Page 11 of Kept 4
Just how I imagined I could live an ordinary life as a human when I’m carrying the secret knowledge of the existence of immortals, running for my life and, oh yeah, I’m virtually indestructible, I don’t know, I think ruefully, as I sit up and shake off the food scraps and other rubbish clinging to my body.
Seventy-two hours. I’d lasted just seventy-two hours before my past had caught up with me, or in this case, not my past, Lord Montague’s past.
As if on cue with my newly restarted heart, my phone rings, and I sigh as I see who the caller is.
“Nicholas.”
“I felt your fear, and then I felt nothing, nothing. I’ve been wild with worry. What happened? Do you need me? I’m on my way.”
“Ugh, no. I don’t need you, I’m,” I frown and shake my head, my thoughts still a little fuzzy after having been punched repeatedly in the face and having my neck broken, “the hunters. Some hunters thought I had Lucy and James murdered. They caught me on my way to my hostel last night and…” I swallow hard.
I don’t want to tell him everything that happened, I don’t want to ever think about it again, to retell is to relive – and these are memories best burnt and blown to the wind. “They didn’t believe me that I wasn’t in league with you somehow, so they took me out.”
“Took you out as in?” his voice is low, deadly.
“As in they beat me up and snapped my neck. They obviously don’t know I’m Kept. I just woke up in a dumpster in,” I rub my eyes and peer around at my surroundings, “an alleyway.”
“I’m coming for you.”
“No, go after them. I’m running further. I thought I could stop off at Rennes and stay a few days, but I was wrong.”
“Rennes?”
I hear him swear, mutter something, and in the background, someone replies, the sound of an engine intensifies in the background, and then he is talking to me once more, his voice now more angry than concerned.
“Josephine when I said ‘stay under the radar’ I meant it. If the hunters know where you are, it is possible Elsbeth is not far behind. Leave France immediately.”
“Elsbeth? Nicholas,” I growl, part of me thrilled to hear his concern, the other part, the part covered in old fish carcasses and eggs shells and desperately wanting to take a shower, becoming increasingly pissed off, “you told me Elsbeth would leave me alone now that I’m your Kept.”
“I told you that so you wouldn’t live in fear,” he says groaning, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be cautious.”
“So? Is she after me or not?”
“Yes, of course,” he sighs, “she is a fucking psychopath, I thought we had established that? Didn’t having your life almost drained from you give you some indication of her instability?”
“Yes, dickhead!” I spit, “having her fangs imbedded in my throat was a pretty salient hint that she and I were not going to become besties, but you said you were going to take care of her.”
“I am, I will,” he sighs.
“When? Where are you now?”
“I’m in my helicopter, heading for Rennes,” he says quietly.
“No.”
“I need to see you.”
“Nicholas, stay away, I’m leaving. I don’t want you to come here.”
“Like I said,” he murmurs, “Elsbeth won’t be far away. I should have left earlier. I should have left immediately you boarded my train, I just... I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” I know I’m being unreasonable, angry, argumentative, but right at this moment, having come back from the dead and attempting to haul myself out of a dumpster with one hand and hold the phone with the other, I’m hardly feeling predisposed to being even-tempered.
“I can’t explain,” he says quietly.
“Try.”
“I love you, Josephine.”
