Page 14 of Midnight Masquerade

"Tell me anyway."

"My parents would give me anything I wanted just to one-up the other. When I was thirteen, I asked to go to a haunted house. My mom took me." She huffs out a breath. "It went fine, but my dad was pissed because he didn't get to take me. So, he found an even better one, according to him."

Dread coils in my stomach when she pauses. I can already guess where the fuck this is heading, and I don't like it.

"It was one of those really terrifying haunted houses. The extreme ones where you have to sign a waiver," she whispers. "They grab you, hold you down, scream in your face, and chaseyou through the dark. They tied us up and left us in the dark. They sprayed us with water. We were chased through the dark and grabbed by men in masks. I was put inside a coffin, and it was padlocked shut."

"Your goddamn father took you there?" I growl, my blood boiling.

She bobs her head, refusing to look at me. "It's stupid, I know. The whole point was to be scared, but I had nightmares for months." She shrugs like it's no big deal. "Scary and I haven't really been friends since then. It gives me a lot of anxiety."

I curve my hand around her jaw, forcing her to look at me. "It isn't stupid, Madeline. And it is a big deal. You were a teenager and in an environment where people in terrifying costumes were tormenting you with the sole purpose of scaring you. Your asshole fathernevershould have put you in that position."

Most of those places—the responsible ones, at least—don't allow kids in specifically because they're so goddamn terrifying. The fact that her father signed a waiver allowing her to go in just to spite her mother is beyond horrific. It's fucking abusive. I don't know the man, but I already hate him. She deserved his protection, not that.

I was bullied by kids. She was traumatized by adults who should have known better. There is no comparison. And still, she dived right into trying to salvage this holiday for me, ignoring her feelings and trauma surrounding it. Because she wanted to make it better for me.

Christ, she's incredible.

Now, it's my turn to salvage some of it for her.

Fuck. I hope she finds this funny and doesn't think I'm a raging asshole.

"Do you trust me, unicorn?" I ask, stroking my fingers along her cheek.

"The jury is still out," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at me.

"I'm being serious, baby. Do you trust me to ensure that nothing bad happens to you? Because I won't allow anything to hurt you. I swear to you, I won't."

Hell will freeze over before I let anything happen to her. I've never needed much, but I need her, and I need her trust. Everything in me craves both on a level that's completely foreign to me. At this point, there isn't much I wouldn't do for her.

I don't need a lifetime to figure it out. Hell, I don't need weeks or months or years. Some shit is instinctive. This is one of those things. She is mine. Mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine in every goddamn way. I was meant to find her tonight. I feel it in my fucking bones.

She studies me for a heartbeat, her expression softening. "I trust you, Drake."

"Good." My fucking heart grows six sizes at her sweet confirmation. "Then I want you to close your eyes and press your face up against my throat. I'll carry you through the cemetery, and you won't have to see a single second of it. But I do want you to see what's on the other side."

Now, more than ever, I want her to see it. It's another secret I've never shared with anyone.

She hesitates for a split second and then nods bravely. "Okay." Her teeth immediately sink into her bottom lip. "But if I die in a graveyard, I will find you, and I will haunt you."

"You aren't dying in a graveyard. You aren't dying at all." I tap her button nose. "Close your eyes, pretty unicorn."

They reluctantly flutter closed.

I tuck her carefully up against my chest, gently pressing her face against my throat, and striding toward the cemetery. She's rigid in my arms, clearly not relaxed. Neither am I. Not with her lips against my throat. Not with every sweet breath pelting my skin. Not with her in my arms, so fucking soft and sweet.

But I grit my teeth against my body's reaction to her and stride forward. I parked facing the cemetery and left the lights on so we'd be able to see. There isn't much else out here to light the way. But with the lights of the truck and the moonlight, I find the path easily.

"I've been coming out here for years," I murmur to her. "I don't think anyone else in town even remembers this place exists. The people buried here died so long ago that they don't get visitors anymore."

"That's sad," she whispers.

"Yeah, it is. I keep the place cleaned up so it doesn't run wild. Figure someone should do it."

She relaxes slightly, melting into me.

"My favorite grave belongs to an old man named Bitter Smithers."

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