Craved: A Chosen Ones Novel (9 page)

His mouth spread into a full smile causing his dimples to make an appearance.

“What are you smiling at?” I asked annoyed at myself more so than him. My breath shouldn’t catch like it does overtime they do.

“You.” His grin grew wider, the dimples deeper.
 

“What about me?” I asked about as defensively as I looked with my hand on my hip and my head cocked to the side.
 

He stepped a fraction closer to me. He left a bit of space remaining between us but he was close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off of his body. It made my body warm in response.
 

“You think I’m hot. That’s good to know. I think you’re hot too. In case you were wondering”

“I wasn’t,”
 
I said more than a little unnerved. I took a step back, placing distance and cooler air between us. “We should get started.” I stepped past him and started walking down 17
th
street toward the big yellow and blue IKEA building. He could walk with me or stay where he was. Either way, I was doing something besides standing still in the middle of the street with him so close to me.
 

“Were you born in Atlanta?” Chase said as he caught up to me.

The crossing signal turned red and we stopped on the curb to wait.
 

“Yup. I was born and raised here. My dad was from Douglasville, a suburb west of the city, and my mom grew up in the East Paces Ferry area. Both of them loved Atlanta so when they graduated from Yale they came back here.”

The signal flashed white and we crossed the street, walking away from the crowd of people and the retail shops.
 

“You’re talking about them in the past tense. Are they dead?”

The question was not as abrupt or callous as it would have seemed if he was a regular guy and I was a regular girl. Society members died every day. Most young, some old, and a few in between.
 

“Yes, they are.” I kept my voice even and my eyes trained straight ahead.
 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Then surprised me when he added, “My dad is too.”

“Ladies, ladies, where are you going? If you’re looking for a good time I can show you one!” A young guy shouted after a group of women passing by him on the opposite side of the street. He looked at me when I looked at him and smiled cheerily at me. “You too, sweetheart. I promise I’ll show you a better time than your boyfriend.”

“Why don’t you come say that to my face punk!” Chase yelled back then grabbed me by the elbow and made a sharp left turn onto a side street.
 

I didn’t yank my arm away or scream at him that he’d lost his damn mind. I’d seen the guy’s enlarged pupils. I knew what he really was.

Sufficiently lured, for some reason daemons no matter the one could never turn down a challenge, the guy jaywalked across the street and headed in our direction.
 

As soon as he stepped into the privacy of the side street, Chase pulled a silver dagger and drove it through his chest. The guy immediately fell to the ground. Dark smoke gathered in a cloud above his body, then the both disappeared on a one-way ticket back to hell.
 

Three daemons later and well past three a.m we called it a night.
 

“So I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told Chase as we neared the spot on 17
th
street where we’d originally met. I shuffled my weight back and forth between my left and right foot. “You don’t have to come to the thing tomorrow night. I know my roommate put you on the spot by inviting you. It was nice of you to agree, but seriously it’s okay. You really don’t have to come.”

 
Instead of continuing to look at him I pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and focused my attention on the screen instead. I busied myself opening the Uber app and reserving a ride back to my apartment near Emory. My thumb hovered over the screen. I stared dumbly at the map of Atlantic Station decorated with the little cars that indicated the rides that were available in the area while I waited on him to take the out.
 

“Alex.”

Shit, he called my name to get my attention. Now I had to look up. I dragged my focus away from the phone. I pretended to look at him. Instead, I settled my eyes on a black spot of nothingness to the right of his temple.

“What’s the attire?”

 
“Excuse me?” I looked at him straight on.

Under the moonlight his deep blue eyes shone bright and clear. They really did look like precious jewels.
 

“The attire—is it formal or black tie? Just asking so I know how to dress.”

The fact that he was coming made me stir with an excitement I didn’t want to acknowledge. “This is my grandmother’s event. The more airs the great Madeleine Sinclair can put on the better.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s definitely black tie.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “You don’t sound too enthused about that.”

“I’m not. I prefer jeans and a pair of sneakers to a ballroom gown and stiletto heels any day. In fact, I would show up in denim tomorrow if it wouldn’t mean hearing about it from my grandmother for the rest of my existence.”
 

I looked back down at my phone’s screen. “What the hell? The estimated wait time for an Uber was just five minutes now its
fifteen.
”

“You don’t have to wait,” I said to Chase not wanting him to feel obligated to. “I know it’s late. And we’ve been out here all night.”

“I don’t intend to wait.”

I knew I’d said he didn’t but damn could he be more brusque. He at least could have insisted and let me turn down his offer before he took me up on mine.
 

“My bike is parked around the corner. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

I probably would have protested if he hadn’t said the word bike. I loved them, and knowing that he owned one added a new layer to him that I wasn’t aware of before. I nodded and fell in step beside him for no other reason than I was curious to see what he rode.

“You have a bike?” I asked to fill the silence.

“Of course I do. What else kind of transportation is there to have?”

“Oh, I agree. I’m just surprised you have one. Not a lot of people do.”

“You ride too?”
 

“I sure do. I didn’t even bother with asking for a car when I turned sixteen. I asked for a Ducati. My grandparents told me hell no in much more polite terms. They bought me a 3 series instead. As soon as I turned eighteen, I traded it in for my bike.”

His deep laughter floated through the still night air. “I can imagine how well that went over with your grandparents. The Sinclairs, they’re like one of Atlanta’s big money, super influential families right?”

“So everyone in the city says along with page six of the Atlanta Journal.”

We made a left onto State Street.

“You don’t sound too enthused about that either. I’m pretty sure most girls, hell most people, would love to live the blue blood lifestyle.”

