Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Heart in my throat, I walk out of that cafe and don’t even dare to look back. There are Order members stationed all along this street, and I’ll be damned before I let them see any emotion on my face even though I’m seething inside.
Marcus came into that meeting with the angle that he was saving me.
But I know better. Even if it meant getting information about the Malus vampires, they wouldn’t help me.
I hurry down the sidewalk, bothered by something I can’t place my finger on.
It’s not just that they want info on the Malus family, but it’s that Marcus offered to help me.
The Order doesn’t make promises they can’t keep—they don’t make promises at all.
So why would Marcus try to sell that story about my second-cousin?
I know there are relatives of mine out there.
My family line didn’t completely die with my parents.
The Order would certainly know about my surviving family members.
But why send me to the UK? Xavier has family all over the world.
It’s not realistic to think sending me away would protect me from them.
I slow to a stop at a street corner, waiting next to two well dressed women, probably on their way to a fancy job in a fancy office, totally oblivious to what goes on in this city after dark.
Suddenly, a man comes rushing up behind us. You have got to be fucking kidding me. I am not in the mood to deal with an attempted mugging. Clenching my fists, I whirl around just as the man grabs one of the businesswoman’s arms. They both scream and the woman tries to jerk away.
“Hey!” I shout and the man jerks his head up, staring at me, but it’s like he’s looking through me, not into my eyes. He mumbles something unintelligible and pulls on the woman’s arm again. Her purse is hanging on the shoulder of her other arm—and he’s not going for it.
“Let her go,” I say and bring my hand down on the inside of his elbow, and the force breaks his connection.
He turns, gaze locking in on mine. There’s something wrong with his eyes.
At first, I think they’re bloodshot, but the red is too dark.
Thick, black, inky lines web across the whites, and his pupils are too dilated for this time of day.
“Ratunku,” he says, reaching for me this time. “Ratunku!”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I reply.
“Pomó? mi, szeptucha,” he says, tone begging and I just shake my head.
“Someone help!” one of the business women calls. “He’s trying to mug us!”
“I don’t think he is,” I say, but I’m too late. The man lets go of my arm and darts away, running into oncoming traffic. A Silverado truck hits him, and his body goes flying forward. There’s a collective silence followed by screams.
I stand there, stunned, just looking at the spot where the man was standing. There was something dark and familiar about his aura. It was something almost demonic. Shaking myself, I rush forward and spring into action.
“Call 911!” I tell one of the business women. One of them already has her phone out, but she’s too shocked to move. “Now!”
The driver of the truck—an older man with a full head of thick, gray hair—gets out and slowly walks over.
“He jumped in front of me. I couldn’t stop.” He clutches his chest and leans against the hood of the truck when he sees the man on the pavement, unmoving.
“I know, I saw the whole thing and so did all the CCTV cameras around here,” I say to soothe him.
The last thing I need is this old man having a heart attack.
Dropping down to my knees, I check the man for a pulse, though by the unnatural angle his head is twisted along with the gash on his forehead, I don’t think there’s a point.
His arm is broken, with a bone tearing through the skin, and most of the flesh has been torn off the left side of his face from skidding along the rough pavement.
Yeah, this guy is dead as a doornail, probably killed from the impact and died before he even hit the ground.
Suddenly, he reaches up, wrapping a bloody hand around my wrist. His eyes are wide open and the inky lines that crisscrossed them start to fill in.
He’s a demon.
Going on instinct, I put my free hand on his chest and zap him with magic. The blackness fades from his eyes and a rush of black smoke leaves through his open mouth, disappearing into the air. The body flops back, unmoving. What the fuck?
I pry the man’s dead fingers from around my wrist and notice what looks like defensive wounds on his arms. There are little cuts on his face from maybe a week or so ago, reminding me of ones you get when you’re running through the woods, crashing through low-hanging branches.
I know because I’ve chased—and been chased by—enough demons through the Appalachian wilderness to last a lifetime.
