Hunting Tess

by Kathryn Summers

I wish desperately to wrap my arms around her torso and rest my chin on her shoulder, suddenly overcome with how much that first step on her own truly encapsuled. Seventeen and she only had herself to rely on. Of course her friends Eliza and Benjamin would make the drive should she need, but she started in a new place with a new identity. That sort of start brings loneliness.

  The joyful look making her eyes sparkle makes me want to surprise her every day for the rest of her life. A white lace cloth drapes uniformly across the square table holding steaming plates of Thai food. The aromatic smells of red and green curries mingle with a variety of noodle dishes filling the house. Even the small cluster of candle sticks haven’t been burning long enough for melted wax to drip down the sides. I owe Lorelai big time. She and Caleb probably dashed out the back door as soon as they heard the front one open.

  “Now then,” I say, guiding her to the table and pulling out her chair, “I would hate for our food to get cold.”

  CHAPTER 8

  HER

  With the amount of food decorating the table I’m unsure whether Parker is planning for more people to arrive or for this to be a very, very long dinner. Waiting for me to take what I want, it’s only after I’m dishing a portion of red curry into a bowl that he reaches for the peanut noodles.

  “It is a good thing you were a performance major or this evening would have been awkward.”

  “How so?” I question, working hard at tearing my gaze away from his face every now and then. I don’t think he would appreciate me sitting here ogling him.

  “Well, as the gentleman I am, I would hardly have asked you to do something you were uncomfortable with. And then all of Luke’s Bar would know I was born a lousy vocalist.”

  “Then you’re welcome from saving us all from that embarrassment.”

  Even though he laughs I have to wonder what kind of singing voice he possesses.

  “Truly, though,” he says, placing his hands on the table to focus all his attention on me, “that was incredible. You have a gift.”

  I feel heat rise to my cheeks at the sentiment. Gently clearing my throat, I reach for the first dish in front of me to add to my plate, not really seeing what I’m taking.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Shy away from compliments,” he articulates, his eyes smoldering with intensity. “I thought the whole reason to get into theatre was to be in the spotlight.”

  Mushrooms. There are mushrooms spilling from the carton that I hastily grabbed. Several foul bulbous sponges tumble from the container before I have the good sense to stop pouring. “For me it’s a form of expression, about being part of something greater than oneself.”

  “And that means you can’t accept praise?”

  Setting the container as far away as my reach allows, I settle back in my chair, rapidly thinking how to form the right words with my brain slowly turning to mush at his gaze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers in his eyes and I realize he’s asking this question not in false sincerity or to simply further the conversation, but because he genuinely wants to know. A tickle forms in my throat thinking of the last time someone asked me such an unadulterated question.

  “I was the best performer at a private school designed for talented children,” I begin, my fingers curling around the cold glass to my right. “Awarded lead roles, or, whatever role I wanted to play in every production. Never had any issue procuring a partner for duets or dances, could do no wrong in the eyes of my teachers, and rebounded any insult with a smile. But I was arrogant in my talent.”

  Condensation drips down the cup, pooling in the small crevice between my finger and the glass before overflowing across my skin.

  “Because when the real test came that night on the stage, I failed. Instead of finding a way to save Sam using that talent, I made the decision to attack Dmitri. And that provocation left me with only one option to avoid being killed.” I look back up at him. “So I enjoy what I do. But I don’t need the reminder of what I’ve lost.”

  I can’t quite place his expression, so instead of mulling over how I’ve dampened the evening I take a bite of curry. The tang is just right.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” he starts slowly, flipping the fork between his fingers. “I hope a day comes where you hear praise without your first thought being a painful one. But until that day arrives, I will hold off on my admiration for your talent on the stage. I can be patient,” he finishes with a wink.

  Is he flirting? Is Parker flirting with me?

  “Though, if you don’t mind me asking, I am curious about you faking your death. How did you do it?”

  “Vampires lit the theater on fire. It wasn’t hard to have Sam corroborate my disappearance into a windowless room.”

  “But wouldn’t they need evidence to verify your death?”

  A smile tinges my lips thinking of how stressed out Ben was as he frantically transferred ammonium nitrate from the science lab. “Not if the room also exploded. Plus, if I was never seen again then there would be no reason to think I was still alive.”

  “How did you get the new identity?” he asks between a bite.

  “A friend.”

  “You’ve got some good friends.”

  “You have no idea.”

  We keep up a stream of steady chatter between sampling different dishes. I keep waiting for Leo or Caleb to walk through the front door and disturb the atmosphere. Part of me wishes for it whenever I catch a glimpse of that same burning intensity in Parker’s eyes before I blink and it’s gone.

  “There is still that pile of weapons you bought sitting in the garage. Since you no longer have classes taking up the majority of your time, do you want to learn how to use them?”

  Guilt, sadness, anger, and insecurity assaults me every time I’ve thought about that duffle bag. It’s unfair to thrust all those pent-up feelings onto something that’s inanimate. I should learn to use those weapons. Afterall, I bought them. And maybe if Parker wears that cocky grin I can learn to knock him on his butt.

