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And that is more seductive than I want to admit.
“How do you know my name?” I keep my tone smooth, though the visceral edge beneath it is impossible to hide completely. “I don’t remember offering an introduction when you opened my door.”
Until I learn his real name, he will be Death. I have to call him something. It’s fitting since I don’t know if by the end of the night, he’ll kill me or I’ll have to kill him.
Death shifts slightly in his seat, the leather groaning under his weight. His intense, threatening gaze, like a slow hand dragging faintly across my skin, never leaves my profile.
“I know a lot of things, Harmony. I’ve spent a long time waiting for you. Biding my time, watching you. Waiting for the exact right moment when I knew you’d come back.” His voice cuts through the air, rough as gravel scraping against soft velvet.
But it’s not just the timbre of his words, it’s how he says them. He speaks in a low, resonant tone that carries a subtle power, sending a chill trembling through me.
A knot tightens in my stomach as my intrigue surges higher, fighting against the warning bells that keep ringing inside my head.
Instinct wars with morbid curiosity, fear with seduction.
“Watching me?” I tilt my chin up as I stare straight down the empty road. “Why?”
He turns his wolfish gaze from his attentive stare, fixing his sights to the road ahead.
It’s obvious he’s not going to answer me, so I try a different tactic.
“Are you from around here?”
“Here and there.”
“That’s not an answer.” I steal a quick glance at him, taking in the shadowed hollows of his cheeks and the intense focus in his eyes.
Death returns his gaze to me, looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved. Like he knows every dark secret I’ve buried beneath the dirt in the last fifteen years.
My pulse quickens, the rush of my blood echoing loudly in my ears. “Are you here for the Fall Carnival? The town pulls in a ton of tourists from all over this time of year. Flocks of strangers looking for cheap thrills.”
“I already told you why I’m here, Harmony.”
The quiet boldness of his words makes my mouth go dry.
A wave of heat flushes over my skin; the excitement of his words is terrifying and highly addictive.
Most men stumble over themselves around me, eager to please, eager to look away when I narrow my eyes.
This man doesn’t flinch. He steps directly into the darkness with me and grins.
Trying to break free from his piercing look, I shift my gaze to his lap and notice something.
The denim of his jeans is stiff, darkened by large, irregular splotches around the thighs and knees. Dark stains. Wet, or recently dried.
A sharp, coppery scent hits the back of my throat—the distinct, metallic smell I picked up on the second he opened the car door and slid into the heat of the cabin.
Is that... blood?
I perk up, raising my brows slightly.
The thrill rising in my chest spikes into something wild and intoxicating.
Who is this man? What did he do on the side of the road before I pulled over?
My mind races with a dozen dangerous possibilities, each one making him more fascinating, more lethal, than the last.
Silently, I judge myself. Most kinks aren’t normal; that’s why they’re kinks, but this just seems a little over the top, even for me.
