hug, and we stood there for a long moment. When she pulled back, her face was worried. “Will you let me know when you get to wherever you’re going? Just let me know you’re safe?”
“I will. I promise.”
We exchanged one final hug, and my chest felt too tight. There were so many people I had to leave behind, and it was killing me. I began the walk back to Dad’s house, and my chest squeezed even tighter knowing I only had a few hours left with him. The road I had ahead of me was a painfully lonely one, but I could handle it. I’d survived this far, and I was damned if I was going to give up now.
Steely determination formed in my gut. I could do this. I could start a brand-new life far from here and evade all the people who wanted to find me …
Right?
2.
6 months later
It seemed like a sick joke that the first job I managed to secure in my new city was at a grocery store almost identical to Hagen’s. However, I stipulated that I wouldn’t be available to work any night shifts, so there was that. Typically, I was back in my apartment before it got dark and I didn’t leave again until morning. Avoiding going out at night had become a new habit.
At least I knew I wouldn’t encounter any vampires during the day.
It was starting to wear me down though. I needed to get out and socialise. I couldn’t remain a hermit for much longer and retain my sanity. On the way home from one of my shifts I spotted a flyer for an art exhibition happening at a gallery nearby. My heart filled with longing just looking at it. I wanted to go, enjoy a glass of wine, admire some art, and perhaps even make small talk with strangers.
I was still thinking about the exhibition when I got home and ate dinner.
I could go, right? No one had come looking for me so far. If I was lucky, they’d moved on to something else and wouldn’t even be thinking about me anymore.
Oh, to hell with it, I needed a night out. Just one night. I rifled through my clothes and found my best pair of jeans and a pretty cream blouse. I ran a brush through my hair, which used to be longer but was now shoulder length. I also bleached two strands at the front as something of a disguise, but also because I thought it made me look like Rogue from X-Men.
When I reached the gallery, it wasn’t too busy. I paid the entry at the door and stepped inside, gladly accepting the complimentary glass of Prosecco from a smartly dressed waiter. The work of several artists was being displayed, but one collection, in particular, caught my attention. The style reminded me of the expressionists, and I stood admiring a painting of a Japanese garden.
“Are you the artist?” a man asked. He’d come to stand next to me, and I cast him a quick side glance. He was attractive, probably in his forties, and wore a suit.
“Me? No. I was just admiring it.”
“Oh. I thought you might be one of the artists,” he explained with a smile. “You have the look.”
I guessed he was referring to my somewhat eccentric white hair strands. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, about to move on when he asked, “Can I get you another drink?”
Was he chatting me up? My stomach twisted up into knots as I gave a polite smile and declined, “No, but thank you for the offer.”
He looked a little crestfallen when I walked away. I’d thought I was ready to interact with people, but I felt completely out of practice. I wasn’t ready to accept drinks and flirt with a sexy, older businessman. I needed a few more practice outings first.
I moved on to the next painting, and the gallery began to fill up. I stood back and took in the people. Most were well-dressed, professional types. It was a new habit of mine to scan any room I found myself in, always on the alert for possible danger. The man who’d offered to buy me a drink had moved his attention to a leggy brunette in a blue dress.
My attention lingered on them when a tingle skittered across the back of my neck. It was a sensation I hadn’t felt in months, not since I left Tribane, and I’d always thought of it