When I woke, Malcolm was out cold. We ended up puzzling, or bodies fitting perfectly together, my head resting under his chin. His breathing was calm and peaceful. The sight made my heart swell for him.
Then Cade popped back into my mind. I pushed myself up and scooted away. He merely readjusted and stayed asleep. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.
For the next twenty minutes, I sat in silence, watching Malcolm sleep. He finally stirred. His eyes squinted open and blinked slowly before they focused.
"Hmm." He said, swallowing thickly. "I thought it got colder."
I chuckled softly and shook my head. He rolled onto his side and positioned his arm underneath his head, he legs curling up. It was strangely adorable and it made me smile.
"What?" He asked, amused.
"You look like a child." I said.
"Hmm." Was all he said, his gaze making me shiver. He grinned and winked slyly. I immediately blushed and cleared my throat.
"Umm, well, uh, we should, uh, we should probably get going. Yep, we should definitely get going." I said, ungraciously. He laughed at my fluster.
I rolled my eyes and turned away. We got ready and started the hike that would take days. After two hours of walking in silence, we emerged from the woods into a quaint town.
It was the kind with white picket fences where everyone knew everyone. We stopped at a motel and cleaned up. While I showered, Malcolm left to get some new clothes.
I hadn't realized he came back until I pulled the bathroom door open, dressed only in a towel. I stepped into the room, brushing my hair, gasping when I saw him lying, shirtless, on the bed.
"What?" He asked, whirling around. His face flushed horribly as he saw me. What was worse was that he didn't turn away. And I didn't want him to. "Oh, um, well, I uh, got some clothes. Here."
He tossed me a bag and cleared his throat, turning away after a final look. I blushed and scurried back into the bathroom. In the bag, there was a longsleeved shirt with a pair of black skinny jeans and black combat boots. He was also kind enough to get me some undergarments.
I blushed and dressed. The clothes fit a little too well, the jeans hugging me everywhere they should. Wonderful. I thought. When I came back out, he had put his clothes on and fixed the bed.
"What town are we in?" Asking as I combed through my wet hair with my fingers.
"Um, some place in southern Oregon. Actually only a day for us to get to Beacon Hills if we book it. Meaning run." He said, scrolling through his phone.
"And here." He said, tossing me a charger.
"Oh, thanks." I said. I sad completely forgot about my phone. And my life. "Oh crap. Dad is gonna be furious."
"Well, it kinda sounds like your dad is a deadbeat. No offense." He said.
"No, no. It's okay. And 100% true. He doesn't even live with me. He's an FBI agent in San Francisco." I said, pulling my phone out to plug it up.
"Hmm." He said.
We sat in silence for a few minutes while waiting for my phone to power up. It finally turned on and immediately pined with texts from my dad.
"Thought he was a deadbeat? Usually deadbeat dads don't text their daughters with sorry." Malcolm said.
"He is, but he was coming up to visit yesterday. Crap." I said. I responded, telling him I went on a trip to California with a friend.
Chill. His name is Malcolm and wanna know where we're going?
Yes I do. And I want you to turn around and come home right now.
Hah. I'm going to go see Scott. That's right, Scott, my brother Scott.
How do you know about him?
I know all about him and Mom up in Beacon Hills. Why didn't you tell me?
Jessica, please come home. We need to talk.
No! I'll come home when I'm ready. Good bye.
I sighed and turned the phone off, blocking out the incoming texts. "You alright?" He asked.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine." I said, getting up to go to the bathroom. I left a puzzled Malcom as I entered the bathroom, only to have a knife pressed against my throat.
"Shh." He said, putting a razor sharp arrow against my temple. I snarled and stomped on his foot, punching his throat as I fled the bathroom.
I yanked the door open and snatched my phone, grabbing Malcolm. "What?" He asked.
"Time to leave. Now." I said, jerking the motel door open and running. We ran and ran until we hit the woods again. Malcolm jerked his arm from my grip and yelled for me to stop.
"What is going on!" He yelled.
"That murderous scumbag was in the motel bathroom. Don't ask me how, but he got in there and held an arrow against my head. And where there's one, there's always more." I said, ending the conversation.
Malcolm glanced around nervously and lurched forward in a fraction of a second. He cried out as an arrow plunged into his side. We collapsed and rolled.
Pounding footsteps singnaled the approach of hunters. I pulled Malcolm up and helped him run. "Sorry." I muttered as I ripped the arrow from his stomach.
His cried out painfully but kept running. We quickly lost the hunters, but we both knew they were close behind. We only stopped because Malcolm needed to heal. "You okay?" I asked, gently setting him against a tree.
"Fine. Fine. Just never had an arrow lodged between my ribs then ripped out." He said, panting hard.
"Really? What kind of werewolf lives that long without ever being pursued by hunters or shot once or twice?" I asked. He looked at me through his glasses, his brown eyes staring into my soul.
"A sheltered, newly turned one." He muttered. My eyebrows flew up in surprise. Newly turned! Wonderful. I'm going on a state-crossing road trip with crazy killers and a newbie. Perfect!
"Newly turned? Like, how new?" I asked, glancing around.
"A couple of months. Why? What about you?" He asked, pulling his shirt up to look at the wound.
"Since I was ten." I grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, ignoring the look of utter wonder and pity. "Don't pity me."
"Sorry, ten? That's pretty young." He said. "Practically no childhood."
"Tell me about it. I was taken as a baby and brought up in a savage house full of werewolves and other creatures. We were raised to be fighters and slaves. They didn't turn me until they knew I was ready, which was when I was ten. My dad busted them for a drug ring and all the kids were either reunited with they're parents or out into foster care. My dad set me up with a friend because he couldn't deal with me.
"And how old is Scott?" I asked.
"16." He said.
"16? That makes us fraternal twins. Perfect. I have a twin I didn't know about."
"Twin? You guys look nothing alike." He said, looking me up and down.
"Hence the 'fraternal' part." I said, stopping to splatter some of his blood on a leaf to lead them away.
"What are you doing!" He yelled as I dug my fingers into his side, wiping some blood on my fingers to splatter.
"Make a trail that leads away from us. From where we're really going. Hopefully they'll fall for it." I said, splattering more.
"Oh." He said, slightly disgusted.
"Don't get squeamish on me now. This will seem like unicorns and cupcakes compared to what the hunters'll do if they catch us." Whoops, wrong thing to say. It seemed to set him on edge. "Don't worry, we'll be fi-"
I didn't get to finish, seeing as an arrow plunged through my stomach. That's right through my stomach. Not into it. In the back, out the front. Perfect.