She dashed back into the building and handed the man the card. After paying for the room, she returned to the car, drove around the side of the building, and with Alaric’s arm slung over her shoulders, entered their room. The size was a bit cozier than she’d have preferred, with the bed taking up most of the open space.
Tension rippled across Alaric’s body. “Evelyn.”
Tuteno. He was going to be sick again. She directed him toward the tiny bathroom. Just as she lifted the lid to the toilet, he doubled over and threw up. The coloring looked every bit as ominous and disgusting as it had before.
Evelyn grabbed a plastic cup from the kitchenette—which was really just a counter against the wall with a coffeemaker and a microwave—filled it with water, and rushed back to Alaric.
He swiped his wrist across his mouth with a grimace, took the cup from her, and downed the water in one gulp.
She wet a hand towel and offered it to him. When he stared at her dully, not moving to take it, she knelt and cleaned his mouth and wrist. “All right,” she said, “how about let’s get you to bed?”
He set his back against the cabinets and glared at her. Obviously he didn’t like the idea of moving. Well, too bad for him.
Evelyn grabbed his hand and pulled on it. Alaric lumbered to his feet with a huff before collapsing onto the bed. She should probably go get food or medicine or something, but caring for a grumpy sick man was exhausting. She thought about tumbling into bed with Alaric, but with his large frame, the bed was a bit too cramped for her taste. She sank into an armchair and slumped, so her head was resting against the back.
What could have caused him to get sick so quickly and violently? She’d never seen an illness take hold of someone like that. Unless they’d been poisoned.
She straightened. He’d eaten that piece of bread from Torva. Could someone have poisoned that? One of the Scorpio, perhaps? How deadly was the poison? Could the Scorpio be here—on Earth? Had Alaric ingested enough of it to kill himself? Panic clenched her chest at the thought.
She rose and latched the door before returning to the armchair. Not that it’d do them any good if an assassin really wanted in. If there were assassins on Earth, would that mean they’d have to turn around and go back to Torva without seeing her mother? And if Alaric had been poisoned, what could she reasonably do to help him that wouldn’t involve a trip to the hospital?
Evelyn curled her legs to her chest and closed her eyes. She had to just be blowing the situation out of proportion. She’d take a nap, get Alaric medicine, and visit her mother.
End of story.
21
Choosing Love
The Next Day
Alaric had awoken periodically throughout the night to throw up. So much for sleep. And he seemed even grumpier than he had yesterday. After settling him back into bed and tossing the rest of the Torvan food she’d found in their packs, she decided it was time for a trip to the grocery store. The sooner she could find liquids to hydrate him and medicine to sedate him—and make him feel better, of course—the better.
Evelyn scooted her shopping cart along, pushing especially hard on the right side of the handlebars. The right wheel of the cart was crooked, and its path tended to veer toward the right unless she applied extra pressure. She passed tables overflowing with waxy green plants and frothy flowers. Columns of plump balloons floated above them.
Nothing—not even balloons and flowers—had the right to look that cheerful in the morning. Where was her coffee when she needed it?
She turned into an aisle. Plastic jars of pills and boxes of medicine lined the shelves. What would Alaric need? Would medicine designed for humans even work on a half-Torvan, half-dragon being? Well, guess she’d find out.
Evelyn tossed in a few bottles that said cold relief. She also grabbed something for nausea. As she left the pharmacy section, her gaze caught on the colorful boxes of hair dye. She slipped one into her cart, the color called almond cream. Being a redhead had been fun and all, but she was ready to go back to her dirty blond. Hopefully Alaric wouldn’t mind.
If he survived the poisoning.
The abrupt thought was enough to make her heart still in her chest, her breath freeze in her lungs. She forced herself to breathe, ignoring the panic looming in the recesses of her mind. Right now, she was doing all she could for Alaric. If his condition worsened, she could try and hire a doctor who would keep silent about Alaric’s wings, or return to Torva to get help. But she’d cross that bridge when she got to it.
