Authors: J. A. Saare
He surveyed me in turn, starting at my head and working his way down.
"I'm going inside to get a few things,” he drawled in a thick southern twang, curious eyes resting on my face when they finished their trek.
"I'll take her around back to clean out that arm, bring me what I'll need.” Caleb glanced at me, curving his lips in a comforting smile. “Do you want anything?"
"A coke would be great,” I answered softly, clearing my throat.
Derek pursed his lips and nodded, spinning on heel and walking toward the front of the station, whistling as he went.
"It's over here."
Caleb reached behind my shoulder to guide the way, his large palm spanning the entire width of my back. I could feel each individual nerve ending where his hand brushed, bringing the sensitive skin to life. I tried to convince myself I didn't feel anything.
Get a grip
—
Stockholm syndrome? No, thanks.
The door to the bathroom didn't look entreating. The green metal surface was rusted, stenciled with the word ‘restroom’ using thick tar like black paint. Visions of bathroom nastiness raced through my mind—images of scattered garbage and dirty lids.
Caleb took the initiative, grasping the handle and pushing the door open. I stepped inside and exhaled a sigh of relief. Not only was it clean, but the scent of fresh pine cleaner lingered in the space. Caleb motioned to the sink and I stepped over, standing in front of the surprisingly clean white porcelain.
"Let me see.” Caleb slid his hand under my arm.
In the bright light, I could clearly see dried brown blood around the edges forming a seal. The material had desiccated, making it hard, stiff, and difficult to remove.
He untied the knot, slowly pulling the cloth free and stopping. The wound adhered to the makeshift bandage as the blood dried, attaching the two together.
"Shit,” Caleb mumbled.
He reached into his back pocket and produced a knife. My eyes widened as he maneuvered the blade, stainless steel pieces fluttering like a butterfly in his lithe fingers, altering from a harmless length of metal into a weapon.
"What are you planning to do with that?” I croaked.
"Relax,” he chuckled, lifting my arm.
He pushed the blade between the side of my arm and the fabric, careful not to pierce the skin as the cool metal slid across, cautiously moving back and forth. The blade cut into the cloth, catching in places but eventually slicing it in two.
He closed the knife, clacking the pieces together before slipping it into his pocket.
All that remained was the strip attached to my torn skin.
"There is no way around it, this is going to hurt,” he warned, peering up and meeting my eyes. The glow from the florescent light framed his irises, creating a white glowing circle in the center of pools of vivid blue.
A knock sounded at the door and I glanced away, feeling my cheeks flush.
"Medical supplies and a coke for the lady,” Derek announced, pushing open the door and stepping inside. He tossed several packaged bandages into the sink, as well as two large bottles of water. He chose to be conservative with the carbonated beverage that would explode given the same treatment, placing the icy plastic bottle of Coca-Cola on the sink.
"I'm going to start the Chevy and give Sam a call,” Derek informed Caleb, leaning over to take a closer look. “Oh man, that's going to hurt.” He winced playfully and winked at me before walking to the door and vanishing into the blinding sunshine.
"Are you ready?” Caleb asked, opening the bottle of water and placing my bandaged arm over the sink.
I took a deep breath and nodded, watching as he poured the clear liquid over the wound. The water dissolved the seal formed by the bonded cloth and skin, rending it soft and pliable in a matter of minutes. It was better than I'd expected, there was no pain or discomfort.
This isn't so bad.
He poured until the first bottle was emptied and then tossed it into the metal trashcan.
"Close your eyes and take a deep breath,” he instructed.
I frowned but did as he asked.
He placed one hand under the injured arm, the other grasping the tattered bandage, and started counting, “One....Two...” and quickly pulled the last of the bonded cloth away.
I pressed my teeth together and groaned, body tensing as a swarm of tears flooded my vision.
It was that bad.
I watched as fresh blood began to flow from the frayed wound. Crimson drops dripped into the sink, a vivid dissimilarity against the gleaming white porcelain. I focused on that and the way the red swirled and turned pink.
