Chapter 20: Be Brave
Vivian Grey’s POV
And yet I knew nothing about him. Not really. Not what set him off, not what made him dangerous, or what he saw when he looked at me like he wanted to devour the whole world just to keep me safe inside it.
And now he was taking me to get my blood drawn for "other things."
Yeah. I had a lot of questions.
"Hey Zaliver, can I ask you some questions?" I ventured, but he didn’t so much as glance at me.
Well. That was expected, but still mildly insulting.
We reached the garage just as I was trying to figure out how to phrase the next question. Zaliver grabbed the bottom handle of the steel door and yanked it up without warning. The thing flew upward and slammed into the ceiling with a jarring clang. I jumped, startled. He finally turned to look at me but I kept my eyes forward, too stunned by what stood in front of me.
There it was. A dark red Chevrolet Camaro with a sleek black racing stripe slicing through the middle like it owned the world.
My jaw nearly hit the ground.
My heart skipped a beat. No, several. I didn’t care what kind of strange energy was in the air, didn’t care what Zaliver’s silent mood meant. My entire focus was on that car. I needed to touch it. I needed to sit in it. Smell it. Drive it. Merge souls with it.
Slowly, like I was approaching a wild animal, I took careful steps forward, hand outstretched as reverently as if I were about to touch some sacred relic. My fingers grazed the hood, cool, smooth, and absolutely perfect, and I swear I got emotional. I might’ve even teared up a little as I ran my hand across the polished surface.
"I think you like the car," Zaliver’s voice broke through, low and amused. It dragged me back to reality like a hook behind the ribs. I flinched and pulled my hand back like I’d been caught stealing.
He was watching me with that usual unreadable expression, but I felt a strange tug deep inside me. Not mine exactly, but familiar. A flare of pride, maybe. His?
I decided to ignore the weird sensation stirring between us and focused instead on not making a fool of myself. "It’s beautiful," I said with a small shrug. "What’s not to like? So, we’re taking this one, right?" My tone was hopeful, borderline desperate, but I had no shame. This was the car.
He lifted the black key fob between two fingers and gave it a casual wave.
I couldn’t help it. I squealed. Out loud. Like a child on sugar.
Rushing over, I reached for the door handle. But of course, Zaliver got there first, materializing behind me like some shadowy phantom. His hand slid over mine on the handle, warm and firm.
"Allow me," he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to graze my ear.
My lungs forgot how to breathe for a second. I stepped aside quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed how my heart had tripped over itself. Figures. Just when I thought I could enjoy the car, he had to make it weirdly intense again.
I know something else he can open for us, my wolf muttered, sounding far too pleased with herself.
I choked on my own breath, coughing in surprise. What the hell? She was getting bold.
I climbed inside, thankful for the distraction. The leather interior was pristine, smelling like it had just rolled off the assembly line. I inhaled deeply. That intoxicating new car scent hit me, only slightly tinged with Zaliver’s natural musk. It was subtle, maybe he hadn’t driven it much, or maybe it was brand new.
He got in beside me, shut the door, and started the engine. The low, deep purr sent a thrill through me.
I glanced sideways. He wasn’t doing anything. Just sitting there, staring forward.
"What’s the hold-up?" I asked, curious. "Waiting for someone?"
He didn’t answer right away. Just adjusted the seat, pushing it back awkwardly. His long legs barely fit. He looked comically cramped, which was ironic given his usual aura of untouchable power. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"Seatbelt," he said instead.
I clicked mine on without argument.
"And what about you?" I raised an eyebrow at him. He hadn’t even reached for his.
His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "The island roads are safer than most. I don’t need one. But you," his gaze flickered toward me, brief but intense, "I want you wearing it."
"Hmph. Suit yourself. If you go flying through the windshield, I’m not catching you," I muttered, crossing my arms. But despite the grumble, I couldn’t shake the small flutter in my chest at the protectiveness in his tone.
We pulled out of the garage and onto a smooth road that wound through the island like it had been laid down with care rather than necessity. Trees lined either side, thick and green, their branches arching overhead to filter the light into something soft and dappled. People moved along the footpaths, some in pairs, some alone. They looked ordinary from a distance, the kind of ordinary that made you forget, just for a second, that you were on a hidden island in the Bermuda Triangle surrounded by wolves who bowed to a god.
I watched a small girl chase a dog across a stretch of grass and felt something loosen in my chest. Whatever this place was, people actually lived here. Not just survived it.
My mind drifted back to the question I’d been trying to form since breakfast. Which one did I lead with? There were too many. What exactly was he testing my blood for? Who were they, really, beyond a name? What happened to him in those blank years the gods had wiped clean? What did he actually want from me, underneath all the possession and the cold distance?
I still hadn’t decided when he broke the silence.
"Sure," he said, out of nowhere.
I blinked, turning to look at him from the corner of my eye. "What?"
He didn’t repeat himself. But I realized what he meant. He was answering my earlier question, the one he’d ignored completely when I’d asked it outside the garage.
I could ask him questions.
Finally.
I sat with that for a moment, watching the road ahead, feeling the weight of everything I’d been storing up since the night my mother woke me in the dark and told me to run. I had the answers within reach now. I just had to figure out which question I was brave enough to ask first.
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