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“Oh?”
A tendril of white hair in the corner of her vision.
A low moan escaped her throat as he slipped a hand up her thigh, under her slip, drifting north.
Her cheeks feltlike they had burst into flames. This was going to be fucking awkward, wasn’t it? “Well…Sometimes, I—”
There was a buzz on his table. With a sigh, he set down his notepad and pen on the end table beside him. “That’s our time for today.” He stood and picked up the cane that was leaning against the edge of the chair. He didn’t seem to need it to walk, which was weird. The length of the cane was wood, stained black and polished to a high gloss. The head of the cane was a vulture perched on a glass ball that was too dark and old to see what was inside of it. She was always curious about it.
She stood and tucked her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Thursday?”
“Thursday.” He smiled. He met her by the door. “You did great today, Maggie. Great progress.”
“Thanks.” I don’t believe you.
Her subtext must have been obvious. He chuckled and put his hand on her shoulder. The simple motion was oddly jarring to her. The weight and the warmth of it lit something inside her that was wrong and unwelcome. He was her goddamn doctor, for fuck’s sake! She looked down at her shoes, hiding her expression as best she could.
“I mean it.” He lifted his hand from her. “Have a good weekend. Don’t forget, I’m supposed to do a home visit on Friday.”
“Buy a vacuum. Noted.”
He chuckled again as he opened the door for her. “I promise I’ve seen worse.”
“I dunno, man.” She stepped out into the hallway. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
“Have a good week, princess. I’ll see you soon.”
She said goodbye and made her way to the elevator. Pressing her back against the shining surface, she shut her eyes.
Hands grasped her shoulders and whirled her about. Before she could react, she was slid up the wall by those same hands on her thighs. He stepped between her legs, pressing his need where he clearly wished to bury it.
She shut her eyes tight and waited for it to happen. Waited for him to tear off her clothing and ravage her. She wouldn’t stop him. She couldn’t. She was helpless.
Lips hovered close to hers. The brush of a goatee against her skin.
But he didn’t kiss her.
He didn’t take her.
Why?
She opened her eyes.
Silver ones met hers, shining in the darkness, flashing like the eyes of a wolf in the shadows. Inhuman. Impossible. Beautiful.
She whispered to him. “Kill me.”
He sighed, disappointed.
With a crunch, he snapped her neck.
Flying from the building,she had to pull up her steps before she ran into oncoming traffic. A car honked at her, and she lifted her hand in the international signal of “sorry, I fucked up.” But it didn’t help stall the panic that had sent her heart pounding. Once there was a break in the cars, she ran.
She ran as hard as she could.
She ran across Boston Common until her legs burned. Until her heart was drumming in her ears and drowning everything else out. People glanced at her as she went past, but she didn’t care.
She didn’t stop until she had to collapse. And when she did, she found herself going to a familiar place. A place that always brought her peace. She walked through the gates of the Central Burying Ground. She liked the Granary better—it was more secluded, as it was surrounded by buildings on three sides—but it would be slammed with tourists and idiots in colonial garb telling stories to said tourists. Nobody ever went to the Central. Nobody deemed important enough by history was buried there.
