Hunger Chronicles (Book 1): Life Bites (10 page)

“Arm doesn’t seem any worse for the wear.” He nods down at the arm that I’d just used to block his kick.

“All better.” Had been within minutes of feeding. I still can’t believe it broke. Normally I’m not so brittle, far from it, but I guess I was worse off than even I realized at the time.

He begins to pick up speed, no longer testing. I meet him hit for hit but as much as I might want to prove I could take him if I wanted, I don’t push.

“That was some ass-kicking you gave those zombies there at the end,” he says after a few minutes of friendly bruising.

Why thank you. I was beginning to wonder if anyone on my team would admit that. Convict certainly isn’t happy with me. Brian is still fingering his knife and Herbie is no longer leering. Which I guess is actually a point on the positive side, but still... “Does this mean that if it were up to you, you’d let me stay on your team?”

“Brice isn’t going to kick you off,” John says as he feints a jab.

“Sure about that?”

He just smiles, and dives in for a flurry of hits to my torso. I miss the first one, grunt, and block the rest. “Brice wouldn’t cut his star players.”

“He
does
seem to like being on the winning team,” I reply.

“Who doesn’t?”

Me. I don’t like team sports, and for exactly the same reason why Convict won’t “cut” me. There is always a star player or two. And in my experience, those players always get away with murder.

I don’t answer, coming at John with a jab to the head which he somehow dodges. He is fast, damn fast, for a human.

“Where did you go to school?”

His question throws me off-guard and his strike gets by, snapping my head back. I dance away, rolling my jaw to ease the sting. “School?”

“Yeah, what high school were you at when you were turned?” He circles around me. “I know it wasn’t college.”

“Why, because I look all of twelve?”

His eyes rove over me. I stand under the appraisal, damned if I’ll squirm. “You’re scrawny, but not that scrawny. So what were you? Sophomore? Junior?”

“Junior. Flagstaff High. Track, drama club, school paper.” And student council, orchestra, odyssey of the mind… honor roll. But I don’t feel like mentioning these. Don’t fit with my current kick-ass image.

“Family?”

I stumble, regain my balance. Both physically and mentally. “Dead.”

“Before or after?”

“Same time.”

He whistles. “Same reason?”

My blood bypasses simmer and flares into full-fledge boil. What the heck? Is he accusing me of trading my parents and my soul for some sort of over-glorified immortality?

I take three deep breaths, tamping down the red.

“You’re full of questions,” I say, focusing my anger into a strike at his solar plexus. He blocks, the impact shooting up my arm. Crap. The effects from my feeding are fading fast. Probably should be more consistent. Not fast so much between them.

John hasn’t responded to my comment, though he continues to look at me as if he expects me to answer his. Why? Why does he care?

“Who wants to know?” I stop circling, planting my hands on my hips. “Convict? I know it’s not Marine. He got the life story on the way here.”

“You done?”

I glare at him.

“Don’t drop your guard then.” He says and comes at me with a series of hits that have me backing into the corner before I manage to spin out and around.

“Better.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

His shoulders lift and fall marginally. “Maybe I’m asking for me.”

I narrow my gaze, trying to see past his set expression of calm, cool and collected. There is nothing reassuring there.

Don’t let yourself get played, Eva girl.
Dad’s voice again, telling me not to be lead around the chess board by my opponent. His sound-bites of advice always applied to other crap too. Like life.

“Why would you care?” I snap out.

“Hell if I know.”

My veins turn to ice, then flash heat. The words sink me back into the past and, for a moment, the room disappears. Instead a cloudy evening in the park, a warm wind signaling the coming storm, and a face. Love, hate. If I knew then what I know now… I lunge at him. He starts to dodge but I spin and twist into his path, hooking my leg behind his knee. Then he’s down, my fist pounding into the aggregate path beside his ear as he twists his head aside.

No, not dirt and stone. A blue mat. In a brightly lit room. John. And I’m pinning him down, canines bared like some sort of animal. Crap.

His nostrils flare. Angry? Not sure. It doesn’t taste like anger. Not fear either. Which only flares the fire of a long ago hate.
Hell if I know,
indeed. Asshole.

