Wicked Chase

❖ Chapter Nine

"I think I'll take a shower and head to bed. I'm tired," I said, exhaustion seeping into my voice as I spoke. I looked at Alastair with a small smile playing on my lips but by his usual serious expression I could see that he wasn't buying the smile. He could see how it was fake and he knew that I only smiled because I was having a moment of weakness and I didn't want to show it even though I knew he knew I was vulnerable at that moment.

His grey eyes softened, sympathy and understanding swimming in the swirl of grey. "Okay," he said before he detached the duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder from him and settled it on the bed. "You could use some of my clothes that I had kept at the back of my Jeep in case of an emergency," he offered bringing out a white, thin t-shirt and a pair of chequered boxers and looked at me with a little bit of hesitance. It was clear that he hadn't prepared for this moment and if I didn't know him as much as I knew him now then I would say that he wasn't the least bit embarrassed when he handed me the t-shirt and his boxers. I didn't miss the way his silvery gaze wasn't on me when he handed me the clothing and if I wasn't wrong I thought I saw the colour of pink creep up his neck.

I smiled then, as genuine as a smile could get at a time like this, as I took the clothes from his hands, muttering a soft, "thank you," after our hands had brushed against each other which made my heart feel a little lighter. I quickly turned away from him and rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me before I stripped down, eager to shower, and stepped into the shower after I had turned on the tap and adjusted the temperature.

I soaked myself in the warm water that poured from the shower tap, letting the warm water drown away the soreness in my body. Out of nowhere it hit me; my mother was dead. I had known this since the end of the phone call earlier today and tears had escaped my eyes since then but this time, as I stood in under the hot shower and thought about the recent events, it was like I was finally acknowledging it, understanding it.

My mother was gone.

My mother was dead.

So I did the only thing that I could do, standing in the shower and hoping that the rapid beat of the fast droplets against the tiles of the shower would drown away the sobs that wracked my body. I cried and cried until I could cry no more, until the tears had all run out and the warm water that slithered down my body couldn't calm me any longer. My body still shook, dry cries emitted from my mouth. The tears had all run out but my body hadn't stopped shaking and my chest hadn't stopped aching. The heavy weight on my chest only grew heavier by the second and made the aching feeling that seared across my body all the more worse.

Crying was for the weak and vulnerable. I was neither weak nor vulnerable was what I always told myself. But I decided that I deserved this moment of weakness and so I had cried with all my might before I retired to bed that night, casting a swift glance at Alastair who had already passed out on his bed. 

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It was dark. All I was able to see was black and I instantly shivered when I looked about, my eyes casting everywhere and trying to figure out where I was, why I was here and if there were any escape routes available. It was to no avail, as it had always been in my nightmares, but I still kept twisting and turning, looking up and down, glancing here and there.

The air shook with power and dominance and a chill passed down my spine at the mere thought of what lay behind all that blankness that shrouded me.

"Princess," I heard a voice call out to me, the silvery voice hitting an instantly familiarity in my mind, and I swiftly turned my head to the source of the voice, my eyes seeking those familiar grey eyes. When my eyes landed on the man my breath instantly caught in my throat. His slightly dark skin looked even more haunting and alluring in all this darkness and even though I couldn't see a single thing but black, I seemed to be seeing his entire being in perfect light. His grey eyes were stormy, urgent and his silvery gaze beckoned me forward, his arm reaching out to emphasise the cryptic meaning in his eyes.