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Loren didn’t allow herself to think about how Darien would react when he came upstairs to discover that she was gone. She knew he would jump to the worst conclusion, and would likely be calling her in no time.
She packed quickly, throwing her books, clothes, and toiletries into her small suitcase, along with the press-on tattoos Kyle had made. They were in the top drawer of the nightstand, just as she’d suspected.
As she got in Ivy’s gray jeep, and they drove through the wrought-iron gates, she put her phone on silent, hating herself for letting it get to this point. Everything was spiralling out of control—she could feel it—and she had no idea how to stop it.
But this house and the people who lived there…she needed to protect them, and she wouldn’t make any selfish decisions that could put them in danger. They had sacrificed so much for her, and now it was her turn to sacrifice for them.
It took every bit of strength she had not to break down to Ivy as she drove her to Angelthene Academy.
Ivy respected her silence and her need to stare out her window as the dark city sped by, and the distance between them and Hell’s Gate—the house that was the truest home Loren had ever had—grew.
Loren glanced at Ivy, whose beautiful features were alit with the red lights glowing off the dashboard. One of her hands was resting on the wheel, steering whenever necessary, while the other tapped out a song on her thigh, manicured nails clicking faintly in the quiet of the vehicle.
Loren cleared her throat. “What are you playing?”
Ivy smiled at her; she had two dimples, one in each cheek. “It’s called Lucky Star. My mother wrote it.”
“Can you teach it to me sometime?”
“You’re interested in learning piano?”
Loren shrugged. “I wasn’t, until I heard you playing.” Ivy played beautifully. She played every morning before she went for a jog, the soft music filling all of Hell’s Gate. When it woke her up, it was the best kind of alarm clock. Sometimes it had the opposite effect, and it helped her sleep in longer.
Ivy merged onto the freeway that would take them out of the Victoria Amazonica District. Billboards and streetlights lit up the inside of the jeep. “I was worried I might be waking you up,” she said. “The others love it and are used to it now. It helps calm us all down.”
“It has the same effect on me,” Loren said. “Don’t ever stop.”
Ivy beamed at her. “I would love to teach you. We can play together and wake everyone up.” That smile that was so similar to Darien’s slowly faded. “Don’t worry about tonight. He will be fine and you will be fine.”
Loren’s throat thickened with emotion. “How do you know? I just left. I left, and I didn’t even get to talk to him.”
“I will talk to him.” Ivy reached across the vehicle to give Loren’s wrist a comforting squeeze. “He will understand why you left, and as soon as you are ready to come back, our door will be open to you.”
Several minutes later, the jeep slowed to a stop in front of the gates to the school. Too soon—this was all happening too soon, and she had no idea what she would be faced with now.
“Get some rest,” Ivy said. “You look very tired. A night away from my brother’s horrible sleep schedule will probably do you some good.”
But she didn’t want that. If it were up to her, she would let him wake her up every night for the rest of her life and be glad about it.
Loren grabbed her things and opened the door.
“We love you, Loren,” Ivy called. “I’ll see you soon.”
Loren hoped that was true.
—
Darien made a point to shower in the basement. He wouldn’t chance Loren seeing him again, not with this much blood on him. The others did so as well by his request. He had never been so grateful in all his life for renovating the basement to include more bathrooms.
When he was done, not a trace of gore left on his body, he dressed in a black muscle shirt and faded blue jeans—selected from the assortment of clothes he kept down here—and went upstairs to his suite. He walked lightly, in case Loren had managed to fall back asleep.
But when he got to the suite, he froze in the doorway.
The bed was empty. There was no light on in the bathroom, no light on outside on the balcony.
He walked into the room, head spinning. The tangle of sheets were cold, and Loren’s soft scent had already faded.
He stomped over to the dresser. He pulled open the drawers where she kept her things and sifted through them, only to find that most of her essentials were missing, along with the small bag she always used to transport her stuff to and from Hell’s Gate. Her books—grimoires, notebooks, even those tacky romance novels—were gone, too. Almost everything was gone, even her day planner.
