that.
Chapter Seven
Angelique grabbed her grocery bags from the backseat as she eyed the small motel. So far, Connor was right. It did look decent. The building’s walls were white, but faint evidence of spray-painted graffiti showed from underneath the coat of paint. Only the sound of traffic spoiled the quiet of the parking lot. Hopefully the inside was kept to the same standard.
She clicked the remote on her keychain, locking her car as she strode toward the motel’s office.
Inside, the office had white ceramic tile and dull brown wallpaper, but it was clean. The lingering scent of bleach filled the air. A man sat reading the newspaper behind reinforced glass stretching from the counter to the ceiling. Somehow, she knew he was watching her. A piece of paper taped to the glass listed the hotel’s affordable rates. At least this hotel didn’t seem to be run by someone whose reading material of choice was X-rated.
“Hey,” she said, her voice a little breathy. “I’d like a room for the night.” Her gaze went back to the list. “One with a double bed.” She reached into her purse and pulled out cash. The man on the other side of the glass set his newspaper aside. He typed on the old computer before looking at her directly. Other than asking the usual check-in questions, he remained quiet. He seemed cautious not to gather any extra details from her. Nice, but somewhat odd.
Grabbing the key, she thanked him and then headed out to find her room, which was on the first floor. She moved her car, parking near a set of nicely trimmed bushes. Sounds of splashing and young kids yipping in excitement came from the pool in the inner courtyard. Normally, she would’ve been interested in going to the pool, but she was too exhausted, tense, and paranoid.
Angelique opened the door to her room. She put the groceries on the small, round table next to the bed. The dated furnishings reminded her of reruns from the seventies, but at least it was tidy. She bolted the door behind her before heading to the phone.
Before she could call Connor back, a soft knock on the door stopped her. Who could that be? Surely, it wasn’t the hotel staff. Her gaze shifted to the door, and to her horror, black veins of rotting wood spread out across the dull, white surface.
Kira woke up, tense and alert, ready to leap from Angelique’s skin and attack. Angelique held her back. No telling what waited for them on the other side.
She turned her attention back to the phone, frantically punching in Connor’s number. She’d managed the first five digits when the door exploded inward as if a hurricane had blown it in. Shielding her face, she struggled to maintain her footing. The wind died down, but she didn’t have a chance to finish dialing.
The strange man from the store ripped the phone cord out of the wall. He grinned at her. “No use calling for help now.” He slammed his fist into her stomach, and her breath surged from her lungs in a gasp. From her hunched-over position, she watched the man pop his knuckles and stretch his muscled arms.
“Cooperate and this will be over quickly. Don’t…and well, I can’t promise you’ll survive the night.” His voice had an accent. While she wasn’t shabby with placing accents, his sounded purely Celtic, not Irish, and not Scottish. Very old world. “Shall we begin? I won’t bother telling you my real name. You can call me Mahon.”
Her skin crawled with fear in remembrance of her family’s warning. They’d told her of hunters, but there hadn’t been one in so long. Her gift was a blessing and a curse wrapped in one.
She put her fists up in a fighting stance and kicked him above the knee. The man danced back a few steps. His face registered the pain, but she doubted she’d hurt him much. Kira perched on her shoulder, growling and eager to defend them, but Angelique kept her focus on the man in front of her. Until she knew what this man wanted, she wouldn’t put Kira at
Chapter Seven
Angelique grabbed her grocery bags from the backseat as she eyed the small motel. So far, Connor was right. It did look decent. The building’s walls were white, but faint evidence of spray-painted graffiti showed from underneath the coat of paint. Only the sound of traffic spoiled the quiet of the parking lot. Hopefully the inside was kept to the same standard.
She clicked the remote on her keychain, locking her car as she strode toward the motel’s office.
Inside, the office had white ceramic tile and dull brown wallpaper, but it was clean. The lingering scent of bleach filled the air. A man sat reading the newspaper behind reinforced glass stretching from the counter to the ceiling. Somehow, she knew he was watching her. A piece of paper taped to the glass listed the hotel’s affordable rates. At least this hotel didn’t seem to be run by someone whose reading material of choice was X-rated.
“Hey,” she said, her voice a little breathy. “I’d like a room for the night.” Her gaze went back to the list. “One with a double bed.” She reached into her purse and pulled out cash. The man on the other side of the glass set his newspaper aside. He typed on the old computer before looking at her directly. Other than asking the usual check-in questions, he remained quiet. He seemed cautious not to gather any extra details from her. Nice, but somewhat odd.
Grabbing the key, she thanked him and then headed out to find her room, which was on the first floor. She moved her car, parking near a set of nicely trimmed bushes. Sounds of splashing and young kids yipping in excitement came from the pool in the inner courtyard. Normally, she would’ve been interested in going to the pool, but she was too exhausted, tense, and paranoid.
Angelique opened the door to her room. She put the groceries on the small, round table next to the bed. The dated furnishings reminded her of reruns from the seventies, but at least it was tidy. She bolted the door behind her before heading to the phone.
Before she could call Connor back, a soft knock on the door stopped her. Who could that be? Surely, it wasn’t the hotel staff. Her gaze shifted to the door, and to her horror, black veins of rotting wood spread out across the dull, white surface.
Kira woke up, tense and alert, ready to leap from Angelique’s skin and attack. Angelique held her back. No telling what waited for them on the other side.
She turned her attention back to the phone, frantically punching in Connor’s number. She’d managed the first five digits when the door exploded inward as if a hurricane had blown it in. Shielding her face, she struggled to maintain her footing. The wind died down, but she didn’t have a chance to finish dialing.
The strange man from the store ripped the phone cord out of the wall. He grinned at her. “No use calling for help now.” He slammed his fist into her stomach, and her breath surged from her lungs in a gasp. From her hunched-over position, she watched the man pop his knuckles and stretch his muscled arms.
“Cooperate and this will be over quickly. Don’t…and well, I can’t promise you’ll survive the night.” His voice had an accent. While she wasn’t shabby with placing accents, his sounded purely Celtic, not Irish, and not Scottish. Very old world. “Shall we begin? I won’t bother telling you my real name. You can call me Mahon.”
Her skin crawled with fear in remembrance of her family’s warning. They’d told her of hunters, but there hadn’t been one in so long. Her gift was a blessing and a curse wrapped in one.
She put her fists up in a fighting stance and kicked him above the knee. The man danced back a few steps. His face registered the pain, but she doubted she’d hurt him much. Kira perched on her shoulder, growling and eager to defend them, but Angelique kept her focus on the man in front of her. Until she knew what this man wanted, she wouldn’t put Kira at
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