"Where did you find this piece of junk?"

Cian's expression was a study of irritation as he pulled on the lever to move the driver's seat back. Jaw clenched tight, lips flat, and brows scrunched together over his nose. It would be almost comical if not for two things—I was still angry with him (and slightly fearful) after last night, and he was the one who insisted on driving this morning.

I looked around dramatically, then shrugged. "Appears to be a completely standard compact car to me. Late model too. Nothing to complain about."

I'd purchased a new pair of gloves from the gift shop—Cian hadn't stolen the shirt. I also bought knee-high socks, a turtleneck, and a sweatshirt so big it hung to my knees, meaning there was no risk of it riding up and touching a single thread of fabric on the passenger seat. I'd rather strip naked and throw myself into the motel bed before I relived the echo I'd encountered when I touched the handle on the car door yesterday. I hoped that boy had been picked up by a serial killer.

"Bria."

Smoothing back my hair, I tilted my head and glanced at my captor. And promptly burst into laughter. He had pushed the seat back as far as it would go, and he still had to bend his legs. It was like seeing an adult sit in a kindergartner's desk. There was no way he wouldn't cramp up like that.

"Yes?"

"I said your name four times before you answered." The blue of his eyes deepened when his eyes dipped to my neck. His attention remained focused there, like he could see bruises through the turtleneck. "Are you okay?"

I cupped my throat. "You healed me yesterday. Of course, I can't speak for any brain damage caused by lack of oxygen, but..."

It was a low blow, but my sharp tongue was the only weapon he left me with.

"You're a shrew," he grumbled, the flash of hurt not brief enough for me to miss it as he turned the key in the ignition. "I asked you if you knew where we were?"

"Hell if I know. I took so many random turns last night to throw people off our trail."

Cian turned out of the parking lot and resumed the direction I'd been going when I came upon the motel. "We may need to keep that up. I was an idiot for taking the most direct route yesterday."

"You think that's how they found us?"

"That's my best guess. Especially... Do you know any psychic witches?"

Snow dusted pine trees went by in a blur, and I banged my forehead against the cold glass. "There was one back at the safe house. Kay."

"Then it's probably guaranteed. Most psychic witches can track people they've met. They catalog your psychic signature and then search it out."

"Fuck," I hissed. Funny how yesterday I would've been overjoyed to know I could be so easily found, but after Tiffany's little show, I knew the Coalition's intentions were no better than the Andarians. "So, what's the point of this? They're going to find us again."

"No, you would've been hard to pin down last night. It's not like a homing beacon. The witch is basically reading tapping into your signature and they track based on intention and thought. If you didn't know where you were or where you were going, it would be confusing for them to find you. We have a little time—" He leaned forward to read a road sign. "And I think I know someone nearby that can help us out."

"Why don't you fly us there?" It would be faster.

"My body is designed to handle the atmosphere. In these temps, you would freeze to death, and while this might not be my home, I'm not stupid enough to risk outing supernaturals to humans."

"So you have better manners than Kohl." The answering growl from the man beside me rumbled so loudly I thought it was thundering, but the sky was bright and clear above us. "What the hell?"

"Kohl and Fynn are the worst of my kind. They have no desire to control the beast inside of them, and it's why the Andarie are afraid of us. Because too many are like them. He won't ever touch you again. I promise."

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to not make promises he couldn't keep, but a sudden way of fatigue stole the urge. Some of it was caused by the terrible night's sleep, but most of it was mental exhaustion. Since that day in the cottage, I hadn't had a moment's peace, and as much as I might wish to pretend otherwise, I needed rest. Lulled by the road noise, I drifted in and out of consciousness, flickers of recent events replaying in my mind and pulling me awake just before I could finally sink into a deep slumber. I could feel Cian's eyes latch onto me every time I jolted awake and blinked blearily before my heavy lids closed once more.

I don't know how long the pattern continued. It might never have ended, but Cian's large hand dipped beneath the high collar of my shirt and kneaded the skin at the base of my neck, finding tense muscles and soothing away the soreness.

