“Simon?”
He spun. Alana stood in the door. Her skin was a pale ugly grey. There were bags beneath her eyes, but the pupils were bright. “I need to talk to you.”
“Leave me,” he said. He turned away from her and stared out the window. The trees were dark and menacing and somewhere out there, his future mate was on the run. He let out a breath.
“It’s important,” she said. She closed the door behind her and walked to him. Simon turned to look at her. There was a determination and a fire in her eyes that Claire had not possessed. Alana wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of. He narrowed his eyes angrily at her.
“I don’t have time for your petty problems,” he snapped at her. “Leave me alone.”
“What have you done to me?” she asked. Her voice rose desperately. Color had flushed to her face, filling in most of the paleness. Her eyes burned intensely. “I know you did something, because…I wasn’t feeling this until after…”
Simon turned quickly and he grabbed her upper arms. He pulled her close. His fingernails dug into her flesh, but she didn’t protest. She stared at him, her face set.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded and searched her face. Was there something different about her? There was something…
“What did you do to me?” she whispered. Her entire body trembled. “Look at me. Look at my face.”
He did. There was a pale thin line along her jaw. He released one of her arms and turned her head. The scar was healed and faded. He had not seen it before.
“Where did you get that?” he whispered.
She jerked away from his hand and let out a bitter laugh. The smile on her face was cruel and not very pretty.
“Don’t you remember?” Simon didn’t. “I got it from you!”
Then suddenly, it all came back to him. Rose’s rejection and her blood on his hands. Alana trying to touch him and the slap to her face. He looked down at his hands. There was blood under the nails. Werewolf blood.
He had scratched her. He had infected her. Alana stared at him. Her green eyes flashed with a touch of gold. He had done it.
“You did it, didn’t you? You’ve done something to me. I don’t know what, but you’ve done something to me. I feel…”
Simon shoved her away from him. Alana stumbled back and nearly fell.
“What have you done to me?” she screamed. Simon turned his back on her. He shook. Alana was becoming a changed-blood and it was all because of him.
“Fuck.” He slammed his hand down on the table, his fingernails clawing at the surface. Wood shavings joined the blood beneath his nails. He could hear her breathing over his own.
“What is it?” she asked. Her voice was shrill. “What did you do to me? Tell me!”
She did not have the changed-blood scent yet. She was still fairly human, but not for long. The change was happening quickly. Again, Simon cursed. Everything was falling apart. Claire had betrayed him, Rose had escaped and now Alana was a fucking changed-blood.
All his hard work to keep it a secret, to keep his identity safe, and he had blown it. She was about to change and when she did, the others would surely know, and then…
He couldn’t allow that to happen. Not now. He took a deep breath.
“You’re changing,” he said. He tried to steady his voice, tried not to yell it aloud. The rage he felt came through his clenched teeth.
“Changing? Changing into what?” She had taken a step toward him. He could smell her close by. She stopped just behind him.
“You are changing into a werewolf.”
“What?” Disbelief was heavy in her voice. She gave a sharp little laugh. “You’re kidding. It can’t be possible—”
“It’s happening to you, believe it.” Simon closed his eyes. He would not look at her. There was silence a moment as Alana allowed it to sink in.
“No,” she said. “No, it can’t be. I haven’t been anywhere near that werewolf bitch—”
“Don’t call her that.” Simon turned and grabbed her arm again. This time his grip was strong and painful. Alana let out a gasp of pain and then masked it with anger. She stared into his eyes and he saw the inevitable golden shade begin to overtake them. He knew his own must be like that. He had his proof.
“Believe it now?” he growled at her.
“You—” She spat at him. She tried to pull away from his grip, but he only tightened it. “You—you’re one of them? This whole time?” Alana shrieked in rage and Simon was forced to clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Shut up,” he hissed. “Yes, I am one of them.” He leaned closer to her face, so she could see his eyes. He knew they must be blazing. She ceased her struggle once she saw them. She knew. She believed. He removed his hand from her mouth.
“You bastard,” she whispered. She tore away from him. “All this time, you kept this from us. Using us for your…needs and desires. Were you going to fuck the little bitch? Is that what it is?” Anger rose and her voice became harsh once again.
“You keep your mouth shut,” he told her.
“I won’t,” she said. “I can’t.”
“I will kill you without a second thought,” he said and stepped forward to make the threat even more menacing. She didn’t back down. She set her jaw and stared up at him furiously.
“I will,” Alana said defiantly. “I would rather die than become a fucking animal—”
His hand flew across the side of her head before she had time to react and she let out a sharp cry. She glared at him, touching her hand to the side of her head. It was not bleeding, but the blow jarred her.
“Don’t you fucking say that again. You are stuck being what you are and neither of us can change that. You keep your mouth shut and listen to me,” Simon told her. “Say nothing to the others about this. Keep it to yourself. I’ll…I’ll help you through it. We’ll think of something…”
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked. Alana backed away from him and rubbed the side of her head.
“You’ll gain strength, speed, regeneration. You will have heightened senses, you will be invincible…”
Alana listened to him, a scowl on her face. “And I’ll fucking grow fur every full moon. Fuck.”
