Sam I Am (4 page)

She was watching someone else. He followed her gaze to find that she was stealing surreptitious glances at a young man with long black hair and eyes like clouded emeralds. They were the color of oak groves from a distance. The color of life.

Sam’s gaze darkened. The blue in his own stark eyes turned cobalt.

The young man with the black hair seemed to feel Logan’s gaze on him. He looked up and, catching her before she could look away, he returned a secret glance, managing a quick smile.

Sam barely suppressed a growl.

Logan Wright was his destiny. But these other children? They meant nothing to him. They
were
nothing. They could only get in the way.

And he was feeling hungry again.

Logan unlocked her door and slid into the driver’s seat. Then she closed the door behind her, locked it again, and pressed her forehead to the steering wheel. She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. She took another deep breath and let that out as well.

It was lunch hour, and this time around, she had no appetite. Her stomach felt as if it possessed both hard, painful knots – and a swarm of angry bees.

Fifth period was coming up. And fifth period would mean Sam Hain.

The new guy.

Why was she so nervous? Because she knew that name. Didn’t she? It was so familiar to her, it was surreal.

The young man in her dream had been “Sam.” And when Katelyn had gone on to describe how Sam Hain looked – Logan had actually begun to feel ill. Kate had illustrated the boy from her dream to near perfect detail.

Logan must have looked as sick as she’d felt, because Kate asked her if she was okay. “Another fight?” she automatically assumed. Logan couldn’t blame her. Her family had so many of them, it was a natural guess.

But Logan shook her head, ran her hand over her face, and told her that she hadn’t eaten breakfast. That was all.

The first four periods of the day had gone by incredibly slowly. And blurringly fast. She recalled positively
nothing
that the teachers had spoken of. And she couldn’t remember what Katelyn had been talking her ear off about during the passing periods. All she could think about was the new student. Who she had yet to meet.

Or even see in the halls.

Those kinds of things happened, of course. The halls were packed and classes were spread wide through the labyrinthine construction of the school. It was possible to miss people for days, even. But it would have helped if she’d caught even the slightest glimpse of him. Just so that she could reassure herself – so she could confirm that it wasn’t, in fact, the boy from her dreams.

Because that would be impossible. That would make her…. What? Crazy?

Logan straightened in the driver’s seat and caught a splash of red in the blur of her vision. Her finger was bleeding again. When she’d woken up that morning, there had been a cut at its tip, in the exact same spot that she’d been pierced with the thorn of Sam’s rose.

The wound wasn’t overly large, but it had been bleeding pretty badly.

And now it was at it again.

She sighed and stuffed her other hand in her front pocket, pulling out the extra bandage she’d brought with her to school, just in case. After she had it wrapped around her right index finger, she turned her attention to the notebook in the driver’s seat beside her. That was where she always kept her stories, just in case someone broke into her locker. Kids were forever breaking into other people’s lockers.

Her stories were her private thoughts. She didn’t want
anyone
reading them. Not yet, anyway. Maybe, one day – when she was forty and famous.

She picked up the notebook, set it against the steering wheel, and took the pen from the cup holder. With her thumb, she flipped through the pages already written.

She smiled as she read….

David Thorne, the vampire king with blonde hair and blue eyes and an Armani trench coat…. Michael Angel, the alpha werewolf leader of a motorcycle gang…. Anthony Salvatore, the raven-haired shape shifter demon who had searched the world for thousands of years for his bride…. Darien Locksley, the green eyed immortal warlock obsessed with a witch who doesn’t know she’s magic…. And Logan’s favorite, Samuel Falls. She stopped turning the pages and looked down at this story. It wasn’t finished yet.

She still had quite a ways to go with Samuel’s story. As of yet, she didn’t even have a clear image of what the character looked like. And there were plot holes in the tale that she needed to get straightened out and filled up.

But he appealed to her, even as incomplete as he was, and she didn’t know why. Some things just appealed to her. Like Dominic Maldovan.

Her eyes glassed over a little as she recalled their meeting in the hall the day before. Logan had never been lucky enough to get him alone before. She’d always figured that, even if she
had
been lucky enough, he wouldn’t really want to talk to her.

