Page 37 of Shadowed With Fear

Fuck, me.

Unease fills me, my heartbeat quickens, the thumping pace ringing in my ears. “Why have you been watching me, little flower?”

“Why are you watching me?” She challenges. Her tone is still the same calm, as if she is just talking to a friend, a normal night in.

“I’m watching over you. You seem to be a magnet for trouble. I’m protecting you.”

A little bit of truth in the grand scheme. But now it’s more than that. Three weeks I have had my eyes on her when she is alone. And each second brings me closer to feeling like I may not just be doing Brahm a favor, but that maybe I am stalking her for my own means. She’s fascinating. Fierce, strong-willed, passionate. But yet, she’s been reserved, except for the moments when she becomes aware of me. It’s then, in those moments, that she comes alight. A beacon in the darkness of East End.

“You make me afraid,” Dahlia states, and my stomach drops. No. No I don’t want her to fear me, but I guess that’s the only normal response she has had about my presence, no matter how much it guts me.

“I like this taste of fear. I have missed it.” And just like that, she has surprised me again.

“You aren’t scared?”

“I am, but I love the way it feels with you. I feel alive. I haven’t felt alive for a long time—You know, you still haven’t told me your name.” I can hear her grin. The teasing little lift of her plump lips.

I wonder if she is wearing makeup or if she’s barefaced. Either way, the thought has my cock throbbing. Arousal stirs deep inside me. Such a sweet little tease.

“My friends call me, Shadow, little flower. But you can call me whatever you like.”

She hums. “Hmm, Shadow. I find that very fitting for you. Do you always find yourself hiding in the dark?”

I smirk, shaking my head. Plopping down on the work bench in the garage, I rub at the slight stubble lining my jaw. My tongue running across the warm metal piercing my skin.

“Yeah, you could say that I do. It makes it easier.”

“Makes what easier?”

“Observing. My job. Finding the truth. A lot of things, but mostly, getting to know you, Dahlia. You aren’t who I thought you were, little flower. And I must say, I quite like the surprise.”

A crackle on the line cuts through her laugh. The sound is just a symphony in my ears. That joy, that freedom is all I ever want for her.

“That must mean you know a lot about me, Shadow. Yet, I know nothing about you, except you have such kind words for me.”

“I do know more than you would think, Dahlia.”

She hums again. “Tell me, Shadow. Do you like scary movies?” Her words have taken on a breathy whisper into the phone. And I can’t deny that I am loving it more than I should.

“Maybe I do.”

“Good. Then you should know,” she pauses, and I can hear rustling in the background, as if she is moving from where she is.

“I like the monsters. I like the killers. I like the thrill. And above all,” she smirks, “I like to be scared of the man behind the mask.”

All I can think about is the sight of my mask, the bright white, smeared inky black around the eyes, looking up at me thorough the reflection of her teary hazel eyes, my hard cock pushing between her plush lips, drool spilling from the sides.

I groan and she chuckles. “I think you like that too, don’t you Shadow?”

I chuckle too, deep, throaty. “Maybe I do. Do you always like to be scared?”

And she pauses. She’s quiet, and I’m worried I said something wrong.

“No. No I don’t always like being scared, Shadow. The kind of fear I like is red hot, burning through your veins, reminding you you’re alive, and that life is vulnerable. The kind of fear you get from trying something crazy or being a little reckless, living. The fear I get from seeing you, feeling you there.” Dahlia chokes on her breath, and I can hear the anxiety, which begins to filter through. Something happened. Something is happening. I know it.

“What I don’t like is the cold. The bone chilling, icy fear of inevitability. It’s death, or something worse. I’ve experienced it too much. Both times you were there. It’s like giving up, and I don’t want to give up.”

Like a punch to the gut, I stop breathing.