Wicked Kiss (Nightwatchers) - By Michelle Rowen Page 0,121
sides.
“A name,” he said quietly, that glint of mischievousness returning to his face. “Adam Drake. And a year. 1878.”
My heart started to pound harder. “Who is that?”
“Use that little computer of yours.” He nodded at the laptop on my bedside table. “Do a little digging. You might find some interesting details.”
I turned away from him, my head swimming. When I looked back again, Kraven was gone.
Immediately, after closing the window, I went to my laptop. I almost decided to forget the whole thing and put what he’d said out of my mind forever. But then, with shaking hands, and a slight hesitation, I went ahead and searched the name and date—Adam Drake 1878.
It got a couple direct hits. And a picture.
Adam Drake...was Bishop.
It was Bishop’s real name, the name he wouldn’t tell me no matter how many times I’d asked.
My hands trembled as I clicked through to an obscure web article and I read it quickly, my stomach tying itself into knots.
Adam Drake was eighteen years old when he was hanged in New York in 1878. He was in a group of grave robbers and body snatchers who worked for Kara Drake. His mother.
Kara was his mother. Kraven’s mother, too.
Adam had killed his brother, James, nineteen years of age.
And he’d also killed twenty-five other people. With a dagger.
James had been his first victim.
These pieces of Bishop’s puzzle clicked into place and left me stunned and sickened as I stared at the grainy black-and-white photo.
Bishop had been a serial killer.
And I’d just freely given him both my heart and soul.
Chapter 31
Despite everything I’d experienced, everything I’d learned, and how long it took me to finally fall asleep...I slept. Hard. And I had no dreams to disturb me, good ones or bad ones.
When I woke, I glanced at my alarm clock to see I hadn’t even slept in. It was seven o’clock.
Seven o’clock in the morning on the day after my death.
I got out of bed and glanced at my reflection in the mirror, surprised in a way to see that nothing about my appearance had changed. I looked exactly the same as I had yesterday, or the week before, or the month before any of this had happened.
My mother had left a voice mail for me. She said her Hawaiian vacation, as awesome as it had been, was nearly over. She’d be home the day after tomorrow, Saturday, and she couldn’t wait to see me.
In a daze, I showered and got dressed just as I would on any other Thursday morning. I had toast and peanut butter for breakfast.
Something was off, though. I stood there in the kitchen for a moment, my hand pressed against my stomach.
“Oh, no. No, it can’t be,” I whispered.
I was still hungry—but it wasn’t for food.
It had to be my imagination. I wasn’t a gray anymore. I wasn’t. But there was only one way to find out for sure.
I went to school and found him in the halls exactly where I expected him to be.
Colin glanced at me as I tentatively approached. “Hey, Sam. Not ditching today? Where have you been all week?”
“Around.” Kidnapped, held captive, trying to stop an angel from going postal at a Halloween party. “Look, I—I’m sorry about what happened on Monday.”
He grimaced at the reminder of our last kiss. Emphasis, I sincerely hoped, on last. “You know, I think I’m finally going to take a hint. I can’t deal with it, Sam. You push me away and tell me you’re not interested in me, but then the next moment you’re all over me. It’s not cool. I deserve to be treated better than that.”
“I totally agree. You deserve way better that I’ve been treating you lately.” I forced myself to step closer to him, into the orbit of hunger, and studied his face.
He watched me warily. “So what are you doing now?”
“Testing something.” I waited for the desire to kiss him to grip me, for whatever remained of Colin’s soul to pull at my control like a baited hook like it always did.
But there was nothing. I sensed nothing from Colin or anyone else in the halls.
Nothing!
A smile burst forth on my face and I threw my arms around him to give him a tight hug. He didn’t hug me back.
“Nobody likes a tease, Sam. I’m not interested in any more of your games.”
I let go of him immediately. “Sorry. I, uh, I’m really sorry, Colin. For everything. I hope we can still be friends.”