Bloodborn (11 page)

Outside, Isabella and Jessie's red convertible cruises up, top down, Cyn in the back.

I clear my throat. “I'll have the bacon and cheese, the Reuben, and some curly fries. Oh, and a slice of blackberry pie with vanilla ice cream, please.”

Randall glances at me, his eyebrows raised. “You got money?”

“Uh … ” I reach into the pockets of my jeans, but of course I don't have my wallet.

Randall grins, his teeth bright. “It's on me.”

“All right, then,” Ford says. “And you, sir?”

“Biscuits, gravy, sausage. Thanks.”

Ford nods and shuffles off again. I joggle my leg while we wait, and Randall reads a yellowed brochure on tractors. The bell on the door jingles and in walk Jessie and Isabella, followed by Cyn. They stop when they see us.

“Oh,” Cyn says, “they beat us to it.” Her cheeks look flushed from the convertible ride.

My stomach tightens when I see her looking so windswept-beautiful like that. There's a wild glint in her eyes, what she likes to call
adventurous
.

“That's all right,” Isabella says. “Not enough of us here for Winema to worry.”

Cyn drifts toward the opposite side of the café, sitting in a corner booth. Isabella glances at us, her eyes slightly narrowed.

“Hey,” Randall says, waving.

Isabella approaches him. “We've got about an hour, and then we're moving out. Winema doesn't want us staying still for too long.”

“Makes sense.”

Ford reappears. “It'll be a minute,” he says to us. “Got to wake the cook.”

Isabella clears her throat, and he looks at her as if he just noticed.

“Evening! My, we don't get this many visitors usually! What you would like?”

“A menu, please.”

Ford rummages behind a counter. “Those are a little … outdated … ”

“Well, then,” Isabella says with a smile, “we'll have your special of the day.”

“Sounds good.” Ford glances between Isabella and Jessie—I'll bet their dark skin looks foreign to him—and then his eyes settle on the fading streak of flamingo pink in Cyn's hair. “Where are you folks from? Down south?”

“Why, yes.” Isabella gives Ford a sweet smile. “And we're all very famished.”

Nodding to himself, Ford disappears into the back again. He shouts something, though I can't make out the words.

“Wow,” Cyn murmurs. “I didn't think towns like this still existed.”

Isabella chuckles. “This one is only barely existing.”

From the kitchen, I hear bacon sizzling, followed by the aroma of crispy-smoky deliciousness. My stomach rumbles like thunder. I start dreaming about how my sandwiches are going to crunch between my teeth.

After a couple of minutes, Randall clears his throat and shuffles his feet. “This is going to take a while, isn't it?”

I shrug.

“I'm going to make a call, all right?” He stands. “Stay out of trouble.”

I shrug again. Randall strides out the door. I pick up the tractor brochure he left and pretend to be interested while I eavesdrop on Jessie and Isabella. They aren't talking very loudly, but my hearing is sharper than it used to be.

“Have you ever met Cliff Sterling?” Isabella says.

“No,” Jessie says. “Why?”

“They say he never goes anywhere without a gold-and-blue lily pinned to his lapel. It's a gift from the Faerie Queen. His lover.”

Jessie rolls her eyes. “Why would she fool around with a werewolf?”

“Think about it.” Isabella arches her eyebrows. “His pack has a monopoly on bootleg faerie wine. And he looks a whole lot younger than his age, thanks to being one of the Faerie Queen's favorites. Her magic rubs off on him.”

Jessie laughs. “Oh really? I should find myself a faerie, if it's better than Botox.”

“I'm pretty sure it's got to be the Faerie Queen.”

Jessie grimaces. “Never mind.” She pauses. “What about sleeping with Cliff? Would that work? I hear he's real hand
some
.”

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a reply,” Isabella says.

Cyn's gaze flicks between the two women as they talk. She's obviously curious. Hopefully not about meeting Cliff herself.

Jessie grabs a menu from another table. “Lord, nothing is cheap anymore. We can't afford all this.”

“I'm not that hungry,” Cyn says.

Jessie smiles wickedly. “Oh, but we're going to fatten you up, little girl.”

Cyn returns her smile. “I think that's Hansel and Gretel, not Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Fairy tales.” Jessie snorts, but she can't help looking amused. She leans back and crosses her legs. “Maybe you can help us.”

“Help?” Cyn says. “What sort of help?”

“You'll see,” Jessie says.

