Page 123 of Petrify

It’s been months since the manor burned down. For at least a week, a new segment aired every day about the death of the family, the tragic fire that killed them in their sleep. Conveniently, none of the guests from the party have ever been interviewed, at least, not on air. And eventually, the media stopped caring, and Henri and I were left alone.

And now, I amalone.

I try not to think about those few weeks at the manor. I try not to think abouthim.

No one would believe me if I told them.

That the eldest son was still alive, locked away inside, and he made me his muse. He wrote music for me. He made my dreams come true.

That he was a serial murderer, with at least six deaths to blame for. Two of them being his parents. Henri’s parents.

It’s how the Beauchenes got away with this for so long: the story sounds entirely unbelievable. Some nights I wonder if it was all some fever dream, too outrageous to even think for a second it’s true.

But when I do sleep, he is always there. Crawling over me, consuming me, setting me ablaze with his touch, his words, his promises. I always wake with too much unspent desire.

And then sometimes I think I can feel his eyes on me again.

I’m just tired. The day has been entirely too long, and now I am by myself for the first time in months. No one else is in the apartment, the security system would have alerted me otherwise—only Henri and I know the code. I am alone and I am safe.

But as I slide back the covers of my bed?—

Something’s not right.

My pulse quickens before I know what’s happening.

His eyes?—

There’s no way. It’s beenthreemonths.

Something winds through my hair.

“You lied to me, Mallary.” His voice slides through the dark, straight for my heart. “You said you would never run. Did you not think I would find you?”

Chapter 54

The Ghost

Mallary whirlsaround and backs away from me, cornering herself against a floor length mirror, eyes wide in the dark. “Have you come to kill me?”

I almost laugh. That she even asks means sheknowsthe gravity of what she’s done. “I’ve come to collect what’s mine.”

She’s just as beautiful as she was three months ago. It’s seeing the freckles scattered across her cheeks that hits me like a punch to the fucking stomach—we are so entangled that I’m not sure how I was able to evenbreathewithout her these last months. She must feel the same, I know she does.

“While I’ve dreamt of you stained in blood every day since we last saw each other, you would be dead if I wanted you to be.”

It’s cute, the way her eyes narrow in suspicion. The wrinkle between her brows that betrays her irritation.

She’sirritated. Withme. Adorable.

“Then what is it?”

“What is it?” Every inch between us is too far a distance. I tangle my fist in her hair, wrench her skull back. Her gasp is exquisite.

“You thought you could get away from me?” The look she gives me goes straight to my dick. It’s almost like she wants me to pin her to the mattress and make her beg for forgiveness.

She ran from me. When she promised she wouldn’t.

“No,” she whispers. “But I didn’t think?—”