Chapter 19
Dylan
The motel stuck out like a candy-colored thumb against the dreary surroundings. A faded relic from a time before the highway sliced through the curving country roads, it looked like it had been plucked from a postcard. The contrast was near surreal and I wondered if the slashes from the dragon shifter’s claws had driven me to delirium.
But we had been walking for what felt like hours. Real or not, it was a welcome respite from the desolate fields.
We stopped a few feet from the doors and I blew out a breath, relief and apprehension splitting me down the middle. I glanced over at Amara who was looking off into the distance, her glassy eyes unfocused like she was a million miles away. Her face was streaked with dirt, blood drying to rust on her brow. She rubbed at her nose and sniffed quietly. Her gaze dropped to her hands as she twisted the ring on her finger.
She was in shock, and that was understandable. Her wife, who had never been particularly pleasant to begin with, had turned out to be a monster. I wanted to comfort her, to put a hand on her shoulder and reassure her that everything would be okay, but I held myself back. Any touch from me would likely not be well received.
Sucking in a breath, I caught her attention with a wave of my hand.
"Well, it's better than nothing." I forced a lopsided smile that felt more like a grimace when it settled on my face.
Amara turned her head slightly, giving me a look that was more vacant than anything else, and followed me as I climbed the creaking stairs and threw open the door. The bell above my head chimed as we entered, the cheerful sound severely out of place given the circumstances.
I wrinkled my nose at the smell of mildew and old carpet, eyes sweeping the small lobby briefly for any sign of danger. All I could see was scuffed floorboards and old furniture, weathered picture frames, and an old-fashioned telephone yellowed with age. Dust particles danced in the faint light overhead.
My gaze settled on a wizened old lady behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. Round spectacles were perched on her nose, held together with tape and geriatric obstinance. She looked up as we stepped inside, owlish eyes widening as she took in our disheveled appearance.
I approached the counter and tried to muster as much calm and composure as I could manage. Amara stood beside me, pale and silent, eyeing the cobwebs on the ceiling with a faint look of distaste.
"We need a room." I tried to keep my tone chipper, but my voice sounded rough even to my own ears. "Two, if you have them."
The old lady squinted at me over her spectacles, then glanced at Amara. "Only got one suite left, dear. Queen-sized mattress though, if you’ll have it."
I watched Amara from the corner of my eye, but she gave no reaction. It would have to do. I would sleep on the floor outside if it would make her feel better.
I sighed, tugging the backpack from my shoulder and rifling through the sparse contents. "We'll take it."
As she counted my money with gnarled fingers, the old woman cast curious glances our way. I shifted uncomfortably, rubbing a bare foot against the back of my opposite ankle. I could only imagine what we looked like to her.
I was tattered and bloody, with stringy hair pasted to my neck and shoulders. It hung in wiry, stiff strands down my back. Amara was white as a sheet and expressionless, dried blood smeared across her eyes like a masked bandit.
“Your key.” The old woman interrupted my assessment and I hurriedly plastered on a smile. "Room’s around the back."
“Thanks.” I pocketed the key and lifted my backpack. Amara was already turning away, gliding like a ghost across the lobby and out the front door.
“Just remember, breakfast is at eight and checkout is at eleven,” the woman added as I followed after Amara. “And try not to get too, um, enthusiastic. The walls are thin, you know."
I choked, stumbling over my own feet and barely catching myself from falling flat on my face. The old bat returned to her magazine with a blase smile, casually flipping the page like she hadn’t nearly killed me via an unexpected heart attack. I walked with the rigidity of a tin soldier all the way out the door.
Amara was waiting for me outside our room, sitting on the threshold with her knees tucked under her chin. She kept her eyes on the ground while I stepped past her and wrestled with the janky keyhole. The door groaned on its hinges as I pushed it open, revealing a dinky little room with a bed draped in threadbare sheets, a chipped dresser, and a small ensuite bathroom.
