Page 2 of Devious Delusions

My heartbeat drowns out any other sound as I avoid the trees and run around the edge of them. The steep drop to the violent waters below isn’t any safer, but I’m stranded in the middle ofnowhere with someone following me, so I’ll take my chances with it.

My foot slips in a patch of mud that has turned swampy, and my chin takes the brunt of the force as my hands fail to stop the fall. It slows me down as I’m forced to look behind me, but there’s no figure. I’m alone. I allow myself to breathe, like that will stop my mind working against me.

Moss, leaves, and rainwater fill my nose. They don’t leave as I stand. The rain works in my favor, washing away the mud from my skin. I don’t run this time. I walk because I’m seeing shit and there’s no one watching me. I look down, remembering the card, but there’s nothing in my hand. It isn’t on the floor and an ache forms behind my eyes as I try to remember if it was real.

It has to be.

I felt it.

I felt the paper turn soft as water dripped from my hair.

But it isn’t in my hand or lying in the mud. There’s nothing other than my footprints and the puddle from where I fell and disturbed the ground.

The rain batters my body, making me sway closer to the harsh cliff edge as I take out my phone. “I took a photo of it.” My fingers are too numb to get it to unlock and the signal must have come back sometime between the cabin and my fall because there are messages piled up on the screen.

The drops hit the glass, distorting the letters as I try to read it and work out who could be messaging me. I purposefully don’t allow anyone in my life. Swiping them away with my palm, I lean over the device to block out the rain and every inch of life drains out of me seeing the unknown number.

UNKNOWN:

He’s coming for you.

Knock.

Knock.

Ask who’s there, beautiful Delilah.

A twig snaps within the copse of trees, causing me to jump, and my phone flies out of my hand, hitting the floor with a splash.

But I run.

Again.

This time I know it’s an evil spirit. He’s back and he won’t stop.

The elements are nothing against the fear inside of me. Each pound of my feet against the ground is followed by another pair echoing behind me.

They get faster as my muscles burn. The pelting rain reduces the visibility, but I keep running. My lungs ache with harsh breaths until the ground crumbles under my feet, and I scream as the cliff edge gets closer. It takes my legs out from under me, and I scramble to remain on my feet as I crawl forward, my fingers scraping the sheets of rain as they stretch out in front of me.

A heavy weight hits my back, slamming me into the ground, and I kick. He’s not breathing hard or exhausted as he turns me on my back and presses his forearm over my throat.

My air is constricted further as I blindly fight, trying to get him off me. I can’t see his features with the elements working against me, but he bears his weight down and warmth ghosts my cheek. It stops beside my ear as he whispers, “Go to sleep, beautiful. I’ll wake you up when it’s over.”

The pressure against my windpipe intensifies, my fingers burning from the rush of blood into my cold hands, but I know that sentence. Despite nature’s assault, I manage to croak, “It’s you.”

1

DELILAH

The beeping isn’t what wakes me. It’s the fingers stroking my cheek. My lashes stick together as I attempt to blink. While the person who was stroking my face gently helps me sit up and softly says, “You’re okay, Lilo.”

The nickname is familiar, even through the fog of unconsciousness that’s still lurking, but I can’t place it. All I do know is the eerie sense of death it invokes. There’s no comfort despite a part of my mind holding it in a memory.

It’s not until I open my eyes that I understand why. The heart rate monitor attached to me beeps wildly as I watch him hover at my bedside. The rest of the room doesn’t come into focus. Even though my vision is blurry, and it’s been over a decade, I know it’s him and my throat burns, turning my voice hoarse. “Kane?”

His eyes are the same light green that I could watch for hours. But they’re no longer bright—the spark behind them is missing—and his nostrils flare, darkening them further. He’s not seventeen anymore. He’s an adult. His muscles are more defined than the lean, tall boy he was and the small amount of facial hair he treasured has grown into neatly trimmed stubble.

“Asher,” he grits as he turns, giving me his back.

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