Chapter 15
Athunderous groan vibrates right out of my throat.
I’m sitting here alone on the stairway that leads to the second floor of the motel, so there’s no one to disturb with the intensity of it.
My head hurts, but it’s my own fault, so I’ve got no one to blame but myself.
I haven’t fed since that night at the bar when Alaric gave me the information I needed to find a way to Lucifer.
Indulging like I did last night was stupid.
Especially because I chose the drunkest patrons at the bar to do it on.
I needed just a small relief from searching for that damn indigo thread.
Yet it didn’t fucking matter—even swaying back to this damn motel, I was looking for it. Why does it have to be her that it’s attached to? I wasn’t lying last night when I said I wanted so badly for Lucifer to be on the other end of it, but fuck, I didn’t want to…
I shake my head.
“Goodnight, Butcher.”
My inebriated ass couldn’t tell she was listening, but the moment she shut me out, I could sense the difference.
It’s the damn bond that’s making me feel empathetic to how hurt she sounded. That girl is a manipulator, a psychopath, and a killer of kids. I cannot, under any circumstances, feel sorry for her.
“Morning, Sunshine.”
For fuck’s sake, I just sat down. It can’t be five in the morning already.
Atlas leaps over the guardrail to the first floor from the landing behind me. He tucks his hands into the singular pocket of his sweatshirt. “You look like absolute shit, my friend.”
I roll my eyes and flex my head around my shoulders, hearing the pop as I bring it from left to right.
“Didn’t get a chance to tell you, but your Witch ate last night.”
“She ain’t my Witch, Atlas.”
“Oookay. Whatever. Her body has to go through nutritional rehabilitation. I’m certain she only ate once a day—if that—for seven years. How she didn’t die is beyond me.”
Biting down on my inner cheek, I run my fingers up and through my hair. Holding my head, I shut my eyes and just listen to him talk.
“She’s smart. We don’t have anything to worry about in regards to her running.”
“Too weak to run off?”
“No…” he hums. “I trust her more now that we are friends. If she says she’s not going to run, she isn’t.”
These feelings of anger can’t be healthy. I don’t even know this girl, yet the mere thought of him trusting her so suddenly, after just one night, sends my mind racing. What happened last night to make them friends?
I cannot be jealous over someone I don’t even care about.
“Why do you say that.” It’s not a question, but a fucking demand.
He laughs anxiously. “It was just something that happened.”
“And that was?”
Something shifts in my chest. It’s the same thing that happened last night when I pestered him over telling me about her back.
He said she had a lot of tattoos, or markings that looked like them, and couldn’t understand how she got them if she was in prison because they looked fresh.
I know he’s lying, but I can’t fathom why.
“We shared a drink.”
I swear a vein in my neck pops.
“And friends share drinks.” He then smiles sweetly at me. “I’m going to get her. You going to pick which car we steal?”
Without waiting for me to respond, he turns his back to me and heads down the strip of motel rooms until he gets to her door. I pinch the bridge of my nose and look away from him, instead just listening.
He knocks softly on the door, and I can hear the soft patter of her feet approaching before she slowly opens it.
“Good morning, Amarah.”
“Morning.” There is really only one word to describe her tone: detached.
“Did you get some sleep?”
He’s so nice now… Was it really them sharing a drink that turned his attitude toward that killer around? Maybe it’s because he knows that I need Amarah, so he’s playing house. And honestly, I appreciate it.
But genuinely, I know Atlas is a great guy.
This is just who he is, and his words from when we were serving in the militia together come right back into my head: “I’m Mundane, Sargent Butcher.
I don’t live long enough to be living a life of hatred.
I’ll just separate myself from the toxicity, because why would I waste what little time I have on someone unworthy? ”
“Where are we heading?”
As she asks her question, I’m already on my feet, taking the last two steps down the stairs and heading toward them. Atlas is leaning against the doorframe while the little slayer is hidden, still inside her room.
“We will need to get out of here, but we need to snag some essentials for…” He groans and looks over at me. “Camping. You know, I’ve backpacked enough in my militia days, Butcher.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but why do you need to come?”
Atlas slams his palm to his heart, mock gasping. “Ouch. What a hurtful thing to say to your new friend!”
He steps back, and out comes Amarah. She’s wearing a white dress that drags along the floor as she walks.
