Silver Mortal (The Gracen Chronicles) (6 page)

I turn and take in the three men who so rudely
cut into
my almost kiss. They're wearing worn, tattered clothes, smelling of cigarettes and alcohol. If I had to guess I'd say they were homeless, the streets being their territory.

“Wonder if he'll let us have a turn with her,” another guy remarks, rubbing himself crudely and spitting a wad of tobacco on the sidewalk, his dark eyes scouring my body up and down.

I roll my eyes. Great. Just freaking
great
.

My supernatural alarms begin to buzz through my body, and I know it's close to midnight. I also know that these guys have been drinking and Mark is in terrible danger.

“Mark, you need to get out of here,” I tell him in a low voice, biting back a growl that's inching up my throat.

I fix my eyes on the incoming threats, and I know they're not going down without a fight. Though they're not demons they are filled with evil essence, which means they've recently been visited by some dark entities. They're not possessed so I know their freewill is still in play. They have two choices right now: Darkness or Goodness, and these guys have chosen the dark path, and have chose willingly.

“Mark, please,” I again say, whispering in his ear, “go home.”

Instead of listening to me and running away, Mark steps in front of me, which I find very noble. He's willing to take on these guys by himself to save me. With feelings of fear washing over him, there's also a tinge of protectiveness. If he only knew the kind of essence within my body, flowing through my veins, bubbling beneath my skin—
he'd
be the one standing behind
me.

Trying again I start to say, “Mark—”

“No,” he shoots back immediately, and when the group of skanky men advances toward us, the fight begins.

Mark surprises me by throwing the first punch, the man he hits falling to the ground. That's as far as Mark gets, because after that punch the other two men give Mark the beating of his lifetime. It's also when my Silver Eagle side peaks, screaming at me to get down to business.

“STOP!” I yell at the top of my lungs, hoping that they will turn their drunken attentions on me and leave Mark alone. Thankfully they do, even the one Mark had knocked to the ground. Unfortunately for them I'm able to see Mark lying on the dirty sidewalk, unconscious. A storm of instant rage blows into me, soaking through my skin and deep into my bones, my heart feeling a blunt of red-hot fury. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm down before complete and utter madness claims me, but all I see behind my closed eyelids is bright crimson.

“Well, baby,” the one who had been rubbing himself says, “we're ready for our turn. We'll be more...
gentle
with you.” The other two drunkards laugh and spit out nasty
, awful
profanities.

Clinching my fists at my sides, I open my eyes and fix my gaze on them, knowing my glare would stop them
cold.  T
hey catch sight of my eyes
, which halts
their rambunctious laughter.

“Uh...what's wrong with your eyes?” the one who'd been rubbing himself asks.

“Yeah,” another one adds in a shaky voice. “And what the hell's on your face?”

Narrowing my eyes I grin viciously, and then...

I give
them
the beating of
their
lifetimes.

***

Mark lives in upper Manhattan—I know this because I found his wallet and checked his ID, memorizing his address. After finding his apartment building, I jump up to the fourth floor and land on his balcony. The sliding glass door is unlocked, allowing easy access into his apartment. My nocturnal eyes take in the space—small, dark, and reeking of young male. His bedroom is simple to find since there's only three rooms, plus a tiny bathroom. I lay him down on his twin-sized, unmade bed, gently placing his head on a fluffy pillow. He has a few cuts and bruises, most likely his left eye will be swollen shut in the morning. Other than that he appears fine.
Very
fine.

Gazing down at his unconscious face I realize just how handsome he is. His dark wavy hair, his strong jaw, his plump red lips—lips that I would never get to kiss. I knew this moment would be the last I shared with him. I'd be crazy to think that after tonight's events we could have a relationship, whether it be friends or more than friends.

Sighing sadly I turn to leave. I stop when he mumbles my name.

“G-Gracen?” I freeze, my heart thumping like millions of rabbit feet hopping around in my chest.

