Sullied

Chapter 8

Eight

Sullivan

Ru spins and thrusts his phone violently toward my chest. A split second later, he switches arms and thrusts out the knife instead. A split second after that, his brows climb his forehead and he gasps. “Sullivan?”

I tense. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He lowers the knife. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. Or I’ll put bells on you. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Okay.” I shuffle back a step. He probably doesn’t mean that. Probably. “Did you find anyone?”

“No. Maybe you were hearing things. Or it could have been an animal. Yeah, probably that. An animal.” He’s definitely trying to convince himself.

But I can do us one better. I sniff the air and concentrate, then recoil as I smell a trace of an unwanted but familiar scent. A cold weight settles under my ribs. “No, not an animal.”

“What then?”

“Vampire.”

He whips his gaze back and forth, scanning the distance. “How do you know?”

“I can smell it.”

“You can smell other vampires?”

“Yes, pure ones, the other hybrids, humans, Twenty-Four, Socks. You all have different, distinct scents.”

His complexion pales. “Can you tell which vampire?”

“No, only that it was an actual vampire, not a hybrid, like me.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He grabs my elbow. “We need to get back inside. Come on.”

“Whoever it was, they’re gone now.”

“Even still.” Ru’s eyes look haunted. “Someone knows you're here.”

We hurry back into the house. “Not necessarily. Someone might suspect I’m here, or maybe they were just ruling this location out. We don’t know.”

“Sullivan, it’s not a normal thing for a human to have every window blacked out like we do. If they were suspicious before, now they know.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe not?” I can’t keep the fear out of my voice.

“If there’s even a chance we’re found out, which there is, we can’t stay here.” He snatches a plastic tube thing from his pocket, holds it to his mouth, and sucks in. “We have to go.”

My stomach sinks. I don’t want to leave my home. Or, I mean, Ru’s home. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a home. And I definitely don’t want to leave Ru, the only friend I have aside from Twenty-Four. But he did say we, not you, and that’s a good sign.

Except.

Maybe it should be me that leaves. I’ve ruined Ru’s entire life. He was comfortable here before me. Safe. With a secure job and a calm house and a sweet cat. If I go now, he can get back to normal.

Gently, he lays his hands on my shoulders. “Sullivan. It’s okay.”

I meet his gaze. “It’s not.”

“It is. Or it will be. You’re spiraling. Stop that. I’ll take care of you.”

Everything I want to hear, and yet I can’t take him up on it. “I have to go. You can stay.”

“No,” he says with an air of finality that soothes my soul. “We’re in this together. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so no work. Grab a bag from the closet and pack your things.”

“I don’t have any things.”

“Pack my things then, everything I’ve given you. They’re yours now. The toiletries, the clothes you like, the books you’re reading. Blood from the fridge. Oh, and blankets. Lots of blankets. For the windows. We’ll go to a hotel for the night until I think of a better plan.”

“Are you sure about this? I feel—”

“Look, I get it, you need to freak out. I need to freak out. But we don’t have time for that right now, okay? Let’s just pack and get on the road and we can freak out together when we land somewhere safe. You good?”

I nod, unbelieving.

But hopeful.

And that’s how we end up crammed together in Ru’s old Honda, me, him, Twenty-Four, and a very grumpy Socks who’s mewling her displeasure from a plastic carrier in the back.

I’d be unhappy too in her position. Hell, I’ve been in her position. Stuck in a cage is no way to live, but Ru assures me we won’t be driving much longer.

He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other on his phone, scrolling through hotels. We swerve a bit too far to the right, and I nearly pee myself as the car rumbles.

“Shit, sorry,” he says.

“Maybe I should do that?”

“Maybe you should.” He hands me the phone. “Can you find us a place to sleep?”

“Won’t know until I try.” I’m decent at navigating tech by now, but beyond finding Ru’s house, I’ve never had to do anything important. Still, how hard can it be?

I flick to the maps app, note the direction we’re driving, scroll north to a city not too close but not too far and search for hotels nearby. About two dozen little circles appear on the screen and I start tapping away.

“Homewood Suites by Hilton?”

“Probably too expensive.”

“The Lodge at Stuart?”

“Ditto.”

I frown. “What’s that mean?”

“Means the same. In this case, probably too expensive.”

“Okay. Motel 6?”

“Perfect. And they allow pets. Have GPS take us there.”

Though I’ve never done that before, it isn’t hard to figure out, and moments later the phone relays the first bit of instructions to Motel 6. A giddy wave of pleasure at having succeeded at this task consumes me.

“Nice job.” He takes the phone and sets it in a dash mount.

I’m grinning ear to ear—until I remember we’re on the lam, fleeing from danger, escaping II Tech.

Again.

Only this time I’ve dragged Ru into trouble with me, and that, more than anything, makes me miserable.

Ru

Our room looks as tired around the edges as we are.

A laminate table hugs the wall with two rolling plastic chairs tucked beneath it.

A small TV is bolted to the dresser across from the beds.

Dingy carpet is low and scratchy underfoot, a neutral gray/beige designed to forgive years of dirt and tread.

A single painting, something abstract and decidedly forgettable, hangs on the wall enclosing the toilet and shower. There are double sinks and a mirror on the other side.

“It smells funny.” Sullivan scrunches his nose.