After selecting a few more groceries, she scooted into line at cash register eight.
The cashier’s gum clacked in her mouth as she brushed the grocery items across the scanner. After she’d stuffed the last into a bag, she glanced up. “That’ll be forty-seven—” Her black-brown eyes widened, and her mouth plopped open, displaying the wad of blue gum.
Evelyn cleared her throat. “Is everything all right?”
The girl’s mouth snapped shut. “Is your name Evelyn?”
A chill passed over her skin. “Why do you ask?”
“There was some people in here yesterday looking for Evelyn. They had a picture. Looked just like you, but with dirty blond hair.” The girl’s eyes darted up to Evelyn’s roots, which had begun showing in the past month. “Guess you dyed it since.”
Evelyn stifled a flinch. Who could be looking for her? Her father? FBI? Scorpio? And how would whoever-it-was know to ask around in a grocery store in Woodlands?
“You in trouble or something?”
Evelyn swiped her card. “Or something. What did they look like?”
“They was pretty handsome. And tall.”
Tall. If they were tall, they might very well be Torvan, which meant the Scorpio. But how had they gotten a picture of her?
“They said you was running away from home with some man, and your dad was worried.”
A snort burst from her before she could smother it. Her father? Worried? It was obviously a guise for hunting her down. “Did they have a picture of the man?”
The girl’s smile widened. “Boy, did they. He was pretty nice looking, too. All that luscious black hair—and those gorgeous emeralds. I wish I were running away with a man like that.”
Evelyn gripped the handles of the plastic bags a bit harder than necessary and stuffed them into her cart. She was well aware that Alaric was handsome, and she didn’t need to hear about another girl ogling him. “Well, many thanks for your assistance.”
“You the girl they was looking for?”
“I’m afraid not. My name’s Teresa.”
“You sure? You talk just like they did.”
Evelyn caught her breath. “Very sure. Have a good day.”
She shoved her broken cart out of the grocery store before piling her bags into the car as quickly as she could. She shoved the cart in the general direction of the cart return, slipped into her car, and drove back to the motel.
It had to be the Scorpio. The Scorpio were hunting her and Alaric while they were vulnerable, far from their guards, Torva, and any viable help.
She parked the car before lining her arms with bags of groceries and walking into their room. A sour smell drenched the air, and while the bed sheets were rumpled, there was no sign of Alaric.
Evelyn dropped her arms, the groceries slipping to the floor. The box of hair dye tumbled out. Since the Scorpio were running around with old pictures of her, it was probably best she keep her hair red for the moment.
“Alaric?”
A moan sounded from the bathroom.
She peered around the corner. It appeared Alaric had gotten sick yet again. And he hadn’t quite made the toilet. Evelyn squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Tuteno.”
She slipped into the bathroom, careful to avoid the muck slicking the floor. Alaric himself was a complete mess. Her skull seemed to tighten as stress surged through her veins. Assassins and a sick Alaric. If only she had to deal with one situation or the other—not both at once.
&
nbsp; She knelt by him. “All right, Alaric. Let’s get you in the shower.”
Alaric didn’t move or respond.
“It’s just a few feet away.” She tugged at his arm.
The backpack on his back shifted—probably from his wings moving—and his bloodshot eyes flew open. “Don’t touch me.”
The underlying threat in his voice was enough to make her jerk her hand back. “I’m trying to help.”
“You’d be of most assistance if you left me alone.” He closed his eyes again.
He was sick. He wasn’t himself. He didn’t mean it. But no matter what she told herself, his words still caused a small pinch in her chest.
She straightened and planted her hands on her hips. “You’re dirty and disgusting, Alaric. You are getting in the shower. Now.”
He slitted his eyes. “I am king. You are not.”
And if he kept this up, she was going to spank his kingly behind. “Alaric.”
He closed his eyes again.
