On The Run With A Vampire

12. Lucien

CHAPTER 12

LUCIEN

The drive back to my home is a silent one. I suppose that’s to be expected given the events of our evening. Although Ms. Hartley is taking the whole first—and second, and third—time seeing a corpse thing remarkably well.

The soft hum of the engine fills the car as I glance over at Ms. Hartley. Her gaze is fixed out the window, her expression calm and composed. She seems almost serene, which is surprising given the circumstances.

Not for the first time, I find myself envious of fictional vampires who have the handy ability to read minds. What I wouldn’t give to be able to peer into her mind and learn, directly from the source, what is currently occupying her thoughts.

You could just ask her.

For some highly irritating reason, the voice of reason in my head sounds exactly like Blaine. This irks me for two reasons.

Number one: Blaine has never had a reasonable thought in his life. Not one. The man is a walking, talking tornado of chaos. The fact that my psyche has chosen him as its conduit is nothing short of egregious and is perhaps even further proof that I am indeed going insane.

And number two: The voice is right. I could just ask her and be done with this self-inflicted torture in an instant. Unfortunately, every time I open my mouth to ask, nothing comes out.

It’s becoming quite the problem.

What are you afraid of? the Blaine in my head asks. I can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

Nothing.

But that’s a lie.

Ms. Hartley seems to be handling everything extremely well, but I know, deep down, that she’s terrified. I’ve pulled her into a world where she doesn’t belong. A world where she isn’t safe and is being targeted by a pair of bumbling idiots. A world filled with monsters.

Of which I am one.

I know exactly what I’m afraid of. I know that if I turn to her right now and voice the question plaguing my thoughts, the answer she’ll give me will be filled with revulsion. Disgust. Fear.

She’s not disgusted by you, idiot.

But isn’t she? I don’t doubt for a second that, in Ms. Hartley’s mind, there’s no difference between the monster who killed Ms. Corrigan and the other victims and myself.

As soon as we solve this mystery, find justice for the victims, and clear Ms. Hartley’s name, she’ll want nothing to do with me. She’ll go back to her life of normalcy and I’ll be?—

I’ll be what?

Alone .

You’ll be all alone.

I don’t have to be. I could head back to Mother and Blaine and slip back into my old life. But then I’d just be?—

Empty .

The voice in my head no longer belongs to Blaine. It’s my own voice I hear sneering at me.

“Lucien?”

I blink several times. My hands are squeezing the steering wheel tight enough to pull it free, and we’re no longer on the road. We’re in the parking garage for my building. I must have been operating on autopilot for the last part of our drive because I have no recollection of getting here.

“Lucien.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch as she tentatively extends a hand. I’m certain she’s going to snatch it back before she can make contact, but Ms. Hartley is full of surprises. She leans forward and places her hand on my thigh. And even the layer of fabric between us isn’t enough to mask the spark of heat that erupts on my skin as soon as she makes contact.

It’s been so long since I felt warmth like this.

“Listen,” she says, hand still gently flexing against my leg. I think I never want her to let go. “I don’t know what?—”

The shadows cast over the concrete floor in front of us flicker suddenly. I stiffen as the echoing sound of hurried footsteps gets louder and louder.

Someone is in here with us.

Two someones.

I didn’t think it was possible to hate a heartbeat, but the hurried cadence of Buffoon #1 and Buffoon #2’s heartbeats has become maddeningly familiar.

A snarl gathers in my throat as my back twinges with phantom pain at just the thought of those two imbeciles. Not handling them before they had the opportunity to injure me will forever remain one of my greatest regrets.

I briefly entertain the idea of bursting from the car and pulling their spines out through their mouths but manage to restrain myself. Partly due to the fact that I’m still injured and not keen on embarrassing myself once again in their presence, but mostly because I have the sneaking suspicion that Ms. Hartley wouldn’t appreciate it.

Apparently that’s something I care about now.

The overhead lights suddenly begin to flicker ominously. I barely have enough time to catch Ms. Hartley’s confused gaze before we’re plunged into darkness.

Ms. Hartley, her hand still on my thigh, stiffens. I can feel her pulse quicken as the footsteps get louder.

“Wha—” she starts.

I shake my head roughly, and she cuts herself off and follows my gaze. They’re about three rows ahead of us currently, but I can just about make out the tops of Buffoon #1 and Buffoon #2’s heads.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Buffoon #2 asks. She steps out into a space between two cars, her crossbow leading the charge.

Her loaded crossbow.

My back twinges again.

“Affirmative,” says Buffoon #1. He glances at something I can’t quite make out. “The location from the Instagram log-in is definitely this building.”

Location. From. The. Instagram. Log-in.

I turn, excruciatingly slowly, to face Ms. Hartley.

“Sorry,” she mouths with a wince. At least she has the decency to look apologetic.

Two years of living here without issue, managing to skirt detection from the S.B.E.F, and it’s all been undone with one Instagram log-in. I can’t help it. I laugh.

It’s just one sharp, admittedly slightly deranged, bark of laughter, but it’s enough.

Both bumbling buffoons turn to face the car.

“Shit.”

“Found ‘em!” Buffoon #1 cheers, which, if you ask me, is a gross exaggeration of what has just occurred here.

“I wouldn’t say he found us,” I grumble. “Really, I did all the hard work leading them to us. Accidentally, of course, but?—”

“This is not the time for semantics!” Ms. Hartley shrieks.

She has a point.

