Page 42 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

We don’t stop running until the smoke turns to trees.

The fire behind us crackles and spits through the air, a beast we narrowly escaped with our skin intact. My legs are a blur beneath me, my mind lagging behind, still trying to process what we left in that facility—what almost claimed us.

Kinley leads the way, slicing through brambles with a feral kind of focus. Elias is beside me, though limping now, his shoulder dragging lower than it should, his movements tighter, slower. I can hear the sharpness of his breathing—controlled, deliberate, but wrong.

We burst through a final cluster of trees, our breath catching at the sight ahead.

Our vehicle.

The one we came in. Low-profile. Black. Waiting exactly where it should be. Hidden half behind brush and rock. Just close enough to hope. Just far enough to feel like a dream.

Lydia is already behind the wheel, eyes locked on the tree line like she never left it. She doesn't flinch when we emerge. Her only movement is the slight nod she gives when her eyes find Elias.

“You’re late,” she says flatly.

Elias grunts something halfway between agreement and threat.

Kinley yanks the rear door open. “Get in.”

I help Elias go in first. He stiffens, jaw clenched so tightly the tendons in his neck look ready to snap. But he lets me guide him in, lets me press a palm to his ribs when he staggers, and lets me shut the door after him without argument.

I slide in beside him as Kinley takes the front passenger seat.

Lydia doesn’t wait. The engine growls to life, and we lurch forward, kicking up dirt and ash in our wake.

Inside, the car is silent.

The only sound is Elias’s breathing—measured but shallow. He’s still losing blood. The sleeve of his coat sticks wetly to his arm, the stain spreading wider now.

“I'm worried,” I murmur.

“I’ll live.”

“I really hope so.”

He shifts slightly, sucking in a sharp breath when the wound drags against the seatback. I reach for him, but he turns his head away.

It’s not rejection. It’s restraint.

“You’re not helping anyone by pretending that doesn’t hurt,” I say quietly.

He says nothing.

I press two fingers beneath his jaw—check his pulse. It's faster than it should be.

“Lydia,” I call up. “Emergency kit?”

Without looking, she jerks her thumb toward the floor behind her seat.

I pull it free and unzip it with numb fingers.

“I’m not fragile,” Elias says, low.

“No. But you’re bleeding through a ten-thousand-dollar coat, so shut up and let me fix you.”

He watches me. That stillness again. Like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do with him now that the adrenaline is fading and only rawness remains.

I peel back the fabric around the wound. The gash is deeper than I thought. Dark red and angry, the edges slightly swollen. I pour antiseptic across it, and Elias hisses. A sharp, involuntary sound that makes me wince.

“That’s good,” I say, forcing calm. “It means you're still human.”

“I’ve never claimed that.”

I tape the gauze in place with tight, practiced fingers.

“You could’ve died in there.”

“You say that like it would’ve surprised me.”

I don’t respond.

I just sit back. My hands are sticky with his blood. The taste of smoke still clings to my teeth.

And outside the window, the forest gives way to open road.

For the first time, I’m not sure which side of the fire we made it out on.

The further we get from the facility, the quieter Elias becomes.

The ride stretches on in silence, the kind that doesn’t soothe but scrapes. I keep glancing at him, waiting for some sign of unraveling, some clue that what we’ve been through has touched him beneath the surface. But there’s nothing. Just the familiar stillness he wears like armor.

Kinley says something to Lydia up front, a terse exchange about a fuel station or a safe marker—I don’t catch the words, only the tension behind them. He’s bleeding from a gash on his left hand, probably from the climb out, but he hasn’t so much as glanced at it.

We’re all bleeding in places we’re pretending don’t matter.

Elias exhales, a quiet, precise breath that draws my attention back. His head is leaned back against the seat, eyes half-lidded. Pale. Sweating now. The adrenaline is gone, and with it, some of the fire he’d been clinging to.

“You’re fading,” I murmur.

His lips twitch. “Not yet.”

“You lost too much.”

“Enough to be angry about it, not enough to stop me.”

I shift closer to him. My thigh touches his. I don’t care.

“You kept going in there like you were invincible.”

He opens his eyes, slowly. “Maybe I wanted to be.”

I don’t look away. “And now?”

“Now I remember what it feels like to burn.”

The words are low, but not weak. If anything, there’s a cracked honesty in them I’ve never heard before.

I press my fingers against his pulse again. It’s weaker. Thready.

“You need a hospital,” I say.

“No.”

“Elias.”

“I’m not letting strangers touch me right now. Especially not ones who might be bought.”

“You think Volker's reach can go that far?”

