Cloak of Deceit

Chapter Fifteen

I ran through the rain for a long time. Like a bird loosed from a cage, I didn't have any direction but away. I had never really tapped into my Undead capabilities, but as my legs stretched on tirelessly, I thought I could run forever. And I wanted to.

Keep running until it stops hurting.

I leapt over puddles and curbs with a grace I'd never had while living. If I hadn't been so brittle and numb on the inside, I might have enjoyed it. The air wasn't fresh, but after being cloistered and listless for several days, the act of movement freed me. I wove and turned, streaked down alleys, and zigzagged between buildings, determined to make it as hard as possible for Julian to track me.

If he would even bother looking.

But of course he would. I was his golden ticket.

My eyes stung and my vision blurred. I finally slowed and threw myself against the side of a rusted warehouse door, a sob strangling out of me.

How could he do that to me? How could he make me believe him so much? How could I be so wrong about what I felt? Julian didn't want me for me — who would? I wasn't worth the trouble I caused.

Clearly, as my mother and therapist suspected, there really was something wrong with me. I just had no sense when it came to men that I wanted. I always wanted the wrong ones. It should be a recognized disability for all it had screwed up my life. Now my life was over. The un-life I thought I wanted was a lie. Anyone who came in contact with me was in danger. That was my life in a nutshell: unwelcome everywhere, safe nowhere.

Antsy, I started moving again, this time with direction. I needed to find something public, blend in to a crowd. That was as far as my plan extended. I tucked my piddly supply of blood under my arm and crammed my hands into my pockets. Avoiding detection was a given. But what then? Get lost. Disappear. Maybe I could find some hunky millionaire, make him my blood slave, and get swept away to Tuscany. Start over.

Alex Moore, immortal heiress extraordinaire, and her spectacular fire-writing trick.

Inspecting the grungy grey buildings towering over me, I thought that was about as likely as pulling a new identity out of thin air. Maybe less likely. One colorful sign swung up ahead — wood painted green, with a harp and O'Doyle's in gold lettering.

I ducked under the awning. A neon Guinness sign flickered in the window, and the wall of bottles lining the back glinted from the shadows. The pub was boisterous as I stepped inside. The clang of the bell signaling my entrance was lost in a chorus of groans as most of the patrons fixated on replays of a football game. The scent of the room was distinctly male, which I confirmed by hesitant glances at the sea of plaid shirts and holey jeans.

"Figures," I muttered under my breath. Of all the places to run to, I had to find the unemployed loser's happy hour at O'Doyle's. So much for Plan A.

I stuck out like a sore thumb, and come commercials, I would be the center of attention. That left me about twelve seconds to get to the phone booth I spotted on the far wall. I edged my way through the beer-musky crowd, slinked behind the faux wood paneling, set my bag on the floor, and lifted the receiver.

Who could I call? My mom came to mind, but I froze on that thought and chewed on my lip. I didn't want to get her involved in this mess. As long as I stayed away and kept her ignorant, she should be safe. At least, according to Julian. Could I really believe him though? Maybe I should warn her. I slammed the receiver back down. The coins inside jingled. I knocked my forehead against the box. Think, Alex.

"Need some change, beautiful?" said a slick voice behind me.

My eyes snapped open. I turned slowly, unsure if I really wanted my vision to confirm what my ears were telling me.