Bloodbound Nocturne (The Sophia Kelly Chronicles Book 1)

by Amy J. Wenglar

  I reach for my phone. It's almost nine o'clock. That would make it eleven o'clock in Austin. I could text him. Tell him a letter arrived for him at our address. Play it off like it's no big deal. Or I could own up to the fact that I read the letter and know now for a fact that he's been taking care of my roommate and me since we arrived in Austin. I don't even know how to thank him. Does he even want thanks, or does he wish to remain anonymous?

  I type out a text message, erasing and retyping it about three times before I revert back to the original message. Short and simple. "GOING THROUGH SOME MAIL. FOUND A LETTER ADDRESSED TO YOU. I WILL HOLD ONTO IT UNTIL I SEE YOU BACK AT WORK."

  He responds after a few minutes, just as I'm turning out the light and getting ready for bed. He doesn't even mention the letter. "WHY ARE YOU GOING THROUGH YOUR MAIL INSTEAD OF SPENDING TIME WITH YOUR MOTHER? GET ANSWERS. NEED ANSWERS."

  I would come back with a snarky response if I weren't so physically exhausted from travel and mentally exhausted from just being me. I almost consider not responding at all, but how do you blow off someone who practically owns you? With a deep breath, I decide to just tell the truth. "MY MOM BAILED ON ME. NO IDEA WHERE SHE IS. CAN'T GET AHOLD OF HER."

  My phone rings seconds later, just as I knew it would. It's Dr. D, and there is urgency in his voice.

  "Where are you?"

  He sounds like he's outside somewhere. I can hear the sound of rushing wind in the background. Is he running?

  "I'm sorry?" For some reason, I'm not expecting the impatient tone in his voice and have to remind myself that while he may be the most generous and selfless person I know, he's still the same old grumpy Dr. D.

  "If you're not with your mother right now, where are you? You are in L.A., I presume?"

  "I'm at a motel in Compton, down the street from the apartment that I thought… Well, I used to live there with my mother—"

  "In Compton? Christ, Miss Kelly, why didn't you call me? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

  He sounds mad now.

  I roll my eyes. "Compton may not be the safest place in the world, but I was raised here. I have street smarts, and I… I know people around here. Or at least I used to. I seriously doubt anyone will—" I jump, startled by the sound of gunshots outside. "Never mind," I sigh. "Apparently I do have a death wish."

  The sound of random gunshots used to be an everyday occurrence, but I've grown spoiled since moving to Austin. Frat boys fighting in the street has been the extent of violence I've seen since I arrived, and Greg and I usually have bets on who will win.

  "Don't go anywhere," he barks. "I'm coming to get you out of there."

  "You're in Austin," I protest. "You cannot seriously fly to L.A.—"

  "I'm already in L.A., Miss Kelly. I took a flight out today. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

  "Okay, you didn't have to do that. You're taking this protection thing way too seriously."

  But he's already hung up. I don't know what I'm going to do when I see him. I have no money to get back to Austin, and there's no way I can ask him to loan me the money when he's already done so much for me. I absolutely cannot believe my mother has put me in this position, and I absolutely cannot believe I let myself get put in this position.

  "Damn her," I growl, pounding my fist on the bed as I get up and throw my clothes back on.

  Unless she has a damn good excuse, from this point forward my mother is dead to me. I can't have a relationship, dysfunctional or otherwise, with a woman who is only interested in me when I give her money.

  Tears sting my eyes as I busy myself with repacking my bag. I didn't have much to begin with, so it doesn't take me long. While I wait for Dr. D, I stare absently at my reflection in the mirror and fluff at my hair with my fingers until a heavy pounding on the door startles me. I wipe my eyes. He got here too fast. I'm not ready to face him yet. I'm not ready for the lectures and the chiding. I'm not ready to talk about what happened with Madeleine. And I'm certainly not ready to talk about the fact that he's our benefactor.

  Dr. D looks so good standing there in the doorway wearing a T-shirt with the “Undead” written across it and slim-cut jeans. His brows are furrowed in that familiar and almost comforting expression of concern and anger. I momentarily forget everything else. I'm not used to seeing him dressed so casually, though his attitude seems to be anything but casual. He strides into the room, wrinkling his nose with disgust without even offering a single glance in my direction.

