Page 16 of Kingdom of Chaos (Creatures of Chaos #2)

Eleven

We take turns driving, and switch seats often, which is how I end up sandwiched between Imogen and Talon in the middle of the night. Titus is behind the wheel, and he puts on soft music that has Ensley tipping her head against the window and falling asleep within minutes.

A light drizzle taps against the roof; the steady swoosh of the windshield wipers adds to the lull.

The combination makes my eyelids heavy, but I force them open, refusing to give in to sleep.

Even though I have zero desire to snuggle up to either of my seatmates—for very different reasons—my head still bobs with exhaustion.

“It’s okay if you want to sleep.” Talon’s voice is low, his lips close enough to my ear that I feel his breath brush the shell, sending a shiver down my spine. “I don’t mind if you want to use me as a pillow.”

In my sleep-deprived state, the offer sounds far more tempting than it should. My body sways toward him before I catch myself and lean deliberately in the opposite direction, making my thoughts on that suggestion crystal clear.

I bump into Imogen, who immediately elbows me in the ribs and snaps at me to give her some space, even though she’s hogging more than her fair share of it.

Shooting her a sour look she doesn’t even see, since her head is already buried in her makeshift coat pillow, I scoot back toward Talon, leaving the tiniest sliver of space between us.

Talon chuckles and I glare at him, silently hoping he can’t see me blushing in the dim light. But as if he can read my mind, his gaze drops to my cheeks, then lifts back to my eyes with a smug look.

It’s then I remember he has perfect night vision. I learned that during the first Chaos trial when he found, and basically rescued me, in the cavern tunnels.

What kind of creature are you? I wonder.

I’m no longer sure Talon’s a vampire, not after considering all the powers he may have gotten through Shadow Striker.

His ability to manipulate shadows might’ve come from one of the other Arcane Society members rather than being his own.

Honestly, any of the powers I saw him use during Chaos could have come from someone else.

So I’m just as clueless to what creature he is now as I was the day I met him.

What if, after all this time, it turns out he’s a snake shifter?

Ew.

“What’s that look for?” Talon asks.

I realize I’ve pulled my upper lip into a disgusted snarl. Quickly smoothing my expression, I shove the thought of snake shifters from my mind. “Nothing,” I mumble.

Talon falls silent, and within five minutes I’m fighting a losing battle to stay awake, and nodding off again. Between the steady movement of the car, the soft rain, the swish-swish of the windshield wipers, and the mellow instrumental music playing through the speakers, it’s too much.

If I stay quiet, I’m done for. I don’t sleep well sitting upright, and if I drift off I’ll definitely end up slumped against Talon—or worse, Imogen—whether I intend to or not.

Talon is staring out the window when I say, “How does Shadow Striker tie into the Society’s mission?”

I keep my voice low, but loud enough for him to hear.

Talon glances over, one brow raised. “What made you ask that?”

“I’ve been wondering for a while. But honestly? I just need to talk or I’m going to fall asleep.”

He smirks. “Told you you’re welcome to.”

“Yeah, not happening. So, about Shadow Striker . . . ?”

I can see the indecision in his eyes. Keeping Society secrets is a reflex for him, but what’s the harm in talking openly now? The worst has already happened to him.

Because of you , a voice whispers deep inside, and guilt settles heavy in my gut like a brick.

“You already know that Shadow Striker remained in our world to keep the human world safe,” Talon says, and I nod, even as I try to bury the guilt over Talon being cut off from not only the Arcane Society but his family as well.

“Well, part of keeping the dagger safe was making sure it was bonded to one of our members at all times, so it couldn’t bond to someone else.

Over the centuries, champions were chosen through the activation trials.

When one Society member passed away, another would rise up to bear the burden of keeping the dagger safe.

After Shadow Striker bonded with a new wielder, each of the members of the Society was pricked with the blade, giving the wielder the powers they needed to protect the dangerous relic. ”

“So Shadow Striker does only duplicate powers rather than steal them.” I suppose it doesn’t matter now either way, but it was certainly heavy on my mind during Chaos.

Honestly, I hope I never lay eyes on Shadow Striker again. I know it’s selfish of me to only be going to the human world to get Becks and bring him back, but Kerrim and the cursed weapon are too much for me, or our ragtag group, to handle.

