Chapter 10: Fire at the gas station
The necklace around my neck pulsed faintly, a constant reminder of the mate I was tracking. It had been pointing east for two days straight, offering no more information than the direction I needed to follow. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep me moving.
I leaned against the metal post outside a run-down gas station, exhaustion settling deep in my bones. The human world was polluted, its air thick with gasoline, asphalt, and chemicals that clung to my skin. It was nothing like the crisp, clean air of White Stone Pack. The longer I stayed outside our lands, the more I craved the quiet of the forest, the grounding presence of home.
Ronan was inside, arguing with the cashier about something I didn’t care to listen in on. He was taking his time, probably flirting or being a general nuisance, while I tried to settle the nausea rolling through my stomach.
The feeling of unease settled over me before I heard the voice.
"What’s a little wolf like you doing here all alone?"
The voice was smooth but carried a hollow emptiness, something unnatural and cold. My body tensed at the scent that followed, a mix of old blood and decay. Vampire.
I turned slowly, my eyes landing on four figures just beyond the flickering gas station lights. They were tall, lean, and predatory, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim glow. I could hear the barely restrained hunger in their breathing, the way they stood close together like a pack of scavengers waiting for a fresh meal.
I sighed, rolling my shoulders. This was the third group of vampires I had encountered in two days. It was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like someone was keeping track of my movements.
"I have more reason to be here than walking corpses like yourselves," I said, my tone flat and unimpressed.
The leader, a tall one with a leather jacket that had long since gone out of style, narrowed his eyes. His lips curled back, revealing elongated fangs as his fingers twitched at his sides. The others reacted just as predictably—one of them let out a soft hiss, a woman with blood-red lips and nails that looked more like claws. The bald brute beside her cracked his knuckles, while the fourth, a man with a deceptively pretty face, simply tilted his head, observing me like I was an unusual puzzle.
The bald one was the first to speak. "Cocky little bitch," he growled. "I say we drain her."
I exhaled slowly, my patience already thin. "You can try."