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five
I woke in the black of the night, disoriented. A strange sense that I wasn’t alone. There was a presence taking up space in my small room. A weight on my bed near my feet. I reached for my glasses and turned on the little bedside lamp.
“Hello, Cole.”
“Jesus!”
I scrambled back on my heels until my back hit the wall, my heart clamoring in my ribcage and sending blood rushing to my ears.
The demon had come back.
Except that had been a dream and this was real. There were no wings or black eyes but a flesh and blood man, devastating in a black suit, coat, scarf. The man I’d seen in Hyde Park the other day. He was handsome from a distance on the street, but up close…I couldn’t stop staring. His face was a painter’s dream—a composite of contradicting features that harmonized into something breathtaking. Chiseled and sharp in the cheeks but full and soft in the mouth. A strong nose between blue-green eyes that were fringed with long soft lashes. He was blinding. Beautiful.
A beautiful murderer. Holy shit, this is how it happens. He followed me here, and now I’m about to be murdered.
“I’m not going to murder you,” he said calmly. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”I croaked, fumbling for my phone on the nightstand. “I saw you…on the street the other day,” I insisted, yet he had the same British accent as the demon. “H-How did you get in here?”
“This room is uncommonly shabby with numerous cracks and fissures,” he said, glancing around with disdain painted on hisuncommonlyhandsome features. “You might consider more hospitable accommodations.”
“Sure, I’ll do that,” I said, my fingers curling around the phone and gripping tight. “You broke in. I’m calling the police.”
“Unnecessary. You are, after all, only dreaming.”
“Dreaming…”
“As you were last night.”
But he was too real. Too much flesh and bone, sitting on my bed, pinning me under my blankets; I could feel his weight on the thin mattress. In the dimness, I could see a glint of light off his gold hair and the sharper glint in his blue eyes. The scent of his cologne hung in the air, mixed with the faint scent of ash…
“No fucking way…” I started jabbing at my phone.
He sighed, annoyed, and got to his feet. In one smooth motion, he plucked the phone from my hand. I started to shout for help and in the next instant, his eyes were black on black. Black feathered wings sprouted from his back, filling my small space with darkness. The scream died in my throat, and I could only stare.
As fast as they’d appeared, his wings retracted and vanished, and his eyes returned to blue-green.
“As I said, dreaming.”
“Jesus Christ.”
He smirked. “Not even close. My name is Ambri and you are Cole Matheson. There. Now that we’re properly introduced, you can stop clutching the coverlet like a frightened child.”
My hands loosened their claw-like grip on the blanket, and I stared, heart pounding, as he strolled my small place. He examined my paintings that were stacked against the wall, leisurely flipping through them.
I’m losing my shit, that’s all. Plenty of painters have gone mad. It’s kind of our thing…
“Interesting,” Ambri said, jolting me from my thoughts.
“What is?”
“Your art. All portraits.” He was no longer casual now but studying my work, his brows furrowed. “You’re quite good. Extraordinary, even.”
“I’m not…and don’t touch those,” I said, still tucked in bed like a helpless dork.
Ambri ignored me. “This one is especially well done.”
He held up an oil portrait—the best of the bunch. It was of one of my professors at the Academy. I’d put her in a dark green dress with a large brimmed hat. Her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel lay curled on her lap.