“ Only when it’s given willingly. Otherwise, it does strip the creature of its power,” Talon answers gravely.

That gives me pause. A forgotten thought tickles the back of my mind, urging me to remember, but I’m too exhausted. When I reach for the memory, it slips away like mist. All that’s left behind is a gnawing sense of unease that makes my stomach churn.

“Up until his death last year, my great uncle Faust was Shadow Striker’s wielder. I competed against the other members of the Society in an activation trial and won. I’d only been bonded with the dagger less than a year before it was stolen and this whole nightmare began.”

Talon’s looking at me but he’s not actually seeing me, his gaze glassy, like he’s reliving a past memory.

He frowns, and the urge to comfort him hits me hard. I ball my hands in my lap to stop myself from reaching out to smooth the tension from his brow, to trace the rigid line of his jaw, to press my fingers into the knots in his shoulders until the weight he’s carrying melts away.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice small.

Talon gives a slight shake of his head, like he’s pulling himself back to the moment. “For what?”

I lift one shoulder in a half shrug. “My life isn’t the only one that’s been flipped upside down these past few months.

It’s easy for me to forget that.” I fidget with the hem of my shirt.

“I guess I’m just sorry I’ve been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I haven’t stopped to consider your point of view. ”

I glance away, the memory of my parents flashing through my mind. Even with all the changes, I still have my family. I’d texted my mom that morning to let her know we’d arrived safely. She’d replied with a simple I love you , and a reminder that she and my dad were proud of me.

When I look up, Talon’s gaze has softened, and it does something to my pulse, making it stutter, then race.

“You don’t need to be sorry for me, Locklyn,” he says, voice quiet as he leans a little closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him. “I was born into this life. Trained for it practically since birth. I’m made of pretty tough stuff.”

The way he says it isn’t boastful, it’s matter of fact.

Like he’s accepted that being unbreakable is the only way he’s allowed to exist. That kind of quiet resilience should make him feel untouchable, but instead it makes me want to reach for him.

To be the one person who sees the cracks beneath the armor.

I can’t keep looking at him. Not with all these soft, tangled feelings rising inside me. I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid, like lean in closer or let my hand find his in the dark. So I turn away, and without our conversation to distract me, it doesn’t take long before sleep pulls me under.

I come to slowly, realizing I’m resting on something kind of soft, yet also kind of hard, but definitely warm.

My body is horizontal, and there’s a bit of a crick in my neck, like my pillow is just a little too high.

I’m swaying gently, the motion making me want to burrow deeper into my bed and drift back to sleep, so I don’t bother opening my eyes. Not yet.

I’m on the brink of consciousness when a whisper of a touch ghosts through my hair. Featherlight, but still enough for me to feel the tiny pinpricks on my scalp, as if someone is running their fingers through it. It doesn’t hurt. In fact, it feels . . . nice.

I nuzzle into my hard-soft pillow, relishing that delicious in-between where I’m not fully asleep but not fully awake either.

Suddenly, my body rocks forward and someone says, “Pit stop,” loudly.

“Finally,” comes Imogen’s voice, startling me fully awake.

My eyes pop open and I find myself sprawled across the bench seat. And my head isn’t on a pillow, it’s on?—

I jolt upright, scrambling away from Talon’s lap just as everyone else piles out of the Valkyrie. At some point in the night, Imogen must have climbed into the cargo area in the back, giving me more room to stretch out. And apparently use Talon’s lap as a lumpy pillow.

Kill me now .

My gaze snags on Talon’s arm resting on the seatback behind me, nowhere near where my head had been cradled in his lap.

Has it always been there, or did he move it when I woke up? Did I only imagine someone running their fingers through my hair?

I can’t decide which would be worse.

“Were you just touching my hair?” I ask, needing to know.

The look he gives me is maddeningly unreadable. Not smug or guilty. Not fake-innocent either. Just . . . blank.

He lifts one brow. “Is that what you were dreaming about?”

Heat prickles at the back of my neck. “Answer the question.”

He leans in just slightly, voice low and teasing. “Would it bother you if I said yes?” he asks, his gaze turning curious and making butterflies flutter low in my gut.

I open my mouth, then close it. Heat crawls up my neck. “I—ah . . .”

How am I supposed to answer that?

By saying, “Yes,” and telling him not to touch me again. But for some reason I can’t force those words out.