Page 19 of Primal

Cocking his head in a predatory manner, he says, “The Storm.”

Storm indeed. All he’s done since I met him is crash through my life like a rampant hurricane, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.

He leans down to give me one more heated kiss before turning and walking away like he didn’t just do what he did.

“Wait!” I call after him, struggling against my restraints. “Don’t leave me here!Please!”

He ignores me and keeps walking back toward the clearing.

Dammit!

Tears burn my eyes as I frantically pull at the belt, trying hard to tug it loose. After about a minute, I’m finally able to slip my hands through and free myself. Relief washes over me, but the feeling is short-lived when ice-cold raindrops begin to chill my skin.

I huff out an angry breath and run as fast as I can, hoping beyond hope that I’m going the right way.

After a few minutes, I finally find my way back to the clearing. My stalker is still there, sitting in the front seat of his truck with a smirk on his face. His mask is still off, but he’s so far away that I can barely make him out.

I start to run toward him, but he makes a U-turn and speeds off. I sprint after him, screaming for him to stop, but he keeps going. I don’t stop chasing after him until the truck is nothing more than a spot in the darkness.

CHAPTER 16

KIARA

Three months later

“One more round of shots?” Yolanda asks hopefully, holding out a shot glass toward me. She has box braids now, and instead of gold beads, she has silver ones now; they shimmer despite the dim lighting inside of the club.

I scrunch up my nose and shake my head. “I can’t. I’m about to puke.”

She laughs and downs the drink. “You’ve only had two, little lightweight.”

I roll my eyes and take a sip of my ice water. “Very funny, Yo. I just don’t want to feel like I’m drinking myself into a stupor from grief.”

Yolanda’s eyes soften at that. The past three months have been rough.

Grandma died the night Zyran abandoned me in the forest. She had woken up in the middle of the night—of course it had to be that night—and when she couldn’t find me, she called the police. It didn’t help that she’d found the knife Zyran gave me in my bed—Zyran either left it there on purpose, or he dropped it when he forced me out of the house.

Officers found me wandering the streets an hour later, disheveled, cold, dirty, and hysterically crying because I couldn’t find my way home. When I walked through the door and saw Grandma sitting at the dining room table, being consoled by an officer, I knew I had to tell her what happened.

I spilled everything, leaving out the sexual bits, of course. Because I still hadn’t seen his face—except for his eyes and mouth, of course—there wasn’t much the police could do except make a report. I couldn’t remember the make, model, or color of his truck, just that it was really old. And for some reason, I just couldn’t give them his name. I don’t know why I wanted to protect him so badly, but it came at the expense of Grandma’s wellbeing.

The officers were on their way out of the house when she collapsed. Everything after that feels like a blur. I just remember clutching her against me and screaming at the top of my lungs for them to help her. An ambulance came quickly, but not quickly enough. Grandma was already gone by the time they got there.

As I watched them zip up her body bag and carry her out of the house, I felt a guilt so immense that I didn’t think I would ever get over it. I should have just kept the break-ins to myself. I should have made up some lame excuse for why I was wandering around town in the middle of the night in nothing but shorts and a tank top.

The knowledge that I’m partially responsible for my grandmother’s death will haunt me for the rest of my life.

In the days after her passing, I felt alone and numb. The last of my family is gone, and now I’m all by myself in this cruel world. I found myself vying for the company of my masked stranger, desperate for his cruel, yet tantalizing touch.

But, more than anything, I want him to come back so I can kill the fuck out of him.

If it wasn’t for him, Grandma would still be here, and I wouldn’t be fighting the urge to throw myself into oncoming traffic every day.

I still don’t know why he did what he did; I fully expected him to kill me that night. Things won’t go back to the way they were before. I won’t be able to look at him without feeling the need to drive that knife right into his heart. Ever since that night, I’ve left my front door unlocked, a silent invitation for him to come back.

Not that he needs it. Even if every door and window to my house were cemented shut, he’d still find a way inside.

Ever since Grandma died, I’ve been hearing noises in the house. Where Grandpa’s presence is the familiar scuffle of his slippers against the hardwood floors, Grandma’s is more jarring—it’s movement within the walls and thumps from downstairs. This morning, I heard a door open and close. At first, I thought it was Zyran, but whenever I go to investigate, there’s no one there.

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