Chapter eight
Dylan's POV:
(Two years ago…)
"Come on," Jordan said, stepping a little back from me, breaking the charged connection between our eyes, and making it possible for me to breath again. He still held my hand, but gently now, holding it just for the sake of touching me, not so much for protection. His hand was much larger than mine, and he stood at least a head taller than me, though I had always been tall for my age. He'd looked older than he actually was from afar, but up close I could see the youth in his face, it wasn't innocent, there was the grim weight of experience in the set of his mouth and the depth of his eyes, but his face was unlined, smooth, animated.
He looked only a few years older than me, sixteen at most, with a lean build and broad shoulders. His straight, mahogany hair was long in the front, as if he hadn't had a chance to get it cut in some time, and it fell into his eyes, making it difficult to gauge his expression. His oval face was pale and perfectly structured; straight nose, generous soft mouth, high cheekbones. But these all paled in comparison to his brilliantly green, almond-shaped eyes. I couldn't stop staring at them; I'd never seen eyes so entrancing, so vividly colored.
"I have to go home…" I said vaguely, gesturing with my free hand toward the empty bus stop. It was close to two in the morning, my mother would be home, she would be panicking. "You can't go anywhere alone tonight," he told me seriously, giving my hand a gentle tug. I followed him across the street, to a dark sports car parked halfway up on the curb. "This is yours?" I asked, gazing incredulously at the shinning, muscular shape of the vehicle before me. "For the moment," he answered coolly, pulling the door open with a sharp snap, holding it open for me. I got into the passenger seat, still too dazed and numb to think to question why the car's alarm was going off, or why the locks were still on as he yanked the opposite door open and got in beside me, turning off the wailing alarm with a decisive click. He fiddled about under the dashboard for a moment, then sat up as the car's ignition purred to life, the locks clicked off and he pulled away effortlessly from the sidewalk, got onto the road and pushed down on the gas, increasing our speed to 65 in a matter of seconds.
He was driving towards midtown LA, shooting past the slower automobiles trudging along behind us and pushing the needle of the speedometer up another few miles. I gazed out at the blurring brightness of the city, slowly regaining my self-possession and recovering from the stunned, bemused state that I had reverted to during my near-murder and rescue. I glanced over at my savior again, at his large, pale hands gripping the steering wheel firmly, manipulating the powerful vehicle with pinpoint precision.
"I really do need to go home," I said quietly, not wanting to sound pushy or childish after he'd helped me so, but all too aware that my neurotic mother might call the police soon. He didn't look away from the road in font of him and answered calmly, "I told you, I can't let you go off on your own tonight, they'll come looking for you again. If you're alone, they'll kill you on sight." I suppressed a shiver and didn't protest, he'd made an excellent point, assuming he knew what he was talking about, which I believed he did. This sparked another question.
'Why did they want me?" I asked, my curiosity mingling with the fear in my voice. He raised his eyebrows slightly, as if I'd said something comical that he found funny, but given the circumstances he didn't want to give voice to his amusement. "Their kind is often drawn to young, tender humans. They prefer to hunt innocents, it gives them a certain thrill," he made a disgusted face, "and I would bet your scent made you especially appetizing to them, they had their pick of any wandering human, but you smelled so enticing, they couldn't ignore it." He paused, the corners of his mouth turned down, he seemed to think he'd let slip too much.
I leaned back against the cool leather of my seat and sat very still, though I felt a thrill of excitement crackle through my limbs at his words. It was infused with equal parts curiosity and alarm. As he spoke a small, muffled voice called out into the greater fog that had settled in my brain, alerting me to the fact that he was speaking in a most peculiar and alarming fashion. He's referring to you like you're something to eat, the voice squeaked frantically, there's something off about him, something dangerous, don't trust him! I heard the voice, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear, but it was not strong enough to counter my fascination. Look beyond the face! The voice implored, can't you feel there's something strange about him, something not quite human? He's as dangerous as they were, snap out of it!
But I couldn't snap out of it, even if I'd wanted to. I was dimly aware that I should be just as frightened by my savior as by the two murderers in the alley, but I couldn't force this thought into action. He'd saved me, if it weren't for him I'd be dead already, a limp corpse crumpled in the gutter. And yes, some sixth sense assured me there was something strange about him, something sinister even, but it was not directed at me. He was being kind to me, and his face was so lovely and his voice so soothing, and there was something so fascinating about the words he spoke and the way they made his eyes flicker with intense brightness…
I couldn't resist the draw he exerted, l was hooked. My sluggish, stunned mind was impervious to the warnings my intuition was sending; all I could focus on was the stranger before me.