She’d been wrong.

Logan closed her eyes and tried not to think of what a fool she’d made of herself in front of him. She couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking even less of her than she did at that moment.

Logan hated that she was so weak in this. But the truth was, she had been wanting to run her fingers through his long black hair since the fourth grade, when he’d helped her up off of that playground.

She still had the scar on her right knee – and it never failed to remind her of him.

Logan sighed and opened her eyes, peering down once more at the unfinished story in her lap. “Samuel,” she said, aloud, as she rubbed her finger-tips over the words she’d written. “Just in time for Halloween.”

She truly adored Autumn. It got her creative juices flowing; stories came easier, ran deeper, and rang truer for her in the Fall. Everything was just friendlier then, and that inherent, seasonal kindness made it easier for her to concentrate on writing.

Allergies went away, the air cleaned itself, the night was clearer and closer, the leaves turned, insects died off, and you could wear sweaters every day. She loved sweaters! They meant you could eat cookies without worrying about it.

And that was only the beginning.

Autumn brought with it the best holidays. Like Halloween.

Logan desperately loved October. It was, by far, her preferred time of year; a month she looked forward to for the other eleven months. The moment it began, Logan felt she had something to live for. The moment it ended, Logan felt she had something, at least, to look forward to.

“What should I make you?” Logan whispered aloud now, once more thinking about the character, Samuel Falls.
It should be something Halloween-y
, she thought with a secret smile. Vampires were her fall-back; tall, sophisticated, deadly.

But she had also created a wonderful new werewolf that never went through any of that awkward bone-popping, body crunching, furry-faced crap that werewolves on TV went through. She liked her wolves a lot. Then again, she also liked her devils and demons.
So
powerful – they could honestly do almost anything.

As of yet, the words on the pages before her drew an unfinished picture of a young man who was trapped between her made-up world and complete non-existence. He needed to be fleshed out.

“Sam,” she whispered again. And then she frowned.

She uncapped her pen and wrote in the margin of the notebook.

“Samuel Falls,” she said the name aloud as she wrote it. Then, “Sam Falls.” She wrote that one too. Lastly, “Sam Hain.” The new student.

“Sowen,” she said aloud, correctly pronouncing the holiday, Samhain’s druidic name. And then, very quietly, she whispered
“Samhain equals Sam Hain.”

His head snapped up.

She’d said his name. His
true
name. She’d called it out – quietly – but
twice
.

He straightened, coming to his full height, and allowed the body he had been holding to drop to the ground. It crumpled at his booted feet and he ignored it, instead turning his face to the wind and inhaling deeply.

He could smell her, even here in the alley between the student’s garage and the gymnasium. Her scent was a mixture of cinnamon and soap and… blood. She was nearby.

He had watched her, minutes earlier, as she’d waved goodbye to her friend and headed toward the parking lot to leave for lunch.

Only, she hadn’t left yet – why?

Sam glanced down at the body at his feet. He was sated at the moment, more or less. The yawning emptiness inside of him had been filled and he no longer felt desperate. Angry.
Hungry.

This hunger was a new thing for him, as was nearly everything else he was experiencing. He’d felt it for the first time last night, before he’d done away with the man who had leered at Logan Wright. But once he’d taken his fill of the man’s blood, he’d felt much better. More powerful. Powerful enough to enter her dreams.

Now, as he caught her scent on the wind and heard her laughter, he began to feel, once more, that entirely
different
kind of yearning. Slowly, he closed his eyes and willed the change to come over him. The blood of his victim dissipated and his black clothes were once more clean.

He contemplated the dead student. With a single thought from him, the body of the young man burst into flame, burned up in sheer seconds, and then turned to ash. A wind rushed through the alley and carried the ash away.

Sam watched the gray whirlwind pick up and leave and as he glanced back down, he caught the pale flash of his reflection in a puddle of water a few feet away. He paced toward it, his boots crunching the stray pieces of gravel and dirt under him.

Then he gazed down at the reflection, studying it fully for the first time since he had been transformed. He stood tall; he was uncommonly attractive, and Logan’s words had draped him in the only color that suited him. He had much to thank her for.

