Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lia
We pull into the cracked parking lot of a run-down motel, its neon sign buzzing above us in garish pink and purple.
Motel Vacancy.
The “L” blinks in and out, casting shadows across the hood of the car. I remain in the back seat while Carter and Zayne head inside to check us in. Through the windshield, the half-lit lobby flickers, washed in pale green light—like something out of a poorly executed thriller.
When they return, Carter hands me a key. I don’t wait for them. I need a hot shower to wash the pain of the day away. Slipping the key into the lock, I push the door open. It creaks on its hinges, releasing a faint mix of mildew and bleach.
I turn on the light. Draven stands in the middle of the room, smiling.
He lunges at me.
His palm smashes over my mouth as he drives me backward into the doorframe.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t scream.
My vision narrows into a tunnel.
He grins. “Say hi to Leo for me.”
“Lia, wake up.”
“Kylo?” I whisper, trying to reorient myself.
“What is it?”
“You didn’t see?”
His brows draw together. “I fell asleep and woke up to you kicking and gasping.”
“I think Draven is trying to find me. He was waiting for me in my dream, like he knew I’d be there.”
“I’ve been shielding you,” Carter says from the front seat.
“You have?”
“You’ve been through enough. You needed the reprieve. Besides, I’m not in the habit of letting my team fight alone.”
It was a nightmare. Not a psychic intrusion.
“Thank you, Carter.”
I couldn’t fight him off. Not right now.
“How much longer until we arrive?” I ask.
“We’re almost there,” Zayne answers. “We’re stopping at a store for supplies first.”
I rub my arms, dreaming of dry clothes.
Five minutes later, the car pulls into the lot of a small convenience store.
“Buy what you need. We’ll travel light until we reach Alaska,” Carter says as he and Zayne head to the men’s clothing section.
“Aren’t you going with them?” I ask Kylo.
“Carter’s going to grab the essentials for me. He knows my size.”
We scan the aisles for essentials. We pass the tampon aisle, and I stop. I’m not sure when my next period will be, so I select a box. After picking out clothing, Kylo and I stock up on water and snacks.
When we meet back with the guys, they’ve gathered similar gear, along with medical supplies. Carter pays, and we’re off to the motel.
When we pull in, I stay in the car. The scene feels eerily familiar from my dream. Kylo waits with me while the others check in.
The motel isn’t quite the same. There’s no neon sign. Only a weathered wooden one with worn lettering.
The guys return with the keys. Kylo takes ours and gathers our bags. I follow him to the door, not ashamed to admit I’m hiding behind him.
He slides the key into the lock, turns it, and flips on the lights.
The room is empty.
I exhale a long, unsteady breath.
Fortunately, the motel gave us adjoining rooms. Carter and Zayne are staying right next door. Having them close eases some of my trepidation.
A knock sounds at the shared door. Kylo opens it, and Zayne and Carter step inside.
“Sit,” Zayne says, holding a grocery bag filled with medical supplies.
I take a seat on the bed and slowly lift my shirt. The worst of the pain has faded, but the stinging lingers.
“How does healing work if you still need medical kits?” I ask.
“We can heal a lot,” Carter replies. “But not everything. It depends on how bad it is, how fast we get to it, and the condition of the healer.”
“This is going to sting,” Zayne warns, pouring antiseptic into the wound.
I grip the sheets and tense, hissing as the liquid seeps into the wound.
Then comes the needle.
Zayne presses it into my skin and begins stitching. “Once you’re closed up, I’ll heal you again. You should be fine after that.”
“Thank you.”
Zayne nods, but barely meets my eyes. I’m another task on his checklist, a duty he acknowledges when necessary and nothing more. He finishes up and tosses the used supplies into the trash.
“Get some sleep,” Carter says. “We’re back on the road tomorrow morning.”
They both retreat into their room and shut the door behind them.
“The shower is yours.” Kylo shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it onto the chair.
I gather the shopping bags and head toward the bathroom.
I need to wash the death off me.
With the last of my energy, I strip out of my damp, bloodstained clothes and turn the shower on full blast. The heat burns, but I welcome it.
Steam rises as I press my back to the shower wall and slide to the floor. I pull my knees to my chest, resting my forehead against them. Scalding water rains down, blending with my tears, washing away blood and dirt.
Leo took a piece of me when he died.
It’s always been us against the world.
I don’t know how to keep going without him.
Leo deserved freedom. A life without pain.
Kylo’s blurred silhouette appears behind the glass, tall and distorted by droplets and steam. He opens the door and steps into the shower.
“Jesus,” he mutters, wincing as the water hits his skin. He reaches for the knob and turns the temperature down.
I peek up at him, my chin resting on my knee. “What are you doing in here?”
“You’re not going through tonight alone.”
A lump rises in my throat.
He lowers himself behind me, somehow fitting easily into the tight space. His long legs stretch out, adjusting to match mine. He wraps his arms around my torso and pulls me back into his chest. “I’m here.”
No words escape me.
He lifts a hand, and with a subtle tug of telekinesis, the small bottles of shampoo and conditioner float into his palm.
A lid clicks open, and his fingers slide through my hair, massaging my scalp. My toes flex. “Feel good?”
I lean into him as his slow, intentional movements work through my hair. “Your touch is like a healing spell.”
“Close your eyes,” he says, rinsing the suds from my hair.
He grabs the conditioner next, applying it with the same meticulous care before trading the bottle for the loofah. The soft mesh glides over my shoulders and down my arms. His touch is patient and achingly gentle despite being the same hands that could end lives without hesitation.
He treats me like something sacred.
Soap spirals down my skin, carried by the water and swirling toward the drain in lazy circles. When he finishes, he brushes feathery kisses across my neck and shoulders.
The tenderness breaks something in me.
Sobs burst out of me, loud and unrestrained, as I press my face into my hands.
“You don’t have to hold it together with me,” he whispers, holding me close without letting go.
Eventually, my sobs quiet. I tilt my head back against his chest and whisper, “In my darkest moments, you’re the light.”
He looks down at me, something unspoken lingering behind his eyes. His lips part, then close.
He clears his throat. “The water’s getting cold. Time to get out.”
We step out of the shower. I dry off quickly and throw on fresh clothes. My hair drips down my back, soaking my shirt. I can’t stand the thought of falling asleep with wet hair.
With a heavy sigh, I plug the motel blow-dryer into the wall.
Kylo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed as he watches me. “Sit down. I’ll do it.”
“You’re going to dry my hair?”
“I’m going to dry your hair,” he repeats, picking up the dryer and my brush. “Now sit.”
I sit at the edge of the bed. He settles behind me, working his fingers through my damp strands and massaging my scalp. The heat from the dryer and the slow drag of his fingers lull me, my body growing heavier.
The brush glides over the last section. “Almost done.”
When he finishes, I crawl beneath the sheets. He puts the blow-dryer away and climbs into bed beside me. He inches closer, his chest pressing against my back, and wraps his arms securely around me.
He presses a kiss to the back of my head. “I’ve got you. Go to sleep.”