Page 45 of The Curse of Eternity
I bolted upright as my eyes flew open, but the seatbelt hauled me back into position. Velvet chafed against my bruised ribs as I gasped for breath. While I clutched the dashboard for dear life, a warm hand touched my forearm, but quickly fell away when I whirled to my left—oh.
Drake glanced between me and the road, his worry obvious under his self-conscious wince. At least, I figured that was the reason behind his pinched expression.
“Apologies,” he said, “I did not intend to frighten you.”
“No, it’s okay.” My words came out in a pant, my lungs working overtime and edging on hyperventilating until I focused on taking shallow inhales and longer exhales. “I—You’re warm. I didn’t realize it was you.” The heat blasting from the air vents had turned the truck’s cab toasty, and I cranked down the dial while stress-induced sweat beaded my hairline.Yeesh, now that I had a nap under my belt, I felt gross.
“We are nearly there,” he assured, signaling right. Stereotypical small-town Americana surrounded us, complete with mom-and-pop shops between every other single-storyhouse. All of them seemed to be storefronts, not homes, until Drake took the turn onto a suburban street.
Sneaking a glance at Drake, the tension building in my chest eased from watching his relaxed driving. With one hand on the wheel, his elbow propped on the door, and the other resting against the center console, he seemed as calm and in control as ever. My racing heart slowed, and I frowned. How long had Drake’s presence been a source of comfort to me?
Probably sometime between that kiss in the park and running away from the lycans.
Gruesome memories from the woods before the river punched to the forefront of my mind, and my inhale shook. Those lycans had been human once, cursed to endure their transformation. Which meant they must have been brainwashed into service. I really didn’t want to know just how many years they’d spent enslaved to those monsters. Just like I couldn’t bear to peek into the glovebox to learn the name of the man whose truck we’d hijacked.
I wasn’t able to look into the backseat, either, but the stranger’s steady breathing was enough of a reminder that he was still there. Facing his charmed unfocused gaze would’ve made it harder to divorce myself from the abuse of mentally manipulating another human being. Even if it was only for our survival.
Woods bordered the road, thinning out where houses of various designs passed by in a blur as we drove deeper into residential territory. Every backyard seemed to have its own personal treeline, obscuring any neighbors that might live directly behind them. The oppressive dense forestry was another reminder of last night, and I shuddered despite the luxurious warmth cocooning me.
“Are you well?” Drake asked, and I held back a sigh while staring out my passenger window.
“If I never see another oak tree again it’ll be too soon.” If only oak wasn’t such a high-ticket material used in my father and uncle’s business. I’d have to steer clear of the woodworking shop for at least a month. It’d been a while since I worked as receptionist there, behind the cozy desk with a great view of the whole shop.
Handmade furniture was our brand, and the entry room had been decorated in a display of Harker craftsmanship. The workroom took up most of the building, through a door just left of the desk, where the raw wood and varnish lived amidst the scent of sawdust.
My insides ached all over again with nostalgic longing, but I shook myself out of it when Drake pulled up to the unmarked curb opposite a yellow two-story house. It looked unremarkable, like any other on the street, but something about it made my blood thrum.
Glancing into the backseat for the first time since getting in the truck, I found the charmed man still seated in the corner. His glazed-over eyes weren’t taking in a single thing going on around him. Like the server at the Cneaz’s manor who’d been pinned between two ugly undead.
“Will he be okay?” I asked, quiet and defeated. The man at the manor was already dead,but I wasn’t, not yet.
“He will not remember us in the slightest. No danger will come to him.”
Turning to Drake, I frowned. “I mean, will he be able to safely drive himself home?”
Hidden from the sun by the shade of surrounding pines, Drake’s stoic features softened with what I guessed was pity at my innocence. “I believe so.”
Experience colored his words, more proof that he had a past I knew nothing about. Being around for over two centuries, and with all the abilities that came with being undead to boot, itwould be naive to think he’d never charmed someone before. Even more stupid to want to believe he’d never drank another’s blood.
Too torn up to voice the issue, I chewed on the inside of my cheek. When Drake unbuckled his seatbelt, I did the same and asked, “Where are we, anyway?”
“Lagrangeville.” The thump of the car door closing punctuated his one-word response.
Goosebumps rose along my still-bare arms and legs on my exit. I was already shivering from the mid morning chill while heading around the truck’s front to the other side, where Drake stood. By the time I got there, the dazed man was back in the driver’s seat, being handed the keys. Hesitant fingers closed around the jingling metal, and the man’s brow furrowed.
An instant later, Drake‘s hand was at the small of my back, turning me to face the yellow house across the street.
“Best to make ourselves scarce as he comes to.”
My pulse jumped from the pressure of his palm against my body. “Okay, but where are we ‘making ourselves scarce’to?”
Drake smirked, the sunlight hitting him briefly to mar his features into anything but handsome—except it was still him, so my traitorous heartbeat didn’t seem to care. “Like I said, I have a…friend.”
The truck revved into gear behind us, and I startled. Glancing back, my lips pursed as the man made a U-turn, shaking his head. Like he knew where he was, but wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. Urged ahead by Drake, I directed my attention forward as we neared a set of low wooden steps, leading to a front stoop with a small overhang above the white front door.
The knocker seemed more ornate compared to the houses we’d passed, and a wicker chair that would’ve been fitting outside any grandparents’ place leaned against the stoop’srailing. All in all, the property looked ordinary, mundane—but something still felt off.
“Will we really be safe here?” I whispered.