Isabella gives her sister a look. “We're talking financial help?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Jessie says, and she stands.

Shit. This doesn't sound good.

“Excuse me, sir!” Jessie calls through the back door. “Could I ask a question?”

In a muffled voice, Ford calls, “Yes?”

“Do you have any gluten-free foods? My cousin is allergic.”

He pokes his head through the doorway, a puzzled scowl on his face. “Gluten?”

“Wheat products.” Jessie waves at the fields outside with a sigh. “No?” She glances at Cyn. “I guess we'll just have to go back to that gas station and try to make a dinner out of snacks. Sorry, hon.”

Cyn frowns, but she has no allergies that I know about.

“Just a minute,” Ford says to Jessie, and he turns to Cyn. “What
can
you eat?”

“Um … ” Face red, Cyn glances at Isabella, then shrugs.

“Let me see,” Jessie says, “what you've got round back.”

She's already walking behind the counter, hips swaying in an I'm-in-charge-here way. Ford runs his hand over his thin white hair, waves his arm as if it were his idea to let Jessie into the back, and then follows at her heels.

As soon as they're out of sight, Isabella stands. “Wait there, Cynthia.”

And Cyn doesn't say anything, just nods.

Isabella ducks behind the counter next, but she doesn't follow Jessie into the back room. Instead, she slides over to the cash register and smiles. She hits a few buttons with expert speed, and the till clanks open with a ring.

Cyn sucks in her breath, her eyes bright.

Isabella scoops all of the money out of the register, unzips her purse, and drops the bills in. Then, she shuts the cash register and steps away just as Jessie and Ford walk out of the back room. The smallest of nods passes between the sisters.

“Find anything?” Isabella says, her hand on her hip like she was waiting there.

“No.” Jessie shakes her head. “Don't want to risk it.”

Cyn's sitting bolt upright, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. But she still isn't saying anything. Dammit, do I have to talk?

Just then, Randall walks back in, sliding his cell phone into his pocket.

Isabella taps him on the shoulder. “You might want to get yours to go.”

“To go?” A shadow of understanding passes over his face. “Now?”

“Yes,” she says. “Unless you just want to come with us.”

Randall's hand closes around the door handle. “We're coming with you.”

“But … ” Ford looks between them, confusion in his watery eyes. “I can make you something special, without any of that gluten stuff … ”

This is ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous.

I shove my chair away from the table and lumber to my feet. “Excuse me,” I say. “But could I have a word, sir?”

Ford frowns and rubs his nose. “Sorry?”

Randall's hand clamps on my biceps so hard it bruises. “It's not worth the trouble.”

“But—”

“Have a nice night,” Randall says to Ford, as he steers me outside.

Isabella and Jessie stroll out after us with Cyn. Isabella squeezes her plump purse, then vaults over the closed door of the red convertible and lands in the driver's seat, laughing. Jessie shushes her, but she can't help smiling too. Cyn looks somewhat dazed, a pink flush in her cheeks—what's she thinking right now?

“I can't believe you two,” Randall says, shaking his head. “We'd better get out of here.”

Jessie leans against the hood of the convertible and grins. “And visit a decent restaurant!”

“That was unbelievable,” Cyn says in a quiet voice.

I give her a look. “You didn't have to let them do that.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” She glares at me as she climbs into the convertible.

“They robbed an old man!”

Randall shushes me and drags me into the blue pickup. “Shut the hell up before you get us all arrested, bloodborn.”

“I'd love to see you get arrested.”

He growls under his breath and slams the door behind me.

As we drive away, I see Ford in the doorway, frowning, his hand raised in goodbye.

“Makes me sick,” I say. “How can you do shit like that?”

Randall keeps his eyes on the nighttime road. “Where else are we going to get money?”

“You're all criminals.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

He rolls down the window, and the wind of our passing hisses through the wheat.

“Maybe if you tried earning some money for once, instead of making things worse—”

“Oh, so you have a job?”

“No, but—”

“That's what I thought.” Randall shakes his head. “Good luck putting that on your resume. ‘Werewolf seeking positi
on as nanny.'”

I laugh, then swallow. Don't want to sound like I actually think he's funny.

“Your girlfriend didn't seem all that bothered,” he says.

“She's not my girlfriend anymore.”