  “Maybe,” I concede, planning on giving it more thought. “What’s the next step with Stephany Wares? Could you track her location?”

  “I could,” he admits, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stubbled jaw. “But with a coven this size it would be safer to involve my coworkers. With an active Master there is only a short time to act.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, feeling comfortably full. The majority of the food has disappeared which I chalk up to two people with healthy appetites.

  “Master’s don’t tend to surface and when they do, they generally stay within a certain homebound area. Don’t get me wrong, there are territorial disputes which frequently occur, but to keep from constantly warring they remain tightly knit to their own faction. For a Master to have left their home base is one thing. To then travel around the world is alarming.”

  “What makes you think he’s left Bolivia?”

  He looks at me for a stretch of time. “If he hasn’t left yet then it’s only a matter of time.”

  The unspoken peril traipsing my future narrows my already cuffed freedom. If the Master does what Parker suggests and actually comes here, there aren’t many fortified places to hide. I’m also unsure how long I could remain in hiding without losing my mind. At least in Boulder I had a five-mile radius to stay within. If I have to disappear, I doubt I’ll last long cooped up. Plus, I would rather face the threat head-on.

  “Now that you’re graduated, do you have any big plans?” he questions, changing the subject.

  “I want to open a dance studio.” Thinking of the dream I’ve held in my mind for a couple of years now makes possibly achieving it terrifying. And exhilarating. “That’s the plan, at least.”

  “Anywhere specific?”

  I envision the single level building on the main street of a well-established town. A large window in the front lets in optimal light for the dancers to see themselves in the wall to wall mirror, danci
ng on oak hardwood floors. I can see three-year-olds in adorably fluffy pink tutu’s learning a simple ball change while seventeen-year-olds perfect a pristine pirouette transitioning into a grand jete. In my vision I can see myself in the reflection growing older, my hair developing grey strands held in a bun at the base of my neck. My mouth is pinched in concentration watching my pupils who strive to create their own spotlight, and while I once looked content in the image, something now has changed.

  “Not specific per se. But I’ve always liked the idea of a small town. One with roots and history.”

  “So not a bustling metropolitan?”

  I smile in response to his teasing grin. “I suppose I could be persuaded as long as the city has Thai food.”

  His eyes briefly scan the table before returning to me, that flirtatious grin still firmly in place.

  “What?” I ask suspiciously.

  Rising from his seat he makes his way to me where he sweeps me from the chair. Placing my arms around his neck he draws me in close and I’m afraid he’s going to feel my heart jack hammering in my chest. His woodsy smell fills my nostrils, making me think of camping beneath the stars.

  “Dinner and dancing?” The comment sounds normal to my ears so I can only hope it’s enough to fool him.

  “Movement helps digestion,” he says with a smile in his voice. I playfully swat him on the shoulder and he captures my hand, bringing it close to his chest.

  Oh goodness. I’ve never really swooned over a guy since I don’t think that actually happens in real life and is propagated through romance movies, but boy if I’m not close.

  Before I can ask about music he begins humming, the breath from his nose propelling a warm breeze over my ear. His deep baritone sends a shiver of warmth down my spine and I feel like a cat stretching in the sunshine.

  The melody he hums changes to a minor key, its tune one I’m unfamiliar with. “What was your favorite color as a child?” he asks, breaking off the song. It doesn’t take long to ponder the question since nearly every inch of my room was once a lawn in varying shades.

  “Green.” The memory of my adolescent years is untainted by recent affairs, its ability to evoke such happiness undimmed by the passage of time. “Everything used to be covered by a layer of green in one form or another. Whether it was blankets and pillows or chairs or rugs, it was green that always drew my eye.”

  “Were you fond of a particular shade?”

  “Actually, yeah. Almost neon. An obnoxious hue now, but at the time I loved it. It reminded me of spring grass in a luscious meadow. I even had a fuzzy blanket with the perfect texture to make my bed look like a fallen log overcome with moss.”

  “That sounds,” he pauses, “bright.”

  “Oh it was,” I chuckle, remembering such a vivid color. “Looking back I’m amazed I didn’t go blind.”

  My body wants to curve into him as I fight placing my head against his chest. He’s simply congratulating me on graduating even though I decided to skip the showcase. Dache was disappointed, of course. But maybe when I’m no longer being stalked by vampires I can work on a Master’s degree.

  “So that was your favorite color then. What about now?” My eyes grow heavy as the warm body and soothing sway relaxes my tired muscles.

  “Probably blue,” I sigh, realizing that it is entirely possible for me to fall asleep standing up. “What about you?”

  A rumble comes from his chest and I have the feeling he finds my fatigue amusing. “Orange.”

  “Orange?”

  “Yes,” he replies, leaning his head against my own which nearly has me stuttering against the rhythm. “There’s a split-second during sunrise, just when the sun peaks over the mountains, that the sky is on fire. I’ve never seen such a shade replicated by mankind.”

  “That sounds nice. I, however, am a firm believer of sleep.”

  The pressure around my waist tightens and our slow dance morphs into two people standing still. “Speaking of sleep,” he murmurs in my ear, “You’re about to fall over.”

  “That’s one opinion.”

