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He didn’t know what to call it. This feeling, this…hurt.

It’s love, Sayagul whispered softly from his shadow. You love her.

I can’t have her. His soul was so broken, even his internal voice cracked.

We don’t have to leave just yet—

She had a life and dreams before me. I have no right to take those away.

But she loves you too.

Roman swallowed. Unlocked the door. Then she knows where to find me.

He walked out, locking up behind him.

As he got in his car, he looked at the door to room number nine. One last time. Vision blurring, he said into the quiet night, “I love you, Shayla.”

But she was better off without him. Because so long as they belonged to different houses, and so long as they continued down this forbidden road, they’d both wind up dead. And Roman would rather suffer from a broken heart than suffer knowing he had anything to do with Shay being killed.

Shay treasured those precious moments between wake and sleep, when reality was fuzzy and she could imagine, for a time, that her life had not been shattered into pieces. That she hadn’t lost Anna. Roman.

It was the thought of Roman and the memory of the night before that made her eyelids flutter open.

It was dawn. And the room was empty.

She sat up. “Roman?” she called.

Had he been here at all? Had she dreamt it?

No. No, it was real. She could still smell him, feel him, the colors of his touch lingering all over her body like painted handprints. If she used her Sight, she could see them, his claiming everywhere, all different hues. She brushed the tips of her fingers across her lips that were slightly swollen from all the kissing, her skin still tasting of him. Already, she missed it. Missed him.

She whipped the blankets aside and sprinted to the door. Unlocked the deadbolt and threw it open.

Warm desert air that smelled of sage and dry earth gusted in. Shay shielded her eyes from the sun and stared out at the parking lot of the tiny, rundown motel that had changed her life.

Roman’s car was gone. He’d left.

Her heart was at a crossroads. Before she’d met Roman, she’d had a plan. Dreams. And a sister with whom she’d strived to make those dreams come true. She’d lost everything, but as her life had crumbled around her, she’d found something she didn’t know she needed. It had come in the form of someone entirely unexpected, but perhaps was not a bad thing.

She had a different dream to chase after now, if she dared.

As she stood there, staring out at the sunrise, she made her decision.

97

Roman’s House

YVESWICH, STATE OF KER

When Loren woke up the following morning, she took in her surroundings with several slow blinks.

Roman’s training room, sunlight streaming in through the big windows lining the far wall. Mirrors covered every wall that didn’t have windows, making the room feel extra bright and open.

And there was Darien, sleeping beside her. He’d grabbed a spare black mat during the night and had dragged it over for them to use as a pillow. He was lying shirtless on his stomach, hands lightly grasping the mat, one knee bent to the side.

No matter how many times she saw him sleeping, the novelty never wore off. There was something so vulnerable about trusting someone enough to sleep in their presence. For her and Darien, it worked both ways. Had anyone outside of their friendship circle seen them together like this, they would’ve surely thought her a fool for trusting a Devil—a leader, no less. As for Darien, there were many people out there who considered him an enemy, and so he trusted few. Loren knew she was very fortunate to be one of those few.

As she lay there beside him, birds chirping in the backyard, she studied his ink and scars, like she did so many mornings and nights. There was a particularly brutal scar by his hip—one she’d looked at a thousand times but had never asked him how he got it. A knife wound, probably—