Gray is kneeling over a large, dark stain on the ground, and there’s a definite anger in his expression that snuffs out any true panic I felt before. In its place is fear, because I was right. The man I saw at the club was definitely the man from Halloween.
“I thought he was dead,” I say, sinking to the floor. My phone hangs limply in my hand. All of my willpower has been sapped.
Gray touches the ground, palm flat against the wood slats. “It was my mistake, Millie. I should have ripped his head off.”
I ignore the visual since he spared me the actual act of it. Head or not, I doubted that I would have escaped tonight without running into Dante. My stalker was just a fun little bonus, a cherry on top of the fucking sundae. A sickening dread settles in my stomach as I wonder what will happen next. There’s a long line of ‘what ifs’ threatening to pull me under.
“How did this happen?” My voice quavers.
“I’m not sure,” Gray muses, observing the stain as if the answers might appear if he looks hard enough. “Another vampire must have known about this place, or one was nearby to smell the blood. Doesn’t explain why he was turned, though. A dying man doesn’t draw this much attention without it warranting some kind of benefit to the turner.”
“You think he was turned to… what? Chase me?”
Gray rises to his feet and wipes his hands off on his pants. “This is pure conjecture, but I wonder if this and Dante’s return are related somehow.”
“You think so?”
Floorboards creak under his steps as he comes to my side, kneeling. I look into his face, seeing in it the seriousness that reflects in his next words. “I would be willing to bet that Dante is at the center of this. He likes games, but he likes violence more. Everything he does is calculated and well thought out.”
“But why?” I ask, more confused than ever. “What is he to you?”
Gray sighs, rolling his head to the side with annoyance and exasperation in his expression. “Dante is my ex.”
“Whoa.” The air practically leaves my lungs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?!”
“He’s my ex, yes.” Gray pinches the bridge of his nose, looking more tired every second.
“Your ex?”
“Yes, Millie. That’s what I said.” Gray is back on his feet with a groan, towering over where I’m slumped against the wall. He steps over me and starts the descent, with me still gaping at his back.
“Dante? The beautiful, oil-chested behemoth of a man that tore into my neck isyourex?”
Gray snorts a laugh. “Trust me, he’s a beast. A trueMachiavelli.”
“And you dated him?” The shock of this truth is like a shot of adrenaline. I grab my phone and I’m on my feet, dancing as close to his back as possible. I should be horrified, angry, anything other than fascinated. My curiosity is too great, though. I suddenly want to know everything, right down to the reason why they broke up.
“Iturnedhim.” He nods.
Holy shit. Not the plot twist I was expecting.
“You turned him and dated him. Then what?” I ask, climbing after him through the other side of the wardrobe.
We’re back in the priest’s office, and I can tell Gray is agitated. His posture is rigid, shoulders squared, hands flexed out at his side. I open my mouth to speak when he suddenly turns on me. With a little lift, and a hard drop against its surface, he has me pinned to the priest’s dusty desk, caged in by his body. His eyes are so red now, so full of hate and anguish, that I am actually afraid I’ve pushed him over the edge.
“I turned him, I dated him, and Ilovedhim,” Gray sneers, grinding out every single word with sharp exaggeration. He’s heated. “I was young once, and he fooled me. After centuries of taking lovers, he was the only one that ever nearly destroyed me. He is a carnivorous beast, inside and out, Millie. If he’s here, then he’s here to finish the job.”
My voice comes out as a whisper. “Is he here to kill you?”
“Worse,” Gray croaks, his anger receding. “He likely wants me back.”
I can’t even begin to comprehend what that means to him, but I can guess. I’ve had my fair share of toxic relationships in the past to know how hard it is to separate love and obsession. If Gray says that being with him is worse than dying, then I’m inclined to believe him without question.
“You don’t have to go back,” I say, reaching up to touch his cheek. It isn’t meant to be anything more than a gesture of comfort, but my heart doesn’t quite get the message. It races from the touch, the nearness of our faces. He’s about an inch away from my lips, and I could easily close the distance. I don’t understand the breadth of this thing growing between us, but it’s there, and it’s real.
What is wrong with me?I wonder.We literally just met.
The scariest part, outside of not really knowing who he is, is the part of me that doesn’t care either way. Even now, being here with him feels like the most natural thing in the world. I want to be close, to feel that fire simmering under my skin, to let it ignite and melt all at once when he kisses me. It’s been so long since I felt this way about anyone, Ronnie included. I hate that I still compare everyone to her and what we had, but I don’t do it as much with Gray; or at all, really. Call me a romantic, but dammit if it doesn’t feel like fate is threading us together in the most unconventional way.
