Drift: The Shift Series, #3

By Elle Beauregard

Sleeping next to vampires wasn't on my five-year plan.

 

Then again, neither was going on the run. I was doing fine on my own until government agents started tailing me through Seattle. Then a vampire—sorry, civilized immortal—named Topher up and rescued me. Now I'm staying with the immortals running "daylight errands" while Drake is on his way. Topher said he'd keep me safe until then, but even with nowhere else to go, I'm not sure I can trust an immortal's promise.

 

But right now I don't have a choice because I think something might really be wrong with me. I can't sleep, or eat. And I keep waking up in two places at once—like I can see my room in the vampires' house through one eye, and somewhere I don't recognize with the other. 

 

I only know one thing. Drake cannot get here fast enough. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle Beauregard
• Release date: May 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781476111254

Elle Beauregard

Elle Beauregard writes hopeful het. and sapphic fantasy romance about deeply damaged people finding love amidst the extraordinary. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with "the hubby" and "the kiddos" where she spends her free time drinking coffee, thrift shopping, and planning for world domination (one story at a time.) Find Elle online for updates on her projects, random musings, and feminist ramblings.

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DRIFT

Shift Series | 3

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Elle Beauregard

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DRIFT

Copyright © 2011, 2018

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only please delete it and purchase your own copy from an authorized retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Elle Beauregard

PO Box 27242

Federal Way, Washington, 98093

USA

ISBN-13: 9781476111254

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 | Seattle and a Voice

Chapter 2 | The Dangerous Void

Chapter 3 | Reluctant Meeting

Chapter 4 | Melanie

Chapter 5 | Help

Chapter 6 | Vampires

Chapter 7 | Protected

Chapter 8 | Daylight Errands

Chapter 9 | Questions

Chapter 10 | Joshua Lane, i.e. Mythological Affairs

Chapter 11 | What Did I Do?

Chapter 12 | Short Notice

Chapter 13 | What Am I Doing Here?

Chapter 14 | Lift the Nothingness

Chapter 15 | No Idea

Chapter 16 | What is Wrong with Me?

Chapter 17 | The Worst

Chapter 18 | The Best

Chapter 19 | Moving On

STAND Chapter 1

About the Author

Chapter 1 | Seattle and a Voice

Le-le, come with me.

I gasped, too loudly, my head shooting up from the back of the seat. 

I’d almost fallen asleep, the roar of the plane’s engines disappearing, suddenly replaced by the glorious and terrifying sound of Drake’s request. 

Glorious because his voice, so perfectly recalled by my mind as it teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, sent a warm wash of calm over my nerves.  Terrifying because he wasn’t here.  He wasn’t with me.  If I was hearing his voice, I was dreaming.  And if I was dreaming, then I was surely on my way to sleep that was deep enough to reveal my secret.  I couldn’t sleep here, surrounded by people, enclosed as I was.  Trapped. 

The woman sitting between me and the window eyed me discreetly as she tried to appear to continue to read her book.  A baby, somewhere in the cabin behind me, fussed and whined, complaining wordlessly but insistently.  A man on a laptop computer, across the aisle, shifted in his seat and stole a glance my way. 

I didn’t think I looked terribly out of place, didn’t think I looked as lost as I felt, but it was as if these people could feel it.  They’d been throwing me sideways glances since I’d taken my seat like they could see the panic, the loss, the fear on my skin, like stains on my clothing; a thin layer of emotional grime.  To be honest, I felt like I was covered in a thin layer of real grime, too, having spent last night in a grimy motel with Drake, and so many days and nights before that in a car.

Oh, Drake.  My heart constricted in my chest, my photographic memory coughing up more than just the pictures from those terrible moments back at the gate in Nebraska.  Not just the pain and anxiety on his face, but in the warmth we shared, in the sound of his voice as those moments replayed, unbidden:

He'd taken a deep breath, and resolve had laced into the heat, along with the nervousness I'd chalked up to our current situation.  Then he'd said the words that had stopped my heart in my chest:  I’m saying that you have to go without me. We can’t travel together, Le-le.

Blinking the memory away, I fought back tears on the inside while I smiled sheepishly and shook my head on the outside, laughing lightly at myself for the sake of everyone around me.  It was amazing, how easily I could lie now.  How fluidly I could maintain my role.  Not just my appearance—though even that had been an accomplishment, just months ago—but the story, the lies that accompanied my looks.  That I was this person—Lorily Jane Brown, not Leah Brayton.  It wasn’t this role specifically.  It wasn’t Lorily herself that was so easy a part to play—I’d only taken this appearance some hours earlier—but the simple fact that I was acting with a stranger’s face, a stranger’s name that had become routine.  It didn’t bother me the way it had at first.  I’d have rather just been me, just been Leah, sure, but I’d had lots of names, many faces in the last weeks. 

