3. Matilda
3
MATILDA
Draven chuckles at my stunned expression. “You heard me correctly, petal. Now, are you going to accept my offer for a ride or not? I promise I won’t bite... unless you ask nicely.”
I swallow hard, my mind reeling. It’s not so much the necromancer part that has me shivering inside but the Prince of Hell. Like actual Hell? Or a hell dimension? I’m dying to ask, but something tells me I won’t get anything else from him.
I bite my lip, weighing my options as I feel him lift the suggestion he placed over me. Basically, I have two: Stay out here in the freezing cold and possibly get caught by my family or take a chance on this mysterious and admittedly attractive stranger who claims to be royalty from Hell.
“I’m heading north,” I say carefully.
He grins. “What a coincidence, so am I.”
With narrowed eyes, I say, “To a place called MistHallow. Do you know it?”
“Know it? I’m headed there.”
“Okay, this sounds all too good to be true,” I say, snapping out of my daze over his good looks, charm, and royal title, whatever that is worth. I take a step back. “I’ll make my own way there.”
Turning on my heel, I stride off, trying to ignore the weight of the backpacks.
“Don’t you believe in fate, petal?” he calls after me.
“No,” I shout back. “It’s a load of bullshit.”
His laugh echoes in the dark night. “You sure about that?”
I don’t reply, and I hear the car door open and close again. I breathe out in relief when the engine starts up like a panther awakening from slumber, but then scowl as Draven pulls the car up next to me and crawls alongside me while I try to walk quicker.
He lowers the passenger window. “You can’t run from fate, Matilda. No matter how much you try.”
“No, but I can tell you to fuck off as many times as it takes.”
“You can. It doesn’t mean I’ll go anywhere. There isn’t a cat’s chance in hell—pardon the pun—that I am leaving you on the side of the road when we are going to the same place. Get in the fucking car, Matilda, and stop being so stubborn.”
“Stubborn is what has kept me alive all these years,” I say dramatically, cringing at how lame that sounds. But it’s true. My magick might be weak, but my fortitude is something I’m proud of. Yes, Stryker has been in a position to take advantage of me in my own home, my own bedroom, night after night, but it was easier than trying to fight him. He never took it further than a blow job, until tonight, and he saw what that decision did.
“I have no doubt,” Draven’s lilt interrupts my thoughts. “But you don’t have to be stubborn or strong with me around, Matilda. I’ve got you.”
I come to an abrupt halt and glare at him. “Why? You don’t know me, and I can offer you nothing in return for this so-called protection. You are right. I’m running. I’ve got jackshit to my name. Clearly, you are well off with your fancy car and royal titles. Why me? What do you want from me?” We glare at each other. “And if you say a blow job, I will rip your dick off with my crap magick or die trying.”
“Who said you had crap magick?” he asks after a beat.
“Everyone. That’s who I am. Weak little Tilly with her wonky magick and low power.”
“That’s not very nice. Why didn’t anyone try to help you?”
Tears spring to my eyes again, much to my disgust. “Why didn’t they try to help me? Because they want me weak, don’t you see? Don’t you get it? I’m prey, they are predators.”
“And I told you I’m the thing predators should be scared of. That’s not just talk, petal.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Be a good girl and get in the car, Matilda,” Draven says patiently, which aggravates me further. Why hasn’t he left by now?
A sudden chill that has nothing to do with the cold passes over me, and I gulp.
They’re coming for me. They’re close.
I’ve wasted too much time arguing with Draven to make much headway in the last half an hour. Usually, it’s better the devil you know but, in this case… it’s the Prince of Hell you don’t. Startling him, I open the car door quickly and slide into the bucket seat awkwardly, closing the door and dumping the backpacks in the footwell.
I slide down in the already low-slung seat, my heart hammering against my ribs as my dad’s Honda rounds the corner and drives past. I gulp, my palms sweating as Draven looks at me.
“What changed your mind?”
“I’m cold.”
“I’m not surprised,” he says, facing forward and pulling away from the kerb, seemingly oblivious to the car that drove past. “You barely have any clothes on.”
He keeps his eyes on the road as we turn the opposite way to my family’s car, and I breathe out in relief. “My clothes are fine.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t, but they aren’t exactly warm, is what I meant.”
Suddenly, I burst out crying, and he snaps his head to the side before pulling over again.
“Matilda…”
“Just shut up and let me cry,” I sob. “Please.”
To his credit, he turns up the heater, and we sit in a silence punctuated by my ugly crying until I have no more tears left.