Page 32 of Fate's Unseen Shadow

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“Did you forget something?” When her doorbell rang, Ella looked through the peephole, and was disappointed it wasn’t Damon. She opened the door. “Hey, Ryker?” She looked past him to the lady behind him. “And friend.”

“I brought someone to sketch the person who you saw following you. She promises not to ask questions aside from what she needs to know for the sketch. I also told her I wouldn’t give her your name for your protection.”

“Was Damon supposed to be here when we did this?” The slight edge of panic in her voice embarrassed her in front of the sketch artist, who stood quietly to the side.

“He got called away.”

“I know, but…”

Ryker lifted his eyebrows, his brown eyes kind like usual. “I can’t help you until we do this, Ella. Can we please come inside?”

“Sure.” She stepped back, disappointed but determined to handle it. “Can I get you something to drink? I had a small grocery delivery made a few minutes ago. I hate knowing Damon is paying so much for meal orders when I can learn to cook.”

“I’ll take whatever you have.” Ryker stopped close, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Just relax.”

“Does he know you’re here?” She meant Damon, hoping he understood.

“Yes. He knew we were doing this. They’re down at the port. Grab the drinks and I’ll get her set up.” He left, moving with the woman to the living room. “Let me know if you need anything from us,” he said to the woman.

Ella grabbed a few sodas and brought them to the living room. After passing out the drinks, she sat in the chair Ryker indicated and took a big breath.

The sketch artist crisscrossed her legs on the sofa, opened her sketchbook, and looked up at Ella. “Go.”

Ryker moved behind Ella, setting his hand on her shoulder. “Breathe.”

Ella managed to describe her stalker, giving the sketch artist everything she could remember. From his bald head and the color of his eyes to the tattoo on his neck. A snake of some kind. The scar over his left eye. The lopsided nostrils. His protruding chin.

“I knew you’d have a kickass memory,” Ryker said, pride in his voice. The purr of Damon’s car caused her and Ryker to look toward the parking lot. “Damon’s back.”

The woman continued to sketch for a moment before turning the picture around. “Now, you can tell me if something isn’t right?—”

“Oh my god. That’s him.” She inhaled. “That’s exactly him.” Her breathing started coming faster, panic rising higher. She looked at Ryker, not knowing what to do as her vision swam.

“Easy,” Ryker whispered. “It’s only a picture. He can’t hurt you.”

She wrapped her hand around her throat. “I can’t,” she gasped.

She could see him again, standing across the street, making that motion across his throat like she was dead.

She was next.

He’d kill her.

“Yes, you can.” Ryker took her by the elbow. “Damon’s back. You’ll be okay with him here.”

Closing her eyes, she focused on getting herself under control. She wasn’t this weak. Scared? Absolutely. But not weak.

She opened her eyes as Ryker motioned to the woman to pack up. “We need to go.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Come on. Let me take you downstairs. Shit,” he muttered. “I hate that I missed the party,” he said in a raised voice.

“Definitely an interesting party.” Damon stood at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, blood down the side of his pants. He held a wadded-up T-shirt to the cut.

“What happened?” Ryker asked.

“Someone decided to practice their Thanksgiving carving skills on my lower back.”

Ryker glanced back at the sketch artist, who’d packed up in record time and was standing behind them. “I’m going to go see about him.”

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