Nightfall (Grim Gate #1) - Emily Goodwin Page 0,73

in the barn. He could hear me talking, and I followed him out. Then I was in the forest being murdered, only I wasn’t.” I close my eyes and shift my weight, bringing a hand up and resting it on Ethan’s chest, needing to feel his steady heartbeat to calm myself. “There was something before that.” I close my eyes and get a flash of the dark shadow in the bushes. “Over there.” I point to where I saw the thing. “I saw it and then got hit with a stabbing pain right between my eyes.”

“Did you see what it was?”

I let my eyes fall shut and think back again. “It looked human at first and then turned and it…it…” I shudder, feeling a little sick again. “You know those creepy bird masks doctors wore during the plague? It was like that but with no mask. Its face was shaped like it.”

“Fuck. Is it still there?”

“No,” I answer. “And it wasn’t a ghost.”

“Are you sure?”

“When it moved, the underbrush crunched. Ghosts walk through things.”

“Did it attack you?”

“No, or at least not that I remember.”

“Then how’d you get this?” Ethan’s fingers wrap around my arm, gently pulling it up. I look down and a red mark that look just like someone grabbed me.

“I don’t remember.”

“Get back in the barn. I’m going to canvas the area.” He gets to his feet, pulling me with him.

“Ethan, no. It might still be out there.”

“I hope it fucking is.” He keeps one arm around me, holding me against him.

“Whatever that thing was…I think it’s what caused the pain that made me, I don’t know, succumb to supernatural narcolepsy or whatever. If it does the same thing to you, you’ll pass out in the forest and be a sitting duck to the Pricolici. If you’re going out there, I’m coming with you.” I set my face and turn my head up, looking into Ethan’s whiskey-colored eyes. “I don’t know much—okay, anything—about demon hunting, but I have an enchanted dagger that makes demons go poof when I say the magic word.”

“Maybe I should just get you home.”

I jerk out of his arms. “Don’t talk to me like I’m fragile. I’m not.”

“I know,” he says and reaches for me. “I know you’re not. Being fragile doesn’t always mean you’ll break. Sometimes it means what you have inside of you isn’t something to be messed with.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’m going to blow the house up too.”

“No.” His brows furrow, and he cups my chin with his large hand. “I’m afraid the demons are attracted to your magic. Your powers were unbound only weeks ago, and you’re already doing magic. Whatever is inside of you is strong. Demons like power, and dislike anyone who has power greater than them. I never really thought about it before, but witches pose a threat to demons. Let’s go back to your house and I’ll see if Julia can find anything about demons that look like medieval plague doctors.”

“Okay.” I inhale, feeling all shaky again. “I still want to get dinner.”

Ethan laughs. “We can order in instead.”

“I want to put on a dress and go out with you,” I say and hook my arms around his shoulders. “And I don’t want to live in fear. I’ll live cautiously, and I won’t do anything purposely reckless, well, maybe a little purposely reckless, but I don’t want to hide in my house if I don’t have to. And I don’t have to, right?”

“Going out to dinner should be fine.” His hands slide down my waist. “I’ll keep you safe, Anora.”

I tip my head up, lips meeting his. “I know.”

“This is okay, right?” I ask, putting a back on my earring as I enter the living room.

Ethan is on the couch with Hunter, watching Friends again. “It’s very okay.” He drops the remote onto the spot next to him and gets up, stopping me in the hall. “Or maybe it’s not, and I should take it off.”

His hands land on my waist and he pulls me against him, and his body heat comes off in waves. I hook my arms around his neck. “So, I take it you like my dress?”

“I do,” he says, voice deep with need, and pins me up against the wall. The last time I wore this dress, my date liked me only because I looked like his sister. It’s a nice dress though, and I look good in it.

“I meant,” I start, hating myself for the compulsion to keep talking,

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