  "Jesus, Miss Kelly. This place is disgusting. Please tell me you're packed and ready to go so that we can leave."

  I point to my small carry-on bag next to the door, and he picks it up, moving swiftly across the room and out the door as if he can’t bear the thought of staying in this room for another second. “Hold up. I just need to drop my key back off at the… Holy Batmobile, what is that?" I ask, pointing to the sleek convertible parked right outside my room, engine running.

  "McLaren Spider," Dr. D says. I can't ignore the hint of pride in his voice as he opens the butterfly door and helps me into the passenger seat. "Room key?" I hand it to him. "Now stay here. I'll be right back," he instructs, as if I have any idea what to do behind the wheel of a McLaren. He's gone in a flash, leaving me alone and awkward in his ridiculously expensive-looking car.

  I grin to myself as a warm radiance seems to spread through my chest all the way out to my fingers and toes. He is literally back in less than a minute.

  "My knight in shining armor returns," I mutter, in what is meant to be a statement of endearment but comes out a little condescending instead. "I feel bad. You don't have to come to my rescue every time, you know." I bite my lip. "Not that I don't appreciate it, because I do. But I know you have a life, too, and—"

  "And what would you have done otherwise? Had I not come to get you out of there? Did you have a backup plan?"

  He purses his lips while I shrug and ponder the question for a moment.

  "Colin asked the same thing," I admit. "And no, I did not have a backup plan. I would've stayed the night in that motel and gotten onto a standby flight back to Austin in the morning." I run my finger along my chin, wiping away a stray piece of Hershey bar that I hope Dr. D didn't notice. "This way is better, though. You can swing me back by LAX, and I'll take a standby flight back to Austin tonight. That way I'll be out of your hair, and you can go back to your life. I'm sure you're ready for a break from me just like I am…" I catch myself before I can finish my rude assumption and then start to think aloud about how I can work this out. "I might get in late, but I don't care. Greg left the car parked at the airport when he flew out today, so I can drive home, and I'll have the place all to myself for the next month. I think that—"

  "No," Dr. D says roughly, cutting me off. "You're not going back to Austin tonight. Not without someone there to keep watch. I will have to arrange that. You will stay with me tonight."

  "I couldn't do that. I couldn't impose. Again. And I certainly do not need a babysitter. I will be fine if you—"

  "Miss Kelly, do not argue with me," he says through clenched teeth. "Why must you always argue with me?"

  Feeling a little deflated, I sink further into my seat and fold my arms over my chest. I do argue with him. A lot. And I know him well enough by now to realize that when his mind is made up, it's made up.

  "That's it," I fold my arms over my chest. "I can kiss my privacy goodbye. I'm never going to see it again. I will always have someone hovering over me. Protecting me."

  "Let us not be melodramatic," says Dr. D, rolling his eyes. "I will hardly be hovering over you. I have plenty of space in my home. And you will find your accommodations to be quite satisfactory, I assure you. I will stay out of your way and out of your life as you have so many times requested."

  I wince, not really knowing what to say to that. I really need to work on a more mindful approach when talking to him. But he brings out something inside of me that I've never felt before. Greg would say he brings out my crazy
, and after the light-ray incident, I think he may be right.

  "Fine," I say flatly.

  I could sit here refusing him, or I could just let him take me in for the night and be on my way in the morning and back to hating his guts. Anything has to be better than spending the night in that awful motel room.

  "Are you hungry?" he asks, but he doesn't give me a chance to answer before he pulls into the parking lot of an In-N-Out Burger. He knows me well enough to know that I'm always hungry. I open my mouth to protest and explain that I do eat other things besides In-N-Out burgers, but my stomach rumbles loudly, stopping me before I can say anything. "Well, then. I guess that answers that question."

  Dr. D parks the McLaren and walks around to help me out of the passenger side. People are stopping to stare at the car, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's intently focused on me instead.

  The lighting inside the restaurant is so bright I have to squint as we walk inside, but I can't help but notice the word "Undead" written in white block letters across the back of his shirt.

  "Clever," I say, as I sidle up to the counter beside him. "Your shirt. I like it." I want to lighten the mood between us, though that's not always easy with someone as uptight as Dr. D.