“What did you get yourself into?” I whisper to the man, shaking my head.
“There’s a cop!” someone shouts, and I look up to see them flagging down an officer. Shit. I was hoping to get out of here unnoticed. Wanting to look this guy over before the cops roll in, I gently push his head to the side and look for vampire bite marks on his neck.
There’s none.
Scanning the rest of him, I notice dirt on his fingers and under his nails.
The knees of his pants are dirty as well, and his once white running shoes are brown and caked with dried mud.
He smells like urine, which is typical in demonic possession cases where the demons either don’t know how or don’t care to control basic bodily functions.
He’s wearing a watch, and I hurry to get it off and shoved into my pocket right as the officer comes running over.
“He ran into traffic,” I say, doing my best to look as horrified and shocked as a normal person would. I make my eyes go wide and slowly shake my head. “There was nothing we could do to stop him.” I purposely take in a ragged breath and pull my arms in, shaking.
“It’s all right ma’am. I’ll take over from here,” the cop says and I back away. His partner comes over, ready to question us before I can get away.
“He was trying to take my bag,” Business Woman Number One tells him. “She stopped him and then he just…he just ran into the road.”
“You stopped him?” the cop asks, looking me up and down. I love it when men underestimate me. Gives me a chance to prove them wrong.
“I did, but I don’t think he was trying to mug us.”
“What makes you say that?” The officer gets out a pen and pad.
“He didn’t try to take the purse.” I shake my head, replaying it all. “He ran up and said something, but he looked rattled, not violent.”
“Not violent?” Business Woman Number Two scoffs. “He attacked you both.”
“Hang on,” the officer starts. “What are your names?”
“Florence Malus,” I say, forgetting the weight the Malus name carries until I see the cop look up at me, unblinking for several seconds. “Xavier’s wife,” I confirm.
“Have you been hurt, Mrs. Malus?”
“I’m fine. He’s not.” I make a face and look at the dead guy in the street.
The officer nods, turns away from us, and says something into his radio. Great. I don’t want special treatment. He takes down the names of the business women and more cop cars roll up. A female officer comes out and hurries over to me.
“Hi, Mrs. Malus,” she says and it’s still weird to hear anyone call me that. “Can I take you to the station? Only to get your statement in privacy and get you off the street in case this wasn’t a random event.”
Offering a polite smile, I just nod, certain this is some sort of rule Xavier has put in place.
I don’t need anyone to swoop in and rescue me and going to the police station isn’t something I really have the time or mental bandwidth for.
However…I look at the man lying in the street and see a cop retrieve a wallet from the man’s back pocket…
if I go to the station, there’s a chance I can get a little more info on this guy.
Devon came to me freaked out about something he discovered relating to exactly this. Whatever he found was jarring enough to want to run away from. I have to find out anything else I can.
“Yeah, I can certainly do that,” I tell the officer, who’s looking around for anyone who might come running out of the shadows.
Yep, Xavier definitely told the cops I’m under his protection.
“Thank you, Officer Whitmore,” I say, reading her name off of her uniform.
She leads me to her cruiser and opens the front passenger door for me.
I’ve never been up front in a cop car before.
I do my best to look meek and human on the way to the station, all the while listening to whatever is being said over the radio. It’s nothing of interest, and she turns the radio down when something about an overdose is said.
Only a few moments later, we’re at the station and she takes me into a conference room, brings me water and asks if I want coffee before leaving. I get up and look out of the window and into the hall, listening to any conversation I can hear.
“These druggies are becoming more and more unhinged,” someone says, coming down the hall. I duck back, out of sight, and press my ear up against the door.
“The last one didn’t have any drugs in her system,” someone else replies.
“None we could detect.”
Footsteps draw near and I hurry back to the table seconds before Officer Whitmore comes into the room.
“Hi, Florence. I know that was upsetting,” she starts, sitting down at the table across from me. “But if you can tell me exactly what you saw, that would be great. I just need a quick statement and then you’ll be free to go.”