“When you figure it out, let me know.” And with that I push up and stride from the room.

10.

Then…

He was everywhere. No matter where I went I couldn’t escape his piercing blue gaze. Opening night of Footloose, the movie theatre with Carrie on Wednesday, he’d even shown up outside the restaurant my mom and dad had taken me to in order to celebrate some big new project my dad had been selected to work on. And I, masochistic that I was, had spent the entire dinner shifting uncomfortably in my seat, wiping sweaty palms on my jeans as I tried to casually crane my head around in hopes of catching one more glimpse of him through the over-decorated window.

And now he was here too.

I came to a halt on the path, my running shoes digging for purchase on the incline, the loose dirt and stone made even more slippery by the recent rains. It had poured three of the last four nights and with all the other things on my plate, this was the first time in over a week that I’d gotten to go out for my evening run. And there he was, jogging down Mars Hill toward me out of the Ponderosa Pines, his stride long, unstrained, and a smile plastered on the even complexion of his face.

Of course he looked good. He was running
down
hill.

Still. Not fair. When I ran my face turned into a beet.

I frantically glanced to the side, even though I knew there was no side path here to dash down. Damn. Why here? Why now? Not that I actually wanted to see him again, but if I were going to, then I’d prefer it not to be in my ratty old t-shirt after a mile and half of huffing, puffing and sweating.

Resigned, I looked back up the path. He waved, dimples still flashing as he ran up and stopped before me. “Hello, Eva,” he said, dipping his head slightly as if he were addressing royalty or something.

Blind, either that or he really had fun chasing down his prey. I planted my hands on my hips, staring him down—or at least tried to. Hard to do when the top of my head barely topped his chest. A chest that was barely rising and falling. Jerk wasn’t even winded. Had he been waiting for me in those woods or had he actually been out running? I decided to cut the crap and get an answer.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked between panting breaths.

“Doing what?”

“Following me around. Showing up wherever I am.”

His smile faded, his eyes becoming impossibly intense. I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Would be better if he didn’t, if he just slunk off in shame back into the forest. End of story. But instead he shook his head. “Hell if I know.”

My face burned. Whatever. I spun around, ready to sprint back down the path toward home. If he wasn’t going to end this idiotic soap-opera scene, I would. A hand snaked out and latched onto my elbow, pulling me back around.

“Hey!”

“I’ve figured it out,” he said, even as he let go of my arm.

I rubbed the skin he’d just touched, sure the shape and size of his hand was burned like a brand into my skin. Felt like it at least. Pursing my lips I stared up into his face as I waited for him to expand. I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to know his motivation, but after another long, drawn-out bit of silence, my indecision flashed quickly to annoyance and from there to hurt. Was I so unworthy that he couldn’t come up with a reason besides the typical I-want-in-your-pants one?

“Well?” I prompted.

He reached out, tucking a strand that had come loose from my ponytail behind my ear. Another sizzle, crack, pop of energy and I rocked back on my heels. Whoa. Not chemistry, static electricity.

“I like your hair,” he said.

“That’s it? You like my hair?”

“And your face. This dash of freckles…” he swept a finger across the bridge of my nose. I tingled again. “Adorable.”

I huffed. If that was the best he could do…

“And your eyes.” His own eyes, shadowed in the dim evening light, locked onto mine. Something in my chest went thud, thud, and I inhaled sharply. “Gorgeous. I could get lost in them. More crazy, I want to.” He dropped his hand. “I guess that’s why I’m following you around.”

Okay. Points for Mr. Candy. He’d done it. He’d charmed me in fifty words or less. Which made me a bona fide idiot. Hadn’t I already learned this lesson? Eyes aside, if a guy like him was after me it was for one thing only. And brand me old-fashioned, but I wasn’t giving that away.

He tilted his head to the side, the corners of his mouth crinkling up in an easygoing smile. “So what do you say? Want to catch a movie or something?”

A movie. Right. Would probably want to sit in the back row, too. And would be pissed when I didn’t take to having my hand directed to his crotch.

