“Camryn?”
I spin around to see Gwen in the doorway. She scans the empty street and looks back at me with a confused expression. “Are you leaving already?”
Peering left and right again, I shake off the odd feeling that clings to me like sweat on my neck. “I thought I saw someone,” I say.
Gwen’s frown deepens, and she steps back as I enter the café. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure her, joining the queue at the counter. “Do you want anything?”
“What the hell?” I whisper, scooting up into a sitting position in bed, scratching my arm almost furiously. Judging by the warm slickness beneath my fingers, I know I’ve drawn blood even before I switch on the bedside lamp.
Blinking under the bright light, I lean against the headboard as I look down at my arm, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of smeared blood. The itching burrows so deep I want to scratch the bone itself.
Throwing off the quilt, I make my way to the ensuite bathroom and flick on the overhead light. My tired reflection stares back at me in the mirror, dark circles framing my eyes. Gwen was right; I’m paler than usual. I turn on the tap, adjusting the temperature until the water errs on the side of too hot. As the sound of running water fills the air, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, which is slowly fogging up. I slide my hand across the glass to clear it, fighting the urge to claw my itchy skin open.
Scooping up a handful of water to wash off the blood, I pause. Something moves under the skin in search of a way out, and the sensation of crawling insects makes me stumble back a step and crash into the toilet behind me. I even knock down the toilet roll holder as I skirt the seat.
I’m clutching my arm, watching the skin bulge and strain, dizzy with panic.
Maggots erupt from the flesh, then crawl down my arm and fall to the floor.
I don’t even know when I start screaming, but then Dominic is there, palming my face and jostling me.
“Camryn, fuck, look at me!” He shakes me again with enough force to make my head knock off the wall. Not hard, but enough to stun me back into reality.
When the sensation of his warm hands on my cheeks finally registers, I stare into his dark eyes while my heart races.
He jostles me again, weaker this time. “Look at me, dammit!”
Citrus and leather filter through the haze of adrenaline, and like a warm fire on a snowy winter’s night, the rich notes of his cologne thaw the fear inside me. I breathe easier as I lose myself in his hard stare.
“What the hell is wrong?” he asks tersely, gripping me so hard it’s almost painful.
Blinking him back into focus, I shove his hands away from my face. He doesn’t fight me. Instead, he steps back and scans the room as if he’s trying to figure out what spooked me.
He zeroes back in on me, and a divot forms between his brows. I’m shaking and staring down at my arm with tears hanging precariously from my lashes.
Where’s the blood? The maggots? The scratch marks? Why is my skin healed?
“What’s wrong?” he asks, though there’s nothing gentle in his icy tone.
I meet his gaze, still clutching my arm. “There was… I have…”
“There was what?” he presses and moves closer.
Worrying my bottom lip, I look down, unsure. How do I even begin to tell him about what happened just now or all the other things? “Have you noticed anything weird since we moved here?”
With his hands on the wall on either side of my head, he peers at my face so intently that I fight the urge to shrink back.
“Anything weird?”
“Yes?”
“No,” he states, flicking his eyes between mine. “Nothing. What happened just now to make you scream the place down?”
I try to look away, but he follows me.
“Eyes on me, Camryn, and answer the question.”
