Whiteout (Aurora Sky (16 page)

I sat up and wrapped my fingers around my w
rist. My heart fluttered in panic. At least I hoped it was panic. Anything else would lead to trouble.

I couldn't get enough air in my lungs. Definite panic attack. I'd walked into a vamp cabin without my heart skipping a beat and now here I was having a m
eltdown outside a quiet motel.

“How many rooms is she getting?” I demanded.

“One.”

My eyes expanded.

“Shoestring budget,” Dante said. “Guess we'll have to take turns using the shower, although in your case
,
I'd be willing to share… even help wash those har
d
-
to
-
reach places.” His cheeks lifted as he grinned.

I huffed. “Get it out of your head. It's never happening.”

Dante placed a hand on his abdomen. “Once we get our room, I
'm going to make a run for grub—bring us back takeout.
”

At least he'd switched to thinking about his stomach. He still hadn't grasped that vampires didn't need to eat. But we
could
eat, and I supposed that was good enough for Dante.

I frowned. “I thought you didn't want anyone to recognize you.”

“I'll wear a ba
seball cap and use the drive-through. It'll be nice to eat real food for a change.”

Yeah, because real food came from a drive-through.

“There's Giselle,” Dante said, putting his hand back on the steering wheel as Giselle opened the truck door.

He started
the truck as Giselle closed the door.

“We're around back, bottom floor,” she said.

Dante drove
around
the dark parking lot slowly and turned a corner. There was nothing but mountains and trees as far as the eye could see. Isolation followed us no matter wh
ere we went.

“Number twenty-three,” Giselle said.

Dante parked in front of
the
room. We grabbed our packs and stepped out of the truck, Tommy following us. The golden retriever trotted across the parking lot, peed on a bush, and came right back.

Giselle un
locked room twenty-three and walked in first. Dante held the door and looked at me. “After you.”

As soon as I stepped inside, I felt around the wall for the lights. When I flipped the switch, a lamp illuminated two double beds. They were fitted with standa
rd matching
multicolored
comforters and plain brown headboards. Across from them, a long dresser with a TV on top skirted the wall. Beyond the bedroom I
spotted
a door that led to a bathroom.

Thank the North Star! Elation flooded me so quickly I could have
burst into song. Not “Sugar,” but more like Taylor Swift. Instead of shaking it off, I was going to wash it off. And shave it off. Just because we were living in the backwoods didn't mean I wanted to go around looking like Sasquatch. Which, incidentally,
had nothing to do with kissing Dante.

Giselle set her pack on the bed nearest the door. I glanced from the second bed to Dante.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I'll take the floor.”

Relief flooded me. “Thank you.”

“While you two settle in, I'm going into town for
takeout
.
Any special requests? Pizza? Burgers? Burritos?
”

“That's not a wise idea,” Giselle said.

“Don't worry,” Dante replied, pulling a baseball cap over his head. He gave the bill a tug, covering his eye
s from us. “Now I'm any old Joe
Schmo
in a baseball hat. Just leave me some hot water.”

I didn't wait to argue over who got the shower first. Dante hadn't even cleared the room before I dug out my shampoo, which I had been using as an all-purpose hair, clo
thes, an
d body wash—in addition to shaving cream
.

As soon as I locked myself inside the bathroom, I stripped. My clothes dropped to the linoleum floor in
crumpled
heaps.

I turned
on
the shower faucet, and the glorious sound of water gushed out. I adjusted
the temperature until it was hot but not scalding, then I stepped in.

Oh, merciful Zeus. I moaned.

For the first time in weeks I felt happy.

Hot water streamed down my body.
I tilted my head and let it run down my neck, rinsing the bite wound.
I stood soak
ing in it for several minutes before reaching for the shampoo. I probably needed half the bottle to remove all the sweat and grime my body had endured since the last shower. We'd taken down five vampires.

I needed to wash it off. Swift style.

Once my hair
and body were thoroughly washed, I lathered shampoo over my right leg and got to work shaving. I did the left leg next and rinsed for several minutes before reluctantly turning off the shower.

White steamy mist surrounded me as I stepped out of the tub.

I
grabbed a towel off a metal shelf on the wall beside the shower and patted my body dry before bending over to wrap it around my wet hair. Once I had on my sweatpants and
T
-shirt, I opened the door into the room and stepped out.

