Chapter 29 ROAD TRIP AND RULES
Morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains. Serra reached across the mattress but couldn't find Dorian.
His pillow was still warm, his scent—cedarwood, ozone, and musk—clinging to the sheets. Serra stretched, sitting up. The aches in her body had faded, but the memory of last night’s desperate heat felt like a fresh brand on her skin. Every movement reminded her of how he had claimed her not as an asset, but as a woman.
No sound of water from the bathroom. She slid out of bed, wrapping a silk robe around her body, and headed toward the dressing room.
Dorian was there. But the sight made Serra pause.
He wasn't in his usual razor-sharp Italian suits. He wasn't wearing the armor of the Alpha. Instead, he wore tight black jeans low on his hips and a grey t-shirt clinging to his torso, highlighting every muscle. It was a civilian look. A bad boy look.
He stood before the mirror, frowning as he tried to fix his hair without gel, but a rebellious lock kept falling onto his forehead, softening his harsh features.
"You look like you're going to a rock concert, not a war zone," Serra said, leaning against the doorframe.
Dorian’s eyes snapped to hers in the reflection. That crooked, boyish half-smile he hid from the Council spread across his face. "Good morning, trouble. Don't you like it? I'm bored of palace protocol. Ties feel like chokers today. Besides, wearing battle armor to your old ruin would be overkill, don't you think?"
"That 'old ruin' was my home," Serra said, walking over. She reached up and fixed that stubborn lock of hair, fingers lingering on his temple. "And yes, I like it. It’s different. At least your ass looks good in denim."
Dorian laughed, a low rumble in his chest. He grabbed her waist, spinning her around and pulling her flush against him. "Careful, Luna. If you keep staring at my ass like that, we won't leave this room until sunset. Valeria would kick down the door."
He leaned in to kiss her, but she pressed a finger to his lips. "Priorities, Alpha. How is Kael?"
Dorian’s playful expression sobered. "Awake. Valeria reported this morning. He's already barking orders at nurses, complaining about hospital food. He wants a horse. Classic Kael. Too stubborn to die."
Serra exhaled in relief. "Good. Then we can go without guilt."
(THE GARAGE: LEAVING THE ARMOR BEHIND)
They took the private elevator to the underground garage, filled with rows of armored SUVs. But Dorian walked past them.
He stopped in a dusty corner, pulling a tarp off a vehicle that looked out of place. It was a vintage sports car, sleek black with chrome finishes gleaming under the lights.
"We're not taking that, are we?" Serra asked skeptically. "That thing has zero armor. A sniper could take us out through the windshield."
"It's a 1967 Shelby," Dorian said, running a hand over the hood. "A gift from my father before everything changed. Hasn't been touched in years. Today, I don't want to be the Alpha in a tank. I want to feel the wind. I want to drive something that requires skill."
Dorian slid into the driver's seat. The engine roared to life like a waking beast. Serra shook her head, smiling, and got in beside him. The leather seats smelled of nostalgia.
(THE DRIVE: SPEED AND INTIMACY)
As the journey began, the stifling air of the palace was left behind. Passing the checkpoints, guards saluted confusedly at the unfamiliar car. Once on the open road to the border forests, the tension in Dorian's shoulders dropped.
Serra turned on the radio. An old rock song filled the cabin. Loud, raw, perfect. Dorian didn't turn it down; he tapped his fingers on the wheel.
"Don't speed," Serra warned as the needle climbed on the winding road.
"Scared, Spy Queen?" he asked, shooting a glance. As he shifted gears, his hand brushed her leg. It wasn't accidental. His hand settled on her thigh, thumb tracing circles on the denim.
"Not scared. I just think you got your license from a cereal box," she retorted, heart rate picking up. The heat of his hand seeping through her jeans was a constant reminder of the night before.
Dorian smirked, accelerating into a curve. "My reflexes are faster than yours. I'm an Alpha, remember?"
"Really? I recall I was the one who saw that silver wire in the tunnel. Your Alpha eyes missed that."
"Last night..." Dorian's voice dropped, becoming husky. His grip on her thigh tightened. "...I was looking at other things. My focus was occupied."
Serra's face burned. The memory of their bodies tangled in the shower flashed in her mind. She rolled down the window, letting the cool forest air whip her hair.
"When we get there," she said over the wind. "Please don't smash everything to find the entrance. That place is full of memories. It's the last place I saw my mother."
Dorian’s hand squeezed her leg, a gesture of comfort now. "I promise. I'm only there to protect. And maybe to see where the woman who saved my life used to hide."
They drove in silence for a while. Just the engine roar, the blur of trees, and the comfortable weight of each other's presence. Escaping reality, if only for an hour.
Then Dorian murmured, eyes on the road, voice unusually vulnerable.
"Do you think we could have had a normal life? If I wasn't Alpha, if you weren't the Red heir... without the curse? Just this car, this road, and us?"
Serra looked at him. Windblown hair, strong hands gripping the wheel, relaxed jaw. He looked younger.
"I don't know," she said honestly, head back against the seat. "But if we were normal, I'd probably hate you. You're too cocky. You'd be the football captain who bullies nerds."
Dorian laughed, a genuine, carefree sound. "And you're too stubborn. You'd be the girl in the library planning world domination. I'd have to kidnap you just to get a date."
"Try it and see," Serra said, winking. "But I bite."
"I know," Dorian grinned. "I'm counting on it."
This moment was so simple... no politics, no death. Just a man and a woman driving fast. And it was perfect.