Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies #1)(18)

Climbing to her feet, she stood next to the bed, pale in the darkness in her tank top and panties. Her black hair fell over one shoulder in a tumble of waves. She rubbed her brow with one hand. He looked so quiet and so sweet lying there. His words from the night before still whispered through her, stirring the false hopes of a normal life.

“Shit,” she muttered, and turned away. She needed to get the hell out of here.

Grabbing her bag, she headed into the small, white bathroom. She was anxious to get away now that the sun was setting. Pete needed medical attention. She would have to call 911 and get the hell out of the motel as fast as she could. Besides, she needed to feed again. The great need gnawed at her insides and she knew instinctively that it would only grow more demanding.

The shower was quick and to the point. Fifteen minutes later, she sat on the toilet, combing out her wet hair. She noticed the lack of split ends with a dull wonder and examined her much longer nails. They were sharp and strong. Her hands almost did not look like hers, except for the badly chipped nail polish. As she drew the comb through her hair over and over again, she wondered what she looked like now. Pete had looked at her as if she was gorgeous, while her family had regarded her with fear. Did she look radically different?

Maybe a better version of herself? There was no way to know.

“Fucking mirror,” she growled under her breath.

With a heavy sigh, she shoved the comb in the bag along with the rest of her clothes. Not caring to arrange it neatly, she shoved stuff around until the bag closed right. Pete's phone began to ring.

She had a feeling her time was nearly up.

Walking to where he lay, she stared at him, feeling the throb of her hunger deep inside. Her heart was beating slowly in her chest, her veins felt hollow, but she could hold off her hunger a bit longer.

Sweeping her hair back from her face, she leaned over him, trying not to look at the two pale wounds on his neck. They looked like bug bites. She wondered if there was something inside of her saliva that had stopped the bleeding and promoted healing.

“Pete,” she whispered.

To her surprise, his eyelids quivered.



Steadying herself with one hand, she moved a little closer. “Pete.”

His thick eyelashes fluttered as he slowly opened his eyes.

It hurt her to see the fear there.

“I'm leaving. Your phone is right here,” she said, and shoved the small device into one of his hands. “Call 911.”

“What did you...do to me?” he managed to whisper through pale lips.

The dark powering churning in her gut began to flow into her limbs and she could feel her eyes beginning to burn. This was the force she had felt last night when she had commanded him to sleep. Looking at him intently, she willed that power into him.

“You got sick. You never saw me. You came here to rest. You never saw me,” she ordered him in a voice that was raw and thick with her new ability.

“I...got...sick,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she answered with a sad smile. “You did. Call 911 when I leave.

The second that door shuts forget about me. Understand?”

She could literally feel her power overwhelming him, her desire pushing into his mind, reshaping his memory.

He nodded mutely, gazing at her through his eyelashes as if she were a goddess.

Tears threatening, she leaned over and kissed his lips. “Bye, Pete.”

Standing up, she heaved her bag over her shoulder and headed to the door. She could feel his gaze on her and turned to look at him.

Despite his fear, she could see a sliver of yearning in his eyes as he strained to watch her go. In his gaze, she could see her great beauty and presence. She self-consciously ran a hand over the peach and white vintage skirt that swung around the tops of her knees. A white tank top with the word “Bitch” in gold studs and cowboy boots topped off the outfit. Snatching her cowboy hat off the dresser, she sighed sadly.

But she couldn't lie to herself. She wouldn't have come back here for Pete and stayed. It was a wonderful sentiment on his part, even if he had asked her, she would have said no. Spooner, Texas was not the world where she wanted to live. The terrible thing was she had never known what world she had wanted to live in. She had just known she didn't belong.

Desperate to get out of the room, she shoved the table and chairs back to their spots. She moved to open the door.

“Amaliya,” Pete's voice rasped.

She turned toward him and saw his hand was reaching toward her.

His expression was full of desire and fear.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “For what...you are.”

“Me, too. Me, too.” She yanked the door open before she burst into tears and stepped out slowly. Looking both ways, she saw the parking lot was empty of people. Turning, she saw Pete's gaze was still fastened to her. “Forget me, then call 911.”

He nodded slowly, mesmerized.

She slammed the door shut.





Chapter Six


Skirting the edge of the motel parking lot, she managed to make it to the road without anyone noticing her. Though she could feel the heaviness of the bag on her back, it didn't cause her any discomfort as she maneuvered through the darkness with greater ease than she ever had before. Her money tucked safely in her boot, she strode on toward the main highway and away from the hotel. The tiny town of Spooner lay ten miles down the road and she was glad to have it behind her. She hadn't even seen it this trip, but she had no desire to see its dying downtown or the old Sonic where she had worked diligently for years.