His black t-shirt stretched to cover the muscles he’d been endowed with. The motorcycle jacket gave him a hard edge. It was fitting.

His eyes were ice blue. Nearly white. They were stark and piercing and now, gazing down into them himself, Sam came to understand exactly why Logan had shied away from him in her dream. He was handsome, yes. But he was also frightening. Imposing.

This gave him pause.

I’ve killed
, he thought. The words floated, aimlessly, through his mind. Killed and killed again.

And that was only the beginning.

Logan Wright would do well to be afraid of him. She would be wise to keep her distance.

In the watery reflection, Sam Hain’s gaze narrowed, becoming determined and cold.

Wise or not – that just wasn’t going to happen.

Chapter Four

Logan punched down the lock on the car door and then slammed it shut. She stood there beside the car and waited to see if the door would catch or play it difficult and bounce back.

It was her lucky day; this time it shut without a fight. Logan sighed a sigh of both relief and disappointment and ran a hand through her long wavy hair. It was technically still her parents’ car; she had to take them anywhere they wanted to go in it. And it was an old car; no automatic locks on this one. But it had four wheels and fairly good tires and it got her away from home. So, to her, it was a slightly rusty, dented, out of date chariot of freedom.

Of course, in the summers, it bordered on painful because it didn’t have an air conditioner. She found, however, that she was able to put up with a lot of heat-induced tension headache and dehydration so long as it afforded her a way out of the family hysteria.

It did have a radio. There was that. Unfortunately, there were two stations in her charming little town. One of them played non-stop country. The other played non-stop really
old
country. Neither was much to her liking.

Logan threw her backpack over her shoulder and walked briskly toward the stairs that led to the back of the school. Fifth period would begin in ten minutes.

On the fourth step, her backpack began playing Paint It Black. Logan set it down, unzipped the small front pocket, and pulled out her phone. The LED screen read, “Betty Crocker.” She smiled to herself and flipped it open. “Hi Mrs. Witherspoon, this is Logan.”

He listened as the woman on the other end of the line spoke. He was able to understand what was happening because of Logan. She’d written it all into her stories. Cell phones, computers, cars, money, clothing – she’d placed the detail he needed to survive into her work, unwittingly creating him to the very finest detail.

“Absolutely,” Logan was saying. “No problem, Mrs. Witherspoon. I’ll be there as soon as I can get away.” He watched as she looked up, toward the school, a calculative expression on her face. She nodded, as if the other woman could see her. “Don’t worry – I’ll take care of everything.” She closed the phone and dropped it back into the front pocket of her backpack.

Logan stood on the step for a moment, considering her options. Randy Hodges hadn’t shown up to open the store that morning. The shop had remained closed all day, until a repeat customer had phoned Mrs. Witherspoon to ask whether there had been a family emergency.

It appeared that Randy Hodges had gone missing. His car was still parked in the driveway of his apartment, but his neighbors hadn’t heard him come in. He lived alone, so there was no family to miss him, however Mrs. Witherspoon claimed that her calls were going straight to his voice mail.

Which reminded Logan of Meagan.

She sighed heavily and pulled her cell phone back out of the bag. She dialed Meagan’s number and was once more disappointed, if not surprised, when it, too went directly to voice mail. Next, she sent her friend a text. That would spark a reply, for sure. If it didn’t, then Meagan was dead – she never missed a chance to text her friends.

When she’d finished, she closed her phone and peered back up at the façade of the school. “Well, I guess fifth period mystery new guy is gonna have to wait,” she whispered to herself. Not that she was exactly let down by the idea. In fact, any excuse to put off meeting Sam Hain personally, she would leap on and sink both tooth and nail into.

She’d been worrying about it all day. And now that she realized what his first and last name actually meant, she felt as if she were slip-sliding back into a dream state, only while she was still awake. Psychologists had a term for that, she was fairly sure. Something like… going certifiably batty.

With that thought, Logan spun around on the steps and took them back down to the parking lot two at a time. She shoved her key into her car door and got in, sinking into the seat with that familiar sense of power and freedom that always came when one got behind the wheel of an automobile.

