Page 22 of Gods and Graves


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“Sorry.” I wince.

We finally break through the tree line and onto an empty street. In the distance, I can see the lights of a nearby town and hear the honking of horns.

After what feels like hours later—but Krystian assures me it’s only ten minutes—we arrive at a dilapidated motel that has seen better days.

“I thought you said you guys were staying in a hotel?” I arch an eyebrow in Everett’s direction.

“We are.” He stares at me like I’m a turd who gained arms, legs, and abruptly developed a sentient mind.

“This is a motel,” I point out. “Hotels have doors to the rooms on the inside. Motels have them on the outside.”

Everett seriously looks as if he’s going to strangle me.

“Same fucking thing,” he grits out.

“Actually—”

One of Krystian’s hands leaves my thigh and moves to my mouth, covering it.

“Let’s not poke him any further than we have to, okay?” Despite his words, laughter rings in his voice, the sound having the acrobats in my stomach doing backflips instead of mere somersaults.

Everett leads us to two rooms side by side. He claps his hands together and spins to face us.

“All right. Let’s clean up, then maybe get some food, okay?” He purposely doesn’t look in my direction—making it clear I’m not invited on their little outing.

Whatever. I don’t mind crashing.

“Yeah.Someone has a little blood on him,” I stage-whisper, jerking my chin towards a blood-drenched Rafael.

The fae doesn’t even blink.

Everett grinds his molars together. Then, without another word, he storms inside the room closest to him. Rafael regards me for a second longer—my heart stuttering with warning at thepossessive, predatorial gleam in his gaze—before he follows after Everett.

Leaving me alone with a shy wraith and a grinning elf.

“Well.” I playfully squeeze Krystian’s ear. “Aren’t you going to invite me into your room?”

Zaid and Krystian exchange a glance, before the former sighs and digs in his back pocket for a key card. Krystian pushes the door open with me still clinging to his back.

The room—like the rest of the motel—is rundown. Two queen-sized beds are separated by a tiny nightstand holding a remote control, a phone, and what appears to be a channel brochure. A television is mounted on the far wall with a dresser underneath it. A floral armchair rests in the corner of the room, numerous holes adorning its surface. There’s a door opposite the entrance that no doubt leads to a bathroom.

“You know…” I muse as Krystian lowers me to the ground. “Usually, guys buy a woman dinner before bringing her back to their room.”

Zaid snorts as he moves to lie on one of the beds. Krystian makes a beeline towards the bathroom.

“Most guys don’t have girls quite literally appearing out of thin air in front of them.” He’s silent for a moment, his gaze contemplative, before he sits up. “I never thanked you. For saving my life, I mean.”

I wave away his thanks. “Honestly, I’m just surprised it worked. It never has before.”

“You tried to save people before?” His brows draw together, creating an adorable furrow in the center of his forehead.

“At first,” I confess, fiddling with the hem of my pink dress, admiring the way it sparkles in the artificial light. “But after three hundred or so reaped souls, I realized there was no point in even trying. Nothing I did or said changed anything.”

“So why did you try with me?” Zaid’s earnest eyes make my heart flutter.

“I…I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want you to die.”

“But why me?” he presses, scooting across the bed until he’s directly in front of me, his thighs boxing me in.