Luke's Dream (4 page)

An angry looking youth walked passed me and
entered the building. No, I couldn’t allow her to stay in that kind
of place alone. A well-dressed man beat the boy to the door and
held it open for him.

“Just in time for breakfast, Mark,” the man
said.

“No shit,” the boy said. “Why else would I be
here?”

The man didn’t let the boy’s attitude get to
him. He just smiled wider.

“I thought it was because you liked helping
in the kitchen.”

The door closed behind them, and I gave the
idling bike some gas and eased away from the curb. I needed to find
a safe place to park the bike so I could go be a homeless shelter
volunteer. I never thought finding a Mate could cause so much
trouble.

“Hey,
I’m Kathy. Need some help?”

The woman had watched my struggles to peel a
carrot for the last three minutes.

“Yes.” I gave up trying to work the peeler
and handed it over along with the carrot.

“So how did Bob rope you into this?”

“He didn’t. I volunteered.” I’d woven a
rather convincing story about a man with a newly acquired
bachelor’s degree in psychology, looking to observe troubled teens
as a field study for a paper. Bill had been more than willing to
invite me to help out in the kitchen. According to him, I’d get the
most interaction if I served them meals first.

I didn’t want interaction, just observation.
And, though I couldn’t see Bethony from the kitchen, I checked in
on her each time I excused myself to use the restroom. The last
time I’d checked, she had found a comfy chair in the corner of the
main room. Slouched into it with her arms tensely wrapped around
her bag, she’d pretended to sleep as a deterrent to conversation. I
wished she’d actually let herself sleep. She still had dark circles
under her eyes.

“This is where you succeed or fail at
peeling,” Kathy said, reclaiming my attention. She held the peeler
comfortably in her right hand and the carrot in the left. Then, she
set the peeler to the carrot and slid the blade away from her. She
made it look so easy.

“Here,” she said, giving it back. “Keep
trying.”

She picked up another peeler and joined my
efforts. It took an hour to get through the carrots and potatoes
and another hour to chop. There were two other people in the
kitchen with us. As we focused on preparing lunch, they washed the
dishes from breakfast.

“How many people do you feed each meal?” I
asked.

“Around one hundred. We never turn anyone
away. If we run out, we have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We
usually don’t run out. If there’s extra, we invite those who are
still hungry back for seconds. The people here might look rough,
but most of them have very giving hearts.”

It reminded me of how things were run at the
Compound. Going there had been my first exposure to giving hearts.
Mainly Charlene’s. It didn’t mean I wanted to live there, though.
Too many wolves ready to get into your business or to compete for
the few females who showed up.

However, I understood why my kind wanted to
go there. It gave them a place where they felt they belonged. Just
like the homeless shelter did for these people.

A scream echoed through the halls. I barely
stopped myself from running after Bob.

“Stay here,” Kathy said before following
him.

The other guy strolled to the door and poked
his head out for a moment before coming back.

“Some girl must have freaked out. Maybe
someone tried taking her stuff. Bob has it under control now.”

It wasn’t some girl. It was my girl. Forcing
myself to nod, I went back to the vegetables.

Kathy returned several minutes later.

“Is she all right?”

“Yes. Poor thing. It was a dream that made
her scream. I can’t imagine what someone so young must have endured
to have such terrible things in her head while she sleeps.”

I couldn’t imagine it either.

Over the next six hours, I helped prepare and
serve lunch and dinner. Bethony didn’t eat either meal. Instead,
she stayed in her chair and suffered her dreams. She screamed at
least a dozen times over the course of the day, and my frustration
grew with each incident. Kathy’s comment echoed in my mind. What
had happened to Bethony? What haunted her dreams, and why did she
calm when I was near her? I could only think one thing. Someone had
hurt her.

Most of the people who ate dinner left the
building after they were finished.

While Kathy and the other guy cleaned up the
serving line and went out to collect any missing dishes, I
discreetly checked on Bethony to make sure she was still in her
chair.

