He grunts, in obvious disagreement this time, and I wish I couldn’t tell the difference. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel “How are you carsick after handling witch stone transportation with no issue?”
“I was nauseous every time,” he says. “I’m better at hiding it than the rest of you.”
I hum under my breath. My wings want out. I’m tempted to rub my shoulders against the seat to scratch the itch, but the onions hold me back.
“You’re agitated,” Riven says.
I toss him a glance to show him what an understatement that is, but he’s scanning the mountains instead. I frown. “Your safe house... were you sad to leave it behind?”
“That’s a difficult question.”
“Is it?” I wince at the bite in my voice. My worry is making me mean, and there’s nothing to distract myself with except the onion-scented elephant riding alongside us. I never should have gotten myself into this mess: trapped in an enclosed space, careening along the edge of a cliff with the carsick enemy I kissed last night.
“I had no emotional attachment to the house, if that’s what you mean. I built it as an escape, yes, but a dwelling inside an enclosure is still a cage, isn’t it, darling?”
My belly flips, and I shoot him a look. “Do girls usually hit their knees for that?”
“I beg your pardon?”
I grind my teeth. “The darling thing. You know, the deep, growly voice... Rumbling ‘darling’ like you’re dying of thirst and they’re the only glass of water for miles around? Does it usually work for you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says.
“Sure, okay.”
I’m making a fool of myself, and it’s pissing me off. Riven can call others darling if he wants. There’s something between us; I’m not denying that, but he’s smart to fight it. Smarter than me, at least. I shouldn’t have let him come, and I certainly shouldn’t be winding myself up over the idea of hypothetical women he may or may not have flirted with.
“Do you want to know why it doesn’t matter?” he asks.
I take the next turn faster than necessary.
Yes. Fucking tell me, in that filthy fucking voice that sounds like bedtime.
“No,” I say firmly.
We drive the next hour in silence.
I ease the car to a stop at a rest stop in an idyllic mountain town, wincing as the brakes scream like a dying cat. There are cobbles, wooden shake shingles—overlapped with charming irregularity—and towering conifers. The trees are bristling with coarse, waxy needles and loaded with fat pine cones, the ones stuffed to bursting with bright red seeds.
The view is beautiful, but all I care about is the blinking fuel light in front of me.
Happy to be noticed, the car belches a thick cloud of smoke, which somehow... Gods, somehow it smells like onions.
“Fuck,” I mutter, wondering how thistown escaped from the made-for-TV Christmas movie it was clearly designed for. There’s even a hand-painted sign advertising firewood for sale.
“They’ll notice us here,” Riven says.
I nod. “We’ll have to do our best to blend in.”
He chuckles. “Not a problem for me, but you...” Riven glances at me. “You’re impossible to forget.” It would be a compliment if he didn’t sound pained.
I hide my smile. I enjoy it more because he doesn’t. “If there was another town nearby, we could get gas and stay under the radar while we’re at it, but this is the only place on the map.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Riven warps, becoming a thick, older man with a thicker white beard.
I laugh. “You look like Santa.”
He narrows his cloudy blue eyes. “Stay here.”
