Sisters, sure. But they hate me.
I don’t blame them. I’ve let the horrors of the world melt into my soul, turn my bones into iron, and with it, my heart. I took on the ugliness of the world so it wouldn’t touch them. I paid with my blood, and it still somehow hurt them.
How can you bond with someone whom the rest of the world fears?
You’ll never lead.
I shrug. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
He pays the check and helps me into my long, black wool coat. The entire time, he tells me about his last birthday with his brothers, and how they surprised him with his favorite cake, which then turned into a food fight.
I listen, and the ache in my chest grows with each word. He sounds happy—his family sounds normal. I’ll bet they never had to worry about their father bringing home a new whore, or a nanny touching their little brother while no one was looking.
Selena. She was my first kill. It was sloppy, but that’s what you get for hurting my family.
There are days when I’m envious of normal, perfect families. Envious of their happy dinners, their bonds. Envious of their good memories, which overrule any bad ones.
Other days… my eyes find the Reaper across the street. Other days, I miss having the one person who understood. All the pain. All the trauma. Who withstood the storm and chose me over it all.
Linwood holds my gaze, and that rock feels heavier, crushing my sternum.
I always knew I was the broken one—covered in scars, battling demonic nightmares, fighting to keep a clan that didn’t want me. He made me feel like it was worth it—to hold on. To stay. He made me fucking believe in myself.
When he left, he proved my greatest fear real: Maybe I was too damaged to be loved.
I received my answer when I stood with him years ago.
He hasn’t moved, another cigarette in his fingers. Reese touches my waist, and those eyes narrow, tiny daggers scraping across my flesh.
“Ready?”
His car pulls up, and the valet hands over the keys.
The tightness in my chest nearly suffocates me. I’m suddenly not ready to go home—to the place that was once my prison, my sanctuary, and the holder of my trauma. I’m trapped in the past against my will within those walls, haunted by old ghosts, with a shadow who refuses to let me go.
I need something different—I need to feel alive and normal.
“No.” Turning, I blink against the snowflakes dusting my lashes. “Let’s go to your apartment.”
His eyes widen. “You don’t ever want to?—”
“Not like that,” I murmur. “Maybe to talk?”
His smile is kind and easy as he nods. “I would love that. We can watch a movie?”
I try to smile, but it comes across as a wince. I hate movies—well, new ones. But I don’t tell him that.
“Sounds perfect.”
As he helps me into the car, I feel the burn of the Reaper’s gaze on my shoulders. I don’t turn around, and I don’t let him see my face. Because if I want this to end, I’ll have to be the first to sever ties. Killian certainly won’t.
4
KILLIAN
Standing on the cold balcony, I watch her come into her bedroom. She’s a vision in her tight black dress and red fucking heels that feel like a sharp stab with each punctuated step.
My heart pangs deep inside my chest, a wrecked organ that only seems to be alive near her. Her, this wretched woman, who owns every bit of me.