  "Oh yes, Undead. Have you heard of them? They're a band."

  I shake my head, wondering, besides classical music, what kind of music Dr. D actually listens to. "Can't say that I have."

  "Before your time, I suppose."

  "Because Tchaikovsky isn't before my time at all," I mutter, trying to suppress a grin.

  The girl behind the counter looks up at us, smiling politely, ready to take our order. "Order whatever you want, as much as you want," he says.

  I can't tell if there is a hint of sarcasm in his voice or if he's serious, but the flicker of a smile on his face tells me he's teasing me. I place my order, adding a giant milkshake at the very last minute. Dr. D stares at me, eyes wide, and I laugh. The sound is almost foreign to me. It's been so long since I've laughed at something. I'm becoming as grumpy as he is.

  He motions for me to find us a place to sit, so I choose a place off in the corner. It feels awkward being alone with him doing normal-people things when we are anything but normal people.

  "Oh, ma'am? You left your phone at the counter." The girl who took our order rushes toward me, her cheeks pink from the rush of exertion. She presses the phone into my hand, shocking me with her own hand in the process.

  "Ow," I yelp, jerking my hand back and waving it around.

  But the strange girl only stares at me for a moment, her eyes bright with mischief as she giggles, turns, and runs back to her place behind the counter.

  "Thanks," I say once Dr. D returns to our table with our food. He motions toward the counter.

  "Oh, yeah, did you see that? She shocked me. Literally. When she handed my phone back to me. And then she laughed and ran off. What do you—"

  I find that I can't finish my thought. Dr. D has a way of distracting me so I have no idea what's happening or what I'm doing. "Anyway, you'll have to let me pay you back."

  He waves his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it." He sits down and sorts our food. "So, tell me. What happened with your mother?"

  I barely have the wrapper off my burger before I take a bite. "Don't know," I say through a mouthful of burger.

  Dr. D gives me a look. "My God, Miss Kelly. Slow down. I'm not going to take it away from you. As you know, burgers aren't really my thing anyway." His eyes smolder. "But you know, I've got to keep up appearances. Now, go on."

  He takes a bite and makes a face. I laugh, despite myself. "What happened with my mother? Well, I suppose it's my fault for assuming she actually wanted to see me. It's my fault for holding her accountable and expecting her to follow through with anything."

  "And you still haven't heard from her?"

  "Nope." I plunge a french fry into some ketchup and stuff it into my mouth. "Like usual, she took money from me when it was offered and then took off. Barely a word from her since."

  He looks concerned. "Surely if her own daughter is giving her money to survive… What if she contacts you and you're not here?"

  "I guess I'll figure that part out if it actually happens. I'm not holding my breath, though. From this point forward, my mother is dead to me, professor," I snap, without really meaning to. "There's no excuse. I literally called up every place I know she's worked in the past six months. No one knows where she went or when she'll be back. Nothing. She says she’s in Europe, but it feels more like she's fallen off the face of the earth." I take a sip of the milkshake. "I'm sure she's run off with yet another one of her flings. It wouldn't be the first time." I shake my head, ready for a change of subject. "This is my mother. This is what she does. This is what she's always done. I can't expect anything more from her. That's why I left L.A."

  "And you don't think there's more to it than that? Foul play? After all, she's involved in some pretty shady stuff."

  "Who knows?" I shrug. "It's possible, with all of the weirdos she's got coming in and out of her life. But I don't have the time or the energy for her at this point. I've got myself to look after. Though I do wish I could see that book she's so worried about." I look across the table at him. "What do you think? Do you suspect foul play?"

  "I have no idea." He holds his hands up defensively as if to reassure me he's not as involved in my life as I think he is. "But your father had dealings with an underground society of supernaturals. I guess it wouldn't surprise me if your mother did, too." He pauses for a moment. "I always wondered if he got in too deep. Maybe she did, too. It's possible they've both been silenced."

  I chew my lower lip. "My mother has always been paranoid about that. Being silenced. That's why she destroyed the book."

  "Put MacLeod on the case. Have him help you find your mother," Dr. D says, chuckling. "He likes to feel useful."

