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Darien set down his mug and took a bite of his own cereal before it could get soggy. “Why don’t you take off your jacket?” he asked Pax. Darien had noticed that he didn’t take it off yesterday, either.
“I’m good. I gotta leave soon, anyway.” He glanced at Ivy. She was in the kitchen, making coffee. “How long do we have?”
She checked the clock. “Fifteen minutes.”
Darien said, “I can drive him, Ivy.”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Plus, I haven’t seen my little Paxy in years.” She pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. “What are your plans for today?” she asked Darien.
Darien hadn’t thought about it much. His only goal was waking up Loren, but if he had to wait until the evening to get her in the chamber again, that meant he had several hours to kill.
He faced Kylar. “Where are those tar pits?”
34
Motel 58
STATE OF WITHEREDGE
Shay opened her eyes to a dawn-lit room and the sound of water running in the shower. Slowly, the events of the previous day and night came back to her in pieces.
She was at Motel 58. None of yesterday was a dream, and Roman Devlin was in the shower—which meant he hadn’t left her yet.
She had to admit, it was a bit of a surprise.
Fifteen minutes passed and she started to grow antsy, her bladder about ready to burst as she waited for Roman to hurry the hell up. She tossed and turned under the covers, watching the numbers on the clock fall away.
What was he doing in there?
She scrubbed the possibilities from her mind as quickly as she thought of them—one naughty image in particular that involved his hand—and got out of bed. She padded across the room, the air conditioning making her shiver.
“Roman?” she called through the closed door.
Nothing. She knocked. Knocked again—louder, this time.
Still nothing. Uneasiness quaked in her stomach.
Suddenly, the possibility of him jacking off in there sounded a whole lot better than her new suspicion: that he had started the shower, left it running, and had driven away without her.
She pounded on the door. “Roman, are you in there?” Gods, she had to pee so badly, she was about to march in there and just go. She reached for the door handle—
The faucet squeaked as the shower was shut off.
Oh, thank gods. She waited, trying to be patient but bouncing from foot to foot.
At least he’s still here, she told herself. He’s here. He didn’t leave you. He’s here, he didn’t leave you.
She heard the squeal of the shower curtain being drawn, followed by a towel being yanked off the rack.
“Roman?” Her tone turned desperate. She crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together. Damn her tiny bladder. “If you don’t get out here, I’m going to pee my pants—”
The door opened, revealing billowing steam, golden light, and a half-naked, dripping-wet Darkslayer.
She turned away in a flash. The last thing she saw was Roman’s perpetually unimpressed face—well, okay, and his muscles. Okay, fine, maybe more of his muscles than anything else.
“You knocked?” The question was flat.
“Yes.” She refused to look at him. “I have to pee.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him tighten the towel around his waist.
