Page 61 of The Devil Takes

But the real reason I chose my destination was because despite the fact that logic should dictate my decision, my heart had decided instead.

I could see Dad’s pickup truck in my rear view mirror. No matter how many turns I made, how many lights I blasted through, he was always there. Like a phantom haunting me. The way he had my entire fucking life.

Chipped blue paint.

Hazel eyes, just like my own, that brought me to Hell when I looked inside them.

As I parked my car in the gravel, I paused for a second to reflect on my own stupidity. I knew what I was doing was genuinely idiotic, running to an isolated location just because the omega inside me was chasing comfort from a man that had disappeared from my life. Haden’s jacket was bunched too tight around my shoulders as my feet hit the pebbles with a crunch and I left the car running behind me so I wouldn’t waste precious seconds as I tore off across the graveyard.

It was just as barren here as it had been the last time I’d visited.

The sun had sunk low on the horizon, disappearing behind the mountains. My headlights bleeding across tombstones, illuminating the way as I dodged long-dead bodies, and prayed to whatever Gods were listening that I could get away. That I could find him.

That he’d give me back the choice he’d taken away to save me.

It was cold.

The kind of cold that takes bites from your flesh and burrows deep inside the marrow of your bones. Icy. Mean. Painful in its winter flavored vitriol.

They said the Devil came out on winter nights just like this one. That the passage to Hell was only a few short steps away. Hidden behind tombstones and half-wilted bouquets at the back of a graveyard older than the town itself.

They said the Devil visited those that were most vulnerable.

They said the Devil took what he wanted to take.

If I was a smarter guy, I would’ve run away. Run far from Haden’s offer uttered under the blanket of darkness. Run away from the promise of a forever too long to comprehend. But…I was stupid.

And I wanted the Devil to take me.

The bridge was right ahead. Twenty more yards and I’d be there. The trees loomed larger with every step. I didn’t know what would happen when I arrived beneath it, only able to guess, as my blood thrummed with fear—and purpose—and the crackle of leaves behind me alerted me to the fact that my dad was right on my heels.

I could smell him.

His anger, bitter and sharp. Like dried blood and burnt aluminum.

Dad wasn’t faster than me on a normal day.

But even with adrenaline rushing through my body, there was nothing I could do about the weakness that had eaten away my bones and chipped away at my energy for the past few months. I couldn't get away. I stumbled, the sluggishness coming back with a vengeance right at the worst possible moment. I was too slow.

Too fucking slow.

Too slow to realize I was in danger.

Too slow to realize the lie I was trapped inside.

Too slow to keep the man I’d decided was mine.

Ten yards left.

Halfway there.

Ten yards.

Ten yards that felt like ten miles as I stumbled over abandoned tombstones and tripped over my own feet. My toes caught on something as I approached the jagged rocks that lined the edge of the graveyard. The ground rushed up toward my face. Heat burned at the back of my neck as I scrambled toward the rocks. So close. So fucking close. If I could only grab a weapon—

Dirt clung to my knees and shins, and my toes and fingers were numb.

The scent of dead things permeated the air. Rotting leaves and decay, like an exhale between winter’s first harsh, life-sucking kisses.

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