Page 144 of Blood & Betrayals

I drop low on the table, wobbling slightly thanks to the swaying and spinning of the room.

“Damn! Should have been a stripper. Do it again for the fans.” Alice pulls out her phone, and I drop low again. It all seems hilarious, and I laugh hard as I dance. Alice cackles as she finally manages to get off the floor. I offer her my hand and successfully pull her onto the table on the second try. We sway together, and the next time I drop, I grab the tequila and take a deep drink. I pass the bottle to Alice, and she guzzles it like water.

“Momma didn’t raise no bitch.” She stills, swaying on the spot. “Well, actually, she didn’t raise me at all.”

I watch her, sobering up only a fraction at the expression of pain on her face. It takes me a couple of attempts, but I finally grip her arm and squeeze. She looks at me, trying to focus on me. “I never had one.”

Alice shrugs, the pain melting from her expression. “It’s not like I remember her. And my dad went from secretly hoping I died to plotting my murder.”

“I never had one of those either,” I say, nudging her and grabbing my phone. “We don’t need any of them, Al. Just each other.”

“Damn right, wifey.”

I nod and start taking selfies of us on my phone, posting some of them immediately.

After hours of laughing, dancing, and drinking, Alice passes out on the couch. I listen to her snore and stare towardthe window, my mind comfortably fuzzy. The silver moonlight streaming into the room beckons to me, promising the peace of the night. I push off the couch, stumbling a little as I pull on my boots and leave the dorm. Just because I wasn’t able to enjoy my walk earlier because of some stalker asshole doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it now.

The alcohol warms my blood, but my skin still reacts to the nip of the cool night air. The campus is so peaceful at this time of night. Everything is peaceful, calm, and safe. Is it safe? There is still a killer out there, and they are more than likely after me. But thanks to the liquid courage I’ve been drowning myself in all evening, I can’t bring myself to care right now.

The night is so still that it surprises me when a soft breeze brushes against my hand. I stumble and look down at my hand, confused. The whisper of air caresses up my arm, and the higher it trails, the more it feels like an actual touch. I gasp as it becomes firmer and stumble again. The breeze catches me, stopping me from falling. I look up and can finally see him again, shadows curling at his edges. He takes my hand and places it on his chest. I feel the steady heartbeat, the one I’m growing familiar with. He lifts my other hand, brushing my fingers against something prickly and along what feels like a very chiseled jaw.

“So you are a man,” I whisper, mostly to myself.

His chest shakes a little with a laugh, and I can feel him nod.

“Who are you?” I whisper again.

He turns his head. I feel the stubble brush over my fingers and then the gentle press of something soft and pillowy against my palm. A kiss?

“Are you scared?” The sound makes me gasp, and I swallow hard. His voice is soft, almost inaudible, yet it brushes past my ear like a caress. It doesn’t make any sense because I can still feel his lips pressed against my palm.

“Yes,” I reply honestly. The fear is creeping back in as the alcohol burns off.

“Why?” He turns his head again, and though I can’t see his facial features, I can feel his gaze on me. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I tilt my head, watching him, and it all comes together. “Have you been communicating with me?” I pause. “In other ways?”

I feel his nod.

My stomach drops. “My notebook?”

Another nod.

My heart starts to race. “My DMs?”

There is a thoughtful pause and then another nod.

I stumble again, proving I am still nowhere near sober because I am standing still. He catches me again, this time his hand gripping my waist. My breaths are shallow, yet my chest is heaving. Fear holds me hostage in this space, and I stare up at the projection in front of me.

Is this it? Is this the moment I die?

I feel his other hand moving, and I wait for the pain to come. Run, Summer, do fucking anything. But I’m frozen in place. Defenseless. A damsel. Fuck. I close my eyes, ready to accept my fate, but no pain comes. Instead, he gently brushes a lock of hair behind my ear and then cups my cheek. My eyes snap open, and I lurch away from him.

“This is… I… I have a boyfriend.” I shake my head and turn, walking away from him. This is all too confusing, and I don’t know what to think or believe. My instincts have been useless where thisstrangeris concerned.

“Go home, little fae.” His voice is louder this time and right at my ear. It is commanding, arrogant, and laced with irritation.

His command makes me bristle, but I keep walking in the other direction. A gentle breeze pushes at me, redirecting me back toward my dorm. My jaw clenches, and I push back,walking the way I want to, trying to hold on to a scrap of my dignity and decision-making. I know I’m headed in a random direction, but if he’s not going to kill me, he’s also not going to tell me what to fucking do.

---