Fated, A Timeless Series Novella (A Timeless Series Companion Novel) (3 page)

A sudden thought hit me, and my heart skipped a beat. Oh no! What if they’d
followed
me? Had they tracked the way to the cemetery? Worse, had they overheard what had been said?

A fresh wave of panic set in, and I clambered to the bike. I had to get away and catch up with Gene and Alexis. It took forever to find my grip—the chassis was so slick with mud. Eventually I hauled the machine upright again, and tried to mount.

Immediately I fell off; I couldn’t keep my balance. My leg was in really bad shape. It was burning from hip to toe, as if I’d dunked it into acid. But I didn’t have time to sit and wait for it to heal. If the Tresez knew about Cheyenne, then everything was already lost. They’d sniff her out and kill her, just like all the other Timeless children they’d murdered since they’d been cursed to serve Marcus.

Like hell I’d let that happen!

Somehow, I managed to grab my phone and Gene’s card from my pocket. It was tough trying to dial the number and hold the card with only one hand, but after making several mistakes, I got the right sequence and pressed
call
.

It didn’t connect—there was some problem with the network signal. With some difficulty I tried texting instead, but the message didn’t send, either. Water was starting to run down the screen, so I shoved the phone back into my jacket before it would become waterlogged. Damn it, I needed to warn them!

My leg flared with pain again, and I winced. Blood coated my torn pants leg and the skin was smeared with grit and stones. The cut itself seemed superficial, yet it
was hurting much more than it should have. I was sure I hadn’t broken anything, but when I tried to stand, I couldn’t bear weight through my leg at all. This wasn’t right.

Unless…

Clenching my teeth, I ripped open the tear in my pants and raked my finger through the slash.
White-hot
pain blazed through my thigh, and I didn’t hold back my scream. But it confirmed my fears. Pain or no pain, I needed to clean the wound.

Blinking back tears, I started to pick out the loose threads and stones. I’d done this so many times to my friends who’d
been attacked by Tresez
; it was surreal having to do it to myself. My stomach churned, rocked with pain, and I felt saliva pool in my mouth. I had to spit several times, close to throwing up.

Yet as much as I checked through the cut, I couldn’t see any fragment of Tresez nail. Those were a death sentence, able to kill a human in minutes, and even a Timeless wouldn’t survive if they were left in for long enough.

Eventually I had to stop; the bleeding had started again, and the dizziness was setting in. With a trembling hand I pressed my sleeve to the wound. I wished I had better light. It was bad enough with all the blood blocking my view. I’d have to make a more thorough check later. Even without the poisoned nails, Tresez wounds were a nightmare, taking much longer to heal than ordinary injuries. It would be hours before I’d be able to walk without a limp.

Lightning sparked again, and I caught sight of my soiled watch. My eyes widened. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been stranded here. Precious minutes were all that stood between life and death for Cheyenne, and the longer I delayed, the more chance the Tresez would find her before I did. The beasts moved quickly, able to communicate with each other over vast distances, and I was sure the one I’d killed hadn’t been alone. If they’d spotted Gene and Alexis and had begun following them…

I stumbled to the motorcycle, not caring for the surge of fresh blood that dripped down my leg. It was going to be a rough ride, but I had no time to lose. I needed to get to Gene and Alexis as soon as possible.

It took much longer than I liked to get my leg over the bike seat, though at least I didn’t fall off this time. I felt my collarbone twinge as I reached for the handles, and I had to pause to fight down the sickness again. You idiot, Callon, why hadn’t you realized the Tresez was out there? Now someone else’s life was at stake, and it would be my fault for not stopping the tragedy.

Just like with Dad.

Growling, I cut the thought short. While I sat here moping, I was losing time I didn’t have. I couldn’t
fail, not after I’d promised to
protect her.

Just hold on, Cheyenne!

I thrust my heel down on the kick-starter, and groaned as my leg seized with cramp. The engine spluttered, and I cursed. No, I wasn’t going to be beaten by this piece of scrap metal!

Gritting my teeth, I kicked down again, my mind reeling from the pain. Thankfully, the motorcycle seemed to get the hint. Quickly I revved it up—if it died again I knew it would never start. The rattle of the pistons were like needles into my leg, and I had to take a moment to brace myself. A good day’s rest would’ve solved everything, but I didn’t have that luxury.

Steeling my mind, I steered back onto the road, then put my foot down.

I was struggling to keep my eyes open as I came to the highway. Keeping the bike in a straight line whilst not going insane from the pain in my leg had been quite a challenge, but now my fatigue was catching up. I still had six hours before I’d get to Sagle, maybe longer if the weather changed again. And on top of that, I didn’t seem any better than when I’d left the dead Tresez. The wound in my leg had stopped bleeding, though it didn’t appear to have started healing. The bites on my arm, too, hadn’t improved much, either.

Odd.

A sharp pric
kle across my collarbone made me
jerk my head up. That was another thing—why was I so drowsy? I knew some Timeless, like Daniel, still needed six to eight hours’ sleep, however I’d been going fine with an hour or two since I’d transformed. What was wrong with me? Was I really that worried for Cheyenne?

