Her hands fly to her shoulders to keep me from seeing all of her. “Kill him? He didn’t do anything.”
“That’s hard to believe, considering the bloody bruise at the back of your head!” I lower my voice. “Max, if he hurt you?—”
“He didn’t do this! You did this!”
I freeze. “Me?”
She hits the shower knob with her elbow, shutting it off. “You came to me in the Dreaming and made me feel all those things for you when I shouldn’t. But I won’t let these manipulative visions affect me anymore!”
She bolts out of the shower and wraps a white towel around herself.
“What are you talking about? What visions?”
And then it hits me—how wild her sleep has been and how heated her moans sounded. What has she been dreaming about?
She flees the bathroom altogether, and just like when she bolted from the house, I give chase. I enjoy this game of cat and mouse, some wicked part of me rising to the challenge. Not the part that knows better—the darker shard.
It revels in the hunt, the back-and-forth, the feeling of standing close to the edge.
She stops dead in her tracks at the end of the hallway and whirls back around to face me. “Why did you kiss me?” she shouts, like the words have been burning at the back of her throat since it happened.
“Because you’re mine!”
From the first moment I saw her, I felt transformed. Not by hope, or desire, but by a sense of belonging that doesn’t obey logic or ask permission. When I crossed that final line and tastedher lips during the séance, everything in me aligned around that simple truth.
No more Mr. Nice Ghost.
Her mouth hangs open, the line of her jaw caught somewhere between surprise and denial, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the bedroom. “Have you lost your mind? You’re a ghost!”
She can run if she wants. I’ll always catch her in the end.
I follow her into the room she shares withhim. The king-sized bed and minimalist decor are bland, beige, and without savor—so unlike Max, I could scream.
“I don’t feel dead when I’m with you,” I say, my inner devil rattling in his cage. “And you can deny it all you want, but you kissed me back, little fox. The nail streaks along my back would be proof enough, if I wasn’t invisible.”
Her hands bunch at the edge of the towel, clutching it in place. “You cocky bastard!”
The towel catches fire, and Max gasps as the electric lights above us flicker wildly. The fabric shrivels in her grip, blackens, then unravels into soft, weightless ash that slips from her body.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
She grits her teeth. “I don’t know.”
“Is that the reason you hit your head?”
Her nostrils flare. “No, that was the dream, this is…different. It’s annoying as fuck.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. Her chest rises and falls, but she doesn’t try to cover herself again. Instead, she braces her hands on her hips and stares me down like I’m unworthy.
She’s so sexy, I could die again.
“You had no right to kiss me. Or sneak into my shower for that matter. You’re a depraved, self-righteous, insufferable bastard who can’t take no for an answer.”
I lick my lips. “You’re right. But it’s hard to feel remorseful with you standing naked in front of me.”
Her chest heaves. The smooth, milky skin of her flat stomach beckons, and I’d give anything to dip my tongue in that sweet belly button of hers.
I’d know what to do if I had a body.
Her hips would fit perfectly beneath my hands. Those round, heavy breasts would peak in my palms, and I’d shower them with attention until her resolve began to crack and the darker parts of her stopped resisting. Then, I’d find myself kneeling at her feet, softening her anger with kisses that would leave no room for thoughts of her mortal fiancé.