“I was standing on the street corner waiting to cross and saw a man out of the corner of my eye rushing up to the two women standing on the corner with me. He grabbed one of their arms and I thought he was going to go for her purse but he said something I couldn’t understand.
I took a self-defense class in college and remembered to do this—” I bring my fists down in the air—“when someone has grabbed you.” I inhale and shake my head, remembering to look rattled.
“He let go of that woman and turned to me. He said something in a different language maybe and then ran into the street.”
I swallow hard, nodding as I replay it all in my head. That is what happened, and I know there is footage of the whole thing so there’s no point in changing details—only the little one about his demonic eyes.
“Do you think he was on something? I’ve heard there’s been a rise in drug problems downtown.”
“We’ve been seeing it more and more,” she tells me, giving me a concerned look. “I’m really sorry you had to witness that, Mrs. Malus.”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell her, able to sense that she’s a little worried this is going to come back on the Charlotte PD for the streets being dangerous or something. “Has there been an increase of drug-induced suicides like this?”
“I really shouldn’t say,” she goes on nervously. “But, uh, we’ve been busy.”
“Got it,” I nod. My phone buzzes in my purse and I pull it out, seeing a text from Leo.
Leo: I think this is the first time you’re at the police station without being arrested, right??
Me: Hah. Listening to the police scanners?
Leo: Yeah. Meet me outside.
“Do you need anything else from me?” I ask.
“No, now that I have your statement, you’re good to go. I’ll have someone take you home to make sure you get there safely.”
“My driver is here,” I tell her and hold up the phone. “Xavier just texted me and said he’s pulling up now.”
“Oh. Okay, great.”
I smile again and get up, following her to the front of the station. I thank her and then go outside, able to sense her relief not to have to put up a front with me. She’s scared of Xavier but also thinks it’s bullshit he’s bought his way into the department. I don’t necessarily disagree.
Squinting when I step outside, I spot Antonio’s Bronco right away. Leo is in the passenger seat, and my heart skips a beat when I look in the back for Ryder. I don’t know if I want him to be there or not. It’s a complicated mess, and it shouldn’t be.
Ryder lied to me for a year. Promised me everything was going to be okay and that he would make sure nothing came between us. And the whole time, he knew that he would never choose me.
But last night, he did. Didn’t he?
It shouldn’t matter. The trust is broken, he made his choice, and I’m fucking married to someone else.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say as I get in the backseat—alone. Ryder isn’t here.
“Same can be said to you,” Leo quips. “What the fuck happened?”
“I saw a guy run into oncoming traffic,” I simply explain, knowing they heard the gist of this already.
“And they took you to the station for questioning?” Antonio’s brows go up as he looks at me. “Why weren’t you questioned at the scene?”
“Because I’m a Malus,” I offer with a shrug. “Why are you here? You guys should be leaving town. I can’t…I…” My voice dies in my throat but I don’t have to say the words for my brothers to know: I can’t stop Xavier, Theo, and Ezekiel from seeking revenge.
“We wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Leo presses. “That’s what we wanted to do last night. Look…this whole situation is messed up and you were right about Mom and Dad knowing this whole time. The deal with the vamps, it’s beyond fucked, okay?”
“That still doesn’t change things,” I tell them and anxiety starts to form deep inside my chest. They need to get out of town.
Out of state. It’s the best chance they’ll have until I can convince my new family to leave my old family alone.
“Ryder shot a person. If the Malus family doesn’t come for you, the Order will. Shooting a bystander isn’t allowed.”
Leo and Antonio exchange looks.
“What?” I ask.
“The Order is hailing him a hero,” Antonio says apologetically.
“Hero?” I echo. “He shot a person and almost killed him.”
Antonio shakes his head. “That’s not how the story is being told. As far as the Order is concerned, Ryder is the first person in a long time to come close to taking out a Malus vampire.”