“Yes Mark?” I reply without turning around.

“Had a nice time tonight,” he softly says, letting out a weary laugh. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“Yes Mark. I had a great time, too.”

“Sorry for getting beat up,” he says softly.

I bite back tears. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It wasn't your fault.”

“I can't remember...how did you get me home?”

“Someone helped me.” Two single tears burn down my cheeks. I want to tell him everything, and I also want to tell him he needs to forget all about me, but I hold back. I begin to walk when his voice once again halts my steps.

“Gracen?”

“Yeah Mark?”

“Goodnight.”

I wipe the tears off my cheeks.

“Goodbye, Mark,” I tell him in a whisper, then as fast as possible I run through the open sliding glass doors and jump over to the next building. And then the next, and the next, and the next...

I run all the way home, jumping on top of every building that's in my way, crying the whole time. And with each roof I touch down on my mind spits out one simple truth:

Happiness just wasn't in the cards of life for a Silver Mortal like me.

69

Silver Mortal

chapter 6

Arriving home I open the door, slamming the crap out of it and rattling all the frames hanging on the wall. I throw my purse across the room and it hits the wall hard, all
the
contents spilling out, falling to the floor. To say the very least I'm
ticked
, and having rage issues does little to help the situation. Mom would still be out hunting demons so I would have to calm myself down. Alone. I stomp my feet against the hard wood floor leading to my bedroom, ready to sulk in the privacy of my own space. When Jude calls my name from the living room I know that my little pity party would have to wait.

“Gracen!” Jude calls out. “How did your date go? Was it
spicy
?”

With a loud groan I turn around and walk into the living room, pouting the whole way. Plopping down on the nearest loveseat I release a long, drawn-out sigh.

“That bad, huh?” Jude remarks, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, it sucked. It was horrible, key word
painful
.” I know my reply is woeful, and I hate that is, but...I'm having a moment. An
extremely
pitiful one.

He takes his glasses off, looking at me through tired green eyes, one blackened due to the other night's vamp demon venture.

“What happened? Did he put the moves on you?”

“The
moves
?” I laugh loudly. “When were you born, the forties?”

“What I meant to say,” he retorts, rolling his eyes, “is did he try to get in your pants and feel your naughty parts?”

“That's more like it,” I tell him with a nod. “Only no, he didn't try anything like that. He was the perfect gentleman, one of the nicest guys I've ever talked to. I was actually thinking of having another date with him. The date was going good and he was about to kiss me when...”

I can't finish my sentence. Tears began to build in my eyes, the levy holding them in threatening to break. I didn't want to cry anymore, especially since I'd bawled like an infant a good twenty minutes on the way home, which bothered the hell out of me.

I, Gracen Potts, was not a crier—until tonight, that is.

“What happened? You know you can tell me.” Jude leans forward in the recliner, his elbows resting atop his thighs and hands clasped together.

Looking down at my own entwined hands, then back at him I reply, “Everything was fine until some drunk
dudes
showed up and beat the living hell out of him.”

His eyes widen and he lets out a whistle. “Whoa, that
does
suck.”

“Yes indeedy-
freaking
-do it does,” I agree, shaking my head with remorse. “I don't know what I was thinking! Going on a date and being who I am, thinking everything would be alright—I blame Bets for all this. For getting my hopes up and all. If she hadn't made the date for me then Mark wouldn't have gotten beat up and I wouldn't be feeling so sorry for myself!”

“Hey, that's enough ranting, drama queen,” Jude scolds, throwing a hand in the air.

I narrow my eyes and scowl. “I have every reason in the world to bring the drama right now.” Again that
undone
feeling begins to whirl inside my brain, and I force myself to slam the brakes on it quickly.

After a few seconds of silence he asks, “You really like this guy, huh?”

“Yes I do,” I reply in a whisper.

