Runner: Book II of The Chosen Page 2

  Her scent is everywhere, along with the grimy one of the truck’s owner. Crawling into the sleeping compartment, I sniff the rancid air and try to pinpoint her backpack, and finally find it stuffed between the mattress and the side wall of the compartment.

  I jerk it free and turn to crawl back into the cab. Sandy is staring in through the passenger window, and gives me a grin and a thumb’s up when she sees her pack.

  Frowning, I climb out the driver’s side. She meets me there, grinning and clapping her hands.

  “What part of ‘stay here’ did you not understand?” I say through my teeth as she takes the backpack.

  “Aw, this is so cool. Thank you. But… but how did you break off the door handle?” Eyes shining, she kicks it across the asphalt.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Get away from my truck!” A short guy with a big belly is running toward us, his gait awkward and stilted.

  “Oh, shit! Run!” Sandy takes off for the BMW.

  I’m right behind her, and then another guy dashes out from between the trucks.

  His breath explodes with a loud grunt as I smash into him and send him flying through the air. He tumbles in the dirt, forcing me to leap over him before springing into the car. Sandy jumps in a second later. Throwing the BMW into gear, I hit the gas, my door slamming shut with the acceleration.

  We speed out of the parking lot accompanied by angry shouts. Sandy turns and watches behind us as we race up the freeway on-ramp. The beast inside me whines, begging to be loosed.

  “Whoa. That was awesome! You just took that guy right out! Like he was nothing! How the hell’d you do that? Are you a spy, or FBI, or something? That was way cool!” She’s practically dancing in her seat as she prattles on.

  I ignore her and check the rearview mirror for lights.

  Passing a few more off-ramps, I take one that has a sign posted with symbols for motels and food. Sandy continues to ramble with her wild speculations.

  “Hey. Sandy.” I pause, but she doesn’t stop. “Sandy. Enough. Shut up, okay?”

  “Okay.” Her eyes glow with excitement.

  Sheesh.

  “You hungry? You want to get something to eat before we check into a motel?” I figure it’s probably been awhile since she’s had a good meal.

  “Uh, yeah, sure. That… that’d be great!”

  “Well, what do you want? There’s a twenty-four-hour diner right here, or we could look for something else. Whatever you like.”

  “I don’t care. What do you feel like eating?”

  Right now? After the crap at the truck stop? Something red, hot, and liquid. But I doubt they’d willingly serve that at the diner.

  “I’m not really hungry. I had something just a little while before I picked you up.” A twisted laugh escapes, and I manage to strangle it into a cough.

  “Oh. Okay. Well, then… this is fine with me.”

  Turning into the driveway, I find a space near the entrance and back into it for a quick getaway if needed. Sandy gets out with her backpack and an odd look crosses her face, which is suddenly more pale than before. She wobbles a moment, hanging on to the door.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Just stood up a little too fast.” She smiles and hoists her backpack over her shoulder, then makes her way to the sidewalk. I usher her ahead and follow her slender form inside.

  The reek of cooking food hits me like a shockwave and my stomach somersaults. It’s been a long time—I’d forgotten how nasty it smells.

  A middle-aged waitress walks up holding menus, and I tightly leash the still-agitated beast when it shows a keen interest in her. She leads us to a booth and I follow Sandy, keeping her between the waitress and the restless killer inside me, which, strangely enough, shows no interest in the girl.

  Before we take our seats, Sandy asks where the restroom is and leaves. I avoid looking at the waitress and order a cup of hot tea.

  When she comes back, I stare out the window and focus on keeping the beast quiet. The ceramic cup rattles on its saucer as she sets the tea on the table, then she quickly walks away.

  Picking up the cup, I take a sip, and abruptly recall the last time I had hot tea. And with whom I had it. The grief starts to creep in again.

  I look up into green eyes as Sandy sits back down.

  Green eyes. I hadn’t realized that her eyes were that color. His color.

  “Hey,” she says softly.

  I take a breath and look into my tea, then take another drink.

  “He must’ve been something else, huh?”

  “Who?” I ask sharply, frowning as I glance up into those green eyes.

  “Whoever makes you look like that.”

  Blinking, I stare back down into my cup. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  “Do you know what you’re ordering?” In a flash of irritation, it comes out a little harsher than I intend.

  “Uh, no. I haven’t looked yet.”

  Glancing at the menus lying on the table, I pick one up and hand it to her. She takes it without another word, and I watch her as she flips through the plastic pages.

  She’s washed her face, and changed her dirty and torn T-shirt for one that is only slightly less ragged, but cleaner. She’s also put on a zippered sweatshirt, and looks decidedly happier and more comfortable, in spite of the bruising that has spread across her face.

  “Get whatever you want, Sandy. I’m buying. No argument.”

  Sandy nods and scans the room for the waitress.

  Watching her eat is going to be strange. The heavy smells of frying fat and burnt toast and slopped coffee bubbling on the warmer nearly gag me, making the situation even worse.

  I’m outta here.

  Fishing a twenty out of the emergency pouch I’d brought in from the BMW, I stand and put it on the table.

