The Book of the Watchers

Chapter Seven

We stopped at a motel in Winnemucca, Nevada, where I began to despair miserably at wearing the same outfit four days straight. My jeans were crusted with dirt and other substances, my shirt torn, bloody and downright disgusting. The soles of my sneakers had worn paper thin, and I had blisters on my feet the size of grapefruit. Of course, Danny managed to look flawless, with a few specks of blood on his jacket and jeans, but not much else. Next to him, I felt like I’d been dragged backwards across the country. Well, I almost had.

Jaime was paying for the room, so we were at a much classier place than we were used to. In fact, I believed that I wouldn’t be allowed inside until I changed into something that wasn’t filthy. I managed to sneak by, relatively unnoticed by the staff, and then we climbed the stairs to our room. I’d learned during the trip that angels didn’t need to sleep. Fallen angels did, but not for nearly as long as humans. So I was the lucky one who claimed the bed, while Danny flopped onto the couch, looking as exhausted as I felt.

“I’m going to shower.” I said as I got up. Without a word, Danny tossed me the shirt he was wearing—the one I’d worn as pyjamas, what seemed like a lifetime ago. I sighed in delight as I entered the bathroom, and saw a gigantic bathtub which took up most of the room. I began running the bath, and made the mistake of looking at myself in the gilded mirror. I cringed away from my reflection, but not before I noticed that my hair looked like a nest, sticking out at all different angles from the ponytail it was tied into, the dark blonde colour seemed much darker, with all the dirt, sweat and general grime caked into it. My face was disgusting. Orange-coloured dirt filled my pores and my lips were dry and cracked. My eyes looked huge and scared, and I had a black eye that I didn’t remember getting. With a despairing sigh, I climbed into the bathtub, the water turning a murky brown with blood from Danny’s wound, dirt, and sweat washing off my body. I scrubbed my skin raw, and used almost an entire bar of soap, followed by emptying the little complementary shampoo and conditioner bottles into my hair. By the time I got out of the bath, I felt much lighter than I had when I got in, and my damp hair smelt of lavender.

Suddenly, the door opened and Danny swung in, clamping a hand down over my mouth before I could squeal in protest. Wearing nothing but a towel, I glared at him, and then widened my eyes when I recognised his expression. It was the alert, lethal look he got when he was getting ready to fight. Prying his fingers from my mouth, I whispered, “What’s going on?”

“Saxon had us followed. His men are breaking into the room. Hurry and put the shirt on, we might have to make a run for it.” He hissed, and I noticed a long, lethal-looking dagger in his right hand.

Danny averted his eyes while I got dressed, and I swore I could see a grin on his lips.

“What are you smirking about?” I whispered once I was dressed.

“Your tan washed off.” He told me.

“It was dirt.”

There was a loud bang as the bedroom door flew open, and muffled voices sounded on the other side of the bathroom door.

“Is Jaime out there?” I asked.

“He’s going to try and convince them that they have the wrong room.”

“Why can’t we stay in a hotel without something bizarre happening?”

Danny smirked down at me. “Because that would be too easy.”

The voices grew louder, and someone cried out in surprise and pain. At that, Danny kicked the door open and rushed out, brandishing his dagger, catching one man in the throat and another in the shoulder with a single swipe. There were four men in the room, Jaime was battling one with a knife similar to Danny’s, while another lay bleeding on the floor, his eyes shut. One of the two Danny was fighting turned away, catching sight of me standing horrified in the bathroom doorway, wearing nothing but a t-shirt. He leered at me and came closer, a short dagger gripped in each fist. His hair was dark, cropped around his chin, and he had striking green eyes. He would have been handsome under other circumstances, but watching him advance towards me with deadly weapons, his eyes on the hem of the t-shirt I was wearing, I had other priorities than admiring his looks.