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I pull her against my chest, and we both lay there until our breathing deepens and we fall asleep, forgetting all about the wet sheets.
38
Chapter Thirty Eight
Alana
Disoriented and confused, I wake up with Andreas’ heavy arms and legs tangled around me. A nightmare woke me, and I’m sweating and my heart races in my throat. As gently as I can, I shift from underneath him and sneak out of his room to put clothes on. I make my way down the hallway to the spare bedroom where my clothes are and slide on an oversized tee and panties.
Dehydration from the wild sex we had earlier has me creeping down the stairs in search of water. Andreas’ house is quiet and dark, and the moonlight casts ghostly shadows on the walls that bring a chill to my heated skin. The kitchen is dark save for a sliver of light that shines from the window above the sink, and a strange feeling creeps along my body as I close the distance to the cabinets where Andreas keeps the glasses.
I try to shake off my unease as I open the stainless-steel refrigerator and fill a heavy glass with ice-cold water. The kitchen is silent, but it doesn’tfeelempty. Haltingly, I turn and survey the room. A black shadow lurks in the living room doorway, and for a split second, my heart jumps into my throat. A rush of air leaves my lungs when I realize it’s just Andreas’ worn hoodie suspended from a hook near the front door.
You’re being insane, Alana. Go back to bed.
Glass clinks when I sit my drink in the sink, and I jump when I glimpse movement. The world stops spinning when I see a figure standing motionless, watching me through the window above the sink. The darkness hides their face, and they remain still even after they see me notice them.
The hair on my arms raises like hackles and goosebumps prickle my skin from head to toe. Glued to the floor, my feet refuse to move, and my heart thuds loudly in my chest as the seconds seem to stretch into hours. Somewhere deep inside, I sense something malicious about the figure. It’s an energy that flows from them, through the window, and through my body.
The air around me whispers,run.
Lazily, they reach out their gloved hand and place it on the glass. Their movements are unhurried and eerie.
“Andreas!” I scream, taking a step back, my movements stiff with terror. In an instant, the fingers slip away and vanish into obscurity. In my haste to get away, my elbow knocks something from the counter, and glass shatters around at my feet.
I turn to run upstairs, and when I round the corner, my body collides with something hard and unforgiving. I shriek and begin pushing myself away when I hear Andreas’ panicked voice. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, what’s wrong? Alana, what happened?”
He’s wide awake, holding a baseball bat in his hands.
“I saw someone… outside the window,” I stammer, pointing. “They were watching me.”
Andreas’ face drains of color, and he carefully steps around the shattered glass shards on the floor. He stalks closer to the kitchen window and peers out cautiously into the moonlit night. The trees rustle in the wind, and his eyes dart around as he scans the yard for any signs of movement. After a few moments, he turns to me with worry etched deeply into his features.
“You’re sure you saw someone?” he asks quietly.
I widen my eyes and give him a hateful look.
“Of course, I’m sure. I’m not crazy. I came down for a drink and felt weird, like someone was watching me. When I turned around, I saw the shadow of someone standing outside the window. Then they reached for me, and I screamed.”
Andreas grabs my hand and calmly says, “I believe you. Go upstairs and grab your phone. Call the police. I’m going to walk out front and see if I see anything suspicious.”
I nod and do as I’m told. The walk to Andreas’ bedroom seems to stretch on forever. Once I switch on the light, I struggle to find my phone. I shake out the comforter and check the bedside table, then remember I left it in the spare bedroom.
I hurry across the hall and grab it, then walk back down the stairs and dial 911.
Once the dispatcher answers, I explain what happened while I wait for Andreas. She assures me someone will be here soon, and all I can do is tensely sit on the couch and stare out the window.
Minutes later, the door flies open. Andreas strides through and slams it shut. He stomps toward me, his face twisted in anger, before he flops down beside me and lets out a deep, throaty growl.
I feel his anger radiating off him in waves, so I ask, “What? What happened?”
“Whoever it was, they slashed my tires,” he says, pointing to the driveway. “They left a huge hunting knife sticking out of one.”
I stare at him in horror. “It has to be him, right? Somehow, he’s found out where you live, and he knows I’m here.”
He nods his head in agreement and leans back on the couch. I sit up straight beside him, and I feel a sense of dread settle into the pit of my stomach.
Suddenly, a loud knock echoes through the house. We both jump in surprise, and Andreas slowly moves to the window to see who’s outside. I creep behind him, and through the curtains, I can make out two police officers standing on the porch, flashlights in hand. I turn to look at Andreas, and he nods his head and takes a deep breath before unlocking the door and letting them in.