  “I’m going outside to make some calls and find us a motel. Take as long as you want to eat—there’s no need to rush. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  “O… kay. Are you sure you don’t want something? I could order it to go for later if you want.” Sandy looks up at me, wide-eyed.

  “No, I don’t want anything. I’ll see you in the car.”

  The waitress walks up just as I step out of the booth. The beast, still on edge, tenses at the scent of human blood coursing beneath her skin. With my jaw clenched, I head out the door.

  Damn you, Nicolas. Is this going to happen every time I’m around people now?

  I’m so screwed.

  How am I going to do this? How am I going to live without you? I don’t even know that I want to. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.

  Opening the car door, I get in and slam it shut. The black hole in my core, the place where I used to feel his essence, begins to swallow me. I grip the steering wheel, seeking an anchor in the dark maelstrom of regret, trying vainly to hold on to my sense of self.

  It would be so easy. All I have to do is start the car and get on the freeway heading south. If I drive fast enough, I can make it back to Colorado Springs before dawn, before the sun puts me to sleep.

  And then what? How long before he sets me up again? How long before he asks me to kill? How long will it take for me to want to do it, without any encouragement?

  How long can I remain me, before I surrender and lose myself completely?

  CHAPTER 3

  A light tapping on the passenger window startles me and I’m pulled away from my internal battles. I look up to see Sandy waiting there, her eyebrows raised in question. As I hit the unlock button, I notice the car is running.

  Damn, that was close. Wonder how far I would’ve gotten before realizing that I was driving. No doubt the direction would’ve been south, my body making the decision my mind cannot.

  “Hey, you okay? Were you sleeping with your eyes open or something?” Sandy asks as she gets in and closes the door.

  The Styrofoam takeout container she’s carrying reeks, and the nausea and irritation it triggers br
ings me another step closer to reality.

  “Didja find a motel? I saw signs for a couple when we got off the freeway.” She sets the food and her backpack by her feet.

  Motel. Right.

  I glance at the clock. Still have a little while before dawn.

  Taking off the emergency brake, I put the car in gear and pull out to the edge of the driveway. I look south first, tighten my fists, and turn north.

  “How was dinner?”

  “It was good. Thanks. They had a special on steak and mashed potatoes with gravy. The green beans were kinda soggy, though. And I wasn’t as hungry as I’d thought. But I did eat the apple pie. I love apple pie.”

  Ugh. I can’t remember when any of that sounded good. And whatever’s in that container is about to make me hurl.

  Sandy watches me and starts to say more, then stops. We head up the street and I spot a sign for a motel a block away.

  Turning in, I park next to the entrance and get out. The lobby door is locked, so I push the after-hours button and stare through the dirty window at the tiles on the floor, their red and white alternating pattern triggering blood images in my head.

  I push the button again, holding it for several seconds this time.

  They better answer, because if they don’t, I’m going to get back into the car and drive.

  And I will no longer be able to resist heading south.

  An inner door opens. A paunchy grey-haired guy, rubbing sleep from his eyes, shuffles across the lobby.

  “Whaddya want?” he mutters through the door, glaring at me.

  “I need two rooms.”

  “All I have left is smoking.”

  “I’ll take them.”

  He digs into his pocket, pulls out a set of keys, and unlocks the door. When he opens it, his unwashed odor floods over me like a tidal wave. A corresponding surge of disgust rises up my throat and, jaw clenched, I slip through the doorway as far from him as possible. He shambles back through the inner door and appears behind the registration counter.

  I quickly fill out the necessary paperwork and hand him cash for the rooms. He mumbles something about a credit card and I shake my head no, and he gives me two key cards anyway. I can barely keep to a human speed on my way out of the stinking lobby.

  “This one’s yours.” I climb back into the car, pass one of the keys to Sandy, and start the engine.

  “Cool.” She takes it and holds out a fistful of bills in exchange. “Hey, thanks again for dinner. Here’s your change.”

  “Keep it.”

  She nods and pockets the money, muttering another thanks.

  Pulling into an empty space outside one of the rooms, I shut off the engine. Sandy opens her door and stands, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

  The color drains from her face and she clutches at the door as she collapses.

  “Sandy!” I leap from the car and sprint around it to find her in a crumpled heap on the dirty asphalt.

  But at least she’s moving. With a soft groan, she pushes herself to a sitting position. Her hand flies to her nose and she tilts her head back, pinching her nostrils.

  Blood seeps past her fingers.

  “Aw, shit,” she mutters, closing her eyes and leaning on her other hand.

  Holy crap.

  Fighting off my sudden panic, I back away and brace myself for the beast’s reaction.

  The taste of blood hangs in the air.

  And the beast rumbles, but does nothing else.

  Amazed, yet grateful for the reprieve from its incessant lust, I slowly ease down beside her, ready to bolt if necessary.

  “Sandy—are you all right?” I reach out, wanting to smooth back her hair, but stop. Despite the beast’s calm, I don’t trust myself.

  The only humans I’ve touched in a long while have been the donors upon whom I’ve fed. And the man I killed earlier tonight.

  “Sandy.”

  “I’m fine,” she says nasally through her pinched nose. “Just clumsy.”

