Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
I take the everything-of-everything shower.
We’re talking full naked mole rat shave down, using every last drop of hot water, letting the entire travel-sized bottle of conditioner marinate on my hair for an obscene amount of time like it’s a steak prepping for the grill.
The grill being my aching fingers that do the labor of detangling it since, while I remembered my razor, I didn’t remember a brush.
Once I work through as many tangles as I can, I twist my curls into two French braids, the best style to keep it from snarling again.
Luke sleeps soundlessly on his back on top of the covers, as if he might be a vampire himself. The visual of him covered in blood with smoldering eyes comes back with a vengeance, but instead of Tatianna, he’s looking at me. I shove the image as far from my brain as possible.
Exhaustion sneaks in now that I’m warm and clean and hair-free (not for any particular reason or anything).
My eyes droop as I place my dirty clothes in my duffel and tuck away my toiletries.
The fresh pair of leggings, sports bra, and cozy crewneck I pulled on feel like luxury pajamas.
I find an outlet and plug my dead phone into it—I might need it when we get back to the overworld.
If we get back.
As expected, my feet hang off the edge of the love seat, and even with my duffel supporting my head, I can’t get comfortable. After tossing and turning for several minutes, I finally relent to the truth: I need to buck up and bunk with Luke.
Careful not to disturb him, I lie down in the space beside where he’s mindfully contained to his half, closest to the door.
The bed is tiny, and it doesn’t help that neither of us is particularly on the small side.
It’s impossible not to touch him. If we’re both on our backs, his right side presses to my left, and if I turn to face the love seat, my butt presses against his hip.
I’m the one who told him we’re both adults who should have no problem sharing a bed together.
Yet here I am, ready to crawl out of my skin at our proximity.
But there’s also a comfort to it, especially when his body subconsciously notes my presence and shifts to accommodate. He rolls to his right side, effectively spooning me. It is the most space-efficient option.
This is fine. People can spoon. His hand resting on the curve of my waist? Normal. Where else is it going to go? And it’s on me that my top rode up so his palm is flush with my skin. I should have pulled that down before lying on the bed.
What’s not on me is the way he nuzzles my neck, inhaling deeply before his exhale ghosts across my spine. Goose bumps erupt even though I’m burning hot. His hand is like a brand, and I can’t help but wish his fingers would inch up a little higher. Find the band of my sports bra and dip under it.
Stop it. I shouldn’t feel this way about him. There’s still too much I don’t know, too many secrets stretching between us. My mission is saving Krystal. I need to keep my eye on the prize.
But it’s made all the harder when he pulls me impossibly closer so I can feel every facet of his body pressed to mine. And I mean every facet. Even the press of—
Breathe. Go to sleep. Tell your sex-deprived brain to shut the fuck up.
In. Out. Tomorrow will be a long day. I need sleep. I need—
“Brie,” Luke groans against my neck. His fingers flex on my waist and he repeats my name, softer yet. Like he’s dreaming. But he said he doesn’t dream. He said—
Something unintelligible tumbles from his lips, but the feeling of them brushing against my skin sets me on fire.
I wiggle out of his hold, eel-mode activated, and land unsteadily on my feet beside the bed.
Without my glasses, my depth perception is off, and I stub my toe against the leg of the love seat.
A stream of soundless swears flees my lips as I hop around the room holding my battered foot, trying not to wake Luke.
Thankfully, he sleeps like he’s dead and clutches my pillow in my absence.
I put my glasses on but seeing him clearly in the low light seeping through the curtains makes the want burn even brighter.
My gaze is glued to his dumb face. A shadow of stubble lines his jaw and his hair that usually is so neatly mussed is now wild and damp from his shower.
All I want to do is lie down again. Feel his mouth moving against my neck—
Holy hell, I need to get out of here.
I shove my feet into my boots and grab the key to the room. Slipping out the door, I let it lock behind me and make my way back to the tavern.
Since the crash, I’ve tried everything to drown the memories out. Luckily, I realized early on that alcohol is a temporary fix at best. At worst, it can ruin you. But the only thing I long for to clear my head is a cold, bitter beer.
“What can I get ya?” the same bartender as before asks.
“What do you have that’s not blood?”
He laughs. “How about an ale?”
