A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(62)

Abe took just one kiss from me, one that seemed to rob me of all the warmth I had left. Shadows and light can’t be close. So when he touches me, touches me as himself and not as the vision he projects—it hurts. It rips me open, cutting through my soul. If he wanted, he could whisper to take away the pain, but he didn’t this time. This time he let me writhe as his darkness fed on me.

And then he left me crying on the bedroom floor.

I’m incredibly weak when I pull into the lot of the Sunset Motel. Harlin’s motorcycle is parked in front of his room—room 126. With considerable effort, I turn off the car, nearly dropping the keys as I climb out. I stumble to his door and put my hand against it, fingers spread to rest for a second.

I knock softly.

When the door opens, Harlin is there in just his boxers, his hair messy from sleep. He looks stunned to see me.

“Elise, what’s wrong?” He brings me in quickly, locking the door behind us. His room isn’t nearly as neat as it was the first time I came to his motel. Pages from his sketch pad are scattered on the bed, crumples of paper on the floor.

Although my teeth chatter, warmth is slowly returning, the light never truly abandoning me. Even now it pulses under my skin with energy.

Harlin watches, filled with concern, and I remember everything about us. How he cried for me on the bridge, how he kissed me just yesterday. Harlin found me. Harlin will always find me.

There’s too much between us, secrets and lies, but beyond that is unconditional love and the belief that we’re meant only for each other. No matter how short that time is.

I step forward and wrap my arms around Harlin, resting my head against his chest. He staggers a step at first, but then he hugs me back tightly, like he’ll never let me go again.

“I remember,” I whisper into his skin. “I remember everything.”

Harlin lays his cheek on the top of my head, but doesn’t respond. Instead he holds me close, strong and protective. I close my eyes, sad about what I have to say next.

“I saw Lucy,” I tell him.

There’s a long silence. “And?” he asks.

“She’s a Shadow.” I choke on the words. Despite what Lucy has become, she’s still my sister. Only now she’s left to rot, having been convinced to turn her back on hope. “Abe turned her,” I say. “And then he came for me. He kissed me.”

Harlin’s entire body tenses, his muscles rigid. “I’m going to kick his ass for touching you,” he growls. “And for wrecking my bike.”

“I’m glad I came first in that sentence.”

“Baby, you always come first. And I don’t care what Abe is—I’m going to kill him.”

“You could never kill anything,” I say.

“Oh, I’ll make an exception just this once.”

Harlin’s homicidal urges slowly start to fade, and he gets me a cup of water and has me sip from it, noting that the color is returning to my skin. We sit on the bed, quiet until there’s a sharp knock at the adjoining door. The clock reads four a.m.

“I can’t even begin to handle Monroe Swift right now,” Harlin says, rubbing his face. “But I’m guessing you’re here to talk to him too.”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Harlin stands, shooting me a helpless glance before opening the door.

Monroe is there, buttoning his blue collared shirt. “Thank you,” he says, not looking up. “Now, I know it’s early, but I thought I should—” He lifts his head and stops when he sees me sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Monroe Swift has taken care of me—Charlotte—since I was seven years old. A family friend, a father figure, a Seer—he’s known me longer and better than anyone. Monroe is not just family, not just friend. He remembers me. And other than Harlin, he’s the only person who knows Charlotte ever existed.

“She remembers,” Harlin says before going to lean against the dresser. “She remembers everything, which I’m sure includes how obnoxious you can be.”

“Ah, well, that’s good,” Monroe says. “That way we can skip the formalities.” He eases down next to me on the bed and exhales heavily. Harlin and I exchange worried looks.

“How are you, sweetheart?” Monroe asks me once he’s settled. I reach out impulsively and hug him, feeling how frail he’s become. The idea of Monroe dying terrifies me, as if I’ll somehow be alone without him. We stay like that for a long minute before he straightens, looking embarrassed that I’d fuss over him.

“It’s fascinating, really,” he says, running his gaze over me. “That you’re a different person and yet still so lovely.”

I close my eyes against the tears welling up. “I need your help, Monroe,” I tell him. “I have two Shadows after me, one who wants to kill me, another who wants to keep me. And I want to get rid of them both.” Monroe looks as if he’s about to argue, but I hold up my hand to stop him. “I know you hate Onika, but you didn’t always. I saw that. I had an idea earlier—that maybe if you could remember what it was like to love her, you can see how to stop her.”

His expression tightens. “What do you suggest?”

And it starts, as if my body knew what to do before I even thought it all through. My fingers tingle, my skin vibrating all over. I give in to the Need, and let it pull me into Monroe’s past.