I heard the scuff of sneakers as Amara got to her feet behind me, and she poked her head in to inspect the interior with dull, empty eyes. I let her pass me, flattening myself against the doorframe to give her room.
She looked around the small space, and I waited. I’d promised her that I would explain everything.
By Leyore rules, she had already seen too much. She would either have to enter into a contract or have her memory wiped. Both options stung for completely different reasons. She was already tied to me, married as we were, and I wouldn’t want to box her in further with something like a blood contract. But wiping her memory… that was a thought too painful to contemplate.
For the time being, for the time we had left, I owed her the truth.
Amara turned suddenly and fixed steeled eyes on me. Her hands began to move rapidly, flowing through gestures as she signed with a speed that left me struggling to keep up. I could feel the weight of her demand for an explanation in every gesture, but my limited grasp of the language left me scrambling to decipher her words.
Her hands formed shapes and movements that I only half-understood. I caught bits and pieces – "you," "why," "explain" – but the rest was a blur of frustration and urgency.
My heart stuttered at a sudden, painful thought. This was how she felt all the time, reading lips and piecing together conversations from fragmented clues.
I took a deep breath, running my hands through my hair.
"Amara, I – " I began, my hands moving clumsily as I attempted to sign my words as well as speak them. “Just slow down, okay? Just – just listen.”
Amara’s eyes hardened, but her hands stilled and her arms hung at her sides. Eyeing her warily, I started with the very first thing that I’d learned.
"I... vampire." I made a 'V' shape with my index and middle fingers and tapped my neck, a gesture that made her flinch.
"Not... all vampires... bad." I signed, my movements awkward and stilted. "Some... like me... donors... willing humans."
She looked alarmed then, closing a palm over her throat like she expected me to jump her. I could tell I had gotten something wrong, and I groaned in frustration, plopping down on the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked beneath me and I brushed a hand over my eyes.
There was nothing to do but forge ahead. Through my splayed fingers, I spotted a tattered guest register book and a pen. I jumped to my feet and Amara took a cautious step back, watching me guardedly while I tore out a piece of paper and hunched over the dresser.
My hands shook slightly as I drew what was supposed to be the dragon shifter. It looked more like a lizard wearing two party hats but it would have to do.
"Dragon shifter," I spoke and wrote above it, and held up the drawing for her to see. "That’s what attacked us."
Amara scrutinized the shoddy doodle and I caught her eye, shrugging sheepishly. “You could probably do a much better job than I can.”
That earned me the ghost of a smile from her, a tiny flicker of what we once had. But it quickly faded as I continued. I told her about tracking the dragon shifter’s activities in the city and came clean about the wound on my leg. My new injuries burned and my body pricked with fever, but this conversation was too important, and licking my wounds would have to wait.
My hands fumbled through the various signs until Amara’s brow furrowed.
I paused, took a deep breath, and tried again. This time, I slowed down, focusing on each sign, making sure to get it right. "Dragon... shifter... dangerous. I... track... got… hurt."
Her eyes softened slightly as she began to piece together my words. She nodded slowly, gesturing for me to go on even while her hands shook and the blood drained from her face.
I didn’t tell her everything, not about the Leyore coven and not about what would happen now that she knew what I was. I told her about the dragon shifters and how I’d been tracking them, skirting over the details of how I came to learn about them in the first place. I couldn’t reveal River, Jordan, or the rest of the Leyore vampires. It wasn’t my secret to share.
But I told her enough. I told her that I could transform, that I could fly, though I rarely did it in the city. It was far too risky to keep that form out in the open. I told her that I was born a vampire, my brother and I both. I told her I had tasted human blood in my youth, but never again until the day that I kissed her and she bled.
When I was done, I waited with bated breath, watching her closely. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes downcast as she contemplated my words.
After what felt like an agonizing eternity, Amara asked to be alone for a while, signing her request slowly for my sake. I was hesitant to leave her side after everything that happened. I couldn’t keep her safe if I couldn’t see her. But I nodded, backing out of the room and closing the door behind me.