“Yeah well, I’m not most girls, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Trust me. Everybody around you is nauseatingly snobbish and superficial and you never know if they’re trying to cozy up to you because they like you for you or for your family’s name. And then there is all of this pressure put on you to look a certain way, behave a certain way, portray a particular image to the world. It can get very suffocating.”

“Is that why you chose to become an active member of The Society even though your grandparents raised you after your parents’ deaths?”

I drew in a sharp breath at the mention of my parents. “I’m assuming that was in the file Bennett gave you on me.” My words sounded more sour than I intended.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”

“No it’s okay. I was just caught off guard by it. It’s been twelve years but whenever they’re mentioned it still feels like…”

“Peeling a scab off a wound that never fully heals,” he finished for me.

I stopped walking. Turning to face him. “That is exactly what it feels like. How do you…” I cut off my question. Of course he would know how it felt. He told me he’d lost his dad earlier in the night.
 

We started walking again. As we did I found myself answering his question. It surprised the hell out of me because I had no idea why I was doing something that I never did. I didn’t talk about my parents. Ever.
 

“It was never meant for me to become an active member of The Society. My father went through great lengths to make sure that I did not grow up with the burdens that he did. He wanted me to have a normal life. He left The Society when I was born. I always knew about it. Who he was and what I was, but I also always knew that I would never be apart of the world he once belonged to. When I was eight, I begged my mom and dad to take me camping. They surprised me with a trip over spring break. We were sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows when it happened. He sensed them. I don’t know how but he did. He told my mother to grab the keys and me and to run to the car. When she got there she was to start it and drive off. She refused to leave him behind. They started to argue, but in the end it didn’t matter. We would have never made it there in time. Five of them came out of nowhere. Four of them launched themselves at my father and the remaining one attacked my mother. I can still hear their screams in my head. And sometimes when I close my eyes, if I’m not careful not to see it, I picture their body parts strewn across the campground. I went to live with my mother’s parents after that. My dad’s parents died before I was ever born. I could have never joined The Society. I could have forgotten my Nephilim heritage. I could have left Atlanta for an Ivy League, married someone from an equally prestigious family, and eventually given my grandmother great-grandchildren and lived out the rest of my days in chosen blindness, pretending to be normal and ignorant of the monsters that walk among us that prey on humanity. But I couldn’t. I knew at thirteen years old I couldn’t. I begged Bennett to let me join the training class that year because I knew even then that I would never be normal. Maybe I could have if my parents had never died, or if I never witnessed them torn to shreds before my eyes. But after that day at the cam ground
 
all I ever wanted to do was become an active member of The Society. I would like to say it was because of some honorable notion of avenging my parents’ deaths, but my reasons were much more selfish than that. I felt wholly and utterly helpless when my parents were attacked. I couldn’t even lift a finger to help them. I never wanted to feel like that again. So there is your answer. That’s why I chose to spend five out of seven nights of the week patrolling the streets for daemons instead of living in a dorm at Yale, or Harvard, or Dartmouth or Brown and playing the perfect society debutante.”

We had arrived at his bike. He threw me a spare helmet, and I caught it in the air, glad for the distraction. I took in the gleaming metal pipes and the familiar but different sleek curves of the bike. I loved my silver Streetfighter, and when I’d upgraded to it from the yellow Multistrada a little over a year ago I’d thought it was pretty badass. I still did. But mine was a baby bike compared to the customized carbon black Panigale R that sat illegally parked on the curb.

I fastened the helmet on then slid onto the back of it behind Chase. “You have good taste in bikes.”

“I know,” he grinned over his shoulder. “Which one do you have?”

“The Streetfighter.”

“That one is pretty sweet too. You obviously don’t drive it a lot.”

“I didn’t get it for day to day transportation. That’s what the train and Uber is for. I live and conduct most of my activities in the city so I figure I might as well do my part to help out the environment. I pull it out whenever I have to go somewhere that is too far for the train or a ride service or when I’m in the mood to race it down the wide open highway.”

“I probably don’t have to tell you this, but hold on tight.” He kicked the bike into gear and sped off down the street.

The force of our take off pushed me forward, pressing my body into his. My thighs tightened around his hips at the same time my arms did the same thing around his waist. Both reactions were born out of pure instinct not to fall off the bike and crack my skull open. Still, the intimate position that resulted left me all to aware of the heat of his body wedged between my thighs.
 

We made it to the other side of Midtown in record time. I hopped off the bike and handed Chase the helmet. “Do you always keep a spare one of these around?”

He shrugged and looked away briefly, looking mildly bashful for the first time since I’d met him. It was such an endearing look on him that I couldn’t help but to smile.
 

“I picked an extra one up after I left your apartment this afternoon. I figured if we’re going to be routinely patrolling together, there might be nights that you need a lift home. You seemed to have a thing for public transportation. The train stops running at one and Ubers get scarce after midnight unless it’s the weekend.”

“Oh, um, ok. That was cool. Thanks.” Yeah this was not headed in an awkward direction at all. I figured it was better to end the conversation now before it collided with awkward. “Thanks for the ride too.” I turned and walked toward the entrance.
 

He followed me.

“You really don’t have to walk me to my door. It’s not like we just had a date or anything and I’m pretty sure there’s no weirdos between here and there.”
Oh. My God. Did I really just say that?! It’s not like we just had a date or anything. Please, if there is a God, strike me down now.

He flashed his dimpled grin at me. “I’ll walk you to the door just to be safe. You never know what could be lurking between the building’s entrance and your door.”

“Suit yourself.”

We rode the elevator up to my floor in silence. I expected him to say goodbye then, letting the doors close behind me after I got off. Instead he stepped out of the elevator a beat after I did.