Both buffoons have raised their crossbows and?—

The passenger side mirror shatters into tiny pieces as one of the stakes makes contact. The other, thankfully, misses its target and hits the car beside us, setting off a piercing alarm.

“Time to go, I think,” I say, starting the car up.

“They’re reloading,” Ms. Hartley shouts over the thrum of the engine and the alarm from the car beside us. “Lucien…”

I put the car into gear and slam my foot on the accelerator. The engine roars to life, and I swerve the car sharply, narrowly avoiding another stake that flies past us and embeds itself into the wall.

We skid around a corner, tires squealing as I navigate through the pitch-black maze of cars. Ms. Hartley reaches forward and grabs the dashboard for support, her knuckles pale as she braces herself.

I can see the two buffoons in the rearview mirror, hastily chasing after us.

“Where are we going?” she yells.

“No idea. We just need—” Another stake hits the car and the back brake light shatters. “We just need to lose them.”

The exit looms ahead, and I press down on the accelerator even harder. Just ten more seconds and we’ll make it out onto the open road. Behind us, I hear the unmistakable sound of another stake hitting metal, and the car shudders slightly.

Just a few more seconds.

The back window explodes in a burst of glass, and then my entire body is on fire. I feel a familiar, searing pain as the stake pierces through my seat and strikes the exact spot where the last one hit.

Unbelievable.

My vision blurs momentarily, and I grit my teeth in an effort to suppress the wave of agony that crashes over me.

Twice! Those imbeciles have now managed to successfully attack me twice!

Mentally, I will never recover from this.

“Lucien!” Ms. Hartley’s voice breaks through my haze of pain. “Are you—Shit. Are you okay?”

“Just…peachy,” I manage to rasp out, trying to keep my focus on the road ahead. The pain is almost unbearable, but I can’t afford to let it distract me. I push through the pain, and with a final burst of speed, the car bursts through the garage exit and onto the open street.

“We need to get that out of you,” Ms. Hartley says. Her eyes dart to the wound, and she winces sympathetically.

“Understatement of the century,” I grunt. “And you can trust me on that one.”

I spy the two idiots sprinting out of the parking garage, but I’ve managed to put enough distance between us now. There’s no way they can catch us on foot now.

“Lucien.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Ms. Hartley sound this grave. “We need to stop. Look at yourself—you’re going to kill yourself if you keep pushing.”

I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror–a futile effort given the fact that I do not have a reflection to speak of. But it doesn’t take much effort to guess what Ms. Hartley is seeing right now.

My fangs are bared in a soundless snarl, and I imagine there’s a ghoulish sheen of sweat clinging to my skin. I’m sure I look positively monstrous.

The fact that Ms. Hartley hasn’t thrown herself from the car screaming in fear is nothing short of a miracle.

She’s right, though. The pain is becoming too much. Not only has this stake managed to reopen my still-healing wound, but it’s also wedged deeper than the last one.

“Pull into that alley,” she says, pointing just up ahead. “We’ll turn everything off and get that out.”

“We’re still too close to them. Let me just?—”

“If they find us while you’re like this, we’re done for anyway,” Ms. Hartley says sharply. “Pull into the alley.”

If I weren’t seconds away from collapsing, I might’ve made a quip about Ms. Hartley having her own supernatural powers of persuasion. Her command, sharp and insistent, cuts through the haze of agony, and I begrudgingly nod and guide the car into the narrow alley she pointed out. The space is barely wide enough to fit the vehicle, and even my careful manoeuvring isn’t enough to avoid scraping the sides.

A shame. I’ll have to add this to the buffoons' rapidly increasing list of crimes:

Got Ms. Hartley mixed up in all this mess

Shot me. Twice.

Damaged my nice car

They really are determined to stay on my bad side.

“Okay, turn around,” Ms. Hartley says as soon as I shut the car down. “Quickly.”

I’m not proud of the hiss that escapes my lips as I shift in the seat and offer my back to Ms. Hartley. “How bad is it? No sugarcoating, please.”

She hesitates and clicks her tongue. “Well… There’s no blood.”

I can’t help but huff out a quiet laugh. “Isn’t that a relief. On three?”

“On three,” she agrees, steeling her hands against my back. “One. Two?—”

I jerk forward just as she pulls, and the stake comes out with a horrendous pop I’m going to be hearing in my nightmares for at least the next six decades.

“Fucking—”

“I know,” Ms. Hartley says softly. Her fingers ghost along my back and down my arm. “I know.”

Just the simple touch is comforting in a way I haven’t felt comfort in years. I want to relish it, to lose myself in her touch, but the black spots in my vision are increasing with each passing second.

“Ms. Hartley,” I manage to grit out as I turn to face her. “If there’s any hope of us getting to safety, I’m going to need to feed.”

Her brows shoot up. “Is that really necessary?”

“Those two idiots?—”

Her lip twitches. I think she’s fighting off a smirk. “Do you even know their names?”

“No, and I don’t care to. Those two idiots are currently prowling the streets looking for us. It’s only a matter of time before they stumble on this alley. And when they do, while I’m in this state, I cannot protect you.”

She swallows. “I get that, and I understand that you have needs, but I don’t really think it’ll help our case right now if you kidnap and murder someone.”

“Do we have to call it murder?”

“But I think I have a solution,” Ms. Hartley continues as if I hadn’t interrupted. She takes a deep breath and then points to her neck. “Bite me.”