Simon stared at her, but said nothing. His attention was drawn to the door. He thought he had heard footsteps. He sniffed the air and moved closer to the door. He pushed Alana aside, ignoring her questions and protests. He could smell him.
Sean.
“He’s heard everything.” he said aloud. Before Alana could ask and before Sean could run, Simon had grabbed his gun and threw open the door. Sean stood on the other side. His eyes were wide and terrified. He sputtered something incoherent, then stumbled over his own feet as he tried to run.
He didn’t even make it to the first step when Simon shot him. Sean let out a scream of pain and fell. He hit the next few steps, but he was still alive. He climbed to his feet and tried to run. Blood poured from the chest wound. Simon fired again and hit him in the head. Sean slumped and fell the rest of the way down the stairs. He hit the warehouse floor with a sickening thud.
Eric emerged from the room he had been in and stared at the mess that had been Sean. His eyes lifted to Simon and Alana in the doorway. Simon’s gun still smoked.
“What the fuck have you done?” Eric yelled at him, moving toward Sean. He bent and checked for a pulse but it was useless. He was dead.
Simon case a sidelong glance at Alana, who was staring down at Sean with a mixed look of disgust and anxiety.
“Don’t worry,” he told her in a whisper only she could hear. “I’ll think of something to tell him.”
“I’m not worried,” she answered. “But you better invent your lie quick, and make it a good one. Eric is not easy to deceive.”
* * *
Davis took a long shower, trying to wash away the memory and the sick feeling off of him. It didn’t work. In fact, in only seemed to increase his worry and self-loathing.
Slater had not
returned and Davis was secretly glad. He knew he had to talk to him, but he didn’t think he could. Every time he thought of it, his mouth went dry and he felt sickness rise in his throat. He had killed their mother. Slater had witnessed it. And Davis felt horrible about it. He felt worse than horrible.
When he was through and had dressed, he spent the rest of the night in front of the TV. There was nothing on. Glen slept on the uncomfortable cot around midnight, but Davis was not sleepy. He was tired, but unable to sleep.
At a quarter to one, Slater arrived. The headlights of his truck glared into the building and Davis shielded his eyes. The anxiety hit him all at once. He took a very long breath and closed his eyes as Slater entered.
He caught his scent as he walked in. He was getting better at recognizing it. Slater’s footfalls were loud on the floor and he stopped abruptly. Davis turned to look at him.
He expected him to yell, or to turn around and storm out again, but Slater merely stared at him. Without saying anything, he broke the stare and turned to the table. He threw his keys among the mess of papers without looking at them and then he chose a chair. He pulled it up.
Davis turned the volume down on the TV and looked at him. Slater had his arms folded, critically studying Davis. His red-brown hair looked slightly damp. He regarded Davis a bit coldly for a moment.
“You have her eyes,” he said after a moment. “You look a lot like her.”
Davis didn’t know how take this. It made him feel slightly uncomfortable and he looked away. Slater sighed.
“I’m sorry. I know I was an asshole before, but…you don’t understand. I saw my mom die and I saw you do it. Then, I see you here, standing right before me. All the ugly and angry thoughts I had ever had about you exploded…”
“I would’ve done the same thing,” Davis answered, finally finding his voice. It was thick, his mouth dry. Slater stared at him, then looked down at the floor.
“What happened that day? Why?”
Davis knew the questions were coming. Though he had prepared himself for it, it still came as a shock. He took in a deep breath and then spoke. He avoided Slater’s gaze.
“The man that was with me, Simon, was the one who told me to do it. It was his idea all along. I was against it from the start. I wasn’t even going to fire but…” Here it was. His voice trembled slightly and he steadied it. “He shoved me forward. It went off, and well—”
“I don’t need to hear anymore. I know what happened after that.” Slater interrupted. “It was an accident?”
Davis nodded. Slater let out a deep breath.
“It ruined my life,” he said. “I was still underage at the time. My dad went insane with rage and was killed a few months later.”
Davis felt a surge of guilt. Was Slater’s father killed by Simon, or one of Simon’s men? He tried not to think about it.
“I’m sorry.”
Slater shrugged. “By no means do I forgive you.” Once more, he narrowed his eyes. Davis took a deep breath. He knew it would be too good to be true. Had he really expected Slater to forgive him, to not be angry? He looked away. A pair of headlights shone at the front of the store.
“Is that Jason?” Slater asked, standing. Davis stood as well and moved closer. He shook his head.
“No, it’s not him.” He saw three figures silhouetted in the light, their faces shadowed. He stepped back. “I don’t know who it is.”
This could be bad.
He turned to look back at Slater. “You better wake Glen.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Her bare feet bled from cuts caused by sharp rocks and briars. She had sustained a cut on her forearm from climbing over a fence but these things would heal soon. The pain in her side burned with every intake of air and she felt dizzy. But she couldn’t rest now. Simon and the others were after her.
She turned to look behind her. She saw nothing but the forest path she followed. Though there was no one there, it was still disconcerting. They could still be behind her, tracking her. She wasn’t going to stop and be captured again. She was free.
