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Frustration overtakes me as I reconsider my entire plan. Can I really do this? Can I kiss him, touch him, and give him my body as I stab him in the neck? My eyes burn as I consider it, and I hate that this is what my life has turned into. I didn’t choose to be this way. I didn’t choose any of this, and I can’t lose sight of the catalyst that brought me here or the reality I want more than anything.
I check the clock again. It’s past four a.m. now, and I’m beginning to question if he’s even coming home. If he has been with another woman, then what? How can I possibly explain my reason for being here in the face of his rejection?
The tumultuous thoughts are giving me a headache, so I do the only logical thing I can. I climb onto his bed and lay my head on the pillow with the intention of clearing my mind and not thinking about anything. Then I smell his scent there, and I realize he does have a side, and this is it. I snuggle deeper, feeling oddly calm as I settle into his space. It’s peaceful here, and I can understand why he wants to keep it that way.
My eyes feel heavy, and I try to keep them open at any cost. I count from one to a hundred and back again. I slip my palm beneath the pillow in the middle to touch the blade of my weapon. I roll onto my side and then onto my back, stretching my limbs and breathing deeply. The exhaustion is becoming too much. It’s pulling me under, and I think if I can just close my eyes for a second, it will be okay.
A sound startles me awake, and at first, I don’t know where I am. Then all at once, a massive surge of adrenaline floods my veins as I bolt upright, squinting into the bright morning light. I glance around the room, unable to see what woke me, but I was certain I heard something.
A muffled grunt reverberates against the door, and I move quickly, tossing the covers off me, preparing for the unknown. I’m standing beside the bed, waiting to see who comes through, but it’s taking too long. Someone is still out there, wiggling the doorknob with muttered curses.
Logically, I know it must be Alessio, but the door isn’t locked, and I don’t understand why he’s having such a difficult time opening it. Several more moments pass before I tiptoe toward the door, listening closely for anything else. When I press my ear against the wood, I hear someone breathing on the other side, but it doesn’t sound like they are moving anymore. I slip my trembling fingers onto the handle, pulling down slowly and opening it to reveal a sight straight out of a horror film.
Alessio is standing there in a tattered button-down shirt that was once probably white, but now it’s soaked in blood. I can’t tell if it’s his or someone else’s, but it’s … everywhere. My eyes move over him rapidly, taking in the details as quickly as I can. There’s a cut above his eyebrow and bruising on his jaw. Dried blood is smeared across his throat, and his entire sleeve is soaked in fresh blood. There’s so much that it’s dripping down his palm and onto the marble floor. I can see now why he wasn’t able to open the door.
He lifts his head slowly, clearly exhausted, and his gaze meets mine. “What are you doing here?”
His tone is unmistakably annoyed, and I suspect it’s because he didn’t anticipate anyone would see him like this, least of all me. When his eyes travel down the length of my body, noting the lace chemise, something changes. His nostrils flare, and then his brows pinch together.
“Were you in my bed?”
That question is a landmine I’d rather avoid right now, so I do the only rational thing I can. I reach for his hand and pull him inside, directing him to the gray chair I was in earlier. I hold up a finger to indicate that he should wait there.
He watches me as I walk into his bathroom. I don’t know how to distract him from the fact that I know he has a massive stash of first aid supplies in here. I rifled through them earlier, wondering why he needed so many. Now I know.
I grab everything I think I might use and carry it back to the side table. Then I head for his dresser, where I saw a decanter and a glass. I don’t know what’s in it, but hopefully, it’s strong.
He watches me as I bring it to him, opening the decanter and pouring him a large glass. Suspicion lingers in his eyes as if he knows my intentions somehow, so I do the only thing I can to reassure him. I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip first before handing it over to him.
