Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire, #1)(66)

“I know, Evie and trust me, I get it. It’s just going to take time for me to adjust.”

“Time, I have.” I kissed his cheek softly, knowing that despite his best intentions, it wasn’t going to be easy for him.

As soon as we’d finished packing, we walked to the bus depot as fast as we could without drawing attention to ourselves. I pulled my hoodie low over my face and avoided all cameras. Over the next few weeks, we traveled by bus, train, and taxi, staying no more than a few days in any one location, until we were halfway across the country.

While we traveled, he repeated his promise to stay with me again and again, trying to assure me that we could have a normal life. Each day he had a different plan for our future—a different city we would live in, a different life we’d lead.

We talked about going overseas, but I didn’t have a passport and severing his ties with the Rain meant Clay didn’t have access to the connections he needed to get me one—at least for the short term. Not to mention the high incidence of security cameras at airports. The Rain was certain to be on high alert for Clay and possibly even me by now. Their reach was significant, and there was no way we could leave the country unnoticed. We were better off trying to hide under their noses than fleeing—at least for the moment.

After what seemed like an eternity on the road, Clay managed to convince me that Detroit would be a good place to stop for a while, even though we both understood how dangerous it would be. We just hoped that between the decades of urban decay and the sprawling cityscapes the city was big enough for us to hide. Even if the Rain found out that we were in Detroit, finding our house among the thousands of abandoned properties would be next to impossible—or at least that’s what we hoped.

Clay’s greatest desire was that we could settle down and live together like a regular couple. I just prayed for cover away from invading eyes. I told him that I didn’t think normal existed for me.

“I don’t want normal,” he said in reply. “I just want you.”

Although I would have been happy to squat in one of the abandoned apartment buildings, Clay wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted to give me every luxury he could—even if that just meant electricity and running water for the moment. His idea was for us to have a regular domestic life, even if it only lasted a few months.

I reminded him that life with me could never be truly regular.

He found an apartment he thought would be suitable and was as excited as a puppy as he led me through a rabbit warren of hallways to show me. He’d already paid two months’ rent in cash and was determined to make it work for at least that long.

Ignoring the bloodstains on the carpet along the hallway and the rising damp on the walls, a bubble of excitement built in me that easily matched his contagious enthusiasm. A hope that we could actually make it work built inside me too. Maybe it wasn’t an entirely stupid idea; maybe, if I was willing to live in the slums, we could actually hide away with each other long enough to have an almost normal life.

The neighborhood wasn’t great—most of the apartments around us were abandoned and the ones that weren’t were filled with less than desirable neighbors. In some ways, that worked in our favor. No one was going to ask questions, because no one wanted to have to answer them. I even doubted that most of our neighbors would dare go to the police—they were probably almost as wanted as I was. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the plan. It certainly wasn’t the worst place I’d stayed.




I AWOKE with a whimper on my lips as dreams of the day I’d lost Dad haunted my night. Almost instantly, Clay was tucked around me whispering against the back of my neck, reassuring me that it would be okay. I twisted around to him and nuzzled into his chest as I fought back the unwanted tears that had sprung to my eyes.

He stroked my hair for a few moments until all of the remnants of the nightmare had passed. Then he reached behind his neck before shifting his position.

“I want you to have this.” Clay fastened the gold chain he’d always worn around his neck around mine. “I want to make new promises with it . . . for us and our life together.”

The thick gold chain had a thin, circular pendant with an intricately carved dove engraved on one side and Clay’s name on the other. I touched my fingers to the rough surface. “I can’t take this, it’s a family heirloom.”

“Consider it a good luck charm to chase the nightmares away.”

“It’s your good luck charm though.”

He brushed his fingers through my hair. “I’ve got everything I want right here; I don’t need any more good luck.”

I couldn’t remind him that we’d built our “everything” on precarious foundations that could crumble at any moment. It was too cruel to mention. For three weeks, we’d managed to live normally in the small apartment he’d found, but we were constantly on alert for anything that was out of the ordinary. It wouldn’t take much for our pasts to come crashing into our lives again.

Instead of ruining the perfect moment though, I leaned into his touch and continued to trace the lines of the scars on his chest.

“What about this one?” I asked, running my fingers along a series of three-inch-long cuts near his left shoulder. It was a new habit of mine, asking about one of his scars each time we were in bed together.

His eyes dropped to watch my fingers trace the marks. “Harpy. I was fifteen.”