“Oh!” She stamped her foot, and the mess on the floor splattered. As his queen, she’d never anticipated having to deal with this. She hauled in several deep breaths and pretended she was in her Room, methodically straightening picture frames and dusting the end table, but the pulsing in her temples didn’t stop.
Once she’d given up on stress management techniques, she knelt by Alaric again, slung his arm around her shoulder, and walked him into the tiny shower amid his protests and grumbles. At least he was somewhat cooperating. As soon as she released him, he slumped to the shower floor.
His backpack shifted again, and he opened his eyes. “My backpack. I need it off.”
“If you say please.”
Alaric rolled his eyes—an expression she’d never seen him use before. “Please.”
“All right.”
She tugged the backpack off his wings, ignoring how the yellowish vomit on the backpack coated her fingers. She tossed it to the bathroom floor. It couldn’t get much dirtier anyway. Alaric splayed his right wing across the length of the bathroom, while his left wing remained folded, pinned between him and the shower wall.
Evelyn stood and turned the shower on, letting the hot water soak Alaric, clothes and all. “You clean yourself, and I’ll clean the floor.”
But Alaric didn’t seem to be listening; his eyes were closed and his head was tilted back. At least he seemed to be enjoying himself. It appeared that Alaric loved his cleanliness here just as much as he had in Torva.
Evelyn yanked the shower curtain shut and turned to stare at the floor. Just the sight of it caused her stomach to twist. She wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep, forgetting about this mess. About Alaric. About the assassins.
Instead, she pulled a few hand towels from the rack and used them to mop up the vomit before rinsing them and tossing them in the corner. She picked up the backpack, eyed the slop dribbling down the sides. She wanted to throw it away, but if Alaric were to roam around in public, he’d need it later. She rinsed it off in the sink, wrung it out as best she could, and set it on the counter to dry.
The air was thick with heat and steam, so much so that she could barely breathe. Evelyn swiped a hand across her damp forehead and turned. “Are you done, Alaric?”
A wet clump of clothes rested at the foot of the shower. Alaric’s clothes. She knelt and picked them up before setting them on the counter. At least they were clean.
A quick glance in the fogged mirror revealed she was not. She used the heel of her palm to clear the condensation and grimaced. Zinnia would have a heart palpitation. Vomit encrusted locks of her hair, slicked her hands, caked her clothes. If her mother could see her now, would she even want her?
Her mother…
An ache twisted around her chest as tears glossed her eyes. She lifted a hand to swipe them away, only to lower it again when she remembered how dirty it was. If she and Alaric were to survive, they’d have to go back to Torva. It was only a matter of time before the assassins found them here, and driving farther away from the portal to see her mother was out of the question.
Evelyn plunked onto the toilet seat and folded her knees to her chest, pressing her heart-shaped locket against her bosom. She’d always worn the locket a bit low, so it’d hover right over the ache that had been gnawing at her for the past twelve years, ever since she’d realized her father would never love her.
A memory assaulted her, its tug so strong she was powerless to resist.
She scrambled out from his room, his shout nipping at her heels. The door smashed open behind her, cracking against the wall.
Her father ran a hand through his red hair. “Who gave you permission to enter my room?”
She tripped over her own feet and fell to the floor. “But, Daddy—”
“Who?”
Her tears bubbled over, scalding her cheeks. “I’m s–s–sorry.”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry. You don’t ever enter my room without my permission. Ever.”
She squeezed her teddy to her chest, her heart beating so fast she feared it would burst. “B–But Kimberly said when she had a bad dream, you let her crawl in b–bed with you.”
“Kimberly. Is. My. Daughter.”
Even though, at the age of four, she’d been too young to realize what he was implying, she started crying harder, his words carving a hollow in her chest, a hollow that she’d never been able to fill. She’d tried, of course. With friends, boyfriends, then searching for her mother. But nothing ever worked, and one question always plagued her:
Why couldn’t her dad love her like he loved Kimberly?