Caleb opened the second bottle, pouring the remaining water over my skin. It ran down the side of the sink and into the drain, merging with the blood, taking a part of me with it.
"Almost done,” he said.
He ripped apart the packages, choosing a large square bandage and placing it carefully over the laceration. I held my breath and bit my lower lip as it started to pulsate. My free hand wiped away the tears forming in the corner of my eyes. Caleb studied his handiwork, testing the edges before stepping away.
"It's not as bad as I thought, but it's going to leave a scar."
"As long as I keep the arm, I won't complain."
I patted the clean bandage and stood straight, sniffing away the moisture in my nose and clearing my throat.
I recalled the distinctive buzzing sound that whizzed by my ear. Judging by the arm, I was pretty sure I'd been shot. This was not the way I'd thought I'd spend my Saturday morning—dodging bullets.
I grabbed the plastic bottle of soda, removing the lid and taking a heaping swallow. The welcoming taste of cold carbonation was wonderful against my parched throat, and I sighed contentedly.
Thank heaven for small pleasures.
Caleb tossed the empty bottle and bandages into the aluminum trashcan before walking to the door. He held it ajar and I stepped around him, the sun momentarily blinding me. Derek stood next to the enormous silver Chevy, peering up as we approached. He snapped the phone shut and shifted his body away from the hood.
"Sam said it's got to be the Pit. The bastards are everywhere. I guess we should bypass the safe house. It's probably not so ‘safe’ anymore."
"And Luca,” Caleb asked, his voice revealing a hint of unease, “Is there any word from him?"
Derek ran a large hand over his bald head, rubbing the surface erratically—as if he were trying to remove something—before flinging his arm to the side. “Sam said he's decided to move. If Tristan keeps this up, he's going to draw attention at some point."
"Anyone care to fill me in here?"
I tried to make sense of their conversation but couldn't follow. Sam was their boss. I'd gotten that earlier.
"Tristan is the one that sent those parasites after you. And he's making more, an army of them, even now.” Derek shook his head in annoyance. “Eventually people will notice. It was bad enough he sent half a dozen to find you."
"But—” I didn't get to finish my sentence.
"We can talk about it as we drive,” Caleb said quickly, nestling his hand into the small of my back once more, guiding me to the silver Chevy.
He opened the door, waiting patiently as I climbed inside before following closely behind. Even with the benefit of dark tinted windows the black leather was hot against my skin, and I scurried to the shaded side.
I pulled the safety belt across my lap and notched the latch into place. Each trip in a car was a constant and painful reminder of my Mom, and sadly, a warning of the danger of traveling unrestrained.
Derek sauntered over and slid into the driver's seat. I heard the scrape of keys over metal and plastic as he found the ignition. He turned them over and the engine roared to life.
"To the Pit,” Derek asked, waiting.
The engine revved and he and Caleb made eye contact through the rearview mirror.
"To the Pit.” Caleb nodded and looked away, staring outside the window.
We backed out of the station and I glanced at the van we were leaving behind. The spray painted black exterior looked dull in the sun, matching the worn and grimy walls of the building beside it. Another twenty-four hours and it would blend in perfectly under a blanket of brown dirt.
Derek drove onto the road and hammered the gas. My head plopped back against the head rest as I settled in. Sitting in a padded seat was so much more appealing than a hard carpeted floor.
"Are you ready for that talk?” Caleb asked, turning his body and folding his leg onto the seat, bracing his elbow across the back of the headrest.
I opened my Cola and took another drink before I nodded. Here was the moment I had been waiting for—ready or not.
"Your Father's name is Luca DeViard, and our boss Sam, has done work for him in the past. We were informed a long time ago that he wanted a plan in place to retrieve you, so Sam prepared everything.” He paused, gauging my reaction. When I didn't speak, he continued, “Luca wanted to wait. There was no reason to ever make you aware of us or our world. You see, technically, vampires only keep two or three blood relatives a time in each family. This is done to keep their numbers down and to ensure the continuation of a living bloodline."
"A living bloodline,” I murmured quizzically.
