“Further than most,” I manage.
“I’m Poppy.” She shakes his hand, because she doesn’t know better. Because she can’t feel the evil exuding from him. “Julian’s girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend.” Damien’s smile widens. “Still collecting humans, I see. Remember how that worked out in Prague?”
The words land like a blade. Poppy frowns. Preston and Serenity exchange glances.
“Prague was a long time ago,” I say.
“Was it? Feels like yesterday to me.” Damien’s eyes never leave mine. “Some things stay fresh. I guess, some wounds don’t heal.”
“I don’t—” Poppy starts.
“Julian and I had a mutual friend in Prague,” Damien says. “Lovely woman. Tragic what happened to her.” He tilts his head, that smile still fixed. “I’ve often wondered if you ever think about her. If you ever lie awake remembering how she screamed.”
The world goes red at the edges. I feel my control slipping, the thing inside me clawing toward the surface.
Poppy’s hand tightens on mine. The contact pulls me back.
“We should go,” I say. “We’ll be late.”
“Of course.” Damien steps aside. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up. After all, we’re both here for the whole week.”
A promise. A threat. Vienna all over again.
My phone buzzes as we walk. Marcus.
MARCUS: Facial recognition flagged him the moment he entered the terrace. Damien Ashworth. He checked in two days ago under an alias—room 3047, east wing. I’ve already pulled his movement history. He’s been watching your suite.
Two days. He was here before us. Waiting.
MARCUS: Resort security has been discreetly repositioned. He won’t get within fifty feet of your room without triggering an alert.
I don’t respond, and I can see questions building behind Poppy’s eyes as she watches me place the phone back in my pocket.
We walk back toward the main building. The Junkanoo drums have stopped. Only our footsteps on stone and the distant whisper of waves.
“That was weird,” Poppy says. “Who is that guy? What was he talking about? Prague?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Julian—”
“Not now.” Harsher than I intend. “Please. Not now.”
She goes quiet. I feel her watching me, questions building behind her silence.
CHAPTER 11
POPPY
The cocktail party was a disaster.
Not the drinks. Not my family—Violet was radiant, Chris was attentive, and even my mother limited herself to only two passive-aggressive comments about my “little internet hobby.” Preston and Serenity kept their distance, which was the best outcome I could have hoped for.
My phone buzzes. Violet.
VIOLET: You okay? Mom was in rare form tonight
