Page 14 of When Night Falls

But nothing like what happens next does me in more.

Lucynda brings the pot of drained noodles back to the stove and pours the homemade sauce over them. When she reaches for the spatula to stir everything together, something seemingly catches her attention and she pauses for a moment. I can’t see what she’s looking at from here as her back is turned to me, but when she makes a slight movement to lean against the counter, I see a black widow spider crawling along her finger and up toward her wrist.

Spiders are one thing, but black widows are as deadly as vampires in the night. Yet, here she is welcoming the danger as if she has a death wish. Or maybe she craves the risk. I analyze her as she focuses on the spider crawling leisurely up her arm. Lucynda doesn’t seem afraid or even bothered. Instead, she invites the beautifully dark creature to continue its travels while she turns back to her pasta and continues to stir it, but not before lifting the spatula to her lips and licking some of the sauce from the tip.

The red substance stains her lips for a moment before she darts her tongue out and cleans it up, all while the spider is still crawling over her skin. I steady myself with one hand on the wall and the other grips at my hair in an attempt to ground myself.

Shewillbe the death of me.

One thing about vampires is that every single feeling and emotion is intensified. Even more so with a bloodlust as angry as mine. Watching her in this exact moment causes me to severely demand control over myself. Specifically, over my sexual craving for the little temptress in front of me. Need hammers in my veins, blood rushing in waves to my cock.

“That tickles, Stella,” she whispers to the spider as its eight legs feather against her shoulder, the one that is free of her night-top’s strap. Watching the spider crawl over Lucynda's skinis a calming distraction yet somehow an aphrodisiac all the same.

Fuck.

This. Girl.

And who names a spider?

I catch my reflection in the window, my eyes are darkening, and I can feel the severe lust of the tether taking over. I try to shake it and that’s when I spot pearlescent parchment lined with gold lace and a red bow laying on top of the trash can next to the counter.

The invitation I had waiting for her at her doorstep.

Before I make my exit, I drop my head and allow myself a cool and steady breath.

Looking back up at the siren who invades my every thought, I focus my eyes on her figure and force my thoughts onto hers. On cue, she turns to look at the trash can, her eyes staring at the invite.

I knew she was going to be a challenge, but there’s nothing I won’t do to make her succumb to her destiny.

To becomingmy wife.

8

a love letter to the mentally broken

Lucynda

I turn to the window, knowing someone was watching me.Feelinglike someone was there.

I lower my hand, touching my fingers to the countertop, allowing Stella to crawl back down before deciding to go take a look.

Stella is a little spider I found the day I moved in. She was weaving a web in the corner of my kitchen and that’s where she’s been ever since. Sure, she’s poisonous, but I like to think it's only because black widows have been given a bad rap for it and they have to live up to their name. Like most women, they’re only truly poisonous if you don’t allow them to show you their real worth. We only bite when provoked. I didn't kill her, I know most would have. But she has done nothing wrong to cause athreat to me, to cause me to want to harm her—a lesson I will always carry with me.

I walk over to my balcony; I see only darkness. No one is there. I open the sliding glass door and step out onto the cold concrete with my bare feet. It’s chilly and the wind causes the trees to sway; leaves scattering over the ground below me. I walk toward the railing and look straight down. There are still people wandering the streets, for a reason I’m unaware. Like I said, this town is full of mystery and people who seem to be hiding more than I should even want to know. But I dowant to know.

I want to know what keeps them up at night and if it’s anything like what keeps me up at night. Or are my problems less bothersome than their own?

Are we all running away from past demons and layers of trauma, trying to convince ourselves that life will get better? Or am I the only one in this town truly troubled and tortured and they simply walk the night because it’s a pleasure that they get to enjoy?

I lean back, gripping the railing, my fingers wrapped around the cold metal. I allow my back to arch as I throw my head back to look into the dark sky. I take a deep breath into the starry night as I let go of the intrusive and querying thoughts, welcoming the frigid air as I inhale

Autumn rain starts to descend from the sky, leaving little drops of rain across my skin as I appreciate this small moment in life. Freedom.

But again, that one particular feeling comes back . . . someone was watching me.Iswatching me. It's a scratch in my brain that I can't reach, but I know it's there.

I bring myself back down to Earth and quickly head inside, closing the door and locking it behind me.

As I reenter the kitchen, my eyes catch sight of the invitation I'd thrown in the trash once I got home. I hadn’t thought aboutit much since tossing it. Though now I wonder if it could be from my uninvited stalker or maybe it was just an invite passed around town. Either way, I wasn't even the slightest interested in paying it any further attention.

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