"My scent?" l repeated, poorly disguising my bafflement.
"Yes," he answered shortly, apparently now determined not to reveal more information than was absolutely necessary. I wouldn't have that. "What do you mean by scent?"
He glanced at me, his face unreadable, he turned back to the road again, "I mean your specific smell, like your fingerprints, its characteristic of you in particular. It's what they lock on to when they hunt. The more fragrant the smell, the more enticing the human, at least from their point of view." I looked down at my hands, raised them to my face and breathed in slightly, "I don't smell anything."
His mouth twitched a little. "Your sense of smell isn't strong enough to pick it up." He said dryly. I fixed my eyes on his profile. "And yours is?" The smile faded from his lips and his brow knotted in discontent.
"Yes," he muttered, almost too low to hear. I didn't look away from him. "What does it smell like? My scent, I mean,"
He turned to me with a look of incredulity, his mouth opened, closed, his eyebrows were raised in disbelief. "You want to know what you smell like to me?" I nodded. But I was just as shocked as he was. What was I doing? The little voice was getting even more shrill in my ear. You're asking him how you smell, how appetizing are you? Do you want to be torn apart?
But some overpowering urge was taking hold of me, a desire to understand everything about those people in the alley, and about Jordan. I had inadvertently stumbled upon something way outside the realm of normal, and now I was desperate to know more. I needed to understand what it was about Jordan that set my nerves buzzing and my neck prickling, what was this invisible aura of strangeness about him, this sense of power, danger, almost a supernatural feel?
A part of me willed me away from this unknown, warned me that whatever this was, it was best left alone, that it would be dangerous to get involved any further. But I felt myself being helplessly drawn toward the precipice of the mystery, I had to get a grasp on this bizarre secret, I couldn't let it lie.
Jordan shook his head in astonishment, and looked away from me, out his window, pulling the car to the side smoothly and parking neatly beside the pavement. He turned off the ignition and looked at me again, ready to change the subject.
"Please tell me," I said beseechingly, my eyes wide with compelling curiosity. He shook his head again, blinked in discomfort and skepticism, "you can't possibly want to know, I mean, what does it matter?"
I shrugged, I didn't know myself. "I just want to understand. I think I have a right to know…" I trailed off, what was the matter with me? Couldn't I just accept that the two in the alley were deranged murderers and move on? Most people would be terrified out of their wits, the last thing they'd be doing would be wheedling their rescuers for more details about their would-be killers.
Jordan appeared to be debating, he understood I wasn't going to let it drop, but he was very hesitant to reveal the truth. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said, "it's like honeysuckle, and pomegranate and rain…" he trailed off, "it's difficult to describe. Somehow more potent than most human's, its lovely…" He opened his eyes and looked at me questioningly, unsure of whether he'd alarmed me with his honesty. I felt a fresh thrill of excitement coarse through me, but I wasn't very frightened. I knew I should be, but the fear couldn't manifest itself as it desired, my enthrallment was too powerful.
"Will you tell me what they were…what you are," I didn't finish; afraid I'd insulted him by openly inferring that he was not human. He went rigid as I spoke, but he didn't look away from me. He thought for a moment, frowning.
"I don't know," he said hesitantly, "do you really want to know?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I shrugged, "I'm caught up in it now, whatever it is, I mean, I'm here with you… I just want to understand this, I don't know why."
Jordan looked half fascinated, half puzzled, and clearly cautious. "You'll be frightened. It's not something normal people know about, it's not something you should be involved in."
"I'm already involved."
He bit his lip. "Maybe," he said at last, still looking indecisive. "But first you need something to eat, you've had a shock, the food will help calm you down."
"I am calm," I said, though the jumpiness was still buzzing in my legs. He smiled a little. "When the body goes into shock it requires nourishment. You need the energy. Then you can ask your questions."
"Alright."
He got out of the car and I followed, glancing at the door as I climbed out. Several metal pieces appeared twisted and broken, proving my hunch that Jordan had forced the door open without hindrance from the lock mechanisms that resisted. I wondered vaguely how much effort it would take a normal person to try to prize open a locked car door, then followed Jordan along the street to the lighted front of a small restaurant. He held the door open for me and followed me inside silently.
