Death's Servant(14)

Glancing constantly in the rearview mirror, I sigh in relief when I reach Route 7.
Holy shit. What have I gotten myself into?
It’s only when I cross the city limits into Leesburg does it hit me: that bloodsucker has my wallet and knows where I live.






 
    Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure,   Magic
    
 


 

Chapter Seven

I stop at my new apartment, throwing every piece of clothing and anything lying around into bags— including a handful of cash, my bills, and my passport—eager to get back on the road. How much time do I have? Where can I go? Leesburg is close to the West Virginia border. Maybe I’ll find a pack there willing to help.
Once again, having no way to connect with fellow werewolves through an organized system leaves me at a disadvantage.
You’re going to beat that dead horse over and over, aren’t you? You could call Romeo and ask for help, you arrogant bastard.
Good point. And I will call him. When it’s broad daylight, where there’s no fear of some bloodsucking nightmare grabbing me in the dark, and after I buy a new phone. This is one of those few times in my life I see the need for a paper address book.
Yeah, if you could find a working payphone.  
Some days, technology sucks.
I drive through what remains of the night, adrenaline and fear pushing me hard. I stop in Charlestown, West Virginia near the Maryland border and check into a cheap roadside motel using the scrunched cash I found in my glove compartment and on the dresser in my apartment. I race into the rented room and immediately check all points of entry and exit—two windows near the door are the only way out. No windows line the back. Man, from now on I’m planning better. One lost wallet and cell phone and I’m up shit’s creek.
Yeah, well how often do people get into situations involving a werewolf blood addicted vampire?
God, I have no idea. I hope never again. Once in a lifetime is enough for me. Cold reality hits me like a ton of bricks—I need to figure out a way to help those people. What the hell am I going to do?
How do vampires track prey? Is it scent? Do I need to worry when I’m in a car? Could that son of a bitch track my electronic accounts and know when I access money at my bank?
Paranoia reigns king for about ten minutes, reducing me from a calm collected alpha to a scared young man who hasn’t had much responsibility yet in life. I pace the thin, worn carpet of the small space and try to calm my racing heart.
I’ve got a folder containing bill statements from my apartment. So, I’ll be able to call banks and such using the phone on the nightstand in the morning, requesting all new numbers and cards. That should slow down any cyber tracking, right? Suddenly, I wish I’d paid more attention to those cop shows Lori liked. I’m floundering, unsure what to do or where to turn.
There’s nothing more to be done tonight. I take a shower, scrubbing the last trace of vampire stench from my skin, and slip on fresh clothes—planning to lie down fully clothed, just in case.
When the remaining fear and nervousness fueling me for the last few hours fades to nothing, sheer exhaustion envelops me. I open the drapes, allowing rays from the rising sun into the room to chase away the shadows. I settle on the bed, facing the light, letting its warmth grant me solace as I drift off to sleep.
I jolt awake at noon when the phone rings.
“You missed check out time, sir. It was at eleven.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I checked in less than six hours ago.”
“Oh, terribly sorry, sir. I’m the day shift. I had no idea when you arrived.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not leaving yet. I’ll pay for a late check-out if I have to.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up the phone and stretch, grateful for the wakeup call even if it wasn’t intended as one. I grab my bill folder and start making calls to have new cards issued. Too tense and afraid to remain in one spot for long, I pick a Maryland hotel from the phone book to have the new cards overnighted to.  #p#分页标题#e#
Next, I need cash. My stomach growls at the reminder I used the last of my money to pay for this place. I climb into my jeep and drive to the local branch address for my bank. Losing every scrap of plastic to identify me is a pain in the ass, but thanks to my passport and bank statements I’m able to prove who I am, getting a much needed cash advance—which will hopefully make me harder to track.
I leave feeling a wash of relief cascade over me. The bank will overnight a new debit card to my next hotel. The wad of cash in my pocket feels reassuring, but I’m still in a tight spot.
Yes, and let’s add in the fact you just withdrew money from your account, idiot.