Chapter 9

NINE

Asha

This motel is a far cry from the Ritz, but the plumbing works just fine, and after a long, hot shower, I’m feeling relaxed and rejuvenated. I swap my dusty outfit for some soft pajamas and exit the bathroom. Orson’s seated at the desk, totally absorbed with his computer. Braxton lounges on one of the two beds, idly flipping through the motel’s advertised “300 channels of satellite TV!” All of them, it seems, are garbage.

I plop down on the second bed, then fall back, sprawling across the mattress. Not the most comfortable, and it squeaks beneath me, but it’ll do. Frankly, anything will do. The past two days and the sleepless night between them have taxed the very last energy from my system. The road shuteye provided no relief. I’m ready for a full night’s rest.

I think to dismiss the boys from the room, tell them they can all cuddle up in the conjoined suite so I can take this one all to myself. Maybe the dog can stay, but he’s sleeping on the second bed.

The door between suites swings open and Max steps into the room. All three of us look up. Max always commands everyone’s attention. He stuffs a phone into his pocket while he returns my gaze. Something in his eyes gives me a terrible sinking feeling.

My instinct is to ignore it, roll over, and avoid whatever ill tidings he’s about to deliver. Escape into sleep. I need it, desperately , and I really don’t feel like extending this double day into a triple.

But then he speaks up. “Asha.”

I groan. “What?”

He merely holds my stare, an implicit request to speak with me in private.

“Are you going to explain whatever the hell this new lead is?”

His expression betrays nothing.

I swallow. In a softer voice, I inquire, “Does it have something to do with the Blood Pack member who slipped through our fingers?”

He gives me nothing . Geez.

But I feel Braxton’s eyes cut sidelong at me, and don’t return his stare. He senses my fear, that whatever call Max just received somehow exposes my negligence. That he knows I gave up and would have allowed my brother to end me. That he knows I let my brother escape.

Max leaves the question dangling long enough that Orson notices. He raises his head from his computer, suddenly aware of the room’s tension.

“Asha,” Max urges, glancing at the door like I'm too dumb to know that he wants to talk to me alone.

I prop myself up on my elbows and shoot him a defiant look. I don’t care if Braxton and Orson are around to hear. One of them’s been inside me and the other, for whatever reason, has my complete and utter trust. Your move, Max .

He sighs, clearly reluctant to share whatever information he has in front of the class. But I stubbornly refuse to budge, guarding the fact I’m intimidated by a one on one aside. Besides, cut the buildup, I want to know right fucking now. I’m not a fan of suspense; it gives me a stomachache. “Have you heard of a faction known as the Raven Pack?”

I feel like a tea kettle point five seconds before it sings. Anger, fear, sadness, and panic boil inside me in one terrible concoction so perfectly blended I don’t know which to focus on. I freeze on the mattress, but it feels like my insides are screaming and chasing one another in rapid circles. Thoughts zip through my mind at the speed of light.

The Raven Pack . It echoes in my head like a pan clattering on the kitchen floor. Bastards . If I had let go of my battered hope, all I would have left is a bloodthirsty desire for revenge. And if that happened, there wouldn’t be a single one of them left to rue their craven act.

“I know of them,” I reply through gritted teeth. I can only imagine what they’re up to now. “The Raven Pack was there the night…” I take a deep breath. “The night my pack was slaughtered. They allied with the Blood Mages.”

Orson and Braxton listen in and for them it’s all new information, but Max nods like he already knows. “They’ve taken some of your pack.”

I sit upright. “What do you mean, they’ve taken some of my pack? Hostage? Who do they expect to solicit a ransom from?”

He shakes his head with a look of consternation. That’s not good . I don’t like the way he looks back at me, like he pities me. It’s worse than fear or suspicion. Those I can handle. “Not hostages,” he says. “Slaves.”

The exhaustion that held me in its clutches evaporates. I leap from the bed onto my feet. They lead me towards the door, but Max reaches out to stop me. “Where are they?” I demand.

“Asha,” he pleads.

But all I can see is red. It wasn't enough they came with the Blood Mages and helped capture us, betraying another pack to fucking animals that use dark magic, but they enslaved some of us? Taking us that night for their own purposes?

And because of my own ignorance, I never checked them out. Never thought to focus on them rather than the Blood Mages and my pack.

How long have they been hurting? Tortured? And I could have saved them.

