Dirty Blood

 

  I woke up in my own bed, which was a little disturbing, since the last thing I remembered was passing out in the guest room at Fee’s. The dull ache in my bandaged arm was evidence that the morphine had finally worn off. I looked around and tried to get a sense for how long I’d been out or how I’d gotten here. It was dark outside my window, and the clock on my nightstand read 9:18. Before I could figure out what to do next, the door creaked open, and my mom poked her head inside.

  “You’re awake.”

  “Hey, Mom,” I said, uncertainly. “When did you get home?”

  “About an hour ago. I didn’t want to wake you.” Her expression grew worried. “Are you getting sick again? You’re not usually in bed this early.”

  “No, I guess I just didn’t sleep much last night.” Her concern didn’t seem appeased by that explanation. “I’m fine, Mom,” I added, in a firm voice.

  She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. “All right, I’ll be downstairs in the sunroom if you need me.”

  “Okay.”

  As soon as my door clicked shut, my bathroom door opened, and Wes stepped out.

  “What the hell? You scared the crap out of me,” I hissed, glancing at the place where my mother had just stood and taking a deep breath to calm my racing pulse.

  “Sorry. How’re you feeling?”

  “My head is clear but my arm aches a little. How did I get here?”

  He sat lightly on the edge of my bed and looked down at me with concern etched across his features. “I brought you. By the time I got back from the hospital, it was getting pretty late. I didn’t want your mom to worry, so I drove you home.”

  “I don’t remember,” I said, distractedly. I could smell him again and was having trouble keeping my thoughts organized, even without the morphine.

  “You were sleeping,” he admitted.

  “The hospital,” I said, suddenly remembering. I glanced at the closed door and lowered my voice. “How’s George?”

  “He’s fine. Some cuts and scrapes but nothing major. He was able to escape back into his car,” he said, giving me a pointed look.

  I ignored that. “Good. Did you find a trail?”

  “No. It disappeared on the other side of the trees that border his neighborhood. He probably had a car waiting and shifted so we couldn’t track him.”

  I sat back and sighed. To his credit, Wes looked just as frustrated and tense as I felt. Still, Leo was out there, and anyone I cared about could be his next target. “I want to train. As soon as possible.”

  Wes nodded. “I’ve already spoken to Jack. You start tomorrow.”

  I nodded and let myself relax. I tried to take comfort in the fact that soon, I wouldn’t have to rely on Wes and Jack to protect my loved ones.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Wes asked. Small worry lines creased his forehead just above his brow.

  “I’m fine,” I said, distracted. Details were trickling back slowly. “Tell me about Leo.”

  “I don’t know much more than I told you earlier. He’s a known leader for the opposition. He hates the idea of Werewolves and Hunters working together. Always has. He’s been fighting The Cause since it first began, according to Fee and Jack. And apparently, he perceives you as a threat.”

  “He’s never been caught?”

  “No. He’s always managed to slip away. I think he’s got a gift for that. And most times, he’s not even on the scene, anyway. He likes to sit back and direct the action.”

  “How do we stop him?” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I can’t let him attack someone else.”

  “We’ve got to find him first. That’s always been our problem. We’ll get word on where he’s holed up but by the time we get there, he’s slipped away.”

  “We have to find him. Before he hurts someone else.”

  “I know.”

  We were both silent for a minute and I could tell Wes was lost in thoughts of hunting Leo down—and finding him. The morphine haze had worn off, and I remembered my conversation with Fee. “What did Leo mean about the power in our blood? I asked Fee but she didn’t really answer me.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, quickly. Too quickly. His gaze flicked around the room. Everywhere but on me. “Probably just messing with us.”

  “It didn’t seem like it. He was convinced that you and I were different, more powerful than others of our kind.”

  “Well, we’re not. As evidenced by the fact that he almost killed you,” he said. His tone was a little sharp, and I stiffened, ready to snap some retort. Wes sighed, long and loud, though and then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … You did great. I’m just angry at myself for letting it happen.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said, but I could see he wasn’t letting himself off the hook.

  “It is, actually. If I’d met you at school, instead of waiting for you at home, it wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t have attacked.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Okay, but if you hadn’t gotten hurt, there’s a chance I could’ve finished him.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he went on. “Usually, age and experience are what tip the scales in a fight between our kind. But I’m faster and very strong. I have an advantage. I can fight better than most Weres twice my age.”

  “Is that why he ran off instead of staying to finish me off?”

  “Yeah. Obviously he only picks fights he can easily win.” He flashed a grim smile. “I wasn’t so easy to beat.”

  If it had been anyone else, it would’ve sounded like bragging. But with Wes, I knew he was just stating a fact. One that I could personally attest to after seeing him in action. “Your mixed blood is your advantage, isn’t it?”

  His gaze sharpened but he didn’t look as mad as I’d expected. “How did you know about that?” Actually, he looked on edge.

  I hesitated, unsure of how much to admit to knowing. But in the end, the look on his face decided it. He was tense, and obviously nervous about my reaction. “Fee told me. At The Cause meeting the other day. She didn’t know it was a secret, so don’t be mad.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “About your parents. Who—and what—they were. And about you being a mix of them.” I waited for his reaction. He looked relieved.

  “And why would Fee tell you all of that?” he asked.

  “I might have let her think I already knew,” I said carefully.

  He laughed. “I shouldn’t even be surprised.”

  Some idea tickled at the back of my mind. Something about this conversation, and the one Wes had with Leo. “She said Werewolves call you Dirty Blood,” I said slowly, letting the pieces form. “Is that what Leo meant earlier?” My jaw fell open as everything slid into place. “He doesn’t think that I’m …does he?”

  “Like me? No,” he said, his voice firm, absolute. “Like I said, he was trying to mess with us, throw us off, so that we wouldn’t focus on finding him or ending this.”

  “Wow, yeah, I guess it was working for a second. That would be crazy, though, right?”

  “Yeah. Crazy,” he agreed. “Well, I’m going to go. Let you get some rest. I’ll be nearby, though, keeping an eye out. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  I waited, half hopeful that he would kiss me again, but he didn’t. Instead, he stared down at me for a brief moment, his eyes unreadable, and then he rose to leave. I started to ask him how he’d get out without my mom seeing. Before I could, he was at the window and pulling it open.

  “What are you—?”

  “Lock this behind me, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled it open and disappeared through the opening.

  I gasped and rushed over, peering into the darkness of my backyard. On the ground, just below me, was Wes. He glanced up at me and then jogged toward the trees, the shadows swallowing him up.

  I closed and locked the window and returned to the warmth of my bed with every intent
ion of going back to sleep. Instead, I lay there for hours, wide awake. Whether my body was tired enough to sleep didn’t matter; my brain wouldn’t shut off. I had to struggle against overwhelming worry and the urge to panic whenever I thought of Leo, and what he’d tried to do to George. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else I cared about would be next and that led to panic because I felt helpless to stop it. So, to keep from completely freaking out, I thought of the only other thing that could really hold my attention: Wes.

  What was his deal? I couldn’t quite seem to figure him out. One minute he was concerned and caring, the next he was cold and distant. Then there were his half-truth answers—always holding something back. And just when I thought I had a handle on him, his mood would change. I wasn’t sure how much more of it I could take. Then again, there was no question that I’d fallen for him. Hard. So, what choice did I have?

  ~ 17 ~