It was a control thing, she guessed.

She started the car up and pulled it out of the lot, knowing that she was going to get reamed by her teachers for this little absence. But she didn’t care; she had a legitimate excuse. And once she told everyone about poor old Mrs. Witherspoon being left on her own, they would be forced to either agree with Logan or appear nothing less than heartless bastards. She loved those kinds of compromises.

It was two minutes into her drive to the bakery that her cell phone rang. As a rule, she didn’t pay attention to the phone when she was driving. But she couldn’t help but wonder whether it might be Meagan, at last getting back to her.

When she pulled into the empty drive in front of the shop, she turned off the car and immediately checked her phone. Instead of reading “Meagan,” the screen displayed, “Deirdre Stone.” That was Meagan’s mother.

Logan’s chest suddenly felt tight. There was a cold, hard feeling spreading through her as she returned the number and put the phone to her ear. It picked up after the first ring. “Logan?” Deirdre’s voice sounded higher-pitched than usual. And thinner. More tired.

“Yes, Mrs. Stone, it’s Logan. What’s wrong?” She just knew something was wrong. It was as obvious as the sun at noon.

“Logan, Meagan is in a coma. She’s here at St. Mary’s. They found her last night in the cemetery….” Deirdre’s voice cracked and Logan jumped to fill the silence and spare Meagan’s mother any further discomfort.

“I’ll be at St. Mary’s as soon as I can close the bakery, Mrs. Stone. I promise.”

Katelyn Shanks stared at the back of the new guy’s head. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Even the
back
of him was gorgeous.

She loved the way his deep brown hair looked so thick and soft. She could easily run her hands through it and then hold tight. She loved how his shoulders looked so strong. That special curve that men get where the neck meets the shoulder was so perfect on him; she wanted to sink her teeth into it. And the biceps that filled out the short sleeves of his black t-shirt were… were…

Yummy
, she thought, and leaned forward in her desk. She put her elbows on the surface and laced her fingers together, resting her chin on them.

Sam Hain shifted in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his long legs and the ankle, and Katelyn’s gaze flew to the muscles that flexed beneath his tight, dark jeans. His motorcycle boots left slight black skid marks on the white linoleum tiles. He smelled like leather; she could smell it from her seat, which was three back and to the left of his.

Katelyn sighed, and then, realizing that she’d done so out loud, she quickly glanced around the room to make sure no one had noticed.

No one had. The girls were all eyeing Sam the way Katelyn was.

The boys were watching the teacher, Mr. Lehrer, as the man spoke to them about the atrocities of World War Two.

Look at them
, Katelyn thought.
Boys do love their war.

And then she frowned, her gaze skirting to the empty seat in front of Sam Hain’s.
She’s not only missing the chance to meet Mr. Hain up close and personal
, Katelyn thought,
she’s missing a history lesson she would have loved.

Katelyn knew that Logan would have been as interested in what Mr. Lehrer was saying as were all of the boys in the class. Logan loved history; and war was just appalling enough to her that she gave it the nod of attention it deserved. At least, that was how Logan had described it when she’d told Kate she needed to study for her history exam this weekend instead of agreeing to help her
best friend
with the Halloween Dance decorations.

Katelyn rolled her eyes at the thought.
Halloween comes around once a year! It’s Logan’s favorite holiday! How can she miss this?

Of course, Katelyn knew the truth. The truth was, Logan hated social events of any type, and the dance was no exception. She was one of those genius creative types; an introvert in the extreme. Logan would rather hole herself away in some remote corner of the county library than get together with a bunch of girls from school and cut out paper pumpkins. It was a wonder she and Katelyn had grown as close as they had.

“Can anyone tell me how many people died in World War Two?” Mr. Lehrer asked the class, bringing Katelyn’s attention back to the present.

“Just over seventy million,” Sam Hain replied.

Wow, his voice is beautiful,
Katelyn thought, distractedly. It was deep and resonant.

Katelyn glanced around the room. Every pair of eyes was on Sam. They were waiting – to find out whether he was right or wrong. If he was right, they would exclaim their surprise. No one would have imagined the number being that high.

