Chapter 55: My Boyfriend Is A Beast

The minivan I liberate is a newer model, the back seat filled with kid's toys. Sage finally hesitates at my choice, but I don't give him an option, or the chance to shatter our little bubble of happy I'm still clinging to. Instead, I point at the glove compartment.

"Find a name," I say, "and I'll make sure they not only get their van back, but they are compensated." That is, if I'm ever in a position to do so. It seems to make Sage feel better and he eagerly hunts for the registration.

San Antonio's glowing lights die behind us as we head onto the interstate again. I find myself constantly looking at Sage, checking him for signs of illness. He finally reaches out and squeezes my hand.

"I won't be stupid this time," he says. "The minute I feel weird, I'll tell you. And I'll take these." He slips the bottle of antibiotics from the plastic bag and holds it up. "And drink this." He shakes his Gatorade at me, a quick purchase from a corner store on our way out of the city. "You can stop worrying now."

"No," I say as we drive into the southern Texas night. "I'll never stop until you're cured."

He does feel stronger to me when I let my magic touch him, though I'm not sure that's a good thing. Because his wolf is stronger, too. At least he's still free of all traces of what I recognize as revenant. But what does that mean?

Day lights the sky behind us. I can't help but count down. This is the end of day five, eight hours behind my initial guess back home. Only two to go before the inevitable. I wish I hadn't lost the file Femke gave me. There is so much information I wish I had. But it's in my carryon, back in Miami, probably either in lost and found or confiscated by security by now.

Seven days, according to the file. But Sage is different, feels absolutely unique. So does that time frame still apply?

It's almost evening by the time I pull over into a gas station in the mountains. Texas came and went without incident, Arizona welcoming us. We're close to the California border, another eight or so hours to Los Angeles. If I drive all night, we'll be there by morning. Leaving me one day to find out who Caine and his people really are, though I now suspect who made them.

Belaisle and the Brotherhood. It has to be. I've tried a few times over the course of this day's drive to reach Syd and warn her, but without success. She's either shielding or not here on this plane. Which makes me even more nervous. I'm not going to ask her to rescue me, but knowing Syd is there in Wilding Springs is a huge comfort. If she's off somewhere with Max, which has often been the case the last few years, my safety net is gone. Selfish, really, but enough to trouble me. Besides, she really needs to know Belaisle is active again.

But why is he building werewolves? What does he want my people for? And why, if he's succeeded with Caine and his people, is he making such a mess of the revenants in Europe? It makes no sense.

The station is quiet, a few cars parked in front. Sage is sleeping, so I leave him to rest, climbing out to stretch and get gas. The tank full, I head inside to find us food and stock up on more water and juice for Sage.

The interior is rustic, and I immediately feel like an intruder as I enter. A small group of locals turns to stare as I walk toward the counter in the back. There's a small diner attached to the gas station, tables covered in plastic, wooden chairs and benches in desperate need of upholstery. But the food smells amazing and I find myself smiling as I greet the older woman behind the register.

She grins at me, thick hands jotting my order as I salivate over the scent of cooking meat behind her. "That it, sweetie?" Her eyebrows go up as I add four hamburgers, two sausages and two large fries to the list of our dinner.

I hand her a wad of cash and grin. "My boyfriend is a beast," I say with a wink.

She laughs and winks back, ringing through my order. "Lucky girl."

I'm running low on cash, most of it gone to the hospital, though the moment we reach Los Angeles, I'll do some pick pocketing and rectify that. The gas bill takes up the last of it, leaving me with a handful of change rattling in the tip jar by the register.

It's colder here, and I'm still just in a little sundress, though the woman who owned the van was kind enough to leave a denim jacket in the back seat. It's big on me, but it's warmer than nothing. I ram my hands in my pockets as I wait for the food to cook, ignoring the stares of the locals, until they eventually turn away, bored by my inactivity.

The rumble of a big engine turns me around, a pick-up truck rolling past catching my attention. I miss the front as it passes, but the back is jacked up on giant tires, paint job old and dented.

Good old boys. How lovely.

Moments later, three big-bellied men with heavy beards, dressed in full camouflage enter the diner. The smell of wood smoke and blood drifts through the delightful scents of the space, making me immediately tense. I turn my back on them, staying close to the register, hoping they don't notice me. I know their type, all bravado and manliness. But maybe I'm wrong.

"Hey there, sweetheart." A heavy hand falls on my shoulder and I know I'm absolutely right after all. I turn to face the giant of a man, belly jutting toward me as he grins down through his dirty beard.

I shrug off his hand, looking away again. Damn it, I was hoping to keep this stop incident free. But if he touches me again, I'll hurt him.

His two buddies join him at the counter. The woman behind it scowls at them with a sympathetic look for me. "Mind yourself around my customers, Jake Wilkens, or I'll be calling the sheriff again."

Giant man grunts. "Don't have to be unfriendly," he says while his friends grumble agreement. "Was just saying hello, wasn't I?"

She shakes her pen at him. "I've had enough trouble with you and your boys," she says. "Now make an order and get your gas, or get your asses out of my place."

I grin at her, admiration for her skyrocketing. I can take care of myself, but it's nice to have a stranger look out for me for once. Happens rarely enough.

Before the three men can make any further scene-if they plan to-the door opens again. I glance back over my shoulder and spot a uniform, a hat, a gun. The tall, slim man with a young face for a man who smells so old tips his hat to the diner owner, eyes never leaving the trio in camo.

"Evening, Dorothy," he says in a cheerful voice. His eyes drift over me then back to the troublemakers. "Boys."

They grunt at him, but seem to unwind. Trouble averted. That is, if Mr. Officer hasn't run my plates. Damn, why didn't I stop to have them switched out before now? One more detail slipped through. I've entirely lost my edge.

A bell dings and Dorothy turns away to the window behind her. Three Styrofoam trays in a plastic bag slide over the counter at me. She winks slowly. "You travel safe now, sweetie."

I nod to her with a smile of my own. "Thanks." The three burly boys don't make it easy to turn and leave, but with the glowering eyes of Dorothy watching and the deputy tipping his hat to me, too, they don't have much choice.

Neanderthals. Any other time, I'd have taken them out back and given them a lesson they would never forget. And would encourage them to treat women with respect from now on. But I have Sage to think about and this cop to avoid.

I breathe a sigh of relief into the night air as I exit, hurrying to the car. It's not until I pull open the driver's door, I realize something's wrong.

At the exact moment the sound of growling reaches me.

And the door to the diner opens, three heavy sets of footfalls exiting.

The plastic bag hits the driver's seat as I spin, eyes huge, from the empty cabin of the minivan, and spot Sage across the parking lot.

He's standing in front of the jacked-up truck. At a dead white-tailed buck strapped to the hood.



***