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“Where are we going?” I finally asked.
Atlas appeared flustered by the question. I guess he hadn’t thought that far ahead.
The driver glanced back, an eyebrow half raised.
“Drop us at the house,” Atlas instructed.
No other words were spoken until we pulled up, and Atlas helped us both out. Dahlia refused his hand, but when I nudged her, she bit on her lip and mumbled a half-hearted thanks. I could see that she didn’t trust his assistance. Not that I could blame her for that.
“Now what?” Dahlia asked meekly.
She was talking to me, but Atlas answered, opening one of the pristine glass doors that led into a solarium-style kitchen. I’d seen it on my way into the office before, but not like this. It took my breath away, with all its modern gadgets and white marble.
Did he live here alone? What did one man need all this space for?
“Are you hungry?” Atlas asked.
Dahlia took a step forward, and suddenly, her legs buckled. I caught her as she fell forward.
“She was shot,” I reminded him grimly. “She’s still healing.”
Soft track lighting flooded the kitchen. In an instant, Atlas was at our sides.
“She needs to rest,” he murmured, staring worriedly into her face. “I’ll have Sage call on our healers. She’ll be all right.”
As if she weighed a feather, Atlas scooped Dahlia into his arms, and she gasped. When she shot me a look of panic, I shook my head.
“He’s not going to hurt you,” I promised. “He saved us, Dahl.”
“I’m taking you to lie down and rest,” Atlas told her without taking a step. “Bianca can come with us, if you like.”
Dahlia swallowed visibly and nodded. Gratefully, I offered him a weak smile and followed him down the long corridor toward a floating glass staircase.
“What is that?” Dahlia croaked, staring at the steps.
Atlas chuckled. “Stairs,” he replied.
“What’s holding them up?”
“Save your energy, Dahlia,” I sighed, ushering them up. “You can ask questions after you’ve gotten some rest.”
Dahlia frowned, and Atlas gave me a reproving look, but he continued up the stairs until we came to a closed door.
“Is this your room?” I asked, a tinge of jealousy lacing my words.
Even Dahlia lifted her head off Atlas’ chest. His eyebrows knitted into a vee.
“No… this is a guest room,” he answered, opening the handle.
Immediately, I felt like an idiot, the impersonal, white room clearly untouched by anyone.
Gently, he laid my sister on the bed and backed away, smoothing down his shirt. I eyed him through my peripheral vision, trying to remember when he had dressed after shifting. It had all happened so fast.
Dad had been pointing the gun at us, and then—bang! Atlas had come busting through like some white knight. But why now? What had changed? Did this mean that he had feelings for me? That we were going to stay with him?
I refused to get my hopes up. I’d done that too many times now and been disappointed.
“Let’s leave her to rest,” Atlas said, backing me out of the room. “Dahlia, you know where we are if you need us.”