Tommy looked up from his sp
ot on the floor at the foot of my bed. How sweet, he was watching guard while Dante ran his errand.

“Hi, Tommy,” I said. “I bet you like sleeping on a carpet better than a hardwood floor—even if it's cheap motel carpeting.”

He thumped his tail against said
carpet.

Giselle stood up from her place by a small round table beside the curtained window.

“Are you done?”
she
asked.

“For now.”

Wordless
ly
, she grabbed her pack off her bed, walked into the bathroom, and shut the door.

I removed the towel from my head
,
preparing for the fun task of combing out my intricate mass of tangles. But first, I turned on the TV.

A weather forecaster came on with a warning about blizzard conditions.

“No kidding, this is Alaska,” I said to the screen.

Great
. Now
I was talking to fu
rniture.

I walked over to the dresser, where I'd set my coat, and fished out Nelson's phone. I finally had a means of communication, but no phone numbers. Even if I wanted to risk contacting Noel, the only way I could think to reach her was to call West Hi
gh School.

I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It read 6:48. School had long since ended. For all I knew it was Sunday. I'd lost track of the days, which was especially amusing since I had a birthday coming up.

No. Scratch that. There were no more birthdays. No turning nineteen. I'd be forever eighteen.

I supposed I ought to be grateful Jared hadn't struck me down when I was a
high school
freshman. That would have truly sucked.

I slipped the phone back into my
c
oat
pocket. I had just enough time to work the tangles out of my hair before Dante returned.

There was a loud knock at the door. Tommy got to his feet and barked.

“It's me,” Dante called from the other side.

I let him in and bolted the door. He carried two
white paper
bags and a large drink to the small round table and set them down.

“Good boy,” Dante said, walking over to Tommy and patting his head. Dante straightened up, looked at me, and smiled. “Feel better?”

I sighed. “I feel like I've died and gone to
heaven.”

He turned to the table and reached into the bag. “It gets better. Big Mac,” Dante said, pulling out a wrapped burger. He set it on the tabletop. “Apple pie. Two large fries.” He pulled several out of the carton and stuffed them in his mouth. “Chi
cken nuggets for my appetizer,” he
continued narrating
, chewing
,
and pulling
more
food out.

The way he talked, it sounded like he was the one who'd died and gone to heaven.

 “Fish sandwich for our benefactor. And finally, a Southwest salad with grilled ch
icken for you.” Dante set a plastic salad plate on the table.

I wrinkled my nose. “You know I don't eat meat.”

“Pick it off. Tommy will eat it,” he said.

I grabbed a carton of
french
fries and plopped down on the chair, eating them first while they were st
ill semi-warm.

Dante sat across from me, stuffing nuggets into his mouth between handfuls of fries.

“Hungry?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Famished,” he replied with his mouth full.

I watched his lips and thought,
Really, Aurora? This is the
mouth you made ou
t
with?

I ate my
french
fries one by one. Dante tried to hand me a packet of ketchup but I shook my head.

Dante polished off his nuggets and fries and tossed the empty cartons into one of the paper bags. He unwrapped his burger next. His mouth opened wide
to take his first bite.

I took the lid off the salad and picked the pieces of chicken off with a fork, shaking them onto the clear plastic lid. When all the pieces were removed, I set the lid on the floor and called Tommy. He jumped to his feet and trotte
d over. As soon as his lips hit the plate, the chicken was scarfed up in seconds. Like owner, like dog.

Dante dragged the large cup across the table, leaned over, and sucked liquid through the straw. He lifted his head and gulped. “Want some?”

“No
,
thanks.
” I picked at my salad, not especially hungry, more like keeping busy.

“Did you save me some hot water?” Dante asked between chews.

“I did, but Giselle's been in there awhile.”

Dante chewed and swallowed. “As long as it's not freezing cold, I'll manage. It
's running water. That's a step up.”

I sniffed. “No kidding.”

“Well, if she doesn't hurry up, she'll be eating a cold fish sandwich,” Dante said.

Cold fish. Fitting. Not that Giselle would eat it either way.

Dante finished off his burger, took several big
gulps of his drink, and polished off the pie.

I'd barely touched my salad.

Dante stood up and stretched. “Best fast food ever.”

That's how I'd felt about the shower. If you ever wanted the best anything, all you had to do was go spend several weeks in
the
wilderness.