Page 9 of On the Run with His Vampire Mate

Or was I just unlucky?

Derek didn’t know the details of any of this. And he couldn’t. Even if he loved me—and I thought he probably did, and not just because destiny had decided we belonged together—if he knew the truth, he could never forgive me or look at me the same way again. Not that I deserved forgiveness.

Derek could never know.

CHAPTER THREE || DEREK

Ioverslept after having nightmares about masked men wielding chainsaws, chasing me through one of those big-box stores—one of the tamer nightmares I’d had since witnessing the mafia murder someone in cold blood right in front of me—and had to scramble to get ready for work.

“Getting ready” consisted of me staggering into the bathroom, hastily brushing my teeth, splashing some water on my face, throwing on a button-up shirt, and padding across my tiny studio apartment to my standing desk, which featured three different monitors on swivels and a rainbow light-up keyboard that made a satisfying clack with every keystroke. Standing guard behind it, well out of view of my webcam, was a tiny stuffed Charizard, my favorite Pokémon character—mostly because he looked like a dragon.

Don’t judge—a little whimsy is a good thing, especially when you’re prone to getting stuck in the kinds of headspaces I am.

I signed on to my morning stand-up meeting with only moments to spare. After the meeting was over, I shot a text to Quinn: Morning handsome. Miss you. How did you sleep?

Like most vampires, he woke up late, so he probably wouldn’t get it until early afternoon at least, but I wanted to make sure that the first thing he saw was a reminder that he was loved and cared for.

After that, I did my best to lose myself in the mundane tasks of my job—most of which involved coding A/B tests for the websites of large companies you’ve definitely heard of. While I’m not great at most things, I’ve always been pretty good with tech. The job pays the bills and then some. The studio apartment and my spartan lifestyle mean that most of my income can go into my “cut and run” fund. Just in case.

I’d unofficially subletted the apartment from a guy on Craigslist about five years ago and when the lease had gone month-to-month, I’d taken it over. By then, I’d been able to establish a whole new identity not tied to the person I’d once been.

Allen Nelson, the name I’d been born with, was gone. I was Derek Evans now.

By lunchtime—one o’clock on the dot—Quinn hadn’t texted me back. I started to get a little nervous.

He probably slept in, I told myself. It’s nothing.

Or maybe he actually does need the space you offered last night and he didn’t know how to tell you, another—and much darker—part of my brain offered. Maybe he wants to end things. Maybe he can tell you’re lying to him about everything.

At two in the afternoon, in the middle of a client meeting—I wasn’t presenting or anything, I was just on standby in case the account manager or client had technical questions they couldn’t figure out—my phone finally buzzed.

I reached for it as surreptitiously as I could manage and opened my messages, expecting to see one from Quinn.

But he hadn’t replied.

Instead, the message was from an unknown number: A, they know where you are. You have to run. – B

It could have only been sent from one person: Brent, my ex-boyfriend.

I’d loved him once, and I was pretty sure he’d loved me back. He was the one who’d helped me disappear when it became clear that I was next on his family’s hit list. And the “they” in this situation could only mean one thing: his family had found me.

They were coming to finish the job.

I stared down at the message for what might’ve been a long time. I had no idea. Time froze as I kept re-reading that single line over and over.

It had just changed absolutely everything.

While I might’ve expected to feel fear, instead I just felt disbelief. I’d been so careful. I’d gotten my apartment in someone else’s name, then officially signed paperwork under a brand-new identity. I’d stopped using credit cards or debit cards in my old name and opened all new accounts. I’d stayed entirely off social media—a reverse image search of my photo would’ve turned up my location all too easily if I hadn’t. I’d even made friends with vampires, most of whom didn’t even know what Facebook was, much less the newer platforms.

How had this happened?

As if in answer to my question, my phone chimed again with a link to a social media post. I opened it and saw an ensemble of people—most of whom looked human, but weren’t—gathered at Bailey’s, beaming at the camera. Except Thierry, who was giving it a deeply annoyed look. And there I was, in the background, sitting at the bar with a beer in front of me, looking bleary-eyed and drunk—my usual state, until I’d met Quinn.

The social media account belonged to Rico, the bubbly newly turned vampire who was surprisingly close to most of the people in Nathaniel Bailey’s inner circle, including Thierry.

The photo had been one of many Rico had taken to celebrate Simone and Poppy’s engagement. Simone was Thierry’s best friend, one of the chief advisors to the vampire king, and the oldest vampire most of us had ever encountered. Poppy, her mate, was a fiery redheaded witch—the next in line to take over for the Seattle coven, along with Nathaniel’s husband, Ethan. She and Simone had finally gotten engaged after Poppy had lost her patience with Simone wanting to take it slow—to be fair, Simone’s concept of time was different than everyone else’s—and proposed to her.

It had been a good night. Quinn and I had just met and he’d been downstairs, away from the mixed company of the bar, so I’d been feeling a little forlorn, but the crowd—my closest friends—had never let me feel lonely for long.