Leah Brayton was many people, as surely as she was no one.  That was easy.  What wasn’t easy, what I hadn’t grown accustomed to (and felt certain I never would) was being without Drake.  Not like when we’d been apart at the beginning of the school year—what felt like years ago now.  What I hated, more than anything, was being without him so completely—no way to call, or text, or email—and having no idea where he was.  Having no idea if he was safe. 

I closed my eyes because it was the best way to keep myself calm and centered, but I didn’t lay my head against the back of my seat again.  With no one to keep me awake, it would be too easy to fall asleep.  And if that happened, if the people around me saw me shift, all of Drake’s effort, all the risks that everyone had taken, all the payments they were making with their freedom would be for nothing.  That thought kept me awake. 

Le-le, I will find you. Okay? he said slowly, with calculated calm. You remember what John said. We were supposed to split up. All of us were.

But you said we wouldn’t, I argued. I asked you and you said we wouldn’t split up.

That was before, he countered gently. Before all of this. Before we were the only two left. Please, Leah. I need you to do this.

I squeezed my eyes shut more tightly, forbidding my tears to fall while I begged myself to stop playing and replaying that scene in my head.

Twenty minutes later, the plane landed, bouncing along the runway. I sat in my seat, numb, unbelieving, staring at the back of the seat in front of me while everyone else stood, stretched their limbs and gathered their belongings.  A couple people gave me sideways looks.  A couple of others whispered or mumbled to their companion, eyeing me with the same suspicious concern I’d seen on the other passengers, before.  But I just sat, my mind a blank wash of white noise. 

It wasn’t until the horde of passengers began to shuffle up the aisle, lumbering to the open terminal and un-recycled air that I truly moved. 

No bag to contend with, I stood and joined the jostling, slow moving line.  A stewardess wished me a good day as I left the plane, but I didn’t realize it until I was too far past her to respond. 

Stepping from the breezeway, into the airport, I scanned the terminal that lay ahead of me. 

I’d never been to Seattle before.  I wasn’t even sure that I’d ever traveled this far north.  I didn’t think I’d ever even had a layover here in the few travels I’d taken with my family.  So, while everyone bustled away from the gate, toward wherever they were going next, I realized that I had nowhere to go.  No one to see.  No one I even knew here.  In this whole city. 

Because I couldn’t think of anything else to do and the chair seemed so easy and available, I sunk into a seat near the gate and stared at the carpet without really seeing it.  Instead, I saw Drake as I had seen him last: his hands balled into fists at his sides, the look of desperation the strongest feature of him—it had been there in the set of his shoulders, the muscles that stood out on his forearms, like he was having a silent war with himself while he watched me go.  It had been there in the line of his jaw, and his green eyes.  Just another inescapable image, branded into my picture memory.

I was cold.  I’d been cold since he disappeared behind the grey, metal door the stewardess had closed between us.  A picture turned indelible scar, like the sight of Drake sitting on the blanket where I left him at the end of last summer.  Like my mother’s sad eyes when I said goodbye to her, those weeks back.  Like the vampire killing the reporter at the protests that had prompted us to run.  That had revealed us all and, in doing so, taken my parents, my aunt, and now my other half, my link, my Drake away from me. 

I realized someone was whispering, mumbling nearby and I had a feeling that it was about me, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

You need to get up, I thought to myself.  But even the thought wasn’t completely formed.

Miss?

I looked up to see a man in a suit beside me.  A flicker of horror ignited in my chest, but as soon as I had the thought to be terrified, I registered his kind eyes.  This observation came too slowly, however, to stop the quiet gasp that seeing his black suit elicited. 

He tilted his head and angled his body so he could see me better, concern filling his expression, deepening from what it had been before.  Are you alright? he asked, his brows furrowing.  Do you need help?

I pulled away from him, shrunk against the chair’s armrest, unable to tell my body not to.  I’m fine.

He didn’t look convinced.  But he stood up and walked away without arguing and I was grateful. 

You need to get up.  You need to get somewhere safer than this.  Go do what Drake told you to. This time, my thoughts didn’t really sound like thoughts, but more like a voice.  My voice, I guess, but Aunt Cecelia’s voice too.  Her voice, because it was so reasonable and smart.  As if, the last little part of me that was keeping it together, belonged to her.  She’d fostered that little sliver of me.  And that little sliver of me was her.  I was grateful for that voice.  But I wasn’t sure how to obey the advice it delivered. 

Leave here?  Without Drake?  Why couldn’t I just stay here and wait for him? 

The next voice I heard with any recognition was decidedly outside of myself.  It belonged to the man who’d asked if I was alright, moments before.  I turned toward the voice, unable to hear what he was saying, to see that he was speaking with a steward behind the counter at the gate. 

They were looking at me. 

