The situation is a powder keg made worse by the fact I can’t stop fantasizing what a night in Ice’s bed would feel like…
For magickind’s sake, I must.
“Bram?” I whisper as I lean into the back seat.
No answer—not that I expected one. My brother lies motionless across the back seat, the black smoke surrounding him thicker than last night, his breaths shallower. I press my palm to his forehead, finding it colder than before. His magical signature flickers, like a dying candle.
The worry is slowly killing me.
“Any change?” Ice asks behind me, his voice a graveled rumble in the predawn silence.
I straighten, closing the car door quietly. “He’s worse.”
And I don’t know what to do.
Ice’s mouth presses into a grim line. Thankfully, he doesn’t bother with platitudes as he scans the horizon where faint light is beginning to bleed into the darkness. “We should go. I’ve packed everything and left payment for the innkeeper.”
“You didn’t have to. I convinced them we already paid.”
“I don’t like being indebted to anyone.”
“You had money?”
An acidic smile plays at his mouth. “Not all Deprived are destitute, princess.”
This again—his subtle dig that I’m haughty, his reminder that I know almost nothing about him.
“I never said you were.” I sigh, grasping for my patience as I climb into the car.
While the sun rises over the hills around Monmouth, I pull away from the inn. The Doomsday Diary tucked away in my backpack at Bram’s feet as I grip the steering wheel of our stolen vehicle and turn to Ice in the passenger seat.
Despite being dirty, why does he still look so good?
I clear my throat. “We need gas.”
“Let’s hope there’s a station on our way out of town.” Ice scans the road for trouble with predatory vigilance.
A few minutes later, the village is stirring to life when I pull into a petrol station, stopping the car in the middle bay, between other cars. An old man with rheumy eyes yawns behind the counter, barely paying attention to his early morning customers.
“I’ll pump,” Ice announces, opening his door.
I hate to risk annoying him by asking, but… “Do you know how?”
He pauses, looking me up and down. “Do we have a choice? You and that cloud of blond hair are too recognizable. Besides, how difficult can it be?”
“The nozzle goes in the tank. Pull the trigger until it clicks.”
Another silent nod and he’s outside. Through the window, I watch him fumble with the fuel cap, his large hands unfamiliar with the mechanism. The sight of this powerful warrior bested by mundane technology almost makes me smile—until I see a flash of black robes disappearing around a corner of a nearby bakery.
My heart slams against my ribs as I crack the window. “Anarki!”
He doesn’t look in their direction, but every muscle in his body tenses—shoulders shifting, hands flexing. He’s subtly but surely coiling into a predator preparing to defend what’s his. “Keep your head down. Act normal.”
Heart thudding wildly, I slide lower in my seat, keeping the street in view. The black-robed figure appears again, this time with a companion. They move with purpose, scanning all the nearby alleyways and doorways a few streets away.
Finally, the mechanism clicks, and Ice settles the nozzle in its cradle as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “How do I pay?”
“I’ll handle it.” Since I brought no credit card, I solve the situation with a subtle flick of my hand toward the station’s payment system, creating the digital illusion of a completed transaction. I hate to expend the energy, but we don’t need humans pursuing us, too.