I leaned my head against it and sighed. Inside, I heard Amara jimmy the key, heard the lock click in place. It was a sad, lonely little sound. I grappled with the foolish, inconsiderate urge to throw myself at the door, to beg her to let me back in. The black hole behind my eyes was hungry for her, the desperate want that had haunted me all my life urged me to break down the door and grovel at her feet.
Instead, I shoved my hands in my pockets and turned away.
I had spent so long keeping everyone at arm’s length – caring but never fully crossing that line. I wore my ambivalence like a second skin, grasping for connection and pulling away when it was freely given. This was what I had to show for it.
With nothing better to do, I paced circles around the motel’s dimly lit patio. Pausing every few minutes, I stared out at empty fields barely visible in the waning moonlight. Far from the city’s glare, the night sky revealed its true face, countless stars spilling over a velvety darkness.
Eventually, I wandered around the building to the reception area. The perverted old lady was fast asleep at the counter, magazine splayed open on her lap. I stared at the old, dusty motel phone for a long moment before finally picking it up.
The rotary dial felt foreign and cumbersome under my fingers, but I managed to dial Jordan’s number. The phone rang twice before she answered.
“Hello?” Jordan’s voice was uncommonly brisk, businesslike.
“It’s me,” I said quietly, glancing toward the snoozing receptionist. “I need a rescue.”
“Dylan?!” I winced away from the phone when Jordan’s voice rose a few decimals higher than necessary. “What happened, where are you?!”
I inspected my fingernails, picking at the crusted blood with the phone propped on my shoulder. “It’s a long story. Can you send a pickup?” I gave her the address I’d seen on a faded brochure next to the phone.
“Okay. Stay put, someone will come for you.” Jordan sighed. “What happened?”
I hesitated, then launched into an explanation of the afternoon’s events, the dragon shifter, and the confrontation that had left us both shaken and exhausted. Jordan listened quietly, and when I finished, there was a moment of silence.
“Fuck,” she finally said, in a tone that made me wince. “Just – hang tight, all right? Someone will come for you by morning. We can figure it out when you get back.”
Her unspoken words hung suspended before my eyes. She wanted to have Amara’s memories wiped. Maybe not right away, not until she could glean what Amara knew about her father’s plans, but it would happen.
The thought of it tore at my heart. Amara would forget everything that had happened between us, every bittersweet moment we shared. We would go back to how we were when we first met – strangers. Enemies. I brushed the thought aside, mumbling a brief goodbye, and hung up.
The receptionist stirred when I slammed the phone down and I quickly skirted out of view. Ducking through a doorway, I found myself in a small, musty lounge area with a few worn-out chairs and a vending machine. I made my way over to it, fishing out some coins from my pocket. Amara hadn’t eaten all day – she’d probably be unimpressed with anything other than spaghetti but that couldn’t be helped.
But when I tried to coax a bag of chips from the machine, it jammed. All at once, frustration simmered over, and I delivered an angry, potent kick to the side of the machine, leaving a noticeable dent for my trouble.
“Great,” I muttered to myself. “We’ve stooped to vandalism now.”
I sank into one of the moth-eaten chairs, burying my face in my hands.
It didn’t matter if Jordan wanted to wipe her memories. Amara was going to leave.
She had already made up her mind, I had seen it in her eyes. My heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, writhing away from the aching thought. But it was a hollow, gnawing pain that I couldn’t hide from. The thought of Amara leaving, of her walking away from all of this, was almost too much to bear. But then again, I couldn’t blame her. I was well practiced in disappearing without a word, I understood why she would want to do the same.
I told myself it was for the best, that she deserved a normal life free from the dangers and chaos that came with being involved with me. At least she’d have her memories, however tainted they were. But my heart didn’t listen. It ached for her, for the disjointed connection we shared and the possibility of what we could have been.
Eventually, I headed back, my mind heavy with a million regrets.