“Perfect.”
It turns out they don’t only have blood on draft, as he tips a pint glass under a spout and fills it with amber liquid. He winks before going back to wiping down the counter.
I’m mid-gulp, still trying to cool my horny head, when someone sits on the stool beside me.
“You know,” I say, tossing my braid over my shoulder and baring my neck to Tatianna. “If you want to, you can take a sip.”
She glances at me with amused amber eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m sure whatever you have on draft is better than what I’ve got.”
“That we can agree on.” The bartender slides a glass her way and she catches it. Her pointy black nails are like tiny stakes and make a tinkling sound when she taps them against the glass. “I don’t know what I admire more about you. Your bravery or stupidity.”
“Why not both?”
She takes a sip of her drink and grins at me. Her teeth are coated in red and her canines come to lethal points. “Luke tells me you were Beliar’s next target. You must not be as innocent as those little pigtails suggest to have a greater demon after you.”
The mention of Beliar makes a cold fear resurface that drowns out some of the heat I fled in the motel room with Luke. “Yeah, well, not everything is as it appears. Especially here.”
“Astute observation.”
For a few long drags, it’s just the two of us sipping our respective beverages.
The cold beer is tart and slides down my throat, bringing both clarity and not.
I down half the glass in seconds, which is the only excuse for the question that shoots out of my mouth. “Are you the one who betrayed him?”
Tatianna pauses, glass halfway to her lips. “Be more specific.”
She knows what I’m talking about. I can see it in the spark in her eyes. But I give her what she wants. “He said someone betrayed him, which led to him moving to the overworld. Was it you?”
Her expression shifts while I speak, just a slight narrowing of her eyes, but I can’t tell what it’s in response to.
“While I’d love to think our lost love is what led him on his current path of destruction, that’d be giving myself a bit too much credit.
” She smiles, but the amusement is gone.
“He and I were lovers long before he left hell. Toward the end, we weren’t very kind.
But I never betrayed him. The thing with Luke is he wants to be the hero when he’s destined to play the villain.
That’s the real reason we didn’t work. I didn’t give him anything to save. ”
Her words strike me. Whether she knows they’re blows or not, they hit to bruise. “I didn’t know he had a savior complex,” I tell her, trying not to seem as frazzled as I feel.
“I’m not sure I’d call it that. It’s more like Luke always has an ulterior motive. I didn’t like spending so much time in the dark.”
“Maybe whoever betrayed him didn’t, either,” I suggest.
Tatianna grins with her gleaming red teeth again. “I think that may have been the only time poor Lukey was the one in the dark.”
Lukey. I’d never call him that.
“Aside from being on the run from Beliar, what’s your relationship to him? I can’t imagine he’d bring a mortal to the underworld for fun.” She snorts into her glass of blood.
“We’re coworkers,” I answer, though it doesn’t feel as true as it would have a week ago.
Moments from the past few days flash before my eyes.
Him bandaging my knee. His hand in mine, tugging me through the Night Market.
The warmth of his palm on my back, pulling me off the brink of a panic attack.
All very un-coworker things to do. As if to convince myself, I add, “Just coworkers.”
She nods at the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. “That’s a very nice blade you have. From him, I assume?”
“Yes,” I say. And just in case she gets any ideas— “It’s obsidian.”
“I can tell from a mile away. He has the match?”
“Yep.”
“Hmm.”
I can’t tell what kind of hmm that is. Perhaps a slight air of judgment. I reach for the closest reason I can find that she’d react that way. “Did Luke give it to you when you were together?”
I picture him suddenly as a frat boy with a smattering of girlfriends, giving each a coveted hoodie, just to take it back and pass it to the next after the relationship burns.
“Oh no, not me. His brother always had it. Twin blades for twin boys. If you want to talk about betrayal, you should ask him about his brother. That might get you somewhere.” Tatianna pauses as if, for the first time, she’s wondering if she’s said too much.
But she must remember that Luke is her ex, and he’s sleeping on her territory.
She owes him nothing. “I never wanted the blade. As you can imagine, I don’t get along well with obsidian. ”
She drains the last dregs of her blood, slamming the glass down on the counter. Sliding off the stool, she leans over my shoulder so her breath whispers across my neck.