Page 27 of Touched By Death

A brush of fabric on my bare arm rustles past, and I jump back. Breath caught in my throat, I listen for footsteps as the seconds tick by, extending into minutes. Each individual heartbeat thuds against my ribcage like the beat of a drumstick, a twisted symphony that entices the predator to breathe in my fear like a starved wolf. Footsteps drag over the stone flooring—deliberately slow, calculated, heavy steps designed to ratchet up my fear. The stalker is toying with me.

My wings flare threateningly as my lips peel back to reveal my elongating fangs. I hiss, conjuring a flame at my fingertips. It licks a slow path up my arms, dancing in the blackness like the light inside me once did, before Daemon and his friends snuffed it out with their sinful touches. The darkness inside me creeps to the surface as a sinister laugh bubbles up from my throat. “Come out to play. I’m waiting.”

What the hell? What was that? No sooner has the thought entered my mind than I’m thrown back against the wall. A sharp blade digs into my throat, and a set of moist lips descend on my neck. Whoever it is breathes me deep into their lungs. I try to make sense of the situation, but my thrashing heartbeat makes me lightheaded. Or maybe it’s the graze of sharp teeth against the curve of my neck.

A lick of pain has me drawing in a sharp breath. He applies more pressure to the knife and sinks his teeth into me. Instinct kicks in, and flames erupt at my fingertips. I grab hold of his throat. With a grunt, he disappears back into the shadows. The stench of burned flesh lingers in the air as I straighten up and stumble to the mouth of the hallway, using the stone wall to guide me. Squinting against the light, I collapse to the floor in a heap of tears and disorientation.

“Shit!” Dmitriy is there to scoop me up into his arms. Cradling me to his chest, he strides down the hallway, past clusters of students who stop to gawk at the bleeding girl in his arms.

We exit the building, and his wings erupt from his back in a blur of motion as we shoot up into the starry night sky. The cool wind seeps through my thin dress and whips my hair around my face. I replay the events in my mind, how the stalker breathed me in before sinking his teeth into my neck, and more tears fall. I hate to admit how scared I’ve been.

We land outside Amenadiel’s house, and Dmitriy carries me inside. But instead of taking me to my room, he carries on down the hallway until we enter his bedroom. Shouldering through the door, his smell surrounds me as he places me down on his bed and sweeps my hair away from my tear-stained cheeks. Fingers brushing over the bite marks on my neck, he grits his teeth and growls deep in his chest.

“Why does it hurt so much?”

Tracing the cut, he shakes his head as if to clear it, then says, “It’s healing, but slowly.”

I try to sit up, but he guides me back down with his hand on my shoulder. “What do you mean by that? Why is it healing slowly?”

Instead of replying, he sits down beside me and inspects the wound in more depth. “I don’t think your stalker tried to kill you.”

Confused, I wince when his thumb drags over the cut again. “What makes you say that?”

Placing two of his fingers over the bite mark, his eyes find mine. “These.” He straightens up, puts his elbows on his thighs, and studies me from over his shoulder. “Killing you would be quick and easy. Looking at those bite marks, he enjoys you.”

“Enjoys me?”

“Your smell. Your taste.” He drops his head, his hair falling over his brow as he stares down at the floor beneath his feet. “If he wanted to kill you, he would have.”

“So what does he want?” I sit up, despite the disapproving look that he throws me over his shoulder.

“To mark you,” he breathes out after a while, looking past me to the window.

“Mark me?”

A soft nod accompanies the slow slide of his eyes in my direction. “The question is, why?”

Bringing my hand up to my stinging throat, I locate the bite marks that feel very much like branding. “You have a theory?”

“Other than the obvious? That he’s one of Daemon’s enemies or a psychopath with an obsession?” He shakes his head, staring at the bite mark on my throat. “But I would hazard a guess that this relates to the pub you burned down.”

I frown. “The pub? Why?”

“Not the pub, but the reason behind why you burned it down. That kind of darkness…” His eyes skate away as he jiggles his left knee. “It doesn’t belong to Hell.”

A sudden laugh escapes my lips, and I lower my hand. “So it’s okay for Amenadiel to annihilate families, but burning down a pub is different?”

“That’s part of the hunt. But you…” he drifts off, avoiding my gaze. With a sharp inhale, he pins me in place with his eyes. “You don’t feed on blood. You feed on fear and destruction. And that will attract all kinds of unwelcome attention.”

I grow still. What is he talking about? “Of course I feed on blood.”

“Do you?” Brow winged up, he watches me. “When did you last drink blood?”

I think back, but before I can open my mouth to retort, he shifts closer, placing his hands on either side of my waist and bringing his nose unnervingly close to mine. “Too long ago to sustain you, but you fed on fear at the pub. I bet you could expel enough power to fling me across the room.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice shakes as I flick my eyes between his.

The torches on the walls flicker wildly, as if they reflect my inner turmoil, and Dmitriy notices, scanning them all as his lips curl back into a knowing smile. When he brings the full weight of his eyes to me, I hold my breath. “Try it.”

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