Chapter 49 – IVY #3
I hesitate for a second, glancing back at Thane. If Wraith trusts him enough to leave me with him, then he's safe. And honestly, in spite of my general fear and wariness of alphas, Thane doesn't give me bad vibes.
Intense, sure. Overprotective, definitely. But not dangerous.
Not to me, anyway.
"I'm good with either," I say finally. "I don't mind going with you, or staying with Thane. Whatever you need."
Wraith's shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh. His hands move again, slower this time.
S-T-A-Y.
"Okay," I agree gently. "If that's what you want."
The relief in his eyes is subtle but there. He reaches over again, this time taking my hand properly, his massive fingers engulfing mine. We stay like that for a while, connected by this simple touch as the miles roll by.
The mood in the SUV lightens after that decision is made.
Thane breaks out the snacks. Snacks Wraith won't eat, although he insists he ate before we left.
We play stupid car games like twenty questions, which devolves into Thane and me trying and failing to stump each other while Wraith occasionally huffs in amusement behind his mask.
By the time we reach Cedarbrook, I’m fighting to keep my eyes open.
The past few days have been intense, to say the least. But I’m awake enough to register the run-down buildings lining the streets.
Half the storefronts are empty. The other half look like they're hanging on by a thread.
Even the streetlights seem dimmer here, like the whole place is slowly fading away.
“Cedarbrook wasn't always like this,” Thane says as if he can read my mind. “Used to be a decent mill town before the economy went to shit.”
“Oh,” I murmur as we pull into the parking lot of a motel.
The paint is peeling, I'm pretty sure that's an actual tumbleweed rolling across the cracked asphalt, and the neon "VACANCY" sign has a decidedly ominous flicker that makes me feel like we're stepping into a horror movie.
The kind where I'd yell at the main characters to get the fuck out before they end up in a soup pot in someone's basement.
Wraith is already climbing out of the SUV. I let him help me step down, giving him a peck on the cheek through his mask. He reaches up and brushes his fingers over the fabric where I just kissed him, like he can't believe I just did that.
"Everyone knows Wraith here," Thane explains as we grab our bags. "Small town and all. But the whole town is intensely private and closed off. They don’t give a shit about hockey, either. They'll leave us alone."
The motel clerk, a tall older man with wild white hair that makes him look storkish, glances at Wraith with recognition rather than fear when we check in.
But he still stares at me like I'm insane for being there as he slides the room keys across the counter without comment.
I barely manage to resist the urge to give him a look of my own, if only for Wraith's sake.
We trudge up creaking stairs to the second floor.
The room is... well, it's a motel room. Two beds with questionable floral bedspreads, carpet that is worn to the grid in places, and a TV with rabbit ears. But it's clean, more or less, and it doesn't smell like a dead body is stuffed in the mattress, so I'm calling it a win.
I immediately start pulling blankets and pillows off both beds, my lingering nesting instincts kicking in despite the fact my heat is basically over and the materials are scratchy and smell like bleach. Wraith watches from the doorway, blue eyes soft and somber above his mask.
"Pizza?" Thane suggests, already pulling out his phone. "There's exactly one place that delivers here, so our options are unfortunately pizza or… well, pizza."
"Pizza sounds perfect," I say, arranging pillows in what's starting to resemble an actual nest on one of the beds. The motel blankets are scratchy as fuck, but I make do.
Wraith signs something to us, then gestures back toward the door with his thumb. Thane nods. "He's going to grab some stuff from downstairs. More pillows and blankets," Thane translates. "For your nest."
My heart does that stupid fluttery thing again. Even here, stressed about seeing family and dealing with whatever medical shit he has to handle, Wraith's thinking about my comfort.
"You don't have to—" I start, but he's already out the door.
Thane flops onto the non-nested bed, looking more relaxed than I've seen him since this whole mess started. "He's nervous," he says, staring at the ceiling. "Always is before seeing her."
"His mom?"
"Yeah. She's... it's complicated." He turns his head to look at me. "She doesn't really remember who he is. Most of the time she thinks… well, she thinks her son—Wraith—died, and Wraith is a…" He pauses, choosing his next words carefully, and looks at the floor.
"What?" I ask warily, feeling sick to my stomach.
"A demon."
The weight of that statement settles in my chest like lead. No wonder Wraith wants to go alone.
"Fuck," I murmur.
"Yeah."
We sit in silence until Wraith returns, arms full of freshly laundered blankets and pillows. He dumps them on my bed, and I immediately start incorporating them into my nest, the familiar activity soothing my frayed nerves.
Thane goes out to get the pizza when it arrives so nobody knocks on our door.
Pepperoni and sausage for Thane and me, plain cheese for Wraith, which is kind of surprising considering he’s an alpha, and all the alphas I’ve ever known are basically carnivorous.
