Page 136 of Blood & Betrayals

He tilts his head, watching me. I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel them fixed on me. Occasionally, his form flickers in the shadows, integrating with them. There is something so familiar about the feel of his gaze but also so foreign, and I stare at him as I try to sort through my thoughts. My gut instinct tells me I don’t need to run, which makes no sense. There is a murderer on the loose who seems desperate to hack me to pieces and a fae hunter from my past, desperate to find and weaponize me. Yet here I am, standing with the fucking blustery Bigfoot. Okay, that’s a bit harsh. He seems to be a good deal less hairy than Bigfoot.

So, while my instincts aren’t screaming at me to run, I can’t put my finger on why, and that is infinitely scarier. Could this be a ruse? A trick? A spell? I sort through the possibilities, trying to think of any runes that might have the power to grant the wearer the ability to twist another’s thoughts, feelings, and worries, but I keep coming up empty. All I can think of are runes to make myself more fearless, which Icertainlyhave not used on myself. I make enough bad decisions without adding faux recklessness into the mix.

I back up a step, wanting to see what he will do, but he just continues to watch me. At least, I think he’s watching. I can feel those eyes on me, but there is something unnerving aboutnot being able to see them. While my face heats under the alleged scrutiny of the stranger, I can’t tell where he’s focusing his attention. I back up again, still not feeling that fight-or-flight response, but simply forced survival instincts. While I don’t feel like I’m in danger, there is no disputing that I’m in a vulnerable position. If anything, my lack of reaction is causing me more concern than the actual shadow male standing four feet away from me.

I take another step back, and another until my back hits the door of my dorm, and I hurry inside. Once within the safety of Kelpie Hall, the instincts I was waiting for finally kick-in, and my heart pounds in my chest. I pant and lean against the door.

Fuck.

I turn, peeking through the peephole, but see nothing there. Even the breeze seems to have stilled. I press my back against the door and close my eyes, taking a moment to consider what the fuck just happened.

55

Summer

Once I’ve collected myself, I go back up to my room. Connor is where I left him, completely immersed in the show.

I walk past him, going straight to the window and peering out into the black of the forest. There is nothing to see, nothing to feel. The only thing staring back at me is my reflection in the glass, my eyes a little glazed with fear.

“You okay, babe?” Connor asks. The laptop goes quiet as Connor pauses the show and focuses on me. I keep looking out the window, unsure what I think I’ll see, uncertain what I’m afraid to see.

“Babe?” Connor prompts. The mattress springs groan a little as he shifts on the bed.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” I finally reply, closing the curtains. I turn to face Connor. His eyes are shadowed with concern, but his lips are curved in a small smile. He shifts, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding his hand out to me. I walk to him, sliding my hand into his. Connor pulls me between his legs and wraps hisarms around me, looking up at me. I tunnel my fingers into his soft blond locks and look down at him.

“Hi, big guy.”

“I missed you.” Connor tightens his arms around me.

I giggle softly, any unease melting away. “While I was out at the trash can?”

Connor presses his face into my stomach, inhaling me. “Almighty, you’re sexy.”

I tighten my fingers in his hair, smiling.

He looks up at me. “Can I sleep over?”

“Yes, big guy.”

While I’m still not fully comfortable with the idea of sleepovers, I’m trying. Plus, with the odd things happening on campus, I’d rather he didn’t walk home alone tonight. I nod and tug his hair, tilting his head back a bit more to brush my lips over his.

“Good, because I’m still feeling boneless after you rode me into another realm.”

I laugh, and Connor pulls me down onto the bed. Connor tugs me close, and I curl into his side. I wave my hand, and the covers move up and over us. The lamp switches off, leaving us in complete darkness save for the soft glow emanating from Connor’s halo.

Connor yawns and buries his face in my hair. He inhales deeply, and soon his breathing evens out as he falls into a deep sleep. I kiss his chest, about to drift off myself, when my phone vibrates on the nightstand. I carefully reach over Connor to grab it and open the message.

I frown when I see the new message is from 1015. How? I blocked that account. My thumb hovers over the notification. How could they be messaging me again? I’ve been keeping an eye on myNexuspage, and they hadn’t viewed my stories when I checked earlier today. It should be impossible, yet there is themessage, sitting mockingly at the top of my inbox with the large blue dot in front of the username, indicating a new message. I take a deep breath and then tap on the box. The previously empty thread now has one message sitting at the bottom, and my stomach clenches as my eyes skim over the words.

I worry my lower lip, reading the message over and over. Now I wish I had taken a screenshot of the last messages 1015 sent before I deleted them and blocked the account. It would be proof of them and a reminder of how threatened I felt. Similar to how I feel now. There is something so domineering about the words.

You are reckless.

Reckless. That is hilarious.

The last time I was reckless was with Torin, and I have never been again. I have never had the freedom to be. In order to keep myself out of Torin’s hands, every single one of my moves had to be planned carefully. Yet this person has reduced me to nothing more than a careless, silly girl, diminishing me within a three-word sentence. I feel like a child being admonished by an angry parent. Not that I know what that feels like.

Three little dots appear in the corner of the thread. They’re typing. My stomach knots as I watch the circles bob up and down as they type their next threat.

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