First Bitten (The Alexandra Jones Series #1)

I open my eyes up to the white ceiling in yet another hotel room in another part of Scotland. The silence is all around me as I breathe in the stale, warm reproduced air the air conditioning system is funnelling out.

This is how it’s been for the last week, Nathan and I staying in hotels night after night, big enough and generic enough so we go relatively unnoticed as we move around Scotland, going to places I’ve never even heard of before where the accents are so thick I struggle to understand what people are saying. Not that I actually have any interaction with people, or Nathan, for that matter.

He still barely talks to me. He never talks about Sol and he drinks, a lot. Nathan has always liked drinking but this is something else entirely. He’s not drinking for enjoyment now, he’s drinking to forget. And I wonder for just how much longer we can both continue this way.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up in bed, resting my back against the wall. The TV is still on from earlier; I must have fallen asleep watching it.

The TV is always on. I can’t bear to sit in silence. If I do, I start to think about the things I want to forget, and the TV is the only real company I have nowadays.

I pick the remote up and turn it over to the music channel. Glancing in the direction of the window, I see it’s getting dark outside. I look at the clock – its 7pm. The last time I saw Nathan was at lunchtime when he brought me some food.

I’m surprised we’re still here. We’re usually out of the hotel and moving onto the next one by now.

I listen into Nathan’s room. Nothing. Maybe he’s in the bar. That’s not unusual, but this is, being here this long.

I start to get an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

What if he’s drunk too much and passed out somewhere? No, that’s not Nathan, he can hold his drink. What if something worse has happened? What if the Originals are here and they’ve somehow figured out he’s with me. What if they’ve taken him to get to me?

I sit up on my haunches.

My stomach is rolling with unease. What should I do? I should go look for him. No, Nathan will be mad if he knows I’ve left my room. Well, he won’t be mad if he’s in trouble and needs my help, will he?

I jump up and pull my hooded sweatshirt on over my T-shirt. I’m just about to put my trainers on when I hear Nathan’s door open. He’s back. Thank god.

Relieved, I sit down on the bed and remove my sweatshirt again.

Realising I haven’t fed for a long while, I go get some blood out of the fridge. I look at the fridge contents. I haven’t got much left – a couple of days’ worth, max. I’ve been trying to limit my intake. It’s not easy. I still have a nagging ache inside me for something a little better, a little stronger.

I’ve just unscrewed the cap when Nathan walks into my room through the interconnecting door without knocking.

We always stay in rooms with connecting doors. I don’t know why. I like to think it’s because he wants to be close to me, to be still connected to me in some way, but in reality I think it’s just so he can have easy access to me if he needs to, you know, in case the Originals find me.

Actually, I’m a bit annoyed he’s just walked into my room without knocking. I could have being changing my clothes for all he knows. He doesn’t usually just walk in, though. He always knocks. Something’s different.

I watch him with interest as he crosses my room and sits down on the bed, facing me. He reeks of alcohol. Well, he does to me. A normal person probably wouldn’t be able to smell it, but to me he smells like an old drunk who’s just had the time of this life with a bottle of cheap whiskey.

He runs his hand through his hair. “You’re leaving the country,” he states. Pulling a passport out of his pocket, he drops it on the bed.

“What?” I look at him aghast.

“It’s necessary for your safety. The sooner you’re out of here the better.”

My insides take a steep dive. I don’t want to go but I know it’s pointless arguing. This isn’t debatable; I can tell by the set of his jaw and the low tilt of his eyebrows.

My eyes drift to the passport. “When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ve just been waiting for Craig to sort you out a fake passport. He sent it out yesterday and I just picked it up earlier today.”

“And you’re only telling me this now?”

“I was busy.” There’s a gravelly edge to his voice.

“Yeah, busy getting drunk,” I say derisively, the words out before I can stop them.

He gives me such a hate-filled look that I may as well be something he’s just scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

I look to the floor, ignoring the ache it creates in me. You think I’d be used to it by now.

So this is it. This it when I go it alone. Tomorrow he’s going to put me on a plane and walk away. Can’t say I blame him but the thought of being without him is doing all kinds of awful things to my heart.

I put my bottle down on the bedside table and go and sit next to him. I feel his body tense up at my nearness. It makes everything hurt just that little bit more.

“Where am I going?” I ask, unable to keep the sadness from my voice.

“France, to start with,” he says to the wall. “We’re gonna take the ferry over. We’ll drive down to Dover first thing … ”

But I’m not listening anymore. He said ‘We’re’.

“You’re coming with me?” My words come out a mess, all tangled and stuttery.

He gives me a look. “What? You thought I was gonna stick you on a boat and just ship you off?”