The highway rolled past, and I crouched lower, hoping to ride faster. The late afternoon sunlight weaved in and out of the brooding clouds, drifting past almost hypnotically. I tensed my bad arm, the pain forcing me awake. I couldn’t stop or sleep; I’d lose too much time.

Something shimmered up ahead. A large puddle had swamped a dip in the road. It would be too deep to drive through. Swiftly I changed lanes, concentrating to avoid it. However, the road was more slippery than I realized, and my tires screeched. I snatched at the
handlebars
, trying to steer out of the skid, but the pressure on my leg was too much, and I couldn’t hold it.

The bike shot out from under me and I crashed into the ground, rolling over and over. My back hit something solid, and I groaned, coughing and spluttering. I’d fallen into a ditch. The bike had done a one-eighty degree turn and was a few feet away. Its headlight faced me, the front wheel still spinning as the engine grumbled.

Rain pattered against my helmet, and I blinked, hard. Cautiously I raised my good arm and checked my neck. It didn’t hurt, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Next I tested my arm movements, which didn’t seem any worse than before. Lucky.

I pushed myself onto my hands and attempted to get up, only to shriek with pain. I couldn’t move my leg. I stared at it, wide-eyed. My femur was jutting out at an angle, the shaft visible through the tear in the skin.

I’d broken it.

Dazed, exhausted, and numb with pain, I almost gave in and collapsed. This would take half an hour to an hour to heal, and I’d be in no state to drive anywhere. My other injuries still weren’t improving, either, making me worry that it might take even longer. I needed to take a good look at my leg again.

Thanks to the motorcycle headlight and lightening rain, I was able to see the weeping gash much more clearly. It looked horrible, its edges crusted with blood and grit, and it hadn’t even started to close up yet. But it had been two hours. What the hell?

The answer came almost instantly. Only one thing would slow down the healing process in a Timeless. And it had to still be sitting in my leg.

Biting my lip, I grasped the edge of my thigh and crunched the bone back into
place
. I hollered, not caring who was listening. I knew what I had to do, and it was going to hurt more than anything, but if I didn’t find that Tresez nail, I’d never get to Sagle.

Never get to Cheyenne.

I poked my index finger into the wound and felt along the broken flesh. Fresh blood surged out, and I squeezed the cut. I needed to get as much of the toxin out of my system as possible. My bad arm was clumsy, unable to keep steady, but I didn’t give up. I wasn’t going to move from this spot until I’d removed the nail.

At last, I found it. A tiny, curved piece of black that could easily have been mistaken for a stone. As I plucked it free, the relief was instant. The burning vanished, and I felt the skin start to mend. However, I didn’t stop, checking the wound again and again, making sure not even a single piece was left behind.

Once I was satisfied, I wiped my hands on the grass and staggered to my feet. Yes, I could put weight through my leg now, and I didn’t feel so sickly anymore. Still, I knew these injuries would take hours to fully resolve. But at least I’d get to Sagle.

Snapping the helmet visor shut again, I hobbled to the fallen bike and adjusted the gears. The engine ceased whining, and I set the vehicle upright again. The damage was mostly cosmetic, but I knew Colt was going to kill me. The front plate was dented, the paint scratched off, and there was a nasty tear on the leather seat.

Sighing, I wheeled it back to the road, then jumped up and kick-started it again. I’d wasted enough time already.

I could only pray I wasn’t too late.

The streets of Sagle were quiet by the time I got off the highway. It was late evening, and I clenched my teeth. Despite removing the Tresez nail, my arm and leg continued to throb, and driving was becoming more and more challenging. And even though I’d made good time, I couldn’t congratulate myself yet. I had to find a way to contact the Wilsons.

I flipped open the visor of m
y helmet, pulling into the cent
e
r
of town. There had to be a phone booth somewhere. I’d tried my phone again, but the battery had died, and now I was so close to Cheyenne, I didn’t want the signal to be tracked. Calling from a local line would be the safest option, for both of us.

At last I found a booth in front of a closed department store. A few people were still hanging around, and they shot me questioning looks as I took off my helmet and limped towards the paneled doors. I ignored them, hoping the dim light would hide the worst of my wounds. Most of my cuts had stopped bleeding, but I looked a total mess, and I didn’t want to deal with curious onlookers.

Fumbling with the door, I sank against the rear panel, catching my breath. Guess I’d not taken the nail out quick enough—I was still feeling the side effects. I fished out Gene’s card again and some loose change. Soon I had the receiver tucked under my ear, and I pressed in the coins. A quick dial later, and the other end was ringing. I counted eight bells until someone answered.

“Hello?”

I froze. It was a girl’s voice. One I could’ve sworn I heard before.

“S…” I stopped myself before I spoke the name aloud. It couldn’t be. She’d been dead for years!

“Um, hello?” the girl repeated. “Is anyone there?”

I cleared my throat, shaking off my errant thoughts.

“Uh, yes, hi,” I said, trying to sound calm, though inside my mind was racing. Her
soft-spoken
tone, it was just like Sahara’s! “Is this Alexis Wilson?” I knew it couldn’t be, but it made a convenient explanation for my hesitation.