I shove Max's arm away from me, breathing hard.

Braxton steps in, the two of them holding me back from the door. “You want to get revenge, I get it,” he says, “but now isn’t the right moment. We need a strategic advantage.”

“He’s right,” Max concurs. “We’re all exhausted. We need rest. If we go in half-cocked, it’ll be a disaster.”

“Disaster’s been following me now for quite some time,” I counter. “Maybe it’s time I face it head-on.”

“Not like this,” says Braxton.

Max shakes his head. “We’re a pack,” he says. In any other circumstance, I might get emotional at that statement, but right now it fails to pierce the anger casting the world in red.

“I can’t let them terrorize my people anymore,” I growl. “Not again."

The idea feels like a razor blade moving through my intestines. Every second they could be hurting, and I'm here with powers capable of dark and terrible things, ready to free them.

No matter who I become after.

“You leave now,” says Max, his voice filled with intensity, “you’ll only fall into their hands.”

“I’ll die before I let them enslave me.” The words are low and threatening, a whisper of just how close I am to attacking these two fools and running.

And I mean my words. Death is easier. I've already seen as much.

“Then you’d be of no use to anyone!” Max snaps. He pulls back and sighs frustratedly. “Come here,” he says, walking into the other suite.

I eye Braxton. Just one arm to snap.

"Don't even think about it," he says, lifting a brow.

I try to push his arm aside, but it doesn't budge.

"I could just turn you into an asshole!"

He smirks. "You could, but I already am one, aren't I?"

My heartbeat starts to slow. "Or rip off your arm and beat you with it."

"But it's a pretty good arm."

"It is," I mutter.

Anger still squeezes my chest. The notion of my pack in a location I can actually reach burns through my veins. But maybe, maybe they're right. I should at least hear Max out.

Reluctantly, I join him, and he shuts the door behind me. “Max, I’m not going to?—”

“You’re not going to abandon the team, is what you’re not going to do,” he tells me. “After everything we’ve been through, the latitude I’ve given you—” He stops abruptly and his lustrous eyes betray his vulnerability.

Me. He’s afraid for me. I don’t need your fear. I need your strength .

“Max, you have your mission, but I have mine. Mostly they align, but right now, I need to save my pack.”

“Your pack is right here in front of you, Asha.”

And he sounds so sincere. Like the moment we fucked, the three of us became something more. But doesn't he realize I can't be anything more to anyone when the tattered remains of my pack need me so desperately?

I sigh. “Max. You don’t understand. You don't know what it’s like to lose your family.”

Pain flashes in his eyes for a moment before it's gone. “Oh, I know better than you think.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind is the follow up question about his past, but it’s overcome by the blaring drive to act. I step towards the door, but Max puts himself in the way.

“Max.” I move to go around him, but he sidesteps with me. Anger mounts. “I need to go!”

“Where?” he asks. “You don’t even know where they are.”

I don't. If I did, they'd already be saved.

But it doesn't matter. They're counting on me.

“I’ll find them. I have to find them. I have to?—”

My lungs struggle to pull in breath, and I begin to hyperventilate. Panic uncurls inside of me, and my knees shake. My whole fucking body shakes. I slump against Max, no longer pushing to get past him, and he holds me against his chest.

“Breathe,” he instructs, his voice calming. With my ear pressed against him, I listen to the even rhythm of his heart and try to focus on it.

His hand moves to my back and begins to rub slow circles into it. "Focus on my touch. Nothing else matters." He keeps rubbing. "Just my touch. In this room. With me. I have you, Asha, you're safe."

We remain like this for several minutes until my breathing stabilizes. Until I stop thinking about how I wouldn’t have to feel this now if I’d just let my brother take my life. Now I’m tired. Adrenaline and fury vacate my system and exhaustion fills their absence.

“I need to lie down, Max,” I tell him in a soft voice.

He guides me to the bed where I lay down. He sits up against the headboard and I use his lap as a pillow. My attention hones in on the light touch of his fingertips against my back.

Time passes, but not enough. He starts to get up, but I latch my arm around his waist. With a furrowed brow, he looks down at me.

“Stay,” I request.

For a second I'm terrified he'll still go, but he nods, then loosens his collar. Without removing the hand from my back, he unbuttons his shirt and strips it from his body. He slips down onto the mattress with me and wraps his arm around me. I snuggle close and wait for sleep.

And wait, and wait, and wait...