Collecting Wives In The Apocalypse

Relax, I Won't Bite

The motel was only two blocks down, but it felt like a lifetime. The streets were littered with burnt cars, the sidewalks with bodies—some missing heads, some still twitching. Fires raged in nearby storefronts, smoke stinging their eyes.

When they reached the motel, its neon sign half-dead but still buzzing faintly: Silver Pines Inn.

Kael slowed, holding Clara back with an arm. The neon sign flickered above, buzzing weakly. Several doors down the hallway were ajar, the sounds from inside making Clara’s entire body go stiff.

Moans. Not zombie moans. Human moans.

Her breath caught in her throat. For a heartbeat, she thought she’d misheard. But no—the rhythm was unmistakable, raw and urgent, echoing faintly through the cracked doors.

Clara’s face burned crimson as her mind scrambled for sense. In the apocalypse, food was scarce, water harder still… yet here, behind half-broken motel doors, survivors clung to the one thing that reminded them they were human.

Kael’s lips curved, not into a smile, but something sharper—half amusement, half something darker. “Guess the end of the world really brings out the freaks,” he murmured low, voice brushing against her ear.

Clara flinched at the intimacy of his tone. She wanted to tell him not to say it, not to draw attention to the fact that she was hearing things she had no business hearing. But her throat refused to work, and all that came out was a nervous, “K-Kael…”

He glanced back at her, eyes gleaming faintly under the flickering light. His expression was unreadable, but Clara swore the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were entertained by her reaction.

Clara hissed, flustered. "They—they didn’t even bother to lock their doors!"

"They probably think there’s no tomorrow. Why not go out with a bang?" Kael smirked. "Pun intended."

She groaned, covering her face. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," he said, pulling her forward.

–––––––––––

The sounds grew clearer as they passed the first room—breathless whispers, a woman’s choked gasp, the heavy creak of a bed. Clara tore her gaze away from the open sliver of doorway, forcing her eyes on the ground. Her fingers curled into her sleeves so tightly she felt her nails dig crescents into her skin.

She wanted to disappear.

But Kael didn’t hurry. If anything, his steps slowed, deliberate, as if he was letting her take in every noise, every shadowy glimpse through those doors.

In the half-open doorway, a woman’s silhouette arched back, hair tumbling wildly, the man behind her gripping tight to her waist. Their shadows merged in rhythmic motion, throwing restless shapes against peeling wallpaper. Clara’s ears filled with the soft slap of skin, the breathless gasps, the murmured curses of relief.

“Don’t,” she hissed under her breath, trying to push him forward, her face hot enough to ignite.

“Don’t what?” His voice was calm, infuriatingly so.

“Don’t—don’t listen. Don’t look.”

Kael tilted his head slightly, that controlled, subtle smirk playing at his lips again. “You think I’m the one looking?”

Clara’s chest squeezed tight. She bit her tongue, too flustered to retort. She hadn’t looked—she hadn’t—but her imagination betrayed her, painting pictures from the sounds alone. She hated how her heart pounded, how her body seemed to react even when her mind screamed to shut it out.

They passed another door. A man’s voice this time, hushed and rough, coaxing. Then a muffled laugh, the kind that only came when survival wasn’t on your mind, when you let go. Clara’s steps faltered. For just a second, her eyes flicked sideways—only a crack, but it was enough to see shadows moving in the dim light of that room.

Heat surged to her ears. She stumbled and nearly tripped.

Kael caught her wrist before she could fall, pulling her flush against him.

The hallway shrank around them. Clara’s world tunneled to the feel of Kael’s steady hand around her arm, his chest solid against hers. His scent was sharp, edged with sweat and steel, but beneath it lingered something warm, grounding.

“Careful,” he murmured.

Her throat was dry. She wanted to tell him to let go, to put space between them, but the words died when she saw the way he was watching her—like he already knew every thought running through her head.

“I—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, pulling herself back, breaking his hold as if it burned. “We—we should just… get inside. Before…” She couldn’t finish.

Kael didn’t press. He turned and continued down the hallway, but slower now, as if daring her to catch up. Clara followed, every nerve on fire.

They reached the end of the hall. Their room was one of the few with a working door. Kael pushed it open, the hinges creaking, and gestured her inside.

Clara stepped past him quickly, eager to escape the sounds outside, though they still pressed faintly through the thin motel walls. The room was dim, lit only by the orange glow of the neon bleeding through the curtains. A single bed sat against the far wall. Just one.

Her stomach dropped.

Clara hesitated in the doorway. "This feels… wrong. Like we’re stealing someone’s place."

Kael tugged her in. "Clara, the world’s gone. You don’t steal in the apocalypse—you claim."

Kael shut the door behind them with a soft click. The noise from the hallway dulled, but it was still there, like a ghost breathing against the silence.

The silence was almost deafening compared to the chaos outside. For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of everything pressing in. Clara’s breathing was uneven, her hands twisting together nervously. Kael, meanwhile, leaned casually against the wall, watching her with that damned grin of his.

"So," he said finally, voice low. "Want to test your theory?"

Her blush returned with vengeance. "Y-you can’t just say it like that!"

"Why not? You’re the one who said kissing might not be enough."

"I didn’t mean—" She cut herself off, realizing she had.

Clara’s eyes stayed locked on the bed. Her heart thundered. She knew Kael noticed, because the silence between them thickened.

“You take it,” Kael said finally, his tone casual. He dropped his bag against the wall and shrugged off his jacket, his movements unhurried.

Clara blinked, caught off guard. She turned to protest—tell him she could sleep on the floor, that it wasn’t proper, that she’d be fine anywhere else—but the words tangled when she saw him tug his shirt over his head.

The dim light carved shadows across his torso—broad shoulders, lean muscle, scars scattered like unspoken stories. Clara snapped her gaze away instantly, heat flooding her face.

She wasn’t ready for this. Not the noises outside, not the sight of Kael like this, not the closeness of the single bed.

“Relax,” Kael said, as though reading her panic. His voice was softer now, less teasing. “I won’t bite.”

*****

Author’s Note:

Thank you so much for reading and being part of this journey!

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