Dead Shifter Walking (21 page)

I started to talk, stammering, but he silenced
my words with a forceful kiss. Yelping, I tried to return it, but
he had me up in his arms too quickly.

I held on, as the guards outside opened the
door, hiding my head in his neck. “Did I do something wrong?” I
whispered, terrified.

“No, baby girl. You’re doing perfectly,” he
murmured against me, holding me tightly. I counted his steps and
each turn, committing them to memory. I was grateful when his door
finally opened. Gently, he set me down, and I took a look around,
gingerly testing the strength of my legs.

The bed loomed huge and threatening, but I
swallowed my bile, turning to smile at him instead. He liked the
smiles when my shoulders weren’t tense and hunched. He reached a
hand out, asking, “Are you ready?” His readiness was already
evident from the bulge in his pants.

Slowly, I nodded, taking his hand, being sure to
keep my facial expression pleasant as my insides screamed to make
this horror stop.

The screaming grew louder, and I placed the
voice as Mal, followed by Tate and Morgan, bellowing in anguish.
The prick of a needle in my arm had me jerking involuntarily as the
steaming heat seared through my veins, pulling me into instant
alertness and counteracting the first drug they had slipped me.

Mal was in front of me as my shields slammed
back into place, panting, tears streaming down her face. With one
snap of my arm, I elbowed her skull, leaving a softball-size
impression. Turning, I located Morgan. Flinging the ornate desk to
the side, I stalked toward his frame, pulling out twin blades as he
leaned against the wall, his vision returning as I felt the warm
blood spill from the gut wound I inflicted, followed by his insides
falling out.

Snarling, I felt the monster Selena had created
trying to make its presence known and I forced it back, I couldn’t
lose that much control right now. I wanted to kill everything in
this room; I knew better now. But a lesson? Why yes, a lesson was
certainly in order.

Tate righted himself, holding a hand out,
attempting to use words to stop me, yelling for me to calm down, be
reasonable, and listen. I stabbed him terribly close to his hearts,
watching with pleasure as he looked down at the wound, no doubt
seeing his own fragile mortality dangled in front of him.

Letting his body weight pull the knife out, I
stood above him disgusted. I wanted to say something poetic and
threating, leave him with words that would resonate for decades
after I stopped showing up on his doorstep. But I had nothing, only
the raw open wound the drugs had forced on me and the pain of
reliving memories of a person I hated.

I walked out, noting almost happily that Blake
was unconscious.

At least he hadn’t betrayed me as well, yet.

Chapter 15

In the dilapidated hotel room, I pulled the cap
off my second bottle of vodka. My bags littered the filthy floor.
Thanks to Jerry’s donation, I was up to two. Bracing my forearms on
my knees, I stared thoughtfully at the dingy floor, taking another
swig, willing the burn to dull the ache inside of me.

The memories just wouldn’t stop, so I drank
more.

I could still see his face when I let my mind
wander. I could still feel his hands.

The empty bottle dropped from my fingers as my
body shut down, refusing to take in any more toxins. This blackness
was different; it was a welcome reprieve from the hellish
nightmares I had endured.

…

Slowly, the dryness in my throat itched at my
awareness, a reminder of the terrible treatment I had put my body
through—I looked at my watch—two days had passed. Groaning, I sat
up in the chair, my back popping as feeling returned painfully to
my legs.

Sitting there staring down at the brown stained
carpet, I mulled over the events that led to me a cell phone I had
disabled and two bags that made up my entire fucking pathetic
life.

Swallowing down my bile, I stumbled into the
shower, making quick work of getting ready. Wiping off the cracked
mirror, I half expected to see that same thirteen-year-old girl who
ruled my nightmares not the twenty-two-year-old survivor.

Pressing my forehead against the glass, I
fortified my walls, pulling the braided cords of pain down deep,
leaving it with all the rest.

Picking up the hotel phone, I called a familiar
number. “George,” a gruff voiced answered angrily.

“It’s time for a two by two with a ride for
four,” I whispered, giving him the address as the line went
dead.