"No touching," I mumbled, even as I leaned forward to give him better access.

He obliged, his strong fingers sliding deeper and finding tenderness I wasn't even aware of, and while his touch sent a thrill through me because I couldn't seem to control myself, my body's overwhelming response was one of gratitude. Not just because it felt good, but because it was so rare anyone touched me. If this could just go on forever...

"Bria, wake up. We're here."

Cian's voice was like static in my ear. Annoying static, and I burrowed against the seat and refused to open my eyes. Though, refused might not have been the best word because I wasn't certain I could open my eyes if I wanted to. Whatever magic he wove with his massage, I was here for it. I couldn't remember sleeping so deeply—ever.

Clicking sounded. A zip of a seatbelt moving back into its place, and then the pop of the door opening. Good. Maybe he was leaving me here to sleep in peace. It was the least he could do, since he planned on sacrificing me in two days.

My door opened, letting in a rush of cold air. Cian unbuckled my seatbelt and gently lifted me out of the car. Shock or exhaustion kept me from protesting, and I rested my head on his shoulder, surreptitiously inhaling his masculine scent. I barely jostled as he walked, his arms a steady cage around me, his fingers moving in a calming manner across my thighs. I was almost positive he didn't even know he was doing it, but I would not stop him.

What a conundrum this man was. Last night, I would never have thought such gentleness existed inside of him, even less so once he told me of his past, but today, he'd been nothing but kind. It almost made me hate him... Almost.

That was the last thought I had before waking in a dark, unfamiliar room. Tossing back the covers piled over me, I reached out with my senses, relaxing when I encountered not a single echo. It reminded me of Cian's condo, but as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I realized this place was too old to have no echoes. The bed frame was antique, and the walls were rough hewn panels that appeared to be the same color as the wide planked floor.

Rising, I made my way to the door and opened it slowly. The room I was in was at the end of a long corridor, and at the other end, a warm, golden light filled an open space. Voices drifted to me in whispers too low to be intelligible, but the rumbling timbre of Cian's voice was unmistakable.

For a moment, I considered retreating into the bedroom and searching for an escape route, but the Andarian had warned running again would not end well. It would probably be worse if I ran this time, considering I wasn't fleeing from a direct threat, and I had very little doubt that the man would find me and recapture me. Then again, I was a dead woman either way.

"Bria?"

"Fuck," I muttered as he appeared in the hallway, his towering form blocking out the light behind him, turning him into a foreboding outline. Resigned, I made my way to him. "Where are we?"

"I told you I knew someone nearby who could help."

He touched my lower back and guided me to the center of the room, stopping me in front of a petite woman of indeterminable age. I grinned warily at her, but it fell quickly when she gave me an answering smile of sharp, stained fangs.

"Quite a finding," the woman purred, gesturing at the open couch beside her. Cian pushed me down and kept a heavy hand on my thigh as we waited for her to speak again. "It's a pity you're going to kill her."

His fingers dug into my flesh. To keep me from running? "You said you could hide her."

She tapped her pointed chin with an even pointier blood red nail. "I can—or could, but I won't."

"Amaya," he snapped. "You know what will happen if I don't get her to the Synod. You want to go home as much as the rest of us."

"Us?" I finally said. "She's Andarian?"

Amaya giggled and clapped. Drawing tangled black hair over her thin shoulder, she said, "I am from Andarie, it's true. But I am not Andarian."

"I mean, I thought Andarian was just a general term for people—creatures—from there," I explained as I attempted to push Cian's hand from my leg. He only slid it up higher and gripped tighter.

"I suppose in that sense, then yes. But Andarie only exists because of me."

Cian snorted. "Modest as always. You had some help."

"Wait." I massaged my temples, a headache forming in spite of, or perhaps because of how much sleep I'd gotten. "I don't understand."

"Darling girl," Amaya said, tenting her fingers and leaning forward. "I created Andarie."