Page 34 of Hell Gate

Heart twinging, I touch his forearm, careful to avoid where he’s hurt. “Shit, are you okay?”

“It’s nothing.” He pauses to smirk at my fussing. “Truly, I’ll be fine. Are you alright?”

She’ll never be queen. The fuck was that supposed to mean?

I tuck my hands between my thighs and the seat. “Yeah, just rattled.”

“They won’t get you,” he says fiercely.

“We need to put miles between us and them,” Matthias says. “If we’re lucky, they’ll lose our trail.”

* * *

The car rideknocks me out, surprisingly. I didn’t think I could sleep after we were discovered, but I wake up warm in a drowsy daze as we pull into a rest stop. Closing my eyes again, I snuggle further into the charcoal-scented pillow. It shifts beneath my cheek, then an arm cinches tighter around me. I lift my head so fast I almost crack my skull against Alder’s jaw.

He pulls back with a soft smile, watching me. “I was just about to wake you.”

“Let me guess, you were worried about my neck cramping again.” I surreptitiously check the snug fit of his t-shirt for drool spots.

The scrapes he sustained have vanished, his defined, veiny forearms back to normal with the faint red and silvery scars that crisscross across his skin.

He caresses my hair and cups my cheek. “Sleep on me whenever you need.”

My lips roll between my teeth and I try not to nuzzle my face into his palm for more of the sweet touch. “Thanks.”

Matthias parks at a gas pump in front of a convenience store. “Let’s stock up while we’re here.”

“Is it safe to stop for that long?” I ask.

“As long as we’re quick,” Valerian answers. “They’re pack creatures. First they’ll wait until they’ve recovered enough to hunt together. They won’t catch up on foot, even in their hellhound forms.”

Once Matthias sets up the gas pump, he grabs my hand, dragging me inside. He heads straight to the snack aisle. He plucks packs of powdered donuts, gummy bears, and cheddar potato chips from the shelves. I watch, twisting my fingers, not wanting to assume he’ll help me when I have no money to pay for any goodies I might want.

“Don’t you want snacks?” He nabs the pack of chocolate-covered pretzels I’ve looked at three times while he saunters up and down the aisle.

Damn him. He plays up the carefree act, but he’s perceptive.

I pat invisible pockets on my skirt. “No money.”

The few bucks I scraped together before leaving Philly for Brim Hills are back there, stashed between the mattress and box spring of my bed. I never keep money in my bag when I have it, too conditioned by life in group homes.

He shoots me a wink. “Get anything you want. If you don’t pick something, I’ll pick for you.” Putting the bag of pretzels in my hand, he grasps my chin, leaning into me. “Anything you want, I’ll give you, Lily.”

Excitement flickers to life gradually until it drowns out my skepticism. Matthias wants to treat me. To take care of me.

Putting my trust in someone else to care for me after a long, hard life of only being able to rely on myself for survival is foreign. The hurdle shouldn’t be so easy to overcome, yet something instinctive tells me I can trust him.

Picking out the first colorful package that catches my attention, I swallow back the lump that forms in my throat. No need to get so emotional over some snacks. No one’s going to steal them or tell me I can’t have any. I get into it the more I scan the selection. A bag of spicy nuts with a cute flaming pepper character calls my name.

“These sound good.”

He pauses, watching me with a tender, charming smile that makes me glow inside. “What do you like better? Salty or sweet?” He grabs some beef jerky. “Maybe a little bit of savory to break it up so you don’t get a stomach ache. Why limit ourselves, right?”

“I…don’t really know what I like,” I mumble. “I’ve never really tried any of this because there wasn’t a point.”

Matthias halts. “A Twinkie?” I shake my head. “Sour gummy worms? A cherry-raspberry mixed Icee? Why?”

Even a demon from another realm knows more about this than I do. “My foster placements were all frugal, and any time I was on my own in a group home, it was harder to find money. There was a bakery in Philly that donated day-old stale donuts, but that’s about as wild as things got for me.”

---