I looked away and stood on instinct alone, like my legs made the decision that my mind could not put into action.  Then, with smooth strides that belied my weak knees and hammering heart, I walked.  I walked until I found myself at the ground transportation desks.  I couldn’t remember making the decision to walk here, and I couldn't really remember the walk itself with any clarity, but here I was nonetheless.

Get to the city, the voice, Aunt Cecelia, commanded.  Find the Green Tortoise Hostel.

The cold, wet air while I waited on the light rail platform was heavy and thick with moisture.  It felt good in my lungs after the dry, recycled air of the plane.  It helped to clear my head. 

The gentleman at the ground transportation desk had told me that a Light Rail line ran right from the airport, into downtown Seattle.  He also told me what stop to get off at, so I could find the hostel.  He did all of this while he gave me sideways glances that spoke of his worry for my stability. 

He was probably right to worry, just then. 

But now, as I stood on the elevated platform, drinking the air as much as breathing it, I at least had my wits about me again.  And I had a mission—a short term goal to focus on, instead of thinking about everything else.  Which was good.

The Light Rail train arrived at the platform high above the street; it didn’t look particularly light.  But it was quiet and sleek—very modern.  I climbed on and settled into a seat.  But now that the immediate task of finding and boarding was complete, my mind was too free to be comfortable.  It tried to stray to topics I didn’t need to think about. 

Pull it together, Leah, I scolded myself.  You have a job to do.

Months ago, I would have laughed at a girl falling into disarray because her boyfriend was incommunicado.  Now I was that girl.  But, like, times ten.  Because Drake wasn’t my boyfriend. He was my link. We were genetically compatible. Connected by more than emotion and trust. But by a physical bond at once intangible and undeniable.

Okay.  I needed to think about other things again. So I forced myself to think about the city.

What did I know about Seattle?  The Space Needle was here, right?  So I thought about The Space Needle, at least what I knew about it, which admittedly wasn’t much.  Then, when I’d exhausted that topic, I tried to imagine what a place called ‘The Green Tortoise’ could possibly look like.  But I wasn’t feeling very creative, so all I came up with was a Tortoise & the Hare theme.  I figured there would probably be green wallpaper, too.  Maybe pillows shaped like rabbits.  Luckily, just when I was running out of things to think about—and beginning to panic—the ride came to an end.  I disembarked at Westlake Station, just like the gentleman at Ground Transportation had told me to do.  A couple of locals in polar fleece appeared to be waiting for the next train, so I asked them if they knew the best way for me to get to the hostel.  I figured, with a name like The Green Tortoise, they had to have heard of it.

Yeah, that’s on First and Pike, right? The girl turned to her friend.

Pike or Pine, yeah, the guy agreed, then turned to me.  Go up to street-level, then head west—toward the water—on Pine.  Take a left on First.  It’ll either be on that block, or the next, on the left.  It’s got a tall sign, right on the corner.

I thanked them both and went on my way again. 

Westlake Station was part of a set of underground tunnels that, I’d realized as I talked to the locals who gave me directions, served busses as well as the Light Rail trains.  It was well lit, with decorative paintings along the walls and a textured tile floor.  The curbs were painted yellow, to keep people from stepping off the sidewalk.  Busses came and went constantly, stopping and idling while passengers climbed on and off.  Everyone sort of kept to themselves, their heads down, their eyes far away.  Some of them listened to headphones, others talked with their companions.  No one looked particularly uncomfortable, which made me feel more at ease somehow.  There was nothing out of place here, at least not today.  And at least not anything out of place besides me.  I found an escalator and rode it up to street level, where I was greeted by the cold, wet air again. 

The streets were bustling.  There were people everywhere—even more so than down in the tunnels.  If they weren’t on foot, carrying shopping bags or sipping coffee, they were in cars that congested the one-way streets.  The sky was a deep, billowing grey—darker than when I’d gotten on the train though I knew it wasn’t near late enough for the sun to be setting.  The clouds were close.  They barely let the tops of the buildings contrast against them, instead looking as if they were about to swallow them up.  It felt like, if I stood on the top of one of the tall buildings, I could touch the clouds and I knew that they’d be cold and wet, just like the air. 

It was the furthest thing from Arizona that I could imagine.  So very different from Aunt Cecelia’s blue sky that stretched on forever and threw the red, craggy horizon into contrast so sharp that the hills looked like paper cutouts against it.  But this new grayness seemed fitting, somehow.  It was dim.  It was anonymous.  The cold kept people from looking around them and the wet kept them from seeing too far ahead when they did.  Everyone huddled into their rain shells and polar fleece, no one carrying an umbrella though rain was beginning to fall in earnest.  As if the sky had finally reached its limit and the heavy clouds were skimming off the excess, the rain fell with purpose and volume, but without much force. 

I should have been more careful while I walked.  More cautious.  But the wet cold seeped through my sweatshirt, into my