Panic was not a new emotion for Michael. He was not calm and collected, like Max. Nor was he as logical minded as Liz. But he had grown accustomed to panic, and could think past it. So when his co-worker, Angie, told him some werewolf friends of his had stopped by, and promised they would be back, he hadn't bolted for the door.
If the werewolves knew where he worked, they would be waiting, ready to follow him home when he left. Clearing off a booth by the front window, he took a few seconds to scan the parking lot. All empty cars, but they would be smart enough not to sit waiting for him in plain view.
He'd driven up on a motorcycle and walked in through the front door. If they had left someone to spy on him, they had definitely seen him and would not miss him leaving. Not unless he called Kyle or Maria to pick him up around the back, and that would require an explanation he did not want to give.
Max had been adamant that they lay low. No drawing attention. No using their powers in front of humans. Michael had sworn Isabel to secrecy, knowing Max and the others would flip if they found out.
Plates rattled in the plastic bucket, and Michael took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Laying low never seemed to work. Something always happened, and they had to pull up stakes and run. He was getting damn tired of running, if only because he knew the others, his family, were tired of it. Maria was tired of it.
At a booth toward the back of the restaurant, he scanned outside, and spotted a dark blue car, parked in the adjacent lot. A woman sat inside, reading a magazine. Every now and then she glanced toward the restaurant, almost meeting Michael's eyes once.
Okay, so maybe he spotted the tail. Assuming it was her, she was in a car, which gave him some leeway. Either way, she was in for a long wait, because he definitely wasn't leaving until his shift ended.
He pushed her out of his mind, and focused on his work. The last thing he needed was to get fired.
The hours crawled by. Michael was wiping down a table near the bar, when a hushed silence fell over the diners. He looked over to find most of the staff and customers staring at the TV hanging over the bar. An anchorwoman with a somber expression spoke over a scrolling headline that read "Mutilated bodies work of serial killer?"
"The murders all took place between 10pm and 2 am. Several leads are being pursued. Police are warning Kennewick residents to avoid walking at night alone, and not to be outdoors after 9pm, if possible."
Conversation slowly picked back up, low whispers that gradually built to the typical cacophony. It swirled around Michael, who stood frozen in the center, a ringing in his ears building to a high pitched whine. Mutilated bodies. Killed at night.
Skins hunted at night. Up until now, they hadn't hurt any humans. They weren't exactly brilliant, but they knew the humans outnumbered them. And they weren't huge fans of eating anything that also ate meat. Hence why they had a taste for Antarians.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his trance. He ducked into the back, toward the hall that led to the storage room. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. "Maria, did you see the news?"
"Holy God, Michael, yes. Is it them? What are we going to do? They're killing people."
He swallowed. If the Skins had graduated to eating humans, all bets were off. "I'm coming home. My shift's almost over anyway. Is everyone else home?"
"Max's on his way. Everyone else is here."
"I'll see you soon. Love you." It still seemed strange to say the words, not because he didn't mean them. Because they weren't enough to describe how he felt about her.
"I love you too."
Putting away his phone, Michael shouldered his way through the kitchen, to where the manager was overseeing the line. "Hey Jason, I got a family emergency. My shift is over in ten minutes, can I take off?"
Jason gave a brisk nod, his attention on the kitchen staff.
Michael walked out the front door, where his bike waited. A quick scan showed the dark blue car gone, but there were plenty of other cars. Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck as he strapped on his helmet. He started up the bike and pulled onto the road, joining the moderate flow of evening traffic.
The sun hung at the edge of the horizon, streaking the sky with pink, purple and gold. Michael would have appreciated the sunset, but too much of his attention was on his rearview mirror. In the dimming light, he couldn't differentiate any of the cars behind him.
Time to go for broke. He stepped on the gas, weaving through cars in the sort of reckless manner that would have had Max rolling his eyes, and Maria hyperventilating.
