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He was. And he looked furious. “They’re covering it up.”

Darien lookedat the TV one last time before grabbing his smokes off the counter and heading out.

It didn’t surprise him that the authorities were covering up the mess in Yveswich. With the Terran Imperator alive and in full control of the city from somewhere outside of it, he’d be doing everything in his power to stop the severity of the situation from leaking to the public. It would cause panic. Outrage. Bad publicity.

Apart from the backlash he was undoubtedly avoiding, the imperator still believed that the real Arcanum Well was hidden somewhere in the Void. Which meant he’d throw every excuse he could possibly think of at the news reporters before admitting the truth, especially when admitting it risked setting more greedy people like him after the one thing in the universe that he coveted most.

The Magnum Opus. The fountain of miracles and eternal life. The source of every problem they’d barely managed to survive these past six months.

As Darien shadowed Loren back to the car, the others already waiting for them in the truck, he reflected on the drive here.

He hadn’t even realized that he was sweating. Not until she’d pointed it out and he’d swiped the back of his hand across hiswet—wet—forehead. Loren seemed to be under the impression that it was because the car was too warm, but that wasn’t it at all.

He was having withdrawals. The sweating, the fidgeting, the mood swings, the threat of the worst Surge of his life pounding its fist against his skull.

Angelthene. He had to get back to Angelthene, where he could deal with this shit in private. If a Surge took control of him and blackened his vision, he wouldn’t be able to drive safely. And he refused to even try while Loren was in the car with him. Endangering her life was not an option. Ever.

Before he’d met her, he’d made himself a promise that his days of indulging in recreational drugs were behind him. Using a dangerous drug like Venom had been a last resort, sure—a means of protecting Loren and his family from the thousands of threats coming at them from all angles.

But it didn’t erase the fact that he was addicted again, and Venom was one of the hardest drugs to quit.

He watched her get in the car, her hair blowing in a breeze. Once she was safely inside, he shut her door for her.

‘Don’t make it be for me this time,’she’d told him at the hospital, when he’d said that he would work on getting off Venom.‘Make it be for you.’

But his chains—all of them, not just the drugs—were heavy. And breaking them, even when his motivation was her, was proving to be the hardest fight of his miserable fucking life.

55

The Wanderer

ARBOR, STATE OF KER

The last placeShay expected to end up was at another motel with Roman Devlin.

The Wanderer,it was called. Fitting, given how they were both wanderers now. Darkslayers without homes. It was a decrepit old thing, just like Motel 58. The stucco was chipped, the swimming pool unmaintained, the parking lot potholed and littered with debris. But the faded sign said VACANCY, unlike the many others they’d passed during their long and tiring search for a place to sleep. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Wait here,” Roman said as he pulled the car to a stop by the office. Paxton was fast asleep in the back. “I’ll get us a room.” He was out of the car, door thumping shut, before Shay could even think of a response.

A room,he’d said. Singular.

She sighed. Hopefully it would have two beds.

While he was gone, her thoughts began to drift. Memories she’d had zero time to think about while scrambling to escape Yveswich were resurfacing, clear as crystal. She wished they wouldn’t.

Roman’s mouth on hers.

Cigarette smoke shaped like a howling wolf.

The feel of his callused hands squeezing her thighs as he’d carried her on his back beneath a hot desert sun.

Roman’s husky voice telling her to beg. Say his name?—

The door opened, startling her and chasing the memories away.

Roman was back, key in his tatted hand—the hand she had been fantasizing about a moment ago. The little tag attached to the key had the number nineteen written on it in faded black marker. Another room with the number nine—what a coincidence.

He must have seen where her focus had gone, because he told her, “I made sure there are two beds.”