Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nathaniel

Roxy was unexpectedly quiet on the drive to the hotel. The only noises she made were the rustles of snack bags as she opened and absentmindedly picked at them.

She seemed lost in her own thoughts, her gaze focused out of the window, eyes looking far away.

I debated explaining about the labyrinth, about the curse, about the cure I was willing to risk everything for.

Including, it seemed, her.

The problem was, telling her might mean she would have second thoughts about the decision to help me.

And one slick little trick of the labyrinth was that the witch who was helping the vampire through… had to be willing.

That was why Roxanne had been the best choice for the mission. Her laziness would make her susceptible to accepting the money in exchange for just a week, at most, of her life.

Any other witch would demand details, would never agree until they knew all of the details. Even then, they might try to back out. Or escape.

It wouldn't even be hard, not when we were traveling during the daylight hours. It wasn't like I could give chase if the witch suddenly decided to throw open the door, and run out to safety.

The witches or wizards who had created the labyrinth many hundreds of years ago likely could not imagine an incentive big enough to make a witch willing to assist a vampire.

They couldn't see a future where we would possibly be willing to work together. They couldn't predict the way the world had changed, shifted, how age-old hatred between witches and vampires could cool to tepid indifference.

And they certainly couldn't have counted on a witch like Roxy. One who was willing to trade her magic for money toward some unknown goal.

It was why I was glad that she didn't insist on more conversation as we drove to the hotel. I didn't want to spark too much curiosity, then frustration when she didn't get the answers she wanted. Which might lead to her revoking her consent.

We pulled up to the hotel, a massive white stone building with an oversized carport out front that shaded the sun entirely until the sun was low on the horizon.

I didn't tell the witch, but it was a hotel frequented by vampires. Partly because of the carport. Partly because of the thick, heavy drapes on the windows.

And, of course, the owners and staff who had no objections to undead patrons.

She might have been comfortable with me, but I had a feeling she wouldn't feel the same about other vampires. Ones who had different feelings toward witches than I did. Ones who might not care if she tasted bad, who would bite her just to torture her.

And hotels weren't like apartments or homes. They were public accommodations.

They wouldn't need an invitation to enter a room.

"Is this the hotel that was in season two of The Scandalous Lives of Witchy Wives ?" she asked as we waited for the doorman to open my door.

"I have no idea," I told her as I slid out, waiting for her, then placing a hand at the small of her back to hurry her inside without using my speed.

Part of that was because it was always best to appear human whenever possible. The other part, the part I would never admit, though, was that the speed was becoming increasingly draining with each passing day.

I needed to preserve my energy as much as possible. That was why I was going to attempt to get some rest while we were in the hotel.

I needed to be sharp to try to help Roxy through the labyrinth.

What I lacked in actual magical skills, I made up for in knowledge and in decades of research. If she was lost or unfocused, I could guide her.

But to do that, I needed to be at my best as well.

We moved inside, making our way to the front desk as I eyed a trio of young vampires waiting for the elevator.

Sensing me too, they turned, eyeing me for a moment, then zeroing in on Roxanne.

"Are you growling again?" Roxy asked as the front desk clerk excused herself to answer the phone.

I didn't realize until she mentioned it that I was.

No one else would have been able to hear it, save for the vampires with hearing nearly as acute as my own.

In response, they stiffened, chests puffing a bit before turning and making their way into the elevator.

"This place is fancy," Roxy declared a few moments later as I let us into the suite with two queen beds, a bathroom bigger than Roxanne's apartment, and windows that likely offered a wonderful view of the woods. If we were able to open them.

"Oooh, this has a real tub," she said as she moved into the bathroom.

"As opposed to all of the fake tubs found in bathrooms?" I asked, getting a little lip twitch out of her.

"I mean, my bathroom has one of those shower-tub combos. Which means you can only submerge maybe half of your body. This one I could probably swim in," she told me.

"Feel free to bathe. The driver will be back soon with a change of clothes for you. And better shoes," I added, noticing how quick she was to slip out of the ones she had on each time she was able to.

Comfort was important. If at any point she was too hot, too cold, too hungry, too tired, or too in pain, she might throw up her hands and declare she didn't want to do this anymore.

I imagined the labyrinth hearing her, taking her at her word, and spitting us back out. Possibly even barring us from reentry.

I didn't have the time to try to find another willing witch. This had to work the first time.

If that meant I had to cater to her every want and whim, so be it. It would all be worth it in the end.

"Maybe," she said. "But I think I just want a quick shower first. Then an actual meal," she said.

I simply nodded, biting my tongue to keep from reminding her that the many snacks she'd eaten in the car certainly seemed enough to constitute a meal. Albeit a nutritionally devoid one.

"By all means," I said, waving toward the bathroom. "There should be a robe to slip on until the clothes get here," I said.

She was quick to seek some privacy.

Alone, I waited for the bag to arrive before slipping out of my shoes, then climbing up onto the bed furthest from the window. If an accident—or not an accident—happened and the curtains opened, it would give me a chance to seek shelter before I burst into flames.

I hadn't realized just how tired I was until I was finally able to relax.

I was asleep in moments, still listening to the sound of the water slapping onto the shower tile floors and trying not to think of Roxanne alone in there, naked, the water cascading down her body.

__

I woke with a start, knifing up in the bed, feeling adrenaline surge through my system.

Something felt… wrong.

My gaze slid to the curtains, still finding slivers of light peeking out of the very edges where the curtains didn't quite kiss the wall.

The bed next to mine was empty, though there were wrinkles in the bedding like Roxy had been there at some point.

I slid off the bed, something akin to dread filling my system as I moved around the half wall toward the bathroom. Finding the door open and the room empty.

