Savage Queen (The Dark Elite #3) - Eva Ashwood Page 0,22

us can.

As long as she’s here, one of us, she’ll have to face the same things we face. She’ll have to step into roles that we play all the time. He’ll see it’s for the best to have Grace and Camilla meet, even though the thought makes even me wince.

I hesitate on the landing of the stairs, debating whether or not to go back into the living room where I left Grace, Zaid, and Lucas a couple of hours ago. I left them less to comfort Hale and more to get out of my own head, work through my own shit.

It’s getting harder to resist Grace.

I slump down onto the stairs, sitting on one of the steps and resting my elbows on my knees. I haven’t had time to think lately, haven’t had time to deal with anything but what was in front of me in each moment.

When Leland was still alive, I hardly knew myself, half the time stuck in that place in my head where time doesn’t exist, where everything around me is a shadow. When I go to that place, it’s like walking through a pit of heavy darkness with only my fucking demons for company.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I finally came back. Fully. Completely myself. Downstairs in the living room, I woke up again to everything around me—the last of the demons slinking back into their shadows, waiting for the next time they could take hold of me.

For the first time in days, I saw clearly. Thought clearly. Felt clearly.

And the first thing I thought of was Grace. The first thing I saw was Grace. The first thing I felt was Grace.

Like snapping back into my own body at full speed, I’m consumed by her all over again. When I handed her that drink, she looked different than I remembered her looking just a few days ago. More sad, more worn down. Tension that shouldn’t be allowed to touch her now consumes her, the weight of the world pressing heavily down on her. My heart felt like it might punch a hole through my chest with the need to comfort her. To help her or to fix her somehow.

But I couldn’t. I can’t.

Because if I touch her, I’ll break her.

If I let myself near her, I’ll hurt her. And worse than that is the way she looks at me—as if she knows. As if she understands. As if it breaks her heart.

The last thing I want to do is break her heart.

Jesus. I’m so fucked up.

I scrub a hand down my face, then surge to my feet, shaking my head to clear it.

When I finally get back to the room, it’s empty. I didn’t really expect to find anyone since it’s late and we’re all fucking exhausted, but a small part of me wanted Grace to still be here. Waiting for me.

And yet, the other half of me is relieved she isn’t.

It’s the constant war of my heart, my body, my mind.

Wanting Grace. Not having Grace.

I can’t have Grace.

My feet carry me through the house—wandering the place like a lost animal, lost in my own head, consumed by my own thoughts.

When I find myself walking past Grace’s room, my feet stop of their own accord. I stare at the dark wood for a moment, then turn the doorknob and give the door a push, opening it silently. The lights are off, but the curtains are open, letting a small beam of moonlight into the room to keep the darkness at bay. She dozes on the bed, her hair splayed out on the pillow.

My rational mind, or what’s left of it, tells me to go. It screams at me to run away and never come back, it condemns me for being such a creep, a freak of nature. Who watches someone else sleep? Serial killers. Stalkers. People who shouldn’t be allowed to crawl their way through the world, poisoning the innocent.

But the other side of me, the side that’s fascinated by her light, drawn to it more strongly than I’ve ever been drawn to anything else, won’t let me leave. Even after all the shit she’s been through, there’s something about Grace that reminds me of sunshine. And just like sunshine, she draws me toward her, tempting me with her warmth.

My gaze sweeps over the curves of her body, so soft and perfect. She’s wearing a tank top and thin cotton pants, and the small sliver of bare skin at her waist taunts me, teasing me with the