Hunter's Trail

But now Olivia was dead, for good, because I had motherfucking beaten her. And Eli had proved more than once that he truly cared about me. Moreover, he wasn’t even a werewolf anymore. There was nothing standing between us now, except for the fact that I didn’t want to pull him back into the Old World when he had the chance to be free. That . . . and Jesse. Who had kissed me. I shivered. It had been a really good kiss.

“Goddammit,” I said out loud. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be thinking about boys, for cripes’ sake. I just wanted to be left alone.

But with that thought, I suddenly felt very alone. And I missed my mom. A wave of grief for my parents crashed into me, more powerfully than it had in years. I considered calling my brother, just to hear his voice, but I knew it was a bad idea. If Jack sensed something was wrong and asked me about it, I wouldn’t be able to tell him. And if he didn’t sense something was wrong, I’d feel more alone than ever.

I sighed and got up to change.

Chapter 11

Twenty minutes later, I was driving the White Whale east on the 10. I wasn’t going to sleep anyway, so I figured I might as well get the conversation with Eli over with.

I was wearing what passed for work clothes in my life: the same jeans (soy sauce stains be damned!), a clean T-shirt, a thick sherpa-lined hoodie, and my beloved canvas jacket, also known as the “coat o’ nine pockets.” I had stashed my wallet, phone, and keys into its various pockets, along with my fully charged handheld Taser, which I was delighted to have. I had missed my Taser.

My long dark hair was fixed into a tight bun, and I’d put on my black Chuck Taylors. This was as close to battle dress as I was going to get, since I still needed to replace the leather boots that had been destroyed during the fight with Olivia. I’d briefly considered asking Molly to pick something out for me while I was recovering, but I’d come to my senses. If Molly had her way, I’d end up with five-inch spiked heels and retractable knives coming out of the toe.

Traffic was light by this time of night, and I sailed quickly across the 10 freeway to one of the USC campus parking garages, where I paid a ludicrous amount of money to store the Whale. USC is one of Los Angeles’ two biggest schools, but until recently the area around campus was always seedy at best and bleakly dangerous at worst. A few years ago, probably prompted by trust fund parents who worried about the homeless people and drug dealers lurking a block away from their babies’ BMWs, the school had made a big push to expand its safe zone of student-oriented businesses, museums, and parking garages. But a few places had resisted the tidal wave of forced urban planning, including a seedy little motel called “The 32nd Street Sleepaway,” known locally as the “Dirty 32.” I don’t know how the Dirty 32’s owners survived in the face of all that gentrification—nor do I want to—but I had to kind of respect them for standing their ground.

You can respect a place without ever wanting to visit.

Anyway, seedy or not, the Dirty 32 was where, in the hours and days that I’d been unconscious, Will had stashed Eli. When I heard about the plan, I had to admit it made sense. Very few people hung around this part of town unless they were tied to the university, and none of Will’s pack was involved with USC in any way. The students were on winter break, so the motel was deserted, and it was still cheap and dirty enough that the employees wouldn’t look twice at a guy who stayed more than a few days with no obvious reason to be there. It was also far inland, which was useful because anyone who knew Eli and was looking for him would probably figure on him staying near the ocean to surf, and close enough that Will could keep an eye on Eli just in case the werewolf magic returned.

It had been just over a week now, however, and it was looking more and more like that wasn’t going to happen. Whatever I’d done to Eli had been for good. Or for bad.

You know, one of the two.

I had printed out directions on account of not having a smartphone. Lucky for me, there was a parking garage just around the corner from the motel, so I didn’t have far to limp. Gentrification or not, this was not a great neighborhood in which to be injured, alone, or female after dark, much less all three.

The motel was a simple two-story concrete box. Each floor was basically just a long wall of rooms, bookended by twin sets of outdoor stairs with little pebbles embedded into the concrete on each step. To make it classy, I guess. When I’d called Will earlier to get Eli’s location, he hadn’t known the room number, so I stumped toward the manager’s office on the first floor with a $20 bill in my hand. Whoever was working here had to be at least a little hard up for cash. But halfway there, movement caught my eye—Eli himself, walking toward me from the soda machine at the opposite end of the floor. His room must have been one of the ones between us. “Well, that was easy,” I said out loud.

Eli heard me and looked up from his drink. He stopped dead for a second, and I saw that he was tired and sweaty-looking. The can made a tinny crackle of protest as Eli clenched it. “Scarlett?” he said incredulously.

I found myself blushing. “Uh . . . hey.”

He dropped the can and sprinted along the line of doors toward me. I hadn’t realized I was braced for his werewolf magic to hit my radius until it didn’t happen, but by then he was with me, scooping me up in a breathless hug. I whimpered with pain, and he tried to put me down in a panic. By then I was off balance, though, and started to stumble back the other way. Eli reached out and steadied me, apologizing over and over. The pain flared until I was dizzy with it. My radius seemed to be spinning too.