Ride For Me, Die For Me.

Chapter 33: Shadows In The Blood

Waiya barely spoke for the rest of the walk back to the house. Her jaw was clenched tight, and Justin kept glancing at her, wanting to reach for her hand, to say something, anything—but the moment felt too fragile, like one wrong word would shatter it.

Back at Granny’s, the porch light flickered once, then stayed on.

Granny was already outside, arms folded across her chest, eyes burning with something that wasn’t entirely concern.

“I felt it,” she said before either of them spoke. “Whatever y’all touched out there? It screamed.”

Inside, the house was humming with quiet. Lily and Nyla were in the kitchen, pausing mid-chop. Waiya’s mother stood behind them, arms crossed, an unreadable look on her face.

Waiya dropped into a chair. Justin stayed on his feet, his shoulders still tight.

“It was him,” Waiya said. “Donquavious. Or… what’s left of him.”

Nyla’s knife hit the cutting board too hard. Lily muttered a curse under her breath.

“He tried to bait us,” Justin added. “Said he’s been feeding off what he left behind in her.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Waiya, who stared into the floorboards like they could give her answers.

“That scar,” Granny muttered, her voice low and knowing. “It’s still drinking from you, child. And now it knows we’re getting close to burning it out.”

Waiya’s mother stepped forward, but Waiya stiffened.

“Don’t,” she said quietly.

The air between them grew heavy.

Her mother opened her mouth, then shut it. Instead, she looked to Granny. “How much time do they have?”

Granny didn’t answer right away. She walked to Waiya, lifted her chin gently, studied her eyes like reading flames.

“A few more days. Maybe. That thing is growing bolder by the minute.”

Justin stepped in. “Then train us harder.”

“You sure about that, boy?” Granny turned toward him, eyes sharp. “The body ain’t the only thing that breaks.”

“I don’t care,” Waiya said, standing. “We’re ready.”

—

The next few days blurred into pain, sweat, and silence.

Granny put them through everything.

Physical drills at dawn. Mental exercises by firelight. Memory work. Shadow walking. Channeling pain into focus. Reading each other’s breath, steps, fears.

They trained blindfolded in the woods, backs pressed together, tracking threats in the dark by the sound of rustling leaves and the vibration of the ground.

One morning, while practicing a vision-link under heat, Waiya collapsed mid-focus. Justin caught her before she hit the ground, hands warm against her face. He held her too long. Neither of them said a word about it after, but the way they kept glancing at each other told more than either of them could admit.

—

One night, after another brutal session, they collapsed on the floor of the living room, breathing hard.

Justin looked over at her. “You ever gonna talk to me again, or are we just ghosting each other in the same room now?”

Waiya didn’t answer right away. Her chest rose and fell, sweat still cooling on her skin.

“You didn’t see what I saw,” she said finally. “That thing… it didn’t just come for me. It knew me.”

Justin shifted closer. “That’s why we’re doing this. Together.”

She looked at him, finally. Really looked. The frustration, the exhaustion, the fear — it was all there in her eyes. But so was something else: fire. Desire. Raw, unspoken longing.

“I hate feeling weak,” she whispered.

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re changing. There’s a difference.”

She hesitated. “What if I can’t keep up?”

Justin leaned in, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. “Then I’ll slow down. Or I’ll carry you.”

She swallowed hard, eyes flickering to his mouth.

“You always know the right thing to say,” she murmured.

“That’s ‘cause I mean it.”

And just like that, the space between them disappeared.

His lips found hers, slow at first, reverent. But it deepened quickly, like it had been waiting—burning—beneath the surface of every moment they spent together. Her fingers tangled in his shirt. His hand slid around her waist, careful of her scar. He kissed her like he was tracing every broken piece of her he wanted to make whole.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Waiya rested her forehead against his.

“We still have to find it,” she said softly. “That thing. We’re running out of time.”

“I know,” he said. “But tonight… just for a second… we take this breath. For us.”

She nodded, and for the first time in days, her heartbeat slowed.

But the peace didn’t last.

—

The next morning, training was merciless.

Granny had them up before the sun, dragging their aching bodies to the edge of the woods. “If you gon’ track what hunts you, you better learn to think like it,” she barked.

They sprinted through fog-soaked trees, took turns pushing each other through silent obstacle courses, and were forced to face illusions pulled from their worst fears. Mental training bled into physical drills, and neither gave space to breathe.

By midday, Waiya was done pretending.

“I’m trying,” she snapped, flinging a wooden practice knife into a tree with more force than form. “But it feels like we’re chasing shadows while it’s out there feeding on me.”

Justin raised a brow. “You think I’m not trying too?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you sure looked at me like I’m the reason you ain’t getting stronger fast enough.”

She turned on him, eyes sharp. “I don’t need a babysitter. Or someone telling me when to breathe.”

“I’m not trying to control you, Waiya.” His voice dropped, but the weight behind it was heavy. “I’m trying to help you survive.”

Her jaw clenched. “Sometimes it feels like you don’t think I can do this without you.”

“That’s not what this is about—”

“Isn’t it?” she cut in, voice rising. “You’ve been through this before. You’ve seen things. You’re always ten steps ahead, and I’m just trying to keep up—again.”

Justin stepped closer, frustration tightening his stance. “You think I want to be ahead? I’d trade every scar on me if it meant you didn’t have to go through any of this. But we are in this together. So stop pushing me away every time it gets hard.”

Silence wrapped around them like smoke.

Granny didn’t interrupt. Neither did the others. The woods themselves felt like they were holding their breath.

Waiya turned away, throat tight. “You don’t understand,” she murmured.

“Then make me,” Justin said. “Don’t just shut down.”

She didn’t respond.

Instead, she walked off into the trees, needing distance. Needing to breathe without feeling like every inhale was being watched, measured, guided.

Justin let her go—but not far.

—

That night, they didn’t sleep.

Not because of the argument, but because the wind had shifted.

Something had moved out there—something dark and familiar.

Granny called everyone inside the circle. Salt, iron, firelight. Everyone tense. Everyone watching.

“I felt it too,” Waiya whispered to Justin, who stood beside her with his hand twitching near his belt knife. “It was close.”

“Closer than it’s ever been.”

“And bold,” she added. “Like it wanted us to know.”

He looked at her, some of the earlier tension between them softening.

“I hate fighting with you,” he said low.

“I hate needing you,” she said back, equally quiet.

His lips twisted into something between a smirk and a wound. “Too late for that.”

They didn’t say anything else. Just stood in the circle, shoulders brushing, waiting for dawn.

But in the silence, something unspoken passed between them—a deeper understanding, born not from agreement, but from friction. Fire didn’t grow without tension. And neither would they.