaction to people doesn’t seem to have eased much at all.

  Speaking of people, tomorrow is Thursday, my town day. That’s when I hike out to pick up my car and drive down to Kalispell to call Sandy. I usually spend a half hour, or longer if I let her, listening to her talk about the previous week and the latest developments with Danny. I’m glad she has him and it sounds like she’s made some other friends as well. She’ll be starting school soon and hopefully will get busy enough that she won’t have time to fret about me.

  And she won’t have time to nag me either. At one point she became so insistent I visit my daughter that I threatened to quit calling her if she didn’t knock it off. She stopped badgering me about it, but it’s always there in her undertones.

  I’ll be glad when her attention shifts elsewhere and I can fade away. She’s the last reminder of my former life, the one I had before I became truly dead. As it is, I have trouble keeping track of the days, and sometimes I don’t notice that Thursday has come and gone. Of course then I get the lecture when I do call about how worried she’s been, that I’m the only one who really “gets” her, and on and on.

  I don’t know why I don’t just cut it off. But when I think about doing so, all I see is her scared and bruised face staring hopefully through my car window, and her photo album of loneliness, and I just can’t do that to her.

  The sturdy cabin is warm and cozy now, and I can feel the dawn approaching. I quickly bathe with the hot water from the pan on the stove, crawl into bed, and gratefully sink into darkness.

  THURSDAY

  CHAPTER 23

  Cruising through the outskirts of Kalispell, I start checking my cell phone for signal. Coverage in the Montana town that’s ringed by the Rocky Mountains is spotty at best. My weekly phone calls to Sandy are seldom in the same location as the week before. But at least I’ve narrowed down which parts of town have the best reception.

  Driving into the grocery store parking lot, a glance at the phone shows full bars. I park and shut off the car.

  My voicemail has three messages from Sandy.

  Hmm. She’s usually more patient than that. She knows I don’t have reception at my cabin.

  Frowning, I listen to the first two messages. Her words are punctuated with sobbing then cursing as she describes a fight and subsequent breakup with Danny.

  Crap. I don’t want her here. It’s been almost more than I can take just to talk to her over the phone once a week and try to sound somewhat normal.

  Hitting END in the middle of her third message telling me
that she’s in Kalispell, I stare out the window at the soaring peaks.

  I could just head back up there and pretend I never got her messages. I could call in a week or so and tell her I lost track of time. Maybe she would’ve gone home by then.

  Shit. I press 3 and hit SEND.

  “Hello? Sunny?”

  “Hi, Sandy.”

  “Oh man, I was getting worried. I’ve been here since early this morning. I was afraid you weren’t going to call.”

  “Where are you?” I try to hide the impatience in my voice.

  “Are you okay? You’re not upset or anything, are you? I just thought you might like some company. Have I come at a bad time? I…”

  “Sandy. Stop. Where are you?” I remember a time when her babbling was somewhat amusing. But not now. Nothing is amusing anymore.

  “I’m at the truck stop on Highway 2 across from Albertson’s, west of 93.”

  Truck stop? She didn’t…

  “How did you get here?” I demand, knowing the answer.

  “Hitched.” Her quiet answer carries a hint of defiance.

  Damn it. Stupid girl.

  “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” I snap the cell phone closed.

  Heading south down Highway 2, I start looking for motels. My cabin really isn’t suitable for visitors. There’s no refrigerator and only one bed. Not to mention the cabin’s about three miles from where I leave the car. It just isn’t possible for her to stay with me.

  I make note of several, then see the truck stop. I pull in, slowly cruise through the parking lot, and spot her leaning against the front of the building. She has white iPod earphones plugged into her ears, a sweatshirt tied around her waist, and is holding a book she’s deeply engrossed in.