  "That he does." I crumple my empty fry wrapper and set it on my tray, feeling as if our conversation is winding down into meaningless small talk. "So, there's something else," I say, shifting nervously on the hard bench of the booth. "The mail I have for you." I slowly pull the envelope out of my bag. "I opened it. Accidentally. After all, it was in our mailbox, and I just assumed…" I hand it to him and he frowns. "It looks like the property tax bill. For the house." It's Dr. D's turn to fidget in his seat, but he remains otherwise unreadable. "Why didn't you ever tell me it was your house? That we're living in your house?"

  He doesn't answer at first. He only looks at me, his eyes locked with mine. Finally, his mouth tightens, and he takes a deep breath.

  He fixes me with that intense blue stare and I feel as if I'm floating, watching all of this from above. "It's simple, really. I saw the slums you came from. I saw how badly you wanted for… even just the basic things in life. Decent food. Fresh produce. The things most people take for granted. And I couldn't stand it. I wanted to make your new life in Austin perfect. I wanted you to have everything you could possibly need. When I found out you were renting that house, I swept in and bought it. So that I could see to it that everything was perfect for you and your roommate."

  I stop mid-chew and swallow a lump of burger, wincing as it makes its way down my throat. I can't even process the heartfelt words that are coming out of his mouth.

  "But why? Why would you do something so selfless and so kind for someone you don't even know?"

  "Like I've said before, your father was a dear friend," he murmurs. "At the time, I did it for him… so that his daughter could have the life he wanted her to have. The life he planned for her to have. Lord knows you didn't have that with your mother. When I met you, I knew that keeping my promise to him would be easy, but… keeping my distance from you would not." I frown, and he fidgets with the crumpled paper on the tray. "I suppose it is time you knew the truth of it. Especially after you tried to kill Madeleine the other day." My heart accelerates, and I lean forward, anticipating his next words, the "kill Madeleine" part barely regi
stering in my brain. "The promise I made to your father was easy enough for me to keep. When I didn't know you." He lowers his gaze from mine and fidgets with his straw wrapper, twirling it around his finger. "But when I actually met you on that flight to Austin, I realized that keeping you safe would only work if you thought… If I could convince you that…" He trails off and pauses for a moment. "That I hated you."

  "I'm afraid that for once, I'm at a bit of a loss for words," I say quietly, still in shock. "I never really thought you hated me. Well, most of the time anyway. I figured I was just the annoying kid who may or may not have ties to the supernatural that you had to babysit because you made a promise to my father who was out of his mind with paranoia. But then you would do something or say something to make me think that maybe… I don't know…" I press my lips together, unable to admit that I thought his actions suggested that he might have feelings for me. I can't handle the flat-out rejection that would ultimately follow. So I breeze over it instead and hope he gets where I'm going. "And then I'd start to feel all glowy and happy. And then you'd do or say something mean again. Or you'd humiliate me. Let me just point out that Madeleine showing up the other day?" I roll my eyes at him. "And then when you were all…" I make a face, despite the quivering in my lower lip. "It about killed me."

  His eyes widen, and for a second I think he's going to respond with something snarky, but he doesn't.

  "Well, you haven't been exactly nice either," he says with a mirthless laugh. "As for the Madeleine thing." He lets out a slow breath of air. "That's over." He meets my gaze and holds it. "For good this time."

  "What… Why?" I ask weakly. "What are you saying?"

  "You know exactly what I'm saying," he says in a low voice that seems to penetrate deep into the nooks and crannies of my battered and bruised soul. "Under that layer of sweetness, there is an even thicker layer of bitterness and resentment. She may have been happy to see me when she walked in, but…" He trails off, looking remorseful. "What you didn't see between us was a fight that escalated so quickly and became so intense I nearly finished the job you started. I nearly killed her." He sighs. "I can't keep wiping her memory. I can't keep making her forget what I am. So I ended it. It was for the best." His eyes rise to meet mine. "We both know she's not the one I want anyway." My mouth falls open, but only for a few seconds before I am mindlessly stuffing it with fries again. "I flew to L.A. for you. I couldn't take this anymore. All of this weird back-and-forth between us." He shakes his head, a dreamy smile plastered on his face. "At first all I wanted was to see you happy. And then it got to where I wanted to make you happy. And as I sit here, watching you cram food in your face while you process what I'm trying to say to you right now, know that I am only falling harder for you."