Randall smiles, kind of smugly. He turns on the radio and fiddles with the dial. A new hit by Bloodless fills the truck. “Too late to understand/Too late to go back now/I've crossed the turning point/By turning you.”

“You like?” he says.

I realize I'm nodding my head, and stop myself. “Yeah,” I grunt.

“It's about being bloodborn, you know,” he says. “Vampires, of course.”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “Everybody knows all vampires are bloodborn. No baby vampires.” I think for a minute. “Not like werepuppies.”

Randall just snorts.

“You guys hate each other, right? Leeches versus curs?”

“That's a stereotype. We get in fights occasionally, but the bloodborn have to stick together.”

“Do
not
use this as an opportunity to try and convince me we should be best buds.”

Randall laughs, and startlingly enough, it sounds genuine. “You know, I really only care about you not getting killed on my watch or going on a murderous rampage. Other than that, I don't care if we're barely on speaking terms.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter.

“But if you try hard enough,” Randall says, “you might be good enough for the pack.”

“Like I'd want that.”

“Well, you don't really have many other options.” His forehead furrows. “I mean, I've tried living as a lone wolf. It sucks
.”

I hide a shiver. “So this is it? My life from now on?”

“This is only the beginning,” Randall says, and he turns up the m
usic.

eleven

W
hatever Isabella and Jessie do with their stolen money, I don't know. Me and Randall stop at the next drive-through along the highway—Bigfoot's Big Burgers, with a giant smiling Sasquatch on the sign, looking about as dumb as a trained bear. Wow, this sure is a backwoods town; back around Seattle, those political correctness people would be all over that sign in less than a heartbeat. “Blatant racism,” they'd say, which is a little stupid. As far as I know, Sasquatches don't even come in different colors.

Randall lets me order two Bigfoot burgers and a Cactus Cat shake without even a nasty comment. Fatigue creases his eyes.

“Tired?” I say, as we start driving again.

Randall steers one-handed, a half-eaten Bigfoot burger in his grip. “I was wrong. You aren't a moron. You're a genius.”

“You must be tired. Even your sarcasm sucks.”

He gives me a sideways glare, but doesn't say anything more.

“This is a damn good shake,” I say, smug now that he's not talking. “Cactus Cat shake.” I stare at the cartoon on the side of the cup, a yowling bobcat with spikes for fur. “I've never seen a real Cactus Cat, come to think of it.”

“Cause they've been extinct for about a hundred years. Just like unicorns.”

“Oh.”

You know, I don't even know how many Others got hunted to zero.

Once we cross the state line into Idaho, we make camp in a meadow ringed by ponderosa pines. Thank God I don't have to sleep in the same tent as Randall. Instead, I get a blanket and a spot under the stars. Most in the pack have shapeshifted for sleeping, cozy in their wolf pelts.

The thinning moon, almost a perfect oval, peeks over the mountains in the west. Her power feels stronger, now that I'm closer to the sky. I clench fistfuls of the blanket, my muscles taut, and warily watch the moon. Her glow crests over the peaks, then pours into the meadow, filling it slowly with moonlight.

I glance at the wolves. One of them flicks an ear. Another stretches and yawns, tongue curling, then goes
back to sleep.

A shiver skitters down my spine. The night gro
w
s brighter and brighter, like someone's turning up the dim
mer for a light. Icy tingles cross my exposed skin. I roll over and tug the blanket tight over my head, like I'm a little kid hiding from a monster—if I can't see it, it can't see me.

Only I'm the monster.

A pang shoots through my gut. I curl and hug myself. My nails—claws?—dig into my arms. God dammit. No Lycanthrox here to help me; now I'm really fucked.
You know that stuff doesn't work, right?
If Randall can be believed.

Got to get out of the light. I crawl into the shadows of the trees, wrapping the blanket around me like a cloak. The tug of the moon wanes, and I can breathe a little easier. I realize I'm shaking, cold sweat dotting my skin.

Ahead, I hear whispers.

“Yes, but I didn't expect this would be such a burden.”

Randall. And then, Winema.

“You should have considered the consequences before you bit anyone. You have already caused the death of one boy, and the birth of a bloodborn.”

“I know.” Randall's voice rises. “But I—”

“Shhh,” Winema says. “Mind the pups.”

I inch nearer in a crouch. My breathing sounds too loud, but I manage to get close enough to see them, standing beneath a tree.

Randall lowers his voice. “But I don't know if I'm ready for this. I don't know if I can handle being a sire. I mean, I'm only twent
y-seven.”