Well aeroplane, actually, but …

I look at my feet.

“Is that what kind of bastard you think I am?”

He’s trying to pick a fight with me. I figured that from the moment he walked through the door. I know it’s just the alcohol. Well, for the most part it is, anyway.

I look up at him, meeting his eye. “I don’t think you’re a bastard. Far from it. I just think … look, I don’t know what I think.” I shake my head. “I just didn’t expect you’d give your life up for me.”

“Haven’t I already?”

Yes, and that’s the problem. I’ve been trying to ignore the voice in my head telling me what I needed to do, what the right thing to do is, but now I don’t think I can ignore it anymore.

I stare at the wall ahead. I can’t look at him when I say this. I take a deep breath and let the words out. “I don’t want you to put your life on hold for me anymore.”

“What are you saying?” His words come out edgy.

I turn to look at him. There’s no expression on his face, just a whole lot of anger in his eyes.

“I’m saying I want to go to France alone.”

I’ve finally said it. I can’t believe how strong I’m being but it’s conflicting. I know it’s the right thing to do but that doesn’t stop it from hurting in the worst possible way.

He stares at me for a long, cold moment, then gets up and walks over to the desk. Leaning forward, he rests his hands on it and looks out of the window.

I stare at his back, troubled. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?” His response is icy.

“Anything.” Stay. “Talk to me, about … Sol.”

“Don’t,” he warns, turning to face me. His body rigid.

“Why won’t you talk about what happened that night?”

“Why do you want to talk about it?”

“Because it’ll help.” My words come out sounding as weak and inefficient as they truly are.

“Will it?” He grips the edge of the desk with his hands. “I don’t see all the talking you’ve done since Carrie died doing you any good. You’re still as fucked up about it as you were the day it happened.”

He might as well of just punched me hard in the stomach. Angry and disappointed I get up from the bed and start to walk away from him with absolutely no idea as to where I’m going. “You’re drunk,” I mutter.

“I might have had a drink but I’m far from drunk. You just don’t like the truth because it hurts.”

I turn around, resigned. “No, Nathan, you do. All the time.”

He looks confused. I can see him quickly trying to work through my words. His expression clears. “Problem is, Alex, you expect too much from me.” He sounds bitter. He’s every right to. “You always have. You want what I can’t give you.” He rubs his hand over his face, hard, like he hopes it will erase me from his memory. “What I’m not willing to give you.”

That hurts. “I’ve never asked for anything from you!” Okay, so that’s not strictly true.

Anger overpowers his features, distorting them. “No? Be nice to me, Nathan!” he mimics, gesticulating angrily. “Like me, Nathan! Be with me! Take care of me! Save me from the bastards that killed Sol! He would still be alive if it wasn’t for … ” he cuts off abruptly, his breathing coming in hard.

“If it wasn’t for what?” I demand. I need to hear him say it.

He looks at me defiantly. “You,” he simply utters, “you.”

And there it is. But still, the words cut into me so deeply I’m sure I must be bleeding out right now. I grip a hand to my stomach, resting my back against the wall for support.

Then, without warning, Nathan picks the TV up off the stand and hurls it clear across the room. It smashes into the wall, dropping to the floor with a loud thud.

I stare at him, shocked.

Without a word or a glance, he storms out the room, slamming the door behind him, heading down the hall and far, far away from me.

I sink down to the carpet and bury my head in my hands.

A minute later the room phone starts to ring. I nearly jump out of my skin. I leap over the bed in my haste to answer it. “Nathan?” I say, breathless.

“No, madam, it’s reception,” comes a deep Scottish male voice down the line. “I’m just calling to check that everything is okay.”

“Oh, erm, yeah everything’s fine.”

“It’s just … we, er, received a call saying there were loud noises coming from your room.”

“Oh,” I fiddle with the phone wire, “I must have had the TV on too loud.”

“No, madam, they said there’s was, erm … shouting and loud banging noises.”

“Oh, sorry.” I think fast on my feet. “I er, fell off the bed. The bang was me. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be noisy.”

“No, madam, of course. Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor? I can call one for you now … ”

“No,” I say quickly, cutting him dead, “I’m fine. No need for a doctor.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay … well if you change your mind, or need anything at all, please do call reception, won’t you?”

“I will. Thank you.” I hang up the phone and go over and pick the TV up off the floor, putting its broken shell back on the stand.

I trace my finger around the dent it has left in the wall. Nathan has a temper but this is something else entirely. We can’t go on like this. It’s tearing him apart being here with me. I’m destroying him. I need to let go of him once and for all, let him finally be free of me so he can have the life he deserves.

Pushing all my fear and reservations aside, I reach for my bag and start to fill it with my things. One of the first is the passport.