Page 10 of The Storm Within

Nate’s fear was manifesting right before his eyes. He’d been terrified Ryker would walk away once he found out he’d been lured there, causing Nate to be stuck in the motel forever. But the abandonment felt far worse than he could’ve imagined.

The look of disappointment and disgust in Ryker’s gray eyes hurt so badly Nate stood there frozen, unable to move or even breathe.

If only he hadn’t fallen asleep. His demon powers kept the storm raging and his scent masked, but it had weakened with every inhale during his peaceful slumber.

This had been the first time since his imprisonment Nate had slept so soundly. He’d felt safe in Ryker’s arms, enough that his guard had lowered, even in his sleep.

Now Ryker would leave without a backward glance. A sob caught in Nate’s throat at the thought of never seeing the bear shifter again. The guy had been there for roughly twelve hours, yet Nate had become attached to him.

The loneliness was to blame. Nate couldn’t even say when the last time a traveler had been there because he didn’t have a calendar, which wouldn’t have done him any good since time worked differently in limbo.

The only reason Nate knew he’d been there for a century was the fact his uncle, Diobno, loved to remind him as a part of the malicious game of revenge he played. “I wonder how much you’ve missed in the sixty years you’ve been trapped here” or “Oh, has it been twenty years since the last time I showed up at this ramshackle motel?”

What infuriated him the most was the fact his uncle could come and go as he pleased, sometimes leaving Nate alone for decades on end with nothing to do but wander the empty halls.

Honestly, it was a miracle Nate hadn’t gone insane by now.

It was the dreariest motel imaginable, but it hadn’t always been that way. When Nate had stumbled upon it in the 1920s, there had been a friendly owner, fully booked rooms, even a touch of luxury for the time.

But Diobno had to go and ruin it—like he ruined everything else he touched—when he’d found Nate hiding there. His uncle had made the motel appear haunted so the owner would abandon it, and then Diobno cast a spell, causing the building to exist in limbo, trapping Nate within its walls for the last century.

Now, the motel was nothing more than a rundown dump. Diobno only allowed it to appear once every decade or two, always around Christmas time. He got a sick thrill out of watching Nate desperately try and fail to escape each time he brought it back.

And the only way to escape was to kill his uncle and end the spell. Since Diobno had stolen most of Nate’s powers, he was screwed. But Nate thought of another way he could possibly get out of there.

Each time the motel appeared, he created a snowstorm, hoping to lure someone who could help him.

So far, all he had attracted were humans who dismissed his story as lunacy. Once, he’d tried to prove he was telling the truth by turning the lobby into a snowscape, but all that had managed to do was freak the guy out and make him run into the snowstorm. Since then, Nate had resorted to pleading, but a lot of good that had done him.

Despair filled him each time he watched them leave, something he was incapable of doing. Although Nate knew the humans couldn’t defeat Diobno, what choice did he have but to try?

His frustration only grew with each failed attempt, especially when his desperation wasn’t always met with kindness. The last guy who’d shown up had turned out to be a complete jerk, yelling at Nate about the lack of amenities and the musty smell clinging to everything.

How was that his freaking fault? Sure, Nate may have conjured the storms, but it was Diobno who’d allowed the interior to become so dilapidated. Knowing how badly Nate wanted out of there, the vile demon took pleasure in making his nephew’s life as miserable as possible.

And Nate was beyond depressed.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the despicable manchild relished in denying Nate even the simplest pleasures, like hot water. He hadn’t had a hot shower for nearly five decades.

Five freaking decades!

Nate had taken so many cold showers his bits and pieces had shriveled up ages ago. On the bright side—if you could call it that—Diobno had taken away Nate’s need for nourishment, but that didn’t stop him from missing his favorite foods and sweets.

At least he had a television, even though it had only one channel, which was why Nate had been shocked when Ryker had guessed the correct price of the handbag instead of him. Before that, Nate had watched old westerns on repeat. Although the shows were family-friendly, he honestly missed catching glimpses of rugged cowboys with muscular bare chests glistening with sweat.

The commercials also allowed him to stay current with the times, though a lot of the things advertised confused the hell out of him.

But finally, Nate had lured—he detested using that word—a preternatural being to the motel, someone who could potentially help him fight against the powerful and petulant crybaby whose sense of humor was as dull as the faded wallpaper surrounding them.

Nate remembered how it all started. He’d made Diobno the butt of a joke—a risky move, though the details of what he’d said had long slipped away. What hadn’t faded was his uncle’s reaction.

Diobno had gone deathly still, his smirk vanishing as the air around them grew heavy. Before Nate could react, Diobno’s hand was on his throat, his grip like iron.

“You think I’m a joke?” his uncle sneered, his voice dark and venomous. “We’ll see who’s laughing now.”

The memory twisted in Nate’s gut. His uncle had been looking for any excuse, and Nate had stupidly handed him one. He might hand Diobno another one if he wasn’t careful.

The only reason Nate hadn’t told Ryker about his uncle was the fact that as soon as Diobno had discovered what Ryker truly was, he threatened to trap the guy in the motel if Nate breathed a single word about his imprisonment.

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