  “In this case fact and opinion are the same. Come on, let’s go.”

  My face feels like it is on fire when I step out of arms, feeling stupid. How I was so easily persuaded to dance with him is beyond me. I’ve danced with dozens of guys, many better than Parker. So why does this time feel so different? Oh yeah, because I like him.

  It doesn’t take much tugging to pull me along before we’re standing in front of my door. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, letting the back of his fingers trail down my neck as he opens his mouth to say something.

  Heat creeps along my neck where his fingers leave a blazing fire, quickly turning cold when his hand suddenly drops as hesitation flashes across his face. Stung by the rejection, I say a quick good night before going in and firmly closing the door behind me. I wait to hear footsteps walk away and after a couple of seconds I can breathe easier.

  The man is infuriating. One minute he’s open and kind and the next he shuts down like frozen soft serve.

  No longer sleepy and needing to forget the feeling of being in his arms, I flop onto my bed, kicking my legs in the air while browsing my computer for any information surrounding recent mysterious deaths in the area. If I can pin down where vampires have been, I may be able to detect a pattern as to where they will go. My phone rings breaking me from the search.

  “I have some good news. Well, Ben does.”

  Loud shuffling sounds over the phone and I pull it away from my ear while Eliza hands Ben her cell.

  “We told Danny what’s going on and she has some things for you to pick up.”

  “What kind of things?” I ask skeptically. Danny isn’t an arms dealer of any sort. A few years older than us, her mad tech skills, plus her special ability of forging documents, provided me a new identity. I can’t imagine what else I would need.

  “You’ll just have to wait. But she’s working in Seattle as an executive assistant for some big company. She offered to fly it down to you, but I told her you would like a change of scenery.”

  Ben made the right call. With the stress of graduation over a trip to the emerald city will be the closest thing I get to a vacation with three shifters breathing down my neck.

  “I’ll send you her information to schedule a pick-up time. So, how are the wolves?”

  After chatting on the phone well after Ben left for bed, I finally convince Eliza I’m tired and need my beauty sleep. With promises to call soon I hang up, already mentally planning my trip to Seattle.

  ***

  Getting out of the Jeep, Parker grabs our duffle bags from the back as I adjust my shirt after the long ride. My knees ache from sitting cross-legged nearly the entire second day of our trip and I have a crick in my neck from avoiding the blinding sun.

  When I brought up going to Seattle Leo volunteered to come with me but remembered he had an extension on an unfinished assignment for his Bio lab, so Parker offered to go in his stead. After spending the night in Boise, we figured it would be better to stay outside the noise of the city. Parker said he knew a cute little bed and breakfast to spend the night and like an idiot I believed him.

  “Parker!” A woman cries from the front porch of a gorgeous ranch style home. Her red apron is dusted with flour, but her curly dark brown hair is a near replica of the asinine wolf going up to give her a hug. If I had known he was talking about staying at his parents I would have insisted on finding somewhere to sleep in the city.

  He sets down our bags to give her a hug, leaving me to awkwardly trail up behind him.

  “What have I done to deserve two visits from my sons in such a short time?” Rubbing his back in a way only mothers know how, she turns to me and before I can say a word she pulls me into a hug just as embracing.

  Before leaving Ben’s house Marilyn gave me a similar hug and I struggled not to break down in tears. This time is much the same.

  “You must be Tess. I’m Patricia. Come i
n, come in! You must be tired from a long day of travel.”

  My heart leaps in my throat and I look at Parker. I’m supposed to be dead. That’s problematic if my secret isn’t such a secret.

  “Relax,” he mouths behind his mother’s back.

  The house is like nothing you would find in a sub development because nothing about this home is cookie cutter. Everything looks custom made and I absently wonder what Parker’s parents do for a living.

  “Take the bags up to one of the guestrooms, yes your room is still available, and then come help me with dinner. Your father will be home soon. Tess, Parker will show you to your room and feel free to lie down for a bit before dinner.”

  “Why does she get to relax?”

  “Because she is a guest,” Parker’s mom says, swatting him playfully with a kitchen towel. “Now get moving. Those potatoes won’t peel themselves.”

  Chuckling, Parker leads the way up the stairs.

  “If I were you, I would take the easy route and lie down,” Parker advises after putting my duffle bag on the guestroom bed. “Otherwise you’ll be roped into helping one way or another. Because believe you me, you do one little thing and it’s all over. You’ll never have a moment of peace again.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “I was born into this life of peeling potatoes. You have a choice, Addams.”

  “I think I’ll take my chances.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Pulling out my charger from a side pocket I plug in my phone.

  “So there is a bathroom through that door but it’s shared with the room on the other side, so I would lock the door unless you want me accidently barging in.”

  “Duly noted,” I chuckle, before growing somber. “Parker, why did you tell your mom my real name? I mean, I guess I’m not sure what else you could have done, but I am trying to lay low.”

  He doesn’t grow annoyed or upset at the suggestion he should have lied to his mom. Instead his face shifts to one of resolve, his gaze unwavering. “You are a part of this pack, Tess. And we protect our own.”

  “Why would I be part of your pack?”