“I think Volker doesn’t play by geography.”

Lydia cuts in without turning. “There’s a safehouse in the next sector. Old chemical compound. Still shielded. We’ll stop there. No chatter, no signal.”

“Clean?” Elias asks.

“For now.”

We don’t argue. None of us have the energy.

I reach into the med kit again and pull out a vial. Painkillers. Strong. Probably stronger than legal. I hold it out.

He stares at it. “That’s not a good idea.”

“You’re going to pass out if you don’t.”

“And if I pass out on that, I might not wake up.”

“Then trust me to keep you breathing.”

That pulls his eyes to mine. Not the predator stare. Not the unreadable glass. Just Elias. Tired. Human.

He takes the vial.

I guide him through the injection. It’s clumsy, awkward in the moving vehicle, but he doesn’t resist. He just watches me.

“Why are you still here?” he asks quietly.

I blink. “What?”

“You could’ve run. The second the door opened.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t wrapped around my fucking orbit.”

I exhale slowly, folding the empty vial into a rag and pressing it into the trash pocket.

“I didn’t stay because it’s safe,” I murmur.

“Then why?”

“Because I’ve spent my whole life avoiding the things I want. And I’m tired.”

His head tips forward, eyelids heavier now. I guide his body gently to lean against mine.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he says.

“I know.”

The vehicle hums on, a slow crawl toward the safehouse none of us believe in.

But for now, I hold him.

And for now, he lets me.

The safehouse is worse than I expected.

It’s buried behind a rusted industrial gate, its hinges shrieking as Lydia muscles it open.

The lot beyond is cracked cement, scattered with the skeletal remains of old vehicles and chemical drums faded by rain and time.

The main building is a block of concrete smothered in moss, two stories of neglect and bad memories.

Lydia parks around the side, beneath a partial overhang. Kinley exits first, gun raised, sweeping the perimeter. I ease Elias upright.

He groans, quiet and involuntary.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t argue. That frightens me more than blood.

Lydia slams the driver’s door shut. “Get him inside. This place is dead air—Volker won’t find us unless he’s got eyes in the trees.”

“I wouldn’t rule that out,” Kinley mutters.

Inside, the safehouse smells like metal and old water. The walls are bare concrete. There’s a utility sink and a makeshift cot with a clean sheet folded at the foot. Two crates serve as furniture. A bucket and a portable burner sit nearby, both still dusty.

Elias leans heavily on me. I help him lower onto the cot, breath catching as he exhales a sharp hiss.

The light above us flickers.

Kinley sets down a duffel and unzips it. He tosses Lydia a loaded sidearm, then heads to secure the exits.

I kneel beside the cot.

Elias is pale. The painkillers are dulling his edge, but not the ache.

“You need sleep,” I say.

“I need a plan.”

“You’ll be dead before the next move if you don’t let your body recover.”

“I’ve recovered from worse.”

I trace the back of my knuckle along his forearm. He watches the movement but doesn’t react.

“Volker knew everything,” I say. “About us. About Caleb. About Jori. He wasn’t bluffing.”

“No. He wasn’t.”

“You never told me your name used to be Eidolon.”

He closes his eyes. “It wasn’t a name. It was a mask.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s a threat. Because someone remembered I wore it.”

My hand trembles.

“You think this is about control?” I ask. “That he wants to use you?”

“No. He wants to consume me. Take everything I’ve buried and make me wear it again. For him.”

His eyes open. “And you. You’re leverage.”

“Then let’s go. Tonight. Let's leave everything. I'll cut off contact with Celeste, with Alec. And you cut off contact with Lydia. Let's just disappear."

“No,” he says flatly.

I blink. “No?”

“I’m not done yet.”

There’s a quiet between us. A new one. Not absence. Not silence. A sharpness. The edge where devotion and damage bleed together.

He reaches up, curling two fingers around my wrist.

“I won’t lose you. But I won’t run.”

I stare at him, heart hammering.

“I didn’t ask you to fight my monsters,” I say.

“No. But I’ve already started.”

I lower my mouth to his, pressing a kiss into his skin that tastes like blood and iron and something darker I can’t name.

He doesn’t flinch.

He pulls me closer, laying me down beside him on the cot, and we stay there till he falls asleep.

Elias falls asleep just before the storm begins.

Not a thunderstorm, not rain. Something colder. Quieter.

I'm sitting beside the cot now, one knee bent, my hand still resting lightly against his wrist. His breathing has evened, but he twitches now and then—barely, but enough to tell me he isn’t fully gone. Even unconscious, Elias doesn’t let go.