Fate Succumbs(4)

Alex was beautiful. Liam could never be called beautiful. It was much too tame a word. Handsome didn’t seem right either. Arresting. That was the word to describe Liam’s look. He was arresting.

He was also awake.

“Scout?”

I’m not sure when I got up out of the chair and moved onto the edge of his bed, but that was where I was. And that was certainly my now unbroken hand stretched out, frozen just inches from his face.

“I’m hungry,” I said, as if it made the whole Creeper Scout thing okay.

Liam sat up, rubbing his face. I found my way back to the chair as quickly as possible, which for a Shifter the day after the full moon means really freaking fast.

“Want to order some pizzas?”

“Sounds perfect!” I was doing that really fast, high-pitched talking thing girls do. I wanted to slap myself. Liam looked as if he might volunteer to do the deed for me.

After much discussion, some of it actually done in a normal, non-spastic voice, we ordered two large pizzas, an order of breadsticks, two orders of wings, and something they called a s’mores pizza, which I had reservations about. Liam sat some cash on the dresser once the order was placed and disappeared into the shower.

I gleefully passed the time by watching the Cartoon Network. When Liam had control of the TV, which was anytime he was around a TV, we watched The Weather Channel nonstop. An obsession with weather patterns was apparently a Cole thing, because Alex was always Johnny-on-the-spot with the forecast, although, it could have just been because he spent so much time with his brother. I can’t even pretend to care about high pressure systems or rotating storms, but after a couple of days with Liam I was able to talk dew points with the best of them.

I was watching a new show - the premise had something to do with talking appliances and a suicidal microwave oven - when the pizza guy came knocking.

“That’ll be fifty-seven even,” the guy said without looking up. He was really overweight and somehow managed to balance all the food on a fat roll with one hand while he held the receipt in the other. I wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was when it came to grabbing your dinner off a guy’s stomach. I started to reach for it, but chickened out at the last minute when it became obvious I might have to actually touch some part of him. He apparently saw me going in, thought I had it, and let go.

If I was a normal girl, the food would have hit the floor.

If I was thinking, the food would have hit the floor.

No food hit the floor.

“Holy shit!” Pizza Guy exclaimed. “How did you do that? You were like The Flash, dude.”

“Ummm… I work out?” I straightened back up slowly, as if the action would somehow negate the super-human swiftness I exhibited saving my pizza from a tragic end. I looked up, hoping my somewhat embarrassed smile would keep Pizza Guy from asking any more questions. Once I met his eyes, I realized that wasn’t going to be a problem. He was too busy doing the open-mouthed-staring-at-Scout thing people tend to do.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. “Yes, I’m pale. Yes, this is my real eye color. No, I don’t dye or bleach my hair to make it look like this.” I shoved the money towards him. “No change needed. Thanks.”

He didn’t take the hint.

“You’re her.” His eyes had grown huge behind the tops of his cheeks. “You’re her. That girl.” He waved his hand impatiently in front of him. “What’s your name?”

I relaxed my face and willed it not to flush. “Elizabeth,” I said, giving the response Liam had drilled into me.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Ummm… I think I know my own name.” My heart was going all kinds of crazy in my chest. Who was this guy? He didn’t smell like a Shifter, and Liam said we were at least a hundred miles from the Chase Pack’s den.

“No, really.” He was clearly getting very frustrated. “You’re that chick on TV.”

I laughed. It was just one loud burst, more of a squawk than a laugh really, but it was the first one to escape in longer than I could remember. “Nope. That’s not me.” I looked over my shoulder at the motel room with its stained once-was-shag-but-is-now-matted carpet and mismatched bedspreads. “I mean, would I be standing here in this room if I was?”

He didn’t seem convinced. “I can help you,” he stage whispered. “I’ll get you out of here.”

He didn’t reek of pot, so he hadn’t been smoking. My money was on pills. Lots and lots of pills.

“It’s alright,” I assured him. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”