Finding Grace: The Guardian Chronicles Book One

Chapter 8. Inner Demons*

Chapter 8. Face Down by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

I pulled into the parking space near the entrance to the ER. Evan's scent lingering on the upholstery battered my senses as I drove. As soon as I parked, I got out of the car and leaned against it for a moment, trying to get her scent out of my nose. My cell was in my pocket on vibrate, and I impatiently waited to feel it go off. I wanted to be closer to her, so I decided to go into the waiting room, where I had waited the night before for her.

I was confused. Why was I so drawn to Dr. Evan Whitman? After my transformation, I had chosen not to spend much time with humans, in order to avoid the obvious temptations it offered. I had no idea what I was thinking. I had chosen not to ally too closely with others like myself, except for one, because I was not like them. Many reveled in the gifts that immortality gave, and liked the power we held over humans. Most even felt that the blood lust for human blood was our right. They felt that since we were made to yearn for it, then the precedent was set. Why fight the way of things? Predator and prey. I shuddered at the thought of randomly grabbing a human and taking a life. The only 'blessing' I had been given was my intuitive sight, the ability to see if my quarry was ready for death.

I moved silently through the sliding doors. Immediately I was bathed in Evan's scent when I entered the emergency department. Her fragrance was everywhere. Usually all humans smelled, well, just human to me. I had never taken time to decipher any uniqueness amongst them, but realized I was sensitized to her scent. I followed it down a quiet hall where I heard slight motion behind the wall next to me and then smiled when I realized she was in the physician's lounge. Then I realized she was not alone. I could hear two heartbeats in that room. I frowned with an unfamiliar emotion. Jealousy against an unknown stranger made absolutely no sense to me, but I decided simply it was because Evan wasn't alone. I listened outside the door for a moment then tensed as I heard alarm in her voice when she spoke to the other person. I didn't like it. Glancing around, I tried to see if anyone was coming. The last thing I needed was to rip the door off the hinges or break the doorknob. The black paint was worn off the keypad where the door lock code was entered. I punched the number two, thinking what an ineffective security code it was, and entered the room. In my haste, I still ended up pulling the handle loose. I had no difficulty hearing her struggle now; humans would not at this point either. I rounded the lockers at the back of the room and it took all the control I had in my cursed body not to break the neck of the man who had Evan cornered. There was no doubt Evan did not want his attentions; I could see it in the fear in her eyes and her obvious struggle against the man who towered over her. When he leaned in, so like the predator I was, to try to put his mouth on Evan's neck, I snapped. Rushing forward, I grabbed her assailant by the shoulder and threw him across the room from me. I could have killed him that moment, but that was not the image I wanted her to have of me...A killer. Not yet, not now.

I barely restrained myself as I came between him and the woman I felt the need to protect. The asshole was athletically built, and had apparently been in a fight or two, for he was not as stunned as I would have liked. He got up and acted as if he would challenge me, as if he possessed Evan. That I could not bear. I let a feral growl roll from my throat and I pinned him with the look I never wanted Evan to see. The look that said, 'Your number is up. You are going to die now.' I felt smug as the terror burst to the surface of the idiot in front of me. He backed away from me pleading, giving apologies I knew he didn't mean. The colors swirling around him were a mix of black predator, shot through with an orange anger and only a minimal haze of purple fear. He did not fear me completely. Maybe I would have to give him a healthier dose of fear later. I continued my glare, letting him in on my intentions. I only looked away as the security guard entered the room. A little slow, but at least alert, I thought. He eyed me first and then vague recognition lit his eyes. Next he looked at the other man closer to him. He knew the kind of scum the man was. He asked Evan first if she was okay, like a gentleman. I relaxed a bit now that he was here, but I was still shaking with pent up rage. I tried to calm my unruly panting. It was not a physiologic need for oxygen that drove me, but a primordial reflex to absorb the scent of my enemy.

"Emil, can you just take me home? I feel dirty." When Evan asked me that question, I decided maybe I would kill that man after all. She should never have to feel that way. The strange urge to take care of this fragile human standing in front of me was overpowering. Was this proof I actually had a soul, one that could feel for a human? For so long I had repressed all human sentiment, I was unsure what to do with feelings beyond disgust and apathy.

"Of course," I said, trying to express so many things in those quiet words.

I helped her into her coat, an old habit that surfaced automatically. She looked surprised. Oh, well, pour on the charm Romeo, I chuckled to myself.

I held out my arm once more, wanting some contact with this woman who had pierced the impenetrable wall I'd built to protect others. When she put her hand around my arm, the warmth she emitted spread over me, through my coat. I led her out into the waiting room, ignoring the gaping mouth of the large woman standing by the reception desk. Curiosity piqued in her aura, but I knew all of her intentions toward Evan Whitman were steeped in concern for her well-being. Then we went through the double doors and out into the sun. I ducked my face into the collar of my coat, and quickly put on the sunglasses from my pocket. Then I deposited the angel on my arm into the passenger seat, and once more, too quickly, climbed into the driver's seat. I looked over at Dr. Evan Whitman and realized that I was losing control of the reigns I had tightened around my unbeating heart nearly a century ago. Her head was bent forward, her face obscured from me by her long auburn hair. I wanted to see her face, to see if she was all right, but all I could see was her aura. It was dimmer than the first time I had seen her and swirling in a mixture of colors so fast I could not tell which emotion was most predominant: fear, anxiety, or hope, all mixed with a flurry of emotions I could not decipher. With no hope of controlling the path I had started on, I drove away from the hospital toward her home.