“That’s on the high end of the estimate, Mr. Hain, but I’ll grant it. Ten points to the new kid,” Mr. Lehrer smiled gently.

“I’m not including those that died in the Pan-Asian war,” Sam went on. He spoke calmly, almost softly, and yet his voice was heard clearly throughout the room. “That would add another seventeen million.”

Mr. Lehrer blinked at the young man. “I must admit that I’m impressed,” he said. “Are you a war buff, Mr. Hain?”

Sam Hain took a moment to answer. When he did, he shook his head once to either side and said, “No, sir. I’m simply familiar with its consequences.”

At this, Mr. Lehrer had nothing to say. He stared at Hain a few seconds longer, and then seemed to pull himself out of his own thoughts. He straightened and addressed the class. “Mr. Hain is correct, of course. Most people, adults included, would spout out six million, without giving it a second thought.”

The class broke into quiet murmurs and Katelyn could see that her fellow students seemed to have gone a tad pale.

Lehrer moved to the board and turned his back on the class to write something in chalk across the black plane. This time, all eyes were on him. Even the girls who had been staring at Sam Hain were now too horrified and impressed with the body count not to give the history teacher their full attention.

“Mr. Hain, perhaps you can also tell me which country suffered the largest number of casualties?” he asked as he wrote “WWII, 72 million deaths; most from….”

“The Soviet Union, with twenty-five million deaths. Most of them were civilian.”

Lehrer glanced over his shoulder at the new boy. His expression was unreadable. “Once again, you’re correct, Mr. Hain.” He turned back to the board and continued to write. As he did, he spoke to the class. “Most would imagine Germany to have the greatest losses. Or, even the United States or Japan. However, as you can see, that isn’t true.” He finished writing and then turned to face the class once more.

“How many of your parents have yellow ribbon decals on their cars?” Lehrer asked next. A few students raised their hands.

He nodded. “We worry for our soldiers. It’s natural. However, the vast majority of people who die in a war are not the soldiers who fight it, but the civilians who are unwittingly caught up in it,” he said. He began to pace through the room then, his hands clasped behind his back. “The soldiers, after all, are armed and trained for combat. Women, children, and the elderly are
not
.”

The bell rang then, and Mr. Lehrer unclasped his hands. “Don’t forget your tests on Monday. Have a nice weekend, class.”

The students were a little slower at leaving than they normally were. Katelyn could imagine that they were processing what they’d just learned. It took a good deal of energy to learn something new. And if it was something
bad
, then it took even more.

“Miss Shanks, if you’d stay for just a moment, I’d like to have a word with you.”

Katelyn inwardly groaned, but offered Mr. Lehrer a smile and a nod. She finished gathering her things and looked up just in time to watch Sam Hain walk by her desk. She froze and stared up at him, caught at once in his tall, dark form and the aura of bewitching darkness he seemed to carry about himself.

He looked down at her and smiled, flashing beautiful white teeth and slightly predatory canines. Katelyn stopped breathing beneath that piercing, ice-blue gaze.

“Hi,” he said softly as he walked by.

Katelyn was too stunned to reply, which was unusual for her. She was normally one of the first to make a new boy’s acquaintance. But something about Hain had thrown her. So, she silently turned in place, staring at his broad back as he left the room.

“Katelyn,” Mr. Lehrer addressed her. She whipped around to face her teacher and he went on. “I remember seeing Logan this morning in the hall. Did she happen to mention to you her reason for missing class this afternoon?”

Dietrich Lehrer was staring down at her, a worried expression on his youthful face. He always reminded Katelyn of the British watcher guy on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Except that he was German instead of British. And he had no accent, anyway. But his countenance was the same; especially with those wire-rimmed glasses and the brown suits he always wore.

“No, Mr. Lehrer. She didn’t. But knowing Logan, she had a good excuse.”

Lehrer nodded. He looked away, seeming to consider something for a moment. When his gaze lingered on the noisy, bustling hallway past the door, Katelyn turned to see what he was looking at. Sam Hain passed by the opened door, a tall blur of darkness and leather.