Hunted.
Suddenly, she stills. A sense of grim determination washes through her—I can feel it, emanating from the vision itself. Her jaw is set, her shoulders squared. She marches toward the wall beside the door. Puts a hand on the wallpaper.
And then she’s gone.
twenty-eight
LIZZY
I’m the only one awake. Sitting in the kitchen with a hot toddy, staring at the wall.
Outside, rain lashes the house. Normally I love rainstorms, but tonight, all I can think about is the hunters who escaped… and the demons trying to keep us safe.
Especially Merrick.
My heart twists. Yeah, I’m pissed at him for withholding information, but… he left without saying goodbye. If something were to happen to him?—
A knock on the back door yanks me from my thoughts. I trade my mug for a kitchen knife, for all the good that will do me. It’s not even bedazzled.
I reach the door just as the oh-so-helpful house opens it for me.
Merrick stands on the back patio. Human form, waterlogged. The rain has turned his brown hair black, his honey-gold eyes standing out sharply behind murky glasses.
That twist in my heart eases, just a fraction.
Fumbling for something to say, he mutters, “Oh, I… Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
I shrug. “You knocked. Someone had to answer.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” Outside, the inky darkness stretches out behind him. Endless. “Any sign of the hunters?”
“None. The others are still making sweeps. Helena continues to search from the skies between here and the house—she says the fire department is on the scene, but the ambulances left without any wounded. Our assumption is anyone who didn’t flee in the immediate aftermath was killed.”
I nod, taking some sick comfort in that.
Merrick’s eyes track to the knife I’m still clutching. “If you’re planning to stab me, I’d really rather you do it indoors. It’s damned dreary out here.”
This gets a tiny smile, but I lock it down quickly, stepping aside to let him in.
“Tea?” I ask, my back turned.
“That sounds lovely, thank you.”
I toss him a clean kitchen towel and busy myself making the tea because I need something to focus on. Something other than his earnest eyes. Something other than the feeling of his arms around me as we danced, the ghost of his hold lingering, refusing to let me go.
More than my frustrations at his deceit, more than that simmering sense of betrayal, what burns inside me now is the unresolved question of the kiss that wasn’t meant to be.
I fear if I don’t, my heart mightliterallyburst…
Damn it.
He sits in brooding silence at the small kitchen table, hair mussed from the towel, water dripping onto the floor beneath him. Every patter sets my teeth on edge, threatens to shatter me.
I bring him a mug of black vanilla tea, not trusting my trembling hands with a delicate cup and saucer.
He takes a sip, offers a nod of thanks. His gaze never leaves mine. “Will you sit with me for a moment? Please?”