Bob had checked on her each time she’d made
any noise. He seemed a decent enough sort, and I was glad she was
at least trying to sleep. However, if she decided to stay the
night, she’d be on her own. They separated the men and the women
and kept watch all night.

“Thank you for helping today,” Bob said,
after closing the slider that they used to serve food. “The three
of us will finish cleaning up and call it a night. Will we see you
tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

I really had no idea how long Bethony planned
to stay here.

* * * *

She stayed two nights. Just as I was walking
toward the door on the third morning, she walked out with her bag
over her shoulder.

Her scent tickled my nose. The chemicals were
still absent, but she reeked of panic and fear. None of it showed
on her face or in the way she moved. On the outside, she looked as
tired as I felt.

I followed her as she started heading toward
the original hotel we’d used. It was close to the bus stop, which
was no doubt her destination. Thankfully, I’d parked my bike in the
hotel parking lot. The room I’d rented for the last two days had
less than an hour’s use when I showered and changed each night. The
rest of my time I’d spent helping in the shelter to keep an eye on
her or on the roof of the building across the street from the
shelter. It was the only place I could watch and listen for her
without someone noticing me.

We’d progressed several blocks when she
stopped at a convenience store. I wasn’t surprised to see her
reemerge with one caffeinated drink to her lips and an unopened one
in her other hand. Her throat moved with each long swallow. My
mouth watered, and I stuffed my hands into my front pockets as I
followed her. She finished the first one and started on the second
before she was a block from the bus stop.

When we’d almost reached the bus stop, I fell
back and crossed the busy street at a light. While she sat on the
black bench to wait for the next bus, I jogged around the block and
grabbed my bag and bike from the hotel.

By the time I idled at the curb, the bus had
arrived and she had boarded. My eyes felt dry and gritty. I needed
sleep and hoped the bus wouldn’t be going too far. As it pulled
away, I nudged the throttle and merged with traffic to follow.

The wind in my face kept me awake as I drove
for the next several hours. The cool temperature warmed, but only
slightly. Any human on a motorcycle would have needed gloves to
maintain feeling while on the bike.

When the bus slowed for a middle-of-nowhere
town, I passed it. The motorcycle would be too loud and obvious to
try to park behind it. Instead, I turned down one of the side
roads, pulled over, and cut the engine. Ahead, an iron and wood
bridge bisected the rough road. Despite the trek looking seldom
traveled, I got off the bike and pushed it into the trees, parking
behind some leafless bushes tangled with barren vines. The dense
undergrowth hid the dark bike while I considered Bethony’s next
move.

The town hadn’t been more than a few
buildings. There wasn’t anywhere for her to stay, which meant
another bus or hitching a ride.

The soft crunch of gravel reached my ears. I
cocked my head and listened. Someone was coming my way on foot. I
crouched behind the bike and waited as the sound drew closer and
passed me. Carefully, I stood and eased out from behind my
cover.

Bethony was walking the shoulder of the road.
Plodding steps conveyed her exhaustion. Why would she walk when she
was so tired? I silently followed, keeping to the trees.

When she’d almost reached the bridge, she
paused and looked over her shoulder. Safely in the shadow of a
tree, I stilled. I doubted she’d heard me. Yet, why had she looked
back? After a moment, she started forward again, but veered off the
road. I listened to her climb down the embankment by the bridge.
Then, everything quieted. Torn, I remained were I was. Was she
listening for signs of being followed or was she escaping on a
hidden trail?

I shook my head, denying the thought as soon
as I had it. She was human and couldn’t possibly sneak away from
me. A quiet human was as improbable as a mutant baby beetle or
unicorn.

Stealthily, I moved to the right, angling
myself further away from the road. The trees thinned enough to see
a dried creek bed about six feet below. I jumped down, landing
softly. Ahead, the creek curved slightly, the bank providing me
with some cover as I moved forward. Suddenly she came into view.
Near the bridge, the slope to the dried creek bed was covered with
weeds and crushed stone. She’d slid almost to the bottom and was
laying on her back on the rocks. My first thought was that she’d
fallen. But she’d removed her hoodie, which lay beside her, and had
her arm behind her head as a pillow. When she twitched, I knew she
was sleeping.