It’s long-sleeved, with no cut at the chest or down the back.
The only skin showing is her shoulders, neck, and obviously her face.
The fabric doesn’t cling to her—it flows, just like her slightly wavy hair.
When her head tilts in my direction, her eyes, rimmed red, meet mine.
“I’m your connection to finding those gates. I’ve got access to the militia database, for now. We just need to stay on the move, head in the direction of openings, and pray that you can do your channeling thing.”
Her lip curls up in a mocking way toward me. “You look like shit, Butcher. Guess none of us got any sleep last night.”
I release a heavy breath. “Yeah, had a lot on my mind.”
“And you just had to share with the class.” Her tone is anything but friendly. She then turns back to Atlas. “Fine, but could we go to another town to get what we need?”
“Sure—”
“No.” I overpower his response.
She tucks her chin. “You both said it yourselves, this place probably isn’t the best for me to be.”
“Or maybe you need to face what you did head-on. Who knows, maybe Vendra will reward you with helpful magic.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Just saying. She’s limiting your powers for some reason, maybe this can help.
” My tone is mocking, but again, we—no, I—cannot forget that just five miles north of us, she slaughtered hundreds.
When she runs her tongue slowly across her teeth, my friend sighs heavily. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and brushes past Atlas.
“Whatever. Let’s just go.”
We carjacked an old black Mustang. Amarah opted to sit in the back, which makes the most sense—she’s the smallest of us, so there was no argument. Plus, I was able to look at her through the rearview mirror, which didn’t do anything other than infuriate me more.
The moment we got into the center of town, the urban energy and mountain-town charm came alive.
The main street has small boutique shops, open-air cafés, and locally farmed goods.
The smell of mountain air mixed with baked goods and pine is…
to be desired. Everything for a Vampire is amplified.
It’s why I particularly like being in a place like this; the scent is far more inviting than that of a big city like Sidence.
When we stop at a light right in front of a statue, I look at the girl in the back seat. I expected her to keep her eyes down, not looking out the window, but I’m wrong.
So wrong…
Her lips are slightly parted as she leans against the half door behind Atlas. Those eyes of hers, typically thin and almond-shaped, are round with… hope.
Pedestrians walk beside the car as they move across the street, and she focuses specifically on a mother holding a young girl’s hand, following them with her gaze as they cross the crosswalk. It’s only when she realizes I’m watching her that she halts her pursuit of them.
I squeeze the steering wheel when her lips purse and she jerks her head away.
“This town is beautiful. I’ve never been here before.” Atlas breaks our silence just as the light turns green. “I don’t want to be insensitive, but can I ask you a question, Am—”
“Go ahead.”
He chuckles. “Why this place? Why… this town?”
My eyes flick to the rearview, watching for any sign of anything. I even listen to her heart, and although it pains me, I feel for the thread between us.
There’s no pride, no remorse, no happiness bleeding through. Her pulse doesn’t rise, and her expression doesn’t shift. It’s only through the bond that I sense the change, and it’s so intense it feels like I’m the one feeling it.
Guilt.
“Fate.” She looks at my friend as he turns his head over his shoulder.
“Fate sometimes… isn’t kind. I…” Her hand rises to her throat, squeezing softly, and Gods help me I enjoy that I can see her fingers press into her skin.
“If it wasn’t them, it would’ve been someone else.
Another town. Another couple hundred innocent lives. ”
I tut. “At least you know they were innocent.”
“I’m sure there was a bad one in the bunch,” Atlas adds, and I turn my head toward him, scrunching my face in shock.
“What? Did you know that one-in-twelve people are criminals in some form? And every one-in-a-hundred commit horrific crimes? It’s a real statistic, look it up.”
“Regardless,” she says before I can tear him a new one for trying to justify anything for her. “They didn’t deserve what happened here.”
My friend turns all the way around. “There you go again with your wording, little slayer.”
“Do not call her that.”
“Do not call me that.”
Her and I groan simultaneously after we finish our statements together.
Atlas doesn’t seem phased, because he keeps pushing as I turn into a parking garage. “What you did here. Right?”
There’s silence as I pull into a parking spot, and when I look at her through the mirror once more, she’s got her gaze dead set on me.
“Right.” She holds me there, unwavering… “What I did.”