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They had a relationship of sorts before I progressed into myself, before Dr. Garcia discovered the mind hiding inside that disturbed boy. Once she discovered my IQ, she drew me out.

Dr. Garcia was appointed to Mikael’s case from the very beginning to keep the entire thing buried. More than likely, the Order of the Shadows didn’t know what to do with the orphan, so they kept Mikael alive.

“Do you know the last thing Mikael said to me?” Xander says as he brings his drink to his lips.

I look at him, but I don’t really want to hear the answer. “He said he loved her, that he would do anything to be with her. Then, as soon as she comes to town, she’s suddenly marked.”

My phone buzzes, drawing both of our attention to the sound in my pocket. I lean over to grab it and can’t help the smile that pushes on to my face.

Summer: How badly do you want me?

I quirk my head, a small smile hints at my lips.

I click a quick response.

SF: More than anything.

Summer: Do you remember what you told me to do with the stick?

A photo pops up on the phone, and I literally spit my drink out. Xander arches his eyebrows, reacting to my very few occasions of outward emotion.

I stare at the photo for a long second and push my glasses up to make sure I’m actually seeing what I’m seeing.

Summer’s in the woods, on her knees, wearing nothing but a bra with a stick stuck right up her cunt. Her body and hair are smeared with mud, and it’s hot as hell.

All-consuming anger erupts inside me. Anger, lust, sheer obsession. Darkness fills every pore, and I barely have a grip on myself as Mikael twinges deep within. He’s seeping into my skin, my bones, my identity. My dick nearly explodes at the sight of her.

Perfect Summer Landry, humiliating herself for me. I’ve always been obsessed with her beauty, but this…? I will never get this image out of my mind.

He either wants to rip her to shreds or fuck the living daylights out of her, I can’t tell. The two of us sing in perfect harmony.

Xander nudges me. “What’s got you so fucking excited?”

The sound of his voice snaps me back, and all the emotion is sucked out like a vacuum. While I’m still coherent, while I’m still myself, I pull up the picture of Cali dripping with blood and send it back to Summer.

It looks like a fresh kill, and that’s what I want Summer to think.

I set my glass on the table and slip out of the room before Xander can ask me anything else. “I have more papers to grade,” I tell him flippantly, though I can barely contain my excitement as I head downstairs. I’m not going to chase her in the woods…not yet, at least.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

SUMMER

“Motherfucker,” I mutter, staring down into my phone in a mix of horror and disbelief. There is no mistaking what I am looking at. I knew he had Cali—and now he is using her as an opportunity to bait and provoke me. But here she is, torn to pieces, her blood splattered everywhere. It’s as if my bones might shatter under the weight of this image. Proof of his insanity if I didn’t believe it before.

She looks so much like me in this photo. Dirt smears and blood stains cover her face, and I can’t help but trace the clear cut on her arm, the crimson streaks leaking from it. My fingers glide over the scar on the apex of my thigh, a painful reminder of his touch in such an intimate place. He promised me so much, only to leave me longing for more.

She has no mark, no demonic claim to him, but he killed her anyway.

The damp earth presses against my skin as I lie beneath the gnarled branches of the skeletal trees, a chilly wind whistling through their bare limbs. The park is a popular spot for runners, and I often see people walking their dogs or even couples on a late-night date. Dressed in barely anything, I exude desperation rather than the blood I crave, finding myself in a position that is utterly degrading and vulnerable, where anyone could walk by and see me.

Vomit hits the back of my throat and my knees sink to the ground, the shock of the moment weighing heavily on me. I try to make sense of what I’m experiencing or why I just did what I did.

Nothing. I feel nothing, but I should be overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions—terror, anger, sadness. I should have remorse for the girl who just lost her life because of whatever twisted game he and I are entangled in. Instead, there’s nothing but gaping desperation.

Clearly, I’m out of my mind, or losing fragments of it. Like he’s stealing every part of me, piece by piece, hour by hour.