the bottle dangling from my fingers. Zoe sits on my bed in the black dress smudged with blood. It’s a cruel reminder of why she left.
Her illusion means I’m almost done with the bottle, and I do know it’s an illusion, but I still watch her anyway. Her scent disappeared over time, but her deep green gates remain the same. Her blond strands are streaked with blood and so is her mouth and nose.
Her eyes are sad and rimming with tears. “Let me go, Shadow.”
“Never.” My tone is quiet.
She can hate me all she wants as long as she’s with me. Hell, I’ll let her hit me and not react. I’d slash my own fucking skin and bleed for her if that’s what she wants.
“Have you finally lost your mind?” A bored voice calls from the entrance. The illusion of Zoe disappears.
I throw the bottle at him.
Flame ducks. The bottle splinters against the wall behind him. Shattered glass and the remains of scotch fall to the floor.
“Hello to you, too.” He raises an eyebrow as he stands by my bed with a hand in his pocket. “You look like shit.”
“Screw off.” I erase his existence with a pillow over my head. Maybe if he leaves, Zoe will return.
“Do you want my help?”
“I’ll tell you when I do.” My voice is muffled by the pillow. I can use Flame’s intel to threaten Mist. “Now, piss off.”
“I retrieved the footage from the day she disappeared. What’s her name again? Z something.”
His words are like a shot of sobriety to my drunken brain. I throw the pillow away and slowly sit up. Flame has a smug expression as if he knows he got me.
“Weren’t the cameras under reparations?” I ask.
“Nope. The footage was cleared out.”
That fucking old hag. Why didn’t I think of that?
I stagger to my feet. “Give it to me.”
“You will owe me a favour in return?”
“Yes.” If I didn’t sell my soul to the devil Hades already, I’d be ready to sell it all over again at this point.
Flame retrieves a cigarette and stuffs it between his lips. “It’ll be ready tomorrow.”
Then he’s out the door.
Thrill shoots through my veins, chasing away any drunken stupor. Tomorrow couldn’t come any sooner.
For once, I’m not pissed off that Zoe’s illusion disappeared. I’ll find out what happened to her and then I’m going to get her.
This time, she’s never running away.
Chapter Eighteen
A shadow looms over me, dark and faceless, but I know it’s him.
The erratic heartbeat almost leaps out of my throat. It’s a strange sensation, suffocating, but there’s something else I can’t put my fingers on.
He’s here for me.
This time, he won’t leave me alone.
I’m supposed to be scared, to jerk up and fight, but my body has other ideas. The space between my thighs clenches — on nothing — and my nipples harden against my nightgown’s thin fabric.
Every fibre in my being propels me to run and disappear.
I remain completely still.
My hands twitch to touch his face. Kiss him. Make sure this isn’t another sick play of my imagination.
He reaches a finger to my cheek. The moment his skin touches mine, he dissolves and evaporates into thin air.
“No!”
I startle awake with the sheets tangled all over me. Sweat trickles down my back, gluing the nightgown to my skin. The sound of my harsh breathing resembles a trapped animal rather than a human.
It’s a dream. No. A nightmare.
I wrap my arms around my middle and try to control my breathing.
It’s been over a month already. I should be over all the hell that broke loose in Le Salon. I should be starting anew on the other side of the country.
If only he’d disappear from my dreams. Sometimes, he looms there, watching me with those sinister eyes. Other times, he’s bathed in blood and laughing like a demon. The dreams I hate the most is when he’s fucking me. Hard. Rough. Unapologetic. I could feel his thickness inside me, moving in and out of my slick core. I can never forget how the dream version of him stretches me open and brings me to the throes of sick pleasure. I even came a few times.
Freaking hormones.
I wake up ashamed. Every time, I have to remind myself why I escaped him and all the reasons why I shouldn’t be attracted to him. I only manage to clear the haze after I go through the whole mantra of ‘I’m not going to be my mother’.