I forced a smile at the word quirky. Odd was my silent hallmark. Odd places hid darkness. Caiden’s hand brushed mine, and I felt a surge of gratitude from him that made me flush.
Moments later, we pulled up to the motel, its flickering sign draped in the rain. The place looked more ghostly than lodging, and cold terror crept up my spine as I followed Caiden out.
Inside, the lobby smelled of mildew and old wood. The innkeeper, a stooped woman with eyes that glinted, greeted us. “Welcome, dear. Been a while since we had visitors in a storm. Dry off here.” Her shelves held dusty trinkets: a raven figurine, dried herbs in jars, dolls with glassy stares.
Caiden stepped close behind me. I could feel the heat from his body, could almost hear the unspoken message:I’ve got you.
I drew in a shaky breath.
She offered towels and a set of clothes. The fabric smelled of must and bygone travelers. I accepted them, wondering whose memories clung to the seams.
After Caiden handled the payment with a polite nod, the innkeeper directed us down a narrow corridor lit by dim sconces. Our footsteps died in the hush.
He paused at a door with two faded twin beds inside. I stayed near the entrance as Caiden peeked in first, still half in sentinel mode. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice low.
I aimed for calm. “I’m fine. It’s just…this place.”
He frowned, stepping back to brush a strand of rain-soaked hair from my face. His gaze softened. “It’s only one night. Storm’ll pass.”
I nodded, though my pulse thundered in my ears. Caiden handed me a towel and the spare clothes. “Let’s change,” he said, stepping toward the adjoining bathroom. His shoulders were square, his tone gentle but firm, as though saying,don’t fall apart.
Inside that cramped room, I peeled off my wet layers, feeling every shiver. The clothes were itchy against my skin, but I forced them on, scrubbed at my face until it felt like something new. When I emerged, Caiden was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching me.
He caught my eye. “Better?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah.” My voice sounded thin, but he gave me one of those partial smiles that meant he believed me, and with that, I exhaled a fraction of the panic.
He reached out and touched my arm—possessive, caring—an anchor point in a storm. I leaned into him as we left the room for the lobby sitting area. Maybe hot cocoa would calm the ghosts.
He held the door for me, his form rigid like he’d never let me slip away again. And for now, that was enough.
24
CAIDEN
When we steppedinto the inn’s sitting area, I felt it at once. A wrongness settling around us like damp fog. Rain pounded the windows in relentless thunder.
Amelia sank onto a threadbare couch, shoulders slumped, and let out a long, weary sigh. She looked so small in that oversized sweatshirt that my chest tightened with the urge to pull her close, shield her from whatever lurked outside.
But I held back, every instinct screaming to stay alert.
This was going to be a long, fucking night.
“Cocoa?” I asked, forcing my voice casual. It came out rougher than I meant.
She managed a brittle smile. “Yeah. Warm sounds good.”
I crossed to the kitchenette, where a lone bulb threw dancing shadows across peeling wallpaper. The kettle whistled; I poured the hot liquid into two chipped mugs, whose floral pattern faded to ghostly outlines.
On my way back, I caught the innkeeper’s movement. Thin frame, restless energy, her hair a wild halo of untamed strands.
A chill ran down my spine.
I handed Amelia her mug and settled beside her. Steam curled between us, sweet and heavy.
My mind flashed to that afternoon on the beach. Her soft gasp as I touched her, the way her eyes had fallen half-closed in pleasure. My pulse thundered against my ribs.
“Thanks,” she murmured, wrapping both hands around the mug as if it offered protection. Her eyes, though, were wide and haunted.