“Then let go of what happened,” he states, giving me an encouraging smile. “What happened does suck, but it doesn't mean you have to give him up. If this Mark guy really likes you, and can forget about you seeing him get beat up, then he'll ask you out again. The next date would most likely go a little smoother.”

“No, forget it,” I react, shaking my head. “There's not going to be a next time, another date, or any date. I can promise you that.”

“
What
?” he exclaims. “You mean with this guy or—”

“
Any
guy,” I interject, lifting my chin up. “Dates and boyfriends—I don't need it. It's too much trouble to deal with and it takes up too much time. And anyway, Mark's an Untouched human. We couldn't of made it work, so I'll just stick to my first love—kicking demon butt.”

“Oh please,” he scoffs, “you hate demon slaying, Gracen.”

“That's not true,” I push in. “I mean, at first I hated it, but now...it's grown on me.”

He regards me with a serious gleam in his eyes. “Girl, you can't let this get you down. Yes, you're different, and yes your life is on the side of irregular, but you can't give up on a small piece of normalcy. You can't give up on finding someone you can relate to and possibly share your life with. And if you never date then you'll never find that special someone.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You never date. What's your excuse?” This question catches him off guard.

“Uh, because...um...” he stumbles, averting his eyes.

“Ha!” I smile with a sense of satisfaction. “See, you're just as screwed-up as I am. I've been here for, what, almost four years now? I've never once seen you bring a woman home or even talk about dating.”

“We're not talking about me,” he throws out promptly, laughing nervously. “We're talking about you being sixteen and wanting to give up after one date. We're talking about
your
love life, not mine.”

“That's the whole thing, Jude!” I throw my hands into the air, letting out my pent-up frustration. “I don't have a love life. And anyway, I don't have to date if I don't want to. It's my life and no one will tell me how to live it.”

Standing to my feet I quickly bring the conversation to a close. I don't understand the anger I'm feeling, burning hot in my veins. Jude's like a brother to me and I know he's only trying to help, but I didn't want to hear any of his thoughts. I'd had all I could take for one night, though Jude leaves me with one final thought.

“Life is too short to be alone,” he tells me softly.

I do not reply. Instead I walk into my room and slam the door, ready to escape into my own little world. Crawling into bed with my date clothes still on I pray for a blissful sleep, though instead I find myself plagued with nightmares, unaware that some would be coming true.

***

The halls of Nortin High School are packed, making it near impossible for Bets and I to get to our lockers. It's Monday morning, and already the school is gearing up for the spirit rally that will be held that coming Friday. Posters and banners line the walls, urging students to support their Warrior Eagles football team.

Before I continue, yes, it's extremely ironic that my high school's mascot is an eagle, but it could have been a whole lot worse. We could have been the
Vicious Vipers
or
Evil
Slayers
, or something along those lines. Yes, definitely and utterly ludicrous.

Finally, after pushing through hordes of football players and cheerleaders, we're able to get to our lockers.

“They're so stupid,” I mumble, digging into my trashy locker and pulling out my English Lit textbook.

“Why do you say that?” Bets marvels, checking her reflection in a magnetic mirror hanging inside her locker door. “This is what they live for. Guys running and
wet with
sweat, smacking each other on the butts, while all the ho-bag cheerleaders dance around the field, shaking their perky chests and showing off their
bloomers
.” She giggles. “Pep rallies, games, and parties is all they know, which is totally pathetic, but that's high school for you.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about,” I exclaim, slamming my locker shut and leaning back on it, continuing my
woe
is me
rant. “Real life isn't a pep rally or a game. Real life isn't about scoring a touchdown or making first string. It's not about who's popular or who bangs who at the after party. What do you think these guys are going to do after graduation, huh? When they're spit out into the real world where they have to work for a living?”

“Well,” Bets begins, still rummaging through her messy locker, “some will go off to college on scholarships, become hotshot lawyers or doctors—”

“And,” I cut in swiftly, “some will get hooked on crack or alcohol, landing themselves in prison or homeless on the streets, because all through high school everything was handed to them, like grades, money, clothes, cars—the majority of students here haven't worked a day in their lives!”