What was she thinking taking her warmest
layer off for a nap outdoors? I strode forward and picked up the
garment. The rocks couldn’t be comfortable but at least I could try
to keep her warm. Shaking the hoodie out, I set it over her.

Her eyes popped open, and I froze, busted.
The overcast sky had her eyes looking very blue instead of violet.
As I watched, her pupils dilated, her pulse spiked, and the scent
of her fear and anger engulfed us.

Not sure what to do to avoid screaming or
hysterics, I eased the covering over her shoulders. It didn’t seem
to be the right move. She scrambled to her feet before the material
had a chance to settle. She stood, trembling just a few feet away.
With the garment still in hand, I slowly stood, not wanting to
frighten her further.

In silence, she studied me. She swayed on her
feet, and I regretted that covering her had woken her. She
desperately needed sleep. She shivered, reminding me she needed the
hoodie as well. Taking her silence as a promising sign, I held out
the hoodie and tried to introduce myself.

“My name is—”

She kicked out with scary accuracy. Had my
reflexes been slower, she would have unmanned me. As it was, she
took advantage of the close-call sickness that had settled into my
gut and tried to scramble up the bank.

Her running and fear needed to stop. It was
robbing her of sleep and making her worse. Chasing after her, I
caught her from behind, pinning her arms.

“Easy, luv. Unlike you, I mean no harm,” I
said. Holding her firmly to avoid injury, I carried her back down
to the creek bed.

The rapid thump of her heart reminded me of a
startled rabbit just before it faints. I quickly let her go and
took a step back. Having learned my lesson, I stood at an angle to
her to present less of a target.

She quickly spun to face me, taking up a
fighter’s stance, knees bent and weight on the balls of her feet.
What had happened to my poor girl? I knew better than to ask.

“As I was saying, my name is Luke Taylor. And
you are?”

“Not yours. Touch me again and I’ll sac tap
you so hard you’ll be coughing semen for a week. And this time I
won’t miss.”

A preemptive ache started in my groin at her
descriptive words. Yet, I couldn’t help but grin at her courage.
Her fear hadn’t dissipated. She just wasn’t letting it control
her.

Her gaze, which had been focused on me since
she woke, drifted to the tree line behind me. She scanned the banks
closely. I tilted my head, puzzled.

“What are you looking for?”

Her blue gaze settled on me once more.

“Your pack of murdering dogs.”

The phrasing surprised me. While I didn’t
consider myself at all similar to a simple minded dog, the canine
comparison still hit uncomfortably close to home.

“I’m alone.”

She snorted and eyed me. After a few minutes,
I realized she was waiting to see what I would do. I sighed and sat
down on the patch of rocks where we’d started.

She glanced at the trees again then glared at
me.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to decide your next move.
Keeping up with you is exhausting. I thought giving you money would
keep you in one place long enough that you could get the sleep you
obviously need.” I rested my forearm on my knees, relaxing. “So
what are your nightmares about?”

She narrowed her eyes. “All of the ways I’d
rather die than bite the neck of a disgusting werewolf who’d be
willing to rape a fourteen-year-old girl just to have control over
her when Judgement comes.”

Rage consumed me, and I quickly looked down
to focus on pulling back the shift that had changed my vision. Her
words ate at my mind. I hadn’t found her soon enough. One of my
kind had already found her and—I swallowed hard, hoping she didn’t
mean what she’d said. That I’d somehow misunderstood.

“Has someone hurt you?” I asked, struggling
to keep in control. “Tell me who.”

Her continued silence tore at me. Sick with
self-blame, I looked up. She still stood where she’d been, ready to
defend or run depending on the situation. Her stance…the dreams…I
burned for revenge against whoever had hurt her.

“In this life?” she said, angrily. “No one,
yet. But it looks like you’re about to fix that. In other lives,
they’ve already died.”