“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “With my blood on you.”
Her eyes flutter open, locking on mine. “You’re the one who got shot,” she says, voice trembling.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. But I don’t want it on you. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
Her hands come up, resting lightly against my chest. “I thought you were going to die,” she says, her voice breaking.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just keep wiping the blood from her neck, her jaw. The more blood I wipe away, though, the more bruises I find on her skin. “Which one of them did this to you?” I seethe.
“Zero,” she answers.
“I’m glad I killed him.”
“I’m glad you did too.” She leans into my touch and I cradle her face in my hands. She doesn’t pull away.
“Marlowe,” I whisper, leaning closer.
She looks up at me, eyes so raw and open it damn near breaks me.
I lean down and press my lips to hers, soft and slow, testing the way she responds. She kisses me back, hesitant at first, then bolder, like she’s pouring everything she’s feeling into it: fear, anger, relief. Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer, and I let her.
I deepen the kiss, one hand moving to the back of her neck, the other still cupping her cheek. Her breath mixes with mine, and the way she’s clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing in the world makes something inside me crack wide open.
We break apart just enough for me to rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.
“I thought they killed you,” she whispers.
I close my eyes, trying to hold back the storm in my chest. “I’m right here. I’m fine.”
She lets out a shaky breath, and I brush my thumb over her cheekbone, wiping away the last of the blood. “I’m not going anywhere, Lo.”
She smiles, just a little, and it does something strange to me. It makes me want to rip apart anyone who ever put fear in her eyes. Makes me want to burn down the whole damn world, just to keep that little curve of her mouth right where it is. I brush my fingers through her hair, letting the strands slip between them. Her forehead stays pressed against mine, and I feel her breath on my mouth, warm and shaky.
I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her. I know that. And I know what I have to do now. To keep her safe, I’m going to have to do something terrible. Something that will push her far away. Because I’m not good for her, and I never will be. But if I wanther to survive this, I have to make sure she never looks at me like this again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
MARLOWE
The motel is one of those places that looks like it hasn’t changed since the seventies. The paint is faded yellow, the asphalt in the parking lot cracked, and the neon “VACANCY” sign flickers, barely lit.
We left the vet’s office an hour ago. Arden gave me this look, part pity, part warning, but I was too tired to figure out what it meant. I just wanted to get out of there, away from the antiseptic smell and the blood. Damian insisted on driving even though Bridger tried to take the keys. Now we’re here.
Damian opens the room door, and it’s exactly what I expected. I just hope I don’t end up with ringworm. There’s a single bed with an old quilt, a TV mounted crookedly on the wall, and a bathroom that smells faintly of mildew. I don’t care. I’m so tired I can barely move.
Damian follows me inside, his steps slow, his breathing still a little uneven from the pain. He doesn’t complain, though. Just locks the door behind us, then checks the window, making sure it’s secure.
I kick off my heels. My legs feel like they’re made of lead, and every thought in my head is blurry and soft around the edges.Damian sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning the room like he’s waiting for something to jump out of the shadows.
I reach out, hesitant at first, then place my hand on his shoulder. His head turns, eyes meeting mine, and there’s something heavy in his gaze. I wonder what he’s thinking, but I’m too afraid to ask.
Without a word, he shifts back on the bed, making room for me, and I crawl in beside him, curling up against his good side. His other arm automatically wraps around me, pulling me close. I settle my head on his chest, listening to the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat. His body is warm, solid, and I can feel the tension leaving his muscles.
I close my eyes, his hand brushing through my hair gently. It almost makes me forget about the danger that’s waiting for us out there. My mind drifts, caught somewhere between the terror of the last few days and the safety I feel pressed against him. It doesn’t make sense, feeling safe with him, but I’m too worn down to question it. As sleep pulls at me, I can’t help thinking about what’s next—the danger we’re still in, the mess Vick made, Joel, Taylor—all of it crashing down like a storm that won’t pass. But Damian’s here. And as long as he’s holding me, I can pretend, just for a little while, that we’re safe.
My last conscious thought is of the bakery and my crispy chocolate chip cookies, but I’m too exhausted to hold onto it. Sleep pulls me under, deep and dark, and for the first time in days, I let myself go—curled up against Damian’s side, his heartbeat the only sound that matters.
I wakeup to the sound of Damian shifting, his body moving against the sheets. I blink, the room still dimly lit, my mindslow to catch up. “Damian?” I whisper, sitting up, my hand automatically reaching for his shoulder. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
