Carefully, he begins to loosen the cuirass’s laces. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel so I don’t give in to the urge to help him struggle out of it. It takes a while, but he finally manages to get the armor off and shoved to the back of the car. The effort takes its toll. His chest heaves as he leans back against the seat and closes his eyes.

Great. I can’t kick him out when he’s hurt this badly.

Well, he can stay in the car for all I care. Once we reach some type of civilization, I’m out of here.

“Turn the heat off?” he asks.

I’m already cold with the back windows blown out, and we’re both still soaking wet, but a deep frown creases Aren’s forehead.

I sigh and kill the heater.

“Your edarratae don’t look that bad,” I tell him as the last of the warm air vanishes. It’s only a half lie. The tech is obviously screwing with his lightning, but I’ve seen worse reactions.

“That’s because I’m not operating the vehicle.” There’s a soft squeak when he shifts in his seat. He frowns down at the floorboard.

Oh, no. Sosch.

“Is he okay?” I ask as Aren bends down to retrieve the kimki from my backpack. Sosch is alive, at least. He chirps when Aren holds him to his chest, but Aren doesn’t answer for a long time. Maybe Sosch would have been better off if I left him at the inn.

“You saved him,” Aren says.

His tone draws my gaze. The raw gratitude in his expression makes him seem all too human. That’s not good. It makes it hard to remember he’s a killer.

“I didn’t do it for you,” I snap, staring out the windshield again. Don’t they have road signs in this country? I haven’t seen a single one, and we’ve only passed one car. That was too close to where we started out, though, and I didn’t blink my lights or try to flag it down because I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a vigilante. Plus, I know more Fae words than I do German. Communication with the locals might not be so easy.

I glance at Aren, wondering just how badly the tech is affecting his magic.

“Can you fissure out?”

He hesitates before answering. “Yes.”

“Good. Do it.”

The way he looks at me causes a jolt of something to flutter through my stomach. Apprehension, I tell myself, because there’s regret in his eyes. He’s going to say something I don’t like.

“I still can’t let you go.”

Yep, there it is. I don’t like that at all. “You don’t have a choice. I’m driving, you’re the passenger, and I just saved your ass. Fissure out.”

He runs his hand over Sosch’s back, and a small smile tugs at his lip. “That doesn’t make us even.”

“I’m factoring in the fact that you kidnapped me.”

The bastard actually laughs. “Come on. It hasn’t been that bad an experience, has it?”

He’s got to be kidding. “I just got shot at.”

“I took care of you.”

Something clenches in my stomach again. I stare at the road so I don’t have to see the way he’s looking at me. There’s no desire inside of me. None. Zilch. Zero. And I am not thinking about what sex with the fae and their edarratae would be like. Hell, I haven’t had sex with a human. I probably couldn’t handle it with—

I shake my head and grip the steering wheel. Why the hell did I invite him into this car? He’s my kidnapper. I should be trying to kill him, not help him, but even now, I’m concerned about his injuries. That shoulder wound doesn’t look good, and even though he’s trying to hide it, I can tell he’s hurting. He needs a doctor or, rather, a fae healer.

Damn it. Why the hell do I care?

“Do you know where you’re going?” he asks.

“I’m following the road,” I answer tersely.

“Can the humans follow this car?”

I check the rearview mirror. “There’s no one behind us.”

“No,” he says. “With tech. Can they track us using tech?”

Oh. I study the panel of gauges behind the wheel. How can you tell if a car’s rigged with OnStar or something?

“There’s a second gate to the north of the inn,” Aren says. “Sosch can help us find it.”

He must not know exactly where it is. Without Sosch, we could walk right past it.

Wait. We? What the hell am I thinking? I need to ditch this fae. I’m about to insist he fissure out again when he pushes Sosch into the backseat, then takes off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” I swivel my eyes away from him and stare at the road, trying not to remember the way his body looked when his torso was covered in nothing but silver dust.

“Bleeding,” he responds. He tears the shirt down its center.

I give in to temptation and glance over when he tears the shirt again. He wraps the strips of cloth around his injured shoulder. His abs clench when he pulls the bandage tight. Damn.

I focus on driving. He’s not attractive. He can’t be, not when he’s covered in blood and bruises. And not all the blood is his, I remind myself. I don’t know how many humans he’s killed. That alone should make me want to get rid of him as soon as possible. The thing is, I’m comfortable with him sitting beside me. It’s insane, but he makes me feel almost as safe as Kyol always has.

I frown, thinking about that. Then suddenly, it all makes sense.

“Stockholm syndrome,” I whisper, my knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

Aren looks at me. “What?”

The Stockholm syndrome. It explains everything. I’m identifying with my kidnapper, forming some type of sick, emotional bond with him. That’s why I saved him and why I’m concerned about his well-being now. It’s probably the reason I’m feeling drawn to him. My mind magnifies every little kindness he shows me, making me believe he cares for me when he really doesn’t.

“You okay?” Aren asks.

“No,” I snap. “I’m not. I’m psychologically impaired.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“Fissure out.”

“McKenzie,” he says, sounding as if he’s disappointed in me.

“Now, damn it.” I swing my arm at him, hit his shoulder.

He grunts. “I can’t go anywhere while we’re moving.”

I slam on the brake, shove the gearshift into park, and then wait, but he doesn’t budge. He just sits there staring at me. “I’m not kidding, Aren. Fissure. Out.”

He sighs and I think he’s finally going to comply when he says, “I’m very sorry about this.”

“Sorry about wha—”

His hand darts out, grabs the keys, and pulls them from the ignition.

I lunge across the center console, reaching for them. I’m screwed if I don’t get them back, but Aren fends me off.

“I can’t let you go,” he says.

“Give me the fucking keys!” I make a second attempt to grab them. He holds them away and bats my hands down. I manage to catch his wrist, but my momentum and a small jerk from him causes me to half fall into his lap. A smile starts to appear on his lips, so I slam my fist into his injured shoulder.

“Nom Sidhe,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. When the keys fall to the floorboard, I reach between his legs to grab them. Before I straighten, he wraps an arm around my waist and then kicks open his door.