Free Skin Deep by T. G. Ayer Page A

gathered my stuff. My shoulder ached like crazy, but I had to clean up the spot. Grabbing a fistful of tissues, I opened the closet door and swiped at the offensive blood spot. I rubbed until not a trace remained.
    It was a good thing Walker blood differed from Human in one vital construct—it lacked those properties which allowed Human blood to be picked up by UV light.
    As I rose, my shirt stuck to my back, sticky and moist. Good thing I'd changed it before he arrived. If I'd had my back to him as he left, he'd have seen the wound on my shoulder, fresh blood seeping through the clean shirt. As I rose, I heard a sound from the closet.
    Anjelo. Damn, I'd almost forgotten him.
    Okay, did forget him with the minor issue of one darned drop of blood.
    Pushing into the hidden space, I let the light shine into the small area. Anjelo sat on the floor, eyes half transformed to exotic panther as he controlled his blood urges, playing a game on his mobile phone. And I'd wasted my time worrying about him.
    We left the center, careful to keep to the shadows. Anjelo insisted on walking me home—as if I were just a cub. My hero. As grateful as I was to Anjelo for his help, my mind fixated on a pair of obsidian eyes, one gently stubbled, very sexy chin and the warm glow on my skin where our fingertips had touched so briefly.
     
    ***
     

Chapter 11
    Stumbling into my apartment, I hobbled to my room and undressed. One-handed, the simple task took longer than expected and it wore me out. I sank onto the edge of the bed to catch my breath, sparing the tiniest of peeks at the photo frame sitting face down on the nightstand. The cheerful faces of a once-happy family lay hidden between the glass and cheap wood of the table. I didn't need a physical reminder of my fractured family unit. Not today. Not when the gaping hole in my shoulder spat agonizing streaks into my flesh and all I wanted was someone to make it all better.
    At last, I dragged myself to the shower, hoping the hot water would help soothe my muscles and encourage sleep. Later, I collapsed on the bed and closed my eyes, yearning for the release of slumber. Easier said than done.
    Sleep refused to come, as images of the skinless man and his eyes, unable to close, staring off into eternity, danced behind my eyelids. My shoulder ached, reminding me I'd come close to meeting the great Ailuros. I knew I needed rest, but how was I supposed to sleep when the odor of Death's fetid breath still hung on me?
    Why did the murder affect me so deeply? I'd seen and done far too much to get squeamish at the sight of a dead body. But he'd been a Walker. Perhaps it was the skin, or the lack of it, that bothered me so much. Who'd do such an awful thing? To a Walker? What if there were others out there, at this very moment, at the mercy of the murderer? If Walkers in the city had gone missing, Anjelo or Storm would've said something. I needed to tell the clan.
    City Deep.
    It was what they called themselves. Ourselves, rather. My clan. Honorary member. In return, I was a watchman of sorts. Kept an eye out and passed information to Storm on the Wraiths and their numbers, and he helped me, like giving me Tara's number for the weapons I needed. At least Storm understood and never gave me the look of condemnation I often found on Anjelo's face. Storm was Grandma Ivy's enigmatic friend. He was a benefactor to many of the Walkers in the city, especially to the kids. He ran a shelter of sorts for the Walker kids, provided guardianship for them so they could attend Crawdon, and gave them guidance and leadership too.
    I remembered the lumbering city when I'd first arrived, filled with steel buildings and concrete highways—and Humans. So many Humans. I'd lived in the city for a year, fulfilling my promise to Grandma Ivy and attending school, pretending to be nothing more than Human. Most of them kept themselves too busy in their own lives, making ends meet, trying to get ahead. Never any time left in their