  “Sit here a moment. Don’t try to get up yet.” I rise and reach through the open door to press the trunk button on my keys in the ignition.

  I never go anywhere without a blood cleanup kit.

  Handing her a folded paper towel from the trunk, I hesitate, still unwilling to touch her.

  But the girl needs help, and I’m all she’s got right now.

  She waits a moment, the paper towel pressed against her nose, then gathers herself to stand. I reach down and Sandy grabs my hand. I slowly pull her to her feet and steady her, still baffled over the beast’s lack of reaction to the human nectar mere inches away.

  But my inner musings vanish when she straightens and winces, releasing my hand to cradle her side.

  The side she was holding when she first got into my car.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe we should take you to the hospital to get that looked at.” I gesture to her side.

  “I keep telling you I’m fine!” Her defensive tone makes me think otherwise, but before I can argue further, she smiles. “Sorry. I’ve just been on my own awhile and I’m not used to anyone giving a shit. I’m really okay. Just banged my ribs. Nothing’s broken.”

  She shifts the blood-soaked paper towel to a clean spot, then reaches down for her backpack. Tearing my gaze away from the blood on her face and fingers, I get to the pack first and hold it out to her.

  “Thanks.” She takes it. “And… thank you for everything. I don’t know why… why you’re being so nice to me, but thanks anyway.” Her green eyes bright with unshed tears, she quickly turns away and heads for her room. I wait until she’s inside, then head to my own.

  The acrid stench of old cigarettes rolls out when I enter, underscored by the chemical reek of cleaning solutions and a myriad of human odors, all of which are pretty disgusting. My lip curls in revulsion.

  I’d almost rather sleep in the trunk of my car. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  But this will be the first time in a long while that I’ve slept without Nicolas’s comforting presence somewhere nearby—and without it inside me, coursing through my body as his blood coursed through my veins.

  The black pit in my center yawns, threatening to take me down into it. My eyes ache with bloodtears and I call the hunter, using her to reinforce the stillness before they overflow down my face.

  With a grimace, I take a deep breath of foul motel air, open the window, and turn the ancient fan on high.

  Focus. Just need to focus on surviving, because I can do this.

  I head back out to my car to do an inventory, hoping to find a spare set of clothes.

  No such luck. The paper towels, trash bags, and water are all that remain in my cleanup kit, further evidence of how much things have changed since I settled in Colorado. I make a mental note of missing items, such as a comb and a mirror. And, of course, clothes. And shoes.

  A dismal laugh escapes me. I need a whole friggin’ new wardrobe.

  Damn.

  Shopping is the first priority tomorrow. Hopefully I can get it done and get out of Casper before Nicolas traces me here.

  Because as much as my body yearns to go back to him, my self—what’s left of it—does not. To do so will mean its loss entirely, and I’m not willing to give it up. To give me up. Not now, not ever.

  Slamming the trunk, I open the car door to retrieve my emergency pouch and recoil from the pungent leftovers still sitting on the passenger floorboard.

  That stinky crap’s not staying in my car overnight.

  I lean in, grab the container, and head to Sandy’s door.

  She answers holding a fresh wad of bloodied tissue to her nose.

  Alarm flickers through me, but the beast shows no reaction other than mild interest. My bewilderment quickly shifts to concern.

  “Your nose is still bleeding?”

  A rueful grin brightens her face.

  “Welcome to my world.”

  “What, you falling and hitting your face?”

  She
laughs and takes the leftovers I’m holding out to her.

  “No. Nosebleeds. Doesn’t take much of a bump.”

  “Do they always take this long to stop?”

  “Yeah, they can.”

  And, of course, I had to be the one to pick her up. Me, who feeds only on blood. She couldn’t have found a worse savior.

  “I’m just surprised I didn’t get a bleed when I kicked that trucker’s ass. Or should I say his balls. He was sure running funny at the truck stop.” She giggles and steps back. “Wanna come in?”

  Not a good idea. No telling when the beast is going to wake up.

  “No, I need to get to bed. I tend to sleep in, so you’ll at least have your leftovers if you wake early.”

  “Okay.”

  Turning away to leave, I stop and gaze out at the stars dotting the black sky.

  “I have to do some shopping tomorrow. If you need anything…”

  “Really? That… that would be awesome. I could use a few things.”

  Good. That means she might stick around so I can make sure she’s all right before I hit the road.

  “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  Just before she closes the door, her quiet words drift through the cold night air.

  “Goodnight, Sunny. Sleep tight.”

  A glance at the clock tells me I have about an hour ’til dawn. Not long enough to go for a run, but too long to sit here with my thoughts. I turn on the TV and flip through the channels.

  It’s all crap. I haven’t been able to watch TV since I came into this life. Not only are most of the programs mindless and absurd, but they make me feel even more alien and outside of the world.

  I continue to change channels, using the flashing images as a distraction. Anything to keep from thinking.

  But the dark chasm threatens my sanity yet again, and tears begin to well up in my eyes. I desperately grip the stillness to block the rising anguish, but I’m having trouble holding on to it. Every cell in my body is filled with yearning.

  Yearning for his laughter, his love, his arms, his fangs.