I chuck our bags on one of the queen beds and sniff. Nothing. Just stale air and generic cleaning product scent. “Yeah, sorry, it’s not the nicest motel. What’s it smell like to you?”

“People, dogs, solvents, smoke, food, and”—he frowns and his face flushes pink—“other stuff.”

I can guess that last smell. “It won’t be for long. I have an idea.”

“What idea?”

“Let me make a few calls in the morning before I tell you. I don’t want to jinx it.”

He accepts this well enough, wandering off to inspect the bathroom while I go back to the car for Socks. Poor cat. She only ever rides in her carrier when we go to the vet. She probably thinks she’s about to get shots.

I let her out and hope she’ll be pleased to find a grungy motel room instead of a vet tech with a needle and an unmentionable device meant for an unmentionable place. She takes her first few steps and hisses at my ankles, so at least that’s normal.

With any luck, she’ll settle after we do.

My adrenaline, previously on full blast, has finally tanked. Fatigue sits heavily on my lids. So much that the saggy bed with its multicolored synthetic comforter and its weirdly crisp sheets tucked within an inch of their life looks inviting.

Socks jumps onto the dresser and peers down at the room with distaste. For once, we agree on something.

I close the window shades and hang the extra blankets we bought to block out any chance at morning light.

Sullivan appears from the bathroom and crosses to her to scratch behind her ears.

She leans into his touch, ignoring Twenty-Four on his shoulder.

The animals have worked out a truce that involves coexisting with a bit of teasing but no actual aggression.

One of many reasons animals are better than people.

A yawn tugs at my jaw. “It’s late. I’m tired. Mind if I turn in?”

Sullivan shakes his head. “Of course not. I was thinking the same thing.”

Nice of him to say, though I wonder if it’s true. Sullivan’s a night owl, which makes sense, but it’s bound to be lonely.

I hesitate before shucking off any clothes. Normally I’d sleep in my briefs, but is that in bad taste? Will it be weird?

Sullivan, apparently, suffers no such qualms. Perhaps because he’s been monitored his whole life. Perhaps because he’s naturally immodest. Perhaps because he has no idea what seeing him naked does to me.

Regardless, he peels off his clothes without thinking twice, his bare buns bouncing as he turns down the covers.

He crawls in, drags his T-shirt over next to him and makes a little pillow. Twenty-Four promptly scurries over to curl up in the old shirt. My old shirt. This is obviously their routine. Feels personal. As the two of them nestle down, I realize I’ve been staring.

Eyes to myself, I go ahead and undress down to briefs and socks, cut the lights, and get in bed.

“Goodnight, Ru,” he says.

“Goodnight, Sullivan.”

Though I close my eyes and snug up the covers, I lay awake for some time.

My body is tired, but my mind won’t stop racing.

What if we’re being followed? What if I haven’t protected Sullivan after all?

We can’t travel during daylight, so I’ll need to book a second night at this fine establishment come morning, but being stuck here makes us sitting ducks.

What does that expression even mean?

“Ru,” Sullivan whispers. “Are you asleep?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Me either.” He sniffles. “I’m sorry I wrecked your life.”

Shit. Is he crying? I hope not because I’m not very good at comforting crying people. I never know what to do. What to say.

I turn over on my side to steal a peek, but his face is shadowed and too dark for me to tell. “Hey, no. You haven’t wrecked anything.”

“I have, though.” More sniffles. He’s definitely crying. “And you don’t deserve it. You’ve been so kind to me, and now we’re driven out of your house, and on the run, and in danger, and it’s my fault if—”

“No, no, no. None of this is your fault.” The quiet sob I hear in response breaks my heart. It’s clear he doesn’t believe this isn’t his fault, but I’m not sure how to convince him.

Regardless, I have to try.

I shove my blankets off, get out of my bed, and sit next to him on his. Above the covers, of course. Even a crying Sullivan can’t distract me from the thought that he’s naked under there, and I need to be very, very careful disguising my interest.

Gingerly, I pat his shoulder. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

He leans into my touch. “But—”

“No ‘buts,’ Sully. I’m glad you escaped. I’m glad you came to me. I’m glad we got out before anything bad happened. Truly.”

He rolls toward me, cheek against my forearm. “Call me that again.”

My eyes have adjusted to the lighting enough to see his attentive expression, brows relaxed, a near-smile tugging at his lips. “What? You mean ‘Sully’?”

“Yes.” One hand slips out from the sheets, and his long, cool fingers curl around mine.

“You like that nickname?”

“I do.”

I squeeze his hand. “Me too. I can call you Sully from now on if you want.”

“Please. And Ru, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. You know that, right?”

“Mm-hmm.” His soft hair tickles my arm. He smells like my shampoo, a light, powdery scent that suits him more than me.

“But.” He hesitates. “I would understand if you want to be done with me now. I can continue north on my own.”

“What? No.” This is out of the question for a number of very sensible reasons, but from the tip of my tongue comes the simplest and the one that feels the most true. “I don’t want you to go.”

He blinks up at me, moss-green eyes watery from unshed tears.

“If I were to wake up tomorrow and find you gone, I’d be worried sick. Promise me you won’t leave.”

We watch each other. Me looking for signs of understanding. For assent. Him searching for… I have no idea, but I hope he finds it.

He must, because he whispers, “I promise,” and places the gentlest of kisses against my knuckles.