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“You got a ski mask or something?”
Kylar pushed open the garage door. “One sec.” He disappeared inside.
One second turned into seven painful minutes, and when the door opened again, it wasn’t Kylar who stepped out. It was Roman.
He thumped down the few steps and offered Darien a black mask. The same type the Darkslaying messengers wore, but this was a wolf instead of a rabbit.
“What’s this?” Darien panted, not taking it yet.
“I fight sometimes, and this is what I wear. I prefer to use the chambers now—they’re easier on my body.” Darien still didn’t take it. Roman held it closer. “If you wear this, everyone will just think you’re me. It’s safer this way.”
Darien took the mask. While the wolf’s teeth and eyes were painted white, the rest was a deep black that faintly sparkled when you moved it.
Roman said, “Hopefully, the next time this happens, you can try one of the chambers instead.”
Darien checked his pockets for his keys—still there.
Roman was studying him. “I know this isn’t a good time for questions, but she’s asking about you.” He tipped his head toward the house.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Darien said. Speaking that truth aloud for the first time since Loren had woken up nearly brought him to his knees. “She lost all memory of the past six months when she woke up out of her coma.” His voice shook. Gods, was he about to break down in tears? It fucking felt like it.
Roman’s expression smoothed with understanding. “She doesn’t remember you,” he whispered.
Darien tried to swallow but couldn’t. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. I want her memories to come back on their own, so—please.” He met Roman’s stare, not realizing that he’d broken it, and whispered, “Don’t say anything.”
Understanding brimmed in Roman’s gaze. “The fact that you’d be willing to wait for her instead of rushing it says a lot about you.” He opened his mouth to say more. Closed it. “Look, Darien—”
“It’s okay, Roman,” Darien said softly—as softly as he could manage during a Surge. “I get it. And I’m still sorry.”
“Don’t be. It would’ve happened eventually, regardless.”
“Still would’ve preferred if it wasn’t while I was here.”
He shrugged. “Shit happens.” He gestured to his own eyes. “You’ve been talking for a few minutes without the…”
“It’s still there—I’m not that lucky.” As he spoke, black flickered in his vision, as if summoned. He lifted the mask and said, “Thanks.”
And then he turned and made for his car.
“Sure you can drive?” Roman called.
“I do it all the time at home.” He opened the driver’s door and got in. “I’m sure I’ll survive.” He shut the door and started the engine.
Roman walked up to the wall and pushed the button to open the garage.
Darien reversed and spun the car around. As soon as the gates were open, he sped through them.
Different city, same train wreck of a life.
Loren’s second recovered memory nearly knocked her to her knees.
Darien had left, but Loren still stood in the living room, looking toward the garage door as if he might come back. But the growl of his engine had long since faded, and she knew it would be hours before he returned.
Ivy, Jack, and Tanner were on the couches. Watching her, she knew. They’d answered her questions about Surges—about Darien. He’d gone to fight at a ring called the Snake Pit. Fighting was his coping mechanism—something that worked better for him than therapy.
Knowing this deep and painful secret about such a strong and capable person who was feared the world over made Loren’s heart ache.
What made it ache even more, however, was the memory that had assaulted her mind the minute he’d raced for the door.