"But,” Caleb continued as if I'd never spoken, “Your Father's plan changed when Tristan got word of your existence. Vampires are notoriously protective of the existing names of living blood relatives, Emma. Without them, there is nowhere to turn to keep the family line intact."
"So, he sent you....to what?” My eyes darted from him to Derek, who alternated between watching me and the road.
"To bring you home and get you out of town before Tristan's people arrived. We knew he would send someone—counted on it, actually. But we hoped he didn't have time to amass any half bloods."
Caleb's eyes watched me attentively, deep blue irises skimming across my face.
"So my Father, he's a...” I couldn't make myself say the word. Vampire sounded insane and surreal, even in my head.
"Yes. One of the most influential and powerful,” Caleb answered. “He'll be able to explain everything to you, but right now, we have to get you someplace safe."
My mind rebelled against the information, and I knew if I hadn't seen the angry mob chasing us out of town, I wouldn't buy a word of it. I felt as if I had tumbled into a nightmare I couldn't rouse myself from.
No matter how loud I screamed.
"And this person, this Tristan, what exactly does he want?” It couldn't be good, not if he was accountable for what happened in town.
"Tristan, like many other common vampires, desires what they will never have,” Caleb explained. “He's power hungry, malicious, and ultimately furious that the hierarchy doesn't acknowledge those turned who don't have some blood legacy to their families. He has tried every way he knows to infiltrate the royal houses, and when that didn't work, he went in search of the names of living relatives."
"Like me,” I said softly.
A living relative out of a house of vampires, how was that even possible?
You just entered the Twilight Zone, Emma.
"Like you.” Caleb nodded.
"What happens now?"
He looked at me, lowering his head and gazing at my face through dark lashes. “We're going to keep you safe until we can bring you to your Father."
"And then?"
I was not becoming one of those things, absolutely not.
"I don't know,” Caleb answered softly.
"I won't be one of those things.” I said it more for my benefit than theirs.
There was no way in hell.
We lapsed into an extended silence. Caleb's head fell against the headrest and he stretched his body out, closing his eyes and relaxing. I studied him for several minutes as I processed everything.
My Father was alive, well, in manner of speaking. He was a vampire named Luca DeViard—not at all what I envisioned in my childhood daydreams.
We traveled exclusively on back roads, only venturing onto the major highways when necessary. I knew when we left Minnesota, having seen the green road marker we passed. It was the first time I left the state in my life, and I had further still to travel.
When I asked the necessary questions—like where we were going, and how long it would be until I met with the man that had sent for me—Caleb explained they wanted to take me to the one place they could keep me safest.
Tennessee.
I had heard stories of the south—jokes about corn cob pipes, overalls, moonshine, and hound dogs.
"Tennessee?” I asked doubtfully when he broke the news, staring at him with a mixture of distrust and wariness.
"It's our home,” he answered simply, reclining back again and closing his eyes, ending any further discussion.
After several hours and state signs both announcing and forgiving our departure, Derek decided to make a detour into McDonald's. I ordered meagerly, choosing a cheeseburger kids meal, but they must have been starving. Caleb and Derek each ordered double quarter pounder meals, as well as an additional burger on the side.
"Hold the onions,” Caleb told Derek as we ordered, sitting upright.
"You're such a pansy,” Derek snarked, shaking his head.
Derek drove around and dug out his wallet, handing the necessary cash to the drive-thru attendant while taking the food and fountain drinks in exchange. The smell of grease permeated the interior of the Chevy, causing my stomach to rumble, and I flushed red in embarrassment.
"I guess we weren't the only ones needing a fill up,” Derek joked, smiling at me through the mirror and easing off the brake.
He drove around the back, parking the suburban lengthwise against the parking spaces. The gears shifted as he threw it into park, leaving the engine running. He reached into the passenger seat, sorting through the bags and separating the food. He handed two bags to Caleb as well as his drink, turning around in his seat to hand me mine.
I opened the little red box containing my food like a delicate present. The decorated parchment paper holding my fries was crisp, meaning they were still hot and steamy. I put one in my mouth and the salty goodness melted on my tongue. I washed it down with my Coke, easing the hot sting.