To my surprise, the door opened when I twisted the handle. I slipped inside like a shadow. The room was quiet, dimly lit by the single lamp on the nightstand. Amara was asleep on the far corner of the bed, a tangle of curls poking out of the covers, most likely swamped with fatigue after the adrenaline wore off.
I quietly tended to my wounds, rifling through my backpack for the ointment that had saved me the last time. The childish part of me whined to wake Amara, to ask for her help, but I brushed it aside. I had handled countless injuries alone and I would handle countless more. The salve burned against my shredded skin.
When I was done, I found a frayed blanket and curled up in the armchair across the room. Listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat, I closed my eyes, building mental walls against what was to come. But despite my best efforts, they wouldn’t stand.
The hours crawled by as I drifted in a restless state of half-consciousness, curled up in the uncomfortable armchair. The room was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of a generator. The soft orange glow from the lamp cast long shadows across the bed. My eyes, barely open, were fixed on Amara.
She stirred then, her movements slow and deliberate as she sat up in bed. She flattened her tousled hair and quietly got to her feet, slipping on her shoes and casting quick, nervous glances my way. I kept my eyes slit, concealed behind dark bangs, and pretended to be none the wiser. From her perspective, I was fast asleep, coiled like a snake in the corner.
I watched her inch my backpack toward her across the floor. She crouched over it, digging through the contents and pulling out some crumpled cash. She pocketed it and straightened up again, running wistful fingers over my discarded jacket on the nightstand.
She picked it up and held it for a moment, inspecting the crumpled leather. I held my breath when she moved to put it on and then hesitated, clutching it to her chest instead like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. After another glance in my direction, she laid it gently on the mattress.
My heart pounded painfully in my chest as she turned and made her way to the door, every muscle in my body tense. It creaked slightly as she edged it open.
When she stood in the open doorway, silhouetted against the night sky, a wave of panic swept through me. This is for the best. I tried to steel myself as I always did, tried to carve out the infection before it reached my heart, but this time, it didn’t work. This time, it felt like I was about to lose everything.
Just as Amara stepped over the threshold, something in me snapped.
“Wait!” I leaped to my feet, reaching out to grab her hand, my voice raw with desperation. “Please, wait.”
Startled at my sudden touch, Amara jerked away, spinning around to face me, her eyes wide and terrified. She stumbled backward, shoulders colliding with the doorframe. Seeing her like that, a look of pure fear etched into her soft features, shattered what was left of my composure.
“Don’t go.” Without thinking, I dropped to my knees, signing and speaking the words that had been clawing at my throat. “Please don’t go.”
She froze, staring down at me like a deer caught in headlights.
A small, cruel voice in my head whispered that I had already lost, that I was always meant to be alone. But I couldn’t stop. The floodgates were open, my fortress was crumbling like so much sand.
“I know you have every reason not to trust me,” I pleaded, my words tumbling out in a rush. My hands struggled to form the words – things I hadn’t thought I’d needed to learn. “I know I’ve given you every reason to leave. But please, Amara. Please don’t go.”
My voice dropped to a whisper as I looked up at her, the words pouring from the deepest part of my blackened soul. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
I dropped my head, staring at my hands, bracing myself for the sound of her retreating footsteps. For a long while, there was nothing, only the tumultuous pounding of my heart in my throat. I waited for the door to slam, for a slap to the face, something to prove that I was too late. That I’d never had a chance to begin with.
Instead, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, and then another on my cheek, turning my face up. The touch was soft, almost hesitant, as I looked up into Amara’s eyes.
My arms acted of their own accord, wrapping around her waist. I pressed the side of my face to her abdomen, closing my eyes against the age-old tears that threatened to fall after all this time.
Amara stiffened for a moment, but then slowly sank to her knees, taking my face in her hands. Her eyes were wide and searching, diving into me and inspecting every fragment of my heart.
She moved closer and her lips brushed mine for a moment, careful and hesitant. And then her arms wrapped around me, hands fisting at my back as she tugged me into a tight, crushing embrace.
Wracked with unexplainable anguish, I clung to her, burying my head in her neck as our hearts beat in perfect unison.