Page 137 of Visions of Darkness

His throat bobbed when he swallowed; then he stepped back, tearing himself away. “We should get moving. Get you something to eat.”

I nodded. “Okay. Let me get dressed really quick.”

His own nod was clipped, and he slunk around me and moved into the bathroom, locking it behind him.

There was no missing the sharp exhale he released, the creak of the door as he leaned against it. No defying the energy that pulled and lapped, the need that wept like its own entity.

I moved across the room and picked up the duffel bag Pax had bought for me in Pennsylvania. Looking at it almost made me smile. That morning felt like a lifetime ago, when only mere days had passed. My time was speeding away.

The only regret I had was that Pax was in the bathroom, trying to rein himself in rather than being tangled in me.

I dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater, dried my hair, and brushed my teeth, then packed the rest of my things.

A moment later, Pax emerged, and he moved to the sink, ran his fingers under water before he drove them through his hair, before he began to brush his teeth.

I watched him through the mirror as he did.

Awareness moved between us.

Thick and sticky.

Pax finished getting ready and packed his things, then grabbed our bags. “There’s a fast-food place across the street. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that works.”

He cracked open the door.

I swore I felt an ice-slick of depravity blow in with the frigid breeze as Pax peered out.

When he was satisfied it was clear, I followed him out onto the walkway that ran the length of the upstairs of the motel, retracing the footsteps where he’d carried me in yesterday when I’d been too weak to stand.

The sky was clear, the same as it had been yesterday, but there was something forbiddingly cold that curled through the air.

I trailed Pax down the stairs.

His muscles bunched and flexed beneath the white T-shirt he wore, as if he were immune to the icy blast that whipped over my skin.

He tossed our things into the back of his car before he set his hand on the small of my back and began to guide me toward the restaurant.

“Are you good?” he asked. No doubt, he was picking up on the anxiety that had taken siege the second we’d stepped out.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Except nothing felt fine.

Everything suddenly felt off.

A new dread kept spearing through my mind.

I couldn’t get the image of my father’s hand cracking across my mother’s face out of my head. It’d been so distant and vague in Faydor last night that I’d had to believe it wasn’t real. But I couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t maintain that belief. Not when a sense of foreboding rushed me like a rogue wave.

My attention flitted everywhere, over my surroundings, then at Pax, not sure what to do with my attention or where to place this feeling.

The sense that something was building.

Something dark and ugly that I wasn’t going to be able to escape.

He shifted to take my hand, and there was no stopping the shiver that rolled down my spine at the contact.

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