He starts the car to reverse out. “It’s not that hard. There are always diners open for shifters these days.”
True. I remember seeing a few when I lived in Spokane before going away for college. There just aren’t many in Comstead, since it’s mostly humans there.
I munch on the onion rings while Jericho drives out of town. With every bite, I become more aware of my surroundings. More alert. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
He eventually turns off the highway, onto a quiet road winding out into the backcountry. After a moment, he slowly pulls the car to the shoulder and kills the engine, dark brows pinching together in a hard line. I’ve seen that look on him several times, especially when he wants to avoid something uncomfortable.
“I’m gonna look around,” he tells me.
When he opens the door, I hear the swelling rush of a nearby creek. It’s too dark for me to see anything, but I wonder if Jericho can.
Cold air swirls around me, and I set the milkshake aside. Reaching for a napkin, I wipe my mouth and watch Jericho. It’s strange to recognize someone so completely, yet feel like you don’t know them at all. He walks along the edge of trees with such graceful strides now, so different from the guy who used to stumble over his feet.
When Jericho stops, he stares into the trees for a long time, then bends to pick up a rock, twirling it around in his fingers. I get the sense that he’s stalling.
Frustrated, I climb out of the van, shoving my hands into my pockets as I approach.
He glances at me, then the van. “I’ll be right there.”
“Yeah, I’m done waiting,” I say, stopping a few feet in front of him. How has it only been a few hours since he walked back into my life? It feels like a lifetime and mere seconds, all at the same time. “Tell me what happened to you and who that asshole in the car was.”
“I already told you what happened.”
“No. You told me you struck a deal with a vamp so you could leave but something happened, and that’s what made him turn you.”
When Jericho doesn’t reply, I step in closer. “Tell me what happened, Jer. Who turned you?”
He lets out a resigned sigh. “The vamp’s name is Alexander Foxx. I saw him the moment I walked intoThe Iris—that’s the club I wentto. He was gorgeous. Blond hair, light eyes, easy laugh. His confidence was intoxicating. It made me want to get to know him, you know?”
I clench my teeth. How could he have anything nice to say about the man who changed his life?
“I didn’t realize how drawn to me he was until it was too late.”
“When you figured out he was a vamp?”
He nods. “He was their leader. I could tell. I honestly can’t remember what clued me in, but there was just something about him. They all… reacted to him.” He turns the rock a few times before continuing. “When I saw a vampire feed from someone, I realized my mistake. I tried to leave, but Foxx said I owed him.” Jericho’s eyes close. “I knew he meant blood, but fuck, Evan. I just couldn’t do it.”
“So you offered sex.”
He looks at me, like he’s trying to gauge how much I can handle, and I hate it. I hate that my trust, my loyalty, is even a question.
I lean in. “Tell me everything.”
“He took me downstairs, and once we were in bed, I—I couldn’t... relax. I wanted the sex, but something about him… I don’t know. I felt like a possession more than a partner. I was so uncomfortable, but I thought of someone else and that made it easier.” He stares out at the water, his voice distant and cold. “Foxx figured out what was happening, and then he lost it.”
I know it’s a detail that shouldn’t matter to me, but I can’t help but wonder who he was thinking about while having sex with Foxx. “What did he do to you?”
He glances at me before twisting the rock again. “He dropped his fangs.”
The fear in his voice makes my heart clench. For Jericho to be caged in a bed with a blood-thirsty vampire and have no way out... It sickens me. The milkshake in my stomach is inclined to agree.
Jericho shifts his weight. After a minute, he chucks the rock into the water with a soft splash.
“Is that when he turned you?”
“Yeah.” He looks away, ashamed. “I don’t remember much about it.”
“Just tell me what you do remember,” I say.
