A sob barrels through my raw, burning throat. Crippled by another wave of shock, my knees finally give out. She strokes my back softly, carefully prying the gun out of my hands. She hands it to her accomplice, who slings a jacket over his shoulders and tucks it in the waistband of his jeans. A groan emits from the wooden telephone pole, sparks flickering along the wires.
The woman helps me up. Tells me her name. Maurleen. Her partner, Wyatt, approaches slowly. From his front pocket, he retrieves a small lighter, pressing it into my hand.
"This is only the beginning, Vessa. The blood that runs through you—the smell—these two were consumed by it."
“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” I choke out.
Maurleen addresses me with kind eyes. “I know you must be devastated and that this is all so impossible to accept. It’s gonna take time. And I know that’s the last thing you wanna hear right now. I promise that we can protect your family. But there must be no trace of you. Your scent must end here. Your life must end here. I'm afraid it's the only way."
Do I truly have it in me to fake my own disappearance? Can I live with the fear of knowing these creatures will find my family again if I remain here? When the hell did everything spin out of control?
Be brave, little star,I hear the voice of my mother whisper in the confines of my mind.
My eyes narrow at Wyatt. “What is it you two think you have on me?”
Maurleen tries to smother a grin. “I’ve got about fifteen years’ worth of explaining to do. But we don’t have that kind of time, honey. That pole’s about to snap.”
Fifteen years?
With shaking hands, I walk up to the van. Across the street, erratic electric currents sing overhead. Anger sizzles in my veins as I look upon the faces of the two dead strangers. The woman’s hands are deformed; hideous long fingers curl with black claws. Claws that look as if they’ve been dipped in a can of bright red paint. Blood. A vastly different shade of crimson than what leaks from gunshot holes in her chest. That is my mother’s blood on her hands.
I bite down hard on my lip. Flicking the lever, I summon a small flame, lowering it to the woman’s matted hair. At the first scent of the godsawful singe, I toss the lighter inside.
Wyatt ducks down, jamming the accelerator with a rock. The engine hums, sending the van flying in the direction of mom's car. This time, I bear witness to the wreckage. The pole topples over, sending sparks in every direction along the wet pavement.
“We can’t stay any longer,” Maurleen says, watching me dab my tears. She offers her hand. Do I have no other choice but to blindly trust her?
Flames implode inside of the van, engulfing the scene. In a matter of seconds, electricity and fire mingle, forming a blaze of havoc that invades the surrounding fields. If I don’t make a decision right now, I too will perish. I have to let Mom go.
Steeling myself, I slip my fingers into Maurleen’s, taking my first steps into the shadows.
Chapter 2
VESSA
My life, my future, everything I prepared for . . . gone. Reduced to nothing.
Wyatt drives through the night and the next morning, tearing across the plains. By sunset, the three of us shack up in a two-bedroom cottage tucked away in the quaint mountains of Jasper Ridge, nestled along the easternmost border to the Heartlands. Not a single neighbor for miles.
For three days, all I do is sob until my eyes swell shut. The fourth, I sleep straight through. When I’m roused on the fifth day, Maurleen sits me down in the cramped bathroom to bathe in lavender oil and apply a deep auburn gloss to my hair.
“It’s imperative that neither your scent nor your appearance is recognized for the time being. We'll be sure to keep plenty of lavender in supply."
“Whose house is this?” I sniffle with a cringe. The tip of my nose is raw and throbbing.
“A friend’s.”
I scrunch my brows. “Yours or the dog’s? How am I supposed to trust you if you’re always so annoyingly cryptic?”
Maurleen chuckles at my insult. “You’ll get answers, honey, I promise. But for right now, I have to give them in small doses.”
“Fuck that,” I bite back, securing the towel under my armpit. With one hand on the door, I throw it open. “Where’s Wyatt?”
Whirling around, she yanks the doorknob towards us, hard enough to rattle the frame. “You won’t get anything out of him, Vessa. Mates are loyal.”
Of course I won’t. She’s got that scruffy werewolf wrapped around her finger. “What do you mean,mates?”
“It means we are soul-bonded,” she elaborates. Maurleen retrieves a hairbrush from the drawer and directs me to sit back down on the toilet lid. For the first time in days, I feel something other than devastation. And so, I oblige her.
