Drawing Blood

Chapter Nineteen

I was safe.

For now.

What I wasn't sure about, was whether Adam was telling me everything when he said he'd found nothing to suggest I was in any immediate danger. According to him, there had been no other werewolves in the area that night, and though he was furious upon discovering Mitch had caught Annie's journalist spying on me, he was adamant they were innocent, and that the note was nothing more than someone else's idea of a cruel joke.

But while Adam's comments made some sense, I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was entirely possible that local teenagers were responsible, maybe doing it for a dare. If that was the case, then I could expect some more high jinks. But on the other hand, if news of Dan had leaked out into the wider community, then maybe the note was a real warning. And if it was, then who was I in danger from?

By the following week, however, something else was bothering me. Friday was drawing closer, and I was heading back to Brighton; which meant Adam and I were soon going to be sharing the same breathing space as one another. It was something we had arranged together, and it was impossible not to feel anxious at the thought. If I was being completely honest, I had spent a lot of time thinking about it. I had tried to convince myself that I was vulnerable, that I was only feeling nervous, and had certain emotions, because of our unresolved past. But when he had carried me into the hospital, after that night in the forest, I had wanted to stay wrapped up in his arms more than anything. And seeing him lying on the bonnet of my car, had only confirmed my worst fears.

I had fallen in love with him all over again.

It was Thursday when I decided to take my jumbled thoughts to town with me, rather than stay cooped up trying to unravel them, or make sense of them. I needed the space, more than anything. I was like a caged animal, needing to be let out. I missed my autonomy, and was feeling depressed and confused, and isolating myself wasn't the answer. It was hard, though. Being the talk of the place was something I didn't like. It was as though I had the fame without the money, the notoriety without the crime. My life was difficult, and so was the secret I carried. I needed to find an outlet, or accept it. I needed to move on. For now, though, I needed to feel normal.

I judged it wouldn't be too busy, due to the weather. It was perfect conditions to lose myself in the little antique shops and bookstores, searching for nothing in particular, holding polite conversations with people that weren't going to tax my brain. It was cold and damp, and despite wanting the spring to arrive, to bring some life into the place, longing to see any other colour than grey, I was soon lost in my own little world; standing outside the only record shop in town, wondering whether or not to go in.

"Rose?"

Hearing my name being called from somewhere behind me, I tore my gaze away from the window, seeing a man crossing the road, heading towards me. He was waving, and smiling. And as he drew closer, I realised I recognised him. "Luke?"

"We meet again," he said, greeting me. Then, noticing where I was standing, he became enthusiastic, "Hey, you have a vinyl store?" He began looking at the window himself, making noises of delight when he saw something which took his fancy.

Unable to comprehend what I was seeing, I stood there in total shock. How he had noticed me, I didn't know. I had worn one of Wills sweatshirts under my new coat, choosing to have to the hood up because it was raining, and I liked the anonymity. As I observed him, watching his head move from album to album, I noted he wasn't wearing his beanie. Nor was he dressed casually. He had cut his hair since we had last met, and was clean shaven; his long black coat flapping around him, revealing dark trousers and a white shirt, open at the neck. He looked like a businessman, not the hitchhiker I remembered him to be.