Bliss could see Lawson’s shoulders slump in the front seat. She glared at the dark-haired girl sitting next to her. “Stop torturing him. Answer the question. What happened to her?”
“Is she dead? Is Tala dead?” Lawson asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“No.” Ahramin blew another smoke ring. It lingered in the air above them before dissipating, filling the van with its acrid smell. “But she may as well be. She’s with Romulus now.”
Bliss offered to pay for a hotel. After everything that had happened, everything they had learned, it seemed like a small consolation but a necessary one. No one had spoken in the van after Ahramin’s announcement; Lawson had completely broken down, his face turning gray and blank, as if he had been shot, as if he were dead already. Bliss took command then—someone had to; Edon was just as useless as Lawson after Ahramin’s rejection, and Rafe and Malcolm looked too frightened to know what to do. She ushered the boys into their own room and placed Ahramin in hers. The “former” hellhound—Bliss still had her doubts—seemed a bit subdued by the reaction to her news and barely said a word to Bliss before bedding down.
A few hours later, unable to sleep, Bliss crept out of the room, thinking she would take a walk in the hotel lobby to try to find something to distract her from her thoughts. Was it just two days earlier that she had been with Aunt Jane? How was it possible that so much had changed—meeting the boys, the attack by the hounds, looking for Tala and finding Ahramin instead? Bliss wasn’t even sure what would happen next. She had to find a way to the hounds to find her aunt, of course; that was clear. But the boys—Lawson—what would happen to them—to him? Would he consent to doing as she asked? Would he consent to taking his pack to the vampires and fighting for them?
It was hours after midnight and the floor was deserted. Not even the front desk was staffed; there was only a bell to ring if you needed someone. Her footsteps echoed in the hallway. The lobby was standard-issue mid-range hotel, with a fireplace in the middle and comfortable armchairs and couches arrayed around it. She walked closer to the smoldering fire.
“Can’t sleep either?” a voice asked.
She turned to find Lawson slouched down on a couch, an empty six-pack by his side. He was drinking from an open bottle of vodka.
“You planning on drinking that whole thing?” she asked.
“Only if you help me,” he said. He was so obviously tipsy, slurring his words, his eyes bloodshot. But somehow, with his dark hair falling into his eyes, he still looked unbelievably sexy.
“Lawson—”
“Come on. I have chasers somewhere. That’s what they’re called, right? Chasers? To chase away the taste of alcohol. Although why anyone would want to do that, I don’t know. Anyway, there’s a box of orange juice…” He waved feebly around the area.
Bliss took a s
eat next to him. Getting drunk was no way to react—but how could one react to such news, anyway? His pain was etched all over his face. He looked like a ghost, all the vitality and life drained from his face, his sorrow and grief manifested in his hunching walk, his hooded eyes. She reached for the vodka bottle and took a big gulp.
“That’s my girl,” he said, clapping her shoulder.
“Whoa,” she said, feeling a bit dizzy. Alcohol had had no effect on her before; she kept forgetting she was human now. She put down the bottle and turned to him. “Maybe there’s still hope—”
“There’s not,” he said, cutting her off. “Romulus will never let her go. Now that he knows what she means to me.” He grabbed the bottle and took a swig. “I put her in danger…I never should have left her. It’s all my fault.”
“You didn’t have a choice, and she wanted you to go, to survive,” she said, reminding him of what he’d told her about that fateful night. She took the vodka away from him.
Lawson shook his head. “I’m selfish…I went to the oculus…the hounds could have killed us all tonight…and…and…” He began to hiccup and fell forward into her arms, his whole body shaking. “I failed her. I practically gave her to him…who knows what he’s done to her…killed her…maybe he turned her into a hound early…maybe she died from the change…”
“I’m so sorry,” Bliss whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She held him to her chest, put her arms around him, felt his tears soak her robe. It hurt her to see him like this, so destroyed. “I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this,” she said, and without thinking she began to kiss his head, his hair. She just wanted to make him feel better somehow, to erase, and to bear, some of his pain.
Lawson put his arms around her back and drew her closer, and then they were kissing, and his tears fell on her face, but he was kissing her, so passionately, as if he had been awoken, inspired, and she was kissing him back, as fiercely as he was kissing her. And his hands were slipping off her robe and she was melting into him, guiding his shirt over his head, and her palms were on his abdomen, his sculpted stomach.…
And still he was kissing her, kissing her neck and groaning against her. He had stopped crying, she noticed…and neither of them was thinking of Ahramin or Tala or anyone else. He began to unbutton her shirt while she tugged at the button on his jeans. He loomed over her, and he looked at her, truly looked at her, his golden eyes fixed on hers, and she realized he was not drunk in the least and neither was she; they were both completely sober, and they both wanted this, wanted each other, so much.
She pulled him toward her, pulled him closer, to feel his warmth and his strength, and she wanted him…she wanted this to happen…but…
“Wait,” she said. “Wait.”
Not like this, she thought. Not like this. It would be too easy to discount it, too easy to pretend it was just a mistake, just an accident, just a hookup. Because he’d just found out about Tala, because they’d been drinking. She liked him too much for that.
“Wait,” she said.
He fell against her, his body crashing on hers, and rested his head in the crook of her neck. She could feel him breathing against her skin—hard, ragged breaths—as the warmth between them began to cool.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”
Then he said no more. He pulled away from her and then he was gone, without another word, without a look back, and even though it had been her idea to stop, Bliss was the one who felt bereft, alone, seated in front of the fireplace, its ashes long gone cold. It was freezing in the room; she hadn’t noticed. Lawson’s body was so warm.
He had disappeared so quickly that for a moment she was uncertain whether anything had truly happened between them, or whether it had just been a dream.