Drivers honked, and yelled, but their shouting faded in the roar of Michael's bike and the distance he cleared. At the first sign of a suitable alley, he turned into it, narrowly avoiding a parked car, and coming out on a different road. He did that a few more times, leading whoever might be following him on a wild chase well away from his home.
Down his final alley, he checked the time. Nearly 10pm. He pressed a hand to the body of his bike and changed its color from black, to pale green. The air shimmered as he drew a bubble around the bike, effectively silencing it for a few minutes. Long enough to get him back on the road unnoticed, and pointed toward home.
When he reached the single lane that wound toward the farmhouse, he stopped and waited.
Nothing. Few cars drove down his far. Their nearest neighbor was a good half-mile away. If anyone had managed to follow him, they'd stopped a ways back.
Silencing his bike again, just in case, he rode to the house.
Maria greeted him at the door, arms crossed. Her normally placid teal aura had turned a sickly green. "Where have you been? You're shift ended at 9. And why are you running silent?"
"Took the scenic route." He forced a smile as he climbed the steps, and wrapped an arm around her waist. She clung to him, trembling, her face buried against his chest. He tightened his arms around her, afraid to move beyond the doorway. Afraid to step past the moment they shared, when everything would shatter around them.
"Michael, Maria. Come inside." Max's voice broke the moment. With a soft curse, Michael pulled away. They stepped into the front hall, closing the door.
The farmhouse had been little more than a shack when they'd purchased it and the surrounding acre of land. A week or so of work had turned it into a comfortable, two-story house. Mismatched furniture, two sofas and a loveseat salvaged from junkyards, occupied the living room, along with a decent sized, formerly broken, TV. Bedroom furniture, kitchen appliances, everything salvaged, untraceable. This was supposed to have been their haven. The place they would stay.
Max stood behind the sofa, arms crossed, expression grim. Kyle, Tess and Isabel sat on the sofa, the girls huddled on either side of Kyle. Liz sat on the loveseat, rubbing her temples. Their auras writhed, the colors dull. The television was tuned to the 10 o'clock news, and a smiling woman chattered about high and low temperatures and a slight chance of rain.
"They just ran the story again." Max bent forward to brace his elbows on the sofa, dropping his head to his hands. "I thought we'd finished them."
"This time we will." Michael raked a hand through his hair, debating whether the werewolves needed to be brought up.
"We blew up a warehouse last time." Max stared into a middle distance. "Nearly killed ourselves and could have hurt a lot of people. We can't keep this up. Not without getting killed or caught."
Isabel caught Michael's eye, conveying through hers the level of her panic. Michael gave a minute shake of his head. Maria, standing beside him, made a soft sound. "Maybe it's not the Skins. It could be a fae monster or something."
"One way to find out." Michael returned their incredulous looks. "They'll be out tonight. We need to be out there to stop them."
"Stop them," Max whispered, voice hoarse. "Michael, they will slaughter us. We aren't strong enough to take them head on. We'll either end up dead or worse, caught."
"We can't just let them go around murdering people." Michael glanced at the others, but found only reluctance and unease.
"We let things happen to people all the time when we could do something about it." Max rubbed a hand over his face. "Do you have any idea how many people I've watched suffer and die, when I could have healed them?"
"That … this is different ..." Michael clenched his teeth, his muscles tensing.
Kyle snatched up the remote and clicked the TV off. "We can't take them in a head on fight, Michael. Or did you forget what happened last time you tried."
The mood, already low, took a sharp dip. Pulse pounding, Michael resisted the urge to close the distance between him and Kyle.
The other man's pale yellow aura had taken on the color of an old bruise. Guilt darkened his eyes. "Sorry," he muttered.
Max raised his head, then slowly pushed away from the sofa. "We can't." He sighed. "We'll need … we'll talk about this tomorrow. We're all tired, let's just drop this for now."
Michael drew in a deep breath, trying to ease the tight feeling in his chest. "You want to leave again."
A depressive weight settled over the room. Tess dropped her head to Kyle's shoulder, eyes glistening. "But I like it here." Her brother wrapped an arm around her, and she gave him a watery grin. "Maybe … maybe we could ask the werewolves for help. They help people, right? That was why we came here."
