AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Sleep tight, Celeste," I whispered against the glass, leaving nothing but a ghostly breath to mark my presence. "Your guardian devil will be watching over you."
The sick fascination I harbored twisted inside me, tightening its grip on my senses—and other things. I palmed the growing bulge in my pants, a groan escaping my lips before I could bite it back. A dark chuckle rumbled in my chest.
But then she stirred, gasping, her body jerking upright in bed, and my heart—if it still beat—would've stopped. For a moment, I thought she'd caught onto my presence, that she'd sensed the predator lurking just beyond her reach. But no, it was only a nightmare that had invaded her dreams, painting fear across her delicate features.
Fuck. The desire to leap through the window and pull her into my arms was almost overwhelming. I wanted to chase away the phantoms that haunted her, to soothe her with whispered promises of safety. Yet here I stood, frozen like some goddamn statue, unable to offer anything but silent yearning.
The sight of Celeste shaking, her breaths ragged sobs in the stillness of her bedroom, was like a punch to the gut. I leaned closer, my cold nose almost touching the windowpane, as she fumbled for the light switch and threw her covers off with a violence borne from terror.
"Easy, easy," I whispered, though she couldn't hear me, my voice tinged with a darkness that felt both protective and predatory.
Then she did something unexpected. She rushed to the other room, grabbed a canvas—an empty, mocking void—and started to paint. Even from my obscured view, the strokes were wild, frenetic. The colors she used were dark, morose, splashed onto the canvas with an urgency that made my dead heart clench. It was the scene of the latest murder, the one that taunted me. The killer's signature phrase, "Justice is Blind," took shape under her brush, stark and accusing.
Fuck me sideways. I watched her recreate the crime scene with an accuracy that clawed at my insides. "How in hell...?" My hand stilled against the glass, my arousal forgotten in the face of this new puzzle. Was Celeste connected to the bastard who'd been dropping bodies like breadcrumbs through my city?
The idea set my instincts on fire, a blaze of confusion and protectiveness that scorched through my veins. It was bullshit; it had to be. Celeste, with those haunted eyes and her soul laid bare on every canvas—she couldn't be?—
Could she?
Revealing myself to her was a risk—a goddamn grenade with the pin pulled out. But if she was involved, even unknowingly, I had to know. It was my mess, my sick game with a killer who thought he was fucking Michelangelo painting chapels with people's blood.
"Dammit, Celeste," I groaned, torn between the urge to barge in and demand answers or continue to skulk in the darkness like some depraved wraith. If I told her everything, if I let her see the monster behind the man, would she run? Or worse, would she stare into the abyss of my world and find herself lost?
I can't risk you, Little Shadow. Not until I know more.
The bitter bite of the Chicago wind clawed at my skin, but it was nothing compared to the snarl of frustration eating me up inside. There I was, lurking like some godforsaken peeping Tom, when the crunch of gravel underfoot cut through the night's silence.
Who the hell... My thoughts trailed off as I pressed myself against the cold brick of Celeste's apartment building, every muscle taut with sudden alertness. Someone else had decided to join our twisted little party.
A shadow moved towards her door. I could feel the familiar itch in my fangs, a primal urge for violence rising up alongside a surge of possessiveness that shocked me with its intensity. No one got to scare Celeste—no one but me.
Think you can just show up uninvited? My eyes narrowed as I tracked the visitor's approach. Not on my watch, asshole.
Chapter 14
Celeste
Swiping at the charcoal on my hands, I flung open the door. The sight that greeted me was Aria—my personal ray of fucking sunshine—her face drenched in tears, mascara making a break for it down her cheeks.
"Shit, Aria," I said, stepping aside to let her hurricane of sadness into my sanctuary. "What the hell happened?"
She stumbled past me, a mess of blue curls and heartbreak. Her sobs were those ugly, guttural ones that claw their way out when life decides to kick you in the teeth. And damn if I didn't want to find whoever caused her this pain and return the favor with interest.
"Heather dumped me," she managed between gasps, her brown eyes leaking despair like a busted pipe. "Said she needed space, but I know she's been screwing someone else."
"Space, my ass," I muttered, rolling my eyes. Loyalty's as rare as a goddamn unicorn in this city. I wrapped an arm around her, leading her to the couch. It wasn't much, but it was a place to crash without judgment.
"Sit down. Take a load off." I nudged her gently onto the cushions. "You want to slash her tires or should we stick to badmouthing her for now?"
Aria huffed out a laugh that sounded more like a choke, and I knew I'd hit the mark. Nothing like a bit of vengeful humor to cut the tension.
"Thanks, Celeste," she said, wiping at her eyes. "You always know how to make me feel... less shitty."
"Less shitty is my specialty," I replied with a smirk. "Now, spill. Let's dissect every crappy thing Heather's ever done until you realize you're better off without her cheating ass."
As Aria poured her heart out, I played my part—the best friend who gives a fuck. Because despite all my gripes about attachments and the bullshit they bring, Aria was my exception, my chosen family. And hell if I wouldn't burn the world down to see her smile again.
I couldn't help the side-eye I threw at my latest creation. It was a masterpiece in murder, but the timing of its unveiling sucked harder than a vacuum on steroids. Aria needed a safe haven, not a front-row seat to my twisted psyche.
