Page 5 of Take Her to the Grave

I should be terrified by this admission of stalking. Should be repulsed by the thought of this creature – thisvampire, my mind finally admits – observing my private moments of sorrow. Instead, I feel a thrill of... something. Recognition? Anticipation?

"Who was he?" I ask, nodding toward where we'd been. "The man you... the body..."

"A foolish young one who thought to hunt in my territory." His voice hardens. "One who had taken an unhealthy interest in you."

The implication hits me the same way a physical blow would, and I raise my brow as I question him, "He was watching me?"

"For weeks." His grip tightens so slightly that I almost miss it. "Did you think the sensation of being followed was merely paranoia? He was waiting for the right moment to strike, to take what I had already claimed as mine."

"Yours?" Indignation flares through my fear. "I don't belong to anyone, and definitelynotyou."

His smile turns predatory. "Don't you?" His other hand comes up to cradle my face, thumb brushing across my bottom lip in a gesture that makes my breath catch. "Why do you think you've felt so drawn to this place? Why do you think your steps always led you deeper into my domain, no matter how you tried to resist? You've been mine since the first moment I saw you, Elena. You just didn't know it yet."

I should argue. Should pull away and run screaming into the night. Instead, I find myself swaying toward him, drawn by some primal magnetism I can't begin to understand. "I don't even know your name," I whisper.

"Torrin," he says, and the name seems to echo in my bones. "Though I've had many others through the centuries."

Centuries. The casual way he says it sends another shiver through me. "What... what are you going to do with me?"

His laugh is dark velvet. "Nothing you don't secretly want, little ghost." He steps back, releasing me so suddenly I stumble. "For now? Nothing at all. The hunt is half the pleasure, after all."

I blink in confusion. "You're letting me go?"

"For now," he repeats, and his smile promises things that make my knees weak. "Run home, Elena. Lock yourdoors. Write your stories. But know this – you're mine now. I'll be watching.Waiting. And when the time is right..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to. The promise hangs in the air between us like smoke.

Then he's simply... gone. No dramatic disappearance into mist, no supernatural speed. One moment he's there, the next he isn't, leaving me alone in the fog with my racing heart and trembling limbs.

I run all the way back to my car, refusing to look over my shoulder again. The cemetery gates seem to groan in sympathy as I burst through them, fumbling with my keys before practically throwing myself into the driver's seat. Only when I'm locked inside with the engine running do I allow myself to break down, shaking with delayed terror and something else. Something darker and more primal that makes me press my thighs together against a heat I don't want to acknowledge.

As I pull away from the curb, I catch a glimpse of movement in my rearview mirror – a tall figure standing just inside the gates, watching my retreat. My foot presses harder on the accelerator, but I can't shake the certainty that follows me home:

This is only the beginning.

Chapter Three

HAUNTED

Sleep eludes me. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face – those ancient, predatory eyes boring into mine, that cruel smile promising things I don't dare name. I've been lying here for hours, staring at my bedroom ceiling while moonlight paints silver patterns through the windows I triple-checked were locked.

Not that locks would stop him. I know that now, with a certainty that should terrify me more than it does.

You're mine now.

His words echo in my mind for the hundredth time tonight, sending another shiver through my body. The rational part of my brain insists I should be calling the police, reporting what I saw in the cemetery. But what would I tell them? That I witnessed a vampire disposingof a body? That an immortal creature has claimed me as his prey?

I roll over, punching my pillow in frustration. The clock on my nightstand reads 3:17 AM – the dead hour, as my characters would call it. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. How many times have I written scenes like this? The sleepless heroine, haunted by her encounter with darkness, fighting her forbidden attraction to the monster...

The monster. But that's not quite right, is it? Torrin isn't some mindless creature of horror. The way he moved, the way he spoke – there were centuries of refinement there, civilization wrapped around something ancient and predatory. Like a wolf in an expensive suit.

A cool breeze caresses my face, and I freeze. I distinctly remember closing the window. Sitting up slowly, I scan my moonlit bedroom. Nothing seems disturbed, but there's a scent in the air that wasn't there before – something like winter nights and aged wine.

Hisscent.

My heart begins to race. "Hello?" I whisper into the darkness, hating how hopeful my voice sounds. No answer comes, but the air feels charged,expectant. Like the moment before lightning strikes.

I slip out of bed, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. The window is indeed closed and locked, exactly as I left it. But there, on the sill – a single black rose, its petals gleaming like wet silk in the moonlight. I reach for it with trembling fingers, then snatch my hand back as a thorn draws blood.

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