Her words sent a shudder up Michael's spine, even as Max shook his head. "We came because we hoped the presence of a werewolf pack would deter the Skins. I'm not sure going to the werewolves directly is a good idea."
"I can see it," Kyle said with a humorless laugh. "'Hey, how's it going. We're aliens who infiltrated your planet, and by the way, brought a bunch of predatory monsters with us. Mind helping us out.' That'll go over great."
A lump filled Michael's throat. The werewolves knew about him and Isabel, had seen them use their powers. Maybe they couldn't really prove anything, but did they need to? They would certainly be digging into the murders, and might trace them back to Michael. And we're werewolves supposed to be super involved with government, with high level military stuff. Exactly the sort of people who would study aliens.
He raked his fingers through his hair, letting out a frustrated groan. "We need to deal with this problem ourselves. I'm sick of running, and now, we'll be leaving a trail of bodies behind."
Stricken faces stared back at him, and he knew what they were thinking. Because he was thinking it too. Watching them get torn apart by Skins, or dragged away by people in hazmat suits. Eaten alive or locked up in cages, to be dissected and studied.
"You know what, you guys stay here. I'll deal with it." He turned and started for the front door.
"No, Michael." Max blocked his path, grabbing him by the shoulders. "You can't just walk off. We're supposed to be a team. Remember?"
"What I remember is that I'm the strongest member of this team when it comes to dealing with the Skins. So I'll deal with it, or I won't. Then go the werewolves." He swallowed. "At least you can show them we tried."
Max didn't move, his fingers tightening their grip on Michael's shoulders. The oldest of them, the reluctant king, though that title had gone out the window when Max had given his final message to the Antarian court ruling over Copper Summit. "I hate this. Hate allowing the Skins to claim any more lives. But I can't lose anymore of you." He released Michael and backed away. "I'm going with you."
Liz stood up at the same moment Kyle, Tess and Isabel rose. "Us to," Tess said.
Maria straightened and gave a decisive nod. "And me."
It felt like a belt had twisted around Michael's heart, and he opened his mouth to protest.
"You go, I go." Maria snapped. "Don't you dare tell me not to."
"All, or none, Michael."
He couldn't let them do it. Not without knowing why; that the werewolves already knew about them. "No. You're right, Max. We at least need a plan." He ignored their suspicious looks. "We can talk it out tomorrow and figure out a way to lead the Skins somewhere away from humans. Who knows, maybe we can find another warehouse to blow up."
Kyle snorted. "We really got to stop blowing up buildings."
Everyone laughed, and the tension in the room trickled away. Michael went to Maria and hugged her close. He wanted to promise her that he would keep her safe, even knowing that she would get pissed and excuse him of being patriarchal. But he couldn't keep her safe. He brought the werewolves to their door, and the Skins were waiting there too. And if he tried to protect her, she would push him out of the way.
She would get herself killed, and so would the rest of them. Scared Michael could handle, as long as he could do something about. This was the helpless kind of scared. The kind that tears into your chest and claws up your throat, so you can't breathe. That wakes you up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, and makes you hug the person sleeping beside you, because you were certain for a second, they were dead.
He'd had nightmares more than once that all of them were dead. Just like Nikolas.
Michael held Maria for several minutes, breathing in her warmth, the smell of her rose shampoo. When he pulled away, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. "We'll be okay."
"Of course." He reluctantly let her go. "Let me go change and shower." He gave Maria's hand a last squeeze, then climbed the steps.
Guilt eating at him, Michael closed the door to the bedroom he and Maria shared. His keys still jangled in his pocket. He crossed to the window, left open to let in the summer breeze. He unlatched the screen, and lifted it, heart hammering.
The drop from the roof was ten feet, but a sturdy branch on an oak tree gave him a helping step down. He landed lightly, and started for his bike.
The others could stay home, safe.
He cloaked the bike, started it up and headed out.