The wolf in her was liberated and pushed Rose on with fierce determination. She felt a new boost in her speed and she broke out in a run. The branches snapped under her feet and tore at her bare arms. They snagged her jeans.
This spurt in energy did not last very long. Her legs were weak and she was so tired. The pain was nearly unbearable. She knew she must’ve been running for at least a half an hour, blindly plunging into the trees. She didn’t know how much longer she could go.
But just where was she going? What was she doing? Jason’s face loomed in the forefront of her thoughts and tears burned in her eyes. Hastily, Rose wiped them away and plunged on. Jason was dead. She could not run to him.
It was then that she realized just how truly alone she was. She was free, yes, but she was lost, alone in middle of only God knows where. Jason was dead. She didn’t know if Glen had even made it out.
This was it. Her life was over. She felt a pain her chest. Was her heart breaking? Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She gasped for air. Her lungs burned and she stumbled. Her knees hit the cold, packed earth and she let out a cry of anguish. Hot tears ran down her face and her long nails dug into the mud as she leaned forward.
She lifted her head and screamed. Mud clumped as she clenched her hands into a fist. She stared up and opened her eyes. The moon was overhead, bright red in its nearly full phase. She screamed again. Her hot tears dripped onto her lips and she tasted the saltiness.
Staring at the radiance, Rose’s tears stopped. It was a blood moon, an ill omen. She felt panicked and her breathing became ragged and fast. She had reached the edge of the forest. Twinkling lights greeted her from far off. There was a town.
She climbed to her feet, not bothering to wipe the mud from her hands or her jeans. She could last long enough to get there. She had to. The moon above her unsettled her. She had to find a safe place, fast.
It did not take her very long to get there once Rose called again upon the wolf for more speed. She stuck to the back alleys and streets. She had never been to this town before, did not know the layout, but she knew the less traveled parts when she saw them. The houses on this street were decrepit, and there was the smell of decay permeating along the street.
Rose stuck close to the boarded up warehouse on her left. If a car came by, she could disappear in one of the many alleys or crevasses along the wall. She was lucky though. She didn’t have to.
She sank to the cold concrete against the warehouse. New tears begun and she didn’t stop them. She drew her knees to her chest, her back against the wall. Rose shivered in the cold and waited, but for what she wasn’t sure.
The blood moon watched her from above.
* * *
“This can’t be good.” Glen climbed out of his cot and grabbed his gun. He cocked it back and pushed past Slater. “Are you sure you don’t know who it is?”
“I’m positive,” he said.
“They just showed up.” Davis looked out the door. The lights of the vehicle shut off and he could see the silhouettes approaching the door. Glen was there in a matter of seconds.
He opened the glass door, the cool night breeze brushing over his naked chest. He held his gun in clear view at his side. It was a clear threat to anyone that would try to get past him.
The first thing he noticed was the smell. He could smell the strong scent of full-bloods, but also the weaker scent of a changed-blood. He eyed the woman that stood front.
She was tall, with blonde hair that spilled down the back of her denim jacket. She came to a stop just in front of the door. She eyed Glen with careful scrutiny.
“Are you Glen?”
“Who are you?” he demanded right away.
“Just chill out.” She eyed the gun. The ones behind her were teenagers. They smelled very frightened. He raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Who are you?” he asked again.
“My name is Cheyenne Buckler.”
She gestured behind her. “Rebel and Aurora Mitchell. We know Jason.” Cheyenne turned back to look at him.
“You know him?”
“Tall guy with long dark hair and a goatee? Do you want me to draw a picture?” She spoke with an annoyed edge in her voice. She put a hand on her hip as she stared him down. “You can trust us. He sent us here to help. He told me, if I wanted, I could come here and ask for a man named Glen…”
“He sent you?” Glen looked her up and down. Could he trust her?
“I’ll tell you the whole, long story if you let us in. If you haven’t noticed, it’s fucking cold.” Indeed, she was shivering. The teeth of the dark-haired girl behind her were chattered loudly.
He considered a moment longer and then pulled open the door. “All right…”
The woman entered, followed by the girl and then the boy who had a sulking, unhappy look on his face. The three of them looked around suspiciously. They eyed Slater and Davis uncertainly.
Without invitation, Cheyenne strolled forward and pulled out the chairs from the table. She sat, reclining back in it. The children remained standing, not sure just what to do.
Slater stared first at the girl for a long moment, then the boy. Glen shut the door behind him, locking it, and turned his attention to Cheyenne. Davis shifted his weight slightly.
“Where’s Jason?” Glen crossed his arms, his gun tapping against his bicep.
“I’ll get to that in a minute. Like I said, it’s a long story,” Cheyenne said.
Slater stared at her as if she were something dangerous. She stared back at him.
“Who are you?” he asked suddenly.
“I already told him.” Cheyenne pointed to Glen.
“Well, now you’ll tell us,” Slater said, edgily.
Cheyenne scoffed loudly. “I don’t have to tell you jack-shit, little boy.”
“Cheyenne,” Glen said. “Just tell us the story.” He shot a significant glance at Slater. “Now is not the time to start picking fights. I thought we had already established that.”
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