Page 37 of Carnival Shadows

“Remy?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“Go to sleep, Eden.” My voice is firm but not harsh. She falls quiet, and gradually, her breathing evens out.

I remain awake, alert to any sound of movement. She’s mine now, and I intend to keep her, but first, I need to break my stalker and see what darkness lies within.

19

EDEN

Waking less than an hour after my encounter with Remy, I walk across the cold floor of Remy’s trailer, my body aching in ways that remind me of everything that happened. The bathroom light flickers as I stare at my reflection—hair wild, lips swollen, eyes glassy with a mix of exhaustion and lingering adrenaline.

“Who are you becoming?” I ask myself, tracing the marks on my neck. All those years studying the darkness in others, dissecting their psychological profiles, their motivations. Now, I’m living out my twisted fantasies.

My hands grip the edge of the small sink. The cool porcelain grounds me, but my mind keeps reverting to Remy in the other room. I know he’s awake because his presence is like an electric current through the thin walls.

I’ve interviewed countless criminals and delved into their minds through letters and recordings. I built my career on understanding the psychology of dangerous men, but none of them compared to him. None of them made me feel so alive, so seen in my own depravity.

My reflection shows someone I barely recognize anymore. The controlled, analytical Eden Love, who kept her fascinationwith killers safely academic, is gone. In her place is someone wild, who craves the danger she used to study from a safe distance.

I splash cold water on my face, but it does nothing to calm the fire under my skin.

My whole body thrums with the need for more, even as my muscles protest. The floor creaks under my feet as I shift my weight; I know he hears it. He knows that I’m awake and wanting. The hunter and the willing prey are caught in this dark dance we’ve created.

I step out of the bathroom and collide with solid muscle, my hands instinctively pressing against Remy’s bare chest. The impact knocks a small gasp from my lips. His skin burns hot under my palms, and my fingers twitch with the urge to trace the dark lines of his tattoos.

“Going somewhere?” His voice rumbles through his chest, and I feel it vibrate against my hands.

All I can do is stare up at him. His hair is deliciously disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it while I was in the bathroom. The sight makes my mouth go dry.

My body responds to his proximity like a magnet finding true north. Every nerve ending sparks to life, and I’m painfully aware of how little space exists between us. The familiar ache builds low in my belly as his scent surrounds me.

His massive frame blocks the entire hallway, and I know it’s deliberate. He’s caging me in, asserting his control, and God help me, but It only makes me want him more.

“You’re staring.” His lips curl into that dangerous smirk that has haunted my fantasies since I first saw it.

I should step back and maintain some dignity, but my hands disagree. They slide up his chest of their own accord, mapping the ridges of muscle I’ve photographed so many times in secret.

I gasp as Remy’s grip tightens around my wrist, his calloused fingers pressing into my pulse point. My heart hammers against my ribs as he leans close.

“You can’t possibly want more after earlier, little stalker.” The growl in his voice sends shivers down my spine.

Before I can respond, he spins me around in one fluid motion. My breath catches as he captures both my wrists behind my back, the movement swift and controlled. The wall meets my cheek with enough force to remind me of his strength, of how easily he could break me if he wanted.

My body trembles against the cold surface, trapped between it and the heat of his solid form. Every point of contact burns like a brand, marking me as his prey, his possession. I feel the vibration of his chest against my back as he makes that low sound again—half warning, half predator.

I can barely draw oxygen into my lungs with how he has me pinned, but the restriction only makes my head spin with need. I’ve dreamed of and written about this in my journal entries. The reality is much more intense than any fantasy my obsessed mind ever conjured.

His free hand slides down my stomach, and he growls again when he feels how wet I am. “You greedy little slut.” He tears down the shorts I’m wearing and slips his hand between my legs, stroking through my pussy.

“Don’t call me that.” My voice comes out breathless, struggling to keep myself upright as my knees weaken. “I’m not?—”

The sting of his palm against my ass cuts off my protest. “Greedy. Slutty. What else?”

My breath hitches as his fingers circle my clit, pressing and rubbing until I’m biting my lip to keep from crying out. I feel the weight of his chest against my back and know he’s enjoying every second of this.

“You want more,” he whispers. “Say it.”

“I... please...” I can’t even finish the thought; my mind is lost.

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