Intercrossed

Chapter Six

The drive back to Gaston’s place is quiet, the kind of silence that presses against my temples and makes the hum of the tires feel louder than it should. He barely speaks, let alone acknowledges my presence, his profile rigid against the faint glow of the dashboard. For once, I appreciate the silence. My head is still spinning, Edge potion rattling in my veins, and I’m positive I’ll hurl at any moment. The night outside blurs into streaks of shadow and copper streetlight, each flash stabbing my eyes.

“Thank you.” His voice is low, almost swallowed by the engine.

I wave my hand, regretting the motion instantly. “Don’t mention it.”

“I’m sorry you have to go out with Phantom, but I appreciate what you did for me—for Vahlia. We both owe you big.”

I shake my head to say no, bile rising sharp and acidic. My throat burns.

“Are you okay?” He must have noticed my face turning green, the way my breath stutters.

After forcing a deep inhale, I finally speak. “I’m fine, Gaston, and you don’t owe me anything. I’m doing you a favor because I know what it’s like to be separated from the one you love without getting the chance to say goodbye. A friend of mine just went through that.”

He nods, eyes flicking toward me before returning to the road. “Does that mean you have someone back in California waiting for you?”

I stifle a laugh, though it comes out brittle. “No, not even close. I’m single.” My confession makes him grimace, as if the word itself carries weight.

“Do you have any special abilities?”

“You mean besides my incredible charm and my ability to chug Edge like a champ? No. I’m your average werecoyote. Unfortunately, I can’t make unicorns dance.”

A light chuckle escapes him, and for a moment the tension eases. I’m thankful Gaston isn’t judging me for my lack of paranormal gifts. Many werecreatures flaunt their abilities—telepathy, healing, lethal strikes that can incapacitate an opponent with a flick of thought. Royals fawn over the gifted, their courts dripping with admiration. The rest of us ungifted folk are seen as second-class citizens, shadows trailing behind the spectacle.

“You’re funny,” he says, though his tone carries a thread of sadness. “And I know you’ll meet the right mate someday. Just don’t set your hopes on Phantom. Royals have a way of luring us commoners in, making us feel worthy, but because they believe we’re beneath them, we end up with broken hearts.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles pale, eyes fixed on the road as if it’s the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

“Is that what Vahlia did to you?”

He shakes his head, and his face softens at the mention of her name. “Not exactly. Vahlia is the exception. She loves me regardless of what I am and would give up her family name if they’d let her.”

“It’s obvious you love her,” I tell him, voice steady despite the ache in my chest. “So why not just take her away from here and run off into the sunset? If you do it right, they’ll never find either of you. She may be a royal, but it’s not like she’s likely to rule. Phantom, Mr. I Am the Prince of All Princes, has made it clear he’s next in the line of succession.”

“If we did that, Vahlia would be a rogue. Besides me, she’d have no protection against the vultures who hunt royals for sport. And if her family ever caught us running again…” He sighs, the sound heavy, letting the rest of his words fade with a shudder. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t work out well. Phantom clarified that if I go near Vahlia, he’ll have me impaled, not to mention he’d make her life miserable if he ever catches her trying to go rogue again. I can deal with being punished, but I can’t bear the thought of Vahlia suffering if we were caught.”

“You should speak to Phantom. Arrogance aside, he’s not as bad as he seems.”

Gaston chortles, disbelief sharp in his laughter. “I see you’re under the infamous Phantom spell. Be careful, Maryelle. I’ve seen him break numerous hearts. He may like you, but his crown always comes first. Seeing you have no special abilities, I doubt King Canum would accept your presence in his son’s life. Phantom takes to that man’s word the way the religious take to their holy books. In layman’s terms: you’ll never come first.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not in the market for a boyfriend or a guy like Phantom. I agreed to go on a date with him to help you and Vahlia.”

The car slows, gravel crunching beneath the tires as Gaston pulls into the driveway of his rickety house. The place looks tired, wood warped from years of weather, porch light flickering like it’s on its last breath. He parks, engine cutting off with a cough.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Gaston says, turning toward me, his expression shadowed. “And I’ve also seen the way Phantom looks at you. Be careful,” he repeats, voice softer now, almost pleading. “I could not care less about other people’s love lives, but I need to say something because I’d hate to see you hurt. So please… guard your heart.”

The words hang between us, heavy as chains. I step out of the car, the night air cool against my overheated skin, and for a moment I wonder if guarding my heart is even possible when Phantom’s smile already feels like a weapon aimed straight at it.