Winema sighs and her hand drifts to her belly. “I'm not sure any of us ever feel ready.”

“If only he weren't so damn
rebellious
,” Randall mutters. “Then I could handle it.”

She laughs gently. “Remember when you first came to this pack?”

“Hey, I wasn't that bad.”

“Oh, yes you were. I'm amazed Jessie even convinced you to come up north. You were a real troublemaker. Had the cops on your tail.”

“My dam abandoned me. I didn't know what to do.”

“Which is why you can't abandon Brock.”

Randall sighs and swings his head toward the moon. “He hasn't changed yet.”

“You will need to show him,” Winema says.

He nods. “Eventually.”

“Soon,” she says. “Before it's too late.”

“All right.” Randall retreats from his Alpha. “Good night.”

Winema kneels in a cluster of ferns. I peer harder and make out the shapes of the three werepuppies sleeping in a lump. Winema stokes one between the eyes, and it licks its nose happily. She smiles to herself.

Charles pads closer, his long silver hair bright in the moonlight, and crouches beside her. “How are you feeling?
”

“The moon is waning,” Winema whispers. “The baby is fine.”

“Are you sure?” he says,

“Yes.” Her voice sounds tight.

“Winema … maybe we should go to the doctor. Just this once.”

“No.”

“But you haven't—”

“I said no.” Winema sighs. “It's your turn as watch.”

Charles straightens. “Be careful.” He walks away.

The baby. Go to a doctor. The moon. What does being pregnant do to a werewolf? Or maybe … what does being a werewolf do to a pregnant woman? My ears hot, I start to stand, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Brock,” she says, “I know you're there.”

I flinch, grabbing fistfuls of leaves. She must've smelled me.

“Come here,” she says.

I climb to my feet, shivery and shaky-legged like a newborn calf. “Yeah?”

Winema meets my gaze, her eyes catching the moonlight. “Do you understand what position you are in right now?”

“Yeah.” I look away. “I got bitten, so you guys won't let me go.”

“Do you understand what it means to be bloodborn?”

A sweet, fresh wind scented with rain and forest slips across my face. I shudder with longing. I don't want to be here, standing still, not knowing where I want to go, just wanting to run far away and forget it all.

“Brock?”

I close my eyes. “It means I'm going to become a werewolf.”

“You
are
a werewolf. You need to understand that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I tighten my calves, my muscles itching to move. “I've got to embrace my inner wolf, whatever. What if I don't want to?”

She stares unblinkingly at me. “You can control the wolf, or let it control you.”

I frown. “How is the second different from the first?”

“When the full moon comes, the change will tear apart your mind and body. You might die. You might go insane, consumed by the desire to bite and infect. If that doesn't kill you, we will—and it will be the merciful thing to do.”

My mouth goes dry, but I shrug and shuffle away. It's only when I'm sure she can't see me anymore that I let myself tremble. I clench my hands to still them. I stare at the moon to prove that I can control myself.

I don't want this. I don't want to have no choice.

You made this choice already, when you decided to hunt the werewolves. You didn't have to follow Randall. You didn't have to fight him.

I growl at my powerlessness and punch a tree, the bark bloodying my knuckles.

Someone coughs nearby, and my head snaps toward the sound. “Cyn?”

She stands in the shadows, leaning against the red convertible, her hoodie shadowing her face. “What happened?”

I fold my arms to hide my scraped fingers. “Nothing.”

“Brock,” she says, in her I-don't-believe-you-for-a-second voice.

“Winema said they're going to kill me if I can't control the change.”

Cyn steps toward me and throws back her hood, her face white in the moonlight. “What are you going to do?”

“Escape? That sound like a good idea to you?”

“But … you can't escape who you are now.”

“Thanks for reminding me, Cyn.”

She purses her lips, then shudders so hard her eyelids flutter.

“What's wrong?” I say.

She hugs herself and rubs her arms. “It's cold out here.”

“Really? I'm actually sweating.” I can feel the heat radiating off my skin.

Squinting in the darkness, Cyn comes close enough to touch my forehead with the back of her hand. Her skin's like ice. “Oh, wow, you are.”

“You're freezing!” I press her hand between mine. “That hoodie isn't warm enough.”

“But you're burning up. Feverish. Are you okay?”

I shrug. “It's normal, I think. For a werewolf.”

