Page 171 of The Beautiful Dead

Because it was Remi.

Because it was mine to give.

And maybe that was the problem. Maybe that was why I was standing here like a fucking fool, staring at his back, at the raised, healing lines of my name carved along his spine.

A shudder of satisfaction coiled through me, curling deep in my gut. He was mine. And now? Now everyone would know. Not that I’d ever let another fucker get close enough to see him without his shirt on.

But that wasn’t the point.

I knew.

And so did he.

Remi settled onto one of the stools, his legs spread wide, completely comfortable in my space, my clothes, my life. His gaze locked onto the black box in front of him.

“What’s this?”

He traced a single charcoal-stained finger along the edge, turning it this way and that, searching for some mark of origin.

I smirked against the rim of my cup and leaned against the counter opposite him, waiting for him to drag his intrigued gaze away from it.

Eventually, I felt his eyes on me again. The moment that weight settled, something inside me eased. Like pressure lifting off a trigger.

Like the gnawing hunger I carried under my skin, finding something to sink its teeth into.

Marlow Heights was mine.

But I didn’twantit.

I wantedhim.

That was enough.

“Open it and see,” I said finally when the drumming of his fingers against the lid got to be too much.

He huffed out a laugh, practically buzzing with curiosity. “Really?”

His excitement did something to me, something I didn’t fully understand, a heat curling through my chest that I refused to name. Remi had tried to explain it once. Said it was probablylove. Maybe that was wishful thinking. But I had said those three words to him.

When he wasn’t preoccupied with sketching and planning his kills, he liked to remind me. Sometimes with words. Sometimes, by melting into me when I ran my fingers down his back, over the deep cuts where I’d carved my name into him.

Other times?

He would drop to his knees, take my cock to the back of his throat, and moan in thanks.

A shiver of anticipation flickered down my spine as I watched him lift the lid. The sharp inhale that followed was pure, breathless delight.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” His fingers trembled as he reached inside, brushing over the fractured remains of a skull. His eyes snapped to mine. Wide. Wet. Impossibly bright. “Who?”

I smirked.

He already knew. He always had to know. Couldn’t rest until he understood the story inside the bones, inside the blood.

“The one you stole from me,” I murmured.

A sharp intake of breath. Remi’s grip on the skull tightened. He placed it gently on the counter, his fingers running over the cracks, the fractures, the hollows where life had once existed.

“You mean?—?”

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