Gathering my bags by the door, I kept an eye out
the window with its thin peach-colored curtains.

Thirty minutes later, a blue sedan pulled up in
front without the scantily clad, drug-using prostitutes it usually
carried. Tossing my bags in the back, I slipped into the passenger
seat next to George. “I fucking hate when you call,” he growled, a
cigarette dangling from his crusty lips as he hunched over the
steering wheel, staring into the night.

Leaning against the seat, inhaling cheap perfume
and expensive cigarette smoke, I reminded him, “You could have sent
someone else.”

He huffed, pulling a dangerous move as he merged
with traffic while giving me a disbelieving glance. “And have ya
caused more problems in my establishment?”

“Be grateful you are human as are your
employees, George,” I reminded him, silently adding that if he
weren’t, I’d have his balls already. As it was, the most I did was
demand free, anonymous transportation in exchange for taking care
of the occasional supernatural problem he might encounter.

George cast a nervous glance my way, and I
didn’t care if it was because of the silver knives strapped to my
legs or the dual swords secured to my back, I wanted him on
edge.

Pulling into the back alley of the house where I
had met Darren and Hannah, I stepped out, leaning down to make eye
contact. “Take my bags to the manor, speak to no one,” I demanded,
slamming the car door. Probably shouldn’t have slammed it, I chided
myself.

Silently scaling over the wrought iron fence, I
dropped, my combat boots hitting the ground softly. Crouching, I
listened for sounds of approaching guards I assumed Logan had
posted. Nothing.

Keeping low to the ground, I slipped between the
perfectly trimmed foliage arriving at a tall, wide tree. The limbs
were not low enough to climb, nor was it close enough to the house.
Slipping into the open yard again, I wove farther, stopping behind
a large rose bush to listen again. Shifters would smell me
instantly, still nothing.

I sighed; perhaps I truly was paranoid with my
electric fence and constant guards at the manor. Maybe, but as my
nightmares reminded me, better safe than sorry.

Close enough to the house to be worried about
the light shining out, I finally found a tree worth climbing.
Clawing my way up so that I could see the second story, I was
rewarded with a perfect view of Logan’s back, on the phone at a
black modern desk, kicking his feet up. I watched through the
Victorian square window that had clearly missed the memo that this
house was modern.

Lying my stomach down on the branch, I was
waiting here till I saw the target I wanted. In the waiting, I was
more than willing to watch Logan in secret as he stretched,
standing up from his chair. He was a beautiful specimen of shifter:
wide shoulders, tapered waist, and a perfect air of menace. I
sighed, thinking about Blake. Had I made a mistake with him?

At the time, it certainly hadn’t felt like one
and I knew I would need to see him to either believe or disbelieve
his claim that he had nothing to do with my sedation or knew what
was going on. I had long ago gotten use to the idea that I could be
used and tricked in sex. My body and soul craved the physical
connection as a means to stock my energy reserves.

A relationship, that was what Blake wanted, and,
foolishly, I entertained the thought. Perhaps I should just swear
off vampires as a whole. They certainly hadn’t brought me anything
worth my time or energy lately.

Adjusting on my branch, I sighed when Logan shut
the lights off and called it a night.

Chapter 16

It took three days of living in Logan’s backyard
till I finally saw my prey. Three days of pushing my muscles
through hours of misery, maintaining a still position, and
surviving off military-grade rations. Finally, Steven, in all his
cocky, irritating, hate-inducing glory, walked in. The dead place
inside me thumped triumphantly.

Logan kept him across the desk with arms
crossed, and, while I couldn’t read his lips, I was an expert in
body language, which screamed that Logan was upset. I wondered idly
what else the fucker had done since attempting to kill me.

It didn’t matter. I needed to kill and I didn’t
have the time or patience to hunt anyone or anything else. My stiff
muscles protested at being used as I slipped off the branch and
dashed to the front of the house, staying low in the bushes,
waiting for any nosey neighbors. The drapes all stayed in place and
no one was about as I crept to the front of what could only be
Steven’s car. The color gave it away, the brightest, loudest orange
I had ever seen, shockingly worse than Tate’s car.