Bets shrugs. “So?”

“So
what
?” I glare my icy blue eyes at her.

“Exactly. Why do you even care—ah-ha!” Bets whoops out loud when she finds the textbook she's searching for. “There you are, you little rascal.”

“
Bets
,” I say halfway between a sigh and a moan.

“Gracen, what's your deal? You've been acting pissy all morning.” She closes her locker door, then turns her attention to me, her dark eyes wide. “OMG. This has something to do with your date with Mark, doesn't it?”

“No, this has absolutely nothing to do with Mark,” I lie, knowing full well my attitude today does suck because of what happened last night. Bets also knows I'm lying—she's always able to see through my ruse.

“What did you do?” she questions in a condescending tone, her black lips frowning. “You ran Mark off, didn't you?”

My jaw drops. “I ran Mark—what are you trying to say,
Betrina
? That I'm not good enough for him? That I don't know my way around a male specimen?”

“Now, now,” she says, her tone still patronizing. “All I'm saying is you don't have much experience in dating. If you want I could give you some pointers.”

“Yeah right!” I let out an abrasive cackle. “If I take pointers from you my reputation will be as splotchy as your neck!”

My blood is boiling I'm so mad. Who did she think she was, telling me I'm inexperienced and whatnot? Like she's the perfect date and I'm the unwillingly stooge.

I spin around in a huff, determined to walk away from her, but the crowd is just too thick. I only get a couple lockers away when Bets grabs my hand, tugging it gently. Turning around I shoot her with an arctic glare. Deep down I know she doesn't deserve to be treated this way, but I'm just so aggravated! Aggravated with my school, my life...
everything
. Fortunately Bets knows just what to say to get my mind off of frivolous junk.

“You know,” she begins softly, “I wouldn't worry much about your reputation.”

Arching an eyebrow I ask, “Why's that?”

A sly grin slowly spreads across her face. “Because most people think you're a lesbo, since that's what you've told every single guy that's ever asked you out. So about your reputation being splotchy—that ship has already sailed.”

I want to be angry with her, but the comical look on her face makes it hard to follow through with the madness. Trying to hold in my laughter, I bite down on my bottom lip. It doesn't work. We both burst out into uncontrollable giggles, hugging each other, while people openly gape at us as they pass. I'm sure they're thinking we'd just had a lovers quarrel and were making up...
idiots
. The rumor mill was already in full spin. I could almost hear the wheels turning. By the end of the day our friendly hug would most likely be turned into a spicy make-out session.

Pulling away from her, I lean back, bang my head on a locker two times, and stare off into space. What is my problem today? I've always had anger issues, but this was something I could not explain or control. Could it be that my date last night had me so down in the dumps that I feel it necessary to take it out on my friends—well,
friend
, and everyone else around me?

Bets, sensing my tension, says, “Why don't you tell me what happened last night? It'll make you feel better.”

A laugh escapes my lips. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” she replies, her head bobbing up and down. “Tell me, girl—was he a total scumbag?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Cheapskate?”

“Uh-uh.”

She studies me a moment before adding, “Did he try to get in your pants?”

I shake my head again. “No he—wait a minute. Wouldn't that qualify him as a scumbag?”

“Um,” she responds, quirking a pierced eyebrow, “I think my definition of scumbag and your definition are polar opposites.”

Looking at my best friend, my completely
human
best friend, I wish for the millionth time I could let her in on all my secrets. But that's an impossible wish. She can't and will never know the truth about me and what's out there living in the shadows. The less she knows, the better.

Again the weight of not fitting into
normal
human society hits me, and to my disgrace tears begin to gather in my eyes. Luckily a distraction causes any blubbering I may have let loose, my sadness dissipating, only to be replaced with fury.