Chapter 37

Stella

It felt like a bullet being fired out of a gun. The world was a blur of colors and shapes, streaking past in a dizzying whirl. I braced myself in my seat. Not because I was afraid, but because I had the suspicion that she could run faster.

The animal inside me huffed that she could. All my life she"d lain asleep in my belly. I"d felt the phantom of her whiskers twitch, heard her sigh, even felt the velvet of her tongue loll out a time or two. Now she sat up, itching to break free and run.

I kept rubbing at my skin, certain there was still fur there instead of flesh. Everything was brighter and duller at the same time. The contrast of colors was sharp, but the saturation was off. The blues and greens of peoples" outfits looked like they"d been dyed straight from the sky and fields.

A woman strolled through the train car. Her outfit was tailored to fit her body. The fabric was quality. The sneer she sent down from the slope at the top of her nose told me she thought herself important. The raised brow she gave me and my ensemble told me she found me lacking.

To her credit, I was dressed in men"s clothing. Even though I'd done my best to fit them, I was sure I looked like I was wearing my lover"s clothing after a walk of shame. When I saw my lover walking toward me, all I felt was heat and desire and gratitude, all rolled into one.

There was no room in my heart to deal with the shame or the shade from Ms. Hoity Toity. The love I felt for Oz was too big. The love I saw reflected back at me from his gaze blinded me to anyone else"s judgment.

The man who walked behind the woman judged me much differently. His once-over became a twice-over, his glance lingering on my bare shoulder. The bite of his lower lip was a clear offer.

He looked me up and down a third time, then winked. It was a bold, uninvited gesture. One that I did not return. Before I could react, Oz"s low growl filled the space between us. It was a protective sound that made the guy look away quickly, his momentary bravado faltering under Oz"s intimidating stare.

"Are you going to do the whole growly you"re mine thing now?"

"No," Oz said, holding out his hand to me. "Because I am yours."

He tugged me to standing. Brushing first a kiss to my temple, then to the side of my mouth, Oz pulled me close and whispered in my ear, loud enough for the man in the next seat to hear. "I sensed you were about to bite his head off, anyway. I did him a favor."

That was true. Especially after what I did to my last ex. I knew Oz was thinking exactly that by the grin on his face. I kissed that grin full-on.

The whistle of the train was a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the hum of conversations. It was an express train, a straight shot to Portland, our temporary sanctuary before we journeyed onward to Arcadia.

Inside the train"s dining car, the atmosphere was a blend of the functional and the comforting. The car itself was a long, narrow space, with tables lined up along the windows. Each table was draped with a simple, clean cloth, the minimalistic setting providing a sense of order amidst the chaos of our lives. The lighting was soft and subdued, casting a gentle glow over the passengers, many of whom were absorbed in quiet conversations or lost in their own thoughts.

At one end of the car was a small counter where a barista worked efficiently, the sound of steaming milk and the clink of cups like their own conversation. The array of pastries and sandwiches on display added a visual appeal, their colors and textures promising a taste of normalcy. It was more civilized than most of No Man"s Land. Had I known I would be treated like this, I might have opted to spend my days riding the rails.

Passengers sat or moved around, some gazing out of the large windows at the passing scenery, others engrossed in books or digital devices powered by magic or the sun. There was a hum of subdued activity, a collective sense of being in transit, of being between places and perhaps even between destinies.

Our table, positioned near the window, offered a view of the ever-changing landscape, but my focus was entirely on Oz. The man was slicing my food with meticulous care, his movements precise and deliberate. Each cut of the knife through the food was a small act of tenderness, a silent expression of his care for me.

"Where did you go?" I ask.

"I sent a message to the king to let him know of our imminent arrival."

"Why did the king send you to get me?"

Oz pressed his lips together, his concentration on the fork in his right hand as he stacked the perfect bite for me.

"Is it because of my father?"

Oz glanced up at the same time that he lifted the fork to my mouth. I ate obediently, my gaze widening slightly at the flavorful bite. Oz smiled as he watched me chew and then swallow.

"My father died when I was very young," I said as he built me another perfect bite. "He was murdered."

The sound of metal against porcelain made me wince. Oz gripped the fork tighter and then began rebuilding the perfect bite for me.

"My mother said it was because of his blood. I didn"t understand it when I was younger. But now I think I do. There"s something about my blood, isn"t there? It"s resistant to magic."

Oz lifted the fork to my mouth.

I ate dutifully, chewing the food as I mulled over the possibilities. "I really am a princess."

He didn"t confirm it. But he didn"t need to.

"Ken never drank from me. None of my vampire boyfriends did."

Oz growled low in his throat.

I took the fork from him and began building him a forkful. The delectable piece of grilled salmon should be shared. The vegetables accompanying the dish—crisp green asparagus, bright yellow bell peppers, and cherry tomatoes that glistened like little rubies—were vibrant as well as delicious. I lifted the fork to his mouth, and after a moment, he opened for me. I knew he liked it when his brow raised.

"Sometimes I think humans had the right of it with using paper and metal for currency. We"re barbarians here using blood and teeth and hair."

In response, Oz poured a sample of wine into his glass, tasting it before filling my glass. It was a deep red, the color of passion. It swirled in the glass like liquid velvet.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" I asked with a playful smile, the tension of our situation momentarily forgotten in the warmth of the moment.

"No, I"m just making sure you have everything you need."

I looked into his eyes, those deep pools of sincerity and strength. He was always putting me before him, even in this small way of feeding me and making sure I had something to drink. No, not just something to drink—the best.

"I have everything I"ve ever wanted." The wine tasted like a promise, a vow of shared futures now that the battles were over. I reached across the table, taking Oz"s hand in mine. The connection was electric, a current that ran between us, unspoken but deeply felt. "Let"s go to our sleeping compartment."

He swallowed. His throat worked, like he was trying to come up with some excuse and failing.

"You said you"re mine. You claimed me." I fingered the mark on my shoulder. "I want to claim you."