Settling my backpack in front of me, I pulled
out the small tracker, slipping it into a secure location behind
the license plate before darting back behind the bushes. Sighing, I
stared down at my still disassembled phone, knowing I would have to
put it back together in order to track Steven. I was dreading it,
since I was certain my violent and bloody exit from the vampires'
house had not gone over well. Shifting to sit on the cold wet
ground, I put the battery back in before I decided to just kill
Steven here and have the shifter nation also pissed off at me.

Sometimes I wondered how I had remained the
primary executioner for this long; I don’t do politics.

Exhaling, I snapped the cover on the back of the
phone, powering it up, angry with myself for wondering if Blake had
tried to call or text me. Foolish hope.

Then a truly terrifying thought seeped into me.
What if no one called, no one texted, no one gave a fuck that I
went off the grid for almost a week? That thought had my stomach
dropping to the ground, and I almost missed activating the tracker
on my end as Steven took off.

Did it matter if people missed me, if I were a
large enough part of their life to matter? When had they become
such a large part of mine?

I was going to have to put my current identity
crisis on hold. I needed a ride. According to my phone, the manor
was 3.7 miles away; I could jog it as fast as they could reach
me.

At the manor, I punched in the code to the
garage and stretched my side, waiting for enough space to slip in.
I wasn’t expecting Kass to be standing there, looking dumbfounded
at me.

“Hey,” I said, pulling keys for the SUV. I had
learned my lesson with small cars.

“Olivia,” Kass said as I unlocked the SUV,
“where have you been?”

“Away,” I answered with a half shrug, tossing my
backpack in the passenger seat.

“Olivia,” Kass repeated.

“What Kass?” I asked, facing her, arms throw
out, anger shortening my temper.

Her own temper hit me with force and I narrowed
my eyes at her. “Control,” I hissed, letting my own temper slip
slightly.

Tilting her chin up, she swallowed, uncrossing
her arms. “You are needed,” she said with emphasis on each
word.

“I’m hunting,” I said, slipping into the
car.

“Olivia, we have a sit-in that needs your
attention,” she said, casting a look behind the open garage
door.

“A what?” I asked, rolling down the
passenger-side window.

“A sit-in,” she repeated tensely.

“What the fuck is that?” I repeated as Grams
came to the driver's side door, opening it.

“It is where four vampires will not leave our
living room until they speak to you,” Grams hissed, leveling me
with an equally intense look.

Sighing, I leaned my head against the headrest,
closing my eyes. “I really would prefer to kill them,” I muttered.
“Well, at least three of them,” I amended.

“That almost feels like progress,” Kass said,
wryly.

Glaring at her, I clarified, “It’s not.”
Reluctantly, I got out of the car. “Where are the fuckers?” I
asked. “They have fucking awful timing.”

The vamps were in the living room. Blake was
playing video games with Tommy. The others we sitting like stylish
manikins on the sofa.

“What?” I growled, entering the room as all eyes
turned to look at me, still decked out in killing silver and
swords. I was right; I did want to kill three of the vampires:
Tate, Morgan, and Mal. Blake, I was on the fence about.

“Tommy, you should probably leave,” Kass said,
turning the TV off.

“Oh, come on, Kass; I never get to see Olivia
kick vampire asses,” Tommy whined, following her out.

I waited for them to speak, although I only
cared what Blake had to say.

He smiled at me, and I remembered he could still
feel me. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, smiling.

I faked a glare at his widening smile.

Turning my attention to the two master vampires,
I intently glared holes into their undead skulls. They shifted
uncomfortably, probably with the memory of how close I came to
killing them. At least, I hoped that was why.

Mal spoke first. “We didn’t know and we were
trying to figure out what the bond would be between you and
Blake.”

I nodded and said, “Get out,” before turning to
Blake, raising an eyebrow.

“Olivia, we came to work this out,” Tate
said.

“Really, Tate? I don’t see any chocolates or
flowers, nor do I hear a fucking apology out of any of your
mouths,” I said, scorching them.

Tate shifted uncomfortably. “You did almost kill
me.”