She’d thought that maybe, just maybe, if she could find her mother, then that gnawing hollow in her chest would ease a bit. Maybe her mother wouldn’t gaze at her with thinly veiled disgust but with love. Maybe her mother would be the one who actually loved her.
Or maybe Mason had been right. Maybe her mother had left her for a reason.
Evelyn sniffed hard and used a wad of toilet paper to wipe her face. It didn’t matter. She and Alaric were returning to Torva, so it wasn’t like she’d be able to find out.
Unless she didn’t return to Torva. She glanced at the shower curtain, under which was one of Alaric’s wings. She couldn’t drive with Alaric, since he’d nearly thrown up his guts last time. He’d slow her down, and the assassins would probably find them.
But what if she left him? She could reserve the room for a few more nights, so he’d have somewhere to stay, and rent a different car and find her mother. Not only could she visit her mother; she could stay with her. She could be free of Alaric’s hold. Instead of being the Queen of Torva, she could be Evelyn. Just Evelyn.
But what about Alaric? Would the assassins eventually track him to the hotel room and kill him? Evelyn squeezed her legs against her chest. She hadn’t asked for him to capture and marry her, so it was only fair that she run away when the opportunity presented itself.
Yet even thinking of leaving Alaric felt wrong. Maybe Stockholm Syndrome had set in. Or maybe staying with him was the right thing. After all, he’d come here to help fulfill her dream. He would never have been in such a vulnerable position had he stayed in Torva.
If it meant protecting Alaric, she could give up her dream of finding her mother.
Evelyn closed her eyes, shutting out the steam-thickened air and the sound of the shower running, shutting everything out until she was back in her Room. As usual, her eyes were drawn to the picture—an imaginary snapshot capturing her and her mother’s image. The protective glass was still gone, from when the picture had fallen when Alaric had informed her that she was going to marry him regardless of what she wished. She’d hung it back up in hopes of finding a new route to accomplish her dream.
She plucked it off the wall, gripping the frame on either side. No matter how hard she examined her mother’s face it remained a blurry oval. If she stayed with Alaric, she’d never even know what her mother looked like. Evelyn squeezed the picture frame one more time, wanting to c
ling to the dream it represented until her last breath.
But sometimes the only way to keep one thing was to let another go.
A cardboard box appeared in her Room. She nudged it toward her with her foot and set her picture into it. She didn’t remove her eyes from the image until she folded the cardboard flaps. She stowed it underneath the end table, where Mason’s bouquet had previously been before she’d tossed it.
Evelyn plopped herself onto the floor, next to the cardboard box. She wasn’t going to destroy all hope for her dream, like she had with the mental memorabilia Mason had left behind, but she knew it was possible she might not have another opportunity to see her mother again.
Evelyn left her Room and found herself in the bathroom, seated on top of the toilet seat. She straightened, her heart feeling strangely raw. If Alaric was willing to give up his kingdom for her, she could do this for him.
Evelyn rinsed off her hands in the sink before parting the shower curtain, keeping her gaze toward the showerhead and away from Alaric’s naked body. She curled her fingers around the wet handle before turning the water off.
“All right, Alaric. I’m going to get you a towel. Think you can dry off on your own?”
She took his silence for assent, grabbed a towel from the rack, and tossed it over him, hoping the towel would cover… everything it needed to. She glanced down and breathed a sigh of relief. The top of the towel draped his waist and the bottom touched his knees.
But there was one problem: Alaric was asleep. His head was bent at an awkward angle, pressed against the back of the shower, and his lashes cast shallow shadows on his cheeks. For all the trouble he’d caused her, he was pretty cute. But how was she going to get him out of the shower?
She knelt down, her knees pressing against the white ledge of the shower. “Alaric?” She patted his shoulder.
He stirred before slumping against the shower wall once more.
“Alaric.” She swatted at his arm.
He crinkled his nose before his expression relaxed.
Captive and Crowned Page 25
