43: A Podunk Town

Quincy St. Martin

It seems like the whole house is in chaos. The old man is at my feet, writhing and screaming in pain. Blood is frothing out of his mouth, pouring out of his nose and ears. Once in a while, his screaming stops as he coughs, sputtering out more blood.

Outside, there are sounds of footsteps of people running, incessant pounding on the door, along with voices yelling and demanding for the door to be opened. The blood has stopped coming out of my neck, but my white gown is now streaked with crimson red. I look like I stepped out of a horror film.

I don’t get it. One minute I was screaming in pain because the stupid old fool was biting my neck, trying to mark me. It hurt like a motherfucker—Uh, mother of pearls, that I was seeing red.

The next moment he was on the floor, screaming the house down. Shouldn’t I be the one to be doing that? What a diva.

Outside, the banging on the door gets louder, so does the yelling, demanding for the door to be opened. Yeah, no. I’d rather be watching the old man rolling and thrashing about in agony. I watch in fascination as his big hands claw at his throat, almost ripping it open.

Even his tears are blood red, or maybe that’s just blood. I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m so happy about this. I have this weird feeling inside of me since he told me that Jorden is in the cell. It grew exponentially after he told me the truth behind my Nana’s death.

Something is happening inside. It’s like having another part of me awakening from slumber, opening its eyes, flexing its muscles.

Fury and hatred make it come alive. There’s an intense hunger that needs to be satiated.

Watching the old man in agony is feeding its hunger, making it happy, almost euphoric.

It finds his bloodcurdling scream entertaining. If it were a living being, it would be crowing with glee. But this is not anywhere near enough.

It wants more. More blood. More of his suffering.

After a while, old Maddox’s screams die down to a strange gurgling sound from his throat. Then he lies still.

Dark red blood pools underneath him, it has splattered the cherry hardwood floor and is seeping into the thick cream rug by the bed. The smell of his blood is revolting, but I don’t even care. I want more of this.

Too bad he isn’t moving. Is he dead? I don’t think he’s even breathing. I nudge his side with my foot. He’s still not moving, so I nudge harder. I’m about to kick him when he starts groaning and gasping for breath. The next instant, the door comes crashing down with a loud cracking sound. Alpha Maddox rushes in with a few warriors behind him. Their eyes are wild, looking for any signs of danger.

When they find no one else in here, they turn to look at old Maddox at my feet.

The alpha snaps his attention to me. His eyes are like chips of ice, and his nostrils flare. “What have you done to my father?”

Prince Caspian Romanov

I pocket my phone before I do something crazy, like throwing it out the window or smashing it against the wall. The moment we arrive in LA, I power up my phone and have been calling and sending texts to Quincy.

So far all my calls have gone to voicemail and my texts go unread and unanswered. Where is she? It feels like everything is conspiring against me.

I wasn’t able to communicate with her when I was in Russia since I was advised that any form of communication might be traced by our enemy and alert them to her existence and whereabouts. I can’t even reach my agent.

So, okay I did have one of my men tail my princess. It’s not like I’m stalking her or something, not really. I just want to make sure that she is safe. My agent was given strict instructions not to alert her of his presence.

He should not interfere with her life in any way, but he should be reporting to me of all her activities or her whereabouts as soon as I get back. So far, nothing. In fact, he can’t even be reached!

I have a conference call with my parents and my father’s advisor in less than thirty minutes, which is why I’ve been hanging around my room since we got back.

Mother was furious when she found out that we left; she threw a tantrum. Now she, my father, and his advisor want to talk to me. That sounds rather ominous.

Knowing my mother, I know I won’t like the outcome if I don’t play my cards right.

I walk out to my balcony that faces the pool. My friends were down there before, and now it’s empty. They’re probably resting, getting over the jetlag…or not.

I pull my phone out again and press my agent’s number. So far all my calls to him have gone to voicemail as well. It’s like both of them have disappeared off the face of the earth. Something is not right.

Screw the conference call. I need to find my erasthai.

I walk out of my room, jog down the stairs, and grab the key fob to my Alfa Romeo on the way out.

***

The light in the house is on, and I can hear a few people talking, almost like they’re fighting. I can’t hear my princess’s voice, though. I brace myself for what I might find as I get out of my car and walk a few steps to face the front door of the house.

I had been looking for Quincy all over campus. First, I went to the class that she’s supposed to be in. She’s not in there. She missed her class today.

I stopped by the café where she’s working to find out that she didn’t show up for work yesterday either. Now here I am standing in front of her house. The house grows silent as soon as I rap on the door.

A few seconds later, the door is being yanked open. A man, or rather a werewolf, just an inch or so shorter than I am, is standing there. His dark eyes widen in surprise then narrow in suspicion.

“Are you here to kill me?”

I take in his piercings and his somewhat familiar scent. Suddenly I know who he is. He’s one of the men who took and injured Penny a few weeks ago. Penny told us that he was a friend and that he helped her escape, but I have no problem killing him if I have to. What is he doing here?

“Do I need to ~kill~ you?” I say.

Behind him, a woman who was with Quincy the night I took her out to our practice ground is peering out, trying to catch my attention. Her eyes and nose are red, I guess from crying.

“I’m here for Quincy St. Martin,” I tell him before he answers me. “So you better step aside.”

“What do you want with her?” His stance grows more aggressive, as if he’s ready to fight me. The very idea is laughable. Behind him, the woman is now waving both hands up and down.

“What is it to you?” I ask him. He’d better not tell me that he’s her mate or boyfriend, or I’ll break his limbs one by one before I snap his neck.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” yells the tiny woman, trying unsuccessfully to yank the man back. “Too much testosterone! Too much testosterone! Focus, Jonah! Focus!”

That’s right. ~Jonah~. That’s his name. Or “Yummy Lip Ring,” as Penny called him.

“Get back, Layla. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know what he is,” says Yummy Lip Ring, tugging her back behind him.

“Don’t you manhandle me, Jonah! I need to find my friend,” she slaps his hands off her and struggles to step in front of him. “Caspian, we need to find Quincy. She’s missing.” All of a sudden, tears well up in her eyes.