I tossed my head, ponytail flicking as I spun away and broke into a jog back down the path. I hadn’t gone more than three strides before he was there, his feet padding silently alongside my own. Damn. He was heavier than me by far. Couldn’t he refrain from outshining me in something as simple as not sounding like an elephant?

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“
I’m
going home.”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know. It’s a windy evening. Guess you could, oh… go fly a kite or something.” And then another one of those freak spring storms would roll in, lightening could strike and,
Viola!
Fried hot guy. Man, sometimes those old sayings of my dads were just plain appropriate.

There was a slight break in his stride. I glanced over and was almost surprised to see the incredulous look on his face. Though I guess I shouldn’t have been. How many girls ever actually refused a guy like him? Still, maybe I was being unfair. Maybe he was being genuine. Doubted it, but there was a chance. And if that were the case, than my cold shoulder brushoff edged well into the realm of rude. Especially without an explanation, and I wasn’t one to go for unexplained cruelty.

Sighing, I slowed to a stop, turning to face him as he slid into a graceful halt beside me. “Listen, I’m flattered and all…”

I trailed off, unable to crush the hopeful look in his eyes. And that was
so
not right. A guy as hot as he was should not be the one hanging on my every word. I should be the one panting like a puppy dog at his heels.

He shifted, his shoulders tense under his black, poly running tank. “Why does it sound like there is a ‘but’ in there?”

I lifted my chin. “
But
I’m more than just a pretty face.”

He stepped in closer, his hand sliding up my arm setting off the now predictable shiver, those blue eyes so intense I thought I might fall into them. Worse, I wanted to. God but I wanted to.

Don’t be stupid, Eva. Don’t be stupid.

“Then show me. Show me you’re more. And let me show you that I am too.” The words sounded like a gong in my mind despite the fact that he had whispered them. He leaned down, his fingers on my chin tipping, tilting as they simultaneously burned a path of fire across my jaw. His breath hot and sweet like candied almonds on my lips. His eyes holding onto me, entreating me to give in. Give him a chance.

How I wanted to. One chance. One kiss. What could it possibly hurt to just see?

I rose up on my toes.

11.

I wake up gasping, a wet stream of moisture sliding down my cheek and my body racking with pent-up sobs. Angry with myself, I swipe the offending tears away. Stupid. How stupid. I wish I could go back and grab that gullible pre-me by the shoulders and shake her. If not that, then I wish I could amputate the memories or at least the feelings that go with them.

Show me you’re more.

I hadn’t been—nothing but a stupid, naïve teenage girl—but he certainly was.

Why he’d gone after me, why I’d become the focus of his intensity was still a mystery to me. We’d had nothing in common. Not at first and not later after the getting-to-know-you-phase either. Though maybe that was it. Opposites attract and all that. And how we’d attracted.

Even now, hundreds of miles away I can’t deny that despite all my anger, all my hatred, that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t yearn for him still.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I reprimand myself, firmly eradicating the memory from my thoughts.

There is a rap on the door. I take one last swipe at my eyes and flip my legs off the cot even as I realize that the noise is probably what woke me. Which means whoever is out there has been waiting for my answer.

Cursing, I stumble to the door, flipping the locks, and yanking it open. “Yeah?”

John raises a brow at my cranky greeting—or maybe my disheveled state—but doesn’t comment otherwise. Good thing. I’d have to kill him if he said anything about what I am sure is a major case of puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

“Commander Derwood wants us in the briefing room,” he informs me.

Good. A distraction.

I nod and grab up my knife and Glock. They’ve become such a part of me, I feel naked if I’m not wearing them, and after that dream, I need to feel in control.

I fall into step beside John, walking briskly through the monotonous halls. “Do you think we’re heading on another mission?”

“Don’t know. I got the call from Brice. He told me to collect you, but that was all.”

So Convict isn’t talking to me directly. Nice. Funny how John always seems to get the shit jobs that Convict doesn’t want to do. I’m tempted to ask him why he puts up with it but that might open some sort of dialogue between us and given the state he found me in, I’m not too keen on opening that sort of Q&A session.