Thane and I eat straight from the box while Wraith disappears into the bathroom to eat his in private.
I wish he wouldn't, but I don't push it.
"Can we watch a movie?" I ask, eyeing the ancient box TV. "Something mindless and stupid?"
"I'll see what channels we get," Thane says, fumbling with the remote. After some percussive maintenance—hitting it against his palm—the TV flickers to life.
The options are limited. Three fuzzy local channels, what appears to be a 24-hour weather station based on the shapes I can see through the fuzz, and somehow, inexplicably, a channel playing a marathon of cheesy '80s action movies that never made it to the big screen.
"Perfect," I declare, settling into my nest.
Thane joins me, carefully maintaining distance until I roll my eyes and pat the space next to me. "I don't bite," I say. "Unless you're into that."
Plague certainly was, but I don't blow his cover.
Thane barks out a surprised laugh. "Noted." Then a sharp hiss of breath escapes through his teeth. His hand flies to his jaw and he winces, pressing his fingers against the yellowed bruise. He freezes, waiting for the pain to pass, eyes squeezed shut.
"Thane," I say softly.
"I'm fine," he grunts, dropping his hand. "Just stiff."
"You're not fine. You're hurting." I don't give him room to argue. I slide off the bed and head to the mini-fridge where we stashed the drinks. I grab a cold can of soda and wrap it in one of the thin motel washcloths.
When I come back, he’s watching me with wary dark eyes. "Ivy, you don't need to—"
"Sit still," I order, climbing onto the bed beside him.
He opens his mouth to protest—probably some captainly nonsense about how he can handle it—but I press the makeshift ice pack gently against his bruised jaw. He flinches at the cold, then lets out a long, ragged exhale as the relief hits him.
"You hold everyone up, Thane," I whisper, my other hand coming up to steady the pack, my fingers brushing against his rough stubble. "You hold Wraith up. You hold the team up. You hold the coaches off. You can put it down for a second."
He stares at me, his dark eyes searching mine, raw and exhausted. "I can't," he murmurs, the vibration of his voice humming against my fingertips. "If I let go, it all falls apart."
"I've got you," I say firmly, moving my thumb to stroke the tense muscle of his neck. "Just for a minute. Let me have you."
Something in his gaze fractures. The stoic, unshakeable leader cracks, revealing the starving man underneath. He leans into my touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his heavy head dropping to rest more fully against my hand. It’s a surrender. An admission of weakness he would never show the others.
"You have no idea," he rasps, his voice dropping to a rough growl, "how badly I want to be the one who takes rather than gives right now."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Thane…"
His eyes snap open, pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. His gaze drops to my lips, hungry and desperate.
The bathroom door clicks open.
Thane pulls back instantly, the mask of the composed captain slamming back into place so fast it makes my head spin. But his hand lingers near mine on the bedspread.
Wraith emerges, mask back in place, and stuffs his empty paper plate in the trash can by the bed. He glances at me, then at Thane, then at me again, like he isn't sure what to do with himself.
"Get over here," I say, my voice a little shaky as I pat the other side of the mattress. "This nest isn't going to warm itself."
He moves carefully, like he's afraid of disturbing my carefully arranged blankets. But once he's settled, his massive frame curled protectively around me, the anxiety in my chest fully unwinds.
Thane finds a position that works—close enough that our arms touch but not crowding—and we watch as some oiled-up action hero delivers terrible one-liners while shooting approximately eight thousand bad guys without reloading once.
"This is the worst movie I've ever seen," I announce twenty minutes in.
"It's fucking terrible," Thane agrees.
Wraith huffs his growling laugh, his chest rumbling against my back where I've curled into him.
"We're definitely watching the whole thing though, right?" I ask, even though I'm already having to fight to not "rest my eyes."
"Obviously," Thane says. "We need to see if he saves the president's daughter from the ninjas."
"I thought they were terrorists?"
"Terrorist ninjas."
"Oh, sure. It all makes sense now."
Wraith's hand finds mine under the blankets. Thane's shoulder presses warm against my other side. The movie is absolute garbage, the motel room smells vaguely of industrial cleaner, and tomorrow, Wraith has to face whatever ghosts wait for him in this half-dead town.
But tonight?
Tonight I'm just a normal girl in a shitty motel room, watching even shittier movies with two alphas who smell like home and safety and something I'm definitely not fucking ready to name yet.
"Oh, he's doomed," Thane says with a sigh as a side character announces he's two days from retirement.
"Dead man walking," I agree.
Sure enough, thirty seconds later, the character gets spectacularly exploded.
"Called it," Thane and I say in unison, then look at each other and laugh. Wraith's low, huffing rumble vibrates through my back and he buries his face in my hair, his breath warm against my neck.
Yeah. This is good.
This is really fucking good.
And I'm actually starting to believe it could last.