Cyn looks at me in this strange, soft way. “When we broke up, you hated werewolves so much it scared me. And now that you are one … how do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“And?”

“And what?” I let go of her hand. “What else is there?”

She sighs, and looks so sad that I wish I'd said something different. “I don't know,” she says. “Maybe I'm an idiot. Maybe I'm totally wrong about you.”

I wish I knew what she thought of me.

She's standing completely away from me now, not touching me anymore, even though she's still shivering in the cold night air.

“Ugh,” she says. “I feel kind of lightheaded.”

“Why?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Jessie and Isabella ended up spending all their money on meat. I mean raw meat. I wasn't about to eat nasty uncooked beef.”

I remember stopping at Bigfoot's Big Burgers. “I should have bought you something for dinner. I didn't think of that.”

She shrugs. “I can figure something out.”

“Cyn, we're in the middle of the mountains in the middle of the night. There are no towns or anything for miles. The werewolves are watching us, so we can't really borrow a car and drive down to the nearest Safeway.”

She sighs a long sigh, and I realize how tired she is.

“Cynthia … come here.”

“What?” She just stares at me, her eyes wary.

“Come here. I won't hurt you.”

Before she can step away, I rest my hand behind the small of her back and draw her closer. She stiffens at my touch.

“You need to warm up,” I say quietly.

Cyn makes a small noise of protest, then sighs again and rests her head against my chest. “Okay. But just because you're hot.”

“What?” I laugh, surprised.

“Oh, you know I didn't mean it like that,” she grumbles against my shirt.

We stand like that, not quite holding each other, breathing to the same rhythm. A sweetness, warmed by my body, rises to my nose. I glance down and see the miniature rose blossom tucked in her pocket. The scent uncorks a flood of calm throughout my body, the same I felt whenever Mom talked me out of my fear or pain.

“You kept the rose,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says.

I smile a little. “That thing's indestructible.”

“I've missed seeing you smile,” she whispers.

I blush, and I don't know what to say.

“Here,” I say. “I'm going to get you a blanket so you stop shivering.”

“Brock, you don't—”

“And some food,” I say. “I can hear your stomach growling from here.” That's not really true, but I'm sure she's got to be starving.

Before she can act all tough and too-smart-for-this, I walk round to the blue pickup and yank off the tarp covering everything. Sure enough, in an old duffel bag there are some flannel blankets, worn but clean. I toss one to Cyn, who catches it and gives me a sigh, but I can tell she's trying not to smile.

“Now, food,” I say.

I open one of the coolers in the truck, and its hinges make this horrible death-sque
al. I cringe and glance around. A few glowing eyes stare at me, their annoyance as plain as day, but soon enough the werewolves go back to sleep.

“Better be quiet.” Cyn hops up beside me on the truck bed. “Let me see what's in there.”

We find some sliced American cheese and a couple of cans of baked beans and franks. She wrinkles her nose, but peels plastic from the cheese slices, one by one, and eats them all. I pop open the cans and hold them out to her.

“What a romantic moonlit dinner,” she says, with a roll of her eyes.

Startled, I glance at the moon hanging above the pines. She hasn't been tormenting me, even though my skin is drenched in her light. Cyn has more power over me? But no … now that I'm looking at the moon, and thinking about the wolf curled inside me, the familiar sick twisting feeling wakes up in my stomach.

“These are disgusting,” Cyn says, as she eats the beans and franks with her fingers.

“Yeah.” My voice sounds too hoarse, and I cough. “But you have to eat.”

She isn't even noticing how I clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists, how the moon sinks a hook between my ribs and reels me in. A shudder ripples through me, and I bend double for a second. This time, Cyn notices.

“Now
you're
shivering,” she says. “Are you sure you're okay?”

I shake my head. “The moon is out.”

“Well, get out of the moonlight! You're standing right in it.” Cyn jumps down from the truck and grabs my arm to steer me away.

Her fingers scald my skin. My heartbeat thuds rapid-fire in my chest; my lips are pressed together to hide the fact that my teeth are itching, maybe sharpening into fangs. When I look at her, I feel a longing so sharp it hurts.

What longing? I don't know, and that scares me more than anything.

“Brock, what's going on?”

“You should go,” I say. A churning in my stomach sickens me. “I don't … I don't want you seeing me like this.”

Cyn furrows her forehead. “You look normal to me. Just sick. Are you … ?”