Roxanne wasn't in the room.

Panic shot through my body as I slipped into my shoes and rushed toward the door, thinking she'd taken advantage of my unconsciousness to get herself free. Of me. Of our arrangement.

"Roxanne?" I called, rushing down the hallway toward the elevator.

I went down to the lobby, rushing around, asking random guests if they'd seen a small, blonde woman.

"Roxanne!" I called, going back up to our floor.

That was when I heard it.

My name.

Really, she must only have been whimpering. But with my hearing, there was no mistaking it.

" Nathaniel. "

She was in one of the rooms on our floor.

Had they come in and stolen her?

Had they caught her coming back—likely from venturing out for food—snatched her, and stashed her in another room?

How had I managed to sleep through all of that?

Had she tried to call for help? How long had she been whimpering my name?

A growl, primal and growing in intensity as I ran, moved through and out of me until I closed in on the door where I heard her soft sniffles.

Pulling up my foot, I slammed it into the door.

The rage must have made me underestimate my strength.

The door flew off the hinges, ramming back into the wall where it exploded into pieces as the three vampires from earlier turned in unison.

The growl grew louder, reverberating through the room, vibrating the walls until the mirror in the bathroom cracked, splintering around the tiled space.

I was vaguely aware of Roxanne murmuring under her breath as all the vampires charged at me.

But they were young.

Hardly more than baby vampires, really.

It wasn't going to be much work to dispatch of them.

Except, of course, I wasn't at my full strength. Each day, I was becoming less and less vampire, and more and more mortal.

When all three came at me at once, the weight of them felt impossible to shake as I rammed backward into the wall to dislodge one of them as my hand went out toward the other one's throat.

On the floor between the beds, Roxanne's voice grew stronger as she crawled over toward the windows.

She was chanting something, but the snarls of the baby vampires were drowning out the words.

A spell, maybe?

A ward?

But she was on the move regardless, maybe not trusting herself or me to protect her.

Bothered by the idea of that, I threw one of the vampires off of me, watching as he rolled off of the bed and fell to the floor.

"Nathaniel!" Roxy called, voice tight. "Get out!" she added.

When I turned, she had her hand on the curtain pull.

I didn't hesitate.

I threw the last vampire out of the way, then rushed into the hall, slamming back against the wall between the two rooms.

I saw the flash of light as the curtains pulled to the side. Then the momentary howls of pain as the rays landed on the vampires, lighting them up.

It was a quick process for a creature of the night to die by exposure to daylight.

And within a minute, the howls were gone, and the darkness descended upon the room again.

I moved into the doorway, finding Roxanne sliding down the wall, knees to chest.

Even across the room, I could hear her frantic breathing, the hitch in her breath, the sniffles of fear.

I hadn't been able to get a good look at her before, so I had no idea if she'd been hurt in any way, if those vampires had feasted on her, if they'd tortured her. All I did know was she was panicking. And she needed some support.

Moving into the room, I saw the piles of ash on the floor. The only evidence those men had ever once existed, died, and relived again. Only to meet their ends in a hotel room. By a witch.

"Roxanne?" I asked, edging around the bed, finding her sitting with her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and her head ducked.

A quick appraisal said there were no obvious signs of an attack on her.

But she was clearly distressed regardless.

"Roxy," she told me again, voice thick.

"Roxy," I said, squatting down at her side and reaching out to press a hand onto her knee.

When she didn't immediately pull away, I reached around her, scooping her up and pulling her to my chest.

"I just wanted to get a coffee," she sniffled into my chest. "I didn't want to wake you up. And I knew there was a coffee bar in the lobby. I didn't think anything of it," she told me as I carried her back to our room.

"It's not your fault," I told her, cursing myself for her ability to even get out of my sight. "Are you hurt?" I asked as we moved into our room.

I turned, sitting down on the bed with her on my lap.

"I… no. Just… bruised," she said, sucking in a steadying breath as she leaned her face against my chest, not ready to get up, to move away from me yet.

I didn't understand the sensation, had never felt it before in my life, but there was a strange warmth that moved across my chest as I held her. All I knew was it felt good. Better than blood fresh from an artery. Better than the freedom from an existential crisis that came from mortality. Better than anything I'd ever felt in my three-hundred-or-so years.

"Let me see," I said, using my free hand to reach for her arms, lifting them, inspecting the bruises left by the hands of the piles of ash in the other room.

Even if they were babies, their strength was a solid ten times as strong as a human man.

The fingerprint-shaped spots on her skin were a deep navy blue and violet with angry red around the edges.

They spanned her wrists.

And there were identical marks on her throat.

"How long did they have you?" I asked.

"Half an hour, maybe," she said.

Half an hour.

How was she not worse off?

"Once they let go of my mouth, I started to chant a ward I remember my grandmother using to keep the coyotes from slaughtering her chickens and ducks," she admitted. "It, ah, it's a lot more effective on a dog than a vampire," she admitted. "But it seemed to zap them when they touched me. It made them… tentative."

I nodded at that as I angled her back with one hand, lifting up the hem of her shirt to reveal large bruises across her stomach.

"It didn't seem to bother them as much when it zapped their feet," she admitted, reaching to pull her shirt back down.

"I should feel for your ribs."

"I'm fine," she insisted, taking a deep breath until she meant it. A breath deep enough that if she had broken or bruised ribs, she would have been in agony. She must have curled up to protect herself.

"How about I run you a bath?" I suggested. "And order you that coffee you wanted?"

Her head tilted up, watching me with those pretty green eyes.

"Okay," she agreed.

I shifted her onto the bed.

Then went to do something I wasn't sure I'd ever done before.

Cater to a woman.

What's more, something about it simply felt… right .