Page 23 of Thorns from the Fall

“If your brain spills out on the road, it’ll be wildly inconvenient.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I’ll die,” I argue.

“Do you think healing from massive injuries is pleasant?” he asks, before pointedly looking at his shoulder. “Put the fucking helmet on,” Roman says. When I don’t move fast enough for him, he takes it from my hands and leans in. “I still can’t feel his command,” Roman says, speaking quietly. His beard tickles my neck. “Should I tell him what your blood can do? Should I let him tear you apart for it?”

“If you want Remy to die tonight, by all means. Although I think he might rip you apart instead,” I whisper.

“And why’s that?”

“You reek of me.”

At this, he swears. He shoves the helmet onto my head, and I’m overwhelmed by the sensory assault. His scent invades my nostrils, and I’m enveloped by him.

Roman digs around in his jacket pocket. He’d changed into it when we got into the parking garage, and it’s far tighter than his usual clothing. It clings to his muscles, and I’m sure it isn’t very comfortable. He pulls out yet another flask—this one full.

“Oh my god. I can’t let you drive.”

“Vampire metabolism,” he says, frown etching a line between his brows, as he unscrews the lid. “What other choice is there, sweetheart?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Not kidnapping my fucking sister to begin with,” I snap. “Not letting Emile become a part of it.”

“Ship has sailed on that one, Gwyn.” And within a beat, he’s dumping the flask on his crotch.

“You know, I’d already thrown whatever the fuck that Icelandic shit was into your lap. Did you really think this would make a difference? Your dick is just gonna smell like… is that Jager? Who the fuck keeps a flask of Jager on them?”

“The jacket is Remy’s,” he says by way of explanation, and then he swings a leg over the enormous Suzuki. I’m more familiar with Harleys thanks to Dad, but I know this bike is fast—made for performance. Within a second, it purrs to life. Distantly, I wonder how he got it back to Chicago from Virginia.

“I feel like a fucking bobble head doll.”

“Visor down,” he snaps, glaring at me over his shoulder. “Watch out for the exhaust, and don’t make any sudden movements.”

“I’m not stupid,” I say as I clamber onto the back of the motorcycle. It’s high, and though I’m tall, I almost ask him for an assist. Almost. But then I’m settled against him, crotch to ass, and I’m furious about everything all over again. “If either of them die, I swear to god.”

“You’re endangering them by even coming,” Roman says.

“I don’t give a fuck. You think he’s going to be calm when he realizes there is no fucking spell on you?” His posture stiffens a fraction before going slack. “Oh my god, did you think there really was a spell?”

“Hoped, Gwyn. Because that’s the only fucking way that—you know what, never mind. Put your visor down.”

I do as I’m told, wishing I could make sense of the knot in my stomach. He doesn’t believe he could have fallen for me without a spell, and it hurts. Would he still think that if I didn’t betray him?

“Roman, I?—”

“If you’re talking, I can’t hear you,” Roman shouts, and I’m positive he’s a liar. He’s a vampire for fuck’s sake. “Hold on tight.”

I knew it was coming, but wrapping my arms around him might push me over the edge. Since I’m with him, the vampires at the parking garage entrance don’t stop us from leaving.He guns it onto the street, and I have to close my eyes because of how my stomach lurches. Deep breaths in and deep breaths out are the only things that keep me from losing it. His helmet smells of mint, leather, and a faint hint of sweat, and I wholly reject that it’s his scent I find calming.

Instead of paying attention to the road, I keep my eyes closed, and I hold on for dear life. When I try to peek at where we’re going, I immediately regret it as he lane splits. I stop breathing and squeeze my thighs around him when he decides to run a very red light.

A turning car nearly sideswipes us as they lay on the horn, and I’m afraid he’s going to lose control. Snow hasn’t stopped falling since Roman landed on the balcony, and it’s made the ground slick. It’s not the near accident that frightens me, but his speed. Roman’s only going this fast because he’s worried. If there was no concern, he wouldn’t jump the curb and drive alongside the pedestrians crossing the street legally. He wouldn’t narrowly avoid clipping the back of a pickup truck as he swerves around it.

But I don’t dare tell him to slow down.

I die a small death when Roman grips my thigh as he takes a curve far too fast. He thinks I’m going to fall, and that’s the reason for the contact, but I stare down at his hand anyway. The snake tattooed on his hand looks like it’s about to bite my flesh, and I stare at each sharp fang.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Why did Agnarr have to escape? And even worse, why was I relieved when he did? Killing him and eating his heart would put nearly half of the world’s remaining vampires under my thrall. I could do terrible things with that kind of power. I could do what other hunters before me have done and make sacrifices for the greater good. I could give a simple order and decimate their population.

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